#it's such a small problem but i fucking hate it!

[dykeriver]

⠀ fantastic. ⟨ ellie w. ⟩

❝ and i’m thinking of you while i’m up here higher than god. ❞

or ;; you and your girlfriend, ellie, decide to go a little out of her comfort zone.

wc: 3k

⠀cw + oneshot under the cut . . . !

⠀cw: sub!ellie, use of sextoys, dirty talk, exhibitionism (play in public), sub!ellie is bratty (per usual)

the car thrums to life around you, and you connect your phone. you scroll through your music for a moment before deciding to play one of your favorites, a song you’ve been addicted to for the past six months.

your girlfriend, ellie, sits in the passenger seat. per usual, fucking passenger princess, but that’s a story for another day. she fidgets a bit, always one to be moving in some sort of way. it’s a little different now, though, because you and ellie are doing some… exploring tonight.

she’d come to you with the idea a week ago, shuffling over to you nervously, eyes averted. you were immediately intrigued, immediately hooked on the idea. far out of ellie’s usual comfort zone, she had asked you to control a vibrator from your phone while you two eat at a local diner. you’re a little less than vanilla, admittedly, so the idea of controlling her pleasure… in public of all places, made electricity rush throughout your body.

to be trusted so fully, so wholly and utterly, made emotions bloom in your chest. that, however, is again, a story for another day.

“i’ll start easy on you,” you tell her, this sort of… evil glee already showing on your face.

she gives you an overexasperated — and very pink — glare, and you laugh at her. she’s so handsome, such a pretty little thing, and oh so easy to turn red. her hair sits against her neck, perpetually messy, and the eggshell colored shirt she wears sits loosely against her willowy figure. “mhm, sure you will,” ellie grumbles.

and just for that, you open a certain app on you phone and turn the vibrator to medium.

ellie yelps, slamming the door on her side and clenching her bony hands. “j-jesus you- you couldn’t even wait for me-e to close my door? fucking ruthless…”

you turn the vibrator back off and raise your eyebrows at her. “do you want to keep talking to me like that? when i have this in my hands? i’ll leave this thing on the whole car ride, ellie. don’t fucking test me.”

she sighs, tipping her head back and rolling her pale green eyes. “i get it,” she mutters.

just because you’re a little mean, you turn it up one more time. ellie’s face contorts, first in surprise and then in pleasure. her pink lips form a little ‘o’, and her spindly hands push against the console and the ridges of the passenger door. she lifts her hips a bit, thighs squeezing together.

“fuck,” she whispers, eyes jammed shut. “you h-hate me.”

“i hate you so much, yet here i sit, making you feel so good…” you nearly sing, reaching out to stroke your thumb across her cheek before pulling away to turn your device off and start the car.

ellie sinks back down into her seat after the toy calms, freckled face painted with a crimson blush. you’re excited to get her into the diner. maybe if you two get lucky you’ll find a booth in the back — somewhere slightly isolated where you can torture her.

you both spend the short ride to the diner in relative quiet, just humming along to the music, one of your hands on the wheel and the other on ellie’s thigh. not five minutes later you’re pulling into the small parking lot and walking in to take a seat at the perfect booth.

soft eighties rock plays from the red jukebox in the front. ellie’s got her back to the restaurant and yours to the wall, eyes facing the walkway. she’s shifting impatiently, eyes flicking around even though from her angle. she can’t lay eyes on anybody except you, though, and you’re the only one who can see ellie until the server comes.

ellie looks up at you, bottom lip pulled into a sulky pout.

“what?” you tease. “what’s the problem, baby?”

“when are you gonna… y’know…” she whispers, making eye contact with the wall beside her.

“when am i going to what, ellie?” you ask. you almost purr in satisfaction when she lets out a frustrated little grunt. she furrows her brows at you in annoyance. you cave and giggle, far too pleased with yourself. “go ‘head an’ tell me anytime, baby.”

“the toy, you fuckin’ asshole!” ellie whisper-yells, vexation clear in her tone. you grab her hand across the table in mock sympathy, pouting your own lip.

“oh!” you sing, pulling out the toy. you can see a waitress about to meander her way over out of the corner of your eye. “don’t worry, honey. we can play now.” you pull out your phone from out of your bag, resting it on your lap, just underneath the table. up, up, up, to the middle setting, the moment the waitress arrives.

she greets the two of them, deep red lipstick pretty and precise. “what drinks can i get you started with?”

you tell her you’ll have an iced water, and then you both turn your expectant gazes towards ellie. she’s pink again, eyes still clenched shut, hunched over the menu that’s been placed in front of her.

“…miss? what can i get you to drink?” the server tries again, a concerned and definitely confused expression on her face. she’s patient, though, and you give yourself a mental note to give the girl a nice tip.

ellie jolts, eyes opening. “um! what?” she scrambles, “oh. can i have a sprite?” she has the cutest, dumbest little face and god do you want to lean over the table and kiss her smack on the mouth, right in front of their poor server. your pink, already flustered girl.

“absolutely! i’ll go grab those for you and then i’ll be back to take your orders.” she turns and walks away, ponytail swaying as she does.

you turn your gaze away from the server and back to ellie, watching her eyes slip back in relief and her hands press against the table. you turn down the vibrator and she sags against the red booth. “okay, baby?” you ask, knowing full well what your girlfriend is about to say.

“you’re a dick,” ellie starts, “what happened to starting easy on me?”

“…oops!” you smile sweetly, not one ounce of regret evident in your voice. you reach across the table and take her hand into yours, rubbing your thumb against her knuckles soothingly and admiring the pretty tattoo on her arm. you trace your pointer finger against it, following the ink up to the moth and then back down again. “i’d apologize, but… i’m not actually sorry.”

she glares, and you raise an eyebrow. ellie sighs and leans back, rolling her eyes and glancing at the menu in front of her. she looks through it without another complaint, and by the time she pushes it to the side, you’re ready to play again.

you take your phone out again with your other hand, setting it on the table. ellie glances at it, lips pursing excitedly. she can act grumpy about this all she wants, but you know that she’s into it. possibly even more into it than you are.

“well?” you ask, tracing along her arm again. “ready?”

she nods, a bit shyly, and taps her free hand against the table, fingers drumming against the faux wood. “ready as i’ll ever be…” ellie breathes.

you open the app again, staring at the lowest possible setting. you’ve had some fun teasing her, now you’re ready to ease ellie into the craziest orgasm of her life. you can hear her breathing stutter at first, but besides that, there’s no other reaction. to this setting, at least.

the server comes over again to take their orders a few minutes later, and you lift the setting upwards. barely — you’re not even sure if ellie can feel the difference because of her lack of reaction. ellie sits there and tells the girl her order as if there isn’t a toy inside of her, vibrating against one of the most sensitive parts of her body.

“it’s not bad at all,” ellie brags after the server leaves, confident, cocky grin in tow. “i can definitely handle this.”

“okay,” you say simply, taking a sip of your water and sliding the setting up a bit higher.

ellie chokes on her sprite a bit, wiping at her nose with her sleeve and sending you an annoyed glance. “dick.”

you turn it up again, and ellie’s forehead is beginning to look damp underneath the light above the booth. every few seconds, you bring the setting up higher. she gets progressively more antsy, getting pinker and pinker, until a drip of sweat slides down her temple. ellie chokes on a barely held back whimper and swallows thickly. her face twitches, and you know that she’s making a conscious effort to hold back her expression. it gives you a wicked sort of satisfaction.

you lean towards her, bringing your voice down to a hushed whisper. “with all your little glares and remarks… don’t forget that i have all the power here, sweetheart.”

and ellie can’t hold back her reaction to this, a strained grunt, lips pulled into a taut grimace. she nods her chin out to the side, pulling at the collar of her shirt like it’s too tight around her throat. you push the setting up more, and she lets out this loud, shuddered out breath of air. your poor baby.

“okay i-” she attempts to say, but a startled little ah slips through her open lips, cutting her off.

“quiet, ells. you don’t want everyone to hear you, do you?” you lecture, having too much fun being a little mean. “don’t you want to be a good girl, honey?”

if ellie’s face wasn’t red as a stop sign already, it certainly is now. her mouth opens and shuts a few times, most definitely going to say something bratty and then thinking better of it.

yeah, that’s your good girl.

“alrighty!” the server cuts in. you both whip your heads over at her in surprise, definitely far too suspiciously. you pull your phone back down into your lap, turning the toy back off to give ellie a breather. “there’s yours…” she says looking at you, placing down your plate of food in front of you. she grabs ellie’s plate. “and for you!” she glances back and forth between them, and a weird look crosses her face for a moment before she masks it. “um, is there… anything else i can get you two?”

“nope!” you and ellie say in unison. the server walks away without saying anything else, and your girlfriend snorts out this obnoxious laugh. you can’t help but burst into giggles as well, throwing an embarrassed hand over your face and nearly snorting.

“fuck,” ellie wheezes, stabbing a fork into her pancakes (obviously drenched in sugary, delicious blueberry syrup), “she definitely knows something’s up.”

you nod solemnly, but then burst into another round of giggles. ellie smiles at you affectionately as you laugh into your hand.

“anyways…” she breathes out, nudging your foot from under the table, “do you want to eat and then… continue this at the cinema?”

the rest of dinner is spent eating in a content, fond silence. you both finish quickly, evidently a little eager to finish up and get to the cinema. the food is good, though. it’s always good there, it being your favorite for a reason.

you wait for ellie to finish in the bathroom and then grab onto her hand as you both walk through the diner’s doors, ready for a short drive a few blocks over. you almost wish it was a little longer, longing to tease her a little more before you get there. you don’t, though, choosing to give ellie a little more time before you absolutely wreck her in the back corner of the theater.

when you get there, ellie pays for your tickets to a movie of her choice. you don’t actually pay attention to what it is, knowing neither of you will be putting much focus into watching most of it.

when you walk into the small, dark theater, it’s practically empty. there are a few people here and there, mostly near the middle of the room and nobody in the back. the night couldn’t turn out any more ideal. you tug ellie to the secluded corner, taking her all the way to the last row. any other time, you’d be bitching at her to put her glasses on. you’re thinking her eyes might be closed throughout a lot of this movie, though.

nobody else comes in before the commercials start rolling, and you think it’s a perfect time to start. you tug your phone out of your pocket, watching ellie as she takes a sip of her second sprite of the night. your phone shines brightly in your hand and you rush to turn down your brightness, blinking a few times at the for some reason unexpected flash of light. ellie is nonethewiser, snickering away at some stupid ad about theater candy. you open the app on your phone and gently buzz the toy to life.

ellie side eyes you, sticking her tongue out.

“i’ll bite that,” you threaten, very seriously.

and to that, she sticks her tongue out even further. you snort at her, flicking her shoulder and then all at once turning up the toy to the middle setting.

ellie jolts, whimpering and gripping onto the armrests of her seat for dear life. from the light of the screen, you can see her face dust in a pretty pink. she bites her soft bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth in an attempt to cut herself off from making any more sounds. you rest a hand high on her thigh, gently squeezing. in your other hand, your phone still sits, app open and thumb climbing just a bit higher before you turn the vibration down to the lowest setting again. ellie sags against the reclining theater chair, breathing a big gust of air out in a sigh.

you move take your hand off of her and reach for your candy, throwing a few pieces of the chocolate covered caramels into your mouth. the movie has started by now and you turn your gaze to the screen, chewing on the candies slowly. ellie watches you with a grumpy expression on her face, taking an annoyed swig from her too-big cup of soda.

you wait a few minutes before repeating the same thing, this time turning it up a bit higher and watching her bend in on herself, shoving a hand between her legs like the desperate little thing ellie really is. she hums out this swallowed down noise, low in her throat and enough to make your clit throb. you snatch her hand away and turn the toy off, not wanting her to have any form of relief quite yet.

“nooo,” she huffs, “i… why did you…?”

you don’t respond to her, looking back towards the screen. you throw a few more pieces of candy in your mouth and you can feel ellie’s eyes staring into you as she leans back into her seat. you give her about fifteen minutes before starting again, buzzing the toy up to just under the middle setting. you watch as ellie squeezes her thighs together, jaw clamping shut as she focuses on the feeling of the toy humming against her walls.“you’re doing so well, pretty girl.” you tell her quietly, leaning over to kiss her temple. she presses into you, needy for your touch and starving for your love.

