call me the woker of the west but the first thing i be doing in my fame dr is scripting out zionism as a whole so i can actually speak to celebs during interviews without feeling disgusted
──── ( 📓 ) after a night ruined by megan’s noise, you stumble through the next day half-awake, survive class thanks to yoonchae’s jokes, and come home hoping for quiet, only to find megan lounging on the couch with her friends, laughing and crossing lines, until you finally snap, kick them out, and realize too late that megan isn’t sorry at all—she’s watching you burn, and she likes it, because she loves it when you’re mad.
𝓟aring. switch!roommate!gp megan skiendiel x switch!fem reader.
𝓒ontent 𝓦arnings. abuse of power, alcohol, bitting, blackmail, body worship, breeding, choking, clit play, cum eating, cum play, cunnilingus, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, face fucking, face sitting, facial, fingering, gropping, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, nipple play, pet names, praise, riding, squirting, throat fucking, titsucking, toxic dynamic, unprotected sex.
𝓦ord 𝓒ount. 9,2k.
𝓜asterlist.
a soft whimper, barely audible beneath the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock, pulls you from the remnants of sleep. your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you're disoriented, caught between the lingering hush of your dreams and the reality that immediately claws back in. then you hear it again—low, sultry, and utterly infuriating. you press your face into the pillow, smothering your scream, your fists clenching against the fabric as if you could physically smother the noise.
this isn’t the first time it’s happened. megan, your roommate, has a habit of bringing people over—usually girls—late into the night. but it’s not just the noise that grates at you. it’s the timing, the arrogance, the sheer disrespect. tomorrow, you have an exam that could make or break your final grade, and megan doesn’t seem to care. the thought of having to force yourself awake, to sit through hours of mental strain with only a few hours of restless sleep behind you, churns your stomach. you want to scream, but you know it won’t help. megan never lets it affect her.
you lie there, your heart hammering in your chest, and stare at the ceiling as if it might offer you some kind of reprieve. but of course, it doesn’t. the sounds from the next room continue, unrelenting, and so do the thoughts in your head. this isn’t the first time you’ve been woken up like this, and it won’t be the last if you don’t do something. you take a deep breath, swallowing your frustration, and force yourself to your feet. you have to talk to her. you have to set some kind of boundary—because if she doesn’t change her ways, you might not be left with anything at all.
megan has always been the kind of person who thrives in the spotlight. with her long, wavy hair and a confident stride that seems to say, “i know what i'm doing,” she often draws attention without even trying. her charm is undeniable, and she uses it to her advantage, navigating the social scene with ease. as the daughter of well–connected parents, she has never had to worry about the pressures that weigh on your heart. megan’s university experience is a series of party nights and casual dates, where studies are just an excuse to have a social life. her father, a former business tycoon and close friend of the university owner, ensures that her academic path is smooth, making it easy for her to breeze through classes without the burden of exams looming over her like a dark cloud.
while you're buried in textbooks and practice tests, preparing for the rigorous assessments that define your academic journey, megan treats her education like a side activity, a mere extension of her glamorous lifestyle. the disparity between your experiences is glaring. you study long into the night, fueled by the pressure to perform well and secure your future, while megan's world revolves around the thrill of the next social event. it's not just carefree; it's a complete disregard for the reality you face daily. you can't help but feel a pang of resentment, especially when her antics—like the wild parties she brings over—interfere with your vital study time. megan is not unaware of the impact her behavior has; she simply chooses to ignore it, as if your suffering is of no consequence. this disparity creates a chasm between you, a rift deepened by her obliviousness to the very real consequences of her actions.
with a determined stride, you push aside the lingering anxiety and head down the hallway, your heart pounding with a mix of anger and urgency. the thought of getting some time to prepare for your exam propels you forward, but the nagging worry of megan’s usual indifference to your needs looms large. as you approach her door, a sudden jolt of movement catches your eye—daniela, the curly–haired girl, bursts out of the room, her laughter echoing in the corridor. she waves playfully at you, a bright smile on her lips, as if she’s completely unaware of the storm brewing behind her.
the situation feels surreal; you’re so focused on addressing the chaos in your own life that it's almost comical to see her so carefree. yet, there’s a sharp edge to your frustration, and the moment she walks past you, stepping into the bathroom, you feel a wave of anger wash over you. this isn’t the time for her to be lighthearted while your world is spiraling out of control. with the thought of your exam looming, the last thing you need is a reminder of megan's social escapades.
as you turn back to the door, you’re ready to confront her about the noise and the lack of consideration for your studying. but just as you reach for the handle, the door swings open suddenly, revealing megan, who stands there with a dismissive smirk. you’re about to speak, to let her know exactly how inappropriate this is, but she cuts you off mid–thought. “oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “it’s just a little fun, you know?” she rolls her eyes, as if your concern is a joke. “you’ll survive on a few hours of sleep, right?”
her flippant attitude stings more than you expected, deepening the chasm between you two. the dismissiveness in her voice is a slap to your face, and it ignites a fire of rage within you. this isn’t just about being a good roommate; it’s about respect and understanding. you can’t do this anymore—feeling as if your struggles are trivial in her eyes. the air feels heavy with tension as she steps back into her room, her body language clearly signaling that she’s not interested in listening to you. and with that, the door slams shut, leaving you standing in the hallway, heart racing and the weight of your impending exam crashing down on you like a tidal wave.
as the door slams shut behind megan, you feel a cold wave of frustration wash over you. standing there, her dismissive words echo in your mind, the weight of her disregard for your struggles pressing down on you like a lead blanket. you can’t help but take a deep breath, attempting to quell the rising panic as your heart races in your chest. this isn't just about the noise or the parties; it’s about the respect you are owed as a person with responsibilities and a future hanging in the balance.
