Slippery When Wet // David Malukas (kinktober Day 1!)

Heyyy hope you have a good day, i come bearing new thots

Credit where credit’s due, the idea is an old and deleted roger Taylor fic and not from me.

HOWEVER. Im now obsessed with this scenario with either lando or oscar (ill let you choose <3)

Roommate!AU !!!

Imagine you’re friends and roommates with lando or oscar and he has to study for his upcoming biology exam at uni. The topic? Female reproductive organs🤭

He just genuinely struggles with understanding the anatomy of a vagina and that picture in his damn book is absolutely not recognisable.

And since him and reader are friends and she doesn’t think thoughts all the way through she offers him to look at hers. I mean hes seen her shirtless a million times its nbd.

And staring at her beautiful pussy really does help him - to an extend. Hes so into his studies he doesn’t really process that he asked her „can i touch it??“ and she just goes along with it bc it’s already lowkey awkward and theres no turning back now.

She tries to not make it more awkward by suppressing her moans when his finger brush over her clit all while hes just identifying parts with his thoughts oblivious to what he does to her.

And she cant keep in the moan when he pushes his fingern in and suddenly he realises what hes doing. But he sneakily keeps going until she cums and hes trying his best to keep up the ignorant act bc shes js too hot like that😩

Got damn it i need a full length version of this fic again 😭

-🫀

i want to write a full length version omfg this is incredible!!! pictured oscar immediately. kinda set in like the early 2000s in my head bc i wanted to mention dvd rentals One Time and that's not a thing anymore but that's the world i grew up in LMAO

sorry i like got too into this at first and forgot i made plans to game with my friend and rushed the ending im sorry. added read more bc it's just over 1k <3 i think i like this a lot other than the ending idk . lmk what u think i hope it meets the expectations set by the original

reader thinks oscar's an innocent idiot but he just probably shouldn't be in medical school because while he can find the clit, he certainly doesn't know the name of it.

Her roommate has been staring at the same page for half an hour, they're seated on opposite ends of the couch, leaning against the arms and facing each other. She has a Stephen King novel leaned on her propped up knees and Oscar has an open textbook balanced on one thigh and a notebook open to a blank page on the other. After another frustrated sigh leaves him, she drops her book on the coffee table and leans over to see what he's looking at. She almost laughs when she sees the miniature sketch of a vagina, "You know, the DVD rental place down the street has rated X movies."

Oscar snorts, "I'm trying to work, leave me alone. I'm supposed to learn all the anatomical names of a vagina, but the only drawing I have is in this stupid book."

She leans in further to the diagram and hums, "That's a horrible diagram, no wonder you're getting nothing done. How old is that that textbook?" He shrugs and stretches back over the arm of the couch, "Probably like thirty, the professor wrote it himself and he's ancient."

Her eyes get pulled to his hips as he reaches behind his head and groans, his shirt lifting the slightest to reveal soft skin before he drops his arms back down. She licks her lips as she directs her gaze up to his face, "I could show you mine, if you want." The swift inhale Oscar makes is audible, he keeps his gaze locked on the books in his lap as he says, "Really?" Instead of verbally agreeing, she just scoots back to where she was leaning moments before on the arm of the couch and shimmies her shorts down before she can think twice. She giggles at the look on Oscar's face as she kicks the shorts off her ankles and he takes in the sight of her panties, lacy and red. "Are you sure?"

She shrugs and teases, "Well it's not like they have 3D models. I'm sure, I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Are you sure?" He nods slowly and she tugs her panties down her thighs and smirks at the blush that creeps up his cheeks as she drops them on his lap. She doesn't know where the sudden confidence has come from, but she feels no shame as she opens her legs to him. She drops one foot to the floor and the other lifts to rest on the back of the couch. Oscar holds her eye for a moment before she watches his gaze drift down her body and he starts to lean in before pausing, "Can I get closer?" She nods at his question and answers, "As close as you want." Oscar lurches forwards, knocking the forgotten textbook to the floor as he fumbles to grab his pen and notebook to take notes.

She can't read his chicken scratch handwriting, so whatever he's scrawling about her pussy is undecipherable to her as she watches him analyze her. She's trying not to think about how this could be weird, how it is weird to offer to let your roommate use you as an anatomy dummy. It's not really the first time. He's done other things, like when he needed to practice IVs so she let him give her a banana bag the next time she was hungover. She liked teasing him about it, calling him Doctor Piastri when she let him listen to her heart with his stethoscope. Or when she comes down with a cold and she calls him into her room to diagnose and treat her, and he brings her cold medicine and soup from the deli down the street.

She's pulled out of her thoughts when he clears his throat and she meets his eyes before she hums quizzically. The pink tint that had spattered his cheeks turns into a bright red as he asks, "Can I touch you?"

