#and the rush of relief / satisfaction

[lyralit]

reminder:

you're allowed to be proud of your accomplishments.

you're allowed to think you're pretty, or smart, or funny.

you're allowed to be good at things.

you're allowed to voice your opinion.

you're allowed to do whatever makes you feel comfortable.

you're allowed to not know what you want to do.

you're allowed to change your mind.

you're allowed to want things.

you're allowed to cry and break down.

you're allowed to be disappointed when things don't go your way.

you're allowed to love the way you love.

you're allowed to dream.

[whosashan]

SILENT TREATMENT

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader

SYNOPSIS: How would they react when given the silent treatment by you.

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

Xavier is a patient man—truly, he is. He’s long grown accustomed to your peculiar ways, your little oddities. At times, he struggles to make sense of your antics, yet somehow, that only makes you all the more endearing to him.

The two of you sat across from each other on the couch in your apartment, the dim glow of the television flickering across your faces. The faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air from a candle burning on the coffee table, mixing with the remnants of popcorn and the intoxicating scent of your lover. A movie played—a familiar pastime for the both of you whenever time allowed with your busy schedules. You stole a glance at him, watching the way he sipped on the drink you had made earlier, fingers loosely curled around the mug, his gaze fixed on the screen. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the ceramic told you he was completely absorbed.

It was only when he finally noticed your unwavering stare that he turned to meet your gaze. And for a brief moment, he could have sworn that if looks could kill, he’d already be dead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Concern laced his voice, reflected in the blue of his eyes. Ironically, the sight of his worry only seemed to frustrate you further.

Since the moment he arrived, he had barely paid you any attention, too caught up in the film to acknowledge you properly. It was frustrating—how could he? He should be paying attention to you, not some cliché movie about time travel. The urge to turn it off crossed your mind, but you decided not to do that. You didn’t want him to notice how irritated you were.

Instead of answering, you merely turned your gaze back to the screen, feigning indifference. Even then, you could feel his eyes lingering on you, his confusion palpable.

The couch dipped slightly as he shifted closer, his warmth seeping into your skin. The space between you shrank, yet you remained still, stubborn in your silence.

"Baby..." His voice was soft, coaxing, and it took every ounce of restraint not to let your resolve crumble right then and there. His touch, his tone—it all made your heart ache in the most infuriating way. But pride held you firm, so you continued to ignore him.

And then, without warning, you felt him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, breathing you in as if he could commit your scent to memory. A shiver ran through you, your body tensing for a split second before surrendering to his warmth. He placed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your jaw.

"Talk to me." His voice had taken on a firmer edge now, more insistent, though still laced with quiet desperation.

When silence was his only answer, he did something unexpected. A sharp sting bloomed against your neck. He had bitten you.

"Xavier!" you gasped, jolting in surprise.

"So you do hear me," he murmured, exhaling softly, almost as if in relief.

You turned to face him at last, pouting. He was smiling—just barely—but there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his expression. He had won. He always did, you could never truly say no to him.

"Will you finally tell me what's on your mind, princess?" The pet name sent butterflies straight to your stomach, quickening your heartbeat.

A beat of silence passed before you relented, arms crossing in defiance. "You're not paying any attention to me. You’ve been glued to that movie this whole time—what's so fascinating about it, anyway?"

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek before pulling you into his embrace, his arms winding securely around you.

"Then I suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you," he murmured. "Starting now."

Zayne

"Darling."

Zayne's voice drifted through the quiet apartment, low and slightly hoarse—a telltale sign that he hadn’t been awake for long. It was a rare morning where neither of you had to rush off to work, a quiet reprieve from the usual chaos.

And yet, you remained silent.

Utter disbelief rooted you in place. The audacity. The betrayal. The pastries you had been looking forward to all night, the ones you had carefully chosen to enjoy with your morning coffee, were gone—devoured by none other than your sweet-toothed lover.

Under normal circumstances, it might have been a minor grievance, something to brush off with a sigh and a shake of your head. But after the past few days of relentless stress at work, this was simply the final straw.

You wouldn’t take it out on him, of course. He hadn’t known. It wasn’t his fault.

So instead, you ignored him. Well, at least until you calmed your nerves down.

Rather than making coffee, you opted for tea, hoping it might ease your irritation. You moved through the kitchen quietly, the warm mug cradled in your hands, its steam curling up toward your face.

And then—familiar hands.

Zayne’s arms wrapped around your waist, his touch effortlessly grounding, the press of his lips against the top of your head unbearably tender. He always had a way of melting through your defenses before you even realized it was happening.

His voice, smooth and deliberate, broke the silence. "Is something troubling you?" He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

Still, you said nothing.

He shifted slightly, gently turning you to face him. His dark hair was still tousled from sleep, and his eyes, half-lidded and heavy with lingering drowsiness, studied you with quiet curiosity. And for a moment, you faltered. He looked devastatingly good like this—soft and unguarded in the early morning light.

But then, the memory of your missing pastries resurfaced.

"Did I do something to upset you?" His tone remained even, but there was an unmistakable thread of concern woven beneath his usual stoicism. He reached for your free hand, the one not cradling your tea, and brought it to his cheek. His lips brushed over your wrist, something he has done countless times before, his touch effortlessly affectionate, yet it made your heart flutter, gaze softening.

You sighed. This man was going to be the death of you.

"You ate my pastries." Your voice was flat, your brows pulling together in a small frown.

A beat of silence. Then, understanding dawned in his expression.

"Ah," he murmured. "I see."

His grip on your hand didn’t loosen as he met your gaze, unshaken as ever. "I sincerely apologize, love. Allow me to make it up to you—come out with me, and I’ll buy you as many pastries as your heart desires."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Are you attempting to bribe me, Dr. Zayne?"

A ghost of a smile played at the corner of his lips, the closest thing to amusement you would get from him this early in the morning.

"Is it working?"

Rafayel

It was the third time this month that Rafayel had summoned you to his studio under the guise of an "emergency."

And, just like the last two times, there was no real emergency—just another one of his elaborate attempts to steal your attention.

Normally, his antics would have made you smile, maybe even laugh. You’d always found his dramatic nature endearing, his endless need for your presence almost charming. But work had been relentless lately, stretching you thin. The days blurred together in a mess of exhaustion, your mind too preoccupied with tasks and responsibilities to indulge him as easily as before.

The first time, you found it amusing. The second, you let it slide. After all, how could you deny your lover a bit of attention? But now, standing in the middle of his paint-streaked studio, his so-called "emergency" nothing more than an empty excuse, you could feel frustration simmering beneath your skin.

"Y/N!" Rafayel’s voice carried through the room, laced with exaggerated despair as he reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you could step out the door.

You paused but said nothing.

His grip tightened just slightly, his expression shifting into something almost comically wounded. "Are you actually mad at me?" He blinked at you, as if the very idea was beyond comprehension. It was clear he hadn't considered that disrupting your work might genuinely frustrate you.

You turned to face him, your expression firm. The moment his gaze met yours, he pouted—a soft, almost theatrical downturn of his lips that tugged at your heart despite your irritation.

Damn him.

You sighed, tearing your eyes away and attempting to leave again, but Rafayel wasn’t having it. His hold on your wrist remained firm, his grip gentle but insistent.

"Wait—I'm sorry!" His voice pitched slightly in alarm, his usual playful demeanor faltering as he scrambled to fix the situation. "I didn’t mean to make you mad. I just…" He hesitated, shoulders slumping slightly. "I just wanted to see you."

There was something so utterly boyish about the way he said it—so completely unguarded. You could hear the pout in his voice even without looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, some of your frustration ebbing away.

"Rafayel…" you murmured, your voice softer now. Turning back to him, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his paint-smudged fingers ghosting over your own.

"I'm not mad that you want to spend time with me," you reassured him gently. "But you can’t keep making up emergencies when you know I’m working. It’s not fair, love."

His brows knit together, guilt flickering across his features.

You huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll take a day off soon, and when I do, I’ll be all yours. No interruptions, I promise."

The transformation was instant. His entire face lit up, joy replacing every trace of guilt as he all but tackled you into his embrace, arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.

"You swear it?" His voice was muffled against your shoulder.

"I swear."

Rafayel pulled back just enough to grin at you, that familiar spark of mischief returning to his gaze. "Good. Because I already have about ten different date ideas, and I expect full participation."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Of course you do."

And just like that, your frustration melted away.

Sylus

You sat in Sylus' kitchen, at the grand kitchen island, indulging in whatever you felt like having at that moment, though the food did little to ease the frustration simmering beneath your skin.

Mephisto had been following you again.

The mechanical crow had a way of appearing when you least expected it, its glowing eyes tracking your every move like an ever-present specter. It unsettled you, always lingering just at the edge of your vision, a silent observer in the shadows. You even found him in your apartament once, still wondering how he got there.

You had spoken to Sylus about it more times than you could count, but the man seemed utterly unbothered, amused even, by your grievances.

“Are you planning to ignore me all day, sweet girl?” His deep, velvety voice broke through the silence, laced with the usual undertones of amusement. “I’ve already told you—Mephisto has simply taken an extreme liking to you.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to roll your eyes, and instead busied yourself with your meal. When that wasn’t enough of a distraction, you reached for your phone, scrolling aimlessly through the screen in an attempt to block out his presence.

But Sylus was nothing if not persistent.

You could feel his gaze on you—heavy, assessing, waiting. The subtle heat of his presence grew nearer, the faint scent of his cologne—dark spice and expensive leather—curling around you.

Then, effortlessly, he plucked the phone from your hands.

Your head snapped up, a scowl already settling on your face as you turned to glare at him. He, of course, remained entirely unruffled. A slow smirk curled his lips, and before you could snatch your device back, he tucked it into his pocket.

“You’ll get it back once you decide to talk to me.” He settled onto the stool beside you, elbow resting against the marble, his posture entirely relaxed as he watched your reaction with open amusement.

You huffed, turning away without a word. If he thought this was going to be enough to pull a response from you, he was sorely mistaken.

But you had underestimated Sylus.

The moment you stepped away, you felt his hand catch your waist, firm yet effortless, and in one fluid motion, he pulled you back against him. Your breath hitched as you collided with his chest, the warmth of his body pressing into yours, the scent of him dizzying.

He sighed against your ear, low and indulgent. “You’re being difficult.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

“I do not wish to be followed and monitored by your mechanical crow. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much.”

Sylus hummed, his fingers still resting against your waist as he turned you to face him. His expression remained unreadable, though there was something in his dark gaze—something knowing, something teasing.

“I know you are,” he said smoothly. “Alright, I’ll tell him to tone it down.”

Your brows furrowed, your skepticism evident, but you knew this was the best concession you would get from him.

“You’re terrible,” you muttered, though there was no real venom behind it.

He chuckled, his arms slipping around you fully, pulling you against him in a slow, deliberate embrace.

“Whatever you say, sweetie.”

Caleb

The apartment was warm, bathed in the soft glow of dimmed lights, the scent of home-cooked food still lingering in the air. Rain tapped gently against the windowpanes, a quiet backdrop to the clinking of dishes as Calebmoved around the kitchen, tidying up after dinner.

You sat at the dinner table, absently poking at the meal he had made you, though your appetite had long faded. Something gnawed at you, a strange ache settling in your chest that you couldn’t quite shake.

Caleb, of course, noticed immediately.

"You’re looking at that food like it personally offended you," he quipped, glancing over his shoulder. "What’s wrong, pipsqueak?"

You didn’t answer.

Your frown deepened as you idly pushed your fork against the plate, the silence between you stretching just a little too long.

The sound of running water cut off. Moments later, he was at your side, kneeling beside your chair, bringing himself to your eye level. His presence was steady, familiar—the scent of his cologne mixed with something undeniably Caleb.

Then—poke.

His finger prodded your cheek, once, twice, thrice, in an attempt to get a reaction out of you. Anything. He hated seeing you like this, all quiet and brooding.

"Guess you’re not that talkative now, huh?" His voice was teasing, but his eyes—warm and intent—searched your face for answers. The boyish grin he wore, the same one that had always made your heart falter just a little, did nothing to ease your mood.

You sighed, your gaze drifting—away from him, away from his teasing expression—to his neck. Bare.

The necklace. His necklace. Your necklace. The one you had given him, the one he always wore.

It wasn’t there.

He caught the flicker of emotion that crossed your face, and just like that, he understood. Of course, he did. He had known you for too long, had memorized every little shift in your expression, every mannerism that gave you away.

“I took it off while I was at work,” he admitted, watching you carefully. “Left it in my uniform and forgot to bring it with me.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

"But it’s safe," he reassured, reaching up to tousle your hair with a careless grin. “I’ll make sure to bring it next time, okay? Don’t pout on me now.”

You winced. “Caleb! I just washed my hair!”

And just like that, the tension was gone, washed away as you swatted at him in protest. His grin widened as he swiftly dodged your hands, the shift in your mood exactly what he had been aiming for.

The next thing you knew, you were chasing him through the apartment, the air filled with your laughter as he weaved through the furniture, just out of reach.

"Alright, alright, truce!" He lifted his hands in surrender, though the smirk on his lips told you he had no intention of actually stopping.

For now, the necklace was forgotten. For now, there was only this—the warmth, the laughter, the easy way he pulled you back in, just like he always did.

[finallychaoticeffigy]

Yandere kidnapper x reader

(He's hot...)

You jolt as thunder struck .You have always been afraid of thunder. The sudden intense noise always puts you on edge. However it's not just the volume, it’s the way it breaks the silence and reminds you shits can always happen the moment you least expect.

But there's nothing more terrifying than this monstrous man embracing you like there's no tomorrow.

His big arm wrap tightly around your waist while the other roams freely around other parts of your body. Lips attacking your neck groaning in satisfaction.

He always does this, he never gets sick of it. In fact it almost felt like hes addicted. Furthermore, he doesn't even wear a t-shirt around you, you once questioned him about this.

"Y/n your my lover, besides it helps me feel you more. Fucking clothes just get in the way baby." He responded with care as he kissed your cheeks.

He always whispers sweet things about you, how much he loves you and not just for your body but the whole you,how you're so perfect, your personality being the sweetest. How beautiful you are and how he would die and kill for you.

He always makes time for you. No matter how busy he is, just one word from you and he'll set it all aside just to spend time with you. He always takes care of you, give your needs and wants, you see you didn't even need to lift a finger, you just need to depend on him.

He truly is the best man. Any girl would love to have him, you too.... to be honest. It would all be so sweet. If....If he didn't kidnapped you months ago and forced you to stay with him.

He has brought you into a huge mansion in the woods with no human insight. 'I want us to be together with no interruption , others can go and fuck themselves. Now come here and gimme my morning kiss' you remembered him say once.

At first you tried to escape, but how could you , the windows from your room are way too high to jump and he doesn't even let you out of this stupid bedroom. So you started behaving to gain his trust until you're allowed to roam outside this room.

Your hardwork pays off , he starts trusting you more, you begin to wander around the mansion, taking notes inside your head, thinking ways for your escape.