“baby,” ellie says, hurriedly, “i. please.” she’s got her eyebrows scrunched up and foot tapping against the floor. “i need more.”

“more…?” you draw out, acting like you don’t understand what she means.

“fuck, c’mon. please, baby. please. i- turn it up higher.” she finally begs, pleading look in her pretty green eyes.

“good girl,” you breathe, turning up the vibrator to almost the highest setting.

ellie’s back arches against her seat, a hand shoved over her mouth in a frantic attempt to not let the whole theater know what the two of you are doing. “m-more,” she begs through her fingers, a sweet little squeak slipping out. she hiccups, “cl-ose.”

you reach over to her, unbuttoning her loose jeans and pushing your fingers underneath the fabric of ellie’s tight boxers. you slide them lower, lower until you reach her center. she’s dripping down past the toy, making a wet mess in her underwear and all over your fingers. your chest purrs with pleasure. you find her clit, swiping against the little button over and over, knowing exactly what she needs. this time, you allow her to curl into that peak of pleasure. when she cums, it’s with a quiet sob against her hand, eyes clenched shut and back still arched.

“that’s it baby,” you murmur throughout as she rides the waves of her orgasm, “you’re such a good girl. my good girl.” and when she whimpers in overstimulation, you shut off the toy, slowing your circles against her but not fully stopping them. “one more,” you hum. “just one more, then we can go home and i’ll really fuck you stupid.”

she nods, grinding into you needily. it doesn’t take long for her to cum again, your deft fingers working her clit just how ellie likes it. her thighs squeeze shut around your hand as she reaches her peak, hips lifting and pushing into you.

you wait a moment before pulling away, giving her some time to come down before taking your hand from her pants slowly, gently, not really wanting to stop touching ellie but knowing it’s time to get your her home.

“jeez,” she says after a minute, sounding a bit dazed. “i think i was a little into this or something.”

[inlovewithladies]

Bimbo abby anderson headcanons

@r3starttt gave me the idea and if u see this ilysm THANK YOU if this is cringe im sorry :p

GENERAL

definately popular coz her dads a pretty well known surgeon (with well known surgeon money)

keeps her natural haircolor but has bleach blonde highlights

FAKE TRAMP STAMP coz her dad would kill her if she got a real one

started going to the gym out of boredom and to hang out with manny but ended up really liking it and boom shes buff as shit

uses way too much body spray like if shes walking by and you catch a whiff your gonna be coughing up pure vanilla for the next ten minutes

hates science, loves sports, settles for kinesiology

i know for a fact shes on the volleyball or wrestling team

i feel like shed love jeans with designs on the booty like apple bottoms

keeps her nails relatively short and paints them often, she likes trying out different colors

comically large waterbottle for practice

probably had an astrology phase but left coz she couldnt get anything correct

'oh i cant rlly hang tonight cause uh.. mercury's in gatorade. or something'

will enthusiastically carry 12 bags of groceries for manny's old dad. or any older person IN A RELATIONSHIP

totally clingy, like 27 texts before lunch.

texts grammatically correct but with bountiful emojis.

"miss you lots, baby 💔" if you cant see eachother

despite her muscular frame shed love to be the small spoon, makes her feel safe

needs reassurance a lot. especially if you have been busy

"you still love me, right babe?"

love languages are gift giving and physical touch

loves to flex her muscularity on you. literally flexing unnecessarily, picking you up, whatever makes you flustered

i feel like shed be a sucker for matching outfits or like couple co-ords

cries when shes angry so if ur arguing youll catch her wiping at her eyes while yelling at you or while your yelling at her.

when you try to apologise after an argument she'll act like shes not accepting it for a solid five minutes before giving in

but if shes the one who needs to apologise shed wait for a few hours to a day before climbing into bed with you, laying her head on your chest and mumbling a soft "m' sorry" before threading your fingers together

will ask for your opinion on what lipstick she should wear only to pick her usual one

probably made you one of those lipstick kiss collared shirts after seeing it on tiktok

you have matching half heart necklaces idgaf

NSFW

almost always comes back from the gym horny. all sweaty and flushed, she'll throw down her bag and ask to ride you cause 'her legs got a good pump'

moans like a fucking pornstar. youve had some problems with the neighbors but she physically cant quiet down

when shes eating you out she likes to play super dumb, teasing you when you tell her to focus on your clit.

"you want me to lick your clit? well wheres that??" she'll keep teasing till you pull her hair and shove her head onto it

either a top or a dominant bottom, if shes tired and lets you use the strap on her, she's having you do it on her terms

loves praise tho

"hows my pussy feel hmm? say im your good girl- cmon"

coaxes praises out of you between moans and mewls

likes to scissor while you both have ur panties on as foreplay

absolutely hates realistic straps, give my girl a pink or purple dick and shes happy

owns a double dildo

she loves mirror sex, whether shes watching you or herself shes super into it.

like she'll have a full body mirror in front of the bed while you eat her out from behind

BOUNTIFUL NUDES

you recieve a photo of her small tits bare except for the X shaped pasties obscuring her nipples during a lecture

insanely skilled with her tongue when she isnt teasing you, little flutters on your clit while two thick fingers pump inside your wet cunt.

moans into your pussy like shes about to reach her climax, this only serves as a vibrator and makes you cum faster

the tiniest degradation kink. like if your 'topping' and shes kinda fucked out.

"dumb girls like you are only good for fucking, right? say it" she'll nod, her eyes already rolled to the back of her head. "mmh! y-yea, thats m..me!"

AFTERCARE

shes so giggly after sex

"you good? yeah me too. lets take a selfie!"

if it was super messy she'll let you get up and take a shower with you. but usually if you try to get up she genuinely will not let you, pressing her whole bodyweight onto you

has snacks in her bedside drawer specifically for this.

falls asleep soundly pressed into your chest, pressing a little kiss to your collarbone with a little "i love you" before drifting off into a peaceful slumber

[gay-jewish-bucky]

I hate when posts pointing out how fucked up small high control groups are (which need to be addressed on a community level) will present barebones tzniut guidelines as a 'isnt this list so horrible and sexist and oppressive?' instead of the actually relevant problem 'people should be able to chose to follow modesty guidelines, instead of being forced to', like wow, you really give orthodox women 0 fucking credit just because they don't assimilate right

orthodox jewish feminists are not less empowered just because they chose to live in a way you find distasteful, just because you don't find following tzniut liberating doesn't mean it can't be for anyone

[whetstonefires]

Second thing is Wei Wuxian's self worth issues, the extent to which he does view himself as disposable.

I've seen a lot, and a few times already in the notes on this post, that the main reason he's like this is the Jiang family. They raised him, they had some serious toxicity in there, one of them hated him, etc. Obvious! We can all relate!

And I mean. That didn't help. The issues in that family certainly can be considered a major reason he didn't get past that idea as much as might be hoped!

But I really, really don't think they're the source of it--of his compulsion to be useful; of his deep seated belief that relationships and homes are things that can always be taken away if you fail to deserve them, and so forth.

I think that's because he had a formative experience of being disposable.

Of being a trash person. Someone already thrown away b society. Of knowing for a fact that he was the only person in the world who cared if he lived or died; that no one had any use for him and therefore he, a small child, had no value. Of living on anyway.

He internalized at a profoundly formative age that he was owed nothing, that being alive was something to work for and earn moment by moment.

And that most people placed in that position would die before long, and that he was unusually capable of surviving.

He was six tops when he was orphaned. Lan Wangji, whose life was otherwise stable if somewhat oppressive, was fucked up a bit for life just by losing his mom at that age and not being given the support he needed to process it.

Being homeless is not like. A self-contained Trauma Event. It's not separate from, or to the side of his life. It's foundational. It was formative. It was his life, at the exact age when people are learning to have abstract thoughts about the world in a systematic way.

He developed his identity to a considerable degree in the context of being given nothing without earning it, and having to seek out the opportunities even to do the earning, because no one was interested in offering them.

The Dogs Thing is not a traumatic event. It's part of the outcome of an entire lifestyle that was fundamentally traumatic. Years as a small child of contriving to get by in a world that was hostile to his existence, by default. Of having to earn every mouthful.

The thing about Wei Wuxian when we see him as a teenager is that he doesn't take this shit seriously because he knows it's not that serious. Not worth stressing about. Everything in his life as a prominent disciple of a major sect is fantastic.

Especially because his master spoils him! He doesn't have to earn his food. They just give it to him. They just...give it to him.

There aren't no strings, and on some level he takes those strings deadly seriously even more than is actually necessary, but his understanding of his position in the Jiang, after a certain point we don't see him arrive at because the time between the first night and the Cloud Recesses is not given to us in detail, is that he is safe.

And that this is an unbelievable luxury worth indulging in.

Having a problem like 'someone who isn't allowed to maim him trying to make him feel bad' might piss him off if he thinks they're being unjust about it, but for the most part it's a fun problem to have.

(This is a huge part of his and lwj's initial failure to connect; he seems as though he's frivolous because he's shallow, but he's actually like this because he thinks most of this surface-level stuff the cultivation world takes so seriously is what's frivolous.)

He's like this because, even after half a lifetime with the Jiang, his baseline for 'a problem' is set so high. The Abyss sequence in Caiyi isn't a serious situation because they could always just leave.

Sure they could die here, sure something has to be done about this by somebody, but they are all on flying swords and the problem is localized to a lake. If they wanted they could just leave, which means it's...not that bad.

A dangerous night hunt is like. It's a play-pretend at a traumatic situation, to him. It's like...it's almost exactly like how kink is rendered safe by the existence of safewords, of being able to stop, of the fact that you are in this situation on an ongoing basis of your own free will.

This is a huge part of why he's such a larger-than-life figure who's able to act so forcefully, and so on. But it is also the result of trauma, and if triggered correctly results in counterproductive behaviors, which is in some ways what gets him killed.

Madam Yu is being given way too much credit when centered in interpretations of Wei Wuxian's issues. She had a definite influence on him, but as a stressor she had nothing on just, like. Being alive in a world that was aggressively and unanimously indifferent to your desire for basic necessities, at the age of seven.

Jiang Cheng is the one she traumatized.

Post I just saw made me think of this again: Wei Wuxian does not have self-esteem issues.

He thinks he's amazing, because he is.

His sense of his own value is a little fucked up, and tied up in demonstrating how amazing he is by fixing all serious problems and mocking all stupid ones, and when his methods stop working and he can no longer prove this to his own satisfaction he has a profound crisis about it, which he's still shaking off when we meet him.

But self-esteem is super very much not a thing he struggles with. He is a genius who received regular validation about his excellence in a form that satisfied him both as very a small child and from the ages of ~8 to ~17. He has a clear system of ethics which he is most of the time able and willing to act on; he feels really good about himself as a person whenever severe trauma is not actively making that very hard to do.

His default state is obnoxiously high self-esteem.

In-story accusations of arrogance are strictly speaking correct, it's just that most of the inferences about the rest of his character people draw from this trait are deeply wrong.

His willingness to self-destruct is at least as heavily wrapped up in his conviction that because he's so awesome and tough and clever he can handle things other people can't, as it is in the idea that he's disposable.

So yeah the thing is. He really genuinely actually did sacrifice himself for Jiang Cheng in part because he thinks he's better than Jiang Cheng. Stronger, braver, smarter. More adaptable.

And he was right! And Jiang Cheng knows he was right!

Which I love because like. That's not a relationship conflict you can fix, exactly. You really do have to just...get over it, or don't. And one of the things Wei Wuxian was demonstrating his (well-founded) lack of faith in Jiang Cheng's ability to do was. Getting Over Things.

[mountainsandmayhem]

F*ckin’ Forty - Part 2

40 year old reader x young Frankie

18+ || Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: Men your age don’t do the way a twenty five year old future helicopter pilot can.