She almost thinks she didn't hear him correctly, but there's no way he could have said anything else, so she tries to joke, "So you're a hands on learner, then?"

Oscar quickly counters, "Yeah, do you mind?"

It's her turn to lose her breath as she stupidly nods and blushes as she takes in the realization that he's about to touch her pussy. In the name of science, she agrees, "No, go ahead." Then, his hand is on her pussy and his focus is entirely on the space between her legs as he spreads her lips apart and she has to close her eyes and force her mind to other places as he tilts his had interestedly. She wishes she could stop her body from reacting to his touch, but she can't. Not when he pulls back the hood of her clit, she hears him writing something, then there's a soft pressure on her clit and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to not react. She tells herself not to make any sounds so it won't be weird, he's just trying to study, he's not doing anything to her really.

She can feel the wetness build under his fingers as he slips them down to her entrance and back up. She hears Oscar mutter something but she can't make it out over the blood rushing through her head as he presses his fingers back against her clit. "Is this... The labia?" The laugh she lets out is half a moan, "That's the- clit. Labia are the lips." He dips his fingers down and pinches one lightly, "This?"

She's somehow endeared by the curiosity, and sighs, "Yeah. That. Minora. The outer one is majora."

Oscar lets out a little huff, "How do you know the names? You're not even taking anatomy." His fingers find her clit again, this time lightly pinching it, and her thighs tense as he mumbles, "Clit." She hears his pen scratching across his paper and then dips his finger down to her entrance and presses inside. She wonders what he's thinking as he slowly thrusts his finger in and out of her, his other hand still writing on the paper. It's not until he slips a second finger inside of her and curls them as he suddenly presses his thumb to her clit that she breaks her silence, a whimper falling from her lips as the unexpected pleasure hits her. She somehow doesn't realize then that this isn't his first time like she thought when she saw the surprised look on her face. Then she flutters her eyes open and immediately realizes it because he's already looking up at her, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. She gasps, "You- you didn't really need help, did you?"

He shrugs innocently, "I still don't know the names, could you remind me?" She can't tell if he's being serious or not as he quickens his thumb on her clit and she's saved from responding as he pushes up her body and presses his lips to hers hungrily.

toto wolff masterlist

all blurbs are listed from oldest to newest - oldest being on the top and newest on the bottom. // it’ll be updated as I post! 

header by @f1stuffpsd

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idk why but i can image seb making baby leclerc ride him but he refuses to help her kinda just going use me how you like darling because he wants to see her teary eyed and begging, just reaffirms that hes the only one who can get her off properly. like aww poor baby cant even get her body to listen to her, this is why youre all mine

WLCBDKCJ SEB U FOKKENG BETCH

"i c-can't seb," you choke on a sob, eyes brimming with unshed tears out of frustration and sheer fucking need, your knees were sore and your legs were practically non existent from holding the position for an unsatisfying amount of time. "please, i-i can't." you whine, blinking rapidly as the tears finally slipped down your cheeks.

you were a needy mess. a beautiful spoiled piece of work... and sebastian wanted you to stay that way. his needy little princess, so dependent on him.

"poor baby can't handle taking care of herself," he tuts, cupping your face gently and cooing, "just bounce, yeah? up, down." he coaxes you, allowing a slight hint of mercy to overcome his unrelenting demeanor, and meeting your hips with a forceful thrust. you gasped.

"i-i cant, sebby." you whine, now full on sobbing and whining. your hands touching upon his naked torso. "please.. please just fuck me already."

sebastian feigns pity, wiping your tears with such a tender caress, you instinctively lean in to his touch. "what would people say if they see you baby? you know you have a reputation, so kind... so innocent..."

you sob, "dont care... wan' you, please seb." you guide his hands to where you met, moaning when his hands touched upon you.

"always have to fucking get what you want," he grunts, eyes darkening. he pulls you in for a searing kiss, both tongue and teeth clashing in the desperate tangle— and he fucks into you, your body thrumming by the way his thrusts were acquainted with that... that sweet spot that made you compliant in his hold.

"who can fuck you like i do?" he mumbles, breathing ragged, your response was merely a plethora of undistinguished whines and helpless moans. "who can make you feel this good?"

"seb..." you writhe, gripping his shoulders for something tangible to hold.

"no one else hase. nobody can make you feel like i do." he whispers on the strands of your hair. certain. so self sure. so fucking cocky.

shapes of you - s.v5

this is being created because I was telling @timetoracewrites​ about the different shapes of seb and now I’m making this post – also because anytime I see that man, I go 🥰Seb🥰

anyways nsfw under the cut as always whores <3

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bestie please I just thought of this, you and RBR Sebastian fucking on the villa of summer break and Mark calls you and he makes you pick up the phone and literally you are trying to not to moan in the phone

babe you are a whore. I love it. 

