#he’s such a filthy ho
Note
“if you want to come you better beg” x prince paul cause i need this filth 😩👀
🥀Qualities of Mercy🥀
Prince Paul x Tsarevna // smut drabble - Bugger me sideways @usedtobecooler only the best for you babes crème de la crème - Prince Prick and some bratty behaviour culminating in angry!hate!fucking coming up. Also short? I don’t think I can write short drabble a about this man. I’m having a lot of feelings ok.
Some babes I know may want to see this @indouloureux @munsonswhore86 @heyndrix @lunatictardis @creme-bruhlee @callmeloverr @roanniom
It’s an odd relief to see the signs of war increase with each gained mile, burnt out patches of land and artillery tracks wedged into the mud. Foul air, fire, and rifle smoke; it means you’re closing in on your goal.
It means you’re that much closer to your husband.
Foul boggy mud, and nipping winds that cut to bone. You’re rumbling your way along treacherous roads, ever closer.
The terrain is dismal. There’s not even any sweetly soft birdsong chirping from the trees. There’s no kind nature. There’s only war and man, and guttural cries of the wounded. A landscape drizzled with slanted misty rain. Stubby felled larch trees and splintered bark.
The soldiers encamped, look like misshapen beasts. Blood crusted black, and the wounded wearing filthy yellowed bandages. Eyes missing, limbs turned to stumps. Squatting and huddling in clumps in the woods. Shivering under canvas with pithy licks of orange campfires staining the air with spicy woodsmoke.
They watch the carriage pass with rapt fascination. But too cold to react.
You weren’t expected.
That fact is writ plain as day all over the face of the dirt smeared soldier who trudged up to the carriage window. The soldier on watch. Who’d been pissing up against as tree when you rolled up.
His eyebrows buoy in surprise as you drop your fur lined hood.
“My Lady-“ He rasped in surprise.
“Tsarevna.” Your second maid, Maricel, leaned forward and snipped. Voice like a barking hound. Just as dogged.
She was eternally bolshy and hard edged. Hated you not being given the proper due politesse as deserving of your rank. She took great offence to those who didn’t understand the severity of your position.
“I’m here to see my husband. Kindly take me to him.”
“I’m not sure he’ll want- he’s occupied with many important matters.“ He fumbles for an excuse.
Maricel’s words come locked in impatience.
“Are you suggesting the Tsarevna of Russia is unimportant?” She tests.
“No- I.”
“He will carve out the time for his wife, you dumb prick.” She points out. Rubbing her shivering hands.
“Now, now.” You scold her.
She merely rolls her eyes. Not frightened by you whatsoever. Just pissy cause she’s cold.
The solider shuffles on his feet. Breaks eye contact. “I’m not sure I have the authority to-“
“Are you going to make me repeat myself.” You warn. Ire threaded into every word.
You stare him down with slicing diamond eyes. Tips sharpened and designed to cut.
A look you’ve thieved and mastered from Catherine’s own brand of venom. Don’t budge an inch.
It’s enough to get him to snap his mouth shut.
“No. Uh. Of course. This way, Tsarevna.”
You clambered out that boxy royal carriage. Door encrusted in a golden crest. Dainty sky blue heel sinking into earth. Hem sodden and dragged with it in no time. Maricel follows you dutifully. Your guard dog.
“Cunt.” Maricel bites out at the solider as she shuffled after you. Trudging into the muck.
“Put your forked tongue away.” You suggest.
She moodily deigns to do as you say.
You fold your gloved hands. Pretty pearl buttons march along your wrists now seeming contemptuous among all this. You rub at them to spark up some warmth in your numb fingers, as you looked around for the cluster of carmine coated generals.
Slipping and staining your skirts with slodgy mud as you followed the dismal soldier who’d take you to him. Your heels slip up, your feet get bogged. The stench of this place is curdling your lungs. Burnt larch trees and smoke and decay.
You press on. Determined.
The men swim their their groggy eyes to you. This place is used to viscera and gummy black blood, and mud crusted ash.
By comparison you look like a chunk of pure silken teal sky, fallen to earth. Precious and spotless. A drop of stunning sapphire wedged into all this dirt and death.
You squelch your way through tents and surgeon tents where men lay gouged and exposed. Rotting alive and shivering under the canvas as they cried out to the chowder thick sky. Rain melting on their eyelashes.
The smoke cleared past you, drifting. And then your overly elegant shape comes moulded out the congealing blood and smog of his hell. Pearl buttons, satin, and floral petal perfume. A wrenching juxtaposition coinciding.
You see your husband. Through the cloth mouth of one of the larger tents. No mistaking those puddle eyes for anyone else. The white scratchy wig. The cut of his powder blue coat and red royal medals slashing blood.
He’s gathered with men around a map table staked out with battle plans. This fare is all simplicity. Battle for blood and the vicinity of conquering men.
This is a land shuttered to the gaze of your sex. Your kind do not come roaming here. Not noble women anyway. The generals of mild importance probably had their favourite whores fetched in, however.
You stand and his eyes travel at last to yours. You smile lightly.
His expression altered into bitterness. Eyes lost their walnut warmth. Jaw clenched. Mood spiked sour.
He told you distinctly not to fucking come.
Yet here you stand.
You meet his burnt umber gaze and the sparky fire flecked there, scalds you.
“Tsarevich.” You greet him. Breath whipped to silver. You’re standing in the misty rain.
Waiting to see what comes spat back.
The generals clustering him, all bow in confusion and politely bob their unkempt wigged heads.
Not Paul.
His jaw clenched. Expression stiff. Posture as rigid as a Siberian Larch.
You’re fucking in for it now.
~
You batted at the sopping stretch of canvas. Hurling it out the way. Rain crashes down into your sprouting feathered hat and onto your shoulders.
Every squelch of your step into the oozing mud came sharp. Striking as a gut punch.
He’s following, hot on your heels, and you want to turn around and swing a punch into the angelic cherubim face you’d missed all these lonely long eight months.
His anger set off your own. Silky black gunpowder meeting roaring flame.
He’s livid.
You stand in his quarters. His tent is this huge beast of a thing. Clean and comfortable. A room with a table and maps and trunks takes up one. Green and gold tapestries make the walls slightly more habitable. More sophisticated. A cut above the desolate forest and the miseries of the wounded.
An emerald velvet curtain shields off the area where his ornate downy bed must be. He was still a Prince after all. He’ll be among his men. But he’s not sleeping in a frozen bedroll in the muck like an animal.
He storms into this space behind you and slaps the canvas closed. Words snapping out his mouth, that flimsy tent walls and steadily dripping rain will not conceal.
“This is not a place for you. You’re not supposed to be here.”
You don’t twist back to him as you angrily shed your gloves. Ripping them off like it was your own skin.
“Heaven forfend. I travel for two days in an uncomfortable carriage in the fucking driving rain to come see my husband and this is the thanks I get?”
“I told you not to come!” His words stamp out his mouth. He stabs a finger in the air. Aiming it as you.
“A lovely welcome.” You stab back.
He’s toe to toe with you. Muddy boots. Those chocolate eyes are all bitter. Not skated in love. Cold as all this terrible mud you’re bogged into.
“I don’t need you here. I have enough to deal with on my plate as it is fighting these Turks. I don’t need my wife by my side whilst I’m engaged in matters of battle.”
You steel your wilful jaw and bathe in the burnt brown shadow of his scowl.
“I am your wife. I have been left rotting at court. In misery now you’re gone. I decided to come and see you. To be here, by your side. In sickness and in health and even in battle. I don’t consider that as an action that deserves censure.”
“Yes it fucking is. I don’t need you here.” He shouts.
The burn of tears stings at your chest. Rips at your eyes. The man you’ve missed and ached after for months now and this is his choice of words levelled at you. It’s cutting.
“Lovely.” You bite out. “Well then. I won’t waste my time loitering around for you to yell at me.” You grip your gloves and turn back to him.
“Fuck you, Paul. Good day. Go back to your warring, and muddy filth.” You finish acidly. Your throat is full of clotting fire. Your rage. In situ with your wounded pride.
You shove at his coated chest, dull gold buttons. Go to move past him. Wipe your boots on his fine rug floors on the way out.
Your ruined shoes stick on the spot. He’s banded a hand around your wrist. It tugs. Burns skin.
“Let go.” You seethe. Pull your arm. You don’t look at him. Jaw grit.
He does not.
You wrench again. It brings you closer to him. You snarl. He stills your arm.
You do meet his gaze. The glint of fire - raked embers - returns to his eyes.
“No.” He decided.
Oh, now he’s in for it.
Anger spumes out of you like raining cursed hellfire. He should be terrified. You are mighty. Goddess of war backed with wrath. Angrier than Ares. These men should cower under your golden gaze. Desolation writ into you so heavily they should run for the hills.
“Thought you didn’t need me? Why would the mighty Tsarevich need his dumb bitch of a wife at his side? Run out of good whores have you?”
It was too late for niceties.
“Just be quiet.” He snaps.
Stepping very close. Close enough to touch only he doesn’t. His eyes move to your mouth. His hand seeks for your waist. Reels you in.
You don’t want too. But you clam up. You want to rear back and swing your fist to strike him. Preferably with a knife.
“I have never known a woman as disobedient. Nor as wilfully stubborn as you are. It’s infuriating.” He snipes.
His breath warms your mouth. He smells like his woody spice soap and bitter brush of smoke, and sweat. Still Paul. Underneath all things.
“Good.” You snarl with a nod. “I’m glad to have been such an inconvenience.”
“Constant dagger in my side.”
“Fuck you.” You announce passionately.
“I have had enough of your inability to listen to my orders.” He comments.
“Tough shit.” You snark.
“Elegant verbiage.” He insults.
His gaze is swimming into something steel black and lethal. You hate how much you like looking at him like this. It almost makes him look intimidating and handsome.
At this point, you’re half desire, half pure lightning hot rage.
“Get back to me when I don’t want to stick a knife in your thigh. Maybe my vocabulary will improve.” You hiss.
You’re so locked and entwined with this man. Tug his strings and it’s sure enough to jerk some distant part of you, merely by extension.
“Are you wet right now?” He asks. Head tilting His lashes shutter his eyes as he scans you. From the dirt crusted hem, sweeping upwards.
Your mouth is dry as tumbling scorched sands. Clench your teeth to dust. Heart ramming your tonsils.
He spies that twitch in your face. “Am I to take that as a yes, Tsarevna?”
If looks could kill.
“I’m going to fuck you. I know how plaint and weak it makes you when I work that delicious cunt open with my cock.” He steps you back. Hands tugged in your dress. Leading.
“I will fuck every disobedient word and thought out that head. Wife.” He sneers.
He pushes you to one of the wooden columns. Shunts a breath out of you. Hands digging through your skirts. Searching for your pussy.
You rake your nails into the nape of his neck. Hope it stings. Pray it brings blood.
“Be careful what you wish for.” You warn.
He smiles.
~
He’s fucking you not two minutes later.
Naturally, it didn’t take him long. You succumbed way too easy. Melted like butter, really.
He’s slithered to the gaps in your armour and snuck beneath with all the cunning adroitness of a serpent. You detest it.
He doesn’t give you what you need. Of course not. He doesn’t make this easy. His actions are all dipped in mocking taunt and brat.
He splayed you open, and rubs the fat leaking head of his cock against your trembling pussy. Eight months of nothing your your own fingers and he’s making you sit and beg like a trained lapdog.
Slapping it to your clit and smiling when you lurch. Unwilling to feed the head into you just yet.
It’s fucking agony.
You’re ready to slit his throat by the time he rewards you with sinking to the hilt in one ramming surge of his hips. The anger dissipates - a little.
You soothe the rest of it by leaning up and gnashing your teeth into his neck. Clamp down hard- force him to fuck you harder.
He cursed when sliding into you. Mumbled wisely about how conflict always made you so juicy wet for him. He pulled back and taunted you with your own greediness for his cock. The shine of your arousal coating him all glossy. A pretty sight, that.
“Hear how wet you are my love?” He lurches and slams you. A sharp stroke that wracked every vertebrae of your spine.
The sounds that come keening from you make your eyes flick back into your head. Enough to make him more smug.
“Utterly filthy. Soaking.” He huffs in gasps. “Making wet patches on my bed like a damn harlot.”
“Can’t believe you. Hmm- fucking brat. Yelling at me for coming here.” You manage to gasp. Cheeks blistering hot with this anger spurned arousal. Nails clawed into the carved headboard.
A hiccup snags the back of your throat as he knees closer.
Pushes your legs almost crushed up to your tits. Your stays almost strangling you. You cry loud because of this new angle. Makes him punch a spot inside that almost aches.
“I think this cunt is more pleased to see me than you are.” He smirks. Hands with dirty nails digging into your thighs. Ten half moons socketed into your quivering flesh.
“Fucking hell.” Spews out your mouth. Unguarded. He’s severing every strong steel thread of your resolve.
“I’ll take that as yes.” He says. Hair falls choppy in front of his wild eyes. Tiger eyes. Frightful fierce. Hands clamped to your thighs. He spreads you and sits up to stuff himself deeper. Harder. Faster.
The noises he’s getting out of you are just growing and growing. Rising in pitch and volume. So much so you’re swirling your hips to him to get feedback off that friction. That burgeoning pleasure begins to slice mean into your belly.
“How you moan for me when I give you my cock. Never gets old.” He grins.
“Never too late to punish my disobedient-“ he huffs and fucks hard inbetween his words. “Petulant. Stubborn. Wife.” He insists with a playful leer.
He can tell by the wails how close you are. Enough to taste it now. That eye rolling pressure ready to snap.
His cock stretched you just right. Stabbed into the gaping cup of your womb. You’re so treacherously close to that blissful peak you go rigid trying to chase it down and let the sensation ruin you.
It was mind meltingly good. Close and looming closer. Heat wrapping your limbs and warping your mind to bend to him. Every atom of you trained for this pleasure to come-
He yanks his cock out of you so fast, you want to shriek.
That coal hot glow of orgasm withers and curls to ash. He’s back to slipping his fat head around your cit again. Smearing your cunt in a sticky taste he’ll find and devour later.
“You fucking-“ you glare up at him all blissed and edged. Cunt clenching on nothing but air. He smooths both his thumbs over your pretty and dripping pussy lips. Making you throb.
“If you want to cum, you better beg.” He insists.
“I could kill you.” You seethe. Words dressed in a growl.
He tilts his head. Teasing. “Yes?”
You yelp when his cock slams into you once more. Puff for breath. God fucking dammit.
“How about now?” He checks as he folds you in half, yet again. Cock rooted deep.
The start of a long night, to be sure.
-
Hours later, darkness wraps you up. Comforting tenebrous blanket. Candles are lit. Dozy gold and matte dark pours into the tent.
He has you food brought in as an apology.
Someone ducks in the tent with a tray of it. He pulls on his boots to go fetch it. Leaves you boneless on his goose feather plumped bed.