A/N: once again, all p*orn, no plot. This is written first person and there’s a few minor description of reader. Listen, I don’t know when I turned into a cougar BUT HERE WE FUCKIN’ ARE!!! This is in no way proofread or beta read; much like 40 yr old reader, we don’t care.

T/W: subby Frankie, pet names (baby, sweet boy, etc), I don’t speak Spanish but googled told me Mi Reina means My Queen (just ignore it if that’s not right, there’s bigger problems right now!), teasing, dirty talk, masturbating, Frankie being whiny (but in a good way)

Word Count: 2.5k

I love my job, and that’s not something a lot of people can say. But, as an owner of a small romance bookstore, I am not only living my dream but countless others as well. However, this week, when all I can think about is the weekend and Frankie’s never-ending hard cock? Yeah, I hate my job.

After work on Thursday, I went to buy some sexy lingerie. The last time I put something like this on was for my ex-husband about five years ago. He took one look at me and went, “I think we are a little too old for pyjamas like that”.

Too old? We were fucking thirty-five! And pyjamas? I went back into our bathroom to change and did the worst possible thing I could have - I looked in the mirror. My eyes instantly went to the imperfections of my body and I promptly went on a spiral. Stretch marks from being pregnant three times. Breasts that didn’t sit as high as they used to. Thighs that touch. Bits of cellulite dimpled my ass and hips.

But when I put on this delicate baby blue lace bra, panty, and garter set, I felt powerful and sexy. None of the things, including the few extra pounds I gained in the last five years of my marriage, jumped out at me this time. I don’t know if it was just the way the fabric hugged me just right, or the small “BEG” that was embroidered along the front of the thong (which, yes, is crotchless) but I couldn’t wait for Frankie’s reaction.

While having sushi last Sunday, I told Frankie that I’d prefer to keep all communication to just the weekends since I'm not looking for a relationship or to make this more complicated than just sex and sushi. His response gave me yet another reason to keep fucking younger men, “I’m not looking for anything either, so that is more than okay with me, but if you need me for anything, I’m here.”

Friday had finally arrived. Around noon, I checked my phone and had a text from Frankie.

Frankie: I can’t wait to be buried in that sweet little pussy all fucking weekend

You: now, now, is that any way to talk to a lady? Be nice, or I’ll make you beg for it, sweet boy.

Frankie: I’ll get on my knees and bark like a dog if that’s what you want.

You: that so?

Frankie: woof woof, mi reina

You: see you in a few hours

After an everything shower, I pace in my kitchen nervously while sipping a glass of red wine. I’m in just the baby blue barely there outfit and a short silky black robe that sits mid-thigh when Frankie knocks on my door right at nine o’clock. The soft rapping of his knuckles sends sparks across my skin.

I let him in, his soft brown eyes meeting mine, and the world melts away. No bills, no shitty ex texting me about parents weekend next month, no worrying about the event for local writers coming up at work. Just Francisco “Magic Tongue” Morales.

“Hi, baby,” he says, then brings his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I let him take me, let him close the door and then turn us and press me against the thick white wood that keeps us tucked away from the world.

I kiss him back feverishly as if he’s charging me back up after an entire week without him. I bring my hands to the nape of his neck and scratch gently at his scalp. His grip tightens on my hips. He’s already hard behind his jeans as he grinds into me.

“You look so fucking hot,” he hums between kisses and I remember that I had a plan tonight, so I bring my hands to his chest and push him back just enough so I can see his face.

“Get on your knees and keep your hands to yourself. Then I’ll show you what’s underneath this robe.” I don’t command him or say it harshly. It’s soft and flirty. My words tug a smile at the corner of his cheek, showing off his dimple amongst his patch beard.

“Yes ma’am,” he whispers, his hands giving me one last squeeze before he steps back and lowers himself to his knees.

I run my hands along my thighs, and his eyes track every inch of skin that I expose to him. I lift the sides of my robe, then let it flutter back down around my legs as I reach for the delicate tie around my waist. His breathing speeds up as I play with the fabric.

“What’s the matter, Francisco?”

“N-nothing,” he stammers, watching as my fingers trace the lapels of the silk.

“That so?” I coo, pulling the robe open so he can see part of the light blue bra. I do the same to the other side, showing my cleavage, but not fully letting my breasts out. The fabric is thin enough that you can see my nipples through it, and he hasn’t earned that yet.

His big puppy eyes flick up to my face. He licks his lips before saying, “Please stop teasing me.”

I laugh seductively, shaking my head as my hands pull the tie of the robe. Frankie is nearly panting in anticipation, but I don’t let what’s keeping me covered from him fall open just yet. “I’ve only just started playing with you though.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers when my hands move away from the knot. I use one hand to push his curly hair back. Just as he leans into my touch I grip his soft chocolate brown hair and tug back so he’s looking at me. He hisses, but his eyes are practically onyx with desire when they meet mine.

“That what you want? Me to play with you? Make you work for it?” He looks so goddamn hot on his knees that it takes everything inside of me not to abandon my plan and just let him fuck me senseless.

“Yes, mi reina. Whatever you want. Just please let me see you. Please.”

“You sound so good when you whimper like that,” I bend down and kiss him hard, nipping at his bottom lip as I pull away. “Such a good listener, keeping your hands in your lap like the good boy I know you are.”

He looks wrecked already, whimpering when I stand back up and release his hair. My fingers work the loose knot that’s holding my robe closed. I stop when he looks down.

“No, no, baby. Eyes on mine.” He groans in frustration and then looks back at me. As I continue, I open the robe the rest of the way. “That’s my boy. I’m going to let you look, and touch, but only after you do one tiny little thing for me.”

He nods, his breathing quick and shallow. My eyes flick down to my panties then back to him, he doesn’t break eye contact, so I do it again. “Read them, sweet boy.”

He lowers his chin slowly, his eyes branding my skin as he takes me in. He blinks at the three letters embroidered on the panties just above my clit - BEG. I let the robe slip off my arms and fall to the floor.

“Oh fuuuck,” he breathes. And then, on his knees, his face level with my pussy, he does exactly what I want. “Please, my queen. Let me touch you. Let me make you come so many times you forget your name.”

I step my feet apart so he can see that the lacy blue panties that he’s salivating over are open where the gusset would usually be. His face goes soft, lips parting as his hands ball into tight fists on his lap.

“You can do better than that,” I taunt.

“Fuuuuck me. Your pussy is so damn beautiful. Shining for me already. I’ve been craving your taste, missing how soft you are against my tongue. Please. Let me lick your perfect cunt.” His voice is airy and desperate and I can feel myself getting wetter. He looks up at me and continues, “I’ll stay clothed. I’ll stay on my knees. Fuck, I’ll stay right here all weekend with my tongue out if you want. Just please. Please let me taste you.”

“Open.” That heaven-sent tongue of his wets his lips before he opens his mouth. “Tongue out.”

I place the pads of my pointer and middle finger on the flat of his tongue and a whimper bubbles from his throat. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, baby. You’re going to get my fingers nice and wet, then you’re going to take out that pretty little cock so I can watch it while I touch myself. After I come all over my fingers, assuming you’re my good boy, you can clean them off.”

He hums a sound of agreement, nodding his head as I push on his tongue, watching the saliva pool in his cheeks. I lean down, sponging my lips to his right eyebrow, feeling him gravitate towards my caress.

“What are you waiting for, Francisco?” I whisper, my voice full of love and encouragement. He sucks eagerly, bobbing up and down on my fingers, swirling that perfect tongue along them. For a moment, I wonder if he’s ever sucked a cock before, and for some reason, the thought of that turns me on more than I expected it to.

“Fuck, you’re such a good listener,” I coo, and he preens at the praise. “Okay, that’s enough now, Frankie”

His lips release with a pop. “Please, I need to see you spread out for me.”

“Take off your shirt,” he whips his white t-shirt off so fast and I laugh silently. He’s so fucking cute. “Show me your cock. I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week.”

His hands scramble to his belt. Then he fumbles with the buckle and the button fly of his jeans because he’s wholly focused on my nearly exposed cunt. He tugs his jeans and boxers down just enough so that his cock springs free and I feel myself melt into the door behind me.

“Beautiful,” I murmur and he smiles up at me. “Ready?”

He nods, “Yes yes, I want to watch how you make yourself come, mi reina.”

I press my shoulder blades into the door, lifting my left foot and resting the arch on his shoulder, letting my knee fall open before rolling my hips forward. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of his shaky exhales on my skin. I bring my wet fingers towards my center, stopping just before they make contact with my swollen clit.

“Hold onto your cock for me, sweet boy. Right at the base. But don’t stroke yourself.”

“I - I c-can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes, you can, because you’re my good boy. Right?” I say, my voice equally encouraging and taunting.

“I’ll break. I can’t.” He whines.

“Francisco Morales,” I bark, “Wrap your fist around that pretty cock or I won’t let you cum all fucking weekend.”

He looks up at me through his lashes, eyes dark and pleading, then does as I ask. He squeezes his cock and a bead of pre cum leaks from the tip.

“That’s my boy,” I whisper, then drag my fingers along my cunt. I was never this wet for my ex-husband. I start at my entrance, gathering my arousal and spreading it up towards my clit. I gasp as my fingers touch where I’ve been needing them; swirling a little circle around my most sensitive spot before repeating the motion.

“Fuck, your pussy is so incredibly beautiful. All needy and flushed pink,” Frankie murmurs, the heat of his breath making me a jerk. “Get more of your juices for me. Coat your fingers. Make a mess. Make me clean your entire hand.”

“Oh my god, Frankie,” I’m already right on the edge, white blurs the side of my vision as it gets tighter and tighter behind my navel. I slip my fingers inside myself easily, feeling the way the walls of my pussy grip and pull, desperate for more. “Hnnnng, fuuuck.”

“Yes, my queen. Shit, I’m so hard for you right now.”

I pull my fingers from my cunt, looking down as I spread my arousal up my pussy and then focus on my clit. I rub tight, fast circles along it. My legs start to tremble.

“I’m…oh god…I’m gonna-“

“Show me,” he whispers, then blows cool air along my aching cunt and I fall over the edge. My pussy clenches around nothing again and again, but I don’t stop my ministrations. I let the moans fill my apartment, uncaring that anyone walking past my door would be able to hear me. It’s just him and I, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Keep going, baby. I know that must feel so good.” Frankie’s praise feels like the sun, warming my skin and revitalizing me. I keep teasing myself, my body jerking through the aftershocks.

My wrist goes limp, my eyelids falling shut as I catch my breath. After a few quiet moments, I find it in myself to lift my foot off Frankie’s shoulder. He’s still got his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. I stumble slightly, his free hand coming to my hip.

“Easy, baby. Go slow.”

I both hate and love how soft he’s being right now, but then I look back down at his dick. The tip is red and leaking cum; it looks almost painful.

I lift my hand to his lips. “Clean them,” I croak, my voice already hoarse just from one orgasm; I must have been moaning louder than I thought.

Frankie sucks my fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled back at the taste of me.

“Does that taste good, my beautiful boy?”

He groans in agreement, his breathing changing to be erratic. His hand releases his cock, and I watch as it twitches before he cums on the floor in front of me without even being touched. He releases my fingers, then falls to his hands.

“I’m sorry. Oh god. I’m sorry,” he says through his panting breaths.

I start to laugh, not in a cruel way and definitely not at him, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. Frankie’s big brown eyes look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say through my laughter. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just…I’ve never done something like that before. I don’t know what came over me.”

Frankie gestures towards where his cum is pooled onto the tile of your front entrance. “Well, I clearly liked it.”

“Take me to my room,” my voice is a hum and then Frankie shows me once again why fucking a younger is superior when he hoists me over his shoulder as he stands; strong, no lower back or bad shoulders. I squeal, watching as he shuffle steps to my room, his pants pooling around his feet. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

“Never, baby. Never.”

