#1-800-tits
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Hi! I write this fic on Wattpad, but figured I would put it up on tumblr, too!
WARNINGS: THIS IS A BDSM FIC
WATTPAD ALTERNATIVE | TRAILER | ALPHABET PROMPT | tdiag things
DESC:
"My name is Eros," the masked male cocks his head a smidge at her, and, if only slightly through the shadow cast between the parted zipper, Isla catches sight of a smile tugging at his lips on the latter fragment of his statement, "But you already know that. I'd hope, anyways. We've had a chat. Or two."
His lips - his mouth. Isla ogles the latex through the peepholes of her own and wonders what shape the rest of his features take, what carves and forges his face, how his nose slopes, the assemblage of it all.
"Although we are acquainted," Eros smooths his fingertips over the arm of the chair, a lavish facade of plastic masquerading, "You will address me as Master."
Isla swallows. Despite her prior train of thought looping so intently on the tracks to decipher what she believes he'd look like beneath his mask, it's entirely derailed by the serious note in his previously light cadence. She wonders how a mere introduction manages to send such a thrilling rush rolling down her spine. Eros leans forward, forearms braced to his splayed thighs, almost as if to bend to her level.
"Or Sir. Master, Sir, it's all the same to me. Your preference."
CHAPTER 1
The one with Masks & First Meetings, Mr. Executioner (or Mr. Friendly??), and a scene feat. a blindfold and an unexpected participant
CHAPTER 2
The one with negotiations in a room that draws memoirs of therapy appointments (fancy chairs — comfy chairs), Harry: “Crying = enjoying... Got it,” testing the limits, face-fucking, and a glint of teeth
CHAPTER 3
The one with shoplifting grapes, drafting a contract feat. a debate on honorifics, creampies — according to Harry, generally too sweet, floggers, fear-factor-except-it's-kinky, and four too many orgasms
CHAPTER 4
The one with a manacle and a mean man who lends a helpful hand in a house hunt, the same mean man being nice .63737382 seconds later, sloppy cunnilingus, and a Series of Mysterious Knots
CHAPTER 5
The one with a Series of Mysterious Knots Part 2, sleeves caught in car doors and impromptu rope swing climbing, a pair of dress shoes, and sixteen minutes too many
CHAPTER 6
The one with the birth of the infamous yada yada, Isla “what happens at three?” Cleery, the glove (singular!) comes off, a very jittery ottoman, a cane, and some (unwholesome) late night talking
CHAPTER 7
The one with another house tour, a …vivid imagination, the rise of the green-eyed monster, Harry “your actions have consequences” Styles, the importance of taking breaks, and emotions brewing and bubbling to the surface
CHAPTER 8
The one where (more) emotions brew, a ham and cheese croissant, an oat milk latte, and a book about pain-slut-ism, the discovery of villain origins, even more emotional brewing, and an exploration of boundaries
CHAPTER 9
The one with a sprinkle of consensual violence, the cane, feelings-ish (that Harry buries in pussy), and the D word
#dom harry styles#harry styles#harry styles dirty fanfiction#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles edit#harry styles edits#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles smut#harry styles wattpad#harry styles writing#harry styles x oc#domharry#dom!harry#TDIAG#1800tits#1-800-tits
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hey what the hell is barba always munchin on. pistachios? almonds? idk why but almond slices are the first things to come to mind.
#「🖋️; 1-800-smooch-a-lawyer」#hes so distracting.. fat ass fat tits. sorry this doesnt belong here#i need him. anyway
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pt.2!! (i know that cliffhanger was menacing) 800 followers hello?!
part 1 | part 2
It was weird. It felt weird.
You sat with your chest bare, Kenma contemplating his own conscientiousness and conscious before you. Should he have any integrity, he would turn you around and fulfill what you came to do.
But he doesn’t. Intrusive thoughts win, so he dives straight into you to suck on your tits like a fucking baby.
Just watching in amusement as he tugged and nipped, it looked like Kenma was genuinely enjoying himself when he licked the bud in a single stripe, cat eyes gazing into yours devilishly by the way he could feel your back has a slight arch to it. His pale hands roamed from the small of it to your shoulder blades.
Your manicured fingers tread through the black locks that cover his tinted cheeks and reveal his long, black eyelashes. You mentally curse him for having them. Your upper back begins to stray away; Kenma just follows.
You connect strands of hair behind his ear (which he greatly appreciates you for) because he needs to see you, your curves, and body in all the bright rainbow light from the edges of his setup.
He removes the slim shirt entirely and discards it randomly in the room. He couldn’t care less where it landed. He grasps—literally grasps— both tits in each hand before looking up at you ordinarily, but in an anticipating manner.
“Take the rest of it off.”
“Say please,” you announced. Yes, you asked first, but you could still have a little fun (and refresh his manners).
“You do realize you’re literally in my hands right?“
“…So?”
He just blinks up at you and rolls his eyes in obduracy.
“Please, take the rest of it off.”
You tap a fingernail to your chin, “Hmm… say it like you mean it.”
If you could describe the ravenette’s face right now, it would be the most unamused you’ve ever seen him.
Kenma grabs you and roughs you off him, twists you ‘round, and adroitly unbuttons your jeans from behind you. Done with your shit, he peels them down and brings your panties along. He then pulls you back down to him backwards.
“See? Easy peasy,” he comments.
Slightly embarrassed from being absolutely manhandled, you shuffled against his front and dug your head into his sweatshirt on his left shoulder.
“Are you shy now? Not too long ago you were asking me to—”
“Shut up- Shut up.”
A giggle sounds behind you and lengthy, soft fingers trail up to your plush thighs anyway, then leads more inward. He pats twice to ask you to open up for him. You comply in spite.
With two delicate fingers he spreads you open, a third experimenting by dipping into your wetness. You were already getting throbbing having thought about it all day. Your friends constantly conversed about what their partners did and how good it felt, so you want as close to that as possible, but the problem is that you’re doing it while being unaware of how skilled Kenma actually is. You’re starting to question whether he was the right person or not. Or whether it holds up to its name. Or if you can do it at all.
He caresses you, rubbing the pad of his finger in circular motions against your clit.
“Okay,” his chest rises and falls, “just relax and think about whatever boy toy you want.”
You ignore his taunting. Your eyes trail downwards. He was going so slow, but if you thought you’d have Kenma pawing at you by the end of the night you had to be on something. So, you do what he asks of you and shut down any tense nerve in your body.
“There you go,” as you soften against his front, now two of his fingers locate your nub and continue the circling. Your thighs are spread apart on each chair arm, facing the dark idle screensaver Kenma had, the plush actively being kneaded between his free hand. Your center was tingly but not the trademark “oh my god!” tingly. It felt good but you weren’t screaming just yet.
Almost in time, he curls his hand farther forward and dips a finger into you. It was very slowly done for reactive purposes, and with your sight deactivated, the reaction he expected from your chest was granted. He sinks deeper and deeper until his palm is flat against you. Thanks to his patience, you were definitely wet enough.
He stills inside.
“I can’t do anything if you won’t breathe.”
“Sorry,” you apologized, and let out a breath you had no idea you were holding. His thumb reddens your clit even more while the other hand releases your thigh and slides up your body to tighten on your breast. You feel used with his hands all over your body, but in a good way.
Your regular breaths graduated to heavy ones, and those graduated to groans. Your voice wasn’t very high pitched anyway. When does the good part come?
The inactive hand rotated to your clit, while the other focused mainly on gyrating through your walls. His long finger reached places yours couldn’t, and adding a second would only increase the chance of him finding that single pile of nerves that could make you go haywire. He was close but he didn’t think to resort to that just yet.
Two of his hands meet around your front like a hug. His articulated digits roll inside you, each roll a tug on your resistance. A little to the left or a little to the right. His hand curled somehow even deeper on the hunt for your g-spot, so he takes a mental note: up and to the right.
“Oh shit,” your hips slightly stutter.
He smiles, “Right there?” and pesters the previous patch. Your hips lift off him the tiniest bit and your hand reaches up mindlessly. Really you just needed something to occupy yourself. He goes at it again and again, your tummy folded yet moving with him as he’s still going too slow when your body is screaming for more.
You rub his nape in an attempt to focus on anything else. Your arm is geniusly wrapped between the two of you by journeying under his neck. Your reflection in the screen is unbeatable, Kenma working you like it was his millionth time doing it. Everything had a job and you just had to sit and take it.
“That’s definitely you,” he mused. He kissed under your ear on the right side. You could say you weren’t feeling much all you wanted, attempting to lower his ego, but your contorted expression spoke differently with inaudible words. At some point his speed increased.
You unintentionally grind on him as your hips falter halfway. He tries his best to ignore it and keep your high ecstasy going because it was: A, the meaning of this entire operation; B, you’d be sore anyway, better to make the best out if it; and C, had he acted on it you would’ve squirted all over his dick. Which option C isn’t necessarily a problem, it’s just he’s almost certain you’d like to see yourself do it.
“Feels good Ken,” you mumble. The squelch sound could now be heard, and you both listened as he slotted himself in the crook of your neck and your head was thrown back on his shoulder. It was dead silent in the apartment, so silent you could hear your own thoughts and maybe even each other’s.
It sure seemed that way, because Kenma persisted with a finger and stimulated you simultaneously. Your head rolled back and forth, your calves flexed, and your pretty pink toes hung off the chair arms. The clip in your hair hadn’t bothered him one bit.
“Kenmaaa,” you insisted.
“I’m here, tell me,” he indulged. Your breaths were practically weights, yet shallow at the same time.
“Gonna come soon.”
“I got you. Just let it happen.”
Kenma knew you were close before you did. Hell, he was a part of your body now. Obvious signs were shown like when you tighten around him and your muscles contract, informing him everything was already in motion. The orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, taking you and your brain out to sea, but not your body. In fact, it left your disappointment behind too.
Nothing happened.
It took you a second to realize this though— considering it was still one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had—but also because Kenma hadn’t stopped.
“Please,” unaware of what you were calling for, you turned to his face, but he was already so close like he was waiting for you there. He’d slowed only a bit, but this makes little difference already being hypersensitive. Once again, you’re grinding on him, it’s just rougher now and more effective at getting him any harder than he already was.
You talked face to face and couldn’t decide what eye to look in. His lips were so close, and so very inviting. You kiss him.
Soft lips unite with yours meaningfully. You hadn’t known it would progress to this, however, Kenma now occupies your entire body, being, and mind. If you could dismiss how hard he was overstimulating you, just maybe you could kiss him with the passion you desired—but that was reaching because you couldn’t find the strength to kiss him back at all. Your lips were open yet hushed in all attempts to return the gesture, but your body fails you under the hands of lust.
You felt another coming. Your eyes had this faded look to them as if you weren’t here, so Kenma brought it upon himself to whisper to you.
“Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” His voice was soft in the air.
You respond with a light headed moan. Fuck all that shit about your voice not being high and you couldn’t pornstar moan, because to some extent it was and you really could.
“K-Ken I can’t—“
“You can,” he interrupts, “anything you want baby.”
Your hand quits fidgeting with the loomed bracelets adorning his wrists to move down to holding the both of his that were working you. The attempt is futile, because even if you did manage to get one hand away, the other would still be toying with your pussy. The veins that stretched from his muscles all the way to his forearm could be seen clear as day. Kenma adds another finger, and doubles into you as it sinks up and to the right.
“Oh fuck, Kenma, Kenma-“ you repeated. You tried pushing him off, except you wanted him to continue, except that you were in no state of mind to make decisions. Your back arched impressively and you were on the verge of crying. This quick?
He constantly acknowledges you, “Uh-huh.”
Kenma almost triples in speed. He continues to whisper to you. “Do it. I know you can. Show me how you come for me.”
You don’t feel it, but Kenma plants his feet and swivels the chair around as your mouth drops. You were pushing outward more than downward, and as Kenma pistons into you, there was no way you weren’t about to squirt. Just preferably, not on his monitor. He kisses at your face now turned away from him. “Just like that, you’re almost there. Open your eyes.”
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god-!” you breathe.
Kenma quickly runs back and forth over your clit encouragingly and doesn’t let up. This wasn’t a wave that rolled over you this time, but one that came up to shore first, dragged you along into sea, and sucked you under. It felt normal until it didn’t and you were releasing all over his carpet.
“You look so fucking good like this. Knew my girl could do it.”
Your hair was fucked from rolling on it. You had came so hard your body tensed and slightly cramped, rendering you idle as he continued until you were done. The clear liquid rolled down your own leg. You felt as if you were underwater. Your head bashed like there was no oxygen. Kenma was a man of few words but after you got what you deserved, he didn’t have shit to say.
He gripped your thighs, lifted them, and slowly lowered them to his. A darker color stained his sweats. Was it from you, or him? Neither of you know. His hand pets your forehead gingerly.
“Your girl?” You ask lazily.
“I think we both know you wouldn’t have let anybody else do this,” he establishes. He was right.
sorry if it’s not as good as first!! it was supposed to come out earlier but my dumbass queued it for the wrong day 🤦♀️🤦♀️ also did you catch the easter egg😏😏 (I made this a little shorter to match up with the time it takes to…yk… that’s why all of my fics that aren’t penetration are shorter)
@iwouldbangchan @hislaevv @butterflyk04 @lilmisskreideprinz @ahahadumbo @bontensbabygirl @ninefuckingoneone @hwangsyunho @privthemis @anonymoussimper @frenchinator2sickk
#haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu headcanons#haikyu x reader#haikyuu smut#haikyuu hcs#god i want him so bad#kenma hcs#kenma headcanons#kenma scenario#kenma imagine#kenma x y/n#kenma smut#kenma#kenma kozume#kozume kenma#hq kenma#kenma x you#haikyuu kenma#kenma x reader
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TRUTH OR DARE || ATEEZ OT8
Genre: Smut
Pairing: Idol Ateez x fem reader
Word Count: 3.6K
Tags/warnings: OT8 smut, Idol!AU, 9th member!Y/N, orgy, dirty talk, m x m (quite a lot since everyone's just doing everyone so if u don't like it I suggest u don't read it), oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, anal sex, boobjob, nipple play, masturbation, slight marking, some hairpulling, facefucking, yeosang spits once, fingersucking, handjob, orgasm denial, double penetration, creampie, breeding kink, cumeating, a lot...of...cum, wooyoung has a lot of power even when he bottoms, yeosang has power too
Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @1-800-shedevil @glintneon123 @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @staytiny816 @sugarnspice630
ENJOY!
"Aaand it'ssss.... Yeosang! Truth or dare?"
Yeosang whined n sighed, not wanting to play this stupid game in the first place. "Fine, uhm, truth I guess?"
"When's the last time you got laid?" Mingi shouted. "I'm literally beside you, Mingi, please tone it down," Yeosang said as he gave him a dead stare. "Why do you even wanna know?"
"Because we're nosy," Wooyoung chimed in, other members agreeing. "Well I suppose it was last month, when we were in Japan," Yeosang confessed. "I knew it. I knew you hooked up with someone!" You laughed, "I swore I heard a girl in his room."
"Yes, well, let's move on," Yeosang muttered as his cheeks got red. He spun the bottle and it landed on you. "I pick truth!" You said as you took another sip of your wine.
"Who of us would you rather fuck?" San asked you. "H-hey, wasn't Yeosang supposed to ask?" You said defending yourself. "I think Yeosang would want to know too. Who would you rather fuck?"
"San, I don't think-
"Come on, don't you know that we can hear you at night? Or in the shower? In the hotelrooms? When you're all needy, playing with yourself and moaning our names? And what about when you hooked up with that bodyguard and you called out MY name?"
"I-In my defense h-his name was Sangho. So that's really just a shortened version of-" "Y/N, please cut the crap now, we know about your fantasies and I mean, we have them too," Yeosang stated suddenly. The room was silent for a minute until Wooyoung giggled from the corner of the couch.
"What is it now, Woo?" "Well I was just thinking if all of us are having fantasies we could... give in to them...? We're alone right now, no one has to know, right?"
Wooyoung's request made some of the guys blush, but some were definitely turned on, smirking. "Are you suggesting we have an orgy, right here, right now?" Hongjoong asked in disbelief. "Yeah, kinda. You scared?" Wooyoung said with a smirk, sliding his hand over Hongjoong's thigh. "I mean, no... not scared..."
"Well good," Wooyoung said before crashing his lips into a startled Hongjoong, who soon enough started kissing back. Yeosang was seated from across the room and he had his legs spread a little, palming his already halfhard cock through his sweatpants. San followed soon after, his shirt already off.
Mingi sat on your left and decided this was his chance to make the first move on you. He leaned in and instantly you kissed him on his lips. Mingi's lips were overwhelmingly soft, like a pillow.
Yunho, who sat beside you on the right side was suddenly getting handsy as you felt him cupping your breasts from behind. As you were kissing Mingi, Yunho was playing with your bare nipples as you weren't wearing a bra under your sweater right now.
When Mingi noticed Yunho was working on your breasts he couldn't hold back, joining in on your left one. He broke off the kiss and yanked your sweater off your body, revealing your bare tits. The men grunted at the sight and you could feel yourself getting wet from all the attention.
Wooyoung had now pulled Hongjoong half onto his lap, tongues making a mess during the sloppy kiss. Yeosang looked at you and came closer, taking your sweatpants off and admiring your clothed pussy. Your cute, delicate underwear had a big wet patch on it, making him smirk. "Already, hm?"
Yeosang pulled them down and spread your legs, admiring your wet cunt. "Fuck, aren't you a beautiful thing?" Jongho took place beside Yeosang, spreading your legs even more.
You could feel a wetness press against your entrance, and then another, making you gasp loudly. Yeosang and Jongho took turns as they slid their tongues inside your wet hole, tasting your arousal. "Fuck, that's so good," Jongho moaned. Your hips bucked as his nose came in contact with your clit, sparking some sensitivity from you.
"S-sangie, ah~" you groaned as he moaned, pumping his tongue into your pussy, Jongho nibbling on your thigh as he did so. Yunho and Mingi still played with your sensitive nipples, but now as they made out with each other right in front of you.
San and Seonghwa were across from each other, still taken aback from the fact this was actually happening. All they knew was to get naked as soon as humanly possible. They took their cocks in their hands, stroking it as they watched the others.
Wooyoung and Hongjoong were still lost in their make-out, grinding hard-on's against each other. Yunho broke the kiss between him and Mingi and pulled him into his lap to kiss him again. That's when you noticed the lonely San. "San, baby, come closer," you panted out. Yeosang sucked harshly on your clit before plunging his tongue inside you again. Jongho's fingers were quick to find it's way to your sensitive clit, rubbing it quickly.
San scooched over to you. He straddled you hovering over your lap, sitting on his knees, cock rockhard against his toned stomach. You took it into your hand and stroked it slowly. He threw his head back as you sped up gradually, making him moan out your name.
"P-please, please, fuck," he moaned. You moaned along with him as the two between your legs showed no signs of stopping. They played you with their fingers and tongues, switching places and swallowing arousal from each other's tongues every few moments.
"Please what, Sannie?" You said with a smirk, followed by a shriek as you felt two fingers stretch your hole, fucking into you so fast your breath couldn't catch up. "I wanna cum, I want you to make me cum, all over your torso, please, I wanna cum all over," he groaned.
Your hands worked harder and faster and before you knew it he came with a loud moan, spilling his cum all over your chest and stomach. The sight of San bursting right in front of you sent you over the edge, cumming down on Jongho's fingers with a loud cry. "Yes! Fuck!"
Jongho rode out your orgasm and licked off his fingers. In the meantime Wooyoung and Hongjoong had stopped their make-out and gotten naked. Jongho stood up and smirked, getting naked in front of you. His thick member was throbbing and leaking pre-cum. You licked your lips as you watched San push him onto the couch. He must've noticed his dripping length and gotten needy. God, San was being so needy and hot.
San was between Jongho's legs in no time, licking stripes from the base to the tip of his cock. "Hyung," Jongho moaned out. His fingers ran through San's raven locks as he pushed San's head down on himself.
Hongjoong made his way to the eldest, sitting beside him and taking his cock into his hand. He spit on the length and smeared it out, wrist-action literally to die for. Seonghwa threw his head back and moaned, whined.
You got intrigued by what was going on with the eldest two so you decided to get closer. Hwa was moaning as Hongjoong worked his hand up and down his cock, teeth marking his neck. You kisses his neck as well and he whimpered out your name. "Let me finger you, please," Seonghwa moaned. You nodded desperately, wanting nothing more than his beautiful and slender fingers to pump inside your wet pussy.
You spread your legs for him and his hand slid over your crotch, collecting some of your arousal on his fingers. He slid two of them inside you, slowly pumping in and out. The squelching was like music to his ears, and it just turned him on more.
Wooyoung decided to come close and play with you too. He stood in front of you and lowered himself to kiss you passionately, one hand on your cheek and one in your hair, which he pulled pretty roughly, making you moan for him. He found this the perfect opportunity to slid his tongue inside your mouth.
You moaned uncontrollably, barely able to keep kissing Wooyoung when Seonghwa's fingers found your g-spot. "Fuck, you want it there baby? Take it there," Seonghwa grunted. "Yes, Yes right there, keep it right there, harder Seonghwa! Harder!" You moaned out inbetween kisses. Wooyoung pulled away and got himself and Hongjoong naked.
You briefly looked at the tallest two. They were stripping each other as their lips and tongues still collided. You felt yourself clenching around Seonghwa's fingers as you saw their big cocks twitching from arousal. Yeosang sat beside them and watched them, slowly pumping his own cock.
A loud cry was heard from Jongho as he fucked up into San's mouth. The grip in his hair was tight and San was whining and whimpering, sobbing on his cock as he let the maknae use him. His cheeks were hollowed and his eyes were full of tears, rolling back into his head. With a loud moan Jongho came, spurting his cum down San's throat. He panted loudly as Jongho pulled him off his member.
Yeosang got to San's side quickly, forcing his mouth open and spitting in it. "Swallow, come on," he ordered. San did as he was told, nodding as a tear fell down his cheek. "That's a good boy."
Seonghwa was still fucking you with his fingers as Hongjoong was fisting his cock. ''I-I'm getting so close,'' he whined out loud. Hongjoong smirked and let go off his cock, denying his orgasm. ''N-No, why?'' he cried out, his fingers stopping inside you as he panted. Hongjoong pulled Seonghwa's hand away from you and brought it to his own mouth, licking and sucking the arousal from Seonghwa's fingers. You whined and sighed, horniness almost overwhelming.
''Y/N, Get on the carpet,'' Wooyoung ordered. You nodded and did exactly that, feeling the soft carpet on your skin as you laid on your back. ''God, I wanna fuck you so bad, I can't wait any longer,'' he grunted as he pushed his thick member inside of you. You whined as he did so, cunt still so sensitive from all the pleasure the other guys gave you earlier.
''O-Oh my God, Woo, so big!''
Wooyoung smirked as he sensually rolled his hips into you. ''Oh? Babygirl thinks I'm big hm? You like that, big cocks? Bet you can't wait 'til all of us have been inside you. I just had to go first baby.''
''That feels so good! Fuck, harder Youngie!'' you moaned out as Wooyoung picked up his pace. Your legs tangled around Wooyoung's waist, wanting to keep him deep inside you. Suddenly you noticed a shadow over you. Mingi.