you push the door open again, determined not to let her brush you off. “megan, this isn’t just about a little fun!” you shout, your voice filled with a mix of anger and desperation. you step into her room, the vibrant colors and scattered belongings a stark contrast to the dull, utilitarian space of your own. “you don’t understand what’s at stake for me. i can’t afford to be woken up at all hours while you’re out here partying!” the anger bubbles to the surface, and you feel your cheeks flush with heat as you confront her.
megan rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as if your words are nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “oh, come on! it’s just a night out. you’ll be fine. you’re an adult, after all.” her tone shifts from dismissive to condescending, each word a needle to your already fraying nerves. “you need to relax and stop being so high strung. i’m not going to control your life.”
her casual remarks sting more than you anticipated. “not control my life? that’s not what i’m trying to do! i’m trying to make a point about our living situation! i can’t study in a house that feels like a nightclub every night! this isn’t fair to me!” you can feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the stress of the upcoming exam swirling in your mind like a tempest. you’re not used to feeling this vulnerable, but the frustration and the fear of what’s at stake are too overwhelming to contain.
megan shakes her head, her expression smirking, as if you're overreacting. “you’re being dramatic again. you know i don’t mean to disrupt you. i’m just living my life.” her words are a slap to your face, and you can’t help but feel the isolation of your struggles magnified by her lack of empathy. “you need to learn to deal with a little noise. it’s not like i’m causing a war zone in here.”
with each passing second, the argument escalates, the tension thickening in the air. you feel like a ticking time bomb, and the pressure to perform in your exams is suffocating you. the confrontation is no longer just about megan and her social life; it’s about your right to have a peaceful environment for your studies. you can’t afford to be a part of this chaos any longer. “you’re not helping me, megan! you’re undermining the very thing i’m trying to achieve!” you cry, your voice cracking as the weight of your frustrations spills out. “this isn’t about you having fun; it’s about me having the ability to focus on my future!”
as the door swings shut again, you stand frozen, a hollow echo of your voice lingering in your ears. the confrontation with megan lies heavily on your chest, the air thick with the remnants of frustration and anger that now feels meaningless. your heart races in your chest, but it’s not the adrenaline of a fight; it’s the frantic energy of a person on the brink of a breakdown. the thought of your exam tomorrow looms over you, a dark cloud that seems to grow heavier with every passing second. you can almost feel the weight of your future pressing down on your shoulders, and it’s suffocating.
back in your room, you sink onto your bed, the familiar weight of your pillow no longer a source of comfort but a reminder of the sleep you were supposed to have. the silence is now deafening, filled with the noise of your racing thoughts and the echo of megan’s dismissive laughter. you feel utterly alone, yet you’re surrounded by the vibrant energy of your roommate's world, one that you can’t escape. the isolation is palpable, and the pressure to succeed is a constant shadow, one you can't shake.
you scroll through your notes frantically, but your mind is a blur. each word blurs together, the pages of text morphing into a chaotic jumble of letters, symbols of your struggle. the urgency of your upcoming exam is a ticking clock counting down, ticking away your chance to prove yourself, to secure the future you've worked so hard for. yet, every time you try to focus, the image of megan's smug face flashes before your eyes, her flippant comment mocking the very real fears you carry.
the emotional toll of this situation is immense, a mix of frustration, sadness, and a deep sense of injustice. how can she not see how her actions affect you? the pressure of the exam feels insurmountable, the thought of failure haunting your every attempt to concentrate. you close your eyes, trying to drown out the noise of your thoughts, but the tension between you and megan pulses through you like a relentless current, threatening to pull you under. you need to find a way to cope, to reclaim your focus, but with every minute that passes, you’re not sure how much time you have left before you lose it all.
the next morning comes far too fast.
your alarm goes off like an insult, shrill and unforgiving, and you slap at your phone with a groan, your body heavy, your limbs slow, your head pounding like it’s stuffed with cotton. you don’t remember falling asleep—just staring at the ceiling, counting breaths, counting regrets. when you finally drag yourself out of bed, the mirror reflects someone hollow-eyed and pale, shoulders slumped like you’re already apologizing to the world for existing.
by the time you get to campus, you’re running purely on muscle memory. backpack on. steps forward. doors opening and closing around you. voices blur together into background noise, and the sunlight feels way too bright, like it’s personally targeting you. you make it to class somehow, sliding into your seat with the grace of a ghost haunting its own life.
“oh wow,” a voice whispers beside you. “they actually let zombies enroll now?”
you blink. once. twice. slowly turn your head.
yoonchae is grinning at you, chin propped on her hand, eyes bright in that annoyingly awake way that makes you want to lie down on the floor and dissolve. she’s already got her notes out, color-coded, neat, painfully put together.
“don’t,” you mutter. your voice sounds like it hasn’t been used since last semester.
she squints at you dramatically. “bestie… when was the last time you slept. and don’t say ‘i napped emotionally’ because that doesn’t count.”
you drop your forehead onto the desk with a dull thud. “if i close my eyes right now i will not wake up.”
“tragic,” she says, completely unsympathetic. then, softer, “roommate again?”
you nod without lifting your head. yoonchae clicks her tongue, shaking her head like she’s already judged megan in a court of law and found her guilty on all counts. “one day,” she says, “i will fight her. legally. with words. or illegally. with vibes.”
despite yourself, a weak huff of laughter escapes you. it hurts a little, but it’s something.
the professor starts talking at the front of the room, words flowing into words into words, and you try—really try—to focus. you write down what you can, even though your handwriting looks like it’s slowly giving up on life. every sentence feels like it takes too much effort, your brain lagging a full second behind everything happening.
halfway through the lecture, you feel yoonchae slide something onto your desk.
a coffee. already opened. already sweetened exactly how you like it.
you look at her. she just shrugs. “you looked like you were about to start seeing static.”
you take a sip, the warmth grounding you just enough to keep you upright. you’re still exhausted, still fragile, still carrying the weight of everything waiting for you—but for a moment, sitting there with yoonchae nudging your foot under the desk and whispering dumb commentary about the professor’s voice sounding like a meditation app, you feel less alone.
