#sex bom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bombuni · 22 days

Text

a wild ride

summary: It’s Halloween night. Your friends have decided to take you out and get you drunk, but it’s kind of hard to focus on forgetting when the man you want to forget is standing across the room and flirting with another girl. genre/pairing: kim hongjoong x reader, slight yunho x reader, smut, jealous f2l wc: 4.4k warnings: SMUT, 18+ MDNI!, mentions of weed and drinking, cursing, drunk sex but they’re tipsy at the worst, mean!dom!hongjoong, but he's soft for reader, fem!sub!reader, bratty reader but she gets tamed quick, one instance of edging, finger sucking, name calling (just the use of ‘slut’) they’re both so possessive of each other and jealous it’s crazy bom note: this is my love letter to hongjoong’s bouncy outfit bc we moved on too fast</3 anywhooo THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 1K!!! we hit it like a couple weeks ago but. it’s here now guys. I thank you for liking my works enough to follow and support and nothing will prove my gratitude but I just hope this comes close enough :) please enjoy and thanks once again everyone!!<3 also, here’s a playlist i made and listened to a lot while writing this!

You’re not really sure how your friends managed to talk you into coming out tonight. Much less, how you let Wooyoung drag you into matching costumes with him and San. Now you feel like an idiot standing in a fairly inaccurate rendition of a cat next to a pirate version of Seonghwa and Spider-man Yunho. Wooyoung seems to enjoy matching with you, although, letting everyone in the cramped house know that you three ‘have the best couples costume’ in the party. It’s embarrassing having to pull Wooyoung away from annoyed partygoers every 5 seconds, but he’s already halfway drunk and it’s sort of endearing how he boasts about you.

The night has barely started and whatever poor soul lives here should already be regretting hosting a Halloween party. There’s 4 couples making out in your line of sight, the smell of weed permeates your clothes, and the drunk-off-their-ass people in the middle of the room dancing to a poor remix of Monster Mash are sure to break something. There’s a rank scent that emanates from the wall on which you’re leaning against which makes you think someone’s already thrown up right where your shoulder is touching. Or it could just be Seonghwa’s breath, you’re not really sure.

The overwhelming heat from the bodies stuffed in the room is no comparison to the heat boiling inside of you. The humidity in the air and cacophony of noises do nothing to help your rising irritation. You try to cool it down with the iced drink in your hand, but the only way the warmth will go away is by looking away from Hongjoong-who’s in such a clear view from across the room you’d consider it God’s punishment for your selfish desire-and that’s never really going to happen. Not if he keeps looking at her while he’s dressed like that. That being in an intolerably well-fitting cowboy outfit. It’s obvious he knows he looks good, his forearm resting on the wall above the girl’s head as he leans down to hear her better. To get more intimate, to give her the same enticingly inviting smirk he gives you. Your cup crinlinking harshly in your fist snaps you out of the rage-induced trance. Seonghwa’s knowing smirk is haunting you from the corner of your eye, Yunho on your other side trying and failing to hide the same impish smile.

“You know you can’t actually blow people’s heads off if you stare hard enough, right?” Yunho chuckles, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“Ha, ha,” the sarcasm flows right off of Yunho.

“Someone’s jealous,” Seonghwa’s voice is tinged with a taunt, the smell of alcohol absolutely dripping off of him as he leans into you. You’re fully aware of his drunken intentions to piss you off, but you try your best to be mature and ignore the teasing finger he’s pointing in your face.

“Jesus, are you 12?” Smacking the finger out of your face, he stumbles back in mild surprise.

Yunho’s at least somewhat sober, laughing at the ‘pirate’s’ drunk theatrics, “I have an idea for you-”

Seonghwa lifts his red solo cup in the air and his mouth moves faster than either you or Yunho can process, “You kiss Hongjoong!”

It’s simply impossible for Hongjoong to have heard him from across the room and over the various conversations and the loud music playing, but you still shush and shove Seonghwa in a panic as if he’ll come over and shoot you down right in front of everybody. He pulls the ridiculously fake eyepatch up over his eye to stare at you incredulously, “That was rude,”

Yunho pulls Seonghwa into him, a protective arm landing over him so you won’t slap the alcohol out of his system, “Why don’t you go and, I don’t know, tell Hongjoong you’re in love with him?” He says with a mocking voice, shrugging as if it’s a simple solution.

You scoff at the tall man, “First of all, I am not in love wi-“

All of a sudden, Wooyoung pops up between you and Yunho’s bodies with his drawn-on whiskers completely smudged and cat ears gone, “Hongjoong! You looovveee Hongjoong,” he’s swaying and already moved on to telling you how much he loves you instead when you try to respond. Yunho only smirks at you, I told you so clearly evident on his pale face.

You grumble embarrassedly and glance towards Hongjoong again to make sure he hasn’t heard any of your guys’ conversation , “I don’t.”

Wooyoung hums to the song playing, balance completely lost as he drops all of his body weight onto you and tunes out of the conversation. Seonghwa’s not fairing any better against Yunho, but he’s still trying to tell you what a match you and Hongjoong are.

“All we’re trying to say is that,” Yunho pauses to move Seonghwa’s fingers from his lips, “Hongjoong’s been in a bad mood all night watching you, and now he’s chatting up another girl? I-”

Wooyoung mumbles from where he’s resting on your shoulder, “Something’s fishy,”

Yunho nods, “What he said,”

You roll your eyes for the millionth time that night. A small, naive part of you really, really wants to believe your friends. But they’re drunk, and you’ll admit you’re slightly tipsy. You’ve accepted the fact that Hongjoong will never see you as more than a good friend. You look over to Hongjoong one more time in hopes that this time you won’t feel anything, but when you turn your head you find him already looking in your direction. You can’t really tell what his expression means, but his jaw is clenched and his scrutinizing eyes remain on Wooyoung’s arms around you. It’s no coincidence or trick of the light, you’re sure, but a poorly crafted Batman passes in front of you and Hongjoong’s back to being entranced by the girl next to him.

For a second, you’re lost in space and time. You should be embarrassed and ashamed that one glance from him is enough to send you careening back into fantasies of him, but the alcohol in your system and Yunho’s encouragement makes for a deadly combination. There’s a plan forming in your head. The sober half of you is rationalizing Hongjoong’s glance and telling you it was nothing more than that; a glance. But the tipsy half tells you that you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

As Yunho sips his drink idly, you decide to take your chance, “Wanna dance, Yunho?”

