🐇|23| 𑣲 Gwendoline Enthusiast | Alcina Dimitrescu Lover ♥︎ | My comfort character is Miranda Hilmarson ✨️ Resident Evil Village| Disney Villains| Harry Potter| Game Of Thrones | K-pop
Oh to be pressure hugged by Alci. To feel her strong, muscular arms around my body. Her soothing voice in my ear as she places gentle kisses on my head. My small body wrapped in her larger one. To hear her heartbeat. To smell her perfume.
"You've done wonderfully today dragã mea. Just rest now, you don't have to do anything else. Let me hold you."
headcanons ⋆ weapon tension ⋆ dom!emily ⋆ con!reader ⋆ strap-on sex ⋆ pussy detail ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ hand on throat ⋆ spit ⋆ cum play ⋆ cockdrunk!reader ⋆ rough sex ⋆ restraints ⋆ power imbalance ⋆ manipulation ⋆ sweat ⋆ 2.5k
ko-fi
emily first sees you in a file, not a room, and somehow that makes you more dangerous.
your picture is still, grainy, a photo of you in sunglasses stepping out of a penthouse with someone else's name on your ID and someone else's keycard in your hand. your posture is too confident, your smile too clean, and she hates how beautiful you are in black and white. she reads your history twice — dead names, forged signatures, impossible timing — and feels her stomach clench the same way it does when she knows someone’s already halfway out the door. you specialize in manipulation without blood, theft without trace, lies without ever raising your voice. the team doesn’t understand why emily stays late reviewing your movements. but she does — because something about the way you disappear makes her want to find out what it would take to make you stay.
you don’t get careless, you get intimate — and that’s why you stay ahead of her.
she doesn’t know you’re watching her until the first drink arrives at her table, neat whiskey, no note. she drinks it anyway. a week later, your initials show up on a condo lease across from her favorite coffee shop. it’s not the crime that gets her attention. it’s the handwriting — it matches hers. and the worst part is, she doesn’t report it.
you like leaving her reminders — not as threats, but as invitations.
you call it foreplay, even if she’d never use the word. a forged signature in a ledge she’s the only one reading. a photo of you in profile, knowing the camera is there. you leave her little clues that aren’t clues, just touches — intimate, useless, coded. the heel of your shoe visible in a press photo from an embassy she just briefed two weeks earlier. her perfume on a stranger’s jacket. a fake ID left on a table with her mother’s maiden name on it.
she doesn’t admit what’s happening until the night she slams a file shut and says your name under her breath like a curse.
she closes her office door, sits down hard, and exhales through her teeth like she’s just been caught lying. you’ve left another mark — a fake passport processed in a country she swore you’d never enter. her eyes narrow as she stares at your latest profile, at the edges of your smirk, at the part of your mouth that always curves higher when you know you’re about to get away. she should assign another agent to you. she should be smarter than this. but she’s not. because no matter how many names you use, the only one that haunts her is hers — on your lips.
you come to her door on a tuesday night, wearing a coat and nothing else.
you don’t knock at first. you let the buzzer go cold. when she opens the door, she doesn’t move — doesn’t speak, doesn’t aim, doesn’t ask. her mouth is tight and her eyes are tired, and when she sees you — bare legs, wet lashes, no smile — something fractures behind her chest. “you shouldn’t be here,” she says. but her hand stays off her holster. and you step over the threshold without asking.
you don’t say a word — not until the door clicks shut behind you and you can hear her breathing change.
you walk past her like you’ve lived here before, like the hallway remembers you, like the air bends for you. she doesn’t stop you — doesn’t grab you, doesn’t restrain you — just watches the curve of your back as you peel the coat off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. your skin is bare. your collarbone is wet. and her name leaves your lips like a verdict.