There’s a bottle of wine with dinner too. Not the best but you’re not complaining. Dry hard biscuits and a salty wedge of goats cheese was your lot in the carriage ride here.
There’s a thick milky porridge with creamy oats and nutmeg and warming spices. A slab of pink roasted meat glistening with fat and golden globs of plain boiled potatoes barely salted. Sided with some hunk of brown hardy bread smeared in greasy butter.
This food is hot and warm and fills your belly well. He feeds it to you.
It’s how he soothes. But it’s not the only way he wants to offer you comfort.
He gets naked and climbs under the covers. Always bathed you in limitless comforts and luxuries after a rough fuck. The calm sweetness after a raging storm of passion and stinging claws and slamming hate. When the blood has dried to rust, along with the nasty words.
He slips between your legs under the sheets to tongue at your cunt like it’s a juicy honeycomb treat that drips honey.
It’s dripping him.
He eats it out of you. You sigh all dreamy and elongate your neck back to pillows that smell like his shaving soap, to moan his name.
Slipping your nails over the short brown thorns of hair. Rake over his scalp.
You gasp his name and you know the soldiers will have heard the sound sneak out the tent flaps. You don’t care.
His tongue slithers and laps through your puffy sex. Fully nursing your clit with the curl of his tongue. Brushes through the tactile scratch of your curls there. He loves burying his nose in them.
When he’s done he slinks up from under his furs and sheets. Wiping his mouth in the back of his hand. Still a little bit of both of you combined is smeared wetly across one cheek.
It catches in the flickering murky light. Candles are spinning red gold in the dim. Rain is a steady pat on the tent roof.
You look down at him. His gaze is all warmth and tenderness again. A knowing smile slopes the corner of his mouth.
“Did you really travel all this way just so I could fuck you?” He asks all smug.
You smirk. “Got what I wanted, now didn’t I.” You dismiss archly.
But you both know it seats a little deeper than that. There’s definite skin both of you have sunk into this game. It might even be the gummy beating walls of your hearts involved.
“You do know you’re a walking fucking nightmare.” He tells you.
Slotting himself between your hips. Seeking to hold your hands as he rolls into you. Makes your cunt clench.
Your hand slips from stroking his hair, downwards. Vicing your cruel hand around his soft throat. His eyes blaze again.
“Don’t you dare fucking forget it.” You sneer.
He sends you home sore - five days after your arrival.
#punkwrites#prince paul fanfiction#prince paul catherine the great#prince paul imagine#prince paul fanfic#prince paul x you#prince paul smut#prince paul x oc#prince paul x reader#prince paul#i would die for this man#such a brat#he’s such a filthy ho#such a hottie#joseph quinn fanfiction#joseph quinn
530 notes
·
View notes
Note
what is ur icon. explain
taron egerton as elton john in Rocketman (2019) because that movie fundamentally altered my brain chemistry when i first watched it. i've been listening to elton john since i was a little kid and i think i watched the movie at least 3 times in theatres lmao
the first time i watched it it had been dubbed in spanish and i was still getting used to the language so i missed some of the most gut-wrenching moments like when elton's mother mocked him and said "you'll never be loved properly" just because he was gay. when i finally watched it in english it was like AUGH
anyways i love this movie. i love the songs i love the outfits i love the cinematography i love taron egerton and jamie bell so so so much
#yes he's a filthy rich celebrity but i'm allowed to have character flaws ❤️#shoutout to the movie for also being the first by a major studio to feature a gay male sex scene btw#now im thinking of the elton john and rina sawayama song Chosen Family... very cheesy but very comforting song for queer people#oh! and jamie bell was also in bong joon-ho's Snowpiercer (2013) which i fucking LOVED. excellent movie#i should rewatch it again god FUCK#jun.log
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘
PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 x reader (gender not mentioned/implied/specified);
SYNOPSIS: Your first meeting with him was anthing but charming. Especially when he cornered you to the point, where you know you'll have no choice but to submit.
TW. implied age gap, manipulation, threatening (?), red flag, power imbalance;
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
"How can I help you, sir?"
"Be my sugar baby."
You blinked owlishly, trying to process what this customer said and if it was on the menu. When in fact it turned out that it isn't and you connected the words and their meaning, you were ready to burst out laughing.
He can't be serious.
Just by looking at him, you can tell he occupies a high position in some fancy corporation. You were even ready to bet that he was a CEO! It was a mystery itself why he was here, in a food chain restaurant in the first place. An enigma why he even said something like that to you, a plain worker who is pretty much opposite in every aspect one could think of.
He is handsome, you give him that. Probably older than you, since his face was more defined and mature. His suit, which you imagned to be tailor-made, colonge that was so strong you could smell it from behind the counter and all the expensive accesories (I mean look at his watch! Worth univesity tuition installment or two!) he had on were probably worth more than what you owned now.
But no, you aren't stupid. Sleep deprived, yes. Hungry, yes. Broke, also unfortunately, yes. But not stupid.
This man must be high then. No other sane and sober and filthy rich man would propose something like that to the (broke) food chain worker during the first meeting.
You took a deep breath, reminding yourself to be calm. He is still your client and you are fighting to be this employee of the month. You can already envision your photo hanging by the cashier and feel the additional money in your bank account. You won't lose your cool now.
Instead, you plastered your best fake smile.
"I'm afraid that's not on our menu sir. Do you fancy something else?"
The man chuckled, as if you told the best and poshest joke known to mankind. Your eyebrow twitched, yet your smile didn't budget.
Calm down...he is high...let him laugh...employee of the month...additional money...!
"You're more amusing than I thought." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 wiped a stray tear from his eye. "Trust me sweetie, I love how you call me 'sir' but that doesn't change the fact that my request still stays. I want you to be my sugar baby."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, sir."
"Ho ho, everything is possible." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 hid his hands in the pocket of his pants. He was staring down at you, like you were the most interesting thing he saw in a long while. You began to feel uneasy and slightly curled into yourself. You didn't like how mischievous his smirk looked.
A beat of tense silence passed, before he spoke again.
"I won't back down, sweetie. You know, I've learned that when you really want something, you should fight for it till you'll achieve it. This situation is no different than a business. I provide you safety and money, while you agree to be mine and fulfill my (every) requests." He finished his speech with a smile worth a million dollars, showing off his pearly white and straight teeth.
"Sir -- "
"After all, you wouldn't want your current life to crumble, hm?" You froze when his expression became sinister and his voice lowered to the point of mocking. In your gut you began to feel dread. You knew this feeling bery well. It appears whenever you sense danger. Currently, this man in front of you was a person who you should be afraid of. One thing for sure, he wasn't lying when he said he can destroy you in a matter of one call.
Money rules the world.
"Your measly, little thing, who believes something will change. That it is just a stepping stone. But what if I make it your prison? Force you to be stuck here until you break under pressure? In the end, you'll still agree to be mine, sweetie. It depends on you if you want to suffer or not."
And destroy those who are too weak and gets crushed under its ruthless rule.
"This choice is yours." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 straightened his back and only now you realized he was holding a sheet of paper. "All you have to do is to sign this..."
You knew you have no choice.
"So pick carefully, sweetie."
All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.
#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#male yandere x reader#fanfic#x reader#imagines#yandere#headcanons#yandere oc#yandere x you#yandere simulator#yandere male#tw yandere#male yandere#reader insert#headcanon#yandere headcanons#male x reader#x female reader#x male reader#x gn reader#x y/n#drabble#yandere sugar daddy#yandere scenarios#yandere drabble#oc imagines#oc headcanons#s.l.arrows writes <3
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
pervert ♡ haechan
genre: smut ⭒ word count: 0.7k ⭒ link to p2
donghyuck has a filthy mouth and even filthier mind.
“you like those, huh?” he had said to you one time. you were munching on the desserts like they were your last meal. “i can think of an even better ho—” he hadn’t gotten the chance to finish because you had hit him square in the face with a half-eaten donut hole.
or when he and jisung had squeezed into your already crowded booth entirely uninvited. he’d magically ended up next to you, sticky fingers wandering to your knee. your eyes had immediately widened at the bold action. you even peered beneath the table to double check you hadn’t hallucinated.
“what the fuck are you doing?” you’d hissed in his ear, subtly yanking him closer by the bottom of his shirt. “are you serious right now?”
“sorry. my mistake,” was the best he had come up with. and yet his hand never left your leg. that is, until you pinched his skin and he was yelping so loud even chenle stopped talking.
and of course, he had even wormed his way into your apartment. you were convinced he had bribed jeno into letting him tag along just to find out where you lived—typical donghyuck behavior—but what you couldn’t believe was how easily swayed your friend was.
“nice place you got here.” hyuck nodded, lips pursed as he scanned the area. “where’s your bedroom, by the way?” it was all too predictable; you threw a pillow at his face and he blocked it.
despite the intrusion, you had an okay afternoon. there was pizza, games—anything you’d find at a typical hangout session—and the boy had done his very best to keep his inappropriate remarks to himself, promising to be nothing but a gentleman, and there was a part of you that almost believed him.
almost.
it was when the sun started to set and you grew tired of gaming that hyuck excused himself to use the bathroom. but what you didn’t know was that he really just wanted to snoop around. which leads him to where he is now, quietly sifting through your drawers and on full alert to any sign of movement outside.
hyuck’s mouth parts, tongue daring out to wet his lips when he finally finds what he’s looking for. he dangles the pair of underwear by his index finger. is he really this desperate? he purses his lips, foot anxiously tapping as he debates whether or not to go through with it.
you won’t notice if he takes just one pair, right?
and so he manages to smuggle them home and gets off late in the night, groaning your name as he strokes his hard shaft with his right hand. his fingers are coated in cum, as is the material he jerks himself into for the third time already. his mind is racing with every possible scenario he can think of. there’s no way he’s getting any sleep now—not when everytime he closes his eyes, there you are.
huyck's mouth is on your neck, his thigh pressing up against you in a way that has you dizzy. he’s littering your skin with marks, sucking and licking and leaving you craving his lips on yours. you murmur his name and his hands wrap around your waist, squeezing in response. your finger finds his chin to lead him to where you want him.
his lips are warm and tug on yours feverishly. it’s like your mouths are made for each other. when his tongue meets yours, your knees give out. with the majority of your weight on him, his hands easily guide you against his leg, encouraging your hips to move.
“fuck,” he breathes out. his cheeks are flushed and hair damp. “wanna taste you.”
“aren’t you already doing that?” you say.
he smirks. “that’s not where i meant.”
hyuck whimpers at the sensitivity of yet another orgasm. his skin is wet and glistening, cock throbbing as he wipes up the substance with your underwear. there’s tears in his eyes and his cheeks are bright red—both because he’s so worked up and embarrassed about the entire thing. and yet he’s already reaching for his phone, sending jeno a text about the next time he’s going to your house.
you're right—he’s definitely a pervert.
a/n: I tried writing something a little different from my usual content so please lmk what you think!
#haechan#nct dream#nct#nct 127#nct smut#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct x reader#nct dream smut#haechan smut#lee donghyuck#nct fanfic#nct haechan#nct drabbles#nct hard hours#haechan scenarios#haechan imagines#nct fic#haechan x reader
798 notes
·
View notes
Text
nsfw alphabet - osamu dazai . . . .ᐟ
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
wc: 2.1k
cw: gn!reader - no explicit anatomy mentioned, switch leaning sub!dazai, nicknames “pretty,” “honey,” and “babe” for reader, one instance of “daddy,” brief mentions of choking/spitting/slapping/marking/collaring/edging/dacryphilia, graphic mentions of cum, cum eating, CUM, degenerate!dazai my beloved
reid: no one asked for this i just be thinking uwu enjoy
. . . .ᐟ
a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
it’s dazai - he’s lazy and kind of a princess. unless cleaning up is absolutely necessary (read: you both and the sheets are drenched in sweat and/or cum) he will just want to stay where you are and cuddle and be loved on
usually chatty afterward. loves to chit chat. if you’re too sleepy to hold a conversation, he’ll play with your hair and you can listen to him talk about the fall of the byzantine empire
b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
dazai is aware that he has attractive hands. there isn’t a single part of himself he’s not at least a little conscious of, but he knows his hands are both pretty and skilled, so he might as well try to be proud of them!
can’t pick a favorite body part on his partner. it changes by the day. one day it’s your waist, the next it’s your hair, wednesday it’s your thighs, most fridays he prefers your hands, sometimes it’s your stomach, other days it’s your ass. . .
c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
i know it tastes like sulfuric acid
cums so much. like an obscene amount.
he definitely has a thing for seeing you covered in his cum - whether it’s on your chest, face, back. . .
filthy nasty when it comes to cleanup. you made a mess on his fingers? he made a mess in your hands? your hole is dripping with his cum and yours? his mouth is on it. shameless
d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
less dirty and more just embarrassing for him - he usually cries after make-up sex.
if you argue and then fuck it out, tears will be rolling down his face while he cums - he loves you so much! he doesn’t want a petty argument to ever make you rethink your relationship with him
if you notice this, no you don’t. to him it’s a fucking secret okay
e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
while i do think he probably hoed around toward the end of/after his mafia days, i don’t think he’s as experienced as anyone expects him to be.
liked the feeling but hated the vulnerability. it was a tradeoff he wasn’t willing to make anymore at some point. eventually realized he needs to build up a level of trust with potential sexual partners
once that trust is built up though. hooo boy
that genius brain of his isn’t just for detective work
he’s intuitive and a quick learner. absolutely knows what he’s doing.
f = favorite position (this goes without saying)
spoons.
lazy man loves to wrap one arm around your neck and play with you with his free hand while he thrusts into you from behind <3
really partial to any position that lets him bite your neck and kiss your face and groan in your ear (hopes you do the same to him)
g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
can’t help the occasional one liner. he’s a natural comedian
dazai rather enjoys more playful sex where you both can laugh and talk throughout - sometimes it feels more intimate than serious, stone-faced sex
takes on a more serious air if he’s feeling jealous or insecure
h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
will adhere pretty firmly to whatever your preference is!
if you have no preference, he just trims when he’s unruly - maybe once every two weeks or so
i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
physically extremely sensual and aware of your body - little touches and breaths on your skin, lingering eyes, things that would get glossed over by anyone who isn’t a romantic at heart
tries (and succeeds) to swoon you verbally, too.
“need to feel you, please.”
“fuck- we fit s’ well together, don’t you think so?”
“‘m all yours, honey.”
