"I'm Lai. I speak for the Fat Black Girls.”

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[melanated-writersblock]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Hello! ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Welcome to my blog! ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

I’m Lai, ‘99-liner, a Fat Black Femme, Caribbean (🇧🇸) & Afro-Latiné (🇨🇺), with She/Her pronouns.

I’m a multistan & write for a lot of Kpop groups, Soloists, K-RnB, K-Rock/Indie artists. If you’re curious about a particular idol or artist, my ask box is open and I’ll let you know!

Here’s Navigation for my Writing & you can also join the Blacktiny Writers Hub community here on Tumblr!

I don’t write fics containing scat, age play, race play, or water sports. This is a classy establishment.🙄

My writings will always be Written with a Black Reader in Mind, or as I like to abbreviate: WwaBRiM. BUT everyone [18+!!! MDNI.] is able to read it!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Likes are nice, but comments & reblogs are so important and gets the work of writers out to a larger scale of fic enthusiasts who may not see it otherwise. Do your most to pass on the joy of a good read to your fellow bloggers. ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[All of my writings are original works of FICTION. I do not give anyone permission or right to plagiarize my work in any way shape or form.]

with that being said…

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Happy Reading! ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[northistar]

everybody talks about the concept of dex always hitting the right spot during sex, but what about him doing it so incessantly that it borders on painful at times?

and it's not like he's even doing it on purpose, dex couldn't possibly miss that spot even if he tried. it's just something he knows, a strange kind of awareness that sometimes slips from his mind completely, most likely when he's buried so deep inside you he can't bring himself to think about anything else other than fulfilling what he deems to be his most important task: getting you off. that familiar instinct takes over completely then, the only thought registering in his fucked up brain being to just fucking. hit. that. spot.

every thrust lands with striking precision, your whole body jolting beneath him at each slam of his hips against yours. pleasure hits you so strong it creates a deep pressure just below your navel, your mouth slackening to release sounds that seem foreign coming out of your own mouth. you're sure your entire fucking neighborhood can hear you at this point.

"dex—dex! if you keep—oh my fucking god—we'll have to stop—" you all but yelp, hands flying in an attempt to steady yourself. they land across his back, nails digging into skin with enough force to draw blood.

"no! no no no, sweetheart," dex urges, eyes snapping open to find yours. "i'll go slow then. i'll make it good for you. like this—" the change in pace is deliberate, instantly allowing you room to breathe again once he's no longer pounding into that sensitive spot over and over again. "you like it like this? let me make you feel good, please."

you know it'll give you only a few minutes before dex starts to get lost in it again, but you can't really deny him anything when he looks this desperate—this eager to please you. so you will yourself to nod, even as your head feels much lighter than it probably should, your face contorting into what you're sure is the most dumb, fucked out expression to ever grace your features.

you can let him have this. at least for now.

[sceletaflores]

slippin' and slidin' all over you!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!

logan forgot to fix the ac...

It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.

One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.

"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"

"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.

You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"

Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."

Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"

You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck. 

Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room. 

All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.

Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.

It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.

Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.

Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.

A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.

You fail.

“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”

You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in. 

The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.

"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."

“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.

Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.

“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”

“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.

The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.

"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.

You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you. 

"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”

Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.

"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.

The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.

"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."

With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.

You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.

Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat. 

But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh. 

You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him. 

You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”

Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”

“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”

“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.

You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.

You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”

Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before. 

You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."

Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.

He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.

"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."

You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.

His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.

"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."

You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.

Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.

Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.

Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.

“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”

Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands. 

The last threads of his restraint snapping.

 He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.

“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.

Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.

“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.

Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.

You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.

It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer. 

The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.

“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”

“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.

He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”

Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.

The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”

You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response. 

“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”

Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”

You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.

Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.

You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.

You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.

Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning. 

“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”

Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”

He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.

The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.

The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come. 

“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.

Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.

"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."

A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."

Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.

"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."

A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.

His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.

“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.

Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."

The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.

The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.

Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.

The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.

Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.

You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.

"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"

Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.

“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.

"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."

It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.

Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.

When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.

His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.

Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth. 

Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.

"Swallow," he commands, unwavering. 

You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.

Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.

As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.

“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”

You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.

“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ imagine riding cowboy!logan. 18+

logan loves how you look when you ride him, particularly tonight, watching his cowboy hat shake every time you slam down on him. he'd placed it upon your head the second you settled down on his cock.

his hands are planted on your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he watches you pump up and down on his throbbing length. those calloused thumbs rub back and forth against your skin, a silent praise while his gaze through hooded lids remains fixated on you.

he watches, mesmerised, catching small glimpses of your flushed face beneath the hat. it suits you, he thinks, more than it does himself. logan can't quite make out your features underneath the shadow of the brim, but he can hear the moans that slip out each time you let yourself glide down onto him.

"that's it," he coos, "take what you want. . ."

you plant your hands on his fuzzy chest, attempting to gain some leverage as you lift yourself higher, trying to get him impossibly deeper.

"greedy lil' thing, aren't you?" logan groans, lifting his hips on your next fall to really drive into you, "yeah, just like that. . . fuck, you look so good up there for me."

your head spins with his praise, his compliments and you work yourself harder. you clamp around him, eyes fluttering closed as you raise your hand, placing it on the base of his hat to keep it steady on your head.

"c'mon, ride me," he rolls his hips, teasing you as if you're not already working yourself to the bone on his length, "ride me, pretty thing, get yourself off on my cock."

if he didn't feel so fucking good, you'd bite back at his teasing. gripping his hat, you tilt your head back and moan into the air, bouncing with practiced ease. you take him so well, your body remembering every throbbing vein and impressive length.

his eyes drift across your face as you expose it to him, your head tilted back with the moonlight illuminating your features finally. he grins, something about seeing your face twisted in pleasure while wearing his hat has his cock twitching inside you, watching you use him to cum. . .

he'd chase this sight forever, fuck you forever, if he could.

logan promptober day 6 - cowboy

[k1tk4ttt]

We really needs to talk about how the popularization of fanfiction thanks to Tik Tok has brought into fandoms a kind of "fanfic police" that constantly shames people for reading other things than character x character fanfics. Because why is it suddenly cool to read fanfiction but the moment it’s an x reader or an x oc it automatically becomes cringe?! Let people read x reader or x oc in peace!

[ghostskiss]

How It Happens

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x F!Reader WC: 9.6k Summary: Dex keeps using your apartment as a hideout. Warnings: 18+, Stalking, Slow(ish) burn, Service Top!Dex, Controlling!Dex, Let's not forget Dex is manipulative and bad...and hotttt, Mentions of blood, Oral (AFAB receiving), Fingering (AFAB receiving), PIV, UNPROTECTED (wrap it up), Creampie, tiny bit of biting, No use of Y/N, Reader has a praise kink, Reader also has feeling of shame around this, 'This' being having sex with a dangerous man, lol Breaking and entering (should i tag that?), he's obsessive and possessive, calls reader: good girl, baby, sweetheart, dirty girl, He lowkey turns into a whimpering mess at the end

Your hands tremble as the tea kettle on the stove screams. How long had that been going off? Your thoughts are racing, skin cold but sweating, heart still pounding. Blood...you can't even think about the blood.

There's a masked man in your apartment.

You can feel his presence from behind you. It's strong, it's dangerous, it's consuming. His breathing is labored, jagged, like he's in pain. A part of you hopes he's in pain. His blood soaks into your couch that you seriously doubt you'll ever be able to get out. His legs spread out like he's getting comfortable, his hand clutching against the seeping wound. You couldn't tell how bad it was, only the amount of blood dripping gave you an indication it was more than a scratch. You wanted to turn and look at him more but you were frozen, staring at the clock of your oven. 3:03 AM. You were scared to turn and look at him, but you wanted to.

What was that saying, curiosity killed the cat?

"Turn it off." his voice startles you out of your thoughts, jolting your body into action. You pull the screaming kettle off the stove, and go straight into auto pilot. You make tea.

Maybe in a few months from now, if you survive this, you'll laugh at the absurdity of this situation. A masked man, a wanted and dangerous vigilante, had crashed into your apartment through the window. AVTF sirens blared down the street. When he'd crashed into your bedroom through the window, you'd let out a scream, tumbled out of your bed, your foot twisted in your own damn comforter, caught like a hare in a trap. He had the audacity to chuckle as you scrambled for your phone, only to throw your own stuffed animal at your hands, knocking your phone away before he hoisted you up from the ground. His blood smearing against your skin, his rough gloves gripped your wrists together, as he pulled your through your apartment like he knew the layout. He'd set you in front of your stove. Told you to make him a cup of tea. A cup of tea. 

So here you were, pouring the piping hot water into a ridiculous looking cat mug. You didn't have any pets of your own, too much work for you, but that didn't mean you didn't enjoy animals and animal themed things. Why were you being self conscious of a mug? This was for a criminal, a murderer, a psychopath. You shouldn't care what he thinks of your interior or animal themed mugs. You should be tossing the scalding hot water in his face and bolting out the door right now --

Your name comes from the masked man, in low warning. He's reading your thoughts, he has to be. 

You grip the handle of the mug, trying to control your shaking hands. It was a hard feat as you carefully tip toe towards him, hands trying to keep steady. He nods to the coffee table where he's got his dirty boots crossed on top. You set it down and take another careful step back. Steam rises in the dark from the kitten mug, the moonlight illuminating from your windows into the living room. It's just enough to see, but not enough to get a good enough look on him. Not that you can. He's masked. But you can tell how big he is. His broad shoulders rising up and down with labored breaths. His left hand clutched against his side, the dark blood you can see just fine. 

With a dry mouth, you start with a creak, "I...I think you should go."

The man barely shakes his head, making no movement towards the tea. Just sitting there. Bleeding and watching. A flash of irritation shoots through you. 

"Yes." you hiss out firmly, "Listen, I don't know what you're doing here, in my apartment of all places, but I can't help you. I won't...I won't tell anyone you were here. I don't know you, I can't even see your identity -"

"You know who I am." He lets out a breathless laugh and adjusts his posture, his feet coming down to the floor. He leans his back away from the cushions, getting a tad bit closer to you. It makes you take a step back, keeping the coffee table in between you two like that'll protect you.

Huffing, you start again, "Still. I don't have anything to fix you." You gesture to his wound.

"You wanna fix me?"

Shame and embarrassment burn your face, his tone shooting something liquid down your spine. What the hell was his problem? Fear was slowly being replaced with anger.

"No. I don't. Not interested, Bullseye." There, you said it. You knew who he was. There were only so many masked vigilantes in blue suits. Suddenly your heart ached for Daredevil, or even Frank. Not that you'd met either, but you would've felt safer if one of them crashed into your window late at night. Bullseye was a maniac, he was unhinged. Barely contained himself and didn't care who got in the way. He had no morale. 

Fear started up again, the bravery and courage quickly shrinking as his name left your mouth, remembering exactly who you were dealing with.

"Dex."

"Huh?" Shock renders you dumb, your brain firing in so many directions at once.

"Call me Dex." he almost sounds amused, watching you try to keep up with him and your own thoughts, "Listen, I need a place to lie low. AVTF is crawling tonight. I'm hit. I'm beat."

Silence folds into the space as you assess each other. Worry swirls in your eyes, something Dex can see in the low light. 

"I won't hurt you."

Your lower lip trembles, "I don't trust you." You glance at your front door for a moment, still trying to figure a way out of this mess.

"Good. You shouldn't. Go back to your room."

Despite your better judgement, you turn your back to him, awareness prickling into your skin, the weight of his gaze following you. It stays even after you close your bedroom door and lock the handle. You doubt a flimsy door lock could do much against a man his size, but it gives you the illusion of a touch of safety. Trembling limbs carry you back into your bed, burying yourself deep in covers like you used to when you were kid, scared of monsters in the dark. The difference from then and now is that you have one sitting in your living room, eyes glued to your bedroom door. And you hadn't even registered he'd said your name.

Balancing your phone in between your shoulder and ear, you sigh, "Well, no, I don't know what happened, but I just need someone to come by and look at it, please? It's been three days since it's been broken. You're the last company I could get ahold of." A hint of desperation seeps into your voice. Your keys jam into your lock and you groan in frustration. Ever since you'd replaced the locks, the keys have a habit of sticking. Finally, it clicks and your door is open. Tossing your keys on your counter, you hold your phone in a better position.

The window company on the other end explains that your apartment building should be providing a window, that you needed to call your maintenance department. Another groan of frustration escapes you.

"I hear you. I've tried, trust me. They can't get a new window in until next week. I can't sleep knowing I have an open area in my apartment where anyone could get in. Or anything for that matter! What if it starts raining?" 

"I'm sorry ma'am, but legally we can't replace windows on any building without a permit or your apartment complex paying our company as a whole. We could fix your window if you were the owner of your apartment, but because you rent-"

"Forget it. Thank you for your time." You hang up and close your eyes, head tilting up to the ceiling. You knew it wasn't their fault. You weren't trying to be rude, but you could cry with how frustrated you were over the situation. You hadn't had a good night's rest in three days. Bullseye screwed that up for you. Opening your eyes, you immediately cringe at the stained couch. Still had to get rid of it. You had tried your best getting the blood out, but you weren't exactly equipped with blood destroying chemicals. Another thing Bullseye had screwed up. Moving into your bedroom, you assess the almost clear plastic you covered the window up with. It wasn't the best, but it kept enough of the outdoor elements out. Another thing Bullseye screwed up.

Anger stirs in your stomach. You can hardly sleep in your own bed because of the broken window, terrified anyone could get in. You can't sleep on the couch with how stained it is. You haven't been able to call a friend over to help you remove the couch, for fear of having to explain this entire thing. What would you even say?

Bullseye, one of the most wanted men in New York City, smashed your window, bled all over your couch, and left early in the morning? You can imagine the questions. Why didn't you call the Task Force? 

Well, you see, you answer your imaginary detective, I was scared he would kill me before I got to the phone.

Why did you make him a cup of tea?

Because he asked for it.

Why did you just go to bed?

Because he told me to.

You smack your hand against your forehead, cringing at the thought of arguing with yourself and over the events of the other night. Seriously, what had you been thinking? You blame the shock and adrenaline. Rolling your shoulders, you snap yourself out of your thoughts. Something you had some issues with lately, obviously. Staring across your room at the plastic-barricaded window, you let out a breath. A shower sounded nice, but that was another thing you'd been too nervous to do. What if someone came in while you were in there? Chewing your bottom lip, you decide you'll be fast and bring a change of clothes in the bathroom with you. Gathering your stuff, phone included, you step into your bathroom and lock the door. 