Mingi straddled you, his back facing Wooyoung, who was still fucking into you. Before you could ask him what he was doing his hands were all over your breasts. ''Mmh, Mingi,'' you moaned out. ''I fucking love your tits baby,'' he grunted in a low voice, cock twitching lightly. ''Yeah? You fucking love 'em huh?'' ''Fuck, yeah baby I do.''
''Why don't you fuck 'em then?'' Yeosang suddenly suggested, sitting beside you with a bottle of lube in his hand. ''Hmm, that sounds really fucking good. Gimme that lube,'' Mingi smirked. He squirted a nice amount of lube on his cock and ordered Yeosang to spread it out nicely for him.
Mingi grabbed your boobs and squished them together. He slowly rolled his hips forward, his lubed up cock slipping in and out of the gap between your breasts. ''Oh yeah... Fuck,'' Mingi cursed underneath his breath. As Mingi slowly lost him in the pleasure Wooyoung was trying to match his pace as well as staring at his ass. The boys gradually moved faster, the three of you becoming a moaning mess in unison.
Yeosang was stroking his cock as he watched the three of you. He somehow felt a sense of control and power over you as you were just doing anything he told you to. ''Grope her, Woo,'' Yeosang ordered. Wooyoung was quick to obey as he rutted into her at an inhumane pace, hands all over your thighs.
''Fuckin' hell, baby I'm so close, gonna fuck you full,'' he moaned out. After a few more thrusts he came deep inside you, creaming your hole. Just a few seconds after Wooyoung came inside you, Mingi orgasmed as well, spurting his cum all over your chest and the valley between your breasts. The guys rode out their highs before getting off you and panting, recovering from their climaxes.
Yunho didn't waste any time, getting on the floor between your legs, diving his face into your pussy. ''Fuck, I've been waiting for this pussy,'' he grunted as he licked your pussy clean, tasting Wooyoung's cum on his tongue. He kissed all over your body and slowly got to your stomach and chest, licking all the cum off your body. ''O-Oh my God, Yunho,'' you whimpered.
''Gonna fuck you now, gonna let you bounce on my cock. Jongho get the fuck here. We're gonna fuck this little one.'' Jongho nodded and moved towards you. Yunho laid down as he pulled you into his lap. His hands rested on your hips as you guided yourself down onto his dick. You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut, moaning at the big stretch. You felt Jongho's hot body against your back as he slid into your pussy from behind. You cried out, tears stinging in your eyes.
As the guys gave you time to adjust to their lengths your gaze landed on Wooyoung and San. San laid on top of Wooyoung as his fingers pumped inside him. Holy fuck. ''T-That's it Sannie, right there, you know it, yeah, right there, get me nice and ready for your fat dick, that's it! Y-yes, good fuckin' boy!''
San was so eager to please Wooyoung who laid in front of him. His legs were spread wide for everyone to see as he stroked his own cock slowly. ''Put that cock in me now baby, come on, fuck me,'' he smirked. San nodded desperately and lubed up his length before sliding it inside Wooyoung, who moaned out at the feeling.
''Oh fuck, Woo, you feel so perfect,'' San said as he thrusted into him. He wasted no time to let Wooyoung adjust, roughly fucking into him. They let out little whines and puffs before their moans got louder, San going faster to the point he seemed to have become some kind of sex animal.
You started bouncing on the two cocks filling you up as you kept watching Wooyoung and San fuck. ''Fuck, that's so hot,'' you moaned out. Wooyoung kept spurring San on, dirty-talking him and completely driving him inside until he cried out and came inside him.
That's when Jongho and Yunho both started to fuck into you rapidly. Your mouth fell open, moans spilling out as your eyes rolled back from being fucked into oblivion. You could barely think or hold yourself up anymore as you got railed harder than ever before.
''Look at how fucking shameless you are,'' Yunho grunted, ''you like that huh? You're looking like such a pretty mess for us, letting us use you like a little fucktoy. But you fucking love it don't ya?''
''Fuck, I do, I do, I do!'' you chanted as your nails dug into Yunho's chest. The way they kept pounding their cocks into you and how Jongho panted and moaned into your ear gave you goosebumps and drove you crazy. ''I-I c-can't,'' you muttered, ''I-I'm gonna cum!''
''Cum with us precious, come on, cum on our big cocks, you like that huh? Bet you've been wanting to fuck our big cocks for so long now. Come on baby, come for us and we'll breed the fuck outta you,'' Jongho groaned into your ear. A few more thrusts later you came undone, falling down onto Yunho's chest as your body shook and shivered. The two men came simultaneously, filling your pussy up.
You sighed, content with the way you were so nicely filled. Yunho put you down on the couch where you slowly got down from your high. Then you saw Wooyoung bending San over and pounding into him, muscles flexing so hard it instantly got you wet again. Hongjoong came close to you and kissed your neck. ''You'll be a good girl and suck me off, right?''
''God, yes,'' you gasped and you got on your knees quickly, sitting on the ground between his legs. You wasted no time to wrap your mouth around his length. You licked and sucked, nearly slobbering all over his dick as he pushed your head down with a loud moan of your name. Yeosang got behind you and lubed up his dick a little before sliding into you.
''Fuck you stretch around me so nicely... So easily... They did a nice job fucking you open, didn't they?'' Yeosang smirked, hands roaming your ass. You moaned around Hongjoong's cock at Yeosang's words, bobbing your head up and down eagerly.
''I love how you take every inch of us baby, you take it so well. You must be made to take cock in those pretty little holes of yours,'' Hongjoong smirked. Yeosang started to fuck you back and forth, forcing you down on the elder's cock who warned you he was about to get close soon. You gagged on his cock as Yeosang didn't show any signs of slowing down. Hongjoong quickly pulled out his cock, cumming all over your face.
''Fuck, so pretty like that.''
You moaned and panted loudly, whining out Yeosang's name over and over again. Suddenly he pulled out of your cunt, spinning you around. You were laid down on the floor as he hovered above you, fisting his cock until he came with a low groan, his cum mixing with Hongjoong's.
You were so spent, laying on the soft, fuzzy carpet. You seriously thought you could fall asleep until you realized you hadn't fucked with San and Seonghwa yet. San was still busy getting railed like there's no tomorrow so you figured you'd try the other. Seonghwa was stroking his cock to the sight of them, so he was surprised to suddenly see you - covered in cum - in front of him. ''Fuck,'' he cursed underneath his breath.
''Do you still have some energy to spare, Hwa...? I haven't felt your cock in me yet,'' you pouted. The puppy eyes, pout and your smokin' body could never make him say no. San suddenly moaned out your name. Then Seonghwa's name.
''That's it, you got their attention, now be a good boy and get them here huh?'' Wooyoung grunted as he railed him in a position you were not bendy enough for.
''P-Please come here I need you, I want you, W-Want you!''
You smirked and dragged Seonghwa over to San and Wooyoung. Wooyoung pulled out of San briefly. ''Here's how we're gonna do this,'' he started, ''Seonghwa you're gonna lay down. Y/N you'll get on top of him and San, you're gonna fuck her from behind.''
The three of you obeyed Wooyoung and got in these exact positions. It was just like it was with Jongho and Yunho, except you were too tired to properly hold yourself up. You rested on your elbows on either side of Seonghwa's body as his hands roamed your ass. San slid his cock inside you besides Seonghwa's and quickly started moving. He was whining and nearly sobbing in your neck from the sensitivity.
The three of you moved in such a nice flow, moaning left and right, bodies rolling together, sweat dripping from each body and you swore it was like the most perfect porn movie in existance. Suddenly San cried out and lunged forward, calling out Wooyoung's name.
Wooyoung had assembled all the guys and ordered them to come closer. They had gathered 'round the four of you before Wooyoung suddenly slid back into San's ass. ''Y-Youngie, please, I'm so sensitive,'' he pleaded. But he showed no mercy, fucking into San even harder than before, fucking San right into you as well.
Seonghwa whined and bucked up his hips as Yeosang encouraged him to. ''That's it, fuck up into her, God, that's so hot.'' ''Fuck, fuck, oh my God!'' you moaned loudly. The remaining five guys stood there stroking their cocks quickly, watching the most sinful foursome ever witnessed. The lewd noises and sounds were so pornographic you could've made serious money with this.
It didn't take long before everyone was cumming, one after another, cum filling you and San up and cum landing on your thighs and backs. So much was happening and the pleasure and situation was so overwhelming that when the guys slipped out of you you passed out.
You woke up a while later in your bed where Seonghwa was snuggled up against you. ''Hey, there you are... You fell asleep there... I think. We don't know if you just fell asleep or killed you by dicking you down,'' he grinned softly. He gave you a bottle of water and some head pats as you smiled at him. ''You're all good?'' ''Yeah, I'm okay, just really sore... Thank you for cleaning me up and bringing me here... And staying here with me,'' you spoke. You took a sip from the bottle, coughing to scratch your sore throat.
''That's not a problem... Wooyoung should've done it though cause it was his idea but I doubt if he's still alive cause I believe someone sucked him off in the bathroom.'' You giggled and drank some more before laying down. ''This won't change a thing right? Besides that it might happen again...''
''Well we could play truth or dare again next week?''
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‘1-800-fix it felix !’
in which; When your boyfriend has a problem he knows who to call! Can you fix it?
featuring: s.gojo x afab! reader
contains: masturbation, face time s3x , reader shows her br3asts over the camera, bathroom masturb@tion, pet names (babe, baby), reader being a tease, gojo being js a little bit subby
Satoru thinks of you all the time. He thinks of the new perfume you bought last week, of the pretty dress you wore to your last date. He thinks about how pretty you look when your hair is done all up, and about how sweet your voice sounds in this voice note you just sent him.
Fuck. He’s hard.
Can you blame him? You just woke up and for some inexplicable reason thought sending him a voice message while he’s at work is a good idea. Do you not notice the way you sigh your half-coherent words? Do you not notice the way you sigh out your words, barely coherent? Satoru swears he can feel his ears tingling at the longing in your voice for him.
You’re not making this at all easy.
Just as you start to drift back to sleep, there's a buzz somewhere around your head. Curses slip from your lips as you grope around the duvet, trying to locate your device with your half-asleep senses. With your eyes barely open, you try to read the contact name.
Of course it’s Satoru. Of course it’s a facetime call. He can’t settle for a damned text. It’s his brand at this point. You appreciate the attention, of course. But you’re sure you told him you’re going back to sleep in that voice note.
As soon as your finger swipes the little green icon to answer the call, you begin to speak, “I swear to god Satoru-”
“Hey baby,” he cuts you off. It sounds like he's in a confined space. A toilet stall, maybe? You're too sleepy to dwell on it. “I missed you”
“Mhmm..” You yawn. “‘Missed you too…”
The camera on his end is slightly shaky, and so is his breath. But in this sleepy state you can barely notice it really.
“What's up...?” you ask, flipping over and adjusting the phone, ”is everything okay?”
“Yeah—fuck—” his eyebrows furrow, giving you a moment of confusion. "You're looking so pretty—hah—baby."
“Satoru…” realization dawns on you, excitement stirring within. “Show me.”
The camera trembles as it takes him nearly a minute to respond to your request. Finally, his finger hits the flip camera button, giving you a shaky view of his fist wrapped around his length, stroking himself vigorously.
Pearly precum oozes from his tip, a thumb moving to spread it slightly before he goes back at it again.
“Oh? Is this all f’me?” You grin, observing his subdued grunts. It would be such a shame if someone were to come into the bathroom right now. “This early in the morning, too? Couldn’t you wait to get home at least?”
“Sh– hah– shut up,” he picks up the pace, starting from the very base, “at least make yourself– useful.”
Your tongue glides across your lower lip, considering your next move. While you love watching Satoru struggle on his own like this, relishing at the revelation that it’s the thought of you that makes him like this, you also think a little assistance wouldn’t harm.
“What do you wanna see?” You smirk smugly, enjoying this ordeal.
“Fuck– fuck– baby,” he’s quiet resilient with it, strokes increasing in pace little by little. “Sh-show me your tits, baby.”
“Hmm? What if I don’t?” Undeniably, you’re gonna regret this later. You savor the moment nonetheless. There’s a certain sort of zest in the control you have over this moment.
“Fuck you,” his fist tightens around his dick, veins popping out. You love the view. God, you wish you were there to help. Your thighs tighten to squelch the heat growing in your core. “Please, baby, ‘wanna see my girl’s pretty– shit– tits”
That’s enough to convince you. More than enough, actually. Without hesitation, you lift your t-shirt up, showing him a view that nearly makes him faint. He can almost feel the warmth of your skin against his. He feels his climax reaching. You move your fingers, massaging your breast. That was his endgame.
A string of curses begins to slip past his lips, along with a grunted “I’m gonna- fuck- I'm gonna cum-”
Your grin widens, biting your lower lip. “Mhm… so hard for me, ‘Toru..? Wish I was there to help…” Your words come out stretched, all on purpose. It causes a robust groan to thunder through him. The view begins to totter. With a final groan, milky robes seep out of Storu’s shaft, running down his white knuckles and onto his thighs. His breathes even out as he comes down from his high.
“You’re welcome,” you hum, satisfied. You put the phone to your side, pulling your shirt back down. When you picked the phone back up, the call was hung up. You almost feel offended, rushing to text him a ‘what the fuck?’
Before you could text him the half-angry message, your phone vibrates again.
‘sorry babe someone came in’ - 8:46 am
‘ill call u later’ - 8:46 am
‘love ya’ - 8:47 am
You roll your eyes, definitely planning on bringing this up later. Going back to sleep will be hard with the stain on your underwear.
Maybe you’re going to be the one to call this time so he could fix it.
#bella writes#gojo satoru#jjk#gojo x reader#jjk smut#gojo#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#jjk x reader#jjk x reader smut#gojo satoru x reader fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader smut#satoru gojo#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#one more time hopefully
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★ ⋆ ࣪ CALL 1-800-BOYFRIEND#2 ! an anthology | ˚｡jjk men x female reader ᨀ minors do not interact˓˓ aged up!characters, infidelity, toxic relationships, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, squirting, praise kink, + more content warnings listed before each piece!
˚｡ FEATURING ᨀ fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, getou suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, itadori yuuji.
˚｡ SUMMARY ᨀ whenever you get in the mood, just call boyfriend number two! a collection of smut works inspired by the song boyfriend #2 - pleasure p; ꒰ PLAYLIST ꒱
★ ⋆ 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 ᨀ ࣪exes with benefits, ex boyfriend!gojo, belly bulges, cervix fucking.
you knew that it was wrong to invite him in while your boyfriend is waiting and let him fuck you, but how can you possibly atone for your sins when the closest thing to a god is the one helping you commit them between dirtied sheets?
“you gonna answer that, angel?” satoru taunts over the cheerful chime of your ringing cellphone. five missed calls from your boyfriend piled up in your notification center and he refuses to give up. your heart plummets down at the sound, sitting right next to the pretty bulge of your ex-boyfriend's cock in your lower belly as he fucks you mercilessly.
your tongue may be barbed with insults for him after your break up, but your pussy is still honeyed and sweet as ever to him. making the cutest noises, splitting like a good girl for the delicious stretch of his cock. he's got you embarrassingly fucked out too, ruining you before your date— lipstick smudged, thighs possessed by bruises from his teeth, all the while he's busy fucking his thick load back into your cunt from the first round.
“i recommend answering it, huh? tell him you're all taken care of, angel. don't want him comin' to your rescue when you're about to cum for me, now do we?”
“w-wait, i need to-” you choke, hand scrambling to find the phone somewhere in the soaked sheets— wanting to answer for your boyfriend even as your back curls off the bed when gojo fucks it just right, the fat mushroom tip of his cock bullying your cervix with each bruising thrust. “h-hold on a minute, f-fuck- slow down, my boyfr-”
he rolls his eyes, finding your phone easily and tossing it on top of the lewd bounce of your tits— a sneer on his lips as he fucks into your cunt with nasty, possessive ruts of his hips that sloshes slick and cum out of your abused little hole in a frothy drool that you can feel dripping down the line of your ass. he has no intention of slowing down or stopping so you squeeze your eyes shut, sucking your lower lip into your mouth to stifle your noises and finally, pick up the ringing hotline.
“hnnng h-hello?”
“hey, baby!” your boyfriend of one year greets cheerfully, oblivious and sweet. he upset no balances in the world with his birth and he isn't the strongest of anything— he's just a kind man, attentive and storybook romantic; the kind you dreamt of, but that doesn't stop you from letting satoru fuck you whenever he wants. “takes a while for my pretty girl to get ready, huh? know you're going to look amazing, too, but.. our dinner reservation was at 8. where are you?”
satoru snorts, shifting his hips to drag your attention back to him. your heart clenches at the same time your pussy does, cock catching you on a good fuck that shoots white hot pleasure simmering through your nerves. it's too much— you claw at his arms with one hand while the other shakes against the phone.
“i-i'm on my way soon, baby. sorry, oh my f- h-hah...” your lower lip wobbles as you fight the urge to cry out, dewy tears clinging to your lashes. gojo is relentless, bringing a violent tremble to your thighs as he lowers a hand between your legs, the calloused pads of his fingertips rubbing raw circles over your clit so good you drop the phone onto your chest.
“hello? babe, what's wrong?! are you there?” you can hear your current boyfriend's staticky voice on the other end while your ex leans forward, bracketing your head with his strong arms as he mouths wet kisses along the soft skin at your jaw; sucking the lobe of your ear onto his tongue.
“tell him this pussy is mine, you little slut. see how good 'm fucking you? where else are you gonna get it this good? don’t you want me back? wanna be able to fuck on this dick any time you want?” he growls, sickly sweet into your ear, the yandere tone of his voice rumbling shivers into your skin. “tell him who it belongs to or i will.”
“i-i can't- can't do that to him, 'toru-” you blubber, even though you want to. miss the way dating satoru made you feel complete. salty tears spill down your cheeks that gojo sweeps away with his tongue like a lazy cat lapping at his favorite bowl of milk.
his fingers quickly flick and twist overstimulation under the hood of your swollen clit until he feels your pussy squeezes around the stretch of his cock, cackling in response as he gets what he wants. he’s breaking you down, got you on the ropes. “see? this pussy knows what she wants, even if you don't,” he groans out too loud, hips stuttering and sloppy now, a rhythm that fucks you open while all you can do is sob and writhe like the wanton little whore you are.
“who the fuck is that- hello? hello? what's going on? are you okay?”
gojo is high off the power trip of your moans and though he knows that rubbing it in is breaking the ultimate code, his free hand's picking up the phone before he knows it—
“'toru- satoru, n-no-” you whine out, but he jerks his hips hard against yours to shut you up, lodging his cock so deep inside your pussy, your mind short circuits.
“yo!” gojo greets into the receiver, voice winded but clear. he's mockingly casual as he tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder to free up his hands, as if he is discussing the latest gossip with a friend, his fingers digging prints into your hipbones.
“who the fuck is this?” you hear your boyfriend demand in confusion and you lurch forward to take the phone away, but the force of his cock lays you flat.
“i'm sure our girl's told you about me, yeah? the only one who broke her heart, the one who can't settle down, the one you're so much better than. blah blah blech- name's satoru!” he introduces himself and grins wide, glancing down at you. his pretty ex-girlfriend whines against his shoulder, thrashing against the sheets as he fucks that bubble in your lower belly to bursting. fucks you like no one else can. “anyways, cock's- oops, i meant cat's- got her tongue right now so i wanted to let you know that she won't be able to make it to your date tonight... ain't that right, baby?” he hums, holding the phone out to you so your boyfriend on the other line can hear the sweet, traitorous sounds of your moans as you cream on another man's cock. “yep, that's right. she finally decided to come home. where you should go too, man.”
gojo doesn't elaborate further, clicking the little red icon to end the call with a winner’s smirk on his lips and then his attention is back to you, on fucking a bellyache into you with his skilled fucking and your boyfriend's name out of you, the lewd sound of your slick gurgling out of your perfect little pussy sounding like sin. gojo's fingers are back on your clit, pinching it hard. “now back to you, angel face. cum for your boyfriend.”
★ ⋆ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 ᨀ college!au, professor!nanami, student!reader, blowjobs, desk sex, semi-public sex in a classroom, use of "sensei" to address kento.
kento is the last of your professors you would have expected to keep you company while you cry over your boyfriend who would rather spend drunken nights out at frat parties, but you are quickly finding out that fucking your pretty little body is professor nanami's favorite after school activity.
“keeping yourself busy down there?” nanami has the nerve to inquire while you're on your knees under his desk, putting in real work for the title of his best student.
your expression is dazed and full of wonderment, a cute wrinkle between your brows at the way you are actually able to fit your professor's cock inside your mouth, nose pressed to the tamed patch of sandy hairs at his crotch. it's amazing how it can erase all bad thoughts of your neglectful lover from your mind and you worship it greedily. nanami's thick thighs spread wide, cafe au lait eyes gazing down at you over the top of his round reading glasses while you suckle on his cock like a lollipop. it's heavy against your tongue, weighing it down with the strain and drooling sweet opaque drops of precum down the slope of your throat. he barely makes a sound, but he rewards you with a jolt of his hips each time you swallow a drop of it with a whine.
“aaa-atta girl, just like that, huh? why don't you do that thing for me?” he drawls out in an appraising tone, lax in his chair.
you obediently draw back, eager to please him. you grip his wet cock gently in your small hold, kitten licks into the sensitive slit before you wedge your tongue under the head, sucking over a fat, forked vein. he is composed, the picture of professionalism during his working hours but you are the only one who is allowed the pleasure of seeing nanami kento with his hair mussed, glasses askew as you suck him wet between the legs. sleeves rolled up as one hand pins his pressed white shirt out of the way while the other rests on your head, petting your soft hair with affection.
“fuck, little darling- that mouth will be death of me,"” he breathes and you suck him down slow on the pull in, letting the tip of his cock nudge against the fleshy patch of your throat before tears spring into your eyes and you bounce back with a wet gag— bathing in the way that he hisses, in the way that you make him feel. he doesn't regurgitate bad lines from porn like your boyfriend does, but his grunts of pleasure and soft praise shoot like fallen stars across your pussy, making you sneak a hand into your sopping panties, immediately sinking two fingers past your entrance with a whine, the vibration like a hot rubber band around nanami's dick.
“wan’ you to fuck me now, p-please.”
“e-easy there. i'll take care of you. stop that and come here,” he coos, hooking an arm under your elbow as he drags your mouth away from his cock.
“o-oh-” your professor spins you around, bending you over his desk. he takes care in folding your skirt up, his big hands kneading the globes of your ass cheeks in a gentle circle. you wriggle your hips back desperately until you bump against his damp cock, squirming on the desk over his ungraded papers, takeout flyers, and seminar invitations.
“k-kento-sensei, hurry up, please-” you simper, eyes glazed over and glossy with lust for him already.
“i'm right here, doll,” he reminds you and he's in a good mood— he doesn't like impatience or insolence, but he lets you rut your ass against his crotch for friction until he stills your hips with a click of his tongue. “you don't have anywhere to be, after all. that fella of yours is at that party you were crying over, isn't he?”
your lips plump out in a pout, about to scold him for reminding you, but the words shrivel on your tongue as he edges forward to tug your panties down to the middle of your thighs, spreading one ass cheek to the side and exposing your pussy to the air. you're so pretty and wet for him, hole fluttering and glossy with slick.
“how badly do you want it?” kento chuckles under his breath, barely nudging his cockhead into the entrance to your cunt. your professor does not fuck like your boyfriend. he doesn't believe in ten minutes of sloppy, selfish fucking that leaves you unsatisfied. even with the risk of someone walking in, he is a man unhurried. he waits, petting two fingers between your folds. “hmm?”
