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nereidprinc3ss · 2 months

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in the dead of night

in which spencer wakes up in the middle of the night with an overwhelming desire to feel you

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: fem!reader, soft dom!spence (certified nereidprinc3ss classic), sub reader, fingering, piv sex, praise, overstimulation, cr**mp*e (god pls we need a new term) a/n: this is probably THEE most self-indulgent thing i've ever written. but.... lowkey favorite smut i've posted thus far..... i'm such a sucker for disgustingly sleepy needy sex. just.... read it and u will see.... and as usual i love you!!! PLEASE tell me what you think!! MWAH

When Spencer got home around one in the morning, he’d been too dead on his feet to do anything more than get undressed, fall into bed, pull you close, and pass out. Now he’s slightly disoriented as he stirs, pinned between sleep and wakefulness as he realizes how you’ve curled into his side—your face is buried in his shoulder to the point where he’s concerned about your access to air—but each warm puff against his neck assures him you’re breathing alright. One arm is slung haphazardly over his shoulder and your top leg is wound around his. Without thinking, his hand cups the back of your thigh, stroking the bare skin where it presses against his hip. You’re never so soft as you are in sleep; plush, easy, gentle. Spencer realizes with some degree of frustration that he has to fuck you. That’s why he’s awake, and he condemned himself to the fate of it as soon as he touched you.

Sometimes the impracticality of sex becomes so apparent he resents his own mammalian, biological drive to reproduce. It was never like this before he met you. You reduce him to nothing more than a primate doomed to follow its basest instincts. You make him feel stupid.

God, he loves you.

It’s with this in mind he drops his head to kiss your shoulder—a gentle sort of wake up call, as his hand snakes further around to your inner thigh and he presses his lips to your ear.

“Baby?” he murmurs, kneading the smooth warmth of your leg. It doesn’t take much to wake you up. He thought after you’d been staying at his apartment on a semi-regular basis you’d begin to sleep through him getting up and coming home at odd hours, but if anything, you became more sensitive to the floor creaking or the mattress dipping.

“Hm?”

His fingers brush the fabric of your underwear. Your hips twitch.

“Is this okay?”

You inhale deeply, readjusting your arms around him and nodding into his chest.

“I need yes or no, angel.”

“Yes, please.”

The words aren’t desperate. They’re sleepy, mumbled, maybe even a little annoyed that he’s making you jump through hoops. The corner of his mouth twists in amusement at your perfunctory politeness and the way it poorly disguises your habitual impatience.

“Thank you,” he says, rewarding you with his fingers pushing between your folds through the fabric. You say nothing more as he unhurriedly rubs your clothed clit, but he feels the way your breath catches for a moment—before pouring out in one deep tide. He presses slightly harder, transitioning from passes to slow, tight circles that elicit the tiniest, sleepiest moans. This goes on for a while until your hips begin grinding in isolated circles, chasing his hand.

“Touch it,” you beg quietly. He can feel how damp you are through the fabric and realizes he was probably torturing you for several minutes, but sometimes he just gets so lost in touching you it becomes almost meditative. He pulls his hand away and snakes it between your bodies, sliding beneath your underwear and dragging his fingers over your puffy clit. You whimper but he quickly gets distracted when he realizes just how wet you actually are. Spencer sinks his fingers into you and moans lowly at the sound, rubbing at a spot deep inside you and rutting his palm against your clit rather than pumping his fingers.

“Breathe,” he reminds you when he realizes how still and silent you’ve gone. A small amount of air escapes in a tremulous little cry as your hips roll gently against his hand—whether to escape the sensation or get closer is unclear. “You’re all wet, baby. Were you touching yourself before I got home?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly against him. “Couldn’t come.”

Spencer feels like he could finish at the thought alone—the nightly phone calls while he’s away occasionally devolve into desperate phone sex and he’s gotten off to the image of you playing with yourself in his bed on more than one occasion.

“We’ll make you come,” he promises, dragging his fingers from your soaked heat with bated breath.

He pushes your underwear down first, until you can kick it off your feet (you’ll have to search for it between tangled sheets tomorrow) and then his own, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth as his cock brushes your tummy. Spencer hoists your bent leg further up his body, exposing your cunt a little more and reaching underneath your thigh until he can guide himself between them.

The head of his cock pushes between your folds momentarily before he’s teasing your swollen clit, slipping the underside of his tip over it in lazy, noisy circles until you whine.

“Stop it,” you beg, voice still strained with sleep, “need it inside.”

“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry,” he croons, pressing his lips to your hair as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance and slowly begins to push in. “You’re being very patient—”

He cuts himself off as the two of you moan in filthy harmony. You’re so worked up for him, so defenseless in your half-unconscious state that he slips in with far less resistance than usual.

“Fuck, me,” he groans under his breath, hissing and bucking his hips when you tighten around him and cry out. He shuts his eyes and thinks of the Goncharov conjecture in an attempt to control himself; the i-th cohomology of the complex is isomorphic to the motivic cohomology group—and then he’s fine. He’s at least learned to stop rattling off mathematical paradoxes out loud during sex. “You okay?”

The only answer you have for him is an indecipherable whine that makes his chest ache. He rubs your thigh in sweet, soothing passes.

“I know, I’m sorry.” A thought occurs—he chuckles breathily, seeing stars as you throb around him. “You never let me in that easily.”

“Mm,” you squeak, gripping his shoulder hard enough that it aches and he truly couldn’t care less, “you feel good.”

He exhales shakily, pulling out slightly before grinding his hips even deeper into yours.

“Yeah? So do you, sweet girl.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, and he takes it as a sign that you’re ready to be fucked. Spencer’s not thinking about a whole lot as he withdraws all the way and you clench around him desperately—but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s realizing how much he loves your dirty mouth. When he was younger and dumber, he thought he’d prefer a girl who was soft-spoken and rarely (if ever) cursed. Now that he’s had you, he realizes how compelling and endearing the contrast of your soft voice is when you’re swearing like a marine.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes into your hair as he leisurely finds the right pace and you melt against him. “I missed how soft and wet you get for me,” Spencer admits gently, eyes screwed shut as he rambles from a place of profound affection and not at all thinking clearly, “and I missed how you cry when you need it so bad it hurts, and I missed how sweet you are when you let me fuck you right after I get home and you’re so tired, just like this. You’re always so good, honey, I don’t know what I did to deserve you—” You whine and clench so hard around him it becomes an effort to push back in, and he groans as he realizes you’re already coming. “Good girl, baby. Holy fuck.”

That last part is more so whispered to himself, but he can’t help it as he feels you painting his cock with your release. You’ve never come this quickly before, and he slips his arm beneath the crook of your knee, pulling up and granting himself more access to fuck you harder and faster. You moan brokenly, sinking your nails into his back.

��‘m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean to.”

“No,” he quickly assures you, breathing hard, “that was so good, baby. It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”

It seems the brief window between climax and over-stimulation has passed, and a gasp falls from your dropped jaw, arching into him as your body unconsciously tries to find relief from the sensation.

“Oh, god, Spencer, I—”

“You can take it, we’re getting close,” he promises. Not a demand, but meant as encouragement. “Do you think you can come for me one more time?”

“I don’t know,” you slur, the words rising to squeak.

“I think you can. Come on, show me how you were touching yourself earlier.”

You whimper, but slide your hand from his shoulder and push it between your bodies. A gasp accompanies the jolt of your muscles as you make contact with your clit, probably demanding too much of it. Soon, however, the conflicted mewls melt into a rhythmic string of delicate, short moans, so pretty it’s like a practiced song. Spencer’s brain, usually overflowing with words, is nothing but a void of swirling fog—each of your perfect sounds, a little burst of light. Soon he’s making noises of his own, which you obviously adore if the way you tense around him is any clue. Usually he sublimates them into words, but he’s too tired, and you feel too good. Your combined moans, along with the sound of him fucking you and the sheets moving over skin make for a truly dirty soundscape.

“Will you come inside me?” you beg breathlessly, and he can feel the movement of your hand speeding up as you get desperate. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at your plaintive request—the words bring him that much closer to finishing.

“Yeah, baby. I’m—fuck, I’m not going to last.”

“Spencer—” and somehow, when you say his name like that, he knows exactly what you want. He bows his head and finds your lips, mostly blind in the dark, kissing you messily until that split second where his grip on reality becomes tenuous before the building pressure finally bursts. Multicolored fireworks explode behind his eyes as he moans against your lips and continues fucking you through his orgasm in strong thrusts for as long as he can. Thankfully you finish again just as he’s running out of steam. He rubs the spasming muscles of your thigh deeply as you writhe against him in your typical push-pull style—you don’t know what you want and it’s his job to hold you still and make you take it. After a moment you quiet down, stilling in his arms except for the continued expansion and contraction of your lungs. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “I can’t believe I did that. That’s so embarrassing.” Spencer chuckles breathily—kisses your forehead with his eyes still shut and slips a hand under your shirt to rub your back.

“Why is it embarrassing? I liked it.”

“I have never—it’s never been so fast! It’s not supposed to be!”

“Why not?”

You huff.

“You’re the man. Men come too quickly. Not me.”

“I’m sorry you had to have two orgasms instead of one. Next time we’ll make sure you don’t come so we can even it out.”

You bury your face in his shoulder once more, immediately softening.

“No! I take it back.”

“I thought you might.” His hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass affectionately. “Let's rally. We need to clean you up, angel.”

