if i look back, i am lost
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@iamfandomwasted
crybaby. wlw wwe texts.
wwe superstars x sensitive!reader
featured: maxxine dupri, chelsea green, tiffany stratton, charlotte flair, alexa bliss, sol ruca, tatum paxley, liv morgan and blake monroe
author's note: for my sweet sweet angel baby @onanisticbunny
2009 cm punk x girly!reader who cleans him up after his matches 🫣…
Lit screamed “YEESSS.” when I got this
🔞MDNI • CW: AFAB!reader or MTF Idc, Smut, cussing, humor ofc!, slightly asshole-ish Punk (if you didn’t expect that.. are we thinkin abt the same person? Lmao), mentions of cuts, bruises, and blood, Punk’s an eaatteerr (we all know this), coochie eating yay, one mention of tears (happy tears hahaha….), NSFW in general cuz Idk
The two of you were on your way to the hotel room together after Punk’s match. You were trying your best not to fret the whole ride there, but the cuts and bruises all over him were fucking with you.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked and reached out, the tips of your manicured nails grazing against a big, red bruise on his arm. “I mean, I’m just worried.”
Punk gave you a slight smile, patting your thigh reassuringly. “I keep telling you I’m *fine*. Don’t worry, babe.”
You hummed, not feeling reassured at all. Your gaze went to his face. A nasty cut was on his cheek, crusted with dry blood. That made your stomach turn.
He noticed your wary expression and sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. “Would you relax? I’m okay. I’m right here.” His fingertips gently slid beneath the hem of your dress before coming back out to lightly snap the band of your thigh highs against your skin.
“Well, I’m taking care of you once we get to the hotel.” You declared almost instantly while grabbing his face, tilting it side to side. This wasn’t up for negotiation, and he knew that.
Punk huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t need any—” You cut him off gently, letting go of his face to press a finger up to his pierced lips, the charms on your decorated nail glistening against the passing streetlights. “Don’t argue with me, please. This will make me feel better.”
With a sigh, he finally decided to let it go, knowing you were too stubborn and persistent to let it go.
Once you both made it to the hotel, you were already digging in your bag for a first aid kit you always carried just for him.
At the moment, you genuinely realized you *do* worry too damn much. You couldn’t help it though.
“Sit.” You reached up and gently pushed him down on the bed by his shoulders.
Punk looked up at you in slight anguish as he took in how worried you were over something that was so small to him. “It’s really not that serious, sweetheart.” He placed a hand on the small of your back, pulling you close between his legs.
You shook your head, grabbing your half empty water bottle to damp a napkin. “It *is* that serious, baby! I don’t like seeing you hurt.” You pouted while lightly wiping the blood from his cheek. “I’m still not used to seeing this. I don’t think I ever will be.”
Punk forced himself not to wince as to not worry you any further, but that shit hurt lowkey. “Get used to it, babe. You’re dating a fucking wrestler.”
Your pout only deepened at that, but you didn’t respond. After putting a bandage on the cut, you pressed your lips against it. “All better?” That made him chuckled a bit.
NSFW
“All better if that lipgloss of yours didn’t get into the wound, right?” He teased lightly. With a small smile, he slipped his free hand from the back of your thigh, up to your ass. “On a real note, thanks, babe. Means a lot that you give a shit so much.
Punk’s fingers played with the hem of your panties, his hand squeezing your ass. “You did so good taking care of your man. Such a good girl… You doing this cuz you want something from me?”
You shrugged off his teasing and couldn’t help but blush. “No?.. but I mean, if you’re offering then…”
“Oh, I’m offering *for sure*.” He stood up, towering over you. “I’m gonna make all your efforts up to you.” You smiled up at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Punk practically spun you around and you were on the bed in the blink of an eye. He hovered over you, his long hair framing his face just right. Guurrlll…
He started with kissing you softly, which soon turned into a deep make out session. His hand went down to rub your clit through your panties, your dress hiked up slightly.
You whimpered into the kiss, your hips bucking up slightly into the touch as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. “Phil…”
Hearing his name on your lips made him move down to your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone then your cleavage.
“I know, I know. I’ve got you, princess.”
You felt your cheeks grow hot as his tatted (TATTED UUUPPP 8===D~) hands pulled the neckline of your dress down.
There was no bra underneath since your dress had padding in the cups. He kneaded one breast while sucking and biting the other, causing you to place a hand on the back of his head to hold him close.
Once he pulled away, he ended up taking your whole dress off, lifting your hips to help him slide your panties off (that th-th-th-th-thooonggg). Lastly, he took your thigh highs off.
“Spread ‘em.” You spread your legs obediently. Didn’t needa be told twice at allll.
He got on his knees and gripped your thighs, bending your body a little. “Gonna make you scream my name, got that?”
You huffed out a breathy laugh. That was a threat and a promise. “Got it…”
Punk first pressed a chaste kiss to your clit before licking a long strip from the entrance up inside your slit. You shivered in delight, moaning softly.
There was then no time wasted as he ate you like a starved man. His nails dug crescents into your soft thighs, his head game overly strong.
You were already panting, a hand going down to grip his hair. “Oh, fuck…” You whined, squirming a bit. It was a battle between trying to get more and trying to get away from the overwhelming pressure.
Punk wasn’t having that. He hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you back down.
“Where ya going?” He breathed out a laugh against your core, making you whimper. “Don’t run from it. I owe you one.”
He focused his attention on your clit, holding your legs open. Your back arched off the bed and you were so close you felt tears filling your eyes. “Phil!..”
A string of moans mixed with the calling out of his name was all that bounced against the hotel room walls before you came, and he ate that riighttt on up too. Mhm mhm. Finger licking good.
Once you calmed down enough, he got up to hover over you again. “Now, what do you say?”
“Thank you…”
🔞MDNI • CW: AFAB!Reader Ig (or trans MTF, Idgaf, do you), cussing, cheating, smut, mentions of drug usage, alcohol, clubs, one mention of pregnancy lol, slut mentions, humor cuz I hate a dry ass fic, hmm.., Idk, just NSFW in general fr
This is inspired by Freakum Dress by Beyoncé LMFAO
You’d been doing jack shit at home for the past two weeks besides going to work, and to be honest, it was getting old as fuck.
It felt as though you were collecting dust and just watching the time go by on the clock all day.
After making it home from work, it was already around 9-10pm. Your man was at home all day since he got laid off at work about a week ago. Why wasn’t he actively looking for a new job? Cuz he’s a bum, thanks. This bitch didn’t even take the liberty to clean the house? The audacity blew your mind.
Now, you weren’t married to this man, and you *definitely* weren’t his sugar momma. He needed to get his ass up and do *something* if you were gonna be the breadwinner.
You walked into the bedroom and dropped your purse on the bed with a sigh. God, you were pretty exhausted. Walking into a messy house only pissed you off.
“Hey, babe.” He spoke suddenly, scrolling on his phone.
You looked at his figure sitting on the other side of the bed and frowned slightly. “No hug? No how was your day?”
He sighed and put his phone down as though he was burdened as fuck. “Sorry, sorry…” He laughed it off. Ain’t shit sweet, so you didn’t know why he did. He stood up and wrapped his arms around you from behind. “How was your day?”
“Mm… Fine, thanks. Yours?” You reluctantly turned in his arms to hug him back. You were already plotting a get back for this. “I see you didn’t do shit. Did you even wash your ass?”
He rolled his eyes. “I did, thank you very much. My day was okay, I missed you.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and you huffed in annoyance. “What do you mean I ‘didn’t do shit’?” You pulled away to look at him, crossing your arms.
“Is the house clean? No. That’s you not doing shit. Did you send in some job applications? I’m quite sure ya didn’t. That’s what I’m talking about.”
Looking puzzled at your straightforwardness, he mirrored your pose. “I did actually.” He sat back on the bed. You hummed knowingly. “Yea, okay. Anyway, I’m gonna take a shower after I clean *your* mess. Don’t wait up. Get some *more* rest.”
He shook his head as if you didn’t have the right to be ‘bitching’, which you ignored.
Mini Time Skip
After cleaning up and showering, you plopped down in bed with a heavy sigh. You couldn’t believe his dumbass was really asleep right now when you’d been hanging on by a thread all day.
You turned on your side away from him and glanced at the clock. It was around 11:45pm now. Deciding to pick up your phone since you couldn’t sleep just yet, you scrolled through some missed messages from a group chat with your close friends.
You replied to some funny shit before pausing as you read about how they wanna go to the club tomorrow. There wasn’t much time in your life to go clubbing lately, but you said fuck it and texted that you’re down.
The next morning, you called in sick for work. That’s how tired you were. You were all about chasing that bag, but fuck… That shit was getting overwhelming.
By time the afternoon came, your stupid, sloppy ass, boyfriend was dirtying up the kitchen again.
“Wash your dishes out, please.” You called out politely from the couch. You wanted to say fuck being polite though, wanted to tell him to do some shit like drop down and give you a 100.
He grumbled something under his breath like a big ass baby, that you ignored yet again. You were too tired to be arguing.
Later That Night
You’d taken your second shower of the day and were in the bathroom for a while, doing your hair and just doing your routine in general. Nothing was gonna stop you from going out tonight. You’d fuck someone in the ass with a cucumber *yourself* before they even *thought* about telling you something.
You were snapped out of your interesting thoughts by a knock on the door.
“It’s open.” You called out.
Your trifling boyfriend opened the door and immediately looked bothered, to which you didn’t give a fuck.
“Where’re you going?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Out.” You replied vaguely. He didn’t need to be all up in your business, fuck outta here.
“Out… Where?”
God, he was already doing you the fuck in. Literally shut the hell up.
“Out with friends. The ones you know. Just to a little get together.” You held back an eye roll, knowing more questions were likely to come.
He hummed, watching you put eyeliner on.
“A little get together… And you’re dressed in what? A damn freakum dress?” He gestured with his hand to your tight dress. It was short as fuck, to be frank, so yeah. You guess it was exactly what he called it.
“Yep.” You shrugged. “I lowkey don’t want you wearing that though.” He scratched the back of his neck with a perplexed expression on his face.
Turning off the bathroom light and pushing past him, you didn’t really answer. You grabbed your purse from your dresser and made sure everything was there.
“Babe.” He called out as you ignored him.
After calling you about four times, he grabbed your wrist. “You’re really gonna walk out like that? I don’t want anyone thinking my girl’s some… Some slut.”
You grimaced briefly and snatched your wrist away. “Welp.” Is all you said before heading out the door.
Once you finally made it to the club, you were having the time of your life with your friends for once.
To be honest, you were maybe a little more than tipsy, lowkey bouta break an ankle in your heels and shit. You were definitely coherent though. Your friends guided you to sit down at the bar, to which you continued taking some shots.
You were so lost in your own world, that you didn’t even notice the man next to you. He was sipping from his own glass while watching you from time to time.
Finally noticing, you turned to look at him. He was actually pretty sexy, wowie.
“Shawn.” He introduced himself all of a sudden, leaning in slightly so you could hear him over the music. You smiled softly and told him your name.
Shawn kept your name in mind. Well, as much as he could. He was high as a kite and it was obvious by how blown his pupils were. “What’s a girl like you doin’ here, huh?”
You were so tipsy, your tongue must’ve been loose as hell. “Just hanging out with my girls. Been wanting to get away from my man for a while. Such a dumbass…” You scoffed.
That somehow turned into you venting. He was listening. Kind of. He was really looking at them titties thoooo.
“Damn. That sucks. Boyfriend sounds like a bitch to me.” Shawn didn’t even try hiding his amused smirk. “Tell me about it.” You laughed a little.
“I could help ya forget about ‘em, sweetheart. Ain’t no woman ever had a bad time with me.” You hummed in thought at the suggestion. You’d really never thought to cheat a day in your life but shit… Today was the day, apparently.
NSFW
That’s how you ended up here. In a hotel room, getting pushed against the wall.
He trailed his hand from your waist up to your chest, your hands tangling in his long hair as you two made out like the intoxicated fuckers you were.
You ended up being laid on the bed after her unzipped the back of your dress. You didn’t even get the chance to kick your heels off by time he was sliding the dress off.
“Damn, you move fast…” You breathed out a laugh in slight surprise.
“Ain’t no time to waste, hun.” He threw your dress somewhere and leaned over you, kissing down your neck down to your chest. He left some hickeys along the way, dragging his tongue against your stomach. Wow, what a freak.
Your heart was racing. Despite being tipsy, you knew what was going on. It was hard to believe that you were really cheating. The crazier part was that you were about to fuck a stranger.
He got to the bottom of your stomach and traced his finger across your panty line. “You gonna show me everything?” You gave a small nod. “Yep.” You sounded almost too confident, which bothered you. Only a little.
He slipped your panties down your legs and moved up to unhook your bra with one hand. That told you he was pretty damn experienced.
“Gonna make you forget about that man of yours. He ain’t got shit on me.” Shawn got in between your legs and gripped your thighs, spreading them as he stared down at you.
You realized that this man was cocky as fuck. Narcissistic even… But you couldn’t help but like it for some reason. “Mm…” You hummed simply, waiting for him to prove his point.
Shawn spit on his fingers and almost instantly started circling your entrance, to which you bit your lip. He was definitely about to make this quick.
“I don’t wanna catch you thinkin’ about him. You’re all mine for the night, got that?” He slipped a finger in, making you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Yeah…” You replied quietly.
He added a second finger and went to town, scissoring you and curling his fingers until he found the right spot.
You gripped the sheets and sucked in a breath. It’d been hard staying quiet the whole time, and now that he was doing it just right, you apparently didn’t give a fuck about respecting the other hotel guests anymore.
His thumb came in the picture and was pressing against your clit. It felt like tiny fireworks were setting off inside.
You hadn’t felt this way in a while. Your man just wasn’t doing it at this point… but Shawn? This stranger? He could get you pregnant.
Well, maybe. You were getting way ahead of yourself.
Your thoughts were cut off by his fingers sliding out. “Ready?” He asked rhetorically, already leaning back to unbuckle his belt after taking his shirt off.
“Mhm.” You nodded eagerly. What a slut you were. When did that happen?
He took his pants off and babyyy, phew. Girl. That was *quite* the sight. You stared like you were about to turn into the drooling emoji.
“Ya like that, huh?” He smirked before grabbing your hair to pull you up, your faces now inches apart. “I’d let ya suck me off, but we’ll do that next time, sweet cheeks.” He said condescendingly.
Next time? Shit, why not. “Okay…” You agreed easily.
Shawn let go of your hair, causing you fall back against the pillows. He didn’t waste any time slipping inside. It was slow at first. He leaned down to kiss you, your arms wrapping him, one hand in his hair.
He then picked up the pace, whispering all types of dirty things in your ear. Just nasty as hell lmao.
“Good, yeah? I’m better than your boyfriend, aren’t I?” You noticed this seemed to be an act to fuel Shawn’s ego, but eh. The dick was fire, sooo…
You nodded, your nails digging into his back as you moaned.
Shawn didn’t really fuck with just a nod though.
“Tell me. Tell me I’m fuckin’ you better. Say, ‘Your dick is the best, Shawn!’” (LMFAO) He said teasingly, mocking your voice.
You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Your dick *is* the best, Shawn…” You repeated. He hummed and gave a nod as if agreeing him damn self. Which he was. “That’s right. You’re gonna take all of it.”
He then sped up, basically drilling yo shit. “Shawn!” You whined pretty loudly like the slut you were. Shawn put your legs over his shoulders, and the new angle made your eyes roll back.
That made you cum quick as hell, your legs shakiinnggg. He didn’t slow down. You just realized y’all have been fucking without a condom like what…
Shawn gripped your leg, his other hand gripping the sheet as he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppier before he ended up busting inside of you.
He leaned up and brushed his hair out of his face. You both panted, catching your breath.
Shawn flashed his cocky grin at you. “Fucked you good.” He nodded to himself. You snickered quietly. “Fuck yeah…”
He pulled out and rolled onto the bed beside you.
Once he wrapped his arms around you, he fell asleep in a matter of seconds.
Now left alone in your thoughts, you wished you were on birth control but uh… You ended up dozing off soon after anyway, and that’d been the best sleep you’d gotten in a while.
the night does not belong to god.
★ pairing — Serial Killer!Mask!Seth Rollins ♥︎ f!Reader ★ summary — Your boyfriend interrupts your serial killer podcast. ★ words — 5.6k ★ warnings — nsfw. Seth Rollins is not a good man. discussion of serial killers/victims, fear/terror, manipulation, mentioned methods of killing, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, non-con if you squint 18+ ★ taglist — if you'd like to be added, please click here! ★ requested by — @ashuhleawrites
I'M BACK, MY BABIES. WELCOME TO THE SUMMER OF DARK!SETH 💀😈
★ masterlist.