still a zombie.
but at least a zombie with a best friend.
by the time you get home, your body feels like it’s been dragged through the day instead of living it.
your bag slides off your shoulder the second you step inside, hitting the floor with a soft thud that somehow feels louder than it should. your head is still buzzing from lectures, half–remembered notes, yoonchae’s jokes echoing faintly in the back of your mind. all you want is quiet. maybe water. maybe to lie down and stare at nothing.
you don’t get any of that.
the living room is lit up like an arcade. the tv flashes bright colors, rapid movement, explosions of sound. empty chip bags and candy wrappers are scattered across the coffee table like confetti from a celebration you were never invited to. soda cans sweat onto the wood. laughter spills into the air, careless and loud.
megan is sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, legs stretched out, completely at ease. two of her friends are there—one slouched in an armchair, the other sitting cross-legged on the floor, both focused on the game like nothing else in the world exists.
you stop short in the doorway.
“yo,” one of them says without looking away from the screen. then they glance over, eyes flicking to you. their mouth twists into a grin. “oh damn. meg, did you put your girlfriend in a bad mood or something?”
the room goes a little too quiet. not silent—just… sharp.
megan snorts, not even bothering to look at you. “she’s always like that.”
something tightens in your chest.
you don’t answer. you just stand there, exhausted, watching them laugh like it’s nothing. like you didn’t stumble through class half–dead. like last night didn’t happen. like you aren’t standing there with your nerves already rubbed raw.
“rough day?” another friend adds, mock-innocent. “or are you just not a gamer?”
they laugh again.
megan finally glances at you, eyes flicking over your face, your posture, your silence. for half a second, you think—maybe—she’ll say something. correct them. acknowledge you. do literally anything.
instead, she shrugs and turns back to the screen. “don’t start. i’m in the middle of something.”
that’s it.
the last bit of energy drains out of you, leaving behind something hollow and aching. you swallow, nod once to no one in particular, and step past the living room without another word. behind you, the game noise resumes immediately, laughter swelling like you were never there at all.
you close your bedroom door softly. not because you’re calm—but because you don’t have the strength to slam it.
your room is dim, quiet, untouched. you drop onto the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the blanket, and for the first time all day, you let your shoulders sag. your head falls forward, exhaustion finally catching up to you, heavy and unavoidable.
you’re not angry anymore.
you’re just tired.
tired of being invisible.
tired of being considerate when no one returns it.
tired of feeling like the villain for needing peace.
outside your door, laughter erupts again.
inside, you sit there, staring at the floor, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.
you don’t know how long you sit there before it happens.
at first, it’s just the noise. the laughter bleeding through the walls, the controller clicks, the stupid celebratory yelling every time someone wins a round. it crawls under your skin, digs into the exhaustion you’ve been barely holding together all day.
then someone says your name.
muffled. casual. wrong.
something inside you snaps—not loud, not dramatic, just clean and final. you stand up so fast the chair scrapes against the floor, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re opening your door and stepping back into the living room.
the room freezes when they see you.
megan’s friends look up first, surprise flashing across their faces. you’re standing there rigid, eyes sharp, hands clenched at your sides, every ounce of restraint gone.
“can you guys leave,” you say. not a question. your voice is steady in a way that scares even you.
one of them laughs, awkward. “uh—”
“no,” you repeat, firmer. “i’m serious. get out.”
megan finally pauses the game. she turns slowly, eyes dragging over you like she’s savoring the sight. there’s a flicker of something in her expression—interest. amusement.
“what’s your problem?” she asks lightly.
you don’t look at her. your eyes stay on her friends. “this is my apartment too. and i’m done being disrespected in it.”
the friends exchange looks. one of them mutters something under their breath, but they start gathering their stuff anyway, clearly uncomfortable now. as they head for the door, one shoots megan a look like, deal with your mess.
the door closes behind them.
the silence that follows is heavy. electric.
megan leans back on the couch, arms stretching over the backrest, completely unbothered. she tilts her head, a slow smile pulling at her lips. “wow,” she says. “didn’t know you had it in you.”
you turn on her then, all the anger you’ve been swallowing finally burning through. “what is wrong with you?” you snap. “you let them talk to me like that. you treat me like i don’t exist unless i’m inconvenient.”
she stands up, unhurried, stepping closer. too close. her smile doesn’t fade—it sharpens. “you’re overreacting.”
“no,” you say, voice shaking now. “you keep doing this. the noise, the parties, the comments. you don’t care if i sleep, if i study, if i’m barely holding it together—”
she laughs. actually laughs. “god, look at you.”
that’s when you see it. the way her eyes light up. the way she watches you like this is entertainment.
“you like this,” you realize, breath hitching. “you like when i’m upset.”
megan shrugs, unapologetic. “it’s better than when you’re quiet. at least now you’re interesting.”
the words hit harder than any insult.
your hands are shaking. “you think this is funny? you think pushing me until i break is some kind of game?”
she steps closer again, voice low, teasing. “i think you finally stopped pretending you don’t care.”
you stare at her, chest tight, heart pounding, the truth of it sitting ugly and exposed between you. this isn’t just thoughtlessness. it’s control. it’s provocation. it’s her enjoying the power she has over your emotions.
“i hate this,” you whisper. “i hate living like this.”
for the first time, her smile falters—just a little. but then it comes back, slower, more dangerous. “then do something about it.”
the challenge hangs in the air.
and suddenly, you realize this fight isn’t going to end with raised voices.
it’s going to end with a decision.
she turned to you, her eyes dark and hungry as she backed you up against the wall. megan’s hands found your hips, gripping them possessively as she pressed her lithe body against yours. you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, could smell the intoxicating mix of her perfume and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke.