The pillow muffles your voice as you say, “I can’t. I’m asleep.”

“Can I record you saying that for playback in the morning when you ask me why I let you go to sleep with my come inside of you?”

“Spencer, I am seriously not moving. You woke me up. This is not a me problem.”

That makes him laugh, and he presses his lips to yours softly. After a long moment of his mouth moving slowly against yours, a needy little whine rushes from your nose, and it becomes evident he’s successfully kissed the attitude from you.

“You were so good, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. Another (shorter) kiss. “Did so well. I’m proud of you, baby.”

A second soft whimper from you as you chase his lips and he gives in once, briefly—knowing he can’t make you get up after this. How could he do that to such a sweet girl when she’s obviously completely exhausted? Jesus, you have him whipped. He recognizes that. And he made peace with it a long time ago.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, already slipping back into unconsciousness like you knew you’d get your way. Knowing your boyfriend, you probably did. “I love you.”

“I love you. Even though you’re a princess.”

You laugh.

Ten-ish minutes later, once he’s done the best he can cleaning you up and is throwing the covers back over both of you, you startle him slightly by speaking. He thought you’d been asleep.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you sigh dreamily, snaking your arms around him once more. Spencer’s cheeks heat up at the memory of the praise he’d shamelessly lavished upon you not long ago. He’s glad you’re barely awake, because he’s too flustered to think of a response.

He loves it when you do that.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader

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magz · 4 months

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Note: If aren't going to participate in Pro-Palestine action, do not mention it!

For accountability:

This is how Magz plans support Palestine during Global Strike January 21 to 28.

Am going to put more Palestine posts in queue, with more focus.

Am going to not spend on anything during week, nor go out (rare anyway).

Am going to not publicly post our arts and promos (of art freelance work).

Am going to read and learn more on Palestine - as there still more can learn.

Am going to be even more visibly pro-Palestinian.

Am going to continue keeping up with what's happening in Gaza.

Am going to continue boycotting products and services on BDS' Boycott List, including not giving free social media promo and good impressions.

Am going to try learn Palestinian Arabic.

Am going to describe, transcribe, and alt text posts on Palestine when possible - to make it more accessible (Am Multiply Disabled).

Am going to share ways to help.

One of shorter checklist options:

Longer checklists:

But really just do *anything* that support and raise awareness *more*, learn, or contribute. Whatever can manage do n able sustain.

If wasn't able to prepare in time, can still participate for rest of week. Is not "all or nothing", don't have to give up. Keep Palestine in your thoughts and actions !

Some links:

https://samidoun.net/2023/12/calendar-of-resistance-for-palestine-2024/

Popular Palestine Accounts:

https://www.instagram.com/motaz_azaiza/

https://www.instagram.com/wizard_bisan1/

https://www.instagram.com/everydaypalestine/

https://www.instagram.com/letstalkpalestine/

(Has graphic footage) https://www.instagram.com/eye.on.palestine/

Some Useful Posts:

Hussyknee's Palestine Masterpost

PaliPunk's Palestine MasterList

SulfurCosmos' "Palestinian Owned Companies" List (for later)

Paradox_Punch's "Pro-Palestine Brands" Twitter Thread (for later)

SulfurCosmos' "Preserving Gaza's Universities"

LoveLetter2You's Learn Palestinian Arabic Masterpost

How To Archive For Palestine

(rest of Magz's #palestine tag)

(#AltTextPalestine on Twitter)

#text post #^#o post #magz upload #masterpost #palestine #sij #on palestine

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azullumi · 1 year

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“his habits during it” ; genshin men

warning — nsfw content ahead but nothing that graphic or explicit (seriously i tried my best to not even mention the word sex and the genitals)

summary — there’s one thing he loves to do whenever the two of you get in bed together.

characters — diluc, kazuha, ayato, kaveh, alhaitham, tighnari, cyno, zhongli, and wanderer (w/gender-neutral reader) ; no specified anatomy nor even mentioned parts

tags — kind of fluff, nsfw, not proof-read (wrote this while i was irritated and needed something to pour my attention to) ; headcanons

words — 1265

note — hey siri, how do you say they’re fucking without saying they’re fucking

handholding

DILUC — (i have already said this before) diluc likes, no, he loves the intimacy the simple act of holding one’s hand has even when two of you are just walking together side by side or when his skin is pressed against yours, lips colliding against one another, and he’s whispering words of affection to your ears—a mere distraction and a sense of comfort, grounding you and keeping you with him. it’s just that effortless gesture of intertwining his hand with yours, locking fingers, as he indulges in the way you feel around him. he squeezes your hand in the middle of it all and oh, how he melts so much when you also squeeze his own in return. he could never tell you how much you make him so soft and weak with just the slightest hold.

eye contact

KAZUHA — “don’t look away now,” he coos at you, seeing how you shy yourself and avert your gaze away from him which he obviously didn’t like. he likes seeing you coming undone while you try to remain eye contact with him—it pleases him seeing your features contort into into what you are currently feeling—, likes teasing you every time you try to look away from him and hide your expression, likes saying such remarks that gets you embarrassed most times just so he could see and watch the change of your expressions every single time. he just loves looking at you, adoring you with his eyes, especially more so when you also do the same and keep contact, gaze nailed on each other.

praises and talking dirty

AYATO — he’s a talker, both outside the matters in the bedroom and inside the sheets, so it’s no wonder that he always shower you with praises in every chance that he gets even if you’re not in the right mind to respond or even comprehend what he’s saying. he conveys most of his affections through the words that falls out of his lips, finding it so easy to say such things and teasing you with it, he can’t help it, can he? how could he not when you look so pretty—not only outside the bedroom—or beautiful, or handsome, or lovely, or anything that he could think of right at that moment when he sees you naked? Even if he had held and seen you with nothing to cover your skin so many times, he still gets mesmerized by the sight of you like it was his first time.

playing with your hair

KAVEH — he plays with it, he tugs on it, pulls on it, and everything. and though it gives him some sense of control especially when he pulls on it, it also grounds him and helps him realize the affection and love being shared between you two in this intimate moment. sometimes he only dances his fingers on your head, treating you softly and tenderly with the delicate hold of his hand on your hair, which could often provide a huge contrast to what he’s actually doing, the rough treatment he’s giving you which makes you roll your eyes and see spots in your vision. “you look so pretty like this, my love,” he would say before tugging your hair back to take a good look at your face or to tilt your head in a way that gives him more access to your neck.

lots of kisses

TIGHNARI — gently laying you down the bed? kisses you while doing so. sliding your clothes off your body? presses his lips against yours before trailing down, tracing your jaw, his mouth making its way down your neck, and resting on your collarbone. asking you consent? he kisses you before he speaks. he presses gentle kisses of adoration all over you as he pushes himself into you, your bodies becoming one in the process, providing comfort and easing you as he could feel your nails digging deep into his skin and possibly, leaving marks and wounds but he didn’t mind. his fondness and desire murmuring into you, helping you breath and regain yourself. it was clear that his way of affection was simply just kissing you.

giving orders

CYNO — he doesn’t always take the dominant position but perhaps it was the sense of authority, the power whenever he does it. he has the habit of giving orders and commands whenever you two are spending a passionate moment and seeing you willing to follow him ignites something in him—however, if you disobey him, then that’s a different matter altogether (it’s not like he hates it however. deep in him, he likes it as it gives him the pass to do more things but with your consent, of course). you’re so vulnerable, so obedient to him and it fuels his excitement further when you follow what he says. it makes him wonder, a question pondering his head, how could he have someone like you, someone as lovely and sweet as you, so good to him?

restriction / holding your hands together

ZHONGLI — no, it is not the act of locking your fingers with his as he pushes himself into you just like diluc, this one is completely different. he has big hands, we all know that zhongli’s hands are big and one of it just enough to bind both of your wrists together—he is well-aware of that fact and abuses it. he likes seeing you struggle, tugging your hand against his but his hold wouldn’t budge, at all. although zhongli hasn't explicitly told or mentioned it, he absolutely loves the way you look so helpless and weak whenever he holds your hands together, whenever he restricts your movement. oftentimes, he would have a silk ribbon—it has to be a silk ribbon—tying you up just so he could rest his hands on your hips and hold you.

hands always touching and roaming around your body

ALHAITHAM — he just loves to feel you, in general. he loves the softness of your skin underneath the tip of his fingers as he glides his hand all across your body, the warmth of you seething into his touch and being buried in his bones, and he is obsessed on the way he could feel the sweet trembles of your body underneath his hand, could sense the small shiver when he finally touches you, and he adores it and he doesn’t hesitate in conveying his affections to you, often accompanying his caresses with his words of praises and compliments. perhaps it overwhelms you, not knowing where to focus yourself on, and he loves seeing you in such a state, pushing you more and more further to the edge with his hands and mouth alone.

biting and leaving marks

WANDERER — the line between pain and pleasure soon blurs into one as he bites into you while, and one could say it serves as a distraction but it isn’t, it’s not even close to being a distraction, it’s simply something that adds to the stimulation that you are feeling, overwhelming and effectively bringing you into some sort of space. he takes joy in the sounds that you make once he buries his neck on the curve of your neck, hard but not hard enough to draw blood; he takes pride in seeing the bruises and marks that he left on you, looking at you like you were a work of art carved and sculpted into something more than perfection with his own hands.

