synopsis - little snippets of alexia's never-ending obsession with your tits. (wc - 0.4k)
༄ warnings - tit sucking, mentions of sex
༄ read more - masterlist
alexia who can’t stop staring at your chest during team recovery sessions. even when you’re wearing a loose hoodie, her eyes keep dropping, darkening every time your shirt shifts just a little.
alexia who pulls you onto her lap after training and immediately slips her hands under your shirt, cupping your tits like they belong to her. “been thinking about these all day, amor” she admits, voice low and rough.
alexia who buries her face between your breasts the second you’re alone, inhaling deeply like she’s addicted to your scent. she groans softly, nuzzling and kissing the soft skin while her strong hands squeeze them together.
alexia who gets distracted mid-conversation when you’re braless at home. she stops talking, eyes locked on the way your tits move when you breathe, then just leans in and latches onto one without warning.
alexia who spends ages sucking on your nipples- slow, wet, and hungry. she switches between them like she can’t decide which one she needs in her mouth more, moaning every time you arch into her.
alexia whose obsession gets worse when you’re on top. she’ll watch them bounce up and down before she pulls you forward so she can suck and lick at your tits while you ride her, hands gripping your waist so you can’t pull away.
alexia who wakes up in the middle of the night and immediately reaches for your chest. she starts off spooning you from behind before making her way on top of you, one hand kneading your breast while her mouth finds the other, sucking lazily until you’re wet and squirming.
alexia who loves marking you up. she sucks hard enough to leave little bruises and hickeys all over your tits, then admires her work the next morning, running her fingers over every spot she left.
alexia who gets possessive when she sees you in a tight top. later that night she has you against the wall, shirt shoved up, tongue swirling around your nipple as she growls, “these are mine, hermosa.”
alexia who can finish just from sucking on your tits. she’ll grind against your thigh while her mouth is busy licking, sucking, biting gently- completely lost in how soft and perfect they feel.
alexia who stares openly when you’re changing. if you tease her about it she just smirks and says, “can you blame me, cari? look at you,” before pulling you close so she can wrap her lips around you again.
okay okay.. hear me out realll dirty smut with joey but someone walks in.. i don’t know who but someone
interrupted
pairing: joey lynch x fem!reader
tw: smut
masterlist !
the door clicks shut behind you, barely muffling the roar of joey’s music playing in the sitting room downstairs. your heart’s pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it.
“joey,” you gasp as he pushes you back against the wall, his hands already under your jumper, warm and rough against your skin.
“yeah?” he murmurs, nose brushing your cheek. “somethin’ wrong, love?”
you try to answer but his mouth crashes into yours, swallowing your words. it’s all teeth and tongue and the faint taste of spearmint gum. his hands slide higher, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra and making you whimper.
“fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles against your lips. “ya know that?”
you shake your head, cheeks burning, but he just chuckles darkly.
“gonna have to prove it to ya, so.”
he spins you around, pressing your front against the wall, and you let out a shocked little noise when his hands slip down to unbutton your jeans.
“joey—”
“shh,” he soothes, kissing the side of your neck. “just let me, love.”
he tugs your jeans down over your hips, fingers skimming along your thighs, and you’re shaking so hard your knees nearly buckle.
“god, look at ya,” he rasps, running his fingers over the damp spot in your underwear. “already so fuckin’ wet for me.”
“joey, please—”
he pushes your knickers to the side and slides two fingers through your folds, groaning low in his throat.
“jesus christ,” he mutters. “ya feel fuckin’ unreal.”
you try to bite back a moan but it comes out anyway, echoing off the walls.
“quiet,” he says, grinning against your neck. “don’t want anyone hearin’, do we?”
you shake your head frantically, but then he curls his fingers just right and your hips jerk back into him.
“yeah,” he breathes, pressing closer. “just like that, love.”
he pulls his fingers out and you hear the soft jingle of his belt.
“joey—”
“shh, i’ve got ya,” he soothes, guiding himself between your thighs.
the stretch is dizzying, your forehead falling to the wall as he sinks into you, slow and deep.
“holy fuck,” he hisses. “ya take me so good every time.”
he sets a steady rhythm, one hand braced on the wall beside your head, the other gripping your hip so hard you’ll probably bruise.
“mine,” he growls, thrusting harder. “all fuckin’ mine.”
you’re gasping, fingers scrabbling at the plaster, already close to falling apart.
“please, joey—”
“yeah?” he pants. “ya gonna cum for me, baby?”
but before you can answer, there’s the faintest sound of footsteps on the landing outside the door—
the door creaks open a fraction.
“joey? ya in here—”
tadgh’s voice cuts off like someone’s slapped him.
joey freezes, buried deep inside you, chest heaving. your eyes fly open in horror as you twist your head over your shoulder.
tadgh lynch — sandy blond hair, big brown eyes practically popping out of his head — stands in the doorway. his mouth is hanging open, one hand still on the doorknob.
“jesus fucking christ!” tadgh yelps, stumbling back into the hallway. “i didn’t fuckin’ see anything, i swear!”
you bury your face in your arms against the wall, mortified beyond belief, your entire body burning hot enough to melt steel.
joey snaps, voice low and murderous: “tadgh, get the fuck outta my room!”
“i’m goin’, i’m goin’!” tadgh squeaks, voice cracking as he slams the door shut again.
for a second, it’s dead silent except for the harsh pant of your breath.