“want it real bad, real real bad!”
“tch, have i taught you anything? use proper vocabulary when you beg for my cock.”
“once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, over how your cock would feel fucking me silly,” you smile cheekily into the strewn papers, arching your ass further against his hips in invitation.
“naughty girl, don’t ruin the classics,” the tiniest of smiles quirks his lips at your antics, snuffing out a laugh.
but nanami gives you what you’re begging for. he is discovering that refusing you is becoming increasingly difficult. his fingers curl around your waist, tugging your body down his desk until he impales your little pussy on his cock. the stretch is painstakingly slow, forcing you to feel every fucking inch, every ridge and vein— dragging along your walls in an overwhelming sensation. you scramble to grab purchase into the desk, mouth slacking open with a long grunt as you press your forehead to the desk.
“good girl. look how well you take me, hmm? if only you could listen so well in class, too,” he hums in approval, watching the way your pussy expands as he draws out, only to suck him in nice and tight as he plunges back into the warmth of your cunt. you've always been his worst student, combative and mouthy— barely able to sit through the nasally drawl of his lessons with your impatience, so it's no surprise when you drop your head onto his desk, gripping the edge as you bounce yourself back against his hips.
“did i tell you that you could-” but his reprimand is shut off with a sharp grunt, his hips stuttering while you tremble and frantically fuck your cunt on his cock at a quick pace, the pleasure coiling in your lower belly hard and fast. “oh, is that what you wanted? to cum?”
“yuh-yes! i-i need t' cum, kento-sensei!”
“cum then, call my name instead of his when you gush all over my cock. go on, love.”
★ ⋆ 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 ᨀ age gap (toji is in his 40s, reader is in 20s), babysitter!au, mean!toji, car sex, cowgirl, breeding kink.
toji wasn't a nice man, but he had well-behaved kids and secretly tipped you bonuses on days you wore short dresses or skirts to the house as if you wouldn't notice. it wasn't uncommon for him to give you a ride home whenever it gets too late, even if his dark eyes linger on your thighs the entire time. crawling into his lap like a money hungry little whore and unzipping his jeans in the front seat of his car after he offered you five hundred dollars to see if you could fit his cock inside you was new, though.
toji used a safety pin to tack the wad of fresh green dollars against your tank top with a crooked grin, as if you were a birthday girl. he moves the cash now to pull your tank top aside and expose one of your nipples, the little bud puckered up from the blast of the air conditioner behind you.
“m-mr. fushiguro, i have a boyfriend- mmph!” you whine in protest, a contradiction after you crawled across the center console with a competitive glint sparkling in your eye, the steering wheel of his jeep digging into your lower back.
you don't remember how the conversation started, but it ended with you in his lap and your bank account a half thousand richer. you should be disgusted, toji is sleazy— he'd rather spend time chasing after loose women than raising his children and he stares at your tits mid-conversation, but no. to you, he is the epitome of a dilf, all bulky and rugged lines and dark edges. and that's why you moan for his big, rough hands sliding under your simple tank top, cunt oozing slick for the father of two.
“that so? why're you grindin' all over my lap then, little girl? get off 'n' get outta my car if you're scared,” he growls, even though he knows you’re not running anywhere while he's got your skin feverish and sweaty as he tweaks one of your nipples, pinching the perky bud between two fingers. the sly smirk he wears on his scarred lip both irritates you and simmers arousal between your hips. you swear that your hips move on their own accord, bumping into the weighty girth of his cock that you forgot is sitting wedged beneath your ass. “yeah, you ain't going nowhere, are you? like it when nasty old men stare up your skirts and down your shirts, dontcha?”
his filthy words have your folds messy, leaving a damp patch on your cotton shorts. you move before you can stop yourself, reaching nimble fingers between the shadow of your bodies to unbutton his jeans, tugging his cock out with saliva drooling in your mouth. you wish that you could see it, but you can feel it, stomach lurching. the wide, blunt head twitching fat against your palm before toji is manhandling you, jerking your cotton shorts to the side and forcing you to grind your bare cunt along the length of his cock.
“let’s see where all my money is going to, eh?” he grunts at you, each of his huge hands are between your legs now, prying your folds open with his thumbs as you circle your clit against the surface of his cock. “so easy too- don't know if i want a little whore like you around my kids, hah. look at how wet you are for a man you ain't dating,” he rasps out in a salty, degrading tone, pinching one of your folds before he wraps fat fingers around his cock to hold it steady.
“y-you're so mean, mr. fushiguro,” you sigh out blissfully, not caring in the least bit when his cock rubs against your clit, creating delicious friction.
“yeah, and you're fuckin' slow. sit on my cock already or gimme my money back.”
your legs are split over the wide planes of his thighs, so snapping them shut isn't an option when he presses you back against the steering wheel, the horn beeping pathetically, pushing his thick cock into your sopping pussy.
your eyes widen at the overwhelming twinge of intrusion as toji feeds you every inch of his veiny girth— your hips having no choice but to drop into his lap and take his cock. watery tears prickle your eyes because it hurts so fucking good. he's the biggest you've ever had to fuck yourself on, bigger and wider than your boyfriend, twice as fat as he is long. but that doesn't stop you from levelling your weight down, letting your cunt sink and sink and sink, until finally he's so fucking deep that your clit is buried in his pubic hair and your ass is pressed up against his heavy balls.
“what's going on with this tight little pussy, mm? this guy not fuckin' you right, doll face?” he wolf whistles at the feeling of your cunt slobbering around him, desperately trying to accommodate his massive girth. “c'mon, move. don't sit there tremblin' on me like a fuckin' leaf.”
“f-fuck, too much it's big- so big, mr. fushiguro-”
“can't take it a cock this grown, doll?”
“i-i don’t know-” you whimper, but you don’t want to lose. hiding your face onto his shoulder, pleasure surges through your veins, dopamine fogging your brain as you lift out of his lap until the tip of his cock pops on your entrance. a devastating, heavy drop of your hips that spears you on his weighty dick, building up a rhythm that has you whining and creaming all over toji's cock. images of the man you've been dating flashes through your mind before your thoughts are clouded by the single father of two fucking you towards an orgasm. your pussy gushes, the bulb of your plump clit rubbing against the hard ridges of his abdomen.
“you want my cum? want me to plug you up all nice and full?” he grunts out the question, his breath fanning hot across your cheeks in the dark shadows of his car.
“yuh-yes! want your cum, want you to plug me up! want you to give me a baby,” you chant in a lusted moan, eyes rolling shut as he dips his head to your breasts where they've bounced out of the side of your tank top, suckling one of your nipples onto his tongue with a rough chuckle.
“woah now, who said anything about you havin' one of my rugrats? you like watching 'em that much?” he lifts a thick brow, but he would be lying if he said it didn't make his cock twitch inside of you. if it didn't make him rut his hips up into you with deep, low grunts in the depths of his chest. he bares his teeth, pinching your nipple between his sharp canines in a hard bite, throwing you off the edge—you drop your hips, cunt spreading around the base of his cock and creaming all over him as you cum, squirt dripping on his leather seats.
“fuck, oh fuck. you’re so tight, ain’t ya? you want my runts so bad, take every fuckin' drop of my cum, little slut, ‘n’ don’t complain about it,” his abdomen tightens at the feeling of your cunt spasming around him, his cock jerking as he heat washes over his body, shooting thick, wet ropes of seed into your cunt.
★ ⋆𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 ᨀ stranger!suguru, hookups, bathroom sex, cunnilingus, panty sniffing, tongue piercings.
he was dark and alluring, ensnaring your attention like a siren calling across the dance floor. you should have declined his offer to buy you a drink and he should have bid you goodnight when you told him you were taken, so how did you end up here?
“aren't you precious?” the stranger purrs breathily into the drum of your ear, breath the scent of cigs and mint as he advances on you, crowding you up against the cool sink. thankfully, the bathroom is clean and there is a lock on the door, hiding you away from your friends and their judgmental eyes. “you couldn't resist following me here, even though your friends are worried and there is someone waiting at home for you. i'll make your betrayal worthwhile, don't worry.”
your breaths wheeze out in a fog, his accusation burning hot but the handsome stranger is reaching under the hem of your mini dress to soothe the sting of his words, slipping your panties down your thighs. there's a cheshire smirk on his thin lips, rows of perfect teeth gleaming in delight to find you dripping for him already— the fabric clinging to your folds, connected by sticky strings of slick.
“these are a nice pair- i hope you'll forgive me, pretty,” he hums, inspecting the lace before gathering the damp panties in his hand and bundling them against his nose, an audible sniff snorting through the quiet that warms your cheeks in embarrassment. “you smell fucking divine, too. it's a shame that boyfriend of yours won't be able to take them off at the end of tonight.”
they're your favorite set, navy blue fenty lace that you wore to boost your confidence. that you planned to seduce your beau into ripping off of you when you stumble in from the club. instead, here you are, heart beating behind your ribs in the dark corner of a bathroom as a complete stranger tucks your panties into the pocket of his black jeans.
“d-don't talk about him like that- and give those back! i don't even know your name,” you hiss, irritation twisting your face at the nerve of this infuriatingly attractive no-name, but the raven-haired man looks unimpressed with your fervor as he circles his spindly hands around your hips and hoists you onto the sink, adjusting your thighs until one of your feet are propped up on the surface of the counter, spreading you wide for him.
“you'll know my name soon, don't worry,” he promises, the rolling drawl of his lilt making you shiver. the cold air breezes relief against your bare, feverish cunt as he presses close to you, settling in between the space of your open legs. he trails hot kisses over the pulse point at your neck, where your perfume is sweetest. your head lolls to the side with a lustful sigh, eyes butterflying closed as his teeth nip against the skin of your collarbone.
you gasp when you feel his fingers slip between your legs to shift through your drooling slit, your leg accidentally jolting off of the counter as he draws teasing figure eights into your clit. arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, your fingertips caress the long inky ponytail waving down his back, accidentally untying the leather strip holding it together.
“o-oh, your fingers-” you gargle, a soft moan spitting from your lips. he draws the digit down your slit, pushing the long appendage into your pussy, curling it up on the slow drag out, combing along your walls.
“call a new name tonight, precious. suguru. say it and i'll give you whatever you need.”
“s-suguru-” his name whines off your tongue so prettily as he fucks his finger into you languidly; your hips angle down, trying to suck it in deep and trapping his hand against the counter, but it's not enough— clamping down on it, but greedy for more. for a thicker stretch, for the cock you felt pressed up against you on the dance floor. you reach for the zipper of his jeans, but suguru angles his hips away with a tut. “i thought you said-”
“i promised i would give you what you need, pretty. not what you want,” he says, and then he's dropping to his knees. he's so tall that his head is level with your pussy up on the counter. he hooks his hands under the seat of your ass and scoots you to the edge of the counter, until you're on the edge of his own personal dinner table. his dark, crescent eyes trained directly on the juices webbing your folds together and the sight of your hole, unstretched and eager for him. “let me open you up first.”
his tongue swipes out, wetting his lips and you catch a glimpse of a silver jewel embedded in the pink flesh. glinting in the dim light of the bathroom— his tongue piercing and oh god, the sight of it has your cunt clenching around emptiness in want. he tilts his head forward, dark waves of hair falling like a smokescreen over his shoulders.
he spits on your pussy, a thick, bubbly glob of it trailing down your slit before he licks it up. long laps up your folds, the hard ball of his piercing making you squirm and gasp out, fingers sinking into his soft hair before you slip down to his ears, pressing your fingertips to the black gauges hooked in the lobes— causing him to suck in a sharp breath. suguru's lips are warm and wet, skilled as he secures a soft suck around your clit that draws your vision to a cross.
“oh my-”
“you like that, do you?” he smiles, eyes shaping to moons in glee— burying his head between your legs. he massages his piercing against your clit. hot stimulation and wet kisses over your cunt as the bass of club music thrums behind the bathroom door, stiffening his tongue for a harder lick. he swipes a few times against your clit until it swells, sweeping his tongue to your hole, curling his tongue inside to taste where you're leaking the most.
“i-i like it so much, sugu-” you moan and the shortened sound of his name on your tongue makes him snarl, roping his arms around your thighs and hooking you open for him. renewed in the way he slurps up the clear slick drooling out of your cunt before fucking it back in, the squish of his tongue flicking against your walls turning you limp— flaming your sensitive nerves with each heavy swipe. the sharp line of his perfect nose bumps your clit, sweet friction that has you drooping back against the sink mirror, widening your legs shamelessly.
“can't believe you're letting a stranger eat out a pussy this sweet- wonder if you'll let me fuck it too,” you feel like sobbing at the thought of being filled with his cock. your cunt squeezes his tongue desperately and he draws back, up to your clit where you're most sensitive at. putty in his grasp as he pulls the swollen nub onto his tongue, suctioning you in deep until you feel an orgasm tingling in your lower belly.
“i'm going to cum, suguru-” you whistle out breathlessly, clawing at his scalp. he grunts and pries your cunt apart with three wide fingers.
“what are you waiting for, pretty? cum for me.” it's not the cock you wanted, but his fingers are experienced— curling out and prodding in deep, switching and spreading until they push right against that sweet spot inside of you.
“o-oh-” gut lurching, your orgasm bubbles up fast as suguru fucks that spot until you cum, cunt pulsing rapidly. you sink, nerves raw and thighs shaking.
you're still tingling when he stands to his feet, his chin and nose covered in your slick. the handsome stranger rubs his fingers along your lips until you part them and suck them onto your tongue, eyes fluttering closed as you taste yourself on his skin. suguru unlinks his belt and your heart dips in lust at the sound of it.
“clean me up and i'll give you my cock up next, pretty girl.”
★ ⋆ 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢 + 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢 ᨀ best friend!au, no cheating, threesome, spitroasting, cum eating.
“you ever wondered what it would be like if we fucked each other?” yuuji joked, and though you and megumi swatted at him and berated his bad humor, you never expected a normal saturday night with your best friends to end up like this. with yuuji's tongue down your throat and megumi's lips on your breasts while the two of them fucked into each other's hands.
megumi knows that he should say something— he should say that what the three of you are doing is wrong. you're all best friends, empty red solo cups litter the floor of itadori's funky bedroom, but his mind is too full of cotton and cheap booze and he is entranced.
there is no way he can tear those jadestone green eyes away from the way you're begging for both of their cocks, from the way you writhe and whine on the bed as megumi and yuuji both play with your puffy clit, their fingers bumping against each other's clumsily while they fuck you.
you feel overwhelmed, overstimulated on both ends. the plump peach of your ass jiggles against fushiguro's tapered hips as he humps his cock into your pussy from behind, your breasts bouncing lewdly underneath your arched body as you suck yuuji's cock up front.
“'gumi, yuu- please! c-can't take it anymore!” you feel like crying, but the sound chokes off into a needy gasp as megumi's long cock drags through your walls at the right angle, his cockhead fucking against that gummy patch deep inside of you. you need them to cum— to give you a break. you never expected your sweet friends to fuck you like this.
megumi huffs, sweat beading down his neck as his fingers pet and rub quick against your swollen, sore clit. almost sobbing when your soft walls clamp down on him so tight that he fights to pull out.
“i'm gonna cum soon, but f-fuck- stop fucking clenching around me like that, stop-” megumi's raspy whine is guttural, yanking his cock out suddenly to stave off the burning orgasm at the base, watching the way your cunt pulses around emptiness, stretched and pretty, before he feeds it back in.
“fushiguro's cock feeling good down there, babe? hitting all the right spots?” your strawberry-haired friend groans out, neck blotchy with blush and shuddering as you flick your tongue over the seam of his balls. his heavy cock bumps against your cheek, smearing precum all over your foundation before you slack your jaw and suck him back into your mouth. you grasp his hipbones desperately to fuck his cock deeper down your throat. yuuji is painfully thick, stretching a dirty twinge in your jaw while megumi is long, spearing your puffy walls until your cunt aches with pleasure, nerves flipped inside out with each rolling thrust of their cocks.
neither of them expect you to answer the question the way that you do— reaching between your wet thighs, fingers bumping megumi's cock where it squelches in and out of your hole, you scoop sticky cream onto two fingers and show the drizzle proudly to the two boys drilling you. their groans reverberate on each end of you as they fuck you harder.
if you didn't feel overwhelmed with the white hot licks of sensation scorching a trail through your body, you would be embarrassed letting your two best friends see you like this— creaming and drooling all over them.
“i-itadori, don't do that-” megumi suddenly hisses, hips stuttering as his cock thickens out. his fingernails cut bruises into the soft flesh of your ass as he watches yuuji bring your hand to his lips, wrapping them around your fingers to shamelessly suck the combined mixture of you and megumi's cum from the digits.
“fuuuuck, f-fuck! why d'you two taste so-” yuuji cries in a mumble around your fingers, tongue lapping against your fingertips for more. it's not your pretty little mouth caving his stomach inward with the way you suck his cock, but the bittersweet taste of his two best friends' cum bursting over his tastebuds that sends yuuji over the edge first— ropes of warm cum shooting into your mouth without warning, kicking a pained grunt out of the male's chest. you choke, drawing back to suckle the tip greedily as he feeds you his cum. “fuck, babe-”
“itadori, move.”
yuuji is barely on the comedown before megumi's fisting a hand into your hair and tearing your mouth away from his friend's flagging cock, chasing the burning deep in his own gut as he suddenly flips you onto your back. he presses your legs to your torso, feet brushing his shoulders until you're folded in half beneath him and your creamy cunt is open wide for him, a pitiful wheeze squeaking out of your mouth—
“m-megumi-”
the male wraps his fingers around the base, fumbling with it because it's drenched and slippery in your juices as he lines his cock back up with your pussy, fucking in so quick that you cough and scrabble to grab for yuuji, as if he can save you from the force of megumi's fucking. but your other friend is no help, stretching out on the bed next to you and shifting through the wetness between your folds to rub your clit.
“b-boys, i'm so close! please please please! wan'... wan' you both to make me cum!” you beg, thighs trembling violently against your chest and expression twisted in full bliss as yuuji pats wetly at your squishy clit while megumi fucks you out so good that tears spill hotly, blurring your vision as you cum, gushing so wet that you soak the bed. clawing at their arms and screaming their names so loud it makes megumi clamp a hand over your mouth. the latter is only two thrusts behind you, painting your insides with thick globs of seed that oozes out of you embarrassingly when he pulls out.
“i-i'll get a towel,” megumi breathes, sitting back on his haunches. his cheeks turn a rosy shade as he surveys the wreckage of his two best friends in the afterglow. it’s disgusting to megumi how the two of you are able to rest on top of soaked sheets, yuuji’s cock flagged and megumi’s cum funneling out of your used cunt. but neither of you are letting him run, your and yuuji’s fingers wrapping around each of his wrists and pulling him on the other side of you.
“or you could come cuddle me instead?”
yuuji did not need any convincing, but both boys can’t find it in themselves to move an inch when your breasts are the softest pillows their heads have ever touched.
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk smut#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#gojo satoru x smut#nanami x reader#nanami smut#nanami x you#toji x reader#toji smut#toji x you#geto x reader#geto smut#geto x you#yuji x reader#yuji smut#itadori yuji x reader#megumi smut#megumi x reader#megumi x you#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen smut
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4th Bakugou x Reader Fanfic recs
note: if i put none/no title, the writer has not given the work a title :P
> • 𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒔 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕
all fics are smut
" tempting tempest " by lord-explosion-baku
shark!bakugou X mer!reader
warnings: mentions of noncon/dubious themes, slight violence, sexual themes
" he's lost " by xoxo-teddybear
bakugou x fem!reader
series 4 parts
warnings: angst, physical harm, cursing, accused cheating, katsuki’s insecurities, eventual smut
summary: y/n is so busy around valentine’s, her lack of attention towards her Pomeranian is causing him to freak out and do the worst of the worst.
" i warned you " by melticss
dom!bakugou x sub!fem!reader
warning: dirty talk, slut shaming, play fighting, oral (fem receiving) (male receving) sex, embarrassment
" on your knees " by luvrkay
bakugou x gn!reader
short
warning: blowjob
" drunk fuck " by lighterfluid1
two versions: bakugou x fem!reader | bakugou x m!reader
warnings: mentions of alcohol, they/them pronouns, drunk sex, lots of degration, aggressive sex, creampie, fingering, overstimulation, some dirty talk, edging, oral sex (both char. receiving), half clothed sex, anal (for m!reader)
bakugou x fem!reader pt 2 | bakugou x m!reader
warnings: they/them pronouns, masturbation, violence, mentions of blood, near death experience, anesthesia/medical drugs, top!receiving, creampie, dacryphilia, degradation, belly bulge, overstim, anal (for m!reader)
" dumb bitch " by dovkss
mean!dom! katsuki x bimbo!fem!reader
summary: after you pine after him for so long with no luck, Katsuki finally decides to take you as his; thanks to his best friend.
warning: dirty talk, oral (m receiving), rough sex, spitting, choking, breath play, degradation, hair pulling, manipulation, dacryphilia, edging, size kink, misogyny, yandere tendencies, kinda ooc, kinda dubcon-ish?, reader is drunk for the most part, katsuki is an ass; poor eijiro won’t take no for an answer and ends up getting fucked over bc of it; katsuki and ei are basically frenemies
part 2
warning: manhandling, blowjob (m receiving), degradation, slapping, public sex, possessive & controlling katsuki; choking & gagging, yandere themes, poor eijiro once again :((
" no title " by thatgirlgames
farm owner!bakugo x chubby cow hybrid!reader
warning: heavy lactation kink, tit sucking, cream pies, cow hybrids, moterboating.
" no title " by salimanderwrites
pro-hero!bakugo x bimbo secretary!reader
warning: boss x employee, reader is both a bimbo and a bit of a perv, bakugo is soft for reader and a soft dom, f and m masturbation, imagined freeuse scenario, imagined exhibition, phone sex, exchanging fantasies (office sex, possessiveness, blowjob, eating reader out), actual sex, praise, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, brief pain from sex
" no title " by mhathotfic
neko!bakugou x fem!reader
warning: creampie
" bakugou wants to try anal " by 1-800-cybersaint
bakugou x fem!reader
warning: creampie
#bakugo fanfic recs#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki x you#yandere bakugo#katsuki x you#bakugo smut#bakugou smut#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou x fem!reader#bakugou x male reader#bakugou x gender neutral reader#bakugou x gn!reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x y/n#katsuki fanfic#bakugou fanfiction#bakugou katsuki smut#bakugou x you#bakugo katsuki smut
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note game!
every single note = 1 day i dont cut my hair (unless absolutely necessary eg. trimming ends so it grows better)
every 5 notes = 1 day wearing girl underwear
every 10 notes = 1 day without a bra
every 25 notes = 1 day wearing at least a little makeup
50 notes = send tit pics whenever someone tells me to
75 notes = send pussy pics whenever some tells me to (its hairy and im not planning to shave)
every 100 notes = go to the glory holes for at least 30 mins
150 notes = go touch myself whenever someone tells me to
every 200 notes = buy a full feminine outfit
300 notes = will write all over my body!