The sun was warm on your stomach and chest, the curtains blowing with the wind because Sebastian left the windows opened this morning. 

It was barely lunch time and Sebastian was insatiable. 

You had joined him for the two last races prior to summer break but one weekend was 80% press and 20% racing and the other was so hot, no one could function properly that he couldn’t and didn’t have the energy to fuck you. 

Sebastian made sure to whisk you off to some island, just the two of you - no one to bother you and most importantly, he could fuck you anywhere and anytime he wanted. 

Currently, he's got your legs wrapped around his hips and he’s fucking you full - literally, thanks to pillow under your hips. 

The phone rings - the sound blaring catches you both off guard. You were so sure it was his phone, some Red Bull official wanting to take your boyfriend away from you but imagine your surprise when it’s your phone ringing. 

Not only was it your phone but it was none other than your boyfriend’s teammate, Mark Webber. 

“Answer it,” Sebastian tells you, handing you the phone. You shook your head, “no, Seb - no, please.” 

Too late, Sebastian has already clicked accept and handed it back to you. 

“H-hi Mark,” you try to get out as normal as possible. Mark was none the wiser, asking you how your break was going. 

Sebastian pulls your leg over his shoulder but he’s yet to move. “It’s going good, how is- fuck!” you bite your lower lip to stop anything coming out of your mouth when Sebastian pushes into you all the way. 

“You alright sweetheart ?” Mark asks - Sebastian hated when Mark called you that; the nickname given to you out of adoration, his teammate telling you that you’re much too sweet to be dating Seb. 

“Mhm hm,” you breathe, looking up at Seb, your eyes pleading with him to stop. He gives in, pulling your other leg over his free shoulder in the meantime. 

Sebastian reaches down, his fingers trailing along the back of your thigh. “What are you and-” “Sebastian!” The name slips past your lips, airy and out of breath as it does, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. 

“Oh,” Mark chuckles awkwardly. “Uh- just call me when you’re not busy, sweets.” 

“Mhm bye Mark,” you toss the phone somewhere, not even caring where it landed. “God,” your hand pushed on his chest, “I hate you.” 

“I love you, sweetheart.” Sebastian grins. 

i just knoooow my man (little leclerc’s man) jenson has such a pleasure kink… like he’s not enjoying himself unless you’re a withering mess, he would know every trick in the book to make sure little leclerc/reader is satisfied even if he gets nothing from it physically.

but then add in any competition with seb who has to be the best at everything and little leclerc wont even consider any man on the 2023 grid bc how are they gonna make her feel what Seb and Jenson did??? anyways that’s all from me

DKCJDOFKFI ⚠️

"you're taking me so well, my sweet girl." jenson would rasp lowly, breath coming up in short pants as he marvels at the sight of you; looking so blissed out, eyes hazy from the feel of his throbbing cock just kissing the tip of your cervix. you were both gasping for breath for varying reasons; his, one of self control while yours were in pleasure and feeling so foreign, by being so deliciously stretched out.

"at your pace," he murmurs, pressing open mouthed kisses at your neck, eliciting a deep moan from you. "take it. take whatever you need." he utters, grunts, reverently. in awe. jenson grips your hips with barely restrained strenght as you started to bounce on top of him.

also tag teamm?!!?!?!? ask again bcs i malfunctioned,,, sorry ily😩😩😩😩

.ೃ࿐𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 . . . | 𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏 |

oscar piastri x fem!reader

plot. your sexual frustration is humiliatingly evident when oscar lets you sit on his lap

wc. 2.2k

warnings. smut 18+, thigh riding, innocent!reader, praise kink, purity rings, osc has a major corruption kink & refers to himself as god (sorry🫣), manhandling, swearing, allusions to heaven, and religious symbolism

A time when the gifted silver band wasn’t laced around your ring finger is not one you remember clearly. At the ripe age of twelve, with a face adorned with baby-like features and an ever-present aura of giddiness, your father had gently placed the circle on your overstretched hand.

“It’s a promise for abstinence,” he’d responded to your furrowed brows, but the foreign word had only deepened your confusion. “Look—here, it says, ‘I will wait for my beloved’. And you will, won’t you?”

Even now, despite his absence, you find yourself nodding at the slightly threatening question as your right hand fiddles with the thin loop. Boredom eating at your mind, your eyes shift to the figure occupying your chair; a smile slowly creeps onto your lips.

Oscar, a man of stubborn chestnut hair and constellations of moles embellishing his toned frame. The gleaming screen of the rectangle illuminates his face harshly, likely stinging his eyes as they dart across his unanswered emails.