“oh my god,” you whisper, horrified. “oh my god.”
joey presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, breathing hard, still inside you.
sypnosis: taylor tweets something rude about diana on twitter and wnba fans go crazy, pitting the two against each other... but is that really what either of them want?
wc: 2.8k
warnings: closeted!gay!caitlinclark, closeted!taylor swift, stereotypes being thrown around, fade-to-black, explicit language, unrealistic story line, travis and taylor are a pr stunt
author's note: hiiii! i originally posted the first chapter of this fic on my old tumblr account and decided that i missed tayrausi so much that i wanted to bring it back. anyways, here it is, all reworked and amazing now. i hope you loveeeeee! ALSO! please please please, read the warnings. if you don’t like any of them, don’t read this because they will mostly be used heavily. i am not speaking in definitives here. obviously taylor and diana are not a thing. we don’t know if taylor is gay. this is fanfiction. it’s not real! again, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. i also wanted to add that this will have fade to black at the so far, i just don't feel like writing smut tbh and just like yeah. i absolutely hate writing smut as much as i enjoy it, so as far as i know, it will be fade to black. sorry to dissapoint! i find it kind of fun and bit angsty still! thank you! reqs are open!
masterlist || masterlist pt. 2 || wattpad || tiktok
“And about that tweet Taylor Swift posted earlier this week? Dissing the NY Liberty? How do you feel about that?” The reporter holds the microphone up to Diana, smiling expectantly.
The basketball player’s eyes go wide like a deer in headlights, about to leave, she mumbles into the microphone, laughing as she’s trailed by security guards. “I’d like to ask her on a date, to be honest,”
The reporters break into laughter, the sound following Diana as she makes her way through the crowded arena to her car. Security guards usher her in, slamming the door behind her as she turns the ignition on, setting off for her apartment.
She wasn’t lying to that reporter; the singer was fucking hot. Blonde? Definitely her type. Tall? Diana loved a woman who could match her in height. And those lips? Jesus, she’d love to see them screaming her name. But didn’t she have that boyfriend? What was his name? Tyson? Tristan? And weren’t they getting married? Whatever, the point is, the woman’s off limits.
~~~~~~~~~
“I mean, it’s not good PR, Taylor,” Tree shrugs, looking down at her phone in her hand, hundreds of documents open.
Taylor’s strewn across the couch of her dressing room, hand thrown exasperatedly over her face as she sighs. “But she’s gay,” The blonde whines, her voice pitching high at the end. “And so am I,”
“Yes, but the world doesn’t know that,” The redhead takes a seat on the couch across from Taylor. “And what about Travis?”
“I mean, it isn’t a real relationship,”
“Taylor,” Tree tries to make genuine eye contact with Taylor, but comes up empty-handed, the blonde choosing to keep her eyes covered. Post-concert Taylor is tired. “You know you can’t be seen out with her if you really want to pursue this,” Tree motions to Taylor, meaning Taylor and Travis’s “...relationship”. The engagement between Taylor and Travis is a whole PR to hide the truth, Taylor’s truth.
“Why?”
“Because she-” Tree stutters over her words, trying to find the nicest way possible to say what she’s attemptingt ot say. “She looks different,”
Taylor peaks out from under her arm. “Like gay different, you mean.”
Sighing, Tree opens her computer, nodding her head exhaustedly. “Yes, ‘gay different’ if you want to call it that,”
“Meaning the public will speculate?”
Tree nods. “They most certainly will.”
“I’m going to do it,” Taylor says defiantly in a voice that Tree is no stranger to.
“I know you are.” A slight grin appears on Tree’s face, just barely visible, and she tries to hide it with her laptop screen. “But I'd better get a raise for this.”
~~~~~~~
I’m flattered, more than flattered, if that’s even possible. To think I had just been rude to a woman as a joke, on the internet, and said woman flirted back?? Oh, I’m gay. Pacing my apartment, red wine in hand, phone in the other, I bounce ideas back and forth with Gracie, figuring out how to message Diana-freaking-Taurasi.
“The woman already shot her shot. What more do you need?” Gracie asks, laughing as she takes a sip, watching me.
I wave it away. I’m gay, not a man; it has to be good. “But it’s not that simple. Now I have to make the first move.”
Gracie raises an eyebrow. “Seems like she already did,”
“You’re right,” I pull at my hair, making a strained face. I have no idea what to say. “Ugh, I’m scared though,” With Instagram pulled up on my phone, I rush over to the couch, plopping myself down next to Gracie as I excitedly hand over the phone. “You just do it for me,” Drunk-Taylor’s mood swings are insane.
“Something nice?” Gracie giggles, watching my nervous energy bounce around the room. She holds her hand out next to her, limp.
Rolling my eyes, I take the phone back, smiling as I attempt to come up with my own ideas. “Remind me why I invited you over?”
~~~~
My phone pings on my nightstand. Looking up from the book I’m reading, I reach around blindly, finally feeling the familiar metal in my palm. Unlocking it, I find a notification on Instagram from… Taylor Swift? No, it can’t be. Putting on my glasses, I click on the banner, opening the DM.
taylorswift: You mentioned a date?
A smile slowly crept across my face as I read and then reread the message. I type my own back.
dianataurasi: I did. How’d you know?
