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#it feels like i just swallowed a bunch of nails

fairy-angel222 · 3 months

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OFFICE SLUT! ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

—in which your boss toji catches you fucking your two coworkers gojo and geto

pairing: gojo, geto, toji x fem! reader

cw: foursome, breeding, degradation, praise, belly bulge, spit swallowing, fingers in mouth, face fucking, tears licking, slapping, fingering, cumming untouched, pussy eating

Being your colleagues’ cum dump was something you’d never expected. Ever since you started working at the office one year ago, your two coworkers Gojo and Geto seemed to have taken a liking to you.

Their constant flirting never ended, often finding yourself sandwiched between the two males with their hands and mouths on your body.

It didn’t take long for you to inevitably fuck them. Cooped up in your office during lunch hour as they took turns fucking you raw and filling you up.

Then it happened again.. and again. Becoming a regular routine for the two men to use your pretty cunt for their pleasure.

You were in your office once more, your blouse unbuttoned down to your tits which spilled out of your lace bra. Your pencil skirt bunched around your waist as you bounced on Geto’s cock. Your hands on his shoulder to steady yourself and your head falling back in a string of loud moans.

Gojo stood above you with his hand around your neck, his lips on your ear as he rasped degrading words into your ear. “Just a lil fucking slut aren’t ya? Good for nothing else but spreading those sexy legs f’ us.”

You mewled at his words, hearing Geto grunt deeply when you clenched down on him. His cock was piercing your insides so deep, slamming mercilessly into your gummy walls which each upward movement of his hips. “Fuck, this slutty pussy never gets tired does it? Fucking made to take our cocks.” Geto groaned, his breathing speeding up as his hands on your hips tightened.

“Nnh— S-sugu- ahh— Suguru,” you cried out, your brain slowly losing any train of thought as you were roughly fucked closer to your orgasm.

“Fucking slut, you like that?” Gojo grinned, “Like having your slutty pussy filled?”

You nodded, your body trembling as your stomach tightened, the feeling of Geto’s cock hitting your g spot with no stop becoming too much as you let out a high pitched cry.

Your eyes rolling back and your breathing heavy as you felt yourself near the edge. Letting out incoherent babbles that you were about to cum.

“Is our little slut gonna cum for us? Go ahead baby, you deserve it.” Geto breathed, feeling his own release nearing as you spasmed on top of him. Nails digging into his back as your pussy gushed onto him messily.

Your lips parted, Geto’s cock pace still relentless as he chased his own high. Short moans matching his thrusts while you rolled your hips back and forth. Gojo chuckled, kissing and sucking up your neck before biting at the lobe of your ear. Bringing his lips to yours to kiss you sloppily, squeezing the sides of your neck before his other hand pried your mouth open with his fingers.

A smirk on his face as he let his spit fall onto your tongue, landing two mean slaps to your cheek before his fingers were back to forcing his saliva down your throat “So pretty like this.”

You whimpered around his fingers, small tears welling in your eyes as the slender digits pushed deeper into your mouth. Your drool running down your chin and his hand when you sputtered.

“Hmm, that’s what i like to fucking see.” Gojo could feel his cock straining hard in his work pants. The bulging dent more than visible to your eyes.

“Shit,” Geto cursed, his cock twitching at the sight of you gagging on Gojo’s fingers when the white haired man began to thrust them in and out.

Letting out a dragged groan, Geto held you still on his cock, pumping ropes of his hot seed into you. “Fucking look at how this pussy’s swallowing my cum.” he mused, slowly pulling you off of him and watching as you clenched down on nothing. Preventing his cum from seeping out of your greedy cunt.

Geto scoffed with a smirk, landing a harsh smack to your folds making you mewl, his palm coming into contact with your puffy clit.

“Guess it’s my turn.” Gojo bit his lip, roughly pulling you off of Geto by your throat and forcing you down onto your knees. Freeing his rock hard cock while his fingers dug into your cheeks. His cock throbbing when you looked up at him through your lashes. “Open.”

You did as told, opening your mouth to allow the man to thrust into it. A loud gag sounding in the small office as he forced it all the way in. The outline of his cock prominent in your throat as you breathed through your nose.

Still keeping eye contact when he grabbed onto the two sides of your head and began fucking your face. Moaning and groaning loudly while watching you messily drool onto your tits. Your eyes blurry with tears as your throat was relentlessly fucked into.

Geto began to stroke his cock to the choked gags sounding in your throat with each slam of Gojo’s hips. Your own hand reaching down to play with your clit as your mouth was used for nothing but pleasure.

Gojo grunted, “Now would you look at that, cock hungry whore’s getting off to this.”

Your whine was muffled as you ruthlessly rubbed over the bud, Geto’s cum beginning to seep out of your cunt as you messily rubbed your clit from side to side. Your wetness coating the floor and your hand as you whimpered around Gojo’s cock.

Gojo groaned, pulling you off of his cock and to your feet. His tongue swiping over the tears collected on your cheeks. “Wanna cum in that tight pussy instead.” Roughly bending you over your desk and landing a slap onto the flesh of your ass.

A moan leaving you when his hands reached to free your tits from the confinement of your bra. He wasted no time in plowing into you from behind. Your mouth falling open in scream like moans as you gripped the edges of the desk. Feeling his cock hammering its way deep into you, and hard.

You let out a cry every time his girth filled you up, grazing against your g spot even more than Geto had. “A-ahh f-fuck—“ you cried shakily, your body being jerked onto piles of paperwork, “Satoruu— nnh- ‘s so deep.” you keened. Your head getting dizzy as Geto’s cum was drilled out of you.

Gojo’s hips moving at an inhuman pace to bully your poor pussy. You lost it when a large hand reached forward to grope your tits, squeezing your hard nipples between his fingers before slapping each one. Drawing two consecutive cries past your lips.

“That’s it. Fucking take it.” Gojo gritted out, his fingers digging into your sides to fuck into you even faster. “Gonna breed this little pussy so full.”

The sensation was different, feeling Gojo’s tip prodding at your sensitive spot nonstop. The abuse causing your bladder to feel full as you moaned. Your eyes closing as you pressed your cheeks onto the glass desk. Seeing Geto fisting his cock at the same pace you were being destroyed at.

“S-shit,” Gojo breathed, his cock twitching against your walls. His head falling back in sharp breaths as he neared his release. “Clenching down on me so- fuck— tight.”

Your noises carried no sound as the most intense orgasm washed over you. Your body shaking uncontrollably as your toes curled, increasing your grip on the desks edge. “O-oh f-fuckkk.” you cried out loudly.

Unknowingly forcing Gojo’s cock out your slippery cunt as you squirted. Streams after streams of the clear liquid spraying messily onto his abs and thighs, a shiver raking through your body when your hand reached down to rub quick circles on your clit. “Nnhg— ahh, o-oh god,” you mewled tearily, your pussy unable to stop gushing despite the buckling of your knees.

Your body shivered when you finally came to a stop, panting hard in an attempt to catch your breath as your body went limp. A loud whistle coming from the man behind you as he assessed what just happened. Grinning widely before his eyes darkened.

“That was so fucking..” thrusting his cock back into you, “hot.” His thrusts now becoming uncoordinated as he rut into you. The sight of your orgasm somehow making him even harder than before. Skin on skin filling the air along with the lewd squelching sounds from your pussy.

Geto still couldn’t believe his eyes, his tip and angry red as he neared another release.

Gojo cursed out loudly, giving you his final crazed thrusts before he was burying his cock all the way in. Painting your guts with a satisfied hum. “Such a good breeding bunny for us.”

Geto got off of his seat, his abs tensing as he continued stroking his cock. “Put her on her knees for me.”

Gojo slipped out of you effortlessly, setting your jelly like frame on your knees for Geto to cum on your face and on your tits. Your fucked out brain barely registering it as you were coated with the sticky white substance.

The two mens’ heads turned at the sound of the office door being unlocked. You being too tired to even hear the sound. The was only one person who could have a key.. your boss, Toji Fushiguro.

Geto and Gojo glanced at each other, hurriedly trying to tuck themselves back in their pants while standing side by side facing the door in an attempt to hide you.

A deep voice traveled through the room as the door was slammed open. “Don’t bother, i know you three have been fucking.”

Shit.

“And you two know that this is unacceptable behavior.” Closing and locking the door behind him before walking up to you, watching as you blinked up at him confused. Toji stooped in front of you. Taking in the state of your clothes, the cum on your body and most importantly, your leaking pussy.

“S-sir we can exp-“

“Shut up.” Toji growled out, trailing a finger down your cheek. “It’s already bad enough that you two decided to play selfish with my pretty little employee.”

Gojo’s eyes widened, “What?”

“Don’t act all surprised, did you really think you could keep that pussy of hers all to yourselves?” Toji laughed, tilting his head at you with a coo, “You hear that baby? They thought they could get away with not sharing.”

You whimpered when Toji picked you up, his large muscles flexing under his shirt as he sat you on the desk. The other two’s soft cocks hardening again as they watched.

Toji smirked down at you, “Look at how dirty they have you.” Dragging his finger across your plump bottom lip, “Seems they’ve already done a number on ya. Shame that i have to add onto that.”

The man freed his cock from his pants, being way thicker and longer than the other to. You swallowed hard, your pussy getting wet at the thought of that in you.

Toji groaned, bringing his finger down to your cunt to dip into your sopping hole. “They couldn’t even open you up enough to take me. Looks like i’m about to ruin that fucking pussy.”

You mewled loudly when Toji lifted you up and in line with his cock. Already manhandling your body into a folded position to use you as his flesh light.

“Gonna break your slutty body baby, you ready for that?” Toji didn’t even give you a chance to respond before thrusting you down onto his cock. A loud cry falling off your tongue as his cock bulged in your stomach. Your pussy stretching to accommodate his girth.

“One of you. Come eat her out.” Gojo was quick to walk up to you, sitting on the sturdy desk and connecting his tongue to your cunt as Toji began to fuck himself using your pussy. Roughly lifting you on and off his cock, your moans deafening as he kissed your g spot right before kissing your cervix. Geto’s tongue swirling around your clit was a groan. Swallowing down your sweetness eagerly.

Geto stood jerking off again, his fist circling around his tip before stroking his length.

Your brain slowly turned to mush as you were fucked dumb. Gojo falling to his knees at the same time Toji decided to sit with you out his lap. His hands under your knees which were pressed up into your chest. Pounding into you with no mercy while Gojo suckled at your clit.

You mewled loudly, your head falling back onto Toji’s chest as your sensitive body was toyed with. Feeling another intense orgasm quickly bubbling in yours stomach as Toji’s cock hit a new angle. Hammering directly into your spot with force.

Geto appeared in front of your face, tapping his cock on your lips and watching as you opened up as wide as you can. Your moans and cries being muffled as your legs started to quiver. Geto groaned, easing himself fully past your lips and settling at the back of your tongue.

Your noises increased in volume when Gojo began flicking his tongue onto the swollen bud. Your pussy tightening on Toji’s cock while you sloppily attempted to suck Geto off. The man eventually taking the lead by fucking into the warmth of your mouth instead.

His heavy breaths mixing with your throaty cries and Toji’s deep groans. Creating an atmosphere of nothing but lewdity. Toji grunted, “You’re a real slut huh?” And you only whined into Geto, the noise sending vibrations a his body.

Gojo smirked against your skin, “We tell her that all the time, our personal little cum dump.” Going batch to latching his mouth onto you making you let out a choked moan.

You reflexively came off of Geto’s cock when you felt yourself about to cum. Your eyes rolled back and your forehead sweaty as your heart raced. Geto forcing his cock back into your mouth before you could get anything out. Tears welling in your eyes as your orgasm washed over you.

“Is our good little slut cumming for us?” Gojo teased, sucking harshly to drive you crazy. His mouth opening in anticipation as another squirting orgasm recked through you. The immense pleasure burning your stomach as you let go. Messily drenching Gojo’s face and the desk in front of you.

Toji’s thighs also becoming soaked as he fucked against the forceful sprays threatening to push his cock out. “Shit.” he husked, his cock twitching when you began to come down from your high. Your chest heaved, vision fading in and out as Geto began spilling into your mouth, the thick liquid sliding down your throat making you gag.

“Fuck- pussy feels like it was made to be bred.” Toji breathed, the thrusts slowing down as he released weeks’ worth of cum into you. Swelling your belly and you groan softly at the continuous feeling of being filled up.

Toji let his cock slip out of you, the still hard length springing into the air

Gojo placed a soft kiss to your cunt before he stood up with a smirk. His cum staining his pants from his cock rubbing against the fabric while he ate you out.

Gojo kissed your lips softly, a small smiling gracing your face. “Did so well for us. Such a good girl.” you let out a well needed breath. “‘M tired..” you mumbled.

Geto speaking up from where he stood, “Gotta get you cleaned up first baby.”

You shook your head sleepily, ignoring the feeling of multiple sets of cum flowing from your pussy as you closer your eyes. Snuggling closer to Toji’s hard chest before falling asleep.

Toji’s finger made soothing shapes on your skin, his voice calm and his face holding a spine chilling smile. “You’re lucky i don’t fire your asses for taking my claim before me.”

Gojo and Geto scratching the back of their heads nervously.

“But,” Toji continued, looking down at your pretty face as you slept. Your chest rising and falling softly. “We got more important things on our hands, like truly making her feel like she did a good job.” The other two nodding in agreement.

Toji already had something in mind, but he wondered how long it would be until you woke up.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #toji x reader smut #toji smut #geto x reader smut #geto smut #geto x reader #geto suguru #toji x reader #toji fushiguro

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goldeunoias · 3 months

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Do you like me a little bit?

A/N: to the shy subby anonies in my inbox gushing over daddy Sunghoon, this is for you!💕

not proofread that much i sowwy

***********************************

"Come sit cupcake," Sunghoon cooed over to you, spreading his legs on the sofa as he undid his tie and button up. You swallowed thickly and sat next to him on the sofa, earning a fanged grin from him.

"You know that's not where I wanted you to sit," he whispered against your ear, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you into his lap, back pressed against his chest.

"H-hoonie," you began when firm hands began massaging the squish on your thighs, pulling up your sundress to reveal soiled underwear. "Im sorry," you rushed out, feeling a sense a shame grow over you at the fact that you didn't pick up on how he, indeed, did not want you to go out to lunch with your male coworker with just the two of you.

He chuckled against the back of your neck, canines nipping their way down the thin skin. "It's not your fault cupcake, I'm not mad at you nor I could never be mad at you," he soothed, grabbing your chin so you could stare at chocolate eyes.

"But I won't lie, I was kinda pissed when he offered the outing in front of me," Sunghoon remarked through gritted teeth, dragging his tongue up your neck before sucking on the skin.

"Especially since he put you in a position where you couldn't say no," he hissed, pushing the straps down of your sundress. You whimpered as pert nipples came in contact with the cool air of your apartment, Sunghoon grabbing each in his fingertips and squeezing them gently.

"My cupcake is too pretty, what should I do?" He cooed, tugging as you squirmed in his lap. "Should I mark you as mine cupcake? Be the first to fill you up in here?" he continuously questioned, pressing down on your lower belly to where your uterus was.

You nodded eagerly at the prospect, knowing how serious Sunghoon was about always keeping a condom on. Sunghoon smiled and motioned with his face for you to open your mouth, you doing so without hesitation.

You whimpered as his hot tongue slid against yours and took dominance, one of Sunghoon's hands coming up to hold your chin in place so you couldn't keen away from the sensation.

"Hoonie wait I-I need air," you panted out against his lips, bunching up his button up in your hands as Sunghoon heeded only for a second before trickling drops of saliva down your throat, some managing to slip past your lips and down the sides of your mouth.

When he pulled back to let you have your air your lips were shiny with his saliva and your breathing was ragged, Sunghoon wasting no time as he slid your underwear to the side and pushed a digit in.

"Feels good hoonie, feels so so good," you croaked out as your walls pulsed around his digit, your nails digging into his forearm as you rutted your hips against the sensation.

Before you could beg he'd slid another digit past your entrance and this time you whimpered at the stretch of such thick digits pushing past your gummy walls, squirming away from the sensation instinctively.

Sunghoon tsked and moved you so you were flat on your belly with your lower half slightly raised up, Sunghoon pushing his fingers in deeper than before.

You moaned into the cushion of the mattress and kicked your legs out some as the pads of his fingers pressed against your favorite spot, never missing the chance for his thumb to messily rub over your swollen and puffy clit.

"You're always so cute when you're getting stretched out princess," he teased against the shell of your ear, nipping at it with his teeth before leaving bite marks down your shoulder. "You'll whine and whimper as if you can't take it and next moments after you're begging for every inch of my cock."

You whined and shook your head no, burying your face in the cushion in embarrassment as the squelching sounds only got louder, Sunghoon amplifying it even more by sliding in a third digit.

"No? Cute, you think I'll believe that? Listen to your pussy cupcake, listen to how badly it wants me and only me," he continued, knowing how flustered dirty talk made you but how turned on you got at the same time.

"Y-you're teasing me," you huffed against the couch, legs shaking as you struggled to hold yourself up. By this point you could feel your lower belly ache for release as his fingers stretched you out, your breathing getting heavier as you felt the coil tighten.

"I am," he agreed against your ear, not able to hide smile.

"But you're wet because of it."

Almost as if by perfect timing the knot in your belly snapped and you gripped the cushion for dear life as your walls pulsed tightly around his fingers, Sunghoon pulling them out with a loud squelch.

You could hear the sound of his belt being undone and the zipper of his slacks lowering and your mouth began water almost if by conditioned.

"Does cupcake want it?" He remarked with feigned sympathy, tapping his tip against your entrance. You could feel trickles of his precum leak onto your slit and you whined and nodded, clenching around nothing when he pushed his tip against your puffy clit.

"Gotta use words if you want me princess, I can't be the only one talking~"

You huffed and whined out a "please hoonie" through shaky breaths, your toes curling as you felt him push his tip in. You didn't realize how much different he could feel without a condom on, the warmth he pushed against your walls stealing the breath from your lungs.

"If you beg some more I'll give you just the tip cupcake," he pushed a bit more, wanting to see if he could get his shy princess out of her shell.

You swallowed and gathered your courage before turning and flipping onto your back, guiding his hips closer to yours.

"I-I want you inside hoonie, to fill me up in here," you managed out, pressing down on your lower belly where he had.

Sunghoon felt a shiver cast down his spine at how turned on he was, pushing every inch inside until his curve was pressing against your cervix.

"Fuck your pussy is so fucking wet," Sunhoon hissed between his teeth as his hips started snapping into yours, his cheeks reddening from how turned on he was. His own breathing had started stuttering as he got lost pleasure, grabbing your legs push them against your chest.

"W-wait it' s'too deep you're-" your sentence was cut short by a ragged moan as Sunghoon's tip kept pushing against the entrance of your cervix, your toes curling as your mind got drowned out in pleasure.

"Nuh-uh cupcake, I have to go this deep to make sure you take every single drop," he remarked between breaths, grabbing your hands and pinning them above your head to minimize your squirming.

"See? Look at you tightening up around so tightly pussy is eager to milk me for every drop," he remarked as syrupy droplets started to form a ring at the base of his cock and cling to his pubic hair, his teeth biting down on his lower lip as he got close.

"h-hoonie kiss me please," you choked out, as you felt a knot start tightening in your lower belly. He bent down and messily slid his tongue against yours into your mouth, your hands squeezing against his as you felt your belly get tighter.

"Shit, you're tightening around me cupcake, you really want that badly huh?" he groaned against your lips, one of his hands releasing yours to rub your already abused clit. Your free hand pressed against his chest as you felt something other than an orgasm forming, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"C'mon cupcake keep your eyes on me so you watch me pump you full, I know you can do it," he breathed out as he felt his balls tightening, eyes pieced against yours.

You did your best to hold his gaze as the knot snapped and liquid gushed from between your legs, Sunghoon stilling his hips inside of you to make sure you took every last drop.

He pulled out slowly and couldn't help but admire as trickles of thick liquid attempted to trickle it's way out, Sunghoon smiling before pushing it back in against your sensitive walls.

"Aw cupcake, don't spill my gift to you" he faux whined, pouting his lips as he used his cum to finger you. You shuddered and squirmed as your body felt the intense sensations, head already delirious as he looked at you.

"I-I'm sorry," you babbled out, unable to form any concrete thoughts as your belly started getting tighter again.

"It's okay cupcake," Sunghoon cooed as he kissed your nose, watching with a satisfied grin as your eyes lost focus.

"I'll pump you with more of my gift so your coworker will know that you're mine."

***********************************

A/N: DID I DO A GOOD SUBBY SUNGHOONIE STANS PLEASE LET ME KNOW! i have anon turned on so pls come and chat with me about whether i did your man justice🥺💕

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon hard thoughts #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon smut #sunghoon fanfic

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wrayah · 2 months

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GENSHIN + "their favourite position"

prompt: their favourite position(s) during sex characters: wriothesley, tartaglia, neuvillette, alhaitham x fem!reader

warnings: smut (mdni 🔞), unprotected sex w: size kink (only a little), breeding kink (i think), creampie t: marking, masturbation, choking, aftercare n: i'm soft for this man, affection kink, a lot of physical touch a: degrading names, ass apreciation, overstimulation, creampie

notes: this is just a bunch of random horny thoughts put together uuuh,,, they are wuite short, i'm sorry, i'll write longer stuff once i'm free from school ♡ (NOT PROOF-READ!!)

― ♡⸝⸝ WRIOTHESLEY + doggy, prone boning

He just loved taking you from behind, having the pleasure of admiring and gripping at your ass while pounding into you. He adored seeing you shake and squirm beneath him, your body trying to escape him as overwhelming sensations invaded it.

He had complete contorl over your body, his hands on your hips preventing you from getting away from him, pulling your body agaisnt his, sending your hips crashing into each other every time, making you see stars.

Seeing you tug the sheets, knuckles turning white, nails digging into the fabric, always made him chuckle. Your head would either be thrown back to let out loud moans and sometimes screams or be burried in the matress, small moans and whimpers being muffled agaisnt it. You looked so powerless and adorable, your smaller frame engufled by his bigger one, it's probably why he loved doing you like this.

The only downside was being unable to properly see your face, but it was easily solvable. He would occasionally grab fistfuls of your hair and pull it, sending your head falling backwards. With his chest pressed agaisnt your back, his lips would come crashing into yours, taking you into breathtaking and bruising kisses.

Your arms would grow tired, your body feeling weak from the waves of pleasure that would make it combust, before he was even close to finishing. Chest pressed agaisnt the matress, your upper body laying flat, butt propped up in the air for Wriothesley to abuse, the fun would continue this way.

His hand would come down on your ass, smacking it, leaving a red burning spot on the otherwise soft skin.

What he loved most though, was teasing you in this position. He would sometimes slow down, to your dismay, and lean back, watching how his dick would get swallowed up by your cunt, sliding in and out with ease thanks to your juices. He would pull almost all the way out, only leaving the tip of his head in, and then fuck your entrance with his head. Small, slow and yet powerful thursts. He loved hearing you whimper and beg, torn bewteen enjoying the current sensation or wanting him to continue destroying you.

"You like that, don't ya?"

Needless to say, he would toy with you until he was satisfied with your state; his pride was to always leave you a moaning mess, unable to form words, mind clouded from the sweet intoxicating bliss and limbs uselless. Once he deemed that your condition was humiliating enough, he would focus on himself, hips ramming into yours, fucking you into the matress. Feeling your walls clamping down on his dick, he would coax you into another climax along with him, sweet praises falling from his lips accompanied by frantic circles drawn on your clit with his fingers.

"Come for me, baby. Come with me." He would whisper into your ear, body pressing agaisnt yours, hugging you tightly with one arm while his other hand stayed between your legs. Moans and groans filling the room, uniting in a sweet cacophony as you reached your highs.

His hips stilled, his cock burried deep inside you. Filling you was his ultimate prize, being able to see his seed dripping from your cunt after pulling out exciting him even after release.

― ♡⸝⸝ TARTAGLIA + sideways

Chest agaisnt your back, one hand gripping your thigh, keeping your leg up, the other snaking around your neck, grabbing hold of it, keeping you exactly where and how he wanted. He loved physical contact, he loved being close to you. Your warm skin agaisnt his own making him want to become one with you.

His face burried into your shoulder, taking in your sweet odour, leaving him in a drunk-like state. He wanted you, all of you. He desired to feel all of your body, to leave his mark all over you, to make you all his. It's in moments like these where he had full control over you and your body that he felt most powerful, the thrill of battle not comparing to the mix of emotions he felt while he was intimate with you.

His nails digging into the tender flesh of your thighs as he thrust into you, curses flying from his lips and into your neck. His hand on your neck would tighten, leaving you breathless as he ground into you, pace slowing down, procuring pure intoxicating bliss for both of you.

The sounds that spilled fom your mouth as his head touched the deepest corners of your cunt sent him into a frenzy. He fucked you religiously, praying to hear more of that alluring harmony that could send him over the edge in an instant if he allowed it.

To stifle his own moans and growls, he would kiss your neck and shouleder, leaving trails of kisses and purple marks, his teeth imprinted onto your skin. You were his in that moment and forever, and it was no problem if the whole world knew it.