“so what happens now?” you ask, soft and still, facing her like you’re ready to be read your rights or ruined.
she doesn’t answer. she crosses the room in silence, stands so close you feel her breath against your cheek, and you close your eyes like you’re bracing for violence that never comes. her hand lifts — slow, deliberate — and finds your jaw, thumb resting just beneath your lip. her other hand ghosts over your hip, not claiming, not warning, just hovering. “you think I won’t put you on your knees right here?” she whispers. you smile. “i think you already did.”
you don’t flinch when she grabs you by the jaw and backs you into the nearest wall, and that makes it worse.
her hand is warm and firm under your chin, tilting your face up until your lips part from the tension, her thigh sliding between yours like it’s been waiting all year to slot into place. your cunt is already wet — warm, flushed, swollen from nothing but the sound of her voice, your slick sticking to the inside of your thighs as you grind down against her leg, desperate to be seen. emily exhales like she’s furious, like you’ve beaten her to something she swore she’d never give you, and her mouth crashes into yours with bruising heat. your nipples drag against her blouse, your chest rising into hers as your arms fall open like you want to be frisked. “this is insane,” she mutters into your mouth, but her hand’s already cupping your tit, thumb brushing your nipple until it stiffens under her palm. you moan into the kiss, soft and pathetic, and she grits out, “you planned this.” you smile — because you did.
she breaks the kiss just to shove your coat down your arms and toss it to the floor, her eyes raking over your bare chest, your trembling thighs, your wet cunt glistening in the low light.
“you’re dripping,” she growls, the words barely human, her hand sliding down your stomach like a promise and pausing just above your mound. her fingers drag through the slick between your legs, knuckles brushing your clit, and you gasp, head tipping back against the wall as your knees threaten to buckle. your pussy clenches around nothing — open, aching, swollen from how badly you need her inside you, her touch making your hips jerk forward with every second of delay. “you’re disgusting,” she hisses, but her voice is thick with want, her pupils blown wide, her cock already straining in her slacks as she drops to her knees in front of you. you grab her shoulder, moaning helplessly as her breath ghosts over your cunt, the heat of her mouth making your legs shake. “then make me worse,” you whisper. and she does.
her tongue slides up your pussy in one long stroke, collecting slick and spit and heat all at once, and your whole body spasms against the wall.
you cry out — loud, cracked, desperate — your hands flying to her hair as she buries her mouth between your legs, tongue fucking into your cunt like she’s claiming territory, her nose grinding up against your clit with every stroke. your thighs tremble violently, your hips bucking forward, and she groans into your pussy like she’s starving, like she’s angry she didn’t do this the moment she saw your file. “fuck — fuck, emily —” you sob, your head thudding against the drywall, your back arching hard as her tongue curls inside you, hitting every swollen, sensitive spot that’s been pulsing for her since you walked through her door. she moans when you clench, sucking hard at your clit until you whimper, knees going soft, cunt squeezing around nothing and leaking down her chin. “messy,” she murmurs, voice thick with spit, lips still pressed to your pussy. “you’re going to make a mess all over my floor, aren’t you?”
she slides two fingers into your pussy without warning, and you scream.
your cunt stretches wide around her knuckles, soaking wet and tight, sucking her in with a wet, obscene sound that echoes through the room as she thrusts deep. “tight little hole,” she mutters, her breath hot against your mound, her tongue flicking your clit with every stroke of her fingers, her free hand gripping your hip to keep you still as you start to break apart. “you wanted this,” she growls. “you showed up to my fucking house, bare and dripping, and now look at you.” you sob her name, nails digging into her shoulder, your pussy convulsing wildly around her hand as your orgasm builds too fast, too hard, too much. her fingers curl perfectly inside you and you can’t stop — your hips roll, your moans turn to gasps, your legs shake. and when she adds a third finger, pushing in deep until she hits the spot that makes your whole body jerk, you cum so hard you nearly collapse on top of her.
you squirt for her — full-body, legs trembling, cunt gushing, throat raw from the scream you can’t hold in.
emily groans as she feels the rush of it, her mouth locking onto your clit, tongue flicking in quick, brutal strokes while your slick spills onto her hand and down her wrist, soaking her sleeves, making a mess across the floor just like she said. “goddamn,” she whispers, eyes flicking up to watch your face as you ride out every pulsing wave, your pussy clenching and fluttering and leaking down her arm. your body twitches, hips stuttering forward, stomach clenching hard as she keeps fucking you through it, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard like she’s drinking straight from the source. “so fucking wet,” she murmurs, licking your slit like it’s her last meal. “this little pussy’s obsessed with me.” and you are — because even when you beg for her to stop, your hips never stop chasing her mouth.