“Happy Sunday, my lovelies,” you cooed smoothly into the pop filter-protected microphone, the camera on your laptop capturing and streaming your crystal clear image to your thousands of viewers. “Welcome to another special Sunday edition of Seriality where we discuss anything and everything serial killers. Why special, some of you new kids might ask? Well, over the past few weeks, we’ve been talking about … wait for it …” You tapped a key and the chilling sound of a lone church bell filled your headphones. “The Sunday Sinner.”
The chat window in the corner of the screen began to scroll as your viewers greeted you and instantly began debating the Sunday Sinner case as if they were FBI agents in their own right. A smile crept on your face—each of those usernames represented little dollar signs, and you had the absolute pleasure of earning them while indulging in your darkest obsession.
Rain pelted the window beside you as you went on.
“The serial killer whose gimmick is to kill the victim on a Sunday and, some way or another, make sure they’re discovered on a Sunday. Could be the same Sunday. Could be six months later. But it will always. Be. A Sunday. So, it was only appropriate that we move the show to when? Sunday! And if you’re new here, let me catch you up.” You inhaled deeply through your nostrils, resting your arms on the table in front of you. “The Sunday Sinner has been working, we think, over the past two years. The areas he uses to hunt are always the same: college towns. The victims are all female, in their early 20s, actively enrolled in school, and, well, they all … kind of look like me—same hair and eye color, same general build. Why am I still alive? Who knows? Maybe I’m next? Or more likely, I probably just give him the ick.” Your laugh was dry, kind of hollow. “His sole method of killing is strangulation. And not only that, the medical examiners were able to determine, by the marks on the necks, that he almost assuredly strangled them from the front. Which means he’s looking into her eyes while she’s dying.”
Your own eyes drifted to the floor while taking a sip from your Stanley cup of ice water, your mind briefly flashing to a dramatization of such a murder—the terror, the confusion, the pain from the hands tightening around her windpipe—which then evolved into a memory from this morning, when your boyfriend had shown up at your place from his third shift job, viciously hard and aggressive, and you’d been all too happy to let him use you in every way he desired. He’d held you down, fucked you senseless, and at one point, his huge hands had made their way to the delicate column of your neck. The pressure had been gentle at first, increasing with the pace of his hips as they slammed into you. He’d commanded you to look him in the eyes as he exploded into the condom while buried to the hilt inside you. And then he’d kissed you so softly afterward, leaving you wondering how he could so easily switch gears from rabid dog to clingy cat, but god, you loved it. You’d loved even more having a slight painful hitch to your step as you walked to class afterward.
“Anyway,” you said, shaking your head. “There are eleven victims that we know of. And absolutely no fucking clues. Again, that we know of. The cops could be withholding information, we all know how they love to do that. It’s just …” You shook your head, glancing off camera. “It’s so hard to kill someone and leave absolutely nothing behind these days. With all the technology and advances in forensics. Does he wear a freaking HAZMAT suit? No, because of mobility and other issues and because that’s fucking ridiculous. But he has to wear something, right? Or is he just free-balling it?” Your head tipped back with a cackle. “Does he shave every hair on his body and then just take all his clothes off before he attacks his victims?” You shook your head, eyes attempting to focus on the chat. “Sorry, guys. You know how I am.” You giggled.
User1: aren’t you scared? because you really do look like all the dead girls.
“Am I scared? No, I’m not scared. If I don’t give him the ick, then I’ve recently acquired a bodyguard. I think he could take him.”
User2: some of those other girls probably had boyfriends too
“That’s true, but mine—”
A click rippling through the atmosphere had you pausing. The live stream caught you turning your head to look down the darkened hall that led to the living room and front door. You didn’t call out like they did in the movies—you knew you were the only one here—but you did listen for a few moments in case it happened again. Only silence followed.
You shrugged, turning back to the laptop. Houses make noises, you reasoned, especially old ones like this one that had been home to countless other college students. “Thought I heard something. Anyway. No more boyfriend talk, no more I fit the profile of the victims talk. I want theories, guys. How’s he getting away with it?”
User3: maybe there’s more than one guy User4: the cops are in on it
“Yeah, that makes a lot of sense,” you remarked, shaking your head. “What would the cops—”
A creak in the floorboard, and you jumped, your heart starting, an icy worm of terror slithering slowly throughout your chest. But when you looked at the hall this time, it wasn’t empty. A yelp squeaked from your mouth before your hand clamped over it. Standing at the threshold of the kitchen where you were streaming was very clearly a man judging by the height, the broad shoulders, the thick thighs straining against dark jeans. Everything he wore was black, including the hood covering his head and the top half of his face. The bottom half sent your stomach sloshing—a mask, thick, black, solid, concealed the rest of his identity. Eyes welling with tears, your gaze fell to the gloves on his hands, the black tactical boots on his feet.
Your throat burned as you forced bile back down your esophagus. You turned slowly in your chair, hand falling from your mouth to grip the back of it. Maybe, just maybe …
“Hilarious, Seth,” your voice trembled. Maybe it was your boyfriend. It had to be your boyfriend, and this had to be a sick fucking joke, and you would be breaking up with him.
Except Seth didn’t have a key. No one other than you and your roommate who was hardly ever home had a key to this house.
You started to stand without a second thought, without a plan of action, having no idea what the hell you would do once you made it to your feet. Run? Tackle him? Escape to a room with a lock?
The man held up a gloved finger, your body instantly freezing. For a moment you thought you might puke or even pee or maybe both. The finger tapped downward, deliberate, an order, not a suggestion. Swallowing what felt like hard packed sand and water, your throat clicking, you slowly sank back into your chair, returning to the camera's frame, though you’d forgotten about the podcast altogether. The gloved finger turned in a steady circle, and your muscles automatically responded, turning so your legs were under the kitchen table and your body was facing the laptop, your eyes, though, never leaving him. Your heart hammered so hard against your ribs you thought they might crack.
“Seth,” you tried again, voice trembling. It was all you had to hold onto, the only light at the end of the macabre tunnel you were headed into. Your boyfriend was an asshole who was playing an all-too-real prank on you. “Seriously. I’m live right now. And shouldn’t you be at work?”
He darkened the doorway for a moment longer before eventually moving, each footstep silent, undetectable, despite the man’s size. It took him three strides to make it to the table where you sat, your lungs involuntarily sucking in a burst of oxygen at his sudden nearness. He was soaked, the hood dripping and casting a shadow over his face beneath the harsh overhead light, and he smelled earthy, a mixture of dirt and rainwater. There was a hint of something else, too, something spicy, something … He slid suavely into the lone chair across from you, gloved hands resting palms down on the table hidden by the laptop’s screen.
The stream showed you suddenly rigid, eyes wet, rounded and focused on something behind the camera, lips parted, chest heaving.
“Seth,” you whispered. “This isn’t funny.”
The man was a void, the utter absence of all colors, and his hands lifted without warning, shocking you into the back of your chair. He didn’t reach for the laptop or the microphone or even for you—he gripped the edge of the hood and pulled it back, settling it uniformly on his shoulders. The tears welling in your eyes streaked down your cheeks. You knew those heavy, espresso-colored eyes gazing back at you and the chestnut hair that bled into blonde at the tips that was just as soaked as the rest of him—How long had he been standing out in the rain to get so drenched?—and you suspected you knew the nose, lips, and beard likely hidden under the mask as well.
The mask itself was unnerving. A big, black, hulking thing held flush against his cheeks by a thick strap around the back of his head.
Unable to look at him any longer, your eyes dropped to the chat in the corner of the laptop screen.
User5: is this a true crime podcast or a lesson in bad acting? User6: why ruin a good show like this? User7: isn’t this kinda disrespectful to the victims?
If this turned out to be real, clearly nobody was going to believe it. None of your viewers were about to call the cops to report a possible crime happening live on a true crime podcast. Who would believe that? Your eyes shifted again, attention immediately drawn back to Seth as if he were a life-size magnet. Seth—or was it the Sunday Sinner? Or—Jesus Christ—were they one in the same?
“Please just tell me what’s going on,” you whispered.
The man’s head cocked only slightly, eyes you’d seen warmth and passion and humor in this morning were now devoid of all emotion and locked on you. “I think you know,” he replied, voice muffled behind the mask, but clear enough to be understood.
You gulped, eyes snapping to the laptop to be sure the live feed was still streaming. Even if no one believed you now, if something were to happen to you, there would at least be a record. Was that part of his plan? Returning your attention to the man across the table, you inhaled, breath tremulous, and felt your heart slow by a mere few beats per minute. Escape, of course, was on your mind. There was a door in the kitchen near you that led to the backyard, but he’d almost certainly catch you before you could turn the knob and open it, just like he’d snatch you if you made a break for any other direction. You were trapped. And you refused to let your mind unravel the truth of just how long you’d been trapped without even knowing it.
So if you were gonna die, what did you have to lose?
Heart still thundering, hands trembling, you tried to settle into the chair, tried to appear nonchalant, tried to slip back into your podcast space. Clearing your throat and swiftly wiping the tears from your cheeks, you rasped, “You told me your name is Seth Rollins.” A tilt of his head in the opposite direction. “But it’s not, is it?”
He shook his head this time, eyes nearly black now never leaving you. “No,” he rumbled.
You swallowed. “Then what is your name?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with what had to be at least a smirk under the mask. “You know who I am.” For a moment, you forgot where you were, who you were and what the hell you were doing, but by god, you knew who he was. He turned his head a bit, eyeing you sideways, brows rising just a bit. “Say it.” He used that voice—the tone he knew melted you, the domination he knew overwhelmed you and forced you to unconsciously submit to him. “Introduce me.”
You blinked back a brand new set of tears despite your previous courage. Licking your dry lips, sucking the bottom one into your mouth and biting down to suppress the returning need to vomit, you leaned closer to the pop filter. “Ladies and gentleman, we have a—” You gulped down more bile, hand covering your mouth, remembering the things he’d done to you, the things you’d done to him. “... We have a special guest joining us tonight.” Your eyes rose from the chat—the chat that was one hundred percent convinced this was a skit and, as such, you’d gained thousands more viewers who were actively ridiculing you. Would they all be witnesses to your murder? “We all know him as …” Swallow, stomach somersaulting. “The Sunday Sinner.”
After a moment of staring at the screen and seeing nothing, your glassy eyes rose. “What do you want?” you sobbed.
Seth appeared to relax just a bit, his movements more fluid as he settled into his own chair. “You have a podcast about serial killers.” His voice was so muffled by the mask that you knew, even if police got a hold of the stream, they’d have almost nothing to go on as far as his voice was concerned. Fuck, how long has he been planning this? “And now you have one sitting in front of you.”
Your eyes locked over the laptop, your teeth grinding out of a sudden sprouting anger. He wanted to play with his food before he ate it. But … maybe if you played along … just maybe …
You started talking without a single thought in your brain. “How many women have you killed?”
“Twelve.”
“Only eleven bodies have been found, but you’ve killed twelve?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s the twelfth?”
Silence.
You fidgeted in your chair, worried you were already losing him. “Have you ever killed any men?”
“Yes.”
The oxygen seeped from your lungs, your throat seizing for a moment. “For pleasure, or …?”
“Necessity.”
You glanced down at the chat.
User8: wow this is so shit lmao User9: do they give razzies to podcasters? User10: peace. here for true crime not americas got no talent
“Do you plan on killing more?” you asked, eyes lifting.
He blinked. “Only one.”
Tears flowed freely down your face, streaking your makeup, raining onto your t-shirt. You couldn’t ask what you really wanted to know, and even if you could, what could you possibly do with the information other than vomit?
“Why did you kill them?” you asked instead.
His brows rose, seemingly surprised, and his eyes dropped to the tabletop for the first time since he’d sat down, though they quickly returned to you. “I enjoy it.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” you gasped.
He shook his head, pensive. “No.”
“Why young women? They had their whole lives ahead of them! Their parents—”
A gloved finger rose above the laptop screen, and your jaw closed so hard your teeth clacked.
Following a moment of silence, he explained, “Because I can’t stand how much I love beautiful things.” He leaned slowly forward, his height bringing him to your laptop, and you pushed back into your chair as far as you could without actually moving it. “I love too hard,” he said, finishing with a prayer of your name. “Do you know how close you were today?”
You shook your head, arms wrapping around your middle as a pathetic comfort and an ineffective shield. “Please,” you whimpered.
“I’ve never held back like I did with you. You’re special.”
Hope flickered in your chest, and you were torn as to whether that was a good or a bad thing. “Then please let me go,” you begged.
Those hardened, empty eyes of his flickered. Just a flash, but you caught it. A brief sanding of the sharp edges. Your hands gripped the seat of your chair as Seth—the Sunday Sinner, you reminded yourself. He wasn’t your boyfriend anymore, despite those bewitching eyes you’d thought this morning you’d been falling in love with—grabbed his own chair, pulling it around the table so he was now seated to the right of you. Still out of view of the camera.
“I already let you go once,” he replied, and even his tone was tempered. “This morning.” You swallowed, nearly choking—or were you gagging?—on your own spit, throat bobbing as you began running through the details of the illicit acts he spoke vaguely of. “I can’t let you go again, my sweet girl. You’re too beautiful. Too perfect.” He reached out with a gloved hand, your entire body flinching, though he continued on as if he’d expected the response until the leather grazed your cheek. “I love you too much.”
You were openly weeping now, your muscles petrified pieces of useless tissue. “You don’t kill people you love,” you whimpered.
His thumb and first finger slid gracefully under your chin, applying forgiving pressure. The stream still had you as the focus, an arm covered in the thick black sleeve of a hoodie and the equally dark glove a striking contrast to your skin that had long since been drained of any color. You tried to breathe, but your lungs were just as unyielding as your muscles, and the way he cradled your chin, you knew exactly what he wanted.
Should you give in? Could that somehow make whatever he had in store for you a little less painful and/or drawn out? His previous victims had shown no evidence of sexual assault, or assault of any kind for that matter. Other than the strangulation, obviously. It was almost as if they’d … let him do it?
Stop, you berated yourself. Focus!
If you didn’t go along with him, if you tried to run, would it be worse than it would have been had you not tried to escape? You wouldn’t make it far—not with his long legs and incredible reach. So your only choice was to play along.
“I do,” he suddenly replied to your earlier statement, head tilting, fingers tightening on your chin just enough for you to notice. “I know what I am.” Grip constricting further. “And now you know what I am.” You shook your head as much as he would allow. “So do you still want me?” The question gave you pause, that frozen worm of terror slithering and wrapping around your heart, and your eyes widened, head no longer shaking. “Will you marry me? Have my children? Can you just forget about the women I enjoyed killing?” You gulped, the reflex nearly impossible due to the thumb pressing into your esophagus. “Of course you can’t.” He pulled you closer. “Neither could they.”
“I can,” you lied, pathetic and unconvincing.
Seth’s—the Sinner’s—brows arched, pitying, his mahogany eyes searching your face. “You can’t. We both know that. And if I can’t have you, my little firefly … nobody can.” God, not the nickname. Did he call them his fireflies, too? “Say goodnight to the podcast.”
“Please,” you cried.
“Say it.”
Your eyes slid sideways to the laptop, the chat still mostly on the side of disbelief, though there were a few who showed mild concern. Clearly not enough concern, as you heard no sirens in the distance. “Goodnight, my lovelies,” you mewled. “I hope you enjoyed the final episode of Seriality.” As Seth tugged on your jaw, you resisted long enough to spit into the microphone, “And fuck you all for not believing me.”
Your murderer pulled you to your feet, your knees hardly able to support your weight. He walked you backward down the hall to your bedroom, his eyes never leaving yours, already familiar with the layout of your tiny home. Your roommate was visiting family—you remembered mentioning it to Seth. Jesus, maybe you did deserve to die—you were the dumbass actress in the horror movie that ignored all the red flags and ran upstairs instead of going out the front door to escape a killer. Once inside your room, he kicked the door shut and shoved you away, your feet stumbling over each other, but you caught yourself before falling.
The two of you watched one another for a few moments, the crackling between you but utterly silent. Until Seth began to burst out into laughter. You recognized that laugh—the full belly, nasally, tooth-gap laugh you only heard when he occasionally watched your favorite comedy movie—as he doubled over, clutching his stomach and leaning on the dresser. You weren’t sure how long you stopped breathing, but your brain was literally throbbing before you gasped desperately for oxygen.
“What … What’s so funny?” you sniveled.
“Gotcha!” Seth cackled.
Disbelief. Shock. Confusion. Suspicion. Unadulterated rage. You gaped, eyes glazed, your boyfriend still howling. The both of you were crying by now, though for completely different reasons.
“Seth, are you serious?” your voice trembled still with fear, but now infiltrated with fury. He only continued laughing, wiping at the tears above the mask. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“What?” he giggled. “We prank each other all the time.”