"Play with yourself for me, princess." He would ask you, wanting to feel you clench aorund him, to reach the pinnacle of pleasure together.

Watching you play with yourself shakily, every touch and rub of your nub making your whole body squirm and your walls squeeze around him, drove him crazy right into Celestia.

"Gimme all you got, girlie."

As you both reached your highs, your tight cunt milking him of his seed, he hugged you tightly, forehread pressed agaisnt your shoulder, continuing to thurst into you but slower, giving you every last drop of him, filling you with his love and desire.

Soft kisses would be placed on the fresh bruises, soothing the ache. He wouldn't let go of you until you had caught your breath, soothing you by caressing your aching boding and playing with your hair.

Of all his victories, you were his favourite.

― ♡⸝⸝ NEUVILLETTE + missionary

Sex with Neuvillette was mostly gentle, love-making to be exact. He took well care of you and your body, always making sure you were enjoying yourself; not that he needed to do, everything he did to your body was simply out of this world.

Spreading your thighs apart and lining himself with your entrance, he would kiss you, a kiss so passionate and so lustful it had some sort of hold on you. As your tongues engaged in a slow dance, he pushed inside slowly, stretching you out gently as to not inflict any pain upon you. As you flicnhed and whimpered beneath him, he would caress your cheek and press his forehead agaisnt yours, comforting you as you took his length in.

"You're doing good, sweetheart, as good as you feel."

Eyes locked, one little nod from you was all he needed to continue the deed. He held his body up with his forearm, his hand holding your head, fingers tangled in your hair. His other hand would hold your hip, grabbing and squeezing your soft skin. His touch was warm, filled with love, making both your heart and core flutter with every physical contact.

As he thrust into you, slow and steady, he trapped your lips in yet another langourous kiss. Your lips would never be apart, either him or you would pull the other into a kiss. It was basicly a need for you two to kiss while enjoying each other's bodies, engulfing in each other's love.

Your hands would be wrapped around his body or neck, hugging him, pulling him towards you, needing to feel his warmth. You would place kisses on his shoulders and cheeks, loving him, adoring him, encouraging him onwards.

Intimacy was very important to you, you needed to feel each other, your bodies needed to connect, to become one. You would always be grabbing the other's body in any way possible, desperately trying to give them all your love. You desired each other, evident by how you adored each other's bodies with butterfly kisses, marks and lustful looks.

Skin slapping agaisnt skin, the sound of his dick pushing into your wet hole,your bodies burning, ready to combust together; everything was guiding you, pushing you towards release.

As his mouvements become sloppier, his groans and moans growing louder along with yours, you took his face into your hands and pulled him into a kiss, your lips crashing together with force, forcing your breathes out of you. Such a feverous kiss was enough to send you both spiraling into bliss. As he felt his dick throb inside of you, he pulled out, grinding agaisnt your sensitive folds and clit, his cum spurting out onto your body. You swallowed each other's moans down, not letting go until everything was over.

Pulling you into a hug, you would lay there together, catching your breathes. You would caress his hair and face, admiring the flushed yet relaxed expression on his face. He would place kisses on your forehead, rubbing your back comfortingly.

"Je t'aime, ma chérie."

― ♡⸝⸝ ALHAITHAM + reverse cowgirl, sitting

With his new title of Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham was always very busy, sitting on his desk, papers and scripts in hand. Thanks to his awful habit of overworking himself, you had foud yourself sitting on his lap on multiple occasions at late hours, including ones where your needy body screamed for attention. One thing led to another, and you'd discover the pleasure of riding him while he sat at his desk.

Hands resting on the desk before you, helping you keep your balance as you lifted your butt from his body only for it to come wiggling back down, his dick being entirely taken up into your pussy. Your feet on the ground, your body help up by the tips of your toes as you bounced on his dick. It was quite the exercise, that combined with the pleasure made your legs get shaky rapidly.

He would try to stay focused on his work as you satisfied yourself, used him for your pleasure, but he could never keep up the uninterested act and would end up replacing the papers in his hands with your hips, meddling the soft skin as you brought the both of you to heaven.

He loved sitting back and just enjoy you, guiding you with his hands up and down, head falling back as pleased sighs and moans escaped his throat. His eyes could intenly watch your ass bounce, the way it moved when your hips crashed down onto his. It mesmerized him; it's beauty, it's shape, it's softness, he loved everything about it and couldn't keep his hands off of it.

As much as he loved having you ride him, it was tiresome for your body, and you'd find yourself losing rythm, sometimes even stopping dead.

"Is that all you got?"

His fingers would snake aorund your body, coming around to rub circles into your clit, sending shockwaves throught all of your body as if he was powering you back up. With new found strength and adrenaline, you ignored your aching legs and continued bouncing, hips coming down onto him faster and harder, his dick hitting the furthest corners of your hole.

Not being totally selfish, he'd help you by thrusting up itno you as you came bakc down, enhacing the sensations and making the knot in your belly grow tighter with each perfect stroke.

With his nails sinking into your hips, he'd continue forcing your body up and down on his cock as you came, your head falling forwards as you moaned and cursed. Stilling not too far into your cunt, his cum shot out of his dick and onto your walls, your hole leaking from the amount.

He loved spreading your folds after he pulled out, watching you drip onto his thigh and floor.

"Such a good cumslut."

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lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom · 2 months

Note

Could you do one where the reader had been in a relationship with Hunter before being taken with Omega on Tantiss. Now that they're reunited, Hunter realizes that he wants to marry the reader?

With a little bit of Wrecker and Crosshair friendly teasing Hunter.

Marry Me?

Hunter x Reader

Summary- After an insufferable separation from you, Hunter realizes his true feelings. That he never wants to be apart from you- that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

Part two right here!

A/N- SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 OF THE BAD BATCH!!!! You have been warned! Thank you so much for requesting babes! Hope you like it! <3 <3

Word Count- 1,755

Beautiful Screen Shot by @isthereanechoinhere96

"Omega... It's- It's been months. We don't even know if they're still aliv-"

You felt shame rise up in your chest when you agreed with Crosshair. He was right, time had gone by slowly and there was no way of knowing if Hunter and Wrecker were alive. Your sweet sweet Hunter. The man who only showed he heart for the people he deeply loved. You were lucky to be one of them.

"They'll be there." Omega stated. She was so sure... but all you could think about were the doubts. Omega was always able to be more trusting and optimistic than you. Constant fear of losing your family limited you severely.

You swallowed deeply and looked down to Omega, pushing your anxieties down. "They will be." Were you trying to convince Crosshair or yourself?

The next few minutes of hyper-space felt like days. You were so eager. Everything was either going to get a million times worse, or a million times better.

Omega guided the ship to a remote planet you had never heard of, a deep blue over taking you.

Picking at your nails nervously, you stood- ready to depart. Crosshair noticed this and eyed you. He was nervous as well, but for different reasons.

You almost sobbed when you saw the Marauder in the distance. Hope bubbled in your chest, all thoughts of doubt escaped you.

The second the door lowered with a steam, Omega ran out of the ship. You followed her quickly behind.

She stopped at the mid-point between the ships. Wrecker slowly exited the Marauder, "Now there's a sight!"

You laughed, the tension dissipated. Omega ran to him and Wrecker picked her up, spinning around. "Wrecker!" She responded.

The sight made tears of joy fall. To see Omega so happy was enough for you.

"And I wasn't even sure your message was real!" Wrecker half-joked, still holding Omega up.

"Wrecker, I knew you'd show up!" Her words made your ears ring, did Hunter show up? Well, of course he did! That would be dumb for him to leave Wrecker... Unless, unless he wasn't alive to leave.

Your brain ran wild, why hadn't Hunter come out yet? It was almost as if Wrecker read your mind, he rested a hand on your shoulder after lowering Omega.

Just then, another set of footsteps came out. Hunter skipped steps to get to you and Omega.

Your hands shot up to cover your gasp, tears falling fast now. Omega got to Hunter first- you knew she needed it more.

He crouched down and hugged Omega deeply, his words drowned out. What you did make out was him saying your name, an arm stretched out for you and an arm holding Omega tightly.

You met him as fast as your feet would let you. "Hunter..." You whispered, face immediately meeting his neck as he pulled you close.

His arm pulled you in, crushing you against him in a pleasant way.

He pulled back to pepper your face with kisses, then a deep one on the lips. A few of your tears dripped onto his face, mixing with his own.

Omega giggled and pulled on your arm, you pulled back to let her back in on the hug. All three of you were lifted when Wreckers arms grasped around the bunch of you.

Wrecker pulled everyone up, making the embrace tighter. It was like your perfect little family was back again.

That night, after abandoning the empire's ship, was filled with more hugs, catching up, tears, and awkward conversations with Crosshair. You couldn't have wished for anything better. Your family, all in one place. Save for Echo, but you learnt he was safe with Rex- that made you smile.

You helped Omega settle into her room. You noticed too many yawns and drifting off, she was worn out emotionally and physically.

You spoke with her softly, reminding her everyone would still be here in the morning. Picking up Lula, her doll, and tucking it under her arm gave out the last yawn.

"Can I talk to Hunter?" She questioned with big eyes.

"Of course, baby. I'll be right back" You pet her hair back and left to go retrieve him.

You stopped when you saw him, Crosshair, and Wrecker whispering in the cock-pit.

"Ahaha! Be a man, just ask!" Wrecker said as he patted Hunters back harshly. Ask who? What would he have to 'be a man' about?

"If you say it any louder he won't have to..." Crosshair remarked.

"Oh! Sooorry." Wrecker dragged out.

"Both of you hush, I'll do it when I feel the time is right." Hunter spoke, his husky voice immediately filling you with warmth.

"You got this!" Wrecker exclaimed again, this time he earned a "Shhh!" from both Hunter and Crosshair.

You slowly entered the cock-pit, this time making your appearance known.

"Oh! Hello!" Wrecker greeted loudly, signalling to Hunter you were in the room. Hunter just sighed and shook his head.

You were curious about the conversation, but thought it might not be any of your business.

Smiling, you started, "Omega wants you to finish putting her to bed, Hunter." The way his face lit up had you star-struck. Almost like he couldn't believe she wanted him. "Thank you."

He nodded and headed her way, a hand cupping and maneuvering around your waist as he passed you. His subtle but frequent small touches warmed your heart.

You took a seat in the co-pilot chair, swiveling to look at Crosshair and Wrecker. Both looked down at you with crossed arms and smug looks.

"What?" You wondered if there was something on your face, or if you just took someones spot.

"Nooothing, we will be heading off to sleep now. RIGHT Crosshair?" Wrecker spoke in a suspicious voice, elbowing him in the side. Crosshiar grunted but agreed, leaving you alone.

Weird.

But then again, nothing was normal on this ship.

You took this time to lean back and take a few minutes of rest alone. It was nice being able to relax by yourself, knowing everyone was safe.

After a handful of minutes, Hunter made his way back from Omega. He took the seat next to yours, turning to face you.

"How are you doing?" You asked, sparking conversation.

"Fine, I'm just happy you guys are here... I keep thinking i'm going to blink and you'll both be gone..." His words shook at the end. You sat up, understanding the seriousness of the conversation.

"Hunter, Omega and I are alive and safe. We are here and we are not going anywhere." You rose and stood between his legs, hands cupping his face.

He looked up at you, tears filling his eyes slowly.

"What if I can't protect you two again?" He brought up a hand to rest at your hip, the other on his leg.

You rested your forehead against his, "That was a freak accident, baby. No one could have stopped that. Now we have Crosshair, Batcher, and we are ready for anything. We will keep Omega from the Empire. I promise."

He took a deep breath in, like he had just decided something.

He started by saying your name, "You always know just what to say. I wish I had that ability..." He closed his eyes and breathed you in for a moment, then he spoke again. "When... When we were apart I was so lost."

"I kno-"

"No, I don't think you understand. I couldn't think of anything but you and Omega. I was so broken without you." He repeated your name.

"I-I never want you to be away from me again." His voice got huskier as he spoke, and your legs felt like jello. You just looked at him deeply, nodding.

He started for a second time with a shaky breath, "No one can take you from me again. I will claw my way back to you every damn time." He nods his head up, brushing his nose to the side of your cheek with closed eyes.

You let him speak, even when your mind was flowing with your own comments, "It- The distance, made me realize. There is no one that can compare to you. No other woman I would ever want to be with."

Ah, so that is what they were talking about. You smiled big, awaiting the special phrase.

Tears filled your eyes with his words, he was speaking as raw as he was capable of.

"I can't promise you money or luxury, but I will spend every waking hour fighting to make you happy. Fighting to keep you safe." He pulls back, steadying you with both hands on your hips.

You take in a teary breath to speak, but he cuts you off. "Don't say anything yet, just- Wait here, just a second." He stands, reaching to Crosshair's old storage compartment.

He rushes back with a small box. You raise your hands to cup your own face, bright red. He lowered onto one knee, right in the middle of the cock-pit

"Please, for my own sanity and happiness, will you marry me?" He asks.

"Yes. Yes Hunter, there are no other words than yes." You fall down onto him, arms grasping around his neck.

He lets out a sigh of relief like you'd ever say 'no.'

"Thank you, oh thank you." He whispers into your neck, holding you tight. He only pulls back slightly to kiss you. A kiss so deep and full of emotions your head spun. You just held him, never wanting to let go.

It felt like time stopped, just for you two. Just for a clone trooper and a small girl...

"I never planned on you..." He broke the silence, head placed on top of yours. "But I- you were so damn perfect. Too perfect." You gave a small laugh, looking up to see his handsome face.

You rested a hand on his tattoo, thumbing it. "Hunter, if anyone is perfect it's you. You have so much love for me and Omega... How do you do it?"

"I manage." He smirked, leaning down to smell your hair. Something he used to do frequently when you snuggled in the past.

"Am I now Mrs. Hunter? Or is it Mrs. Trooper?" You joked, pulling back to sit fully on the ship floor. Your hands still filled with his much larger ones.

He smiled at you, another reminder on why he loved you so much. "We can figure out all the fine details later... Just let me kiss you again..."

So, you did.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I loved writing this one, I hope it turned out as good as I thought! Sorry It took me longer to post than usual, I was pretty busy this past week. As always, i'm open to constructive criticism!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

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barzysunflower · 3 months

Note

could you please do D28 and D43 for jeremy swayman where you’re riding him and he’s vocal about liking how you scratch him up 🥵🤤

god I love sway so so so so much and need with such passion! thank you for the request and keep it coming

wc: 1k

cw: dirty talk, piv, somewhat rough sex; SMUT 18+

just keep this in mind while you read this 🤤🤤

28. “I want you to leave marks.” & 43. “Don’t be gentle.”

gif by @snoopyfl

welcome home, baby

“Fuck, Jer,” you moaned loudly when you sank down on his hard cock. He groaned just as loudly, finally feeling your soaking wet pussy squeeze around him after days of being gone.

“So good, so wet for me,” Jeremy whispered and latched his lips onto your neck when your head fell back with another moan when he was buried to the hilt. His lips sucked and kissed your skin, bringing you more pleasure as you got used to his cock stretching you. His teeth scraped your neck, eventually biting you ever so softly, but enough to make you yelp and thrust your hips.

Jeremy chuckled lightly and kissed his way back up to your lips. His hands gripped your hips more tightly, urging you to start moving – and you did. Slowly at first, easing him deeper into you. “Fuck,” you moaned, as your nails scratched along his shoulders for stability. Your eyes rolled back as the tip of his cock pressed further than you thought possible. “You’re so deep.”

"Yeah," he panted in agreement, "You’re little pussy is taking me so well."

You started grinding into him faster, lifting your hips slightly, loving the feeling of him slipping back into you so deeply. Jeremy’s hand lifted from your hip and cradled the side of your head when you dropped your forehead against his. “Jer.” His name was just a whisper which he swallowed with a passionate kiss as you kept grinding against him. His thumb swiped your lips aggressively before pushing through them into your mouth. With an appreciative groan, your lips closed around it and sucked, just like you had been sucking on his cock just a few minutes ago.

“Good girl.” His gentleness suddenly vanished with hard slap against your ass. Jeremy moved from the sitting position, keeping you on top of him, so that his back lay flat against the couch cushions. His hands tightly back on your hips helped your movements, up and down, rocking back and forth on his cock, quicker and quicker.

"Oh my god, oh my god," you chanted, "it's s-so good, Jer, it feels so good—"

He bit his lip as he watched you, and you loved how it felt to have those hazel eyes looking up and down your body as you moved. Your hands supported themself on his chest and with every thrust your nails scratched further and deeper into his skin. But when you realized how much you were actually hurting him, you switched to holing onto the couches arm rest. “Don’t.” Jeremy brought your hands back to his chest. “I want you to leave marks.”

So your freshly manicured nails, which Jeremy had paid for, kept digging into his skin, leaving marks. Jeremy bent his knees and without any warning started thrusting into you relentlessly. His hands roamed your body, with one hand ending up in your hair, holding on to a bunch while he kept up his hard thrust into you. You shuddered all over as the curve of his cock rubbed against your sensitive spot aggressively and you broke down against him with a sob.

“Yes! More. Don’t be gentle.” You arched your back and his your face in the crock of his neck, letting the pleasure wash over you as you crept closer to your orgasm.

“So fucking tight,” Jeremy groaned, grunting more filthy words into your ear. “Good girl. You’re such a good girl for me, baby.”

His strong arm swung around your hips holding them in place as his thrusts somehow became faster. Moving faster, you felt the pressure building inside you, pulsing and swelling. But after a few more ruthless thrusts, he stopped and pulled your head up by your hair to meet his lips for a kiss. It was a hungry, dominating kiss, one that made you whine as he tasted all over your tongue and mouth. So close to your orgasm, you started desperately grinding your hips again and you kissed and kissed.

Eventually his hand moved out of your hair and you felt it gently curl around your neck. He didn't let go of your neck, as you kept kissing, but eventually he tightened his grip just enough to make you choke out a raspy moan against his lips, which you felt smirk a moment later.

He pushed you upright, never stopping your rocking movements, and watched as you let out small moans with his hand around your neck and his cock deep inside your pussy. He could feel you clench around him, getting tighter, so he nodded. “Yeah, show me how you make yourself come.”

You really didn’t need much more, but still you started bouncing faster and finally rubbed your clit. Just for him to watch as you chased your high, which hit you in intense waves that seemed never ending.

“You’re so good for me,” he grunted, as his hips started speeding up again, now chasing his own orgasm. Whimpering as he fucked your through your orgasm and straight into another one, you felt your walls bearing down on him as it nearly hit you — the way it was drawn out just made you sure it would build up even stronger and hit you harder.

“I’m gonna come again,” you let out in a small whimper.

“Fuck, yes, baby. Come on my cock,” he grunted, pulling you back into him and therefore slamming into you harder. “I’m so close, too.”

“I want you to come in me.” It turned him on just as much as it did you, so you repeated yourself when his grunts got more desperate and his thrusts more sloppy. “Come in me, Jer. I need it. Need to be so fucking full.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, as he finally reached his high at the same time your second orgasm came crushing in. Your nails dug back into his skin, so deeply, as you felt his cock pulse inside you, heat flooding between your legs and his head falling back onto the couch with the most gorgeous fucked-out look on his face.

"God— oh my god—" Jeremy panted out, still in the post orgasm haze, starting to catch his breath. With your last remaining energy, you lifted yourself just enough to kiss him gently.

“Welcome home, baby.”

#jeremy swayman #jeremy swayman fic #jeremy swayman imagine #nhl fic #smut #hockey fics #hockey smut #nhl smut #nhl fics #boston bruins #nhl imagine

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luveline · 6 months

Note

Hello! I just want to start off by saying you're an absolutely amazing writer! I've been reading your blog for two years now, I believe, or something very close to it, and I still find myself awestruck by your talent when I check your blog, which is pretty much daily!

If you're up for the prompt and if you're not too swamped with requests, could I ask for a blurb with bombshell reader x Spencer? Maybe reader makes him something really sincere and handmade? Maybe a baked good or a knitted sweater? No special occasion needed, just because he deserves it 😋

Thank you for sharing your works with us! Be well and remember to take breaks! Love you Jade!!

Thank you my love, that is so kind! Love you♡

You feel sleek walking into the office that morning. Fitted clothes steamed and pressed, hair freshly upkept at the salon the previous weekend, nails manicured, smile primly painted, you look perfect.

But that's not what you're excited about.

Spencer lounges cross-legged at his desk, a book in his lap, surprisingly broad shoulders hunched as he reads at a more natural pace than usual. His desk is cluttered in organised chaos, books lining the partition that separate his desk from Derek's and Emily's, strange knickknacks scattered. There's a bunch of bright squishy things from Penelope, an upside down umbrella statue lined with hair elastics, and, cutest of all, his two photo frames. One of him holding baby Henry, and one of you. You and him, of course, but mostly you in the frame, closer, smiling like you love him as you angle the camera back in a well meaning and misaligned self portrait.

You do love him. He hasn't caught on yet, is all.

"Spencer," you greet, hoping he won't jump. He flinches minutely and lifts his head to yours, closing the book against his hand. "Sorry, I was trying to make it so you didn't jump."

"My fault." He rubs his eyes. "Just been reading this book for so long it's messing with me."

The book, of which he's told you about in detail, is about a documentary, which is in turn about a bunch of dark, ever-changing rooms, hallways and tunnels from within a house. The line between what's fiction within fiction blurs, and it's actually pretty scary if he's to be believed. "I've never seen you take so long reading one book, even if it is eight hundred pages," you say teasingly, letting the handle of your handbag slip down your shoulder.

"The point is suspense," he says, eyes following your fingers where they dive into your bag. "Which needs time to build. What are they?"

"These are for you, handsome."

"You already gave me a present," he says quizzically.

His birthday was a few days ago, and he's right. "These aren't for your birthday, Spence."

He cracks the lid off of the tupperware on side at a time like he's scared he'll ruin the sweet treats within. You've made him fresh baked shortbread biscuits dipped in dark-chocolate and topped with sparse coconut shavings.

"What are these?" he asks.

You both know that he knows they're cookies, so you answer the unasked question instead. "I wanted to make them for you. I think you'll like them, they're a little rich but the coconut helps even it out. You don't have to try them now or anything–"

"Can I?" he asks, lips quirked into a gentle pout.

"Sure." You hide your nerves as he bites into one, the cookie itself breaking softly, crumbs falling into his waiting hand. "They're messy. Should've warned you."

He puts the uneaten half back in the tupperware and places it atop his closed book on the desk. He's nodding as he stands, arms quick over your shoulders. You can hear him swallow, his voice mildly hoarse as he says, "They're so nice," he praises, clearing his throat, "I think I swallowed too fast." His laugh warms your ear. "I can't believe you made those. How long did it take you?"

"Not that long," you say, beaming as he pulls away. "I knew you'd like them."

"It helps that you made them." He holds your elbow. "I don't know how to say thanks."

You raise your cheek. "Only if you want."

He kisses your cheek. You smile like a fool and giggle much the same, reaching around his arms to nab a cookie for yourself. They'd tasted nice last night when you tried them, but they're perfect after Spencer's praise.

"No one's ever baked something for me before," he admits, the two of you standing much too close considering the setting. "I mean, there really wasn't a reason?"

"No, Spence. I was watching some TV last night when I started thinking about you, and I recently got that cookbook, you remember? That was one of the dessert recipes. I had to make two batches because I put too much butter in the first try and they spread flat as a nickel."

He smiles at your misfortune. "What?" you ask. "What's funny about that?"

"It's not funny. You made me cookies and when they went wrong you made me more. I don't know what I–" His hand flirts with your elbow, index finger moving with a mind of its own, tickling you through your thin blouse. "You're amazing."

"You make me really happy." You look down at his hand where it draws a line. "It makes me happy to be able to do something for you."

Spencer can evidently see you turning shy, and he's a sweetheart, so he rescues you from your timidity with a life jacket. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not that I've found so far, handsome. Why, did you have something in mind?"

He makes a big and genuine laugh, grabbing two cookies and forcing one into your hand. "You have to eat your share before Emily gets here." He nudges your hand up with his. "Go on. I'm not in the mood to share with anyone but you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

1K notes · View notes

cosmal · 2 years

Text

KINKTOBER DAY SIX — THIGH RIDING W STEVE HARRINGTON

*:･ﾟsummary — steve wants to take it slow. you don’t. you compromise.

*:･ﾟwarnings/tags — fem!reader, she/her pronouns, thigh riding, 18+, mdni

*:･ﾟword count — 1.7k

When Steve Harrington, the guy you’ve been fucking on and off for the past few months, asks you to come over. You do. And you wear your best summer dress. Steve wishes you didn’t.

Steve sometimes thinks he’s a man with morals. He’s starting to like you. A lot. But, when you come over to his house in a dress that’s a few inches short of being a T-shirt, clinging to your legs, dipping through the valley of your chest. His morals are thrown out the door and every thought he’s had about taking it slow with you now, disappears.

He sits on a banana lounge outside, right in front of the pool while you walk around the edge, trying your best not to slip in. Giggling madly every time your foot slips. Steve warns you to be careful and you have to ignore the warmth his stern tone creates in the pit of your stomach. Just like he’s ignoring how hard his cock feels in his pants every time your dress rides up.