[onlygirlaliveinnyc]

battle of britpop [18+] ➶ ➴

pairing: 90s!damon albarn x fem!reader x 90s!liam gallagher genre: smut !!, angst if you squint, hate sex if you squint word count: 9702 (so sorry) warnings: brutallllll edging and overstimulation. most of the fic. spit. lotsa spit. hair-pulling, degradation, choking, face-fucking, cockwarming, unprotected sex, oral—f + m receiving, cumplay maybe ?, crying !!!, begging, just ruinedcore, minors dnii !! summary: damon brings you. liam sees. they hate each other—but they hate the idea of anyone else touching you more. a/n: based of this ! req and literally every other thought i have had about liam and damon.... got extra crazy with this im sorry i dont know why it was like my brain shut off while writing and there was an extra 5k words on the page sorrysorryalert alert ! never written a threesome fic so bare with me !

the room stank of cigarettes, sweat, and ego. velvet couches, cheap wine in heavy glasses, polaroids yellowing at the corners. a warehouse turned scene-spot somewhere deep in camden—half full of people who thought they mattered, and a few who actually did.

you walked in with damon’s hand resting low on your back, rings cold where they pressed against skin, the sheer of your dress no barrier at all. he leaned in as you crossed the threshold, voice a brush of velvet over your ear. “they’ll be watching.”

“let them,” you breathed, already smiling.

and they did. especially him.

liam gallagher saw you the second you stepped inside. slouched on the couch like it owed him rent, legs spread, pint half-gone. that lazy smirk already playing at the corners of his mouth. his eyes dragged over you slow. syrupy. something flickering just beneath it—surprise, interest, then something darker. they met damon’s across the room. and held. just long enough—long enough for the air to shift.

you let damon guide you toward the record wall, tucked half out of sight. he poured something dark and gold into a heavy glass, kissed your cheek as he handed it over. his palm lingered against your hip like punctuation—like a claim.

but you felt the gaze again before you even looked. sharp as heat. sticky as sin.

liam, across the room. still watching. unsubtle, unblinking.

he nursed his drink with one hand, other arm slung along the back of the sofa. too relaxed to be casual. too loud for the silence between songs.

you looked away. and then looked back. he was still staring. you knew he would be.

he moved like he was born to ruin something. halfway through his second drink, slinking through the crowd without looking at it. like they’d part for him anyway.

and they did.

“bit posh for this place, ain’t she?” the voice came before the rest. low, northern, smug.

damon didn’t even blink. “don’t you have somewhere to be?”

liam gave a grin like he’d just found his favourite game. “thought i’d say hello. be rude not to.”

“you’ve said it. now fuck off.”

but his eyes didn’t leave you. they dipped—slow, deliberate—then rose again. “didn’t know blur were doin’ plus ones now,” he drawled. “what, she sing too?”

you smiled. sweet. wicked. “only when it’s fun.”

that earned you a twitch of his grin. like he’d just decided you were his next favourite problem.

damon’s hand tensed at your waist. the kind of grip that said mine, even without a word.

liam noticed. of course he did. and he looked pleased.

he leaned in, just slightly—just enough to fog the air between you with breath and bourbon. “just think it’s funny, that’s all,” he murmured. “all that posh-boy poetry, and you’ve still got a girl who looks like she wants someone real to show her a good time.”

your laugh came before you could swallow it. small. dangerous. damon turned slightly. said nothing. but you saw it in his posture—the shift, the pull.

liam caught your eye again. tilted his head. “if you get bored,” he said, voice thick with sugar and spit, “come find me. i’ll be ‘round.”

then he was gone. just smoke in the room.

—

you were left standing there, half-cradling your glass, caught between the burn of your drink and the slower, sweeter simmer of something else entirely.

heat bloomed low in your belly. you blamed the liquor at first. but you knew better.

damon let out a breath through his nose—tight, annoyed—then gently tugged your wrist, guiding you toward the back of the flat. somewhere quieter, dimmer. away from the records and the stares. away from him.

his hand stayed on the small of your back like a brand.

“he’s a fucking prick,” he muttered.

the hallway was narrow, lit by a single red bulb, walls covered in posters peeling at the edges. your spine hit cool plaster. damon boxed you in without meaning to—hands braced on either side of your head, breath hot and sharp.

lager. smoke. jealousy.

his eyes found yours, flint behind the blue. “you think i don’t know what he’s doing?” he said, voice low but edged. “think i don’t see the way he looks at you?”

you tilted your chin up, fighting a grin. “he wasn’t exactly subtle.”

damon’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t afford to.

he leaned in, nose brushing yours. “yeah, well,” he breathed, “neither am i.”

and then he kissed you. not careful. not delicate. a little frantic, a little bruising.

his mouth found yours like it had something to prove—like it needed to undo the memory of liam’s voice in your ear. his tongue swept deep, his teeth scraped. you whimpered into it before you could stop yourself.

one of his hands tangled in your hair, the other gripped your waist like it might anchor him. or claim you. or both.

your drink was long forgotten, half-spilled on the floor, your body arching toward his like instinct.

you let him have it—let yourself be kissed like a secret, a sin, a warning.

but before you could lose yourself in the heat of it, before you could fall headfirst into damon and the way he made you forget—

you felt it. a prickle. the burn of a stare, dragging slow and deliberate over your skin.

you broke the kiss first. eyes fluttering open, head turning just slightly.

through the haze of smoke and half-shadow, across the living room, nestled into a sunken armchair that looked ready to collapse—liam.

he hadn’t gone far.

legs spread. pint in one hand. a knowing smirk on his lips. and the other?

palming himself through his jeans.

your breath hitched.

damon didn’t notice. too caught in the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your collarbone now, fingers bunching the hem of your dress.

but liam noticed. of course he did.

his stare burned into you, lazy and electric. he didn’t stop.

his palm rolled slow over the thick bulge at his fly, movements purposeful—performative. like a man alone in a dark room. like he didn’t care who saw. like he wanted to be seen.

your mouth parted, breath shallow. he held your gaze.

and then—just once—he let his head fall back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut. not from boredom. from pleasure.

he moaned. not loud. not obscene. but enough. just loud enough for you to hear it above the thump of the bass and the muted pulse of damon’s mouth on your throat.

your knees went a little weak.

you looked back at damon quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed. but his hand had slipped to your thigh, his mouth warm and biting now.

liam was still touching himself when you looked again.

you bit your lip hard enough to sting.

his eyes snapped open at the motion. he was smirking again.

he mouthed something across the room. you couldn’t hear it. but you didn’t need to.

“mine.”

and then he squeezed his cock, slow and deliberate, before sliding his hand away—back to his pint like nothing had happened.

your thighs clenched of their own accord.

damon pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth again. “you alright?”

you nodded. swallowed. smiled—just a little too wide.

“fine.”

but your eyes strayed, just once more.

liam was gone again.

—

you lost damon’s mouth when someone passed too close—bumping him sideways, drink sloshing down his shirt. he cursed, stepping back to swipe a cloth off the table.

“fuckin’ pricks,” he muttered, blotting at the stain. “can’t even throw a proper party anymore.”

you leaned your head back against the wall, breathing shallow, thighs pressed too tight. trying not to think about the way liam looked at you. trying not to ache for it.

but of course—he came anyway.

liam didn’t wait.

he stood, pint forgotten, hips already shifting behind his fly like he’d been thinking about this all night. maybe longer. maybe since the second he saw damon’s hand on your waist.

he walked through the party like he owned the air—shoulders loose, mouth crooked, swagger spilling off him in waves. like it wasn’t damon’s girl he was after. like he didn’t care.

“you alright there?” his voice came syrup-slow, warm and thick and mean. “lookin’ a bit… bothered.”

damon turned before you could speak. already on edge. already bristling.

“fuck off, gallagher.”

but liam didn’t even blink at him. his eyes never left you.

“that what you want, love?” he asked, too close now. “someone else speakin’ for you? or someone who knows what you really need?”

his fingers ghosted your wrist. soft, teasing.

damon slapped his hand away like it burned. “don’t fucking touch her.”

liam’s grin went sharp. “didn’t know she was yours,” he said, like he meant it. “she didn’t say.”

and you— you didn’t say a word. your breath caught. your eyes fell. and you stayed right where you were.

damon turned toward you, gaze narrowing. he saw it. all of it. the blush high on your cheekbones. the way your knees pressed in, tight. the way you weren’t pulling away.

he spun you back toward him, hands rough at your hips, mouth against your throat—hot and claiming. “you’re mine,” he said, voice all grit and growl.

you barely nodded before he kissed you—fast, fierce, like he could burn liam out of your mouth if he kissed hard enough. teeth and tongue and something just shy of fury.

and liam watched.

you felt it—his eyes on you. the weight of them. the heat. and you felt the second he snapped.

because suddenly damon’s hands were gone— and liam was there instead.

pressing close. hotter. louder. rougher.

“get off her—” damon barked, stepping forward.

“make me.”

and then liam kissed you. filthy. deep. full of teeth. like he was starving for it. like he needed to taste you first.

his hands on your jaw, your waist, one dragging down to grab your ass and yank you closer—right against the hard press in his jeans. you whimpered into it. damon pulled your arm— but you didn’t move. not yet.

not when liam whispered against your lips: “let me have you. just once.”

you could’ve said no. you should’ve. but your body was already leaning in. you wanted it. wanted them both. wanted to be the fire they fought over.

you looked between them— damon flushed and fuming. liam cocky and aching.

and you said, voice barely above a breath: “both.”

—

up the stairs you went—dragged and guided, wrists caught in callused hands. liam’s grip was sloppier. greedy. all heat and whisky and the tremble of too much want. damon’s was iron. steady. like his fingers might leave prints, like if he held tight enough, he could still pretend you were only his.

you weren’t sure who reached for you first. 

didn’t matter.they were both pulling. both taking.

liam laughed under his breath—low and mean, like he’d already won. damon swore under his—over and over, a litany of fucks hissed like a fuse, like he was holding himself back with every one.

the hallway was dim, low-lit and long. music still throbbed from the floorboards below, like some distant pulse you were already falling out of rhythm with. and when the bedroom door shut behind you, it clicked like a lock, like a secret being sealed.

liam was the first to talk—of course he was.

“didn’t peg you for the type,” he said, circling like smoke, like a wolf with a taste for perfume. “lettin’ two blokes drag you upstairs. filthy little thing under all that sweetness, yeah?”

damon shoved him back by the shoulder, a snarl caught in his throat. “shut the fuck up.”

liam didn’t even stumble. just grinned. “jealous, mate? thought she was yours.”

your back hit the wall. you hadn’t even felt yourself moving. but there you were—pinned in place by heat and hunger and the way they looked at you.

two pairs of eyes, both burning. liam’s lit with mischief, amusement, some twisted thrill. damon’s darker. stormier. a glint of something that felt more like possession than play.

“take your clothes off,” damon said, voice low, already wrecked.

“yeah,” liam added, peeling off his jacket and tossing it aside. “let us see what the fuck we’ve been fighting over.”

your heart beat so loud you swore they could hear it. you didn’t move—not at first. just stood there, blinking slow, lungs too full of smoke and want.

until damon stepped forward, fingers finding the top button of your dress. he popped it open slow, deliberate—like he meant for you to feel every second of it. liam came in next, tugging the hem of the fabric higher, knuckles grazing your thighs.

“fuckin’ unreal,” he muttered, like he couldn’t help it. “like a fuckin’ dream.”

“she’s not yours yet,” damon snapped, voice tight.

“not yet,” liam echoed, cocky. hungry. “but she’s not sayin’ no either, is she?”

you weren’t. you couldn’t. you stood there trembling—eyes wide, skin flushed, breath shallow. you could feel the shift, the balance tipping. the second the tension broke and neither of them could pretend it wasn’t about claiming you anymore. this wasn’t about flirting. this wasn’t about fun. this was war, and you were the battleground.

—

damon kissed you first—of course he did. lips hot and possessive, hand at the back of your neck like he needed to anchor you, to remind you who’d brought you here. who saw you first. his mouth moved against yours with a practiced kind of urgency, like he’d done this a hundred times, but tonight was different. tonight, liam was watching.

and liam didn’t wait long to cut in.

“fuckin’ hell,” he growled, stepping in close. his hand curled tight around your waist, tugging you from the wall and straight into him—into the thick line of him through denim, already hard. already pulsing. he crowded your back, rutting up slow and filthy while damon swallowed your moan.