--------------

You gradually felt him asleep beside you. You sighed in relief. The sleeping pills have worked. Now's your chance, you have waited for so long for this moment.

You slowly began to separate his arms around you. Careful not to wake him up. You felt your breath stopped for a moment as he groaned.

"Y/n " brows knit together, calling you in his sleep. Goodness even in his sleep, he probably held you captive too.

You successfully detached his arms , heart beating fast as you hurriedly got up and quietly like a mouse ran through the door , you didn't look back you just closed the door hoping not to make a sound.

You ran downstairs adrenaline rush through your veins. When you see the main door you dash as if your life depends on it, well because it did.

You twist the knob.....Locked. How could you be so stupid, of course he would lock it, especially at night. You tried to break the door but it was useless. You ran through the other direction, you would try to get out of the other doors you always saw when you're wandering around.

"Fuck my life" you cursed, it's not working, this was the 8th door you tried yet you couldn't get out.

"Y/n ! Sweetheart where are you ? ! " You knew that deep voice very well, it's him. How could he have woken up so fast?!

Tears began to form your eyes . Everything's useless now. You started to blame yourself. If only you're strong enough. This wouldn't have happened. But you knew very well you couldn't do anything about it.

He stormed inside the room with the same window you were planning to use as an escape route. You shrieked as he once again, wrapped around you like a snake.

"Baby why are you always running away from me?"

"I-i am sorry, i di-"

"Shh.... there there i forgive you...I love you too much to even get mad at you" he cooed like he was talking to a baby , kissing your hair gently.

"But I sure am fucking pissed about how you lied straight to my damn face when you said you weren't gonna run away baby" he bit your neck hard as you tremble in fear.

He picks you up still squeezing you tight. "Now... let's go to our bedroom and make up for it"

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: soft, soft, soft. thigh riding. mentions of period cramps.

notes: i just found out that orgasms help with period cramps? this is a very useful piece of information 👀

the dull, relentless ache coils in your stomach, pressing deep, tugging low. it’s the kind of pain that lingers, that makes you want to curl into yourself and slip into sleep just to escape it. you barely stir when chris shifts over from his side of the bed watching you, bundled beneath layers of blankets, warm but restless.

he doesn’t say much—just tugs at the blankets, urging your back to his chest with quiet insistence. his hands are warm as they settle at your waist, thumbs rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your skin.

“hurts?” his voice is soft, thick with sleep.

“mm,” you hum, barely lifting your head.

chris hums too, mimicking you, thoughtful, as his hands drift lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, the heat of his palms a soothing contrast to the dull ache beneath your skin. he lingers there, pressing gentle, steady warmth into your stomach, before his lips brush against your shoulder, soft as a sigh.

“you know,” he murmurs, voice slow, syrupy, like it’s melting between you, “i read somewhere that orgasms help with cramps.

you make a soft, sleepy sound, not quite skeptical, not quite convinced. his lips curve against your skin, hands sliding down, down, until his fingertips skim the waistband of your shorts.

“wanna try?” he whispers.

he doesn’t rush, doesn’t push—just nudges his thigh between yours, firm and solid, a slow, unspoken invitation. and it’s instinct, really, the way your hips shift, the way you sink against him, seeking out warmth, relief, something deeper.

the first drag is tentative, a lazy, testing grind that sends a ripple of pleasure spreading low in your belly, warm and thick. chris exhales against your skin, his grip tightening at your waist.

“there you go,” he murmurs, voice nothing but heat. “just like that.”

it’s slow, unhurried, the kind of pleasure that builds in layers, steeped in something rich, something languid. each roll of your hips sends another wave of heat pulsing through you, melting away the ache until all that’s left is the burn of need, the deep, insistent throb between your legs.

heat blooms low in your belly, unfurling with each lazy grind. chris hums, pleased, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, voice like silk, coaxing and sweet. “knew it would. you’re so warm, baby—so perfect for me.”

the friction is unbearable in the best way, the rough drag of fabric against slick, swollen heat, the steady press of his thigh against your clit. it’s relentless, the pleasure pooling, tightening, your body trembling with the effort of holding on.

chris feels it, feels you start to shudder, your breaths turning uneven. his hands smooth over your stomach, your ribs, like he’s grounding you, keeping you tethered to him. “i’ve got you,” he whispers, lips brushing over your jaw, down the curve of your throat. “just let go for me, sweetheart.”

the words sink into your skin, molten and heavy, unraveling you completely. your body tenses, then melts, pleasure washing over you in slow, rolling waves, curling warm and deep in your core. your fingers twist into the sheets, gasping his name on a breathless exhale.

chris holds you through it, murmuring soft things against your temple, his hands never leaving your body, smoothing over sweat-damp skin, coaxing you through the aftershocks. he presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another, lingering like he doesn’t want to pull away.

“better?” he murmurs after a long, lazy moment, his voice thick with sleep, with satisfaction.

you nod, slow and drowsy, your body still humming from the aftermath, the ache in your belly replaced with something softer, warmer. chris exhales, pleased, his arms tightening around you like he’s pulling you deeper into him, holding you close like you’re something delicate, something precious.

“knew it,” he murmurs, smug and sweet all at once, nuzzling against your temple. “told you it’d work like a charm.”

you make a soft sound, half amusement, half exhaustion, and chris chuckles, his fingers tracing idle patterns over your stomach. his touch is lazy now, absentminded, like he’s still savoring the feel of you against him, the way you melted so perfectly in his arms.

“think i should be your personal remedy from now on,” he muses, voice dipping into something teasing, something warm. his lips press against the side of your neck, lingering, a slow, affectionate drag of his mouth over your skin. “anytime you need me, baby, i’ve got you.”

you hum again, sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness, the steady rise and fall of chris’s breathing lulling you under. his hands stay gentle, tracing over your waist, up your ribs, soothing, protective.

“go to sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice soft, like the hush of waves against the shore. “i’ll be right here when you wake up.”

and with the warmth of him wrapped around you, the last thing you feel before sleep claims you is the press of his lips against your skin—gentle, lingering, like a promise.

[handlemehyuck]

take what you need from me . lee jeno

・❥・ cockwarming (reader falls asleep during) + light fingering 18+ mdni fluff, stress relief, jeno x female reader 1.2k

thinking about cockwarming with boyfriend jeno, and its presence in your nighttime routine—the hints he receives in texts throughout the day, and that’s how this all started: your stress.

one evening, the energy that joined your arrival back home weighed down your shoulders, clouded your gaze, and kept your lips in a tight line when you approached your boyfriend after kicking off your shoes. so he took your hand, led you to your bedroom, and started undressing. every article of clothing shed enhanced the light in your eyes, straightening your posture with intrigue. when he was naked and perched on the edge of your bed, his fingertips flicked the buttons of your blouse, “may i?” the permission was easy—immediate, and he began undressing you slowly, taking his time, each movement made with care; there was no need to rush. once you were naked too, he leaned forward to kiss the stripe of skin beneath your breasts, squeezing your waist as the gentle ministration started the heavy task of clearing your head.

“i want to try something.” you watched with curiosity and awe as jeno pushed himself back until he was leaning against the headboard, muscles flexing, slivers of sunshine brushing his skin in a perfect glow. your lips parted at the sight, instinctually moving forward and taking his outstretched hand. you knew what this was. you had mentioned it before, when you were on his lap in the living room. it was a sunday night, serenity in the air and you half-dressed after a shower. he didn’t bat an eye, said you should try it while tracing your delicate lines of ink, wondered aloud if you already had. only a couple of times. with the wrong person, but a seed of something was still planted: closeness—a complete union.

your knees sink into the mattress, distance closing as you approach his waist, cock hard against his taut stomach, but his eyes are gentle and soft. jeno smiles at you, something reassuring as your legs widen to accommodate the width of his thighs. a guiding hand placed on your hips as you sink down.

the stretch is familiar. his hands on your thighs are warm. your locked gazes send a chill down your spine. for a moment, all you do is watch each other, feeling his length exactly where you want it, loving the warm buzz of need but knowing you won’t give in. you tilt your head, eyes closing as the waves of sweet euphoria lap at the edges of your mind, begging for a total flood. jeno draws you closer. your chests collide. your head dips, lips meeting his skin, grazing his neck, and sucking your favorite spot behind his ear—the place that always pulls a delicious sound from his lips. his strong arms hold you in a soft possession, fingertips kneading over your shoulders and down your back, searching for the spot that wakes you up in the middle of the night.

the feeling of your body going slack in his arms is electrifying because jeno knows what it means—how significant it is to be trusted completely, reminded of a moment so early on it feels like a lifetime ago when he told you: take what you need from me. he remembers the surprise that shifted your features. it widened your eyes, parted your lips, and warmed your cheeks. in that moment, his words meant a million things. neither one of you could know exactly where they’d begin and where they’d end, if anywhere at all. in the moments you feel like you’re taking too much, all jeno experiences is satisfaction and safety in your heart as the man you decided was worth letting in, letting yourself be known by, letting yourself connect with, and fall and tumble into something so intertwined you don’t doubt it’s cosmic.

jeno knows you’ve fallen asleep and readjusts himself ever so slightly, propping up another pillow behind him before closing his own eyes to focus on the rise and fall of your chest. the beat he feels against his own is recognized by his heart, and his breath matches yours.

you wake up to the sound of your name mumbled against your skin, an apologetic tone. “baby, i’m so sorry. i’ve got to piss.”

you hum, amused and start to lift yourself, but jeno stops you, catching you in a blissful kiss. his thumb teases the side of your breast, hardening your nipples. no fair. when he pulls away, you kiss his nose and finally disconnect with a sigh. one that melts into his own.

he’s still taking his time, and you lay propped up on your side to admire all of his solid lines, finding the soft and round places with ease. “are you sure you have to pee?”

“my leg’s asleep.” his smile is lazy, eyes shrinking to crescents. a light laughter follows, spilling a similar glow to the sun’s throughout your bedroom, its light gone until morning.

“should i stab it with a pen?” his expression sends you into giggles, and you settle for gentle squeezes along his quad muscle. “not my jen, i could never.” you fall onto your stomach and pepper kisses just above his knee. “better?” jeno hums, encouraging you to keep going.

you kiss his body until jeno stops you, groaning about the damn bathroom again, knowing his hard on will create an unfortunate struggle. “don’t go anywhere.” like you ever would.

you coo loudly, embarrassing him as he waddles through your closet and into the attached bath. “shut up!”

you turn to lay flat on your back, drawing a fingertip up your abdomen and through the valley between your breasts, completely immersed in euphoria. “don’t you dare come back in here without washing your hands.”

“who do you think i am?” the faucet turns on for a full 30 seconds - yes, you count them - before your boyfriend is back and standing over your body. he admires you: the curves he’d recognize with his eyes closed, your blissful expression, the swell of your chest, faint bruises from the weekend decorating your hip. “should we make love, baby?”

“please,” his thumb traces your lips, and you watch his face with wide eyes, eager not to miss a thing.

“you always ask so nicely, doll.”

“jen,” you moan as he pops his thumb into your mouth. your tongue circles it on instinct, satisfied, he draws it out. “please don’t make me wait.”

“i wasn’t going to,” he kisses your nose and then your forehead. sinking into the mattress, his knees entrap you this time. his thumb is coated in your saliva, not that he needs the help—your folds are already soaked. “mmm, always ready for me too.”

“you make it easy, jen.” you squirm beneath him, close to steering his thumb exactly where you need it.

he’s being playful, knowing there’s hours ahead of this, and you’ll be orgasmic until the sun rises. it’s one of the reasons why he has a thing about middle of the night lovemaking. he can only see so much of you in the moonlight. the shadows are exciting, lines of light find you in the lewdest places. but, his favorite part is watching you clarify—his love all over you as the sun stretches and yawns before you’re completely coated in light. light that sticks to your swollen lips, messy hair, bruised skin, the place where your bodies intertwine, his hand around your neck, your eyelids fluttering when his name is the only thing left to say because you know it makes him cum.

[prodbymaui]

Aftermath — 이민형.

under the moonlight, you're all I need tonight

PAIRING: mark lee x gn reader

GENRE: lover duties

WORD COUNT: 1.1K+ words

WARNINGS: idol!mark, oral (mark receiving)

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend comes home exhausted, and your lover signal goes blaring. now you don't want anything other than to provide comfort and relief like he does to you.

A/N: just a little mark blurb, I wish someone is sucking him good every night especially when it's exceptionally tiring because he deserves it!

Everything had been hectic today. Mark’s schedule started at the ungodly hour of two in the morning, barely giving him time to wake up properly before rushing off to get his makeup done. From there, he was whisked straight to the KBS building for Music Bank’s pre-recording, which concluded around 5 AM. Instead of taking a breather, they moved immediately into filming content for a YouTube feature. No sooner had that wrapped than Mark found himself in a whirlwind jacket photoshoot for his new album. As if his day wasn’t packed enough, he went straight into the recording studio to touch up vocals for one of his tracks, only to head back to Music Bank again for the live broadcast. When that was finally over, his schedule dragged him back to the SM building, where he practiced with the Dreamies for a grueling two hours. And just when you thought his day might wind down, he ended it with a long meeting finalizing the details of his solo album.

By the time the door finally clicked open at midnight, your heart ached at the sight of Mark Lee shuffling in, his steps heavy and sluggish. His usually bright eyes were now nearly shut with sheer exhaustion as he wordlessly made his way to the bathroom. You watched him, your worry growing with each step he took. You didn’t even get the chance to remind him it wasn’t good to shower so soon after coming in. The words died on your lips as you were too caught up in observing the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of his day. It wasn’t news to you that your boyfriend had one of the busiest and most grueling schedules imaginable for an idol. Still, no matter how much you told yourself to expect it, you never quite got used to seeing him in this state—completely drained of the energy that usually lit up his every move.

Minutes later, when Mark finally emerged from the bathroom, he looked even wearier, if that was possible. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his clothes were sloppily thrown on, signaling just how little energy he had left for anything. He didn’t say a word as he trudged toward the bed, collapsing onto it without a second thought. It was hard to tell whether he hadn’t noticed you sitting nearby or if he was simply too tired to acknowledge your presence. Either way, you didn’t take it to heart.

Softly, you crawled into bed beside him, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. The gesture was simple but filled with all the love and comfort you wished you could give to soothe the ache of his day. You felt a quiet satisfaction when the corners of his lips curved upward in a small, unconscious smile.

“Tired?” You whisper against Mark’s ear, pressing yet another kiss.

Mark leans in to your touch, almost purring like a kitten getting pampered by his mom. But the tranquil comfort gets interrupted when your free hand slowly snakes its way down to the front of his sweatpants, resting on top of it just enough for Mark to feel your warmth through the fabric.

“Baby,” He mumbles, shuffling closer. “I can’t today, ‘m sorry.. So tired.”

The sigh coming out of his lips falls to deaf ear as your palm begins moving lightly along his hardening length. Mark hisses, hand threatening to grip the hem of your shirt. He relaxes a little eventually at your soft caresses on his scalp. Still, you could tell he’s in his thoughts again— by the way he’s unmoving in your hold and perform no reactions to your palm’s movements even in the slightest.