when she finally pulls away, her mouth is soaked, her fingers shining, and your pussy is still pulsing like it’s begging to be filled again.
she stands slow, towering over you, her hand sliding from your cunt to your jaw, gripping it as she leans in and whispers, “open your mouth.” you do — instantly, obediently, already drooling — and she shoves her fingers inside, making you taste yourself while her eyes stay locked on yours. you moan around them, lips stretched, tongue lapping at the slick and spit and cum on her skin like you’ve lost all control. “you look better like this,” she says softly. “filthy. ruined. not running anymore.” and when she pulls her fingers out and slaps your cheek with the wet mess of them, you thank her for it.
you don’t ask to ride her — she just leans back against the headboard, cock already strapped in, thighs wide, chest heaving, and tells you, “now.”
her gun rests on the nightstand for one second — just long enough for her to check the chamber — before she picks it back up and holds it loosely in her right hand, barrel angled down beside her thigh as if she might use it or drop it depending on how well you behave. your legs straddle her hips, your cunt soaked and twitching, clenching around nothing while you lower yourself down, your inner walls fluttering the moment the head of her cock presses against your entrance. “take it slow,” she mutters, and you try, but your pussy’s already fluttering around the tip, desperate, too needy to follow orders. you cry out the moment you sink onto her, your thighs shaking, your cunt stretched wide and full, the pressure making your breath catch in your chest as you bottom out. she doesn’t even flinch — just watches you impale yourself, her hand tightening on the grip of the gun while her left hand slides up your belly to rest lightly at your throat. “look at you,” she whispers. “you’re not even trying to be good.”
you bounce in her lap with the desperation of someone trying to outrun a second orgasm, but it’s no use — she’s too deep, too thick, too patient, and her fingers are already tightening around your throat.
her cock grinds up against the soft spot inside you on every thrust, her hips lifting slow and precise while you whimper and rock down on her, your breasts bouncing, sweat dripping from your skin as you fuck yourself stupid. “needy little hole,” she murmurs, not even pretending to be gentle, her thumb pressing just under your jaw while her other hand shifts slightly — gun still in her palm, elbow rested on her thigh like she’s completely at ease with the weight of you. you moan louder the tighter she holds your neck, your vision starting to swim, your mouth slack and open, your pussy fluttering around the strap buried inside you like it’s the only thing keeping you conscious. “say thank you,” she says calmly, even as your cunt clenches around her, your nails digging into her shoulders like you’ll die if you stop moving. “say thank you for the cock you begged for.” you try to speak — try to form the words — but all that comes out is a choked moan and the twitch of your hips as you start to cum again. “that’s what I thought.”
when you start to fall forward, dizzy and wrecked, she catches you with her forearm and flips you onto your back so fast the world tilts.
your legs spread automatically, cunt dripping, thighs trembling, the shape of her cock glistening with your slick as she moves between them again — and the gun’s still in her hand, resting beside your head on the pillow, cold and close enough to make your pulse spike. “don’t stop now,” she murmurs, leaning in close, sweat dripping from her neck, her hair sticking to her jaw as she thrusts back in hard enough to knock a sob from your throat. “you want danger?” she growls. “you want to fuck a federal agent with a gun in her hand?” you nod fast, your hands grabbing at the sheets, your cunt soaked, your clit throbbing as her strap starts to slam into you with punishing rhythm. “then take it,” she spits. “take all of it.”
she fucks you hard now — loud, fast, filthy — the mattress rocking, your body shaking, your pussy completely ruined as the bed creaks and the headboard slams against the wall.
your moans are raw and high-pitched, your legs spread wide as she holds them open with one knee, the strap driving deep with every stroke, her cock dragging perfectly against your swollen walls while her fingers squeeze your throat tighter. “you’re such a mess,” she hisses, teeth bared, her hand sliding down to slap your clit once, then again, making you buck and cry out and beg for her to finish it. you cum the second she presses her thumb there, your whole body locking up, your cunt spasming wildly, your back arching so hard off the bed that the gun nearly slips from her hand. she grins through it, fucking you harder, faster, until you’re sobbing under her, screaming her name, soaking the sheets with another gush of slick you didn’t even feel coming. “there it is,” she groans. “fucking drench me.” and you do — over and over.