“feel that?” liam muttered into your neck, words smeared against your skin. “fuckin’ twitchin’ for you, and i haven’t even had a taste yet.”

you whimpered. damon’s kiss broke just enough for him to speak against your lips.

“you like this?” he asked, voice lower than sin, thumb dragging along the edge of your jaw. “like bein’ split between us?”

liam laughed under his breath, breath warm against your shoulder. “she’s soaked,” he said, like it was fact. like he could feel it through the heat of her skin. “fuckin’ drippin’ for it.”

“bed,” damon ordered, already breathless.

they moved you together—guiding, greedy. liam’s mouth at your neck, damon’s hands skating down your ribs, over the curve of your waist. you stumbled a little, half-blind with it, and damon caught you by the hips as he sat on the edge of the mattress, jeans still clinging to his thighs. he pulled you into his lap like he’d done it a thousand times.

liam didn’t bother waiting. he came up behind you and unhooked your bra with ease, tossing it aside. “this off too, yeah?” he breathed, already kissing down your spine. you nodded, barely able to speak.

his hands were rough—one on your shoulder, the other sliding low. he hooked a finger into the band of your underwear and pulled. he dragged them down slow, taking his time, eyes locked on the way the fabric stuck to your soaked thighs. you kicked them off and stood trembling in nothing, caught between their stares, stripped bare and burning.

“fuckin’ perfect,” liam groaned. “knew it.”

damon leaned forward, mouth trailing heat across your chest. “you love bein’ watched, don’t you, sweetheart?”

you nodded, dizzy, panting. liam’s teeth grazed your skin, kisses trailing lazy heat down your back.

damon’s hand dipped between your legs, fingers curling inside you without warning. you choked on a gasp and collapsed against his chest.

liam stared, jaw slack. “fuckin’ unreal.”

you were trembling now, suspended between their hands, their mouths. every breath tasted like fire.

“you gonna let us pass you around?” damon asked, voice thick. “gonna take what we give you?”

liam growled, low and possessive. “fuck that. i want her now.”

“wait your fuckin’ turn,” damon snapped, still pumping his fingers inside you—but you were already moving, already climbing off his lap, mindless and hungry and shaking.

you turned to liam. lips parted, thighs slick, legs unsteady.

liam caught you mid-step, one hand wrapping around your throat—loose, not choking, just claiming. his eyes burned down into yours, dark and bottomless.

“on your knees,” he rasped.

—

you dropped without question.

liam didn’t wait. didn’t ask. he fumbled with his fly, dragged his jeans down far enough, and pulled himself free—already thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. his hand moved slow over himself, just once, just enough to watch you watch him—eyes wide, lashes damp, lips parted.

“fuckin’ unreal,” he muttered. “on your knees like you were made for it.”

he brushed the head of his cock against your mouth, smearing precome like gloss across your lips. you opened up—obedient, eager—tongue out, ready.

he slid in slow. just the tip at first. enough to stretch your mouth, to watch your jaw go soft around him.

“jesus fuck,” he breathed. “this fuckin’ mouth—”

you hollowed your cheeks, sucked him in deeper. his hand curled tight in your hair, grounding. holding.

behind you, damon knelt on the floor, his fingers ghosting your spine. he was silent for a second—just watching, drinking it in like a slow drag of smoke. then, calm and low: “slower.”

liam huffed. “she likes it rough.”

you moaned around him, breath caught, throat tight.

“see?” liam laughed, voice already fraying.

his hips rolled—testing. shallow thrusts at first. careful. but not for long. each push went deeper, until your nose was pressed to his skin, your throat stretched full, tight, aching. you gagged. swallowed. gagged again. and stayed there.

“fuckin’ no gag reflex,” liam gasped. “little angel. takin’ it so sweet.”

damon’s hand slid up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. his other hand dipped between your thighs—bare now, slick and swollen. you whimpered. liam groaned.

“she’s fuckin’ melting,” he said, voice thick. “look at her knees. fuckin’ slick.”

he pulled out just far enough to slap his cock against your cheek—wet and sharp. once. twice. again. you gasped with each sting, spit stringing from your lips.

“open.”

you did. he fed it back to you, rougher this time—both hands on your head, fucking in. your mascara smudged. your eyes watered. your throat clenched tight.

“take it,” he snarled. “take what you fuckin’ begged for.”

you choked, coughed, moaned—each breath a broken little prayer. damon’s fingers rubbed lazy circles over your clit, teasing soft and mean.

“she’s fuckin’ soaked,” he murmured. “not even inside her yet and she’s already gone.”

liam grunted, hips stuttering. “gonna ruin this mouth,” he growled. “gonna use her ‘til she can’t speak.”

you sobbed around him, desperate. your lungs ached. your throat pulsed. you were trembling on your knees, caught between ache and awe.

“breathe,” damon said softly, tugging your shoulder.

liam pulled out with a wet pop. you gasped. spit trailed down your chin, your chest, shining under the low light. your throat burned. your eyes blurred.

but still, you leaned forward, stroking him with one hand, licking the tip, kissing it like you missed him.

“fuckin’ perfect,” liam whispered. “look at her. fuckin’ look.”

“on the bed,” damon said, darker now.

liam helped you up—hands on your waist, your tits, everywhere. you swayed, dizzy and glowing.

damon settled behind you on the mattress, palms sliding up your thighs, spreading you open slow. liam climbed on top, his cock resting heavy against your stomach.

“wanna fuck her throat again,” liam muttered. “make her cry on it.”

“you will,” damon said, slipping two fingers inside you, slow and steady. “but not yet. not ‘til i’ve had her too.”

—

liam didn’t wait. didn’t need to.

he just hooked a thumb beneath your chin, tilted your head up, and said, breathless, “mouth, now. c’mon, sweetheart.”

you opened without question.

he eased back in—slow this time, deliberate, savoring the slide. your throat was already sore, drool slick at the corners of your mouth, but he groaned like it was the first time all over again.

“good girl,” he panted. “fuckin’ filthy.”

behind you, damon had dropped to his knees between your thighs. his hands found your hips—firm, steady—as he spread you open like he owned the right. the air hit your cunt sharp and cool, and then you felt the warm weight of his cock sliding through your folds. slow. thick. deliberate.

already wet enough he didn’t need to tease.

“hold still,” he muttered.

you moaned around liam’s cock. a muffled, strangled sound.

damon hissed, low. “she’s dripping. this just from your cock in her mouth?”

liam laughed, voice rough. “’course it is. look at her. made for this. she loves it, don’t you, babe?”

you tried to nod, but he was too deep.

“that’s what i fuckin’ thought,” he growled, fisting your hair tighter.

then damon pushed in. slow, stretching, splitting you wide. you gasped, back arching, and liam held your head steady, hips twitching forward to bury himself deeper down your throat.

“jesus,” damon groaned, breath catching. “tight as fuck.”

“tight everywhere,” liam muttered, voice frayed. “mouth’s fuckin’ heaven.”

and then they started moving.

damon rolled his hips into you with deep, unhurried thrusts, filling you up again and again—while liam fucked your mouth with sharper, shorter snaps, his cock gliding slick through spit and heat. they moved like they’d done it before. like they’d planned this. like they knew exactly how to ruin you together.

you were just caught in the middle, helpless and aching, stretched wide between them—nothing but a body for them to fuck.

“look at this,” liam rasped. “fucked-out little toy. not even blinking.”

damon dragged a hand up your back, palm warm on your spine. “she’s perfect. takin’ it like she was made for us.”

you moaned, voice crushed and wet around liam’s cock. your throat fluttered each time he pushed in, your cunt clenched every time damon bottomed out. you couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe. didn’t want to.

liam slipped out with a wet gasp, slapped his cock against your cheek—once, twice, again—leaving you messy and open, drool slicking your chin, tongue still hanging out.

“open wider,” he ordered. “there. fuck, that’s it.”

he slid back in, deeper. you gagged and swallowed, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

behind you, damon grunted. “she’s clenching. fuck. think she’s gonna come.”

“don’t let her,” liam snapped. “she doesn’t get to come ‘til we do.”

“we won’t,” damon promised, pace quickening. “not ‘til she’s ruined.”

you whimpered, trembling, desperate to come, to breathe, to fall apart—but they weren’t done with you.

liam’s hips slapped against your mouth, cock bruising your throat, hands locked in your hair. damon fucked you harder, one hand spreading your ass to get deeper, his breath hot and ragged.

“you feel how soaked she is?” damon panted. “she loves this. bein’ used. bein’ filled.”

“she’ll get filled,” liam growled. “not yet, though. not ‘til she’s fuckin’ beggin’.”

your body burned. your cunt throbbed. your jaw ached. and still, you took it.

—

you barely had time to breathe before he shoved back in, deeper than before—sharp and punishing. you choked, tears spilling hot and silent down your cheeks, mascara smeared and forgotten. it burned, it throbbed, it stretched your jaw until it ached—but still you moaned. still you begged, muffled and desperate, the sound guttural and soaked in spit.

behind you, damon bent low over your back. his hand wrapped around your throat from behind—not squeezing, not yet. just resting there, heavy and warm, palm curved over the flutter of your pulse.

“you like bein’ fucked like this?” he muttered, voice a snarl in your ear. “two cocks stretchin’ you open, mouth full, cunt drippin’—this what you came for, sweetheart?”

you whimpered, tried to nod, but liam’s cock was too deep. your body answered for you—hips rolling, pussy clenching down around nothing, desperate to be filled again. you pushed back against damon’s abs, tried to drag more friction out of the air, and it made him groan—low and wrecked.

“she’s fuckin’ close,” damon gritted out, breath hot against your neck. “feel her shakin’. she’s gonna—fuck.”

“not yet,” liam said, voice sharp, hand tightening in your hair. “hold it, sweetheart. you don’t come ‘til we say.”

your whole body trembled—wrecked, strung out, ruined. they were good at this. too good. dragging you right to the edge only to leave you there, twitching. their cocks, their hands, their voices, all of it too much and not enough. you were gone—somewhere between need and obedience, dizzy with it.

“you hear that?” damon hissed, snapping his hips forward just to make you flinch. “don’t come. be a good girl. hold it for us.”

liam fucked faster, rougher. his cock slid down your throat with each thrust, slick and brutal, and your jaw hung wide just to take it. you couldn’t breathe—but you didn’t want to. you didn’t need to.

then—his hand gripped your chin, thumb pressing into your cheek, and he dragged himself out. spit clung to his cock, thick and glistening, and he slapped it against your face—once, twice, with a little groan each time.

“miss me?” he rasped.

you gasped for air, lips red, eyes glassy.

“open.”

you did. tongue out. obedient. filthy.

“there’s a good girl.”

he slid back in, deeper than before, and your knees buckled again.

behind you, damon’s hand clenched hard at your hip. “fuck—fuck, i’m gonna—”

liam’s eyes narrowed. “don’t.”

“she’s squeezin’—fuck, liam—”

“pull out,” he growled. “we’re switchin’.”

damon cursed like it pained him. slipped out slow, wet, panting. you whimpered, mouth still full, the loss of him sharp and aching—but then hands were all over you. rough and warm and frantic. gripping, flipping, dragging you onto your back.

your head hit the mattress. your thighs fell open. and liam was there—hair a mess, sweat dripping from his neck, shirt pushed up past his stomach as he shoved his cock into you in one long, brutal thrust.

you cried out. back arching, nails raking the sheets.

“that’s it,” he panted, already fucking you. “been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ night. watchin’ you bounce on his cock—made me fuckin’ ache.”

he set a rhythm without mercy. deep and fast, the sound of skin on skin filthy and constant. your body rocked with every thrust, breasts bouncing, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.

damon settled beside you, cock flushed and angry, still slick with you. he brushed a thumb along your cheek, kissed the corner of your mouth.

“you still hungry, darling?”

you blinked up at him—glass-eyed, fucked out—and opened your lips.

he guided himself in, slow and smooth. let you suck him messy, tongue greedy, lips swollen. “that’s it,” he breathed. “my sweet little whore. always so good with your mouth full.”

liam slammed into you harder, fingers bruising your hips. “she’s tighter now,” he gritted. “she likes havin’ both of us. made for it.”

you moaned around damon’s cock, voice warbled, and they just kept using you.