The water pelts down onto your skin and you wish with a passion that you could just relax. But you can't, not with what happened a few nights ago and certainly not with that window. You're in and out of the shower in under ten minutes. Clean, but not refreshed. You pull on your sleep shorts and tank top before leaving the barely fogged up bathroom. Stepping into the plush carpet of your bedroom, a slash of fear crosses you. The plastic window has a cut straight down the middle. Your heart crawls up your throat as you freeze at the sight, phone clutched in your hand. Dusk is settling in, the last rays of sun leaving you like the last bit of security and safety before the night.

Trying not to hyperventilate, you press 911 in your phone. Two rings before an operator answers, and you quickly rattle off your emergency, that you think there's an intruder in your house. You step back into the bathroom, trying to be silent as you shut the door and lock it. The operator stays on the line with you, but you can hardly process what she's saying. You're trying to listen to the sounds of your apartment, ear pressing against the wooden door.

"Why is your window not fixed yet?" A deep masculine voice says from right outside, like he's standing the same way you are.

You barely catch a shrill in your throat as you scramble away from bathroom door and in your startle, you drop your phone. You race after your phone, picking it up and almost cry when you see it somehow hung up on the operator. 

You hear him sigh lowly, "Are you going to answer me?"

A multitude of emotions race through you, so many you can't settle on a single one or know how to feel. A part of you feels relieved that it's him, and another is scared. You have no idea what his intentions are with you. The operator had said the police were fifteen minutes out. Fifteen minutes of this, whatever this was. It feels like it'll be eternity. 

"Bullseye-" you start, your voice wobbly with fear and adrenaline.

"Dex." He interrupts you, still right outside the door.

"Dex." You start again, this time a little bit more confident, "The police are on their way."

"So?"

Shock again, renders you speechless. So? You bite your lip in worry and frustration. Oh God. What if he kills them all? And then you? What will the cops do against someone like him? Someone who can't miss a target. They don't even know who they're up against. You hadn't known either so you couldn't warn them.

"I hear your brain working a mile minute, sweetheart."

Gritting your teeth and steeling your nerves, you practically seethe at the door, "What are you doing here? If you wanted to kill me you should’ve done the job the other night.” 

“If I wanted you dead you’d already be. I need a place a lie low again.”

Anger sears through your veins, “My apartment isn’t a damn hotel and if it were you’d owe me a lot! Look at the state of my window and couch!” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“My window?” You grind out, incredulous at this conversation. You get closer to the door.

”Your apartment complex should take care of that.”

Your brows pinch with frustration. No one can help you with the window. It must be the build up of anger, from lack of care from practically everyone you’ve spoken to about your window, the lack of sleep, the lack of safety, whatever it is, it builds up and pours out in this single moment.

Without thinking, your brain turned off from your anger, you rush through the bathroom door, not registering how you unlocked the knob so quickly or how fast you seem to be moving. Your hand knocks in the wounded side of Bullseye, his shocked and pained groan rushing out of him with the hit. You push against him further, using the momentum, making him stumble back until you shove him hard enough that there’s space between the two of you.

His eyes are filled with surprise and mirth, his scarred face unmasked. A flash of surprise and attraction rush through you as you glare at him, his lips turned up in a mischievous and smug smirk. His smugness quickly squashes your temporary emotions, back to anger you go. You don’t falter.

”It’s your fault that it’s broken! Your fault I can’t sleep at night, I don’t feel safe, I can’t take a shower longer than ten minutes, I’m—“

A hard knock on the door causes panic and doom to shoot down your spine and in your stomach. Worry etches across your features and you rush towards Dex, hands pushing him gentler, towards the plastic window.

”You have to go,” you whisper to him, urgency filling your voice. He’s letting you push him towards the window until you get just right in front of it. 

“NYPD open up!”

You look back towards your bedroom opening, “Just a minute!” Turning back to Dex you gesture to the window hurriedly, “Go!”

You won’t have the lives of these men just doing their job in your hands. Or more blood stains in the apartment. The thought makes you nauseous.

Dex makes a noise of amusement, a smile teasing his lips, “I’ll be right outside. Make sure they don’t get too close to the window.” 

You nod frantically and basically push him out as he climbs through the plastic onto your balcony. Running through your bedroom, you shut the door behind you and rush to the front door, opening it up for the three policemen. They look at you in question, and then past you into your apartment. You stiffen. You hadn’t even thought about the bloodstained couch, adjusting your posture to hide the room behind you.

“I’m so sorry, it was a false alarm.” you start, sweat gathering along your brow as you lie to the officers.

”I thought you said someone had cut into your window? That it was broken?” The first officer starts, his hand resting on his gun at his hip.

With a dry throat, you shake your head. Lying is not your best suit and you try to keep a blank face, “No, I’m so sorry, I checked it and it was just torn from the wind.”

The cop gives you a once over, not buying it. “What wind?” 

"Well regardless," the shorter cop in the back starts with a much calmer demeanor, "We'll need to sweep your apartment. To make sure you're safe, we can't just leave without checking."

You swallow and stare at them before stepping aside. If you argued, you're sure it'd look even worse than how you're acting now. Suspicious. You stay at the front door as the walk cautiously inside, shutting the door behind you. You pray Dex has left the window, that he's still not out there. Trepidation fills you as the officers get to your couch, the one who was more suspicious of you, turning to look at you for an explanation.

Sweat rolls down your back, "Uh, that was my paint. I've been working on a project."

"A project?" He turns and looks back at the stained couch with slight disgust. It was gross. You needed to get rid of it.

"I don't have a shampooer." You try.

"Hm." He returns to sweeping the living room, looking out at the dying light outside your windows. His gaze settles on the bedroom door, "Is that where your broken window is?"

"I, um, yes. It is. In my bedroom. But really, I just came out of there, you don't have to go in. There's nowhere really for anybody to hide in this apartment." It's true, it was small. New York was expensive to live in.

"Why'd you shut the door?"

You surprise yourself with a calm shrug, "Habit. Trying to keep the elements and bugs to one room."

The officer gets closer to the door, looking back to his two coworkers. They nod, hands on their guns as the officer opens the door, and this is when panic really settles in you. You follow him in, trying to stop him suddenly as he starts towards the damned broken window.

"Wait! Really, it's okay, you don't have to check!"

Your words are useless as he nears closer to the window, hand reaching out to part the plastic, you heart beating in your ears. He pokes his head out and you brace yourself, waiting in dread.

He turns back around. "All clear." He steps away and notices how relief sags your entire body. "You really need to get that fixed."

"Tell me about it," you grumble, keeping an eye on the window. Where had he gone?

Moments later, the officers have left after giving you a long talk about calling and wasting time, but to be assured that you were in good hands if something really did happen. You know, the whole mansplaining thing men did in positions of power. You couldn't wait to be rid of them now for more reasons than one. And that one reason, was gone.

You'd checked the window and the small balcony you had that you'd imagined he would have been standing at. The night air met you and you shudder, quickly ducking back into bedroom. Turning to your bed, you grab the big kitchen knife you had grabbed earlier and a pillow. You yank off your comforter and go back into the bathroom, making a not-so comfy makeshift bed in the bathtub. You felt safer this way, with door being able to lock. Sleep hardly comes.

A week later your window's been fixed, giving you a sense of security back. Though something else has been nagging your mind.

You haven't seen Dex since that night the cops came. Haven't heard a thing on the news. A large part of you is worried, which concerns you in itself. Why would you care about someone like him? After all this trouble he's given you.

There was something that had happened, though. To know that he was maybe still alive. A furniture company had come knocking on your door right after you got home from work, the day after the cop incident. They were called to remove your old couch and replaced with an even better one. Something way too expensive for your own accounts. You'd asked who called and the men frowned, confused at your question, answering with an obvious, 'your boyfriend.' That had put color in your cheeks. You didn't doubt who it could have been, knowing you'd never told anyone about the couch. Remembering his words, 'I'll buy you a new one.'

You close your front door, exhausted with the work week. You were glad it was Friday. Reaching up in your kitchen cabinet, you grab a bottle of wine saved for special occasions. It wasn't really special, but you felt like you could relax for once. Your new couch was something you enjoyed sitting on, despite it reminding you of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Showered and in your pajamas, you slink down onto the couch, glass of wine and TV on. You make it about thirty minutes with the glass half full before you're out like a light. 

Something tickles you awake. If you can call it that. You're drifting in between that soft spot of sleep, hardly conscious, fading in and out. It trails along your collarbone, causing you giggle and stir away. You sigh as it moves down your bare arm, back up, tickling your skin into goosebumps. It feels good. It feels overstimulating in this sleep state you're in. You want more. You want it to stop. Your head rolls to the side, the tickling moving to your cheekbone, dusting over your skin, down your face to your lips. It makes you part them, your tongue dipping out to chase the movement. A suck of breath above you jolts you awake. Your eyes part to see a dark figure above you, shrieking, you scramble up on the couch, feet kicking under you.

Dex watches your reaction to him with amusement, staying still, frozen in time. His hand still lingering in the air from where he was touching you. Oh God, you licked him. Embarrassment stains your face. 

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?" you hiss at him, hand pressing against your chest where your heart threatens to burst.

"I see you like the new couch."

You're dumbfounded, really. You hardly know what to do or say with him. You look down at the couch under you and you nod, glancing back up at him. "I was going to say thank you, but it was your fault my couch was ruined in the first place." Speaking of, your gaze trails along him. He seems fine, like he's unharmed, in regular clothes of all things.

Since he hasn't hurt you, yet, you find your confidence. There needs to be some serious boundaries set in place with this man. You stand, a little too close to him, expecting him to move back to accommodate you. He doesn't. Like he likes standing that close to you. You clear your throat and take a small step back, giving yourself some distance from him. He watches you with an unwavering gaze, like he's studying every moment you make. It makes you feel like prey. A shudder racks through you, causing you to look down at your attire, similar to the last time you saw him, you're in small tank top and shorts. You practically feel naked. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look back up at him with a little more conviction.

"You cannot stay here."

"I was just going to ask for some tea." He raises a shoulder in passive shrug.

Pressing your lips together in irritation, you ignore how his gaze flicks down to your lips. "I'm not making you tea."

"Why not? You listened so good last time."

You refuse to acknowledge that.

"You stole my mug. Don't think I didn't notice."

"I wasn't trying to be sneaky about it."

"So, you just stole it without caring?"

"I didn't say that. I cared about it too much, which is why I took it." Dex's smirk comes to life. It makes you want to smack him.

"I liked that mug."

"I know."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing out slowly. Changing the subject, you gesture around the apartment, "How did you even get in? Don't tell me you broke my window again, or I'll be severely upset."

A chuckle releases from him as he shakes his head, "No broken windows. The newer version is much easier to unlock."

You're still. Speechless. 

He uses it to his advantage, stepping closer to you, his hand slowly reaching out to pinch a lock of your hair between his fingers.

"Why are you here?" you whisper, watching him watch you.

"Missed you." Another shrug as he twirls the lock of hair in his fingers, inching closer to you. Unease and...something else you refuse to admit burns in your belly. "It's getting harder to stay away. I didn't mean for all this to happen, not like this."

You wet your lips and Dex watches the movement like a hawk. "How would it happen, if you could change it?" Your curiosity burning inside of you. His darkness calling to you like a moth to an open flame. The consuming way he's staring at you. It makes your skin prickle with a whole different reason, heat beginning to crawl under your skin, spreading through your lower belly. 

"I'd make sure we met in public. Somewhere you like. That café down the street," his fingers drop your hair, moving to your collarbones, trailing lazily against your skin. You shudder. "You'd order your regular. Hot vanilla latte. With whipcream on top. Light cinnamon dusting. I'd get the same. I always do." You don't know how to process all of this as he's touching you. Your brain turning off with his touch, his breath hitting you as he whispers softly, closer and closer to you, until he's close enough to kiss. He doesn't stop. Two hands on you now like he can't help himself. Your skin burns with want. It's wrong but so good. You're entranced.

"I'd say something about it. Spark the conversation. You'd tell me things about you, things I already know. Your name. What you do for work." his head dips to your throat, an inhale of your scent makes him shudder, his breathing getting heavier, "I'd make you tell me where there's a good pizza place. I already know your answer. I'd ask if you wanted to join me. You'd say yes because why would you say no to me?"

You shiver as his nose brushes up to your ear, his hands just barely grazing against your sides. Like he's still testing if you're going to pull away from him or not. When you don't, he presses his hands into you, fingers spreading like he's trying to touch enough of you all at once. He groans lowly at the contact. You're trembling now, not sure if your body is reacting to the fear of his admittance, or to the burning want of him. Perhaps both. 

"How...how is it going to happen now?" your voice is small, breathless. 

Dex takes a long inhale, like he's trying to control himself. He raises his head, away from where he was breathing you in, to catch your gaze. His pupils are wide, his hands squeeze you slightly when you look up at him with need. Something he's been fantasizing seeing on your face for a long time now. 

His voice is rough, husky, full of want and desperation, it rakes up your body hearing it. "I'm going to sit you on the couch I bought you. You're going to take your shorts off." as he's painting the scene, he's turning you back towards the couch, keeping you facing him. Two small steps backwards and the back of your legs are hitting the cushions. You sit. He watches you darkly as he slowly hooks his fingers under the band of your shorts, pleased when you lift your hips to help him take them down. You're blushing now, watching him with bated breaths. 

"You're going to spread your legs and I'm going to kneel." His grip is surprisingly gentle, for such dangerous and calloused hands. It makes you shiver, the contrast of it. The contrast of him. His hands part your thighs, his gaze never leaving yours even as you try to dip away from it as he spreads your legs open. Shame and desire eat at you, the fabric of your underwear doing nothing to hide how wet you are. He kneels.

The sight of this broad shouldered man kneeling in front of you makes you a little light headed. This isn't right, but it feels so good. Dex is reading your expressions, the hitch of your breath, the pink dusted on your cheeks, like he's saving it away. Keeping it in a file in his mind for later. You try not think about it, what he said. Try not to let it talk to you in a way that a part of you likes it, likes that he has an obsession with you, that he's so carnal. That he wants to know everything little thing about you, even the ways you react to him. Especially the ways you react to him. You start to feel yourself want to back out and he knows it already. The palm of his hands petting down your thighs, closer to where you're aching and wanting him to touch. It distracts you again. 

He needs you to not think about what's right or wrong. Like he does. He could be a little bit more like you. But you need to be a little bit more like him right now. 

Dex tilts his head in a way that feels like a predator pinpointing a weakness. You feel weak to this attraction, this want, this need. Good. It's how he's been feeling about you lately. You bite down on your lip as his thumb gently brushes over the waistband of your ruined underwear. Your core clenches. 