“Not while I’m streaming, you fucking idiot!” You stomped across the room and swung without thinking, slapping him on one of his rocklike pecs. He didn’t even flinch. “I’m gonna lose so many subscribers. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Come on, it’s not a big deal,” Seth said.
“Yes, it is! Did you see the chat? Someone said it was disrespectful!”
“Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke,” your boyfriend snapped. “It’s just one episode.”
“Seth,” you sighed, “will you please take the mask off so I can cuss you out properly?”
Seth rolled his eyes as he reached behind his head to release the strap. The edges of the mask and the tightness of the strap had left a red line of indentation across the middle of his handsome face. Your knees weakened upon the revealing of his true beauty, and usually you liked the way your body responded to him, but now certainly wasn’t the time.
“This episode,” you spat, “is gonna go viral for all the wrong reasons. Everybody is gonna hate me.”
Seth’s eyes connected with yours and the voids from before had been replaced by a familiar warmth and a dash of sympathy. “Nobody’s gonna hate you,” he said.
“Seth—”
“Listen.” His still-gloved hands gripped your upper arms maybe just a little tighter than he normally would have—or you were imagining it? What the hell was real anymore? He’d had you so convinced, but there’d been a tiny voice in the back of your mind that reasoned it really was your boyfriend playing a prank. “I’m sorry,” he rumbled, head tilting in the same chilling way it had at the kitchen table. “Okay? I didn’t … think about that. I thought people would think it was funny.” He laid his beautiful puppy dog eyes on you, extra puppy, and the frozen worm of fear in your chest began to thaw. “I really am sorry.” The gloves slid down your arms to grip your hands. “I’ll even go on live and tell everybody it was all my idea and you didn’t know anything about it.”
Hardly anyone would believe it, you knew that, but the fact that he was groveling and willing to do it cooled your fury like throwing baking soda onto a grease fire. He had that effect on you, and sometimes you liked it, but mostly it made you uncomfortable because you knew that he knew you would cave. When you should have had him wrapped around your finger, it was the exact opposite.
“You really scared me,” you pouted as your way of accepting his apology while at the same time dismissing it.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the toes of his big black boots pecking your sock-covered feet. “Let me make it up to you.” His eyes descended deliberately down your body, taking a moment to enjoy your curves in the tank top and leggings you wore—this wasn’t exactly a job you had to dress your best for. His hands slithered under arms to grip your ribs, sliding nearly unnoticed to gently cup your braless breasts. You loved when he touched you, even if his hands were still tucked inside the leather gloves. And maybe you even liked the way the cool, thick material felt against your soft, warming skin. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll worship my sweet girl.” One hand rose to cup the side of your face, and you found yourself nuzzling him without even thinking about it. “And once I’m finished …” He eliminated the remaining space between you, his hard body pressing against you, the rigid outline in his pants unmistakable. “I’ll tuck you in—” Your neck bloomed with heat that climbed quickly up to your cheeks, eyes downcast. “—and then I’ll go in there and make a video explaining everything.”
You’d shown him how to bring the podcast to life—how to record, how to adjust the microphone levels, the basics of how to edit a prerecorded episode—so you knew he could handle it on his own. But damn it, he still owed you big time.
“Well, you have a lot of making up to do,” you drawled, eyes hooded, because even when you were pissed off at Seth Rollins, your hormones either didn’t care or didn’t notice.
Seth’s smirk was like nothing you’d ever seen before—it literally sucked the oxygen from the room, leaving you gasping like a fish on land. For a moment, you swore you were looking at the devil himself, in the flesh, staring back at you with your boyfriend’s bewitching chocolate-colored eyes. You half-expected horns to sprout from his still-soaking hair—Would it still be this wet from the rain? Did he have some sort of conditioner in it? Why would he do that?—but then the smirk relaxed back into the familiar Seth smirk, again, like you hadn’t even seen it in the first place. He took your hands into his protected ones, the mask hanging from the pinky of one, unnoticed, as he turned you both until his back was to the bed, and he started pulling you toward him.
“Come sit on my face for a while,” Seth growled. “That always makes you feel better.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
He slowly removed your leggings, fingers lithe even while balancing the strap of the mask on his pinky, licking his lips as he found you bare underneath, no panties and recently waxed, just the way he liked you. He muttered something about a good girl and sweet little angel as he then raised your tank top above your breasts. He impishly flicked your already-peaked nipples, and you responded automatically with a smack to his shoulder, gaining only a satisfied grin. Your fingers fisted into the shoulders of his hoodie, Seth sucking as much of your tit into his mouth as he possibly could, your head dipping back. He cupped your other breast, massaging this time, groping, memorizing, the leather catching on your skin every so often.
“Aren’t you gonna take the gloves off?” you whispered. “Maybe put the mask down?”
“You don’t like the way they feel?” Seth purred, ignoring your second question, pulling you with him as he scooted further back on the bed. You straddled his hips—you half-naked, he fully clothed, and you would need to study further why this turned you on so fucking much. You did like the way the leather felt against your hot skin, you loved the scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and you’d be a dirty, rotten, filthy liar if you said the mask didn’t turn the fucking faucet on deep within your already weeping cunt. “Don’t lie,” Seth advised, pointing a finger, seemingly reading your mind. “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”
A smirk twitched at your lips as Seth’s hands, made even bigger with the gloves on, moved you effortlessly up his body. “Maybe I like it a little,” you sighed, those capable hands settling you just where he wanted you over his face before bringing your swollen pussy down to his mouth. “Fuck, Seth,” you whimpered, hands reaching out for the headboard, gripping until your knuckles turned white.
His tongue worked in slow circles at first, always a bigger fan of the slow burn than you were. The gloves dug into your hips, his sable eyes zeroed in on you, watching each and every crease of your brows and soft breath puffed from between your parted lips. Without thinking, you grabbed his hands and lifted them to your breasts, both sets squeezing, and you cried out, hips rolling now, using Seth’s face and beard as friction. You felt the hot breath of a laugh through his nostrils on the mound of your pussy and it sent a chill straight up your spine, your cunt reflexively pulsing. He wrapped his lips around your clit then and sucked, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, the pads of his leather-clad fingers foxtrotting along your satiny skin, and you thought for a moment you might cry again. He was pressing all of your buttons, using all of his tricks, putting every bit of himself into getting you off.
“Baby, I’m gonna come,” you mewled, hand falling to the top of his head, finding his hair wasn’t just wet, it was slick, doused in conditioner. You were about to wonder why when you felt it—a gloved hand climbing your chest, the thumb playing at the hollow of your throat, no pressure applied. “Christ, Seth, I’m—”
The orgasm rippled through you like rogue waves out in the middle of the ocean—one trembling burst after another, your fingers digging into Seth’s soggy hair. He drank every bit of you, save for the trail of your cum sliding down the side of his face and curling in the wiry hairs of his beard. You couldn’t wait to see what his chin looked like, but before you could even imagine, he had you on your back, your thighs spread wide, and he was climbing between them like he belonged there. He does, you thought, this is exactly where he belongs.
You drank in the sight of his beard, glistening with the remnants of you, as he reached into the nightstand and pulled out a condom. You’d always appreciated his respect for safety, biting your bottom lip while watching him roll the latex onto his long, slightly curved cock.
“What do you think?” he rasped, holding the mask up with one hand, holding it over his face and then pulling it away. The very mask that had terrified you and almost made you piss your pants, but somehow now had shifted into something else entirely. “On or off?” he taunted, that wicked leer from before making an unexpected return.
You knew you should say no. You knew how fucked up it was. You knew it was disrespectful. But fuck …
“Put it on,” you pressed, your legs tightening around his trim hips, pulling him closer. “Put it on and fuck me. Please.”
“That’s my girl,” Seth praised, smoothly reapplying the mask, tightening it at the back of his head, leaving only his eyes, forehead, and hair visible. “I knew this was what you wanted this morning.”
He slid inside your slick hole like he had dozens of times before, but this felt different. He somehow was bigger, getting deeper, and in the bulky, dark clothes, appeared even larger than he was under them. More imposing. More frightening. His eyes rolled back as his hands settled on your waist, but only for a moment. His pumps became harder, quicker, and the gloves continued to climb. The pleasure was immeasurable, your own eyes falling closed for a brief moment.
Just a second.
Less than a second.
That was all it took.
When your eyes opened again, the man on top of you was not the same man as before you closed them. He was not the same man you’d met at the coffee shop. You knew then you weren’t going to class tomorrow, you weren’t seeing your family on the next holiday. You were never leaving this house again. Just another victim. Just another statistic. Forgotten by the next news cycle. How many times had you seen it happen? You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault as the Sinner’s hands deliberately wrapped around your throat, his hips still slamming into yours, your pussy still responding like not a damn thing was wrong.
“It’s all making sense now,” Seth spoke from behind the mask, his eyes burning into yours, and you couldn’t have looked away if you tried. He leaned down, his weight threatening to completely block off your windpipe. “God, you feel so good,” he moaned. “I love you so fucking much.”
“Seth,” you croaked, gripping his forearms.
“It’s okay, my sweet girl,” he cooed, the edges of your vision dimming, your hearing failing. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. You’re gonna be so beautiful when they find you.”
taggies: @onlyangel4, @goldnhabitx, @xnightmarexpunkx, @spiicii, @southerngirl41 @monroestormfics, @fafomama, @dddominiks, @gabriella-15, @fistsandfangs @neurodivergentempress, @caralinda0914, @kianaleani, @speakingincodes, @beyondthebelle @nyxarara, @princessesareforsuckers, @cryptidbunnyx, @lordxime, @femdisa @aureliacorvina, @kissyslut, @wingedsymbolruin, @van-is-silly, @ladygagaswifey @pittieprincess22, @peachygirlsblog, @em-idk-123, @jetjey15, @brianochka @madimcg14, @naturallysunkisseddaisy, @rollinssection, @moonlightsinner, @mari3st4r @purestxblood, @ashuhleawrites @psychwardsiren, @sgt-peppers-coffee-club, @stacys-momxx, @esmeraldalopez0, @ka4737
Can you do the 24 prompt with Seth please 
warnings: i'm all wet, can i come in?, husband!seth x wife!reader, smut, f!oral receiving, face sitting, daddy kink, praise, yes sir, p n v sex, creampie, names (princess, filthy, etc) you're an ex wwe superstar, wrestling academy seth, ummm, yeah. xoxo
tags: @eringobragh420, @xnightmarexpunkx, @barbspeaks, @mari3st4r, @amandairene88, @sublimemusiccowboy, @reginawhorge01, @beccalynns-world, @lovelikebuttahbaybee, @brays-fireflies6, @goldnhabitx, @jass-xoxo
You'd been caught in a thunderstorm on your run throughout Davenport and had finally been able to see the lights of Black and Brave at the end of the block and you mentally sing the Hallelujah chorus as you make your way down the block, rain pelting you as you do so.
You had left two hours before sunset and the skies were completely clear so imagine your surprise when you were two miles from your house when the first thunder cracked and raindrops the size of marbles started falling from the sky. It was dark as hell and you knew this storm was going to be a good one.
Your first instinct had been to make it into town as you were closer to downtown Main Street than you were your apartment. When you'd seen the wrestling school with your husband's car parked out back, you round the block quickly and make it inside just as a flash of lightning brightens the sky.
The bell above the door signals that someone has entered and the students that are in the ring learning how to take a proper bump all pause to take notice.
"Hello, Y/N!" they all chant in unison and you give a weak wave as you try to catch your breath from your run.
Your sports bra is clinging to your frame, soaked and your leggings are drenched from rain as you find a towel on a counter — grabbing it and starting to dry yourself off.
"Little wet?" you hear Seth from inside the ring and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he's sitting on the top turnbuckle in the corner, watching the prospects as they start to move onto chops.
"Got caught up," you state, admittedly a little more shaken up from running in a thunderstorm than you'd care to let on.
He must've noticed your demeanor because he's hopped off the ropes and is leaning through them to climb out. He quietly walks over to you and takes you in with his dark eyes. You look like a drowned rat and he can't help but want to help.
"C'mon, I've got some stuff in the back," he states, motioning to his office and he lets his hand go to the small of your back as he leads you towards it.
Once inside, you take in all of the wrestling merchandise that's displayed on the walls, either of himself or his friends in the business. You've been in here before but he's always adding something new.
He reaches into a gym bag that's sitting at the foot of his desk and pulls out a pair of shorts and a gray band t-shirt and you give him a skeptical look and he rolls his eyes, "They're clean, Y/N and you're trembling," he points at your bottom lip as it's quivering and turning the slightest shade of blue.
Seth watches you for a second before shaking his head, "We've gotta get you out of these wet clothes," he states and he reaches up, tugging gently at the zipper that's between your cleavage and letting your breasts fall apart slightly. "I'm serious, you could get sick," he shrugs.
"Well at least close the door," you snap and he quickly makes his way over to the office door, shutting it fast and twisting the stick that makes his blinds into his office close in a flash.
"Are you going to help me?" you ask quietly and he gives you a devilish smirk before he turns on his heel and eyes you up.
"Do you need my help?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as he starts to move closer to you. He's moving painstakingly slow and he looks at your wet clothing again. "Look at my poor baby, all soaked," he pouts his lips together as he watches you lift your arms above your head.
He takes this as your answer and he quietly brings his calloused fingertips to the hem of the sports bra, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion.
The plop of the wet material falling to the floor sounds and he smiles gently as he takes in the sight of his wife, topless, in his wrestling academy office. He bites on the inside of his bottom lip and he kneels down, bringing his fingers to the waistband of the leggings and he lets his chin rest against the damp fabric, looking up at you.
"Still need my help, huh?" he asks gently, clicking his tongue against his teeth a few times before he peels the wet fabric down your thighs and off your legs. The air conditioning is full blast due to it being the middle of July in Iowa and you feel goosebumps where your skin can feel the cool air hitting it.
You're standing naked in his office now and he looks at you with a look of surprise on his face.
"No panties?" he asks, shaking his head as he pushes your thighs apart ever so slightly and you can feel his hot breath against your pussy as he speaks, "You filthy fucking girl," he growls. "It's almost like it's fate that you had to come to me for help," he tells you — "You know how I feel about you being ready for me."
Oh, yes, you had learned from a very early point that Seth liked you to wear no panties and short skirts around the house. He was very much into the aspect of being able to fuck you anytime and anywhere now that you were his wife. You were pretty sure you'd been boned on every piece of furniture that you had in your home since you'd said "I Do..' three years earlier.
"I'm in the middle of doing laundry," you try and he glares up at you.
Seth smirks and shakes his head, "I'm literally going to burn any pair of panties that I see, Y/N," he tells you as he nudges your thighs apart and leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against your clit as you inhale sharply at the sensation. "Don't you dare try to hide this perfect pussy from me," he tells you and lets his tongue brush against your slit slowly.
Your hand instantly goes to his hair and you tug at the man-bun that you find at the back of his head. He sits on the ground and with the new height difference, he guides you so that you're now hovering directly over his face. He looks up and starts to eat greedily as you whimper above him.
You remind yourself that there's an entire class going on outside of this room and try to stay as quiet as you possibly can as he starts to hum against your wetness, lapping up every bit of your juices that he can. His hands go to your hips as he holds you tight and you find yourself rocking against his face.
He's pulling you down against his mouth with every thrust and you finally give in, lowering yourself and sitting on his face as he moans in happiness, trying to taste every bit of you. He groans and sucks at your clit before he lets his teeth gently graze against it and he feels your thighs tighten around his face.
But he's not done with you yet and he's wanting more. He pulls away and tries to catch his breath and you can see remnants of your juices on his beard as he motions for you with two fingers to come down to the floor.
You raise an eyebrow as he quickly pulls his shorts down and reveals the fact that eating you out gets him rock fucking hard. He loves it so much that he has to tell himself not to cum while doing it — especially when you sit on his face. He grabs at your hips hurriedly and arranges you so that you're going to be sitting in his lap as soon as he's inside of you.
He lifts his hips up and lowers you down and you groan softly, your head leaning forward against his as he slides up and inside. Your eyes flutter shut and his hand goes to your neck, grasping it gently as he guides your movements.
"Good girl," he breathes out, feeling your tightness surround him and he swears that he could blow right now with how good you feel. "That's Daddy's good girl," he nods, looking up at you as you take his cock, inch by inch.
As soon as he bottoms out, he gives you a soft and gentle kiss against your lips and you know this is his final check in with you before he turns into another man entirely.
He lets go of your neck and lowers both hands on either of your hips and you can feel his fingertips digging into your skin and you wonder if there will be bruises in the morning. He bucks his hips up and you jolt forward at the change in power behind his movements.
There he is.
He steadies his thrusts out at a quicker pace than before and you can feel him sliding in and out as he reaches back and smacks your ass. The noise echoes through the room and you glare down at him and he gives a slightly sheepish smile before he focuses back on the task at hand.