“c’mon, pretty, fuck me like you own me.”
j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)
pillow humper.
he’s lazy! don’t get the idea that he’s above stroking himself because he’s not, but sometimes he just doesn’t feel like it
just imagine him in the first light of the morning waking up before his alarm with an unforgiving hard on. . .he was probably dreaming about you! and if you’re not there, what else is he supposed to do other than fold a pillow between his legs and grind on it until he cums in his boxers?
nnnnhhnmnmghshdhd pillow humper dazai <3
k = kink (one or more of their kinks)
choke. this. man.
whether he’s topping bottoming subbing domming whatever he cums 10x harder when your hands are anywhere near his neck
likes fingers in his mouth uwu since he’s confident in his hands, he’s definitely into you sucking on his fingers too
pry his jaw open and spit on his tongue. he will gladly return the favor, if you wish
slap him if you’re comfortable. he’s down for it. he usually hates pain, but if it’s supplemental to pleasure?
big fan of biting and scratching too, both ways if you’ll indulge him.
likes having matching marks <3
leash and collar this man while he’s on his knees and tell him it’s where he belongs. he’ll agree!
edges the hell out of you when he doms. maybe likes to see you cry a little bit <3
on the softer side, he adores being praised - bonus points if you can mix in some subtle and tasteful degradation. loves being told how good he feels, how good he’s letting you use him, how good of a boy he is. . .
l = location (favorite places to do the do)
he prefers the privacy of your bedroom so he can completely let go of his reservations
buuuuuut also gets excited about car sex uwu something about how the windows fog up, and how desperate and feral it can feel. . .
at the end of the day, he’s never met a flat surface he couldn’t fuck on. if he wants you, he’ll find somewhere to have you
m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
when you get intense about anything. discussing something you’re very passionate about? someone or something is visibly pissing you off? you’re road raging? dazai’s ready to drop ‘em
oh lord about to get the works cited page going. next bullet point references this post by user cqthqrtic (not tagging as to not surprise them with random nsfw content in their notifs, however if you see this, legend, and want tagged do let me know!), who pioneered my favorite degenerate!dazai and i think about him OFTEN
so with that, on a less wholesome note than the first one, i fully agree that calling him names like sicko, perv, freak, etc. gets him going like you would not fucking believe. he lives for your half-disgusted little reactions when he whispers filth in your ear in public or proposes some depraved shit like eating his own cum out of you. god forgive me
n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
heavy, intense degradation. he’s already hyper-convinced that he’s a piece of shit. keep it to the classics; he likes being your dumb slut, your fucktoy, your brat, etc. and mix it up with praise. he does not like being called useless, bad, good for nothing else, etc.
o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
a real eater. a proud munch. so fucking smug about it too
his mouth + his hands? you’re seeing god
cannot however deny how much he loves your mouth on his cock. he’ll almost never ask for it, but he’ll also never say no to it.
might get carried away and fuck your throat a little - don’t worry, he’ll compensate you. ride his face til he can’t breathe
p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
almost always wants to take his time with you! he’s got a lot of self control and he uses that to his advantage
he can’t get over how tender it feels to bury his face in your neck, wrap his arms around you, and feel your nails in his back while he’s fucking you deep and unhurriedly
he loves slow, sleepy, lazy sex where his hands can just roam every inch of your body.
don’t get it twisted - dazai will absolutely fuck you fast and rough if you just say the word
want him to go faster and harder? give his hair a good tug <3
q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
not his favorite methodology, last letter considered.
won’t decline if it’s to get out of work <3 bring him lunch at the office and he might just bend you over the bathroom sink
r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
he’ll try just about anything once.
this man spent his most formative years in a front row seat to observe humanity at its filthiest - anything that happens with mutual consent and good intent between you two in the bedroom can’t be that horrible.
besides, he loves discovering new kinks of his with you <3
s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
only one or two rounds, maybe three on a good day, but he manages his time well.
spends anywhere from 15-30 minutes on foreplay on the first go around
will let you rest between rounds but continue kissing on you and teasing you lightly so it all just feels like one dreamy and continuous round
with his insane self control he could easily drag a couple rounds of sex out for hours. many hours.
however, he won’t usually keep you longer than three or so hours; on the flip side, he rarely spends less than 45 minutes on you.
t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
not opposed to you bringing toys to the table, but no, he doesn’t own any.
he can makeshift some handcuffs out of a belt so quick - what would he need to buy them for?
not a fan of having toys used on him, but he’ll go to town on you if you want <3
u = unfair (how much they like to tease)
oh brother
will hold off on cumming himself just so he can draw your orgasm out longer. sensing a theme here? when i tell you his self control is insane.
beg him all you want - he goes into it knowing exactly how long he’s going to edge you for <3
v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
he can hold himself back and be quiet. . .does not like to, though!
high quality triple x this-shit-rated-porn ass moans, sighs, grunts, and whines coming out of him regardless of his position. he was meant to be LOUD. he likes to let you know how good you make him feel!
cusses so much.
whatever he’s babbling gets so breathy and growly when he’s close
“thank you thank you thank you fuck thank you” while he cums <3
w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
wanna make him bust on the spot? call him daddy while he’s in you <3
x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
average thickness but god he’s long
we’re talkin pushing eight inches
no curve, very few veins, blushy pink tip
sticks straight up and twitches when he’s hard <3
y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
contrary to popular (?) belief, i think his sex drive is average if not a little lower
mostly just up for it whenever you are! you bring it up? sure, he’s game <3
about who initiates sex: 60/40, you/him respectively.
if he’s not in the mood will say some really lame and uncomfortably silly shit like “i think mr. pinky’s asleep right now babe” 👎
z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
no he wants. to. CHAT
has enough trouble sleeping at night as it is! kind of just wants to go back to snuggling and hanging out when you’re done
again if it’s bedtime and you’re sleepy, he’ll just talk softly about whatever until he hears you snoring.
might pick up a book for an hour or so before joining you in the dream world <3
always smooches you goodnight whether you’re awake or not.
#bsd dazai x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai x reader#osamu dazai x reader#bsd x reader#dazai headcanons#dazai hcs#angelzai original.ᐟ#devilzai hours.ᐟ#mdni
528 notes
·
View notes
Text
cw: established relationship, smut - PIV sex, cunnilingus, ass slapping, pet names (good girl, good boy) - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Author's Note: This is so so silly y'all, I'm sorry. As an avid fan of ugly sweaters, I just couldn't resist this one. 😬 Divider credit to @/cafekitsune!
It’s the ugliest sweater he’s ever laid eyes on, yet Nanami finds himself wearing it, grimacing at his own reflection in the mirror. “Honey,” he calls out to you. “Are you sure about this?”
The distinct sound of jingling bells grows louder the closer you approach him, wearing the same exact sweater. There’s tinsel haphazardly spread across the chest, puff balls sporadically glued throughout the fabric, and of course, bells littered in what seems like every inch. You found it at a local thrift shop and just had to buy it for the upcoming holiday party with your friends. With this, you’re determined to finally win the contest against reigning champ Satoru Gojo, who always wears the same sweater every year, one that plainly has the word “HO” stitched on it.
You stand beside your husband, beaming at the mirror, admiring your outfits. “What do you mean? It’s an ugly sweater party! This is perfect!”
He pinches at the sides of it, cringing at how each movement emits a ringing that’s already grating on his ears. “It’s so…loud.”
You shimmy, sounding like a tambourine. “I know, isn’t it great?!” You grab onto his hips, forcing him to sway with you. “Come on, sweetie! Are you going to be naughty or nice for me tonight?” you tease him.
He finally cracks a smile, giving into your silliness by wiggling in place ever-so-slightly to produce a jingle. You giggle, sliding your arms around his neck, giving him a big smooch on the lips. “Thank you. You’ve been a very good boy this year.”
He lingers on your lips, voice low and sultry now. “How about you? Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight?”
You bite your lip. “Kento…”
Soon, the both of you are naked from the waist down, ugly sweaters still intact. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, ass cheeks stinging from Nanami harsh slaps on your flesh, enjoying the way it jiggles with each solid smack. “Good girl,” he says, squeezing your cheeks in his firm grip.
You can’t help but think this is some sort of payback for making him wear the ugly sweater, though you don’t mind it one bit. “Fuck me, Kento,” you whine, pussy already wet from foreplay.
“Not yet,” he growls, turning you over to face him, laying you flat on the mattress. “Your good boy is going to be very naughty first.” He dives into your arousal, licking your clit with long strokes of his tongue, lubed-up fingers pumping in and out of your slit. You squirm in pleasure, the bells of your sweater ringing with each little twist of your pliant body, yielding to his every touch. He puckers his lips around your swelling bud, sucking on it until you’re gushing all over his face.
The cacophony only gets more intense when he’s pounding you from behind, you on all fours, him slamming into you. Each thrust produces a new chime adding to whatever symphony of sex you’re creating in the bedroom. After your third orgasm, Nanami flips you over one last time, a wicked grin on his lips, relishing the fucked-out expression on your face as he strokes his cock fast in his fist. “Naughty girl, getting our sweaters all filthy. I guess it won’t hurt if I get them a little messier, right?” He moans, shooting his load onto you, spilling his seed all over the bells and tinsel.
You’re absolutely certain now that this is revenge for the whole ugly sweater thing, though you don’t let it deter you. After carefully hand washing it, the two of you manage to win this year’s ugly sweater contest, and Nanami can no longer contain the hard-on he has as you parade around in it, reminding him of when you first christened it. He rushes home that night to fuck you once again in that sweater, finally making his peace with it.
#nanami kento#nanami smut#nanami kento smut#kento nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami x you#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami fluff#nanami kento fluff#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#nanami drabbles
600 notes
·
View notes
Note
kashimo is js so pretty,,, pasi im dying here wtf was gege thinking when he drew him,,, he js fits the slut description,,, i js wanna edge him til he cries n call him my pretty boy RESTRAIN ME
𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐎 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐉𝐎𝐁
kashimo hadn't felt touch of a woman in centuries. he missed it. he was the slut of his era. and going from getting your dick milked everyday to forgetting what that feels like wasn't easy. but now when you had your hand wrapped around his long and pretty dick, he couldn't help but bite his bottom lip, fidgeting at the feeling of your fingers toying with the cockhead. it was so pretty. it had a peach pink to light brown gradient. hos cock wasn't veiny but the outer skin layer was so soft and thin that you could see how some hint of the purple and green veins underneath. you were so eager to put him in your mouth but you wanted to test him. his precum was alone so much that it wet your hand giving you easy accessibility to stroke his cock, and you didn't need to spit on it.
"ngh—unh unh unh! yes, keep doing that."
he was so desperate, not even ashamed to moan and whimper and you were enjoying it.
"need to release myself, pretty woman. please—ah! yes. can you—mmh go faster," but to his surprise, you slowed down. and he was so frustrated, but what's he gonna do?? you had him wrapped around your fingers. literally.
you increased the pace of your hands when he expected it the least. it was making such a filthy sound but god did it sound like music mized with him desperate moans.
"uhm! yesyesyesyesyes aaahh!!"
he came so hard, your hand was drenched in his release. this is what happens when you're not touched for 400 years. but that won't be a problem for him now since you are here. he's not gonna let someone like you go so easily. he wasn't hungry but you happen to be the prey that willingly walked in his territory
#I WENT OVERBOARD HELLOOOO???!! but dria forgive me. this is what my shitty writing skills can offer you now#jjk smut#jjk x reader#kashimo smut#jjk kashimo#kashimo x reader#hajime kashimo#kashimo#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#soulmoots.°•♡#dria♡
623 notes
·
View notes
Note
that damned detective coming by your place to discuss evidence but he’s snuck his way in while you’re getting out of the shower and he’s all “oh birdie. s’lovely seeing you all wet but you know i hate not being the cause of it. why don’t we change that?”
he’s such a whore.
Massive massive slut. The sluttiest slut ever known in the history of slutdom.
He’s SUCH A WHORE- like fully slutted up in his groovy vintage clothes. Has shagged and will shag whoever he wants. Silk designer shirts and gold chains and pussy wagon of a cherry red Porsche and really strong but lush cologne. I’m sorry who does he think he is? Wearing chapstick and being flirty to the fucking extreme. Fuckin illegal to be so pretty and kinky.
Omg you wet out the shower in front of him? You don’t stand a chance. Cancel all plans and phone in sick cause that boy will absolutely break your bed. Your spine. Possibly make you pass out from his dick (refractory period who?)
Plus it goes without saying huge perv total handcuff fetish and idk why but I feel like his favourite thing is anal. And I feel like @indouloureux would want to know that-
#punkwrites#i would die for this man#joseph quinn#detective quinn#detective au#detective/murderer au#det quinn series#serial killer#birdie x quinn#reporter/serial killer#thank you 💕💕💕#he’s such a filthy ho#such a hottie#god your such a himbo but youre a pretty one and i kinda want you
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Jester's Token
HEY SO. I wrote a thing. Based on @oblivionsdream's Knight/Jester OCs, who are SUPER AMAZING, which you can find here.
Thank you for your wonderful art!! And also accidentally inspiring a jester obsession in me 🤡
No warnings, contains a little suggestiveness, 3.4k words 💖
*
The grounds were alive with activity. The King doted upon his sons, and now with his second eldest’s twentieth birthday only a scant few days away, the celebrations were in full swing.
The prince, as was his wont, had demanded a tournament to celebrate the day of his birth. The King, as always, had been unable to refuse. And the Knight was looking forward to a week of respite; of celebration and jousting and fun instead of training and war council meetings.
Typically, he tried to remain impassive and stoic with his fellow knights. It was what was expected of him as the King’s champion, after all, and besides: it added an edge to his demeanour that meant orders were obeyed. The other knights weren’t to know that beneath his shining, shuttered helm he was wondering if the stable cat had birthed her kittens yet.
Still he kept his head high as he strode across the grounds, heading towards the armoury where he had left his sword that morning to be honed and polished. Several other knights turned to glance at him as he passed: one, he noticed, standing immediately to attention as he did.
The deference was useful, he supposed, but he hoped it did not extend to the tournament itself. It would be a dull affair if everybody he encountered was afraid of the King’s champion knight.
As he approached the armoury, a familiar noise perked up his ears. He found his steps faltering, his sure stride suddenly broken.
Not everybody was afraid of him.
He turned just in time to see the grinning face of the Jester as he sauntered over, his motley - brand new for the tournament in festive greens and reds - lit up in the dazzling summer sunshine. His hair haloed from his head, sticking in yellow waves from beneath his cap’n’bells. His eyes - startlingly bright, one dark, one nearly gold - shone with excitement.
“Good morning, Sir!” he said cheerily, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Lovelier for you, the Knight didn’t say.
“It is indeed,” he said. “Perfect for a tournament.”
“Perfect for a party,” the Jester countered. “I called into the ale tent on the way here, have you seen how stocked it is? Forget the tournament, I fear our Lord means to drown us. Can you swim in that?” he pinged a fingernail against the Knight’s plate.
The Knight rolled his eyes, forgoing a response.
“Although,” the Jester continued merrily, “I must admit, these events always make me laugh.”
“Oh?”
“Come,” the Jester said, “Oh ho - here I am, the picture of virile manhood! Beware my powerful—” he gave a short, sharp thrust. “Lance.”