400 notes = make all my interests lewd! (can only draw porn, can only cosplay if i take lewd pics, etc.)
every 500 notes = buy a new sex toy
600 notes = get my ears pierced
700 notes = throw out one piece of masculine clothing everyday
800 notes = actually find a way to get estrogen
900 notes = start plumping my lips
1000 notes = start an onlyfans (itll be cheap) + every 50 notes i go to the glory hole to attempt to get knocked up
will take suggestions after this point~
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academics is nothing
yeonjun short smut adgdhasdg i couldnt help myself OK
porn without plot.
warnings : degrading, yeonjun not allowing y/n to cum, sucking tits, mean-ish yeonjun, unprotected sex (use protection nasties), giving head (f recieving), idk what else to put, lmk if theres anything else!!
genre : academic rivals
part 1 here !
---
“shit. can you hold on a little more y/n? i promise ill be fast.” my god, how could he say that? you were literally on the verge of cumming and he said that the most sexiest way possible. that made it so much more difficult for you to even hold it.
he started to lean towards you again, kissing your neck and pressing on the cute hickeys he made on your jawline with his tongue. “so pretty.” you could still hear him mumble, and pant as he jams his cock into you faster and faster everytime he lifts his hip from yours.
earlier you two were fighting, both complaining about how both of you, the academic rivals, were chosen to be partners together on some stupid classics project. then it led to him kissing you to shut you up, then down your neck, then towards your chest, which led him no choice but to unbutton that polo and necktie you had on. which then led him to sucking your tits, to going further down, swaying your skirt downwards left and right while tugging on it. then he sucked on your pretty cunt that was glistening right infront of him, which led him to this.
ramming his cock non stop into you and hearing your moans were a melody to him. “fuck!, yeonjun!” you gripped onto his shoulder and he gave better grip by leaning downwards even more, which allowed you to feel his hot, shaky breath that was flowing around your neck, giving you goosebumps.
“my pretty slut begging to go faster hmm?” he teased, seeing how you rolled your eyes back, both in pleasure and in annoyance. “incase you didnt hear me properly,” he took one deep thrust into you which caused you to buck your hips “i said MY pretty slut. not no one elses, but mine. understood?” you clenched around him which caused his dick to twitch, knowing that you liked what he said, how ‘my pretty slut’ rolled off his tongue that prettily.
“no one can fuck this pretty, tight hole of mine but me. okay? no one fucking else.” his voice grew to be even more shakier each thrust, deepening it each time he said a word, which matched the rhythm with his thrusts.
“im almost there baby,” he planted kisses on your forehead, your nose, your cheek, and finally, your lips. “okay y/n, you can cum now.”
you finally released that knot in your stomach that was growing and growing and you smiled when he plopped down next to you beside the big couch.
“academics is nothing.” he smiled, kissed you again and closed his eyes slowly.
when you opened your eyes, you felt a head in between your legs. but you found out who it was when you looked beside you, and how that tongue immediately plunged inside you when you looked down.
“didn’t wanna miss my chance to study my baby more. plus, who said i was done?” he looked up at you with your mess all over his chin, licking your juice at the corner of his lips before attacking your pussy again.
a/n : here w yeonjun smut while writing 'just an extra!' might go thru a writinf block soon idk 😫
edit: WHAT THE DUCKCKSJWJDJ omg. 800?? u guys r absolutely incredible omg. look forward to more yeonjunnie 😻
#yeonjun smut#yeonjun oneshot#yeonjun fanfic#yeonjun#yeonjun ff#txt hard hours#txt fanfic#txt smut#txt ff#txt oneshots#txt fanfiction#txt imagines#yeonjun imagines#txt#im living for mean yeonjun arg#yeonjun hard hours#yeonjun drabbles#txt drabbles#beomgyu smut#taehyun smut#yeonjun x reader#soobin smut#huening kai smut
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Hi friends! This one came out to 19.3K — the longest part yet! Whew.
WARNINGS do apply to this chapter — once again, we touch on fear play with our kinky couple. Please do remember that everything between the characters is consensual, safe, and has been discussed in depth. Features mean H with a soft touch. I hope you love this one, and if you do, I'd love some feedback! (✿◠‿◠)
FOR WATTPAD ALTERNATIVE CLICK HERE
PREVIOUS PARTS
You're sixteen minutes late. What do you think we should do about that?
For a moment, Isla just stares at his feet numbly. Harry Styles; Eros. Serpentine loafers. These are all ...very ...intense revelations, and, oh, wow, is it — is the room getting smaller, or is the air just casually being sucked out like the head of a vacuum's been slung through the light fixture?
She needs to sit down, Isla decides. She's already sitting. Okay.
Okay, okay, okay, okay. So she wasn't insane to draw correlations — and that's, like, a relief? Right?
Her palms press to the chill of the linoleum, and her heart thunders like a storm looms behind her ribcage. Eros — no, Harry says nothing.
Sixteen minutes of apprehension and distress over her absence are sixteen minutes too many, Harry thinks.
Generally, there's little that winds the man up into a state of restless concern. He's a pretty do unto others, golden rule sort of fellow, and so far, his karmic ramifications have mirrored the belief system he lives by. So there's nothing to feel tense over, in that department.
But when Isla Cleery doesn't show up for an entire sixteen minutes — when he usually finds her kneeling in the room, waiting for him, in the same time frame he enters tonight, only to discover an empty room... well. That's a bit of a cause for concern. Just a smidge.
And the thing is, it wouldn't be so abhorrently concerning had he not just suffered through a house showing, leading her through a scantily furnished shell of a home with scantily seamed composure. He couldn't say anything to her about it — he just couldn't take the burden upon himself to crush obscurity, and she'd grown so odd with him towards the end. Like he'd done something to upset her. She was still all friendly smiles and chatter, but the grins didn't reach her eyes, and those same eyes wouldn't hone on his stature in quite the same manner they had prior. As if something was throwing her off. Like she knew, the way he did.
Isla Cleery was a smart girl. He'd no doubt she'd piece the puzzle together in the same manner he had. And it wasn't like, (despite his hesitancy on breaking the wordless code that'd been set in the dynamic), he was going to go on this complex venture all in hopes of shielding her from the knowledge. He just didn't want to be the one to bring it up.
His change of clothes, or lack thereof, hadn't been this intentionally drawn out gameplan of hinting — the dominant just hadn't had the time to change, and partly...
Well, maybe just partly, he wanted her to know.
He wanted her to know that he'd just spent the better part of the last hour showcasing a house to her, and that after, he'd driven down to Indulge — that the next few would be spent walking her through things far less pure.
But then she just wasn't there. He'd sat down in the chair, gears grinding in contemplation.
Okay.
She was late. She just happened to be late. That could be chalked up to coincidence, entirely. But then five minutes turned into ten. Within fifteen, he'd wound himself up into an over-analyzing cycle, mentally walking through their interactions with critical inspection, gaze pinned to the door in unfocused daze. Had he said something?
Half an hour. Harry would give her half an hour, and then he'd go out and sit at the bar, and probably stare at the swirls over the countertop with doleful jade, and then he'd call it a night. Because who the fuck liked being stood up?
But then his detail-oriented dissection morphs into worry, because why the fuck was she suddenly late, when she'd never been late before, when he definitely hadn't made any sort of implications to reveal his status. He started worrying if the drive had been alright for her.
By the time Isla does show, slipping through the door quietly like a late pupil to a class in session, Harry's buzzing on the edge. He wants to feel relieved when she slips to her knees ahead of him, taking her typical spot over the linoleum, but all he feels is ...vexed. She's so nonchalant about it — no instant apologies rolling off her tongue as he'd expected.
Why was she late?
That's fine. He's fine to be the one to bring the elephant in the room to attention. In fact, it's his first course of action.
"You're late," he'd told her, no sugarcoating to his tone. He's had his time to stew.
No, how was your day, darling? No jesting to his cadence. No preamble of small talk.
And now, Isla Cleery is silent, keeled over with her hands pasted to the marble like she's already sorry. Good.
Harry prods into her silence, "Hm? Any suggestions?"
"Whatever—" she swallows, her pupils plastered to the rouge tips of the snake tails over the toes, "Whatever you find to be suited, Sir."
"Whatever I find to be suited..."
In the reticence following his echo of her statement, Isla deliberates. She doesn't ponder over punishment suggestions. Instead, she mulls over what sane reasoning there is to be so mortified.
So what? Her dominant also happens to be her realtor.
Yeah, he'd just walked her through the property on Sweeger, and he'd made jokes and showcased charming divots on either side of his smile. So what if she knew his name, and had his phone number at the top of her iMessage history? These are all astronomical things, Isla recognizes, in the realm of Indulge, but she glosses over the intensity of her emotions.
Harry Styles was good looking. In all honesty, she'd deem him to fall far beyond the realm of her own league. Ludicrous allure to the man, honestly. And she finally has a face to her mysterious Eros, afterall. A face she knows lies beyond the latex — a face she'd seen only an hour prior. And slowly, from mortifying, these things become ...exciting. Like a cliche taboo — she feels that she knows a secret she shouldn't, because she does.
And in the same cycle of processing, Isla decides she can't say anything. She can't just dismantle the sacredness of their arrangement — it's, like, cardinal sin to out anonymity. It's all a lot to process. She needs to sit down and just process.
But when she peers up at Eros, his face, and finds his own gaze intent upon her through the unzipped slit in rubber, Isla finds that it's difficult to process much of anything. What normally glints with profound inklings of mischief and teasing is void. He's ...indecipherable. Just as she'd begun to find him more decipherable than she could have prior imagined. The male takes in a breath and sits back.
"Come here."
Isla pushes her sticky palms off of the tile and stands. Her gait is slow, like she's nine again and she's just broken a lamp in the living room with an imprudent toss of a ball. When she's stood between his parted thighs, her hands fidgeting in their interlock ahead of her, Eros — Harry places his own colossal palms onto her hips.
He tips his chin up at her, like he's ...ogling through the lace, and says, "Tell me why you were late."
Her throat flexes with a swallow, and the young woman tells him, an uncharacteristically timid note to her cadence, "I ...didn't have my mask to take with me straight from where I was, Sir."
The dominant just stares at her for a moment, like he's weighing her words in his mind, and then his line of sight flickers to her waistline. Though he hadn't altered his apparel, she had, in her apparent detour by the apartment — now, instead of denim and white, she's shaped by dark biker shorts and a matching skin-tight tank that showcases a line of skin on her tummy. Comfortable to climb in and out of. He digs his thumbs into the shorts, on either side, and tugs down. Beneath those, white lace clings. He wonders if she'd been wearing the same pair as he'd escorted her through the property. As the spandex slips, she steps out of it. But he doesn't go for the strings of her underthings. Instead, jade irises flick back up to her face, and the man tells her, "Sit."
She takes a seat over one of his thighs, her denuded feet crossing, one over the other, and her arms mirror the cross as she seems hesitant to nudge against his chest. Harry wraps an arm around her, the opposite palm resting on her bare thigh.
"Are you," Isla starts, her hands still to herself and body language somewhat frigid despite the warmth of his touch, and her tongue peeks out and brushes over her strawberry lips as she restores the beginning of her statement, "I'm sorry, for upsetting you. I didn't..."
Her words die off, then. Harry's own tongue sticks out to glide over pillowy pink as he muses. He finds that it's irrational, when he thinks about it – to be upset with her for something that they hadn't even discussed. The time frame of their meetings was unspoken – it had just occurred over time, and they had stuck with it. But it wasn't as if she was contractually obligated to be present when the clock struck a specific number.
"It wasn't a rule," he tells her, finally, soft to combat her obvious discomfort, "It's not fair for me to be cross."
"But you are," she lifts her chin to face him, a morph from what'd prior been a downcast gaze to her hands.
The male chews on his bottom lip, and tells her, earnestly, an assurance to caress over the tension, "...I was just worried, is all."
A pleather-coated hand pets over the smooth expanse of her thigh as he tacks on, "You've never been late before."
"I'm sorry," the submissive responds, fingering at a button over linen, "I can't imagine — you must have thought I'd stood you up."
Something like that, Harry thinks wryly.
"It wasn't a rule, and it's not fair for me to be upset, but I'm going to write it in," the man says, after a moment, and lifts his hand to trace a gentle touch over the sculpt of her cheekbone as he shoots her a look through his lashes, "New rule; you are to be on time, a prespecified time."
"Okay."
"Okay?" he nudges with his chin — a motion clearly meant to coax her into a self-correction.
Isla obliges, "Yes, Sir."
So, they're all good.
"Then, we're all good," Harry tells her, awarding a delicate squeeze to her thigh.
But — no. The thing is, they're not, Isla decides with gallantry that (she's aware) will likely haunt her later. The White Room with Eros was no space for pluck, she'd learned, time and time again. Despite vivid reminiscence of these instances, the young woman tells him, a pinch working over her brows beneath the shroud of crocheted netting, "But ...I think you should punish me."
The man's eyes just glimmer in response, narrowed as they wordlessly probe.
"You want to," she supplies, her pupils skidding to ogle the plush of his pink mouth — it parts open as he catches his bottom lip with his teeth, and her own teeth do the same. It's ludicrous, the amount of sexually charged tension there is between the mutuality of lip biting. It conveys what words do not.
And he does, Harry thinks. He wants to punish her for her little ankle antics first and foremost — the concept had floated to the forefront of his mind even then. He wants to punish her for flashing the bangle at him, again and again. He wants to punish her for making him wait. Wants to do it because she's been winding him up through one unwitting deed or another, unintended and innocuous on her end, for the better part of the evening.
But these are all just... Well, they're all just that — unintended and innocuous, and punishment can't be warranted where warnings haven't spawned to begin with. Aside from the ankle thing — that was just annoying, but he supposes, just as he had back at the showing, it's not exactly an area of jurisdiction for him.
"I mean," the young woman's shoulders jump and freeze as she ponders over her words. And then she just ...gives him an in, "it wasn't a rule — but, it was still ...very irresponsible that I didn't plan accordingly."
The dominant's head cocks a bit. Isla bites into her cheek, her shoulders still raised and her mouth twitching sheepishly in a clear attempt to bridle a grin.
"If you want me to spank you," he tells her, after a second, his own strawberry mouth curbing visibility of amusement, "you can just ask."
She can just ask. She knows that. But, it's not just ...that, Isla thinks. It's — her heart's still walloping behind her ribcage like its intentions are to overheat her circulatory system, and the man's hand — Harry's hand is on her thigh, squeezing, petting, caressing, and she knows what lies beyond the rubber hood — she knows his name, his phone number, the color of his hair. And he was charismatic, and kind, and as playful in an out-of-Indulge setting as he was cracking lewd jokes with her post a scene, sprawled over sweaty sheets, and he was so ...weirdly wholesome, with the mask abandoned. Eros — with his dimples and his glinty gaze and soft curls. The clash of his unprofaned atmosphere, the range she'd observed, when Isla knows his capabilities, is jarring. Today, Harry Styles pushed her on a rope swing, and last week he had made her crawl to him on all fours, stuffed his cock down her throat, and clamped her tongue with a clothespin when she hadn't called him Sir. The spectrum, evidently, was boundless.
And the thing is, it's not like Isla had assumed he'd be this chains-and-buckles-man in an out-of-club context, straddling a Harley in skimpy dishabille like a debauched porno ad. Or that he'd be this stoic business tycoon who had an assistant that would bring him his coffee every morning Secretary-Circa-2002-style — Dan Sever certainly wasn't either of those. Dan Sever liked books and walking through abstract art galas, and he had a golden retriever named Lucky. He'd go for morning runs in battered Nikes and listen to Depeche Mode, and his favorite movie was Casino. Dan sold insurance and worked from home. He had a handsome smile that could light up a room, and he was the same man who'd cradle his palm over Isla's pulse and press as he rocked his hips against her, that same smile crooked and obscene as he told her she would only breathe if he was feeling particularly nice.
Isla anticipated, when she'd ponder over and imagine what her mysterious Eros was like, who he was behind the mask, that the dominant would be a seemingly wholesome man in a normal setting. Because that was the thing — the scariest were always, for some reason or another, the nicest. The ones who would smirk down at your pleas of mercy and laugh were the same ones who'd spend weekends volunteering in homeless shelters, or something equally virtuous and good-natured. Isla's not totally sure if it has to do with a Purge sort of inner turmoil, like the kind where someone is so nice that eventually they just have to snap — she has her sneaking suspicions, but whatever. For some reason, it always seemed to work out like that. Like a maidenly adult that was forced into attending a Christian college. How's that saying go? Lady in the Streets, Freak in the Sheets? Nice is to streets as sadistically vile is to sheets.
Isla knew he'd be attractive — she knew based off his build, the pillowy plush of his mouth and the vibrant jade of his eyes, the length of his eyelashes through the slits of unzipped rubber, alone. She knew that he had taste based off the stretches of his skin with artistic character she'd managed to lay her eyes upon in incrementing episodes, personality based off his sarcasm and quip. Isla could piece together artifacts like no other — seamless details sewn by her imagination like a bird harvesting trinkets in the process of building a nest. She had her analysis.
But musing and daydreaming was vastly different from the real deal. And Harry to Eros? That was like whiplash. And Isla wants to see Eros ambidextrous — his devil on one shoulder and the angel on the opposite, two sides of the same coin. She doesn't want to ask him to spank her. She wants Harry to punish her, because she wants to bask in the reversal of the poles. She wants to know that only a short hour ago he'd walked her through the shell of a house, made jokes on her cherry infatuation, and pushed her on a rope swing. Now, she wants to see the devil.
But of course, Isla can't tell him any of this. He couldn't possibly know that she's ...stumbled upon this information. Isla hopes that her not-so-mysterious Eros hasn't struck upon the same conclusions. And Isla Cleery thinks, thank God she changed.
"I know," the young woman responds, voice soft, "But," and then she groans and cranes her neck back, "Why do you have to make me say it, why can't you just jump on the opportunity?"
"Because that's not how this works," laughter suffuses Harry's words, "We talk first, right?" his thumb brushes over her bottom lip.
Isla nips at it. With the glove-coated digit between her teeth, she tells him, "Let's cut the middleman."
His mouth crooks.
"You want me to punish you?"
"Desperately, Mr. Eros. Be mean to me."
She's — she's ...Harry's gaze narrows. His tongue digs against his cheek.
"Be mean to you," he starts, musing, and his lips purse as he nudges his thumb further in her insolent, muted cherry mouth, "Maybe I just won't let you cum at all tonight. How's that sound?" his gaze, laden with frustrations pent up and glazed over by lust, watches her lips wrap over the digit, "S'pretty mean, innit? Get you all worked up just to send you home."
Rather than a whine of protest, as he'd anticipated, when he suggests, "I can think of loads of cruel and unusual things that'd be mean," as he withdraws his thumb, his submissive gnaws into her lip and exhales.
The Executioner, she'd called him upon introductions. She'd felt the sobriquet unfitting, but now...
The young woman repeats her prior words, "Whatever you find to be suited, Sir."
Isla practically watches the gears turn behind his skull, and anticipation slinks down the knobs of her spine, chilly like ice sliding over her skin. He pats her hip.
"Whatever I find to be suited. O-kay," he tells her, finally, "Hop up."
When she stands, Eros does the same, and wordlessly, gaze speaking volumes in lieu of his tongue, fiery hot, he physically moves her around and coaxes her into a kneel on the same cushion he'd been sitting on prior. Isla can only fix her hands onto the back of the chair and turn her head over her shoulder. And he's wordless, until his vision slips to her backside, and then back up to the side of her face. Instead of discarding the white lace altogether, he just tugs it up to expose more skin — it's already a fairly cheeky pair.
"S'gonna be a long night," he — warns? tells her? Evidently, it's leeway into advice, because the man tacks on, "M'not gonna be nice, per your request. It'll be in your best interest to be a good girl from here on."
And — there he is, Isla thinks. Her eyes slip shut as his words seep into her brain, spoken with the same pleasant cadence that'd discussed gorgeous ceilings and ensuites and gardening. His tone's a little darker now, but there's no denying the syrupy inflection, smooth as molasses, belongs to the same man that'd discussed square footage and budgets and seller motives.
Isla most certainly will not be a good girl, but she appreciates his words of wisdom.
The man makes his way over to a row of implements, and Isla peers over at him, curiosity growing as he lifts objects, ogles them, and discards. Eventually he seems to settle on a strap — sort of like a fancy alternative for a belt, reinforced leather folded, but rather than a mere grip holding two ends together to keep its shape, a wooden handle holds its form. It swings like a flimsy paddle.
Isla knows the sensation well — she's felt it a plethora of times, and even a handful of weeks prior with Eros wielding it. Her recollection happens to be that he wasn't very nice with it, but she supposes she deserved it. It's a fuck, this sucks sensation, at first, but there's more thud than there is sting to it, and eventually, it just begins to scratch an itch deep in her bones. Harry places it beside her, on the cushion, and winds one hand over her hair, bundling it into a makeshift pony. He wrenches her head back gently while the opposite palm pastes over her throat. And his gaze is ...it's captivating. Soft, hard, fiery with want. He holds her like that for a moment, just pressing over her skin with his palm and his shrouded face hovering over her own, like he's contemplating. Irises settle over her mouth and stick and meddle — like he wants to kiss her.
"Gonna be a good girl for me, tonight?" he says, instead, voice low.
Isla doesn't answer. He doesn't say anything, for a moment, either, and the palm that's pressed over her throat slinks up for a thumb to graze over her mouth. And then his own lips quirk, and he removes his touch, altogether, taking a step away. Isla's heart pumps blood desperately. She's getting lightheaded.
Harry's eyes roam over the slope of her figure from the side view. His hand draws over her hip, "Stick this out."
The young woman complies, shuffling on her knees a bit. In response, Eros fondles over her flesh and squeezes a handful of her backside in his grip. The sensation is biting enough for Isla to gnaw into her cheek, all to bridle a sound she knows would be much too pathetic to slip this early on.
"You've got a pretty arse," he tells her, shamelessly ogling. It's his to ogle, anyhow. There's no shame to be had in that.
"Thanks," Isla tells him, chirpy despite the clear edge to her voice when Harry digs his fingers in harder, "Grew it myself."
Despite the serious demeanor he'd taken on, he can't help the subdued sound of amusement the quip wrests from him. He shakes his head, digging his teeth into his cheek to curb a grin. His touch retracts and returns as a smack. And then a second, and a third. A fifth, a sixth, a seventh, an eighth. When his eyes disconnect from her bum and paste onto her hands, he notices they're clenched over the back of the armchair — not quite white-knuckled, but not lax, either.
"S'heavy?" he ponders aloud, referencing her complaint from the week prior. At least she's smart enough not to complain about it, now. Her answer comes in the form of an exhale on the ninth blow and a hum of concurrence.
"I know, so mean," he jokes, drawing a palm over the flesh he's sure is turning heated beneath his touch — he can't exactly feel it, but he can certainly witness the shift in color, "Such a horrible, mean man — making sure you don't bruise."
He gives her a smattering more, just until he's sure he's siphoned enough blood to the surface to ward off bruising, and by that point she's slumped forward a bit, with her ribcage resting against the back of the chair. The dominant eyes the pleasant glow of pink he's managed to draw in such a short expanse of time, winding a finger over the skin and then opting to smooth over the globes of flesh with a palm.
"All warmed up," he tells her, sighing and giving her a definitive pat before harvesting the strap, "I think sixteen will do — one for every minute you were late, little miss."
Sixteen? Only sixteen?
Isla's unable to bridle her disbelief, "That's it?"
Harry's head nudges back a smidge, and he blinks as if her amazement is a clock that's stunned him a bit.