He exhales sharply through his nostrils, smiling smugly because he knows exactly what your intentions are, “Sure, kitty,”

He takes your hand gently and pulls you towards the makeshift dance floor. He bows elegantly as if this is a ballroom, but he looks ridiculous doing it in a Spider-Man costume amidst people of varying states of sobriety. While you’re busy doubled over laughing at him, he sneaks his arms around you. It’s sudden when he pulls you flush against his body, brown eyes searching yours for any uncertainty before pulling your arms around his neck. For some reason, touching the nape of his neck makes you feel a certain closeness to him. Yunho leans his forehead on yours and the intimacy he’s allowing you makes you regret inviting him to dance. He really shouldn’t be pulling out all the stops for a girl who’s thinking of someone else.

Yunho takes your silence as embarrassment from his showiness, “I gotta make it believable, right?” You’ve never really thought about how tall he is until now, head tilted to only focus on you. His big hands wrap around your waist and burn where they touch.

“R-right,” you mumble, still dizzy from Yunho’s closeness.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong’s fuming behind the sea of people. Your back is to him so you can’t see the pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows painted on his face. Yunho, on the other hand, gladly takes notice when he finally looks over to him. Hongjoong’s s gone to completely ignoring the girl he was talking to, only humming ‘yeah’s’ and ‘totally’s’ when he’s prompted. He’s burning holes into your back, as if glaring will suddenly remove you from Yunho. The fuse in him blows when you laugh at something Yunho said. The sound is barely heard over the music and myriad of voices, but it still reverberates through Hongjoong like it’s a call to him. Only meant for him.

“It worked,” Yunho whispers into your ear and sends chills down your spine, “Your cowboy’s stomping over.” You look at your Spiderman smiling down at you one last time when you feel a gloved hand on your shoulder. You can’t really see under the strobe lights, but there’s surely no smile on Hongjoong’s face. He’s glaring at Yunho like you’re his property that he’s touched without permission. Yunho’s hands slide slowly off of you compared to the quick removal of yours, just to piss Hongjoong off even more. You’re sure Yunho has another sort of personal vendetta against Hongjoong now.

“Hey, cowpoke,” there’s a lazy drawl in Yunho’s voice, bordering on venomous, “wanna join us?” Yunho’s hands move to wrap around you again, but Hongjoong quickly pulls you back into his side. He’s surprised by how easily you meld into his movements, but he doesn’t know how far you’d really let him go.

“You’re both drunk,” you follow like a lost puppy as he pulls you off the makeshift dance floor, “and need to be separated.”

Yunho hums behind you, “I’m perfectly sober,”

Hongjoong scoffs and as he opens his mouth to retort, you pull away from him, “I wanna keep dancing, Joong,”

Yunho shrugs as if the issue is completely out of his hands-again, what did Hongjoong do to him?-and smiles, “You heard the lady,” Hongjoong’s eyes fixate on the taller man, fists clenching at his side. If looks could kill, Yunho would have been 6 feet under ten minutes ago. His mind races with thoughts of how to get rid of Yunho, how to keep you for himself, and how his hand is still pulsing from when he felt yours, fearing he’s become addicted to your touch already.

His tone is final, “No.”

Before you can even say anything, Hongjoong drags you through the overflow of bodies towards the upstairs of the house. You can certainly hear Seonghwa and Wooyoung hollering obscenities at you-even over the party noise-before Hongjoong leads you deeper and deeper into the surprisingly large house. The hallways grow quieter and less crowded before he finds an empty room, letting you in first. It’s quaint and sparsely decorated, the soft environment settling your nerves. As you sit on the white bedsheets, Hongjoong watches you like you’re his next meal.

He finally speaks, arms crossed and a questioning look on his face, “You good?’

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Yes. Are you?”

He doesn’t answer you because he’s not really sure if he is. In truth, Hongjoong can’t stop looking at you. He’s sure your look tonight is imprinted in his brain all the way from the short, short skirt to the ridiculously low cut top you’re wearing. He’s frustrated with himself that he feels so possessive over you, as if you’re already his. He’s frustrated with you for simply letting Wooyoung and Yunho do as they please.

You watch as he sits on the bed next to you, fiddling with the cuffs of his gloves. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but you can tell he’s holding back from scolding you with the way he’s biting his cheek. He’s good at hiding it from others, but not from you.

His words are short and sharp, “Were you having fun with Yunho?”

The question catches you off guard. You mirror him, playing with your fishnet leggings and watching him out of the corner of your eye. You’re scared he’ll say yes, but you ask anyway, “Were you?”

Hongjoong turns to you, “I asked first,”

You roll your eyes at him, “Whatever. You seemed pretty happy talking to Ms. Boobs-in-your-face,”

You’re being petty and insulting a girl you don’t even know, but the irritation from earlier is returning with a fiery revenge. It keeps building the more you think about the way her hands would continuously run down the textured white lines on his shirt. Or how he’d smile at her like she was the only person in the room. You can feel his eyes on you again and you’re too embarrassed to meet them. You’re sure he’s sporting a cocky smile now that he’s heard the jealousy dripping in your voice.

“You didn’t seem to mind Yunho grinding on you,” he spits out before he can stop himself.

That finally makes you look at him, “He was not-”

“And Wooyoung’s hands all over you,”

You gawk at him, surprised to know that he had been watching you too. Now the pettiness you’re both showing is obvious. The air is tense before you speak, Hongjoong’s intent glare making you feel small, “You know how Wooyoung is, especially when he’s drunk,”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes at you, “Doesn’t explain Yunho crawling all over you,”

You cross your arms, inadvertently pushing your tits together and Hongjoong has to hold back a groan, “Why are you so concerned with what Yunho and I do?”

There’s a mutual understanding of the jealousy coursing through the room, though it’s unspoken. In your anger, however, you can’t really process the fact that he’s possessive over you. That he’s outright admitting he thinks of you as his, and vice versa. Instead of simply kissing and making up, you keep pissing each other off. Why you keep pressing his buttons you’re not sure, but you can’t deny how hot Hongjoong looks with the black cowboy hat tilted over his face, muscular arms tensing under the dim light.

He stands to his full height again-too frustrated to stay still-moving so that he’s right in front of you, “What, so you’re into Yunho all of a sudden?”

“Did you just bring me up here so you can interrogate me on my love life?” you mumble.

His jaw clenches again, “You’re so mouthy tonight, you know that? I’m getting sick of it,”

He’s invading your space now, lips so close you could just reach up and touch them with yours, “What are you going to do about it, Hongjoong?”

The words seem to set something off in him, his lips on you so fast it’s dizzying. His warm hands automatically find their way to your hips as he pushes you backwards onto the bed. He’s finally figured out how to silence you, muffling any sounds you make with his mouth. Anything that comes from you, he wants for himself. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, both too focused on getting out all the built up feelings and frustration. Neither of you care about anything but getting more and more of each other. You feel his tongue finding its way into your mouth and you don’t put up much of a fight anymore.

He doesn’t pause his attack on your lips, panting while he speaks, “You gonna keep mouthing off, baby?”