The reply comes back almost instantly. Thank God.
taylorswift: Well, you’re asking me out on a date, so I’d hope that I know about it?
dianataurasi: What about your boyfriend?
taylorswift: My team will message yours.
taylorswift: Anyways… about that date?
dianataurasi: What date?
taylorswift: ugh
dianataurasi: You gonna be in town next week?
taylorswift: Yes
I smirk as I type out my response, hitting the send button as I wait for an answer.
dianataurasi: Great. I have a game
taylorswift: Oh hell no
dianataurasi: Oh hell yes
dianataurasi: And you’ll be there
~~~~~~~
“Oh my fuck!” Giggling, I wrap the blanket closer around me. Looking to the side at Gracie, she’s smiling equally as hard at the message.
“She is so flirty,” Nudging me, Gracie waggles her eyebrows, but then quickly returns to looking at the phone in my hand. “Okay, okay, how are you going to respond?” She asks with the excitement of a child.
taylorswift: What time?
“Oh my god, stop!” Elbowing her, Gracie takes the phone from my hand. “That was definitely not flirty enough. I’m taking control.”
dianataurasi: 7
dianataurasi: And I’m taking you out to dinner afterward, so dress nice
A smirk appears on Gracie’s face as she reads the message. “Never mind, maybe that was fine,” Giggling, the brunette hands the phone back to me, tossing her head back in laughter.
taytayupdates13
Liked by dianataurasi, user8291, and 89,289 others
taytayupdates13 Taylor sitting courtside at the New York Liberty game tonight!
“And Taylor, how did this ‘beef’ with the New York Liberty end so quickly? The fans are dying to know,” The man looks at me, microphone in hand, as he outstretches it, so it’s positioned in front of my face. His brown eyes bore into mine, expecting an answer.
The stadium around us is buzzing in excitement from my face plastered across the Jumbotron, along with the reporter, smiling at me.
Laughing, I lean into the mic so my voice is clearer. “Long story short, I got invited by a pretty amazing player,” I lean away to let him speak, but quickly grab the mic again, adding, “As friends, of course.”
The reporter seems not to notice the tag-along, moving on to the next question, but is abruptly stopped by a voice over the speakers, and he’s ushered away.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” The lights dim as the arena breaks out in applause. “Give it up for your New York Liberty!” He drags the ‘y’ out, his voice booming throughout the arena for the added dramatics.
The jumbotron plays through a series of graphics, each woman on the team looking even gayer than the last, until it reaches Diana. I can practically feel my belly flip as a sequence of highlights plays, and then her back. Literally just a video of her back, and I think if a woman could get a boner, that would be me right now. Like, my seat is practically soaking. I assume it’s a promo video because red and purple lights flash behind her, illuminating the expanse and giving me a clear view of pure muscle. Oh my god, is this how girls feel about men in their gray sweatpants??
Quickly, I clean up my composure, clapping when the video ends before looking around, making sure no one has seemed to notice me practically salivating at the jumbotron.
The voice comes back, booming, over the loudspeakers as he now announces players' names, and with them come the women jogging onto the court.
“Your guard! Number 16!” A woman comes out, and I recognize her almost immediately. Laughing, I watch as she makes a face, sticking out her tongue at some manager on the sidelines. She’s the one who made the tweet about the dildo. Oh my god, she’s hilarious, I love her. “Sydney Colson!”
“And finally!” Sitting on the edge of my seat, her silhouette comes out of the tunnel, almost exactly how it was pictured on the jumbotron. “Your point guard! Diana Taurasi!” The announcer says her name with a growl, eliciting a huge reaction from the crowd. Obviously, they seem to like her. Waving to the crowd, she jogs by, making slight eye contact with me before winking.
I think my brain malfunctions in this moment because I literally cannot do anything but stare. The woman is tall. Like, I am able to wear heels around her tall. This can definitely work for me.
The team does whatever the hell basketball teams do at the start of the game, doing their little line-up thing and beginning the first half.
It goes by decently quickly, with my sneaking looks at Diana, trying my best to remain unfazed and not so obvious. Clearly, this does not work because she catches me a couple of times, smiling at me from across the court when our eyes meet. But we’re trying to keep it casual, so we’re subtle. I think?
~~~~~~~~~
“Did I do good?” Looking down at me, Diana smirks, waiting for my answer while we walk to her car. The game is long over, but not wanting to raise any suspicion, I waited until most of the fans left to head into the back, meeting Diana near the doors so we could walk out together. She does, in fact, confirm my initial suspicions. The woman’s still towering over me while I walk in heels, tall ones nonetheless. “Did I meet your expectations?”
Snorting, I look at her as though she’s crazy. Of course, she met my expectations; she practically exceeded them. But I just nod, wanting to be overenthusiastic on our first date. If we could even call it that. “No, no, you were great,” I giggle, looking down at my feet.
“Good, I was worried.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her, smiling back. “I don’t think you need to be worrying about that.”
She just laughs, bumping into me slightly, and I think I quite literally feel a pulse of energy run through me. God help me.
~~~~~~~~~
“Party of two?” The hostess asks, looking down at the iPad in her hand, I assume to look for our reservation.
Nodding, Diana stands close to me with her hand on my lower back as she takes in the space. The restaurant is dimly lit, and there are a few people seated, but none too close to be able to hear our conversation. The woman begins leading us to a small table in the center, but Diana leans down, pressing her front to my back as she whispers in my ear. “Do you want to be somewhere quieter?” She points to a table in the back, secluded with plants surrounding the area.
So we met maybe 2 hours ago, and she already knows me like the back of her fucking hand? Public pressure gets hard sometimes; it’s stifling to always be watched, never truly knowing if there’s a camera up your ass with someone listening to your every word. But she knows. Of course she does.
I nod, smiling in appreciation as she puts in our request to the hostess, who happily obliges.