"Okay. We can do thirty-two, then. Two for each," he smooths the leather tail over her backside as he tacks on, "Or would you prefer we triple it? Forty-eight work for you?"
"No, no," Isla appeases, nervous laughter teeming her speech, "Sixteen sounds wonderful. I mean, punishment's gotta fit the crime, right?"
"Right," Harry narrows his gaze against the back of her head, "See, but I have a sneaking suspicion you were trying to dictate how this was gonna go."
"Oh, I'd never," Isla chimes, feigning seriousness. The man's irises roll up in exasperation. He hums.
"Of course you wouldn't," the way he huffs has Isla gnawing into her cheek in restraint of curling corners over her (nearly smiley) mouth.
He instructs, "Alright. Easy stuff. You will count, and you will thank me, and you'll ask for another, so," the dominant takes a step, approximating a good position for a swing, the handle of the strap in his gloved grip. Harry clears his throat and provides an example for her to mirror, "S'gonna go, 'One, Sir, thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir," he rolls his shoulders, and bobs with his head as he drones into the following number for sequential clarification, "Two, Sir, thank you, Sir,' yada, yada. Yes?"
It's simple stuff. Pretty elementary shit. His instructions are crystal, and yet, somehow, Isla still manages to find a way to entangle some form of lippy something into the mix. He shouldn't have put it past her.
The young woman says, after a moment of lull, "What happens at three?"
She bites into her cheek and purses her mouth. Harry can't see her face, but he knows she's either smiling or making a poor attempt to stifle it. The mirth is pretty short-lived. That part sort of follows the trend of his patience. A crease works its way over the dominant's brow bone, the predecessor for another eye roll. Isla doesn't expect it when, after a beat of silence, the strap makes contact with her backside. Instantly, she winces, her hips canting forward.
"Cheeky," Harry scolds, placing his free palm onto her hip to coax her back into position, "I hope you got it out of your system."
"You love when I'm cheeky," she quips under her breath, sounding a bit miffed despite the strain of her voice, no doubt from the strike.
He smacks her again.
"Two, Sir—"
"Ah — no," Harry shakes his head, "Skipped a number."
There's a pause and then a high whine of complaint, just as he'd expected, "But that was two—"
"How d'you count?"
"What?"
"How do you count?" the male repeats, this time enunciating each word, slow and crisp, like she won't comprehend it otherwise, "From one to five. Count, for me." He twists the stem of the leather paddle in his grip, gaze cast upon it, and his tone only varnishes the words as he tacks on, patronizing, "Surely you know how to do that."
"Of course I know how to count — what kind of—"
He folds his arms over his chest as he steps over to the side of the chair, resting his hip against it to peer down at her, "So, do it. Count. From one to five, out loud."
For a moment, Harry just watches her jaw set, a minute motion that gives away everything he needs to know, and he's aware that she's probably ogling the tilt of his head through the lace with venom. Begrudgingly, Isla complies, "One, two, three, four, five."
"Lovely," the praise, in response to her half-hearted compliance, doesn't lack its typical notes of condescension, "Little less attitude next time, but. S'one, two, three, innit?"
Isla chews into her lip.
"Not two. Doesn't start with two. So now, we're starting fresh," he pushes off of the chair and winds back around her, and the dangle of the strap from his priorly crossed arms morphs menacing, "Clean slate. Start from one."
The reinforced leather falls, and her breath hitches, but her voice is impressively even. "One, Sir. Thank you, Sir. May I have another, Sir?"
"Absolutely."
She asks, and so he gives. And the thing with Isla — Harry thinks, perhaps his most favorite quality about Isla in play, is that she has this nonsensical moxie, this unwavering resolution. It's sort of admirable, but mostly just a headache — in a good sort of way. She's like a sexy headache, which is a first among many firsts. Because Harry likes that he has to manually chip at her stubborn resolve — he likes that she doesn't just fall in line. It's not a very sensible decision, on her part, because it could go so much easier for her if she were to just follow the rules.
But that's no fun, according to her.
Harry gets it.
So when she says, "Two, Sir, thank you, Sir," and it's followed by a pause and then a quieter, "yada, yada," he's not entirely surprised.
He digs his tongue against his cheek. "Excuse me?"
Isla chimes, a bit louder, and this time with no break, "Two, Sir, thank you, Sir, yada, yada."
In response to his obnoxious sigh, the submissive bursts into a string of self-satisfied snickers. And then those snickers morph into a gasp of helpless pain as Harry places his arm over the small of her back, holds onto a love handle to keep her in place, and gives her three hard ones in succession.
"Yada, yada," he scoffs.
"That's how you told me to count!" Isla complains, shrill and (characteristically) incorrigible, "That's how you counted two!"
"Your smart mouth is going to keep you here all night," Harry advises.
"You know what, that's fine. Thank you, actually. It's a very smart mouth, just like the rest of me is smart—"
She twists when another blow lands, a soft, resentful sort of "mmph" plucked from her vocal cords. She follows that up with a steely, exaggerated, "Ow." Like he's supposed to feel bad about it or something.
"Ow? Good," Harry tells her, instead, "Seems that's gonna be your favorite word for the night. If you were smart, you'd start counting proper."
He waits a moment, and then smacks her with it again.
Isla screws her eyes shut behind onyx mesh and netting, her voice riding the edge of strained, "Seven—"
Never has she heard him sound more incredulous.
"How in the world did you get from two to seven?"
It's ridiculous. She's ridiculous, Harry thinks.
"With the five in between!" the young woman defends.
"If you haven't counted it, it doesn't count," the male tells her from behind, features surely in a miffed assemblage beneath rubber, and he promises, "I will keep starting over — you will spend all night on this chair if you make that choice. And I've got a wonderful view, so I wouldn't complain if I had to do this all night long."
Isla weighs his words behind her skull. Eros is nothing if not the type of man to follow through on his words.
His steely reminder coaxes her into some form of compliance, "You've gone from sixteen to twenty-three, already. D'you really wanna keep pushing it?"
"Okay, okay, okay, I'll count right!" she smacks the back of the armchair with the heel of her palm softly in resolve. Her toes curl.
Harry's tongue peeks out from his mouth to swipe, "Will you?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Isla's head twists over her shoulder, "...Yes, Sir."
He lifts the strap and gestures at her threateningly, "Yada yada me one more time. I dare you. Eyes ahead."
She doesn't say anything, for once, and her head pivots back towards the wall obediently. Harry steps back, pleased.
And then he hits her with the strap just as she starts to say, "yada, yada," so her insubordination morphs into a squeal, and that's just divine timing, Harry thinks.
Isla blows out a breath, starting over, "One—" and grunts when he smacks her again.
"Just couldn't help yourself, could you? That doesn't count," he tells her, tone firm, and if Isla wasn't in her current predicament, she'd laugh at how sober and dark he sounds when he tells her, "You yada yada'd me."
"You dared me to—" her breath practically gets punched out of her with another blow. The submissive grows awfully quiet.
"Count," Harry reminds her.
Isla swallows. "One, Sir, thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir."
Another strike.
"Two, Sir, thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir."
Two more — "Three — Four! Sir!" Isla rocks forward, ducking her chin and hanging her head as she seesaws over the cushion on her knees, "Thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir."
"That's nice," Harry tells her, "I'll let it slide this time — but you're going to say the whole thing for each one."
Her knees shuffle, "Okay."
She gasps when he smacks her again, "Five, Sir, thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir."
"'Okay' is not the answer I wanna hear. It's 'yes, Sir.'"
"Yes, Mr. Eros," Isla tells him, shaking her head and morphing her voice into ceremonious enthusiasm.
The next strike is considerably harsher — right across her sit spot, hard enough for her to press the front of her hips against the back of the armchair, "Six! Sir, thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir."
He tuts and leans forward, placing a pleather-clad palm onto a hip to fix her (now, nonexistent) arch, "I'm gonna give you a friendly word of advice, darling. Only words out of your mouth from here on out need to be numbers, if you'd like to cut down on time."
Numbers. Okay. She'll do just numbers, Isla thinks, despite the way her backside seethes.
When he hits her again, she grits her teeth, finger pads drumming over waxy verdant, "...Seven."
Harry blinks and his chin sticks out with expectation, "Seven...?"
"Seven," Isla blows out a breath, rolling her shoulders, "That's the number."
She's — it's beyond amusing, honestly. It just makes him want to smack the heel of his palm square between his own brows, because it's not even entertaining. There's just no sense to it — her resolve. Bad choices, bad choices. Harry sighs.
When Isla hears steps, her eardrums perk. If she were a dog, her ears would twitch and rise. Her head turns, and her eyes follow his frame in motion. When he makes his way to the wall of implements, a bud of worry does sprout.
And then he culls a cane. He doesn't seem to weigh the variety of options — he just swipes one off a rack with nonchalant, apparently nonexistent deliberation, like harvesting the first available box of cereal rather than sifting through apples for bruising. It's thin, and long, and terrifying.
If she were a dog, her ears would slump in a cower.
Isla swallows, nervous laughter plucking at her vocal cords, instantly, "No — hey. Don't grab that. We don't need that. Look—"
"Oh, but I think we do."
"Oh, but I think we ...don't," she can feel the lump growing in her throat, is the thing, can sense the spell of rain looming, instant, despite feigned bravado. As he nears, she sinks onto her haunches, slipping out of position, and buries her face in her folded arms over the back of the armchair. She can't bear to watch him walk up to her with it — she'll really cry. So early on, too. What a shame, Isla thinks, bitterly.
When Harry steps ahead of her, gaze narrowed, the display makes his eyes nearly roll. He takes one of her arms and manually unfolds it back out, and the limb goes without a fight, limp like a puppet. Her face rolls on its cheek, facing away from him, against the other, still folded.
"You're not crying. Stop."
It's true. Isla is, in fact, not crying. She does give a shaky exhale, though, as his fingers wriggle in between her laxly coiled palm to nudge the other arm out straight, as well.
"Sit up," Harry demands, fondling at her side with the hand that's free of the hellish implement.
Her arms rest up against the wall, braced on the arms of the chair, just as he'd settled them, but her cheek presses to shiny forest fabrication, and she doesn't make any indications that she's inclined to move.
"M'gonna tell you once, and I'm not gonna tell you again, sit up," he tells her, cadence low and gentle despite the thing he's holding.
Oh, what big teeth you have, Isla thinks, pitifully.
Reluctantly, she shuffles and clambers back into position. Her ribcage presses to the back of the armchair, and her forearms press to the wall, and her cheek presses to that, too. Still faced away from him.
Harry cocks his head and his mouth settles into a line as he lifts the cane and slides it against her open palms. Isla's shoulders jump and freeze, much like they had in her sheepish shrug perched upon his lap prior, but this time it's body language of discomfort.
"Hold it," he tells her, "You can stare at it. Motivation."
Her fingers gently clasp over it, twitchy as if the stick will make to bite her at any moment. There's just a smidge of space between the chair and the wall — just enough for her palms to wrap over the horrid, wooden thing comfortably. The dominant hears the young woman sigh as if she's in absolute woe.
"Look at me," he frowns.
Again, her motions are sluggish, but she submits and lifts her cheek to pivot in his direction. Her mouth has formed a pout. Harry tuts, and a gloved thumb drags over her bottom lip.
"Can't hit you with it if you're the one holding it. Save those tears," he tells her.
Isla holds it. She screws her eyes shut. Eventually, he smacks her again with the strap. Her palms squeeze over the cane.
"Eight, Sir, thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir."
And despite her mishap with the seventh, Harry lets it slide. Which he thinks is very nice on his part. It sort of defeats the whole basis of the being mean thing, but. They have plenty of time for his cruel and unusual antics. By the time they're done, her grip is white-knuckled over the wood of the cane and her cheek is pressed back to the wall as she huffs like she's run a marathon.
They end with twenty-seven, all in all, which is a beautiful number according to the hues over her backside — he'd even gotten the backs of her thighs a bit towards the end, and those smart with soft pinks. The dominant traces a forefinger over the abused flesh, and a streak of white runs and trails abaft his touch like breakless, milky footprints dragging through sand. Isla's breath hitches.
It just looks too good not to gawk at, Harry thinks — the contrast of bright pinks and ruddy tinges against the lily white of her lingerie. He wants to bite into her — to sit back and ogle imprints of teeth. Wants to feel the heat of her skin against his own. It's all sort of very primal and sick, but what is for, at Indulge, if not to indulge? Contemplatively, Harry slips to his knees and grazes his palms over her, from the top of her panties, smoothing down the backs of her thighs. Isla sighs, but it's sort of dreamy this time rather than a by-product of acceptance of terror.
There's just this thing — with the marks, that gets to him, and it gets to him good. And, God, he just wants to feel her. He flexes his hand, dragging it down, like clawless claws, just to see more of that gorgeous aftermath. Her hips nudge back.
Fuck.
He gives. Harry's grip withdraws. He takes the fingertips of a glove in one palm, and tugs with the opposite. His palm wriggles. The glove slips off. And when he introduces his touch to her skin, warm, the furnace that meets his palm is — Christ.
Isla tenses. Because that's his hand, that's definitely his hand, without a fucking glove. Which, in reality, shouldn't be all that jarring — but he's never done that before. His stroking, despite its inherent warmth from the confines of the glove, is cooling in comparison to the heat that seeps from her pores. It's lovely. But then she feels something that nearly has her craning her head back to face him — a different sensation, beside his bare hand, on the opposite cheek. Wetness, lips, a mouth, a tongue. Kisses, over the flesh, down her thigh, open-mouthed with a tongue that winds in lines that have her toes curling. Like he's laving at the bruising. The muscle slips and dips against her sit spot, just — so close. Close enough to incite sparks at her core and send a warm wave of bliss rupturing through her cunt. God — what the fuck is he—
Isla squeaks — something sharp, something like... her eyes screw shut and she squeezes over the cane helplessly. Is he — did he just—
Harry hums, pulling back tracing with his bare hand over wet imprints of teeth. Dental records — against her skin.
"Fuck. Sweetheart, wish you could see," the dominant tells her, well aware he sounds a bit wrecked himself. He could stare at it for hours — at the colors that bloom over her skin post his affections. Alas, there's more fun to be had (for him, particularly — maybe some parts not so fun, for her), and that thought inspires him to rein his composure.
He's going to wreck her tonight, he thinks. He's going to wreck her, he's going to destroy her and make her melt, and the marks will be fallout for his admiration as he pastes kisses to her sweaty hairline and glues soft hands to her skin. And for her, they'll be sweet, little souvenirs to take home — traces for her eyes to rivet on in the mirror in the morning. He imagines her ahead of a full length mirror, hands tugging up the back of a sundress as pupils pore and delve. It's a weekend, so she certainly won't be in slacks and heels — the thought of her in a sundress, to begin with, sends a nice, fresh wave of arousal plunging through his veins, enmeshed with blood, like raging river rapids.
Just a little longer, Harry thinks — he'll oblige to his yearnings just a little longer.
His zippers graze over her skin and his mouth puckers and presses, and then he pastes a latex coated cheek to one globe and squeezes the other and Isla just. She just—
Processing is becoming a trench through murky waters, the young woman finds.
His hand slides. The backs of his bare knuckles brush over her cunt, still in the confines of her underwear. Isla's hips arch, and Harry sits back, mouth crooking. The man traces the wet spot over her panties with the pad of his finger.
"Sir."
The dominant tuts, and then Isla feels his gentle touch withdraw in lieu of awarding her with a stinging smack. A soft sound hums out through her lips, pressed together. But then he gives her another, and another, and another—
"Please," her hips twist, cadence pitchy and desperate, "Why?"
"Why?" Harry blatantly stifles snickers, his own voice low and lewd and tantalizingly condescending, "Did you just ask me why?"
"Yes," Isla whines, her cheek squished against the wall.
"Because—" Isla grunts when he spanks her again, "—I want to. So I'm going to," he asserts himself with another swat. The grin he wears is openmouthed, lips wrapping over teeth and a tyrannical tongue that torments, "You're wet — and it was supposed to be a punishment."
"It's — you— you touched me," the submissive protests, gasping when he digs the pads of his fingers against her bruised backside, the sensation sharpened by his short, bare nails as opposed to the dull softness of a glove. Harry hums in mock understanding. "And — and before that you were kissing me and — and licking me."
Isla's eyes squeeze shut behind lace when, as if to taunt her further, the man leans forward and glues his plush mouth back against her sweltry skin.
"Oh, is that right?" Harry teases between the paste of kisses, and fingertips draw scratchy white streaks on the opposite side, "Because I think," he bares his teeth to scrape over her, "you're lying." The dominant sucks a patch of skin between his teeth, and pillowy lips coax while teeth skim and a tongue strokes.
From her, the motion incites a soft, hummy moan that falls through flared nostrils and locked lips. Harry gives her another swat and pulls off. There's a pretty love bite left behind. Quite peachy, a bit darker of a shade than the rest of her skin, but it matches the palette of colorful marks he's accessorized her with.
"Are you lying to me, darling?"
"N— No," Isla fibs through the cracks of her teeth.
"No?" his mouth purses as he takes his palms, one clad with pleather and the other denuded, and fondles over the globes of her bum. His thumbs skim and dip, crooking into the nooks of her thighs — so close to where—
"You're a naughty," Harry's bare hand collides with the opposite cheek this time, the one he'd focused his oral affections upon only moments prior — and it's as if the smack is meant to drive the love bite further, to make it stick, "dirty, little thing."
Isla's hips cant back on their own accord, and the cane trembles in her grip, and his hand is on her skin, and—
His touch retracts. The young woman picks up on audible shuffling. The dominant's chest brushes against her as he propels himself up with a brace on the arms of the chair — linen of his shirt grazing over bare fragments of skin where her tank doesn't cover.
"Wouldn't you agree?" he croons against the shell of her ear. Isla's heart thunders wildly — there is no steady beat to the mess left in his wake. "Hm?" teeth nip at her earlobe. The ghost of his soft breath, the featherlight kiss of zippers, the velvet of his cadence, drenched in dire intent facading; it all sends chills down her neck, down her shoulders, down her arms. A heat teems over her cheekbones.
Harry lets himself bask in her shuddery breaths, her tensed muscles, the view of her head hung. Then, his mouth quirks, and he pushes off the chair, off and away from her, from the pleasant, little detour he'd entertained.
Isla seems opposed to his absence. Her head twists over her shoulder, like she wants to know what he's doing — why he's detached from her when she was sure he'd nudge his cock up into her, or slide his bare fingers into her hole, or, or, anything. Anything but make a beeline for his duffel. God, that scary duffel. All sorts of horrors encompassed by the onyx travel bag, like a kinky carry on. She watches Eros crouch before it, and the sound of a zipper has her wishing she could see over the frame of his back. Then, rummaging.
When he stands back up and turns toward her, he's got what looks to be a little bottle of lubricant wrapped by his bare hand — the other, the gloved, cradles something small and vividly fuchsia. Two objects — or perhaps three, all small, over the pleather — the little fuchsia egg-thing, something shiny and blue, and something ...else. Something mysterious. Though, she doesn't know what any of the three are.
"Missing me already?" the dominant quips. The soles of his fancy serpentine shoes pad against the linoleum in ambivalence. His return, Isla thinks, is enticing. His unpredictability, that serves as a side dish to the entree of that return, however—
"Eyes ahead. So nosey," Harry instructs, an undeniable, firm quality to his statement, one that demands obedience, despite the lighthearted tone on the phrase. Isla turns back to the wall and gnaws into her bottom lip.
"Well, you didn't tell me to keep my eyes ahead."
"Well, M'telling you now," the male sets the objects down (whatever the two mysterious ones she wasn't able to make out) between her parted calves, on the cushion. It's clearly intentional — deliberately done so that Isla is unable to turn back over her shoulder to see.
"Well, sorry, I didn't know," Isla tells him, notes of attitude interlacing the syllables despite the warning in her palms, which, until Harry steps around and braces his palm against the back of the armchair, has evidently been forgotten.
That's fine. He'll remind her.
"You wanna talk to me like that?" His words are soft-spoken. Gentle, in their contrast to the underlying threat.
"Like what?" Isla's eyes hone ahead. She hadn't even noticed the walls had marbled texture, swirls of faint gray patterns over white. What a nice touch.
"You know what," Harry tells her, a little less gentle and a little more firm.
"I'm not talking to you like anything, Sir. I think you're misconstruing."
He ducks his chin, fingers drumming over shiny emerald over the back of the armchair, and sardonic dimples rise awake beneath the latex of his mask, "Misconstruing."
The man shakes his head, and Isla blinks. She tacks on, "Simple case of misinterpretation."
His face lifts, and for a moment, in her peripherals, there's nothing but shiny latex and lull. An inhale that packs things unsaid.
"What are you holding right now?" he lifts a digit to tap over the wooden, "Hm?"
Her hands tighten over it, and as his pupils bounce from the cane to her side-profile, he notices the way her jaw sets a smidge. She takes a deep breath, and tells him, with that same resolve still keeping her voice clipped, "A cane. Sir."
"Right. And what does it mean, when you're holding it?"
Her jawline flexes as her mouth parts, and for a moment she says nothing, like she's bridling the plummet of her courage at the insinuation.
"It means that you were ...mean ...and made me hold it."
Pink curls through a parted slit, and he shakes his head, "Not quite," his head tilts, "Means I can't hit you with it, right? When you have it? Means you're," his gaze drives over its length, over the noticeable tremble in her fists, "recklessly brave," his eyes bounce back up to her, as he tacks on, "because you know I can't use it on you. Not when you're the one holding it."
Isla says nothing. Harry's palm wraps over the thicker end, right ahead of him, and he tugs slowly. It slides from her grasp with little resistance. The young woman's head turns away from him, just a smidge, and Harry tells her, his priorly soft spoken voice only dropping in volume further, until the phrase is nearly a whisper, "And what about now?"
He leans with his shoulder against the wall, the same wall Isla's forehead presses onto as he nudges her shoulder with the end of the cane, "Hm?"
When her tone, morphed from insolent to cowering, comes in the form of a soft, "please," and a subsequent, pathetic sniffle, the dominant physically has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes and letting the corners of his mouth buckle into a wicked grin.
"Oh, poor baby. D'you think I'm gonna hit you with it?"
He's met with silence. He contemplates sliding the cane back into her hands, but, no. She'll need those. Feigning pity, Harry sighs, "Peitho, Peitho, Peitho. I think I'll keep this little stick with me—" with her head turned away, Isla's bottom lip wobbles, "—just so we don't have any more ...misconstruing or misinterpretations."
He winds around her, cane in hand, and then sets the implement onto the linoleum beside him as he kneels ahead of the armchair, just as he had prior. Only now, he has his goodies — equipment he's set in a neat little pile between her calves that will aid in his agenda for the night. Isla goes easily enough when he glues his palms onto her hips and tugs to fix her arch, like a warm puppet with blood pumping, muscles agreeable and compliant. He sticks his digits into the strips of lacy fabric, on either side of her hips, and shimmies those down, just about until they rest mid-thigh. He pats over one of her nude, pinky cheeks and she jolts in reflex, as if she expects the worst of him. Good.
"Hands. Back here."
Again, the submissive obliges with little hesitation, no doubt spurred by the custody situation of the cane, though her movements offer insight that she's bemused by the request. When she interlocks her wrists behind her back, he nudges at them with his own palm, clarifying, "On your arse."
Behind her, Isla hears a soft click — like a cap popping open. She thinks, the lube. Her hands settle back over her cheeks, elbows bent. And then the dominant tells her, "Spread."