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sincerelyneo · 2 months

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teeth | l.hc

“fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet”

💿now playing: teeth by 5 seconds of summer

❯ summary: Traditionally the caption of the cheer team and the captain of the soccer team are friends - some even date. But you and Donghyuck definitely aren’t friends - if anything you’re enemies. The two of you can’t go five minutes without an argument. So, why are you letting him fuck you in the locker room?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: college!au, enemies with benefits, smut

❯ words: 2.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, bickering, swearing, unprotected sex (don't do this!), hate sex, degrading names, general name-calling, manhandling, haechan is an asshole, but reader is also lowkey mean, choking, use of nickname 'princess', reader uses she/her pronouns, hardly any plot, it's literally just them hate fucking idk what to tell ya.

cheeky author's note: i'm very brtish, so referring to this as soccer literally made me want to rip my hair out 😀

“You don’t have to be so rough you know, Hyuck!”

"Will you just shut up and let me fuck you!?" He snaps.

The red metal of Lee Donghyuck's locker is cold against the skin of your bare back. Honestly, you don’t even know how it happened. But somehow the captain of the soccer team (and the boy you swear you hate) has you pinned against the boy’s lockers, one leg wrapped around his waist and the top half of your cheer uniform hiked up just enough to give him a full display of your tits. His left-hand grips your hip so tightly that you’re certain he’s doing it on purpose just to piss you off.

Not only that, but he also has your skirt bunched up around your waist. Giving him just the right amount of easy access to pull your panties to the side and tease his cock between your folds.

"Will you just hurry up and stick it in!?" You try to yell at him but, from the way he’s teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, the attempt comes out like a feeble whine.

Exactly on command, the scowl on your face quickly morphs into a wince, and the annoyed quirk on your lips disappears to form a small 'o' as Hyuck’s grip on your hip hardens and he pushes his cock quickly into your cunt. You can’t complain though - you did just tell him to stick it in.

"Shit," you squirm, hand coming up to his chest, pressing hard against the badge of his soccer uniform that rests on his right peck.

"Now look who’s needy," He teases. "I vividly remember you saying I’d be the shittest fuck on the soccer team."

"That’s what this is about!? You’re still mad that– uhh," you’re cut off by your own moan and your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt when he starts to move his hips. His pace is surprisingly slow - deliberately teasing - in comparison to his rapid first thrust inside of you.

"Christ! Even when you fuck you talk too much," Hyuck curses, his hand wrapping around your arm to free himself from the grip you have on his shirt.

"You're one to talk," You hiss back. "Even when you fuck you’re still an annoying little asshol– "

You gasp as he pulls out of you completely and then thrusts into you once again.

"You could've at least warned me, you dick,” You exhale, your walls readjusting to his size for the second time - and what a big size he was.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture princess.”

You can’t believe that even when he’s buried to the hilt inside of your pussy he’s still calling you that stupid fucking nickname. It’s not the word ‘princess’ itself that bothers you per se; it’s Lee Donghyuck’s intention behind the name that makes your blood blister with anger. He’s been calling you ‘princess’ since your freshman year in college but you’d only ever inquired about it recently.

You were at a party, and even though you hate the bones of Lee Donghyuck, you’d be lying if you said your social circles didn’t overlap. It was inevitable, he’s on the soccer team, you’re a cheerleader; honestly, the two of you should be friends. But you’re not. And because of your strained relationship, it was no surprise that the minute you walked through the door he’d picked a fight with you.

You can't even remember what the argument was about now, but you know the two of you had gone back and forth in a boxing match of insults that always ended with him throwing the word ‘princess’ at the end of his rebuttals. And you really couldn’t quite understand why. In your mind, being called a princess was a compliment, but to Donghyuck, princesses were “spoilt bitches who have no grip on reality.”

Safe to say you didn’t think the term was one of endearment after that.

And it was at that same party where you’d insisted Donghyuck would be the shittest fuck on the soccer team – something you’re currently finding out as being not true as he fucks you senseless six ways to Sunday. In all honesty, even when Yuta had asked you the question in a silly little game of truth or dare, you knew Hyuck was the cop-out answer. Truthfully, your real answer would have been Jisung or Chenle. They’re both a little younger and act more awkward with you. But still, you’d let hell freeze over before letting Lee Donghyuck think he was a better fuck than somebody else. However, you’re pretty sure you’ve broken that promise to yourself from the way you’re breathlessly panting and gasping from the vigorous drilling of his cock. That or hell genuinely has frozen over.

But still, what did he expect? The two of you couldn’t go half a second without a petty argument. Sometimes you find yourself just doing it because you were bored and he was there. After all, it’s just the norm between the two of you.

That’s why you can’t quite understand why he’s taking a stupid comment said in a passing game of truth or dare to heart. You’ve said worse to him, you're sure of it.

Hyuck pulls out of your pussy and the emptiness that lingers between your legs has you groaning – even if it’s just for a second. He doesn’t give you long to harp on the loss of friction because he wastes no time dropping your leg from his hip, gripping your waist and slamming the front of your body against his locker.

You want to make another snarky comment about his roughness, but you secretly love it. Well, it’s not so secret actually — Hyuck is well aware that you like his manhandling because he feels your wetness becoming more slick on his cock as he thrusts into you from behind.

His pace in the new position is still tortuous, slow and teasing, and so fucking annoyingly good. But you don’t know how much longer you can take the tormenting leisurely pace. You want more - you need more. If he didn't have your arms pinned behind you and you flush against the lockers, you’d claw at his back to make him go faster.

You feel a warmth on the nape of your neck as he nuzzles against your ear, placing a kiss so gently, that you’re shocked at the sudden contrast in his demeanour.

“This the shittest fuck you’ve had, huh?”

No.

“Yes,” you reply and he growls deeply. There’s a rough snap of his hips and it catches you off guard so much you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a whimper.

“Fucking liar,” he scoffs.

The insult makes your face screw up in a glare, but still, all you can manage is a breathy, “Am not.”

No matter how good the length of his cock is making you feel, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right – that he’s not the worst fuck on the soccer team. Not that you had much experience with the others.

But even though you refuse to use your words to tell him you’re loving it, your body betrays you by being so fucking responsive to his touches. And no matter how hard you fight against him, Hyuck never lets you gain an inch. In fact, every time you try to free your arms from his, he lets out a frustrated groan, and the sound only makes your pussy throb harder.

His hand slips up your body until it finds your throat, where his fingers dig into either side of your neck. He stops his thrusts.

“Well if you’re not lying, are you saying I’m a shitty fuck princess?” He asks innocently as if he’s about to be gentle with you, but you know better. After all, this is Donghyuck. “If you want to pretend like you don’t want this; if that helps you sleep at night, then fine, but your slutty cunt is so fucking wet, I can almost feel you soaking my balls.”

He ducks down to place a kiss on your jaw, and you feel his lips smile into it as you shudder from his words. Instinctively, you swing your head away from him, only to be yanked back by the hand around your throat. He chuckles against your skin, hips starting to move again, thrusting shallowly into your stretched cunt.

“If I’m such a shitty fuck, I supposed you want me to stop, huh?” He asks in a low voice, lips grazing your cheek.

Noises you’ve never heard yourself make before tumble from your mouth as you moan and sob shamelessly. You try to bite your tongue, try not to fuel his ego, but his rhythm is too good at tearing down your guard, which is why you find yourself crying out, “Please don’t stop!”

He laughs, fucking you harder and faster, the stings of pain from his cock hitting you so deep morphing into a hot ache of pleasure that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls.

His fingers, still on your throat press into your skin, not hard enough to cut off your air supply but just enough pressure to force out strangled moans. Your shoulders rub against the coarse material of his soccer kit, grounding you against him as he fucks you in punishing thrusts.

You don’t want to admit it, but your body can’t resist it.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” you mumble, eyes squeezed tight together.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me like a good little slut?” he murmurs into your temples

The low rumble of his voice has the tension in your core ratcheting higher, pushing you closer to your release. Your head feels like it’s floating as the tight spring in your stomach coils until it finally snaps and has your knees buckling beneath you.

Hyuck keeps his speed steady, fucking you through your climax and savouring the way your walls clench around him in rigid spasms. Your orgasm triggers his and he clenches his jaw.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum,” he ruts into you harder, and all you can do is moan for him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He chuckles at your submission - he’s never seen you like this before - so needy and desperate. He didn’t think it was possible to love anything about you; but this right here, you fucked out and pleading for his cum, yeah, he fucking loves it.

He ruts into you a last few times with thrusts that are wild and more frenzied, his thighs slapping against your ass. He contemplates cumming inside of you, but he figures he’d save that for another day since the two of you had forgotten about a condom and hadn’t really discussed it.

And…did he just think about having sex with you again?

With a loud groan that rattles against the metal in the empty locker room, Hyuck pulls out of your cunt and jerks his cock until he’s cumming onto the small of your back. Unable to stop yourself, you moan softly and a stupid smile spreads across your face when you hear him sigh.

After that it's silent, only your rapid breaths echoing in the room. He’s pressed against you, face buried in your neck, holding you and your weak legs in place. You stay like that for a beat, but then you remember who it is that’s just fucked you.

Without any more hesitation, you shake his grip and push him away from you. "Christ! Stop breathing down my neck. Fucking gross."

If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s your arch nemesis you would have stayed tangled up in him a little while longer, letting yourself get soaked up in the fact that that was the best sex you’ve ever had.

As you turn around to face him, he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“There’s a towel in my bag if you want to…”

You scoff, “How chivalrous of you.”