~~~~~~~~~
“So, you’re 35?”
“I am,” A coy smirk appears on my face as I look at her. We’re sitting down, and this woman is practically towering over me. “And you’re 41,”
“You did your research,” She bobs her head, raising her eyebrows as she smiles at me. “But, really, this isn’t going to be a problem?” She gestures between the two of us. “Our age?”
“It’s only 6 years, it’s not too bad.”
She laughs, bringing her water glass up to her mouth as she looks at me. Like all of me. Her eyes scan down my upper torso, lingering on my chest, before meeting my gaze once again. “Right,” She says, plainly.
I feel like a bubble waiting to burst, watching her act so nonchalant, while inside I just want to talk and talk and talk to her.
I wait a beat, but I can’t help myself. Laughing, I lean in, resting my elbows on the table. “You’re doing that thing where you’re pretending not to know exactly what you’re doing.” We’ve been talking for a while now, maybe 30 minutes since we put our orders in, so it’s pretty safe to say I’ve picked up on a couple of her habits.
“What thing?” She smirks, copying me and leaning in so our faces are maybe a foot apart. She definitely knows what she’s doing.
“That thing,” I point to her, my voice getting quieter.
“Like this?” Her eyes scan my face, dropping down to my lips and then coming back up to my eyes.
“Uh-huh,” I nod, feeling hallucinogenic and drunk on her. She’s practically on top of the table now, leaning in as far as she can. She’s so close, her warm, a musk, delicious scent wafts around me, tickling my senses. I can’t even form a thought right now.
“Can I kiss you?” Her voice comes out low and eager as she somehow comes even closer, her hand now resting against the side of my neck.
I just bob my head, and before I can even process what’s happening, I feel her lips on mine and her fingers entangled in my hair.
~~~~~~~~~
“That was fun. I mean, really fun.” I laugh, wine drunk as we walk down the streets of New York, her jacket over my shoulders.
“Yeah? I’m glad.” She smiles down at me, tossing her arm around my shoulders to bring me closer. “You liked making out over the dinner table in the middle of a restaurant?” She says this at a volume that passerbyes can’t hear, smirking as she says it. The woman is big on dramatics, as you can tell. The kiss was short, if you could even call it that. It was honestly a peck at most. Actually, who am I kidding? It definitely wasn’t a peck. But it wasn’t long, I will say that.
I push her slightly, knocking her away from me as I pretend to be mad.
“No one saw,” She reassures.
“You’re right,”
It gets quiet for a couple of minutes as we walk, not in any particular direction. Just somewhere. “You were good tonight,” I say easily, bumping Diana’s shoulder.
Diana smirks. “Just tonight?”
I smile, looking up at her. “I’m trying not to inflate your ego. It’s a public service.”
Raising her eyebrows, she nods. “Right, right,”
~~~~~~~~~
“Taylor, this is bad.” Pulling at her hair, Tree paces the room, staring daggers at me.
“At least no one saw the kiss,” I mumble, looking sheepishly to the side as I avoid eye contact with the redhead. I’m clad in my sweats, just finished practicing for the second leg of the Era’s tour.
As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I immediately regret them. She spins around, and it looks as though Tree might rip my head off. “The what?!”
I shrug, shrinking into my seat on the couch. “It was in the back; no one saw.”
Her voice softens at my sudden fear. “Taylor, I’m trying to help you.”
“I know,” I say, barely audible.
“You don’t want the world to know, and that’s completely your choice,” She says as she sits down next to me, pulling my hands into her own and stroking my palm with her thumb. “But you also need to make choices that help me help you,”
“I know,” I say, barely audible as I nod, still not able to meet her gaze, and then I continue, just as quietly. “People can’t know,” I shake my head ferociously. “I’m not ready– they’re not ready,”
“Whenever you feel the time is right, Taylor,” Putting an arm around my shoulder, she pulls me in for a hug. “I’m right here.”
~~~~~~~~~
“She smells so good,” I muse, lying on my bed and phone in my hand. I can still remember the scent, musky, but slightly sweet, it’s intoxicating.
“She’s tall, isn’t she?” Selena says over the speaker, clearly doing something because I can barely make out what she’s saying.
“Very.”
“Was she nice?”
I giggle, reflecting on our date yesterday. She was nice. “She held the door for me, she pulled out my chair for me, she asked most of the questions,” I sit for a minute, thinking. “She’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with,”
My best friend laughs on the other end, hearing the adoration in my voice. “She’s definitely hot,”
Immediately, this sparks a memory. “Oh my god! Did I tell you about the jumbotron?!” Selena responds in the negative, so I continue, rambling on about Diana. “Her back is. So. Hot. Selena, it looks like it’s been sculpted by literal gods. She’s muscular as fuck. Like I wanna be holding onto it while she-”
le sexe, je veux dire: l'activité physique - alexia putellas
༄ partition - beyonce
༄ pairing - alexia putellas x fem!reader
༄ series masterlist
synopsis - the many ways alexia lets her leadership shine through- both on... and off the pitch (wc - 0.5k)
༄ warnings - bdsm, mentions of sex
༄ read more - masterlist
alexia who takes the captain armband seriously, and that energy follows her straight into the bedroom. the second that tone drops- low, authoritative, the same voice she uses on the pitch, you know you’re in for it.
alexia who loves giving you direct orders. “on the bed. legs open.” or “hands above your head, cari. don’t move until i say so.” the same calm, commanding voice she uses to organise the team mid-game makes your knees weak instantly.