Therefore, you pull away from him. The fingers previously on his hair now sits gently on his cheeks.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything.”

With one last kiss on his lips, you slide downwards and meets the evident print of his cock. You trace it using your nose, grazing the pads of your lips if it catches, before tugging the bands to release his length. Using your spit as a makeshift lube, you watch how Mark’s body responds to your pumps of his cock, stimulating it all the while you move to lick along his balls. You nip lightly at his skin, just how he likes it. As expected, Mark exhales loudly, visibly more relaxed than earlier.

His whines pushes you to suck on one of his balls, fondling the other. Mark’s chest heaves up and down, your name slipping past his lips once or twice. The rim of your lips travels to his tip, sinking down to the base of his cock as you finally take him down your throat, providing Mark a pleasure he didn’t knew he needed at this moment.

“Fuck..” Mark sighs.

You bob your head, setting a steady pace that is not too much for you but is fast enough to bring Mark closer to euphoria. There’s no need of rushing things right now because none of this is about you. Tonight is all about Mark. Your ever hard-working boyfriend who shows nothing but competence, passion, and eagerness in everything he does. Your lovely boyfriend whose happiness is your happiness. It’s time to give back all the love he gave you in times you were in his position.

Mark’s arm covers his eyes as he pants, hips jerking involuntarily to thrust deeper in to your mouth. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, causing a choke from your end. It’s not a hinder to you as you recover immediately but Mark— God, Mark loves the feeling of you throat getting tighter as though it’s your pussy he’s fucking. He gasps, chasing the way it closes around him.

The more his high-pitched moans and desperate whines of your names escape his lips, the more your urge fuels inside you. You let your mouth moves on his length, letting him hit deeper and faster whereas your hand busies themselves traces the faint line of his abs and the other on his balls. You observe the way Mark’s face contorts at every movement from you until his fatigue finally melts as he releases down your throat, muttering sweet ‘thank you’s.

Licking the remaining drops of cum, you stretch a hand to the bedside and wipes down any saliva or cum left before returning the sweatpants back to where it is. After throwing the wet wipes to the trash can, you take a glance at Mark who’s already sound asleep before heading to brush your teeth and lays down beside him.

“You did so great today,” You peck his forehead, nose, and when your lips meet his, Mark wraps and arm around your waist— deepening the kiss before burying his face on your neck.

“Thank you, baby.” His hold gets a bit tighter. “Love you so much.”

[etherealval]

— tension relief

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader

warning: suggestive content, kissing & massaging (?)

a/n: thank you guys sm for 100 followers !! i literally started writing just because i was bored and didn’t think people would actually read my stuff ?!?! i love all of you <33

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the slight furrow in his brow. it was subtle, but it was there—tension. without thinking too much about it, you shifted a little closer, letting your leg brush against his. "you okay?"

he blinked, turning his head to meet your eyes. "yeah, just a little stiff, i guess. been sitting weird all day." his voice was casual, but there was an underlying strain that told you he was feeling more than a little discomfort.

"do you want me to give a massage?" you asked, your voice soft but teasing, trying to lighten the mood.

his eyes flickered with surprise, and then he let out a low chuckle. "uh, sure, if you’re offering."

"turn around," you instructed, already shifting to kneel behind him on the bed. he hesitated for a moment before moving to sit cross-legged in front of you, his back now facing you. you could feel the anticipation humming between the two of you, the air charged with something unspoken. you placed your hands on his shoulders, gently at first, feeling the tension knotted beneath his skin. his muscles were tight, and you began to slowly work your thumbs into the knots, applying just enough pressure to coax a soft groan out of him. the sound sent a little thrill through you, and you bit your lip, focusing on kneading the tight spots with care.

"that feels… really good," he muttered, his voice slightly hoarse, like the sensation was hitting deeper than he’d expected.

you smiled, encouraged by his reaction. your hands slid lower, down the sides of his neck, your fingers pressing into the curve of his spine. the heat from his skin seeped into your palms, and your touch became slower, more deliberate, each movement lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

your hands drifted lower, brushing against the muscles along his back, tracing the contours of his body in slow, purposeful strokes. you noticed how his breath hitched, how his muscles tightened and relaxed under your touch, and how his entire posture seemed to melt into you. it was more intimate than you'd expected, each press of your fingers drawing out a deeper, softer sound from him. the energy between you had shifted, no longer casual but something heavier, charged.

the movie continued to play in the background, long forgotten. all you could focus on was the steady rise and fall of his breathing and the way your hands danced over his body. the tension you’d first noticed seemed to have transformed into something else, something thicker, more palpable.

you leaned in a little closer, your breath fanning across the back of his neck as your hands slipped lower, brushing over his sides. you could feel him tense beneath your touch, but it wasn’t from discomfort anymore. it was anticipation. your fingers trailed back up, lingering at the nape of his neck, your thumbs tracing slow circles over the sensitive skin there.

he let out a deep sigh, his body finally surrendering to your touch, his head tilting slightly as if he were giving in completely. you couldn’t help but notice how every sound he made, every twitch of his muscles, sent a thrill through you, your pulse quickening as the air between you grew thick with unspoken tension.

“god, that feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice lower, rougher than before. his words sent a ripple of heat through you, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a rush of satisfaction at how easily you’d unraveled him.

your hands slid back up to his shoulders, squeezing gently before you leaned in closer, so close now that your chest brushed against his back. your breath was warm against his ear as you spoke, your voice barely a whisper, "want me to keep going?"

he shivered at the sound of your voice, and you felt him nod, unable to form the words. you shifted again, your legs on either side of him now, pulling him back into you slightly as your fingers found the tight muscles in his shoulders once more. this time, though, your movements were slower, more deliberate, your hands tracing the lines of his body with a touch that felt far more intimate than just a massage.

you pressed your thumbs into the tight spots near his neck, feeling the tension melt away underneath your fingers. the room was so quiet, the sound of his breathing and the movie’s faint dialogue the only things breaking the silence. his body leaned into yours, relaxed yet somehow charged with something heavier, more electric.

without thinking, you let your hands slide around to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. he tensed again, but this time it was different, the kind of tension that comes with wanting more.

“turn around,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

matt did as you asked, his movements slow and deliberate as he shifted to face you. his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, filled with an intensity that made your pulse race. for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with anticipation. then, without a word, you leaned in and kissed him.

the moment your lips touched his, it was like something snapped between you. the kiss started slow, tentative, but the tension that had been building all evening made it impossible to stay soft for long. his lips moved against yours with increasing urgency, like he’d been holding back and now couldn’t stop himself.

his hands found your waist, fingers gripping tightly as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressed together. the heat of him was overwhelming, his chest rising and falling quickly, breath already ragged as the kiss deepened. your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you tilted your head, letting the kiss grow hungrier, more intense.

his tongue slipped past your lips, teasing yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. every brush, every flick of his tongue made your body buzz with heat. you could feel him responding just as intensely, the way his breathing hitched, the way his hands tightened their grip on you, like he couldn’t get enough.

the kiss wasn’t soft anymore—it was desperate, almost possessive, as if every second apart had built up to this moment. your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, and you let your hands slide lower, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

he groaned into your mouth, a low, rumbling sound that made your heart race. his hands moved from your waist, sliding up your back, pressing you even tighter against him until there was no space left between your bodies. the intensity of the moment made everything else fade away—there was no world outside this, just the feel of his lips on yours, the heat of his skin, and the way every touch seemed to ignite a fire deep inside you.

you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he broke the kiss for just a second, only to dive back in, more insistent, more demanding. his lips were rough now, urgent, as if he couldn’t stand to be apart from you even for a moment.

your hands slid down to his chest, feeling the muscles tense under your touch, and you pushed him back slightly, just enough to climb into his lap. the movement made him pause for a brief second, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he looked at you, breathless, lips swollen from the kiss. the sight of him like that, flushed and wanting, made something inside you twist with need.

you kissed him again, this time slower but no less intense, savoring the way he tasted, the way his hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch he could reach. every touch felt electric, every movement setting off sparks of heat that left you both breathless. when you finally pulled back, your lips still tingling from the intensity, both of you were panting, hearts racing, the air between you thick with everything left unsaid.

"feel better now?" you asked, your voice teasing but breathless, still caught up in the lingering heat between you.

a slow grin spread across his face as he nodded. "yeah.. but i think i might need another one of those massages soon."

taglist - @42angelgirl , @heartsforvin

[m0reighn4]

His voice

Sypnosis: Sae realises that his voice affects you. But he wants to test just how much...

Warnings: Smut under the cut; a little out of character (ooc); a tad rushed; Google translated Spanish (your girl just don't know the language ✌🏽😔)

Sae's voice is hot. That much is a given. If he spoke English, it was heavenly. When he spoke his native language, Japanese? Argh! That right there is the ticket straight to heaven!

Now, this had been something you'd gotten used to until one day, when travelling with him in Madrid, Sae is speaking to someone in Spanish. This makes you pause. Similarly to when he speaks English, you can still hear the Japanese accent in his voice. The syllables roll off his tongue so naturally.

Your surprised reaction doesn't go unnoticed by the soccer genius, who subtly slips his arm around your waist. Though it doesn't show, a subtle smirk forms on his face as he continues his discussion.

But when it really comes through is when Sae has got you— pressed into his pristine sheets, back arched into the soft mattress, moaning and whimpering his name just the way he likes.

With the way he skillfully works your body, he draws the best reactions from you. But tonight, it isn't enough. Tonight, he wants even more from you.

Sae leans down, draping your back in his heat as his face comes close to your ear. This is action is all too common for him. Expecting the usual groaning or panting of his, you immediately offer your attention to him. And that's when you hear it— soft and hot against the shell of your ear.

"Allí vamos mi amor, [There we go, my love],"he pants.

And that when he feels it, just the mere sound of his voice being used like this driving you wild. You can't help but shudder, bring the man above his much desired satisfaction.

The both of you groan in unison, his much softer than yours. A soft head of auburn hair drops to your shoulder. His lips tugs into a small, subtle smirk. Oh, he's got you.

Feathery kisses are pressed to the plane of your shoulder, up the column of your neck, right to your ear once more. And you can almost hear his smug smirk in his voice as his thrusts turn the slightest bit sharper.

"Mmh, entonces te gusta mi voz[Mmh, so you do like my voice]?"

His smirk widens when a whine is ripped right from your throat. Sae leaves a sweet kiss right under your ear. And that just leaves you even hotter.

All that runs through your mind is Sae, Sae, Sae! It's driving you nuts in the best way possible. As you ride further up on cloud nine, his voice pulls you right back down to earth once again.

"Te vas a correr para mí, ¿no?[You're gonna cum for me, aren't you?]" And it doesn't take a genius to know how right he is. With your eyes rolled back and your jaw going slack, he whispers in your ear one more time, "Anda, cúmpleme[Go on, cum for me.]"

And that's all you need. With a gasp of his name, white, hot pleasure bursts through your body as you shiver against him. Sae holds you close, reaching his hand over to tilt your jaw to his face. It doesn't take too long before he falls right over the edge with you, smashing his lips to yours to forcing you to swallow the soft sigh of relief he releases.

Aight, so a lot went down with this one. First off, it took me a month to complete (most of that time, it was just sitting in my drafts, collecting dust). Then, came the inevitable issue, me not knowing any Spanish other than the microscopic amounts I learnt from Dora when I was like 4 😭🤷🏽‍♀️. So feel free to correct any mistakes I made in between. And then, my worst one, posting this WAY earlier than I was supposed to. It was so bad that it wasn't even DONE! So I actually had to rush it a little towards the end 😭

So on that note, thanks to everyone who liked and reblogged my incomplete work. And I hope you enjoy the finished work even more now! Thank you all for reading! 🤍🤍💙💙

(Also, thanks to @reigensuperstar for the help with the Spanish bits. Your advice helped a ton 🙏🏽😔)

[beenbaanbuun]

guard dog pt.2 w/ jeong yunho

idk if this will become a series (it absolutely will, i love him). if you have any asks about this little series then i’ll be more than happy to answer them 🥰

warnings - yandere!yunho, hybrid!yunho, role reversal, yunho calls reader puppy, talk of murder, talk of living in a bad neighbourhood, allusions to masturbation, choking

pt1

you were under the impression that by wearing yunho’s jumper, it might piss him off just a little bit

but as you walk into the living room where he lays, limbs slung across the couch that he deemed beneath him no more than a few nights ago, you’re shocked to see a smirk playing on his lips

if you had much more on beneath it, you might have torn it from your body and thrown it at his smug face, but you wouldn’t want to give the mutt the satisfaction of seeing your tits

“going somewhere, puppy?” it’s been three long, arduous days and he still hasn’t dropped the nickname

you’re this close to getting your name tattooed in hold across your forehead; maybe then he won’t forget it

“the shop,” you walk over to grab your boots; heavy and intimidating and perfect for kicking any creep that gets too close, “i want a snack.”