—

liam was pounding into you now, sharp and fast, dragging filthy sounds from your throat even around damon’s cock. it was too much—too full, too wet, too fucking good.

“this cunt’s fuckin’ soaked,” liam growled. “like it missed me.”

“she’s tight as hell,” damon muttered, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. “how’s that throat, love?”

you couldn’t speak. not properly. just moaned, tears slipping sideways into your hair.

liam’s hand found your throat, gripping as he fucked harder.

“don’t you fuckin’ come yet,” he hissed. “not ‘til we say.”

you were right there. stomach tight, cunt squeezing him over and over. your thighs trembled.

and still they didn’t let you come.

damon pulled out again, slapped his cock against your lips—“beg,” he said.

you did. voice barely there.

“say it louder.”

“please,” you choked. “need it. please—”

liam was close too. his thrusts rougher now, sloppy, sweat dripping onto your chest. he gritted his teeth. “fuck—gonna ruin you.”

you begged for it. begged with your body, your hands, your mouth.

and still they held back.

still they made you wait.

your thighs were shaking.

sweat cooling where it gathered behind your knees, on your collarbone, where damon had bitten down hard enough to leave a mark. your body was wrecked—used and soaked and trembling—and still they wouldn’t let you come.

liam had pulled out just when your moans hit that desperate pitch. “nah,” he panted, grinning, breathless. “not yet.”

you sobbed, hips rolling helplessly against nothing, your clit aching. it felt like punishment—delicious, drawn-out punishment—and neither of them had any plans to stop.

“told you not to come,” damon murmured, brushing his knuckles over your throat, your chest, down to the soaked heat between your legs. “and you were about to, weren’t you, sweetheart?”

“n-no,” you lied, barely audible.

liam snorted, crouching at the foot of the bed. “don’t lie, love. we know this cunt like the back of our hands now. fuckin’ pulses when she’s close.”

“yeah?” damon said softly, tilting your chin so you’d look at him. “then maybe she needs to learn how to behave.”

you whimpered—open-mouthed, desperate.

liam slid two fingers inside, slow and cruel. they curled just right, just enough, and you arched again—thinking maybe, maybe this time they'd let you. maybe they'd—

but then he pulled out, smeared the slick across your inner thigh, kissed it.

"not yet."

“please,” you gasped.

damon just leaned in, lips ghosting your temple. “you’ll come when we say. not before.”

they worked you open again and again—hands and mouths and hips grinding into you, cock in your mouth, in your cunt, but never letting you fall. never tipping you over the edge.

liam fucked your mouth while damon stretched you out on three fingers, palm pressed to your stomach to feel how deep he was. then they’d switch—liam between your thighs again, slapping his cock against your cunt, dragging it through your folds until you cried.

and every time your breath hitched—that tiny tell—you were stopped. left empty. aching.

—

“don’t cry,” liam murmured, soft and sticky, brushing a tear down your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “you love this. bein’ our little toy. lettin’ us play with you.”

you nodded, dizzy with it—soaked and ruined, begging without words. you couldn’t lie. not like this. not when you were stretched and trembling, cunt clenching around nothing, mouth too slack to speak.

damon leaned back on his heels, eyes dark as coal, cock twitching where it lay heavy against his thigh. he dragged his gaze over your body like he was trying to memorize every shake and spill of you. “you’re filthy,” he said, but there was heat behind it. reverence. “fuck if you’re not perfect.”

liam didn’t wait. didn’t ask. he pulled you into his lap and sank you down onto his cock in one smooth drag, and you cried out—more from relief than pain, though it was both, both, always both.

“don’t move,” he growled into your mouth. “you sit there. just like that. don’t fuckin’ move unless we say.”

he was so deep it made your vision spark—cock nudging that place inside you that made you feel cracked open, barely human. you shook, hands braced on his chest, but you didn’t move. couldn’t. wouldn’t. you were pliant, obedient, wrecked.

they didn’t fuck you. not yet.

they didn’t let you come, didn’t let you do anything but feel it—liam pulsing inside you, damon’s eyes eating you whole. time dripped like syrup. seconds stretched like years. you floated somewhere between need and nothing.

when you begged again, voice paper-thin—“please, please let me, need it, please”—they shared a look. unspoken. cruel.

then damon leaned in, slow, like he was offering something sacred.

“alright,” he said, voice low and lilting. “you wanna come?”

you nodded. frantic. pleading. your thighs twitched around liam’s hips.

“you’re gonna earn it.”

liam laid you flat again. your back hit the mattress and your legs were lifted, bent, folded—ankles over shoulders. he held them there like handles, then slammed back inside you with one savage thrust. the force of it knocked the breath from your lungs.

“gonna make her come so hard she sees stars,” he panted.

“no,” damon corrected, palming himself slowly, eyes locked on the way your body bowed. “gonna make her cry for it first.”

and they did.

they edged you until your moans turned to sobs—until even the word please sounded broken. your voice cracked like glass, your hips writhing, cunt squeezing around liam’s cock like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the room.

liam’s pace grew mean—shallow thrusts, maddening, barely there. enough to tease, to make you twitch and grind and sob out another helpless whimper.

he studied you. watched every flicker of agony in your eyes like it thrilled him.

“how many times’ve we stopped you now?” he asked, almost dreamy. his thumb dragged across your cheek, smearing tears and spit. “three? four?”

“five,” damon said from the headboard, voice lazy. his hand was wrapped around his cock again, stroking slow. he looked at you like you were a painting. something expensive. something ruined. “poor little thing can’t think straight.”

your thighs trembled. your whole body did. tears spilled freely now, lip wobbling, your breath a stuttered mess.

“she’s close again,” liam muttered. his voice was hoarse. his hips stuttered, cock twitching inside you.

“ruin it,” damon said, cold. “make her wait.”

“no—please—” you gasped, voice gone raw. “i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll—”

liam pulled out.

slow. cruel. deliberate.

your cunt clenched around nothing, fluttering empty, a cry ripping out of you like it had claws. he slapped his cock against your thigh—wet, heavy, hot. you were slick everywhere, thighs shiny, sheets ruined. your body thrummed with denial.

you didn’t even know you were begging again until damon reached down and grabbed your chin—tilted your head up, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“you wanna come that bad, sweetheart?” he cooed. “gonna lose your mind if we don’t let you?”

you nodded, wild. frantic.

—

he smirked. “then crawl.”

you blinked, breath caught halfway between a sob and a moan.

“on all fours,” he clarified, voice low and slick with threat. “between us. show us how much you want it.”

you moved without thinking. knees aching, palms sinking into the rumpled sheets, body flushed all over with sweat and spit and need. everything between your thighs throbbed. everything inside you ached.

liam laughed behind you—dark and delighted. his hands were on you immediately, spreading you open, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your ass.

“fuckin’ mess,” he muttered, breath ghosting over your skin. “never seen a cunt this wet before. it’s obscene.”

in front of you, damon stroked himself lazy and slow, eyes half-lidded as he watched you crawl. “she’s got no idea who she wants more.”

“don’t matter,” liam said, leaning in, mouth brushing your lower back. “she’s gettin’ both.”

and you did.

they made you take turns.

damon in your mouth, thick and rough, hand knotted in your hair as he pulled you forward, feeding his cock past your lips with slow, possessive rolls of his hips.

liam fucking into you again from behind—harder this time, deeper. brutal thrusts that made you jolt forward, made your mouth choke on damon’s cock, made the sheets crease beneath your knees.

and every time you started to shake—every time that white-hot pulse built low in your belly—they stopped.

again.

and again.

and again.

“liam—please, i can’t—”

“you can,” he growled, snapping his hips forward. “and you will.”

damon slapped the side of your face with his cock—gentle, almost playful. “open up.”

you did.

you always did.

mouth slack, tongue out, spit slicking your chin. he slid back in and didn’t stop—fucked your throat slow and deep, his cock dragging against the sore walls of your mouth, fingers tight at the back of your skull.

“such a pretty little cocksleeve,” he murmured. “so eager to please. we could do this all night, couldn’t we?”

liam groaned behind you, pace quickening. “she’s squeezin’ me,” he panted, voice ragged. “fuck, she’s gonna—”

“not yet,” damon barked. “make her wait. make her feel it.”

you sobbed around damon’s cock. it hurt. it burned. you were soaked and shaking and full and empty and used. your whole body screamed for release, but they kept dragging you back—over and over. denial thick as blood in your veins.

liam reached around, two fingers circling your clit—sloppy and fast, just enough to make your hips buck.

“you come without permission,” he warned, voice tight, “we start over.”

and god, you were close.

so fucking close.

you trembled violently, your jaw slack as damon fucked your throat, as liam filled you like he wanted to ruin you from the inside out. your vision blurred. your hands slipped on the sheets. your breath caught.

you wanted to come so badly it felt like your skin might tear.

“she’s crying again,” liam said, gleeful, voice dark with triumph. “fuckin’—look at her. you ever seen anyone this desperate?”

damon pulled out with a wet pop, letting your head fall forward. you gasped, spit pooling down your chin, mouth open and useless.

your body sagged—aching, overstimulated, unraveling.

“please,” you whispered. barely a sound. “please, i need—”

“not yet,” liam snapped.

“just a bit longer,” damon added.

your thighs twitched. your stomach clenched. your cunt fluttered helplessly around liam’s cock, still buried inside you like it belonged there.

—

and then it hit you out of nowhere.

you had tried so hard to obey—to breathe, to take them, to hold yourself back—but then liam’s fingers brushed just right, and damon thrust deep into your throat, and suddenly it was happening. the orgasm ripped through you like a snapped wire.

“fuck—i—i’m—” you choked out a sob as your hips jolted forward, thighs trembling, cunt clenching tight around liam’s cock. your vision whited out. your whole body seized, back arched, moaning helplessly around damon’s cock. you hadn’t even meant to. it was just too much—the teasing, the pressure, the filth of it all, their voices and their hands and their need.

liam stilled behind you, breath going sharp. “she came,” he muttered, incredulous. “she fuckin’ came.”

you slumped forward, thighs twitching, cheek pressed to damon’s thigh. you were still shaking. still dazed.

damon eased himself out of your mouth—slow, wet—then grabbed your jaw and tilted your face up to look at him. “did we say you could?”

you blinked up at him, ruined. slack-jawed. drool and come slick on your chin.

“i—i’m sorry—i didn’t—”

“no, sweetheart,” damon cut in, voice low. “you did.”

liam chuckled darkly, fingers digging bruises into your hips. “fuckin’ greedy.”

“didn’t even ask,” damon said, still holding your face. “didn’t even ask.”

“gonna have to teach you a lesson now, aren’t we?”

“no, please—”

“oh, now you wanna beg?” liam snorted. “bit late for that.”

and then he pulled out. you whimpered at the loss, body still fluttering from the aftershocks. your knees gave out beneath you, and you collapsed back onto the mattress.

—

damon hauled you up by the arm, flipped you over like you weighed nothing, pinning your wrists above your head. your back hit the mattress, body boneless and blinking, already spent—but they weren’t done. not even close.

liam grabbed your knees, spread you open wide, stared down at the mess between your thighs like it was something holy. “look at that,” he muttered, voice gone soft and wrecked. “fuckin’ soaked.”

“she’s gonna be sorer than she’s ever been,” damon rasped, settling between your legs again. “but it’s what she wanted. didn’t you, sweetheart?”

you shook your head, tears in your lashes, the words barely there. “i—I can’t—”

“yes you can,” liam murmured, already shifting forward. “and you will.”

damon stroked himself once, lined up, and slammed back in. you screamed. arched. your wrists jerked in his grip, but it didn’t matter—your cunt was already pulsing, raw and slick, stretched wide for him again.

liam knelt beside your head for just a second—then shifted, bracing one knee over your shoulder and the other beside your ribs, cock heavy against your cheek. “open,” he ordered.

you did.

and he slid in, slow and mean, one hand tangled in your hair, the other braced on the headboard as he started to fuck your mouth again—this time with no softness at all.

now you were helpless. pinned. every hole filled, no room to move or breathe. damon pounded into your cunt like he meant to ruin it, hips snapping, his teeth clenched. and liam used your throat like it was his god-given right, fucking deep, holding you still by your hair as your lips stretched wide around him.

they didn’t stop. not when your legs started to shake. not when your throat burned raw. not even when your cunt fluttered, desperate and full.