You pull the towel from the bag in his locker and start wiping at his cum on your back. Your body is turned away from him but you can still feel his eyes lingering on you as you wipe away.

You stop to look at him, “What are you still doing here? We have a game in like 10 minutes. Shouldn’t you be like…warming up or something?”

“I think I’m already warmed up,” he mumbles and you shake your head with a smile, going back to cleaning yourself off.

“Seriously, get on the pitch,” you demand when you see him still lingering.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his head and he looks a little flushed. You never see him like this, it’s weird. The Hyuck you know and loathe is cocky, smug, arrogant, all of those kinds of words; but the one in front of you looks so awkward, flushed. Is it weird you kinda like it?

“Are you waiting for me to tell you you aren’t a bad fuck or something? Seriously Hyuck, get lost,” you try and joke, pulling down your cheer uniform.

“No..I…” he stumbles.

You groan, “Oh no, don’t do this. Don’t make things weird.”

“I’m not—”

“Can’t you just be like a normal guy and…I don’t know, say it felt good to fuck me like you hate me or some shit?”

His eyes sweep over your face as if he were studying you. His face softens and he steps closer.

“I mean I could say that, because it felt fucking amazing actually,” he says and you swallow thickly. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pause, freezing as he comes towards you. You don’t even register how close he is until you feel his breath on your lips and his chest against yours.

“What?”

“I don’t actually hate you that much,” he admits, and your eyes widen.

“Yeah right, funny joke,” you roll your eyes and laugh sarcastically but he’s not laughing with you. In fact he’s just looking at you, deadpan, and it’s starting to freak you out.

When you realise that he is in fact serious, you cross your hands across your chest.

“You’re not gonna start doing all that cheesy shit they do in the movies, where you profess your undying love for me, and tell me you never really hated me and it was all just a miscommunication, are you?”

“Fuck no!” He almost gags at the mention of it. “Just because I said I don’t hate you that much doesn’t mean I like you? Are you crazy?”

“Well I’m just making sure,” you poke his chest.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “But I do wanna do this again…” he trails off so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if there was anybody else in the room with you.

“This?”

“Yes, this. Us. Fucking,” he explains. “I fucking hate you, but fuck, I think I love your pussy.”

#nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #haechan x reader #nct hard hours #kpop smut

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sttoru · 10 months

Note

can we get a pervert toji? as nasty as possible :3

“ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ! ”

ෆ note. yehahshsbe yeeass please i love perv!toji.. :3 actually any perv!character s my weakness hehdhen i went a little wild writing this oopsie this is so detailed ohmyogddd anyways….. this post contains smut, proceed at own risk !

ෆ tags. perv!toji x female reader. somnophilia, age gap (reader early 20s, toji mid 30s), panties stealer, m! masturbation, daddy kink, implied threesome, cunnilingus, breeding (talks of pregnancy), manhandling, overstimulation, size difference, cum play, boob job, name calling (slut), cervic fucking, mating press, calls you ‘baby, little girl, doll’, uhh anyway toji’s just a big pervert who gets turned on by anything. includes compilation of seperate, small drabbles.

toji, whom you wouldn’t have guessed was a pervert of any kind at the start of your relationship. your first intimate experience with him went as expected; it was soft and slow vanilla sex. you were just getting to know each other’s preferences in bed, so for the first few times there were almost to no signs of toji’s sexual perversity. all you remember was him being the dominant one. nothing more.

but oh, there was so much more to that. it was just hidden from your view in the early stages of your relationship. you didn’t have any knowledge of what toji was doing behind your back or what his actual thoughts were during the times you’ve been intimate.

toji, whom you didn’t know wanted to get straight into business from the very beginning of your sex life; to have your wrists pinned above your head, his hips slamming into your small cunt and molding it to remember the shape of his big cock. toji needed to see your helpless body moaning, screaming, crying and drooling from underneath him. but he couldn’t achieve that just yet; he needed to take it easy on you at first—to build up the trust between you two in bed. especially because you weren’t as experienced as he was.

toji, whom could only count on his imagination to fulfil his secret desires. he does this whenever you’re staying over and are asleep in his bed next to him. the entire apartment would be dead quiet except for toji’s muffled grunts and the faint wet sounds of him jerking off underneath the blanket.

you’d be in deep slumber with your back facing him and he’ll pleasure himself at simply the sight of your body. the older man loved just how vulnerable and innocent you seemed in your sleep—leaving your figure open and accessible to his view.

the strokes on his cock would get faster each time his eyes land on the shape of your ass. toji always imagines how it’d look when he’s giving you backshots, how the fat would jiggle with each thrust or smack of his hand. he wants to see your plump ass bounce back on him and maybe even have it covered in his cum.

toji, who sometimes stops palming himself just to turn your body around to face him. that way he can have a great view of your tits and fantasise of putting his cock between them, having the pair swallow his entire length once he squeezes them together. he’s never talked to you about it, but he will one day when you’re ready to explore more kinks and stuff in the bedroom.

toji, who keeps a pair of your panties in a secret drawer. those are his special panties, aka, the ones he uses to jerk off when you’re away. he’s done the filthiest of stuff with them; he has sniffed the insides-as if the scent of your sweet cunt lingered on the fabric- he has wrapped the cloth around his thick cock and even came multiple times all over it. he always imagines it being your pussy that he spills his load in; not his fist nor the panties.

toji, whose switch gets flipped the moment you (accidentally) call him ‘daddy’ in bed. it slipped from your mouth in the heat of the moment and the older man had to stop all movements to stare down at you— the scarred corner of his lip twitching and eventually forming a full on smirk.

not only that: it was like his entire demeanour changed. toji got more arrogant, cocky, confident and especially more dominant ever since then. that slip up of yours was the reason toji decided to let go of any restraints and just fuck you like he was always meant to do: nasty, dirty and roughly.

“yeah? mhh, fuck— say that again f’me, little girl— c’mon. if ya won’t, i’ll pull out and leave y’r cunt empty, so you better hurry up.”

toji, whose libido only increases with age rather than the opposite. you’d think dating an older guy in his mid 30s would mean that he’s going to be less sexually active. well, toji was your living proof that that wasn’t the case.. at all. he gets his dick hard just by seeing a tiny bit of your cleavage, never says ‘no’ to fucking you no matter where or when and has so much stamina that he can go on until you’re passed out. sometimes you’re fucked so full of his cum to the point that it’s impossible to push it all back into you— the white liquid just keeps leaking out of your poor pussy no matter what.

it makes toji super proud whenever you’re passed out on the bed, body still twitching and quivering in your sleep whilst he finishes himself within a few more pumps. he’s proud that he still has it in him and can last way longer compared to you, who’s still young and full of energy.

“aww, poor little baby— fucked ya right to sleep, hm? c’mere.”

toji, whose secret drawer slowly piles up with raunchy pictures of you in all kinds of comprising positions. most of them are images taken from his point of view which he captures between videos. some of them are of your ass with his dick visible between your folds, others are pictures of your fucked out self— the state which toji thinks you look the most beautiful in.

his cum dripping from your cunt, your hair a mess, sweaty skin glistening under the dim light of the room, cheeks stained with your own tears; that afterglow was something toji liked to admire. that’s why keeps those memories in his drawer (but also to masturbate to them when you’re not around, of course).

toji, who’s on cloud nine whenever he gets the chance to drown your fertile womb in multiple loads of his hot cum. he was already over the moon once you told him he could hit it raw— but then you were begging him to cum in you? that man was not going to stop at just one round. that was set in stone.

the mating press is his favourite position since it allowed him to penetrate you deep— pink tip almost painfully hitting your cervix over and over again. toji also likes it because he can get to see your pretty face whenever he shoots ropes of his potent seed inside of your womb.

toji, who’d never admit it out loud, but desperately needs to see you grow a little belly full of a new life. one which you carry with you everywhere— even whilst attending your college lectures. he can’t get the image out of his head; you wearing those skintight shirts or materinity clothes that show off your swollen stomach. he’s gonna be so proud walking next to you on the streets, knowing you’re his baby mama.

“mmh, shit— gnna fuck a baby into you, yeah? haah,, wanna see you carry my child ‘round and have you be my baby mama. hmm, you’d like that? i knew you’d do, slut— i bet everyone at y’r college is gonna know who knocked you up.”

toji, who has dirty fantasies of sharing you with his agent. he’s never thought about it before, but there was one single moment that changed his mind.

shiu visited his place once to discuss a business deal and you coincidentally were over at toji’s as well. you were kind enough to serve the two men a meal while they were discussing something which you didn’t understand. you sat down and joined them anyway (much to shiu’s dismay since it was confidential information he was sharing, but toji insisted you’d stay or he won’t take on the job. he could be petty every now and then.)

toji’s mind began wandering to some dirty thoughts as he looked at you, peacefully sitting between the two men, your fingers playing with toji’s out of boredom. your lover was instantly intrigued by the idea of having you sandwiched between shiu and him—your holes stuffed with two cocks at the same time. or just you sucking toji off while shiu was pounding your tight pussy. that alone made toji’s dick twitch in his pants.

once shiu was gone, toji wasted no time and pinned you against the wall near the front door— kicking his sweatpants and underwear away whilst his calloused fingers pulled your panties to the side;

“c’mere, lemme put that cunt to use— did y’know how close i was to jus’ fuckin’ you right in front of him? to let him see how good of a girl you can be f’me? mhmm, might even call him back so he join us.”

toji, who eats pussy like an absolute madman. he’s obsessed with eating you out and making it messy—his spit and your body fluids are always all over his lips, chin and cheeks when he’s done with you. one moment you’re chilling on the couch in your shorts and in the next you’re arching your back as toji’s head was nestled between your thighs.

he’d moan and grunt against you, his voice creating vibrations against your cunt which only adds to the pleasure that his mouth and tongue were giving you. toji’s nose would rub against your wet folds, his big hands holding your thighs apart while his tongue was lapping up all that it could. he definitely sniffs your pussy as well from time to time;

“mmm— aw, gonna cum already? do it, wanna taste you so bad, wanna see you cum all over my tongue. c’mon, you can do it—mhmmm, yes you can. do it for me, doll. cum for daddy. give it to him.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #toji smut #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro smut #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fic #i hope its nasty enough ☹️

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fangswbenefits · 1 year

Text

For Science

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: There has been a rumour circulating in regards to Miguel’s venom. It has to be too far-fetched, right?