The Knight bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing. “You have a filthy mind.”
“You should hear me talk about maypoles.”
“I would really rather not.”
“I can do some wonderful things with ribbons, you know.”
“Anything useful in a tournament?”
“Depends what you need,” the Jester said, catching him with a sidelong glance. “I’m very good with knots.”
The Knight swallowed, saying nothing.
“Well!” The Jester said, clearly unphased. “I am afraid I am wanted by— well, by everyone. Which makes it such a shame that I’d rather spend my morning following you around. Nevermind.” His smile twitched a little, before settling back into a grin. “Good luck, my Knight!”
And with that, he was off. The Knight watched him leave, swaying through the crowds with his typically fluid movement. While the Knight would be entering competitions, the Jester would be entertaining in a much different way: joking and turning somersaults and charming the King and his guests. He even had a role in the joust alongside the announcer, riling up the crowds and mocking the competitors.
With luck, the Knight would be able to watch him perform. He enjoyed watching the Jester show off, and he loved his jokes, not that he would ever allow the Jester himself to realise that. The first time they had met he’d been forced to remove himself lest he make an utter fool of himself, and since then the Jester had taken him as a challenge, when he wasn’t making a game of flirting with him.
With a sigh, and a final glance at the Jester’s departing figure, he walked on towards the armoury. He noticed Sir Rowan lingering just outside, standing beside Lady Felicity - one of the Queen’s Ladies in Waiting. Without thinking, he called out a greeting to his fellow knight.
As he approached, he realised far too late that what he thought was simply a polite conversation between knight and lady was something far more intimate. Sir Rowan’s head was tilted just so, Lady Felicity leaning in a little too close. Their hands, he realised, were linked.
Shit. But it was too late now; he had already hailed Sir Rowan and he couldn’t very well turn heel and run. Lady Felicity quickly snatched her hands away, her face mottling in a sweet, pink blush before giving him a slightly lopsided curtsey, bidding them both farewell and quickly rushing off.
As The Knight drew closer, he noticed a scrap of fabric clasped in Rowan’s hand. He pretended not to have seen it as Rowan quickly tucked it into his breastplate.
A favour, then. He hadn’t realised that Sir Rowan and Lady Felicity were courting; although most of their time spent together would have been at banquets and feasts, where the Knight’s attention was more often than not focused on their entertainment and very little else. It was terribly improper to ask Sir Rowan for more information. Even as his friend, he would not push for information too intimate to share; certainly not while Rowan and Lady Felicity were still in the first, tentative steps of the most delicate of dances.
He engaged Rowan in brief conversation, deeply aware of the moment he had managed to ruin. He wished him good luck - making him blush - then headed inside the armoury where he collected his sword.
He couldn't help but peer back as he left. Rowan, now alone, had taken the favour from his breastplate and was tugging it through his fingers. It appeared to be cream-coloured silk: a handkerchief or scarf, perhaps. Rowan's face had gone red.
Something tugged in the Knight's chest. It was a sweet, deeply romantic gesture. It would leave Rowan with no doubt at all about Lady Felicity’s intentions towards him. And, of course, it was furiously lucky: any man blessed with such a token would be sure to do well, especially from one they loved.
The tugging grew more urgent, joined by a leaden feeling in the Knights stomach. He would have no such token. Oh, he was sure that many members of the court would accept him should he attempt to woo them - courtly favours included - but it wasn't any of them he really wanted.
“I would rather spend my day following you around.”
The Knight’s face heated beneath the metal. His heart swelled. Whatever the Jester’s intentions towards him, his feelings were not the sort that spurred a man to give a love token. His were the feelings that spurred a quick fumble behind the stables - perhaps several quick fumbles, judging by the lewdness of the Jester’s tongue. It was no more than that.
Or, more likely, it was even less than that. The Knight was aware of the reputation he had carefully curated at court, and he knew that the Jester had taken him as a challenge. He was just another joke. The Jester had never even seen his face, hadn't seen the scars, didn't know the stories behind them.
He was just teasing.
The Knight tried to shake the thought from his head, fluttering the great plume that burst from the crown of his helm. Chasing such thoughts - be they of fumbles or fools - would get him unseated in the joust and begging for mercy in the duel.
He turned towards the stables, trudging down the muddy path. The earth had been turned by the sheer volume of guests and carts and horses, and was now a sucking, muddy mess.
There was an oddly metallic clink beneath his boot. He paused. He lifted his foot. In the centre of a perfect footprint was a mud-splattered, but unmistakably golden, bell.
There was only one person who wore bells like that.
The Knight picked it up without thinking, desperately wishing he had something to clean it with. He rubbed off as much muck as he could with a fingertip, watching as it glinted in the light. As he turned it in his hand - terribly small against his huge palm - it jingled merrily.
He swallowed and closed his fingers around it, squeezing it tight.
The stables would wait. As a high-ranking man, he had been given a private tent on the edge of the grounds - somewhere he could clean and rest without traipsing through the castle to his chambers. He headed there, pulling the flaps tight shut behind him before unfurling his hand.
The bell had left a neat little indent in his palm. A curving, teasing smile embedded into his skin.
He placed it reverently on the wooden table at the far side of the tent before shooting a final, nervous glance towards the entry. And then he removed his helm.
The air felt cool and good against his burning cheeks. He shook out his hair, tied into a low queue to keep it out of his face, and stared down at the bell. It felt as if it were the only object in the room; perhaps the world.
Mindlessly, he took the cloth he used to tend his sword from the chest beside the table and gently began to clean the little golden thing. Mud had even managed to get inside the bell, and he carefully cleaned away as much as he could until it was shining and jingling once more.
He rolled it in his palm. It felt hot, like a tiny lump of coal, like a nugget of forge-warmed iron.
The Knight thought of Sir Rowan and Lady Felicity.
He would need luck, after all. Skill he had in abundance, but luck? Luck was harder to judge; a tip of the scales that, at present, could fall either way.
Of course, traditionally, a token needed to be a gift. But many Knights - both in tournaments and in battle - found luck where they could snatch it. A sword that had never slipped from their grasp, a tunic worn during a lucky win, a shield taken to war that deflected a killing blow. Perhaps a bell - so small and yet so weighty - could be like those. It was luck, after all, that helped him find it when so many people had stepped over it.
He turned back to the chest and searched through it until he found what he was looking for; the spare ties he kept on hand in case his snapped during the tournament. He typically used them to fasten his gauntlets, and while it was thin the leather was tough and sturdy: perfect for what he needed. Carefully, he threaded the bell onto the strap, ensured it wouldn’t slip off and then twisted the strap around the hilt of his sword, securing it tight.
The Knight gave the sword an experimental shake. The bell jingled against the hilt. He didn’t bother to suppress his smile: it wasn’t as if anyone could see him. The noise set a thrill through him. He would be the first to admit that he was not a musical man, but the ringing of the little bell felt like an angelic chorus just for him.
Besides, he thought, as he sheathed the sword once more: if it didn’t bring him luck, the noise may distract an opponent long enough for him to land a good hit.
He took a few moments to gather himself, taking a long drink of water from the jug atop the table, wiping down his face, and re-tying his hair before donning his helm once more. He pulled on his gloves, too, and now with his hand now gripped tight around the hilt of his sword, he exited the tent.
Outside, the noise was growing more urgent as more people gathered to watch the show. Now buoyed by the token hanging from his sword, he strode with pride towards the centre of the grounds where he intended to take part in the first single-combat duel of the day. It was likely still a little early, but no doubt he wouldn’t be the only one keen to begin and could at least find someone to spar against to pass the time.
He was dodging around a lad from the kennels and a pack of exuberant dogs when he heard a shout from behind.
“Knight! My Knight!”
He hastily shoved his sword behind his back as he turned, watching the Jester bounce across the field towards him.
“I need your skills,” he said, as he slid smoothly to a halt beside him.
“Oh?” The Knight was glad for his helmet, now: the jester couldn’t see him blush.
“Have you seen a bell?” The Jester tugged at the frontmost horn of his cap, which was indeed bell-less. “I’m missing one.”
The Knight gripped his sword harder. He could feel the distinct shape of the bell through his gloves, praying it would not ring and give him away.
“No,” he said, his face so hot he was amazed his helm did not begin to steam, “I cannot say I have.”
“Oh.” The Jester gave him a crestfallen look that was so heartbreakingly sincere that for a moment, the Knight nearly relented. “I suppose it will turn up… or the King will fund me for another, I am sure.”
His eyes darted down, as if taking the Knight in for the first time. His expression turned dark. The Knight found himself standing a little straighter.
“And where are you off to, my chivalrous wonder? That’s—” he peered around the Knight’s back, “—an extremely long sword you have there.”
The Knight rolled his eyes, not that the Jester could see the gesture.
“You have realised,” he said, keeping his tone even, “where we are, yes?”
The Jester gave a dramatic twirl as if assessing his surroundings. “We are standing in the mud,” he grinned.
“Typically,” the Knight said, ignoring him, “A Knight takes part in a tournament. I intend to test my luck in the duel.”
“Luck?” The Jester said, “Not skill? Although—” he gave him another of those long looks, “—I suspect you have plenty of skill in swordplay.”
He gave the Knight a tight, cattish smile, his tongue wetting his lips as he waited for the Knight to respond. The Knight, once he had finally regained control of his lips, could only manage a single word.
“Quite.”
“Well,” the Jester grinned cockily. “I would surely love to see you in action. Lead on, good Sir Knight.”
The Jester looped his hand around his arm, gripping him tight. The Knight was utterly unable to resist, lost in a sudden moment of deep regret that he was so armoured, unable to feel that touch against his skin.
Arm in arm they headed across the grounds towards the ring. The Jester joked and chatted and flirted as they walked, commenting again on that marvellously large blade, but the Knight could barely hear him over the rush of his own spinning thoughts.
He kept his free hand gripped on the sword, over the bell. The Jester couldn’t know.
The Jester finally released him as they reached the ring. Even though the touch had been to the plate steel of his armour and not the skin beneath, the Knight still missed having him hanging from his arm.
“You better win,” he said, stepping back. “There are a dozen other things I could be doing right now, and I refuse to tie my lot to a man who cannot even win a duel for me.”
The Knight’s heart stuttered in his chest. For me. The Jester was watching him, expectantly. And then his eyes widened, as if remembering something.
“Of course!” He said, face splitting into a grin. “You need a token. As you said, to give you luck enough to win. Ah— here…” he reached up, and before the Knight could stop him pulled another bell from his hat. “What’s another bell?” he said with a shrug. “I was lopsided anyway. Here…”
He produced a silk ribbon as if from nowhere, quickly looped it through the bell, and tied it with swift, dexterous fingers to the Knight’s belt.
“There,” he said. “I told you I was good with knots. Now you’ll win.”
The Jester stretched up on the tip of his bell-topped toes, placed a hand to the Kight’s shoulder for balance, and flicked his helmet’s plume with a single, long finger.
“Good luck.”
And with no warning at all, he placed a kiss to the warm metal of the Knight’s helm. Beneath, the Knight felt as if he could no longer breathe, his heart launching a battle of its own.
“I…” he said, gathering himself. “Thank you.”
The Jester gave him another grin, trailing a finger across the spot where his lips had been moments before.
“You’re welcome.”
***
The Jester leaned casually against a stack of crates, watching the Knight perform with genuine interest. The interest, of course, had very little to do with the fight itself - he wanted him to win, sure, but the minutiae of the fight were nothing compared to the strength of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, or the exceptional noises he made when he struck a particularly good hit.
He fiddled mindlessly with one of the horns of his cap as he watched the Knight take another decisive swing. A hint of gold glinted through the air as he did, catching the light like a comet.
The Jester grinned to himself. No wonder his Knight was being so stiff as they walked towards the ring. What a sneaky little secret; not the sort he had come to expect from him. It was amusing, and quite sweet, too. Anyone would be lucky to have the Knight be their champion, to have him take their token. But the one he had chosen - the one he had taken for himself - was little more than a minstrel’s bell.
He was glad he had stumbled upon the thought to give him a token himself. Now the Knight would know that he would have given him one, had he asked, and even better: now he had twice the luck.
The Knight swung around again, the bell jingling, harmonising with the one the Jester himself had tied to his hip.
Thrice the luck, the Jester thought, if you counted the kiss.
The Knight ducked, dodged and lunged. The Jester watched, lips quirked into a smile.
When the Knight won - a feat which did not surprise the Jester at all - he straightened up, set his shoulders, and looked towards him.
And then his helm snapped down, taking in the hilt of his sword and the bell hanging from it. The Jester was almost surprised that he couldn’t see the Knight blush through his helmet.
The Jester too glanced downwards to the hilt of the sword. He let his gaze linger there. Then he dragged his eyes up, up the Knight’s body, over his chest, to the place where he desperately wished he could properly see his eyes.
He heaved himself away from the crates and waved. The Knight sagged, only a little. A small moment of recognition and relief. A spark of understanding, shared between them.
But the Jester could not stand there all day, no matter how much he wanted to. He shot the Knight another grin - his best grin, saved just for him - blew him a kiss, and swayed away towards the ale tent.
#fanfic#writing#my writing#oblivionsdream#knight/jester#this is what happens when you write a book about a tournament#it gets stuck in your head#and then you cant write about anything else
333 notes
·
View notes
Note
Babes, are we going to get another nightwalks!Joel anytime soon? Miss that creep :(
Night Walks: Morning After
900 / Creepy!Joel x fem!reader / nw master
Warnings: Drugs, manhandling, reluctant (mildly dub) consent, oral m receiving, unsafe P in V sex. Unedited. I8 up. This one goes out to @missannwinchester , great ideas & huge NWJ fan! 🥳💙👖
Note: There's a FIC OF THE BJ flashback now
You wake up before dawn with a pounding headache. Your skin itches, your hair feels dirty. Your jaw is sore. The ceiling fan is the first clue that it isn’t your room. You’re not wearing clothes and there’s a heavy arm draped over your body. It all comes back to you.
You not only came to his house, but you spied on him. You went inside with him. You let him do lines off your body, and not only fucked him but begged him to fuck you harder. Then he took you to bed and as you were settling in to sleep, you decided to suck his cock better than anyone else could ever suck it.
Some of the night is a blur, but you can still taste him in your mouth and feel the smooth skin of his tip sliding down the back of your throat. You can hear him asking if you were ready for round two, wanting to put it in you, but you were determined to give him the blow job of his life, and you did. You can hear his voice saying “Fuck yeah, baby,” and his groan as you sucked even his balls, rendering him speechless for the first time ever. Then his shudder as his hot load hit the back of your throat and the way he sighed, "God damn, pumpkin" as he recovered.
Why'd you do it? You could blame the coke, or the sketchy weed, but the truth is a little more shameful to you. The truth is, jealousy is a hell of a drug. All it took was thinking you saw someone else sucking his cock, and you lost your damn mind. It turned this creep into someone you had to claim.