“she’s fuckin’ addicted,” liam groaned, thrusting harder, deeper. “look at her—soaked again already. takin’ it like a cockdrunk little whore.”

damon’s jaw clenched. he grunted, sweat sliding down his spine, watching the way your body bowed up for him, how your hips still tried to meet every thrust like you couldn’t help it. “you hear that?” he panted. “she’s squelching. fuckin’ dripping all over me.”

you whimpered around liam’s cock, throat too full to speak, eyes burning with tears. spit smeared across your cheeks, frothing at the corners of your mouth. you gagged again, choked softly—and liam just moaned.

“aw, baby,” he crooned, voice gone almost sweet. “you cryin’? sobbin’ ‘cause you’re that fuckin’ full?”

he swiped your tears away with his thumb—then pressed it to your jaw, forcing you wider. “you love it. filthy little fuckin’ girl.”

damon’s hands gripped tighter at your hips. your arms went limp above your head. all you could do was take it. take it and take it—his brutal rhythm, the bruising grip, the hot breath on your skin.

liam pulled out for just a second—let you breathe—then slapped his cock across your cheek, once, twice, before sliding it back into your mouth.

“fuckin’ born for this,” he muttered. “your mouth was made to be used.”

damon groaned. his hips stuttered. “gonna fill her up—fuck, she’s milkin’ me—”

liam laughed, breathless. you moaned helplessly, tears streaking your cheeks, spit trailing down your chest. your whole body shook—your thighs locked up.

you were so close again it hurt.

“please,” you tried to say, voice broken around liam’s cock. it barely came out at all.

“you beggin’?” damon bit out.

“thinks she deserves it,” liam sneered, his hips still rolling, his cock rutting against your throat like he owned it.

then they both went still. just for a second.

damon leaned in, voice brushing your ear like a threat.

“not yet.”

—

they dragged you off the bed and dropped you to your knees like they were done pretending you weren’t a toy. one hand each, tangled in your hair—guiding, holding, owning. “look at you,” damon sneered, thumb swiping the spit from your lips, smearing it across your cheek like it was warpaint. “can’t keep your fuckin’ mouth off our cocks for five minutes.” “needy little slut,” liam muttered, already unzipping with one hand, cock hard again, heavy in the low light. “go on then. be useful.”

you blinked up at them, mouth already parted like you were starved. you didn’t even wait for permission—you just reached for both of them at once, stroking them side by side like it was all you knew. one hand wrapped around damon, the other for liam, your jaw already going slack as you leaned forward and took damon into your mouth, lips stretching wide.

liam let out a breathy laugh, not jealous—just amused. “always his cock first, huh? fuckin’ groupie.” “she’ll get to you,” damon said, voice low, hand brushing hair from your face like you were something delicate even as you gagged around him. “look at her. workin’ us both like a good little toy.”

you moaned around him, spit starting to slip down your chin, wrist twisting just right around liam’s cock like you’d memorised what made him twitch. they were both watching you like they were starving and you were the only thing left to eat.

and god, you were soaked. your hips shifted, almost on instinct, grinding against the rough carpet beneath you in search of even the smallest relief. it wasn’t enough—never enough—but the pressure was something, and your moan deepened, throat fluttering around damon.

you thought maybe they wouldn’t notice. they noticed.

liam jerked your head back hard enough to make your spine arch, spit trailing from your mouth to damon’s cock. “what the fuck d’you think you’re doin’, huh?” you blinked up at him, dazed. “just—needed—” “needed?” he snapped. “who the fuck said you get to need anything?”

damon’s voice cut sharp, a clean slice. “was that you humpin’ the fuckin’ carpet like a bitch in heat?” you froze.

they stood over you, hard and flushed and furious, and you were still on your knees, dripping and ruined, lips red and shiny with spit. “got two cocks in your hands, one in your mouth,” liam growled, “and you’re still greedy? fuckin’ unbelievable.”

you tried to say something, anything, but damon pressed his thumb hard against your lips, muffling the sound before it could leave. “nah,” he said. “no more of that. not ‘til we say.”

liam leaned in close, his voice rough and thick with heat. “you wanna come that bad?” he said, smiling against your cheek. “then beg. tell us why the fuck you deserve it.”

—

they didn’t even let you finish your plea.

you were on your back in seconds, dizzy from the manhandling, thighs spread wide and trembling, breath hitching in your chest like a sob. but liam didn’t fuck you—not yet. he just sank into you slow, so slow, thick and deep and hot—and still. didn’t move. just held you there, full to the brim, cunt twitching around him from the stretch and the ache and the sheer denial of it.

“shh,” he cooed, already breathless. “you want it so bad, don’t you? thought about this for fuckin’ hours. days.”

you nodded, desperate, nails clawing at his arms.

damon crouched beside you, palm stroking your jaw. “then be good. hold him. just hold him.”

you tried. god, you tried. but your hips twitched, bucking up just a little.

liam growled low in your ear. “what’d i fuckin’ say?” his hand flew to your throat, fingers curled around your pulse—not squeezing, just there. grounding. warning.

“stay still,” he said again. “take me. that’s all you get.”

your walls fluttered around him, slick and hungry, clenching on instinct.

damon chuckled darkly, brushing your damp hair from your cheeks. “she’s barely hangin’ on. look at her.”

your lips trembled. your cunt pulsed. you were so full and so empty at once, stuck in that unbearable in-between.

“please,” you whispered, voice shaking. “just—need to come.”

“you need to?” damon echoed, faux sympathy laced with heat. “oh, babe. this isn’t about what you need.”

liam leaned down, kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and biting.

“you’ll come,” he murmured. “when we say.”

“maybe.”

“maybe not.”

and still—they didn’t move.

you were stuck there, trembling and soaked, cockwarming liam while damon stroked lazy circles over your swollen clit. barely enough to keep you right there—on the cusp, on the edge, begging with your body even when your mouth went quiet. they could’ve done it for hours. you would’ve let them.

your whole body thrummed with tension—hips shaking, thighs aching, cunt clenching desperately around liam, who stayed deep inside. not moving. not giving. just holding you open, stretched and sloppy and so fucking full.

and worse—damon was still teasing. his fingers ghosted over your clit, maddening light. the barest brush, the slowest swirl. never enough.

“hold still,” liam gritted again, low and hot in your ear. his grip on your hips was bruising. anchoring. like he knew you’d try to squirm again. “told you—s’not for you to take.”

you whimpered, trembling underneath them, so full you felt like you might split open. your walls fluttered, pulsing with need.

“but—please—”

damon hummed, gaze locked on your wrecked face. “oh, she’s close again. feel that?”

his fingertips circled your clit slow, cruel. like he was winding you up just to let you unravel.

you writhed—instinct, really—just trying to rock your hips, to chase a fraction more friction, to meet liam’s cock where it rested. anything.

“don’t you dare,” liam growled. “you move again and we stop.”

“fuck, please,” you gasped, eyes shining. “can’t—can’t help it—”

damon leaned in, mouth by your jaw, fingers never letting up on your clit. “then don’t help it. suffer for it.”

and you did. suffer, that is—body strung tight like wire, breaths hitching in your throat. liam’s cock pulsed inside you with every shallow squeeze your cunt gave. and god, he felt it.

“you’re clenchin’ so fuckin’ hard,” he muttered, jaw tight. “like you’re tryin’ to milk me without movin’. cheeky little thing.”

damon snorted softly. “think she’s gonna cry.”

you weren’t sure if you already were.

“you want to come, sweetheart?” damon asked, almost sweetly, rubbing a slow circle just above where you needed him. “you want us to let you?”

you nodded frantically.

but they didn’t say yes.

they didn’t move.

liam shifted just enough to knock the head of his cock against that aching spot inside, and you sobbed, legs trembling violently now.

“fuck!” you cried. “please—i’ll do anything—”

“you’ll do nothing,” liam cut in, voice hoarse. “we’ll do. you’ll take.”

and then damon slid down between your legs, replaced fingers with tongue, licked at your clit while liam stayed lodged deep—cock twitching, balls snug up against your cunt like he was just waiting.

you arched. moaned. seized.

and then damon pulled back, mouth wet, breath hot.

“not yet,” he said.

you were falling apart and no one was catching you.

they hauled you into damon’s lap like you weighed nothing, his back pressed to the headboard, cock already hard and leaking against his stomach. he palmed your hips, thumbs digging in, your cunt still twitching from liam’s tongue.

you whimpered when you felt him line up—thick and hot, head slipping through your folds. your thighs trembled as you straddled him, hands braced on his chest.

“go on then,” liam murmured from the end of the bed, voice lower now—gutted. “show me how you ride him.”

you were too wrecked to answer, only nodding as you sank down slow. damon groaned, head falling back, grip bruising your hips.

“fuckin’ hell,” he hissed. “still so tight, even after all that.”

you rocked your hips, slow at first. it was thick, so thick, and your muscles ached from restraint. from being used. you cried out when he ground up into you, cock dragging that spot that made you see stars.

liam sat just out of reach, legs spread, fist wrapped tight around his cock. he watched you like a starved man—eyes dark, hungry, drinking in the bounce of your tits and the way your mouth fell open.

“look at you,” he breathed, voice broken. “takin’ him so good. so fuckin’ good.”

you met his gaze, even as your thighs trembled from the effort.

“want you to touch me,” you pleaded, eyes glassy.

“you’ve got him,” liam murmured, thumb teasing over his leaking tip. “earn me.”

you moaned at that—keening as damon snapped his hips up rougher now, making you ride harder, faster.

“she’s fuckin’ perfect,” damon growled, hand slipping between you to rub your clit. “look at her, liam. fuckin’ made for it.”

liam groaned, fisting himself faster. “tell her. tell her what she is.”

“cock drunk little slut,” damon snarled, voice ragged. “just a fucktoy. stuffed full, used, begging for more.”

you cried out, clenching around him.

liam stroked himself harder, breathing shaky.

“bet she’ll come just from that,” he muttered. “from ridin’ you while i watch.”

your body jolted with each thrust—damon dragging you down onto him, your cunt wet and sloppy, clit swollen. liam spat in his palm, spread it over his cock with a hiss, eyes locked on the way damon disappeared into you again and again.

“fuck,” he muttered. “can’t wait to split her open next round.”

damon gritted his teeth, thrusts snapping up cruel. “you hear that? you’re not even done yet.”

you nodded, tears streaking your cheeks, moaning like it was the only word you remembered.

“thank you,” you gasped. “thank you—thank you—”

liam moaned. “you love it. love bein’ passed around.”

“so filthy,” damon panted. “but she’s ours.”

you sobbed, cunt clenching around him—right there on the edge again.

damon’s grip turned bruising, his chest sticky with sweat as he slammed into you from beneath. your cries sharpened with every thrust, hands scrambling across his shoulders for something to hold.

“gonna fill you up,” he gritted, teeth clenched. “fuckin’ ruin you for anyone else.”

you nodded, desperate. babbling something half-coherent, gasping with every drag of his cock inside you.

liam stayed at the foot of the bed, fist tight around himself, breath ragged and uneven.

“go on,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “fill her up, albarn. let her leak for me.”

you whined—half a sob, half a moan—as damon shoved in deep, hips jerking, cock twitching. his head tipped back against the wall as he spilled inside you, thick and hot and endless.

you shuddered around him, already clenching from the heat of it, cunt fluttering like your body didn’t know what to do with it all.

damon exhaled slow, dragging you down into his lap, pressing his lips to your temple as his hand stroked down your back.

“fuck,” he breathed. “that’s it. took it so well.”

but liam was already moving. already climbing back onto the bed, already dragging you off damon’s lap with hands greedy and impatient.