"You know Daddy'll work you out, rain or shine, baby," he tells you as he pumps into you. "You know I'm the best cardio you get," he smirks and you let your hands rest on his shoulders as you bend your knees and adjust yourself so that you can now bounce up and down on his cock freely.
"Best workout in town," he states, watching as you take control and start to ride him, his hands simply helping you find your rhythm before he leans back on his palms and watches his wife take his cock like this.
"So beautiful, baby girl," he coos, reaching up and placing his hand on the side of your cheek. He strokes your cheek gently before dragging his hand down and grasping your throat once again. "Who's gonna cum all over Daddy's dick in a minute when I tell her to, huh?" he asks in a gruff voice and you finally look down at him.
"I am," you state shyly and he makes a face in disbelief.
"Say it like you mean it, Y/N," he tells you again with a firmer tone. "Who is going to cum all over Daddy's dick in a minute when I tell her to, huh?" he asks sharper, his fingers digging around your neck slightly and you smirk.
"I am!" you respond a little louder than before and much more confident and Seth gives you a proud little smile before nodding his head.
"Yeah, you are, but Daddy's not done with his little princess just yet," he states gently, "We're gonna cum at the same time, baby, I wanna feel you when I fill you up," he tells you expectantly and you purse your lips, giving a curt nod.
"Yes, sir."
He smiles gently, "Good girl," he nods and shifts so that he's now on top and your back is against the cold tile floor of his office. He needs a rug in here, he thinks, as he lays you back and finds his place between your thighs.
Seth brings your knees up to your chest and leans forward, pounding his length into you and bucking his hips like a mad man, reaching up and pushing the strands of his curly hair that have been released from the bun out of his face.
"How's that, princess?" he asks, biting his bottom lip as he watches your face start to give signs that your orgasm is bubbling down deep in your core, ready to explode. He grins, "Talk to me, baby, don't be fuckin' shy now," he teases you and you finally manage to get out a long moan.
"Shit, Seth," you whimper between your teeth, "I— I can't—" his thrusts are making you pause between each word.
"Ah, ah, ah, we don't say can't, do we, baby?" he asks, raising a finger and looking down at you. "Yes, you can," he nods. "Just a little longer, baby, Daddy's so close," he warns you as his hips start back up again.
He leans down and rubs at your clit hurriedly as he finally finds his climax, grunting and groaning aloud as his thrusts grow more and more desperate. He starts to shoot his thick, long ropes of cum deep inside of you and he holds you tight as he does so.
You two were never actively trying to have a child but if one came into your lives, neither of you would've been upset. He'd secretly wanted one for the past year and every time he came inside of you, had a secret hope that this would be the time that it happened.
He stills his hips and he starts to pull out but you pull him back in and tug him down to kiss his lips gently.
He smiles against your lips and pants as he rests his forehead against yours and you smirk up at him.
"Now you're trembling," you quip as he slips out of you and he throws a towel at you.
"Different reasons," he smirks as he cleans himself off and you do the same. He smacks your ass as he hands you the clothing he'd grabbed earlier and you quietly start to get dressed as he pulls his shorts on.
He opens the door and sees six students all with their ears against the window or the door scurry to try to get back in the ring before being noticed but he catches them all red-handed and you walk out a few minutes later to everybody doing burpees to make up for being damn nosy.
He kisses your cheek as you walk by and he glances out the window as there's sheets of rain coming down horizontally.
"Why don't you stay here with me and I'll drive you home?" he asks, glancing at his watch. "Class is up in ten," he says softly, his arm draping around your shoulders. "OR until all of these pervs puke," he announces to the class who groan and continue with their drills.
You smirk gently and nod, hopping up on the ring apron and watching the students go.
Seth looks down at you and smiles, "Do you ever miss it?" he asks gently.
You'd been injured eighteen months ago in a match against Nia Jax and had to medically retire from the business that you had grown up around.
"More than you'll ever know," you state softly and he rubs your shoulders.
"You could always start teaching here," Seth says gently, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure the girls would love to learn a thing or two from Y/S/N," he tells you as he nudges you.
You bite your lip gently, "I'm not ready for that just yet," you say honestly. "But maybe soon," you nod, not wanting to shut the door entirely.
"I love you," he states quickly.
You smile softly, "I love you too," you respond and he's about to kiss you before he hears a student throw up in the distance and he gives you a sick, sadistic smile. "Go," you state, motioning to the student and he turns into teacher mode full blown as he claps his hands together.
"That's one, who else is gonna join 'em!?" he asks as he climbs into the ring.
Shawnter Sunday of the day: Reminder never ever steal your spouse's hat!
Source
alone together. cm punk. masterlist.
sugar daddy!cm punk x reader
synopsis: you’re a struggling creative, drowning in bills and self-doubt, when a late-night whim leads you to a sugar baby app. on the other side of the screen is cm punk, world-traveling wrestling legend, restless in hotel rooms, craving something real. what starts as a transactional fling quickly spirals into something hotter, deeper, and far more dangerous for your heart. in the quiet between matches and the heat of tangled sheets, you and punk blur the lines between sugar and love and neither of you can walk away unscathed.
part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six
behind the scenes. finn balor texts.
synopsis: finn balor x younger girlfriend!reader keep their relationship hidden for optics sake.
AN: blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff
Title: Feel it
Pairing: Tiffany Stratton x fem!gf!reader
WC: 12, 598
Warnings: Explicit NSFW smut, heavy orgasm denial/edging, ruined orgasms, brat taming, light degradation & praise kink, possessive/jealous dynamics.
——
The late afternoon light slanted through the half-drawn curtains in lazy, honeyed bars, catching on the faint shimmer of highlighter still clinging to Tiffany’s cheekbones from whatever brand deal she’d been filming earlier. The room smelled like vanilla latte gone lukewarm, expensive hair products, and the warm cotton of sheets that had been rumpled for hours. Your body felt heavy in the best way, limbs sunk deep into the mattress, the kind of sleep that blurred the edges of the day until you weren’t sure if you’d dreamed the last six hours or simply refused them.
You stirred, lashes fluttering against the pillow, and let out a soft, drawn-out whine that vibrated in the back of your throat.
The sound earned you a brief, sidelong glance from Tiffany, who sat propped against the headboard with her laptop balanced on her thighs. Her manicured fingers hovered over the keys, but the screen glowed with the telltale feed of some social app rather than any actual work. A single blonde tendril had escaped her messy bun and curled against the delicate line of her neck; she tucked it back with an impatient flick, lips pursed in that perfect, practiced pout.
“Morning, princess,” she murmured, voice low and honey-dipped with sarcasm. “Or should I say afternoon? You planning on joining the living anytime soon?”
You stretched like a cat, arching your back until your spine popped, then flopped onto your side facing her. The cotton of your sheets rode up your thigh; you didn’t bother fixing it. Instead you pressed your cheek to the cool expanse of her bare leg just below the hem of her tiny sleep shorts, nuzzling there with a dramatic sigh. Her skin was warm, faintly tacky from the heat of the room, and you could feel the subtle shift of muscle as she tried not to smile.
“I’m bored,” you announced, the words muffled against her thigh. They came out petulant, stretched long on a giggle that bubbled up unbidden. “Tiffy, I’m so bored. I woke up and the whole day’s already gone and you’re just… sitting there like some corporate boss when we both know you’re watching edits of yourself on TikTok.”
She let out a sharp little scoff, the sound bright as breaking glass, but her free hand dropped to your hair anyway, nails scraping lightly over your scalp in absent circles. The gesture was half affection, half warning. “I’m working, actually. Unlike some people who treat our bed like a full-time residence.” Her tone dripped with mock severity, but the way her fingers lingered, tracing the shell of your ear, then smoothing down the nape of your neck, betrayed her. She was fighting a smile; you could hear it in the slight lilt at the ends of her sentences, the way her cadence softened when she looked at you
You rolled onto your back, head still pillowed on her lap, and blinked up at her with wide, glassy eyes. The ceiling fan spun lazy shadows across her face. “Working,” you echoed, drawing the word out until it curled like smoke. “Is that what we’re calling doomscrolling now? Baby, your attention span is shorter than my patience.”
Tiffany’s gaze flicked down to you, one perfectly groomed brow arching in that signature Stratton way, equal parts amusement and challenge. She closed the laptop with a decisive snap and set it aside on the nightstand, though she made a show of sighing like you’d personally ruined her entire career trajectory. The mattress dipped as she shifted, sliding lower until she was half-reclined beside you, one leg slung possessively over yours. Up close, you caught the faint scent of her lip gloss, something sweet and expensive, and the way her lashes cast delicate fans across her cheeks when she narrowed her eyes at you.
“You’re such a brat when you first wake up,” she said, voice dropping into that intimate register that always made your stomach flip. Her fingers walked down your arm, light as feathers, then pinched the soft skin just above your elbow in playful reprimand. “All soft and whiny and impossible to ignore. It’s disgusting, honestly. I hate it.”
You giggled again, the sound bright and unfiltered, and turned into her touch like a flower chasing sunlight. Your hand found the hem of her tiny top, tugging idly at the fabric. “Liar. You love it. You love me like this—lazy and clingy and all yours.” The words came out muffled against her collarbone as you burrowed closer, nose brushing the warm hollow of her throat.
Her pulse fluttered there, quick and alive.
For a moment she didn’t answer, just let her hand settle at the small of your back, palm warm through the thin silk. Her nails traced idle patterns against your spine, slow and deliberate, the kind of touch that said more than any practiced promo ever could. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, threaded with that rare, genuine sweetness she only ever let slip when the cameras were off and the world was far away.
“Yeah, well. Maybe I do.” A beat. Then, with a wicked little smirk you felt against your temple, “Doesn’t mean I’m not still making you get up and make me a new coffee, though. Chop chop, sleepyhead.”
You groaned theatrically, burying your face deeper into her neck as she opened her computer once more, but your arms tightened around her waist anyway. The late sun painted gold across your tangled limbs, and outside the city kept moving without you.
A pitiful, wounded little noise slipped from your throat, half sigh, half strangled whimper, as you pushed yourself up from her lap. It sounded pathetic even to your own ears, all raw and needy and edged with genuine frustration. Your cheeks burned, not from embarrassment but from the slow simmer of irritation that had finally boiled over.
“Fine,” you bit out, the word sharp and clipped, though your voice still carried that telltale whine. “I’ll just get up and be productive, since apparently your little fan edits are more important than me.” You made a show of swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress, the silk slip you’d been wearing having ridden up and twisted around your waist hours ago. The cool air kissed your skin as you stood, leaving you in nothing but a delicate lace bra and a matching thong that barely qualified as clothing. You didn’t bother reaching for a robe. Let her look.
Tiffany’s gaze flicked up for the briefest second, long enough for you to catch the subtle hitch in her breathing, the way her fingers paused mid-tap on the trackpad, before she schooled her expression back into focused neutrality. You stretched languidly anyway, arms reaching high overhead, spine arching with a soft, involuntary hum of relief as your muscles lengthened. The motion pulled the lace taut across your chest and left the curve of your ass on full display. You held the pose a beat longer than necessary, then let your arms drop with a dramatic exhale.
Padding across the room on bare feet, the hardwood warm from the lingering sun, you threw one last sulky glance over your shoulder. “You love your fans more than your own girlfriend. Noted.”
The kitchen felt too bright after the dim cocoon of the bedroom, afternoon light slanting across the marble counters in harsh, golden blades. You filled a glass with water and drank it slowly, leaning against the island, the cool condensation dripping down your fingers. Every movement was deliberate, exaggerated; the way you tilted your head back to expose the line of your throat, the soft click of your nails against the glass, the little huff you let escape between sips. Grumbling under your breath the entire time “Unbelievable… scrolling through thirst comments like it’s her full-time job…”
By the time you returned, you’d brewed her a fresh coffee in the fancy machine she insisted on keeping spotless. The mug was warm in your hands, fragrant steam curling upward with notes of caramel and dark roast. You sauntered back into the bedroom as if the entire tantrum had never happened, hips swaying with practiced nonchalance, thong riding low on your hips. Your hair fell in a tousled cascade over one shoulder, and you wore the expression of someone who was absolutely, positively unbothered.
“Here,” you said lightly, setting the mug on the nightstand within her reach. You didn’t crawl back into bed immediately. Instead you lingered at the edge, running your fingers along the duvet in idle patterns, pretending to examine your nails under the light. “Thought you might need sustenance for all that very serious, very important work.”
Tiffany’s eyes lifted again, slower this time, tracing the bare expanse of your legs, the delicate lace, the faint flush still high on your cheekbones. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, just once, before she schooled it into a smirk. “You’re really committing to the bit, huh?”
You shrugged one shoulder, the movement elegant and dismissive, though your pulse fluttered traitorously at the attention. “I’m just being helpful. Productive. Unlike some people.” You finally slid back onto the mattress, settling on your knees beside her, close enough that your thigh brushed hers. Your hand rested innocently on the duvet near her laptop, fingers drumming a restless rhythm. Every line of your body screamed for her to look, really look, while your face remained the picture of cool indifference.
Inside, though, the pout lingered behind your ribs, sharp and insistent. You leaned in just enough for your breath to ghost along her bare arm, lips curving into something sweetly poisonous.
“Drink your coffee before it gets cold, baby. Wouldn’t want to distract you from all that hard work.”
The steam from the coffee curled lazily between you, carrying that rich, bitter edge that always clung to the air after you used her overpriced machine. You stayed on your knees beside her, body angled toward the glowing screen like a moth to unwelcome flame, watching the way her acrylics danced across the keys with infuriating focus. Minutes stretched, long, silent, maddening. Your thigh pressed flush against hers, skin on skin, but she didn’t so much as twitch.
“Bored,” you whispered again, the word fracturing into another soft whine. You draped yourself against her side, chest molded to the curve of her arm, one leg hooked possessively over her lap so the lace of your thong brushed the warm underside of her thigh. Your breasts, barely contained by the delicate bra, pillowed softly against her bicep as you nuzzled into the crook of her neck. “I’m so attention-starved it’s actually criminal. You’re right here and it’s like I’m invisible.”
Tiffany hummed, noncommittal, almost bored, and scrolled to the next clip. Her posture remained perfectly composed; spine straight, shoulders relaxed, the faint scent of her vanilla-citrus lotion mixing with the coffee steam. She didn’t look at you. Not even when you let your fingers trail up her stomach beneath the hem of her tiny top, tracing the smooth plane of her abdomen with needy little circles. You pressed harder, trying to seep into her like warm honey, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Baby,” you murmured, voice pitching higher, needier. “I could literally be on my knees for you right now and you’d still be editing text overlays.”
Nothing. Just the soft tap-tap-tap of her nails and the occasional shift of her messy bun against the headboard. The indifference wound tight in your chest, twisting into something sharper, pettier.
You huffed against her throat, then dragged your mouth along her jaw in slow, open-mouthed kisses, leaving faint gloss prints on her skin. Your hand slid higher, thumb grazing the underside of her breast through the thin fabric, but she only adjusted the laptop slightly to accommodate your weight.
The silence stretched until it snapped.
You pulled back just enough to study her profile, the elegant line of her nose, the way her lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks, and let a dangerous little smile curve your lips. Your voice dropped into something light, almost casual, laced with saccharine venom.
“You know… Maxxine would’ve given me attention by now. She always did, back when we weren’t official. Little flirty comments in the locker room, that cute laugh when I’d bend over to tie my boots. She wouldn’t be ignoring me for thirst traps of herself.
The change was immediate.
Tiffany’s fingers stilled. Her head turned slowly, eyes narrowing into something sharp and glittering as they finally locked onto yours. The laptop snapped shut with a decisive click that echoed through the quiet room. She set it aside on the nightstand without breaking eye contact, the motion fluid but edged with an unmistakable fire.
For a heartbeat the air thickened, charged, electric, heavy with the weight of your shared perfume and the faint citrus of her skin. Then her mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk, one brow arching in perfect, dangerous amusement.
“You want my attention that bad, baby?” Her voice was low, honeyed, dripping with mock sweetness and something darker underneath. She shifted suddenly, strong hands finding your waist and yanking you fully into her lap so you straddled her thighs. The laptop was forgotten; the late afternoon light painted gold across her collarbones as she tilted her head, studying you like you were the only thing worth filming. “All you had to do was say so. No need to bring up Dupri like that… unless you’re trying to make me jealous.”
Her fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, possessive and warm, thumbs stroking lazy circles just above the lace of your thong. The indifference had shattered completely, replaced by that bright, wicked focus you’d been craving, eyes locked on yours, lips parted just enough to show the edge of her teeth when she smiled.
You let out a soft, triumphant little giggle that melted into another whine, melting against her chest as your arms looped around her neck. “Maybe I am,” you breathed, pressing closer until your forehead rested against hers. “Worked, didn’t it?”
