Kinktober Day 20: Overstimulation + S.Coups
For @gyuwoncheol and 🦁
Rating: M (18+) | WC: 707
Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader | Genre: smut
Warnings: mention of a safeword, overstimulation, piv sex, creampie
Seungcheol grunts as he pounds into you, one of his hands braced next to your head and the other holding your leg up, keeping you spread open for his moving hips. You’re crying, shaking, writhing beneath him, but he doesn’t stop. Even as your cunt flutters and seizes around him, even as tears roll down your cheeks, even as you beg and plead and whimper, he still doesn’t stop.
“You asked for this, baby. You asked me to do this to you,” Seungcheol reminds you, his voice rough with pleasure and his thrusts rough with need.
“I know,” you hiccup. “But it’s so much, Cheollie, it’s too much!”
“You can take it, I know you can, sweetheart,” he soothes, dropping down to his elbow so he can pet your hair before cupping his hand over your head, keeping you from being fucked into the wooden headboard. “And you know what to say if you really need me to stop.”
You whine, pouting underneath him and stubbornly staying silent, which he takes to mean, “Go harder.”
So he does, fucking into you deeper and deeper until the room is filled with the sounds of his hips meeting yours, of his dick pushing through your arousal, of his pleasure and your pleasure-pain. It’s all music to his ears, the most beautiful symphony he’s ever heard, and as he fucks you into the mattress, he decides to add one more sound.
“You love this, don’t you, you love this fucking cock. Tell me you love this cock, baby.”
“I l-love your c-cock, Cheol,” you stutter weakly, the impact of his thrusts stealing your strength.
“Yeah you do, honey,” he laughs breathlessly. “You take it like you were made for me.”
His heavy balls slap against your ass with every buck of his hips, your walls hugging his throbbing dick and your wetness splattering all over his thighs as he pumps into you. His rhythm breaks when you lift your other leg up and wrap it around his hip, bringing him closer to you and letting him sink in even deeper. He presses down on the leg he’s holding, tilting your hips up so he can drag the head of his cock over your g-spot and smirking when you yelp at the feeling.
Your cunt ripples around him, squeezing so tight he can barely move, and he just knows you’re close. He doesn’t have a free hand to get at your clit right now so he just grinds his pubic bone into you, fucking you deep and dirty until your cries reach a fever pitch. A silent scream parts your lips and your eyes roll back into your head as you cum, arousal seeping out of your stretched entrance even with his cock plugging you up.
It takes everything in him not to break when you’re so fucking tight and hot and wet around him, but he wants you to fall apart just one more time before he gives you everything he has.
Which is why when your soul returns to your body and your gaze returns to him, he shifts your leg onto his shoulder and brings his hand to your clit.
“Again.”
“I can’t, Cheollie, please, I can’t,” you cry, trying to buck away from his touch. He doesn’t let up, keeps swirling his fingers over your swollen, throbbing bundle of nerves as he plunges into you, again and again and again.
“Yes, you can,” he insists, hauling your other leg over his shoulder and sitting up to put more force behind his hips. Your walls spasm wildly, your eyes clenching closed, and he drives into you one last time before stilling his hips and pinching your clit, pulling you over the edge with him. You cum hard and so does he, his vision going starry as his cock jumps inside of you, painting your pussy white and filling you to the brim.
After a few minutes, his brain starts producing thoughts and his mouth can form around words again. He pets your hair, lets out a soft laugh, and exhales a teasing, “See? Told you you could.”
You land a weak smack on his shoulder and promptly fall asleep.
Kinktober Masterlist
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Carter: As Oscar once said: "everything is about sex, except sex, sex is about power."
Wilde: I never said that!
Carter: Yes, you did!
Barnes: Well that sounds like something you would say.
Wilde: Last time you agreed with Carter that "You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear" was something I would say. Your opinion does not count.
Barnes: Wait, you didn't say that?
Carter: Nah. I did got that one wrong it was Campbell actually.
Zolf: *who was listening from the side room and entered invoked by Campbell's name* No it wasn't. Campbell isn't a hack.
Carter: Ohoho, Oscar, he called you a hack? Are you gonna let him?
Wilde: Not he didn't! Because I never wrote that. I never spoke that. And I resent anyone thinking I did.
Barnes: Okay, so who said it?
Carter: I still think it was Oscar.
Wilde: *doing calming breathing exercises*
Barnes: Don't be like that Oscar, Carter is just being himself. In fact, didn't you once said "be yourself, everyone else is already taken"?