“there’s plenty of food in the fridge,” he deadpans as you make your way over to the sofa

he doesn’t move, not even when you glare so hard at his legs that he can practically feel you burning holes in them

annoying prick

you settle for sitting right on the edge of the cushion, just far enough on to keep yourself from toppling to the floor as you slip your shoes onto your feet

“i don’t want the food in the fridge,” you say simply as you tie your laces, “if i wanted the food in the fridge, i’d eat the food in the fridge.”

a few seconds of silence pass by, and you’re almost positive that he spends them rolling his eyes behind your back

“it’s dangerous to go out at this time on your own,” as if that’s not the most obvious thing in the world

luckily for you, you have the safe streets memorised, and you carry your keys tight in your fist as a make-shift shiv

yunho seems to forget that you’ve lived here far longer than he has; you’re far too used to how dangerous it can be when twilight hits

“nothing stopping you from coming with,” you suggest, although you hope to everything that is holy that he says no

“i’m not getting changed out of my pyjamas, puppy,” a sigh of relief escapes your mouth as he gives you what want

“well, i’m going either way,” you insist, and he nods in understanding, expecting no less of you

you’re not ashamed to admit that you’re stubborn, maybe even sometimes to the point of being a brat

it’s just so fun to see your victim’s get riled up as you push each of their buttons over and over again

part of you hoped you would’ve learned yunho’s buttons by now, enough to get a little rise out of him, at least

but as he looks you up and down with nothing but neutrality in his eyes, you know that yet again you’ve failed

perhaps you’ve met your match, at long last; the person who can turn each and every jab around and aim them back at you

as your annoyance rises within you, making your bones buzz and your heart clench tight in your chest, you understand just how true that is

and you’re fucking stuck with him

“have fun getting murdered down some dark alley, then,” he just waves you off, only serving to piss you off more

“you’re a prick,” you spit in retaliation

your footsteps are heavy as you head to the door, eyes already trained on the little table you stash your keys on for safekeeping

the little silver stash normally takes pride of place, sitting pretty in the centre so as to not go unseen whenever you’re in a rush to leave

but the table is empty, and you know you won’t have put your keys anywhere else

but then there’s a tinkle behind you; the gentle sound of metal upon metal drawing your attention away from where the keys should be to where they actually are

the mutt’s black ears twitch atop his head as he gently fingers the bundle

you watch as the light catches, reflecting back on his stupidly handsome face in dots of shimmering light

fortunately, his prettiness only makes him that much easier to hate; of course the bastard is a prick when he looks like that

“yunho, give me my keys,” your voice is stern, tired of whatever game it is he’s playing already

“don’t want to,” he says, amusement laced through his words

the keys clink louder this time as he takes them in his fist before slipping them into his sweatpants without another word

“yunh—”

“let’s play a game, puppy,” he cuts you off, “if you fetch the keys like a good pup, i’ll let you go to the store. that sound good?”

the smile he wears is wicked, all teeth like he’s a snarling beast

he might look human, for the most part, but the sharp canines that dig into his bottom lip are a harsh reminder that he’s closer to that beast than he seems

but you’re not in the business of losing, and you certainly refuse to give up without a fair fight

if he wants to play dirty, then dirty is what he’ll get

it takes a mere few seconds for you to cross the room back to the couch, shimmying round it until you’re standing in front of him, legs lined up with his crotch

you sink to your knees, not daring to look at his face despite hearing the deep chuckle he gives you in response

“which pocket?” you spit, words sharp and impatient

“work it out, pup.”

you jump at the feeling of a warm hand petting the top of your head, fingers curling around an invisible pair of dog ears to match his own

you try your best to ignore everything about the situation; the game of fetch, the way you’re knelt at his feet, the way his hand absentmindedly plays with your hair

everything about it screams puppy, and that is not your fucking name

your fingers dip into his left pocket, feeling around for a moment or two before coming out empty handed

you don’t even allow a second to tick my before you delve your fingers into his other pocket and feel around in a similar way

but you can’t feel anything in there either, and it stumps you

yunho hums as you draw your fingers back, finally shifting your unamused gaze back to his face

“you know what i think?” he starts, and you nod, desperate for a hint of some kind, “i think you’d be so pretty with a collar wrapped around that lovely little neck of yours.”

it takes you off guard a little, not at all what you were expecting to drop from his mouth

and yet somehow, as the words sink in a little, you find yourself rather unsurprised

you shoot him the harshest glare you can muster before pushing his hand firmly away from your head

“well i don’t have a collar around my nec—”

the warm palm you pushed from your skull not a second prior, now lies on your throat

you can feel it, gentle yet firm as it holds you in place and pushes your protests away

“are you sure about that, puppy?” he growls; a sound that travels straight to your core, “from where i’m sitting, it looks like you do.”

it takes everything in you to shuffle back, just far enough away that his hand slips free of your neck and falls flat against the leather of your sofa

you stand on shaky legs, taking a few steps towards the bathroom as you do everything in your power to not look at him

if you do, you’re not quite sure what will happen

but your avoidant eyes miss the way he slips the keys free of his waistband and tosses them onto the coffee table, satisfied enough in his win to know he doesn’t have to hide them anymore

“i’m going for a shower,” you say with a shaky voice, slipping out of his sight as he gives you a hum of affirmation

it looks like the shower head will come in handy tonight

[pitchsidestories]

She's a keeper II Mary Earps x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1322

summary: you slip into your girlfriend's gloves in training, unaware that during an England game, fun becomes serious.

author's note: hi everyone, we hope you enjoy the little story we came up with. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

It was still winter, but there was a hint of spring in the air as the England team prepared for the next Nations League games. Everyone enjoyed the sun's rays on their skin and the warmer temperatures.

Done with your exercises for the day, you looked for something fun to do, watching your girlfriend being in goal you suddenly had an idea what you could do.

“Let me try it.”, you exclaimed thrilled.

Amused, Mary raised her eyebrows: “Seriously?”

“Yes, you heard me, love.”, you confirmed grinning.

The goalkeeper handed you, her gloves slowly: “Okay, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not as clumsy as Lessi.”, you assured your girlfriend.

She snorted unconvinced: “We’ll see.”

“What, are you doing in goal?”, Beth laughed, clearly entertained by the sight of you in your lover’s position.

“Seeing the game through Mary’s eyes.”, you explained.

With a slight smile on her lips Lucy braced her hands on her hips before resolutely reaching for the ball: “Let’s see how good you’re.”

“Not too bad for the first try, darling.”, Mary cheered on you.

Panting, you clutched the ball tightly:” Not bad? Do you know how hard she shoots?”

“Only all too well.”, the goalkeeper chuckled.

Beth gently pushed your girlfriend aside so that she could shoot herself:” My turn!”

“I'm ready”, you announced with a nod, resting your hands on your thighs while you waited for the moment the ball flew through the air.

The Arsenal striker happily threw her arms up in the air.: “Goal!”

“That wasn’t fair. Let’s try again.”, you decided.

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled cheerfully: “Okay.”

It gave you a certain satisfaction that you were able to fend off the next goal attempt. “And that’s a save.”, you rejoiced.  

Beth whistled appreciatively: “Damn, she’s good.”

Delighted, Mary turned her head around to look into the England’s head coach eyes who had observed the whole scene quietly: “Sarina, you should consider my girl for a situation in which we need a field player in goal.”

“I hope that’s a problem that we’ll never have.”, Sarina sighed.

In a more serious tone, the Paris St. Germain player replied: “Same.”

“But it’s good to know.”, the Dutch woman remarked.

Watching you land awkwardly on the ground, Mary rushed to you with a worried look on her face:” Ouch, love, you’re good? I think that was enough goal keeping for the day.”

“No, I’m good.”, you waved it off as you got back on to your feet.

Relief spread through Mary’s heart:” Come here.”

She hugged you facilitated and gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead, not caring that you two were still surrounded by your teammates and not alone.

“I enjoyed being you for a bit.”, you beamed at her.

“And I liked the look of you with my gloves on.”, Mary winked at you, kissing you once more.

“Oi, get a room you two!”, Ella called from the other side of the field and grimaced in disgust.

You shrugged and pointed to your girlfriend: “She didn’t want to share with me! She’s rooming with Millie!”

The blond defender immediately joined the conversation, her eyebrows raised with a knowing look on her face: “Mary, do you read our room tonight?”

With her arm around your waist, Mary shook her head: “No, we’re professionals. We don’t have to be glues together all the time.”

“Exactly.”, you nodded. As much as you two enjoyed spending time alone as couple, you also liked to use the England camps as time to bond with your teammates.

Millie shrugged, seemingly disappointed in the two of you: “Fine then.”

You turned to your girlfriend, both of you stifling a laugh before you shared one last kiss and went back to training.

The scenes from that training session played in your head as you watched Mary go down in your next Nations League game. It was the 82nd minute and the referee had stopped the game so the physios could tend to Marys injury. She was sitting on the ground, holding her arm. A million thoughts rushed through your head while you walked towards her.

“I don’t think I can continue… But we ran out of subs.”, you heard her say to the physios, her voice straining with pain. You knew she would push through if she was asked too.

More and more of your teammates crowded around her, discussing what to do next.

You shook your head and silently cursed Mary for accidentally predicting this situation in that training session.

“I’ll do it.”, you suddenly blurted out without wasting another thought on it.

You could feel all of your teammates eyes on you.

“You’re sure? Maybe I can try to keep going?”, Mary suggested but the sweat pearls on her forehead and her clenched jaw already told you in how much pain she actually was.

You nodded determinedly and held your hands out for her gloves: “It’s only ten minutes left. And I learned from the best.”

Reluctantly and with a bit of struggle, she pulled the gloves off and handed them to you: “Okay. Good luck, babe.”

“Thanks.”

Another goalkeeper jersey with your girlfriend’s name was procured from somewhere. It was little bit too big for you when you slipped in.

While Mary was escorted off the pitch, you put her gloves on and took a deep breath.

You looked over to the bench and met Sarinas’s gaze. She gave you a small encouraging nod.

Lucy appeared on your side and patted your shoulder: “Don’t worry, we’ll have your back.”

“I trust you. You better not let any ball through.”, you warned them half-jokingly, but the joke seemed to get lost in the severity of the situation.

With a serious look on her face, Leah patted your shoulder encouragingly: “You can count on us.”

“Let’s do this.”, you clapped into your hands, trying to appear more confident than you felt which was one of the things you had learned from your girlfriend, fake it until you make it. Because goalkeeping was an act, and the pitch was its designated stage.  

Suddenly the opponent striker was right in front of you, instinctively you raised your hands to stop the ball from getting into the net.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as Millie hugged you, relief evident in her voice: “Oh, what a save, well done.”

“That was close.”, you muttered still shocked that you indeed prevented the goal with gloves on your hands.

Leah’s hands were on your cheeks, lips pressed to your forehead:” Yes, but you did it.”

When the referee officially ended the game, the exhaustion hit you with full force. Mary who immediately walked to you wrapped her strong arms around you, smiling proudly at you. “You were so good.”, she chirmed.

Happily, you replied: “Thank you. How do you do it though? I feel like I’m dying right now.”

 “You get used to it.”, your girlfriend shrugged.

With a glance at her bandaged arm, the smile disappeared from your face:” But more important, how are you?”

“I’m okay. It’s probably not too bad.”, Mary reassured you.

The grin returned to your lips: “That’s good.”

 “So don’t worry. You won’t have to be goalie for longer.”, the goalkeeper lovingly tousled your hair.

You began to blush: “I’m just glad you’re okay, it looked so scary when you got down.”

“Unlike me. I wasn’t scared. Not with that back-up.”, she winked.

“Not even a second?”, you sounded surprised.

Mary shook her head:” No.”

“Uhm, Millie? You might need to swap rooms for tonight.”, you turned to the defender.

The blonde pretended to think about your suggestion before she gave in with a smirk:” You know what? You deserve it tonight.”

A comforting warmth spread in your chest, you could always count on your team and your girlfriend, Mary was a keeper on and off the pitch, you wouldn’t change that for anything in the world.

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 6 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You're home for the holidays and despite the hustle and bustle of family gatherings, your mind is stuck on your two hot neighbours just next door. And when an opportunity for some time alone with them presents itself, how could you refuse?

-OR-

Agatha and Rio tease you relentlessly at a New Years party and you can't wait until its finished to fuck them so you sneak away

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, switch Agatha, switch Rio, Switch reader, threesome (duh), Mommy/Daddy titles, strap-ons, vibrators, fingering, oral, marking, reader has a vibrator used on them in front of other people, alcohol consumption, scissoring, light choking, maybe more? who knows, it's so long I've definitely missed something

Words: 6.4k

A/N: We're BACK baby. This was supposed to be released at the start of Jan to be seasonal but alas it is being released now. This is just shameless smut tbh

AO3 | Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 7 | Masterlist

The holidays at home always blur together: long afternoons curled up on the couch, listening to old family stories, plates of food that never seem to end, and the comforting hum of familiar voices filling every corner and yet this year feels different.

The quiet warmth of home should be grounding, but instead, it leaves an ache in the pit of your stomach. Agatha and Rio are just next door. So close that if you stepped outside, you could probably hear their laughter through an open window. But proximity doesn’t mean access, and knowing they’re near without being able to touch them—to taste them—has your nerves fraying with every passing hour.

You try to focus on the holiday routine, but your mind keeps drifting, fingers itching to grab your phone. It starts with subtle messages: a teasing remark, a playful emoji, a simple ‘wish you I could be with you’. But restraint crumbles fast, and soon, the texts turn flirty.

And then—

MILFs Anonymous

Rio: You should really learn to close your curtains, cariño. You never know who’s watching ;)

Rio: *click to open image*

The moment you open it, your breath catches.

Agatha is naked in front of the window, bent over just enough to make your pulse quicken, her back arched, ass pressing into Rio’s hips. Rio’s hand grips her firmly, fingers digging into soft skin, and there’s a faint red tint blooming across Agatha’s ass—a clear sign of exactly what they’d been doing before taking this picture.

Your brain shortcircuits.

Because even though you can’t see it, you know the look on Rio’s face, the way she holds Agatha steady, the slight tilt of her hips. You’ve felt it before—been pinned beneath that same unrelenting grip, left breathless by the sharp sting of Agatha’s nails in your skin, Rio’s voice low and taunting as she urges you to take what you're given.

You swallow hard, your mind replaying flashes of memories—Agatha's gasping moans, the way Rio growled in satisfaction as she pushed deeper, the sting of Agatha’s teeth on your shoulder as she struggled to keep quiet. The way they ruined you. The way you begged them to.

But it wasn’t just the two of them in the picture. Through the window, reflected in the glass, you can see yourself wrapped in only a towel, fresh from the shower, completely unaware of what was unfolding right next door.

Oh shit. They had been fucking each other while watching you.

A fresh wave of heat rushes through you. They knew you’d see this and they knew exactly how your thoughts would spiral.

—

For the rest of the day, no matter how many people surround you, no matter how desperately you try to push the image from your mind, you can’t stop feeling the heat coiling low in your stomach, a slow, aching pulse between your thighs that refuses to fade. Every time you slip away for even a moment, closing yourself in the bathroom or lingering too long in the pantry, you try to find any sort of relief—pressing your thighs together, letting your fingers ghost over the damp heat through your underwear—but it’s never enough. The house is too busy, the walls too thin, and the risk too high.

And then it gets worse.

When you step outside that afternoon, something entirely unexpected greets you.

At first, it doesn’t make sense—a massive tent pole structure stretching across your backyard, spilling into Agatha and Rio’s. Men move around, securing ropes and hammering stakes into the ground. You frown, stepping closer to where your father stands, watching the setup unfold.

“What’s going on?” you ask, confusion evident in your voice.

Your dad turns to you with a wide, easy smile, as if the sight of an entire-ass event tent appearing in your backyard is completely normal. “Oh, the fencing between the yards was getting replaced, right? So we thought, why not take advantage of the space? We’re throwing a New Year’s Eve party with Agatha and Rio. A big one—lots of people—should be a good way for them to meet the neighbours a bit better.”

Your stomach flips. “A joint party?”

“Yep!” He seems blissfully unaware of the way you bit your lip; you’re a flirty drunk and there is no way you’ll be able to help yourself even with a house full of guests. “Just made sense, really. They only moved in a couple weeks before you went back to college so they’re still kind of new here, and it’s a great excuse for everyone to get together.”

As if summoned by your rising anxiety, your mother enters the conversation, casually slipping her phone from her pocket. “Oh, that reminds me—we have a group chat for the planning. You should be in it, too.”

Before you can protest, your phone buzzes with a new notification:

Mom added you to New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Looking at who was in the chat, you see it’s just your parents, Agatha, Rio, and now you.

You stare at your screen, the weight of the situation settling into your bones. There’s no escaping them at this party. They’ll be there, looking devastating, flirting in ways no one else will recognise, taunting you. And worse—you’ll have to pretend it doesn’t matter.

The moment you’re alone, you do the only thing that makes sense.

MILFs Anonymous.