alexia who after a big win, will fully embrace her role as capitana in the bed room. she’ll pin you against the hotel room door the moment you’re alone, still half in her kit, murmuring, “you’ve been teasing me all day. now you’re going to be good for your captain.”
alexia who of course has a thing for making you call her “capitana” or some variation of it in bed. the first time it slips out she freezes, then smirks, eyes going darker and fucks you harder, demanding you say it again while her strap is buried between your thighs.
alexia who is obsessed with keeping control. even when she’s eating you out like she’s addicted, she’s still directing everything- “hold it a little longer for me, amor,” or “louder, cari, let me hear you.”
alexia who’ll edge you for what feels like hours just to prove she can. “not yet, guapa. i don’t think i’ve given you permission,” she says calmly while her fingers or mouth work you right to the brink over and over.
alexia who turns every post-match debriefs with you into something filthy. she’ll sit on the edge of the bed still in her captain mindset, pulling you onto her lap and making you ride her fingers while she gives you “feedback” in that husky voice: “buena chica… just like that. follow my lead.”
alexia who loves manhandling you in that effortless, athletic way only she can manage. she’ll pick you up, put you exactly where she wants you, and remind you, “i’m in charge here, cari. understand?”
alexia when she’s feeling extra possessive will leave the captain armband on or gag you with it while she fucks you. there’s something about the yellow band in between your pretty pink lips that drives her crazy.
alexia who’ll on occasion spank you with the band if she’s had a bad game. she needs something (or someone) to take her anger out on, and what better sight than seeing your ass all pretty and marked up from her armband?
alexia whose favourite thing is watching you fall apart while she stays mostly in control. she’ll suck on your nipples until you’re crying out, then pull back just enough to look you in the eyes and say, “again, hermosa. again until you get it perfect.”
could you write something with gerard and reader where he did something she didnt like `(or had an argument or smth or the sort) and he eats her out to make up for it because of how he said in the books it's his favourite thing? also, could you do a black cat reader? love youu
say something, love
pairing : gerard gibson x fem!reader
tw: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), slight dom/sub dynamics, emotional hurt/comfort, crying during sex, aftermath of an argument, soft aftercare, praise kink, feelings of insecurity, minor anxiety, and language
a/n: kinda proud of this one
masterlist !
you haven’t looked at him since you walked into his room.
you’re curled up on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, back to the wall, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. quiet. still. and icy.
gerard’s pacing like a kicked puppy, one socked foot dragging as he circles, circles, circles. he’s been trying to talk for ten minutes now — words coming out in broken half-laughs, nervy and desperate.
“c’mon,” he says again, hands in his hair. “you’re really not gonna talk to me? like, at all?”
you glance at him. short. flat.
he sighs. “fuck, you’re scary when you go quiet.”
you raise an eyebrow.
he stops pacing, finally — plants himself in front of you, kneels on the floor, rests his arms on your knees. eyes big. lower lip out. full pleading golden retriever mode.
“i didn’t mean it how it sounded, love,” he says, quieter this time. “you know i didn’t.”
you stare at him for a second longer. then: “then why’d you say it?”
his mouth opens. then shuts.
you pull your legs up, curling tighter into yourself. “you made it sound like i was too much. like i’m annoying.”
his face drops.
“no,” he says quickly. “no, baby—jesus, no. i was being a prick. i was nervous and talkin’ shite and trying to be funny, and it came out all wrong. you’re not too much, alright? you’re—fuck, you’re everything.you’re the one thing that makes me calm. i’m the one who’s too much.”
you blink, surprised by the honesty.
he runs a hand down his face. “i hate when you shut down like that. not ‘cause i’m mad — but ‘cause i know i fucked up if i made you feel like you had to.”
you bite the inside of your cheek. your chest aches, but you keep your face smooth. “i didn’t like being embarrassed in front of everyone.”
“i know,” he groans. “i know. i’ve never felt like more of a tosser in my life.”
he shifts forward, resting his chin on your knee. “i swear on me ma, i’d go back and headbutt my own mouth if i could.”
your lips twitch — but you keep the glare.
he tilts his head. “you want me to prove i’m sorry?”
you narrow your eyes. “…how?”
“you know how.”
he’s grinning now. cheeky and soft. a little filthy.
you flush, biting back a scoff. “you’re not serious.”
he shrugs. “it’s me favourite thing in the world. better than cigs. better than life. better than breathin’, probably.”
you roll your eyes, but your pulse jumps.
“don’t make me beg,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. “or do. i’m into that.”
you don’t answer. but you don’t move either.
he presses another kiss, higher this time. and when he looks up at you — curls messy, lashes long, grin fading into something slower, softer — you know he means it.
he’s gonna worship you if you let him.
you exhale slow. “fine.”
he lights up like a goddamn firework.
“you’re not forgiven yet,” you warn, lifting a brow.
“not yet,” he says, standing to pull his hoodie off. “but i will be.”
he doesn’t rush.
he never rushes when it comes to you — but especially not now. not when he’s made a mess of things. not when your voice’s gone all quiet, when your eyes are hard, when your jaw’s tight like you’re holding everything in just to keep from breaking.
no, he takes his time with this.
starts by easing you back on the bed, hands gentle, eyes never leaving yours. kisses your thigh first, then your hip, then the soft skin just above the waistband of your shorts.