“now, where were we?” megan purred, her voice a low, seductive rumble. one hand slid up from your hip to cup your face, tilting it down to meet her piercing gaze. her thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the gesture intimate and loaded with unspoken promise. “you were looking moody and mad... and so fucking gorgeous. i want to ruin you, (y/n). i want to make you forget everything except my name and the feeling of my hands on your skin.”
megan leaned in, her lips a hairsbreadth from yours. her breath was hot against your mouth, carrying the faintest hint of whiskey. she hovered there, letting you feel the anticipation, the aching need building between you both. and then, without warning, she closed the distance and captured your mouth in a searing, demanding kiss.
megan kissed you like she owned you, like she was claiming you as her own. her lips moved against yours with a fierce intensity, her tongue delving deep to taste you, to stake her claim. the kiss was more than a kiss — it was a declaration, a dark promise of all the sinful delights that awaited you in her bed.
megan’s hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she ground her hips against yours. she nipped at your bottom lip, tugging on it with her teeth before soothing the sting with her tongue. her fingers dug into your skin, pulling you harder against her as she deepened the kiss, her tongue plundering your mouth with wild abandon.
she broke the kiss, leaving you both breathless and wanting. megan’s eyes were dark with lust, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. she licked her lips, tasting you on her tongue as she drank in your expression. “fuck, (y/n)... i want to devour you. i want to taste every inch of your skin, want to hear you screaming my name as i make you come undone.” she rasped, her voice hoarse with desire.
megan’s hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and exposing your midriff. her fingers skimmed over your soft skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. she leaned down, her lips brushing over your collarbone, your throat, your jaw... marking a trail of hot, open–mouthed kisses up to your ear.
“let me take you to bed, (y/n).” she breathed, her words a sinful promise against your skin. “let me show you the real meaning of pleasure... let me fucking ruin you for anyone else. my room... my bed... my rules. what do you say, baby? ready to be mine?”
megan’s eyes glowed with a wicked, triumphant light. she knew she had you, knew that you were already putty in her skilled, seductive hands. she could practically taste your surrender, could feel the way your body melted against hers, craving her touch. and she was more than ready to give you everything you needed... and then some more.
megan silenced your question with another searing kiss, her lips moving demandingly against yours as she backed you further into the shadowed corner of the dorm room. the door clicked shut behind you, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the charged silence. megan’s hands slid down to your wrists, pinning them above your head as she pressed her body flush against yours, trapping you between the cool wall and her scorching heat.
she broke the kiss, her chest heaving, eyes dark and wild as she stared down at you. a wicked smirk played at the corners of her mouth, her lips glistening and kiss–swollen. “i’m going to fuck you, (y/n).” she murmured, her voice a low, sinful purr. “i’m going to fuck you so hard and so good, you'll forget your own name. all you’ll know is me... all you’ll crave is my touch... my taste... my everything.”
megan’s fingers found the hem of your shirt, pushing it up and off in one swift, impatient motion. she tossed it aside, letting her hungry gaze rake over your newly exposed skin. her hands skimmed up your sides, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks already straining against your bra. she leaned down, her tongue flicking out to taste the hollow of your throat, the soft spot just below your ear... the swell of your breasts above the lacy edge of your bra.
megan’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin as she felt you shudder, heard the soft gasp that escaped your mouth. she loved the way your body responded to her touch, the way you arched into her hands like a string puppet dancing on a string. “fuck, (y/n)... i can feel how much you want it. i can feel how badly you need me to touch you, to taste you, to fucking claim every inch of this gorgeous body.” she breathed, her words a dark, seductive rumble.
she reached behind you, deft fingers unhooking your bra with practiced ease. she tugged it down your arms, letting it fall away to expose you fully to her ravenous gaze. megan’s eyes darkened, her pupils blown wide with lust as she drank in the sight of your naked breasts. she leaned down, her tongue flicking out to circle one stiff peak before drawing it into the wet heat of her mouth. she suckled greedily, her lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild with sensation. her other hand palmed your neglected breast, kneading the soft flesh, rolling and plucking at the pebbled nipple until it ached with need.
megan’s lips trailed up the column of your throat, her teeth grazing your jaw before she captured your mouth in a bruising kiss. she plundered your mouth with her tongue, swallowing your moans and whimpers of pleasure. her hands slid down your sides, over your hips, before hooking into the waistband of your jeans. with a wicked grin against your lips, she tugged them down, along with your panties, letting them pool around your ankles. she broke the kiss to tug your clothes off fully, leaving you bare before her.
megan took a step back, her eyes roving over your naked form with a look of pure, unadulterated lust. she licked her lips, a slow, sensual motion that sent shivers down your spine. “fuck, (y/n)... look at you. so fucking gorgeous, spread out like a feast for me to devour.” she purred, her voice a low, sinful rumble. “i’m going to taste every inch of you... i’m going to make you scream until you’re hoarse, until the only word you remember is my name.”
she leaned down, her fingers sliding up your inner thigh, teasing, tormenting, until they reached the apex. she brushed her fingers through your slick folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal, your need for her touch. a dark chuckle escaped her lips as she felt your hips buck up against her hand, seeking more contact, more friction.