The flicker in her eyes was there and gone in less than a breath, something sharp and possessive tightening at the corners before it dissolved into practiced sweetness. Tiffany didn’t let it linger. Instead she exhaled a soft, theatrical sigh, the kind that said she was graciously conceding defeat, and let her hands slide up your sides with deliberate care. Her palms were warm, nails grazing just enough to raise faint trails of sensation along your ribs.
“Oh, baby,” she murmured, voice pitched low and honey-smooth, laced with mock remorse. “I really was being the worst, wasn’t I?” She tugged you closer without waiting for an answer, guiding you fully into her lap until your knees sank into the mattress on either side of her hips. The shift pressed your bare thighs flush against hers, the lace of your thong catching slightly on the hem of her sleep shorts. “Ignoring you like that when you woke up all soft and needy for me. That’s actually awful. Come here.”
You melted into the pull, smug satisfaction blooming warm and syrupy behind your sternum. The cat that got the cream didn’t even begin to cover it, you felt radiant with it, victorious in the prettiest way, lips already curving into a private little smile as you settled against her chest. Her arms looped around your waist, one hand splaying possessively at the small of your back while the other cupped the nape of your neck, thumb stroking slow arcs beneath your hair.
She tilted her face up and kissed you properly this time, slow, lingering presses that tasted like the faint remnants of her morning gloss and the coffee you’d brought her. Each kiss deepened by degrees; first at the corner of your mouth, then full and unhurried, her tongue brushing yours with lazy expertise. When she pulled back, it was only far enough to speak against your lips.
“You’re so pretty like this,” she whispered, the words brushing warm over your skin. Another kiss, this one to the hinge of your jaw. “All sleepy and pouty and throwing yourself at me until I can’t ignore you anymore. My gorgeous, whiny little angel.”
Her fingers traced the delicate strap of your bra, following the line where lace met skin, then dipped lower to map the curve of your waist. “You have my attention now, okay? All of it. No more laptop. No more edits. Just you.”
The promises wrapped around you like warm silk, and you let yourself preen under them, chin lifting slightly as you arched closer. A soft, contented hum vibrated in your throat while your hands slid up to toy with the loose strands of her bun, tugging gently just to feel her react. Inside, triumph sang bright and sharp, you’d won, exactly as planned, and she was playing along so beautifully you almost believed the apology. Almost.
You nuzzled into her neck, lips brushing the warm pulse point there, and let your voice come out small and sweet, though the smug edge lingered beneath it. “Good. Because I was about two minutes from actually leaving the room and finding something else to do.”
Tiffany laughed under her breath, the sound rich and fond, but her grip on your hips tightened just a fraction, enough to anchor you there, enough to hint at the bite waiting beneath the sugar. She kissed the top of your shoulder, then the hollow of your throat, slow and deliberate, as if sealing the vow.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess. You’re stuck with me now.” Her mouth found yours again, deeper this time, and for a long, golden stretch of afternoon the only sounds were the quiet sighs between kisses and the faint rustle of sheets as you pressed even closer, utterly convinced you’d gotten exactly what you wanted.
The late sun had slipped lower, bleeding molten gold across the sheets and turning every stray strand of Tiffany’s hair into filaments of light. You were still straddling her lap, thighs bracketing her hips, when she drew you in again with that disarmingly gentle tug. Her mouth found yours without hesitation, slow, plush, and devastatingly thorough. She kissed like she had all the time in the world, like the laptop and the edits and the entire afternoon had never existed. Her lips parted yours with effortless patience, tongue sliding warm and silky against your own in long, lazy strokes that made your spine loosen and your breath hitch.
“Mmm,” she hummed against your mouth, the sound low and indulgent. “There she is. My sweet, dramatic girl.” One hand stayed anchored at the small of your back, fingers splayed wide and warm, while the other traced idle, feather-light patterns up your bare spine. Every touch felt reverent, almost worshipful, coaxing little shivers that danced across your skin.
She tasted like coffee and triumph, yours, you told yourself, all yours.
You melted deeper into her, smug satisfaction curling hot and sweet in your belly. This was exactly what you’d wanted; her undivided, pliant focus, the way she tilted her head to chase your mouth when you tried to pull back for air. You chased the victory with greedy hands, sliding them into her hair and tugging just enough to make her gasp softly into the kiss. She let you. God, she let you, laughing breathlessly against your lips in that throaty, knowing way that always unravelled you.
“Careful, baby,” she murmured, nipping your lower lip before soothing it with her tongue. The sarcasm was there, light and silken, wrapped in velvet affection. “You’re gonna mess up my hair and then I’ll have to film my get ready with me all over again. Wouldn’t want to bore you twice in one day.” Her eyes sparkled with wicked amusement when she pulled back just far enough to look at you, lashes low, mouth swollen and glossy. She looked utterly enchanted. Utterly conquered.
You preened, chest pressing flush to hers, the lace of your bra scraping deliciously against her thin top. “You’re finally being nice,” you whispered, voice husky with satisfaction. You rocked your hips once, slow and teasing, and she let her head fall back against the headboard with a soft, indulgent sigh.
“Because you’re impossible to resist when you get all pissy and needy like this.” Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your thong at the small of your back, stroking the sensitive skin there in lazy circles. Another kiss, deeper, filthier, her free hand cupping your jaw to hold you exactly where she wanted you. “Look at you. All smug and glowing because you think you won.” The words were laced with that sexy, mocking lilt, but she followed them with a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking lightly at your pulse point until your eyes fluttered shut.
You felt golden, invincible, wrapped in the warm haze of her attention. Every soft laugh she breathed against your collarbone, every gentle squeeze of her hands on your ass as she pulled you tighter against her, fed the smug little thrill humming through your veins. She was so easy right now, so sweet, so pliant, so perfectly focused on you. You arched into her mouth with a contented sigh, fingers loosening in her hair as you surrendered to the illusion that you had her exactly where you wanted her.
Tiffany smiled against your skin, slow and secret, the expression hidden where you couldn’t see it. Her voice stayed honeyed and low when she spoke again, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Keep making those pretty sounds for me, princess. I’m all yours now.”
The kisses had gone syrup-slow, luxurious, Tiffany’s mouth moving against yours like she was memorising every sigh you gave her. You were floating in it, drunk on the victory, convinced you’d finally cracked her wide open. Her hands stayed gentle on your hips, thumbs stroking idle circles over the thin straps of your thong, and when she eased you back you let her, pliant and glowing.
She peeled you off her lap with exquisite care, guiding you down onto the mattress beside her as if you were something fragile and priceless. Her fingers lingered at your waist, tracing the dip there before she sat up straighter, blonde strands slipping loose from her bun to frame her face in soft disarray. The late light caught in her eyes, turning them luminous.
“Poor bored baby,” she cooed, voice low and syrupy, that sexy sarcastic lilt still threading through the sweetness. “I really have been neglecting you, haven’t I?” She leaned in, brushed one last lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, then reached across you toward the drawer in the nightstand. The movement stretched her body in a graceful line, the hem of her top riding up to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. “I was saving this for a special occasion… but since you’re so tragically bored and desperate for my attention, why don’t we have a little fun instead?”
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs as she withdrew a sleek, gorgeous pink vibrator, matte finish catching the golden hour glow, elegantly curved with a flared base and a subtle, crystalline shimmer embedded along its length. It looked expensive, indulgent, the kind of toy that promised ruin in the prettiest way. You knew immediately it was the app-controlled one she’d mentioned ordering for long road trips, the one that let her play with you from across the country if she wanted.
Tiffany turned it slowly in her manicured fingers, letting you admire it, her smile curving slow and indulgent. “Look at that. Bought it thinking I’d torture you from hotel rooms… but you’re just so fucking pretty right now I can’t wait.” Her gaze dragged over you, heavy and appreciative. “All flushed and eager. Such an attention whore.”
You were embarrassingly easy.
You scooted back against the pillows without being asked, arranging yourself like an offering on silk altar. The lace bra pushed your breasts up invitingly; the thong sat high on your hips, framing everything. You bit down on your lower lip, teeth sinking into the plush gloss, and let your fingers drift up to toy with a lock of your hair, twirling it around one finger in slow, deliberate loops. Your knees parted just enough to look inviting, thighs soft and parted in lazy invitation, chest rising and falling a little quicker than before. The smug satisfaction from earlier had melted into something hotter, sweeter, pure, shimmering anticipation.
Tiffany’s eyes darkened as she drank you in, tongue pressing briefly to the corner of her mouth. She crawled closer on her knees, the vibrator still held loosely in one hand like a promise, and settled between your spread thighs. The mattress dipped under her weight. She leaned down, brushing her nose along the inside of your knee before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there, then higher, until her breath ghosted warm over the lace covering you.
“God, you really are pathetic for me,” she murmured affectionately, the words vibrating against your skin. “Sitting so pretty, already spreading your legs like a good girl. Is this what you needed, baby? Just a little something to keep that bored mind occupied?”
You let out a soft, needy sound,
half laugh, half whimper, and nodded, hair fanning across the pillow as you tilted your head back. The smug little thrill still hummed in your veins; you’d won her focus so completely she was pulling out toys she’d been saving. You reached down to trail your fingers along her arm, biting your lip harder as you watched her thumb hover over the toy’s controls.
The mattress sighed beneath her weight as Tiffany settled deeper between your parted thighs, the pink toy set aside for the moment like a patient promise. She crawled up your body with feline grace, all sun-warmed skin and lingering citrus scent, and captured your mouth in a kiss so tender it bordered on reverent. Her lips moved slow and plush against yours, tongue tracing the seam of your mouth before slipping inside to taste the soft, needy sounds you couldn’t quite swallow.
One hand cradled the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone with heartbreaking gentleness while the other skimmed down your side, mapping every curve like she was learning you anew.
“You’re so good for me when you finally get what you want,” she whispered against your lips, voice low and honey-thick with that addictive edge of mockery. “Look at you… already trembling and I’ve barely touched you.”
She kissed her way down your throat, lingering at the fluttering pulse beneath your jaw, then lower, sucking a faint mark just above the lace edge of your bra. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your thong, but she didn’t use them. Instead she dipped her head further, blonde strands spilling across your stomach like silk threads, and caught the delicate fabric between her teeth. The drag was torturously slow, teeth grazing your hip bone, the warm huff of her breath ghosting over newly exposed skin as she peeled the soaked lace down your thighs with nothing but her mouth. You lifted your hips to help her without thinking, a soft, broken exhale escaping you when the cool air kissed your slick folds.
Tiffany hummed in quiet approval as she tossed the ruined thong aside. Her eyes flicked up to yours, dark and gleaming. “Already leaking for me, baby? That’s embarrassing.” But her tone was pure sugar, affectionate and teasing, as she dragged two fingers through your folds, slow, feather-light, spreading the evidence of your desperation in lazy strokes. The touch was barely there, maddeningly gentle, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch but not enough to satisfy. She watched your face the entire time, cataloguing every flutter of your lashes, every bitten-back whimper.
You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the slick sounds of her fingers obscene in the quiet room. Yet she took her time, kissing the inside of your thigh, then higher, until her mouth hovered just above where you needed her most. Only when you were shifting restlessly against the pillows, back arched and lips parted on a whine, did she retrieve the toy.
“Easy, princess,” she murmured, pressing the cool, smooth head against your entrance. She worked it in inch by slow inch, twisting gently, eyes locked on the way your body opened for it. “There we go… taking it so prettily. Such a greedy girl.”
Once it was seated deep, she leaned over you again, bracing one hand beside your head and kissing you deep and filthy while her free hand adjusted the angle just right.
The stretch was perfect, full and satisfying, and you let out a shaky, satisfied sigh as your walls clenched around the silicone.
You tilted your chin up, trying for haughty even as your cheeks burned and your hips rolled subtly against her hand. “You should’ve just done this the second I woke up,” you huffed, the words coming out breathy and sassy, laced with that familiar whine. “Instead of making me act like some desperate little attention whore crawling all over you. So rude, Tiffy.”
Tiffany’s laugh was low and delighted, vibrating against your collarbone as she nipped at the skin there. Her thumb brushed your clit once, teasing, while the toy stayed perfectly still inside you for now. “Poor thing. Had to throw a whole fit and drag other girls into it just to get fucked properly.” She kissed the corner of your pout, then your bottom lip, sucking it gently between her teeth. “But you look so fucking cute when you’re needy. Can’t blame me for wanting the show first.”
You tried to glare, but it dissolved into another soft moan as she gave the toy the slightest experimental thrust.
Tiffany stayed against your body like liquid sunlight, all smooth limbs and warm breath, until her mouth found yours again. She rocked the toy gently with her fingers, shallow thrusts that dragged against every sensitive ridge, never enough to rush you but enough to keep pleasure licking up your spine in warm, syrupy waves. Her free hand cupped your breast through the lace, thumb circling your nipple until it tightened into an aching point.
You sighed into her mouth, hips rolling lazily to chase the sensation, still riding that golden haze of victory. She was so sweet like this, so attentive, exactly what you’d whined and schemed for.
After long, indulgent minutes of her mouth on yours and the toy working you open in those lazy drags, she sat back on her heels between your spread thighs. The shift left you beautifully exposed, chest heaving, thighs trembling faintly, the base of the pink toy glistening where it disappeared inside you. Tiffany picked up her phone, brow furrowing in exaggerated concentration as she opened the app.
“Hmm… how does this stupid thing work again?” she murmured, tapping at the screen with the tip of one acrylic. Her lips pursed in faux confusion, the picture of innocent bewilderment, even as her eyes sparkled with mischief.
The vibrator suddenly roared to life at its maximum setting.
A brutal, buzzing pulse slammed through you, intense, relentless, right against that perfect spot deep inside. Your back arched clean off the mattress, a soft, shaky “fuck—” ripping from your throat before you could stop it. Your thighs clamped together instinctively around her hand, walls fluttering wildly around the silicone as white-hot pleasure bordered on too much. The sound that followed was mortifyingly needy, half-moan, half-whine, your fingers fisting into the sheets.
“Oops,” Tiffany said sweetly, batting her lashes at you with wide, guileless eyes. “Did I do that? These apps are so confusing.” She tapped again, and the brutal intensity dropped at once to a low, pulsing hum, gentle waves that rolled through you like warm tide instead of a storm. Just enough to keep you aching, building slow and syrupy.
She set the phone aside on the duvet and smiled down at you, all sugar and sparkling affection, one hand resting possessively on your inner thigh. “There we go. Nice and easy for my baby.” Her thumb stroked soothing circles on your skin while the toy continued its low, teasing rhythm inside you. “Look at you… so pretty when you’re falling apart like this. All flushed and glossy and taking it so well.”
You let out a breathless little huff, trying to cling to that earlier sass even as your hips twitched helplessly toward the sensation. “You’re evil,” you managed, though the words dissolved into a soft, needy moan when the pulse deepened just slightly. Your head tipped back against the pillows, hair fanning wild, one hand drifting up to squeeze your own breast because you couldn’t help it.
Tiffany’s laugh was low and fond, her free hand sliding up to intertwine with yours, guiding it away so she could replace it with her own, gentle squeezes, slow rolls of your nipple between her fingers. “Shh, baby. Just relax and let it feel good. I’ve got you now. All that attention you were crying for… it’s right here.” Her voice stayed soft, sweet, almost cooing as she watched you writhe beneath the slow, building pleasure, eyes dark with satisfaction. “My perfect, desperate girl. So easy to play with.”
The low setting kept you suspended in that delicious, aching climb, never rushing, never letting you tip over, just warm, relentless waves while she stroked your thigh and murmured pretty praises, looking every bit the doting girlfriend who’d finally given in.
Tiffany watched you with hooded eyes, the low thrum of the toy pulsing steadily inside you like a secret heartbeat. For a while she let you lead, patient, almost deferential, as you shifted your hips in slow, experimental rolls, chasing the angle that made sparks dance behind your eyelids. Your voice came out soft, breathy but still composed, the edge of that earlier sass smoothed into something sweeter, needier.
“A little higher, baby… please.”
She obeyed without hesitation, thumb gliding over her phone screen. The vibrations deepened, thickening into a richer, more insistent rhythm that pressed perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside. A quiet, satisfied sigh slipped from your lips, your lashes fluttering but not closing completely. You stayed remarkably put-together for someone unraveling so prettily, back arched just enough to lift your chest, thighs parted elegantly, one hand resting lightly on your stomach as if to steady the building heat.
“That’s it,” she murmured, setting the phone aside again. “Good girl. Telling me exactly what you need.” Her hands moved with reverent efficiency, slipping beneath your back to unclasp your bra. The lace whispered away, baring you completely to the warm afternoon light. Tiffany made a low, appreciative sound in her throat, eyes tracing the soft swell of your breasts, the way your nipples had already tightened into dusky peaks.