Your mind short-circuits at the nickname. Although a large part of your annoyance has now dissipated, his lips like water to soothe the burn of your desire, you still want to see how far you can push him,

“Dunno,” you pant out.

His right hand slides up from your hip bone to your jawline as goosebumps follow the trail of his touch. A whine slips out of you when Hongjoong’s hand contracts, squishing your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout so your focus is on his words. He can’t help the prideful smirk when he hears the noise you make, happy to know he has such an effect on you.

“I know,” a kiss to your jawline, “I’m going to show you who you belong to,”

You wiggle in his grasp, but he’s holding you tight, “And exactly who do I belong to?”

He smirks down at you, thoughts running through all the ways he’s going to break you, “Oh, you’re funny,” he leans threateningly over you, “You’re very funny,”

Just because you enjoy the game of stirring him on you continue, “Yunho said the same thing,”

He smiles dangerously at you. Not dangerous in the sense of attractiveness, but more in the sense that it’s a warning to the vicious, envious territory you’re entering. You feel your resolve melting against him, the air suffocating you with the thick, heavy feeling of pent-up desire. However, he doesn’t even let you get the right words out before he sticks his thumb into your mouth. It’s surprisingly appetizing, and you don’t wait for his sign to go before wrapping your lips around it. It’s your silent apology for what you said.

Now, his smile is gentler. But it’s Hongjoong, and Hongjoong doesn’t let things go so easy.

“Sluts needs to be quiet,” he whispers softly, but it’s who it’s coming from that makes it so you hear it loud and clear. You nod in obedience, still lapping as he adds more fingers into your mouth, exploring this part of your body.

“You know what else sluts need to do?” You shake your head and open your eyes up at him, “They need to fucking behave.”

He growls, “You’re gonna take what I give you until I’ve had enough. Then I’ll give you what you want,”

You want to whine and protest, but he’s looking at you like that’s not even an option. He stares down at you, taunting and challenging you. Hongjoong knows you’re not happy about his rules, but he doesn’t care. You need to learn to forget about anyone other than him. He won’t stop until you do. Your mouth pulls off of his fingers with a pop and you realize all too quickly what a mistake you’ve made.

His eyes squint at you, “Did I tell you to stop?”

You peer up at him with a guilty look, pout heavy on your lips hoping he’ll show just the slightest bit of mercy. But once again, it’s Hongjoong. He manhandles you towards him, back to his chest and for some reason it feels like you’re a complete puzzle.

He gropes your sides, pulling you close so you can feel how hard he is for you. The feeling of him rubbing against you makes you moan, the sheer satisfaction of finally getting what you want making you high on the pleasure. You know you’re supposed to be quiet, but the excitement of going against Hongjoong just ‘cause makes you want to do it more.

You spot his blue hair out of the corner of your eye as he leans down to your ear, “You’re gonna be quiet and take it like a good slut,” His right arm comes up and around your neck, pulling you in as if you aren’t already close enough, “Unless you want Yunho to hear?”

His clothed dick is making you weak. It’s the only friction he’s given you so far and it’s already breaking and tearing you apart. You shake your head vigorously, spouting nonsense babbles as if you’re appalled Hongjoong would even suggest that. However, Hongjoong seems all too enticed by the idea of everyone hearing how loud he can make you. You try to get more from him by rutting back into him, hoping he liked your answer, but he stops your hips.

“Sluts don’t get what they want, baby,” He pants into your ear and you realize he’s just as torn as you are, he’s just better at hiding it. His hand finds its way under your skirt, fumbling to pull your panties down. The sound of your wet pussy fills the room as Hongjoong plays with your folds, agonizingly slow to make you shake with anticipation.

He smiles down at you, “You’re so fucking wet,”

Before you can say anything snappy, he slides in you. He fills you just right, and you don’t want to sound crazy, but you feel like your pussy was sculpted just for him. His cock drives in you and hits right where you need it to. It makes you want to fall over, too weak to hold yourself up, but Hongjoong stops that from even happening.

You’re whining for more, “Keep being loud and Wooyoung will hear you,”

You gasp as he thrusts in you, but it just spurs him on. Being buried in you feels right, like it’s where he was made to be. He chalks up his intensified feelings to the alcohol flowing in his system.

Your moans mix together, “Seonghwa too? Want me to make everyone in this house know who’s fucking you?”

You can barely keep your head up, much less respond to him. The bed squeaks as he thrusts in you over and over again, limbs entangled. You start to think Hongjoong may have some jealousy issues, but you don’t mind.

His hand snakes around you again, this time reaching to play with your clit. His fingers make your knees buckle, the rhythm between his hips and his hand sending a new wave of pleasure through you. You don’t have the energy to process it, but all the while he’s telling you how he’s the only one who can touch you like this.

Your lower half is on fire, white hot sparks of pleasure flowing all the way from your abdomen to your toes. All of your senses are heightened because of Hongjoong’s touch and you feel the pleasure reaching its tipping point, right before Hongjoong rips his hand away and stops his hips.

Your complaint is right on the tip of your tongue, but Hongjoong drags you like a ragdoll over him before you can get the words out. Your senses haven’t even come back to you yet, but Hongjoong looks up at you with the cockiest smile and you feel that same bliss again.

His hands on your hips turns your nervous system on again, “You wanna cum, baby?”

Your voice comes out hoarse, “Yes. Yes, please, Joongie,”

He looks up at you contemplatively, as if deciding whether you deserve to finish or not. It makes a defiant whine build up in your throat the longer he takes.

He shushes you with a nudge, “Then work for it.”

Hongjoong’s tone is final and even though you’re on top of him, there’s no room for control or for arguing. He looks up at you expectantly, simply waiting for you to obey. You want to grab his collar, make him regret talking to you like he owns you, but unfortunately he in fact does.

The cowboy hat is befitting now, so you take it for yourself. His blue hair is disheveled and tangled underneath it, but he still looks celestial. A laugh rips out of him as the hat tips over your head when you look down. You pout at him, but the giggles slip into groans when you slide down him again.

It’s entirely too distracting for Hongjoong, and he has to bite his lip to hold back from cumming on the spot. You’re too tight and wet, too perfect for him. He almost regrets putting you in this position now.

But you look too good all sweaty on top of him, mouth parted open in satisfaction, with the sound of skin against skin accompanying you. Watching you bounce with his hat on makes him feel a little crazy.

His hand reaches for your clit again, finding that spot that he’s learned your body really likes. Your back arches against his fingers, shuddering at the feeling of him. His fingers follow a pattern against you, persistent in their goal to make you cum. It’s too good, too fast. You can’t help it as your body falls over him, pleasure overriding your ability to function.

Hongjoong laughs at you, “Can't do anything on your own, huh? Dumb slut needs me to help,” You nod against his neck, hiding your embarrassed blush.