A sigh leaves your lips. You fall pliant on your bed, unraveling the tight knots in your shoulders with a roll of your arms and an arch of your spine—an obnoxiously loud noise (a little whiny, in Oscar’s opinion) echoes along the room.

“You need anythin’, baby?” Oscar mumbles, mindlessly tapping at his keyboard.

With an exasperated huff, you lift yourself to sit upright and lean on your arm, your head lolling lazily to the side. Oscar perks up. He rips his eyes away from the rectangle box to crane his neck back and peer down at you through thick lashes— you and that godforsaken circle around your finger.

The small, knowing grin that makes itself home on Oscar's lips almost makes you embarrassed at your obvious search for attention. Almost. Your boyfriend sways his hips lightly to turn the wheely chair toward your peripheral vision.

“C’mere, sit on my lap while I finish?” he muses, patting his right thigh encouragingly. When he registers your giddy smile and hasty advances toward him, Oscar wants to punch himself three times in the gut for not asking you sooner.

“Well, if you’re begging for it,” you shrug sarcastically through a tight-lipped smile, finding solace in the V of his pale thighs before pausing.

Oscar notices your sudden shift in demeanor because, well, when does he not? “What’s wrong?”

You blink dumbly, pointing your index finger at the hem of his loose, cobalt blue shorts. The Australian follows the invisible line shooting out of your finger and frowns; his thighs tense instinctively, your unnerving stare fueling his insecurities more than he would like to admit.

“Y’don’t like them? I went to the mall with Lan last week, and he told me they were nice, so—”

The last of his words are muffled by a hand pressing against his mouth. Guilt shines through your pupils, he notices. “No, no, Osc, t-they’re fine. Fine, just– just short, is all.”

Really, incredibly, stupidly short. They were bunched up to the crease between his inner thighs and crotch, the pure muscle spilling out from the sides, making you curl your fists by your sides.

“Ah.”

Hesitantly, you meet his eyes, and regret swells in your heart almost immediately. “What? Why’re y’looking at me like that?”

Oscar nearly coos at the slight whine in your voice, and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around your forearm. Now, he’s sure he coos when you melt into his lap, his palms gripping the back of your folded knees and pulling you closer into his embrace. 

“M’sorry, sorry, baby,” he laughs, and you hum happily as you bury your forehead into the crook of his neck, Oscar pecking your temple lovingly.

He still sounds like he’s aware of something you have no recollection of but. The warmth that wraps your soul in a blanket each time Oscar touches you returns, and the thought is quickly forgotten.

“S’fine,” you murmur. And you mean it this time.

A hum ripples against his throat and vibrates against your skin; time drifts by unknowingly—fast or slow, ten minutes or hours—but it’s enough for you to shift listlessly in your place. Oscar freezes, his pupils blown wide.

“S–shit, y/n, stop that,” he seethes through gritted teeth, hands flying to your waist and pushing you back slightly.

Your eyebrows furrow, confused wrinkles covering your forehead as you gaze down at him for an explanation, a reason—really, anything to stop your mind from running at a hundred miles per second.

“What?” a pout graces itself on your lips; Oscar wants to kiss it away, but. But if he does, he’s not sure how much self-restraint he can muster around you. “D’I do somethin’? Why don’t you...”

Sighing heavily, Oscar’s tight hold on your waist relocates down to your thighs. “No, no, baby—fuck, no, nothing like that. Just,” he lifts your knee to straddle one of his thighs instead. “Like this... s’better.”

Half instead of whole, and.

And Osc would cross the world twice, delving into each volcano and marching up the tallest mountains, to reassure you that you did nothing wrong in particular. It was him. Him and the blood rushing to his balls from you practically humping your clothed pussy against his dick.

Okay, maybe ‘humping’ is a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like one.

Unbeknownst to Oscar, however, the relieved pressure on his end only slipped through the cracks of his skin and into yours. But he, God bless him, thinks nothing of the tension that’s boiling in your shoulders or the hitch of your breath. Blaming it on the lingering effects of his sudden repositioning, Oscar gently pulls you down with two massive hands on the swell of your ass.

Flush against his thigh. His thigh, Jesus fuck—a quiet forgive me, Lord, echoes around the walls of your mind.

“Osc,” you gasp quietly, the constant pressure against your privates shooting unfamiliar spikes of something down to your stomach—something you needed more of.

He hums dismissively; you want to cry. It doesn’t take you long, though, to fully grasp his attention when Oscar registers the heartbeat pressing between your squished pussy and his thigh.

The Australian's mind short circuits. “Y/n?”