She leaned down, mouth hot against the column of your neck, kissing open-mouthed trails from your jaw to the delicate hollow of your throat. Each press of her lips left a faint sheen of gloss and the faint sting of gentle suction. One hand cupped your breast fully, thumb circling the sensitive bud before pinching lightly, rolling it between her fingers with expert pressure. The other mirrored the motion on your opposite side, kneading and teasing until your breathing hitched despite your best efforts to stay soft and steady.
“You’re in heaven right now, aren’t you?” she whispered against your pulse point, voice dripping with fond amusement. Her teeth grazed your earlobe as the toy continued its steady, delicious assault. “All flushed and glowing, letting this pretty pink thing fuck you while I play with these perfect tits. Look at you—still trying to act composed when you’re dripping down your thighs for me.”
You let out a soft, breathy laugh that melted into a moan, hips canting lazily to meet the vibrations. The pleasure built in warm, rolling waves rather than a frantic rush, luxurious, indulgent. Your fingers threaded loosely through her loose blonde strands, not tugging, just holding her close while she lavished attention on your neck and chest. Every kiss, every slow squeeze and flick of her tongue across your nipple sent sparks skittering down your spine to where the toy worked you open.
“Mmm… yeah,” you admitted quietly, voice husky but still laced with that sweet, sassy lilt. “Feels so good, Tiffy. Don’t stop.”
She smiled against your skin, visibly eating up every second of your soft surrender,
the way your lashes fluttered, the subtle arch of your back, the faint sheen of sweat glowing along your collarbones. Her mouth closed around one nipple, sucking gently while her hand continued its worship on the other, and the dual sensation blended seamlessly with the relentless pulse inside you.
“That’s my girl,” she praised between kisses, voice low and velvety. “So pretty when you let yourself enjoy it. My bored little princess finally getting all the attention she cried for.” Her free hand drifted down to rest on your lower stomach, pressing lightly just above where the toy disappeared, amplifying every throb. “Keep making those soft sounds for me. I could watch you like this for hours.”
You were floating, warm, adored, perfectly suspended in that golden edge of pleasure while she doted on you with hands and mouth and wickedly attentive eyes. Heaven felt like silk sheets, citrus-scented skin, and the low, steady buzz of the toy she controlled so sweetly. And Tiffany drank in every moment, her own satisfaction gleaming sharp and bright behind the sugar of her smile.
The pleasure had built in slow, indulgent layers over the last ten minutes, each gentle pulse of the toy and every swirl of Tiffany’s tongue around your nipple weaving tighter and tighter inside you. Your breaths came shallower now, less measured, the soft sighs turning into quiet, needy whimpers that slipped out unbidden. Your hips rolled in tiny, helpless circles, chasing the steady thrum buried deep. One hand fumbled for her shoulder, fingers curling tight into the thin strap of her top; the other reached blindly for her wrist, needing something, anything, to anchor you as the edge crept closer.
Tiffany lifted her head from your breast, lips glossy and swollen, eyes soft with feigned adoration. She brushed a strand of hair from your damp forehead, thumb stroking your cheek.
“You gonna cum for me, baby?” she whispered, voice all sugar and warmth. The toy kept its low, pulsing rhythm, perfectly consistent. “Yeah? Look at you… getting so close already. Are you close, princess? Gonna cum all pretty on that toy for me?”
You nodded frantically, lips parted, chest heaving in uneven little gasps. The pressure coiled sharp and bright behind your navel, thighs trembling against the sheets. “Yeah—yeah, Tiffy, please—”
Her smile was angelic, doting, as she leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “That’s my good girl. Let it happen. I’ve got you.”
The wave crested, right there, your walls fluttering hard around the silicone, every muscle drawing tight.
The vibrations died instantly
The sudden, devastating absence left you clenching around nothing, pleasure fracturing into cruel, empty ache. A broken, confused sound tore from your throat as your hips jerked uselessly upward, chasing the ghost of sensation. Your fingers scrabbled at her arm, eyes flying open wide.
Tiffany sat back on her heels, phone still in hand, the picture of smug satisfaction. The toy remained motionless inside you, silent and useless now. That wicked little smirk curved her glossy lips, one perfectly arched brow lifting as she took in the sight of you, flushed, trembling, desperate and denied.
“No you’re not, are you baby?” she said sweetly, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
You stared at her, chest still heaving, confusion and frustration slamming into you like cold water. The words wouldn’t come at first; your brain struggled to catch up, the ruined orgasm throbbing painfully between your legs.
“Aww…” Tiffany tilted her head, blonde strands falling over one shoulder as she drank in your expression with open delight. “You really thought I was gonna be nice to you after that little tantrum earlier?” She dragged a single finger down the center of your stomach, feather-light, stopping just above where the toy still sat buried.
“Throwing a fit, bringing up Maxxine like that, huffing and puffing and parading around in nothing but lace just to get my attention?” Her laugh was soft, low, utterly pleased with herself. “Baby, I was never going to let you win that easy.”
The realisation settled over you like frost on glass, every sweet kiss, every obedient tap on the app, every murmured praise had been honey over a trap. She’d lured you right to the edge and stepped back with that glittering, triumphant look in her eyes, the one that said she’d enjoyed every second of your needy performance.
You let out a shaky, frustrated whine, thighs pressing together around the still toy as if that could salvage anything. Your hands fisted the sheets, cheeks burning hotter than before.
Tiffany leaned down again, brushing a deceptively gentle kiss to your pouting lower lip, eyes sparkling with pure, wicked satisfaction.
“Poor baby,” she cooed against your mouth. “Now you’re really gonna have to earn it.”
A few heartbeats passed in heavy silence, your chest still heaving, the ruined edge of orgasm pulsing angrily between your thighs like a fresh bruise. You stared up at her, lips parted on a silent protest, every inch of you flushed and glistening under the amber light.
Then the toy flickered back to life on its lowest setting, barely more than a gentle, teasing hum. The sudden return of sensation made your hips twitch involuntarily, a soft, involuntary whimper slipping free before you could swallow it. Tiffany watched you with half-lidded eyes, her smile slow and utterly satisfied, like a cat who’d just batted the canary into stunned submission and decided to play with it a little longer.
She settled comfortably between your spread thighs again, one hand resting warmly on your lower stomach, thumb stroking idle circles just above your mound. Her voice came out syrupy, soft as cashmere and twice as cutting. “There we go, sweetheart. Breathe for me. We’re not done yet.” The words were kind on the surface, almost tender, but the gleam in her eyes betrayed pure, glittering delight in her own cruelty. She was thriving on this, on the way she could unravel you so easily, on the power wrapped in pretty pink silicone and sweeter promises.
You gathered the scraps of your composure, thighs trembling faintly around the low, relentless buzz. Your voice emerged soft, a little hoarse, laced with that polite bitchiness you couldn’t quite smother even now. “Tiffany… this is actually so mean. I was right there, and you just— you can’t keep doing that after acting all sweet and letting me think—”
You cut yourself off with a shaky exhale as another gentle wave rolled through you, fingers twisting into the sheets instead of reaching for her.
She tilted her head, blonde strands slipping over one shoulder, expression the picture of innocent concern. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m giving you exactly what you wanted.” The sweetness in her tone was almost affectionate, like she was genuinely trying to soothe you, even as her thumb pressed firmer against your stomach, feeling every flutter of your muscles around the toy. “You were so bored, throwing that precious little tantrum, parading around in nothing but lace just to get my attention. Now you have it. All of it.”
You let out a frustrated little huff, cheeks burning hotter, but your voice stayed soft and edged with upset politeness even as your hips gave a helpless roll. “You’re being such a bitch about it, though. Acting like you were all sorry and then pulling this— it’s actually unfair, baby. I was so close and you knew—”
Tiffany didn’t let you finish.
She tapped the screen once, and the vibrations climbed higher, deeper, stronger than before, pulsing in steady, intoxicating waves that dragged a broken moan straight from your throat. Your back arched clean off the pillows for a second before you forced it down, lips pressing tight together as fresh pleasure crashed over the lingering frustration. The toy fucked into you with relentless precision, and you could feel yourself clenching around it, slick and desperate, every nerve lighting up again in humiliating speed.
She watched you like it was her favorite show, eyes bright, lips curved in that smug, satisfied little smile she didn’t even try to hide. One hand stayed on your stomach, pressing down lightly to feel every involuntary twitch, while the other held her phone loosely, thumb hovering like a threat and a promise.
“Look at you,” she murmured, voice low and delighted, almost cooing. “Still trying to scold me all sweet and proper while your pretty pussy is gripping that toy like it owes you money. So fucking cute when you’re mad and turned on at the same time.” Her gaze dragged slowly over your body, flushed chest rising and falling faster now, nipples tight, thighs trembling with the effort not to writhe too obviously. “Keep talking, baby. Tell me how unfair I’m being. I love the way your voice gets all breathy when you’re trying to be polite about how badly you need to cum.”
You bit your lip hard, another soft, needy sound escaping despite yourself as the higher setting pushed you right back toward that dangerous edge. Tiffany simply watched, radiant with self-satisfaction, drinking in every flutter of your lashes and every bitten-off whimper like it was nectar.
The vibrations thrummed through you in steady, merciless waves, keeping you suspended on that cruel plateau, close enough to ache, far enough to frustrate. Your chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, lips parted on shallow breaths as you fought to steady yourself. After a long, trembling moment, the words slipped out pathetically soft, almost plaintive.
“Why did you ruin it?” you asked, voice cracking just enough to betray you. “I was right there, Tiffy… why?”
Tiffany tilted her head, lashes lowering as she pretended to consider the question with theatrical thoughtfulness. One manicured finger tapped against her lower lip, the picture of innocent contemplation while the toy continued its relentless pulse inside you. “Hmm. I suppose I didn’t see the point in rushing it, princess. We’ve got all the time in the world, don’t we?” Her smile bloomed slow and radiant, utterly unrepentant. “No need to end the fun so quickly when you look this beautiful falling apart for me.”
You let out a shaky exhale, hips rolling subtly against the steady rhythm despite yourself. The pleasure kept building in thick, syrupy layers, your body chasing it even as your mind reeled from the denial. Every throb dragged another soft, involuntary sound from your throat, your fingers twisting tighter into the sheets.
Tiffany watched you for another lingering moment, then rose gracefully from the bed. The mattress shifted as she stood, and she peeled off her tiny top with unhurried elegance, letting it drop to the floor. Her sleep shorts followed, sliding down long, toned legs until she stood before you in nothing but delicate lace bra and matching panties. The late afternoon light gilded her skin, catching on the subtle sheen of sweat along her collarbones and the unmistakable damp patch darkening the front of her panties. She wasn’t as drenched as you,
few things could match the obscene slickness currently coating your thighs,
but the evidence of her arousal was plain, glistening through the sheer fabric like a quiet confession.
Your mouth went dry at the sight, even as the toy pushed another needy whimper past your lips.
You swallowed hard, trying to gather some semblance of composure, and asked in your most carefully polite, sweetly edged tone, “Are you going to let me cum soon?”
Tiffany’s eyes sparkled with wicked delight. She crawled back onto the bed, settling between your thighs once more, and leaned down to brush a deceptively tender kiss just below your navel. “Of course I am, baby,” she lied smoothly, voice dripping with honeyed reassurance. “I’m not that mean.” Her fingers trailed lightly up your inner thigh, feeling the tremble there, while her gaze stayed locked on your face, cataloguing every flutter of your lashes, every bitten lip, every helpless twitch of your hips as the toy continued its work.
She had absolutely no intention of letting you finish anytime soon.
Instead she rested her chin on your thigh, watching you with open, shameless satisfaction, one hand idly stroking the soft skin just beside where the pink silicone disappeared inside you. The low, insistent buzz kept you right on that aching edge, and Tiffany looked utterly content to keep you there,
pretty, desperate, and entirely at her mercy, for as long as it amused her.
Your voice stayed relatively steady as you traded soft, barbed little words with her, even while your hips rolled lazily against the toy.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you murmured, the complaint sweetened with a breathy edge. “Looking at me like I’m your favorite show.”
Tiffany’s laugh was saccharine, her chin still resting on your thigh.
“Because you are, baby. So pretty when you’re trying to act like you’re not falling apart.” Her free hand drifted down her own body, fingertips tracing lazy circles over the damp lace of her panties. She didn’t press hard, just enough to tease herself, the subtle flex of her wrist visible as she stroked the wet fabric. The sight made your mouth water, a fresh pulse of heat flooding through you.
You opened your mouth to reply, something sharp and polite and entirely too coherent.
Tiffany noticed.
Her thumb flicked across the phone screen with deceptive casualness, switching the pattern entirely. The gentle waves vanished. In their place came intense, rolling pulses, deep, unpredictable surges that slammed into you without
warning, each one stronger than the last.
One particularly vicious throb caught you mid-breath, ripping a startled, broken moan from your throat as your back bowed sharply off the mattress.
“Fuck—!” The word fractured halfway out, your thighs clamping tight around nothing and everything at once. The new rhythm was merciless: long, building swells followed by sharp, fluttering bursts that zeroed in on that devastating spot inside you with ruthless precision.
Tiffany’s smile widened, slow and luminous with satisfaction. She kept touching herself in those same unhurried strokes over her soaked panties, the lace darkening further beneath her fingers, but her focus stayed locked on you, cataloguing the way your chest heaved, the faint sheen of sweat blooming across your collarbones, the desperate little twitch of your fingers against the sheets.
“There we go,” she cooed, voice syrupy and smug. “That’s much better. You were getting entirely too chatty, princess. I want you struggling for me.” Another pulse hit, harder this time, and she watched your eyes flutter, lips parting on a shaky gasp. Her own fingers pressed a little firmer against her clit through the fabric, a quiet hum of pleasure escaping her, but she kept it light, teasing herself just enough to enjoy the power, not enough to lose control.
You were climbing again, faster now, the intense waves dragging you toward that edge with humiliating speed. Your hips jerked involuntarily, chasing each brutal throb, and coherent words dissolved into soft, needy whimpers. Still, you tried, because of course you did.
“Tiffy… that’s— that’s cheating,” you managed, the protest breathy and fractured, barely holding onto politeness.
She laughed again, delighted, and dragged one manicured nail slowly up your inner thigh while the toy continued its devastating pulses. “Is it? Or is it exactly what my little attention whore needed?”
Her eyes sparkled as she watched you fight to stay composed and fail so prettily, her own hand still moving in those lazy, self-indulgent circles over her drenched panties. “Look at you. Getting close again already. So easy.”
The intense pulses rolled through you in relentless, unpredictable surges, each one dragging a fresh wave of heat up your spine. Your thighs had started to press inward on instinct, trying to contain the overwhelming sensation, but Tiffany made a soft, disapproving sound in the back of her throat. Her hands slid firmly along the backs of your knees and pushed them back open, spreading you wide again so nothing was hidden from her hungry gaze.
“There we go,” she murmured, voice dropping into something sweeter and meaner all at once. “Keep those pretty legs open for me. I want to see everything.” Her eyes dragged slowly over the obscene sight between your thighs,
the slick shine coating your folds, the way the base of the pink toy glistened with fresh evidence of how desperately your body was reacting. “God, look at you. Already so fucking messy. You’re clenching around that toy like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. Does it feel good, baby? Being this sloppy for me?”
You answered with a soft, gentle moan that fractured into a quiet curse, lashes fluttering as another powerful throb punched deep inside you. “Fuck… Tiffy—”
She hummed in delight, still lazily stroking herself over her panties while she watched you unravel. “That’s it. Such delicate little sounds. My impatient, bratty girl turning into a whimpering mess the second I play with her properly.” Her tone stayed soft, almost affectionate, but the words cut with precise, degrading sweetness.
“You’re dripping everywhere, princess. Making such a pretty puddle on our sheets just because I turned up the setting. Pathetic, honestly. But so fucking cute.”
The pleasure coiled tighter, sharper, your hips stuttering in tiny, helpless jerks against the mattress. Your breathing grew shallow and uneven, soft moans slipping out between bitten lips as the waves built higher and higher.
Tiffany leaned in closer, chin resting lightly on your inner thigh, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction. “Are you close again already?” she asked, voice lilting with mock surprise. “Yeah? You gonna cum for me this time, baby? Gonna let that toy fuck you over the edge while I watch?”
You nodded frantically, fingers twisting hard into the sheets, a needy little whine escaping as the pulses intensified right against that devastating spot. “Please—yes, I’m close, I’m so close—”
She cooed at you, all sugar and false encouragement. “That’s my good girl. Let it build. You look so beautiful when you’re about to fall apart. Come on, princess, show me how badly you need it—”
The orgasm crested, bright and shattering, right there.
The vibrations cut off completely.
Your body seized, clenching desperately around the now-silent toy, chasing a release that dissolved into nothing but aching emptiness. A pretty, frustrated sound tore from your throat, half whimper, half broken sob, as your hips jerked uselessly upward, thighs trembling in her grip.