Zolf: *who knows that Wilde never said any of this things* *breaks laughing*
Carter: Yeah, it was right after "never love anybody who treats you like you’re ordinary".
Wilde: I hate all of you.
Zolf: Why? Wasn't you the one going "there is only one thing in life worse than being talked about" well we are talking about you.
Wilde: I never... wait... no...I actually did say that one.
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WIP WEDNESDAY.
tagged by @fourlittleseedlings, @henbased & @unholymilf (and many others over the past month, tysm <3), ty beloveds!! sending no-pressure tags to @adelaidedrubman, @corvosattano, @jackiesarch, @shellibisshe, @shallow-gravy, @indorilnerevarine, @jendoe, @phillipsgraves, @leviiackrman, @loriane-elmuerto, @arklay, @morvaris, @risingsh0t, @nightbloodraelle, @gwynbleidd, @noonfaerie, @shadowglens, @roofgeese, @nuclearstorms, @denerims, @afarcry5fromstraight, @strafethesesinners, @blissfulalchemist, @confidentandgood, @chuckhansen, @queennymeria, @poetikat, @strangefable, @purplehairsecretlair, @nokstella, @galeboettichergf & anyone else can @ me xx
have a Fairly Lengthy bit of fortune’s fool aka the isabela prequel aka family tree to compensate for the fact that i have been promising it for like a year and also have not posted anything for months :))
“A cafe.”
Isabela only nods once and lips the cup to her lips, takes a scalding, bitter sip.
“Which cafe.”
Does it matter, Isabela will want to ask, but will not. It matters for no other reason but this: that Elena does not believe her.
It would, perhaps, be better to leave it that way. A lie cannot harm you.
Shame, however, most certainly can.
She will understand later that the shame of a moment and the shame of a lifetime are two entirely different things. This is the moment when she might have chosen the former. Instead she chooses the latter, and says simply, “You would not know it. I went to Rome.”
This is enough to shut Elena’s mouth, an audible click of her teeth.
She will not question Isabela’s presence in Rome; she has not done so in years, when their paths first crossed, through the downstairs neighbor of the time (moved now, a divorce, or the want of divorce, or the inability to divorce, or the necessity of divorce, it all was the same in the end), with Stefan. An American, come here with his American notions about them and their country and their city and their God. A true Catholic, the way Isabela had never been, the kind that she had only ever understood existed in theory; the kind of Catholic that went to church religiously, who went to see God, not to be seen when ceremony demanded it.
A school friend of the downstairs son-in-law’s, a former colleague, now a priest.
A waste, Elena had shrugged upon learning; not lascivious in tone, but the implication clear.
No matter. He was not Elena’s. He never was. He was hers, all hers. Hers and God’s; secretly, then, she is foolish enough to harbor the belief of that order.
“Everything I am,” she will tell Stefan one day, “I am because of you.”
He will laugh at this. “Not me, Isa. No one could ever change you.”
Ah, Stefan. The clairvoyance of God does not reach beyond the altar, it seems.
“You and your fucking Americans,” Elena mutters now, and she means Stefan, she means the other man, the new man, the man they are now discussing.
“Are we lost?”
“No.”
“Do you live here?”
“No.”
“Yes.” Isa slowly sets her coffee down, the faint tremble of her hand only betrayed by the sloshing of the dark liquid. “Me and my fucking Americans.”
“Mama will be furious,” Elena says blithely, and Isabela’s hand shoots out, her nails digging into her sister’s skin, and Elena makes a sound of protest.
“Mama,” Isa hisses, “is not going to hear of it.”
Elena’s eyebrows arch slightly, but she slowly nods her head.
“I did not mean your gentleman friend,” Elena says a moment later.
Isabela’s eyes cut across the table.
No. She will not have meant the gentleman friend.
“My aunt,” she had blurted to him, then, the words springing to her lips without thought, without her consent. “My aunt lives here.”
She had not remembered until that moment, until she was caught out, here, so far from home, so far from Rome, a stranger across from her, perhaps who had been following her, perhaps whom she had followed, but had indisputably landed her in this place, in this position.
“You’re visiting your aunt?” he repeated, his smile slow, amused.
“Yes.” She lifted her chin, defiant. “I am.”
She did not know what possessed her, perhaps that look in his eye, the same one that Elena will have when she asks, which cafe?, which prompted her to ask, “Would you like to meet her?”
It was a ridiculous question. There was no reason this tourist should want to meet her aunt. It was still unclear if he particularly wanted to meet herself.
“Okay,” he agreed instead, nodding. “Sounds great. Lead the way.”
She had no choice, then. She ground her teeth.
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