He, uncharacteristically, kisses the crown of your head. You suppose it’s an apology for the way he hauls your thighs over him, then slams you back down on his cock again. Once again, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. You feel the heat rising in you again, your body tightening up against Hongjoong.

This time there’s no signs of him stopping, his forearms keeping a tight hold of your thighs as he spears you on his cock over and over again, his desperate pants right by your ear.

He senses you’re near your tipping point, “See? All you needed was a good fucking for you to behave,”

You nod brainlessly, simply following whatever he says with only one thing on your mind.

“You can cum, baby. Want you to be loud so even fucking Yunho knows,”

You feel it coursing through you. It’s been a slow build up waves caused by Hongjoong, but now with his permission it turns into a full-on tsunami hitting you. The pleasure shoots through you, your entire body seizing up as it takes over you. Hongjoong fucks you through it with slow, shallow thrusts. Or at least he tries to, before the feeling of your tightening pussy finally pulls the orgasm out of him. He’s quick to pull out, his cum splattering all over his lower abdomen.

When you’re done, you’re left panting and sweaty on his still shirt-clad chest. You feel his racing heartbeat against your hands, heavy breaths beating against you. You look up and Hongjoong has the softest, tranquil smile for you.

“I only danced with Yunho to make you jealous,” you mumble amidst the silence.

His hand runs through your hair under his hat, “I only flirted with that girl to make you jealous,”

You’re scared by how soft and intimate it’s suddenly turned. You’re scared Hongjoong only thinks of you as a fuck buddy now, nothing more nothing less. So, You don’t say anything else.

He knows you by now, knows where every cog in your brain goes and how it works. Hongjoong pokes your cheek gently, “That means I like you a lot,”

“Oh,” you feel your heartbeat pick up speed, “me too.”

“Good,” he smiles at you again, that charming and sugary sweet smile he only gives you, “then we’ll go on a date.” You nod into him, blissful peace finally settling over you.

You’re halfway to sleep when Hongjoong speaks up again, “Can I have my hat back?”

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong imagines

758 notes · View notes

rollingyamada · 5 months

Text

We’re sex Bom-omb!!!

#scott pilgrim #scott pilgram vs the world #stephen stills #kim pine #scott pilgrim takes off #spvstw #spto

1K notes · View notes

jazzthatonewriterchick · 4 months

Text

DRABBLE: YOU SPEAK HIS NATIVE LANGUAGE TO HIM (18+) (One Piece) (for Fem!Readers)

Writer's Note: I had this idea after remembering that Luffy is Brazilian. Enjoy! And please, PLEASE let me know if any of the foreign phrases used are not correct or accurate. I did the research on Google. Thank you! -Jazz

*********

LUFFY (PORTGUESE)

You always loved it when Luffy spoke in his native language.

He is from Brazil and though he hadn’t lived there in years since meeting Shanks and traveling among the Grand Line with the Strawhats crew, nothing and nobody could ever take the Brazilian out of him. It was in his blood.

He always made it known with the Brazilian recipes he would ask Sanji to make and the music he would blast across the ship. Usually, this resulted in him forcing you to dance him with and holding your hips as his his swayed and rolled in ways that often resulted in your knees going weak and every part of you becoming tingly and sensitive (including the places where Luffy usually had his mouth on).

He wouldn’t speak Portuguese often; only sometimes and at random moments, like when something exciting happened or when he was asleep. You would catch him mumbling words in his native tongue as he drooled on the pillow, making you giggle.

He would do it during sex too, usually when his tongue was buried deep in your pussy: “Você tem um gosto tão bom, mama. Deliciosa (You taste so good, mama. Delicious.),” he would mumble into your pussy while you whimpered and moaned. Or when he had his cock buried deep inside of you as he hammered away at your insides, gripping and smacking your ass: “Tão bom! (So good!)” he’d moan into the bedroom. “C’mon, mama, cum with me! Goze comigo!”

His usual high-pitched voice would get deeper and raspier in his native tongue as each foreign words rolled and flipped on his tongue. It would make you combust every single time, cumming all over his cock at the same time as him bursting inside of you. He would then peck your forehead once you snuggled up together, his hat on your head. “Te amo,” he’d whisper, never telling you what it meant, but you had a feeling.

So after picking up on some of his lines and inflections, you decided to try out speaking his language one night. It was a boring night and Sanji was cooking, trying to get Luffy out of the kitchen as he groaned and complained about being hungry. “Y/N, would you please come get him?” Sanji sighed. “He won’t leave and I’m not gonna have him sneaking the ingredients off of the counter to eat.”

“I’m not gonna do that!” Luffy protested. “I told you so, Sanji!” You had giggled and walked to the stereo sitting on the table, playing one of Luffy's favorite songs that was popular in Brazil. The captain’s head immediately shot up from the table, his big eyes staring at you. You smiled and began to sway to the music, opening your arms for him.

With the biggest grin on his face, he shot up and went to you, immediately gathering you into his arms. You giggled as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck and held your hips as he began to sway with you, your senses invaded by nothing but him. He softly sang the lyrics to you, his voice raspy and soft, each word rolling off of the tongue. He sang has if the very song was written for you and you decided now was the perfect moment.

“Luffy?” you whispered. He pulled away to look down at you, looking like a confused puppy. You cupped his face in your hands and pressed a kiss to his lips before whispering, very low, “Te amo.”

Once those gears in his head started turning, you’ve never seen him look so happy. His smile grew about ten sizes before he gripped you to him and coated your face in kisses. “Hey, hey!” Sanji yelled. “Not while I’m cooking! Do that outside!”

ZORO (JAPANESE)

Compared to Luffy, Zoro barely spoke Japanese.

He would only mutter his native language in swears when he was stressed or angry. Other than that, you could never catch him doing it. He barely even spoke about Japan as a whole. “Why you askin’ so many questions?” he would grumble, glaring at your curious gaze. “I haven’t been there since I was a baby. Go read up on it or somethin’.”

But when he did speak Japanese, and that was very rare, you loved it. His voice would get even deeper when he spoke the foreign swear words during a battle and it would make your heart skip several beats. You wanted to somehow coax him to speak it more or even be closer to him than you already were.

So you started teaching yourself Japanese. You collected as many language books as you could during your stops on islands when walking into town with Nami and Robin and began practicing. In two months, you began speaking in sentences though not professionally or fluently. However, you got each inflection down.

The first time you said something in Japanese to Zoro, he was busy working out one hot, boring day and you had wandered in, feeling extra bratty. “What?” he demanded, grunting as he did his bench presses, his muscles bulging and glistening in sweat.

“Just came to see if you broke up with your dumbbell yet,” you asked sarcastically. “I don’t know how the cuddling at night works, but to each its own.”

Zoro cut his forest green eyes your way before going back to his exercises, barely pausing. “Woman, if you’re gonna come in here with that shit, leave it at the door. You know I need to focus on my training.”