"Sir..." she tells him, her voice small, not exactly a protest of insubordination, but...
"What did we just talk about, darling?" Harry tells her, tone distracted as he spreads lubricant over the middle digit on his bare hand.
It's — she feels the humiliation flood through her when she accedes, when she feels the cool air over her hole, when Isla knows he can see everything. The arousal that wracks through her nervous system, subsequently, is absolutely perverse. And the thing is, it's not that he hasn't seen it before, or that she's insecure, or something of the sort. But it's one thing to give an unwitting view in doggy, and another to just ...bare herself like that. Despite the doubts in her brain, the embarrassment is delicious, according to her body. She's pulled from those thoughts when she feels the pad of a finger, chilly and wet, brush there. The steady position of her hips jolts in surprise, in reflex, but she snaps back like an elastic. At first, there's only rubbing. A soft press, a graze, slick on her, like the prompt to test the waters.
"Gonna stretch you out a bit," Harry tells her, but that part, she's already gathered. She bridles her witty quip. Her own digits twitch. The fingertip nudges, just a smidge, not quite entering but no longer simply grazing, either.
"Pretty," his cadence is absentminded, admiring, as he dips just the very tip of his digit past the rim, "little holes. All mine."
"Isn't that right, sweetheart?" his free hand comes to stroke over the back of her thigh, where her muscles strain and tremble, as he delves just a smidge further, just to the first knuckle, before he fucks in out of her slowly, "Hm? All mine to use?"
"Yes, Sir," she tells him, breathy, and her breath hitches as the hand on her thigh withdraws and draws closer to her core. "Oh, Sir," Isla keens, whiny when he buries a digit on the opposite into cunt.
"I know, baby," his mouth crooks, and the finger in her cunt slips in, to the hilt, while its counterpart makes gentle, shallow prods, "makes you so desperate to have both your little holes used at the same time, doesn't it? All full of my fingers..."
He draws the digit out from her cunt and slips it, slick with arousal, down to play with her clit. The young woman absolutely loses it — her forehead knocks against the wall as a garbled curse slips from her mouth, and Harry uses the opportunity to twist the finger, from the first knuckle, just a little further in. That earns him a little "mmph" and the view of her own splayed digits pressing harder into her own skin. He fucks in and out of her for a bit, drawing slow circles over her clit, featherlight — a tease to work her into a pliable frenzy. Then, he pulls the digit out and stuffs it just up to the second knuckle — it's the thickest part of his finger, and it rests just beyond the breach of her rim. He nudges.
"Oh, God," is Isla's response, her hands clenching over handfuls of her own rounded flesh. Her hips punch back subtly to take more, rock forward to run away (though there's not much leeway for that option), she doesn't even know what she wants. The stretch is — it's intense, and his fingers are lengthy and thick, just one feels like so much. He intends to stretch her out a bit, and Isla's unsure if she'd even be able to handle anything beyond what he's already given her. But then he slinks it in the to the hilt, fucking in little motions that are deep, and all she can think, as Harry's pleather-clad finger pads roll circles over her clit, and Harry's bare digit wriggles fluidly in her, is fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
The withdrawal of the digit, is perhaps, the most uncomfortable sensation of all. He's slow, and gentle, and careful, but it's not exactly a pleasant sensation, regardless of his attentiveness. Isla uses the short recess to stall her hammering pulse.
"Christ, you're a sight," she hears him say darkly over the rush in her ears, and all she can really manage is a pathetic whimper — the man's muted berry lips twitch at the sound, and he swipes lube off his finger onto her backside, a shiny trail illuminating the flush of her skin.
Harry uncaps the lube to drizzle a bit over his first article of the night — her first accessory. A plug — a pretty one, small and metallic, silvery with a tapered shape that melts off into its most eye-catching detail — a little cobalt gem that'll peek out from between her crack.
"S'gonna be a bit more than my finger, pet," he presses the rounded point of its tip to her hole, and his cadence is so firm, so sure, that Isla would wholeheartedly believe any words that come off his tongue, then, "But you're gonna take it like a good girl."
His hand squeezes at her thigh when he prods with the plug and lets it sink in, so her rim swallows around it like it's just heavenly. Meant to be.
It's cold, and rigid, and as the plug settles in her, there's no give that comes with her clench. No flexibility of silicone for her to clamp over, no give for settling. Just sturdy pressure with a heaviness that's not the most comfortable sensation, at first. The dominant behind her draws his fingertips over the end, and tugs, and oh.
"Oh," the moan slips from her mouth, melty as he prods it back into place and digs his thumb against the flared end, is followed by a hum from the man.
"Gorgeous," his thumb strokes over the gem, because she is, "all plugged up," and Isla thinks of gorgeous ceilings.
There's lull, and then a huff, a creak, shuffling. Isla finds the dominant has stood back up, because then she feels fingers in her hair, a yank that cranes her neck back like a pez dispenser. The opposite grapples over her cheeks harshly from behind. Isla gasps.
"Pretty, little thing."
She thinks she makes out, vaguely, through the flutter of her lashes, and the crowding of lace upon her sight, and the upside-down perspective she's been subjected to, that Eros has dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Part of his palm presses flush to her mouth, smushing her lips, and they're parted enough for her to flick her tongue out tentatively, to reap the treasures of his bare skin against her taste buds. In response, the man's mouth jolts.
"You," he guides her back with the grip until she's forced to shuffle back on her knees, "are gonna get on all fours for me. Just—" he walks her back in a mandhandle, her hips flush to his own in the arch, and he drives her into an unwieldy clamber off the cushion, "—Right here, on the ground."
"Yes?"
"Yes, Sir," her lashes flutter and dance frantically beyond lace as Harry presses his mouth to her temple and unhands her roughly. The young woman sinks to her knees, palms pressing to milky tile and figure stretching and arching, succumbing to his whims. She still has the panties clinging to her thighs.
The fuschia trinket, Isla learns, comes next. He slots it to her entrance, the caress of the silicone tantalizing, and then he prods it into her. It's sort of like those small egg-things with a unsightly tampon-like string for withdrawal (those things always look a little funny to her), except its method of extraction offers a flared little limb that nudges to her clit. Either side of her clit, actually — two silicone rabbit ears that envelop the bundle of nerves in a soft pinch. The dominant situates those, drawing soft, breathy sounds from Isla in the process, and then sits back to admire. He gives her backside a pat, still pleasantly ruddy, tugs the lace back over her, and stands.
And then he picks up the cane. Isla grows stiff. Her voice sounds awfully sad when she tells him, "Please."
"Please?" his mouth curls, and he ambles back over to her with it in hand, "What a nice word. Dunno what you're asking for, though, love."
The submissive ducks her head, looking a bit forlorn, and Harry squats beside her face, cane braced between his thighs like a post. He clears his throat, and tells her, "You've been a good girl for me, haven't you, Peitho?"
The muscles in her neck strain in his view as she turns her head away from him a smidge.
"We've had our hiccups, but," he reaches a hand out to grasp at her chin and twists her face back in his direction, "let me play with you the way I wanted. Got on the floor when I told you to. Right?"
A pout has illustrated its way over her mouth, but she nods in his grip after a second, small and jerky.
"So why would I punish you for being a good girl?" he traces a thumb over her bottom lip, almost as if to smooth the frown away, "Hm?"
She wouldn't put it past him — but he just sounds so gentle, then, so kind. Like a wolf dressed in sheepskin — and despite the automatic allusion her mind creates, Isla melts into his touch.
Eros, Isla had learned time and time and time again, had an unpredictability to his character. A delicious sort of instability that kept her on her toes in the best way, his intentions never quite fully explicable. Even after scene and scene and scene with the man, Isla feels she never knows what to expect. He has this way of always catching her off guard — sometimes he'd let her comments slide, sometimes he'd tease her back, and sometimes she met something ominous, something that would loom behind his stature, a shadow greater in size than he. But then, other times, despite laughter and lecherous beams as he procured whatever sadistic urges came to the forefront of his mind, sweetness would reign, and he'd give her caresses and kisses with whips and soft words. It was always sort of flip-flopped — where she'd assume there would be darkness, he was soft. When she assumes she can push, she finds she can't.
Despite her awareness of this quality, when he stands and steps away, his casual, small-talk-seeming dialogue catches Isla off guard, "S'a great room, innit?"
Isla blinks. Her head winds, slowly, to face him, where his menacing stature, with the equally menacing cane, looms ahead of the armchair.
"What?"
"Nice decor, comfortable chair," his mouth purses, and he flops back into the verdant seat unceremoniously, huffing out a breath as if it's a conclusion to his strenuous workday. The dominant glances about himself, wall to wall over ceilings, and then his gaze focuses on her.
"But, y'know," eyes narrow as he bridges into foreshadowing, "there's just something missing."
"A ...sex swing?" Isla offers, her cadence still a smidge jesting despite all that's been endured. She's a bit confused with his sudden nonchalant nature, with his withdrawal, with the bizarre nature of the conversation topic.
Harry hums and drums his fingertips over the arm of the chair, and his tongue clicks as he jerks with his chin, "No, s'not quite it."
"Y'know," he sits up a bit then and snaps with bare fingers — her pupils flit to the motion, "I've got it. I'm thinking, an ottoman."
Isla swallows.
"An ottoman?" she parrots.
"Sure," Harry sits back and splays one arm out over the back of the seat. The other cradles the cane, propped against the floor. "Nice chair," as if for emphasis, he lays his legs out laxly and crosses one ankle over the other, "and nothing to kick my feet up on."
Isla stares down at serpents and jet leather. She ogles as he tells her, "Don't you think I deserve to kick my feet up after all of my hard work, darling?"
A pinch works between her brows, and then he lifts a foot, sets it onto the small of her back, and follows with the other, like she's a fucking coffee table.
Oh. OH. The young woman tenses, and she hangs her head as (sordidly, unsurprising) arousal ripples through her. She is a woman plagued. What kind of twisted desires would prompt her into the reaction— honestly, Isla thinks. The warmth between her legs pulses into a fire. Harry digs the heels of his dress shoes in a little harder, eyes glimmering and strawberry mouth buckling into a grin, "Dealing with an incorrigible brat s'quite exhausting."
"Sir..."
"What?" the dominant pouts, mimicking her tone, cadence pitied and painted with condescension. All Isla provides him with an exhale with a bit of tremble to it.
"S'getting you awful bothered, isn't it, sweetheart?" his lips twitch with knowing, "I know, darling. Feels good to have a purpose."
Fuck, fuck, fucking, fuck.
"Sir," she rocks back a smidge, a little more desperation to her voice. She feels like her entire body's been dipped into a tank of sex — chills envelop her, her stomach wracks with want, and craving slips and pulses lower, and as she literally, physically pulses, clenching, she's greeted with the reminder of the plug, and the other toy in her cunt, and—
"Ah, ah, ah," in her peripherals, she makes out that the dominant has brandished another little object, a small, dark rectangle, lax in his grip. Harry tells her, "you are going to be a quiet, little girl, and the only time I wanna hear anything from you—"
A click.
A smirk.
The fuschia trinket comes alive, buzzing inside of her, against her clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her. Isla rocks forward, jostling his feet a bit, and he plants the sole of his right shoe against her side until she straightens back out.
"—is when you're begging to cum."
Isla bites into her lip — he's the devil. The vibrator hums gently over her, but she's been so worked up over the course of the session that it pulses through her nerve endings and sends the entirety of her system on overdrive. So good, it's so good, she's so sensitive, and this is the lowest setting?
The LOWEST setting?
Like clockwork, the dominant chimes, "Shouldn't take too long to get you there, but, let's amp it up a bit—" and then the toy buzzes harder, firmer, and he tacks on as she hangs her head, chest rolling and hips rocking in minute motions, "Wanna see those little panties soaked all the way through."
The panties — she realizes he'd left them on to keep the toy inside of her as her muscles spasm. He'd thought ahead. Regardless of the precaution, Isla clenches over the toy, desperately, to keep the buzzing from the appendage enveloped about her clit. It's just right — it feels so good — teasing in the best way. But her efforts only make the pleasure so much more intense, and it's not long before she's making quiet little sounds involuntarily. Not long before the pressure builds and builds and builds, like a jenga set just waiting to topple.
"Sir, Sir — Sir—"
"Yes, yes, yes?" the dominant returns, cheerily lilt-y on the former, "This better be good. M'trying to relax."
The disinterest weaved in his inflection only spurs her further. Isla gasps, "Please, Sir — it's — can I—"
"Any day now," Harry drawls, and despite his feigned demeanor of disinterest, he keeps his thumb hovering on the off switch and a careful gaze on her figure.
"May I cum, Sir?" she cries out, but the cry that spills upon the toy just ...shutting off puts the volume of that first one to shame.
"Absolutely not," Harry tells her. Isla's heart hammers so intensely she can feel it in her throat, in her temples, in the tip of her tongue. Her body freezes in the state of shock the shut-off has induced. Eventually she lets a whine consume her vocal cords. A block ripped from the tower.
As she harvests composure, bridling a complaint in lieu of fixing her obnoxiously uneven breathing pattern, she doesn't even have the time to properly bounce back before the toy comes back alive, on its lowest setting. Higher, higher, flitting like fruit on a slot machine, and then it settles on a pattern that pulses. One that doesn't really satisfy — just tantalizes. It sends bursts of pleasure through her clit with every buzz, in intervals, and follows up with pauses that serve as come-downs. Those split seconds of nothingness, (that feel as if they last forever before the rumble returns), have her sweaty body struggling to comprehend the onslaught of sensations. Because just as she crests, sinking into enjoyment, it stops. And then it comes back. The cycle repeats, an everlasting inferno reaped upon her.
And even then, the pleasure swells. The blocks expand, higher, higher, higher, and then he flips it to a setting that just rumbles, unremitting and powerful in a way that teems deep and settles into her, twining over her bones. She knows what the answer will be. She knows it, and still—
"May I cum, Sir?" the words are spoken through an exhale, like she'd been staving off the pleasure by holding her breath.
Harry hums as if deliberating. Something naively hopeful churns in her chest.
"No," he settles on, and Isla hangs her head, her entire figure jittering as the toy shuts off. Harry snickers as she rocks, his feet following in their placement over her back. After a moment, he holds the button over the remote, and he can tell it's turned back on based on the jolt in her muscles, the way she straightens out.
"Soaking through yet? I'd get up to check, but I'm quite comfortable, I'll be honest with you."
"Sir," she screws her eyes shut, and the electricity that zaps through her at the reminder that she's serving as a fucking ottoman for him renders her immobile. Harry twirls the stem of the cane in his hand — it spins, dancing over the floor. The time span between the third ignition of the toy and her crest is ludicrously short — enough so that it draws a cheeky smirk over his strawberry mouth. Harry waits patiently for her mantra of pleas. It comes soon enough.
"Sir, may I—"
"You wanna cum?" the dominant interjects, shifting his feet over her back in a way that's more comfortable for him, nonchalantly, as if it's the most casual thing in the world.
Isla's jaw sets, her teeth gritting and breaths escaping through flared nostrils. Does she want to cum? What a stupid fucking question. She's just about to give him as much courtesy with her tone as he's been giving her with his actions, but the sound of the cane scraping over the tile jars her. The young woman shudders through a potent wave of pleasure that cascades, not quite ebbing.
"Yes, Sir," the docile statement leaks through the cracks of her teeth.
"Convince me," his statement brushes over eardrums wracked with the racket of blood pumping, "Why do you deserve it?"
At first she balks. Tenses as the fire licks at her. And then her tongue moves on its own accord, a desperate showcase of her conviction, despite her muddled thought processing, "I — I was good. I did what you told me to do, Sir."
"And?"
"And — and," her stomach clenches as the seams of composure start in subtle fissures, "And you — you want to see me cum, and, and — Oh, God, please—"
"I want to see you cum?" his eyebrows jolt, "That's your brilliant reasoning?"
Isla can't contain it. Her mouth parts, ready to warn him, but it's all sort of too little, too late. Joints of suture burst as her body becomes launched into the sea of bliss, just spiraling as flares of ecstasy absorb her senses. Her thighs tremble, and her elbows nearly give, though they stay determined in their structure, and she spasms over the toy as it keeps up its rumble through the aftershocks. Vaguely, over her own heartbeat, she makes out that he says something, something that doesn't sound hungry as he typically does when he coaxes her through climax. The heels of his shoes withdraw.
"Did you cum?" Harry prods, sitting up a bit as the submissive finally gives in to the bend that'd been begging at her elbows, sagging forward, "You came, darling?"
Regardless of her lull, he shuts the toy off — her body language and the sudden cease in pleas is confirmation enough. Weakly, Isla nods against the floor.
"You came?" he repeats, incredulity leaking into his tone and coating the underlying, audible frustration. They enmesh in his sigh. He drags the cane over the tile.
And despite Isla Cleery's disposition of exhaustion, her muscles come right back to life when he strokes the tip of it down her back.
"Ah, ah, ah," he tells her, voice firm, "Still."
"Sir..." Isla sounds absolutely destroyed by it — by all of it, by the sudden orgasm, the switch from bliss to terror, in the blink of an eye, while her senses are still pliant and weak.
"Did I give you permission?" he tuts, jerking with his head once, tone hard, and as he drags the tip of the implement between her shoulder blades, Isla crumbles.
Permission to cum or permission to speak, she's unsure. Though, Isla's positively certain that she wants nothing to do with that wooden thing he's holding, and fear climbs in place of what was prior rapture. Her silence quirks his mouth.
"What is it with this thing?" he ponders aloud, corners of his mouth jolting as she whimpers and quivers as he slips it over the back of her thigh, "Hm?"
He'd been fully intent on terrorizing her with the thing solely to make a point — that he is to be listened to, and that her actions have consequences. He wasn't keen on hitting her with it, not now, but if she got a little freaked out by him harmlessly trailing it over her figure, Harry supposed that would suffice. Dirty, little thing got off on it, anyhow. But now, curiosity peaks. Because they never did talk about the root of her fear with it, did they? He'd inquired after the second scene, in the dungeon, brushing her tears away with soft thumbs and soft croons, beckoning for answers, making sure that she'd actually enjoyed the introduction of the implement, despite (she'd warned him, to be fair) her ...vigorous reaction.
Harry had dabbled in fear play before. That vicious sadist in him did quite get off on fear, after all. It was always intense. There had been a submissive he'd played with a couple of years prior, fairly regularly. Hedone had been her name, and she no longer attended Indulge — huge fear of balloons. Globophobia it was called; a pretty small-scale niche of those affected. She had a thing with the anticipation of the popping — it'd make her hairs stand straight. Something stemming from childhood trauma, antics of older siblings, something vaguely along those lines. But anyways, it wasn't about what the fear was, or exploiting the fear in a way that made her feel genuinely upset. It was always about the endorphins. The adrenaline. She'd expressed her desire, and he got it. And, man, did she get timid with fright and soft when he brought one around. As unsexy as the idea of dragging a dark, latex balloon over someone's bare body sounds — the reaction she had was... well it made missionary in the dark sound well beyond dull.
But that play partner didn't have quite as ...intense of a reaction as Isla had. Hedone would just shriek, and then grow still and awfully quiet, with soft pleas spilling from a soft mouth, at most. She hadn't been a crier.
Isla was.
And Isla had warned him.
Still, that first scene in the dungeon had been fairly severe on the senses, to say the least, emotions concerned, and Harry had made well sure that Peitho was alright with everything they had explored. Isla told him she was. That she'd loved every minute of it — of the view of him standing over her with it, threatening her with the rod.
But they never discussed the history.
"Why..." he lifts it, gaze slipping over its stem, before he returns to drawing over her tank-clad ribs with the end, and Isla squeaks, "Are you so scared of it? S'just a stick," he reasons, and tacks on, half-jesting, "Can't bite you."
"Because it hurts," she tells him, inflection trembling incredulously.
"Yeah but that's the point, innit?"
Isla sobs as he traces her spine with it, and he speaks over her shuddery breaths, tone nonchalant, "The clamps hurt, but you're not scared of those. Hm? The strap," he emphasizes by stroking the end over her curvature, where her flesh has grown ruddy under its abuse, "hurts," and his eyes wander over her skin, ogling the marks like they're part of a scenic view. He shakes his head and feigns a wince, leaning over to draw a line of white with his forefinger and siphoning a gasp in the process. Harry turns his head, mouth crooking, "Hm? S'pretty rough, innit?"
When she doesn't respond, he sighs, and sits back, wandering over the vale of her side with the tip of the implement casually.
"But you're not scared of that. So why," he pokes her shoulder with the end, and he sees her mouth physically form into a grimace as she restrains herself from jolting away, "are you so scared of the cane, darling?"
His cadence is low and condescending, in a way, Isla finds, as he reiterates, "What's so scary about the big stick, baby?"
When she doesn't give him an answer, he purses his pillowy mouth and grazes it over her underside, gliding it over her fabric-covered tummy. Isla hangs her head with a sob.
The chair creaks as he retracts the cane and sits up again. Instead of tracing lines over her with the tip, he places it onto her back, vertically, keeping his hand on the handle as her breathing starts to quicken. He tells her, with no-nonsense to his tone, "I can't hit you with it when I'm not holding it, so stay still, if you'd like to keep it that way."
Despite the minute tremble of her ribcage, Isla maintains a composure as still as a statue. Well — a statue with twitchy muscles.
He tells her, ducking to scratch at her scalp, with a voice soft like melted butter — a contrast to the prospect of the unspoken threat, "If you can stop crying long enough to tell me why you're so scared of it, I'll put it away."
And if you can't, we can keep playing the Mean Cane Game all night long.
The young woman seems to weigh his words then, her audible inhale shuddery through her nostrils. Finally, she responds, her voice impressively even, despite the fact that she sounds right back on the edge of bursting into tears, "It just hurts."
She sniffles, and Harry purses his mouth, patiently waiting on her to expand. She does, this time, evidently understanding that he's not keen on circling back to the same point he's already made.
"I don't — I don't know. Like, it just ...hurts ...really bad. Worse than — than anything," she ducks her chin and blows out a breath.
He tuts, and tells her, voice coated in sweetness that makes her feel much like she's a little fish swimming through a beautiful enclosure of vines, only to find that she's swam through the teeth of a whale, "Mm. Played too rough with it?"
After a moment, the young woman responds, her voice small, "Yes," and despite the terror of the implement resting over her spine like a second layer of bone, his soft touch, his soft croon of understanding, it makes her feel ...melty.
The dominant hums, with that same sense of understanding to his demeanor.
"So it's a bad association," he reaches for the cane, "that you have with it."
Isla freezes up. She stops melting, like a pint of ice cream that's been stuffed back into the freezer. Eros doesn't instantly stand to put the cane away, as he'd priorly implied, and Isla suddenly feels that those teeth don't belong to a benign whale who'd simply become entangled with her as an unintended predator — she feels she's swam past the teeth of a shark; a shark who'd intended to bite.
"Sir?" she says, her heart thundering when she hears him sit back. She's unsure of what she's asking, but she is sure that she can't look. She can't — she can't watch him wave that horrifying thing at her.
"Let's fix it," he tells her, sadistically eager, as if he's just invited her to come along on an insightful adventure, like he's found a project for himself to tackle. Her whole body tenses when the dominant reintroduces the tip of the cane, and when it bumpily cascades down her thigh, her knee jumps and bends, skidding over the smooth flooring.