"You're going to let me take these off," the way he says it, it's not a demand. It's not even a command. He states it like it's a fact, something that's just going to happen. He isn't reveling in it, he isn't being pushy, he's being honest. And you know that you will. You're going to let him do whatever he wants to do you. You're going to listen to him, because when haven't you? 

You nod and he hums, that familiar smirk coming back to his lips. He mocks your nod back to you. "I know, baby. You're going to let me eat you out. You're going to cum on my mouth. And you're going to make a mess." 

He hooks his fingers under your panties and you lift your hips again, aiding him without a word. What do you even say to that? You're worried anything you say will sound like begging. He does it slow, and you're not sure if he's doing it to torture you or to give you one last chance to back out. Your hands grip the cushions underneath you, breath quickening as he reveals the evidence of your desire. He sucks in a sharp breath as he lays eyes on you for the first time. You bite back a whimper at his reaction, like he's enamored and in disbelief. You're soaking, pussy painfully clenching with want. 

"Fuck." And that's the last you hear from him before he's dipping his head down, latching onto your clit so quickly and precisely that you startle with a cry, hands coming down to grip his head, unsure whether you want to pull him in or push him away from the hard contact. 

You try to squirm, but his large hands hook under your hips, holding you to him. He yanks you down close to him. He’s licking you up like he’s starved, he’s firm and unashamed when he groans loudly against you, the vibration of it adding to the stimulation. You let out a loud moan in response, fingers flexing in his hair. His grip tightens on your hips, your reactions causing him to react in fervor. 

His tongue flattens to lick up as much surface of you as he can, his tongue coming up your clit, circling around before he’s adding a sucking pressure to it. Your gasp comes out sharp and in shock, fingers flexing against the strands of his hair. He doesn’t stay on your clit for long, drifting his mouth to lick a slow and vicious lick along your slickness. He dips his tongue back down, slipping inside you, nose bumping up against your clit while you grind down into his mouth. You fight a whimper, which catches pathetically in your throat as you rock your hips. 

Dex’s dark eyes gaze up at you, the moment causing your thoughts to catch up to you. The weight of his eyes were heavy, you can tell how he's cataloging every moment, every movement, every sound you make. How long has he been watching you? God. What were you doing? 

He seems to notice you falter, his tongue dragging back up slowly to your clit, done with teasing and tasting you. He wants to make you cum. Wants to turn your brain off, defy the logic and the fear still inside of you. He latches back onto your clit so accurately that you almost blank out for moment, your hips coming up to squirm away from him. He lets out a groan deep in his chest, as his arms come up to wrap around your thighs, sealing your fate to him.

"Oh, God-" you let out on a broken moan and that seems to encourage him even further. His mouth keeps the pressure around your clit, his tongue adding a flicking motion, up and down, side to side, until he hears which one you like best. Until you're sitting still in his grasp, letting him consume you. That's when he knows he has you. 

And you have him. You're so close, his mouth hurling you towards the throes of your pleasure, body subconsciously clinging to him, trying to get what it wants. Your hands are tangled in his hair, like a part of you thinks he's going to lift his head and stop. You're ensuring he'll stay there and finish what he started. Your back arches, your moans eating away at the silence, louder, longer, breathier. Your head tips back before it falls forward, catching his never ending gaze again and that's when you fall apart. 

You come hard, vision spotting, the last that you saw clearly was Dex's dark eyes leveling yours right between your thighs. The image burns into your mind as you come down, heart beating through your chest as you heave for air. 

He pulls back from your clit, the missing contact makes you want to cry out. His weighted gaze is still on you, never left. Never will. It makes you shy, starting to close your legs on impulse, causing a quiet but sharp, tsk, from him. Reprimanded, you blush, holding your legs open, letting him see the aftermath of your soul crushing orgasm, pussy still pulsing with the aftershocks of it. 

"Good girl," he breathes quietly and the praise goes straight through your stomach to your core. The pleasure spiking in your blood. He notices and smirks, his lips coated in your shine. Maybe that's all you needed, some encouragement.

His fingers swipe down the core of your pussy and you bite back another cry. He pushes them back up against you slowly, just missing your throbbing and sensitive clit, parting the lips of your cunt. You watch his eyes grow darker at the sight and his jaw clench as he takes the sight of you in. You can feel the slick of your pleasure and want drip out of you, onto the couch. His other hand comes down to barely brush against your fluttering opening. You suck in a breath as you watch him. 

"You made a mess." his fingers coating in your cum as he traces your hole.

Shame paints your face and you fight yourself from shutting your legs again. You start to say something to defend yourself, lips parting, and he shakes his head. He looks happy, lips tipping up in a sharp and dangerous smile. 

"I said you would." His fingers push inside of you, making an obscene squelching noise with how wet you were. 

Your remark dies, whatever it was you were going to say, and he loves watching your brain go blank for all the right reasons. You don't need to talk or think. He'll do all the decision making from here. All you had to do was listen and be good. And you were good, you were so good. You were good like this, like he knew you'd be. His fingers hook up in you, his weapons against the world now turning into extensions of what he wanted to do to you. He fucks them up into you while his thumb swipes your sensitive clit. His fingers stretch you out in a way that you know will do nothing to prepare you for the real thing. His stature is large, you can only imagine what he has down there, something you haven't seen with his kneeling posture.

Your head tips to your shoulder, like you hardly have the energy or care to keep it up, eye lids drooping. Though, you're still looking at him. His chest swells with pride. You're moaning without thought, pleasure drunk eyes on him, nipples poking through the flimsy fabric of your tank top. The sight of you makes him feel crazy. How long has he pictured this exact scene in his head? Imagined the noises you'd make? The way you'd look with his fingers deep inside of you, legs spread open for only him. His fingers fucking up into you with deep thrusts, thumb still swiping gently on your clit. He can feel your wet pussy clenching around him, pulling him back in and he fights a moan, thinking about it wrapped around his cock. His thoughts about you turning darker as he watches you take what he gives. Your perfect lips fall open to tumble out another moan, his free hand going up to cup your chin. Sharp shock rings through him as you dip your chin to catch his thumb in your mouth, cheeks hollowing, tongue slicking against him. The shock turns into straight primal need. 

"You're a dirty girl, aren't you?" his voice is just barely above a whisper, keeping the conversation close, like the two of you are sharing a secret. His other hand still fucking a steady rhythm up into you, each thrust he swipes that thumb harder against your clit. Your hips twitch and you nod, moaning with your tongue and mouth still wrapped around his thumb. His nostrils flare. He didn't expect this. But he likes it. He's corrupting you, he's turning off your logical part of your brain and he's making you into something entirely his. 

He keeps fucking his fingers into you with a steady rhythm, each thrust his thumb delivers a swipe against your sensitive clit. He can feel your cunt clench more and more around him, and he is starting to see the telltale signs of when you’re getting close. A flush in your chest and across your cheeks, your moans getting louder and airier, thighs and hips twitching with the stimulation. Your hot mouth lets his thumb go to breathe out his name in a plead. 

He groans hearing it, almost whimpering back to you. It makes him feel insane, he has to make you stop chanting his name like that or he’s going to yank the waistband of his pants down and give it to you. He has to make this night last, has to study you more, touch you more. He leans forward, catching your mouth to consume his name and your moans. 

You immediately embrace him, something that makes him shudder with need. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close to you as your lips part to swipe your tongue against his. He whines into your mouth, the sound going straight to your core, pushing you right to the edge. You cling to him as his fingers keep pushing up into you, hitting a spot that makes a pathetic noise fall from the back of your throat. Dex swallows it, his hand cupping the back of your head to keep your mouth against his as he kisses you senseless while you fall apart. 

Your thighs tremble as you come back to your body and reality, heavily aware of Dex’s mouth on your skin. He gently eases his fingers out of you, causing a loud whine to leave you. 

An airless laugh leaves him in response as his mouth trails down your neck, “It’s okay, baby. I’ll give you more.”

You shiver at that, not sure how much more you can take. You’re weightless, thoughtless, overstimulated. His hands snake under your back and hips, pulling you to him as his mouth latches onto that sensitive spot on your neck. You moan lowly, rolling your head to the side to give him more room, goosebumps ticking on your skin. He’s lifting you up now, arms wrapped around you, keeping you against him as tight as he can as he stands. Your weak legs wrap around his waist, shaking arms around his neck. You feel where you’re moving, back into the bedroom. His lips move back to yours, catching another kiss from you as he gently eases you down to your mattress. 

His fingers grip the hem of your tank top, slowly pulling it up and over your head, exposing you to him fully now. He breathes out, taking you in. Naked and sprawled on the bed just for him, unwound from the orgasms he’d given you. His knees dip onto the bed, and you reach up to touch his shirt.  He shakes his head once and you frown.

”I can’t see you?” you ask in a small voice.

Dex stares down at you, your nipples tight in the exposed air. He wants them in his mouth, wants to make you cry out. His gazes goes back to yours. “Not right now. It’s not about me right now.” You didn’t understand, he didn’t want to be distracted when he still had so much to discover about you. Didn’t want your hands and eyes all over him while he was supposed to be mapping your entire body. He wanted his hands, eyes, and mouth on you instead. 

You’re not used to this intense amount of attention. You’re feeling shy again, almost like a bug under a microscope. His features soften, realizing he’s losing you again to that logic in your brain.

”I need to see you. I need this. Please understand.” His hands move to either side of you, caging you against him and the bed as he hovers over you, his head dipping down close.

You bite your lip, brow dipping in question. You’ve trusted him this far, though the post orgasms and reality of the situation were weighing into you. Especially now, as you lay naked and vulnerable under him, no doubt in your mind where this was going to end. 

You wet your lips, a movement yet again tracked precisely by the man over you. “How’s it going to happen?”

He’s gaze flicks back to your eyes, pleasure and mirth filling his. He knows what you’re doing. Giving him the go ahead while asking for reassurance. He likes this, this game you’re playing, like you were playing earlier. He leans back down to you, mouth just brushing above yours.

"I'm going to kiss you again." His lips capture yours, pulling you in a kiss that leaves you dazed and breathless and wanting him all over again. Your hands come up to grasp his broad shoulders, causing him to shudder. It was strange, he wanted you touching him but it was so distracting. He wanted it too much. So he leans back, breaking the kiss, grabbing your hands gently, easing your hands and arms down over your head. He's got them pinned with one of his. You test his grip, with a pout on your face. He laughs again, want and need making his voice darker, "Later, sweetheart. Later." He likes this too, having you manhandled onto the bed, pinned with nowhere to go, looking up at him with such need. 

"You're going to keep your hands there like a good girl." He watches with slight amusement as your keen with the praise. He hardly has the patience anymore when you buck up your hips to grind against his length. He hisses out at the contact, his own hips twitching in response, rolling forward to grind down into you. You let out a small moan and Dex shudders as he stares down to where you're connected against him. His free hand goes down to cup one of your breasts, earning him a gasp and your back arches, trying to give him more of you. He swipes a thumb over your nipple before he's dipping down to suck into his hot mouth with searing lick. 

Dex's grip on your hands leave you, but you keep them where he left them. For fear of disobeying of him. You hadn't tried it yet, maybe you never would. Listening and obeying him felt so much better. But you did ache to touch him, to pull him into you, to dig your fingers in his hair and keep his mouth against you. You didn't. You were good. 

His hands roam and grope you, mapping your body like he's trying to memorize every inch of your skin. How you feel against him. His mouth switches to your other peaked nipple, giving it the same attention. His fingertips trailing down the sides of your ribs, making you squirm, his clothed and hard length still pressed against your naked and sensitive pussy. The texture of his pants is almost too much, too harsh, but you can't get enough. It's just like his attention on you. He rocks into you, groaning at the stimulation. He's been leaking and throbbing since he first broke into your apartment. Months ago. He remembers the night he finally made contact with you. A miscalculation on his part. He hadn't meant to broke the window. Hadn't meant to scare you. But he liked it. Liked how you trembled in fear and still listened to him. That's when he knew. Knew you were perfect.

He moans against your skin, his mouth trailing down your sternum now, licking, sucking, kissing. His hands roaming still. You feel dizzy with the overstimulation, arms trembling over your head as you grip your own hands together to keep them there. Dex eases up, lips puffy and red, eyes glassy and dark with lust. If he had his camera he'd take a picture of you right now, to remind him of this moment. Skin flushed, hair a mess, sprawled out on your bed just for him. Staying still just for him. He takes a breath to steady himself.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

It's soft, the way he says it, like a part of him can't believe it. Again, like earlier, he delivers it in such a way where it's not demand. Not a threat. Not menacing, or dark. It's a soft fact. Like there's nothing you can do change it, and like he knows there is nothing you'd do to change it. 

But you answer him anyway.

"Please, Dex." you breathe out, the raw unfiltered need for him showing through your tone in such a way that makes his eyes grow dark. 

He makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat before he's tugging his shirt off and over his head. You watch with curiosity and awe, his muscles moving with his body, reminding you of just how dangerous he is. Scars litter across his torso as his muscles flex and move with every moment he makes. The wound that got the two of you in this mess, still healing at his left side. A dark yellow bruise surrounding it. He leans back, his fingers hooking at his waistband, his focus zeroed in on your expressions. He wants to see how you react to him. Wants to see the way you look at him for the first time. The evidence of his desire pressed harshly against the seam of his pants, doing nothing to really show you just how big he is until he peeling away his pants. No underwear. The fact makes your mouth dry and heartbeat quicken. You see a light dusting of his happy trail as your eyes travel down lower, lips parting as you take him in. He's rock hard, thick and throbbing. Precum dripping from his pink tip. You subconsciously wet your lips and Dex makes another pleased sound. He'll get your mouth on him later. 

He doesn't let you take the sight of him in for long, before he's parting your legs and crawling on the bed in between them. Your thighs shake with anticipation, hips jolting when his skilled fingers swipe through your slick once more, like he's still making sure you're ready enough for him. He takes a steady breath, as he looks down at your exposed cunt, catching a groan at the sight of you, cock jumping with need. He hitches his hips up, sliding the tip up against you, teasing the both of you while getting himself wet with you. He groans at the contact, his length spreading you open, dragging his cock against you. You moan, hips raising to meet him as you feel just how long and thick he is. You would shudder at the thought if you weren't aching for him. Dex braces his hands on either side of you, head hanging low so he watch where you two meet. He lifts his hips, catching his tip just barely at your entrance as you rolls your hips down. Your breath catches and he starts to ease in slowly, the stretch and the burn beginning. A whimper escapes you as he keeps pressing, the pressure pulling noises out of you that you didn't know you had. 