“But you’re already so strong, Zo!” you protested, padding farther into the room. “And a great fighter. You can spare one day without training.”

Though Zoro looked pleased with the praise, he still didn’t let up and continued to pump those sexy arms away at his presses. Pursing your lips, you walked over to him and kneeled down before him, just as he lifted the dumbbell up and put it back up on the rack behind his head.

You began to run your hands up his thick, tree trunk-like thighs in his green slacks, squeezing the muscles and digging your nails deliciously into them. He liked that. He tensed immediately at your touch, breathing heavily from the workout. “Stop that,” he growled. “I’m tryin’ to cool down.”

“Then let me help you,” you purred, sneaking your hand over his cock to give it a squeeze. You were pleased to find that he was already hard. He grunted at the contact and began to squirm under your touch. “I mean it, Y/N,” he panted. “Cut it out.”

You looked up at him then, staring boldly into his eyes. "Watashi o tsukuru (make me)”, you said in a low, breathy voice that often made your man go absolutely insane.

At the sound of his native language coming from your lips, the swordsman sat up straight and stared down at you, astounded and extremely aroused. His cock grew in your hand as a blush appeared on his cheeks. “What did you say?” he questioned, his voice dangerously low. You just smiled and stood up, tearing your hand away from his cock. “Now are you gonna spend time with me?” you questioned, a hand on your hip and arching a brow at him.

While this didn't get him out of the training room, it did help tear him away from his workout to instead work you out, your legs spread over his bench and his cock pummeling your insides as he whispered how good you felt in Japanese. Mission accomplished.

SANJI (FRENCH)

Sanji always felt proud of his ethnicity and heritage, so he always made it a point to speak his native language.

Like Luffy, it would be at random moments. He could be cooking and would mutter to himself in French about instructions or maybe lyrics to a song. Sometimes, he would swear if he nearly dropped a bottle of sauce or about the noise Luffy and Usopp would make outside the kitchen door. But always, when he served you and the crew, he would give you all a bright, proud smile and a “Bon appétit!”.

And always, always, he would speak French during sex. He would whisper in your ear about how good you felt and how sweet you tasted, his words like honey in your ears. “Je me send is bien en too, princesse, (I feel so good inside you, princess)” he’d moan into the tense, sexed-up air of your bedroom, your ankles on his broad shoulders as his cock stroked your insides. “Tellement parfait. Si belle. (So perfect. So beautiful).” He would kiss your foot before taking one of your toes into your mouth.

That would usually set you off like a rocket, making you cum all over the bed and his cock. And because he thought you were so pretty, he would always explode deep inside you, filling you to the brim. That’s part of why he always let his native tongue slip in the bedroom with you.

Other than the nasty shit, he would always tell you, “Je t’aime”. When he would kiss you; before you went to bed; when you’d separate for an expedition or when when you’d go to the other side of the ship. It was only right as the love chef. “Je t’aime,” he’d say, an adoring smile on his face and hearts in his eyes. It would make you tingle and feel warm all over you.

So you surprised him one night when he cooked dinner specifically for you before the crew even ate. “Sanji, baby, you didn’t have to make me a whole separate meal,” you giggled as you sat down in the chair he pulled out for you. “I would’ve eaten the lamb!”

“Nonsense,” he tutted, looking sexy in his apron dusted with flour and spices. “You said you didn’t like lamb too much. And believe me, honey: fixin’ grilled fish for you is nothing compared to what these hooligans want.” He then pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Bon appétit, my love” before hurrying back to the stove to check the yeast rolls in the oven.

You stared down at the dinner spread on your plate: grilled fish drizzled in lemon and garlic with a side of honey-glazed, oven-roasted carrots, kus kus, and steamed broccoli. You cut a piece of the fish and put it into your mouth, humming in pleasure at the taste. You turned to Sanji, his back to you, as you gushed over the food. “This food is delicious, Sanji!” you said. "C'est trés bon! (It's very good!)”

Sanji visibly paused before turning around to look at you, confused. Your smile grew and you lowered your fork. “Mes compliments au chef (My compliments to the chef),” you giggled. Before you could take a breath, Sanji was flying across the kitchen and planting kisses all over your face as you giggled. “Since when do you speak French, my love?” he laughed, giddy.

“I’ve been practicing,” you hummed, playing with the color of his shirt. “I wanted to impress you.” Hearts in his eyes, Sanji pressed his forehead against yours. “And impress me, you did, mon there,” he murmured. “Now finish that food so I can hear more of my native tongue coming out of those sweet lips.”

You did and while he had you bent over the kitchen counter while the crew ate in the other room, you repeated one word to him, over and over again, as he pummeled inside of you: “Je t’aime”.

LAW (GERMAN)

Law never spoke German. Or at least, not in front of you or the Hearts crew.

“What’s the need?” he asked when you asked him to teach you something in his native tongue. “I haven’t lived there in years. Why are you so interested in my language anyway?” You would tell him you were curious, but that wouldn’t make him budge.

You found it sad. Though he claimed he felt pride in his ethnicity and his native land, he barely mentioned his time there or taught you any phrases. So, in order to coax him into it, you fixed him a German dish. One day when the ship docked on a little island, you ran out to town to grab the ingredients for it and fixed it for him that night. It took a lot of preparation and stressing over whether or not he’d respond well to it, but that night, you sat the crew down for dinner.

“I made something special for y’all,” you giggled, smiling secretively at Law. He scowled in confusion and suspicion at you, not sure what you were up to, until the crew took the silver covers off of their plates to reveal their meal: slices of roasted pork shoulder glazed with a cumin sauce and sitting on a bed of roasted potatoes and peppers. “Ta-da!” you shouted. “Sh-wen-braten!”

At you mispronouncing the name, the corner of Law’s lips quirked a bit while his crew barely blinked. They were too busy drooling over and gobbling down their food. “Wow, Y/N!” Bepo growled. “This tastes amazing! I haven't tasted pork this good in so long!”

“Thank you,” you giggled, but your attention was still all on Law as he took a bite. You stood behind his chair, nervously ringing a dish towel around your hands. “How is it?” you asked, bending down to hear him better over the chatter.

He continued to chew and chew, leaving you in suspense, before he swallowed. “S’good,” he murmured and you sighed in relief. “Though you pronounced the dish wrong.” You made a face, pouting cutely in confusion at him. “It’s pronounced “schweinebraten,” he said, his deep voice rolling over the foreign word.

“Sch.” He paused, waiting for you to repeat it back to him. “Weine.” You parroted him, doing your best to keep from smiling out of giddiness. “Braten.”

“Braten,” you pronounced, earning a satisfied nod before he turned back around to finish his meal. But you weren't done. you leaned down to his ear, loving how he tensed at your touch and presence. “Between you and me, I already knew how to pronounce it,” you purred. “I just wanted to hear you say it. Guten appetit (Enjoy your meal).”