“already so wet for me, baby? already desperate for my fingers, my tongue, my cock?” megan breathed, her voice a dark, wicked purr. she circled your clit with a feather–light touch, the barest whisper of sensation that had you clenching around nothing, aching to be filled. “don’t worry, sweetheart... i’m going to give you everything you need.”
megan’s eyes flashed with triumphant hunger as she watched you squirm under her teasing touch. she loved seeing you come undone, loved being the cause of your desperate, aching need. With a wicked grin, she hooked her fingers under your knees and lifted your legs, encouraging you to wrap them around her waist. her hands gripped your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she pressed you harder against the wall, pinning you in place with her body.
she leaned in, her breath hot against your ear as she murmured. “that’s it, baby... give in to it. let me feel you tremble, let me hear you moan. i want to ruin you for anyone else, want to make it so that the only thing you can think about... the only thing you can fucking crave... is me.”
with that, megan capturing your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, to stake her dark promise. her hands slid up your back, nails raking lightly over your skin as she held you tight against her. she rocked her hips into yours, the rough denim of her jeans rubbing deliciously against your bare, slick folds. each thrust, each grind, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, stoking the fire building in your belly.
megan’s lips trailed down your jaw, her teeth nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin of your throat. she licked over the marks she left, soothing the sting with the flat of her tongue before moving lower, over the swell of your breasts. she paused to lave attention on each nipple, suckling and biting until they were red and aching, until you were writhing beneath her. she could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, could hear the way your breathing grew ragged and desperate. and still, she didn’t let up her relentless assault on your senses.
she kissed down your stomach, her fingers splayed over your navel as she dipped her tongue into the hollow. she flicked over your clit, a teasing brush of sensation that made you buck up against her mouth, seeking more. more pressure, more contact, more of that delicious friction that would send you hurtling over the edge.
megan smirked up at you, her eyes dark and gleaming with wicked promise as she held your trembling thighs apart. she could feel your heat, your need, your desperation radiating off your bare skin in waves. it fueled her own desire, stoking the flames of her hunger for you.
“that’s it, baby... give yourself to me. i want to taste your pleasure, want to feel you come undone on my tongue.” she breathed against your slick flesh, her voice a sinful rumble that vibrated through you. and with that, she leaned in and licked a slow, sensual stripe up your slit, her tongue delving between your folds to lap at your essence.
megan moaned at your taste, a sound of pure, unadulterated bliss. she could have feasted on you for hours, could have lost herself in the heady taste of your arousal. but she had other plans, other deliciously depraved things she wanted to do to you. so she focused her attention on your clit, circling the sensitive nub with the tip of her tongue before suckling it greedily into her mouth.
she could feel your body tensing, could hear the way your breathing grew more and more ragged as she worked you over. she could tell you were close, could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around nothing. she wanted to push you over the edge, wanted to make you scream her name as you came undone.
she added her fingers to the mix, plunging two deep into your tight, wet heat. she pumped them in and out, curling them just so to hit that spot inside you that made your vision go white. all the while, she never let up her assault on your clit, never stopped suckling and flicking and licking until you were a writhing, moaning, mewling mess beneath her.
megan could feel your body tensing, your muscles pulling taut as a bowstring as your climax approached. she could hear your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, could feel your thighs trembling around her head. she knew you were seconds away from shattering, from coming completely undone. but she wanted more. she wanted to push you to your absolute limit, to make this orgasm the most intense and mind–blowing experience of your life.
so with a wicked grin, she added a third finger, plunging it deep alongside the first two. she curled them just right, rubbing that secret spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. at the same time, she sucked hard on your clit, her lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves as she flicked the tip of her tongue over it rapidly, again and again, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
megan could feel your walls starting to flutter, could sense your body going rigid as the tension built to an unbearable peak. she could tell you were seconds away from coming completely unglued, from screaming her name as ecstasy crashed over you. but she wanted to hear it, wanted to feel you convulse around her fingers, wanted to taste your release on her tongue.
“that’s it, baby.f she growled against your sex, her voice a dark, sinful rumble that vibrated through your core. “come for me, (y/n). let me feel you come apart, let me taste your pleasure. give it to me, sweetheart. give me everything!”
with that, she sank her teeth into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, marking you, claiming you, as she sucked your clit hard and thrust her fingers deep, curling them just right to send you hurtling over the edge into oblivion.
megan’s eyes flashed with triumph as she felt your body go rigid, your back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. she could feel your walls clamping down around her fingers, your essence gushing out to coat her chin and drip down her wrist. she moaned against your sex, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure shooting through your core as you screamed her name.
“that’s it, baby... fuck yes, scream for me! let everyone know who makes you feel this fucking good.” she growled, her fingers never stopping their relentless assault, pushing you through your climax and straight into another one. your body convulsed, your hips bucking wildly as megan worked you over, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your quivering form.
she could feel your hands fisting in her hair, pulling her harder against you as you rode out the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. your chest heaved, your skin glistening with a sheen of sweat as you gasped for air. but megan wasn’t done with you yet. she had so much more in store, so many more ways she wanted to make you scream and beg and plead for more.
with a final, hard suck to your clit, megan slowly withdrew her fingers from your dripping center. she brought them up to her mouth, making a show of licking your essence from the digits as she gazed at you with a look of pure, wicked satisfaction. she could still taste you on her tongue, could still feel the heat of your skin against her lips. and she knew, without a doubt, that she was already addicted to your flavor, to the way your body responded to her every touch.
megan grinned wickedly at your suggestion, her eyes glinting with dark promise. she licked her lips, already imagining the depraved delights that awaited you both in this new position. without a word, she urged you to shift positions, encouraging you to straddle her face and lower your dripping core towards her waiting mouth.
“that’s it, baby... sit that pretty pussy right on my face.” she purred, her hands gripping your hips, guiding you into place. “i want to feel your heat, want to taste your essence dripping down my chin as you ride my tongue to another mind–blowing orgasm.”
as you settled into position, megan leaned up and dragged her tongue along your slit, moaning at the taste of your arousal. she could feel the way your thighs trembled, could sense your anticipation growing with each passing second. she knew you were eager, knew you were desperate to feel her mouth on you, to have her suckle your clit until you screamed.
megan’s hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she urged you to grind against her face. at the same time, she reached down to free her own aching cock from the confines of her jeans. she stroked it slowly, teasingly, as she gazed up at you with a look of pure, unadulterated lust.