"Easy, baby. Relax." his voice is shaking, like he's trying to hold himself back, his gaze coming back up to catch your expression. Your brows are furrowed, mouth parted, chest stuttering with the air you're trying to pull in. He keeps shifting forward. He drops down to his elbows so his upper body is pressed more against you, his mouth coming to catch yours. You let out a whimper into his mouth and suddenly he shoves forward, done being nice about it at all. You let out a shrill, hands coming down to grip his shoulders, nails digging in. He lets out a devastated moan against your mouth, breaking the kiss with pleased hiss.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Fuck." His hips stutter, his forehead coming down to press against your shoulder as the initial shock and pain turn into burning desire. "I couldn't hold it anymore, you feel so fucking good." his hips roll deep into you, pulling a sharp gasp from you as he hits your cervix, fingers digging into him again.

His mouth bites down into your shoulder, as he whines into your skin. This wasn't going according to plan but he couldn't stop. Your pussy clenching around him so tightly, so slick and warm and perfect. He could cry. He drags his hips back before he's snapping them back up into you, your moans quickly turning into something he needs to hear, to feel. To have. His pelvis grinds against your clit before he's snapping his hips back and forth, his own mouth spilling obscene noises and things he can't believe he's saying to you.

"So good. So good, fuck, I'd never thought - never imagined how good," he whines, mouth leaving kisses and licks across your skin, anywhere he can get as he fucks into you, loving the way your nails dig into him, how you touch him. "How good you'd be."

His words make you moan and clutch to him, hands digging into his hair now as his cock drags inside of you, stretching you out and filling you up. He's heavy on top of you, keeping you pinned against him and the bed, his thrusts taking the air out of you with each push. You can hardly catch up with what happening, how he's talking to you in such a whimpering tone, it makes your skin burn with desire. How long had he thought about this? His mouth catches yours to steal your breath and kiss, before he pulling back, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you down to meet his thrusts. Your vision nearly goes black as your eyes rolls back. 

"So pretty, baby. Taking my cock. God. F-fuck." he growls out into your ear before he's looking down at you, watching you take him. He licks a stripe up your throat, nipping your jaw before he soothes it with a kiss. Hands and mouth and cock branding you in a way that you know you'll never escape the feelings from. Even his words.

You can't say much of anything with the way he's delivering his hips into you, the pleasure ballooning in your belly as he drags you closer and closer to the end. "Dex," you whine, his name the only thing your brain can settle on. 

It spurs him into a furious snap of his hips, the slap of your skin and obscene slick coating him filling the room with your moans and cries. His arms wrap around your torso, pressing you close against him, bear hugging you while he keeps fucking you into oblivion. He's unhinged in the way he fucks you, like he can't stop, can't help himself. His own brain finally turned off, debased into a creature of need. Not a creature with everything under control, you under control. Himself under control. This is his most human form and you've brought it out of him. 

His gaze captures yours, his brown eyes glassy with unshed tears, the sight shocking you before you're pulling him into a kiss. He whimpers into it, hips stuttering. He pulls back with a begging voice, "Tell me you need me." his lips just barely leaving.

You moan out, legs wrapping around his hips to keep him against you. You're so close, the pleasure and pressure building deep inside you with every thrust he delivers.

"Tell me." he whispers again, fingers gripping onto you in a way that you know will bruise later.

"I need you, Dex." you have your own form of whine in your voice now, panting as you get closer, "Dex-"

He interrupts you, "Tell me to never leave. That you won't leave me."

His admittance makes your breath stutter, heart flutter. The obsession he has on you is clear enough to you now, and you don't hate it. You're curious by it. Morbidly so. You know you shouldn't want it, but it makes your blood yearn and want with such force that it turns out the logic and the fear of it out your mind. Your pussy clamps down on him and he almost chokes. 

"I won't-" you gasp, fingers digging into his back, "Dex, don't leave, please don't. Don't stop." 

He revels in your begging, his voice dark, "Good girl. Now give it to me."

It's like he already has your body trained, already knows it's tells. Already knew how close you were. Knew what would send you off the edge. Your body seizes up as you let out a cry, hands gripping him tightly against you as you break on a moan. Pure euphoria rips through your body, cunt convulsing around his thick cock, making his hips stutter with a cry of his own, your orgasm pushing him over the edge. His head drops into the crook of your neck, both your bodies trembling as you come down from the white hot explosion inside of you. Your chest heaves, limbs boneless as you feel his cock pump inside of you. You feel full and peaceful. Not worried about the consequences of your actions just yet. 

Dex lets out a pleased sigh, holding you still against him, making no move to remove his softening cock out of you. He nuzzles his nose up your neck, breathing you in as you both settle into this new time and reality. Your fingers find themselves drawing swirls and meaningless things on his back, earning goosebumps on his skin. He shudders against the stimulation, enjoying the feel of your hand on him. 

You're the first to speak after a few minutes of this bliss, "I want my cat mug back."

"You're not getting it back." He smiles against your skin, "Unless you come back to my place."

"How's that?"

"It'll happen like this..."

[cherrishkissed]

Wild wild wild thoughts ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

Benjamin poindexter x black!fem. perv themes. (sorry...I love it, heart n repost baesss <3)

.ೀ

Dex who steals something small, but very private of yours. One of your worn panties, pink and lacey. He never was a fan of colors like these, he'd probaly notice it on someone else, like you. On you, his view changed. He keeps them folded in his jacket pocket like a trophy, a piece of you. He would run his thumb over the fabric during missions, imagining them still being clanged onto you. He doesn’t sniff it or taste, he doesn't want something a mock of your scent. He rather have you sitting right in front of him.

Dex, who watches you undress from across the street, through a window he's already identified as a perfect sight line. He doesn't hide in your closet to watch, he stands on a rooftop with his gear, tracking your movements with the same patience he uses to line up a shot.

Dex who watches you get off and learns your motions. Your legs would be spread wide open, comfy in your bed. Your fingers desperately circling your clit. He'd watch, intensely, trying to figure out your pattern.

First, you'd gently circle your clit, getting warmed up.

Then, you'd start going faster, if you liked what you watched or thought of. He'd wonder what type of things you were into, he never knew what you were thinking or watching, but he'll find out, some way. At this point you'd get needy because unfortunately, you couldn't get something real.

Just your fingers or a vibrator on your pussy.

He wanted to change that, and soon. Instead of cumming on your fingers, you could cum on his cock. He'd be able to feel you creaming him up while he did whatever to you. Holding your hands down... kissing and licking your tears away. Not from pain, but from how good he'd be fucking you. As you rubbed your clit, he'd cup himself through his pants, trying not to get any harder. Just sit, and watch.

If he does break in, he records you on his device. The soft gasps, the wet sounds of your fingers, the way you whimper when you’re close to cumming. He'd play them back at night, stroking himself to the audio, imagining he’s the one making you sound like that. He would get close to cumming himself, with sticky precum messing up his bare hand, and whisper,

“That’s it. Let me hear you."

Author's note🧸ྀིoh dw....I have more ideas 🥴. Thank yew for readingggg, I love reading you guys comments too LOL

[black-fandom-culture-is]

You know what really gets on my nerves about fandoms?

The disposable black girlfriend trope.

Can we get a reverse where the white girl gets disposed for a black girlfriend because this gets on my ever loving nerves.

You get a white dude or a non-black POC dude have more chemistry for black woman but all of a sudden that ends with some shallow, forced chemistry with some white chick who either barely interacts with or interacts with but they're more like friends/sibling relationship.

It's so fucking stupid 😭

[pinayelf]

thinking abt that person who left that tag on my post abt colorism abt how us brown/black ppl should just "make our own stuff" instead of complaining

and i always think abt how i kinda resent the fact that now that we have more black and brown princesses they don't really get the sweeping swoony fairytales like the white ones did

raya and moana don't get a love story. tiana was a frog for most of the movie. they retconned the love story for asha in wish

maybe unpopular opinion but yeah its cool to show girl power and girls can be independent from men but man i just want to see a black or brown princess who gets to be the princess the prince saves from the dragon lol

and when i do make this stuff ppl will call it hetslop

[creatingblackcharacters]

📢📢📢📢📢📢📢📢📢

"make your own stuff" and it will go purposely unpromoted and unsupported, and when it fails it's because "diversity is forced and boring" and not "people prefer stories with the same white characters because racism, no matter how worn out the idea is".

We have eyes! We can see the pattern!

[alanangels]

EXACTLY.

[strangelure]

dex throwing knives in your direction as a form of foreplay 😇 he’d never hit you obviously but he’d get so close, making your adrenaline spike when it pierces the wall right beside you head, praising you saying that you’re being so brave… and then fucking you nasty ofc

you fucking get it. HOLY SHIT. i was writing at the speed of light lmao. as always lmk if you enjoy, comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo

trust me that much?

benjamin poindexter x reader, bullseye x reader cw: knife and fear play as you and dex's fucked up little foreplay heheeeee, mentions of primal play too, SMUT. content is obviously 18+, MINORS DNI

"you know i wont hurt you right?" he asks with a little cock of his head, theres a soft smile under the mask that doesn't match the way his eyes are glazed over with the thrill of holding you captive like this, of watching your body tremble with undeniable fear as well as sick anticipation

all you can do is nod fervently in response, any vocal answer gets stuck in your throat when you hear the loud, high pitched, snnnickkkkk sound of one of dex''s knifes stabbing the drywall right next to your head

you gasp, loudly, the beat of your heart thrums in your ears so hard it makes you dizzy, making it near impossible to stay glued to the wall just how dex instructed you to

"thats it" dex answers with a little muffled and proud laugh, his voice sounds reverent, "so fucking brave huh?" the words have barely escaped his mouth before you hear not one, but two consecutive sharp and ear splitting stabs hitting the plaster

one of dex's knifes landed right in between your knees, the other just above it, your only slightly spread thighs posing no notable obstacle for dex to aim at the small empty space in the middle

when you inevitably turn to look at the blades in shock of their proximity to your center dex is quick to throw a fourth knife right above your head, making you straighten up with a stunned jolt

he chuckles at your full body reaction, you see how his eyes crinkle with humor, "eyes up here remember? need you to trust me"

"i trust you dex, more than anyone" you answer, because you do, but your voice is already flooded with something heated and needy that breaks the steady volume of your words half way

clearly, this little game of yours has got you pliant and agreeable, and just as riled up as he is

"dont push it baby" he mocks with an easy laugh, right before he brings out another blade from his holster to twirl idly between his fingers

dex prolongs the tension, making your breathing come out in loud huffs with the fight or flight response battling to take over your body, the expectation almost too much to bare

its not until you're whining out a "dex, please-" that you see how his biceps have retracted with the slingshot of his weapon, the fifth knife hitting on the other side of your head just to even things out

-

"you were so fucking good" dex groans shakily into your mouth, having trouble keeping his cool and poignant rhythm as he fucks you against the very wall he was holding you captive only a few moments ago

the five blades remain stuck on the drywall around you, a reminder of the blinded trust you placed on him, it makes his pace all the more brutal against you, his obsessive streak growing by the second

"dex, please-" you say again, not sure what you're even asking for really, for him to slow down? for him to speed up? to maybe grab one of the knifes that frame you both and use it to rip at your remaining clothes?

your hands grab at the strap of his brown leather chest holster, for balance but also to bring him impossibly closer so you can kiss and bite at his mouth, diving your tongue in like its the only way you'll taste the adrenaline and want oozing from his body

"had i known you were into this shit-" he grits out, his face twisted in agony with how close he already is to spilling inside you "i would be chasing you down with them by now, have you running from me-"

the both of you viscerally moan at his words, the picture he paints is far too vidid than what either of you were prepared for

the mere idea of what he's suggesting, dex stalking after you, suited as he is right now, using his sharp weapons to stop you from running from him, as if you were his prey, its enough to make you teeter towards the edge of a mind destroying finish

your ear splitting moan of "oh fuck, baby!" is enough confirmation for him though, dex smiles crookedly as he looks down at you "want that? yeah? trust me that much?" he teases with a hazy look in his eyes, a lift of his brows "that's a reeaal bad idea"

[echofever]

a castle just for us | j.wy

pairing: bf!wooyoung x gf!reader synopsis: life has been kicking your ass. overworked, no time for self-care, and little time to spend quality time with your partner- wooyoung decides to whisk you away for a long weekend hoping it will help you feel like yourself again. a/n: this one's for the bitches who need a mf break. this was suppose to be an emotionallymessy!reader x emotionallystable!wooyoung fic but it turned into reader just needing to turn off her brain. also, i've been listening to castle a lot and it kinda influenced me! cw: smut mdni! alcohol consumption (they don't get drunk though), not necessarily dom!woo but he's def the one calling the shots, cursing, pet names (pretty girl, baby), fingering, unprotected p in v, one slap, fingers in mouth, drooling, dirty talk, semi-public sex (they're in a backyard, but houses are conveniently spaced far away hehe), mentions of toxic past relationships (i don't go into detail) wc: 6.7k

It was hot. Like, you better put on your flip flops coming out of the pool if you don't want the bottoms of your feet to barbecue on the patio, hot. The summer playlist Wooyoung curated bumps at a not-too-obnoxious volume from the speaker set on the lounge chair while you lazily float about the pool on an inflatable. The high, black iron fence that surrounds the backyard, matted with lush greenery and pops of light purple wisteria, makes it feel like you're in a fantasy world, away from real life problems.

Wooyoung could see that you were overwhelmed with everything life has been throwing at you lately and arranged for a stay at a rental house a couple hours away from the city. Somewhere that wasn't tied to the goings on of what was happening at home or work. A completely separate space that kept the looming thoughts of what was to come after the long weekend.

And a long weekend away was exactly what you needed. Your work shifts have been stretching long beyond the usual 8 hours into 10, sometimes more, because of reasons beyond your control. Coming home to a mountain of laundry and dishes with little time to cook yourself a nutritious meal let alone grocery shop. Wooyoung would cook for you when he had the time, but he was also busy with his photography business. Booked nearly every weekend for special events and the majority of the week for professional portraits. Quality time spent together consisted of strictly sleep. You’d trudge in from another long shift that made you rethink your career, absent mindedly shower, and eat cut up fruit and yogurt out of a glass Pyrex measuring cup because you forgot to run the dishwasher before hurrying out the door in the morning. Then, Wooyoung would make it over just in time to catch you as you were falling asleep, pulling your curled up form into his body as he ran a soothing hand up and down your back.

You didn't feel human anymore. You had no more spoons to give. Honestly, the whole damn silverware drawer was empty.

It’s a sweet gesture for him to make. You’ve only been dating for six months, the relationship very much still new, but it hasn't felt that way. Wooyoung's charismatic charm and talent for reading people made it easy for him to clock that the far away stares and random bouts of silence increasing in frequency was a sign of you being at your wits end.