~15:48

You: You two didn’t think to tell me about this party???

~15:51

Agatha: We thought you already knew, darling.

~16:02

Rio: Can’t wait to see your outfit ;)

You let out a groan, flopping onto your bed, heart hammering against your ribs.

—

The next couple of days blur into a frenzy of preparation. The towering pole tent in the backyard transforms into something breathtaking—a canopy of warm string lights crisscrossing above, casting a golden glow over the dance floor, lounge areas, and bar stations. Tables are filled with food and drinks; fire pits crackle steadily, promising warmth against the winter chill.

Your parents, ever the enthusiastic hosts, are in full planning mode. Your mom bombards the group chat with a steady stream of last-minute tasks, while your dad orchestrates the outdoor setup like a seasoned general.

"Can someone make sure the drinks are properly chilled?""Surfaces still need to be wiped down!""We need more ice—any volunteers?"

Between messages, you’re swept into the chaos, lugging bottles of wine to the bar, adjusting decorations, untangling fairy lights. But no matter how hectic things get, Agatha and Rio always seem to find a moment to steal you away.

It starts small.

As you carry a tray of glasses into their kitchen, Rio appears behind you, pressing in close, her breath warm against your ear.

"Mmm, darling, seeing you follow orders is doing things to me." Her fingers trail down your arm, barely touching, but enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. Before you can react, she’s gone; back to chatting with your mom like nothing happened.

Then there’s Agatha. You’re kneeling down, adjusting a set of flickering LED candles on a coffee table, when she approaches. She tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing your gaze to hers.

"Careful, sweetheart." She smirks as her thumb brushes over your lower lip. "If you stay on your knees too long, I’m going to start getting ideas."

Heat floods your body, your pulse hammering wildly. They’re relentless, playing a game you have no hope of winning. And then—because the universe isn’t done with you yet—your mom unknowingly delivers the final blow.

New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Mom: Hey! Would it be okay if Y/N stayed with you guys tonight? Aunt Carol and family are taking up all our rooms.

You don’t even think about how your mom’s making you give up your room without asking; you’re too busy staring at your phone, heart pounding.

You’re going to be staying with them again.

Excitement flutters in your chest, hot and electric. After days of teasing glances, fleeting touches, and whispered words meant to unravel you, you’re finally going to have them to yourself. No stolen moments. No interruptions. Just you, Agatha, and Rio.

But that thrill is laced with something deeper. Because if they’ve been so relentless with their flirting, not knowing when they’d next properly be with you, what the hell is going to happen now they know they get to have you all to themselves?

You swallow hard, fingers gripping your phone tighter as their responses roll in.

New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Rio: No worries :)

Agatha: Don’t worry, we will take good care of them, just like we always do.

You choke on nothing.

Your mom, blissfully oblivious, just reacts with a thumbs-up emoji and moves on with planning. Meanwhile, you sit there, phone still in your hands, trying to process the fact that you’ve just been thrown straight into the lion’s den—and you’re not coming out unfucked unscathed.

—

You stand before your mirror, hands smoothing down the fabric of your costume.

It’s bolder than anything you’d normally wear. The cut, the way it frames your body, the teasing flashes of skin—you look hot.

After one last steadying breath, you step out of your room.

The party is already in full swing by the time you make your way downstairs. Your house, the backyards, and Agatha and Rio’s house are all packed, laughter and music spilling from every direction. Guests roam freely between the connected spaces, glasses in hand, conversations buzzing with holiday cheer. Familiar faces from high school mix with family, friends, and neighbours, the crowd a blur of movement and warmth.

But you only have eyes for them.

Rio and Agatha stand near the bar, unmistakable even from across the yard. They’re dressed as pirates and they look absolutely devastating.

Agatha’s coat fits her like a dream—dark, regal, and cinched at the waist in a way that accentuates every curve. Gold buttons gleam under the dim lights, the ruffled blouse beneath teasing glimpses of skin. Her long hair tumbles in wild waves over her shoulders, and the sharp smirk she wears makes her look utterly untouchable.

Then there’s Rio. Her deep red tunic borders on scandalous, left open just enough to reveal her cleavage. Her pants hug her hips perfectly and it makes your mouth run dry. The hat, the sharp gaze, the effortless dominance in every movement—it’s almost unfair.

—

The night blurs into a haze of warmth and music, but you barely see them. They’re the perfect hosts, moving through the party with easy charm, laughing, drinking, and acting like they aren’t slowly breaking you.

Every time they pass, they’re touching you in some way.

A lingering hand at the small of your back. Fingers skimming your wrist. A squeeze at your hip. Soft whispers against your ear, too low for anyone else to hear.

It’s torture. Slow, deliberate, intoxicating torture.

And then—

“Long time no see.”

You turn, blinking as a tall guy in a sharp tux grins at you, tilting his martini glass in greeting. You recognise him vaguely—someone from high school, back for the holidays like everyone else.

“You’re looking good,” he says, eyes dragging down your outfit before reaching out, fingers grazing the fabric. “I really like the costume.”

You arch a brow, looking him up and down. “And you’re dressed as...”

He smirks, lifting his glass again. “Bond. James Bond.”

Seriously? Could he not be bothered to put in any effort?

The conversation shifts into polite small talk—he’s studying business now, home for the break, blah blah blah. It’s easy, meaningless chatter. Until he leans in closer, voice dropping.

“You know,” he muses, “007 always gets the hottie in the end.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure whether to laugh or shut him down.

Suddenly you’re not alone. Rio and Agatha flank you, cutting off all space and oxygen.

Agatha moves first, wrapping an arm around your waist, her palm settling firmly over your ass, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

At the same time, Rio’s fingers find the back of your neck, her thumb dragging over the sensitive skin there.

The shift is instant.

Mr. Uninventive hesitates, eyes darting between the two of them. “Uh—”

“We need to steal them for a moment,” Rio interrupts smoothly, leaving no room for argument.

“Party business,” Agatha adds, amusement curling at the edges of her words.

Before you can even process what’s happening, they’re guiding you away. Through the house, up the stairs, and into their bedroom.

The door slams shut behind you.

Agatha and Rio move in tandem, running their palms over your body, mapping every inch with a reverence that makes your head spin. Lips follow—featherlight kisses pressed to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Every touch, every whispered breath, is a deliberate act of worship.

“Look at you,” Rio breathes against your skin, voice thick with hunger. Her fingers trace the curve of your waist, slipping just under the fabric of your costume. “You have no idea what you’re doing to us, do you, baby?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her mouth warm against the shell of your ear. “You look so fucking good like this,” she murmurs.

Their words make your skin prickle, heat pooling low in your stomach. You can barely breathe with how they’re touching you, how they’re speaking to you. But just as quickly as they praise, their hands slow and then stop entirely.

“Then again,” Agatha continues, her tone turning sharper, her fingers digging into your hips, “maybe we shouldn’t be too generous with our compliments.”

You blink up at her, dizzy with need, but Rio’s grip on your chin forces your gaze toward her instead. The playful glint in her eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

“You really thought we wouldn’t notice?” She asks, tilting your head back, forcing you to hold her gaze. “Letting everyone at this party get an eyeful of you? Letting that prick downstairs get close enough to touch you?”

Your stomach twists. “I wasn’t—”

Agatha tuts, cutting you off. “Don’t even try, sweetheart.” Her grip tightens, her breath hot against your cheek. “You were practically giggling at him.”

“I was being friendly,” you argue weakly. “Just being a good host—”

“You should know who you belong to by now,” Rio interrupts, voice a low growl, her lips brushing yours. “The only people you need to be good for are us.”

Before you can stammer out a response, Agatha takes your hand in hers, guiding it lower and lower until your palm is pressed between her legs. Your breath catches, eyes going wide when you feel it.

Hard, thick, and waiting.

The heavy coat she’s wearing must have concealed it from view

Your lips part, a soft, startled noise escaping before Rio kisses it away. Then Agatha presses forward just enough to make sure you feel her, making sure you understand.

“Still want to pretend?” She teases dangerously. “Or are you ready to be good now?”

Rio doesn’t give you a chance to answer. Her fingers are suddenly slipping past the waistband of your underwear, gliding through your slick heat with ease. The first stroke has you jolting, the second has you gasping, and by the third, you’re already shaking in their hold.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Rio murmurs against your lips, dragging her fingers through your wetness before circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re so worked up. Is this all for us or do you want us to go fetch your friend from downstairs?”

You whine at her words. “No. Please, no, I want you. I only ever want you.”

Agatha hums her approval, her hands busy with your chest, kneading, pinching, and rolling your nipples between her fingers in a way that has you keening. Her mouth isn’t far behind, her lips and tongue lavishing attention along your neck and collarbone, teeth scraping just enough to make you shudder.

“You look so pretty like this,” she muses, flicking her tongue over a sensitive spot, smiling when she feels your breath hitch. “So desperate and needy. And you have the nerve to pretend you weren’t begging for us to do this?”

Rio chuckles, dragging her fingers lower before plunging two inside you without warning. The sudden stretch knocks the air from your lungs, your knees buckling as she fucks into you with deep, practiced strokes. Her free hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as your body melts between them, thighs shaking, pleasure mounting too quickly to contain.

“That’s it, baby,” she purrs, curling her fingers just right, rubbing against your g-spot in a way that has you seeing stars.

You don’t stand a chance. Between Agatha’s lips on your skin, her hands teasing and playing with your chest, and the relentless motion of Rio’s fingers, you unravel in their arms, your orgasm hitting you in waves that leave you breathless. You barely register Agatha’s arm wrapping around your waist, holding you upright as your body trembles, Rio murmuring soft praises as she strokes you through the aftershocks.

By the time you finally come down, you’re a mess—practically boneless from the pleasure they’ve wrung from you. You hadn’t even noticed how thoroughly they’d been marking you until you glance at the mirror across the room and spot angry red hickies blooming all over your neck—too dark to be ignored, too obvious to be passed off as anything else.

Rio just smirks. “You’ll figure something out,” she says, unbothered.

Then something smooth and cool is slid down the front of your underwear and then pushed inside you. It slips in without resistance; you’re not surprised by this with how hard you just came, but you still jolt at the sensation, looking down in alarm, but Agatha hushes you with a soothing stroke down your spine.

“Be a good pet,” she whispers. “And don’t take it out.”

Your stomach twists in anticipation at what they’re going to do.

Agatha opens the door, but before you can protest, Rio pats your ass and sends you on your way.

You try to focus, try to mingle, but it’s impossible. Your legs are unsteady as you make your way back down the stairs, each step a struggle as the first soft buzz hums to life between your thighs.

You bite your lip hard, fingers gripping your drink tighter than necessary, heat spreading across your face.

It’s going to be a long night.

—

Desperation eventually wins out.

The drinks, the teasing, the relentless vibrations—it’s all too much.

You don’t even think before your fingers fly over your phone screen, firing off a text to MILFs Anonymous in sheer drunken need.

You: I need you, Mommy.

The moment it sends, regret lances through you. Too much? Too needy? Too obvious?

But before you can spiral, your phone buzzes.

Agatha: We’re in our living room, baby.

You practically start sprinting to them. 

—

When you arrive, a group of guests has already settled in for a game of charades.

Rio and Agatha are perched on the couch, the picture of effortless elegance, drinks in hand, looking entirely untouched by the chaos they’ve unleashed inside you.

“Come join us, Y/N!” someone calls.

You hesitate. There are no seats left, not even an armrest to perch on.

Then Agatha smirks, tilting her head in invitation. “Oh, come here,” she says, patting her thigh. “We don’t mind squeezing in a bit.”

The breath leaves your lungs. Your body starts moving before your mind can protest, drawn like a moth to flame. The moment you lower yourself into Agatha’s lap, you feel the firm press of her strap beneath you.

Your thighs clench. A small, involuntary whimper slipping past your lips, barely audible over the chatter—except to them. The vibrations in your underwear kick up just slightly.

It’s a warning.

You shift instinctively, trying to relieve the ache, trying to grind just enough, but Agatha’s hands settle on your hips, holding you still.

“Behave,” she whispers.

The game goes on, but you are utterly useless—lost in your arousal, eyes darting desperately between them, silently begging for mercy.

And then, just as your body reaches a breaking point, they stand. Agatha lifts you from her lap, setting you onto the couch as if you weigh nothing. Rio leans in close—close enough for only you to hear.

“You should be more careful when texting,” she whispers, smirking against your ear. “Check which group chat you click on next time.”

Your blood freezes.

They walk away, leaving you scrambling to open your phone. Your stomach drops. Your message—the Mommy message—wasn’t sent to MILFs Anonymous.

It was sent to the party planning chat.

With your parents in it.

Crap.

The vibrations surge suddenly to a dizzying intensity, tearing you violently back into the moment. You slap a hand over your mouth, barely suppressing a gasp, legs clamping shut as pleasure floods through you.

Agatha and Rio glance at you from across the room, watching as you struggle.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, mind racing, body burning.

That text is going to be impossible to explain to your parents.

But right now? Right now, all you can do is bite your lip and try and survive until you’re alone with Agatha and Rio again.

—

As the party inches closer to midnight, the energy shifts—laughter growing louder, bodies pressing together as people eagerly anticipate the countdown. The air is thick with warmth, alcohol, and the unspoken anticipation of the night’s inevitable climax.

Unfortunately for you, the guy from earlier sidles up beside you, martini glass still in hand.

“Ah, there you are.”

You sigh, schooling your expression as you glance up at him. He’s grinning, slightly flushed from alcohol, his tux still crisp despite the hours of partying.

“Where’d you run off to?” he asks, taking another slow sip of his drink. “I was hoping we’d get a little more time together.”

“Been busy,” you reply, voice flat.

He chuckles like you’ve made a joke, leaning in a little too close, eyes dipping to your lips. "Y’know, it’s bad luck to not have someone to kiss at midnight. Wouldn’t want to start the new year off on the wrong foot, would you?" His tone is smooth and practiced, and though his words drip with charm, they don’t land the way he intends.

You open your mouth to shut him down, but shut it again when you hear a deep gasp from behind you.

“Oh no,” Rio drawls dramatically. “Oops.”

You barely have time to process before Rio’s drink drenches the front of his pristine tuxedo. There’s a second of pure silence. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a drunken party guest howls with laughter.

“Dude!” they wheeze, pointing at the massive stain spreading down his pants. “You look like you pissed yourself!”

Why on Earth they find it so funny, you’ll never know, but it does seem to make wannabe James Bond forget about flirting with you.

He goes stiff, face burning as he looks down at the damage. His jaw works, like he’s about to lash out for being humiliated. Instead, he mutters something under his breath, pushes past the crowd, and disappears from sight.

Rio, standing beside you, smiles sweetly, swirling the remnants of her drink round the glass. “Oops,” she says again, voice filled with mock innocence.

At that moment, the countdown begins.

“Ten!”

Agatha shifts closer.

“Nine!”

Rio sets her empty glass down, her gaze flickering to you.

“Eight!”

You feel the first brush of Agatha’s fingers along your cheek.