“lift up f’me,” he whispers, voice low and husky.
you do — just barely — and he slides them down slow, dragging his fingers along your legs like he’s committing the feeling to memory. once they’re off, he settles between your thighs like it’s his natural place. like he’s meant to be there.
he is.
he kisses just above your knee, then lower, then trails his lips up your inner thigh, whispering little nothings as he goes.
“didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he murmurs. “you know i talk too much sometimes. just wanted to make people laugh. but it should’ve been you i was thinkin’ about.”
you sigh, fingers twitching against the comforter.
he smiles against your skin, nosing gently at the crease of your thigh.
“can i taste you now, sweetheart?” he asks, voice going soft. “let me show you how sorry i am.”
you nod once — just a flicker — but it’s all he needs.
he mouths at you first, slow and careful, like he’s mapping you out again. you’re already warm, already wet, and he groans when he feels it. fucking melts into it, big hands sliding under your thighs to hook them over his shoulders as he buries his face between your legs.
his tongue drags a slow stripe through your folds, flat and firm — once, twice — and then he starts working, lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking, licking, sucking like it’s second nature.
he moans low in his throat when your hips twitch.
“that’s it,” he mumbles into you, voice thick. “there she is.”
he’s so fucking present. every little breath you take, he hears it. every shift of your hips, every shaky exhale — he feels it. adjusts. reacts. like his mouth was made for you and you only.
you reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling — not too hard, just enough to ground yourself. he groans again, louder, and pushes deeper, flattening his tongue against you, shaking his head slightly like he wants to get drunk on it.
your breath stutters. “g-gerard—”
he moans in response, eyes flicking up to watch your face.
god, the way he looks at you — all hunger and reverence, like he’d die here if you asked. like you could forgive him with just a single moan and he’d be yours forever.
his pace shifts — less teasing now, more deliberate. his thumb brushes slow, lazy circles over your thigh while he sucks your clit again, firmer this time, tongue swirling with intention.
you start to tremble.
“close?” he asks, lips still against you.
you nod, almost frantic. “d-don’t stop.”
he grins — and then pulls back, just enough to make you whimper.
“not yet,” he says, panting softly. “not till i’ve earned it.”
and he dives back in, determined to edge you, to keep you floating just below the peak until you’re begging.
until he knows you’ve truly forgiven him.
he doesn’t let up this time.
doesn’t back off when you start shaking. doesn’t pull away when your legs tighten around his head. doesn’t even flinch when you grab his hair like you’re afraid you’ll float off the earth if you let go.
he wants it all.
“that’s it, love,” he murmurs, voice wet and wrecked between your thighs. “gimme it. let go f’me.”
you’re trying not to. fighting it. you always do — always trying to stay composed, in control, never too much.
but he knows better. knows you need this. need to be undone. need someone to see you unravel and still look at you like you hung the fucking stars.
so he works his tongue in slow, relentless circles, locking eyes with you as he presses two fingers inside you, curling just right. and when you gasp, when your back arches and your hand slams over your mouth, that’s when he knows.
you’re right there. on the edge. ready to fall.
he groans into your cunt, shaking his head just enough to send sparks up your spine, and says, “i’ve got you, baby. don’t hold back now. you’re safe — i’m here.”
and then you break.
it crashes over you in a full-body wave — your thighs trembling, your chest hitching, tears in your eyes before you even realize you’re crying. your moan’s all stuttered, breathless, choked out against your palm.
he doesn’t stop.
he rides it out with you, tongue still moving, fingers still deep, coaxing every last bit of it from you like he’s determined to make you feel everything.
and when you go limp, completely spent, thighs twitching around his ears, he finally pulls back.
he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. then another. and another. like he’s saying sorry with his mouth, over and over.
“you alright?” he asks gently, voice hoarse. “was i too much?”
you shake your head, eyes fluttering open, still catching your breath.
“did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, crawling up the bed. “so fuckin’ good for me.”
he pulls you into his chest, doesn’t care that he’s still fully clothed and your skin’s flushed and damp. wraps his arms around you like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.
you bury your face in his neck, trembling.
he rubs slow circles into your back. “never wanna make you feel small again, yeah? you’re the best thing i’ve ever had. swear it.”
you nod, quiet against his throat.
he kisses the top of your head. “gonna hold you ‘til you fall asleep. not goin’ anywhere.”
and he doesn’t.
not even when you stop shaking.
not even when your breathing evens out.
he just holds you.
like a boy who made a mistake and knows damn well what he’s got to lose.
⸻
next morning you wake up slow — limbs heavy, lips parted, blanket tangled around your waist. you’re sore in that floaty, warm way that only comes after he’s been between your legs for the better part of a night. your cheek’s pressed to his chest, his arm draped across your back, his breath soft against your hair.
you stay like that for a minute. quiet. still.
and then you shift a little, just enough to glance up at him — and find him already watching you.
“mornin’, trouble,” he says, voice raspy and rough with sleep.
you glance away, suddenly shy. “hi.”
he lifts a brow, reads you instantly.
“you alright?”
you nod.
“you sure?”
you nod again — smaller this time. but your fingers twitch against the sheets. you curl back into yourself without meaning to. a quiet retreat.
he props himself up on one elbow, tilting his head. “you’re goin’ all quiet again.”
“no i’m not.”
“you are.” he nudges your shoulder gently. “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”
you shake your head, trying to smile, but it falters too quick.
he softens immediately.