-
You roll over onto your side, paralyzed by shame, unready to face him or the day ahead. When you move, he stirs awake. His voice is even lower than usual.
“Knew you were wild, pumpkin. But damn you suck a mean dick.”
He tightens his grip and scoots closer. His hard dick presses against your ass and sends a pang of arousal through your core to your chest. His hand drifts between your legs and he says, “Mmmm.” You’re a little sore from the night before. He begins to nibble your neck, but you try to squirm away.
He sighs and tightens his arm, “What’sa matter, pumpkin?” He kisses your neck wetly.
“I need to leave.”
“And why the hell would ya need to do that? You gotta work today?” No, you don’t. He knows it.
“I feel disgusting,” you say, moving again to get out of bed. He uses more strength this time to keep you still.
He whispers in your ear, “Oh, you’re filthy, baby. Wouldn’t have ya any other way,” as he grinds his rock-hard length against you. “C’mon, one for the road,” he says.
-
You’re horny as hell. His hand comes back between your legs and you don’t resist at all this time.
“Ohhh yeah,” he half-whispers when he feels how much wetter you’ve gotten in the one minute his hand’s been gone. “Hell yeah,” he says and nudges your top leg up. To hell with it. You tilt your hips while you’re at it.
As soon as his tip is at your wet entrance, he shoves it into you with a grunt. He rocks his hips back, then does it again, harder. “Love your mouth baby, but this pussy can’t be beat.” Your body is so needy for his, your walls suck him back in each time he backs up. He bites and sucks your neck as he fucks you.
You moan at the most welcome intrusion and push your ass back every time his big cock fills you up. He gropes your breasts every so often but keeps his arm tight around you for leverage. He fucks you so hard, he must remember you telling him “harder.” It’s surely burned in his memory forever. Fuck.
“You’re so damn hot, baby,” he breathes into your neck as he rails you. His breaths grow deeper. “So fuckin’ hot last night.” He thrusts deeper and harder, breathing hotly behind your ear and grunting. “Fuck,” he breathes. He slows down but his stiff cock plunges just as deep, with his hand now at your clit. His fingers begin to move just how you like. He knows you’re about to come and he’s slowed down his hips, focusing on your clit. “You're there, baby. C’mon.”
The tension bursts in your core and your cunt flutters around him. “Fuuuuck,” he sighs. The feeling of your warm cunt tightening around him is too much to bear. You pulse around him and your body jerks as he ramps back up and pounds you through it. He plunges to the hilt as hard as ever just a few more times, then pulses warmly, making you moan as you contract again with pleasure.
As you catch your breath, his big hand glides lightly over your body. To your shame, you find you're still high on the relief that the coke girl wasn't sucking his cock. As far as you know. It's like you almost lost something you didn't realize you wanted. What, though? His attention? It's hard to deny it makes you feel kinda special, the way he pursues you relentlessly.
“Knew you’d love wakin' up to this cock," he whispers in your ear, a welcome reminder of how obnoxious he is. But you can't argue with that. Not while he's still inside you.
-
Thank you so much for your reblogs and comments! Night walks fans are so dedicated 😫 🤟💐✨💙
-
All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname
NW: @tehweeana @ele-meno-p @swedishscumfuck
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#dark!joel miller#joel miller fic#pedro pascal smut#drabble#tw dubcon#night walks!joel#toxicanonymity ☠️#nightwalks☠️#joel miller x you#creepy!joel miller#pervy!joel miller#joel miller drabble#tw dubious consent
941 notes
·
View notes
Text
— his favorite ho.
❀ katsuki b. x fem!reader
❀ outline. teeny tiny drabble because i saw a car sex twt vid and it made me miss kats
❀ w. 18+ content, dirty talk, very light assplay, katsuki has anger issues, riding, car sex
❀ do not repost thx
katsuki has had a long fuckin’ day.
higher ups yapping in his ear and telling him that his poor attitude towards civilians has become a daily topic and he’s had enough. everyone who knew of the pro knew that his temper was short, that he wasn’t saving people to be friendly. no, he was doing his job, keeping japan safe and sound under his supervision without fake flowery bullshit.
not only that, his anger management classes have been kicking his ass. it was a requirement as soon as they threw katsuki on the front lines— he needed to attend regular sessions. it was believed that going to talk about his feelings, forced out of his protective shell of aggression and anger, would improve his performance.
whatever the hell that meant.
you know full and well how katsuki has been feeling about his current predicament. he brought it up all the time over whatever fancy dinner he treated you to, complaining about responsibility and growth and the likes. the man simply needed emotional guidance, he needed to learn healthier ways to deal with his feelings and mental hurdles because they were strong. everything about him was so very strong.
though, when he didn’t feel like running an irritated hand through his mop of thick ash hair while he spewed profanities about his braindead therapist or his dick-sucking bosses, he’d keep you stuffed.
it was a particularly taxing day on his end, seeing as though spring tends to bring out the evil motives and the villains. popping off explosions and knocking wrongdoers the fuck out could only go so far for his stress, for his mental constipation.
no, today he needed more. he needed to shut his brain up, needed to direct the anger and resentment and frustration elsewhere. what better way to deal with his problems than take it out on his pretty baby?
“been forever since i’ve given you good dick, hah?” katsuki hisses as his head lolls back lazily, thunking against the sleek leather of his backseat, rough hand planted limply on the curve of your waist. you look godsend hovering over him, your shoulders flexing as you grip on his thick thighs, trembling like a goddamn leaf as you fight to keep yourself up.
he’s got you riding him because he’d be damned if he put any extra effort into the shitty day. today was your day to take control, a rare one because he couldn’t be bothered. katsuki had called you up as soon as his patrol ended, voice void of emotion in fear that he’d end up snapping at you for any minuscule reason. after all, you hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve his berating.
your pussy cries and sobs as you bounce on his cock sensually, the strain making your mind fog up and blank on your train of thought. it was almost a routine for the pro to use your body for a nice shutdown, you felt it was the best way to thank him as a citizen. he sought you out on his worst days and you never failed to follow through, something he fucking adores about you.
his jaw is slack, blonde stubble decorating his skin, tongue slithering out to lick at his lips. you were so damn wet and tight around him, it was just enough to help him block out the spiel he had received earlier in the day about working on his rescue skills. nah, he didn’t need to change himself for the sake of others, you seemed to like him just as he was.
“shit, you’re filth. jus’ a filthy girl,” the sound of his voice, mumbled and distant, makes your cunt throb. your walls suction him tight, coating him in a glossy mess of your pussy drool. he swears he could die happy right here and his mind is nearly blank as he slips a thumb in your ass, huffing out a quiet chuckle at the way your back arches immediately.
no matter how nasty his attitude can be, you come back for more. you always do.
144 notes
·
View notes
Text
LOST IN OUR VICES | TWO
Chapter Summary | A proper date has Marcus falling even further into his lie about who he is, but when you're as beautiful as you are, he can't find it in himself to care all that much.
Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student F!Reader
Word Count | 4.7K
Chapter Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship between a professor & student, Marcus continues to go along with a lie, art gallery date (I know nothing about art so go easy on me), romantic rain kisses, a dinner date featuring food and alcohol, two idiots slowly falling in love. Explicit smut - oral sex (f&m), a smattering of exhibitionism, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, some light somno (Marcus wakes you up eating you out), absolutely filthy talk, finger sucking, cumplay and I think that covers everything!
Authors Note | This..... well, what can I say. It simply fell out of me once I got into the swing of things - I wanted to make Professor Pike filthy and I think I've managed it. I'd love to know your thoughts, so feel free to comment, reblog or send me asks about this! As always, a huge thank you to @undercoverpena for reading this over and to @saradika for the beautiful divider.
Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi
Marcus is stood at the bottom of the steps to the National Gallery, easy to spot in the crowd. He’d not really left your mind for the entire week, your lips still holding the ghost of his, the feel of his palm against your ass still branded onto your skin. You’d talked almost every day, texts back and forth, the usual thing when you were getting to know someone, but when he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, and then flashing that smile at you, he’s even more gorgeous than you’d remembered.
He grasps your hand in his own and leads you up the steps and into the gallery. He picks one of the free maps up and grabs a pen from his back pocket, telling you to circle three rooms. You’ve been here before and know exactly the paintings you want to see so it’s an easy task. He does the same, citing that if you wander aimlessly, you’ll be here all day, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he’s got dinner reservations you have to keep.
Marcus picks Sunflowers by Van Gogh first, the bright yellow flowers bring you joy whenever you see them, especially so in these dark, winter months when life is so scarce. You insist on seeing The Fighting Temeraire because it reminds you of your grandfather, the reason you love art so much.
“I remember coming here with him when I was very small,” You explain, stood in front of the painting, “We stood here for so long, and I just remember thinking I wanted to learn more about it all.”
The rest of the afternoon slips by like that, showing each other paintings until you’ve run out. You’re stood in front of Marcus’ last pick, The Garden of Love. Somewhere along the afternoon, he’s taken hold of your hand, fingers entwined with yours.
“You can see the brush strokes,” He muses, pulling you in front of him, your back dangerously close to his front, his free hand pointing over your shoulder, “Lean forward, you can see them, I promise.”
And he’s right, his back pressed to yours to push you forward so you can see them. His mouth right by your ear as he talks you through what you can see, the stray brush hairs and the way the grass has been painted to give it movement. There are goosebumps flowing across your skin, before he remembers when you are and moves away from you slightly, letting your heartbeat return to normal.
There’s a moment where he checks his watch, then he takes hold of your hand and starts dragging you from the gallery - paintings blurring as you have to run a little to keep up with the pace. When you reach the front entrance, you hear it before you see it, the downpour of rain, fat droplets hitting the ground, forming puddles. You curse the fact you hadn’t properly checked the weather before leaving.
You look to Marcus, who holds up a finger, drops your hand slightly, then steps over to the side where a burly security guard nods his head toward Marcus and takes a step out of the way. There’s a small umbrella stand behind him and you watch as Marcus reaches over and plucks one of the umbrellas from it.
“Thanks, Mike, see you next week buddy.”
Mike tips his hat to Marcus, and then at you when he clutches your hand in his once more, adding a wink and a knowing smirk towards you like he knows exactly what's going to happen for the rest of the day.
You step into the downpour, letting Marcus hover the umbrella over the two of you. He stops, lets you take in the surroundings - Trafalgar Square bathed in darkness and soft light from the streetlamp’s. You crane your neck to look up at Nelson’s column.
“I remember coming here when I was younger, with one of my friends, and trying to take a picture of me touching the top of it from down there,” You point your finger down towards Whitehall, you know exactly where you stood all those years ago, “Hold on,” You say, fishing your phone out of your pocket, opening up the camera roll and scrolling as far back as you can, to find the exact photo you’re talking about, holding it in front of him, Marcus laughs, because the tip of your finger is nowhere near the top of the column, “Not my best attempt, I must say.”
Pocketing your phone, you take a few steps to the left, starting off to your dinner reservation, when you feel the warmth of Marcus’ palm slip around your wrist, turning you around so you’re stood in front of him, toe-to-toe, your face tilted up at him.
He brings his free hand, the one not holding the umbrella, up to your cheek, and you feel his thumb brush over the skin there, ever-so gently, before he’s leaning down, lips across yours in a soft press. You step forward, moving close enough to him to wrap your arms around his neck - droplets of water from the edge of the umbrella dripping onto his jacket as he kisses you.
You can hear the rushing of the traffic around you, splashing through pools of water, and the chatter of people around you, locals and tourists alike, but none of it matters. Not when there’s that low pool of butterflies churning in your stomach, and certainly not when he pulls away, tip of his nose pressed to yours as you bite your lip a little, none of it matters except him.
“So, what does next week have in store for you?” Marcus asks, sipping on his glass of wine.
“Outside of trying to hit my weekly word count, I'm going to a public lecture that professor Pike is giving at UCL on Thursday.”
Marcus is mid-sip, choking slightly on it as he swallows, covering his mouth with his napkin to try and keep whatever this is under control.
“Are you alright?” You ask, concern dripping from your voice.
“Yeah,” He says, holding up a hand, coughing a little to clear his throat, “Sorry, swallowed wrong,” There’s another pause as he sips from his water, “That sounds interesting though, what is he lecturing on?”
“He’s lecturing on counterfeit art,” You explain, knife cutting through your steak, “He used to work for the FBI and I think the lecture supplements the release of his new book.”
“I had no idea he was an ex-agent,” Marcus shrugs, “Sounds interesting though, you’ll have to give me the rundown next time we meet.”
“You could always come with me?” You offer.
He smiles and lets out a little chuckle, “What time is it?”
“It starts at 6:30.”
You watch as he chews on his food, thinking for a moment, “I might be able to make it, I’ll have to let you know how teaching goes that day, but it definitely sounds interesting,” You pick up your wine to sip at it, “But if I can’t make it, we can certainly do something next weekend, okay?”
He politely insists on going back to your place once the meal is over. Apparently not expecting this was to go so well, he hadn’t tidied and didn’t want you to think bad of him when your eyes glanced over the mess. It’s endearing to you, and you’re only more than welcome to have him over. The bed needs christening anyway.
Marcus holds you hand this time on the walk from the station. It’s dark and cold but thankfully the rain has stopped. He pulls you away from the edge of the pavement when a car threatens to splash you as it passes you, then insists that you walk on the inside so you don’t get wet. It’s those small things that make you smile, that make your tummy flutter, makes you realise he knows how to treat someone.
It makes you think about the last person who had been in his position - never getting this far, mainly due to the fact that on the second date he insisted that you made him feel stupid when you spoke about your research. You wanted to tell him that was because he was, but you held your tongue, let him pay for dinner and then told him you didn’t see things working out.
When you let the two of you into your apartment, you flick on some of the lamps instead of the big light and watch as he walks to the long windows that look out onto the garden. You’re a few floors up, looking down on the garden from a height and you can see a few people milling around, illuminated in the dark by the orange glow of the lounge lights from the ground floor.
“Nice place.” Marcus murmurs, hands in his pockets as he looks out of the window.
“Yeah, I can’t deny it,” You smile, “Do you want a drink?”
He turns to face you, “Not really.” He speaks with a smirk.
He holds out a hand, palm upright to the ceiling. You wander over to him and let your own hand slip into this, relishing the feeling of his hand closing over yours, gently dragging you towards him. The way his other arm slips around the small of your back is effortless, as is the way he pulls your entire body to his, mouth slanting over yours in a soft kiss.
It’s over too quickly for your liking, but then he’s bringing both is his hands up to your face, clutching your cheeks in his palms, “You look beautiful in this light.” He murmurs, looking at you, warm. orange glow from your lamps illuminating you perfectly.
“So do you.” You almost whisper, letting your hands grip at the edges of his jacket, smiling as he lets you push it off his body.