The mixture of coconut-banana scented sunscreen and chlorine was like aromatherapy to you, a reminder that you weren't in the stifling city where all your problems were waiting for you to come back. You move your arms on top of the water, letting buoyancy do its thing, like you were creating snow angels, letting the feeling of the water rolling across your skin keep you grounded.

A hand caught your wrist, “Is this a relaxing type of fidgeting, or the anxious kind?” You hear your boyfriend ask from next to you.

You roll your head to the side where he was floating next to you and look up at him over your sunglasses. All golden skin, hard lines of muscle, and shiny silver of the necklaces, rings, and the bracelet he refused to go a day without wearing. His expression reads less serious than what his question was asking, but still genuine none-the-less.

“If you keep reminding me of my anxiety it’ll just keep me feeling anxious.” You twirl your wrist around to knock his grip off and interlace your fingers with his, pulling him closer to you so your inflatables bump together, “This is perfect, thank you for doing this.” You smile while you float next to each other hand in hand like a pair of sea otters making sure not to drift apart.

You bring the mixed drink you made before getting into the pool up to your lips, taking a sip to find it watered down and hard to swallow. The disgusted sound you make in the back of your throat comes out louder than expected, “I’m making another drink, you want one?” You shake your glass in front of Wooyoung for emphasis.

“I’ll get it,” He offers, already grabbing for the glass and slipping off his float. And bless his heart, but if he does one more thing for you, you might choke him out with all the love in the world. He's waited on you hand and foot since you got here a mere 18 hours ago. Laying out your bath towels and swimsuit in the bathroom before you woke up, bringing you breakfast and tea in bed, even applying your sunscreen for you. Not even in the sexy way- he just smooshed his hands all over your face and ears to make sure you wouldn't burn even a little bit.

“Woo, I really appreciate everything you've been doing for me. But you're starting to feel more like a butler and less like my boyfriend and it's weirding me out.” You argue, flopping off your own float and moving the glass away from his grabby hands.

It’s his turn to look up at you from over his sunglasses, a pierced brow raising and suggestive smirk plastered on his face, “That doesn't turn you on?”

You let out a short, loud laugh, “Maybe if you’d put on a pair of gloves and bow tie and didn't try to airplane feed me scrambled eggs this morning it would have.”

“Oh my god, rude!”

Plucking his glass out of the cup holder next to his tattooed forearm you ask,“Now, what can I get you, Mr. Jung.”

He pushes his bottom lip into a pout, “Mr. Jung, not baby? So you hate me?” He brings a hand behind you and rests a palm on an asscheek under the water, his large, veiny hand still warm under the cool water. Raising your brow at him expectantly, you shake his glass waiting for an answer.

He huffs and drops the feigned hurt, “Surprise me.”

“Sure thing…” you bend over and let your sunglasses slip down to the tip of your nose, making eye contact before finishing the sentence “...baby.” giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. His eyes roll back into his skull as you grin, all teeth, and turn around to wade through the water and up the steps.

At the outdoor bar, the guilt starts to gnaw at you. Being taken care of is such a foreign concept, how were you supposed to act? Is it a trap? A way to build up favors to hold over your head and manipulate you into doing what he wants? That's the extent of your experience in relationships anyways. Wooyoung seems genuine enough. It's been six months, which isn't a long time but men had shown their true colors a lot sooner in the past. You think you should be in the clear.

Your brain plays ping pong with the thought as you locate whiskey, bitters, and steal an orange from the pile of snacks you set out on the outdoor dining table before getting in the pool. Hands on autopilot, using your vague knowledge of mixology to make his favorite drink, your thoughts continue to spiral.

Were you too mean? Is he getting tired of you telling him he doesn't need to do things for you? Deflection over confrontation has always been your go to strategy when it comes to uncomfortable emotions. It worked with Wooyoung. You met him a couple months before the two of you became official in November and made your “couple debut”, as Wooyoung called it, at a get together for his birthday. A bunch of friends of his that you hadn't met before were there, and that included girls. Because girls like Wooyoung. He’s flirty by nature and a good listener. He remembers details about everybody, he’ll ask questions about something that was told to him months ago and women ate that shit up especially.

So when he was chatting it up a little too hard with Minji you couldn't help the physical shift in your face and body language. Lips drawn in tight together, body ridged and angled away from him. He clocked it immediately, but you couldn't push the words out of your throat when he asked about it. It felt like rocks were sitting in your mouth, blocking the jealousy from making itself known. Instead you made a joke about how he was fired from helping you pick out your outfits because his terrible choice in shoes was giving you blisters.

That was just the nature of your relationship, ribbing each other endlessly because you both enjoyed it. It made everything feel less serious, and therefore, the stakes were lower.

Tapping the bar spoon on the rim of the glass, you decide you didn't feel like making another cocktail so you settle on a canned seltzer for yourself, cracking it open before picking up Woo’s drinking and fast walking across the hot pavement to where your boyfriend was now sitting on the top step in the pool. Head titled back, eyes closed, and arms bent at the elbow, leaning back on the wet bricks you wondered how on Earth an emotionally fucked-up woman like you pulled a man like him.

An eye pops open as you step into the pool next to him, brown iris much brighter with the sunlight hitting them, “Who’s who butler?” he asks as he brings the glass to his lips for a sip.

It did make him feel some type of way then. Where exes of yours had no problem making their feelings of unpleasantness known through dramatic temper tantrums, Wooyoung did it with decorum. He thought before he spoke, when it mattered anyways, and it never came out accusatory, making your fight or flight less likely to kick in.

Sighing, you bring your leg over him and drop into his lap, the water only covering a few centimeters of your shins, your knees pressing into the blue plastic liner of the steps. Sour lemon and lime flavor prickles your tongue as you take a sip of your seltzer, the alcohol leaving a burn down your throat, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that in an ungrateful way.” you say as you set the can on the pool’s edge and bring your hands to fiddle with front bow strings that keep your bikini top tied.

Wooyoung does the same with his drink and drops his hands to your thighs to rub, a silent way of showing he isn’t mad, “I know, I just don’t understand if you can do things for me why can’t I do them for you?”

Your throat feels tight and swollen all of a sudden, the metaphorical rocks are being shoved back into your mouth again and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. Groaning you drop your head forward so your face is hidden against his chest. The water droplets still clinging to his golden skin is a well needed shock of cool to keep your brain from overheating with a billion different thoughts. You try to parse through everything you want to say, weighing each word to determine what effect it would have on him. So badly not wanting to say the wrong thing- if that’s the case you’d rather say nothing at all.

Finally, you settle on “It makes me feel guilty when you do so much for me, especially when I haven't been giving back. I should be able to pull myself together and deal with my shit like an adult.” Your admission is quiet, whispered into his body like a secret, even though it was just the two of you hidden away amongst the viney walls the plants created around the yard.

With your vision obscured you hear more than see the laugh that escapes his nose through a huff of air. His arms wrap around you fully so you're pressed tight against him, trying to calm your racing, anxious heart.

“I do what I do because I want to. It’s how I show I care, baby. If it was too much for me I wouldn’t do it.” He speaks into the top of your head, trying to put all the sincerity into his words so you believe him. You tilt your head back so your chin is resting on his chest now and you’re looking up at him, wide eyed and glassy. It feels absurd how terrified you are about baring your heart to somebody, it’s embarrassing. He speaks with such confidence and certainty. How does he do it so easily? Why was it so hard for you?

But one thing was for certain: Wooyoung has been the best thing that's happened to you. You didn't have to worry about walking on eggshells to avoid a screaming match over trivial things. You could spend time with friends and family without him guilting you for leaving him alone and making you feel like you had to come home early. You never laid in bed at 3am agonizing over what you could’ve possibly done wrong because he’s been giving you the silent treatment all day. Your heart was calm with Wooyoung.

You inhale a full breath through your nose while wrapping your arms around his back, forcing your eyes back up to his.

“Lately, that's all you've been doing for me. I want to do things for you too, I don't want to feel like I'm always owing you.” You speak quietly, but Wooyoung hears you nonetheless. His brows dive-bomb down towards each other and flinches back subconsciously. He was genuinely curious, while also a little disturbed, by how you could think that? Why would you think that? Only answers that had his blood beginning to boil came to mind. He fixes his face and could only hope he did it before you could see his shock. Unfortunately for him, you’ve trained yourself to detect the microscopic changes in the facial expressions. He could see it in the way a blush flew up your neck and ears and how your bottom lip wobbled before you tucked it under your teeth.

He brings his hands up to cup your face, large palms with long, lithe fingers encompass both of your cheeks fully. Using his thumb to tug your bottom lip free from the anxious chewing you're doing to it, he says, “You will never owe me for anything I do for you. I take care of you because I want you to be happy in mind, body, and soul. Not because I expect favors from you. What can I do to make you believe that?”

You heave a big sigh and pull away from his hold on your face to move your cheek against his shoulder facing away from his neck, looking to the side and watching a squirrel dig frantically in the grass.

“I do believe you. It's my dumbass brain that-” you cut yourself off. If your brain doesn't believe him then doesn't that mean you actually don't? You groan, “I don't even make sense to myself. Woo, I feel like crawling out of my skin. I just know I like you, a lot, and I love being with you so much that I don't want something I do or don't do be a reason this ends.” By the time you finish your voice is warbling and you really wish you could trade places with that squirrel right now.

Wooyoung grips your shoulders to peel your sticky body off of him so he can look at you as he gently coos your name, “I love your big, beautiful brain,” he starts and emphasizes his statement with an obnoxiously large and loud kiss to your forehead. You scrunch your nose and give him a little hmph, but he just grins like you aren't spiraling out your damn mind and continues, “But it's gonna catch fire from all those neural pathways your lighting up with how much overthinking you do. You don't need to analyze and find a reason for every emotion you have. It's okay to just feel.” He rubs his thumbs into the joint that connects your shoulder blade and clavicle, trying to relax the tension you didn't realize you've been keyed up with.

You chew the inside of your cheek and narrow your eyes, “The brain is constantly using neural pathways, so if it was gonna be fried from that it would've happened already. I’m not worried about it.”

Wooyoung throws his head back and lets out a groan of frustration mixed with a laugh because picking apart the logic of the statement rather than absorbing the meaning was so undeniably you it was foolish of him to think you'd do otherwise. His fingers fly down and dig into your waists, wiggling them to tickle you “Don't be like that! You know what I mean, you're being bratty on purpose!”

You crumple into yourself and let out a screech of laughter, trying your best to swat at him while keeping your arms tucked close to your sides as an attempt to block the assault.

“Okay! Alright!” You gasp out between fits of giggles, “I’m sorry!”

He stops at your apology but keeps his palms resting on the curve where your waist and hips meet, “If you need to feel like you’re not…. in debt,” he doesn't hide his disdain for the word but continues, “Wedding season will ramp up next month and I’ll become a shell of a man with how many I’m booked for. You can take care of me all you want. I won’t protest or complain about it, I’ll let you do whatever it is you want to do for me. Will that make you feel better?’

You hum. It’s not something that will make you feel better immediately, but you know you have to meet him halfway.

“I suppose so. What if I’m still in this headspace though?” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

He doesn’t hesitate with his response, “Then we work it through together. We’ll be honest with what we need and what we can’t give, and promise each other it's not personal if we don’t have the mental capacity for extra attention. If we’re not open and honest about our feelings, how is anything supposed to get better?”

Damn his stupid, emotionally intelligent brain, because you know he’s right. Your whole life you’ve been bottling up your feelings inside hoping that things will change without ever expressing your desire for it in the first place. How were you supposed to get better at talking about your feelings if you don’t say them aloud in the first place?

“I’ll try harder to be more open about my emotions. It’s just really uncomfortable for me, I feel stupid talking about’em.” You mumble.

“Practice makes perfect, baby. I’ll never make you feel stupid for your feelings. Pinky promise.” He holds out his little finger for you to hook your own around, solidifying the agreement. Before he could let go of your finger you tug him forward and place your hands on either side of his neck to kiss his sun-chapped lips. He makes a shocked noise in the back of throat, but kisses back anyways tasting the citrusy tang of alcohol and the vanilla lip balm you put on this morning. Soaking in the wet slide of your tongues moving against one another and the slow movement of his lips over yours.

“My poor girl, been dealing with so much.” He coos against your lips, your mouth parted waiting for him to kiss you again, tongue flicked halfway out of your mouth. You open your eyes to find him already staring down at you, his expression changed from soft and sincere to something much heavier. You nod dumbly, all the talking about feelings making you want to shut off your brain for a minute. While it was much needed, it’ll still take a while before the idea of it stops feeling like an attack on your nervous system. He pulls you closer to him, sliding you up from your seat on his lower thighs until your core is pressed to his lower abdomen. One of his hands leaves your waist to cup the side of your face and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. “It’s so unfair, life’s been fuckin’ you more than I have, huh?”

You whine, squeezing your thighs against the outer sides of Wooyoung’s, closing your mouth to push your bottom lip out in a pout and nod. You can't remember the last time you had energy for sex. Even though your job doesn’t rely on physical strength it requires a lot of thinking and that mental drain sure makes your body feel exhausted like you've spent the day dead lifting concrete pavers. Driving home consisted of complete silence and fighting to keep your heavy eyes open while trying not to let your thoughts drift too much so you wouldn't miss an exit or run a red light. The reminder of the lack of intimacy sends a surge of neediness through you, your body wanting to make up for it asap. “It's been so long, Woo. M’sorry for making you wait.”

He slides his hand down your cheek to grip your jaw, chin pinched between his thumb and other four fingers, and jostles your head gently side to side, “While we're working on communicating our feelings let's fix your little habit of over apologizing too.”

The call out has you forming the word before you can even think to stop yourself. Wooyoung beats you to it though, squishing your cheeks together in his grip and making your lips purse together like a goldfish. His eyebrows shoot up, daring you to say it, his tongue poking out to play with his lip ring. You scrunch your brows together and blow air out of your nose, signaling your defeat.

He hums and gives your squished lips a light peck, “I know you weren't gonna say what I think you were gonna say, yeah?” He moves your head left to right to shake your head for you like a doll “That’s right, baby. I think you just need a distraction, make your brain go dumb and stop thinking about the bullshit.” This time the nod your head does is solely your own eager doing.

That’s all you've been wanting to do the last two weeks. The constant responsibilities being stacked up at work, being a shoulder to cry on for your friends who were also going through it this week, and being a problem solver for family all had your brain running nonstop. Always thinking of what to say, what to do, and how to do it. You haven't been able to cater to your own needs, too busy focusing on everyone else’s.

You use both of your hands to grip the wrist of the hand he was using to hold your face and tug it away so you can speak, “Shut if off, Woo.” It's said whiny, like you've been trying to fall asleep for hours and are begging the universe to grant you rest. Desperate, because at this rate, the need for him is more than your need to sleep.