“Y/N, stop.” His voice is gruff and you’re still laughing. “You’ll be all wet and then complain to me that you have no other clothes.”

You probably would. Still, you say, “Then I’ll just have to be naked.”

Steve laughs, rolling his eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not as much as you, Stevie.”

Steve wants to wipe the smug smile off your face. With his mouth. He has to wring his hands at his sides, ignoring how he feels. His inhibitions are lowering.

He doesn’t even think twice before he says, “C’mere.” with a wave of his hand.

Your lips quirk into a knowing smile and on light footsteps, you traipse over to stand at the end of his chair.

He pats his thigh with a tut, “Here, baby.” he repeats.

Baby, he says. He invites you over. Says, just wanna see you, that’s all. Maybe even watch a movie, nothing else.

But calls you baby.

You move to his side, hike your dress up a little too high and Steve can see where your panties are swallowed by your pudgy little lips before you swing your leg over his thigh and settle down, humming a happy noise.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s asked you to sit on his lap but doesn’t know where to put his stupid hands. He’s supposed to be restraining himself, but your soft thighs are begging to be held. They shine under the beating sun and Steve thinks it’d be a crime if he didn’t feel your soft flesh under his rough palms. So, he settles them down like that’s where they’re supposed to be. Like his hands were made just to touch you. Fingers spread, prodding into the dough of your flesh.

Your hands do their own exploring, coming up to run along the expanse of his toned chest, fingers smoothing over divets of muscle. His shirt bunches under your hands and tugs the bottom up, revealing the skin of his hips.

“What’s up, Stevie?” You murmur, eyes wide and innocent. You bite your lip like you don’t know what you’re doing. You think the both of you know you do.

He groans, squeezing at your thighs cruelly and you frown, “Don’t.” he has to close his eyes, “Don’t do that.”

You’re confused. “Do what?”

“Call me- call me that. You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” He gruffs and you want to laugh at his little innuendo. All you do is smile.

“Call you what?” You’re desperate to tease him. You love the way his brow pinches and his hands flex when he’s frustrated.

“C’mon, Y/N.” he whines, “I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to be taking things slow with you, y’know? Wanna be nice to you.”

You frown, “I like it when you’re mean, though.”

He peaks through his closed eyes and his eyelashes twitch, kissing the tanned skin of his cheeks, “You’re terrible. Truly.”

You giggle and run your hands down his chest, relishing in the feeling of his abs clenching under your teasing touch. Your fingers ghost over the sliver of skin that’s peaking from the edge of his shirt. Your nail grazes the waistband of his shorts and he tuts, wrapping his fingers around your wrists.

“Nu-uh.” He chides, fingers pinching your skin, “Don’t get to do that until we at least go out on a date.” He can’t believe what he’s saying. Slowly he reminds himself. Paced. He doesn't want to mess this up with you. He’s determined for you not to just be another girl he only sleeps with. He can’t believe how much he likes you, it’s daunting.

“Steve,” You whine, “Please.”

He looks offended, “You don’t want to go on a date?”

You squeeze his hip, “No, of course, I do. I’d love to. I just think we can do both, y’know?” He doesn’t know. “We can fuck before we go out. It’s not like we haven’t before.”

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, raising your body. His hands find purchase on your hips to still you. “Gotta take it slow, baby.”

You bite your lip and he thinks you might draw blood. “Am I gonna have to go up to your bedroom and slowly touch myself if you’re not going to touch me?”

He stops breathing at the thought of you touching yourself in his bed. His resolve is slowly unravelling. Especially when your centre grazes his crotch. If he went searching, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found a wet patch on his shorts.

“Needy thing, aren’t you, baby?” He tuts and his hands move around to squeeze your ass and you tense around him.

You hum before he says, “All right, then. You can fuck yourself.”

You pout, eyebrows pinching. He thinks he can hear you whimper, “Not gonna help me, Stevie?”

He pinches your ass and you yelp lightly, “I’ll help, sweetheart.” Your eyes light up and he wants to laugh, “Rub that pretty pussy of yours on my thigh, yeah? That helpful enough?”

Your breath stutters and warmth seeps through your abdomen. Your thumbs press into his hips as your legs tense around the muscle of his thigh. He pulls you down, wrapping his hands around your neck until your face is hovering above his own. His mouth pecks yours before he murmurs over your skin, “Need help, sweetheart?”

All you can do is hum against his lips, pushing your hands up his shirt until you feel the squishy skin of his abdomen under your prodding fingers. His hands find their way to your hips, fingers spreading over the meaty flesh of your ass and he grips hard, pushing you down into him.

You sit up to follow his encouraging movements, rocking your hips to match the pace of his guiding hands. You feel your folds spread over his thigh, pushing down the swell of your clit into your panties as his leg grazes against it.

Your hips rock and your legs push into the slats of his lounge chair and it squeaks. One of his hands leaves your hip to reach under your dress until he cups your tit. Squeezing roughly and your nipples perk. “Look at you, hmm? All needy on my thigh.”

You gasp and your head falls back, “Fuck, Steve.” Your voice is rasped and stutters through pants.

“Such a greedy thing. Couldn’t wait long enough you just had to get off on my thigh.” He palms roughly at your ass, urging you to rut harder against him.

You keen and your legs start to stutter in their position wrapped around his leg. You struggle to keep yourself up and fuck yourself on him, so you lean down against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He frees your tit and cups the back of your head with soothing strokes, “That’s my girl,” Your hips jolt at his encouraging words, “Just like that, yeah?”

He bounces his leg and you whimper against his neck, leaving wet and lazy, open-mouthed kisses across the curve of his shoulder. Distracting enough that your rutting slows in its rhythm.

‘‘C’mon, don’t stop now, sweetheart. I know you’re close.” Steve can feel where your wet seeps through your panties and coats his shorts.

He can tell by the way your hips twitch and you clamp around his leg, that you’re close. How you hold your breath and your hands tighten in their grip around the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows all your little cues and movements like they’re seared into his brain.

You buck and drag your cunt hard and fast up and down the length of his leg, whimpering nothings into Steve’s skin. “F-fuck, Steve. So, so…” You pant and hold your breath as you feel the tickle in your stomach build.

You hold yourself tightly around his leg as your orgasm takes hold of your body. Where your legs quiver and your arms tighten around his neck. You moan and whimper into his neck as he whispers encouragements into your skin.

“Atta girl.” He groans, kissing your cheek, “Fuck, baby, so good, f’me.”

You’re a panting mess when you go lax in his lap, heading lolling into his shoulder. Your chest heaves and your thighs tremble and ache against his leg. Your eyes flutter closed as his hands rub up and down the length of your back.

“You good?” He chuckles.

Smiling, “Yeah.” You breathe, hot and heavy.

You can feel his aching cock press into your knee where it pushes up against the restraints of his shorts. You shift your leg until he hisses. “Want me to take care of that?”

He groans, “Don’t tease me, sweetheart.”

You lift yourself from his shoulder and your smile is blinding. You bat your eyelashes, “I’ll go soft and slow, Stevie. Promise. Jus’ for you.”

Steve does take you out to dinner that Friday night. The works - he picks you up, opens all the doors for you, pulls out your chair. Chooses your meal and pays for you. A real gentleman.

The sex afterwards is nothing but slow and gentle. It’s absolutely mindblowing.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #steve harrington kinktober #stranger things smut

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judeswhore · 2 years

Note

Steve or reader just straight up telling the other one they’re horny 👀

inserting hot, wet, half naked steve harrington

you couldn't keep your eyes off him.

steve was sitting at the edge of his pool, legs in the water, body leant back on his hands, veins protruding slightly from his forearms. his body was still slicked with moisture from his last dip in the pool, droplets slipping down the centre of his chest, dripping from the ends of his hair to fall on to his shoulders. he wasn’t even looking at you, had his head tilted back, eyes closed as he faced the sky, throat bared, the reminders of last night marked into his tanned skin. you felt hot as you watched him, even the water not helping to cool the flush settling over your body.

you couldn’t stop your gaze from locking on his bare chest, on the hair that curled in the centre, the line that ran beneath his belly button, got lost under the band of his shorts. you wanted to trail your tongue over it, kiss your way down, sink your teeth into the skin of his hip, darken the bruises you’d already left. steve always squirmed when you dragged your finger tip down the ladder of hair, dipped your fingers just slightly beneath his trousers in a teasing manner until he was lifting his hips impatiently. it was the fastest way to get him riled up, teasing him with barely there touches, feather light brushed of your lips.

thoughts of last night clouded your head when your eyes travelled to his shorts, the material hiked up high on his thighs, legs spread slightly, enough that if you wanted you could slip right between them. you spotted the faint scratch marks, left behind from how you’d raked your nails over his skin in an effort to ground yourself as he fucked your throat. you swallowed thickly, felt heat pool in your lower stomach when steve flexed his thighs, shifted slightly to kick his feet slowly in the water. you felt mesmerised, locked on the soft and slightly hairy skin of those sinful thighs, thoughts of riding them running wild in your mind.

you could feel yourself getting wetter despite the water you were in, your own thighs pressing together to dull the ache between them because you so badly wanted to perch yourself in his lap. wanted to settle over one of his thighs, have him grip your hips, your throat as you rocked against it, used it until your were coming, shaking so much your body collapsed against his chest. it was ridiculous, it wasn’t like you’d never seen your boyfriend like this before but for some reason, watching him beneath the light of the sun, all soft and seemingly innocent, you were extra needy, body wound tight with tension. you wanted to tug him into the water, have him fuck you right here even if his neighbours could see.

“i can feel you staring at me, creep.” steve’s lips had tilted into a smirk, one eye cracking open slightly to regard you across the pool, water just around your shoulders before he let his head fall back again. he’d missed the look in your eyes, the dark lust that had clouded them, had mistaken your staring for your usual lovesick behaviour and was a little startled when you swam up to him. you slid between his thighs, hands gliding along them, skipping all forms of subtlety as your fingertips reached beneath the bunched up blue material. “what d’you want?” he was still teasing, smirk still evident, head finally dipping down, eyes opening to meet yours.

you blinked up at him, expression one of faux innocence, moved one hand so you could brush your thumb over the head of his cock through the thin shorts and steve tensed. his thighs pressed close to your sides, lips parting as he let out a puff of air. you leant in, pressed your lips to the soft skin of his stomach, dipped lower to nudge your nose into the little ladder of hair that was half to blame for your current state.

“steve,” your voice was sickly sweet, edged with that tone steve knew all too well, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head. you palmed him through his shorts, rubbed your thighs together and tried not to think about the dull throbbing of you clit. “m’horny.” your tongue darted out, caught a droplet of water that was running down his chest, fingers squeezing lightly around the hot length of his cock. you felt him twitch, felt his stomach clench and grinned up at him, fluttered your lashes. “stevie?”

“yeah?” it was a little rough, a little breathless, wet hair falling on to his forehead, eyes growing darker the more you kissed him, the more you felt him up. he thought about the heat of your lips on his skin, let himself think about those same lips wrapped around his cock and gave a soft whimper, fingers digging into the floor behind him.

“want you to fuck me, please.” and god with your fingers wrapped around him, lips to his skin, eyes so soft and and innocent, how could he say no?

#sinclaiirs baby blurbs #baby blurb #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #leigh’s baby blurbs

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lottiecrabie · 8 months

Text

pray for my soul. part four – matty healy

sneaking around with matty healy might forsake you, but at least it’s fun.

warnings: 18+, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, joint fingering, masturbation, dry humping, mirror sex, thigh riding, restraints, roleplay, religious imagery, pfms typical desecration

part four of five

20,067 words

Matty’s grip on your thighs is brutal. He has to: your legs trash around the sheets wildly, bucking into his mouth. His tongue meets your clit with deadly accuracy. He rubs at it with the back of his tongue, a new trick that has you biting your lip until your chin is numb, tugging at the roots of his hair.

His nails dig into your flesh, crescent moon scars to cherish when he’s gone. There’s faded purple bruises all over your body, hidden under your clothes. Thank God for cardigans, for turtlenecks, for swallowing sweaters; all the modest clothes your mother buys in pretty shades of pastels are perfect smoke shows for the hickeys Matty litters on you religiously.

You love to trace the imprints of him. On your hips, your waist, your legs. Pretty colors on the underside of your breasts, still burning with soothing after-kisses. In front of the mirror, you trail your fingertips over the temporary tattoos, feeling like his name is permanently engraved on you.

That’s what he’s doing now, spelling M A T T Y on your bundle of nerves as his fingers fuck into you. You put the letters together with a moan, some vertiginous thrill at both the feel and the idea. He’s marking you. He’s ruining you. You’re letting him.

“Matty, please,” you whimper, raking through his sweaty curls. He hums, delicious resonance on your clit. Euphoria shoots up your spine; you clench around his fingers, drenching them in your slick. “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so—” Your head rolls. A shattering orgasm threatens the edges of you— you know that now, know the telltale feel of it by heart.

His mouth leaves your cunt. You whine, frowning at the sudden loss of feeling, bucking into his fingers with renewed fervor to make up for it. “Look at me,” Matty orders. “I want to see you when you fall apart.”

It’s an herculean effort just to open your eyes, but when you finally do, Matty dives back between your legs restlessly, rubbing at you with a frenzied rhythm. You struggle to keep your gaze locked with his, trying to muffle the desperate cries you want to release.

You’re close again— right there, really. You don’t warn him. He knows the signs anyway, knows them probably better than yourself. His eyes darken at the sight of you, flushed and panting, shirt pulled off, bra cups lowered just enough to reveal your pebbled breasts, skirt bunched uselessly around your waist; a show you put on nearly every night. Just for him.

His hips grind into the bed, unconsciously humping the covers, surely overwhelmed with the sight and the taste and the smell. You feel guilty. For all the time Matty has spent on his knees in the past weeks, you haven’t returned the favor. You think you should probably— Matty curls his fingers just so, and now you’re not thinking of anything at all, breaking apart on his tongue.

He comes breathless out of your legs, grinning lazily like he’s just so proud of you for doing the easiest task of climaxing. He climbs up your body as you pant, kissing your stomach, your neck, your lips.

His tongue slips into your mouth, holding the side of your face like you could shatter between his fingertips. He tastes like you. You don’t hate it. Matty is still hard between your thighs, pressing into you as he tilts his head, finding a better angle to steal the breath right from your lips.

You break away, eyes still firmly closed, mind spinning languidly. “You can—” You open your eyes, searching his frowning stare. Eyebrows furrowed, Matty almost seems to fear your next words. “You can… you know.”

Worry spills away from his face, replaced by amusement. He smiles teasingly at you. “What?”

You huff, blushing. “You know.” Your hands dig into his shirt, embarrassment spreading through you, shaking you out of the happy blur post-orgasms bring you. “Touch yourself,” you finally complete, looking away, because Matty is clearly unwilling to help, preferring watching you squirm instead.

“Yeah?” He laughs, nosing your cheek.

“Yeah,” you breathe, suddenly hyperaware of him, of how hard he is between your legs. You already feel ready for another go. “I wanna see you,” you whisper, choked.

Matty’s head rises at that. Gone is any trace of teasing. He’s staring at you like he could eat through your flesh, like he could dig under your bones. Like he wants you— right now and then. Your head spins. You almost consider saying yes.

He kneels above you, hovering, each knee siding your waist. Your hands find them shyly. He peers down at you with a smirk; his turn to give you a show. Unbuttoning his jeans, Matty lowers his boxers, revealing his hard, leaking cock.

Fire burns down your veins. You swallow thickly, eyeing his red tip, the vein running down his underside. It’s different than seeing it between the latticed holes of the confessional— realer.

Matty wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly, thumb wiping at his tip. He spreads the precum down his length. His lips part at the first touch, a smothered groan gracing his lips. He’s beautiful.

Your fingers dance on his knees, tingling with envy. You want to reach out, to touch him, to feel him. More than that, though, you’re scared. Of doing it wrong, of being bad, of new things you don’t know.

Matty doesn’t seem to mind, however. His strokes quicken, already done teasing himself, instead chasing after his earth-shattering end. Your eyes flicker between his cock and his face, never knowing which spectacle is better to look at, always distracted by a twisting motion or a low groan scrunching his face. You suddenly understand him, understand his unsteady and evermoving gaze when you’re moaning under him. How you want to splinter apart, see everything.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks, shortwinded.

You nod, too fascinated to blush and shy at your own eagerness. “Yes. Yes.”

His hips fuck into his own fist, tip glistening with precum. He passes a hand through his curls, eyes rolling into his head. You smile cruelly, pinching his knees. “Look at me,” you repeat back to him, devious.

Matty’s eyes snap open, his face falling forward to stare at you. His cheeks redden. You smile at that, power and thrill swirling inside your soupy brain.

His strokes grow desperate and irregular; he must be close. Every time his thumb swipes at his tip, Matty jerks, biting on his lip, trying to swallow a cry. Your head cocks, grinning at him. “It’s not so easy keeping quiet, huh?” You tease. Finally he knows how it feels to bite back uncontrollable sounds, knows how it really is when there’s no grinding cunt muffling all the pretty noises he usually unashamedly lets out.

A breathy laugh leaves his swollen lips. “Shut up.” His arm flexes, eyes scrunching close and then opening as he remembers your demand. “Shit,” he cries, shaking his head. “I’m gonna—”

He makes a move to move off you, but you still him by his knees, pushing down the bunched fabric of your skirt to make room. You stare at him unflinchingly, a smile digging into your cheek. His eyebrows rise in surprise, lust glazing over his eyes, but then his head falls forward, face wrinkling as he comes with a fucked-out groan. Ropes of cum spill on your stomach, painting your belly white.

Matty catches his breath above you, panting as he stares at the sinful sight of you. You peer down at yourself too, fascinated. With a curious finger, you wipe at his cum, sucking it into your mouth. Vaguely salty. Not terrible.

“Fuck,” Matty moans. Your eyes snap to his to find him already watching you. You grin around your finger.

Devilishly, you catch another string of cum, reaching up to his mouth with a smirk. “Open up,” you tease.

Matty jumps, slapping your hand away with a disgusted sound. “Fucking gross.”

You giggle, wiping your dirty finger on your stomach. Matty glares at you, clearly unimpressed by your pestering. He tucks himself back in his jeans, falling beside you on the bed, sweaty head on your pillows. He kisses the top of your hair, sighing satisfiedly.

Your eyes flick to the clock. You groan, digging your face into his shoulder. “It’s dinner soon,” you lament. Not only do you have to go downstairs and sit around a table with your parents like you’re not still tingling with the memory of Matty’s hands on you, but your mother has convinced herself a diet is needed and now you can’t eat anything but overcooked vegetables and soup.

“Well, I’ve already eaten.” You slap his stomach, rolling your eyes. He laughs. “Come on. It was right there.”

“You don’t have to take every bait.”

He grins down at you. “How else am I supposed to make you blush?”

“Try a compliment, maybe.”

A beat passes. Matty stares at you still, smiling and lighthearted, just as happy dazed by his own orgasm. Your heart slams against your chest with each passing second, stomach fluttering uselessly. “You’re very pretty,” he says, low and confessionally, unrushed. Of course, you feel a flush spread on your face. You look away embarrassed. “Well, would you look at that. It does work, too.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, as though the words aren’t still coiling around the wrinkles of your brain. Matty laughs again, something easy.

You sit up, staring down at the mess of your body. “I have to get cleaned up.”

Matty nods, getting off the bed, bending down to put his sneakers back on. It’s still light outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you say, pretending your heart doesn’t pinch watching him go. “See you soon.”

—

Sunday morning is a daze. You’re dozing off in church, limbs sore from Matty going down on you in the cramped spot of his passenger seat before driving you home after school. Your legs protest everytime you kneel, muttering back the prayers with a smothered gasp of pain.

You pick your nails trying to not think of it. It feels almost too perfectly planned: Matty untethering all your connections to faith, dirtying them. A soiled confessional, a sullied bible, and now you sit in church and pinch at your thumb to stop imagining his fingers curling into you.

It’s not very successful. Every passing thought has you throwing a guilty glance towards Matty’s unruly curls. He’s sitting diagonally from you, further up. How ironic that he seems to sail through church as you tangle yourself in the shadows. That you must look forward to find him in his pew, seemingly twiddling his thumbs as the sermon progresses on.

You stand from your seat for the communion, following dutifully behind your parents. Matty doesn’t move. He stares straight ahead; so do you. Your heart races inexplicably in your chest as you walk the aisle, inching closer and closer to him; some vague buzzing thrill taught to react to his mere proximity. Soon, you’ll brush past him. Your cheeks grow hot. It’s silly— young and naive and innocent.

He’s been between your thighs. He’s seen you naked. He’s licked your wetness off his lips. Yet you’re still flushing at the idea of a graze.

He’s under your skin.

You count the seconds between each step. You pinch at your thumb, trying to kill the growing excitement— or at least smother it.

You bite your lip as you finally get to his pew. His hand rests on the armrest, bored. Your thigh could graze it if you swerved— it happens all the time. It’s not suspicious. People falter in their steps every day, get caught in their feet and bend into unsuspecting bodies.

Your stare faces straight on, digging a hole in your father’s head. You won’t get distracted. Won’t be weak. Won’t indulge in your sinful thoughts where everyone can see.

It’s almost predictable. Matty reaches a hand out and tugs on your pleated skirt. You jump, spinning to him, the back of your thighs tingling from a graze of his knuckles. He stares straight on, head resting on his hand, grinning to himself. A giddy smile that cuts his lips up, impossible to wipe away. An innocent act you see right through.

Your heart races twice as hard, but you can’t tell if it’s from the public display anyone could have caught or from the mere sight of him. You’re twice as flushed when you turn back to the line, squeezing your thumb so hard it numbs. You feel slack on your bones, butter melting from the heat of him. You can’t stop thinking about him.

You finally reach the priest. Dazed, you open your mouth wide. He places the body of Christ on your tongue carefully. You bite it.

—

The shower burns. It’s a boiling degree, like the heat could make you clean. You scrub at your skin and it seems to only make your mind dirtier; a perfect equilibrium of filth must always be balanced in your flimsy body. The soap lathers over the purples and now you’re thinking of Matty’s lips stretched into a grin, a serpent smirk, bending down to kiss you.

Whispering some terribly reprehensible things that make you dizzy, make you grip onto his shoulders just to ground yourself to something tangible. Grazing down your chest, kissing each rib to watch your breathing speed up. Biting your hip for the surprised jump, a giddy giggle falling out of your mouth next. Licking a flat tongue up your folds to hear the laugh morph into a moan.

The images are too vivid. You’re breathless, nipples pebbled under your soaping hand, growing embarrassingly wet between your thighs. Your body holds a memory of him even your mind can’t keep up with. His name crosses your brain and suddenly your cunt throbs, ready to welcome him in, practically begging for it.

Your hips shift uncomfortably, feeling that typical heat that spreads through you whenever Matty throws you a dark look, promise catching in the sharpness of his smile. It’s the wrong thing to think about; now your belly flexes, everything in you pulled tight in preparation. Your body holds its breath.

You groan, frustrated. You lower the temperature of the water, incapable of keeping up with the boiling fire this bathroom has caught on, lapping up the shower curtains. It’s at least a bit soothing on your hot skin.

Though there’s still the problem between your thighs, of course. It doesn’t seem to satiate with the minute change, barely notices it. You sigh, grabbing the showerhead, hoping to wash away the wetness dripping down your thighs, the remaining filth on you.

You angle the showerhead and— Oh.

You jump, startled by the sudden feeling, heart racing. Wide eyes stare at the white tiles, blinking. You flick a look to the incriminating showerhead. You bite your lip, apprehensive as you slowly place it back between your legs.

“Shit,” you cry, biting your lip to hold back the following moans threatening to come out. A hand on the wall holds you upright. You wrinkle your face, washed with burning ecstasy. Fucking shit.

It hits your clit just right, incessant pressure practically attacking it. You roll your eyes, head falling backwards, pleasure building inside of you. Your legs spread further apart, upping the water pressure, biting back a scream. You follow the motions Matty usually licks on your bud; circles, up-and-downs, side-to-sides, shaking at the consequential new feelings

You might very well tear your lips apart trying to keep quiet. Your forehead falls on the tiles, afraid of crumbling to the ground. Euphoria waves through your limbs, warning bells ringing in your mind. You slap a hand on your mouth in preparation, keeping the showerhead still as—

You come apart with a muffled scream. The shower nulls into inexistence, water barely an existing concept as pleasure washes you. His name tingles your tongue. You swallow it.

You drop the showerhead as soon as your climax ends, overwhelmed and sensitive. You breathe harshly, staring as the water runs down the bath. You laugh to yourself, raking a hand through your wet hair.

It’s the first time you’ve come without him. First time you’ve— a moment in the confessional passes through your mind, taunting you to use the word— masturbated since the last time, the one that brought you sticky deep into this mess.

You came into the shower to wash yourself and you’ve managed to make it dirty. Still, as you step out, the bathroom drenched in heated smoke, you feel strangely clean. You wrap a towel around your flushed body, a slack, relaxed smile on your lips.