The motel room hums with low, golden light, shadows folding over the worn floral bedspread and dusty blinds, and you can feel her before she even touches you. Dana stands with her arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed, but you taste the crackle of her hunger on your tongue like metal in the air before lightning strikes. Her eyes flick over your body like she's cataloguing evidence, her lips parted just slightly, and you know she wants you to press her against the door and kiss her until she gasps into your mouth. You can feel it so clearly, that secret pulse she won’t speak aloud — the image of your mouth between her thighs, your fingers knuckle-deep in her cunt, her knees trembling against your shoulders as she tries not to beg. “You want me,” you murmur softly, watching the way her brow twitches, her mouth pressing tighter. “You want me to fuck you senseless, Agent Scully.”
She scoffs, but her legs shift slightly, her stance widening like she's already bracing for you. “You're projecting,” she says, but the lie rings hollow, the arousal beneath her skin practically vibrating. You take a step forward, slow and sure, until your chest nearly brushes hers, and she’s forced to look up at you from under her lashes. Her pulse flutters visibly at her throat, and you smile, tilting your head as your fingers trace lightly up her arm. “You were thinking about kissing me the second I walked through the door,” you whisper, voice low and sure. “And now you're picturing me spreading your legs. Telling you what a good girl you’ll be when I make you come.” Her breath catches, and you feel the heat in her core throb like a heartbeat, slick already blooming between her thighs.
You press your mouth to hers before she can deny it again, and the sound she makes is low, startled, broken. She kisses like she’s starved — like her logic has finally collapsed under the weight of craving — and her hands fly to your shirt, tugging at the hem like she needs skin. You let her struggle a moment, let her try to take control, before gripping her wrists and pinning them gently back against the door. She moans into the kiss, a soft, wanton sound you feel straight between your legs, and you pull away just enough to murmur, “Tell me what you want.” Her lips are swollen, eyes dazed and glassy, but she doesn’t answer — so you slide your knee between her thighs, press up, and repeat, slower, firmer, “Tell me.”
She shudders against you, breath hitching as her cunt grinds down involuntarily. “I want your mouth,” she whispers, almost angry with how badly she needs it. “I want your hands on me. I want you to make me forget everything.” You smile, soft and reverent, and kiss her once more, this time gentle. “I already know,” you whisper into her mouth, “but I like hearing you say it.” When you back her toward the bed, she follows without protest, her knees hitting the mattress as you guide her down, her body pliant under your hands. You kneel in front of her, drag your palms up her thighs, and watch as she leans back on her elbows, breath shallow, eyes fixed to your lips like they’re the source of God.
You peel her slacks down slowly, dragging the fabric over her hips, exposing soft skin and soaked black panties that cling to her like a second mouth. Her clit is already swollen, the damp patch blooming wide, and you hum with satisfaction as you press your lips to the cotton. “You’re so wet for me, Dana,” you whisper, licking a slow stripe through the fabric, tasting her through it. “You want it that bad?” Her hips buck slightly, and you don’t wait — you hook your fingers into her waistband and pull the panties down, revealing glistening folds, pink and flushed, her inner thighs already sticky. “So fucking pretty,” you murmur as you spread her open with your thumbs, watching her flutter and drip.
Your tongue meets her clit with slow, deliberate pressure, and she cries out, her back arching as her hands tangle in the bedspread. You moan into her, letting the vibrations buzz through her core, and the sound she makes is desperate, near feral. “Oh my god,” she whispers, breathless, thighs twitching around your shoulders. “Fuck—don’t stop.” You don’t plan to. You lick her like a woman possessed, mouth messy, face wet, her slick coating your chin as you suck and swirl and tease. She falls apart so easily under your tongue, her body writhing in time with your rhythm, her cunt pulsing with every lap like she’s begging silently for more.