“my fuckin’ turn,” he muttered, pulling you to all fours.

you gasped, the shift making damon’s cum spill from you in a slow, messy drip.

liam saw it—let out a low, wrecked groan, one hand spreading your ass to watch it leak. “jesus. look at that. fuckin’ full of him.”

you started to say something, but his cock pressed to your entrance—already hard again, already dripping—and the words turned to noise.

“he warmed you up for me,” liam panted, pushing in slow. “that’s sweet of him, innit?”

you moaned, high and cracked, back arching.

“still so fuckin’ tight,” he gritted, bottoming out with a snap of his hips. “like your cunt’s fuckin’ starving.”

he started fucking you immediately—deep and messy, the slick from damon making everything louder, wetter. the slap of skin and the filth of it echoed through the room like thunder.

you sobbed into the sheets, clawing for purchase, body melting under the weight of it all.

“mine now,” liam growled, hand fisting in your hair. “gonna fuck you till you forget his name.”

“c’mon, love,” damon murmured, voice low and coaxing. “give us one more. you’ve got it in you.”

liam groaned behind you, cock twitching inside your soaked cunt. “she’s close. can feel it.”

and you were. soaked and stuffed full, stretched and trembling, your voice unraveling into nothing but choked gasps and ruined little cries. your body felt like a wire pulled too tight, every nerve frayed and raw.

liam thrust harder, meaner, his nails biting into your hips. damon’s fingers never stopped—circling your clit with sharp, deliberate sweetness.

“let go,” liam breathed, voice torn and hoarse. “come for us, baby. now.”

and you did.

like a spark to dry leaves—sudden, scorching, a full-body detonation. your wail broke ragged in the room, your cunt clenching down hard around liam’s cock as he groaned, loud and guttural, hips stuttering against you.

“fuck—fuckin’—take it, take all of it—”

he came deep, hard, burying himself to the hilt, grinding against you as he spilled inside. his whole body shuddered, slumped heavy over your back, breath catching.

—

and then damon was pulling you close again, tugging you back into the pillows, arms wrapping around your shaking body.

you were limp, breathless, boneless. flushed and wrecked and fucked-out beyond words, your lashes fluttering where your cheek rested against his chest.

“that’s it,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “you did so good. took all of it.”

liam stayed behind you, panting, cock still slick inside you as he pulled out with a wet drag. he watched the way your thighs trembled, watched cum spill down onto the sheets. he swiped his thumb through it absently, slow and possessive.

“look at the fuckin’ state of her,” he muttered, not quite teasing. “ruined.”

“we should send her back down like this,” damon said lazily, thumb brushing your jaw. “see how long she lasts out there.”

liam’s gaze sharpened. “fuck off.”

damon chuckled, but there was heat behind it. “what? let ‘em see what she’s good for.”

liam sat up, slow, and dragged the sheets up over your bare skin. tucked them in like a shield. “she’s not goin’ anywhere.”

you didn’t speak. couldn’t, really. you just blinked up at the ceiling, floating on the edge of sleep, every nerve still pulsing.

they were quiet for a beat. the room thick with something taut and silent.

then—damon shifted, pressed a kiss to your temple.

liam wiped between your thighs with a warm cloth he didn’t ask for.

they didn’t talk to each other. just to you. soft little murmurs.

“you’re alright, love.”

“you did so fuckin’ well.”

“my good girl.”

“ours.”

their touches overlapped—careful, clumsy. damon combing his fingers through your sweat-damp hair, liam tracing circles into your thigh like he didn’t realize he was doing it. both of them acting like the other didn’t exist, except for the way they kept trying to outdo one another. gentler. quieter. closer.

you fell asleep tucked between them—liam’s arm slung heavy around your waist, damon’s breath warm against your shoulder.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

((from this, just a small thing, i just enjoyed it))

Your pen stayed still on that small portion of the paper, giving the idea of pondering what to write next. Instead, you just wanted to smash the ink on it, but common sense was a leash, and you were bound to it. Another complaint, another letter of apology for your lack of experience in…whatever the issue was.

Garviel stood there, the itching on his neck keeping on growing every time his eyes landed on the poor woman, you, sitting there on that desk, far too big for her size and so much out of place.

He had seen it, everyone did, but this was his father's decision, and everyone decided to play along. Yet…

"…Would…would you like a break?"

His voice broke the silence in the office; the ticking of the clock on the wall stopped echoing in your head like a doom. His voice wasn't sure; he was walking on thin ice.

"…Sorry?"

"A…a break, my lady… For a walk, maybe? You look…you look exhausted."

Since when couldn't he speak clearly? Why did he feel like he couldn't talk clearly with the woman that was supposed to be his mother? He wanted to fidget with something, but his hands were empty, so he just decided to move his fingers, hoping to let the stress out.

You looked at him for a few seconds, then sighed deeply. Your hand covered your face, trying to get support from the forgotten document with your arm.

"I am…. I am exhausted… This is so much…"

Your breath got heavier, and Garviel noticed your eyes getting glossier, closed in two thin lines.

"It's so hard… It's easy for someone else but so hard for me… I can't get any of this right. , it's complain after complain…"

Then he heard it, that damn small sound of hiccups and sobs. Now it wasn't anxiety that ate him alive; it was guilt that he had opened a door supposed to be closed.

"I…FUCKING hate it…"

You didn't swear. Well, you did once, but you had to put on the facade of the perfect wife of the perfect son of the emperor. And you were failing miserably, and you knew, and they all knew. Horus? He must have known but decided to let it slide, making the thing more like a you problem than everything. Alone with that pofat depression in your head, with that feeling of uselessness, you remembered with whom you were talking. You tried to conceal the few tears that you couldn't hold, looking to one of the most trusted sons of Horus.

"Forgive me, I…I shouldn't have spoken!" A sense of panic rose. "Please, don't tell my husband! I-"

His hand rose, gesturing for you to calm down.

"There's nothing to apologize for. What you said now stays between these walls. "Leg—"He stopped, noticing like a slump in your shoulder."… Lady Y/n."

He wished he could have stopped your crying, yet that small word made you cry more, but this time it seemed like a relief.

"No one…has been calling me like that in weeks…"

[goldenlionprince]

free my man

Check out how they use the phone James got to Sirius in the last story in this heartbreaking art! And when you're done with hurting yourself, come back here because it's finally time to get Sirius back out of prison in The Bodyguard AU with @sorenphelps! you can find previous parts in my AO3 collection and in @sorenphelps Bodyguard AU tag

tagging @neverenoughmarauders @lovelymasks @0o-r-anon-o0

.

Twelve weeks.

Almost three whole months.

Lily had told James that it would take a while, but twelve weeks are still a fucking long time to wait to have your arms back around someone you love.

Too long for James' taste.

Waiting the last few minutes feels like torture but he will get through them. He has waited three months for this, he can do a few minutes more.

Today they will finally release Sirius. There is no trial. The charges were finally dropped because of the lack of evidence or motive. Crouch didn't like it.

He especially didn't like it when it came to light that the Head of the Department of Sports had been blackmailed by Bertha Jorkins because of some shady money laundering business he is involved in and she had stumbled upon. Ludo Bagman had been in Godric's Grove too at the time of Jorkins' murder so he had an actual motive to do away with her.

But of course they hadn't arrested Ludo Bagman yet. He doesn't get the same treatment as Sirius. That might be because the blackmailing evidence came from an anonymous source – James had worked hard to uncover all that, thank you – but they had arrested Sirius on even less evidence. The double standards of the ministry.

James walks back and forth in the small room, unable to stand still. Lily is watching him but she doesn't say a thing, which James is really grateful for.

Finally the door opens and there he is. He's looking a little worn, the hair short but starting to grow back in. A smile lights up his face though when he sees James.

And James is across the room and in his arms quicker than he can think, almost crashing them both down onto the floor with the force of his kiss, with his unbridled enthusiasm to have Sirius back.

Oh, how James has missed this. Has missed him. Having contact over the phone has helped, but nothing can beat having Sirius right here in person.

Sirius's arms wrap around him, holding him tight and balancing them both. For a moment James forgets about all that has happened. But only for a moment.

“I hate to interrupt this,” Lily says, the smile clear in her voice. “But Sirius still needs to sign the release papers so we can get out of here.”

Laughing, Sirius disentangles himself from James. It's so good to hear that sound.

Lily hands over the pen and Sirius signs the papers, James still glued to his side.

And just like that he's a free man again.

****

Lily takes them home in her car, taking back roads so the people from the press won't be a problem. James doesn't let go of Sirius' hand the whole way. He needs that little point of contact like a life line. Sirius doesn't seem to mind.

They say goodbye to Lily at their front door and just like that James has Sirius right back where he belongs.

As soon as the door falls shut behind them he wraps his arms around Sirius' neck and kisses him, long and deep and hungry to catch up on lost time.

“What do you want to do,” James asks between kisses, his fingers slipping into the unfamiliar short hair. The strands are barely long enough now to bury his fingers in them. James still has to get used to that.

Sirius' hands slide beneath James' shirt and up his back, pulling him even close. “Taking a shower would be great, actually.”

James pulls back just a little, just enough to brush his nose against Sirius'. “Anything you want.”

They leave a trail of clothes on the way to the bathroom, something to deal with later. It's a lot more unhurried than James would have expected but it's nice. The warm water feels good and so does having Sirius so close again, skin to skin.

They fall into bed after, tangled together, not an inch of space between them. James' fingers card through Sirius' short hair, Sirius' arms wrapped around James' middle, his head resting on James' chest. They don't talk. They just enjoy this.

The feeling of having each other again without anything that separates them.

[only-knives]

me: wow, now that i'm sober i'm beginning to feel the drive and energy to do things i enjoy. let me crochet a new book cover.

uncontrollable circumstances: hey about that uh, you're crippled. you can't do that atm. you're gonna have to settle for something else.

me, one mental breakdown later: okay. i doodled and wrote. but can i play this cool videogame i used to play?

uncontrollable circumstances: ahah oh, well, you see... your laptop doesn't have enough storage and you're too broke to buy a better one. maybe try playing the one with shittier graphics and feel dysphoric while doing the character creation?

me, filled with rage: no. i am going to commit atrocities

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[parkerstorms]

this website is all “sexuality is good” “let people be sexy” “we need to resist puritanical thought” “sexiness and sensuality are back” until it’s a 5’0 adult 26-year-old blonde woman who started off as a child star but rebrands when she’s an adult as a 24-year-old adult to be more sexual and sensual and then suddenly she’s dehumanizing herself and infantilizing herself and devaluing herself and shaming herself and shaming women and setting feminism back to the stone ages and is such such a bad role model for young girls and is putting dangerous thoughts in their heads and is using her art to convince them to sexualize themselves and won’t somebody think of the children why is nobody thinking of the children we need to protect them from this evil wicked woman who’s trying to seduce them with her evil perverted body and we need to stone that woman in the village square for reminding all of us in public that sex exists and admitting that she likes it where poor young impressionable girls might hear

[cringefaecompilation]

me: hmm i think i will headcanon orym as having ocd and ocpd, he reminds me of myself and my friends who struggle with compulsions and routines we have troubles breaking out of

liam o’brien choosing to portray the most upsetting yet accurate depiction of someone with untreated unmedicated undiagnosed moral purity ocd by sheer accident:

[smalltowndoll]

Just say you're obsessed with me already ♡♡♡ look at all this attention, I know I'm pretty but my goodness! @fademotion I'm sorry but I'm taken, you have to find someone else to harass and degrade 😘

[redheadhyena]

I'm trying to do everything to open commissions, but every time I run into another problem beyond my control that turns me around 180 degrees and makes me go back to the beginning. And. Just….AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

I'm a fucking Sisyphus, and my rock is my desire to make some money

But at least I got my taxes sorted out.

[bea-trician]

me on Linkedin: I'm an enterprising freelance artist!! I'm so proud of my small business! Everything I do is amazing! The creativity never stops!!

me on every other social media:

[cookinguptales]

pmdd has you crying in bed like "and the fact that I cry for like three days every month is another reason why no one will ever love me!!!"

patently ridiculous illness