—

The sheets are sweaty and sticky on your skin. You push them off, then feel oddly exposed, throwing them over your body again. You huff, twisting, laying on your back as you throw a glance at the clock. He’s not coming.

It’s fine. Something must have come up. Perhaps he remembered a very important test for tomorrow and threw himself nose first in his studies. Perhaps his mother started noticing his cracked bedroom window and sealed it shut, preventing him from sneaking out to crash in her bed nearly every night. Perhaps he’s bleeding out in the streets somewhere.

Whatever the reason, it’s not like you have to see him anyway. You can sleep without his cheeky goodnight, your eyelids droopy and your thighs sticky as he gets dressed in a hurry.

It’s just— Well, there was a bit of teasing today; grand, dirty promises whispered in the crook of your ear; ghosting touch as he passed you; heavy looks that made your hands shake as you solved an equation on the blackboard; kisses that never went to more. Now you’re keyed up, jittery and awake, and he’s not coming.

You sigh again, passing two hands though your hair, trying to ignore the ache throbbing between your thighs. You purse your lips. The cross stares at you, chastising the inkling thought tugging at your mind.

You shut your eyes and let a hand travel down your stomach. You near the hem of your underwear, hinting at the possibility. Your thighs clench in anticipation. You frown, trying to remember all the reasons you shouldn’t as your fingertips dig under the fabric and cup yourself. You’re already wet.

It’s not like it would be the first time. What is one more in the grand scheme of things. It’s surely not gonna be that that forsakes you, of all the things. You dip one finger in, hitting your clit. You jolt and bite your lip, pleasure striking through you.

You start with slow circles. Relief immediately seeps down your stomach. You open your thighs further, giving you space as you attempt to hit your clit like he does. Your finger lacks the roughness of a callus. You make a low noise of frustration.

That damn callus and its filthy trail on your skin. On your collarbone as he nears your cross, rubbing the cool metal like he had to remind himself of your faith while kissing you. On your breast as he grabs, circling a nipple until you’re putty in his arms. On your stomach as he takes his sweet time traveling it down just to tease you. On your thighs as he grips them and keeps them apart for him. On your neck as he presses until you’re rolling your eyes and gasping. On your clit finally —finally— as he draws the letters of his name on it.

You make a sound of pleasure. You copy him, rubbing M A T T Y on your bundle of nerves as if he was there in the room, as if it was his hand in your underwear and not your own. Thrill hits you. You rub harder, trying to find half the ecstasy he naturally coaxes out of you with knowing eyes and a sweet, devil tongue. You can’t seem to.

Last time you touched yourself— properly touched yourself— you didn’t know what pleasure could be. Now, with the vivid memory of Matty’s hands and tongue in your mind, everything feels a little shortcoming. You try to speed up, but you can’t match the pace he does.

Impatiently, you push the covers off your chest, grabbing your tits and palming them like him. Low heat boils under your skin and you shift your hips, glad to see that something is finally working.

Matty in your bed. Matty fingering you. Matty licking his digits clean. Matty in the confessional with that low, implacable voice. Matty asking you to pray for him. Kneeling in front of him, hands clenched together. Matty tugging at his jeans’ button. Matty’s hand on your chin as he pushes it open for him. Matty—

“Hey, sorry I’m late I was—” You open your eyes in a panic, pulling your hand out of your underwear like you’ve been burned. Your heart races as you turn to the intrusion with a panicked look.

Matty is at your window, staring at you with two arched eyebrows. A slight, devilish smirk rises on his lips. He knows. Cheeky, he takes a step towards the bed, voice dancing as he asks, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers are wet by your thigh, laying on the white sheet under the covers. You bite your lip. “Nothing.” He gives you an unimpressed look.

“Show me your hand.”

“No.”

His smile breaks his face. “Why’s that?” You scrunch your nose, shaking your head. He snickers at you, taking another step until he’s reached the bed. “D’you wanna know what I think?” Your breath hitches. He has that low, teasing voice that turns you on. “I think you were— what did we call it again? Being ‘impure with yourself’? Is that it, angel?”

You lick your teeth, your cheeks heating up. “Maybe.”

He clicks his tongue. “Couldn’t wait for me to get home, huh? Had to relieve that little ache inside of you right now? Burning and dripping for me all alone in bed? Fucking begging for it but there’s no one to help?”

You pout at him. “Yes. You were late.”

“I’m sorry, love. Family dinner got forcefully extended. Couldn’t wrangle out of it if I tried.”

Matty turns around and walks away from the bed. You frown, resting on your elbows as you watch him go. He sits on your desk chair, facing you. He looks like he wants to eat you up. His chin nudges towards you. “Go on, then. Give me a show.”

You flush, falling back on your pillows. You shake your head. “I can’t. ‘S not the same without you.”

“What? You can’t touch yourself like I can? Can’t make you come like me?” You shake your head again, more fervent, more pleading. Matty coos, “Oh, poor little baby. If I’d known.”

He stands up and walks back to the edge of the bed. You’re surprised as he grabs your hand and tugs you out of it, making a noise of confusion. Still, you follow when he directs you to the full-length mirror. His front presses against your back, his breath heavy on your neck. You shiver.

“I can’t let my perfect girl stranded like this again,” Matty whispers, dragging his knuckles down your arms. He reaches your wrist, swallowing your hand with his own. “C’mon, let me show you how.” He takes your hand to his mouth, sucking on your wet finger. Your breath hitches. He smirks around your digit.

He wants to— You meet eyes with him through your reflection. He releases your finger with a pop, licking its length for good measure. It’s dirty, and you feel the hot resonance low in your belly. God, you want him.

You grab his wrist before he can move, puppeteering his hand down your stomach— that damn callus— and in your underwear. He indulgently lets you. “Can’t you just do it?” You whine.

“What if I’m late again? What if I can’t come that day?” He nips at your cheek, husky and tempting as he whispers in your ear, “What if I want you to give me a show? What’ll you do then?”

You press his index finger between your folds. You shift your hips slightly, rubbing yourself on his offered digit. Your head drops on his shoulder, moaning. Matty groans behind you. “I just want you,” you plead. “Touch me, please.”

You can feel him pant against your back, his chest upping in quick, deep successions. His fingers dig into your hip, possessive and tempted, and then he pulls the hand from your underwear. You make a pained sound, missing him.

“Just be patient,” he says, working you down while he tugs your panties from your legs.

Your knees hit the fluffy pink carpet. He spreads your thighs open, giving the two of you a clear view of your cunt dripping for him. You blush, shy and embarrassed, turning to hide into his shoulder.

Matty tuts. “Look at yourself, love,” he demands, pushing your head with a finger until you’re facing your reflection again. Your nipples are hard through your flimsy, silk shirt. Your hair is tangled and sweaty. Your face is pulled tight in pleasure. Your pussy is wet, clit swollen and begging. You look fucked out and he hasn’t even done anything yet. You moan. It’s not the worst sight.

“Show me what you were doing.”

You don’t have the instinct to hesitate, already shoving your hand between your thighs. You bite back a moan as your finger hits your clit. Your head falls on his shoulder. You make artless circles, slow and lazy.

“Good,” Matty praises in your ear, though he adjusts two fingers over your bud, pressing them in. The sensation is immediate, euphoria blooming under your skin. You wonder if it really has anything with technique or if your body just recognizes that it’s him. “That’s it, darling.”

He creates a rhythm, circling and swiping incessantly, getting your wrist used to the shapes. You follow dutifully, mewling for him, your cunt throbbing around nothing. You miss his long, spindly fingers, miss the way they curl into you.

“Matty,” you whine and hope it’s enough. For good measure, you lock eyes with him in the mirror, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Touch me.”

He laughs in your hair, shaking his head. “You’re so greedy.” It should feel wrong, should feel shameful, but you giggle happily, feeling quite satisfied as he tugs your camisole up your chest. Your breasts are on display for him and he pinches one of your hard nipples. “Is that better?”

“No,” you say, brain so hazy you forget good girls should never speak their mind— or even open their mouths for that matter. “I want your fingers inside of me.”

Matty smirks at you, raising his fingers from your peaked breasts and slipping them in your panting mouth. His ring tastes like iron on your tongue, like blood. It should feel foretelling, prophetic, but you just moan around them. He chuckles as he takes them out. Wet with drool, he rubs on your nipples again. “How about that?”

You pout at him. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

“You don’t need me,” he says, and his own hand draws yours lower, hinting at your entrance. You hold your breath, fluttering with need. “Female independence and all,” he teases.

You shake your head vigorously. “I don’t want independence. I want you.”

He snorts. “What? You want to be my little housewife?” This time, you nod, though just as fervently. He coos, rubbing your knuckles. “Want to lay in bed all day and wait for me to come home to eat you out? Bake me a pie so I’ll keep you happy and cockdrunk all year?”

“I’m more inclined to you fingering me at the moment.”

“Yeah?” His hand presses into yours and two of your fingers slide in. You gasp, straightening your back, getting used to the stretch. Only when you’re inside to your last knuckles that he whispers, “Sorry, love. I’m a feminist.”

You throb around yourself. It’s an easy fit after having known his fingers. You don’t reach far, but it’s something. With delicate care, Matty makes you slide out, and you shudder against him.

“Just like that,” he coos. “Slow at first.” You nod, thrusting in and out yourself. “Curl your fingers,” he demands, and you obey, biting your lip at the resulting feeling. “Perfect.”

He sets the pace with a sure, decisive hand. He picks up speed slowly, ignoring your thrilled wish to go faster, makes you thrust as deep as you can go, rubs your clit with the heel of your hand. You’re drenched to your knuckles, fucking yourself until euphoria spins your mind.

“Look,” Matty demands, and you open your eyes. You stare at the filthy image of your cunt swallowing your fingers, over and over. You moan just like he knew you would. “So pretty. Aren’t you?”

“Y—Yeah.”

“What are you thinking of? When you touch yourself, what do you think of?”

“You,” you answer truthfully, still entranced by the show.

He smirks. “I know.” Does he have to be so cocky? “But what?”

“It depends.” He speeds up and your thighs shake with pleasure. Your wrist is growing sore, but you follow like a soldier marching to war. Anything for sweet release.

“Right now. Right before I arrived. What were you thinking of?”

You’re drowning in pleasure, your neck slack on his shoulder. He pinches your nipple meanly, slowing your fingers, and you understand. You jolt awake, finding his dark, unflinching eyes in the mirror. Your reflection stares back, flushed and sweaty and gone, a mess just for him.

“I thought of you in the confessional. I thought of you making me pray, and me getting on my knees for you. You nudging my chin down, sweet in the gesture but rough on the fingertips, making my mouth wide open for you to—” Brain catches up to your tongue. You stop, suddenly embarrassed.

Matty pants behind you. “What?” There’s no hint of teasing anymore, just raw need. You clench around your fingers at the sight, desire ravaging your stomach.

Your lungs are on fire. He’s too close, and too there, and you can’t say. Good girls don’t speak. Good girls don’t finger themselves. Good girls don’t let dirty boys show them how. Good girls certainly don’t— Your cheeks heat.

“What?” Matty repeats, presses. “Tell me, please.” As though to bargain, two of his own fingers slide into you. You gasp at the stretch, him there while you— Your room spins and spins around you. Your eyes focus on the spectacle, seeing your four fingers working together.

You clench and clench around them, not used to the tight fit but so turned on and wet you barely register it. “Is this what you wanted?” Matty asks in your neck, pumping the four of your fingers in and out of you. You bite your lip so hard you might make it bleed trying to stop yourself from screeching.

“Yes,” you admit, scrunching your face

“Then give me what I want.”

“I thought of sucking your cock,” you hurry out. Your brain is so liquidy with pleasure you can’t muster any shame anymore. “On my knees for you, and you pushing into my mouth, and gripping my hair, and your moans, and— Oh, fuck—” He curls your fingers in, hitting the spot you’ve been missing perfectly. The heel of your hand still rests on your clit and rubs sinfully. Your head falls on the mirror as you barely hold back cries.

He rolls his thumb on your nipple. You’re overwhelmed with feeling, euphoria most of all, pleasure dancing and dancing around you. Matty fucks quick and hard— a reward. For speaking. You’ve never had that before. Something builds inside of you. You flutter around the joint digits, panting against the mirror, fogging up the glass.

“Are you gonna come for me?” He breathes. You nod vaguely, too busy on the tension thinning inside of you. “Come on our fingers. Make a fucking mess.”

“I—“ You wrinkle your eyebrows. Your skin buzzes and buzzes. “Matty—” The thread snaps. You straighten with a moan, shoving your free hand on your mouth to hold it in as ecstasy razes through your body. His arms tighten around you. He’s real and comforting as you crash from your high. “God,” is all you manage to say after it, a small giggle slipping from you.

Matty kisses your cheek, then your neck, tickling. You wrinkle your nose, laughing some more. “Perfect girl. Soon you won’t even need me.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not true.”

“This’ll be weird,” he warns, then slides the four fingers out of you. You groan, a little uncomfortable. You feel empty without the mess, clenching around nothing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. He pulls the camisole back over your breasts, though it does nothing to straighten out the fucked out look your reflection offers back. How strange to see what he sees.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispers. You stand up on shaky legs. On the fuzzy carpet, a wet patch lays.

—

You stare at Matty from opposite sides of the cafeteria. His friends talk loudly around him, throwing pieces of food at each other with rumbling laughs. He doesn’t partake, locking eyes with you, sucking on the spoon of his pudding indecently. He sticks his tongue out, licking it. You can’t stop following his mouth with a heavy gaze. His eyes are teasing. He knows the effect it plants inside of you.

You throw one leg over the other, clenching your thighs to silence the feeling. Your friends talk about math class and the way Julia’s red lipstick makes her look like a whore, but it is null to your ears. Matty kisses his spoon. You stand up in a rush. “Sorry, I— I just remembered homework. I have to go.”

“Oh,” Fanny says. “Okay.” You’re practically running out of the cafeteria before she finishes her single-worded sentence. You give a look back at Matty. He’s throwing his spoon on his tray, standing up. You grin, pushing the doors, thrill racing inside of you. You know he’s following.

—

Some rock music you don’t know plays from Matty’s radio. You straddle him in the back of his van, a flowery sheet thrown over the seat. There’s carpet on the floor, and the smell of weed stuck in it. Hands buried in his hair, burning lips meeting his with frenzied need, you’re afraid of melting on him. It wouldn’t be your fault: his tongue is too skilled; his hands are too warm, tucked under your school uniform, teasing at the band of your bra; his hard cock is pressed too deliciously between your thighs. It’s a miracle you’re not burning already, candle wax dripping on his poor open hands.

“Just a little bit more,” you pant against his mouth. “Then I really have to get to youth group.”

Matty nods eagerly. Anything to crash back against your mouth, find your bubblegum lip balm again. “Of course,” he says, already leaning in.

Your youth group is presently gathered at the Fischer’s house, speaking bible verses and missionary statements, lettered bracelets around their wrist. They’re licking complimentary chocolate off their lips as you bite Matty’s, tugging it before releasing it with a smirk. The groan he lets out resonates between your thighs. You grip his hair tighter, shifting your hips on him, desperately trying to get as close to him as possible, as though you could step into his skin.

You should pull away. Should brush through your now messy hair. Should unwrinkle the shirt he’s tugged on and sneaked under. Should drive to youth group. Should listen intently, bible heavy in your hands. Should recite holy words. Should repent, or at least try to. should should should should should. It’s all that seems to be spinning in your mind these days, yet you never listen.

Instead, you let Matty push your bra cup off one of your breasts, grabbing a handful of it. You moan in his mouth as he twists the nipple. He grins against your lips, does it again. You buck on him eagerly, and, oh, isn’t that interesting? You do it again, and again, surprised at how it hits your bundle of nerves, how it reverberates through your body. You make artless rolls, sloppy and slow, just to chase that euphoric zap. You let another whine out.

You wait for the guilt to eat your stomach, climb up to your heart, devour through the flesh. Wait for it to be strong enough to shake you out of this haze. But if pleasure feels like this —flames licking your limbs, insides droopy around the wick— then it’s not a surprise catholic guilt isn’t enough to keep you on the holy path.

All it took was some filthy whisper in your ear while you organized your backpack, tugging at your ponytail with two raised eyebrows and a grin, and you were walking five steps behind him, making sure no one wandered around the parking lot when you stepped into his beat-up car, following him in all the deliciously sinful places he brought you to head first, mind second. I have youth group, you warned, as though that meant something. He smirked. I’ll give you a ride.

One of Matty’s hands drops to your hip. He clutches the material of your skirt, as though that would be enough to rip it from your body, make it unreal. The bass thumps through the van, shaking the floor. It echoes in you, travels to your head. You grind your hips to the rhythm.

And it is a delicious rhythm. Euphoria waves and waves inside of you, a dance to the drowning song. You whine in Matty’s mouth. You practically drip on him, sticky wet to your core.

“What’s the song?” You breathe against him, high-pitched and shortwinded.

Matty’s head drops to the wall of the van, staring up at you through his spiderleg eyelashes. He rubs at your nipple, makes your face scrunch and break with a silent plea. Distracted that he is, he manages to answer, “Palisade by Mineral.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah?” His fingers dig in your hip, making you rock a little quicker on him. Still, he looks a little delighted at your answer. Childishly glad.

You nod. “It reminds me of my favorite band.”

A crooked smile hints on his lips. “What is it?”

“Flyleaf.”

He cocks his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “Don’t know them.” Matty seems genuinely confused at that, as though his brain was a dictionary of band names, and the lack of yours didn’t compute.

You twitch your lips. “It’s a Christian band.” It feels wrong to even say the word when you’re rubbing yourself on Matty, flesh pleasures rippling under your skin. His hand is still on your breast, pawing lazily at it under your shirt, for Christ’s sake.

Matty has a breathy laugh, half-choked by the low sounds he makes. “Don’t mock,” you whine, though humor still lingers in the words. “They do rock.” Again, he laughs. There’s something beautiful about it, about the softness of his eyes and the openness of his mouth, vulnerable, almost throat-bared. You want to grab his cheeks, hold him in place like he never is and really, really look at him.

His laugh is contagious. You giggle, defending, “I’m serious. My parents don’t even want me listening to them.” Teasingly, you add, “Say it’s gateway music to harder things, like regular rock’n’roll.”

“Your parents are right. They’re all devil worshippers and bisexuals.” You snort, knocking your forehead with his.

Matty’s fingers fall from your shirt. He grips your hips with both hands, taking control of the awkward movements you roll on him. Quick, precise things, pressing into him. Everything snaps into place. Heat blooms under your skin. Your head falls back, a groan spilling from you.

“Matty,” you moan.

He smiles at that, kissing your jaw, then leaning back on the wall of the van to look at you. “How do you know Flyleaf then?”

You frown a little, trying to make sense of your thoughts while this pleasure swims through you. “My friend Jade has the CDs. When I go to her house, I can listen to them.”

He licks his teeth. Amused, and perhaps a little condescending, he asks, “Do you jam out, then?”

“Yes,” you answer primly.

His hands leave your hips, spilling down your thighs. Long fingers swallowing them up, rubbing at the fading hickeys as if to bring them back to life. Without Matty’s assistance, you rock on him. You emulate him as best as you can, circling and bucking. He groans under you and victory spins in your mind, a little inkling of pride beside the drowning ecstasy.

The stitching of your underwear rubs at your clit in the most perfect way and you bite your tongue; a force of habit as the threat of your parents are miles away. He’s rock hard between your thighs. It always tugs at your mind, how real it feels. He presses into you, and you wonder how it would be like if— how it would feel when—

Matty is not done teasing you. His hands slip under your skirt, grabbing your ass and speeding up your movements. You moan, digging your nails in his shoulders. Cheeky, he trails, “Do you dance around in your little pajamas? Scream-sing? Make the floors shake from how much you’re jumping? Do you have choreographies?”

“Something like that.”

He huffs, a little grin teasing his lips. “I’d like to see that.” There he goes again, vulnerable and open and pretty. You have the urge to bite him to the core.

You laugh. You look down at the sticky, bucking mess where you meet. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Matty says. You twist your hips on him and he stutters, clenching your ass, groaning. “Or— Or, you know what, maybe right after.”

A giggle blooms out of you. You bend down to kiss the middle of his throat, right over his Adam’s apple; because it’s there, because he offers it so freely. Something in you aches to bite him, swallow him up. “Get me a Flyleaf CD. Maybe then.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You roll your eyes.

Your thighs tremble from the effort, but you continue with just as much fervor, as much eagerness. You’re undeterred, single-minded— anything for the low thrumming building inside of you. A familiar feeling tingles in your toes, slowly licking up. You roll harder, pleading, hopeful.

Your fingers move from Matty’s shoulders to his neck, hungry to get some skin. You dig into them, half-scratching. His head rolls on the wall. His face scrunches with a moan, pouty lips parted for you.

A new song drums from the shitty car radio. It slashes through the blur of pleasure, takes hold of your liquefied brain. “What’s this one?” It comes out breathless.

Matty opens his eyes, as though he needed all his senses to make sense of the song. “When You Sleep, my bloody valentine.”

“I like it even better.”

He smiles, warm and honey. “It’s one of my favorites, too.” You do a particularly artful buck and he cries, his head falling on your shoulder. “Fuck.”

Euphoria buzzes up your limbs in warning. “I really have to get to youth group,” you pant. Though you do not slow, and even less stop, instead a renewed fervor to your moves.

Matty tilts his head, kisses your neck. “Just a little bit more.”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing, “just a bit.” Just a little bit, just a tiny, small, inconsequential bit, just more. There’s no wrong in it. His hand flies back to your breast, rubbing the nipple. You bite your lip, screaming, “Shit, Matty.” Your back shivers.

You’re desperate, rocking on him with abandon. You don’t care for technique, just sheer speed, following the throbbing, screaming need inside of you that is just there.

“I think I’m gonna—” You shake your head, pleasure too grand to make sense of the next words.

Matty straightens from your neck, staring directly at you, panting. “I know. Me, too.” He pinches your nipple. You cry. Your toes curl. Pleasure thrums louder, following the dizzying music of the car. “Come for me,” Matty pleads. “I want to see you. Please, angel, just—”

Your entire body shakes as you crash down from your high. You scream his name, a high-pitched cry, tongue loose in your mouth. Euphoria sings through you. All your limbs loosen and a slack, happy smile falls on your mouth.

Your hips halt, exhausted from the effort, but Matty grips them and makes a few more sloppy rolls before whining, “Ah, fuck.” He comes with a shiver, and your name hot in his mouth.

You stay there, unmoving, catching your breaths in the crooks of each other. He’s warm under you, around you. A known feeling, breathing.

You giggle, dazed-happy. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Dry humping?”

“Yeah. Just without touching like that. It’s kinda—” You stop, embarrassed, suddenly not wanting to say.

“What?” Matty trails, amused and curious.

“Kinda like sex,” you whisper, flushed. The position, the feeling, the closeness. It really is almost sex. Though, you remind yourself, not sex at all. Of course. Matty doesn’t have time to answer that you add, “Does it feel good for you too?”

He snorts. “Yes.”

You chew your lip. Smaller, lower, you wonder, “Am I good at it?”

Matty straightens, meeting your eyes. “I have come an embarrassing amount of times in my pants for you to not be.”

You smile, proud. Glad. You lean in to kiss his nose. “Drive me to youth group?”

He pats your hip. “Alright.”

You attempt to straighten your clothes in the front seat, trying to iron out the wrinkles of your shirt with the palm of your hands. It’s a wasted effort, but you manage to look somewhat presentable by the time you’re a few houses from the Fischer’s.

“Thanks for the ride,” you tell Matty, cheeky, and he snickers. You leave him with a wink, throwing your school bag over your shoulder.

You walk into the room breathless and apologetic, already rambling. “Sorry I’m late. I was tutoring this kid and he wasn’t understanding the material and— it just lasted longer than I thought it would. I’m so, so sorry”

Betty smiles at you, benevolent. Guilt twists in your heart, but it’s distant. “No problem. We were just getting started on Lamentation.”

It hurts your cheek to grin so wide. “Great.”

—

You take demure bites out of your dinner, chewing and chewing until your jaw aches. It’s better for digestion, apparently. Passes straight through. Your mother sends you periodic looks, making sure you follow her advice.

The chicken is dry and tastes like ash in your mouth. Still, you chew, trying to hide a grimace. Your stomach growls, but you wash it all down with water.

“Did you hear about the Montgomery girl?” Susan, a neighborhood friend of your parents, exclaims. Her neck is flushed red from the wine.

Your father shakes his head, a somber expression on his face. “Such a shame.”

“I don’t know what I would do if my Jade acted out like this,” Susan continues on, clicking her tongue in judgment. You frown. “I heard she was caught in the car.”

“Surely not,” your mother says, clutching her pearls appropriately. There’s a sick tone of glee sticking to her teeth nonetheless. “In public?”

“Sexual deviants,” your father mutters. “It’s that damn TV. No one shows good Christian values anymore.”

“Very true. People aren’t raised with the same standards these days. They just let kids act however.”

“Now,” your mother starts, “Let’s not go shaming poor Sharon. She did what she could. Bailey just isn’t a very good girl.”