“fuck, (y/n)... look at you, sitting on my face like the perfect little cock slut you are.” she growled, her voice a low, sinful rumble against your sex. “i bet you can’t wait to wrap those pretty lips around my dick, to taste the drops of pre–cum leaking from the tip. i bet you’re dying to choke yourself on my cock, to feel it hitting the back of your throat as you swallow around it like a good girl.”
megan punctuated her words with a hard thrust of her hips, grinding her rigid length against your chin. she could feel your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, could sense your growing desperation. She knew you wanted it, knew you craved the taste of her on your tongue.
megan smirked as she felt your mouth open eagerly, your hot breath washing over her aching cock. she gripped your hips tighter, pulling you harder against her face as she started to eat you out with wild abandon. her tongue delved between your folds, lapping at your dripping essence, moaning at the exquisite taste of your arousal.
at the same time, she fisted a hand in your hair, guiding your head down to her throbbing erection. the tip was already slick with pre–cum, the musky scent of her desire filling your nostrils. she rubbed the head of her cock over your lips, smearing them with her essence, marking you as hers.
“that’s it, baby... taste how much i want you.” megan panted, her voice strained with lust. “wrap your lips around my dick and suck it like you mean it. show me what a good little cock slut you can be for me.”
megan gripped your hair tighter, guiding your head down as she thrust her hips up, pushing the thick head of her cock past your lips to slide over your tongue. she groaned at the exquisite sensation, at the way your mouth enveloped her aching length so perfectly. she could feel your throat constricting around her as she pushed deeper, could feel you struggling to accommodate her size.
“that’s it, baby... take my cock like a good girl.” she growled, her voice a dark, sinful rumble. “i want to feel you choke on it, want to see tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as i fuck your throat raw. i want you to gag and sputter and drool all over my dick as i use your mouth for my pleasure.”
megan started to thrust in earnest, her hips snapping up to meet your face as she fucked your mouth with wild abandon. she could feel your nose pressing against her pelvis, could feel the tip of her cock hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust. she knew you were struggling to breathe, knew that you were likely seeing stars from the lack of oxygen. but she didn’t let up, didn't slow down. if anything, she doubled her efforts, determined to make you choke on her cock until you saw nothing but white.
at the same time, megan’s tongue never stopped its relentless assault on your dripping sex. she lapped and suckled and flicked over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. she could feel your body tensing, could sense your impending orgasm building in the way your thighs trembled and your stomach clenched.
megan could feel your moans vibrating around her cock, could hear the way you whimpered and choked on her length as she used your mouth. it only spurred her on, only made her thrust harder, deeper, more violently. she wanted to ruin you, wanted to break you, wanted to make it so that the only thing you could think about... the only thing you could crave... was her.
“fuck, (y/n)... your mouth feels so fucking good around my cock.” she groaned, her voice strained with pleasure. “i can feel you choking on it, can feel you struggling to breathe. it’s so fucking hot, baby. i want to fuck your throat until you pass out.”
megan could feel your body starting to shake, could sense your orgasm building as she ate you out with wild abandon. she could feel your throat convulsing around her cock, your muscles fluttering as you fought to take her deeper, to choke yourself on her throbbing length. it was the hottest thing she had ever felt, the most incredible sensation of tight, wet heat engulfing her sensitive flesh.
“that’s it, baby... fuck, i can feel you shaking. i can feel your body tensing, your muscles clenching as you get closer and closer to that explosive finish.” she panted, her voice a low, sinful growl against your dripping sex. “i want to feel you come on my tongue, want to taste your pleasure gushing into my mouth as I make you scream my name. give it to me, (y/n)... give me everything!"
megan could feel her own climax approaching, could sense the telltale tightening in her gut as her orgasm built to a crescendo. she thrust into your mouth one, two, three more times before burying herself to the hilt, her cock pulsing and throbbing as she came hard, her hot seed shooting down your throat in thick, creamy ropes.
at the same time, she sucked your clit hard, her lips sealing around the sensitive bud as she flicked the tip of her tongue over it rapidly, driving you to your own mind–blowing peak. she could feel your body going rigid, could hear your scream of ecstasy muffled around her throbbing cock as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.
megan moaned long and low as she felt your essence gushing into her mouth, your juices dripping down her chin and onto her heaving chest. she lapped at your sex, swallowing every drop of your pleasure as she rode out the aftershocks of her own intense climax. her hips jerked and twitched, spurts of cum still leaking from her spent cock as she ground against your face, prolonging both your pleasure.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, megan slowly withdrew from your mouth, her softening length slipping from your lips with a wet pop. she gazed up at you, her eyes dark and satisfied, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. she could see the way your chest heaved, could feel the way your body trembled with the force of the past orgasm.
megan’s eyes flashed with lust and hunger as she watched you rise up on shaky legs, her climax still fresh on your skin and lips. she licked her own lips, tasting the mingled essence of your pleasure, and felt a surge of desire course through her. she wanted more, needed more of you, craved the feeling of your tight heat enveloping her aching cock once again.
as if reading your mind, megan reached out and grabbed your hips, urging you to straddle her waist. her hands slid around to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she guided you into position. she could feel the heat radiating off your core, could smell the intoxicating scent of your arousal. it made her cock twitch and throb against your thigh, already hardening again at the thought of sheathing itself inside you.
“that’s it, baby... sit on my cock.” she purred, her voice a low, sinful rumble. “i want to feel that hot little pussy wrapped around my dick, want to watch you ride me until we both can’t take it anymore. i want to make you scream, want to hear my name falling from your lips like a prayer as i fuck you into oblivion.”
megan’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass as she urged you to lower yourself onto her, to impale yourself on her rigid length. she could feel the tip nudging against your entrance, already slick with the combined juices of your mutual climaxes. she knew you were ready, knew that your body ached with the need for her touch, for the feeling of her thick cock stretching you open.
as you sank down, megan let out a low, guttural moan. the sensation of your tight walls enveloping her, squeezing and fluttering around her sensitive flesh, was almost too much to bear. she had to grit her teeth, had to fight the urge to just start pounding up into you, to fuck you with wild abandon until you were screaming for mercy.
but she held back, wanting to let you set the pace, wanting to watch as you claimed your pleasure on her cock. her hands slid up your sides, over the curves of your breasts, to cup the soft mounds in her palms. she could feel your nipples, hard and straining against her touch, begging for attention. megan rolled the stiff peaks between her fingers, pulling at the sensitive peaks that begged for her attention.
she could feel your hips starting to move, rocking against hers in a slow, sensual grind. it sent sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine, stoking the flames of her desire to a fever pitch. megan’s fingers tightened on your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, plucking at your nipples until you gasped and arched into her touch.