The sound of your whiny desperation has Wooyoung cupping his hands under your ass to hold you steady as he carefully stands up. As quickly and cautiously as he could, making sure to step around the drinks abandoned on the bricks, he raced over to sit back against one of the reclined loungers in the shade and set you right back into his lap. You grip his shoulders and lay the front of your body completely along the front of his pulling him back into a frantic kiss. His lips move along yours, licking against the roof of your mouth, teeth catching on the skin of your lips, saliva making its way down your chin. You realize you haven’t even been making out like you used to in the beginning of this relationship and you missed it so much. The swell in your chest at the physical affection sends dopamine pumping through you, relaxing your muscles, and forgetting about anything that didn’t have to do with this moment.

Wooyoung’s hands glide up and down the curves of your body a few times before bringing them around your back and up to your neck where the string of your bikini top rests, giving it a tug to unravel it. He pushes up from his reclined position, forcing you up with him, before settling back down and holding you by the ribs to keep distance between you two. The top of your bathing suit slowly slips down, hanging flipped over your stomach still attached around your bust, and he groans.

“God, your tits.” He slides a hand up and brushes his thumb across your nipple a few times before using the tip of his finger nail to press down on it. You hiss, the sharp pain and zing of pleasure that zips down to your belly. “I missed seeing them, just as perfect as I remember them.”

“Wooyoung,” you pant, pathetically turned on in the span of a few minutes. But you can't bother with feeling embarrassed about it, “Please do something.”

“But I am already, baby.” He responds with an evil quirk of his lips, clearly knowing that's not what you meant.

“Wooyo,” you it say like a warning, but it didn't land. It was too breathy and soft.

“I dunno, I kinda like hearing you say my name like that. One more time for me.” You open your mouth to scold him, getting impatient. Sometimes if you're really stern with him, it'll turn him on enough to flip a switch, but he decides to use that moment to take your nipple between his index finger and thumb and pinch hard. A squeal comes out instead and your body jerks, “Woo!”

“Thank you baby, such a good listener. Giving me exactly what I ask for.” His eyes rake down your body behind his sunglasses, drinking in the shape of you, “This hot little bod drives me insane, and you have such a sweet personality? How’d I get so lucky?”

With eyes closed, soaking up the feeling of his hands sliding down to your thighs, thumbs rubbing the inside of each, you lick your lips before responding “Probably by being an unrelenting flirt and insisting on paying for every single one of my drinks at Mingi’s birthday party.”

He throws a “probably” in response, his thumbs reaching the crease of your thighs, running them along the inside seam of your bikini bottoms. You hum and roll your hips, trying to get them where you need them and open your eyes to see his own sunglass covered ones looking directly between your legs. Obviously too distracted to say anymore. Huffing out an impatient breath at the loss of momentum you bring your hand down to the bulge growing under his thin nylon swim trunks, rubbing the tip of your stiletto nails, the ones he so sweetly paid for you to have done before the trip, down the length of him. His thighs jump and he grunts, grabbing your wrist to twist your arm behind your back, “Put the claws away, woman. I'ma take care of you.”

And finally, he does. He lets go of your arm to bring you forward into his chest again, cheek on his shoulder with your lips pressed against the vein on his neck, pulling your hips up so they're hovering above his lap and can easily slide your damp bathing suit bottoms off. Wet from pool water? Sweat? Arousal? Fuck if either of you know, it could be all of the above. You hear the damp plap of them hitting the patio, feeling the hot breeze blowing across your exposed bottom half arched in the air. For a moment, the thought of surrounding neighbors seeing the debauchery taking place crosses your mind before you remember you're not in the cramped city anymore, you're in a vacation home where the next house is at least a football field length away.

The feeling of your boyfriend using his reach around the back of you to graze your slit brings you back to the present and rocking your hips back to take what you want. He graciously allows it, letting you fuck yourself on one of his fingers before adding another and slowly scissoring you open.

“I know it's been a long time, baby. L’me open you up real quick.” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You melt into the feeling, appreciating every drag of his boney fingers inside you, feeling every bump of his finger joints rub against the inside of your walls. The impatience bleeds out of you, after weeks of everything being go, go, go, you don't want to rush. You want to absorb the feeling of being with him, his ability to make you feel calm in the middle of the stormy parts of your life.

You aren't sure how much time has passed, only that suddenly you're empty and pouting again. You lift your head up with sad, scrunched brows and he's smiling softly, laughing, “Cute, all it takes is your little pussy being empty to bring you back from wherever your mind went off to? I’ve been asking if you’re ready for my dick the last couple seconds, I thought you fell asleep.”

The apology slips out unprompted by your brain, “Yes, yes, I’m sor-” Wooyoung’s thumb cuts you off, pressing down on your tongue, other four fingers curled under your jaw holding it open. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and rolls his eyes, “Alright, you lost speaking privileges. All I wanna hear outta this mouth are your pretty moans and whines, got it baby?”. You nod your head as much as you can. “Good fucking girl.”

This is what you needed. Being told what to do, for once, instead of being the one to do it. You’ll gladly let him take charge, direct you, use you, if that means you can just exist without thinking and dissecting every thought and feeling that rolls through your brain.

He keeps his thumb pressed down on your tongue while using his other hand to press the head of his cock, that he must’ve pulled from his shorts during one of the moments your mind had floated away from the present moment, to your opening. You sigh at the anticipation of being filled again, eyes slowly closing halfway, closing your lips around Wooyoung’s thumb to suck. The taste of his skin, mixed with a hint of chlorine and residual sunscreen from the last time he reapplied, floods your tastebuds as you hollow your cheeks and wiggle your tongue along the digit.

"Ah, ah,” A light tap to your cheek with the palm of his hand has your eyes opening wide again. “No sucking. Keep that mouth open. I wanna feel you drooling all over me, pretty girl.” A reluctant high-pitched whine leaves you as you drop your jaw back open, fighting the urge to taste the salt of his skin again. Pressure against your opening has that urge tossed to the side like your soaking bikini bottoms, the fat tip of his cock stretching your hole. The stretch of you wrapped around the thickest part of him has you clenching impatiently, wanting to feel him in your tummy already. You know better than to take without permission though. Wooyoung isn’t above dragging things out for the sake of making you squirm, but it seems like he was going to do just that anyways. He takes his time, fucking his tip in and out of you, driving you mad. It felt like scratching around a misquote bite, good but missing that satisfying pleasure of hitting the spot it needs scratching the most.

The saliva that's been steadily pooling in your mouth bubbles with your impatient whine, spilling over and down your chin. Wooyoung groans, "Music to my fucking ears." And that's all it takes for him to lift his hips and fill you in one long, torturous go. Your knees slide to the sides, rubbing against the tightly woven material of the lounger that makes the skin burn, but that's the last thing on your mind.

The sudden closeness- him being literally inside you- after weeks of quick kisses and body-to-body contact through pajamas while you catch as much sleep as you can has your heart beating something fierce. You missed him. You missed going to his place to keep him company and goof off while he cooked dinner for the two of you. You missed hanging out with him at his studio while he works on editing client photos. You missed feeling like a couple, because lately you've felt like strangers.

You grab his wrist and squeeze it twice quickly and once slowly. He slides his thumb from your mouth, a string of spit following, and quickly checks in, "You okay? Need a minute?"

"Mhm, wanna kiss you. And see you." You reassure and push his sunglasses on top of his head. Even in the shade you can see his pupils take up so much space only a sliver of pretty brown can be seen around the edges. You thread your fingers through his hair and brush your nose against his with a sigh.

"Better?" He whispers, moving your sunglasses from your face and carefully setting them on the ground. You nod with a dopey close lipped smile on your face, and once you begin kissing him slow and nasty he starts to move.

The delicious roll of his hips knocks a moan from your mouth directly into his each time he pushes in. His grip on your hips to keep them at the perfect angle is unrelenting as he steadily drives his cock into you. Chests sliding together with the help of the mix of sweat from the heavy humidity in the air and the drool that pooled out of your mouth moments earlier.

"Missed this pussy so much- fuck. Missed you so much." Wooyoung grunts against your lips, pace picking up and the legs of the lounger scraping on the patio bricks. “I’m spoiling you right now, because you deserve it for all the bullshit you've been dealing with.” He bands an arm around your lower back, pressing you into a deep arch that has you squealing, “But next round I want you to show me that you remember how to ride this dick.”

“Uh huh! I remember, ‘mma show you.” You're not even kissing him anymore, with every word spoken your lips brush against his. Brows twisted up at the way his body rolls are grinding your clit in the perfect pressure and rhythm. Your fingertips flex at the second joint in his hair, raking at his scalp, your sex dumb mind trying to keep them from using the tips of your sharp acrylics.

He sucks in a sharp breath, but plows into you harder, faster. Your entire body is jostling up and down the length of his, the fire in your gut growing at a rapid speed until you don't think you can take it anymore. The only noises leaving your mouth are a mash up of moans and sobs, and you don't realize you're actually crying until you taste the salt from the tears flowing down your cheeks and into your mouth.

“Oh, baby” Wooyoung coos, bringing a hand up to smear the tears away from under your eye with his thumb. “It’s okay. Shh.”

“It feels so good, Woo. I missed you so much.” You’re for real sobbing now. The emotional damn breaking and flooding your eyes. You love this man, you realize. He’s stuck by you at your worst, let's you have bad days without making it about him, takes care of you when you can't take care of yourself, rented a whole goddamn vacation house just so you could take a fucking breath. All of that, and he has never asked for anything in return.

He kisses you, lip melding into yours, gently nipping at your lips, tongue pressing against yours and licking anywhere he can to get a taste of you, “I’m right here, not going anywhere.” You’re about to cum, you can feel it, the uncontrollable clenching of your cunt around him makes it harder and harder for him to keep up the wild pace of his thrusts up into you.

“Shit, fuck, you gonna cum? I can feel you squeezing the life outta my dick. Go ahead, baby. Let go of all the stress for me.” It takes him a while for him to give you the permission, kissing you between every couple of words. When the tension that's been building up in your lower stomach finally breaks, your body locks up for a second before it starts twitching like you've been shocked. You moan directly into his open mouth, your tongue lazily pressed against his. Both of his hands are on either side of your face now, and he reciprocates with his own beautiful whine as he unloads inside you. Grinding into you to drag it out as much as possible before it turns into over sensitivity.

Your body falls limp on top of his, cheek against his chest, and you try not to think about the amount of sweat that's covering the two of you.

The rumbling of his voice keeps you from drifting off, “I’m going to say something at the risk of it breaking your brain, but I need you to know.” You turn your head to look up at him, seeing that he’s already looking at you. If he could shoot heart beams out of his eyes at the sight of you, he would. Red rimmed lash line, tear-glossed eyes, and dewy skin from the heat, it rivals how gorgeous you are when you dress your best for a night out with your shared friend group. “I love you. You don't have to say it back, I would actually prefer you didn't right away. But I know when, if, you do say it back, I’ll still feel the same way. Even if it's a month or year from now, I’ll feel the same.”

A smile slowly spreads across your face, completely unexpected from you by the faint look of shock on Wooyoung's face. Instead of feeling the need to crawl out of your skin at the thought of such a strong emotion, you feel relief.

“I don't think you’ll have to wait that long.” You say with no hesitation, no need to second guess the way you're feeling or why you're feeling it. Just letting it be. You turn to kiss his sternum, and he hums pleasantly, grinning like a maniac but he doesn't push for an explanation.

“Well, that's a relief.” He reaches over and grabs a towel from the little table next to the chair you're on, “You need to pee, and I didn't think pool water will be enough to wash off the amount of sweat we just produced.”

Your nose scrunches, the thought of moving right now is the last thing your body wants. However, the thought of feeling clean in fresh clothes, maybe going out to the little beach town fifteen minutes away for a late lunch at one of their local restaurants in sandals and a sundress sounds nice enough to get you moving.

You sit up and press your hands to his stomach to keep from wobbling sideways, "You're gonna have to help me clean up, I can't feel my knees." Wooyoung smirks, he can't help but be smug with himself. Pushing himself up, making sure to cradle your back to keep you from falling, "It's the least I can do I suppose." Kissing your forehead he adds, "Thanks for asking me for help."

Embracing the new you, leaving the fear of unworthiness behind, you respond. "Thank you for showing me how easy it can be."

[mrsken]

cws // fem reader. jealousy. overstimulation. breeding. exhibitionism (a little, i guess)

wc // 3.8k

I forgive you, Tagah.

Your eyes once again drift over to the earth bender known as Toph, and your anger takes on a new life as you recall just how smitten the woman had looked while hanging off of Tagah's arm - and more importantly, how Tagah hadn't so much as raised a brow in protest.

He had stood there and let her nuzzle against him as if her people hadn't slaughtered your own thousands of years ago—as if the two of you hadn't pledged yourselves to each other thousands of years ago! You had lived for Tagah, and after he erred from the path that Sonam had intended for the both of you (a path that you would never admit to having wanted to travel down) you had so faithfully followed after him, tossing away your own misgivings and beliefs to uplift his own instead.

You had been sealed away with him, locked away for years with no conscious thoughts. You hadn't been aware that you had been alive - you hadn't been aware of anything - but once the both of you were freed by Aang, your first thought hadn't been anything regarding your own wellbeing, but rather Tagah.

Where is Tagah? Is he hurt? Is he.. dead? Did he accomplish what he had set out to do? Was he content?

Locked away for thousands of years, and yet him and his needs and wants still triumphed over your own, and he didn't even have the decency to pluck a handsy woman off of him in the presence of the one who devoted herself wholly to him.

You had thoughts of bringing this entire flying contraption down, but that would go against Tagah's goals (still thinking of him, even now. How pitiful was that?) and that was just something you couldn't do. But you fantasized — oh, did you fantasize.

This was a peaceful bunch you had found yourselves with - an anomaly. The four nations all brought together with no bloodshed or fighting. It had shocked you to your core, it still did, but there had been a tiny part of you that had felt elated that Sonam had been right - a future of peace had been possible. The new avatar had achieved it with the help of this mismatched group, somehow, a feat Tagah had sworn off long, long ago.

You had thought Tagah would see what had transpired while you two had been frozen in time and throw away his previous ideals, but the man was stubborn above all else, a characteristic that had endeared him to you all those years ago, and now only served to give you strife.

It was his stubbornness that resulted in the two of you being admonished by Sonam, his stubbornness that led to your entrapment above the clouds, and his stubbornness that kept him playing nice with these people—that ground stomper, and allowing her to ogle and grope him as she pleases.