“hey,” he says, brushing your hair back. “talk to me.”
you pause. then, so soft it’s barely audible: “you were just being nice ‘cause you felt bad.”
his whole face falls. “what?”
you sit up a little, still not looking at him. “last night… you were just trying to fix it. like… trying to shut me up.”
his eyes go wide. “what? no—no, baby, jesus. is that what you think?”
you shrug.
he sits up fully now, grabs your hand. doesn’t let go. “i wasn’t trying to shut you up. i was trying to show you. that i’m sorry. that you matter. that what i said was out of line and i’d never fucking mean it.”
your lashes flutter. you look down at your lap.
he scoots closer. cups your cheek, makes you meet his eyes.
“don’t ever think you’re too much for me,” he says, slow and serious. “not your moods, not your quiet, not your standards. i’d rather be called out by you than loved by anyone else, alright?”
you blink, throat tight. “i’m not always easy.”
he shrugs. “neither am i. and you still love me.”
you smile — a little. “debatable.”
he grins, presses a kiss to your forehead. “nah. you’re obsessed.”
you roll your eyes, but your cheeks go warm.
“look,” he adds, “i can be a dumbass sometimes. too loud. too fast. but i’ll never do that again. never make you feel like you’re not wanted. that’s a promise.”
you look at him for a long moment. then crawl back into his arms like that’s where you belonged all along.
he kisses your temple.
“you’re not too much,” he murmurs. “you’re my favourite person on this earth.”
I saw you write for boys of Tommen could you write a smutty fic with Joey where she's riding his face whilst he's working at the mechanics
underneath it all
pairing: joey lynch x fem!reader
tw: nsfw, rough sex, orgasm denial, dominance/submission dynamics, face riding, public/semi-public sex, overstimulation, strong language, breath control elements, bodily fluids, praise and slight degradation, intense physical reactions (crying/shaking)
a/n: mb that it took so long, i’ve been really busy lately so sorry abt the wait, hope u enjoy x
masterlist !
he doesn’t even notice you at first.
you’re leaning against the garage wall, arms crossed, watching him work. engine grease stains the collar of his shirt, dark smudges across his knuckles. sweat clings to the back of his neck, dampening the little curls at the base of his hairline. he looks like a storm — all frustration and fury, hands working too fast, jaw clenched too tight.
joey’s been here all day.
when he finally looks up and sees you, it’s like the air shifts. his shoulders drop just barely. something flickers in his eyes. you smile, soft and knowing.
“hey.”
“hey,” he says, voice rough. “what’re you doin’ here?”
“thought you could use a distraction.”
he scoffs. wipes his hands on a dirty rag and tosses it aside. “gonna take more than that to fix this fuckin’ heap.”
you walk toward him slowly, your fingers grazing the hood of the car, your gaze locked on his face.
“i wasn’t talkin’ about the car.”
his eyes darken.
it’s subtle — just a twitch in his brow, the slightest tilt of his head — but you feel it like a spark up your spine. he’s reading you now. carefully. the way he always does. and underneath all that exhaustion and annoyance, there’s something else… something hungry.
“yeah?” he says. “what were you talkin’ about then?”
you close the distance between you, reach up to brush a smudge of oil off his cheek. your fingers linger.
“lie down.”
his brow lifts. “on the fuckin’ floor?”
“yeah.”
a pause. a long one.
then: “jesus christ.”
but he doesn’t move away.
you reach for the hem of his shirt, and that’s when it really shifts — the breath catches in his throat, his hands drop to your hips like muscle memory. you tug him closer until you’re backed up against the shelves, and he’s towering over you, the smell of sweat and smoke and motor oil wrapped around him.
“joey.”
you whisper it, but it lands heavy between you. his name, soft on your lips, like a command.
his eyes drop to your mouth. then lower.
“get on with it then,” he mutters.
and he drops.
right there, on the concrete, wiping off his hands again before lying flat. he looks up at you, waiting, the flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“you gonna make me beg?”
you smile sweetly.
“maybe.”
he groans, head thunking back against the ground. “fuckin’ knew i shouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”
you step over him, straddling his face. his hands grip your thighs like he’s anchoring himself — and when you lower yourself down, he exhales like he’s been underwater.
you’re not even fully settled when he dives in — no teasing, no warning, just tongue and heat and the desperate need to make you come on his face like it’s the only thing in the world that matters.
and joey? he’s filthy with it.
moaning against you. sucking your clit between his lips like he wants it tattooed on his tongue. dragging you down harder when you try to lift off, shaking from the pressure.
you brace your hands on the shelf behind his head, hips rocking gently, thighs trembling already.
“fuck—joey—”
he groans like he’s in pain, mouth never letting up.
and just before you tip over the edge, voice raw, he growls:
“ride it for me, yeah sweetheart?”
you’re trying to be quiet.
you really are. but it’s impossible — not when joey’s got you like this, thighs spread around his face, tongue working you over like he’s trying to memorize your taste. like it’s the only fucking thing in his world.
the metal shelf behind you rattles with every roll of your hips. you’ve got one hand tangled in his sweaty curls, the other braced behind you to keep from collapsing. your thighs are shaking. your chest heaves.
and still — still — he won’t let you finish.
“joey,” you pant, voice barely holding steady. “please—”
he hums into your pussy, dragging his tongue in slow, lazy strokes that make you shudder all over.
“please what?” he mutters against you, words muffled, mouth slick. “gotta use real words, sweetheart.”
“i—I wanna—” you swallow hard. “i need to come, please.”
“yeah?” he licks a long stripe up your center, sucks your clit into his mouth just briefly — enough to make your whole body jerk. “you think you’ve earned that already?”
you choke on a moan.
he grins against your skin.