“Seven… six…”

Rio’s hand slides down your back, resting just above your waist.

“Five… four…”

Agatha tilts your chin up.

“Three…”

Your breath catches.

“Two…”

Your pulse pounds.

“One!”

Then, at the stroke of midnight, their lips are on you.

Agatha kisses you first, slow and languid, her tongue teasing at your lower lip before slipping into your mouth. It’s deep and possessive, and if anyone notices your neighbour kissing someone who is not her wife, they’re too caught up in their own celebrations to care.

Before you can fully process it, she pulls away, only for Rio to take her place.

Where Agatha was slow, Rio is devastating—teeth nipping at your lip, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist like she’s starving for you.

By the time she pulls back, you’re breathless, dazed, and aching.

—

The party blurs after that. There’s more drinking, more dancing, more laughter, but the tension lingers.

They don’t let you stray too far, always keeping you within reach, eyes dark with promise.

Eventually, the party begins to die down, and guests filter out toward your parents’ house to continue the fun on a smaller scale. You move to follow, but before you can take a step, a firm hand closes around your wrist.

It’s Agatha. Her grip is light, but her eyes are anything but. “Stay.”

She turns, calling out to the last stragglers near the door. “We’re gonna lock up—probably head to bed. Unfortunately, that means Y/N here is calling it a night too.”

You know she’s lying and from the way Rio is standing behind you, so close you can feel her breath against your neck, you know exactly why.

The door clicks shut.

The lock turns.

And then?

They pounce.

Rio is on you first, shoving you back against the nearest wall, her mouth claiming yours with a hunger that makes your knees buckle. It’s all tongue and teeth, no patience, no teasing—just raw need.

Agatha isn’t far behind. She presses up against your side, hands already tugging at your costume, lips brushing against your ear as she snarls, “I thought they’d never leave.”

You don’t get a chance to answer.

Rio’s hands are already at your waist, yanking at the fabric, desperate to get it off. “Fuck,” she mutters, cursing the layers, fingers fumbling.

Agatha’s laugh is low and wicked as she slides a hand between your legs, pressing against the soaked fabric of your underwear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos. “You’re soaked.”

Heat floods your face, but you don’t get a second to feel embarrassed—because in the next breath, Rio growls in frustration and just rips your costume open.

“Rio!” you gasp, but she doesn’t care.

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes dark with want. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

She starts stripping you, hands rough and insistent. She doesn’t waste time, doesn’t go slow, just takes—pulling away fabric, tossing aside layers—until you’re left in nothing but your thoroughly wrecked underwear.

While Rio starts to undress herself, Agatha’s hands trail down your arms before gripping your wrists and pinning them against the wall.

“Look at you,” she muses, eyes dragging over your body like she’s memorising every inch. “You really let yourself get this messy at a party?”

Before you can snap back, your gaze flicks to Rio and the very, very obvious damp patch on her lacey black underwear.

Heat surges through you, and despite your situation, a smirk tugs at your lips. “I’m the messy one?” You tease, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like someone else has a problem too.”

Rio follows your gaze—then scoffs, shaking her head with a laugh. “Keep talking,” she warns, shoving her thumbs beneath the waistband of her underwear. “See what happens.”

Now Agatha starts stripping, too.

And fuck.

Your mouth goes dry as the last of their clothes hit the floor, leaving you gaping at her—completely bare, except for the harness strapped tightly around her hips, the deep purple toy attached firmly at the centre.

It makes your breath catch.

The sight of her so commanding and unapologetic aroused has your knees weak.

Rio spots your reaction immediately. Smirking, she slowly drops to her knees in front of you, dragging her palms down your trembling thighs.

"You're shaking, cariño," she murmurs, pressing a teasing kiss against your hipbone. "Been wound up all night, have you?"

Her fingers dip beneath the waistband of your soaked underwear. With a slow, deliberate drag, she peels the ruined fabric down your legs, letting it drop to the floor. And then she spots the vibrator still tucked between your slick thighs.

Her smirk widens.

"Look at this," she purrs, brushing her fingers against the damp, buzzing device. "You've been so good, keeping this in for us."

“Not like I had a chance to take it out. You guys have had me on a tight leash since midnight,” you scoff.

“A leash, you say? Now that’s a good idea,” Agatha hums from behind you, warm hands sliding up your arms before settling at your waist. She pulls you flush against her chest, letting you feel every inch of the hard length pressing against your lower back.

Rio hooks a finger around the toy and pulls it free with a wet, obscene little sound that makes your entire body jolt. Then, without breaking eye contact, she brings it to her lips.

Her tongue flicks over it first, tasting the evidence of your arousal. She hums, lashes fluttering as she takes the toy fully into her mouth, sucking it clean with slow, deliberate moans that send heat rushing straight to your core.

Your fingers dig into Agatha’s arms, a whimper slipping past your lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Rio purrs, setting it aside before leaning in, kissing and biting her way up your inner thigh.

Agatha moves at the same time, her hands skimming up your ribs before one closes firmly around your throat. She tilts your head to the side, exposing your neck, and sinks her teeth in.

The sharp pleasure-pain rips a gasp from you.

"Such a needy thing," Agatha husks against your skin, sucking another bruise into place. “We only fucked you a few hours ago and yet you’re still dripping for us.”

Rio groans in agreement, her breath hot against your thigh. Without warning, she grabs the back of your knee, hooks your leg over her shoulder, and finally presses her mouth to your pussy.

Rio’s tongue works you open with devastating precision; she is utterly relentless. Every flick and swirl sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your body, making your thighs tremble around her head. The grip Agatha has around your waist tightens, holding you up as you lose yourself to the sensation, your hands grasping at anything they can touch.

You’re so close and Rio feels it. She moans against you, the vibration sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. The tension snaps all at once, a ragged cry escaping your lips as an orgasm crashes through you, stealing the air from your lungs. Your body shudders, shaking in Agatha’s steady arms as Rio eases you through it, licking up every last drop, prolonging the high until you can barely stand.

Only when your body sags completely against Agatha does Rio finally pull away, her lips slick and eyes hooded with satisfaction. But you barely get a moment to recollect yourself before Agatha is moving you both again.

She manhandles you effortlessly, flipping you over the arm of the couch with zero warning. She grips your hips and thrusts inside you in a single, smooth motion.

“Fuck—!” You arch against the cushions; the stretch is almost overwhelming, but you push back against her, wordlessly begging for more. And she gives it to you, setting a brutal pace that has your nails clawing at the couch.

There’s no hesitation and no patience left. Agatha grip is firm, fingers digging into your flesh like she owns you. The heavy press of her body against your back, the way the harness hits deep with every roll of her hips—it’s overwhelming, all-consuming, and exactly what you need.

It’s only then that you register the low, shuddering groans Agatha is making, the kind that makes it feel like your body is alive with electricity. You realise she must have a grinding pad in the harness. Every thrust she gives you is giving her something in return, dragging that firm pressure right over her clit.

"Oh, fuck—so tight around me, baby. You like being used like this?" Agatha’s voice is rough and strained, and it only makes you clench tighter around her.

But you still want more.

Your fingers scramble against the cushions before reaching back, finding a handful of soft, wild hair to yank.

Rio gasps, pleasure laced into the sharp pull, and follows, letting you drag her in front of you. Her pupils are blown, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You waste no time, your hands cupping the damp lace of her underwear, feeling the evidence of how much this night has affected her.

"You act all in control, but you’re just as desperate, aren’t you? Been getting off to this the whole time?" You moan, voice thick with pleasure, as Agatha pounds into you.

Rio lets out a breathless laugh, but it dissolves into a shaky whimper as you press a little firmer. "You’re such a little brat," she whispers, but the way she rocks her hips into your touch betrays her. "Gonna make it up to me? Use that pretty little mouth of yours?"

At that, you capture her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her smirk and groaning against her lips as Agatha slams into you even harder. Your hands roam, greedy and impatient, trailing over Rio’s stomach, slipping past the waistband of her delicate lace underwear. You moan into her mouth as you feel just how wet she is, a shuddering breath leaving her as your fingers slide through the mess you’ve made of her.

Agatha grips your hips tighter. “That’s it, sweetheart,” she growls, voice vibrating with pleasure. "Fuck her like you mean it, baby—make her fall apart for us."

You thrust two fingers inside Rio with ease, curling them just right, coaxing a gorgeous whimper from her lips. She braces herself against the couch, hips bucking into your hand, her breath hitching every time your thumb brushes over her clit. Her head tips back, exposing the perfect column of her throat, and you can’t resist—you latch onto her skin, kissing and biting your way down as she unravels in your hands.

Agatha doesn’t relent for a second; her pace is relentless, her moans growing heavier, and her body pressed so tightly against yours you feel everything.

The three of you move together, bodies lost in each other, the pleasure mounting higher and higher until finally, you all break at once.

Rio’s cry is the first to ring out, her body tensing, fingers tangling in your hair as she falls apart beneath your touch. Agatha is next, hips stuttering, a rough groan tumbling from her lips as she pushes deep one final time.

You shatter between them, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, drowning in the heat of their bodies, the grip of their hands, the sound of their pleasure mixing with yours in the dark, breathless space of the living room.

—

The three of you barely make it up the stairs, hands and lips desperate, laughter mixing with breathless moans as you stumble into the bedroom. Agatha ditches the harness the second you reach the edge of the bed, tossing it aside before Rio pushes her down onto the mattress with an eager gleam in her eye. Straddling her wife, Rio hooks one of Agatha’s legs over her own, pressing their bodies together, the heat between them instantly electrifying

Agatha smirks up at her, hands tracing over Rio’s thighs before gripping her hips, guiding her down. The first slow grind of Rio’s core against her own pulls a shuddering gasp from them both, the wetness between their bodies making the movement slick and unbearably good.

You don’t hesitate to join, slotting yourself in behind Rio, one hand slipping between your own legs while the other moves to cup her breast. You drag your lips along the curve of her shoulder, sucking marks into her skin, letting your tongue flick behind her ear just to feel the way she shudders from it.

“Fuck, look at you two,” Agatha groans, voice thick with arousal as she meets Rio’s slow, intoxicating rhythm. “You’re both so fucking gorgeous.”

Rio whimpers, grinding down harder, her pleasure clear in the way her body trembles against you. You can feel the slickness coating your fingers as you fuck yourself, matching their pace, your own moans spilling against Rio’s flushed skin.

“C’mon, Daddy,” you emphasise her title, fingers twisting her nipple just enough to make her gasp. “Let me hear you.”

Rio’s head falls back against your shoulder, her breath ragged as Agatha grips her ass, pulling her down with each roll of her hips, making sure she feels every bit of her. The pace quickens, and the heat between you all mounts unbearably fast. You can feel it building; Rio’s legs begin to tremble, Agatha’s nails dig into her skin, and your own fingers speed up, chasing that blinding pleasure.

“Oh, fuck—” Rio gasps, her body going rigid as her climax crashes over her. She grips your thigh, nails digging in as she rides it out, the sound of Agatha’s deep groan telling you she’s right there with her, lost in the overwhelming bliss. The sight of them both cumming together pushes you over the edge as well, pleasure searing through your veins as your own orgasm takes hold, your body tensing and then shuddering against Rio’s.

For a long moment, all that fills the room is the sound of panting as your bodies tremble in the aftermath. Then, as the bliss slowly fades into warmth, Agatha lets out a breathless chuckle, running a lazy hand up Rio’s side.

“Well,” she muses, voice still hoarse from pleasure, “that’s one hell of a way to start the new year.”

“Yeah, if this is any indication of how the rest of the year’s gonna go, I’d say we’re in for a good one.” Rio laughs, head still resting against your shoulder, and you can’t help but grin, pressing a soft kiss to her damp skin. 

You hum an agreement as the three of you collapse onto the mattress in a tangled, sated heap, bodies exhausted but hearts so full. Whatever the year held, one thing was certain—you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Next part >>

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Soooooooooo how do we all feel about the return of Neighbourly Care?

Agatha and Rio are rich MILF neighbours now ig... sugar mommies for reader yay or nay?

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taglist: @aceday @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @sevikasleftarm25 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19 @masorciereviolette

[hoshifighting]

Hi! How are you? This is my first request ever on this app... First of all, i have to say that you're my absolute favorite writer here! Kudos to you, really. Second of all, can i request for a dom hao where he says: "beg me.. beg me cutely" i can't stop thinking about when he said that on a fancall one day... well.. that's it. Thanks in advanced.

dom!minghao asking you to beg him cutely

a/n: your first ask? welcome anon!! thank you for all the love <333 and UGH minghao its such a tease!!! i rushed to see this fancall and left speechless

WARNINGS: smut, pillow/hand riding, begging, penetrative sex, dirty talk, slight humilliation kink

your breath is uneven, shaky gasps leaving your lips as you grind against minghao’s palm, which is pressed firm between you and the pillow. the friction is maddening—his fingers raise just slightly sometimes, just to brush your swollen clit. but it’s not enough. not nearly enough. your thighs are trembling, muscles aching from the effort of riding his hand for what feels like an eternity.

“hao,” you whimper, your voice breaking on his name.

he tilts his head, looking at you with that maddeningly calm expression, like this isn’t driving you out of your mind. “what is it, baby?”

“please,” you beg, trying to lean into him, your hands reaching for his shoulders, his neck—anything to ground yourself.

but minghao dodges your touch, effortlessly leaning back and away from your grasp, his hand never faltering in its rhythm. “ah, ah,” he chides softly, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “no shortcuts. keep going.”

you groan in frustration, your hips stuttering as you try to push harder against his palm, desperate for relief. “please, hao, i—i can’t—”

“you can,” he interrupts, his tone firm but not unkind. “you’re doing so well. don’t stop now.”

you bite your lip, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all. the pillow beneath you is damp, your arousal soaking through the fabric, and your body feels like it’s on the verge of breaking apart. “hao, please, i need—i need your cock. please.”

he raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your plea. “that’s not how you ask, is it?”

you shake your head, a frustrated sob slipping from your lips. “hao, i can’t—my legs—please, please just—”

“no,” he says simply, his voice steady and commanding. “if you want it, you know what to do.”

you whimper, your movements growing erratic as you try to find the right angle, the right pressure, anything to make you finally cum. your hands clench into fists, your nails digging into the pillow beneath you.

“beg me,” minghao says,. his free hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with almost agonizing tenderness. “but beg me cutely, and maybe i’ll think about it.”

your cheeks flush, the humiliation of his demand only heightening the tension coiling in your core. you look up at him, your eyes wide and pleading, your lips trembling as you force the words out.

“please, hao,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “please, i need you. i need you so bad. i’ll be good, i promise—just please.”

he hums thoughtfully, his fingers pressing just a little harder against your clit, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. “hmm. better. but i know you can do cuter than that.”

your pride wars with your desperation, but in the end, it’s no contest. “please, hao,” you whimper, your voice high and breathy, your body trembling from the effort. “please, i’ll be so good for you. i’ll do anything you want. just—just give it to me. please.”

his smirk deepens, satisfaction flickering in his dark eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his hand finally leaving the pillow to guide you closer. “see? i knew you had it in you.”

minghao’s eyes darken as he lines himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your soaked folds, teasing and infuriatingly slow. “so desperate for me. i should’ve made you beg longer.”

you don’t even have it in you to respond. your body is trembling, your thighs twitching as you try to push yourself back onto him, but his hands grip your hips firmly, keeping you still.