“Osc, I-” you roll your hips experimentally, slapping a hand over your mouth and flushed cheeks when it parts around an unrestrained whimper.

Your boyfriend, seemingly snapping out of his bewildered daze, dips down to dust his lips over your reddening cheeks, chuckling fondly. “Enjoying y’self, baby?”

And that. That is what pulled you away from the edge of logical thinking and onto its’ center, halting movement in every bone in your body. Wrong—this—it’s all wrong, isn’t it? ‘I will wait for my beloved’ is etched into your skin, engraved onto your heart, and yet.

Yet, you can’t help but wonder: Is Oscar not your beloved?

“Y/n,” his assertiveness grounds you, pulls you back to the surface of his honey-filled eyes—just as he had intended. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready…”

Oscar's hand leaves the curve of your waist and reaches behind his neck to clasp onto your palm, bringing the cool metal of your purity ring against his mouth as he murmurs, “But don’t stop on my account.”

The ring burns through your skin and falls to the ground; you hope it cracks into a million little pieces of stupid promises. And anyway, Osc’s giddy smile when you allow him to—do what, you’re not really sure—is too precious to deny.

Nibbling on your raw bottom lip, you slowly shake your head. “No, I– I want this, Osc. Want you.”

He does not disappoint; his eyes crinkle through that grin you’d pay to see a hundred times over. Oscar taps the side of your thigh twice, signaling you to stand up, so you do. Your hands lay helplessly by your sides as he smoothed over the contours of your body until—

You let out a little gasp. “Osc!”

A soft, harmless tug at the hem of your shorts widens your eyes.

“Y/n,” he calls, and you can’t bother fighting the urge to rub your thighs together. “Y’want me to touch you, right? Make y’pussy feel better?”

The amount of self-restraint needed to block the guffaw from slipping past your lips does not fit into a number. Or a word. In any language.

Nonetheless, you find yourself bashfully nodding.

“Words, Y/n.”

You gulp, embarrassment apparent on your crimson cheeks. “Want you to—to make m’feel better.”

Oscar heaves out a laugh at your refusal to say those objectively filthy words; you almost want to commit murder, but it hurts. It hurts, and you can’t help but sigh happily when his hands swiftly pull both your shorts and panties down, manhandling your ankles out of the pool of clothing by your feet.

And only then, being ogled at by his mesmerized eyes and hands sliding down the sides of your body, does your mind grasp the fact that you were standing in front of Oscar. Half naked. His for the taking. The shame you'd expected to feel never came, and when Osc pulls you to straddle his thigh, you knew it never would.

“There we go,” he praises when you shift your weight fully onto him, rewarding you with a bounce of the leg you were resting on.

Choking through a loud gasp, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself. “Oh, Osc, oh my—”

“Yeah? Y’like that?” Oscar grins almost cockily, repeating the sharp movement of his legs and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mm, fuck, baby, can feel you all ov’me.”

The humiliating amount of slick your pussy’s gushing out should make you ashamed, but, well. When you grind against his thigh, the glide is much smoother than when you were fully clothed, so you silently thank your desperation instead.

“C’mon, baby, y’can do better than that,” he urges, hands resting on the globes of your ass and grinding your pussy against his slick-ridden thigh. “Y’ve been waiting so long for this, haven’t you?”

He coos at your frantic nods and refrains from groaning at the sight of you tilting your head back in pleasure; using him—his fucking thigh—to get off. The sound of your little, whiny moans leaves him feeling like an inexperienced teenager all over again; he wants more. Wants to have your pretty sounds made into a song to play on loop whenever he needs to.

With Oscar’s forceful hands dragging you up and down his muscular thighs, tensing them occasionally, and lips mouthing at your collarbone, you don’t think a sin should ever feel this good. You don’t think it could feel any better than it does, but.

The urgency in your movements almost has your legs aching, your jaw parted around a permanent ‘o’; the whimper that slips past your lips when his fingers graze your folds, not pushing but they’re there, and Oscar fucking moans when he feels your hole clench against them; the stutter of your hips when he dips down to your tits, tongue licking over the tight, thin fabric covering the hard nubs.

“Osc, ohmygod, ohm—” Your wail echoes around the entire flat, you’re sure, and if you had even a sliver of dignity left, you’d quiet down.

But. Oscar seems to have that effect on you; really, you don’t mind.

“Yeah, baby, I’m your god, huh?” He huffs out, muffled by his sucking on your nipples like they’d disappear tomorrow—like he is the one being taken apart on someone’s lap. “Humping my thigh—fuck, so fucking desperate, look at you.”

Your mouth parts around a moan, and you quickly put your face into the crook of his neck to, hopefully, contain your embarrassing noises. It does fuck all. Oscar lets out a disapproving noise at the separation of your little, swollen nipples and his pursed lips.