“that’s it, baby... fuck, you feel so good around my cock. so fucking tight and wet and perfect.” she groaned, her hips starting to thrust up to meet yours. “i can feel you squeezing me, feel your pussy gripping my dick like it never wants to let go. it’s like you were made for me, like your body was designed to take my cock over and over again.”
megan’s other hand slid down to rub tight circles over your clit, the rough pad of her thumb pressing against the sensitive nub. she could feel your juices dripping down her shaft, could hear the obscene sound of your mixed essence squelching as you rode her harder and faster. it only spurred her on, only made her thrust up into you with more force, more desperation.
“come on, (y/n), fuck yourself on my cock. take what you need, what you crave. i want to feel you coming undone, want to watch your face as you scream my name and gush all over my dick.” megan demanded, her voice strained with lust and need. “come for me, baby. let me feel your pleasure, let me taste it on your skin as you mark me as yours.”
she captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue plundering your mouth, claiming you, owning you. her fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, pulling you harder against her as she fucked up into you with wild abandon. she could feel her own climax building, could sense the telltale tightening in her gut, but she held back, determined to make you come first, to bring you to the pinnacle of ecstasy before allowing herself the same release.
“fuck, (y/n), i can feel you getting close. i can feel your pussy starting to flutter and clench around me, can feel your juices dripping down my thighs.” megan panted against your mouth, her voice a low, sinful growl. “come on, baby, give that to me. i can feel your pussy starting to spasm around my cock. It's like your body is trying to suck me in deeper, trying to milk my dick for all it’s worth. i can feel your juices dripping down my shaft, your essence coating my skin, marking me as yours.
megan’s voice was a low, guttural moan, her hips snapping up to meet yours with increasing urgency. “come on, baby, give me everything you’ve got. i want to feel your pleasure, want to taste it on my tongue as you scream my name and gush all over my cock. let go, (y/n). let go and come for me like you mean it!”
with those words, megan sealed her lips over yours in a bruising, dominating kiss. her tongue plunged into your mouth, claiming you, possessing you, as her hips surged up to meet yours with wild, desperate thrusts. she could feel your body starting to tense, your muscles pulling taut as your climax approached. she knew you were seconds away from shattering, from coming completely undone on her throbbing length.
megan’s fingers flew over your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles. at the same time, she sank her teeth into the side of your neck, marking you, branding you as hers for all to see. she could feel your pulse jumping beneath her lips, could taste the salt of your skin on her tongue. it only spurred her on, only made her fuck you harder, deeper, with a single–minded focus on bringing you to the pinnacle of pleasure.
she could feel her own orgasm building, could sense the heat coiling tighter and tighter in her core. but she pushed it down, determined to make you come first, to watch as you flew apart in ecstasy. she wanted to see your face, wanted to hear your scream of rapture as you clenched down on her cock, wanted to feel your juices gushing out to soak her skin.
megan could feel your body starting to shake and tremble above her, your hips moving erratically as you chased your rapidly approaching climax. she could sense the way your walls were starting to flutter and clench around her throbbing cock, your velvet heat gripping her like a vice as your pleasure crested.
“that’s it, (y/n), fuck! come on my cock, squeeze the cum out of me with your tight little pussy!” megan growled, her voice raw with lust and desperation. she pistoned her hips up into yours with wild abandon, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as she fucked you with everything she had.
she could feel her own release barreling down on her, the heat in her core building to an unbearable crescendo. but she held back, gritting her teeth and putting every ounce of focus into making you shatter first. one, two, three more hard, deep thrusts, and then she felt you explode around her.
your scream of ecstasy pierced the air as your body went rigid, your inner muscles clamping down on her cock like a silken vise. megan could feel your essence gushing out around her shaft, your juices splashing against her skin as your climax crashed over you. she groaned long and low as your pussy spasmed and clenched, trying to milk her own release from her throbbing member.
that was all it took to send megan hurtling over the edge into her own mind–blowing orgasm. with a hoarse cry of your name, she slammed up into you one last time, burying herself to the hilt as her cock jerked and throbbed. her hot seed erupted from the tip, painting your inner walls white as she pumped spurt after spurt of her thick cum deep inside your fluttering channel.
megan’s fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, pulling you down hard against her as she rode out the waves of her intense climax. her hips jerked and shuddered, her body wracked with pleasure as she filled you with her essence. she could feel your own juices mingling with hers, your combined release seeping out around her softening shaft to drip down onto the sheets below.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, megan slumped back against the mattress, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. she gazed up at you, her eyes dark and sated, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. she could see the way your chest heaved, could feel the aftershocks of your shared pleasure still rippling through your bodies. megan’s hands slid up your sweat-slicked back, tracing the curve of your spine before tangling in your hair. she tugged you down into a slow, deep kiss, pouring all of her satisfaction and contentment into the sensual press of her lips against yours.
“fuck, (y/n)... that was incredible.” she murmured against your mouth, her voice low and rough with lingering desire. “i’ve never felt anything like that before, never come so hard in my life. you’re fucking amazing, baby.”
megan’s fingers carded through your hair, gently untangling the sweat–drenched locks as she held you close. she could feel your heart beating in time with her own, could sense the deep connection that stretched between you, binding you together in the aftermath of your shared ecstasy.