“patience,” he says, but the smirk on his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your torment.

finally, finally, he pushes in, stretching you so perfectly that your back arches off the pillow beneath you. you let out a loud, husky moan, your hands scrambling to grip onto something—his arms, the sheets, anything to keep yourself grounded as he sinks deeper. “fuck, fuck, fuck” you gasp through gritted teeth, your chest heaving. the burn is intense, your body adjusting to the intrusion, but it’s exactly what you’ve been craving.

minghao doesn’t give you much time to recover. he sets a pace that’s just on the edge of too much, his hips snapping against yours and it has your eyes rolling back almost instantly. “you’re such a mess,” he mutters, one hand moving to grip your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “so needy. you couldn’t even wait, could you? had to have me right now.”

his words send a shiver down your spine, and you moan, your voice breaking as your hips start to move on their own, meeting his thrusts halfway. your movements are frantic, desperate, like you’re in heat and he’s the only thing that can cool the fire burning inside you. “hao,” you whimper, your hands clawing at his back, leaving red trails down his skin. “please, don’t stop—don’t stop, don’t—”

“wasn’t planning to,” he cuts you off, his voice strained. the effort it takes to keep his composure is written all over his face, beads of sweat forming at his temples, his brows furrowed in concentration.

you feel like you’re losing control, your hips bucking wildly against his as your lungs burn, each breath a struggle to catch. every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the sound of skin against skin mixing with the wet, obscene noises of him filling you.

“so greedy. can’t get enough, hmm?”

you nod frantically, unable to form a coherent response as your nails dig into his arms, holding onto him like a lifeline.

he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “you feel so good, baby,” he whispers, his voice trembling with restraint. “so tight, so perfect. you’re gonna cum for me?”

you moan in response, your walls clenching around him as your body spirals closer and closer to release. your head falls back, your mouth open in a silent scream as you lose yourself completely, your hips moving without rhythm, chasing that high. minghao’s grip tightens on your hips, holding you steady as he thrusts even deeper, hitting that perfect spot that has you seeing fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. he groans, his pace faltering as he chases his own orgasm. “cum for me, baby. let me feel you.”

your vision blurs, your ears ringing as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and boneless beneath him. minghao follows soon after, a low groan escaping his lips as he thrusts one last time, his release spilling inside you.

[siri-ike]

A little crime, as a treat

chapter 2

Prev

"%!&#%@/×/@^#&×%^ %@&× %@^×!" Jason shouted from his ofice window. "Was that a #^!&@ carriage? A !%@^ Carriage just drove into the !%&@ ground with my best %^@ assistant?!?!? My right-hand man!? My %!& %@^# %!^#@ for a %@&@: %@^ and @%&@:?!?!" He jumped out, landing on the ground three floors lower.

That $@% brainless, $@%#, @%#; hot pice of $@^@ better not have gotten himself $@%#^, or some other eaqualy $@^ up version of %#^!^. Not on Jason's payroll.

《~~~~~~》

Danny couldn't believe it. He came to the ghost zone expecting to get arrested, proposed to, or challenged to a duel of some sort.

Not this.

"I, I can't be ghost king." Danny pleaded. "I'm not even fully a ghost." The giant hands around him felt less comforting by the second.

"You defeated Pariah Dark. That alone makes you worthy." Frostbite beamed with approval.

"But, but I'm too young. Wouldn't it be better to have someone older?" Danny's breath quickened.

"Pariah was old, and you saw how that worked out. Perhaps it is time for a more modern view."

"But I, I can't, I," He struggled.

"Sir, the people await," the short ghost from before got their attention before opening another large pair of doors, revealing what looked like some kind of giant opposite church. A hundred rows of ghosts on either side of a clear aisle. And at the end stood Clockwork, the observants and,

A sword in a pumpkin.

《~~~~~~》

As soon as the call ended, Constantine hurriedly grabbed everything of importance or value in his apparent. There was no way he'd stick around to see what $@%^* the red hood wants from him. Best case, sinario, he wants some magic devilry. Worst case? John does not have the imagination for that. He rushed out the door, only to be intercepted by gang members wearing red. Bollocks. How's he meant to bull^!%^ his way out of this one?

《~~~~~~》

"No excuses," Frostbite lifted Danny's face up by his chin. "My boy, the title is largely symbolic. The ghost zone has run without a ruler for longer than most of us can remember."

That was at least a little reassuring. Not enough to let go of his death grip on Frostbites arm.

"Now go, I'll be right here." He beamed. "Remember to let out the cold."

Danny looked down at his hands. He was shaking.

OK, just like they'd trained. Breathe in, breathe out.

《~~~~~~》

Jason's usually a safer driver. Not a safe driver, mind you, just safer than this.

《~~~~~~》

His first step, the carpet leading to the alter, froze. Delicate embroidery is obscured through a thick layer of ice. Icicles grow behind him and quickly melt into slush. In front of both Frostbite and Clockwork. And other people he supposes.

As he walks down the aisle, alone, he notices some familiar faces. Ghosts he'd fought, ghosts he'd helped, ghosts who had helped him. Whith varying degrees of satisfaction on their faces.

Had any of them even tried to challenge him for the crown? He searched his memory and couldn't find a significant ghost attack, even for other reasons in the past 10 years. Might they actually want him to be king?

《~~~~~~》

"Better not be trying to leave." Red Hood was plenty scary over the phone. He simply had no business being scarier in person.

"Who, me? Never." Constantine lied.

"This morning, a horse-drawn carriage appeared out of nothing, took my assistant, and disappeared into the ground. Know anything about that?"

"That sounds like realms business, I had nothing to do with it." He stuttered.

"I know you didn't take him. You know better than to take what's mine." Hood reassured? Threatened? "Tell me who took him."

Constantine breathed a sigh of relief.

[humaling]

Still Here.

pairings: finnick odair x soldier!reader

summary: you're left wounded after a gone-wrong expedition and finnick is worried to death. (based on anon's req!)

warnings: hurt/comfort, blood, reader is referred as 'honey'

word count: 2.3k

Red, searing pain.

That’s the only way to describe what you’re feeling right now—well, specifically on your lower left hip. It’s wet, something is oozing out of you, and every time you twist your body or bend down, it feels like you're being torn in half. Yet, you only start feeling it when the adrenaline begins to fade. Up until that point, it was just a dull ache, buried beneath the rush of survival instincts.

You bite back a groan, forcing your mind to focus on anything but the pain. It’s not the first time you've been wounded, but this feels different. The sharpness of it, the way your skin burns with every shift—it feels too much, and yet you don’t have the luxury of slowing down. You’ve been trained for this. You’ve been trained to push through.

You’ve been placed in a unit designed for scouting and gathering intelligence from various districts. It's a rare assignment, usually without much combat, but this time, things took a turn for the worse. The Peacekeepers were out in force, and it quickly escalated into a battle. You fought alongside your unit, the chaos and the noise of weapons and cries filling the air. But somewhere in the midst of it, a sharp, stinging sensation ripped through your side, like a hot knife being driven into your flesh. You hadn’t noticed it at first, too caught up in the fight to even register the injury. It wasn’t until the battle had died down, and you and your unit started making your way back to District Thirteen that the pain really began to hit.

You glance at the others in your unit. They’re not the only ones who’ve come back bloodied. A few of them have visible wounds, some more severe than others. But it’s one of your comrades, a young soldier, who is in grave danger. His face is pale, eyes unfocused, and his breathing is shallow. You know the signs too well—he’s losing too much blood. The sight hits you harder than it should, and you’re forced to look away, focusing on the task at hand.

"Stay with me," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else, pushing through the fog of your own injury as you help stabilize him. The air feels thick, your heart pounding in your chest as your mind races. You should be more concerned about your own state—about the wound on your hip that’s soaking through your clothing—but it’s not about you right now. It’s about keeping your unit together, keeping them alive.

The weight of it all presses down on you, the familiar pain gnawing at the edges of your awareness. But you push it aside, just like you always do. There's no time to be weak.

As the unit approaches the secure entrance of District Thirteen, the familiar hum of the base fills the air, but it does little to calm the tension that clings to you. Your body aches, every movement sending a jolt of pain through your side, but you keep moving, ignoring the increasing wave of exhaustion. The soldiers who are still able to stand are helping each other, but it’s clear that a few are barely holding it together.

You step forward, determined to maintain some semblance of control, when a voice breaks through the chaos, calling out your name.

You don’t need to look to know it’s Finnick. His voice carries that urgent tone, the kind that always surfaces when someone he cares about is in trouble. He’s already rushing toward you, his face etched with concern as his eyes scan over you, searching for signs of injury. When his gaze settles on you, there’s a flicker of relief, but it vanishes just as quickly.

“What happened?” His voice is low, his hand hovering near your arm. "Are you alright?"

You don’t give him the satisfaction of responding right away. Instead, you busy yourself, brushing past him to check on one of your fellow soldiers. Your movements are stiff, each shift of your body making the pain in your hip flare up, but you force yourself to ignore it.

"I’m fine," you grit through your teeth, your jaw clenched as you continue to check on the others. You can feel Finnick’s eyes on you, sharp and searching, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You can’t afford to show weakness—not now, not here.

“Honey,” he presses, his voice rising with concern. “You’re hurt.”

You roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the sensation of his gaze weighing on you. "I’m fine, Finnick," you snap, louder than you mean to, the defensive edge to your tone unmistakable. “There are more important things right now.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. He moves closer, but you’re already a step ahead, darting toward another soldier who’s struggling to stay upright. You focus on them, keeping your back to Finnick as you help him sit, your hands working quickly and efficiently despite the pain gnawing at your side.

It’s almost as if you can feel Finnick’s frustration thickening in the air, but you won’t let him see you falter. You can’t. The last thing you need is someone hovering, complicating things further.

Finnick calls out your name again, quieter this time, and you can hear the underlying worry. He doesn’t press the issue, but there’s something in his voice that makes you want to turn around, let him see that you’re really okay. But you don’t. You can’t. Instead, you turn away from him, forcing yourself to stay focused, to keep moving, to keep helping.

The lies burn in your throat as you swallow them down, pretending that you’re not on the verge of falling apart. But no one—least of all Finnick—needs to know that. Not now. There’s too much to do. Vulnerability isn’t an option.

The world begins to slip away, the edges of your vision blurring like you’re submerged in water. Your movements become sluggish, your body rebelling against you, but you push on, focusing on your comrades who still need help. The pain in your side is growing unbearable, a heavy weight dragging you down.

You try to ignore it. You have to.

But then, everything quiets. The chatter of the unit, the footsteps, the voices calling orders—all of it fades into a muffled hum. Your breath comes faster, shallower, and your heart beats painfully in your chest. The world spins just a little too much to be real.

It’s only when your knees start to buckle, your body threatening to collapse, that you realize something is wrong.

You try to steady yourself, but your vision dips, the world darkening at the edges. The pain is overwhelming now, consuming you whole, but you can’t stop moving, can’t stop trying to help. Your hand reaches for a nearby soldier, but it shakes, your arm too weak to offer support.

And just like that, everything slips away.

You hear Finnick’s voice, clear and sharp through the haze of your thoughts.

It’s the last thing you register before everything goes black. His voice, full of panic, calls out to you—a stark contrast to his usual calm. But it’s too late.

Your body gives up, and the world fades to nothingness.

The first thing you feel is the weight in your limbs. Everything is heavy—your arms, your legs, even your eyelids. The sterile scent of antiseptic clings to the air, and somewhere close by, there’s a soft beeping sound, steady and rhythmic. Your mind claws its way back to consciousness, dragging you from the dark fog you’d been lost in.

You blink slowly, the harsh white lights above making your eyes water. The ceiling is unfamiliar, but the humming of the machines and the tightness around your midsection tell you enough. You’re in the medical wing.

You try to move, but the moment your muscles twitch, a warm hand wraps around yours, firm but gentle.

“Don’t.”

The voice is low, tight with emotion. You turn your head—sluggishly—and find Finnick sitting beside your bed, his hand gripping yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His eyes are locked on you, wide and exhausted, his hair a mess and jaw tense. He looks like he hasn’t slept. Maybe he hasn’t.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, but there’s no relief in his voice. Only tension, and something sharp beneath it.

“Are you out of your mind?” he snaps, his voice rising before he catches himself. “You lied to my face. Told me you were fine while you were bleeding out right in front of me.”

You shift your gaze away, guilt settling in your chest, but Finnick isn’t done.

“You think you’re invincible? That you can just push through it and no one will notice?” His grip tightens slightly, just enough to make sure you’re still here, still listening. “You almost died. You could’ve collapsed somewhere no one would’ve seen you. And then what?”

You manage a weak inhale, your voice scratchy. “There were others worse off than me.”

Finnick scoffs bitterly, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s not the point. You don’t get to decide that your life is worth less than anyone else’s.”

There’s a crack in his voice now, subtle but there. His frustration is real, but underneath it, fear pulses through every word. You see it in the way he won’t let go of your hand. In the way he’s leaning forward like he needs to be closer, to make sure you don’t slip away again.

“I thought I lost you,” he says finally, quieter this time. “One second you were walking, snapping at me like you always do after a horrible expedition, and the next—you were gone.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just squeeze his hand. It’s weak, barely there, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker down to the gesture, then back up to your face.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and you mean it.

He exhales shakily, resting his forehead briefly against the back of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice is rough.

“Just… don’t do that again. Don’t lie. Not to me.”

You nod slowly, and for the first time, the tension in his shoulders begins to ease. He still looks pissed, still looks like he’s about to give you another lecture—but his thumb is rubbing slow circles against your knuckles now, and his eyes aren’t leaving yours.

The silence that follows is heavy but not uncomfortable. It lingers between you, filled with everything neither of you quite knows how to say yet. Finnick’s still holding your hand, but the tension in his grip has lessened, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles across your skin.

You can tell he’s trying to reel himself back in. That sharp edge in his voice has dulled now, replaced by something quieter, something almost afraid.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he says eventually, not meeting your eyes. His voice is rough, barely above a whisper. “I just—I didn’t know what to do. You went down so fast. One minute you were moving, the next you were gone.”

You glance at him, his profile softened in the low light of the medbay. He looks tired. Not just physically, but soul-deep exhausted. And still, he hasn’t let go of you.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you murmur. Your throat still feels raw, but you manage the words.

He finally looks at you again, something pained flickering behind his eyes.

“Too late for that,” he says, and for the first time, his voice cracks. “You don’t get it, do you?”

You blink at him, confused.

“You think you're just another soldier,” he continues, quieter now, leaning in a little. “Like if you go down, it’s just part of the job. Just another name on a list. But it’s not like that for me.”