“Oscar, Oscar, Oscar,” you sob out like a prayer. “I feel, ah, I think I'm—Oh, yes, feels s’good, so.”

When Oscar slides a hand up to your hair to tug your head up to his face, he looks nearly as fucked out as you feel. And when his eyes dart to your lips, visibly contemplating whether or not he should kiss you, you make the decision for him.

His soft lips meet the fuse of the boiling pleasure in your stomach, forcing your spine to arch and painting your eyes a shade of white you had only imagined would be in heaven—smiling hazily and foggy-brained, you can’t imagine this not being heaven. 

A sharp cry dances between your mouths, and you swear you can feel a few tears trickle down your face, but your mind only processes the last few moments before you collapse onto his chest.

Oscar gently slides the silver band out of your ring finger, tucking it into his pockets, and placing a soft kiss on your temple as he murmurs, “No use f’this, now, is there?”

Even when on the brink of passing out, you find yourself nodding; Oscar thinks you’ll be the death of him. Or, more specifically, his dick.

authors notes this is an apology to @lifeboredme for ignoring the poll n writing the max fic hehe hope u enjoy 🫶 + thank you to @cafekitsune as always for the dividers mwah.

plot what plot??? porn without plot🗣️🗣️🗣️ very much hate this fic but i also hate every fic of mine so. en e wayz im sorry in advance for my inactivity the next few weeks i have sm shit going on. writing grind comes after march 6 istg🙏

also, thank you so much to everyone who waited for this fic and im so sorry for the delay!! i got hit by a mountains load of stress but yeah <3

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🥕

taglist in separate posts again el oh el . . . i tagged everyone who interacted w/ my original post bcs i was too lazy to make an actual post dedicated to tags

p.s REBLOGS and likes are always appreciated 🧡🧡

insatiable

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: with an age gap like yours and aaron’s, it’s expected for there to be differences. aaron expected it, of course, but he never expected it to be like this. but is he really complaining?

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, established relationship, age gap, like two (2) spanks, some dry humping, p in v, cowgirl, cream pie, reader is a horn dog but hotch is whipped regardless, degradation, dirty talk, hints of sugar daddy!aaron

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i already had this in my drafts but when i saw this post i couldn’t help but speed up the process teehee 🤭 all i ever write is smut but i honestly cant help it lmao there’s something wrong w me

Aaron is a tired man.

A tired, busy, stressed, and overworked man.

He swears he somehow has six children despite only one of them having his actual blood and DNA.

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

Yes, you were insatiable. But he was, too.

loml

Greg House x Reader

A/N: So, I haven’t written anything in months. Whoopsies! (I have no excuse, I just didn’t want to.)

TW: It’s House. There’s your trigger warning. (Drugs.)

“Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyway?”

This is a mistake.

That’s the only thought that runs through your head as you sit in the sterile examination room, the chair under you hard and entirely uncomfortable. It’s fitting, nothing about this will be pleasant, you knew it going in.

And yet you still did. You walked into this damn hospital, snuck around like some criminal, praying that you wouldn’t run into him before the time was right. If it ever is, it never really has been with you two. Maybe it never will be, maybe the world is trying to tell you something you’re just too stubborn to hear. How many times can you keep going back to the same broken thing?

Apparently you haven’t hit your limit yet, considering where you are.

It’s like every nerve in your body spurs to life as the door slides open and he walks in. Him, House. His eyes are glued to the chart in his hand, not really bothering to look at you. He’d treat his patients through the door if he could.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a way that’s so typically him you almost roll your eyes. Abrasive, cold, these should be red flags. They are, you just don’t care.

Maybe he had a point with all the masochist jokes.

You quickly refocus, clearing your throat and waiting. For what, you’re not sure. Obviously he’ll look up, recognize you as, well, you. His ex, but that’s not even close to covering whatever twisted role it is you serve in his life. On and off for…how long? Years, you know that. Two, at least, maybe more. There’s always something wrong, something ruining your chances. The drugs, the painfully obvious emotional unavailability. The same one you ignored the existence of when you decided to come here.

Then there’s you. The constant desire you have for more. More devotion, more love, more than he’s willing to give.

Or more than he can, you refuse to explore that option.

You’re fucked, simply. There’s no possible way that you two work. It’s too much conflict, more than a mouthful of pills or some hate sex can solve.

His eyes flick up and widen as he freezes. Speechless. In another circumstance you’d be proud of this. It’s an achievement after all, he never does know when to shut his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting you, not for a second. Maybe he should’ve. You’ve always been stubborn, a trait you both share. It made for some agonizingly long arguments, and some wildly good make up.