“Mmm, no. Not yet,” Tiffany said softly, almost tenderly, though her smile was pure, smug satisfaction. She kept your thighs pinned open, drinking in the sight of your ruined climax with open delight. “I don’t think you’re really sorry for that little tantrum earlier, are you? It’s just too soon, isn’t it, baby?”
You stared up at her, chest heaving, eyes glassy with frustration and lingering heat. Another soft, needy sound slipped out despite yourself.
Tiffany tilted her head, biting her lower lip as she watched you struggle. “Aww, listen to that pathetic little noise. You want it so badly, don’t you? Poor girl spent all afternoon throwing herself at me, and now you can’t even cum when I finally give you attention.” She dragged one finger slowly through the slick mess on your inner thigh, collecting it with deliberate care. “How badly do you want it? Tell me. Use all those pretty words while you come down for me.”
Her eyes sparkled with pure, unfiltered joy at her own cruelty, the late sun painting gold across her skin as she waited for your answer, patient, radiant, and unfairly smug.
Tiffany’s lips brushed feather-light against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses that made your muscles jump and quiver. She lingered there, nipping softly at the crease where thigh met hip, all while the toy stayed cruelly silent inside you. Her voice stayed honeyed and sweet, the kind of tone you’d use to soothe a startled kitten, even as the words sliced straight through what was left of your pride.
“Aww, listen to those pretty little whines,” she murmured against your skin, kissing higher, then lower again, deliberately avoiding where you needed her most. “You’re falling apart so beautifully for me, baby. All heavy breaths and teary eyes like you might actually cry if I don’t let you cum soon. It’s adorable.”
You were losing the fight. Soft, broken whimpers spilled from your lips in a steady stream, chest heaving with uneven, desperate gulps of air. The frustration had burned away the last of your composure; your thighs trembled violently in her grip, and a glassy sheen blurred your vision. “I need to cum, Tiffy… please, I need it so bad—”
She shushed you gently and slipped her thumb between your parted lips, pressing it down against your tongue. The pad was warm and tasted faintly of her lotion, and your own slick from earlier. “Shh, princess. Look at you sucking on my thumb like that. Going all brain-dead already? My smart girl reduced to this needy, drooling little mess. So fucking precious.”
You moaned around her thumb, eyes fluttering as fresh tears of frustration pricked at the corners. She pulled it free with a soft pop and crawled higher up your body, bracing herself on one forearm so she could cup your flushed face with both hands. Her thumbs stroked your cheekbones with deceptive tenderness while her fingers held you firmly in place.
“You want it again?” she asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness. She squeezed your cheeks gently, forcing your lips into a pout, and nodded your head for you in slow, deliberate motions. Her own head tilted in perfect sync, blonde strands brushing your forehead. “Yeah? Yeah, you do, don’t you, baby?” Each condescending little “yeah” landed like sugar-coated barbs as she kept moving your head for you. “Yeah… that’s what I thought.”
Without breaking eye contact, she slid a hand down and tapped the screen.
The toy roared back to life on a pulsing, merciless setting, intense waves that slammed into you without warning. Your whole body jerked, a raw, needy cry tearing from your throat as the pleasure crashed over you again, sharper and more desperate after two ruined edges. Your hips bucked helplessly, walls clenching hard around the buzzing silicone, slick sounds filling the golden-lit room.
“Tiffy—baby, I swear to god if you don’t let me cum I’ll—” The threat fractured into another high, frustrated whine, your hands fisting desperately in the sheets.
Tiffany’s smile widened into something radiant and utterly smug. She kept your face cradled in her hands, thumbs still stroking your burning cheeks as she leaned in close enough for her breath to ghost across your lips.
“You’ll what, baby?” she interrupted, voice lilting with playful sarcasm. “Hmm? What will you do?” She tilted your head again with gentle but unyielding pressure, forcing you to meet her sparkling eyes.
“Tell me. I’m dying to know what my whiny, dripping little princess thinks she’s going to do to me.” Another condescending little nod, her own head mirroring the motion. “Yeah? Go on, say it. Use your words while you’re still coherent enough.”
She watched you with open, shameless delight, lips parted in a soft, satisfied smile as the toy continued its devastating rhythm. Every twitch of your body, every broken breath, every glassy-eyed plea fed the bright, wicked satisfaction glowing behind her gaze. She was thriving,
completely, blissfully in control.
Tiffany’s hand stayed cradled around your face, thumb pressing just firm enough to keep you anchored to her gaze while the toy hammered deep inside you in ruthless, rolling pulses. Each surge dragged a fresh, helpless arch from your spine, your back bowing clean off the mattress as slick sounds filled the sun-drenched room.
“Hmm, what are you gonna do, baby?” she purred, voice dripping with syrupy condescension. She tilted your head again with deliberate slowness, forcing your glassy eyes to stay on hers. “C’mon, I’m waiting. You were so eager to threaten me a second ago. Tell me—what exactly are you going to do if I don’t let you cum?”
You could only moan in response, the sound cracking high and broken as another brutal wave slammed into that perfect spot. “Fuck— Tiffy—” Your hips jerked wildly, thighs straining against her hold, every muscle drawn tight and trembling. A string of soft, desperate curses spilled from your lips between whimpers, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the sheets, at her wrist, at anything. You looked obscene like this,
flushed, glistening, arching so prettily under her like a live wire.
She clicked her tongue, all patronising sweetness. “Aww, listen to you. Can’t even finish a sentence anymore, can you? My poor, brainless little princess. All that attitude earlier and now you’re just moaning and dripping and forgetting how to speak.” Her smile sharpened, radiant with delight at how thoroughly she was bullying you. “Go on, baby. What are you gonna do? Hmm? Use your words while you still remember them.”
The pressure coiled viciously tight again, faster this time, the relentless pulsing dragging you right back to that shattering edge. Your moans turned higher, needier, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your walls fluttered and clenched desperately around the toy. You were so close, agonisingly close, every nerve screaming for release.
Tiffany watched it happen with open, hungry satisfaction, her own breathing a little quicker now. Right as the wave peaked, right as your entire body locked up and your lips parted on a silent, shattering cry…
She killed the vibrations.
The denial hit like a slap. Your orgasm fractured into nothing but raw, aching emptiness, leaving you clenching painfully around the still toy. A wrecked, frustrated groan tore from your throat, dissolving into a string of pathetic whines and huffs as your hips twitched uselessly, chasing a release that wasn’t coming.
“Mmm, there it is again,” she cooed, leaning down until her forehead rested against yours. “That pretty little threat of yours. What were you going to do, baby? You swear to god you’d… what?” Her lips brushed yours in a mockery of comfort, tasting the desperate little sounds still spilling out of you. She kissed you deep and slow, swallowing every huff, every groan, every broken whine as you trembled beneath her. Her tongue slid against yours like she was drinking down your frustration, one hand still cupping your cheek while the other kept your thigh pinned wide open.
You whimpered into her mouth, the sound muffled and pitiful, hips still rolling in tiny, devastated circles. Tiffany only smiled against your lips, kissing you harder, sweeter, like she could devour every ounce of your ruined need and still ask for more.
“Shh, princess,” she whispered between kisses, voice soft and utterly merciless. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had my fun.”
The toy flickered back to life on a low, constant hum, steady, unrelenting, just enough to keep the fire banked in your belly without ever letting it roar. It buzzed deep inside you like a heartbeat you couldn’t escape, slick sounds soft and obscene every time your walls fluttered around it. Tiffany pulled back from the kiss just far enough to look at you, her face flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright with that intoxicating mix of affection and cruelty.
She brushed a thumb across your lower lip, smearing the mess of gloss and saliva. “Tell you what, princess,” she murmured, voice soft as warm silk. “Maybe if you’re very, very good for me—if you do exactly what I say and ask nicely—I’ll let you cum. Think you can manage that?”
You were beyond pride now. The words tumbled out in a broken, pathetic rush. “Yes—yes, please, Tiffy. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll do anything.”
Her smile curved slow and satisfied. She leaned over you again, one hand still cradling your jaw, and let a thin strand of spit fall from her lips into your waiting mouth. You swallowed it without hesitation, a needy little whimper vibrating in your throat, eyes glassy and desperate. The taste of her, the sheer condescension of the act, sent another helpless clench around the toy.
“Good girl,” she praised, almost tenderly, though her eyes sparkled with delight at how thoroughly you’d broken. “Look at you. So desperate you’ll let me spit in your mouth like a little toy. Pathetic… and so fucking pretty.”
She settled back between your spread thighs, phone resting beside her hip, and slipped her hand beneath the waistband of her soaked panties. Her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles over her clit, the wet sounds of her own arousal joining the low buzz of the toy inside you. A soft sigh escaped her as she found the right rhythm, lashes fluttering for a moment before her gaze locked back on you.
hungry, possessive, utterly in control.
You whimpered, hips twitching uselessly against the gentle, constant vibration. “Tiffy… baby, please. I need it so bad. I’ve been so good—please let me cum.”
She laughed under her breath, the sound breathy and pleased as her fingers moved faster beneath the lace. “Not yet, princess. I’m gonna cum first. You don’t get to finish until I’ve had mine. Seems only fair, doesn’t it? After all that attitude earlier… after making me deal with your whiny little fit.” Her free hand stroked your thigh soothingly, even as her own hips rolled into her touch. “I’ve got all the time in the world, baby. This pretty pink toy is staying right where it is on that low setting until I’m done enjoying myself.”
Another broken plea slipped from you, voice cracking. “Please—please, I’ll be so good, I’ll do whatever you want. Just… please.”
Tiffany’s breathing grew quicker, cheeks flushed deeper as she worked herself closer. She kept her eyes on you the entire time, drinking in every desperate whimper, every glassy tear that slipped down your temple, every helpless roll of your hips. The low buzz kept you suspended in aching, endless want while she chased her own pleasure with lazy confidence.
“Mmm, listen to you begging so sweetly,” she cooed, voice husky now. “All those pretty little sounds while I’m touching my pretty pussy right in front of you. You’re dripping down your thighs, baby. Making such a mess. And you still don’t get to cum until I say.” Her fingers sped up, a soft moan escaping her as her back arched slightly. “That’s it… keep whimpering for me. Tell me again how badly you need it. I love how pathetic you sound when you’re this desperate.”
You obeyed instantly, voice wrecked and trembling. “I need it, Tiffy—please, I’m so close, I’ve been good, I swallowed for you, I’ll do anything—please let me cum when you do—”
She let out a shaky, satisfied laugh that melted into a moan, thighs trembling as she pushed herself right to the edge. Her fingers moved faster, the wet sounds louder, her pretty face flushing with building pleasure while she kept you pinned in that cruel, constant low buzz.
“Not yet, princess,” she gasped, eyes half-lidded but still locked on you, radiant with smug satisfaction. “Not… until I’m done.”
Tiffany’s fingers moved faster beneath the lace, the wet, rhythmic sounds of her own pleasure filling the golden room like a private symphony. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose, lips parted on soft, breathy moans, but her eyes stayed locked on you, sharp, gleaming, utterly merciless.
“Keep being a pathetic little mess for me,” she gasped, voice husky and sweet as sugar. “That’s it, baby. Look at you—whining, dripping, hips twitching like you can’t even control them. It’s so fucking cute how desperate you get. Makes me so wet knowing I did this to you.” Her free hand dug into your thigh, nails pressing crescents into the soft flesh. “Don’t stop. Cry for me. Moan like the needy little slut you are right now. That’s what gets me off.”
You tried to turn your head away, overwhelmed, cheeks burning hotter than the late sun still spilling across the sheets. The humiliation and want twisted so tightly inside you that you couldn’t bear her gaze another second.
“Uh uh,” Tiffany chided instantly, soft but sharp. One slick hand left her panties and caught your jaw, forcing your face back toward her with gentle but unyielding pressure. “Eyes on me, princess. You don’t get to look away while I cum. Be good.”
You obeyed with a broken whimper, tears slipping freely now as your body trembled under the relentless low vibration. Tiffany’s breathing hitched, her hips rolling into her hand in increasingly frantic little circles. Her head tipped back just slightly, blonde strands sticking to her damp neck, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. The sight of her, elegant even in ruin, lips parted on a needy, trembling moan, hit you like a drug. She came beautifully; back arching in a graceful curve, thighs shaking, a soft, breathy cry spilling from her mouth as her whole body shuddered through it. Her fingers slowed but didn’t stop, riding out every pretty aftershock while she kept her eyes half-lidded on you, drinking in your desperation like fine wine.
For a moment the only sounds were her quiet, satisfied sighs and your own wrecked whimpers.
Then she withdrew her hand from her panties, glistening fingers shining in the light. Without hesitation she brought them to your lips and pushed two inside, letting you taste her, sweet, tangy, intoxicating. You moaned around them instantly, sucking greedily, tongue swirling desperately as fresh tears of frustration slipped down your temples.
Tiffany watched you with a slow, radiant smile, clearly savouring the sight. She tapped her phone once.
The vibrations surged higher, stronger, deeper, pulsing right against that devastating spot with mechanical precision. Your whole body jolted, a raw, needy cry muffled around her fingers as pleasure slammed into you like a breaking wave.
She pulled her fingers free with a wet pop, wiping them lazily across your lower lip before leaning down close, nose brushing yours.
“Beg pretty for me, baby,” she whispered, voice still husky from her own orgasm. Her hand stroked your cheek almost tenderly, thumb catching a tear. “Use all those sweet, desperate words. Tell me exactly how badly you need to cum. Make it convincing… and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you this time.”
Her eyes sparkled with an evil delight as she waited, the toy hammering relentlessly inside you, pushing you right back to that agonising edge while she savoured every second of your unraveling.
Tears slipped freely down your temples now, soaking into the pillow. Your whole body was a live wire—thighs shaking violently, chest heaving, fingers clawing at the sheets like they might anchor you to the earth.
“Tiffy—baby, please,” you begged, voice wrecked and cracking, all composure long since shattered. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry for earlier. For the tantrum, for Maxxine, for everything. I was such a brat, I know I was. Please let me cum. I need it so bad, I’ll be so good for you, I swear. I’ll do anything—anything, thank you for everything, kiss you, give-give you head, whatever you want. Just please, please let me cum. I can’t take it anymore. I’m dripping everywhere, I’m shaking, I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind—”
The words poured out in a desperate, babbling stream, soft and pathetic and utterly sincere. You arched hard, hips grinding uselessly against nothing, walls fluttering and clenching around the buzzing silicone like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. “Please, Tiffy. I’ll never be bored again, I’ll never whine, I’ll let you ignore me for hours if you want—just let me cum. I’m yours, I’m your pathetic little slut, please—”
Tiffany watched you with dark, luminous eyes, lips parted in pure, rapturous satisfaction. She let you spiral for another few heartbeats, drinking in every broken plea like it was ambrosia, then finally tapped the screen.
The vibrations surged, brutal, constant, perfectly calibrated right against that devastating spot. The sudden intensity punched a raw, keening cry from your throat.
“There we go,” she murmured, voice low and mocking, though her own cheeks were still flushed from her orgasm. “Listen to you. All that pretty begging just to get fucked by a toy. You really are pathetic when you want something, aren’t you?”
She stroked your thigh almost tenderly, even as her words cut. “Look at that greedy pussy swallowing every pulse. Go on then, princess. Cum for me. Make a mess like the desperate little whore you’ve been all afternoon.”
It hit you like a breaking wave.
Your back bowed violently off the bed, a shattered, keening wail tearing from your chest as the orgasm finally crashed through you. Pleasure detonated deep inside, white-hot and endless, ripping through every nerve until your vision blurred. You dripped, slick gushing around the base of the toy in obscene, wet pulses, coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you in a glistening mess. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, toes curling hard as you arched and writhed, mewling and whining and sobbing through the longest, most devastating release you’d ever felt.
“Tiffy—fuck—oh god—” The words dissolved into broken, animal sounds; high, needy keens and soft, helpless mewls that spilled from your lips without filter. Your walls clamped down rhythmically around the toy, milking every brutal wave as Tiffany kept the vibrations high, drawing the orgasm out until it bordered on too much.
She watched the entire time, lips curved in a slow, wicked smile, one hand still resting possessively on your trembling thigh. “That’s it, baby. Look at you soaking everything. Such a pretty, ruined mess. My perfect, whiny girl finally getting what she cried for.”
You kept cumming in rolling, devastating aftershocks, body twitching and arching, soft little sobs of relief mixing with the lingering pleasure until you were boneless and glassy-eyed, chest heaving like you’d run miles. The late afternoon light painted everything golden and hazy, turning the wreck of your body into something almost sacred under her satisfied gaze.
Tiffany finally eased the toy down to a gentle thrum, then leaned in to kiss the tears from your cheeks, murmuring soft, mocking praises against your flushed skin.
“Good girl. Took you long enough didn’t it?”
hater. damian priest texts.
enemies to lover!damian priest x reader
last day to reblog
you now you want to.