“Rotten,” your father adds. “Remember when she was, what, 8 years old? At the birthday party? She practically ate all the cake.”

“Devoured it!”

“Sin starts young,” Susan snorts. “Gluttony isn’t treated with enough severity. It might seem like just a cake at first, but it quickly falls into premarital sex.”

“Who said?” You ask. The three adults turn to you, startled to hear you speak.

“What?”

“Who said she had premarital sex?” Your mother’s eyes practically bulge out from hearing you say the word.

“Her mom came to the pastor looking for guidance,” Susan answers curtly.

“And the pastor said Bailey was having sex in a car?” Your mother gasps, calling your name in reprimand. You ignore it. You stare at the neighbor, awaiting her answer.

Susan pinches her red neck, hand draped over her pearls. “Well,” she says, a little embarrassed. “No. Georgia said.”

“How did Georgia know?”

“She heard it from someone.”

“Who?”

“Well, aren’t you just a curious little thing?” Though Susan says it with a smile, it rings like a bother. You understand the underlying tone. It means shut up. It means you’re pushing. It means be good.

You stare at Susan until she grows even more unsettled, unsure. Until she straightens in her seat, tries to play a confident front. You lick your teeth, shrugging. “It just sounds like we’re shaming her for something we know nothing about.”

A heavy, tense silence crowns the room. Your parents look at you like you’ve grown a second head, like they itch to inspect your body until they find the devil’s birthmark; a concrete proof you’re a demonish changeling. You stand your ground.

Your father rakes his throat. “We’re not shaming her. We’re concerned.”

You cock your head. “It’s not really our business, though, is it?” He purses his lips. You finally smile, digging your fork in your plate. “I’m just saying.”

Your mother stutters. Susan takes a long sip of wine, staining her teeth. You bite the plastic chicken, swallowing without chewing. It goes offly down your throat. Everything does these days. Your parents’ teachings most of all.

—

Your hands are buried deep inside of Matty’s dark mane. He tastes like cigarettes; smells like it too, the gray cloud lingering around him even when he’s done. Maybe it’s some sort of alarm call, some holy smoke signals. Maybe you should listen.

You don’t, of course, licking into his mouth instead, lips meeting in a torturous frenzy. The bell will ring soon. You’re on a time limit.

Matty has you pressed against the wall of some unpopulated corner of school, an awkward detouring staircase no one takes. Still, there’s a thrill humming in your veins. That someone could. Lost students, walking aficionados, fellow dirty make-out enjoyers. That they would find you, good, Christian girl, lip-locked with resident atheist Matty Healy, his hand on your tits.

He gropes it unabashedly, his other hand digging into your hip. His knee presses between your thighs, just slightly, more to fix you to the wall than try to get you off. You feel a familiar heat build in your belly nonetheless, grinding into him every time his palm rubs your nipple.

Thank God for skirts. Yours rised up your thighs, uncovering inches of silky skin, up to fading hickeys Matty devotedly left you. One in particular lies precariously low, always in danger of being exposed with one strong gust of wind. You wonder if he’s done it on purpose, if he wants to teeter that fatal edge, if something in him yearns to brand you and let it be known.

“There’s got to be an empty classroom somewhere,” he says, leaving your lips just long enough to grunt the words before diving back.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve got choir in ten minutes.”

He makes a displeased noise, groaning, “Fuck that.”

“Come over tonight,” you breathe into his mouth, then tilt your head for another dirty kiss.

His hand pinches your hip. He breaks away, licking your jaw, then saying, shortwinded and regretful, “Can’t. I’ve got a party. My mates’ll kill me if I miss another one.” He’s back to leaving wet kisses down your neck, rubbing his thumb over your peaked nipple masterfully.

“Oh.” Your lips pull down. Disappointment digs into your heart.

It’s fine. You can take care of the problem he’s growing inside of you yourself. Sure, your fingers never reach quite as far, never fill you up quite as deliciously, never work quite as efficiently, but it’s fine. It’s not as though you’ll miss him or anything.

Matty’s head rises from your neck, seemingly sensing the shift in mood. He stares at your pout, though it might be more about the swollen, red mess he’s made of your lips then the shape of them.

“You can… come too,” he says hesitatingly, perhaps even a bit shy. “If you want,” he immediately adds.

You snort. The mere idea is a ridiculous concept, some clownesque farce. The girl that’s never had a lick of alcohol partying with his rowdy friends? That’s a likely sight.

“That’s silly,” you say, but at least your lips don’t frown anymore. A smile spreads across them instead. “Can you imagine me at a party?”

“Yeah,” Matty says seriously.

You’re startled by his genuineness. You tilt your head at him, frowning. “And what would I do?”

He shrugs, grinning now. “Whatever you want. Drink, smoke, hang tightly in a corner doing neither.” You roll your eyes. “Hang out with me,” he adds bashfully, voice low in his voice. That idea is strangely appealing, your belly swooping at the thought of his tipsy frame leaning into yours, whispering his complex, drunk thoughts on the shell of your ear. “I might even let you kiss me.”

You deadpan. “You’re too generous.”

“I know,” he smiles, mischievous. He pokes your side. “Come on. Come. At least you’ll know what you’re staying away from.”

You bite your lip. You shouldn’t find the proposition this tempting— but again, there’s many things in your life you shouldn’t find tantalizing. The boy holding you in his arms, unruly hair in the cracks of your fingers, most of all.

“How would I even get there? I’ve got a strict bedtime.” Which he is well aware of, considering your mother interrupts your messing arounds like clockwork.

“Sneak out,” Matty says easily. “I’ll pick you up.”

Sneaking out. It’s terribly wrong. Your parents trust you. Have put several thought out rules for a reason. It’s years of education that you would be breaking through. Years of character— good, tame, obedient— that you would wreck.

But then, you’ve already started, haven’t you? What’s one more night?

As though to convince you while you deliberate in that overthinking head of yours, Matty bends back into your neck, spreading open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. He climbs up the bone, tugging your cardigan aside, revealing inches and inches of skin slowly, carefully. The white bra strap doesn’t deter him; he pushes it off your shoulder, tenderly pressing his lips to the red mark it left.

His hand grabs at your breast, his knee grinding ever so slightly against your underwear, like a promise of what he could do. A small moan escapes your lips, eyes closing in pleasure. He smirks against your skin.

“Come on, angel,” he whispers. “Please.”

An amused laugh breaks through the euphoria. You feel impossibly giddy. “Fine. Since you said please.”

His head snaps up, grinning at you. He’s so happy you think you might melt from the sight. “Yes?”

Your eyes dance. “Yes.”

Matty bends down to kiss you, smile still crowding his mouth, eyes zeroing on yours. “Well, I believe we still got five minutes.” He tastes like cigarettes and honey; your favorite sugar.

—

“How great is our God, sing with me.” The voices ring all together, some angelic, melodic music accompanied with soft piano. You clutch your hands behind your back, harmonizing, trying to remember the lyrics as your mind still scrambles from the heavy kiss mere minutes ago.

Your stare swipes across the bored looks. You find Matty’s almost instantaneously; it’s scary that you do, that you spot him so easily in a crowd. As though you were always subconsciously searching for him. As though you were two magnets attracting, attracting, attracting. “How great is our God, and all will see.”

He grins at you knowingly, teasingly, as if you’re sharing a secret. You can’t help smiling back, trying to bite back a laugh. The taste of him still lingers in your mouth. He winks at you and your heart sings.

“How great, how great, is our God.”

—

You wait anxiously by your window, throwing furtive glances to the cross still reigning over the room. You bite your nails, walking in circles, trying to soften your steps so they don’t ring all the way to your parents’ room where your mom surely has a fretful sleep. A pebble knocks on the glass.

You straighten, opening the window with shaky fingers. You stick your head out, peering down to Matty’s smiling face, a few more rocks in his hands. Glee is written all over him.

“How do I get down?” You whisper.

“Use the trellis.”

The ivied wood looks like an unsound structure, but it has held Matty’s weight numerous times. Looking up to mutter a quick prayer— a habit more than a decision— you stick your leg out, perilously swinging it until your foot hits the wood.

The rest of your body follows awkwardly. With a death grip, you claw at the trellis. You descend slowly, step by step, heart racing in your chest. You’re electrified.

You jump the last couple of feet, landing on the muddy grass. It stains brown your Mary Janes; you’ll have to clean them when you get home, make sure your mother doesn’t see.

You twist around with a proud grin as though to show yourself off. All in one piece, breathing and alive and out of your house. You feel like a reinvented Rapunzel.

Matty smiles at you. He rakes his eyes over your body, coming back up with a teasing smirk. “Cute outfit,” he says, reaching a hand out to tug at one of your bows.

You scowl. You tighten your pretty pink bow on the left. You wear your regular church skirt, rolled-up at the waist to show off the lace at the top of your white thigh-high socks. It’s what all the bad girls do with their school uniform, collecting detentions in return.

Most importantly, you dusted out your frilly, lacy white top with spaghetti straps. It made your mother nearly collapse when she first saw it, claiming the stripe of collarbones and cleavage uncovered as unchaste, demanding you throw it away. You promised to do so, but shoved it in the back of your closet instead, behind boxes of old childhood stuffed toys. You’re still not sure why you kept it. Perhaps, in a way, you knew you would need it eventually.

It’s the most scandalous thing you own.

“Is it not a party outfit?” You say, self-conscious, peering down at your attire. You do contrast ridiculously with Matty and his ripped jeans and leather jacket; drenched in black, looking like caricatural danger.

“No, no. It’s just— very clean.” It’s strange to be described like this. Your thoughts tumble with the word dirty and all its synonyms, yet Matty doesn’t seem to notice the filth caked on you. Something in your chest warms. “It’s, you know, a party. You might have a beer thrown on you.”

“Well, I’ll fit in, then. Rowdy and dirty like the rest of them.”

Matty chuckles. He slings his arm over your shoulder and guides you to his car parked several houses away. “Sure will, angel.”

You finally get to Matty’s dirty van. It’s more of a dangerous box on wheels than anything else. You step into the passenger seat and immediately get a whiff of weed. There’s something reassuring about the smell, something familiar. It hits your nose, you see the brown carpet, and suddenly there’s the knocking idea to make out with Matty in the back of it, like a trained reflex.

You buckle your seatbelt neatly. Matty presses play on the stereo. All Around Me rings through the car. You grin, looking at him with this pathetic glee. “You bought the CD?”

“I made a promise.”

“D’you like them?” You bite your lip with the eagerness of a puppy. There’s something elated to have him see you.

“They’re not bad,” he admits. “Real close to real rock’n’roll. I can see why your parents are terrified.” He shrugs, “Bit horny too.”

You gasp, slapping his shoulder. “Matty.”

“What?” He laughs. “I feel you on my fingertips? I can see you all around me? Thickening the air I breathe?”

“You make everything dirty.”

“It’s in the text, darling.” You roll your eyes, though, you have to admit, he’s not entirely wrong.

Matty spreads his hand on your thigh. His palm warms you up, two callused fingers dipping in the inner side. You flush, dormant heat waking up from his ghost touch. “Are you ready?” He asks, suddenly serious.

You laugh, “It’s a little late for that. I’m already out of the house.”

“No,” Matty shakes his head. “We could go back in if you want. I could eat you out until you pass out.”

You consider him. It’s not a bad plan, far from it, but there’s something about his readiness to do so that makes you want to please him. You give him a cheeky smile. “I didn’t climb that trellis for nothing. Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Matty says, but his smile practically breaks his face. He turns the key and drives down the road.

—

You stand neatly on the porch with a straight back. You’re in your church pose, something strict and firm, spotless to defend early against criticism. Your finger reaches for the doorbell, ringing it.

Matty spins his car key around a digit. He laughs. “Oh, you’re so cute.” He opens the door, stepping in. You flush and follow inside. Your heart races.

Music attacks you, some loud, drum-filled thing that blasts through cheap speakers. The house smells of smoke. You wrinkle your nose. People are scattered everywhere, blue solo cups in hand, rolled up paper hanging loosely from the tip of their fingers. The floor is sticky. At least you don’t feel guilty for your muddy Mary Janes dragging on the floorboards.

There’s a carefreeness to the scene, to the bodies dancing in a corner of the living room, to the lips meeting frantically against a wall in plain sight, to the limbs splaying and knotting and draping on a couch like some four-headed monster.

You wrap your arms together behind your back, terribly aware of how out of place you are. Your silly outfit is not just in contrast to Matty. Everyone has something black, or ripped, or wrinkled. Dirty shirts and short skirts and combat boots. You’re a splotch of white in this infernal painting.

“Are you okay?” Matty says, dipping into you so you can hear him over the music. You nod faintly. He opens his mouth to say more, but someone interrupts, screaming;

“Matty! Shit, mate, I didn’t fucking think you’d make it.” A tall man approaches, catching Matty’s hand to smack their chests together.

“No faith in me,” he tsks. “I said I’d be there.”

“Well, you haven’t been the most reliable recently.” His eyes find you. He grins, narrowing in on you until you feel pinned in place. “And you must me why.”

Your eyes widen. Behind your back, your fingers pick at your skin. “C’mon, Ross, give it up,” Matty rolls his eyes, and you’re a little glad he answered for you.

“Nice to meet you,” you nod, reaching a hand out, ever polite. Manners drilled into you ever since you were young, impossible to disentwine from you, even when it’s ill-fitting. And it clearly is, because Ross makes a little amused snort as he shakes your hand, asking your name.

“You must be thirsty,” Ross says, though mostly to Matty. There must be something written on your face, something hinting that you don’t partake in such activities. “C’mon. Everyone’s in the kitchen.” Ross jerks his chin in the direction of the kitchen, then turns around.

Matty rests a loose hand on your back, guiding you in the crowd. Your skin lights from his merest touch. You tilt your head to watch him, fluttering your eyelashes at him. He catches your look, smirking. He faces straight ahead, but his tongue digs into his cheek, smug. You have to bite back a laugh when you emerge into the kitchen.

A few people gather on the counters, sitting on the marble or mixing a free pour drink. The room is quieter, shaken up with laughs instead of bass. A blunt is being passed around. You wrinkle your nose at the smell. It vaguely reminds you of Matty’s van.

“Here he finally is,” someone exclaims when they spot you. It’s another tall guy, cigarette tucked behind his ear, boozy cup in his hand. He’s got a loose smile on his lips. His eyes dance with amusement. “Nice of you to show up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matty rolls his eyes. “Ross said the same.”

He presents each of them to you, spotting his best friends George and Adam out of the crowd. You’ve seen them vaguely before, familiar faces hanging around him and a cloud of smoke. You grin at them, trying to mutter some sense of aloofness. It comes offly on your lips, a see-through mask.

You reach your hand out, and there’s the same amused look on their face as Ross as they move their cups out of the way, taking yours and firmly shaking it. They hum your name when you tell them, tasting its sweetness, memorizing it. Their eyes trail up and down your outfit, resting on the two bows on your hair. You regret them almost instantly, finding your thumb and pinching it instead of ripping them off.

Matty gives them those easy handshake-hugs men seem to fall into. There’s a sense of pieces fitting together when Matty greets all of his friends. The room makes place for him, embracing him amongst the small crowd. He pulls the kitchen together, makes the sticky solo cups carnage a righteous war painting. Makes it make sense.

“I got you your fucking wine,” George says with a hint of disdain.

He picks a bottle of red wine out of the bridge, holding it out for Matty. It’s just as ill-fitting as you, misplaced in this sea of cheap beer and vodka-soda. There’s something comforting to the idea, to Matty’s carelessness as he grabs the bottle by the neck.

He twists the screw top wine and takes a deep mouthful of the wine under the cheers of his friends. He licks his red lips clean, chuckling as he catches the droplets rolling off his chin. “Do you want anything to drink?” Matty asks you. The wine lingers vaguely in your direction.

You wrinkle your nose. “Just water,” you say, and you hold your breath for some eyeroll or deserved grumble. Nothing comes. Matty nods. He opens a cupboard of the kitchen familiarly, grabbing a glass.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Adam nods at you. You jump, almost surprised to be acknowledged and not blurred into the background.

Your lips up. “Thanks. You, too.” You take the glass of water when Matty comes back. He stays near you, a protective presence lingering, though he doesn’t even touch you.

George takes a sip of his beer. “So how did you two meet?”

You clench your hand around your glass. “Um. At church.”

Laughter roars through the crowd. You stand tight, awkwardly staring at them. Matty sighs beside you. The laughs die, a sort of shared incredulous look taking its place instead. Beady, multicolored eyes pin you in place.

“Oh, shit,” George finally says. “You’re serious.”

Ross shakes his head, tsking, “Only Matty would manage to pick up chicks in church.”

Matty makes an offended noise, slapping his shoulder. “I’m not fucking picking up chicks in church.”

“What’s this then?” Adam pingpongs his eyes from you and Matty, lingering in the space between. Or the near lack of it, shoulders brushing, an instinctive closeness.

Matty opens his mouth, then closes it, staring at you. Waiting for you to declare this strange, unnatural thing between you. Give it a name. Make it real. Your heart races. “We’re friends,” you finally settle on. And it’s not untrue. Still, you take a sip of water right after, washing down the bitter taste.

“See,” Matty comes back to his mates. “Friends.”

“Uh-huh,” George snorts, clearly seeing through both of you. “Sure.”

“You’re all a bunch of dickheads,” Matty says, and once again suffers the resounding snickers. There seems to be something brewing still, taunts and mockeries until they draw the confessions out of you. You ready for the impact.

Thankfully, a girl comes in and saves you from what surely is a line of further questioning, bursting into the kitchen to ask, “Beer pong?” The boys cheer, following after her. Matty stays with you.

“They’re not usually this annoying,” he assures. “They’re even great sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, brushing his concerns away. You’d like them even if they were usually this annoying. Because they’re his friends. Because they’re his. Because he has this soft, wonder look in his eyes when he talks about them, to them. You don’t think you’d defend any of your friends to anyone. You don’t think you have friends at all.

Though, of course, you have Matty now. Decretated it to a party and everything. It seems you’re more stuck together than you thought.

—

His lips are stained red from the wine, pulled in a loose smile as he tipsy-giggles. There’s a freeness to his limbs, a jointlessness the alcohol strings out of him. He’s flushed in the cheeks. He’s pretty. Matty takes a swig of his bottle, licks it off. You want to kiss him.

You stand alone in the kitchen, your own small cocoon away from reality. Out there, beyond the walls, there’s a heated Olympics of beer pong, cheers and cries and the swoosh sounds of balls falling into liquid resonating back to you. Even further away, the consistent noise of rock music thumps back faintly. An underwater resonance, almost unreal.

Matty leans against the island counter. He makes you laugh, draws out those embarrassing snorts out of you. His eyes grow proud every time he does, talking and talking until he gets another hit, as though placing the needle of the turntable at the fated vinyl groove of a favorite song over and over again.

Another swig. You follow the movement, intrigued. Matty arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” He asks, annoyingly knowingly.

You’ve finished two glasses of water, but there’s an unquenchable thirst inside of you, grumbling beside the everexisting hunger, the scary desire.

You know you shouldn’t let yourself get tempted by sins. It’s already bad enough that you indulge in Matty, that you allowed to get talked into coming to a party. Wine is your savior’s blood, and nothing else.

Still, you bite your cheek, feeling them heat. “Maybe,” you admit slowly. It’s embarrassing to go back on your words, but there’s a sense of safety when it’s just you and him, when there’s none of his friends who would surely be a little too amused at your drunk church girl act.

Matty draws a hand out for you. You catch it, letting yourself get pulled towards him. He smiles down at you and your chest warms. Comfort settles in your bones; you grin back, tipping your head up.

“Just a taste,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. Just a dip of lips, innocent and inoffensive. Like the communion wine, tasted and licked off.

Matty smirks at you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, tugging you even closer. Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at his lips as he takes another mouthful of his wine, parting your own instinctively. Your belly somersaults. Fuck the wine. You want him to kiss you. You want him so thoroughly it scares you sometimes. It thrills you the other half.

Matty dips his head into you, nears his lips, parts them, and lets the wine fall into your mouth. You gasp, tasting the dark flavor, tasting him. Your mind spins dizzyingly. It’s sharper than the eucharist; realer, better. Droplets fall from your lips, but you just catch his, careless, hungry. You lick the leftover taste of wine from his tongue. You want to swallow it whole, swallow him whole. Heat plants in your belly, blooming and blooming.

Matty parts from you with a laugh. He catches the runaway drops of wine with his thumb, wiping your chin and dipping it in your mouth to clean. You do so instinctively, dutifully, sucking around his finger. Your stare meets his dark eyes. You feel faint.

His hungry look falls to your rising chest, the inkling of cleavage you’ve uncovered for this party, panting for him. His eyes zero in on the cross, everpresent, evertainted. He clicks his tongue. “Sorry. I’ve stained your little outfit.”

You look down at your top. Bright red drops on your white shirt. You won’t be able to wash it off, won’t get rid of this night, of him. You already plan the place you’ll hide it in your closet; because you know, secretly, you won’t want to throw it away. Not when it’s now intimately attached to this memory, to his cloudy eyes, to the bitter taste of wine and him on your tongue. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “Now I fit in.”

He huffs a laugh. “Sure, angel.” His arm falls loosely around your waist. He takes a step in your direction and you do the opposite.

“Don’t call me that,” you say petulantly. “They’ll see right through me.” Your back hits the counter.

“But you’ve got those wine drops. They couldn’t possibly mistake you for a good girl with stains on your shirt.” His hand catches your hip and he hoists you up on the counter, sliding between your spread thighs. Your skirt rises up dangerously, but you don’t bother straightening it. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the silky skin before, hasn’t touched and licked and bit it. There’s still the faint shape of bruises on them because of him.

“You don’t think I fit in?” You ask him, fluttering your eyelashes at him, comically pouty.

Matty’s hand falls to the uncovered skin of your thigh, pinching there. His eyes dip to your pouty lips, as though an invitation he’s difficultly resisting. “You’d stand out anywhere, love.”

“You’re a charmer.”

He tsks. “I’m charming,” he corrects you. He raises the bottle of wine, letting the cool glass rest on your naked thigh. You jump at the cold feeling, shivering. “What did you think of your taste?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper conspiratorially, amusement dancing in your eyes. “I’d need another one to really decide.”

Matty smirks at you. “Anything you want.”

—

“There’s no way you’re making it! Give up already!”

Your eyes narrow on the blue solo cup, ignoring the insulting cries around you hoping to get you down. They’re aiming for your head, to sneak under your skin and get you to mess up. Truthfully, they don’t need any trashtalking to throw you off your game. You’re three downed beers in and the circle of the cups seem to narrow each throw. You haven’t made a single shot since the very first cup.

“Don’t listen,” Matty breathes in your ear. “C’mon. Prove them wrong. You can’t let them be right.” You shake the stress off your shoulders. “Do the shot.” He gets louder, chanting, “Do the shot. Do the shot. Do the shot.” Spectators join in, singing with him, drumming on the table.

You purse your lips, tilt your wrist, and throw.

The ping-pong ball falls neatly in the cup. Swoosh. George bends down to blow on it, but it’s useless. You’re already screaming in victory. The party rumbles with shocked cheers, half of your chanting supporters not ever believing in you. You throw yourself in Matty’s arms with a happy cry. His grin hits your cheek. He lifts you up, sways you around. You hear your laugh over the boos of the competing team.

“I fucking knew it,” Matty says, light and excited. “I fucking knew it.” The laugh bubbles out of you, easy and familiar.

You won’t win the game, but this goal is enough.

—

Your hands hook around Matty’s neck, loose and sloppy. You move your hips to the rhythm, let your arms flurry around you. You jump to the drum-heavy parts, looking like scattered limbs pushed around. People knock against you, never apologetic. Sweat sticks to your skin. You grin at him, knock your forehead on his shoulder.

Matty’s laugh resonates. He puppeteers you, spinning you around his finger, throwing you off a joint hand and wrapping you back in his arms. He scream-sings the lyrics in your ears. Sounds bury inside of you.

You sway to the piano, grinning so wide it might rip your cheeks. His hands are warm on your lower back. Your fingers greedily dig up into his hair, burying home. An imprint of you on him; he leaves the dancefloor unruly, with the shape of your hands in his curls. Your name branded, secretly. You like it.

—

“Sprite,” you say, impossibly solemn.

George nods, twisting the Sprite bottle cap with equal seriousness. He splashes it out, then looks at you for confirmation. You’re implacable. He pours some more until you nod decidedly.

“I found orange juice,” Adam says. He digs out a bottle from the very back of the fridge, coming back towards the sticky counter with his treasure.

“That’s my mum’s, and it’s mango-passion fruit juice.”

Adam shrugs, uncaring. “Eh. It’s fruit.”

“In the cup!” You shout, pointing towards the glass with a ridiculous amount of different liquids. You’re making the perfect drink, allegedly, but it’s more a collection of tastes than any attempt at mixing. Really, there’s a growing chance that it will be entirely awful.

George, dutiful, pours the juice in the cup. “Where’s the grenadine?” He asks.

“It needs more rhum,” Adam suggests.

“Sprite!”