That’s the issue with you two. You are eachother. It’s why you’re so chaotic together. It’s also why you can’t be with anybody else.

“Hey.” You say weakly, and the word feels stupid as it comes out of your mouth. You’re long past pleasantries, which is exactly why you receive silence in return.

You knew he’d be like this.

You feel your face heating in humiliation anyway. At the very least, you won’t cry, you won’t let yourself.

The stinging sensation in your nose is persistent as ever.

He slowly crosses the room, sitting down in the chair next to you, a small creaking noise filling the otherwise empty silence. A thick swallow from you, the awkward drumming of fingers from him. This is painful, and for a second you hope his pager will go off. He’d bolt with an excuse, you know he would. And because you’re the same, you would too. And then you’d be back, in a week, maybe a month, and it’d be even worse.

You’ve always had a knack for self-destruction.

You both know how it ended last time. All over a stupid bet. Cuddy thought he couldn’t make it a week without Vicodin, he thought he could. Back when he was still adamant about denying his addiction. Halfway through it might as well have been torture. Deep into detoxing, and still, he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen as you begged him to stop being so childish, so stubborn. He wouldn’t even let you come near him, let alone help. He said it’s cause he didn’t need your pity.

In reality, he just didn’t want you to see him like that. Nobody would. Every inch of his pale, shaking frame was covered in sweat, bags under his eyes and a bloodshot gaze had him looking damn near dead.

He was sick, and he hated having to face it more than anything. The Greg House being forced to admit he was wrong. Sometimes you wondered if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Neither of you handled it well, you never do. He was too stupid to see the obvious, see that he needed help. Needed you. And you, you were too sensitive to let it go. Let him go. Give up on any hope that this could go anywhere.

You still are, and you feel it keenly as the two of you sit in silence. His eyes are trained on you, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was judgement. But no, it’s a myriad. Confusion, anger, guilt, longing. All things he’d never admit. That’d be far too human.

“Say something.” Your voice comes out pleading, a tone you loathe on yourself.

He turns to you, his eyes tracing over your every feature like he can’t decide which one to settle on. How many times has he seen you like this? Desperate, vulnerable, because of him. He loses count. He wants to forget it, but you have to go through the motions. Pretend you’ve worked through your issues so you can live in a momentary state of bliss. Maybe it’ll last a few months this time. Could be less, if he really screws it up.

He’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” The words come out harsh, cold, and for a moment he expects you to turn away. You don’t. Of course you don’t.

You sigh heavily, you expected it, the ice you’d be met with. You know him intrinsically, predicting his moves like the plot twists of a movie you’ve watched one too many times.

“Something, anything.” This is sad, pathetic, even. You always do this. Go back to each other, pulling out a past that’s probably better off left in the dark closet it belongs to. Still, how can you just forget? The idea feels foreign after all this time weaving in and out of one another’s lives.

Still, this is familiar, comfortable, in a way. The feigned indifference, the cold tone, the need to pretend neither of you care nearly as much as you do. It would be easier, less painless, to just move on. Have lives separate from each other.

But he’s starting to think he lives off pain. Physical and mental. It’s all he’s known for years. Why change a routine that’s become so commonplace? And even with the pain, he’s never been happier than he was with you. You understand him, and the part of him that hates that kneels to the part that needs it.

The break ups, the separation, it’s all just a low between highs. Ones he finds far more addicting than the pills sitting in his pocket.

He begins tapping his cane on the floor, a restless rhythm. “I miss you.” His voice is deadpan as the words come out, and you know why. He’s being honest, his tone can’t betray how hard that really is for him. He leans his head back, letting it thud against the wall behind you in a way that makes you flinch.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s just saying what you want to hear.

You quickly remember who you’re talking to.

He lets his knee fall sideways, brushing against yours. It’s tiny, imperceivable, almost. If you weren’t so clued into everything he was doing, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, your eyes flicking down to the point of contact. It feels dangerous.

“I missed you too.” Your voice is shaky, quiet, pathetic. To you, at least. Most might see this as normal. A healthy display of vulnerability. You, though. This is hell. It is for him too. It’s also necessary. Maybe this is your twisted way of proving yourselves to each other, giving evidence to your devotion.

“This won’t end well.” He says, pragmatic as always. Cold, sensible. Too smart for hoping, waiting on change that’ll never come.

“I know.” And I’m here anyway. Words go unspoken, you’ve had enough honesty for today.

He sighs, and the noise is too tired. For a second fear settles in that you’re the one doing this to him. That trying to be decent. Trying to be suitable for a relationship is just too much for him to handle.

“Then why are you here?” He knows the answer, he’s not stupid. Maybe he just needs to hear it, and then he’ll get the common sense to tell you to leave. To give up on this, spare both of you the inevitable pain.