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

𓂅 𓄹 Warnings: 18+. Fangs. Biting. Venom!play (is that a thing?).

You eyed Jessica Drew with utmost interest as she worked her way around Miguel’s surveillance station, easily dragging files in and out of the multiple screens.

“Why do you get access to his stuff and I don’t?” you asked as sudden jealousy crept in.

“We go way back,” she started, pulling some information to her watch. “You’ll get there in time…”

Your ego soared.

“… if you don’t keep annoying him.”

It immediately plummeted.

“He’s easy to piss off,” you beamed. “And I’m easily entertained. What can I say? Match made in heaven.”

She chuckled at your antics. “Just don’t get yourself expelled.”

You nodded and waved your hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. So have you heard that rumour about him?”

Jessica finished setting up her watch and mission logs and threw you a suspicious look.

“Well… the one that says his venom does more than causing paralysis,” you wiggled your eyebrows, letting the not so subtle implication dangle.

“You know what? One day Miguel is going to kick you out and I won’t do anything about it.”

“What? I didn’t come up with this!”

It was absolutely true. You hard heard it from some spiders one night while strolling throught the lobby. Rumours came and went. No one thought much of them and these were just harmless fun.

“Well, I’m not commenting on this.”

“Fine! But it’s fascinating.”

Jessica sighed, rotated on her feet and went down the stairs. “You can go ask Miguel, then.”

“Ask Miguel what?”

You froze in place as spider-man 2099 entered the dark room, eying both of you.

“Oh, I’m out,” Jessica snorted, heading towards the exit. “You two have fun.”

Miguel kept his gaze on your and you waved a hand at him.

He frowned.

“Lyla, reroute all the main sectors to earth-1610,” he said, pressing on his dimensional travel watch. “Any possibility of a canon event being disrupted must be reported to Jessica.”

The AI appeared next to him and adjusted her heart-shaped glassed up the bridge of her nose. “Is she tagging along, too?” she pointed at you.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. She’s more useful here.”

“Hey!” you were about to protest, but decided against it.

You knew there was a compliment in there somewhere. Your past missions had not gone without some minor bumps, which was why it had been decided the previous day that you’d tag along Miguel for a couple of weeks to hone your off-field abilities.

“Anything major must be reported to me.”

Jessica nodded but Lyla was not so easily dismissed. “I didn’t hear you say iiit.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your services as always, Lyla.”

She took a dramatic bow and vanished.

He took large steps towards the platform, greeting you with a curt nod.

How would you describe your relationship with Miguel O’Hara? Tense? On the verse of collapse each time you teased him? Friendly? But only when you didn’t have to spend more than one hour together.

“Morning to you, too, boss,” you saluted.

He let out an exasperated sigh as he checked the screens in front of him.

Maybe you should go easy on him. You were already on thin ice, but just adored pushing him. There was something about teasing him that just did wonders to you.

“Did you sleep well? Did you get some food?”

“Don’t start getting on my nerves.”

You raised both hands, feigning a look of innocence. “I did nothing. You’re paranoid.”

His head turned to you.

“You do have an issue obeying the chain of command. Your last mission was a disaster, because you got into an argument with Peter instead of focusing on the anomaly — don’t interrupt me!” he said pinching the bridge of his nose as you were about to defend yourself. “You have much to offer, but you’re also all over the place and lack discipline. I don’t think you—”

You gave him a jaw-popping yawn which effectively cut him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You do know that I was pressured by others to let go of you.”

A long pause stretched out.

“Then why didn’t you?”

In your mind, you had hoped your growing friendship with him had played a part, but…

“You have potential,” he said with a sigh. “One day you might even be better than me.”

Well, that was a high praise and your spine snapped straight instantly. “Really?”

“Maybe… probably not,” he concluded. “But if you keep your focus and work hard, you will be a very skilled spider.”

You rolled your eyes. “Woah, thanks a bunch!”

In truth, you knew Miguel was trying his best to smooth over your bruised ego, but your pride got the best of you.

“Any questions you have, just let me know,” he said reassuringly while glancing at the screens in front of him.

“I can ask anything?”

“Yes.”

“Sooo… have you heard that rumour about your venom?”

It was too early in the day to be so serious, so you genuinely saw no harm in lightening the mood.

He threw you a side glance. “Be specific.”

“Well… that it can cause extreme pleasure,” you blurted out. “Oh, besides the paralysis thingy,” you quickly added.

Miguel turned to fully face you. “I don’t even want to know where that came from.”

Deep down, you felt a pang of disappointment. It would be such an interesting finding.

“Ah, so it’s not true.”

“Probably not.”

That piqued your interest. “Probably? So there’s a chance? It’s just so fascinating, because you’re already so different from the rest of us,” you started rambling not able to hold back your enthusiasm. “Now this is just an added layer!”

You were a scientist at heart and Miguel was pretty much an outlier when it came to being a spider-man. For months you had been trying to let him agree to you running some tests, but to no avail.

In all honesty, Miguel knew his way around science and the inner workings of biology better than you could ever, so he had no reason to indulge your curiosity.

“How do you do it? Is it the same venom or a different one?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Science, remember?”

It was a half truth, though. Yes, this would be mind-blowing science-wise, but this was also about Miguel O’Hara. The very man who had been guiding you through spider society for months. The same men who whose genius and dedication had built the foundations of the spider society.

He now had both hands on his hips and you figured you were already pushing it too far, but enjoyed doing it too much to stop now.

“Can you just tell me how it works? Please?” You clasped your hands together into a beg, hoping it would be enough to bait him for information.

But Miguel remained unfazed.

“No.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you offered expectantly.

He didn’t budge.

“Please, pretty please?” you tried once again.

Nothing.

“I’ll bring you empanadas every single day from now on,” you enthused. “On demand! Whenever you have those cravings. Two in the morning? Check! Canon event disrupted and universes imploding? Check!”

Miguel quirked an eyebrow. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“Just show me how it works,” you sounded desperate by now. Arguing with Miguel ranked high up with the likes of trying to move a boulder with a wooden fork. “How did you get it to work?”

His eyes to widened slightly. “Show you?” he started out. “Are you asking me to pleasure you?”

Now that was probably on your top three of ‘Things you never expect Miguel O’Hara to say’.

“Oh — I mean… well… what?” you stammered, caught by surprise. “I didn’t — you know… huh…”

He only glared at your babbling self.

“Are you… offering?”

Miguel extended his arm to you. “Give me your hand.”

You panicked. “What? Now?”

“For science, right?”

Point taken.

You hesitated momentarily. “You’re not going to paralyse me, right?”

“Do you want me to?”

You offered your hand for him to grip, flipping it palm up. “No.”

“Then I won’t.”

Miguel’s voice was so flat he could just be reading items off a grocery list.

His gloved fingers traced the heel of your palm and his eyes darted down. You held your breath at the sight of him lowering his head. “This might sting.”

And just like that, you watched in complete awe as Miguel O’hara bared his fangs, slowly raking them across your skin before digging into the flesh.

“Ouch!”

Your stomach turned and your heart fluttered as his warm lips grazed the spot he had just bitten. Two circular and symmetrical openings pooled with a tiny amount if blood.

“So? Do you feel a wave of intense carnal bliss?” Miguel asked, straightening up and brushing the droplets away with his thumb.

You merely stood there, waiting for something — anything — to kick in. But as tense seconds ticked by, it was evident nothing was happening.

“No…”

He shrugged, letting go of your hand to tap his watch. “Ah, well. My pleasuring abilities must be below par this morning.”

You scowled at him and considered smashing his arm with a fist. “You could have just said it was all a lie!” you grunted in sheer annoyance, feeling like an idiot. “Now I’m bleeding to death.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You’re annoying,” you huffed as you checked the bite marks.

“It’s not a lie. I can indeed inject an innocuous version of my venom that can be quite pleasurable,” he said.

“Then do it!” you said, your temper flaring.

Miguel wasn’t one to take orders. He was much more into being the one to call the shots, but your curiosity was eating you alive now that he had revealed that this rumour had some truth to it.

He was now looming over you, his impressive height adding to the tension. “It depends on where I inject the venom. Certain places are more effective,” his voice was uncharacteristicly low as his eyes landed on your neck. “This is just scientific curiosity, right?”

Your mouth had gone too dry to reply, so you just shrugged. Miguel had you taking a few steps back until your lower back hit the railing that lined the platform, causing your hands to clasp around it reflexively.

“Tilt your head.”

You did as you were told and felt his fingers tracing along your jaw, angling you just the way he wanted.