"Oh, Sir," she sobs, her cadence hopeless. There's no pluck left to her fragility — no desperate attempts to argue. But she does tell him, her voice small and shaky, "You— you said you'd put it away. I was good, I was good."
"I did say that, didn't I," he says over another stifled cry, like he's ruminating on it, "but you're crying over a stick," he says it like it's ridiculous, open-mouthed grin showcasing shark teeth with no visible sharpness, "and — I know, pet, I'm just such a horrible, mean man," he bites into his lip, "But you're just so pretty when you cry."
She shakes her head at the linoleum, wordlessly, and surprises him with a whimper rather than a shriek as he bends forward to menacingly tap against the sole of her foot with it. It's pretty painless — they're love taps, but her toes curl and she whines sharply. He tuts.
"This isn't so bad, is it?"
Isla doesn't respond, her entire silhouette tensed like lifeless marble and her breathing shallow as he prods, "Right? Doesn't hurt?"
Perhaps, what surprises him more than the restraint on her vocal cords, is when she speaks up. Her voice is hard with determination, but it's riddled with what's blatantly a mask of pluck (all puns aside). She's going to keep crying, Harry thinks. She's going to keep crying, and it'll happen any second, and as Harry contemplates over this fact, he finds that he wants nothing more than to see Isla Cleery's pretty eyes brimming with pretty tears.
"Sir — I'm sorry I came," she tells him, and tacks on, after a moment, "without permission. ...But—"
Isla finds the intrigue of her own surprise, severing through the terror and peaking when he cuts her off with a sound of mirth. Like her apology amuses him. She feels ...ridiculed, and small. So small. And perhaps most mortifying of all, is that she feels small ...and it makes her fuzzy. It makes her mellow and biddable, and she feels, in that moment and in every, entrapped by his claws, that he knows best. She wants him to make all the choices. She wants to be his ottoman, and she wants to jump when he says jump, and if he wants to hit her with it she wants to let him. Wants to feel the apprehension melt away because it's his whim. And she's wet — she's so wet. She feels that too, it's undeniable. She's terrified, and she feels small, and she's gushing between her thighs because of it all.
His huff brings her out of her own head, and when he speaks up through the amusement, she can tell that he's wearing a grin, "S'not a punishment, little Peitho."
Little Peitho — he hasn't called her that in ages, not since the first scene in the lounge, and she hangs her head, basking in the affectionate moniker, the tip of the cane pressing to the middle of her sole, nearly forgotten.
"Or maybe it is — I suppose it's however you take it, darling. But—" her breath hitches as he takes the cane from the sole of her foot, and strokes over her calf with it, his cadence low and tantalizing, "Someone was very mean with a cane to you — and now you have a bad habit, don't you, baby?"
His pupils flicker to her skin, to her thigh as he draws with the cane over the back of it, smoothing it over her flesh. Her toes curl.
"You cry when the cane comes out. But it's not scary — s'just a big stick," he tells her, "Right? This doesn't hurt. Does it?"
She doesn't give him a verbal response, and he presses it to her skin a little harder, "Hm?"
Her answer comes as an exhale, a string of words nearly meshed together by a breath, "No, Sir."
Her muscles turn to stone as the cane slides over her with his lean forward, and when he speaks close to her ear, chills run across her skin and something wracks down the knobs of her spine. "If it doesn't hurt, why are you still crying?"
She's still crying — she's still crying, he's right. Isla stares through the muddled lace, her face is itchy and wet, and her mouth is sopping and puffy, and he's right, she is.
"I don't— I don't know, Sir."
"You don't know," he sits back on the echo, sliding the cane down the expanse of her skin rather than taunting her with a side-to-side, "Are you scared that I'm going to hurt you with it?"
Isla chews into her swollen bottom lip, only swelling the cushiony flesh further by the ministration of her teeth.
"Tell me."
Is she scared that he's going to hurt her? It's one of those ...complex questions, one that an answer can be altered for based on the emphasis on wording. Is she scared that he's going to hurt her? Genuinely, really hurt her; that he'd mar her in a way beyond play — no. Is she worried that he's going to break a limit? Isla breathes. She's not. That answer comes just as easily as the first. She trusts her Eros more than anything. But is she terrified that he'll hit her with the cane? Yes.
She's not scared of him — she's scared of it. And the thing is, she knows that it's irrational — she's made far too many jokes about it in settings out of play, because she's aware that the reaction she has to a thin, wooden pole is ludicrous. But—
"Yes, Sir," she finally responds, her head drooping between her shoulders.
His mouth purses — she's ducked her head like she's ...disappointed with her own answer. Harry isn't. She was candid, and that's all he can ask for. Partly, her admission makes something soft turn in his chest for her. And partly, well — the other, darker part of him suffuses with wicked desire.
"M'not going to hurt you with it," he finally supplies, promise interweaving the syllables as he summons that first chunk of himself to the forefront of his exterior, because he's aware she'll need him to be soft with her for this next part, because he knows his little Peitho like the back of his hand, despite so little knowledge tucked away on Isla Cleery.
"We're going to make new associations," as he draws the cane off from between her jutted shoulder blades, Isla worries her bottom lip between the bite of her teeth, shying away.
"We're going to learn," Harry strokes the side of it over her cheek as he buries the bare fingers of his opposite hand into her hair, "that the cane's not inherently bad."
"Because my sweet girl," he tugs her head back softly and the cane slips to press against her throat, "doesn't need to be scared of silly sticks."
It drowns her chest with something warm, his softness peeking through harsh motives, chips at her heart a bit, the notion. But more than anything, it douses Isla with desire, the carnal, tinged-with-adrenaline kind, when he stands, sits back in the chair, toggles the vibrator back on, and strokes the cane over her silhouette like an artist sketching effortless lines and shapes.
Because she's scared, she's still so scared, that sense of fear engraved in her mentality like scarring, but the fear heightens her arousal, heightens the softness of the pleasure at her core, heightens it all. And as Eros strokes the cane over the vale of her arch, down over her lace, drawing a streak over her sore, marked thighs, she feels rapture spring upon her, unforeseen.
"You're going to cum again," the dominant commands, though his inflection is gentle, "you're gonna give me one more, and it's not gonna matter that the cane is there, because you're not even gonna think about it. You're just gonna think about the buzzing in your desperate, little pussy," he slides it, vertical, to press between her cheeks and coaxes a soft gasp from her, "you're gonna think about the pretty plug in your tight, little arse, and you're gonna think about how good it'll feel to cum because I told you to."
And Isla does — she thinks of all those things, despite the kiss of the horrid implement dragging across her skin. Honestly, his insightful suggestions are all a little difficult to ignore, anyhow. The incessant buzzing at her core is just that, it's incessant. The plug is rigid when she clenches, a constant, sturdy reminder that it's there, a perpetual inspiration to recall the way he'd put it there, and flashes of delectable humiliation spawn at the memoirs as if he's doing it all over again. And the cane — she half-expects him to whack her with it as she peaks, to leave a singular, pretty, little stripe over her thighs, just beneath the love bite he'd previously pasted as another token. The anticipation only drives her further wild. She finds the tears, as if her ducts are magnets, siphon to the surface with the thought, but they come in delicious bliss. It's cathartic, as they gather over her waterline, as her nervous system's wrung through tides of primal euphoria, and when he starts drawing side-to-side lines over her thighs, like he's fixing to hit her, Isla feels herself doomed to that inevitable crumble.
"Please— may—"
"Cum for me."
And that's really all the encouragement she needs. She whimpers and sobs as it tears through her, muscles taut and straining in preparation for something.
But the cane just draws soft lines over her, just as it had been prior, smoothing and gentle in its caress.
And that makes her cry harder. She cries as he pulls it away and braces it against the arm of the chair. She cries when he slips his fingers over the remote and switches the rumbling toy off. She cries when he stands over her and hovers, when he bends to dig his fingers into her hair to coax her into a kneel, when he wordlessly draws a bare thumb over her bottom lip.
They start to stifle and wind down a bit when he disentangles his fingers from her tendrils, though, when deft fingertips work to unbuckle a belt, and unbutton a button, and unzip a zipper. They die off into hiccups and stuttery breaths when he pulls his shaft out through the opening, when he strokes himself over her upturned face, when he taps at her puffy mouth with a tip that leaks precum. Like clockwork, her lips part with intent to envelop him in warmth, but the dominant just tuts softly.
"Spit on it," Harry tells her, the cracks in his own resolve finally, finally evident with the breathiness of his inflection, "Go on. Make it messy."
So she does. Her lips pucker, through tethered sniffles, and Isla leaks saliva onto his tip, onto the thumb of his glove, and it dribbles off and lands onto the marble before he starts to stroke.
"Stick that tongue out," Harry demands, fondling over the head of his cock teasingly — both to his senses, and to her gaze. Isla obliges, her tongue slinking out, until he instructs, "wider, wider, wider," until it hangs and her strawberry mouth illustrates an empty inlet of potential. He taps with his head over her tongue — one, two, three times, enough for the taste of his precum to stick, salty to her taste buds, but he doesn't stuff himself into her mouth. He doesn't slide himself against her tongue. Instead, the man strokes over her with his bare hand, squeezing at his tip, a tantalizing sight of dark eyes staring lewdly through shadows, of his own lips parted with pleasured breaths, as lashes flutter.
"Gonna cum all over that pretty face—" his jaw sets as he promises, "Gonna give it all to you."
Isla Cleery, Isla Cleery, Isla Cleery — he pictures doe eyes behind lace, the slope of her nose, the flutter of wet lashes.
Her tongue flexes, and her cheeks burn from her tears, and her whole body sort of aches in that pleasant, welcomed way. She just wants to mouth over him, wants something, wants to give her Eros more, more, more. A sound slips from the back of her throat, a desperate one, as his fist slides, slick over his shaft, and sends his tip bumping over her tongue with each hungry motion. And then he sticks his free fingers into her hair, tugging harshly at her scalp, and groans out a deep string of curses as he paints ribbons over her. They land in spurts, some on her tongue, some over her lips, her chin. A smidge lands over the bottom-most hem of her mask, and it — it—
Isla whines, his cum pasted over her tongue, over her face, on the onyx lace, but she doesn't close her mouth — not yet. Not until he instructs her to do so.
Once he's done milking himself through the aftershocks, squeezing at the tip and canting his hips forward for a droplet, like an afterthought, to bubble out and slide over her tongue, his hands withdraw as he sighs and draws a thumb over a bit of his artistry. He'd aimed well enough, he decides then, because he'd gotten it just over the hem, as he'd intended. And as the man drags his thumb over milky white, over her swollen lips and pastes that same thumb to her tongue, Isla keeps her jaw slack. She keeps her tongue out. He thumbs more of it on, and then more. Like a perverse cleaning routine. His cock, spent, still pulses at the sight. She's stayed the most clothed in this scene than ever before, and yet, somehow, the sight of her now, kneeling beneath him with faint remnants of cum that he's thumbed off onto her eager tongue, is still the filthiest.
"Swallow. Every drop, sweetheart," he tells her, and she does. His fingers plaster to her cheeks, rough in their purpose initially, but then they mutate in intent. The squeeze and dig turns to soft petting, soft thumbs. And then, the tone that'd priorly taken on such firm notes shifts and morphs. It turns to a treacle of sweetness when he praises, "Such a good girl."
Isla sighs like his words have fed her with bliss. They sort of have. She watches him tuck himself away, the taste of him still fresh on her tongue, in absolutely untethered bliss. He glides his palms over her cheeks softly, cupping either side of warm skin, and tells her, "Stay here, just for a mo', baby."
She does. She waits, patient despite the urge clawing within her to press herself into his touch, against his chest, to curl up small and be coddled, all while he gleans whatever he must from about the room, winding. It's all familiar — an electric water jug grinding, the sounds of tissues being culled, of soles of shoes padding over tile in ...power. God — the sound of his dress shoes over the ground is eroticism in and of itself.
And then he comes back to her — her Eros, and he draws soft, cool tissue that leaves wetness in its wake over her skin, and gives her soft praises all the while.
He helps her up onto achy legs with achy joints, and then he literally, physically picks her up, like she weighs nothing, which is also a turn on, in and of itself — if Isla had the strength, she'd squeak in response to the motion. He cradles her to him like he's her own, personal, deviant Prince Charming.
Harry sets her onto untainted, tucked sheets, running his palms over the sultry expanse of bare thighs before he settles his palms over her hip and physically manhandles her onto her tummy with a smooth movement and a squeezing press. Isla is gone. She is a puppet, a vessel, her mind a blip in a boundless sky of stars. His hands rove and roam, fondling down the ruddy backs of her thighs, slinking back up — one palm gloved, the opposite denuded. She could fall asleep, Isla decides, she could fall asleep, like this.
"Prop your hips up, darling," Harry tells her, patting at a hip and snapping her out of her daze, "Gotta take the toys out."
Isla clenches. Oh, she thinks, greeted with the pressure and the stretch she'd become well-accustomed to. Yeah. Vaguely, she's aware that those are still there, but her lack of care is far less vague. She doesn't want to move. Maybe, ever. The man seems to pick up on this, huffing with a cave up at the corners of his mouth, and he presses kisses up her thighs, then sets his palms back on her hips and drags her down over the edge of the mattress, just so she's forced to bend at an angle for him. He shimmies the lace over her hips, just enough to where they expose what he needs and rest just below the rounding of her flesh. His hands spread, and his fingers prod, and all Isla can really do is press her cheek against the sheets and sigh. The one at her core goes first. He tugs it out, slick with her arousal, and sets it aside.
The dominant pets over one of her cheeks and tells her, "Alright, just relax for me, baby."
Right — one more. She nuzzles her face into the comforter, screwing her eyes shut as his fingers prod and twist. He's quite careful with the plug as she tugs it out of her. Slow. But there's still that sensation of discomfort and she bears down on the emptiness. His mouth crooks and he presses his lips over a curve as a token of his affections, "All done."
Then, the man tugs the lace back up (haphazardly — back dimples and just a smidge below peek from the hem) and tells her, his inflection soft as warm, syrupy honey, "Scootch back up. Need to love on my sweet girl a bit."
Love on his girl a bit, he says. Her heart swoons dreamily. Isla can certainly go for some of that. With sluggish limbs she clambers and scoots, just until her ankle dangles off the bed and the opposite leg crooks and bends over the mattress. Harry knees his way onto the bed, settles just beside her, and buries a hand in her hair at the back of her scalp, the pads of his fingers scratching at her like one of those bizarre, short clips Isla stumbles upon scrolling through tiktok — the weirdly erotic massage videos (ads?) that definitely go against the community guidelines of the social platform. She'll scrutinize the videos, thinking, there's just no way this thing ends without a happy ending, off-camera. The chat logs always brim with phrases like, "if someone did this to me, I would simply fall in love."
And Isla kind of gets it now.
His opposite hand trails blunt nails delicately over her back, slipping beneath her tank. He's tender in his touches. It incites chills that crawl up her neck, over her shoulders, trails of goosebumps rising over her arms.
"I'm proud of you," he tells her, and the sincerity, the softness of his cadence nearly causes a fresh wave of tears to flow to the surface. Her mouth quivers, her cheek squished to the sheets as the dominant leans forward and speaks low against her ear, "You were so brave for me, weren't you? Always make me so happy. Always so good for me."
Her dreamy sigh coaxes the corners of his mouth to buckle, and he presses a kiss just behind the shell of her ear. Isla says something indecipherable, something small and garbled. He hums against her neck in question.
"Hold me," she clarifies, almost sounding a bit miffed that he's not already doing that.
Cushiony lips quirk, and his hand slides down the nape of her neck. He leans over her, pasting kisses down from her nape to the top of cropped elastic fabric, skimming past as his hands withdraw, and then lower, lower, lower, all down the line of her spine and just between the dimples in her back. His bare hand fondles her backside, and then he sits back, trailing the pad of his forefinger over a faint, little bloom of purple-y red amidst a sea of pink. His teeth marks have faded, but the love bite lingers, and Harry knows Isla will be able to admire it over the course of the week until they meet again. He imagines that she will.
"Mm. Okay. Sit up, then."
Move this way, move that way, do this, do that. What an overbearing load of requests, Isla thinks. Despite this, she does, as he slips off of the mattress and winds around to untuck corners of bed sheets. He throws a corner of the blanket over her as she slides over the bed, and then the mattress dips as he crawls over and settles beside her against the headboard. Isla crawls into his lap like the spot was made for her.
For a while, he just holds her. Smushes kisses to her hairline, swaddling her in the blanket and swallowing her up with his arms. He makes her nurse her little cup of water, and then drinks his own as she nestles her face into the nook between his neck and his shoulder. He whispers soft words until she starts to get back to him, until gravity starts pulling her down from the airy float that'd taken over her.
"You always surprise me," she tells him, finally, her cadence muffled against his collar.
"Hm?"
"When I came without permission, the first time," she lifts her head, casting her gaze onto his eyes, "You didn't punish me. But I thought you would."
Her pupils jolt to his mouth, it twitches in the parted slit of rubber. She watches it move as he talks. "You don't think that last bit was a punishment?" He tucks her hair behind her ear, and then leans in to nip at the same ear with his teeth. It evokes chills and she shudders, her shoulders scrunching up in the blanket.
"You told me it wasn't," Isla lifts a shoulder to bridle his playful nipping, smile blooming over her mouth. She meets a burst of air from him, soft and warm over her neck, traces of amusement. Harry sits back, his eyes wending over her face.
"Mm. I guess I did say that," then tacks on, only half-teasing, "Suppose I should still punish you for it, then, right?"
Isla sighs and digs her face into the smooth cotton of his shirt — he smirks, and adds, "Don't get ahead of yourself. I fully intend to."
The young woman groans and wriggles a hand out from the confines of the blanket to stick her fingers through a gap between buttons — to feel the warm skin of his chest against her fingertips. "You can't just—" her brows pinch together, "hang it over my head all week long. That's just ...mean."
"Oh," he raises his eyebrows, nudging with his chin as his arms tighten around her, "is it mean? Is it, really? Because, well, the way I understood it—"
"It is mean, yeah—"
"—you wanted me to be mean. Asked for it, in fact."
"Oh, is that what you recall?"
Lashes sweep as eyes blink, soft at the reference of the inside joke of sorts. His tongue sweeps out and glides over his strawberry lips, before he takes her bottom lip between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, squeezing gently. She teeths at his thumb, playful.
"I'll be nice — won't hang it over your head all week long," and before she has time to voice her bemusement, Eros tells her, "M'gonna tell you to do something, and you're gonna do it. Easy enough?"
Slowly, Isla nods against his hand.
"Good. You can," he thumbs at her bottom lip, irises lingering on the motion, "stare at the pretty marks I've left. Think about me, all week long. About my hands," as if to make his point, the thumb delves past her teeth, resting on her tongue, "My cock. My voice," behind lace, Isla's lashes flutter. When her eyes settle open they meet his own, jade and intent, "And you're not to touch yourself, all week long. Not until I see you again, next Friday."
The next morning, Isla Cleery googles Harry Styles and pores through nearly every web page linked that the search engine has to offer.
She scrolls through linked-in, through forums of dashing headshots, through company pages. She finds his facebook. It's horrifically stalker-ish of her, but she can't help swiping through, her pupils flitting across words and columns of answers to typical ice breaker-esque questions — mentally drinking in every tidbit of insight she can. Things like February 1st, 1994 and Keller Simpson Realty. Friends, tagged photos. This page isn't much in use, she finds. There's promos and inklings of professional shoots for appearances, but there's not much to scroll through besides that — no candids in sand on the beach showcasing stretches of skin, no reckless tags of college party nights with embarrassing, blurred, drunken photoshoots from years prior. The latest post hasn't been updated in well over a couple of years.
And then, Isla Cleery hits a goldmine.
She finds his instagram.
She scrolls through @harrystyles, pupils flitting over headshots and ads with blocky, colorful phrases and lengthy captions, and she scrolls, and scrolls, and scrolls. She finds old posts — selfies, pictures of tattoos, tags with friends. Long hair — what is this masterpiece, Isla thinks, eyes engorging. Further, further, further. Dimples, scenic views. One word captions with abstract photos of random details. She scrolls and scrolls. Isla does the unthinkable. She likes.
It's an accident. A horrific, mortifying mishap. The post is from 2013. Eyes widening, she frantically unlikes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Isla blocks Harry Styles.
Isla breaks on a Monday night. It's pathetic, honestly – not even three full days, she makes it, before hungry fingers dig past the fabric of her underwear.
And the thing is, she wants to listen. She wants to be good for Eros. She wants to submit. But it's a ludicrous thing to request – for her to stave of her sexual desires for the entirety of the week, when all she's (nearly constantly) plagued by, are the thoughts of his hands sliding over her skin, of his voice in her ear, of ropes, and cuffs, and gloves, and zippers, and belt buckles. She spends Saturday admiring her marks. It's not an intentional venture – she'll catch sight of herself walking past a mirror, roaming about the house in a cheeky set of shorts and turn, just to be faced with the reminder; a patch of skin that stands out in shade, where he'd suckled and dug teeth in. On Sunday, she works over her laptop at her dining table, ogling the golden bangle manacled onto her wrist that beseeches in her peripherals. The charms brush with every motion of her wrist. On Monday, she goes to work, for once pleased to have a proper distraction. And even then, all she can think of, as she sits in her swivel-y office chair, is the thought of how sore she would be if she disobeyed his command. How, next week, she'd be squirming over the same seat she sits in now, as a consequence — and that only winds her up more.
She thinks of how good it would feel to just give in, how she'd finally be able to breathe and function if she were to just get off, how mean the dominant would be at the end of the week when she told him of her infraction.
That's how she finds herself sprawled over her bedsheets, gaze cast to the ceiling as her vibrator rumbles between her thighs as the TV blares in the background. It feels good — it feels so good, too good. But it's nothing compared to the touch of her Eros — to Harry whispering filthily against the shell of her ear, to Harry's touch gliding over her flesh. She sets the setting up a level and digs her short nails into her thigh to feel a burst of pain, imagining it's his hand, his nails.
It's not enough. Nothing is enough. She craves his voice against her eardrum, a velvet caress — even droning about something mundane, anything.
And it's — it's a spur of the moment decision, a frantic idea brought on by a brain that's mushy with lust, and lust only. She keeps the handle of the vibrator poised between her legs with one grip, and scrolls through her phone with the opposite. She finds his contact. Her thumb hovers. Isla makes a last minute decision, and tucks the phone to her ear.
The line rings. A click.
"Hello?"
Fuck. His voice, low and raspy through the line.
"Hey!" Isla shifts over the sheets, her heart hammering and her voice overly chirpy, "Harry. This is Isla Cleery."
"Isla! Hi," his cadence is pleasant, and friendly, and warm, like it always is when they manage to interact outside of Indulge.
Her eyes screw shut, "Hi," and she moves again, the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, "Listen, I'm so sorry to be calling you so late but — ah," she hopes the TV blocks out the rumble of the vibrator between her legs, "So, you sent me this other property, and I wanted to — I wanted to see that one. The one on, Mul-Mulner, was it?"
"Mulnich," he supplies from the other end of the line.
"Yes, the, uh, the Mulnich property. I wanted to see that one. So," her tongue sticks out past her lips to swipe before she expands, "Can we set that up?"
A pause. A shuffle on the other end of the line.
"Sure. Yeah. Let me just check," another break in his dialogue. Her eyes squeeze shut and her hips grind over the toy, "Does Wednesday at two work for you?"