You sigh, the idea of having the explain worse than just letting the truth linger unspoken. “What if it works this time?” You know it’s stupid, and you know he’ll tell you just that. For a second you remember something your therapist told you. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. You’d rolled your eyes, told her this wasn’t anything like that. That people can change, you can change.

You stopped going to your appointments after that.

You just look at him, watch as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face before looking to you. “For how long?” For a second, you think there’s hope in his voice, like he’s waiting for you to lie to him, say this can last forever. It probably will, you think. On and off for the rest of your lives, never stable.

“We can find out.” The words are an invitation, a reckless one. You’ll let him back in, and it’ll end poorly, and you won’t be able to be mad. You knew how this would go from the start, how can you blame him for the inevitable?

He looks to you, and you can tell he’s given up. It was always gonna happen, you wouldn’t stay away forever. No use in wasting time waiting.

“I hate you.” The words are empty. It’s his last ditch effort to push you away. He has to do it, he has to know he didn’t just let you in. Something in him has to hold onto the false belief that he doesn’t need this, that he’s indifferent. That he’s the same cold man he’s always been.

As he mutters the words he reaches out, his hand sliding over your jaw, pulling you in closer.

You smile weakly, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the statement. You know him, you know when he’s lying, and he’s never done a worse job at it than he just did.

You’re hardly inches apart now, your lips nearly ghosting his own. Your voice is shaky as you speak, “Love you too.” As his lips brush yours, he just melts, leaning into you with a fervor he used to call lust. There’s no use pretending that’s all this is now.

The kiss ends all too soon as he pulls away, shallow breaths leaving both of you, filling the silence. You almost wonder if you should leave when his voice sounds, quiet, tentative, all things he’s normally not.

“I’m going to screw this up.” The look in his eyes is guilt for something he hasn’t even done. He will, but you ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that says to run before he has the chance. Yes, he’s hurt you. It’s not as if you haven’t done the same to him. You know where to aim when you’re mad, and you’ve turned him to a dartboard more times than you can count.

“I’m okay with that.” For a second, as the words fall off your tongue so easily, almost instinctually, you wonder if your mother would be disappointed in you. This isn’t how she raised you. Offering some man a hundred second chances all because what, you love him? Because when it’s good, it really is so good?

Because at the end of the day, you don’t think you could do it. Leave him, live the rest of your life without him in it. You’d wonder, you’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you just gave him one more chance. And so you will, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you’d never met him. Maybe you’d be married, happy with some man who gave you far less trouble than House ever did. You curse the way you find the thought boring. He’s awful, but he’s thrilling. You might even have kids, or at least be ready for one.

You know deep down you could have a future like that, and still, all thoughts of it dissipate when he opens his mouth.

“I’m off at eight.” Self loathing drips from each word. He’s a selfish bastard, he’ll let you forgive him, and time and time again, he’ll know he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he can’t turn you down. He can’t leave. He can’t not have you. The one good thing that’s ever come out of his life. He just can’t. Not when you’re offering.

“I’ll be here.” The words are so horribly fitting. Won’t you always? Will there ever be a time he takes it too far? Or will you always go back to him? Will you always turn away from the better life, the happier life you could have without him?

Yes. It’s always yes, because deep down, you stopped wanting a life without him the second you experienced life with him. Everything else became boring, commonplace, once you’d had him. There’s nothing like House. Not a person, or drug, or liquor strong enough to come close to how he makes you feel. Nothing can make the memory fade, and nothing can replace it either.

There’s no good outcome, it’s either life alone or life with him. And so you let his fingers interlace with your own, let the sensation numb the thought that never left your head this whole time, the one that’ll haunt you on sleepless nights you spend in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms wrapped around you.

This is a mistake.

A/N: thank u to the taco bell fire sauce packet i quoted.

dry humping with Jake Peralta x reader + slight somno vibes.

the soft sunlight filters in from the thin curtains in your apartment you sleepily stretch the best you can with Jake's arms pinning your hips close to his body. you wiggle to try and free yourself but you receive the opposite reaction of what you wanted. his grip tights as a soft sleepy whimper comes out of his mouth, the sound shoots right down to your core.

"Jake?"

"mm?" he huffs

"Jake" you shake him softly." I need you please. "

" mm. " you grind your hips down against him again and his grip loosens allowing you to sit up straight, the tip of his dick brushes your clit through his boxers drawing a lazy soft moan out of you you feel Jake's hips shift under you as you keep trying to make yourself cum.

" mm." he groans again to get your attention your eyes flutter open to peek down at him he's staring back with half lidded tired eyes "just put it in, Honey."