“Hold on tight,” he said, breath now fanning the prickling skin of your neck. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Feeling your face heat up from the sudden close proximity, you closed your eyes as if embracing for impact. He pressed his lips to your pulse point before digging his fangs slowly into you.

Your mouth dropped open, aghast, and you finally felt it. His venom poured from the fangs and into your bloodstream, spreading through your veins like wildfire. At first, it was just merely a pleasant sensation, like the one you’d get as you finally drank water after a hot day in the sun.

But it soon turned into something else, and unlike water, the new overwhelming feeling was leaving you thirstier with each thump of your racing heart.

Miguel had his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you in place. He moaned first — no, he grunted —, and you felt a jolt of almost painful pleasure shot down your spine and spread between your thighs.

Your grip on the metal surface wavered momentarily and you feared you might fall, but were firmly grounded by his other hand on your waist. It didn’t take long until your clit started throbbing in unison with your heartbeat.

“Miguel… this… this…”

Suddenly, your suit felt too tight and in the way, especially once he pressed lightly into you.

The venom was no longer being injected, but the remnants of it were enough to wreak havoc throughout your body.

“It’s just for science…” he growled, pulling his fangs away from you. “Does it feel good?”

You didn’t dare open your eyes and could only gasp when you felt him push his erection into you.

“Yeah… science… or whatever…” you gasped, feeling yourself being pushed over the edge with each second that passed.

Just when you thought your orgasm would hit you slowly, Miguel tilted your head to the side, exposing the intact skin.

You gripped his wrist as if holding on for dear life, fearing you’d explode. “Again?”

“Your body is neutralising my venom too fast,” he rumbled, lips hovering a sensitive spot. “I need to inject more.”

“Miguel…” you nearly cried out at the thought of your heart no being able to handle the intense pleasure.

“Look at me.”

Your breathing evened briefly as you did as commanded, his red eyes fixed on yours, pupils fully blown.

“Think you can do this?”

You blinked.

“I know you can take more.”

Your clit was now throbbing at an alarming rate at the promise of more of him.

Miguel flashed you his blood-tipped fangs before sinking them into you once again.

The liquid traveled through your body so fast, you felt like someone had punched the air out of your lungs. You vaguely wondered if you would die from this, and concluded that there were worse ways to go.

Being on the receiving end of Miguel’ dry humps would be enough to make anyone tip over the edge, let alone with the added layer of venom engulfing you into an explosive orgasm.

Your vision blurred in an instant as spams and contractions swept through your body. The friction of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit had you arch your back into him, feeling the bittersweet realisation that you were clamping around nothing. You weren’t sure if this was his venom’s doing, but you felt an overwhelming part of you wishing he had been inside you.

It hurt.

It hurt so good and lasted for so long, you like crying from the overwhelming tide of pleasure.

Miguel gave you time to ride out your orgasm, pressing a bloodied kiss to your lips, swallowing your cries.

Metallic taste filled your mouth and you broke away from him, gasping for air.

Your eyes landed on his crotch.

He was hard. Painfully hard. A faint stain of precum seeping through the material of his suit.

“You okay?”

You bent over, hands on your knees and laboured breaths.

“Are you?” you managed in between gasps.

Miguel crouched to eye-level with you. “I think you owe me one.”

“Yeah…” you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks for the… scientific… huh… demonstration.”

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara oneshot #miguel o’hara x y/n #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o’hara drabble

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atticrissfinch · 6 months

Text

Hard to Break the Habit | (joel miller x fem!reader) (18+)

Part 3 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: when you need some air in your tires, joel does some filling warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, light breeding!kink, brief oral (f!receiving), brief fingering, body-marking, taking nude photos, unprotected PIV, creampie, Joel being good with cars i.e. competency!kink ig, mentions of reader being in the dead dad club, v brief mentions of cigarettes and weed, something kinda sorta resembling…fluff??, Joel being his normal, sleazy self that we all know and love atp, also I typically try to make reader as accessible as I can/is plausible but in this case reader can fit in Joel’s coat and knows jackshit about car maintenance word count: ~5K | ao3 a/n: we know him, we love him, we can't stop writing him. i love this joel so much, and we get just like an OUNCE of cutesy in this part, so I hope y'all like that shit 💖 Series Masterlist | Masterlist

It takes a good, long ponder before you make the decision. The tire light on your car has been on for at least a week now, and you’ve been putting it off. You did a thorough check of them and came to the conclusion that they just need air. Something that you presume should be easy, but you’ve never done it before.

You’ve always happened to have a boyfriend (or boy toy) around to do it for you. And before them, there was your father. You’ve somehow managed to go this long without ever filling up your tires yourself, and you feel fucking stupid about it.

Anything regarding the actual maintenance of your car feels vastly out of your depth, and even though you’re sure you could learn, you’re plagued with an overwhelming anxiety that you could make one wrong move and your car will blow up.

It’s that anxiety that ultimately has you pulling into the gas station on a chilly Saturday night at 2 AM, when you know Joel will be there and won’t be busy. The station has a free air pump, so he must know how it functions, right?

Your zip-up jacket and leggings don’t do much to keep you warm, so you all but sprint inside to the sickly chime of the bell on the door.

Right where you’ve left him every time, he’s on his stool, Maxim between his thighs. He glances up at the sound of the bell, and you think his eyes light up just a titch. “Well, well. Didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

“Wasn’t sure I’d let you,” You banter back, your hands shoved into your jacket pockets, arms clinging to your sides for warmth as you thaw inside the warm store.

“Wind is bitin’ out there. The hell you doin’ out so late when it’s this cold?” A knowing smile creeps across his face. “Couldn’t resist the allure of another ride on the ol’ Joel-er Coaster, huh?”

You stare at him, face riddled with bemusement. “Really? Joel-er Coaster? Do you just sit here all night, coming up with stupider and stupider shit to say to women?”

“Got a lotta time on my hands here, little girl,” Joel says, gesturing broadly to the empty store.

“Well, then, can you give me a hand with something?” You ask, biting your lip with slight apprehension.

Joel grunts through his words as he pushes himself up off his stool and tosses his magazine on the counter, “Sure can.”

His hands are already on his goddamn belt when you rush out, “Not with that! Something else.”

His fingers freeze halfway through pulling the end of his belt through the buckle with a quizzical look. “The hell else would you be comin’ to me for?”

You sigh, rubbing your palm into your eye socket as you brace yourself for the impending embarrassment. “I need someone to fill up my tires.”

Joel’s brows draw down as his hands fall to the counter instead of his belt. “Fill up your tires? That’s it?”

“I’ve never done it before, alright? I don’t wanna fuck something up.”

“You ain’t got a daddy—an actual daddy—to show you how to do that shit?”

You avoid his gaze doggedly. “It’s complicated. Short answer is no.”

“And so I’m the closest thing to a daddy you got?” Joel lets a low whistle. “Shit, I’ll take what I can get.” Joel throws on a thick utility jacket from an alcove under the counter and heads out the door. “Come on, darlin’. Faster we get you filled up…” He looks over his shoulder with a little glint in his eye as he winks, “Well, faster we get you filled up.”

You scoff quietly, but trail after him, wrapping the ends of your flimsy jacket around you as tight as you can with your hands buried in the sleeves.

As you make your way over to the pump where you pulled up your car–proud of yourself for at least being able to identify the right machine, all things considered–Joel chats casually with you. “So your daddy don’t live around here?”

You can see your breath as you exhale, not particularly wanting to have this conversation, but you don’t feel like arguing. “Doesn’t live anywhere anymore.”

Joel halts at your car, peering over his shoulder at your shivering form. “Shit. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s whatever,” You brush off, your teeth chattering, and you have no fucking idea why you didn’t grab a warmer coat.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Joel exclaims softly, wriggling his arms out of his jacket and handing it to you. “Gonna catch your fuckin’ death dressed like that.”

“Joel, it’s fine. You’re in short sleeves! I’m not—”

But he thrusts the coat against you with finality until you wrap your arms around it tentatively and mutter a “thank you” as you pull it on. He hasn’t even worn it long and it’s already warm, smelling of cigarettes, his cologne, and a hint of weed. It’s oddly comforting in a way you are definitely not granting yourself liberty to analyze right now.

“Reckon you don’t know your PSI off the top of your head?”

“That would be a no,” You admit, teeth doing significantly less chattering in the heavy coat.

“That’s alright. Unlock your car,” He instructs as he pulls on your driver’s side handle.

You rear back a little. “Fuck no. I’m not letting you in my car.”

Joel sighs, propping an arm on his hip, the hairs on his arm raised in goosebumps from the chill. “Relax, I just need to check your PSI threshold.”

“PSI threshold?”

“Yes. Stands for Pressure…Somethin’…Somethin’…I don’t fuckin’ know, it just tells me how much to fill up your tires.”

“And that’s found inside my car…?”

“In the door frame typically, yes.”

You eye him warily, but he seems as even-keeled as he ever has, so you sigh out a cloudy breath and pull your keys from your zip-up pocket and hit the unlock.

“Thank ya kindly,” He nods with a little salute as he opens the door and crouches. You round the car to watch for any funny business, but he just taps on the small label right in the frame of the door. “There she is.”

“Oh shit. Never even noticed that before.”

Joel shakes his head. “Jesus. Operatin’ this thing and don’t know a goddamn thing about it.”

“I know how to drive it,” You sass back, leaning in obstinately with your arms crossed, “That’s all that matters.”