Something happened to Law in that moment hearing you speak in his language. His cock swoll in his pants and he nearly broke his fork as he sat rigid in his seat. You turned and walked away back to the stove, swaying your hips and biting back a grin as he watched, wanting to fuck you right there in front of his entire crew and make you say some very nasty words in his native tongue.

“Law, why are all red like that?!” Jean practically yelled across the table.

“Shut up!” Law growled as you laughed. He was gonna get you back for that later tonight.

#one piece #one piece drabble #my works #my fic shit #my drabbles #fem reader #fem!reader #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you

1K notes · View notes

idollete · 7 days

Text

– 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐮. ⋆ ˚｡ 𖹭

𝑤arnings: conteúdo exclusivo para +18.

ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ richard ríos!ficante; br!core; rivalidade masculina; rivalidade no futebol (palmeiras x flamengo); participação especial do arrascaeta (vide o tópico anterior rsrsrsrsrsrs); alguns termos do futebol (a maioria é só posições); hate sex; manhandling; possessividade; degradação (uso de ‘piranha’, ‘burrinha’, ‘putinha’); oral (masc.); spit kink; rough sex; chocking; face fucking; um tapinha no rosto; public sex; sexo desprotegido (e em hipotese alguma façam o que acontece nessa fic!!!!!!!!); dirty talk; penetração anal.

idollete’s typing… ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ. flamenguistas eu amo vcs tá mas vou dar uma esculachada aqui para propósitos bucetisticos não mi matem pls, adoro vcs 🩷 e vou fingir SIM que o palmeiras ganhou de goleada hj porque a vida de uma garota não é nada sem delírios inocentes. also eu não revisei ainda, então ignorem possíveis errinhos tá mwah e boa semana pra vcs

Quando o árbitro deu o apito final, Richard já estava partindo como um tornado em direção ao vestiário. Ele estava puto.

E não era porque o time perdeu. Não. O Palmeiras havia dado uma goleada no Flamengo, com direito a gol do próprio Ríos. A raiva dele, porém, não era aleatória. Ela tinha nome, sobrenome e usava uma camisa com um 14 atrás. Você estava ficando com o fodido do Arrascaeta, é sério isso?! Ele nem era um meio campista tão bom assim.

Richard havia te flagrado antes mesmo do jogo começar. Te viu entrar pela porta dos fundos do Allianz juntamente com diversas outras namoradas, mulheres e familiares de jogadores. A mesma entrada que ele já tinha te cedido, onde te viu trajar a camisa dele cheia de orgulho, o manto esverdeado. E agora você estava usando uma porra rubro-negra? Nem fodendo. Isso não iria ficar barato.

Só precisou mexer uns pauzinhos para descobrir quem exatamente deu o seu nome e liberou a tua entrada, não quis acreditar a princípio, mas, ao ver o nome nas suas costas, foi impossível negar.

Dia de clássico era sempre agitado, todos entravam ao campo eufóricos, famintos pela vitória, pois sabiam que o significado era especial. O ganhador entra para a história. Mas Richard tinha uma motivação extra naquela partida. Marcou o uruguaio o jogo inteiro, trocaram farpas, receberam cartões amarelos, carrinhos, canetas. Tudo que tinham direito e que fazia parte do bom e velho futebol.

Em um dado momento, a situação se escalou. Depois de levar uma trombada, Arrascaeta se aproveitou para murmurar no ouvido de Ríos “vacilou, mano, perdeu uma gostosa daquelas…Ela ficava toda safada contigo também? Ou você não aguentava o pique?”. O colombiano perdeu o controle de si mesmo, partiu para cima, os peitorais musculosos se batiam, os narizes se encostando, murmurando ofensas um ao outro.

Richard te faria pagar por isso.

Não foi difícil te encontrar no estacionamento, encostada no carro, só a pose o enfureceu ainda mais por aquele não ser o veículo dele. Enquanto se aproximava, não perdia a pose. Muito pelo contrário, parecia ficar mais arrogante cada vez que chegava perto. Marrento, nariz empinado, cabelos ainda úmidos pós-ducha, brinquinho prateado reluzente e a jaqueta esportiva eram o combo que sempre te derreteu.

Seria uma grande mentira dizer que você foi pega de surpresa pela aparição dele. Não, era o que você queria, afinal, certo? Pegando o rival, dormindo na cama do inimigo, aparecendo no estádio dele, mas usando a camisa de outro. Você sabia exatamente o sequência de eventos que seria desencadeada com uma simples ação.

Richard não sabia, mas você queria fazê-lo pagar também.

Quando o viu no fundo dos stories de uma garota aleatória, cercado de outras mulheres, festejando segundos depois de te mandar um “tô indo dormir, gatinha, mó cansaço. Boa noite e dorme bem”, com coração vermelho e tudo, você decidiu que havia cansado dos joguinhos de Richard Ríos e que agora era a sua vez de sair por cima.

Não foi nada difícil atrair um certo uruguaio para os seus encantos, com algumas curtidas no Instagram e dm’s inusitadas, Arrascaeta já estava comendo na sua mão, te chamando para todos os jogos e jurando que iria te apresentar para a mãe. A companhia não era ruim, pelo contrário. Mas ele era só uma pecinha no teu jogo de vingança.

Por isso, não fez nem questão de esconder o sorrisinho petulante para o Ríos, irônica ao parabenizá-lo pela partida, “caneta bonita, uma pena que ele te deu um carrinho depois”, não precisou dizer nomes, ambos sabiam quem era o ele em questão, “mas acho que é o justo, né? Os dois queriam a bola e só um podia ter…”, brincava com as palavras sem nunca perder o brilhinho perverso nos olhos, quase desafiando o homem diante de si a reagir diante do que ouvia, “ele devia estar com mais vontade”.

Richard te media da cabeça aos pés, o desgosto palpável ao encarar a blusa de time vermelha e preta, o shortinho que mal cobria as coxas, a maquiagem suave, destacando os lábios brilhantes com o gloss. Com uma risada de escárnio, ele cruzou os braços na frente do peito, percorrendo o interior da boca com a pontinha da língua, costume de quando estava muito puto.

– ‘Tá querendo virar maria-chuteira ou o que, hm? – Direto, foi a primeira coisa que ele te disse. – Vou te encontrar em todos os meus jogos agora com um cara diferente?

– Hmph…Não sei, ‘tô testando minhas opções. – Numa pose indiferente, você deu de ombros, sorrindo mais maldosa ao continuar. – Que nem você.