Isla grits her teeth, hopelessly on the wire, "Can't — can't. Wednesday, at two. Anything — can you do anything later? In the evening, maybe?"
There's a beat of silence in which she absolutely prays he's analyzing his schedule and not pondering suspiciously over the reasoning of her choppy, poorly concealed cadence.
"Yeah," the man responds after a moment of lull that, (combined with the rumbling of the toy, the risky nature of the situation, and her absolute gall), leaves her heart hammering behind her ribcage, "I can do ...five? If that works for you."
"Yes! Yeah," Isla clears her throat, hips canting in little motions over the wand. She gnaws into her lip and wills herself to have some form of restraint, "Five. Wednesday. Yes. So, I can — I can come?"
It's shitty wording. A poor excuse of a masked request. A beat of silence follows it.
"To see the property?" she tacks on, feeling a bit like her ribs are ready to crack open and barbarically part, as if she's sprawled on a medieval doctor's table amidst surgery — her heart's ready to burst, and it'll need an aisle, after all.
Another moment of toe-curling lull. Her thighs tremble.
"Yeah, yes. Of course," Harry returns from the other end of the line, voice rasped by tinny interventions from the phone line, and Isla bites into the back of her hand. It barely covers her moan of relief as the beginnings of the wave lick at her.
When it crests, only a short second later, the young woman can't garble her helpless, soft squeak, irises lolling back. She squeezes her eyes shut, hips canting, and whatever is said from the other end of the line just blends in with the television, the subdued buzz from the vibrator — enmeshing and morphing into frivolous, insignificant background noise. Once the wave ebbs, she tosses the vibrator to the side of her, and it rolls over the mattress. Her heart is racing, pumping, hammering as she breathes deeply, shifting her laxed muscles.
"Isla?"
Mortified, her eyes widen, and she frantically shuffles over the bed to shut off the toy, attempting to cover the noise with a cough. She feels like a — a horrible, filthy sexual deviant. Shame spirals through her veins as she plucks the phone back up off the sheets and says into the priorly discarded receiver, "Yes, sorry, I'm so sorry. God, I just saw the time — I'm sorry, it was so unprofessional of me to call so late. I hope I didn't—" she licks her lips as words fail her, and the batter of her heart only spurs at the silence (and honestly, the entire situation, as realization dawns upon her), "Thank you for taking my call. Wednesday at five. Have a good night."
Isla hangs up the phone before Harry can respond and buries her face in her hands.
TDIAG MASTERLIST HERE
#dom harry styles#harry styles#harry styles dirty fanfiction#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles edit#harry styles edits#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles smut#harry styles wattpad#harry styles writing#harry styles x oc#1800titz#1-800-TITS#TDIAG
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More Haikyuu boys you meet while pet-sitting
Suna, Ukai Keishin x afab reader
Word count: ~800
Tags & warnings: SMUT-MDNI, p in v, tits & ass, creampie (implied), hair pulling, spanking, sexy voices, 1 mention of a cockroach in Suna’s
Note: A little late to the birthday party. This Suna piece got bumped up the smut queue by request. Sexy Ukai is just for me though, yum
the orig boys | boys 3
You didn’t want to meet the neighbors like this. Every person up and down the hall probably heard your screams as you burst out of your friend’s apartment, banging on the closest door and thanking every deity you know when Suna opens it. You can’t bring yourself to care about how you must look, haphazardly clutching a towel around yourself, soaking wet, shampoo still in your hair. You’re frantically yelling - something about the bathroom, the shower drain, a cockroach - literally begging him to come over and kill it for you. And Suna obliges, mostly so you’ll stop screaming at him.
It’s a miscalculation on his part because after that, he becomes your go-to for pest removal. Like always, you’re prattling on from the safety of the living room (“She told me there were bugs sometimes, but I didn’t realize there would be so many otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to house-sit…”) while he hunts for wherever this new intruder skittered off to after it flew through the bedroom window. You don’t know why he keeps coming over to help, but every time he does, you’re sneaking peeks at him out of the corner of your eyes, noting just how pretty Rintarou is, with perceptive eyes and strangely graceful movements. You like spending time with him too, even learning to laugh at his smug attitude and snide comments.
As usual, you two hang out afterward, which means eating candy together while you half-watch some dumb movie and he lays on the couch scrolling through Twitter. There’s something different about tonight though. He’s making any excuse to touch you and his gaze keeps sliding to your exposed thighs, and you think - fuck it. You lean down and press your mouth against his, parting your lips to taste the sour candy on his tongue. Immediately, his strong arms pull you on top of him, pushing your hips down to grind your wet cunt on his erection. One hand grips your ass while you ride him, guiding your pace as your clit rubs against the coarse hairs at his base with every bounce, the head of that pretty cock hitting you just right. The other hand pushes you forward, his hot tongue lolling out to catch a nipple in his mouth. He wants you just like this, breasts bobbing and eyes glazed as your pussy clenches around him. “Fuck baby, make that face for me again.”
You’re startled by a sudden pounding at the door. You open it to find an athletic blond sporting an old sweatshirt and well-worn jeans. His hair is pushed back with a headband, revealing two glinting piercings in his ear. He introduces himself as your friend’s old classmate Ukai Keishin. Oh, right. She mentioned someone was coming fix her hot water heater. You were honestly annoyed when she told you - you’re already doing her a favor by cat-sitting, now you also have to take cold showers (at least until the water heater’s fixed), and on top of that, you have deal with a stranger in the house. But now…well, you can barely remember why you were upset in the first place because…do they even make men like this anymore?
You’re secretly thrilled when he invites himself to stay for a beer. He seems surly at first, complaining about long days working one job and long nights coaching some team or other, but you find you enjoy shooting the shit with him. Lucky for you, the repairs are more extensive than he originally thought. You discover he’s observant and thoughtful, bringing you fresh fruit and vegetables after he notices there’s nothing but beer and instant ramen lying around. You like it when he comes over because you can gawk at his muscular arms and hear him chide you with that gravelly voice. He’s thrilled too, to get to watch you prance around the apartment with your cheeks hanging out of the shortest shorts known to humanity.
And now that he’s finished with the repairs, you’ve got nothing to lose, so you sit your sweet ass down on his lap and suggest you test the shower together. You sure as hell would’ve made a move sooner if you knew it’d turn out like this. Hot water trickles down Keishin’s sculpted torso as one hand yanks at your hair, forcing your back to arch and presenting your ass to him. You let out obscene moans, clawing at the cold tile for purchase as his thick cock plunges in and out of your sopping pussy. “Fuck that’s hot,” he growls, enthralled by the way your ass and thighs jiggle with every snap of his hips and every smack of his big, calloused hands. Globs of Keishin’s cum slip out and wash down the drain as you slowly come down from another orgasm, your legs shaking and wobbling. “Don’t collapse on me yet sweetheart, we’ve still got more work to do.”
#haikyuu smut#haikyuu x reader#suna rintarou#suna x reader#suna smut#ukai keishin#ukai x reader#ukai smut#SEE WHAT I DID THERE#froggy scribbles
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A little update for everybody for my current and future updates 🩷: (please read it ❤️)
Her Royal Highness: Hiatus. Trust me, I am the saddest about it. It is the first thing I wrote and what made me want to start the blog, but I have kind of lost the vision I had for it and I can't write anything without hating it. Don't worry too much about it because I am really dramatic and might just keep it going on a month 🩷.
Lift me off my feet: Around 4 chapters left. It would make it a 13 chapter series, taking in consideration I started because of a fanart I'm quite impressed with. Still, the little plot that it has is starting to run out and I feel like it is just unnecessarily stretching it, especially since there are other series I want to work on and I can't until this one is finished. I wanted to ask, would you rather have me finish this one “fast” or alternate it with other posts? Fast would be as in focusing on writing only this fic until I finished, and I believe I could have it done next week most likely.
Switch Bodies: Plot wise, around 2 chapters. After that, it would just be random scenarios that I would think of or that you could want me to write. Still, this one doesn't really have a schedule as it is mostly jokes so I can't tell when I'll update.
Spidey: This one will have a slower than usual post schedule since it is going to be interactive and I'll need to leave time between chapters to let everyone vote their favorites. So I'll be a bit more relaxed rhythm of updates.
Poll Fic: Whichever wins the poll (I can't see the results until Monday unless I vote and I'm edging myself like a moron), I won't probably write anything until I finish Lift Me Off My Feet, plus I want to organize a bit the plot so the thing that happens with Her Royal Highness doesn't happens again and I have something to support myself on to finish it. So I'll be a bit of time still.
Those are the series, I'm also working on oneshots and just silly stuff that genuinely I'll post randomly.
Aswell, I wanted to let people know that the on taglist form I removed the option to choose on which fic to me tagged because I was getting everyone mixed and it was becoming too chaotic so now there will be one single taglist. I hope you guys don't mind too much and thank you for understanding. If you would prefer me to remove you from it you can also tell me on the taglist form without a problem. 🩷🩷
There are going to be a couple of days without updates because I'm going to work on tidying everything up a bit so it is easier to navigate the blog. And I'm also going to slow down a bit as well, because I don't understand why I have pressured myself into uploading as soon as possible to the point I'm burning myself out instead of enjoying writing like I should.
That being said, I'm done rambling and complaining. I'd love any kind of feedback, as comments, asks or DM, I always love to read you guys opinion and ideas so feel free to do so ❤️❤️
Sorry for the disappointment of this not being an update let me know what you would rather have happening on the Lift me off my feet fic 🩷
Back to Masterlist - Taglist Form
TagList (1): @1-800-choke-that-ho @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @anirok2 @arbesa-mind @avaleigh16 @blckbrrybasket @bunnysdaydreams @cassiecasluciluce @cheomain @cmbghost @cod-z @coldpaperwonderland @contractedcriteria @cringeycookies @crinoid90 @darkangel4121 @dilara-del @dontworryboutitokie @dukeofjjune @dumb12bvtch1212 @dumybitch @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @evolutionarry @fraserbraw @ghostlythots @ghosts-hoe @glocuseguardian3rd @grenkiesworld @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @hatterripper31 @herefor-tojis-tits @howlove @itsberrydreemurstuff @jaguarthecat @jupiternighties @justyourfriendlyneighbourhood1 @kayden666 @keiraslayz @keiva1000 @kristalhi @l0velifehatey0u @ladyxtiger @lilliumrorum @lolliepopsicle @lolly145 @lotionlamp @lunamoonbby @lunari0 @marymustdie @missmidnight-writes
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Week 47 Reblog Masterlist
Welcome to Week 47 2023 or Week 203, as always, fics would be listed in the order I read them.
I hope you enjoy it!
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
♥ You can check my reading guidelines here.
♥ You can check my masterlist here.
♥ You can check my main reblog masterlist 2023 here.
♥ You can check my November reblog masterlist 2023 here.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
𝙺𝚎𝚢𝚜:
💛 ᵒʳᶤᵍᶤᶰᵃˡ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ
💜 ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ
🖤 ᵈᵃʳᵏ
❤️ ˢᵐᵘᵗ
💚 ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ
💙 ᵃᶰᵍˢᵗ
🧡 ᶜᵒᵐᵉᵈʸ
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
This is the list of the fics I read and recommend in Week 47 2023:
He has control (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @1-800-jjbarnes ❤️
Fine line (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord 💚💙
Sleepy lovers (Miguel O’Hara X Reader) by @runa-falls ❤️
Always and forever part 13 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @zaraomarrogers💚💙❤️
Collaring (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @welikeimagines-andfandoms❤️
Belated (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @mrsarnasdelicious ❤️
Tipsy tryst (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @eloquentreverie ❤️
Always and forever part 14 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @zaraomarrogers💚💙❤️
Promises left behind part I (Sirius Black X Reader) by @moim0i 💚💙
Mine to keep (Scott Lang X Reader) by @the-soulofdevil 🖤❤️
Love of my life (Ransom Drysdale X Reader) by @ronearoundblindly 💚💙
Always and forever part 15 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @zaraomarrogers💚💙❤️
First time (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @eloquentreverie ❤️
Double penetration (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @lunarbuck ❤️
Astronomy I (Sirius Black X Reader) by @weasleykisses💚
Always and forever part 16 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @zaraomarrogers💚💙❤️
Shipping and handling chapter 3: Gravity (Stucky X Reader) by @darsynia 💚💙❤️
Trusting the Captain part 3 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @cevansbaby-dove 💚💙
Tit play (Frank Castle X Reader) by @flightlessangelwings ❤️
Seven minutes part I (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @anika-ann❤️
Stars and stripes (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @intrepidacious💚
Trusting the Captain part 4 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @cevansbaby-dove 💚💙
Should’ve been me (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @fangirlovestuff 💙
Roy Pulver fic (Roy Pulver X Reader) by @itwasthereaminuteago ❤️
Flufftober day 7 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @incorrectmarvelquotesss 💚
Can’t wait (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @notyetneedcoffee ❤️
Perfectly imperfect (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @intrepidacious 💚
Out of time (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @questionableratatouille00 💚💙
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abc miles quaritch headcanons nsfw + short fluff story
i have a quaritch brainrot and there isnt enough content out there to FEED ME so i gotta feed myself, this has no plot btw (i left out some letters bc i didnt know what to put for them)
800 words
A-arousal (what turns him on)
quaritch can get turned on by litteraly anything, but especially when you have attitude, it turns him on knowing that hes gonna fuck the attitude out of you
A2-aftercare (how he takes care of you)
he'll run you either a bath or shower, normally bath because your legs basically go limp, then he kisses every inch of you and you both drift off to sleep
A3-Agressive (how agressive he is during sex)
very agressive and mean, but he makes up for it with aftercare, he also takes his anger out on you sometimes, during sex, never arguing tho, he doesnt like scaring you and will take his anger out on another recom if he has to, never on you
B-body part (his favorite part of your body)
quaritch is both a tit amd ass man, but hes more of a tit one, if he had the chance to he'd either fuck your tits or he'd use them as pillows
C-clothing (if he prefers clothing during sex)
sure he'd enjoy it if you wore sexy clothes during sex, but he likes it even more when youre completley nakes under him, it makes him feel like he has more power
D-degrading (if he degrades you or no)
ooh this man deffo enjoys degrading you, will whisper the nastiest and meanest shit in your ears knowing you get off to it
E-edging (does he edge you?)
damn well he does, he enjoys edging you then sropping whatever he was doing to hear your begs
F-face riding (does he enjoy it when you ride his face?)
normally when he lets you ride his face, hes fisting his cock behind you to your noises, he likes it when you ride his face mainly because he has lota of control over you
H-head (how often you give him head)
you give quaritch head alot, and you dont really complain because you love making him feel good, you usually give him head when yours too tired to have sex
J-jerk off (where he jerks off)
quaritch has no shame and will jerk off next to you, doesnt matter if youre awake or asleep, sometimes if youre awake you fist his cock to help him
K-kinks (just kinks)
quaritch has many kinks, but his favorite is degrading, he just loves dominating you, tying you up, you name it he's probably done it
P-porn (if he watches porn)
no not really since its not available on pandora, thats why he makes his own little private videos with you, he doesnt share them with anyone and keeps them to himself to use sometimes
Q-quiet (how loud you both are)
you both are no where near quiet, atleast you arent, but really no one cares, he likes it when people complain about the noise next moeming
R-rest (if he rests after it)
no, usually no unless its night or he had a rough day
S-sex drive (how horny he is)
hes always horny, trust me even when you arent soing anything intimate, if he looks your way he's immediatley horny, but when he iant hes loving and caring
T-thurst (his pace)
usually he has a very fast pace, but sometimes he goes slow in attempt to make love to you, only when hes in the mood for it though
to make up for how short this is, heres a short story ig, isk what to consider it, ita just fluff no smut
quaritch walked into your room, it was almost 1 am and you were confused as to why hes here at this time, sure you both were dating but its still weird why he'd be here
you watched him walk towards your bed and plop himself down on it laying himself next to you
"whyre you here at this time? not to be rude or anything, just a question" you said trying not to sound rude or annoyed because you really didnt mind his presence, you liked being around him
"no reason, i was just bored thought id drop in ere'" he said, sleepy voice, his sleepy voice was so goodamn hot
you saw his ears twitch, you couldnt resist how cute his ears fucking are, you crouched over to him raising your leg over his slim waist straddling him while he was asleep, he looked tired and that was confirmed when he didnt make a move to get you off him
he just moved his hand up to your thigh and soothingly rubbed his fingers across it
you laid yourself down on his chest legs still on both sides of his torso, you dropped your head next to his, he brpught his hand up to your hair playing with it slightly before you felt the movement stop
quaritch was fast asleepx he usually doesnt sleep first, seems like he had a tough day
you loved how he looked while asleep, its the most peaceful you see him, you admire his face slowly drifting to sleep after him
#avatar#avatar miles quaritch#mansk x reader#avatar mansk#colonel miles quaritch#recom mansk#atwow#avatar the way of water#recom x reader#atwow smut
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I would love to see the chaos of the GVF groupchat
New York Runaway
Words: 800
Warnings: language, mention of adult toys and drug use
Synopsis: The GVF group chat blows up after Sam disappears to New York
_________________________________________
swaggy waggy
ummmmm Sam?
I just opened IG
what the hell are you doing
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
🤠🤪🍎
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
WHAT IS IG
swaggy waggy
Instagram Josh
Sam what are you doing in New York
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
bestie
chill
swaggy waggy
Sam…
when the hell did you fly out there???
I literally saw you last night
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
🤭
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
SAM IF YOUR GOING TO NWE YORKE FOR THE PIZZA DONT ITS NOT WORTH IT
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
I’m in a silly goofy mood
taking in the sights
not stepping in human shit on the subway
looking at dildo bongs
y’all want anything
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
HOW BIG ARE DILDOE BONGS
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
Birbs
I bet my birks these fuckers are drones
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
SAM FOCUS THE DILDO BONGES HOW BIG ARE THEY
swaggy waggy
Josh
Why is that important right now
Sam quit being cryptic
I’m stressed
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
calm ur tits daniel
overpriced nuts lol
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
I WILL TAKE NEW YORK NUTS GET ME CASHEWS
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
I want a license plate with my name on it
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
are you gonna pay me back for it
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
Jake or Jacob will do
swaggy waggy
What about #1 grandpa
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
No
Jake or Jacob
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
The bagels here are 💯
swaggy waggy
I wish you had asked me to come with you :(
I wanna go to NY
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
BUY A PLAIN TICKET CHEEPASS
swaggy waggy
swaggy waggy disliked “BUY A PLAIN TICKET CHEEPASS”
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka liked “swaggy waggy disliked “BUY A PLAIN TICKET CHEEPASS””
swaggy waggy
You guys are killing me
Why are you posting everything on IG
And an exciting announcement??
wtf
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
Are you finally leaving the band sam
is broadway calling your name
swaggy waggy
He would thrive in the book of mormon
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
MUSICAL THEATRE IS MY THING NO COPYING
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
broadway??? why the hell would i do that
I’m living my legend
swaggy waggy
Are you gonna give me any answers sam
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
swaggy waggy
I’ll take that as a no
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
YOU’RE MOUSTASHE LOOKS GOOD SAM VERY NICE
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃 liked “YOU’RE MOUSTASHE LOOKS GOOD SAM VERY NICE”
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
DID YOU GET MY NUTS
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
no lol
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
MOTHERFUKCER
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
swaggy waggy
oh my god
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
I said Jake or Jacob
swaggy waggy
JACK
Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka
Count your days sam
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
🤭
Swaggy waggy set Sir Jaket Thomas Kiszka’s nickname to Jack
Jack
This is my personal hell
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
SAM YOU GOT THE WRONG ONE FOR JACK
FUCK
JAKE
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
guess you gotta change your name to Jack 🤷♀️
Jack
Guess you gotta count your days sam
swaggy waggy
OOOHHHHHHHHHHHH
watch out sam
Wait
Why are you going live
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
LIVE FROM NEW YORK
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
swaggy waggy
Sam
Sam
no
Sam
Stop it
no
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
stop me lol
swaggy waggy
I’m joining the live
Let me join
Jack
Someone’s in trouble
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
WHY DID I JUST PAY YOU $1000 JAKE
Jack
Jack laughed at “WHY DID I JUST PAY YOU $1000 JAKE”
I gotta watch that live
Fuck what’s my instagram password
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
TRY YOUR SOSHIAL SECURITY NUMBER
Jack
Josh for the love of god turn off the caps lock
Your screaming
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
NO I LIKE MY TEXT BIG
Jack
I’m in
Ooh
Danny’s yelling at Sam
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
BULLSHIT DANNY DOESNT YELL
Jack
Okay fine it’s a light scold
swaggy waggy
guys
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
YES
swaggy waggy
Sam announced our tour a day early
He was handing out homemade flyers in front of MSG
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
I thought the announcement was today!!
Maybe I girlbossed a little bit too close to the sun
💀💀💀
swaggy waggy
Literally why sam
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
For what it’s worth
Not a lot of people were taking the flyers
A bunch of h8ers
Jack
someone did throw the flier away immediately after taking it from you
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
damn :/
swaggy waggy
are you gonna do anything else in NY Sam
Should I be worried
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
I’m gonna pose like alec baldwin at the top of the empire state building
keep churning out great content
Joshua Michael Kiszka Greta Van Fleet
GET ME NUTS
swaggy waggy
Text me when you’re heading back
Pls
knockoff jesus 🍷🍹🧉🍺🥃
✌️
#gvf#greta van fleet#greta van fleet fanfic#greta van fleet fanfiction#greta van fic#gvf fanfiction#jake kiszka#josh kiszka#sam kiszka#danny wagner#gvf fanfic#gvf fic#group chat#josh is a grandpa when it comes to technology#sam can be such a gen z#danny is tired#jake just wants a license plate#all spelling mistakes are on purpose I swear
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1-800-HOTTER-THAN-U
NSFW CONTENT - minors DO NOT INTERACT
1-800-HOTTER-THAN-U: a series of sub!ATEEZ feminisation fics named after Ayesha Erotica songs. send an ask or leave a comment to be added to the taglist for any member’s fic!
☆KIM HONGJOONG☆ YUMMY: “…big heels, got the pleasers i’m pleasing up something funny, baby phat jizz rag whenever he’s feeling cummy.”
♡PARK SEONGHWA♡ LITERAL LEGEND: “…i could give you sex doll, bitch, you love these legend lips, and i could give you model with these double a-cup tits.”
☆JEONG YUNHO☆ DELICIOUS: “…body glitter running down her halter top, everybody looking at her when they wanna see what’s hot.”
♡KANG YEOSANG♡ WHERE YOU AT?: “…gotta find a place to party - need cheap drinks and a place that doesn’t card ‘cause i plan on going f*cking hard.”
☆CHOI SAN☆ NASTY: “…i got a thin waist, model legs, i’ll f*ck the bed up, break the frame, boys do anything just because of my name.”
♡SONG MINGI♡ PRINCESS: “…rhinestone top, tits peeking out, he said i look like a bratz doll - flat chest and the ass small.”
☆JUNG WOOYOUNG☆ YOUNG RICH B*TCH: “…i know you hate me, it’s not my fault that i’m pretty - it’s all your fault that you can’t afford it.”
♡CHOI JONGHO♡ TABOO: “…one wrong word could get your face smacked, shit, one wrong whip could get your face cracked.”
#ateez smut#kim hongjoong smut#park seonghwa smut#jeong yunho smut#kang yeosang smut#choi san smut#song mingi smut#jung wooyoung smut#choi jongho smut
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