Joel’s eyes flick up to you before studying the text on the little sticker, muttering under his breath, “Until you need to fill your fuckin’ tires.”

“Someone usually does it for me, okay, dickhole?”

“Not the one I’d be calling a dickhole out the two of us, but alright,” He mumbles. He cranes his head to look up at you and inquire, “You at least got a pressure gauge?”

“The fuck is that?”

“Jesus. It’s usually like a little…metal shaft with a bulb on the end,” He explains, doing his best to mime the shape with his hands.

You narrow your eyes. “That supposed to be some kind of euphemism for—Oh! Wait,” You cut yourself off, remembering the weird silver thing an ex left in your car once. You scurry over to the passenger’s side and pilfer through the glove compartment until you spy what you think he’s looking for, holding it up in the air.

“Is this it?”

Joel grins widely, holding his hand out for it. “Atta girl! Nudge her along in the right direction and she just might surprise ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, you already know I’m a quick study,” You brag, crouching down to his level by the front tire.

Joel’s gaze falls over you as he rhythmically thuds the metal shaft of the gauge into the palm of his hand, scanning you up and down with that telltale look that he always seems to get with you. “That I do. That I fuckin’ do.”

And god knows why, but you can feel your cheeks heating up, and you’re fairly positive it has nothing to do with his coat on your shoulders.

Joel takes it from there, showing you each step of the process as he goes, since, in his words, if he’s gonna be your daddy, he might as well teach you a thing or two.

In what feels like no time, your tires are pumped and the light on your dashboard flickers off, much to your relief.

“Thanks,” You force out when the job is done, sitting on the hood of your car as Joel wipes his hands on his jeans, still not showing any signs of the cold getting to him and his broad as fuck figure.

“Welcome,” He offers back, reclining against the hood next to you. “You ever need help with this fucker, you come to me first. Don’t want you gettin’ ripped off by some shop when they see a sexy young thing like you who don’t know shit about cars.”

“I dunno. Seem to be able to get whatever I want with just my body. I might never have to pay for something a man’s selling ever again.” You peek over at him with a smirk, just to find that his eyes are already on you, lust glazing over them.

“Hell, might not even need to flash him anything. Just wear his goddamn clothes.”

You snort, but draw his coat in tighter on you against the chill.

“You know, I added a li’l somethin’ to the stockroom I think you’d like.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What, some increased hygiene?”

Joel breathes out a laugh and pushes off the car, jerking his head toward the store as he walks. “Come see, sexy girl.”

He’s most of the way to the front door before you swallow your pride and follow.

—

“Wow.”

“You like it?”

“Sure is something.”

The tiny, lumpy, floral-upholstered loveseat is crammed in the back of the crowded room, the swooping wood paneling on the front of the arms deeply chipped and scuffed to hell. It looks like someone’s dead grandmother’s old couch that got left on the curb.

That’s probably exactly what it fucking is, from your perception and expectations of Joel so far.

Joel’s breath raises the hackles on the back of your neck as his firm hands slide his coat from your shoulders and he whispers in your ear, “You wanna give the old thing a whirl?”

You swallow thickly, the memory of Joel’s massive cock throbbing in between your legs as his hands grab your hips, his mouth sucking at your neck.

“Joel,” You sigh, your eye falling closed as your head drops to the side to grant him more of your skin.

Joel tuts disapprovingly as his fingers flex at your waist. “You know what to call me, little girl. ‘Specially after I was so generous in teachin’ you somethin’.”

The tips of Joel’s fingers tease at the seam of your cunt through your leggings, and your jaw drops in a gasping moan, “Daddy.”

“Good girl,” He encourages, using two fingers to stroke up the expanse of your pussy over the fabric. “Tell Daddy Joel what you want.”

“Want your cock, daddy,” You moan, rolling your hips against his fingers and pulling a sharp intake of breath when the sides of his fingers pinch at your clit. “Please,” You add on for good measure.

Joel groans in your ear, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell as he begins to disrobe you. “You want this big fuckin’ horsecock ticklin’ your fuckin’ tummy, naughty girl?”

The cold from outside has absolutely nothing on the fucking shiver that runs down your spine at his words. Your lips feel chapped as you slide your tongue over them and breathe out, “Yes, please.”

As Joel ravages your neck, your clothes slump to the floor one by one until he has you startlingly naked in comparison to his fully clothed form. He shoves you playfully in the direction of the sofa, and you flop onto it on your back, draping one leg over the top of the couch and the other hanging off the edge to spread yourself open as wide as possible for him.

“Jesus, Mary, and fuckin’ Joseph,” Joel rasps at the sight of you as he wrangles his cock out of his pants. “Fuckin’ hell I’ve been missin’ out on this view. Goddamn animal shelter ain’t never seen this much pussy.”

“Please just fuck me,” You moan, dipping your hand between your legs to rub at your clit.

Joel growls at that sight too, and practically dives headfirst onto the couch and between your thighs. His mouth latches over your lips and clit, shaking his head rapidly back and forth like he’s attempting to motorboat your cunt.

A wanton cry pushes out your throat as he licks broad strokes over your sensitive flesh. When he comes up for air, he’s panting against your stomach, a blazing fire in his eyes.

“You keep these legs spread wide open for me, darlin’. Wanna watch this little slit stretch.”

“God, yes, I need it,” You whine, using your fingers to part your lips and give him full access.

“Oh, she needs it now, does she? She needs daddy’s big cock rippin’ her open?”

“Yes,” You whimper as the thick head of his cock skates up and down the length of your core, soaking it embarrassingly quick.

“Swear to god this little snatch looks tinier and tinier each time I see it, don’t matter how much I stretch it out. Just snaps right back like a bad habit, don’t it?”

“I like that,” You insist, your voice kicking higher as he starts to tease you on his downstrokes, pushing the tip of him into your opening with the barest amount of pressure, and popping right back out to rub it against your clit with the additional slick. “Like that it stretches me every time.”

“Not so scared of it anymore, are ya?” Joel points out, smacking the length of you with the length of him in increasingly wet thumps against your pussy.

“No. Love it, daddy,” You whisper into the musty room, fingers scratching against the hideous upholstery on the arm of the soft above your head. “Please put it in.”

He doesn’t disappoint, lifting your ass onto his thighs as he positions himself at your entrance. That familiar grunt floods the room as he pushes inside you for the first time tonight, his lips pouted open in pleasure as your body lets him in. “Shit, baby. Already chokin’ daddy just right. Look at that pretty stretch,” He moans, admiring the strain of your cunt wrapping around his giant cock.

You keen at the stretch, how could you not, even after the third time. It prickles and stings along the thin flesh that encompasses him in the fucking best way, the pain vibrating to your clit as he pushes in to the hilt and you feel his thatch of curls smashing into your slick folds.

He doesn’t let you adjust for long before he’s pulling all the way out, the head of his cock catching on your stretched pussy. “Such a slutty, fucked out little hole already, baby,” He groans, lining himself up once more as he slams all the way into you again to hear you shout for him.

“Fuck, fuck, god, fuck me,” You plead, doing what you can to meet his thrusts as they gain speed, peeling you open for his taking.

You can see your vision going unfocused, forcing your senses to feel him instead as your body clings to him, begging him to stay tearing you apart.

A racket suddenly starts up outside the door, like someone yelling and pounding on glass, and you both startle, heads whipping toward the door.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, wrenching his cock out of you with a wet squelch and dancing on his feet as he zips up his jeans in a rush. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he instructs as he hobbles through the door, shutting it securely behind him.

You whine to yourself and do your best to distract your mind from your aching pussy clenching around the abrupt nothingness, the gaping cavity left by his unjustly huge cock, and strain an ear to assess what is happening outside the room.

“Jesus fuck, can’t a man take a leak in peace?”

“I need gas! What, this ain’t a fuckin’ gas station after 2 AM?”

“Then pay with a goddamn card at the pump, ya broke bastard.”

You hear more muffled altercation, the ding of Joel’s register, and the chime of the front door. Then heavy footsteps leading to the door until his hulking frame fits the doorway, sealing the two of you in again into your grimy paradise.

“Sorry, darlin’. Duty callin’. Hope your little hole didn’t shrivel up in the meantime,” He prattles as he heads back over to you, pulling his still-hard cock from its confines once more.

“Just put it back in,” You sigh, your head falling back into the lumpy cushion.

“Ain’t gotta tell me twice, dirty girl.”

His knees indent the couch again on either side of you as he sinks down and guides his cock back into you. He grunts a deep, low sound as your heat envelops him again. “Nah, still fuckin’ perfect for me. Clampin’ down on my big pecker just right. I know my girl, know just how she squeezes and creams around me.”

“Not your girl,” You pant out as his pace picks up right where he left off, hammering into you like you’ve done him an unkindness.

“Y’are when you’re impaled on my cock like this, darlin’,” He grits out, his hips swinging, smacking back and forth into you like a pendulum. “Ain’t no other word for it but mine. Daddy’s filthy little girl.”

“Oh, fuck,” You squeak out as the head of Joel’s cock smashes against that golden spot inside of you, your head arching back in ecstasy with your neck on full display. Joel growls, stealing the opportunity to bite into your neck, like a dog with a chew toy, like he wants to tear you apart. You moan as you feel the blunt of his teeth on your flesh, denting the side of your neck. “Fuck, give it to me, daddy,” You whine, sufficiently lost inside the pleasure this man arouses in you against your better judgment.

“That’s right,” Joel rasps, his hot breath melting into your skin as he nips at your jaw, “Let daddy have it. Let daddy have all of it.”