Gonna have to wait a whole year if you miss this.
RICHMAN. rey mysterio texts.
texts between sugar daddy!rey mysterio x controversially young!reader
warnings: sexual content. light daddy kink.
OMG YES YES YES THE THIGH HUMPING ONE IS SO FUCKING GOOD PLEASE YESSSSS (I'd die for him in those slutty ass knee braces I'm not even joking)
Considering you're literally SO good at writing I'd love to read it like I already cannot wait (take your time ofc I don't wanna pressure you in any way :3)
hehehe >:3
aww tysm <3 😭♥️ i hope you like how it turned out :3
tw: afab!reader, thigh riding, choking, steve being a smug bastard, reader gets super horny, reader gets called names, steve has no filter while talking dirty 💔, established relationship
tagging: @pvtjxker
NSFW - MDNI !!
RAW had just wrapped up a couple of minutes ago. The heavy bass of the arena music and the distant roar of the crowd had still been bleeding through the concrete walls when you made your way down the corridors, headed for Steve’s dressing room.
When you slipped inside, you found him sprawled across the worn-out leather couch, looking almost too large for the piece of furniture.
He hadn’t bothered changing yet, he was still in full gear: wearing his heavy black boots and his faded denim shorts, along with the same shirt he had worn in the ring and his thick black knee braces still strapped firmly in place.
Steve looked roughed up from the night, but still imposing as he lounged back with his legs spread wide and one arm thrown along the back of the couch.
After the usual post-show chit-chat and Steve complaining about the nasty bumps he’d taken that night, you had finally settled on his lap, straddling one of his thick thighs.
The couch creaked under the combined weight of you and him, and you shifted a little to get comfortable on his lap, placing your hands over his broad chest.
"You were really good out there tonight," you murmured, your voice a mix of genuine admiration and a playful little tease. "Especially during that promo. The way you were talking shit on the mic... when you got all...," you paused, searching for the right word, "...intense."
Steve’s eyebrow lifted slowly.
His thumb began to trace slow, lazy circles on your thigh. "Oh yeah?" he rumbled. "You liked seein' me lose' my temper?"
"Mhmm...." you bit your lip, leaning in closer, drawn by the pull of his body.
"I liked it. I liked it a lot, actually," you admitted.
Steve settled deeper into the couch. His gaze was fixed on you with an expression that was half amused and half predatory.
"What part?" he asked. His voice had dropped into that familiar register: the one that could shut up a whole crowd or make them explode. "The yellin' ? The trash talkin'?"
You tried to hold his gaze, but the flashback of him in the ring was already doing dangerous things to you: jaw clenched, mic in hand, eyes heaving with anger while bossing everybody around.…
A shiver ran through your entire body.
Between the memory and the very real, very solid heat of his leg beneath you right now, as you were sitting on him, a hot wave of arousal crashed over you. It was almost too much to handle. You licked your suddenly dry lips, your pulse kicking up fast.
A slow, involuntary roll of your hips pressed you tighter against his quad, trying to chase that same intensity you had felt as you watched him in the ring.
Steve didn’t move, but you saw the slow, knowing smirk spread across his face the moment he felt that little tremor in your body.
All of a sudden, the air in the room was charged with a tension you couldn’t describe.
"Ya gotta talk to me," he rasped. Steve's hand slid from your thigh to your lower back, pulling you even closer. His mouth brushed right against your ear. "Don't want me misunderstandin' what you're sayin' now, do ya?"
He paused, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"So, what did ya like exactly, hm? Me barkin' orders? Givin’ that sumbitch an ass-whooping for pissin’ me off?"
Your breath caught in your throat. The rough, commanding edge of his words sent a jolt of heat straight down your spine.
"Yes!!" you blurted out. "All of it—!"
Your eagerness only made him grin wider. Steve stiffened slightly as he felt you grind against him. You weren't just leaning on him now, you were clinging to him, lost in a haze of excitement you couldn't name or control.
His arm dropped lower, squeezing your ass once with his hand. He didn't stop you, but he didn't help either. He just watched you with that lazy, confident gaze, waiting to see how far you’d go.
You moved again, trying to find a better angle. As you shifted, you felt the layered friction of the fabric of your own clothes mixed with his denim shorts press into your core. It was a jagged, overwhelming sensation that stole the air from your lungs.
You squeezed your eyes shut as the heavy, delicious weight of him rubbed against your cunt…. but the feeling of the cold strap of his knee brace digging into your inner thigh made you jolt against him before you could stop yourself.
"Easy, settle down," he rumbled, though his smirk suggested he wanted the exact opposite. "I ain’t going nowhere."
But you couldn’t settle down. Your breathing had already picked up, a hot flush creeping up your neck. Your thighs clamped a little tighter around his leg, as your hips started rolling in slow seeking circles, just trying to relieve the sudden, nervous flutter in your stomach.
Steve didn’t push you away. Instead, he lounged back deeper into the couch, watching you rub yourself against his thigh on nothing but pure instinct.
"Gettin' all worked up for what, huh?" he asked, his tone shifting into a teasing drawl. "You tryin' to start somethin' with me? 'Cause your lil’ confession’s got me thinkin’ you wanna see me get pissed off again…"
You giggled at his words. That playful spark was still flickering in your eyes despite the heat building up between you. "Maybe..."
To prove your point, you rocked your hips harder.
Steve licked his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth momentarily and then further down, tracking the way you were shamelessly moving against him.
"Oh yeah? You plan on pickin' a fight, or what?" he challenged. "What's a lil’ thing like you gonna do when it gets on my bad side, huh?"
The sheer thrill of his words made you giggle again. You licked your lips and batted your lashes. "Hmm… I dunno. We could find out?"
Steve snorted. He spread his legs just a fraction more to give you better access and more of that pressure you were craving.
Then, with that cocky grin still plastered on his face, he flexed and started bouncing his leg upward in slow, teasing pulses. Each lift pushed the hard muscle of his quad up against you, dragging you over the rough denim seam and the bare, heated skin where his shorts had ridden up.
Every now and then, the cold sensation of his knee brace gave you goosebumps.
You flushed hot, a whimper escaping your lips as you pressed down harder. Desperate for something to hold onto, your hand shot down and curled tightly around his belt.
"Nah," he gloated, his voice thick with lazy, arrogant satisfaction. "Ya ain't pickin' no fights tonight, bunny…. you’re too distracted for that, ain’t ya? Too busy enjoyin’ yourself right here…"
Steve's hand wandered upwards your body. It trailed up your chest, his fingers brushing over your collarbone before settling loosely around the front of your throat.
You gasped at the contact, your eyes fluttering shut as you instinctively arched your neck into his hold, your groin picking up a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm against his leg.
"Feel that?" Steve asked. His thumb stroked a lazy circle against your pulse point, feeling how fast your heart was racing. "Heart’s goin' a mile a minute… just about ready to burst."
You couldn't even answer. You were whimpering now, your hands clawing at his shirt, trying to get closer to him. The heat from his body was the only thing you could focus on right now.
So you started grinding harder.
Steve’s free hand settled firmly on your hip, guiding your shaky movements. You were so lost in that hazy feeling that you almost forgot where you were.
"Mhm—feels sooo good… I don’t wanna stop—" you panted.
But then a sharp noise cut through the hallway, the distant sound of a crew member shouting something followed by the echo of footsteps.
You froze. Your breath caught in your throat, and you practically jumped in his lap. Your eyes flew wide with panic as you glanced toward the door. Your whole body went rigid, the magic of the moment shattered by a sudden, crushing wave of embarrassment.
Steve, however, didn’t even flinch. He just looked up at you with that lazy smirk still carved into his face.
"What’s the matter?" he drawled. "Worried somebody’s gonna walk in?"
You nodded frantically, too embarrassed to speak. Your heart drummed in your chest, as you started to pull back, desperate to get off him, but his hand tightened on your ass, holding you right where you were.
"Relax," he murmured. He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear, his warm breath making you shiver. "Ain’t nobody gonna walk in here. Ain’t nobody stupid enough to barge into Stone Cold Steve Austin’s dressing room while he’s unwindin’…"
His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "But if they did... oh boy. What would they see?"
He let the question hang between you for a second.
"You humpin' my leg…" he breathed against your ear, like a filthy secret just for you to hear, "…like a dog. Like a lil' puppy." He squeezed your ass again. "That what you are?"
The combination of his mocking tone, the hand around your throat, and the way he called you a puppy made something in your brain short-circuit. You let out something between a laugh and a groan and dropped your forehead against his chest, hiding your burning face before you could combust on the spot.
Still, you couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t stop. In fact, you pressed yourself even harder against him than before, wanting more.
"Oooh, ya liked that one, dontcha?" he sneered.
The hand that had been wrapped around your throat slid up, settling at the back of your head. While you were still hiding your face in his neck, muffling your frustrated whines, Steve began stroking your hair in slow, patronizing pets, like he was soothing a needy pet that just couldn’t help itself.
"Ya like me talkin’ to ya like that? Hm?" he observed.
You gave a helpless, dreamy nod, face still hidden. You were rutting harder now, pressing a string of feverish, desperate kisses along his neck.
"Y-yes," you mumbled into his skin. Your voice was all muffled and shaky, and your hands clutched at his chest, your fingers twisting in his shirt.
"What?"
Before you could repeat it, he tugged your head back by your hair to force you out of hiding.
"You like being treated like a lil' bitch?"
Your eyes went big and wide. A broken whimper tore out of you as you wiggled and ground back against his bouncing thigh, trying very hard not to cum just from the sound of his voice.
He laughed at your neediness. Steve tugged a fraction harder on your hair until your back arched and your ass pressed flush against his jeans.
Even though Steve had you pinned, with one hand still twisted in your hair, while the other one was gripping your hips, you couldn't stop squirming.
"Hell yeah, you do," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pulled you closer until his mouth was pressed right against the shell of your ear again. "You like it rough. Like gettin’ choked. Like gettin’ talked down to."
You could only manage a choked moan in response. He wasn’t wrong. Every word was true, and hearing him say it out loud hit you like a shockwave. With a desperate wiggle of your ass, you pressed your cunt harder into him.
"Ya caught all that shit-talking out there," he muttered, his hand sliding away from the back of your head and wrapping itself around your throat again. "And now ya wanna hear me talk to ya like that, hm? Wanna hear me tell ya exactly what a dirty lil' thing ya are?"
He punctuated the question by tightening his hold on your throat just a little more, cutting off your air for one delicious second before letting it flow again.
The words were filthy, but the low, intimate rumble of his voice drove you crazy. It was a perfect, intoxicating combination of degradation and adoration, and it made your head spin faster than the pressure on your throat ever could. You were completely gone, lost in the dirty promises he was whispering in your ear, your body aching for him to make good on every single word.
"Uh—huh, yesyesyes!!" you stammered. Your hands were pawing at his forearm and his broad shoulders like you needed to anchor yourself before you floated off completely. "That—I want that!!“
At this point, you were humping him shamelessly, your hips rolling faster with every bounce of his leg. Your whole body had started to shake. You were practically trembling against him like you were falling apart at the seams.
"Shakin’ like a damn leaf…" he commented, that smug, indulgent satisfaction you loved so much dripping from every word. "Can't even talk straight no more, huh?"
You shook your head frantically, unable to form a single word. Your fingers dug helplessly into his broad shoulders as you kept riding his leg, chasing a friction that was driving you absolutely insane.
"You’re like a lil’ animal right now…" He scoffed, "…so fuckin' needy…."
Steve let out a slow, arrogant huff of amusement, though he was absolutely fond and enthralled by your neediness for him. "You're really that desperate? Already?"
You were breathing in short, pathetic gasps, your body thrashing blindly against him. You wanted him. And you wanted to cum. So badly it hurt.
"Just from this?"
"Steve, p-please—" you sobbed, the broken sound only making his grin widen.
"Please what?" he mocked gently, his hand staying perfectly still and tight around your throat. "I ain't even doin' anythin'. You're the one doin' all the work."
You were so close. The way he looked at you, like you were the most entertaining little show he’d ever had on his lap, paired with that lazy drawl in his voice, was pushing you closer to the edge with every passing second. He was clearly loving every second, and it only made you press into him more, hips rolling on pure instinct.
Your body was completely out of your control. You were all over his thigh now, your thighs shaking violently around his quad, chasing release with pure, mindless desperation.
Steve let out a low whistle. He was almost in disbelief at the neediness unraveling in his lap. His eyes dragged over your wrecked face.
"…Jesus fuckin’ Christ," he said slowly, watching you melt. "I wish you could see yourself right now."
Steve tightened his grip on your throat, making your eyes flutter.
"You’re gonna cum like this? Right here? Right now?" he chuckled darkly. "Gettin’ off jus' from dry-humpin’ me like a horny lil slut?"
His mouth moved to your jaw, kissing and biting lazily along the sensitive skin while he kept talking, never shutting up for even a second.
"Goddamn, lookatcha... rubbin' that pretty lil' pussy raw all over my thigh without even takin’ your pants off. Can’t help yourself, huh?"
You let out a choked, broken sound, your body arching against his solid frame as another cool brush of his knee brace made your thighs tremble. The fact that he was talking you through it only made your need more acute.
Steve nipped at your jaw again before soothing the spot with his tongue, clearly reveling in the way he had you completely in the palm of his hand.
"Don’t get me wrong, baby… I love the enthusiasm." His thumb stroked over your racing pulse. "I really do."
He laughed again, the sound vibrating against your skin while he kept kissing and biting down your jaw.
"So damn needy ya can’t even wait till we’re in bed, huh? Had to jump me backstage in my dressin' room like a horny lil' ring rat…. That’s cute. Real cute."
You whimpered, your head lolling back as the combination of his words and the relentless friction drove you wild.
"I jus’ hope you’re still this fuckin' enthusiastic when I’m actually fuckin' you later…" he drawled. "You gonna be shakin’ and whimperin’ and moanin’ jus' like right now? Huh?"
He paused.
"Ya gonna sound this pretty? When I’ve got my dick buried inside ya? Ya better be… fuckin' love that shit."he snickered. "But ya know that 'bout me already…"
You were so far gone you couldn’t even form real words anymore: just needy, broken little babbles spilling out. "Mmh—uhuh—jus’…need you so bad— please— I— fuck—"
"You gonna ride me later? For real?" he rasped into your skin. "Sit on my cock and not jus’ my thigh?"
As he pulled back to look at your flushed, desperate face, he couldn't help but chuckle.
You nodded frantically, eyes all wide and sparkling, grinding back against his bouncing thigh with a desperate little wiggle of your ass.
"What’s wrong, bunny?" he murmured, tightening his hand on your throat, forcing you to look at him.
He laughed lowly. "You close? You're really this easy? Goddamn… you're really about to cream your pants? Look at that wet spot you’re makin’ on my jeans...."
" 'M sorry…" you whimpered.
"Ain’t nothing to be sorry for," he rasped. Steve doubled down by gripping your hips with both hands now, guiding your movements and pressing you down harder against his thigh, giving you more surface to work yourself on.
"Please," you managed to sob out, your body moving faster, driven by a rhythm you could no longer control. "I— I have to— I—"
Your hands were clinging to his biceps, his chest, then to his wrist, like you couldn’t figure out what to bite or kiss or hold. You were twitching: searching for some kind of release.
"Fuckfuck—" you mewled. "Steve—"
"What? Not payin' enough attention to ya?" he teased as he pressed you down even harder on his leg.
The filthy words, combined with the pressure on your neck and the relentless friction against his thick thigh, finally pushed you over the edge.
You came. Hard. You buried your face in his neck to muffle the broken moans that tore out of you. Your hips jerked and stuttered wildly against his leg as the orgasm crashed through you, thighs shaking violently, fingers clawing at his shoulders while wave after wave ripped through your body.
You shuddered against him, your breath coming in uneven hitches as you slowly began to drift back to the surface. Your limbs felt heavy and your mind was left completely blank.
Lulled by the sound of his steady heartbeat and the familiar and comforting scent of him, you rested there for a long moment, your fingers still unconsciously clinging to the fabric of his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear.
After a couple of minutes, he caught your chin with his thumb, lifting your head so that you had to look at him.
A small, genuine smile flickered on his lips, devoid of any mockery.
“You okay there?” he rasped.
You nodded, but still feeling kind of dazed.
Steve’s smile widened, leaning in and pressing a short peck to your lips.
“Hell of a show tonight,” he winked at you. He wasn't talking about RAW.
good girls go bad. charlotte flair texts.
synopsis: texts with dom!charlotte flair x girlfriend!reader
warnings: 18+. sexting.
for the gram. dominik mysterio texts.
fake dating!dominik mysterio x reader
yearning. best friend!cody rhodes texts
synopsis: texts with best friend (that is in love with you) cody rhodes.
vibe check. grayson waller texts.
synopsis: golden retriever!grayson waller x black cat!reader