“i could stay like this forever, buried inside you, feeling your heat surrounding me, your skin pressed against mine.” she whispered, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “but i think we both could use a shower first... and maybe a nap. that was some intense fucking, and i want to make sure you’re not too sore to go again later.”
with that, megan slowly, carefully rolled you both over, shifting your joined bodies until she was spooning you from behind. her softening cock slipped from your tender folds with a gush of their mingled release, and she felt a twinge of regret at the loss of your tight, wet heat. but the feeling was quickly overshadowed by the sheer, blissful satisfaction of holding you in her arms, of knowing that she had brought you to such heights of pleasure.
megan pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder as she wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you back against the broad expanse of her chest. she could feel the soft swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips — all of it fitting perfectly against her like two puzzle pieces locking into place. she felt a sense of completeness wash over her, a feeling of rightness and belonging that she had never experienced before. and she knew, without a doubt, that this wouldn’t be the last time the two of you would have such an intimate moment.
SO LAST NIGHT I WENT TO SLEEP LIKE USUAL AND SORT OF AFFIRMED "I AM IN MY DR"
AND WHEN I WOKE UP I WAS SITTING IN MY BED TOWARD THE MIDDLE (leaned over on my side) AND SEARCHING THINGS UP ON MY LAPTOP. I KNOW THIS COULDN'T HAVE BEEN POSSIBLE SINCE I ALREADY PUT MY LAPTOP AWAY ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE ROOM & I DON'T SLEEPWALK. ALSO ON MY NORMAL BED I HAVE STUFFED ANIMALS (WEIGHTED) THAT WEIGH ME DOWN AND THOSE WEREN'T HERE.
THE ROOM WAS SIMILAR TO MINE BUT HAD A FEW CHANGES/WAS DARKER. IT WAS REAL, AND MENTALLY I WAS FREAKING OUT, BUT MY BODY THERE DIDN'T GET THE MESSAGE AND WAS CALM (maybe because it was absurdly tired idk). I LOOKED AT THE WALL AND AFFIRMED "I AM IN MY DR". THEN I CLOSED MY EYES. FOR A MOMENT I FELT THE BEDSHEETS OF MY DR BUT I FREAKED OUT. I ENDED UP FEELING MY BODY IN THE SAME POSITION IT WAS BEFORE I SHIFTED AND CAME BACK. THEN I WENT BACK TO SLEEP CAUSE I WAS TIRED ASF AND IT WAS SIX AM
˳ ̊·ᶓ | How to manifest like you actually know what you're doing .
you need to start treating manifesting like a simple task that you can do whenever you want, because, quite frankly, it is.
manifesting isn't necessarily "imagining" anything , its more like remembering. it's all about remembering what you've forgotten . once you start treating manifesting like remembering, you'll be well on your way .
you also need to realize there is no rules to manifesting . by that, i mean you can be sad, mad, happy, whatever, as long as you affirm that what you want is yours, it will be.
I feel like dahyun would THIRST over her wife after giving birth, she would just be so gentle and sweet and kissing all over her wife's body while pleasuring her 🥹
pairing. dom!kim dahyun x sub!fem reader.
content warnings. body worship.
if dahyun were a wife in the 1950s, she would carry herself with a careful kind of grace, the sort born from knowing the world is always watching—even when it pretends not to be. loving another woman in that time would mean living between lines, and dahyun would understand how to make a life in the margins. she’d be observant, gentle, always a step ahead.
her wife would be pregnant, and that would become the quiet center of dahyun’s universe. not in a dramatic way, but in how every decision bends slightly around her. chairs pulled out before she asks. doors opened early. errands timed so her wife never has to stand too long or walk too far. dahyun would notice the smallest changes—how her wife’s appetite shifts, how certain smells make her pause, how she presses a hand to her lower back when she thinks dahyun isn’t looking.
mornings would begin softly. dahyun would rise first, sleeves rolled, hair still messy, moving through the kitchen like she’s memorized every sound the house can make. she’d keep the radio low, cook eggs slowly, butter toast just right. when her wife finally appears, still sleepy, dahyun would look at her like this is the first and last thing she wants to see every day. she wouldn’t say much—just slide a chair out, press a warm mug into her hands, remind her to sit.
in public, they’d play their roles. two women sharing a home for convenience. old friends. nothing to invite questions. dahyun would keep her posture polite, her voice light, her affection tucked away where only they could feel it. but the moment the door closes behind them, she’d let herself exhale. her hand would find her wife’s back automatically, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles, as if to say, you’re safe now.
pregnancy would make her wife emotional some days, quiet on others. dahyun would meet every version with patience. when her wife cries for reasons she can’t explain, dahyun wouldn’t rush to fix it. she’d just sit close, offer a hand, let the tears fall onto her shoulder. when her wife laughs suddenly at nothing, dahyun would smile like she’s been given a gift.
she’d talk to the baby when they’re alone. not loudly—almost like a secret. while helping her wife into bed, while tying ribbons onto tiny clothes hidden away in a drawer, while resting her palm gently against the curve of her wife’s belly. she’d promise protection. she’d promise love. she’d promise a home that doesn’t waver, even if the world outside does.
nights would be her favorite. the house dim, curtains drawn, the city quieter. she’d help her wife settle in, stacking pillows just right, rubbing her calves, brushing her hair slowly until her breathing evens out. dahyun would lie awake longer, listening. guarding. imagining the future in careful pieces—a small hand wrapped around her finger, a child’s footsteps echoing down the hall, laughter filling the same rooms they now move through quietly.
now, about intimate moments... everything would definitely be as anon says. she would be so enamored with the idea of your pregnancy that even afterward she would see you as something delicate and precious, caressing and kissing every corner of your body until you become nervous because of her actions.
areudirty
gummygunk
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
amandla
theartofmadeline
gamechangershow