You can feel your eyes lazing into the back of your head as his cock continues to punish your g-spot, your tongue hanging out of your mouth as you heroically claw for each breath that Joel seems to be sucking out of you with every stifling press of his cock through your walls.

You’ve never been a match for him, for his massive length, even from the get-go. From the time he sent you hurtling into the first orgasm you’d had on his cock in this same backroom, overwhelmed by such all-engrossing pleasure that you weren’t even sure what it was until your pussy was begging him to stop, to give you a sensory break to analyze what the fuck had just happened. With your tits that you’d flashed him in public mere minutes prior hanging out for his enjoyment, your pliant body bent over a box, and his cock shoved so deep up your cunt it felt like he was taking a self-guided tour of every organ you house within your skin and bones.

No, you’ve never been a match for him, but he still manages to set you ablaze each time you strike against him, stretch open on him. And goddamn it, he makes it feel like you fit. Like he fits inside you, like you fit together.

You fucking hate it. You fucking crave it.

You dig your heels into his ass, a feral scream ripping from your throat as you wordlessly demand more, a concept that you never could have fathomed after that first time. Wanting, needing more from this mountain of a man with his paralyzing cock.

“Yes, fuck yeah, bitch. Let me fuckin’ hear you. Let me hear how fuckin’ insane this cock makes you. How cock drunk I got you when you’re split open on daddy’s dick. Spit it in my fuckin’ face,” He rants, nails digging into your shoulder blade as he pulls you down onto his length to meet his punishing, rewarding thrusts.

Your throat feels raw, beat to hell like the dripping hole between your legs, but you can’t stop screaming for more, tears welling and falling at some instance you can’t pinpoint, but now your face is wet and calling out for him. The “daddy”s and “please”s and “your cock”s rattling, singing off your tongue like sacred psalms for him.

Until you feel the greedy grasp of your orgasm wrenching apart your insides, clinging to his cock like a final lifeline as the remainder of your body splinters into fractions.

“Yes, baby, yeah, fuckin’ come for me. So fuckin’ pretty fallin’ apart on daddy’s cock. That’s fuckin’ right,” He grinds out, fucking into your body until it goes limp from exhaustion. “Open up for Daddy Joel’s come, darlin’. Take every fuckin’ drop,” He growls, finally screeching to a halt as his own release overtakes him, balls deep inside your waiting cunt.

You feel the flood of him, pumping you full and somehow seeping out from the iron clutch of your cunt around him. You already feel him dripping onto the christened couch, and selfishly, senselessly, you hope that it’s the first time for the furniture, at least from Joel’s doing. Logic would argue the contrary, but in your post-orgasm haze, you suddenly loathe the idea of anyone else feeling this goddamn good at this man’s mercy.

“Just like that. Let me breed that little snatch,” He purrs into your ear, the grate of too many cigarettes vibrating from his throat into your already buzzing bloodstream. And fuck wouldn’t that be a concept. Allowing Joel to ingrain a part of himself inside you so deeply that it eventually becomes sentient. A living creature sprouted from pure, unadulterated lust.

You don’t want it. You don’t want kids. At least not now, with him. But shit, you need this man to swallow you whole. You don’t know how else to get there.

But how the fuck did you even get here? Full to bursting with a carnal need for this…menace. This grubby, inappropriate, sleazy sack of…trouble. Loads and loads of trouble. And load after load of his…

Fuck.

As the devil speaks, Joel’s spent cock wriggles out of you, slick and coated with the pair of you and what you’ve done, over and over again now. No longer a one-off or a let’s just test if it was as good as the first time. You’re a repeat fucking offender now. The flow of his come trickling out of your ransacked pussy more than just a memory, but an expectation.

You run a heavy hand down your face and then bury it in your hair with leaden eyelids concealing the shame within them. Thick fingers drag up the seam of your cunt, press inside you with the escaped rivulets of Joel’s spend, fuck into your stretched hole with disarming tenderness as he plants every bit of himself within you as he can, despite the barriers you have firmly in place rendering his actions moot.

“Don’t wanna waste it,” He mutters, voice thick and deep with his own post-orgasm sluggishness. Wetness presses against your lips, and you give no thought before opening them for him, the weight of his digits monumental on your tongue as you suck your shame off of them with concave cheeks.

Your spit tracks down your chin with the drag of his fingertips along it as he frees them from your mouth. You’re vaguely cognizant of them drifting down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach before he mumbles a “Don’t move,” for the second time tonight. You’re just as unwilling to disobey as you were the first time, only it’s the bonelessness in your limbs that fosters it now, rather than that bone-deep longing. So you allow your eyes to rest as they have been.

His presence is gone from the couch for less than a minute before he’s straddling your thighs again. You jump involuntarily when you feel a light tug on your skin under your belly button and above your mound, of something slightly cooler than the temperature of your skin. You lift your head from the sofa in lazy curiosity, to find the tip of Joel’s tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth and a Sharpie in his hand, scrawling on your skin.

“Joel, what—”

“Shh, I want it to be legible. I got notoriously shit chicken scratch.”

You give a brief whine, but drop your head back and remain steady, letting the pull and drag of the marker hypnotize you into a peaceful contentment.

“Alright. You can look.”

You lift your head again, but you can’t quite make it out. You prop yourself onto your elbows and see, “Daddy Joel’s Pussy” with an arrow pointing directly down to your cunt in sharp but still notably sloppy handwriting. Undeniably Joel in a charming sort of way.

Your eyes widen, and you flop back onto the couch. “Jesus Christ, Joel.”

“Don’t like it?” He says, a smirk in his voice. “Lemme do somethin’ else. This is fun.”

“You need to get back out there,” You argue, indicating toward the door.

“I don’t gotta do nothin’. ‘Less someone starts bangin’ down the door again.”

Joel’s tongue darts out once more as the marker bleeds on the curve of your breast. This time you watch every stroke, every line, until you see “Joel’s Slut” adorning your skin, one word inked over each nipple in his terrible penmanship.

“This is gonna be such a fucking pain to get off,” You grumble as Joel eagerly, with almost a childlike intrigue, continues to sketch over your torso. “Just please not anywhere visible.”

“Roger, Roger,” Joel mumbles absentmindedly, transfixed on his next art installment between your breasts. This one he finishes quicker, and you see why when you glance down. It’s a crude dick and balls, the head pointing upwards toward your neck, nestled right in your cleavage, with scattered tiny lines you guess are meant to represent a cumshot.

“Fucking hell, Joel…”

“You ever seen what a sternum looks like on one of them diagrams? Looks like a fuckin’ cock,” He imparts, a youthful glow on his face, like pride at his cleverness.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it, smartass. But if we’re going with actual anatomy, the figurative balls would be at the top and the figurative dick would be pointed down,” You lecture, vague memories of the subject surfacing in your brain that, admittedly, you also only remember because you thought it looked like a downward facing dick when you learned about it.

“Don’t spoil my fuckin’ fun with your facts,” He scowls, a crease between his brows as the marker drags over your abdomen. “I like that it looks like I’m squirtin’ a load on your tits.”

“This is so fucking stupid, Joel,” You protest, laughter in your voice.

“Shut your slutty little mouth and let me play.”

With your bones still feeling like jello, you let him. The minutes tick by until Joel announces proudly, “There. You’re a fuckin’ masterpiece.”

You hazard another look down, and your torso is covered in ink.

Daddy’s Bitch

Golden Gash

Cocksleeve

Gutterslut

Gas Station Hooker

A myriad of other disgusting sentiments plastered in big, bold letters, etched on your skin in permanent marker. You groan, throwing a hand over your face. “Jesus, Joel.”

“Lemme get a picture. You look so pretty.”

You peek through your fingers to find Joel standing over you, his phone poised at his artwork. You cover your face as thoroughly as you can, doing what you can to avoid associating your face with your body as he snaps his photos.

“Fuck, I’m gonna bust a nut over these later. Maybe two,” He moans as he slips his phone into his pocket and paws at your tits, squeezing them together and pinching at your nipples.

You slap a hand down at him to shoo him off and start pulling on your clothes. “Hope you had your fun. I’m gonna make sure this shit is gone by the next time,” You insist, studying down yourself just to ensure no marks are showing through your clothes.

“So we’re sayin’ ‘next time’ now, are we?”

You look back at Joel who is very smugly seated back on the couch, manspreading with the best of them as his face beams.

“Shut up,” You mutter, fixing what you can of your hair.

“Gimme your number, sugartits. I think I’ve earned that.”

“Yeah fucking right,” You scoff, but Joel is holding out his phone insistently. You stare at it for a long moment before sighing and snatching it from him. You consider giving him a fake number, but the incessant ache between your thighs keeps you honest. You toss it back into his lap. “There. Don’t make me fucking regret it.”

��Haven't regretted him yet from what I’ve gathered,” He chides, grabbing his crotch obscenely as you roll your eyes.

“Go do your fucking job. I’ll see you around maybe,” You throw noncommittally at him as you make your way out, trying to purge that look of smug pride on his face, the existence of your naked, graffitied body on his phone, from your memory. “And…thanks. Again,” You tack on as you walk backward out the door for a couple of steps, seeing him give you a wink as you turn back around.

The second you settle into your car, your phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. You heave a heavy sigh and open it.

An image, the exact image you’d been trying to forget, of your naked, graffitied body, with your face masked by your hands. Accompanied with one word.

“Mine.”

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