—

You sit on Matty’s lap, practically dripping on him. Your back melts on his front, your head dipped on his shoulder, your legs hanging from his spread thighs. You’re an eight-legged monster you caught a glimpse of when you first entered the party, frowning at the agglomeration until you finished the bottle of red wine and understood. You’re giggly and spacey now, but most importantly needy, practically clinging on Matty.

You drink a vodka-juice, and you reach it out for him instinctively, though he always refuses, restating he’s driving. Matty put grenadine in it to make it pink and sugary for you. His free hand warms your hip, spreading possessively over the bone.

His friends are a cacophonic orchestra around you, screaming over the music, talking over each other, laughing at a joke from three people away. You don’t care what you look like in front of them, a secret glimpse of everything unsaid in your friend declaration. Your skirt has risen up enough to reveal a flash of hickeys, but you don’t have the overthinking, overbearing mind to fret over it, tugging at the skirt. You doubt it really matters to them anyway; they must have seen much grander things than a hickey.

You like them. They’ve got the same humor as Matty, the same cadence to their words. There’s a melody to their stories, an inherent rhythm. You like it, like that they sound like him.

“So,” Adam starts, sounding even goner than you. “Church?”

You snort at his introduction. “Yeah.”

“How’s he like?” Adam adds, vaguely gesturing towards the two of you. There’s a morbidly interested look to his friends; everyone waits for the answer.

You giggle giddily. “He’s a poor Christian,” you confess.

“I’m not a Christian,” Matty repeats, his fingers digging into your flesh as a warning. You roll your eyes. Your skin buzzes pleasantly.

“He’s a great atheist,” you correct for his sake. “He laughs and snorts at all the inappropriate places.”

His hand rises up to your stomach, tightening his hold on you. “They’re laugh-worthy,” Matty explains to you, and you shake your head dutifully, the religious example.

“You liked Song of Solomon perfectly well,” you tell him, upping your nose.

“That’s because it’s dirty.” Matty tightens his fingers, digging his stare into you. His words are dangerous as he says, “And I loved Genesis.” A memory of his fingers curling into, bringing you impossibly close to a cliff, as his melodic voice told the fatalistic story of Adam and Eve flashes back to you. You stare up at him, smirking.

A girl steps into the living room, falling on the couch beside Ross. She drops her head on his shoulder, pouting.

“Are you okay?” Ross laughs, clearly seeing through her pity act.

“Delaney’s not coming,” she explains. The crowd resounds with regretful noises. You frown.

“Who’s Delaney?” You ask, gone enough to be uncaring of what you look like. Out of the loop, ill-fitting. Delaney means something to everyone but you.

“She’s our friend. Really cool girl,” the girl explains helpfully. “But she’s busy with her stupid job today.”

George smirks, flicking his eyes towards Matty. “She gave him that insane blowjob.” The hair rises on your skin. You freeze.

Matty makes a clicking sound. “Shut up.”

“That’s what you said,” George defends, throwing his arms in the air. You relax in Matty’s arms. He doesn’t seem to care much about her, even if she supposedly gave him head worth telling about. You wonder when she did. If it was recently.

The girl rolls her eyes. “She’s more than a fucking blowjob. She said she might come by late if the party was still going.”

“It will still be going,” George assures, confident in his hosting skills.

The girl shrugs, less assured. “We’ll see.”

An argument seems to be brewing, but Matty taps your thigh. He declares, “I need a fag.”

You stand with him, following him before he even asks you. Three feet apart and you might crack and die from the distance. Still, you think, he’s just your friend— plus the unsaid, of course.

—

The smoke lingers around you. You steal the cigarette from Matty, pulling your lips around the stick, inhaling in. Suck it like a straw, you remember him saying. Or, follows right after, leaving you flushing. You follow his command anyway, breathing out gray smoke without the hint of a cough.

You hold it out for him after, which he takes as he peers unhappily at you. “You shouldn’t be this used to it,” Matty explains. “It’s bad for you.”

“You shouldn’t have taught it to me, then,” you retort cheekily.

“I barely did.”

“Shouldn’t have made it so tempting,” you volley back easily, just as smug. “Every time I kiss you, you taste like cigarettes. You can’t expect me not to be already a little bit addicted.”

“You make it sound like you’re addicted to me,” Matty breathes out. His gaze devours you, like he knows. Like you don’t even have to confirm his hypothesis, like he’s well aware of your strange obsession with him. Like he can see the filthy thoughts flying in your mind any time he dares exist near you.

You hum noncommittally, acting nonchalant. “Maybe,” you give in. “Maybe I just like the headrush.” You take another drag, letting the nicotine adrenaline bloom up your head, buzzing and buzzing. It’s a boneless feeling, something that leaves you grinning helplessly.

Matty gets scared of your shivering body in nothing but your camisole. He takes his arms out of his leather jacket, pulling it over his shoulder. You clutch it gratefully; you hadn’t realized you were cold until you held it over your body.

Your eyes fall back on him as the rush subsides. You reach your hand out to him; he grabs his Marlboro cigarette, sticking it back where it belongs: his mouth. It wraps around it. You tilt your head.

“How was it like?” You ask, filter truly gone.

“What?”

“The insane blowjob,” you answer easily. Matty chokes on his cigarette, coughing out smoke. You wait it out, watching as he smacks his chest.

He rakes his throat, hesitant. “Fine.”

“Come on,” you laugh, “You can give me more than that.”

“This feels like a trap.”

“I’m genuinely curious,” you defend. “I don’t—“ You flush. “I don’t really know any of this. Sex. Pleasure. I’m just— It’s a lot of void. For me.”

“So you want to know how it felt?”

You stare at him, unflinching. “I want to know how she did it.”

A shudder passes through Matty. He licks his lips. Rests his cigarette between them, takes a long drag. Finally, he settles his gaze on you.

“It was— It was a bit like this, I guess.” Matty takes your wrist, puppeteers two fingers out, and sucks them inside his mouth.

Your breath hitches. Your free hand clutches his leather jacket, pulling it tighter over your shoulders. You stare at his red lips as they stretch over your digits.

Matty licks his tongue on your fingers, sucking his cheeks in, bobbing his head. It’s a wet, pornographic sound. Your cunt clenches around nothing, ready for something you’ve never known. You feel heat droop in the deepest parts of you, staring at him, shortwinded.

Matty’s dark eyes catch yours. He’s shameless, swallowing around your fingers. He releases them with a pop sound, kissing the tips of them delicately. Your skin flushes.

“There,” Matty finally says, satisfied. “That’s how you do it.”

Your heart races, calling for him, for it. Your eyes narrow on his lips, crashing against them before you have the sense to think. You catch his waist, drawing him closer, kissing him harder. Matty answers eagerly, a low groan in the back of his throat.

He’s everywhere. Climbing up your sides. Licking into you. Biting your lip, drawing it out. Whining in your mouth. Your body sings for him, utterly ready.

“I want you,” you whisper against him. Matty mumbles, catching your mouth with a renewed hunger. “I—“ You start again between two breathless kisses, tongue mixing perfectly, “Matty, I need you.”

The words resonate. Matty’s fingers dig in your waist, impatient. He breathes suggestively, “George has a guest room.”

Your smile breaks your face. “Let’s go.”

—

You burst into the guest room. The door slams against the wall as Matty devours your lips. His hands are in your hair, pushing the leather jacket off your shoulders, falling down your back, gripping your waist, clutching your hips, drumming up your ribs. A savage, desperate tempo takes your flimsy bodies. He licks into your mouth with a hungry tongue. Your heart races, thrill buzzing up your legs.

You sneak a hand under his black shirt, clawing at the skin of his back. You trace the ridges of his spine with your fingertips, up and down, and Matty shivers in answer. You fall to his waist, gripping his side, pulling him into you more. You hope your handprints will brand him somehow.

He pushes you against the wall. A moan resonates from you that he hurries to swallow up. His hand grabs a handful of your ass over your skirt. Another low sound slips from you. You part your legs; his knee settles in instinctively, like a return home. It hits your clit, denim rubbing faintly, and a hot coil of pleasure swoops in your belly. He bites your lip and tugs it.

“Pretty girl,” Matty whispers roughly at your whines. He leans away from your mouth to stare down, catching an eyeful of your heaving breasts. He smirks, teasing as he says, “But what’s a good girl like you doing with stains on her top? Let me fix you up, darling…”

Cheeky, he slips under the hem of your camisole. Calluses dance on your skin; your hair rises, hyperaware of him. He gets near your first rib, showing off your midriff, before you push his hand down.

You know what it would lead to if you let him take it off. He’d lick at your tits, kiss down your sternum, and fall to his knees for you. He’d lap and nip and fuck until your brain was putty in your skull and coherent, multisyllabic words were a faraway concept, and then he’d wipe his chin and drive you home. Which would be good, of course, and you’d go to sleep tingling and happy, bone-deep satisfied, but you wouldn’t have touched him.

That’s what you want— what you need. For all the little fears and insecurities that the idea brings you, the desire to please him, to say thank you, to learn is greater, beating in your chest. You want to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had, want to blow all the other girls he’s met out of his head. Be the one, the only one.

Matty is too enthralled in you to catch your subtle hint, leaving wet kisses on your neck as he now trails his hand up your thighs. He starts at the lace of your socks, finding your smooth skin and stopping at your underwear. His hand palms the wet patch with a pained grunt, lazily rubbing at your clothed clit. You bite your lip, panting in the quiet of the room.

The floor shakes from the speakers downstairs. Music lulls under the floorboards, a strange background to the quick and hot breaths filling the room. You push Matty’s hand against all your screaming, begging judgements. Curse him for always being so talented at driving you wild.

“Remember that fantasy I had? I want to do it,” you say, pushing off the wall and walking into him. He steps back to leave you room, frowning a little. “I want to see you. To feel you.”

The back of his knees hits the desk chair. You push him on it, falling neatly on his lap next. You stare him down, confident, certain. “I want to suck your dick.”

His hands find your hips easily. Matty’s dark eyes devour you. They linger on your swollen lips, leveled with him, practically inviting him. His breaths quicken. You brush two hands through his hair, pouting, blinking condescendingly in mock-act of him. “Will you let me do that?”

He makes a choked sound from the back of his throat. “Fuck— Yeah. Yeah, whatever you want. Please.” He catches your lips again with a groan.

You kiss him back eagerly. It’s safe, to be in his lap, to grip his hair, to tilt your head and meet his mouth. Known. A learned and practiced thing, so inherent you could close your eyes and make up the shape of his lips from memory. You would know; you think of them on your late nights when he can’t sneak out, hot and sweaty and bothered, two fingers dipped inside of you. You imagine his lips, and his tongue, and his fingers, and all the spots of your body that miss them, and it’s so real you’re almost surprised he’s not smirking up at you when your eyes part open after an orgasm that’s just not quite what you needed.

Matty slips under your skirt, grabbing a fistful of your ass again, dragging you closer in his lap. You grind against his hard-on; a moan falls from your mouth and plants down his throat. He smirks against your lips, does it again.

“Matty,” you trail in warning. Though it transforms into a groan as he puppeteers your hips just so while you say it, losing its edge.

“Just a bit,” he promises, but there’s something cheeky in his tone. Your head falls back as he bucks you on him. Pleasure drums up your ribs.

You’re hot and buzzing and ecstasy sweeps inside of you. A low, known thrumming resonates. Your clit rubs against him, over and over, and you know the mind-melting orgasm you can get from it. It’s been your favorite recent activity: the closeness, the reciprocity, the power, the moans he makes, the fact that it’s almost, seemingly, more. A veil of sex, with half the damnation.

Matty’s fingers twist in the band of your underwear, clenching around it as he moves you faster, harsher. There’s a focused look in his eyes and you know he doesn’t really mean it when he says just a bit.

You take his wrists, ripping them away from you and in the air. Matty holds them palms up, a virtuous sign of innocence, with the smug, amused look to contradict it. You pant. Your body bemoans, your betraying hips tingling to move and chase that pleasure again.

“You’re not very good at listening,” you chastise.

Matty clicks his tongue. “I’ve always been a do-what-I-want guy.”

An idea prickles at the back of your head. You stand up from him slowly, ignoring your uncomfortably wet underwear. He pouts at you. You take a step back, and he tries to reach for you again, but you hold him away by his wrists.

“I’ll just have to make you listen, won’t I?”

Matty loses his smirk. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even procure another cheeky comment. He waits, the moment hanging in the air. Waits for your next move. Waits for the new game board. Waits for a footing of some kind. Tension sparks between you.

You let go of one hand, reaching up to your own hair and pulling out the left pink bow. The satin tickles your skin. You smirk at him.

“What are you gonna do with it?”

“What I want.”

You round the chair, bending down to your knees. You draw his wrists together behind his back and wrap the satin ribbon around them. You tie a pretty bow, perfect loops and tails, all proportionate. You smile, wishing he could see.

You crawl on your knees around the chair, back in front of him. Your eyelashes flutter at him. “Fuck,” he whines.

He pants, staring down at you unblinking, as though each second missed would kill him. As though he’s engraving the sight in his brain. You smile. Your hands graze his thighs. He shivers, makes another low noise.

You know that he could take it off easily. It’s flimsy material, and it’s a poor knot, and it’s a ribbon. But he stays there, hands in place, giving you free range, and there’s something about the vulnerability to do so that makes you want to please him even more. Give him some sort of reward, a worthy thank you.

He’s always honest, and open, and willing. You guard your heart fearfully, hold your thoughts under your tongue like your mom always told you to do. But he waits, open-palmed, throat-bared, hands-tied.

It’s a tragic story. Almost biblical.

But as much as you want him —in your hands, in your mouth— you still— you don’t really know how to do any of it. Your knowledge of blowjobs stops at a stupid, graphic joke Jake Finn made sophomore year and Matty showing you on the balcony just now.

Your lips twitch. Your head falls on his thigh, an innocent look he should be able to see right through in your eyes. “Father,” you whisper with a hint of mischief. Matty’s breath hitches. “I need guidance.”

Matty breathes from his nose harshly. He attempts to gather himself. Gravelly, he says, “Get me out of these.” His wrists tug on the restraint, though not enough to break it.

You shake your head, scrunching your nose at him. “I can do it alone.” You raise your head, tilting it to kiss his thigh. His head falls back with a pained noise. You giggle. “Please, please, Father. What should I do?”

He looks back at you with dark eyes. You smirk. You’ve got him.

There’s an implacable sense of authority in his voice. For all his rebellions, he plays the role quite well. Grand and solemn and holy, of all things, he says, “Are you gonna be good for me?”

A spark of excitement hits you. You lick your lips, nodding at him eagerly. “Yes,” you assure. You shift on your knees. “The best, Father.” You mean it in more ways than one. It’s pride, and it’s hubris, and it’s a grandiose speech. But you need it nearly as much as you need him, need to blur all those other girls from his mind.

“Good girl,” Matty coos, and the praise hits true. You clench your thighs, biting back a low moan. Matty smirks knowingly as he adds, “Always so devout.” There’s a sick thrill at being called pious when you’re kneeling for a profane man. The juxtaposition slicks your underwear, spins your mind. You’re anything but, but he manages to make the words true by saying it. He reinvents the universe from the flick of his tongue; maybe he really is a God.

“Take me out,” Matty says. It rings as an order, sure and lashing. You shiver.

You climb your hands to his hips, unbuttoning his black jeans. Your fingers shake as you do so, sloppy and imprecise. Your heart beats in your skull, the knowledge of what is coming knocking at your brain. You draw him out.

His cock stands hard and up in front of you. You’ve seen it before, of course, but never from so close. Your lips part in fascination. Precum leaks from his tip and there’s something filthy about the sight. You want to catch the drip with your finger and suck in your mouth, but you don’t dare do it. You’re not sure what the next move should be, what ways to touch.

You flick your eyes back to him, silently asking. This time, he’s much more gentle when he offers, “Wrap your hand around the base.”

Your fingers fly to his cock. You circle his length. You’ll replay in your mind the gasp he lets out as soon as you make contact for a long time. Oh, you decide suddenly. You’ll have fun with that.

Before he suggests anything else, you draw your hand up. A tantalizing, torturous pace. Matty twitches in your hand, moaning. “Start slow,” you whisper. You jerk back down. “I know that.” It’s a knowledge engraved in the back of your mind, reminded in the raspy sound of his voice when he first said it.

“Yeah—” He nods for fault of finishing a sentence. You pass your thumb over his tip like you’ve seen him do. His hips jump, a hiss slipping from his mouth. “Fuck, that’s—”

“Father, you shouldn’t swear. It’s not godly.”

Matty meets your eyes, seeing right through the teasing smirk you offer him. Here you are speaking of God with his hard cock in your hand. “You’re right,” he breathes. “What example am I giving my— Shit, fuck.” You’ve sped up your movements at the most inopportune time, it seems.

You tsk. “You’re just not learning your lesson.”

“I’m a bad example.”

“If you keep going, I might come out of this unholier than when I came in.” Mischief tacks your tongue.

“We couldn’t have that, could we?” Matty tries to volley back, but it’s more a pant than a taunt. You lick your teeth, satisfied.

You stroke him with a sure hand. The precum glistens, spread down his length. His curly hair flaps over his forehead, sweaty and flowing wildly. He pulls his face down with furrowed eyebrows as you jerk him. Your mouth waters. Every choked moan he makes for you makes you shift on your knees, try to quiet the growing need inside of you. He’s too pretty.

You’re decided, desperate. You need him, a sick, demanding thrill hazing your mind. Your head bends down, narrowing in, but he tuts, “Ah ah.” You freeze, flicking your eyes up at him in question. He’s cocky as he presses, “Shouldn’t you say Grace?”

Your eyes fall to his dick, understanding. You don’t even have the time to think that you already let go of him. You join your hands together, resting your elbows on his knees, closing your eyes as you recite, “God is great and God is good. Let us thank Him for our food; by His blessings, we are fed. Give us Lord, our daily bread.” You open your eyes, meeting his hot gaze. He watches you, heavy breathing. A smirk hints on your lips. “Amen.”

Before Matty has time to retort a cocky quip, to regain control of the situation, you bend down again and wrap your lips around his tip. A gaspy, choked sound comes from the back of his throat. His hips jump, pushing into your mouth. You suck on it. His head throws back as he moans. You giggle, licking the tip, finally circling your hand around his base again.

“What now, Father?” You whisper, stroking him with a lazy hand, kitten-licking him.

“God,” Matty whines as his head slams back forward, watching you with disbelieved eyes.

You hum. “Mmh, what does he want?”

Matty makes a breathy laugh. “Open your jaw more.” Dreams of him pulling your chin down, readying your mouth for him flash back to you. You shake your head, keeping focused. You know if you free his hands, you’ll lose control.

“Is that his holy message?”

“Yeah.” You open your mouth as wide as you can, thrusting him deeper and deeper with each bob. You try to remember the feeling on your fingers, try to imitate his droolful explanation. You run your tongue on the underside of his cock like he did, grinning proudly at his groan. “You look so fucking hot.”

Your eyes lock with his, happy to your bones. It can’t be true— you feel spit and precum run down your chin. Still, you double your efforts eagerly, trying to be the bestest and prettiest girl for him.

His breath is labored, coming out in whiney huffs. “Move your hand—”

He hasn’t finished his sentence that you’re already stroking him lazily. You pop him out of your mouth, saliva stringing to your lips, to ask, “Like this?”

“In synch with— Fuck.” You suck him back into your mouth, moving your hand in tandem with your head. He pants harshly. His hips rise to meet you, and you gag, releasing him. He throws you an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“Should I go deeper?”

“Yes— Yeah.” You laugh, bending back to swallow him up. His shoulders flex, as though he aches to touch you, pass a soothing hand through your hair. Instead, he says with wonder, “Whatever you want, angel.” You moan around him, shifting on your knees. Matty smirks. “You like when I call you that?” His eyes flick down to the mess of your mouth. He groans from the back of his throat, choked as he revels, “While you’re swallowing my cock?” You smile at him. You do like it, no matter what you usually argue.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you widen your jaw. You keep your hand at the base of his cock, trying to fit him even deeper in your throat. He hits the back of it and you gag again, pushing him out. You jerk him quickly as you catch your breath.

“You’re drooling everywhere,” Matty coos. You laugh, wiping your chin clean, spitting the rest on his cock. You jerk it down his length. He moans. “Shit. You’re like a fucking wet dream.”

“I want to be good for you.”

“You’re always good.” It’s not true. You’ve been nothing but immoral these days. But the way he says it, sure, flicked off his tongue like there wasn’t even a place for debate, makes your head spin. His hips rise again, this time no apologetic look as he begs, “Deeper.”

You suck on his head, giggling. “Magic word?”

“Please.”

You hum. “We might make a decent man out of you yet, Matty.” He laughs, but then you open your head wide and take him into your mouth, and now he’s more whining than anything else. You try to keep your gag reflex under control, stroking what you can’t fit with your hand.

“That’s it,” he moans, rolling his eyes back in pleasure. “My perfect girl. I like you like this.” His head dips to look at you properly. “Do you like it? Like being on your knees for me?”

“Yes.” And it’s true, no matter how filthy it makes you. There’s power to it. There’s a strange lust to see how much it affects him. You affect him. You flutter your eyes at him, licking his tip. “Father, I fear I’ve been corrupted.”

He laughs. “Yeah?”

“There’s this boy,” you say teasingly. “He just won’t stop making me naughty. You’d be ashamed of the way I act for him.”

“I hardly believe that.” His hips thrust up into your hand. “Not when you’re so pretty like this.”

“I’m being a very dirty girl,” you shake your head, and for once, there’s none of the usual guilt about it. Being forsaken is a faraway concept. In this room, the only thing that matters is the shade of your knees when you’re done.

“Good. I think you should be even worse.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb over his tip. “Is that your penance?” He nods, out of breath. You tilt your head, cheeky as you tease, “And how do you suggest I do that?”

“Suck me again,” he demands, but you stare at him unimpressed, slowing your hand down in warning. He jumps. “Please.”

You hum, licking across his length, then sucking indulgently on the tip. “Like that?” His eyes are dark. He flexes and unflexes his arms, reminding himself of the bow tying them. You snicker. For all his usual teasing, laughing and cooing at you, he doesn’t seem to enjoy his own medicine. “Use your words,” you taunt just to add oil to the fire.

“In your mouth, please.” You could keep going, speed up and slow and lick and never give him what he wants until he’s shaking under you, but you miss him in your mouth, too. Greedy and starved, you push him past your lips.

You bob your head quickly, suddenly eager to see him unravel. For you. Because of you. He hits the back of your throat over and over, but you breathe through your nose, blinking away the prickling tears. Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. One hand settles on his knee, gripping it. It shakes under your fingers.

“Ah, shit,” Matty cries, meeting you halfway. He can’t seem to look away from you, dropping his head back then being jolted with realization of what is going on, immediately dipping to watch you. His lips are swollen from licking them so much, his cheeks flushed. He looks ready to burst from his skin.

You giggle, sucking your cheeks in like he did on your fingers, maintaining a steady pace. He bucks into you wildly, spilling pretty noises from his mouth shamelessly. They burrow in your ears, strike directly to your burning core. Your knees are sore but you continue, undeterred, focused on undoing him completely. Make him feel what he does to you.

He twitches in your mouth. “Fucking hell,” he says, sloppily fucking into you. “I��m— Shit, I’m close. I’m gonna—”

You pull away from him. He cries in protest, looking down at you with a pained frown. You lick from his base to his tip. “Beg for it.”

Matty doesn’t even think. “Angel, please, I need—”

“No,” you smirk, and there must be mischief written all over your face because he stares apprehensively. “Not to me. To God.”

“Are you—” Disbelief is written all over his face. “Are you kidding me?”

You chuckle, shaking your head, letting your lips trail back and forth over his tip. He makes another pained noise, blinking to keep from being overwhelmed with pleasure. “Ask Him.”

Matty breathes harshly from his nose. He considers you, considers your mouth just an inch away from where he desperately needs it, and throws his head backwards. “God,” he starts. You laugh again, delighted. He ruins your faith, you ruin his. It’s only fair. “Hi, God. Sorry I don’t talk often. Can I please fucking come? I’m gonna fucking burst if you don’t let her— Oh, my God.”

His head throws forward as you swallow him up. Your bobs are sloppy. You’re tired and sore deep in your bones, spit and drool and precum spilling everywhere between you. Your hand is drenched, your cheeks red with runaway tears. Still, you dedicate yourself to please him, running your tongue on his underside until he cries.

“Oh, my God, fuck!” He repeats, shaking, and then comes with a scream.

You’re surprised when he spills, pulling away with a gasp. The ropes of cum hit your chin instead, landing on your chest next, spreading down your skin. Only when he’s done, moans quieting slowly, do you kiss his tip just like he showed you. You put him back in his jeans.

You look down at the mess. Your pretty camisole is stained again. Between your collarbones, your golden cross is coated in white.

Matty catches his breath difficulty. You stare up at him. Catching his eyes, you take your cross between your lips, licking it clean. It’s salty on your tongue. You spit it back out glinting, drool dripping from it. Spotless. Cumless. He whines at the sight.

“I wish you could see yourself,” he whispers. “You did so well for me. My best girl.”

His best girl. You grin proudly. “Was I really the best?”

“Yeah, you fucking— You’re like a fucking dream, angel.”