"There's only been a handful of times when I wished I could see, and this, my handsome man, is one of them." Toph gives Tagah a smarmy grin, her hands splayed across the exposed skin of his chest, and you don't notice the uptick of wind circling around your feet as you huff through your nose.

How... shameless!

How absolutely, positively brazen. Even if she did believe him to be without a partner, it surely couldn't be acceptable for her to so flagrantly voice her attraction. Was this how the world had become over the years? Completely free of inhibitions and modesty? Maybe the two of you were better off locked away – but that time had long since passed. You now found yourself soaring above the troubled waters leading to Sonam's hidden staff... and while you could no longer retreat to the prison you had once been in, you could send this metal beast down to the pits of the bottom of the ocean where it would be everyone's tomb.

Hmph. You'd love to see her find a way to fondle him with water filling her lungs.

"You're troubled."

You come out of your thoughts at the murmur of a deep, familiar voice at your ear, and the wind that had been winding around your legs and whipping at your skirt comes to an abrupt stop.

"I'm surprised you noticed considering how your attention has been enraptured by the callus-ridden—by our saviors." You refuse to meet his gaze, instead turning to take in the others. Aang is seen across the bay with Katara, animatedly talking with his hands as a smile overtakes his face. Sokka is tinkering, scraps of metal in his hands as he tries to fit them together. Toph is lazed about on a crate, unseeing eyes focused on nothing in particular, but you can tell that her head is inclined in both of yours direction. And Zuko is... looking directly at you with a slight flush on his cheeks.

"How could I not notice you giving the fire lord a look under your skirts?"

You quietly gasp, finally tilting your head up to meet Tagah's eyes. "You lie."

"Let's ask him what color your garments are, then. Or better yet, if you're wearing any at all." His face hardens, nothing like the carefree joy that had been present as he taught Aang how the air benders of the past had worked in tandem, and a heavy emotion builds in your chest as your fingers curl into your palms to create fists. "Did you leave your modesty back in that mountain as well? Your sense?" He lowers his head along with his voice, and your lips straighten into a thin line as the air turns rigid around the both of you. "Have you forgotten what their kind did to our brothers and sisters? Your parents?"

"Have you?!" You explode, a strong gust of air rushing forward at the shout. It doesn't move him a bit, but it feels good to see it slam against his chest and leave his tanned skin reddened from the impact. "Or has a new, pretty face blinded you to that fact? Along with the fact that you belong to me."

"Ooooh! So that's why I kept getting bad vibes from you. Makes sense now."

"Let's speak in private."

Tagah reaches for your wrist, but you force his hand away with a strong breeze and turn on your heel. "Let's not. I don't wish to spend my first night among the sentient fighting with y—stop it, Tagah! Put me down!" Much like how he had done with Aang earlier, Tagah gathers you in a whirlpool of winds and lifts you off of your feet.

"Despite what you all may hear, I can assure you that she won't be needing any help, so please don't disturb us unless it's an emergency." Tagah declares, completely ignoring your protests and the blows you send his way, and you're carried past shocked faces and further into the mechanical be—airship, it was called. You're carried deeper into it, down a ladder and through a hall, and when you finally run out of insults you find yourself in a store room filled with crates, full sacs, and various weapons and blades.

Tagah disperses the jail of air, and before you can land on your bottom, he uprights you with a gust so that you land on your feet instead. "Now, would you care to repeat what you said earlier?"

"Gladly. You incorrigible, pig-headed, brutish bastard." He closes the distance between the both of you with an alarming amount of speed, and you find yourself stuck between him and a crate, your back arched as you try to keep a bit of distance between the both of you. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Not at all." You're forcefully pulled into him, your face colliding with his chest, and you push at his chest as you pull back to give him a nasty glare. His hands descend unto you; one cradling the back of your head while the other flattens against the dip at your lower back. "I was talking about what you said before the rain of profanities. Something along the lines of 'I belong to you'."

"It must've been the wind because I don't recall saying anything as silly as that." You rush out, once again refusing to meet his gaze lest you be pulled in. His behavior is dizzying -along with this onslaught of attention and touching after so, so long- and you partly wish you could continue the trading of insults rather than whatever this is.

"The truth is never silly."

"It is when only one person seems to believe it." You find your anger and hold it tight, the muddled state that had begun to creep over you dispersing at once. "What are you doing down here with me anyhow? You have a ground thumper above who would be more than happy for your attention."

Your eyes clash, angry hues emboldened by jealousy meeting soft browns — browns that you remember so vividly, so intimately. The hand at the back of your head moves to cup your cheek, a large, rough thumb swiping underneath your eye, and only then do you take note of the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, eyes tracking your face, and you sink your teeth into the fat of your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "I'm sorry. I neglected to think of your feelings while trying to gain their favor – forgive me." The tears fall faster, and you choke back a hiccup when he leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your eyelid. "I spoke out of turn earlier and I was wrong."

He rests his forehead against yours, his own eyes glossier than normal, and you don't move as he nudges his nose against yours. Your breaths mingle together, and you blink wet lashes as you let your hands wander, your touch hopefully cancelling out hers. His skin warms underneath your palms and fingertips, the rigid muscles rippling underneath your touch, and you place your hand over his heart, the organ thumping erratically.

"I missed this." Your voice wavers, and he nods in aggreeance.

"Me too."

"I missed you."

Tagah smiles, one that rivals what he gave Aang, and your heartbeat matches his own tempo.

"Me too."

He closes the distance, his lips crashing against your own, and your arms immediately come up to wind around his neck. Your lips lock together in a long-awaited reunion, not moving, just... feeling. His fingers curl into your strands of hair, keeping you right where he wants you as if you'd ever leave of your own free will. His lips are chapped yet soft, foreign yet familiar, patient yet restless. There's a tremor in them, as if he's holding back, and you suppose he is – you suppose you both are, and the frayed binds keeping the both of you restrained is snapped the moment your hips jut forward to rub against the front of his pants.

Must have been the wind.

He nips at your bottom lip, taking advantage of the gasp you let out to slide his tongue into your mouth to rub against your own. Your mouths move against each other, heads slanting this way and that way to stay connected, and you let out a dejected whine when his grip on your hair tightens and tugs your head back.

"Tagah," you breathe out, his lips kissing a path down the front of your throat, and your lashes flutter as he gently bites down on the slight jut of your larynx, the flat of his tongue soothing the skin immediately afterward. He continues down until he reaches the collar of your top, and suddenly the sound of ripping fabric rings out in the room as your shirt is rendered to nothing but scraps on the floor. "Tagah! Have you lost it?! That was a one of a kind—" Your words die a quick death on your tongue as his lips close around a soft nipple, and your back arches as he manipulates the bud to full hardness. He flicks at the nub with his tongue, only to then tease it with the points of his teeth, eliciting a string of moans from you.

He detaches from your nipple, leaving the wet, puffy thing with a continuous swirl of cool air circulating around it. "I've always hated that shirt. That designer was more hands-on with you than he needed to be – he's certainly the least missed of the family."

He moves to your other nipple, giving it the same treatment, and ripples of pleasure surge through you shift between trying to twist away from him and attempting to pull him impossibly closer. Once again he detaches from your breast, and his lips continue their descent, hot tongue circling the blue swirl around your belly button as his hands push the waistband of your skirt over your hips. Once it clears them, it pools around your feet, leaving you completely bare for his hungry gaze.

He takes you all in as if it's the first time, and you shyly turn your head, nose upturned and brows furrowed together. "It's rude to stare."

"Then you'll just have to tack that onto the next list of insults, my love, because it'd be a slight against the spirits to look away from something they so carefully crafted for me and me alone."

Your body burns from head to toe, but you fight against the urge to cover yourself and win. Your fingers tightly grip onto the edge of the crate to hide how they shake with nerves, and your gaze slowly shifts back over to watch Tagah as he watches you, or rather the space between your thighs.

"Oh, how I've missed this sight." He groans, and you suck in a sharp breath as he buries his face against your mound, his nose buried deep into the soft hairs acting as a cover. He breathes in loudly, unashamed, and you yelp when your feet leave the floor. You're suspended for only a moment before you're sat atop the crate you had previously been leaning against, your thighs gently nudged apart by a gentle wind, and Tagah parts his pointer and middle finger into a 'V' shape before spreading your lips open.

The action makes you cry out, the slight touch causing your toes to curl and a wetness to seep out of your entrance to darken the wood underneath you. "Your sensitivity is heightened." He notes, a hint of excitement in his voice, and you flinch as each word sends a warm breath of air blowing against your twitching pearl. "I wonder if I could..." He doesn't finish his sentence, but you piece together the silent words as he blows, a strong, focused stream of air hitting your clit.

"T-Tagah! Tagah, please no—!" Your legs threaten to close, only to be forced back open, and your head snaps back when you're assaulted with a barrage of winds. They're gentle, caressing, as soft as a lover's hesitant touch as it glides along your dripping folds and dips into your entrance. But then they're rough, stormy, as wild as a jealous man's attempt to assert his claim over his one and only as it beats against your swollen, aching clit. It pulls startled sounds and unrestrained tells of pleasure from your lips, your hands latched onto the crate underneath you in an attempt to ground yourself.

Tagah sits between your legs, his voice doing nothing but aiding in your undoing. "You're still as responsive as you've always been – you haven't changed a bit." Large hands soothe up and down your thighs. "I'd spend hours between these thighs; licking, sucking, thrusting. I'd leave you an incoherent mess - do you remember?"

You garble out something unintelligible.

"Was that a no? I guess I'll just have to remind you."

Air takes the shape of something a bit more firmer, and your eyes squeeze shut on their own accord as it rubs against the hood of your clit, around and around, until finally your mouth is opening on a broken cry of Tagah's name and your body is tensing up.

"Just like that, my love. Perfect."

He takes you into his arms as you come down, your breaths struggling to regulate themselves, and just as you feel your mind starting to clear, something as long as it is wide is nudging against your slippery hole.

"Is that .. ?"

He grins.

"As if you could ever forget." He widens his stance, his hands moving to grab at your behind, and your eyes worryingly meet his as you think back to all the times you had struggled to take him even with copious amounts of preparation. It had been years, and while your mind had seemingly been frozen in time, you're unaware if your body had been as well. Had all the years spent without each other's touch rendered your body near-virginal? Would you split in half the moment he pressed inside? Would you die from the sensations? Or would your body welcome its only love back to his forever home without issue? You found that you were more than willing to take the chance. "Take a deep breath."

You do as he says and trust him blindly, eyes locked together as he drops you down, slowly letting his length sheathe itself inside you. The stretch brings a tear to your eye, and just as it falls it's whisked away and lost in the wind, as are the subsequent ones. He ventures in deeper, forces you open wider, and you whimper and sink your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

"Ah—Tagah!" The feel of him inside you was sorely missed, and you grit your teeth as you hold in a pained cry as you seemingly get to the widest part of him. "I–Is it in?"

"Not quite." His voice is strained, as is his face, and the cords in his neck stand out as he grits his teeth together, a guttural groan managing to slip through. His face flushes red from exertion, and you drink in his devilishly attractive features as if they'll be so cruelly snatched away from you yet again. "You're dripping. Does the sight of me struggling to keep from ramming you full pleasure you that much?"

"Quite."

You share a breathy laugh, just for it to be cut short as he slips further inside. He nudges against something deep, deep inside of you, and a new flood of slick eases him the rest of the way in.

The fullness of him makes your stomach bloat, your toes curl, your lungs ache with the need to shakily take in gasps of air. He's all-consuming, too much yet still not enough. He throbs inside of you and you tighten in response. You moan and he groans. He croaks out your name and you cry out his, and you both curse Sonam for ever taking this away from the both of you – and then thank her in the same breath for not just doing away with the both of you for the grave sin you committed against her.

Assisted by nothing other than his own strength, Tagah effortlessly lifts your body until nothing but the bulbous head of his remains poised at your entrance, and then slowly drops you back down until he's once again buried inside of you. He keeps that same slow, maddening pace, forcing you to savor each, agonizingly thick inch of him as he stuffs you full again and again. He leisurely drags against your walls, your arousal coating him in a glossy shine.

Your nipples are sore and aching against his chest, still buffeted by his winds, and your mouth opens and closes as you try and fail to find your words.

"Shh." He shushes you, gently kissing at your plump bottom lip before giving it a quick suckle. "Just feel – you don't have to do a thing but open yourself up to me. Let me do the thinking."

Your brain shuts off at his command, your body pliant in his hands, and you let your noises out freely as he moves you as he pleases. He manipulates you as if it's second nature, his hips snapping up to meet your own halfway, and that telltale tightening in your lower stomach begins to brew once again.

"I can feel you squeezing me." His voice is ragged, breaths hurried, and his skin has grown slick underneath your hands, as has your own. "Go ahead and let go for me. Show me how good I make you feel."

His pace increases, his fingers leaving indents in your skin as he lifts you up and down, the lewd smack of your bodies meeting almost enough to drown out your warbling cries. Drool spills down your chin in an unflattering show, and your hands lose their purchase on his shoulders with a particularly hard thrust. You flail out for him, upper body bending backwards, and instead of righting you, he dips head down to suck at your breast, his fervent sucks bruising the skin there.

Your climax comes down on you like a raging tornado and takes your breath away. Your stomach caves in, chest stilling, and you make a bigger mess on the rod still plunging into you. He moans around your breast, the vibrations enough to shock you back into breathing, and an upheave of air positions you back against his chest.

He coos in your ear, your vision blurry and worryingly doubling, and your back is suddenly against something hard and firm. You realize it's the floor of the airship when you hear the thrum of the engines underneath you, but the sound is quickly drowned out when Tagah covers your body with his own, his hands forcing your legs up and apart as he settles against you.

He slides back inside you with a single motion, and the ear-splitting cry that leaves your mouth is, unbeknownst to you, carried up to the main part of the ship on an errant wind. His hips slap against your own, the heavy weight of his full balls smacking against the curve of your butt.

He drives into you at a pace that would be impossible without the help of the elements, and you're powerless to do anything other than lay there and accept it. His body feels perfect against your own, as if there was no other place for it to be but here with you, and your lidded eyes look up at him as if he's the answer to everything you've ever needed to know.

His beard is rough against your face as he brings your lips together in a messy kiss of lips, tongue and teeth. He pulls back to press against you firmer, his taut stomach smacking against your softer one with every impassioned thrust. He speaks in a low, throaty tone, and his words bring you to a height that soars far past the lone mountain of your prior home.

"We'll rebuild our kingdom starting here and now – so take it. Take me. Take everything I have to offer and give me a child in return."

[machiavelliam]

Dex loses control while he's inside you because he's not able to finish.