“nah,” he says, voice like gravel, low and cruel and so soft it ruins you.“not yet.”
and then he changes it up — switches from slow teasing to firm, deliberate pressure, his tongue working you in tight circles. not fast. not sloppy. just enough to get you climbing again. just enough to make you whimper.
he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“fuck—joey—baby, i—”
“mmhm.” he tilts his head slightly, suckles your clit like he’s drinking you down. “almost.”
your body’s a mess — your back’s arching, your hips are stuttering against his face, your thighs are twitching like you’re on the verge of snapping. so close. it’s right there, just under your skin, pressure building and building and—
then he pulls back.
you sob.
“no—joey, please, don’t—”
“shhh.” he presses his mouth to your inner thigh, breathing hard. “you’re not gonna come on me until i say.”
you try to grind down, but he’s holding you steady now — hands firm on your hips, keeping you right where he wants you. you feel his breath on your soaked skin, the edge so sharp it hurts.
he kisses your clit. once. soft. cruel.
“ride my face,” he says again. “but don’t you fucking come.”
your thighs are shaking too much to hold yourself up, but you nod anyway, desperate and wrecked.
“good girl,” he murmurs.
and then he’s back at it — slow at first, then deeper, messier, licking and sucking with those same filthy moans rumbling from his throat like he needs this. like he needs to make you beg.
you’re a writhing mess above him, trying not to break. the edge teases you, cruel and perfect. and joey?
joey’s smiling under you.
he’s drawing it out on purpose now.
every time your hips twitch, every time your breath stutters like you’re about to fall over the edge, joey pulls back — licking slow and lazy, mouthing at your thighs like he’s not already soaked in it, like his cock isn’t straining hard and aching behind his jeans.
you’re shaking. pleading.
he’s so fucking patient with it, one big hand pressed firm against your stomach to keep you steady, the other trailing slowly up your back to tangle in your hair.
and then—
“you want it that bad, baby?” he mumbles against your skin, tone half-gone and wrecked.
“joey—fuck—please, i—I need—”
he grins. all teeth and sweat and sinful devotion.
“then come on,” he growls, eyes dark and locked on yours, “come on my fuckin’ face. let me taste it.”
you break.
you don’t even get a full warning out — just a gasped, strangled noise that barely sounds human — and then your whole body’s convulsing,legs trembling, your grip on the shelf going white-knuckle tight as you grind against his mouth, riding the wave so hard it nearly knocks the wind out of you.
joey holds you through it, groaning like he’s the one coming, eating you through every second of it — until your thighs start to twitch too much, until you’re whimpering and trying to pull away, too sensitive, too far gone.
only then does he finally let go.
you sag back against the wall, head tipped up, chest heaving, heartbeat roaring in your ears.
he’s still on the floor, looking up at you with glazed eyes, mouth shiny, chin soaked.
“jesus christ,” he pants, “look what you fuckin’ did to me.”
and then he stands.
in one swift move, he grabs you by the thighs, pulls you off the shelf, and pins you to the wall — your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, your body weak and pliant in his arms.
you barely have time to breathe before he’s undoing his jeans, hands trembling, teeth gritted.
“been hard since you walked in,” he mutters, pulling himself free, thick and leaking. he grinds against you once, both of you groaning at the friction. “you got no idea how close i was to losing it.”
“then don’t,” you whisper, lips brushing his.
that’s all it takes.
he lines himself up and thrusts in, burying himself to the hilt with a strangled moan. you both gasp, bodies locking tight — too much, too good, too perfect after everything he just did to you.
he barely gives you time to adjust — starts moving in short, hard thrusts that bounce you against the wall, your back slamming gently into the metal shelving with every movement.
“so fuckin’ tight,” he growls into your neck, voice cracking. “feel so good, fuck—”
you cling to him, nails dragging down his back, still shaking from your orgasm. every drag of his cock feels like fire.
“that’s it,” he hisses, fucking into you rough but controlled, jaw clenched tight. “take it, baby. made a fuckin’ mess on my face, now you’re gonna let me fill you up.”
you’re moaning nonstop, every word from him making it harder to hold on. and when he slips a hand between you to rub your clit — soft, rhythmic, in sync with his thrusts — you lose it all over again.
“fuck—joey, i’m—i’m—”
“come for me again,” he begs, begs, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “please, come with me, i’m right there—”
you shatter.
your walls clamp down around him and he chokes on a groan, thrusting one more time before spilling inside you with a desperate, low curse. his whole body tenses, muscles trembling as he pushes as deep as he can, staying buried while he rides it out.
you’re both gasping, tangled up, clinging to each other like you’ll fall apart otherwise.
he stays like that for a minute.
silent. full. breathing heavy into your neck.
and then, voice raw and gentle:
“you okay, love?”
you nod into his shoulder, still floating. “mhm.”
he kisses your temple. then your cheek. then your jaw.
“you were so good for me,” he whispers. “so fuckin’ perfect.”
he pulls out slow, careful, one hand behind your head so you don’t hit it against the shelf.
and then he’s lowering you to the floor, one knee down, wrapping his arms around your waist like you’re something breakable.
he wipes between your legs with his shirt, tender and unhurried, like he’s done it a hundred times. and when you shiver, he peels off his hoodie and pulls it over your head, tucking your hair out from the collar.
“stay here,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “gonna lock up. then we’re goin’ home.”
you nod, dazed, and he presses one last kiss to your lips before standing, walking off with his shirt untucked and belt undone, muttering to himself with the softest little smile on his face.