You slide two fingers into her without warning, and her whole body jolts like you shocked her. “Fuck!” she gasps, voice raw, legs falling open wider as you curl them just right, finding that soft, spongy spot inside. Her walls clench hard around you, and you can feel her getting close already, can feel the orgasm threatening like a storm just beyond her spine. “Please,” she whimpers, not even knowing what she’s begging for. “Please, I—” You press your lips to her clit again and suck, hard, and she screams, thighs locking around your ears as her pussy clenches and gushes around your fingers, soaking your hand and the sheets beneath.
You don’t stop. Not even when she tries to squirm away. You hold her down, fingers still pumping, tongue still flicking, chasing that second orgasm with a ruthlessness that makes her sob. “Too much,” she cries, but her hips are grinding down, betraying her. “It’s—fuck—don’t stop.” You don’t. You fuck her through it, mouth messy, wrist aching, until she comes again with a hoarse scream, shaking and crying and coming undone. When you finally pull back, her cunt is puffy, red, dripping, and you wipe your mouth slowly, deliberately, watching her chest heave as she tries to catch her breath.
You crawl up her body and kiss her, slow and soft and filthy, letting her taste herself on your tongue. She moans into your mouth, her hands finally finding yours, clutching them weakly like she’s grounding herself. “You saw it,” she whispers, dazed. “Before I even said anything.” You nod, forehead resting against hers, your voice low and tender. “You showed me everything,” you whisper. “Your mind, your need. How badly you wanted someone to take control.” She closes her eyes and swallows, her breath hitching again, and you smile. “I want more,” she murmurs, barely audible. “I want all of you.”
You roll her gently, ease her onto her stomach, and press kisses down her spine, watching the goosebumps rise under your lips. Her hips lift instinctively, her thighs parting again, and you settle behind her, hands gripping her ass as you admire the glistening mess between her legs. “You’re going to let me fuck you properly now,” you murmur, and she nods, nearly delirious. “You’re going to take it until you cry again. Until there’s nothing left in your head but me.” You slide your fingers back into her from behind, pumping deep and slow, curling them with every thrust as your other hand cups her clit.
She sobs into the pillow, hips rocking back, and the sound is nothing short of divine. You don’t let up. You fuck her slow, grinding your palm into her clit every few thrusts, murmuring praise between kisses on her back. “Good girl,” you whisper. “So tight, so wet, you’re taking it so well for me.” She moans with every word, her cunt fluttering, her whole body arching. “That’s it, baby. Give it to me again. Show me how badly you need me.” When she comes a third time, it’s quiet, shaking, her body collapsing forward like she’s unraveling at the seams. You hold her through it, hand never leaving her cunt, even as she trembles and sobs into the sheets.
You ease her down, kiss her shoulder, pull your fingers out slowly and watch her whimper at the loss. You lick them clean, every drop, eyes never leaving hers. She watches you with something close to worship, red-cheeked and open, her legs still spread like she’s offering herself. You crawl up beside her and pull her into your arms, brushing her damp hair back. “You saw all that in me?” she whispers against your chest. “Before I even knew I needed it?” You nod, pressing your lips to her temple. “I didn’t just see it,” you whisper, hand stroking down her spine. “I felt it. Like fate.”
She exhales shakily, clinging to you like the last thing she believes in. “What else do you see?” she asks. “Right now?” You smile, tilting her chin up. “You’ll beg for it again tomorrow,” you whisper. “And next time, I’ll make you come with nothing but my mind.” She shudders, her eyes fluttering closed as she melts against you. “Good,” she murmurs. “I want to drown in you.” You pull the blanket over her shoulders, kiss the corner of her mouth, and hold her as the quiet settles. Her body hums with the aftermath, still warm, still wet, and you close your eyes, already sensing the next vision. She’ll wake up aching. And you’ll be right there.