Female reader | Dom Dex | Overstimulation | Pussy slapping | Squirting? Pissing? | Anorgasmia | Implied piss kink | Dub-con

Dammed be the overwhelming desperation that makes his wet cock slip out of you because of a needy, clumsy movement, causing Dex to grunt softly beneath you. Before you can even catch your breath, he blindly searches for his cock, shoving it roughly back into your swollen ruined pussy, ripping a shaky moan from your lips.

His hips resume their punishing rhythm, pounding upward in vicious thrusts that have you tensing and arching off his chest in a poor attempt to escape his overheated body. But his hands are tight on your hips, holding you captive as his cock rubs relentlessly against your G-spot.

Sobs, gasps, and small whines are all that escape your parted lips while you're just trying to beg him for a tiny break.

You have no idea how many times you've come, how many times you've dripped all over his cock until you've soaked the sticky sheets, all you know is that Dex hasn't come and seems to be on the agonizing edge for a long time, just pounding and leaking and whining and cursing because he can't fill you up and he's bringing you to his torture, ruining you as he's at it.

The sounds he makes in your ear are nothing but broken, pained with frustration as he sweats profusely and his freckled skin is deeply flushed, pretty blush trailing down past his shoulders and you feel another orgasm building inside you as his hand slides from your hip to your cunt, his middle finger beginning to make tight little circles on your swollen clit.

“Dex! Wait—wait,” you huff, whining, instinctively closing your legs, but you hear him refuse behind you, and a loud smack of his four fingers against your soaked cunt sends you shuddering, your thighs opening again thanks to the delicious sting.

“Open—” he commands, muffled in that hoarse voice, “keep them open, come on, come on baby, don’t close them, I don’t want it.” His voice is weary, desperation dripping from its tone, and you're sobbing, gripping his wrist because your clit is so sensitive to the touch. His hips don’t stop, his finger continues to abuse your flesh up and down, side to side, pressing while making circles, and he notices you squeeze his weeping cock tighter when he puts you under a restraint.

He starts thrusting rapidly into your cunt, some strokes of his finger softer than others, causing you to gasp his name and try to move your hips away from him, but he's still frustrated beneath you, accelerating his thrusts and slapping your pussy harder until the sound is so obscene and wet that you reach other orgasm, pain and pleasure merging into one, and you clench around him, coaxing a curse from him as the wave of pleasure tear your feverish tight body apart.

“Shit! Oh fuck—Ah, again, again” he sobs eagerly, feeling himself almost finish again but going back to the torture of not being able to, there are tears welling on his eyes and he's keeping his hand on top of your cunt as he fucks you, and the overwhelming stimulation is making you try to escape again, still fresh and tired from your orgasm and when his cock slips out of your quivering entrance again, he lets out a muffled sound, complaining and unable to bear how your body keeps trying to get away.

Regardless of your silent protests, he places his forearm around your neck, pressing against your throat roughly, causing your body to freeze on top of his. Your hands move up to grip his arm, his bicep, pawing and gripping at the muscles as you feel strange sensations rising towards your bladder and you force your throat to work, trying to spit out pitiful excuses of words as your body burns.

“S—Stop, Dex, please, please, I feel—” you mutter, a smack knocking the wind out of you, and you regain your voice while he's trying to merge with you. “M’gonna pee…” you sob, so embarrassed. “Dex, I’m gonna pee—please!” and you're not even sure if you're actually going to pee or it is just squirt, either way, both mean a mess on top of him, both mean shame when you're so overwhelmed and weak to think about the sweet benefits.

A burning tremor runs through every part of Dex's body at the your words full of panic and he has to swallow hard to speak.

For a split second, his thrusts cease and a quiet gasp escapes his lips. “Yeah? Are you sure?” he begins, his free hand traveling down your body until it rests on your stomach, and he's purring, talking again. “Do you promise?” he whispers eagerly, pressing his palm hard right over your lower belly, and you squirm, tensing as he starts moving his hips upward again quickly, stealing your breath and making your cheeks burn with shame.

He never thought about stopping.

Now you're letting your tears flow, trying to muffle your pitiful little cries as you're feeling your limit break faster than you can bear and Dex is babbling softly in your ear, making it so much worse for you. His forearm finally lets you breathe and suddenly he's using both hands, letting them rest on your bladder, maintaining such pressure that you arch your back, trying not to make a fucking mess on top of him as your chest rises an falls because the sick bastard is kneading at your stomach, milking you.

You can feel his cock twitching inside you, intrigued by what's coming next. So hard and eager for it, Dex is humming when he feels you just can't take it anymore and he lets out a hoarse, shaky laugh, so excited he's lost his mind and completely forgot about his own impossible climax.

“It hurts, right? The restraint... Worst part is that you're doing it to yourself,” he purrs amusedly, gently pounding upwards, nothing compared to what he's doing on your belly. “I'm not even doing it anymore... You love to restrain yourself when you're with me. It's sad.” he whispers and you sob because it hurts so much and he's right.

“My girl, you make me feel bad for this. But you won't leave until you do it.”

© machiavelliam | masterlist | 02 / 05 / 26

I LOVEEE DOING THAT DUMB SHIT WITH ENDINGS OMGGGGGG 😭😭😭WHO WANT ME😭😭😭😭

Can't say I'm into Dom Dex, but I can't stop thinking about this and him having anorgasmia.

[enswbl]

foraging for a fuckberry to give

[kurekoii]

Explicit NSFW smut ahead! This fic features:

BDSM dynamics (bondage with metal restraints, dom/sub play, mommy kink, begging, degradation like calling you 'slut') Mild dubcon vibes through power imbalance and bending control Rough, intense sex (pounding till you cry, overstimulation, emotional tears) Ice play on nipples and pussy Squirting, spitting, and lots of fluids Oral (cunnilingus, fingering with 3 fingers), strap-on fucking, tit sucking/pinching, scissoring Aftercare with tenderness, vulnerability, and emotional intimacy

Toph x waterbender reader(wife)

 You and Toph had this secluded spot all to yourselves tonight—no kids tugging at her skirts, no duties pulling her away—just the two of you in this sun-baked retreat you'd built together over years of unyielding loyalty. Toph lounged on the edge of the king-sized bed, her bare feet planted firmly on the wooden floorboards, every subtle shift in the air registering through the vibrations she sensed like a second sight. She was shirtless, her compact frame honed by endless earthbending drills, muscles coiling under pale skin scarred faintly from old battles. Her small breasts, firm and capped with dusky nipples already pebbling in the cooling evening air, rose with each steady breath. Her pants hung loose on her narrow hips, belt unbuckled, a cocky smirk twisting her lips as she tilted her head your way, blind eyes unseeing but piercing all the same.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering against your ribs. Toph had a knack for bulldozing boundaries, her fierce independence fueling demands she voiced without a shred of apology. After dinner, she'd cornered you in the hallway, rough hands shoving you toward the bedroom while she grumbled about enduring your 'soft-hearted crap' all week. It was barely coercion—her deep-seated loyalty wrapped around you like chains, her words binding tighter than any rope—but the raw hunger in her stance crushed any thought of pushback. You nodded, pulling moisture from the humid air and the sink in the adjoining bathroom, your fingers shaping it into a smooth, cool sphere that you froze with a precise bend, the ice hardening into a solid orb about the size of your fist, edges smoothed but unyielding.

Toph's grin sharpened as she felt the chill radiate from your palm. 'That's the stuff. Get over here and make Mommy feel good.' The mommy kink rolled off her tongue like gravel, dominant and owning, her protective instincts warping into something primal and unfiltered.

You approached, knees weak, the ice's cold bite seeping into your skin. Toph snatched your wrist, yanking you closer with earthbender strength, her callused fingers digging into your flesh. 'Don't just stand there like an idiot. Use it.' She guided your hand to her chest, pressing the frozen orb against one nipple. The contrast hit her hard—her warm, taut skin flushing as the ice melted slightly, trickles of water trailing down the curve of her breast. She hissed, arching into it, her nipple stiffening to a hard peak under the assault. 'Fuck, yeah. Circle it. Make it ache.'

You obeyed, tracing the ice around her areola, watching goosebumps erupt across her ribs, her breaths coming sharper. Water dripped onto her abdomen, pooling in the dip of her navel before sliding lower. Toph's free hand gripped your thigh, nails scraping, pulling you between her spread legs. She was already damp, the scent of her arousal mixing with the sea salt. 'Lower,' she growled, voice blunt and impatient. You dragged the melting ice down her sternum, over the faint ridges of her abs, circling her belly button before pressing it against the heat between her thighs. Her pants were shoved down in one rough motion, exposing her bare pussy—lips swollen and slick, clit peeking from its hood like a demand.

The ice met her folds, and Toph bucked, a guttural moan escaping. 'Shit, that's cold. Keep going—rub it on my clit.' You did, the frozen sphere gliding over her sensitive nub, her hips grinding against it as water mixed with her juices, creating a slippery chill. Her inner thighs trembled, muscles clenching, and she reached down to spread herself wider, fingers parting her labia to expose the pink inner flesh. 'Inside. Finger me with it first.' Anatomy be damned if it wasn't precise—her entrance clenched around the tip as you eased the edge of the ice in, her walls hot and velvety, contracting against the intrusion. She gasped, head thrown back, toes curling into the floor. 'Deeper, you tease. Make Mommy's pussy clench.'

Her degradation laced with that possessive edge, blunt as a rock slide. You pushed the ice further, your fingers following to thrust it in and out, feeling her heat melt it rapidly, cold water flooding out around your knuckles. Toph's breaths turned ragged, her hand fisting your hair, yanking your face down. 'Oral now. Lick me clean while it's still freezing.' You dropped to your knees, tongue flicking out to lap at her clit, tasting the tangy mix of her arousal and melted ice. Her clit throbbed under your mouth, engorged and slick, as you sucked it between your lips, teeth grazing lightly.

 She rode your face, hips snapping, blunt commands spilling out: 'Suck harder. Tongue my hole—yeah, like that, you needy little slut.'

Toph's sarcasm edged her words, but vulnerability flickered when she shuddered, her free hand tweaking her own nipple, pinching the still-chilled bud.

 You added fingers, two sliding into her alongside the remnants of ice, curling against her front wall, stroking that spongy spot that made her thighs quake. She squirted first—a sudden gush soaking your chin and hand, her pussy spasming as she cried out, 'Fuck, yes—take it all, baby.' Her release was forceful, warm fluid spraying in arcs, drenching the bedspread beneath her.

But Toph wasn't done. She hauled you up by the collar of your shirt, ripping it open to expose your breasts—fuller than hers, nipples erect from the charged air. 'Your turn to beg.' With precision, she summoned thin vines from the floorboards—reinforced with her metalbending touch for strength—snaking them up to bind your wrists to the headboard. 

They wrapped tight around your arms, stretching you out on the mattress, your body splayed vulnerable. Mild resistance bubbled—you tugged once, whispering, 'Toph, wait...'—but her smirk silenced you, that rebellious glint in her eyes promising she'd push until you broke.

She stripped you fully, pants yanked off, leaving your pussy exposed, already aching and wet. Toph straddled your waist, her weight pinning you, small breasts brushing yours as she leaned in to spit directly onto your mouth. 'Open up. Taste Mommy.' The saliva hit your tongue, salty and intimate, and you swallowed, heat flooding your cheeks.

 She ground her still-sensitive pussy against your thigh, smearing her slickness, before reaching for the strap-on harness she'd prepared—thick silicone cock, veined and realistic, buckled around her hips. It jutted out, base pressing against her clit with each movement.

'Suck it first. Get it ready for your greedy cunt.' She thrust it toward your lips, and you parted them, tongue swirling around the head, taking it deep into your throat. Gagging slightly, saliva dripping down the shaft, you bobbed, hollowing your cheeks as Toph groaned, hand guiding your head. 'Good girl. Choke on Mommy's cock.' Her abrasive tone hid the way her thighs quivered, confidence masking the emotional tether she craved.

Satisfied, she pulled back, positioning between your legs. The tip nudged your entrance, stretching your outer lips before she slammed in—deep, filling you to the hilt, the base grinding her clit.

 You cried out, walls fluttering around the intrusion, every ridge dragging against your inner walls. Toph set a brutal pace, hips snapping, pounding you into the mattress with earthbender force. The bed creaked, headboard thumping the wall, her small frame belying the power behind each thrust. 'Beg for it. Tell Mommy how much you need this dick wrecking you.'

'Please, Toph—Mommy—harder,' you gasped, tits bouncing with each impact, nipples scraping hers as she leaned down for tit play, mouth latching onto one, sucking hard while pinching the other. Her teeth grazed the sensitive peak, tongue flicking, sending jolts straight to your core. She fingered your clit in circles, rough and direct, building the pressure until your pussy clenched, orgasm crashing over you. You squirted around the strap, fluids soaking her harness and thighs, body convulsing.

But she didn't stop—fucked you harder, drilling deeper, the wet slaps echoing. 'Mm, there you are, baby, just like that.' Her voice whispered hot in your ear, moans mingling with yours. 'You look so good—keep going for me.' The words were tender amid the roughness, her sarcasm softened by raw need. You chanted, 'Uh uh uh ffuckk,' each thrust punching the air from your lungs, her cock hitting your cervix with bruising force, walls milking it desperately.

She shifted, pulling out to flip you—still bound—onto your side for scissoring. Legs intertwined, her pussy grinding against yours, clits rubbing in slick friction. Toph's folds mashed yours, juices mixing, her hips rolling with confident rebellion. 'Feel that? Mommy's gonna make you squirt again.' The pressure built fast, her blunt fingers digging into your hip, and you both came—her release spraying against your thigh, yours arcing onto her belly, cries blending in the salty air.

The pounding resumed with the strap, Toph flipping you onto your back, railing you relentlessly. Tears streamed down your face from the intensity, oversensitive nerves screaming, body arching as another orgasm ripped through. 'Toph—too much—' you sobbed, but she cooed, pace unyielding until you shattered again, crying openly.

Finally, she slowed, unbuckling the harness and untying the vines with a bend. Collapsing beside you, she pulled you into her arms, her abrasive shell cracking.

 'Hey, none of that. You did so good for me.' Her voice was gruff but soft, hands stroking your hair, wiping tears with surprisingly gentle thumbs. She kissed your forehead, then your lips, tasting salt from both sweat and sobs. 'I got you, always. My strong girl.' Vulnerability seeped in—her own eyes damp, the fiercely independent earthbender admitting, in whispers against your skin, how your trust grounded her like nothing else…

us rn

[blingblingtual]

lets all jump klay thompson

[blackmarketfruitrollups]

Respectfully, I do not believe you can call yourself a writer if AI is writing it for you.

The increase in fics I've seen where the writer is just like "well it's how I write so scroll if it bothers you"

Babe you're killing the planet