You tsk. “I just had your cock in my mouth and you’re still calling me angel.”

“Only because you like it.” Well, you can’t argue with that.

You stand on trembling legs. Your knees crack, thighs burning in complaint, sticky and wet with your juices. Now that you’re free to think just a little more clearly, you realize how much you need him. To your core, to the beating muscle in your chest begging for him.

“Let me show you how good you felt,” Matty says lowly. “Get me out of these.” His hands pull on the bow, still careful not to break it.

You smirk, climbing your hands up his shoulder. “I remember you saying you wouldn’t even need them.”

His eyes grow dark. “C’me here.” He spreads his thighs, leaving you a pretty perch to settle on.

You straddle one, wasting no time to rock on it. You’re wet and needy, so fucking turned on you think you might boil under your skin. You won’t last long at all.

The leg and the soft material of your underwear is heavenly on your swollen clit. He flexes under you and you moan, dropping your head on his shoulder, panting. Everything in you buzzes. You feel like you’re going insane.

“Doing so well for me, baby,” he coos. “Fuck yourself on my thigh. Use me.” You whine, rocking faster.

He’s warm under your fingertips. He’s tough, and real, and you miss him even when he’s right there. You want to seep under his skin, sleep tightly between his heart and his rib. You lick at his neck, kissing and nipping. A red splotch looks back at you once you pull away. There. Your mark on him, like a delible I was here. There’s a possessive thrill shooting up your spine. Maybe you finally understand why he bruises your thighs so much.

Your movements speed up. You straighten, throwing your head back. Everything is intense, but nothing is enough. Matty dips to your chest. He licks and sucks at your cleavage, cleaning the cum off your skin. You moan at the feeling, at the knowledge. “Matty—”

“You’re so close,” he promises, nipping right above the hem of your camisole. You’re overheating. “Just a bit more.” What a lie.

“It’s not the same,” you whine, bucking on his thigh desperately, finding growing need, but not release. Your eyebrows furrow. Your hips grow sloppy. “I can’t do it like you.”

“Let me out.” He’s deadly serious. You vaguely shake your head. You’re in control. “Please, please, angel. Let me out. Let me please you. Let me make you come.” He makes a noise of frustration, flexing and unflexing his thigh underneath you. “I’ll make you scream. I promise. You know I will. Just let me out. I’ll give you what you need.” You pout, mulling on his suggestion. He narrows in on the weakness. “I need it. I need to see you. Come on, love. I just want to please you.”

With a huff, you bend to your side, reaching behind him to undo the bow. The ribbon falls to the ground. Matty grips your hips the next instant.

It’s fast and hard in a second, a delirious pace he settles you on. Your cunt drags over his thigh, wetting his jeans. You can’t stop moaning and, for once, you let the sounds leave your mouth freely. He seems eager to hear them, licking your chin and catching your lips for a head-twisting kiss.

Matty pulls away to reach for your camisole. He pulls it down to uncover your chest, bending back to continue his artwork, sucking and licking at your nipples. You cry. Your hands bury in his hair.

“Fucking drench me,” he begs. His hand sneaks between your legs, pulling your underwear to the side. He moves his fingers away quickly after, as though he had something to prove.

Your clit hits the rough denim directly. It’s a sharp strike of pleasure each time. You buck wildly, trying to find that ravaging euphoria you need. Each furious stroke gets you closer. His hand burns your hip. Everything in him makes you hot and sticky.

“Matty, I’m—”

“Come for me,” Matty pleads, running his tongue on your hard nipple. Ecstasy threatens the edges of you. “Fuck, come on my thigh. Fucking make a mess.”

“I’m—” Your mouth drops open with a silent cry and you come. You shudder against him. Pleasure waves through you, unreleasing that aching need. It hazes your mind more than the alcohol you just drank, more than a hit of cigarette, more than listening boredly in church. You’re tingling from your very tips, alive.

“Oh, God,” you say. You blink the blur away, finding him grinning at you, sweaty and flushed and fucking delighted.

“Told you I only needed my thighs,” he bites, cheeky. You grin. It was entirely true. You regret turning down his pleading request that day in church. You laugh, holding both of his cheeks with glee.

“I can’t believe I did that,” you admit. You lower your thigh-high socks just to see the bruise on your knee, prove it’s real. You gasp suddenly, worry seeping in, “Oh, no,” you breathe, hand covering your mouth. “Will George be mad?”

Matty laughs, throwing his head back. “He’s done worse in my room.” His hand rubs at your hip, soothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I can’t let you walk out with wine and cum stains on your top. That’s too much bad, even for me.” You giggle, nosing his cheek, then stand up. There’s a wet patch on his jeans and you flush when you spot it, though he only grins proudly.

You’re jelly on your feet. You’re sticky-happy. Matty’s hand warms yours as he tugs you out of the bedroom and into a bathroom.

—

The road comes to a stop. A single street lamp lights you, drooping over Matty’s car. You stare up at it, then at him. His dark curls falling wildly around him, his red cheeks, his plump lips; everything invites you in, draws you to your doom. There’s a lesson to learn, to memorize, humming faraway. You prefer to indulge, to be caught red handed and shamed. As long as the before thoroughly drowns it out.

Matty’s taste faintly lingers on your tongue.Your legs are loose and slack from another thunderous orgasm. He’s everywhere, and still you want him closer, deeper, longer.

The identical houses stretch on infinitely. You recognize yours by the broken step you fell on when you were five, a vestige of you, a way to prove you exist. Matty kills the gas.

“I hope you had fun,” he declares. You give him a purposeful onceover, smirking. Matty rolls his eyes, though pride still hangs in them. “More than that.”

“I had fun,” you agree. “I like your friends.”

“I like them too.” It’s so easy for him, so inherent. He loves his friends and he doesn’t even have to question the meaning of it, doesn’t have to overanalyze every interaction and how safe it can be to question a tweak of sentences. He gets to declare it, gets to mean it. You’re envious, faraway somewhere.

“I like you,” you say, because you mean it, because vodka and wine still linger somewhere inside of you. Matty flushes.

“I do, too.”

You grin at the whisper, at the confirmation. He hasn’t known you for very long, yet he means it all the same. A friend, a more than. How you like him.

Emotion overwhelms you. Your heart races, beating and beating against its bone prison, begging for something you can’t quite figure out. You don’t try to, instead listening to the familiar thrill fluttering inside of you. You unclasp your seatbelt, throw a leg over the console, settle on his lap.

Matty doesn’t seem surprised that you straddle him, instead resting his hand lazily on your waist. It swallows your skin, big and sure, meant to dip and dig and curl. You shiver just at the thought, at the possibility.

I like you, hangs in the air. And more…

You give him a fiery, needy kiss. There’s a burning desire to consume him, to keep him firmly lodged in your throat as you walk the path to church. You kiss him like it, gripping his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, his hair. Anything you can get your hands on, anything to make him tangible.

Your tongue is hot as it meets his. You tug on his hair, tilting your head, meeting him better. He tastes like cigarettes and you, and the knowledge makes you burn. You want him so deeply you might choke from the lack of him. He needs to be closer, deeper. You make an unsatisfied groan, dropping your hands to his belt.

Urgently, you paw at his pants, trying to get it off with shaky fingers. Your insides throb and clench around nothing, pleading for him. You’re tired of fighting inherent instincts, of battling guilt and morals. You want to feel good— great. Want to eclipse any doubt.

Matty breaks from your lips, but you’re undeterred, licking down his cheeks as you unbutton his jeans. You bite and suck at his neck, leaving your very own purple bruise, marking him the way he always seems to do you. Different. Changed.

Matty’s head drops on his seat. He sighs desperately, makes a low groan, and pushes you away from him. You pant, hungrily pulling at the hem of his shirt. He stops it with a heavy hand.

“Not here,” Matty says, shortwinded. His dark eyes almost seem regretful to say so. “Not for the first time.”

You catch your breath slowly, deeply. You wipe at your mouth. Nod faintly. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no—” You laugh. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t—” You grimace. “I wouldn’t want to do it in a car. For the first time.” Matty nods.

“Soon, maybe?” Matty whispers nonetheless, a promise and a beg.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Maybe soon.” The words hang in the air, meaningful.

You open the driver’s door, falling out of it gracelessly. You straighten with a proud smile, flash your teeth at him. Your white outfit is still stained; an opposite mirror of his. “Goodnight, Matty.”

“Night, love,” he says, amused.

You turn around and run to your house. The trellis ivies up terribly— terrifyingly— far up. You stare at it convinced, taking a step with a purpose.

#YES IT'S HERE #sorry NOT sorry for gaslighting yall for weeks<3333 #pray for my soul #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #smut #imagine #writing

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iwishf1wasreal · 1 month

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F1 Driver NSFW Profile: ✴ Carlos Sainz ✴ smut ✴ 18+ readers only

I. Flirt.

He thinks of himself as a very classy guy. He has no desire to be the loudest in the crowd or draw too much attention to himself. He feels the same about flirting. He’d rather live up to his nickname, Smooth Operator, and subtly yet suavely get your attention. He's also decidedly somewhat against PDA with a few minor exceptions depending on the occasion. But when you’re alone, he’s all over you. He’s also very romantic, a man who doesn’t just buy you roses or light a few candles because he thinks that’s what he should do. He genuinely enjoys it and can riff off of the classic romantic gestures to make them perfectly tailored to you. But mostly because he’s private and quite protective, PDA is at a very discrete minimum.

II. Propositioning.

Again, he’ll lead with romance. A deep kiss that takes your breath away. Tender and lingering touches once you’re behind closed doors. He’ll lead you to the base of the bed, kissing your neck and hands running over the skin, bunching up the bottom of your top. Carlos is also pretty controlled. He tends to have a pretty good cap on whatever emotions are just bubbling underneath, so he’s not exactly ripping you out of the party to take out in the back alley. It’s much less saucy and provocative. But once you know him, know his mannerisms and expressions, he can still light a fire in the pit of your belly by simply making eye contact with you over the ring of his glass. The mask he wears is neutral, perfectly acceptable for the public occasion but you know what he’s thinking. You can practically see it spelled out on his forehead. You’ll do your best to convince him to head home early.

III. Libido.

He could go all day but finds that a waste of an entire day. He’s young and athletic, so he benefits from his strength and stamina. He definitely would not consider himself a sexual person though you would be first to argue that he certainly fucks like one. Sexuality would be so private for him, and he would need to feel comfortable as well, so one-night stands had been mostly infrequent before you.

IV. Turn-Ons: tame & nasty.

Tame: Red dresses. High heels. Red fingernail polish. Dangly earrings. Low-cut tops. When you touch his bicep when you laugh. Watching you dance. When his cooking makes you moan. Reaching out for him in the middle of the night. Watching you lean over to take a golf shot and you purposefully wiggle your bum because you know he’s watching. Short golf skirts and those little white socks with sneakers. Nails scratching against his scalp. Drinking beer. Hide behind him. Letting him feed you. Watching each other from across the room.

Nasty: When you open your mouth and stick out your tongue at him to show him you’ve swallowed all he gave you. You sprawled on the bed with your hair fanned out behind you, covered in a mist of sweat with a tied, satisfied smile. When he starts taking you harder from behind so you have to reach back and hold on to him. Desperate gasps of his name. Eye contact. When he hits just the right spot and you let out some sort of exclamation.

V. Self-stimulation.

Generally when he’s away, it's with his imagination. Maybe a sex video off the internet if he’s looking for the release to relieve stress more than sexual frustration. Would never and does not ask about nudes but happily accepts them if you’re willing to share. Facetime sex is also an option but he has to be wined and dined, so to speak. He doesn’t want you to just answer completely bare or in the shower. He wants you to make some sort of effort, maybe a lovely dress or one of his shirts and colour coordinated panties. Something that shows him you’ve been looking forward to the call as much as he has.

VI. Foreplay.

If you wanted, he’d happily go down on you and expect nothing in return. Sometimes, you’ll even offer or reach to thank him–still dazed from your orgasm and he’ll stop you. “If only we had all day, cariño.” he’ll smile softly before he kisses you deeply and gets out of bed. He’s easily convinced for another full round in the shower but he’ll start to get antsy if you keep him beyond that. Doing something whilst you’re winding down in the evening isn’t sworn off by any means and wine can make his hands wander. But he needs to at least feel like he’s done more with his day than just you.

VII. Rhythm.

Because he is so genuinely romantic, he prefers a tender and savouring rhythm. Relatively quiet during sex, not because he’s not feeling it or is embarrassed. He’s just always so much in his head and sex can be quite emotional for him. You can get him out of it with enough coaxing and making him feel so good he loses his inhibitions. Otherwise, he’s a lot of shallow breathing and gentle groans.

VIII. How He Likes It.

He’s a missionary guy with some variation: legs folded to your chest, held down so you're folded in half or propped up against his shoulders. Maybe with you sideways beneath him while he’s still poised on top of you. Mostly he’s focused on keeping your eye contact or watching you react to what he’s giving you. Though, he feels best in doggy but sometimes fully can’t concentrate on thrusting when you start circling your hips and throwing it back.

IX. Location, location, location.

Obviously, being so private, it’s in the comfort and safety of whatever bedroom you find yourselves staying in that week. Craziest place you’ve done it is a golf course. One of the very few times you’ve let him drag you to the course and he pretends like you aren’t half asleep ranting about groundwater pollution and the loss of habitat on the way there. But he likes seeing you in the little outfit and the way you cling to him since you’re so out of your element. It’s also one of the rare times he’s gone without his usual golf entourage which makes it feel like you simply must take advantage. He’s not really much for you topping so you considered it another reason for the special occasion when you come across hole number 11 that’s shaded in shrubs and trees. The golf cart squeaked the whole time and Carlos almost ruined his own orgasm thinking someone else’s cart was starting to crest over the hill but you did it. Slightly awkward and dazed after, you still got it done. It seemed to spark a frenzy in him though, he was behind you coaching you through every swing. When, normally, he likes to throw you into the deep end and gleefully watch you struggle. It’s one memory he and his imagination rely on heavily when he’s away.

X. Kinky.

Not particularly kinky, more about each individual experience than wanting to recreate or dedicate certain experiences every time. Solidifies the belief that “vanilla” doesn’t have to mean boring. He’s just a partner who values a connection that feels the same and based in emotions. Sex is an expression of love for him.

XI. Bedroom aids/Toys.

He’s down to use a vibrator during sex if that’s something you’re into. He’s not really that kind of devious where he’ll suggest it or just pull it out in the moment and evaluate your reaction. He’s rational enough not to see it as a competitor and he knows you rely on it when he’s gone. So he does his best to work in tandem though when things get to the nitty gritty, sometimes he can struggle to multitask so either you need to take over and put the vibrator to the spot that feels right or he’ll toss it across the bed and focus on one thing at a time.

XII. Cum.

Again, he can last a while especially if he uses the intense mind-over-matter mentality he’s perfected from racing. He’d prefer to use condoms simply because the clean-up can be easier…But isn’t opposed to going raw.

XIII. Pleasure reciprocation.

You give head fairly equally and he will try anything you ask him to. Degradation was particularly hard from him. He’d start out good, calling you names and taunting you with his dick but after a certain point he couldn’t hold up the act any more. “I can’t do it, amor. It feels wrong, I can’t do it. “ He panted heavily in your ear after his thrusts came to a halt. But ultimately, he’s good with head. Understands the need for varaction and strong suction. Also, once he observed just how, uh, /helpful/ his nose could be…he really stepped up his game in a whole new way.

IVX. Bonus.

Though he’s not particularly loud in the bedroom, he does indulge in dirty talk but in his native Spanish. If you’re not a fluent speaker, he tries to use it as motivation to get you to learn.

When you ask what he’d just purred so sultrily in your ear, he tuts disapprovingly. “Tienes que seguir estudiando, mi amor.”

He’ll stay in Spanish the entire time, sometimes even let his native tongue bleed into whatever you’re doing after. Even acts like Spanish just feels so much better on his tongue, he can’t help that he stays in it.

One time when you’re on your knees for him, he’s particularly talkative. A soft husky tone, just between the two of you despite his empty Milano flat. He’s got one hand in your hair, keeping it out of your face as you go down on him.

“Dios–Fuck, Oh my–” It was the first time he slips between the two languages but it’s only momentary. Once his eyes came fluttering open and you pulled off him for a moment to breathe, hands taking over for a moment. “Cariño, por favor.” He sounded desperate, his free hand clutching the arm of the chair he’s seated on, hand desperately grasping at the fabric. Trying to find some semblance of reality to hold on to.

So rarely do you have him in the palm of your hand. You were smirking to yourself, looking at him with big innocent eyes and his body started to trash. He said something else in Spanish, he had said it enough times that you knew it meant he was close. In this moment, it wasn’t lost on you that his repetition of perverted lessons in Spanish might actually be paying off.

You put your mouth back over him, starting slowly again–a contrast to the firm, strong pace of your hand. Focusing on the head, you let your tongue rub against it and his hips bucked involuntarily. He says more in Spanish but you can’t really hear him. You’ve taken him back down your throat. No warning just as far as you can fit him. He’s practically howling now, Spanish words blending together you’re not sure if he’s coherent.

He didn’t last much longer, whiny and whimpering when you kept sucking after he finished. When Carlos finally breaks free, he lets out a long string of curse words–jumbled between English and Spanish.

“You okay, baby?” You ask in an innocent tone, gentle hands still fondling him. He hisses as your hand caresses his tip again. He almost looks like he might cry.

“¡Ay, carino, por favor!” He hissed, snatching your hand off his dick and reaching for his shorts from around his ankle. “Suficiente. Estoy suficiente, por favor.” You couldn’t help but giggle. Carlos, always so composed and control, fucked out and overstimulated, practically ready to jump out of his skin if you even flinched to reach out for him again. “I need time to recover.” He huffed, looking at you with stern brown eyes.

“Si, señor.” you saluted him playfully and he sighed, side eyeing you like he was debating something. Before you can ask, Carlos peeled himself out of the chair and extended his hand to help you up. Once face to face, you kissed him. Letting him taste himself on your tongue before you both went your separate ways for the day.

“I think you could use some one on one tutoring,” he tutted, looking you up and down.

“Por que?” you asked back with mock insult.

Carlos didn’t answer. Just rolled his eyes and bent to swing you over his shoulder, dragging you up to your bedroom.

#i had to abandon the formattign to get it to post everyone boo tumblr #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1blr #carlos sainz imagine

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spideyhexx · 3 months

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mdni; fem!reader; tw; blood/bloodplay

Your lips rest to billy's forehead, touching him with the softest of kisses. Doesn't matter that his face was dirty, both from blood and dirt. But it really doesn't matter. His hands shake, knuckles bloodied, and your head turns down to look at them. A drop of blood drips down his finger, dirtying his finger nail then onto the wooden floor of your home, almost in a slowed way that makes your breath catch. He notices. Of course he does. Billy, the ever so observant man he is and without a thought, his left hand rises, nudging his fingers under your chin to make you look up at him.

His eyes tell stories that you cannot fully read, but you do see the swimming of curiosity within them as his fingers stay rested underneath your chin.

With a hard swallow, you feel your head lured closer to him, almost by an unnatural force. His lips are redder with his blood from his nose, which had stopped bleeding, but was yet to dry on his face or be cleaned off. Your nose touches his and he hisses slightly, no doubt from the small bit of pain he received when he got punched, but Billy makes no move away from you. In fact, he moves closer until your lips are about to touch.

He seems hesitant, you determine. Was it the blood? You can't help but wonder why you don't care. Wouldn't it be more reasonable to clean him up and then kiss him and tell him everything is okay? Yes, but right now, you're seeing red. His eyes flutter closed and you're forced to stop trying to read them. The pad of his thumb taps against your jawline and the shockwaves it sends through you make you wanna laugh. A simple touch from Billy felt like the touch of a thousand suns, scorching each part of your skin no matter where he started the touch.

Your mouth parts in a breath and you see the quirk of his lips into a smile before you give in, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. It's gentle at first, but Billy's hand moves to hold your face and you can't help but press closer to him, wanting to feel the heat from his chest, from his hips against you. He welcomes it, holding your face in both of his hands as his lips caress yours. The taste of his blood mixes into your mouth when his tongue licks along your lip and you moan right into the kiss.

He must like that, you think, because you feel him stand to his full height. He had been leaning against the table, lax besides his hands, but now you feel no fidgeting or shake in his fingers as he holds your face.

He must like it even more, you tell yourself when he turns you so you're pushed against the ledge of the table, his hands grabbing at your waist, the fabric at your hips bunching up in his hands. You pull away from his lips to take a breath, your mouth parted and hungry for more of him, and his eyes widen slightly when he looks over your face.

"What?" Your voice is just above a whisper and he shakes his head at you, his eyes threatening to flutter shut again and that's when you see the dazed look, the way his eyes rake your figure and Billy nudges his nose to yours despite the pain it causes him. "Got some...got some uh...," he trails off and cups your face in his hand again, his thumb swiping at your bottom lip and wiping the blood of his that stained you.

"Oh," you whisper, and you feel it on your cheeks too from when he had been holding you, his hand wiping at it as it spreads and stains your skin, and Billy presses his body flush against yours, his bulge resting right to your thigh and it takes everything in you to not just drop to your knees.

"Am I pretty still?" You say instead, pouting your lip a little because you know he likes it.

Billy chuckles, giving your pout a little kiss, leaning his forehand to yours and his lips brush yours again, threatening to connect them but he's holding himself back. "Pretty as always, sweetheart," he mumbles, his jaw clenching as he sees the way you smile at him.

Billy wants to ravish you in this moment, rip your dress off and bend you over the table and take you, even with the ache in his muscles. But he likes this. He likes the lingering silence you let settle. The way your touch is so gentle to him, but seductive in its purpose. Your hands rest on his chest, toying with the top button of his shirt, never undoing it. Not yet. Not right now. It's breaking his resolve, his patience is thinning but you continue to stay quiet, studying his face like he really is a book.

Billy is close to whining. "Sweetheart," he says, his voice low, almost breaking as he lets his nose bump yours again.

"Yes?" You whisper to him, kissing the tip of his nose so gently, you're like a ghost. You lick over your lips to taste the blood, cursing at yourself inside your head for how much you like this.

"I need to clean myself up," he mumbles and you let yourself smile. He's fighting with himself. He knows you're gonna kiss him. He knows he's gonna kiss you. He knows he should clean up and sleep after the day he's had. But you're standing here with this smug, cute, perfect smile, tasting his blood and he knows that the mere sight of it probably got you soaked and he's almost dying to see it.

"Then, go clean up." He grumbles at that, rolling his eyes and Billy presses his clothed, hard cock more against you, using his hands to tilt your head up a little more. Your breath almost leaves your body when his hand trails to your throat, holding it in his grasp.

"Sweetheart," he pleads, and he hopes you understand his tone. You do, and you hold back your own eye roll, instinctively licking your lips despite having licked off the remainder of his blood from them.

"Think I need more," you whisper and Billy's hand tightens slightly around your throat and he can't hold himself back anymore. His hips almost buck against you the moment his lips clash back to yours.

His muscles strain and his nose throbs, his chest hurts, but your kisses are his antidote. They make the pain worth every single second cause a rush to shoot through his body straight to his cock. He's aching in his trousers, the need to bury himself into her too strong, he feels out of control.

You're tempted to slap him with how hard he kisses you, worried about your own nose getting injured from how aggressive he was, but the stir in your tummy said enough to you to know how much you needed this too. You taste his blood on your lips again and your moans cannot be controlled. Not when he bites your lip to get a taste of you.

Billy moves on his reflexes after that, turning you and pushes your back down so you're bent over the table, hiking your dress up. He's too desperate to take it off of you. It almost brings a smile to your face the way he takes control. You wanted this so bad. His hands felt almost unbelievable in the way he moved you and you long for it always. His belt clanks to the ground as he pulls it off, his hands shaking again as he frantically fishes his cock out of his undone trousers, not even bothering to push them down.

He rubs the tip of his cock against your folds, and his suspicions were correct. You were drenched, all ready for him and he kind of wished he could have spit onto your cunt when he still had blood to spit out. Another time maybe. He's relishing in the little soft whines you let you and your hand finds his, holding tightly.

"I got you, honey, I'll take care of you," he says, his voice huskier, almost strained as he teases his dick against your hole, pushing in, giving himself and you a moment to actually breathe before he slides his cock into you.

Billy groans and you squeeze his hand, your other holding onto the table. You try to breathe calmly, but that was always hard around Billy. Your breath catches and restarts often in his presence and this is like any other time. His senses overwhelm the moment he starts to thrust into you, his legs are so weak and he wants to pull you to the floor, but he's mesmerized already without even fully looking at your face.

You feel all of him, he makes sure of it. As deep as he can, he fucks his cock into you, his gaze watching it, but he feels the pull to look at what he can see of your face. Mouth parted, eyes dazed and fluttering shut when he thrusts deeper into you, "like that?" And you nod, his hand slapping to your ass in a hesitant manner, but the way you whine for him lets him know you liked it.

"Words, honey, please," he says, his voice dripping in desperation as he pounds into you faster.