“What do you want?” He asks softly, “Tell me what you want, baby.”
Looking up at him, bringing your hands to the collar of his shirt, you undo the first two of his buttons, “What do you think I want?”
“I wouldn’t want to assume,” He speaks back, the zip of your jacket caught between his thumb and pointer finger, slowly dragging it down, inch-by-inch, “I want to hear it.”
You bring your hand up to cover his then, slowly pushing it down until your jacket it fully unzipped, “I want you to take my clothes off,” You say with a flutter of your eyelashes, “And then I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk straight.”
Your hand lets go of his, letting his shove your jacket off your shoulders to fall to the floor. That hand sinks down his chest until your palm runs across the front of his jeans, bulge evident as you press more firmly, biting your lip as he gasps.
“You’ve got a filthy mouth.” He groans, running his thumb over your bottom lip.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Marcus.” You wink, slowly falling to your knees in front of him.
He tangles a hand in the hair at the back of your neck and pulls gently, making you look up at him, “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Marcus doesn’t protest again, just looks down at you, sitting pretty on your knees, and raises his eyebrows as if to tell you that if you want it, you can take it. Your fingers work his belt open, pull it through the loops of his trousers, before it’s added to the pile of discarded clothes so far. You work the button open, and slowly drag his zipper down, before you hook your fingers into the waistband, dragging his trousers and his underwear down to his knees in one go.
It takes all of your willpower to ignore the gentle bob of his cock right in front of your face. He’s big, probably the biggest you’ve ever seen. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, pumping your fist slowly, as you bring your lip to every inch of skin around his cock, pressing hot, wet open-mouth kisses all along the small swell of his belly, until you can hear his laboured breathing and his hand is tightly fisted in your hair.
You pull back, finally dragging your hand all the way up the length of his cock, letting your thumb trace gently over the head, swiping the pearly bead of precum that sits there, swirling it over the head. Then, you lean forward, eyes strained to keep them locked on his own, as you press a single kiss to the weeping head of his cock, tongue darting out just a little to taste him.
“Jesus Christ,” You can hear Marcus mutter from above you, “Darling you’ve got to put me out of my misery.”
Looking into his pleading eyes, those brown orbs glossed over with wet, practically begging you to stop teasing him are too much, so you do indeed put him out of his misery. Opening your mouth, letting the head of his cock rest there just a moment, letting your tongue tease the underside of him just a little, before you wrap your lips around him and hollow out your cheeks, letting your mouth slide down his length as much as possible until he hits the back of your throat, the length you cannot fit into your mouth still has your fist working it.
His back is to the window, the streetlights and the glow from the apartment building across the garden is bathing him in an angelic light. He leans back, letting his back rest against the pristine glass as you move your mouth up and down his cock, letting him hit the back of your throat, the free hand that isn’t pumping at the rest of his length coming up to cup his balls, gently massaging them.
You can feel his hands scoop your hair up, gather it at the back of your head so he can look down and see your face as his cock disappears into the wet cavern of your mouth. It’s sloppy, there’s saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, and when you pull off him to catch your breath, running your fist along his length, it’s soaked - line of saliva connecting him to your mouth.
“You getting it nice and wet, baby?” He asks, voice strained, “Getting it nice and wet so it slips into your pussy nice and easy?”
You’re about to put your mouth back on him when he brings one of his hands to clutch at your chin, shaking his head. He pulls you up to your feet, turns himself around so you’re the one in front of the window. His hands on your waist move you so you’re facing outward, looking at the darkness of the garden below.
Marcus reaches around your body, chin resting on your shoulder so he can see what he’s doing as he undoes each of the buttons of your shirt. He pulls it off your shoulders, discards it to be forgotten on the floor.
He trails his hands up the exposed skin of your ribcage, letting his palms rest over the cups of your bra. He squeezes gently once, then again with a tighter grip, then he’s trailing his fingers around your back to the clasp, where he manages to undo it without any trouble, letting that fall to the ground too.
You’re acutely aware that if anyone was to look up from the ground below, they would be able to see exactly what was going on, but when his warm hands come up to cup the weight of your tits in his palms, fingers rolling your nipples into stiff peaks, you can’t find it in yourself to care, you only tip your head back onto his shoulder and sigh in pleasure as his hot mouth starts sucking at the skin of your neck.
One of his hands wanders, skimming down the skin of your belly, past the waistband of your skirt and tights, until his hand is cupping your sex, hot through the cotton of your underwear. His fingers trail down, right to where your aching cunt is leaking for him, wet patch clearly evident on the material.
“Fuck me,” He groans, pushing himself into you, the hardness of his cock grinding against the material covering your ass, “You’re fucking soaked for me baby.”
You can feel him drag his hand back up, just slightly, until it’s slipping under the material this time. Finally his hand is right where you want it. You can feel his fingers slipping between your folds, inching down until they’re mixing in the pool of slick, dragging upwards until his finger finds your clit. He presses gently, circling slowly but it still makes your knees buckle. Marcus steadies you with one hand around your waist.
“Careful, baby,” He whispers into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe, “Don’t want you to fall.”
You’d have a smart retort if his fingers hadn’t rendered you silent. You close your eyes, let yourself focus on those precise circles of his fingers, moving your hips in time to his movements. You bring an arm up, wrap it around his neck and turn your face, feeling his lips find your own, mouth open and tongue melding with yours.
Marcus lets his fingers move from your clit and you let out a whine of protest, until you feel him slip two of them straight into your cunt, as far as he can fit them, curling them gently against that spot inside you that has you falling forward, palms against the glass of the window.
You feel his spare hand grip at the hem of your skirt, shoving it up to bunch at your lower back, that hand then falling to grip your ass through the dark material of your tights. His fingers are tight against your skin, gripping you, spreading you, as his fingers continue to work inside you. He pressed just perfectly into one spot, making you cry out. You can feel the tightening in your core, feel your pussy flutter around his fingers.
“Oh baby,” He coos, “Are you going to come?” You nod your head, “Tell me,” He demands, hand moving up to tear your tights down and over your ass, “Tell me how good it feels.”
“Marcus,” You whine, moving your hips down in time to the upwards movements of his fingers into your cunt, the slick there causing a lewd squelch each time he does it, “Fuck, please, it feels so good.”
“Please?” He chuckles, dragging your body back up from it’s slouched position, “Please what?”
“Make me come.”
And so he does. He curls his fingers, sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and works your body perfectly, until you’re whining and wiggling against him. He drags his fingers from your pussy, drags them back up to your clit, circles it maybe three or four times and then he’s flinging you over the edge, tight coil snapping in your tummy, pleasure blooming everywhere as those fingers work you through every second of your climax.
You’re boneless now, pussy throbbing, sweaty skin sticking to the skin he’s got on show, as he moves you gently towards your bed. He lies you down on your back, strips you of everything else you’re still wearing, and then steps back, taking off each item of his clothing that he still has on. You watch him unwrap himself in front of you, your hand drifting between your legs, spread for him and on show. It doesn’t matter that you’re sensitive, you let your fingers dance lightly across your clit, spreading yourself open for him.
“Like a work of fucking art, baby. ” He murmurs, knees sinking into the bed as he settles between your thighs.
He swats your hand away from your cunt, leans forward to kiss you as he gently slips two of his fingers back inside your pussy. He pulls back, brings his slicked fingers to his mouth and makes a show of sucking them clean, just inches from your face.
“Taste so good baby,” He speaks, letting those two fingers find your aching hole, pressing inside once more, and you think he’s going to do it again, but this time, when he drags those fingers from you, he grips your chin, making your mouth fall ope, “Taste yourself.” He orders, watching you as your tongue slips out, inviting his fingers in.
You make just as much of a show as he did, sucking his two fingers into your mouth, tongue dipping between them to suck them clean. When he’s satisfied, he kisses you again, lets his tongue mix with yours, not just his taste now, but the taste of your cunt on his tongue too - musky but sweet.
“I want to fuck you so bad, baby.” He murmurs into your ear, settling himself into a position where you can feel his cock dragging through your wet folds.
“Please,” You beg, “I want you so badly.”
“Do you have a condom?” He asks, nose nuzzling at the delicate skin behind your ear.
“I do,” You say, “But I take the pill and I’m clean.”
He pushes back, body resting over yours, chest pressed against your tits, “You want me to fuck you bare?”
“I want you to fuck me bare, Marcus,” You whisper, hands cupping his face, “I want you to fill me up.”
“You’re something else.” He speaks softly, one of his hands reaching between you to guide his cock down, head nudging at your aching cunt.
He doesn’t say anything else, he just presses himself into you, feeding you every inch of his cock as slowly as he can manage. With every inch, your head tips back, until he’s fully inside of you, tip of his cock kissing at your cervix, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” He groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck, “You’re tight as a fucking fist baby girl.”
“So big,” Is all you manage to choke out as he starts moving, slowly dragging his cock out of you to push back in, “I’m so full.”
“That’s right baby,” He agrees, pushing himself up onto his palms that are planted on either side of your face, “So full of my cock, right?”
This position allows him a little more freedom to move his hips, which he does, dragging out of you and then pushing his cock back into you with a little more force and it makes you fucking sing. He feels so good, cock brushing at all the right spots inside you as he speeds up a little. You look down between your bodies, watching his length spear into your pussy, watching it disappear inside you with every thrust.
“I won’t…” Marcus sighs, “I’m not gonna last long baby.”
“I don’t care,” You sigh, “I wanna feel you.”
Marcus picks a rhythm - rough thrusts of his hips that have his cock hitting at the depths of you, his head dipping down to take one of your nipples into his mouth - worrying at it with his teeth and then soothing it with his tongue. You’re so close, you can feel another orgasm right there on the cusp, so close that you can feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. When you close them, you feel a trail of tear drip down and settle in pools in your ears.
“No need to cry baby,” Marcus soothes, letting his mouth lick at the trails of tears from your eyes, “I got you, I can feel you, come for me again baby, it’s okay.”
He shifts positions slightly, dragging your legs up to rest on his shoulders, then he presses forward, folding you practically in half and then picks up his pace.
You’ve never felt like this, no-one has ever rendered you into such a wet, squealing mess before. Your nails are digging into his arms, leaving half-moon patterns there. Every punch of his cock inside you is pleasure mixed with a pang of pain. You can’t breathe, but you don’t care, because with each stroke of his cock you’re falling further and further, until you close your eyes, tip your head back and see starts as your second orgasm tears through you. You hear yourself scream for him, mouth dropped open as he loses whatever control he had before. It’s hard and it’s fast, and it’s all fucking worth it when he drops your legs and goes still.
Your name is falling from his lips like a chant, like a prayer at church as you feel his cock throb inside you, white hot cum painting every inch of the inside of you. He manages to keep his weight from collapsing onto you, pushing himself back on his knees instead, letting his cock slip from your tight heat.
You watch him as he holds your legs spread, watching his cum seep out of you. It’s performative and entirely unnecessary, but you dip a hand between your legs, use two of your fingers to spread yourself open and push lightly, letting him watch his cum pool at your hole, dripping down between the cheeks of your ass. You feel one of his fingers follow the trail, scooping it back up to press back inside your pussy, then, that fingers is slipped into your mouth.
“How do we taste baby?”
“Pretty good.”
In the moments that follow, once you’ve used the bathroom, the two of you settle under your sheets. Marcus on his back with you draped over his chest. He’s drawing shapes on your back, pressing kisses to the crown of your head as you slowly drift in and out of sleep.
When you wake, it’s still dark, the moon is high in the sky, and his face his buried between your thighs, leisurely eating at your cunt like he’s got all the time in the world. Your let your fingers tangle in his brown curls as he slowly works you up, tongue lapping at your clit softly until you’re writhing and twisting in the sheets as he makes you come for the third time that night.
He kisses you as he settles back down next to you. He turns you over so he’s pressed against your back, holds on of your legs up so he can push his cock into you again. You’re sore and spend and every muscle in your body aches, but he’s soft this time, rocking his hips into you from behind, slowly fucking you with his arms wrapped around you, both of you looking out into the darkness beyond the windows. He comes inside you for the second time that night, but neither of you make time to move. His cock slotted perfectly inside you, his cum leaking out slowly around him and down your thighs as you both fall asleep again.
In the morning, the storm has cleared and the low winter light wakes you up. The bed is empty, but still warm when you move onto your back, eyes adjusting to the light. Marcus is at the foot of the bed, doing up the last buttons on his shirt.
“I have to go.” He says simply, but with a tone that says he’d rather do nothing more than crawl back into bed with you.
“That’s okay,” You say, pushing yourself up, holding up the sheets to cover yourself, “Will you come back later?”
“Do you want me to come back later?” He asks, sitting on the side of the bed to slip his shoes on.
You shift slightly, moving so you can tuck a particularly unruly curl behind his ear, “I do.”
He turns, smiles at you, then kisses you softly, “Then yes, I’ll come back later.”
#Marcus Pike x Reader#Marcus Pike x you#Marcus Pike x female reader#Marcus Pike x f!reader#Marcus Pike smut#Marcus Pike#marcus pike fanfiction#Marcus Pike fanfic#Marcus Pike fic#Pedro pascal#Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal#the mentalist#the mentalist fic#the mentalist fanfic#the mentalist fanfiction#Marcus Pike fluff#Marcus Pike au#pedro characters#pedrostories
156 notes
·
View notes
Text
pretty little bitch - j.yh
pairing :: jeong yunho x male/amab reader
viewer rating :: 18+
genres/au's :: blowjob porno lol. (smut)
content warnings :: cursing, blowjob (yh receiving), degradation, deepthroating, spit kink, hair pulling, hard dom!yh, brat!reader
word count :: original :: 377 ; after :: 378 (big change ik lmao)
requested by an anon on my old account (pff wow say the middle of that sentence three times fast lmao)
your guts twisted in a pleasing way as yunho clapped his hand over his mouth in an effort to smother a feral growl. his hand fell away from his face despite his efforts, falling limp onto the faux leather of the car seat.
yun ho tore his eyes open and looked down at you, his grip on your hair tightening exponentially when his eyes were blessed with the pretty sight in front of him: you, his long-time lover, on your knees between his legs, your face black-cherry-red halfway down your neck, drool sliding down the side of your chin as you happily gave your most fantastic blowjob yet.
yunho tutted through the back of his throat, throwing his head back into the back of his seat and yanking roughly on your hair with no warning whatsoever. you groaned in response, your eyes rolling up into your head and fluttering closed. yunho chuckled darkly.
“what a filthy little slut you are m/n,” he spat, “sitting there on your knees, taking my cock like the pretty little bitch you know you are.”
you only kept doing what you were doing, but you sped up and purposely moaned into his cock. he moaned loudly, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up into his eyes.