– Então, é por isso? Ficou putinha porque me viu na festa dos caras e resolveu se vingar de mim. – Richard nem se esforçava para inventar uma desculpa, era canalha ao ponto de não dar a mínima por ter mentido para ti, a expressão relaxada entregava tudo. – Isso é feio, ‘cê sabe, usar uma pessoa assim…

– Nossa, Richard, nem tudo é sobre você… – Revirando os olhos, você reclamou, na sua melhor faceta de atriz. – Ai, olha, não ‘tô com tempo ‘pra papo. Mas aproveitando que ‘cê tá por aqui, sabe me dizer se o Gio já saiu? Fiquei preocupada com ele. – Com o seu teatrinho, observou o sorriso do homem se transformar em uma carranca ao ouvir o apelido, que ele considerou a coisa mais ridícula que ouviu na vida. – Ele não gosta de perder, é muito competitivo. O bom é que eu sei direitinho como melhorar o ânimo dele.

Agora era você quem sorria vitoriosa, o cantinho dos lábios se curvando com maldade, sem vergonha alguma de insinuar que o remédio para um jogador frustrado era um bom chá. Quando pensou em prosseguir, foi surpreendida com o toque bruto de Richard te puxando pelo cotovelo, te trazendo para perto, grosseiro ao apertar os dedos contra a sua pele sensível, fazendo com que você soltasse um gemidinho dengoso de dor.

– Escuta aqui, piranha. – A voz era ríspida, sussurrada com raiva. – Você vai terminar o que quer que seja essa merda com ele hoje. – Richard não pedia, nunca. Ele sempre mandava, prepotente, acostumado a ter tudo que quer. – Não quero te ver aqui e nem usando essa porra de camisa de novo. – Ele era intimidante daquele jeito, pairando sobre ti no estacionamento deserto, prensando o seu corpinho contra o carro, te fazendo sentir todos os músculos tensos e rígidos.

– Ou o que?! – Você desafiou, porque se Richard queria jogar dessa forma, você também sabia como vencer. – ‘Cê não me manda, garoto, não é meu dono, não. – Atrevida, empinou o nariz. – Me solta, cara, vai caçar alguma puta ‘pra comer.

A risadinha que ele te deu foi sombria, como se os pensamentos mais sujos estivessem passando pela cabeça dele naquele instante e, só para te contrariar, o aperto dele ficou mais forte, as duas mãos agora te mantendo paradinha onde ele queria. Richard se aproximou do teu rostinho, roçando um nariz no outro, as respirações se chocavam e bastava só um pouquinho de esforço para que os lábios se tocassem também. Não preciso caçar puta, quando tenho a minha favorita bem aqui na minha frente, foi o que ele disse em um sussurro arrastado, pressionando o quadril contra o teu, te fazendo sentir o caralho duro através da bermudinha fina.

Richard sabia como te amolecer, conhecia cada cantinho do teu corpo, como você gostava de ser tratada feito uma bonequinha, te receber ordens, de ficar toda magoadinha. Ele sabia de todos os seus segredinhos mais sujos e realizava as suas fantasias mais profanas.

Virando o rosto, temendo ceder rápido demais nas mãos dele, você murmurou, incomodada, pedindo que ele te soltasse de novo, dessa vez mais assertiva, poderia facilmente ter pedido para ele te apertar mais daquele jeito. Te roubando a atenção, a destra espremeu tuas bochechas, fazendo com que você encarasse o semblante cínico, que caçoava do quão indefesa você parecia naquele instante. Seus olhinhos se derretiam pouco a pouco, tornando-se suplicantes, carentes por ele.

– Vem aqui, na minha casa, no meu estádio, se exibindo com a porra de outro cara, usa a camisa dele, me pergunta se eu sei onde ele ‘tá, que vai resolver o estresse dele por ser um jogador de merda. Vai fazer o que, hein? Vai dar ‘pra ele? Deixar ele te comer que nem eu fazia, hm? – As palavras eram praticamente cuspidas, saíam exasperadas, duras. – Deixa eu te lembrar de uma coisa que a sua cabeça burrinha parece ter esquecido… – A palma desceu pelo seu tronco, parando no meio das suas pernas, cobrindo todo o seu sexo e pressionando-o por cima do jeans. – Isso aqui é só meu ‘pra destruir.

– Vai se foder. – Seus argumentos estavam perdidos e isso era tudo que você poderia dizer com segurança.

– Pode me odiar, mas eu aposto que se eu colocar a mão aqui dentro vou encontrar a sua bucetinha prontinha ‘pra mim. – Ele fazia menção de invadir o seu short, aumentando a pressão do toque, quase te arrancando um chorinho manhoso. – Já deve ‘tá se melando toda. Feito a cadelinha que você é, sempre pronta ‘pra levar pica.

– Eu te odeio. – Você realmente o odiava, odiava como ele conseguia te desarmar com tanta facilidade, como o seu corpo reagia tão imediatamente ao mínimo contato.

– Ótimo. Porque eu te odeio também. – E ele de fato odiava, odiava como você mexia com a cabeça dele, como o deixava puto de ciúmes a troco de nada. – Ajoelha. – Mas Richard também amava o quão obediente você era. – Cansei de ouvir a sua voz irritante.

Te teve de joelhos em questão de segundos, visivelmente afetada com o jeitinho mandão, beirando o arrogante, e a maneira com que ele te degradava até mesmo com o olhar. E como uma boa garota, você entreabriu os lábios ao observá-lo desfazer o nó da bermuda, abaixando-a até os calcanhares e fazendo o pau teso saltar no seu rostinho. Juntando um bocado de saliva, Richard cuspiu na sua boquinha, rindo ao notar o seu desespero para engolir tudo, como se ele tivesse te dado um presentinho. Colocando a língua para fora, em um pedido mudo, você apenas o encarou de olhinhos brilhantes.

O colombiano bateu a cabecinha contra o músculo quente algumas vezes, não ficando só ali e maltratando as suas bochechas também, manchando todo o rosto bonitinho com o líquido viscoso que vazava aos pouquinhos, causando estalos molhados. Faminta, você tentava engolir, guardar um tiquinho na boca, com saudades do estrago que ele fazia. Ganhou um tapa por isso, seguido de um “fica quieta”, a bochecha ardia pela força e você se sentia suja porque o seu buraquinho pulsava, melando toda a calcinha, com o tratamento que ele te dava.

Richard te domou pelos fios, puxando com brutalidade e te pegando desprevenida ao deslizar toda a extensão pelos seus lábios, não te dando tempo para se acostumar, começando a foder a sua boca como se estivesse metendo em ti por outro lugar. A exposição te excitava ainda mais, a ideia de que a qualquer segundo o seu encontro poderia te flagrar daquele jeito, com outro homem. O homem sentia o mesmo, igualmente afetado pelo barulhinho dos seus engasgos ao redor do pau dele, pelos olhinhos cheios d’água a cada vez que ele tocava a sua garganta.