"Mmm mhm, r-right there," you're able to get out, and he pumps his cock into you the way he thinks you like it. He's right. Billy makes sure to thrust his cock hard, deep into you each time, and he knows he can't hold back much longer, but he wishes he could. He wishes he could keep hearing your pretty little moans for an eternity. You know this won't last long either, so you write it into your memory the exact way his cock feels inside of you. And the way his noises are so desperate, he's almost whining. Almost. That was all for you. The thought of that is already sending your mind into a spiral that you know you'll never come out of. This want you have for him will linger no matter how far or close he is, knowing his want is the same is rattling your senses.

His breath gets shakier if that's even possible. You squeeze his hand tight, only holding a few of his fingers more than his actual hand. You feel him everywhere now. No simple touches left, just frenzied aggression that heightens the heat pooling within you.

He lets out a louder groan, one so akin to the groans he let out earlier in the day in his fight, but this is so much better. He feels like passing out, his one hand looping underneath you to tug your hips back into him. Billy almost lifts your feet off the ground, grinding his cock into you and that does it for you. He presses the right spot and you're whining into the table, contracting around his cock and releasing, your nails digging into his hand.

Billy can barely comprehend the strength of your release as his follows, keeping his cock pressed into you, grinding it, rutting it until you've taken all he has and emptied himself into you. You're milking every last drop of his come and he doesn't dare to pull out until he's sure he's done, until he's sure you've felt every shock of your own orgasm.

When he pulls out, his body is close to collapsing and he quickly reaches to tug you close and bring you to the ground. He sits, you landing in his lap and he says nothing, pushing his head into your neck and hugging you so tightly, you don't know where he got the strength to do so. You're panting still, and you feel his come already leaking out of you as you lean your head back on his shoulder. It's hard to remember how this started, and you know he's too fucked out to do anything else, but you feel the small fire inside of you pulse again as you think about him.

Billy lifts his head head and looks at you, his eyes a little sleepy. His lips, wet and pouted, find their home on your forehead, kissing it with the softest of touches.

let's chat about billy, here :)

#billy the kid #william h bonney #billy the kid smut #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney smut #william h bonney imagine #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x you #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid imagine #william h bonney x you #william bonney #william bonney x you #william bonney x reader #william bonney smut #billy the kid fanfiction #billy bonney #billy bonney x reader

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apomaro-mellow · 3 months

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idk how detailed of a prompt ur looking for but: Eddie thinks Steve's chest hair is hot for the bingo

im thinking of them going to the lake or something and Steve takes off his shirt and Eds nearly has a heatt attack bc yeah he'd seen Steve's chest before but he kinda repressed it? along with the whole upside down deal so he's like choking at the sight and at the newly found memory lol

but anything you come up with will be amazing im sure <3

every time i get a prompt i rub my lil raccoon hands together ehehehe

They weren't going to Lover's Lake. That had been the one thing everyone agreed on at first. Too much to unpack but it went without saying that no one wanted to relive the memory of what had happened in those waters. They all packed up and went about three hours away to a totally different town with a totally different lake.

"Summer time, a bunch of teens, a town where no one knows us", Eddie commented as they parked. "Did we just drive into another horror movie set up?"

"I think we can handle some random killer in the woods", Jonathan said.

Eddie couldn't argue. He knew for a fact that Steve had packed away his oh so trusty nail bat and that Nancy was strapped too. At a moment's notice, Robin looked ready to turn a beer into a makeshift molotov. But that was the last thought he wasted on the spring break from hell. Because the moment everything was set up, Steve pulled his shirt off like he was in a goddamn cologne ad.

That unnecessarily sexy way where he grabbed it off his back and pulled it of, shaking out his hair as if it would dare to fall out of place.

So here's the thing.

Eddie saw Steve shirtless that one time back in Hawkins. But it had been dark, and they were on a boat hunting an evil wizard and then in an underworld running from demon bats and there had been a lot going on, okay? He's ogled Steve plenty since then, now that he had time to, but he hadn't had an opportunity to see his naked chest again.

"Put on sunscreen!", Robin shouted, tossing it at Steve's head.

"Ow! Rude!" Steve picked it up and obeyed anyway, starting at his arms. Time seemed to slow. Or maybe Steve was purposely going slow, it was hard to tell. Then his eyes met Eddie and his next stroke up towards his neck seemed very intentional.

Eddie swallowed.

"Mind getting my back?", Steve asked.

Eddie didn't trust his mouth for once, so he just nodded, taking the tube of sunscreen and was definitely not thinking about squirting another kind of creamy white substance onto this beautifully dotted back. He tried to distract himself by looking at what the others were doing. Jonathan had already lit up a joint that he was now passing to Nancy. Robin was laid out in a chair, nose in a book.

Argyle was leading the kids down the shore to where they could rent out canoes. Or was it kayaks? All Eddie knew was that El was adamant on some sort of boating adventure.

"You okay back there?", Steve asked.

"Yep, yup, mhm. Almost done." He was done. The sunscreen was completely gone and he was just rubbing circles into his skin for no reason.

"You mind doing my chest too?"

"Wh-hat?", Eddie choked.

"I don't really like the feel of sunscreen on my hands", Steve justified and that was good enough for Eddie.

He still wasn't prepared for when Steve turned around. Eddie sat between his legs and god this might've been the closest they've ever been. Especially with this little amount of clothes between them, both of them in their swimming trunks and nothing else. Eddie squeezed some sunscreen onto his hands first, rubbing them together and warming it before pressing them to Steve's chest.

Goddamn it felt so....would it get thicker as he got older? It went all the way up to his collarbone and there was just a hint of a happy trail now but maybe with some time...

"They do know we're still here, right?", Nancy asked after letting out a puff. True, they were some feet away but still.

"I've got a spray bottle in case they go below the waist", Robin said, shaking said bottle.

Steddie bingo under the cut

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #thanks for the ask!#no they're not dating #yet #but by the end of this trip they might be #given that steve is straight up seducing eddie LOL

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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i know you said request are closed but when they are open again (if they are again) could you possibly do alex keller just coming home from deployment with smut? your price writing are so amazing btw i’ve been reading them for 2 days now

Again, this is a super old ask, lmfao, sorry about that. I offer you pure filth for forgiveness.

Warnings: smut, NSFW, F!Reader, etc. (18+)

Wet slapping echoed off the walls, held back whines trapped in your throat as your thighs burn with exertion. Alex lays under you, head tilted back and neck bared; his fingers bruise your hips as he groans and gasps through gritted teeth.

When he came home from his assignment overseas, he'd known he'd been gone longer than anticipated, but if he'd known you'd been this desperate for him he would have gotten on the first plane home.

"Fuck," your boyfriend whimpers, rapid, messy, slurping in his ears as you jump up and down on his cock, back arched and tits bouncing as your cunt swallows him. Dripping sweat slides off your bodies, a testament to the feral way you'd been riding him for what seems like hours.

Alex can't even remember the number of times he'd felt his stomach bunch; eyes clamping shut as his throat groaned deeply. Multiple releases bleed over his thighs and pelvis, sloppy fluids connecting flesh in strings of slick cum.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, b-been needin' this since I got off that damn p-," his voice cuts out as you clamp around him, his sensitive dick twitching as you grind with a mewl playing on your lips. The man's hips jump as his back arches harshly, forcing out," P...plane! Ah!"

Your mouth is open with ecstasy, and above him, you're quite the vulgar picture of instinctual desperation. He can't help the way he watches you with hickeys down his neck and chest; pulsing purple bruises adding to the tightening of his thighs. Alex's fingers kneed your flesh in desperation, pleasure so sharp it borders on pain stuck in the lines on his forehead.

"P-please," he whimpers, and you drag your nails down his pecs in long lines of red. "God."

Alex gets more shaky and desperate, hands moving up to grip your hips despite the loose and lax hold in his weak rapture. At the incoming clench of his balls and the panicked widening of his eyes, his hips start to cant into yours in broken thrusts. Whined moans and dog tags stuck around his neck like a collar.

You grab at them as he thrusts up into you, gasping and faltering for a moment at the dig. Shared eyes, blown with lust and orgasmic torment. Alex feels your pussy tighten and watches your lashes flutter when your clit bumps into his lower abdomen, stimulating you perfectly on his happy trail.

"A-Alex, missed you s'much, Baby," you slur out with heaving lungs. The man's cock jumps harder, pace somehow increasing as you both roll your thighs. "Feel so full with you inside me. S-so good."

Neither of you would be getting out of this bed tomorrow.

Alex starts to breathe heavily again, his body trembling. He grits his teeth and starts to match your movements, groaning loudly into the air with broken need. He almost seems to be growling as he presses himself into you, his wound coil growing second by second. By the look on your face and the way your expression breaks with breathy moans, you're not far behind him in this senseless fucking session.

The man's surprised the both of you can even still speak over the sensation of his grating cock entering and exiting your tight hole. Echoing off the walls, cut-off cries grow in volume and breathiness, each accented by a violent thrust consisting of oxycontin and bare impulse. The bed frame has put a dent in the wall with its repetitive knocking, a telltale slam-slam-slam that makes the both of you thankful you don't have neighbors.

Fuck, you were acting like horny teenagers; drunk off each other's scent and the sheen of bliss—there just wasn't any stopping.

With the coil growing and growing, abs clenching and dog tags in your grip, Alex lets you manhandle his chin so you can shove your tongue down his throat; hands grasping around your waist to thrust up into you at a better angle.

Your eyes roll back, saliva dripping from your chins to splatter Alex's chest. His mustache burns over your lower face, but it doesn't stop you from bringing him back in, sucking and biting on his lips.

"I—" Alex shakes, groaning in between passes of your mouth and the heat on his cheeks. "Christ, S...Sweetheart, I'm gonna," his entire body is tight, dick moving even more wildly with its prodding tip grazing your cervix. Your body spasms and you cry out, cunt hugging him like it doesn't want him to leave. Slick and the score of previous rounds slap wetly as skin connects over and over, making flesh shine. A tipping point is reached with high voices and rapid lungs. "I-I'm gonna—!"

You both snap at the same time.

Alex's head goes back into the pillow, back completely leaving the bed in an arch and cock throbbing as he spills his load inside of your wet heat with broken ruts that make him whimper. On top of his form, your entire form goes limp, legs shaking as you collapse onto your boyfriend's gasping chest with ragged breaths and feel the flood of his orgasm spreading inside of your womb.

The spend seeps out like the others, pussy completely full and pulsing; raw with the feeling of cum bubbling through the plug of Alex's cock.

Both of you try not to move, catching your respective breaths with legs spread wide and vibrating. After a long, long while where you nearly pass out from pure exhaustion, you feel Alex's chest rise fast for a moment. You peek a slow eye and groan as your boyfriend starts laughing.

Your mouth releases a low whine as his dick jumps inside of your clutch and Alex also winces moments later.

"...Fuck, Doll." Lips quirking, a sweaty hand finds your spine, and fingers tap against the vertebrae in broken intervals of shakes. You practically purr like a cat as the hoarse voice rasps out, "You, uh, you sure know how to welcome a guy home, huh?"

#halcyone answers #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #alex keller x reader #alex keller x you #alex keller #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #alex keller cod #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader #cod smut #x reader smut #call of duty smut

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princessbrunette · 5 months

Note

protective stepbro!jj when a guy hurts/makes reader cry 🥵

ALL SQUARE ♡

CW: mentions of JJ’s dad abusing him briefly at start, violence, step-cest, angry JJ !!

JJ was pretty shitty with his feelings. God, he’d die before having an ‘open conversation’ with someone about ‘boundaries’ or writing in a diary like that mandatory counsellor who visit him after his dad had left some gnarly knuckle stains on his face for the trillionth time had suggested. No, it wasn’t his style. You keep moving, keep talking, keep runnin’ and nothing can catch up with you. Nothing can hurt you.

You were so different.

It was almost painful, how sensitive you were. Your lip quivered at those TV commercials where they’d show the abused puppies in cages waiting for adoption, JJ often having to beat you to your phone before you donated a handful of the money you didn’t have. Your eyes would drop to your lap in humiliation when his asshole father would make some kind of offhand impertinent comment about the bunnies on your pyjamas or the fact your fresh nail polish on your toes was making the living room stink of chemicals. No longer abusive, but still an insensitive asshole. JJ didn’t know how your mother subsisted, but then again she wasn’t like you— soft and saccharine, she was tough. She kept his father in his place, he needed that.

Your common sensitivity was why his heart only leapt halfway out the confines of his ribcage when he found you. He’d come home around 4ish, having stayed over at John B’s, something he used to be able to do for weeks on end but now couldn’t bare to leave you lonely in the house for longer than 2 days. He remembers now, your work uniform, when he sees the back of you first— white polo top hugging you, skirt bunching a little from your feet being curled beneath you on the futon, gold clasped necklace kissing the peach fuzz at the back of your neck. He smiles before he notices the way your shoulders are slumped dejectedly and you sniffle wetly into your knuckles.

He doesn’t greet you in his usual silly way, this time traipsing around the futon in the living room with his brow pinched until he was met front on with the confirmation that you were crying.

“What happened?” He sighs. Undoubtably, you’d watched a Tiktok of ‘Cats who didn’t get picked at the adoption centre today’ or accidentally smashed one of your pink plates you insisted you ate off.

“I hate this job, J.” You bleat, lips turned down and gloopy eyes flickering to him a few times. He sits at your side, hand hovering over you for a moment before deciding on your shoulder what he hoped was comfortingly. Okay, that answer was pretty valid. You’d recently picked up a job at the golf course, Kook central. He hated the idea of you shuffling skittishly around after those belligerent assholes, having them peak up the pleats of your skirt when you bend to fetch a ball or to snap their fingers at you when you don’t retrieve their champagne fast enough. But, you’d needed a job and he respected you for trying. He fought with everything to hold in the “I told you that place was bad news.” until he couldn’t, and said it anyway.

“I know.” You mewl pathetically, wiping your glossy nostrils on the back of your hand leaving a snail trail of snot down it.

“Talk to me, c’mon.” He shuffles a little closer, eager to hear the details, to find out who / what had made his sweet little step-sister so downcast. His brain flashes to what he might think would be the usual culprits. From what he’d seen however, Topper was oddly respectful to the help, Rafe didn’t care enough to bully them and Kelce just did whatever Rafe did, so maybe not.

“Y’know that property salesman guy, the — the one who’s got his picture plastered on all those benches outside the town square. I kept gettin’ in his way and,” You hiccup harshly, taking a moment to swallow it down as you collect yourself. JJ stares at your profile attentively, eyes wide and jogging his knee. He wish you’d hurry up and get to the point. “He kept yelling at me. Callin’ me names, like stupid and useless.” Your eyes finally meet JJ’s, flickering around for a moment hesitantly. He has a fresh cut on his jaw and through his eyebrow, his blonde hair sticking out his backwards cap curls at his temples, his eyes are a little tired and bloodshot but still wide and beautiful. Oh, you hated to see him mad. You push your sleeve higher up your arm, and look equally shocked to see the fresh bruise had darkened, the shape of yucky thick fingers curled around it. “He yanked me really hard n’I lost my footing and fell.” Your face crumples again, hot tears squeezing out your eyes.

JJ goes very still, his knee frozen and he barely breathes. Not only had someone been mean to you, but they’d laid their hands on you.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.” He seethes and you’re already shaking your head desperately before he’s even finished his sentence. “Yes, yes I am— not only, okay — not only is he laying his hands on a woman, alright — he’s laying his hands on you. That behaviour needs to be straightened out, and if no one’s gonna do it well —” He was up, pacing infront of you, looking around for something, some inspiration on what he could do to this degenerate Kook.

“Jayj!” You snivel, and it sounded so sad and small that it actually stops him in his tracks. He didn’t wanna scare you, no. Not you of all people, not when you’d been treated like this. He had a temper, it was true— his father’s son, but he was trying to be there for you. Be a good big step-brother. He sighs, rubbing his hands down his face a good few times trying to wipe off the anger, for now atleast. You could see the self restraint in him, his biceps were tense and his hands were flushed with colour and veins from the strain of it all. Made your tummy go all weird.

“Alright.” He relents and sits down right next to you again, taking off his cap and tossing it aside carelessly to run his fingers through the tangled locks, snagging half way through.

“I need this job.” You speak after a moment, and he turns his head to look at you. You looked so pretty, even when you’d been crying, snot and all. He rubs his lips together, eyes casted away once more as he nods.

“I know.” He wrings his wrists, the signs of restlessness still residing in him. “Sorry I freaked... C’mere.” He turns back, windscreen wiping the inky droplets of watered down mascara from beneath your eyes, hot hands cupping your cheekbones. “People are assholes, babe.” He lets the nickname slip out and your face gets a bit warmer. “You’re so much better than them, y’hear me? You’ll be alright.” He leans in and presses a kiss to the centre of your forehead. It feels appropriate, but he’s not sure what that means anymore — the line between the two of you having been crossed in such demented ways before. God, you look up at him so sweet when he pulls away, big watery eyes that would put a baby cow to shame. “You’re tough.” He lies, because you’re not tough, you’re so far from it— but your cheeks push up anyway, easily subdued by his care and affection.

“Yeah?”

“The toughest girl around. Even I’m scared of ‘ya.” He jokes and you giggle. Mission accomplished, for now anyway. The first part of the mission. He’d sweet talked you enough to have you curled up on the couch, exhausted from your long and stressful day, some reality show he couldn’t care less about buzzing on the TV. Yeah, that’ll do— some form of promise to go and grab some icecream to bring you leaves his mouth when he jogs out the door pocketing his keys and you believe him. He’s sure he can pick some up on the way home anyway.

But he passes the convenience store and heads all the way to the golf course. One of JJ’s many rules to mischief and misconduct was that if you walked with enough purpose, no one will question whether or not you belong somewhere. Which is how he strides straight in, past all the Kooks in their crisp shirts and board shorts, a jolly atmosphere in the air as the sun starts to set. Oh happy day, JJ thinks, how nice to be this ignorant to the world around you.

He all but skids to a stop when he spots him, the man he was looking for. Mr Mattegar, top salesman to Kildares richest idiots. Overpriced houses and redecoration jobs that remove any historical significance from a property? You best believe it’s Mattegars handiwork. He lounges at the bar, reddy-orangey cocktail in hand as he laughs obnoxiously loud amongst friends. JJ hangs back a little, nose twitching in anger as he disguises himself clumsily behind a large decorative plant. He’s lucky Kooks are so self absorbed, because no one spares him a glance.

Finally, the successful salesman departs from his table, heading towards the car park. Perfect, JJ notes, makes my job a hell of a lot more easy. The car park is secluded, away from the resort, and as JJ keeps his eyes trained on the Kooks back, he plucks a golf club from a passing trolley, clutching it in his tightly wound fist. He was going to find out which obnoxious Rangerover belonged to the culprit and partake in some much deserved vandalism, but this was better. His chest feels hot with vexation.

Another one of JJ’s many mischief guidelines fell along the lines of ‘Don’t think, just do.’ He stayed true to his word when he yanked up the paisley bandana tied around his neck to cover everything but his eyes and yelled out “Hey asshole!” Once the two of them were alone.

He didn’t think when he swung with the club, the metal head cracking against the aged man’s cheekbone. He yelps, falling backwards, and JJ is still yet to think when he swings again. “S’what you get! Laying your hands on little girls just tryna do their jobs!” He should have started thinking. The more he uses his voice, spitting out the expletives as he gives him a good few kicks to the rib, the more identifiable he’d be. This was a hit and run so uh, run.

He takes off, yanking his bandana off to pant wetly by the docks, tossing the golf club and watching it sink. He wasn’t sure why he’d referred to you as a ‘little girl’. It made him feel icky, weird, perverted. He leans over the side of the wall, watching the metal club disappear into the inky water as he catches his breath. Murmuring out a ‘God damn’ before continuing on home briskly, not even forgetting to pick up your favourite Ben & Jerry’s on the way home. What was that flavour you liked again? Phish Food?

You’re conked out when he gets home, lips parted and curled infront of the TV with a blanket draped over your legs. He exhales through his nose, placing the tub of frozen dessert aside on the table along with his keys as he slowly approaches, a small but anxious smile on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, but for you there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do. He pulls the blanket over you a little higher, dropping a kiss to your temple. He’ll share the tub of icecream with you when you wake up.

#tw stepcest #stepbro!jj #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank blurb

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charmercharm3r · 11 months

Note

Hi dear 🥰 are your requests still open?? Recently stumbled across a very… spicy edited photo and it’s begging for a story to go along with it 🤣

hehehehehehehehehe

Masterlist

wc: 1k

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, oral (m), marking, exhibitionism, cum eating

☆ﾟ

“Baby, c’mon. I have to give this outfit back. Wait until we– fuck.”

Changbin’s back hit the wall of the changing room as you fell to your knees. His enormous thighs were just begging to be marked. The entire stage monitoring, you couldn’t help but watch them as he danced around, moved freely and without a single clue how horny it made you. He never let you truly mark him up until now, and you were going to town. You’d already made a mess of his neck, trailing a few marks down beneath the top. But you could feel he was already so, so sensitive if the tent in his shorts were anything to go by.

“Tired of waiting,” you mumbled into the inside of his thigh, pushing the fabric higher to bunch around his crotch.

“Someone will hear,” Changbin tried to protest, but made no effort to actually stop you.

“Then be quiet.” Easier said than done.

“They’ll come looking for me.”

His breath hitched as you palmed him over the material, nipping harder at the flesh of his thighs and making your way up. “Then let them look. Unless,” you looked up at him through your lashes, “you’re scared.”

His cock twitched, he knew he was caught. Changbin shook his head and let it fall back against the wall, hand coming to thread through your hair and guide you back in to where his cock throbbed.

With a giggle, you continued to teeth and bite the fatty flesh of his thighs, getting rougher and rougher the closer you got to his dick. Tongue running all over, suctioning in his skin, you smiled as you pulled away to examine your artwork. Changbin was biting his lip so hard it was on the verge of drawing blood. He kept looking down at you, then at the door, back and forth so consistently that you couldn’t help but laugh again. He wanted it so bad, but was equally as terrified of getting caught.

To get his attention back on to you, you gripped his cock through the shorts hard, massaging him just a little to earn a deep, suppressed moan. “Eyes on me, baby,” you cooed and continued to paint him in red and purple splotches, this time to the other leg.

Changbin complied, but was getting antsy. He was tugging at your hair and trying to buck his hips into your hand, clearly wanting more. Not giving any indication that you were going to, you reached into the pant leg and under his boxers to pull his cock out through the hole, scrunching the material of both his underwear and stage outfit as high as it’d go. Immediately, you took his leaking tip into your mouth and Changbin almost whined at the sudden action. He accidentally slammed his head back against the wall and groaned, but not from the pain, rather because you were swirling your tongue around to collect the precum and swallow.

You sucked him off slow, casually pinching at the marks on his inner thighs and crotch with your nails to keep him stimulated in different ways. It was hard to be mad at how tightly he held your hair, but you were starting to get concerned about someone intruding, too. Eventually, Changbin grew too loud, he was a risk.

You let him take matters into his own hands, guiding both of his into your hair and holding his shorts up as best as you could to let him take the lead. Normally, letting him control you like this was a gift, he knew that. This was a favor and a debt to be repaid, preferably later when you two got home.

He immediately knew what you were offering and took it. Changbin held the sides of your head somehow tightly and carefully at the same time, adjusting his stance to plant his feet on either side of your hips and begin to pummel into your mouth entirely unrestrained. He must’ve been terrified of someone coming in, but still couldn’t help but give in to the thrill factor of it all. Slack jawed, tangled hair, messy lipstick, you were on the verge of falling backwards if not for his hands behind your head to keep you bobbing back and forth on his cock. You were thankful that the worry of getting caught was distracting you from gagging, it would’ve made getting him to cum much harder. But Changbin was a sucker for anything that involved you, which is why he agreed to letting you touch him in the first place.

Almost falling onto your back, Changbin had used your mouth so thoroughly that his knees were pushing your shoulders, you had to grip his thighs for stability. It didn’t take him much longer to cum once you started lowly humming, short, deep ruts until he sheathed himself entirely within your mouth and shot his load down your throat with a strangled moan. You took it, and let him use your tongue to clean his cock of any left over residue.

As quickly as he got off, he pulled out of your mouth while you swallowed and tucked himself back into his shorts, lifting you from the ground and wiping your mouth with the back of his hand. Changbin took a brief second to fix your hair and makeup before pulling you into a kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. It was a wet kiss, compliments of your own saliva, but a fiery one, nonetheless.

“It’s dangerous how much I liked that,” he admitted, sweetly kissing your forehead before gathering his clothes to finally change.

“It’s dangerous how much we heard. Hurry up, we wanna go home,” voices outside the dressing room called, followed by your boyfriend’s face dropping. You could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest until you called out, “pervs.” Footsteps outside the door scattered instantly, and Changbin buried his face in your neck hoping to melt into you so he doesn’t have to face his bandmates.

tags:

@sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers101 @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @leebitsimpracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @kaitchan @iadorethemskz

#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids changbin #stray kids fanfic #skz #skz smut #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz changbin #seo changbin #seo changbin smut #seo changbin fluff #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin x yn #seo changbin x y/n #seo changbin x you #straykids

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