His gaze locks with yours, and you feel it in your chest—the weight of it, the sincerity, the raw fear still clinging to the edges of his words. Finnick lifts your hand, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles that makes your heart pick up its pace and it could be heard from the monitor.

“You’re not just…” he trails off, his eyes flicking away for a second before settling back on you. “You’re not just someone I pass in the halls, or someone I joke around with when things get quiet.”

His voice drops lower, almost like he’s afraid of saying too much but can’t hold it back anymore.

“You matter to me. In a way that’s… complicated. More than I know how to say, really. And when I saw you lying there—barely breathing—”

He stops again, his jaw tightening. His hand grips yours a little firmer, like the memory physically hurts to recall.

“I’ve seen people hurt before. I’ve seen worse. But with you—it felt different. Like the world just stopped.”

He exhales shakily and leans forward, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

The words settle in your chest like a pulse—steady, real, unshakable.

You don’t know what to say. Maybe you don’t need to. Your free hand moves on instinct, reaching up to rest against his cheek. His skin is warm, and he closes his eyes at the touch, leaning into it like he’s been needing it for longer than he’d ever admit.

“I’m still here,” you whisper.

His lips twitch into the faintest, relieved smile. “Yeah,” he breathes, brushing his thumb along your hand. “You are.”

Neither of you speaks. The room is quiet except for the distant footsteps in the hall and the beep of the monitor beside you. His hand stays in yours, steady, unmoving. You don’t pull away. He doesn’t either. Whatever this is, it doesn’t need to be figured out right now. You’re both here. That’s all.

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍.2)

Choi Seunghyun x f!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: Here's part two! I feel like this part is slightly boring but I needed to write it to continue lol. I've also just been off the past few days and I'm trying to get back into the right mood so I'm sorry if this sucks. I'll try to have part 3 out ASAP!

synopsis: Y/n struggles escape her guilty conscience of the secret her and Jiyong carry. Meanwhile, Seunghyun is oblivious and head over heels for Y/n.

warnings: Language, angst, mention of sex, some fluff at the end

wc: 2.2k+

The shrill blare of your alarm yanked you from the depths of sleep, your body aching, your mind groggy with exhaustion. Your hand instinctively shot out, fumbling blindly until you slammed the snooze button, plunging the room back into an uneasy silence. A tired groan slipped from your lips as you shifted under the sheets, ready to drift back into oblivion—until you felt it.

A warmth beside you.

Your stomach twisted violently as you rolled over, your pulse spiking when your eyes landed on the figure sprawled out next to you. Jiyong.

His bare torso was partially covered by the sheets, the same sheets that reeked of sweat, sex, and the mistakes of last night. His face was relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. Without the cocky smirk, without the biting words, he almost looked…peaceful. Almost.

But the moment you registered the ache between your legs, the bruises forming on your hips, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your skin, shame crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Last night came rushing back in a flood of memories—Seunghyun’s gentle smile, the way he looked at you with admiration and patience. The way you had laughed, talked, felt like a real person again, not just some dirty little secret. And then Jiyong. His scent. His touch. His words whispered against your lips as he dragged you back into the cycle of ruin.

You squeezed your eyes shut. God, you hated yourself.

With a sharp inhale, you grabbed your phone, your fingers moving on autopilot as you typed out a text to your boss.

Can’t come in today. Migraine.

It was a weak excuse, but you prayed he wouldn’t question it. You never took a day off. Maybe he’d let this one slide.

Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Fine, but I need the final drafts by midnight tomorrow.

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. You set the phone down and turned to face the bigger issue at hand.

“Jiyong, get up,” you snapped, your voice ice-cold as you slammed your foot into his calf.

He groaned in protest, rolling onto his side with a sleepy scowl. “What the fuck, Y/n?”

“Get out.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the morning stillness like a blade.

Jiyong blinked at you, disoriented but quickly catching on. His smirk returned, lazy and infuriating. “Is that really how you treat the guy who made you cum three times last night?” His voice was drenched in amusement, in satisfaction. In ownership.

Your stomach churned, your skin burning with humiliation. You turned away, grabbing your clothes off the floor, yanking them on in a frenzy. Jiyong propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips.

“You look tense.” he teased, stretching his arms above his head, his toned stomach flexing. “You wanna fuck it out?”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not coming in today. And this—this is over. So get up and get out of my house.”

Jiyong tilted his head, his long, fading orange hair falling into his eyes. The same hair you were responsible for touching up, though the thought of being that close to him again made bile rise in your throat.

“Why aren’t you coming in?” His tone was nonchalant, but there was something else lurking beneath it.

“I need a fucking day off—from you. From everything.” Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. “I had a nice time with Seunghyun last night. And then you just—you just showed up and ruined it.”

He scoffed. “Ruined it? You were begging me to fuck you, Y/n.”

You flinched. He always knew exactly where to strike.

“That was the last fucking time, Jiyong. I’m serious.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, his gaze flickered to the bedside table, to the black dahlia wilting from neglect. His smirk curled slightly.

“I helped him pick that out, you know.” He gestured lazily toward the flower. “Told him you liked dahlias. He doesn’t know shit about you, Y/n. Not like I do.”

Your breath hitched. “Still don’t know why you did that,” you murmured, your voice laced with suspicion. “Maybe just stay out of our business.”

His eyes darkened. “He’s my best friend. He comes to me for advice.” A cruel chuckle escaped his lips. “I mean, next time I could just tell him how to fuck you right—since I know all about that.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Don’t you dare tell him,” you seethed.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Your chest heaved. “Why do you even care, Jiyong?! You hate me. I hate you. This was all just meaningless fucking sex!”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Jiyong’s jaw tightened. His nostrils flared, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. For the first time, he had nothing to say.

“I like Seunghyun. I really do,” you continued, your voice shaking. “And I’d like to see him again. But I can’t do that if you’re still lurking around, so just—just fuck off! Find someone else to fuck!”

Something flashed in his eyes, something raw, something dangerous—but then it was gone.

“Fine,” he spat, his smirk returning, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve got plenty of girls. I don’t need you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Never needed you.” You mumbled, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. 

Jiyong let out a bitter laugh, but it was hollow. Without another word, he grabbed his clothes, yanked them on, and stormed toward the door. The slam of it rattled the walls.

The moment he was gone, your legs gave out. You sank to the floor, your hands clutching at your hair, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The weight of it all came crashing down, pressing against your chest like a thousand bricks.

It was over.

And yet—you knew it wasn’t. Not completely.

You crawled toward the bathroom, your limbs feeling like lead. The moment you stepped into the shower, you let the scorching water cascade over your skin, washing away the remnants of last night. You sat against the tile, knees pulled to your chest, silent sobs wracking your body.

You had never felt so disgusted with yourself.

Two hours passed before you finally emerged, your body scrubbed raw, but the filth of Jiyong still clung to you like a second skin. You numbly went through your routine, pulling on sweats and a tank top, throwing your sheets into the wash.

Your phone sat untouched on the counter. You braced yourself before picking it up, expecting an onslaught of messages—Jiyong’s wrath, Seunghyun’s confusion, your boss demanding answers.

Instead, there was just one.

Seunghyun: Hey, I heard you weren’t feeling good. Hopefully it’s not from the restaurant. I hope you feel better soon! It’s boring without you here.

Your chest ached. He didn’t know. Not yet.

No, it’s not from the restaurant. Just a headache. I had a great time last night!

You lied.

Not about having a great time with Seunghyun—you had. Those few hours with him had felt like stepping into a life you wanted so desperately to claim as your own. A life that was simple, warm, untouched by the filth of your past mistakes. But the reason you weren’t at work? That was a lie.

You weren’t sick.

You were avoiding the inevitable.

Jiyong knew how to be cruel when he wanted to be. And if he decided to open his mouth, your world would come crumbling down. Your stomach twisted at the thought of it. Everyone would know. Your boss, your coworkers, Seunghyun.

Seunghyun.

You didn’t even want to think about how he would react. The betrayal in his eyes, the disappointment. Would he hate you? Would he turn his back on you? On his best friend?

You pushed the thought away, forcing yourself into work. You needed a distraction, something to pull you away from the anxiety chewing at your insides. Music blared from the speakers, filling the silence as you lost yourself in sketching, your pencil moving in sharp, deliberate strokes.

You had finished Daesung’s outfit first, moving onto Taeyang’s and Seungri’s with ease. Designing for them was simple, almost soothing. You knew their style, their personalities, the energy they brought to the stage. It was second nature to you.

But then came the last two pages of your sketchbook.

Seunghyun and Jiyong.

Your fingers lingered on Seunghyun’s page, your pencil tracing meaningless details—adding unnecessary stitching to his jacket, shading in areas that didn’t need shading, elongating the shape of the silhouette. You knew you were procrastinating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to flip the page just yet.

You liked being on this page. Here, there was no shame, no regret, no mistakes. Just clean lines and the promise of something new.

But eventually, you had to move forward.

The moment you flipped to Jiyong’s page, your stomach clenched.

You stared at the half finished sketch you’d started, your fingers tightening around your pencil. Designing for him was always easy. You knew his style better than anyone, could predict his fashion choices before he even made them. But now, looking at this page, it felt impossible.

How could you design something for a man you wanted so desperately to erase from your memory?

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sketch. You kept it simple, precise—dark, sleek lines, something effortlessly cool and arrogant, just like him. Just like the man his fans adored. Not the man who whispered filthy things into your ear, not the man who knew exactly how to ruin you, over and over again.

But even as you sketched, his voice echoed in your head.

"He doesn’t know shit about you, Y/n. Not like I do."

Your grip on the pencil tightened. God, you hated him.

And yet, the memory of last night still clung to your skin. The bruises on your hips, the soreness between your legs. You hated how good he made you feel, how easy it was to fall into bed with him, how no matter how hard you tried to move on, he always found a way to pull you back in.

You shook your head, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste copper.

You just had to finish this.

Just as you were adding the final touches, the doorbell rang.

You jolted upright, blinking down at your sketchbook as if just realizing where you were. Pushing it aside, you stood, rubbing the stiffness from your neck before making your way to the door.

You weren’t expecting company.

When you swung the door open, the sight before you made your breath hitch.

Seunghyun.

He stood there, a bag of takeout in one hand and yet another flower in the other. This time, a purple tulip, its petals delicate between his fingers.

“Seunghyun!” you breathed, your voice laced with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I felt bad you weren’t feeling well today, so I thought maybe some ramen would help?” He lifted the bag slightly before extending the flower. “And, uh… I picked this from someone’s garden on the way here.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.

"You stole a flower for me?"

He chuckled, his ears turning pink. "Borrowed. I’ll return it if they notice."

Your fingers curled around the stem, bringing the tulip to your nose as you giggled, the gesture so undeniably him. "This is really sweet, Seunghyun."

“If you’d like some company, I’m free.” He paused, suddenly unsure. “But if you’re not up for it, I totally understand.”

You didn’t hesitate. “No, I am!”

His face brightened at your enthusiasm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Come in.” You needed the distraction.

Seunghyun followed you inside, his presence filling your small apartment with warmth. As he placed the food on the counter, you searched for a vase, already feeling guilty about the black dahlia wilting in your bedroom.

Then, he spoke again.

“Oh, and this was outside your door.”

You turned just as he pulled a white envelope from his pocket, holding it out to you.

“I promise I didn’t look at it,” he added quickly. “I just picked it up so you wouldn’t miss it. Could be something important.”

Your fingers hesitated before taking it from him. It was blank. No address, no name.

Your stomach twisted.

“Uh, Seunghyun… do me a favor?” You tried to keep your voice steady. “Take all this to the living room? Pick us a movie to watch.”

“Sure!” He grinned, easily distracted. “What kind of movie do you want to watch?”

“Something scary!” you called back, waiting until he was out of sight before your fingers pried open the envelope.

Inside, there was something small, cold.

A key.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Not just any key. Your key.

Your heart pounded as you pulled out the folded note tucked inside.

You didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. The handwriting was unmistakable, messy and familiar, like it had been scribbled in a rush.

With trembling fingers, you unfolded it, your eyes scanning the words.

I won’t tell him.

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[cvnntagious]

early morning sex with babydaddy!matt after he “accidentally” ended up in your bed last night 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

:: brat!reader often wakes up to babydaddy!matt in her bed

arms slithered around you as you were coaxed out of your sleepy state, the sound of someone whispering in your ear with desperation and something hard pressing against your butt causing you to let out a confused groan. you were still tired from last night's activities, body a bit achy and sore.

that's when you heard a small whimper from behind you, causing your head to turn and your eyes to meet his. matt practically pouted, drinking in your beauty in your half-asleep state. "baby i need you," he rasped, practically grinding his bulge against your ass.

"m'tired..." you whispered, struggling to keep your heavy lids lifted as you yawned.

a small smile tugged at matt's plump lips, flipping the you both over gently so he was now hoovering over you. "lemme do the work then," he insisted, hand moving to lift the big t-shirt you'd fallen asleep in, exposing your bare pussy to him. he was just happy you'd decided you were too tired to put all your clothes back on last night, making it easier on him now.

your hand caught his wrist, head shaking slowly. "sore," you started, feeling the light cramping around your entrance, "and mazzy's in the next room."

matt chuckled, admiring how straightforward you were with him. his hand pulled back from you, moving to stroke himself for even just the slightest bit of relief. "we'll try something else then, yeah?" he asked, positioning his length abover your folds before looking to you for approval, "this okay?"

with a hesitant nod, your eyes closed, trusting that matt would never do anything to hurt you. he was ecstatic, rubbing his leaking tip along your wet folds to tease you (and him, really) almost immediately. a soft whimper escaped your lips when his cockhead ran over your puffy clit, causing matt's soft grin to widen.

your eyes remained closed, leaving matt in full control. "keep it quiet, m'kay?" he ordered in a sweet tone, moving his dick meticulously to spread your folds. he hoovered his thumb over his long shaft, keeping it in place as he began thrusting between your folds. when your eyes opened again and your jaw went slack at the newfound friction against your sensitive nerves, matt nee he was at least doing something right for you. "yeah— yeahh, s'kinda new, huh? y'like it?"

instantly, you nodded, unable to deny the immense pleasure washing over you at such a simple action. it was embarrassing, really, for both of you; the way you guys found such satisfaction without even barely doing anything. matt felt his orgasm coming on already, grunts escaping his lips with each slow stroke between your sopping folds.

it was like the soreness surrounding your cunt has completely disappeared, and suddenly you felt the urge to beg matt to fuck you... the right way. this was great, yeah, but you needed more. you needed to feel him deep inside you. your mouth opened to tell him just that—

"mommy," you heard a whine from the other room. matt immediately stopped with a small sigh, too afraid to continue on at the thought of ignoring mazzy and risking her hearing.

"let me fuck you later... please," matt whispered as he hopped off of you, immediately searching your room for his clothes.

°

[p!link]

w/c : ?

a/n : i changed the ask a little to make it slightly more interesting imo, and sorry that this's a bit rushed :( i don't have much time to write rn but i wanted to answer this for you. divider by @issysh3ll

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