Era tão selvagem que fazia o seu corpo ir para trás com o impacto, mas ele nunca te deixava escapar, te prendia no lugar e se curvava sobre ti, fazendo com que você o levasse ainda mais fundo, te impedia de respirar e só parava quando suas mãozinhas desesperadas apertavam as coxas definidas. A essa altura, a sua maquiagem estava uma completa bagunça, o rímel escorria e o gloss havia se espalhado por todos os cantos. O colombiano sorriu cheio de luxúria e sarcasmo quando te viu fungar baixinho, toda afetadinha e desorientada pelos movimentos repentinos, porém isso não o impediu de se colocar para dentro de novo, no mesmo ritmo.

– Precisa aprender qual é o seu lugar. – De cima, ele te encarava com superioridade, o maxilar cerrado e o olhar carregado em uma mistura de tesão e ódio. – E é só assim que você lembra, né? Quando tem um pau te fodendo em algum buraquinho. – Os sons das estocadas se misturavam com os gemidos arrastados dele, com os carros cortando pela estrada e com os seus choramingos. – Acho que eu preciso te comer mais vezes, até te fazer lembrar que você é a minha putinha.

Quando o orgasmo se aproximou, os movimentos do homem se tornaram ainda mais sedentos, certeiros ao alcançar a sua garganta, desesperados pelo alívio. Ele te usava da maneira mais suja possível, feito uma bonequinha de foda, maltratava a sua boquinha no puro egoísmo, gozando em um gemido rouco e se afastando bruscamente, fazendo toda a porra branquinha respingar na tua camisa, manchando o manto rubro-negro com o gozo dele. A mensagem era clara; aquele era o território dele.

Enquanto você se recuperava, Richard tirava a mochila das costas, puxando de lá uma camisa nova e mais importante ainda, uma camisa dele. Quando você se levantou, limpando o cantinho da boca com as costas da mão, tudo que ele fez foi apontar para o seu tronco, o semblante impassível ao te mandar tirar a blusa, repetindo a ordem com mais ênfase diante da sua inércia, ainda em choque com o que tinha acabado de acontecer.

– Richard…O que você vai fazer? – Temerosa, você questionou ao entregar a peça, vendo-o estendê-la no capô do carro do uruguaio. – Puta que…Você é louco.

– Um presentinho ‘pra ele. ‘Pra ele nunca esquecer com quem ele ‘tá mexendo. – Te encarando novamente, ele te deu uma nova roupa, sem nem disfarçar o ego. – Ou você realmente achava que eu iria te comer com aquilo no seu corpo?

Aproximando-se de ti novamente, ele te cercou, sorrindo vaidoso ao observar o alviverde brilhar na tua pele, poderia jurar que você até mesmo ficava mais bonita daquela cor, no entanto, a fúria falava mais alto. Te pegando pela nuca, apertando os fios contra os dedos, ele fez menção de que iria te beijar, sem nunca o fazer de fato. Não, você não merecia, era o que ele pensava, mas isso não o impedia de te torturar com isso.

A provocação de mais cedo ainda ecoava na cabeça de Richard, fazia o sangue dele borbulhar com a imagem de você com outra pessoa, com a insinuação feita pelo uruguaio. Com somente um dos braços, ele te virou de costas, vergando a sua coluna para frente até que o seu rosto estivesse pressionado no metal gelado, de frente para a camisa, sem te deixar esquecer da sujeira que fizeram.

Em um puxão, seu short estava embolado no seus calcanhares juntamente com a calcinha, fazendo as suas perninhas espremerem uma na outra, sentindo o centro pulsar violentamente em expectativa. O polegar pressionou o botãozinho sensível, esfregando com lentidão, espalhando todo o seu melzinho pela região, ameaçando deslizar para dentro e saciar a vontade que tomava conta de todo o teu âmago.

– ‘Tá tão molhadinha, olha isso… – O tom zombeteiro te fazia encolher, choramingar. – É tudo de vontade de dar ‘pra mim, né? De ficar com pau socado até o talo nessa buceta apertada.

Segurando o cacete com uma das mãos, Richard deslizou a cabecinha desde o seu clitóris até a entradinha, que piscou imediatamente, quase como se pretendesse sugá-lo para dentro. Ele pressionava, fazia que iria te encher, te arrancava gemidos e suspiros em deleite, retesando ao sentir o molhadinho da saliva pingar no seu buraquinho mais apertado. O dígito subiu até alcançar o local, trazendo a sua lubrificação junto, deixando bem babadinho para que você o recebesse.

– Mas não é isso que você merece. – A pressão te fez derreter, completamente tontinha quando a pontinha do pau começou a te alargar de pouquinho em pouquinho. – Não, eu vou socar tudo nesse seu rabinho. Até você não aguentar mais. – As palavras pareciam acompanhar a velocidade com que ele deslizava no teu interior. – E eu vou te devolver ‘pro seu namoradinho novo trocando as pernas do tanto que levou pau.

Bruto, Richard te pegou o cabelo, puxando-os até que o seu tronco estivesse suspenso no ar, sem levantar o suficiente para que pudesse enxergar o 27 nas suas costas. Seus murmúrios saíam misturados com frases desconexas, quase em um chorinho quando ficou cheinha dele por trás. Um gritinho escapou dos seus lábios quando o colombiano saiu do seu interior e te preencheu de uma só vez, empurrando o quadril contra a sua bunda empinada em movimentos rápidos e firmes, forte e fundo.

– Cala a boca, porra. – Vociferou no pé do teu ouvido, tampando a sua boca com a mão livre. – Engole esse gemido de cadela no cio, porque se alguém vier aqui eu vou te comer ‘pra quem quiser ver. – A palma espremia o seu rostinho, cobria a sua boca e um pouquinho do nariz, te roubava o ar de um jeito que fazia o seu corpo estremecer com o prazer. – Mas ‘cê é tão suja que aposto que gostaria disso. – Os sonidos das peles se chocando denunciavam todo o ato, por mais que os gemidos fossem contidos, a velocidade só aumentava o barulho. – Tenho certeza de que gozaria na hora se ele aparecesse aqui e descobrisse que você ‘tá dando o cuzinho ‘pra mim.

Afetada, você tentou chamar o nome do colombiano, perdida no próprio prazer, impossibilitada de completar sentenças lógicas. O seu corpo se entregava para ele, recebia todo o prazer, o ciúmes e o calor, tão ensopada que fazia escorrer pelas coxas, uma completa bagunça. Em um ritmo alucinante, o colombiano te fodia como se te odiasse, repetindo a frase no pé do teu ouvido, segredando, te desafiando a dizer que o odiava também. Selvagens, primitivos, viciados.

E nesse jogo de ódio, entre fazer um ou o outro pagar, os dois acabavam ganhando.

#idollete #richard rios #richard rios x reader #richard rios smut #richard rios fanfic #smut #pt br

193 notes · View notes