“keep being so loud and you’ll get us caught, hm? you want us to get caught like this, whore?”
your mouth was wrapped around yunho's cock and he was beginning to force your head up and down the length of it, so all you could manage for a response was a muffled, slutty moan. you felt your face heat up even more in response to his words, and you closed your eyes and whimpered into yunho’s cock, making him let loose a loud, guttural groan.
after a few moments of this, yunho actually managed to form a fully developed idea through the fog your pleasurable ministrations were putting in his mind. he grinned to himself, taking hold of your hair and pulling you off of him. he leaned down, kissing you violently for a few seconds before breaking away. he then grabbed your chin roughly again and spat into your mouth, the only words he directed towards his pretty little slut being,
“swallow.”
and you obeyed.
© seonghwas-lighter 2023-2024.
#chaece.exe 🌑#fever.dreams 🌑#cacaokpop#preciousillusionsnet#ateez#yunho#ateez smut#ateez x male reader#jeong yunho#jeong yunho x male reader#male idol x male reader#ateez x male reader smut#jeong yunho x male reader smut#kpop x male reader#kpop x lgbt#kpop x male reader smut
353 notes
·
View notes
Text
all mine. (m)
pairing: enemiestolovers!jaemin x reader
words: 5k+
summary: a ridiculous dare has you pushed back into the company of na jaemin, the true bane of your existence.
genre: smut
warnings: public public sex, squirting, degradation, creampies, multiple orgasms
“No. Absolutely not.”
Renjun whines after you, fingers grabbing at your shirt childishly. “Come on, help me out here! If we don’t all show up with a date, our entire frat gets shamed! Shamed!”
“Boo fucking hoo,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. You set your books down on a nearby bench, ignoring the odd looks thrown your way at the sight of your best friend clinging to you desperately.
Renjun’s fraternity has had this weird rivalry with another house since before you even entered university. The result of this ended up in petty fights such as defacing each other’s front lawns, streaking through campus just to prove something, and most recently, daring each other to have every single member show up with a date to the next frat party. It wasn’t difficult for Renjun’s house to find their own dates since most of them were easy on the eyes. Their only problem, however, was Na Jaemin.
The bane of your existence — Na Jaemin has this notorious track record on campus for sleeping with most of the human population and ignoring them as soon as he’s done. As a result, he’s run out of options for dates to the upcoming party.
“Renjun,” you hiss loudly, pushing him away from you. “I will never go out with Na Jaemin again. Don’t even think about asking me twice.”
He glares at you before stomping his foot like a toddler. “You don’t even have to hang out with him! Just show up on his arm for like five seconds so we can win.”
“Just ask Ningning to go with him!” You hiss, fed up with the conversation. “It’s not my fault he’s made this reputation for himself.”
It was your freshman year when you were deceived by Na Jaemin. He was the sweetest boy you had ever met, eyes sparkling as he poured you your first ever college drink. You two talked for hours that night, ignoring the commotion of the party around you and focusing on yourselves. He took you out for a few dates after that before you finally gave in, allowing him to fuck you in Mark’s bedroom that he mistakenly thought was his.
It wasn’t until the next day when you overheard from Yeji that Jaemin did the same exact thing to her the week before. You declared war on Na Jaemin from that day forward, regardless if he was friends with Renjun or not.
“Fine. You know, I didn’t want to do this, but decisions need to be made,” Renjun huffs, and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “Lee Seojeong.”
Your head almost does a 360 at the name. Your eyes narrow, sizing up your best friend.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would.”
You both glare at each other for a good five minutes before you scream, caving in to his demands. He exclaims loudly in victory, not noticing that the rest of campus has scurried away in fear from the two of you.
—
“Here’s how this is going to go. We’ll show up cordially, join arms to keep appearances for five minutes, win the stupid fight you have with the other frat, and then you’re going to keep your filthy paws off me for the rest of the night.”
Jaemin coughs awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “That sounds okay. Is there a reason we’re in the middle of the soccer field for this?”
You roll your eyes. “It’s like you’re not even listening to me. I told you I needed you in a remote location to discuss this in case the conversation led to me wanting to murder you.”
Jaemin blinks at you, his eyes filled with both fear and curiosity. He admits that he was genuinely surprised when Renjun revealed you agreed to go with him to the next frat party. He knows you hate him for what he did in freshman year, especially since you made low hissing noises whenever you passed by him on campus. Renjun specifically told him to do as you say in fear of your warpath.
“How were you planning on murdering me?”
You tap your chin, pondering his question. “Maybe fire? I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead, I figured I would know when I was in the moment.”
“Okay,” he murmurs slowly, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He stands from his seat, a plastic chair you brought out to the field so that he would understand if this was going to work, he would have to submit to you. “I mean, thanks for coming with me, murder aside. I didn’t think it would be this rough to find myself someone to be with for the night.”
You scoff. “Oh, yes, because the perfect Na Jaemin is incapable of getting any man or woman to succumb to him. How the mighty have fallen if your last resort is me.”
“You would never be my last resort,” Jaemin responds genuinely, ignoring the glare he receives in return. “I know I was shitty to you, but you’re a fucking showstopper. Any one of my brothers would be lucky to have you on their arm.”
You had no idea what type of game he was playing, but you were not going to entertain him regardless of your heart beating like it was going to come out of your chest. You step closer to him until you’re almost chest to chest, and his eyes widen slightly at the proximity. He still smells the same as freshman year, and you remember how the scent used to calm you. Now, it just makes you angrier.
“You listen to me, Na Jaemin. You’re right, I’m a fucking showstopper. That also means I can take your frail little ego and smash it into a million pieces. Don’t even think about breathing near me until the party. If I hear another fucking half-assed compliment from you, I’ll shove my hand so far up-“
“Woah woah woah,” you hear someone say, stepping in between the two of you. Lee Jeno frowns at you, hearing the tail end of your threats. “What’s going on?”
Jaemin notices how you immediately retreat when Jeno arrives, smiling genuinely and taking a step back. Jaemin doesn’t like how starry eyed you suddenly turn for his best friend.
“Jeno, hi!” You beam. “I was just joking with Jaemin. I’m going with him to your party this weekend.”
“Really?” Jeno questions in surprise. “Oh shit, I didn’t know. I was actually coming over to ask you if you wanted to go with me.”
Puzzle pieces start clicking together in Jaemin’s head, and his eyes trail from your giggly form to Jeno’s wide smile. His eyes narrow, and a pool of jealousy stirs at the bottom of his stomach. He quickly moves past Jeno to swing an arm around your shoulder.
“Too bad then. Guess I beat you to the punch,” Jaemin says confidently, ignoring your silent daggers at his touch. “We were just talking about what we were going to wear together.”
“Ah,” Jeno shuffles awkwardly. “So Jaemin told you it’s a matching couples event?”
“What?”
“Of course I did!”
Your simultaneous response causes Jeno’s eyebrow to raise.
Jaemin laughs. “I was just getting around to telling her that. As you can see, there are still a handful of things we need to discuss.”
“Right,” Jeno hums, not convinced in the slightest. “I’ll get out of your hair then. I guess I’ll ask Seojeong if she wants to go with me.”
“No!” You suddenly yell in protest, alarming the two frat brothers. You quickly clear your throat and swallow your embarrassment. “I mean, no. I heard she’s going to be out of town this weekend.”
“And where did you hear that from?” Jaemin asks amusedly. You elbow his side and shrug his arm off of you.
“Just around. I think Minjeong would want to go with you if you asked her.”
“Minjeong’s dating Donghyuck, remember? He’ll kill me if I ask her, he already has some elaborate proposal all set up,” Jeno reminds you.
You smile so sweetly that Jaemin thinks you’re trying to blind his best friend. “Doesn’t that just make it more fun?”
Jeno’s confused expression turns into a smirk at the challenge.
“Shit, you’re a genius. I’m going to find her before Donghyuck does. Bye, guys!”
Jaemin watches Jeno jog off the field, and also notices the way your eyes trail after him. Once he’s gone, you shift back into murder mode.
“Don’t ever touch me like that again,” you hiss, pushing him away from you. You brush your shoulders in an attempt to get Jaemin’s germs off of you.
He rolls his eyes. You were definitely as dramatic as Renjun. “So you like Jeno, huh?”
Your head turns so fast that he’s sure you get whiplash.
“What? What are you talking about?” You laugh it off, scratching the back of your head and failing to meet his stare.
“Hm,” he hums, enjoying you squirm underneath his questioning. “Interesting. Guess I’ll have to keep him far away from you.”
You glare at him. “Don’t even try it. I don’t like Jeno and it’s none of your business in the first place! I can still reign fire if need be.”
Jaemin suddenly remembers another warning Renjun gave him earlier — never take your threats seriously. His grin stretches wider, and it makes your heart thump in a way you don’t appreciate.
“I’m sure you can, beautiful. Either way, remember that I’m the one who's taking you to that party this weekend.”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever, Na Jaemin.” You start walking away, throwing up two middle fingers as your way of saying goodbye.
Jaemin smiles to himself as he watches your figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
“Hm. Interesting.”
—
“You look good. Like, really fucking good.”
Your eyes narrow at the sight of Jaemin in the mirror. You turn around to face him, prepared to utilize the pocket knife Renjun got you a few years ago.
“How did you get into my room?”
You try to cover yourself with one of your hoodies you left on the floor, but Jaemin’s eyes have already locked in on you, like a predator meeting its prey. You’re trying on the dress you want to wear to the frat party this weekend — a baby pink slip that just barely covers your ass with a low neckline that makes your breasts look amazing. You figured that if you had to show up with Na Jaemin, you could at least look good while doing it.
“Your roommate let me in,” he murmurs, eyes still devouring you hungrily. “I’m glad she did because this really made my day.”
You roll your eyes. “You know, I’m not afraid to skin you alive in the middle of my apartment.”
“As much as I love you talking about ways to murder me, I came over because we’re supposed to be matching for the party, remember?”
“Yes, and I told you I would be wearing pink,” you huff. “Is there a reason you needed in-person confirmation?”
“You know there are like a hundred different shades of pink? I was borrowing one of Donghyuck’s shirts when he pointed it out.”
You sigh at his lame excuses. “You could’ve just asked me for a photo.”
“I think if I got any evidence of this dress, I’d only imagine what you look like underneath it.”
You swallow at the pool of wetness leaking in your panties. You inch closer to your nightstand, where your pocket knife is located. “You have five seconds to leave, Na Jaemin. Final warning.”
He smirks. “Alright, I’ll head out. Can’t wait for this weekend, princess.”
You watch him carefully as he exits your room, and you hear the shut of the front door a little after. You throw down your hoodie on the floor before stomping into the living room. Ningning is innocently eating a bowl of ramen on the couch, paying no mind to the havoc that Jaemin just brought in.
“Why did you let him in here?” You demand, crossing your arms to show your frustration.
She shrugs. “Because he’s cute and wanted to see you. I thought we always had a cute boy policy.”
You roll your eyes. “Jaemin is not cute. He’s the devil reincarnated.”
She giggles. “Renjun’s right. You’re down bad.”
Your mouth drops open. “I am not! I want Jaemin to burn in the pits of hell!” You nearly scream, fists balling at the thought of sweet vengeance. “You know I like Jeno.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “You and Jeno have been flirting with each other for years now and nothing’s come out of it! Not to mention Seojeong-“
“Don’t say her name,” you warn, throwing your hand up to stop her.
Ningning, like most of your other friends, is used to your dramatics by now. “Whatever. All I’m saying is that Jeno and you have made no progress for years. Jaemin, however, looks like he wanted to devour you the moment he saw you in that dress.”
“That’s because he’s a horny frat boy. He’ll like me in whatever I’m wearing.”
“Listen, did Jaemin fuck you good last time?”
You grow embarrassed by the question, remembering that longing feeling in your chest when you realized no one would fuck you half as good as Jaemin did.
“Maybe.”
She rolls her eyes. “Then have some fun! Yes, Jaemin fucks anything with two walking legs but he does it right! I’m sure Jeno won’t find out anyways.”
You fail to come up with a reply and return to your room, scanning yourself in the mirror once again. You do a little turn to see how well the dress compliments your body.
A one night stand couldn’t hurt, right?
—
“You look amazing. Holy shit.”
You giggle under Jeno’s gaze, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress. He’s the first one to greet you outside the frat house, waiting for his date.
“So you got Minjeong to go with you?” You smile, appreciating how his eyes are glued to you.
“Yeah, Donghyuck almost shoved me into the campus fountain,” he chuckles. “Worth it. He asked Seojeong instead.”
“O-Oh,” you laugh awkwardly. “That’s nice for her.”
“Am I missing something?” Jaemin says, approaching you two. He’s wearing a pink button up and slacks, his hair gelled up to make him look even more mouthwatering. “Thought you were my date for the night.”
“Unfortunately,” you dismiss. You smile again at Jeno before wishing him goodbye, allowing Jaemin to lead you into the frat house.
When Jaemin’s hand drifts to your lower back, you swat him away.
“Did you already forget the rules?”
He taps his chin. “From what I remember, I’m allowed to touch you for the sake of appearances until we win. Isn’t that right?”
You know you’ve lost this round, so you keep your mouth shut and cross your arms. Your stomach flutters when you feel Jaemin playing with the spaghetti straps of your dress, fingers dancing around your shoulders. His breath causes goosebumps to rise, fingers steadily working to remove one of your straps-
“You made it!”
A body crashes into yours and you groan, pushing Renjun away from you.
“I hate you. This is your fault.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, grumpy pants. I’m just glad you haven’t killed Jaemin yet!”
“Me too,” Jaemin smirks next to you, and you elbow his side as hard as you can.
“Everyone welcome!” You hear someone shout from above you. You all look up to see Taeyong, the frat’s leader, standing upstairs. He addresses the crowd of people, and you recognize most of Renjun’s frat brothers and the rival frat. “For those of you who aren’t aware, we were recently challenged to have every frat member bring a date to the next party. As you can see, we’ve lived up to expectations.”
The statement is overtaken by a roar from his brothers, including Renjun and Jaemin, who are crushing your eardrums by their yelling. It’s easy to tell that all members of the frat have come with a date because of the matching dress code.
“So I’d like everyone to enjoy the party and drink their hearts out! All drinks and food are covered by our fellow neighbors,” Taeyong says with a victorious smirk, taking a sip out of his cup.
“Part of the dare,” Renjun mutters to you, filling you in. “They have to pay for all the food and drinks tonight.”
You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Let’s fucking eat then!”
You’re about to drag Renjun away to consume some of the desserts, but Jaemin holds you back.
“And where are you going?”
You frown, trying to wiggle out of his grip on your arm. “Getting food, dumbass. You won, bet’s over. No touching.”
You gasp when Jaemin takes a step forward, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. He leans in to whisper in your ear.
“But I didn’t even get to see what’s underneath this pretty dress of yours.”
You place your hands on his chest, trying to push him away gently.
“It’s-“ you swallow, thighs rubbing together. “It’s none of your business.”
You quickly try to look for help, but silently curse Renjun when you realize he’s left you. Jaemin’s hand starts drifting lower and lower until it grabs at the flesh of your ass, pressing his body harder against yours. You squeak in surprise when you feel yourself being pressed up against a wall.
“I think it is. You’re my date after all, aren’t you?” He questions, tongue darting out to lick at the shell of your ear.
You grow even warmer at the sudden physical contact.
“Jaemin,” you gasp, feeling his hard length press into your stomach. “N-Not here. P-Please.”
“Why not?” He laughs sinisterly. “You would do it for Jeno, wouldn’t you?”
The sound of someone calling your name interrupts you and you look over Jaemin to thank your savior. Your heart drops when you see Lee Seojeong standing there, eyes narrowed.
“Na Jaemin, what do you think you’re doing? You’re in a public place and you’re harassing my friend.”
Even though a part of you would love to escape this situation with Jaemin and crawl into a nearby hole, talking to Seojeong in any capacity is at the bottom of your list of favorite things to do.
“W-We’re fine, Seojeong. I’m okay,” you reassure, hoping she’ll drift away. The rest of the party seems to have done just that, ignoring the fact that Jaemin is caging you against the wall and is seconds away from ripping your dress off.
“Yeah, why don’t you run back to Donghyuck?” Jaemin says mindlessly, fingers still gripping you roughly. “Mind your own business for once.”
Her mouth drops at his behavior before you offer her a pleading look to go away. Her shoulders slump at your rejection and she finally leaves the two of you alone.
“You don’t like her, do you?” Jaemin hums once she’s out of eyesight, mouth ghosting over your neck.
You struggle to think. “I don’t not like her.”
He laughs. “Is it because of that rumor she spread around about Jeno?”
Your eyes widen. “Y-You know s-she was the one who did that?”
He gives you a look. “Of course. I’m his best friend. Jeno can learn to forgive and forget, but I know I would be fucking pissed if some girl was running around telling other people my dick was small. She didn’t even fucking sleep with him.”
You swallow, feeling guilt rise in your stomach. Shortly after you were dejected by Jaemin’s actions in freshman year, you started to develop a crush on his best friend. Jeno was your partner in one of your classes and you two really warmed up to one another. You quickly learned that one of your friends, Seojeong, also harbored a small crush on him. Because you tend to get crazy jealous and super impulsive, you lied to Seojeong and told her Jeno’s dick was below average to deter her advances.
You didn’t expect her to spread it around campus the way she did. Jeno forgave her after correcting the rumor, with multiple girls coming forward to confirm that it was completely false. Luckily, Seojeong never told him that it was actually you who started the rumor in the first place. You’ve done your best to avoid all interaction with Seojeong from that day forward in case she ever spilled the beans.
“She didn’t really need to sleep with him,” you whisper, ignoring Jaemin’s hand sliding up your inner thigh. “I was the one who told her.”
He completely freezes, eyes glancing up to lock with yours. A mischievous grin spreads over his face slowly, and it makes you nervous.
“Oh? So the pretty doll who’s been crushing on Jeno for years told everyone he doesn’t know how to fuck a girl?”
“I didn’t say that,” you scowl. “I just said he was a little below average. Size doesn’t matter.”
He rolls his eyes. “Baby, size always matters.” He presses even further against you and you gasp. “Feel that? You remember what it was like when I pushed all the way inside you?”
And you do remember, despite all your attempts to forget. You remember how loudly you screamed when Jaemin slid inside of you, allowing you to take him inch by inch. Your body almost gave out when he bottomed out, chest heaving in exhaustion. His hands were all over you that night, fingers desperate to hold every part of you. You remember struggling to walk properly the next day, and how shameful you felt walking out of the frat with his cum running down your thighs.
“Why don’t we talk about this in your room?” You timidly ask, becoming more and more aware of how many eyes can see the two of you.
“I like it out here,” he shrugs, fingers inching closer and closer to your cunt. “Everyone can see who you belong to.”
“I don’t belong to you!” You huff, even though it sounds like bullshit in your ears.
He chuckles. “You do. Ever since the first night I claimed you.”
“You didn’t claim me,” you protest, dignity slipping away the higher his fingers climb.
“You don’t remember? I gave you so much of my cum, baby. So much that you were leaking when you left here,” he says in pride. “That made you all mine.”
“W-Wait-“
You whimper when his thumb hooks to your panties, pulling them aside. You quickly look around, checking to see if anyone notices your bare pussy out in this frat party. Some people glance over, whispering to one another.
“Jaemin, people can see us!”
“Then let’s give them a show.”
You throw your head back against the wall when he pushes two fingers inside of you. The squelch of your wetness is unmistakable, and if you were coherent, you would be mortified by the sound.
Jaemin surprises you by kissing you, tongue pushing through your lips roughly. He nearly swallows you whole, fingers curling and scissoring your cunt desperately.
He parts from you only to mutter the dirtiest words you’ll ever hear.
“Look at how you’re fucking dripping for me. You like that everyone can see you like this? You’re making a mess on the floor, baby.” You glance down only to see that he was right, your juices have made a small puddle below you. Your embarrassment multiplies tenfold, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to escape it. Jaemin will have none of it, his other hand moving to grip your face so tightly that you open your eyes. “Keep your fucking eyes open and watch everyone talk about how wet your pussy is. I want them to see you fall apart for me.”
You’re certain you hear the whispers getting louder and even see the flash of a camera, but Jaemin makes sure to keep you focused on him.
“Do it, baby. I know you can. I know you just want my fat cock to slide into your little cunt. I’ll give it all to you.”
You shudder at the thought of him stretching you out again, a thought that’s been fueling your late night desires for years. You moan loudly as you squirt around his fingers, wetness covering his lower half and dripping onto the floor.
The frantic flashes of cameras overwhelm you as you come down from your high. You blink blearily, trying to adjust to your blurry vision.
Jaemin smirks before pulling your dress back down, eagerly licking his fingers. He hears a few hollers from his frat brothers, but he ignores them and grabs your hand, guiding you through the crowd and into his bedroom. You barely have any time to comprehend what you had just done, only hearing the click of the lock in Jaemin’s bedroom before you’re being thrown onto his bed.
“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” he clicks his tongue, staring down at you. Your eyes are cloudy from your orgasm, thighs still shaking by the intensity. “Do you think Jeno saw you being a little whore for me? Look at what you did.”
He gestures to his lower half, his slacks completely covered in your juices.
“You’re just a pretty little hole for me to use,” he chuckles, thumb brushing away the tears leaking out the corner of your eyes. “Just as I remember you — tight, wet, and the perfect fit for me. You still want to murder me by fire?”
You hum, not really registering what he was saying. You haven’t orgasmed that hard since the last time you slept with Jaemin, and it makes you feel a little dizzy.
You hear him laugh again. “God, it’s so easy to fuck you dumb. I wonder how many people took videos of you tonight, looking all helpless around my fingers.”
The clinking of his belt fills the room and your body reacts faster than your mind does, hips pushing up in the air to search for some relief on his cock.
“Silly girl. You want my cock so badly, don’t you?”
You nod, giggling and reaching for him. He smiles, taking his clothes off until he’s bare, hovering over you.
You unabashedly moan at the sight of his cock, red tip prodding at your entrance. You would never admit this to him, but no amount of toys could ever satisfy you like Jaemin’s cock has.
“Wanna feel the stretch again?” He teases, slowly pushing in.
It feels just as it did all those years ago, with your cunt struggling to stretch for him and your wetness dripping onto the sheets. He enjoys watching you take him, face contorting at both the pain and the pleasure. When he’s half inside you, he unexpectedly slams into you, taking your breath away.
“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine breathily.
His fingers find hold on your hips, angling himself before pounding into you. Your head nearly touches the headboard at the force of his thrusts, cock driving you absolutely insane. The sound of his balls slapping against your cunt fills the room, and Jaemin has no doubt a few of his frat brothers are listening outside the door.
He flips you on your stomach before you even realize it, practically mounting you as he slides back in. You swear you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock with how deep he’s hitting inside you. Your heartbeat is in your throat, body quivering at the unforgiving way he’s fucking you.
You’re sobbing at this point, dignity flown out the window as you beg and plead for him.
“Please, Jaemin- Want you so badly, baby. Want all your cum for me, just for me. Please, please, please-“
You cry when his hand suddenly finds your clit, twisting and pinching the nub roughly. You feel Jaemin’s hand tangle into your hair before he’s pushing your face down into his pillow, muffling your cries.
“You’re so fucking loud. I bet everyone at the party is creaming at the thought of me pounding you like this,” he laughs. “You used to hiss at me in the hallways whenever you saw me and now look at you. Back to where you started.”
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel another strong orgasm building in your stomach. The coil grows tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you scream at the intensity of your second orgasm. You hear the squelching grow louder and you realize you squirted again, making everything even messier.
“That’s a good little doll. Ready to be filled up again? Show everyone who’s claimed you?”
You can barely form a single word, only being able to reciprocate in actions. You slowly twist your hips back to meet his thrusts and he chuckles.
“Such a good girl. So trained, so compliant. So easy to use.”
He rams his cock inside your weeping cunt before he spurts, ribbons of his cum coating your insides. He pushes inside a few more times before pulling out, collapsing next to you. Your body is still trembling, his cum trailing down your folds.
You whimper when you finally come to, burying your face in your hands.
“I can’t believe we just did that! I let you finger me in front of everyone! People recorded it!”
He brushes it off. “Yuta and Jaehyun have done a lot worse, trust me.”
You frown, feeling that deep instinct to murder. “You’re a fucking asshole, Na Jaemin. I’m going home.”
Before you can move off the bed, however, you squeak when Jaemin rolls over, completely trapping you underneath him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls. “I haven’t gotten to taste this sweet cunt in years and you’re not ruining my chance now.”
“You don’t even like me,” you hiss, glaring at him.
He laughs. “Baby, I just fucked you into the next century. I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t like you. Don’t worry, I’ll take my share of this pretty little pussy and then you can go back out there and tell Jeno all about it. He always loves my sloppy seconds anyways.”
You’re about to yell at him even further but stop when you see him moving downwards to your cunt, tongue licking a stripe up your slit.
“All mine now, silly girl.”
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Hi everyone ♥
I have decided to revamp my masterlist in hope to give myself a lil' kick in the ass and start writing again -- I'm not good at self-promoting and basically 'selling' myself but if it would mean the world to me to get some feedbacks on my work. Please please please, reblog & comment if you can as it's the only way for us writers to get some visibility around here. I'm really thankful to have over 1k notes on some of these stories and I hope -for those who haven't yet- that you will enjoy the ride!
Obviously starting with my Hongjoong works as he is my main Muse, after all ! You can find all of those on Ao3 if that's more comfortable to you (username is: kim_hongjoong).
Thank you for your time, love you all ♥
Crys.
✗ ✗ ✗ 🔥 smut | 🎀 fluff | 😰 angst | ⌛ chaptered/work in progress ✗ ✗ ✗
🔥⌛ ― currently on hiatus
chaptered ― part 1 | part 2
Gang leader!Hongjoong x fem!reader
tw: violence, drugs, smut, strong language
✒️ growing up with an abusive father, Hongjoong becomes a self-made man who never truly learned how to love. As a strong leader, he only knows violence while his trust only remains in his right-hand man, San. It only takes one night out in one of his strip-clubs to change everything, as he finds himself completely hooked with one of his strippers.
one-shot ― 🔥🎀😰
producer!hongjoong x fem!reader - established relationship
tw: smut, strong language
✒️ it's not secret that Hongjoong always chooses work over sleep, but one night at the studio, when things get a little too much, there's nothing he needs more than the comfort of his girlfriend.
╰┈➤ read here ♥
one-shot ―🔥🎀😰
hongjoong x fem!reader - established relationship
tw: smut, extremely comforting boyfriend!hongjoong
✒️ you've had quite a day at work. Basically, it's a Monday and nothing goes right. All you need is to go home to your boyfriend and let him take care of you.
╰┈➤ read here ♥
one-shot ―🔥😰
rockstar!hongjoong x fem!reader
tw: smut, strong language, mention of cheating
✒️you go to hongjoong everytime your bf is being a jerk so he fucks the anger out of you- but things get out of control at one of his shows when one of his songs seems to be written about you.
╰┈➤ read here ♥
one-shot ―🔥
nerdy!hongjoong x fem!reader
tw: smut, reader switches from sub to dom real quick, mention of cheating
✒️ Hongjoong is the cutest nerd with a strong crush on his roommate's girlfriend. Every single one of his nights are filled with filthy thoughts about her. But what happens when she shows up to his room in the middle of the night?
╰┈➤ read here ♥
one-shot ―🔥
corruption!hongjoong x fem!reader
tw: smut, strong language, corruption, reader,'s first time giving head
✒️ dating Hongjoong isn't always easy- while you know his business and whatever is happening outside of the quality time you spend together must remain a secret, you can't help but feel sorry when he comes home carrying the heaviest burden of a corrupted life upon his shoulders. As his special doll, you decide to help him release some steam.
╰┈➤ read here ♥
one-shot ―🔥
husband!hongjoong x fem!reader
smut, is using a whip considered as bdsm? if so then bdsm, using of petnames but nothing too cringy, established relationship, dom!joong, husband!joong, PDA, oral sex (f. receiving), spanking, bit of choking if you squint--
✒️ You didn’t know how long it had been but still, anyone granted with some good sense would know it was time to put an halt to it, to call it a day and let your body heal from the brutality of your little game—by now you were convinced your skin was probably striped with thin red lines, blood spilling dramatically from the bruises and yet, when your mouth opened again to gasp a couple words out, you weren’t that surprised to hear your choked out request.
“P-please--- more”
╰┈➤ read here ♥
one-shot ―🔥
boyfriend!hongjoong x fem!reader
smut; established relationship; rough sex; car sex; jealousy; possessiveness; bit of dirty talk if you squint
✒️ Hongjoong is the jealous kind - you know it, everyone around you knows it, but what was supposed to be a chill night out with your friends takes an unexpected turn when your boyfriend accidentally hears about a past fling including one of the boys sitting at the table next to you.
╰┈➤ read here ♥
one-shot ― 🎀🔥
boyfriend! idol hongjoong x fem!reader
fluff, smut, established relationship, idol!hongjoong, family trip, you know he’ll be having you in that hot tub at some point
✒️ okay so this wasn’t planned but Bumjoong’s vlog got me spiraling into some ⊹ ࣪ ˖ thoughts ⊹ ࣪ ˖ and I couldn’t stop thinking about joining Hongjoong on that family trip – and may I add, that hotspring? You know I had to.
╰┈➤ read here ♥
113 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
jesuschristsuperstaraustr-blog14
jesus christ superstar australian cast 2013 tickets for jesus ch
chrisnaustin
I wish...
dreamlandr
Downloadr on Tumblr