#let things be gray and every other color

[ignatiusteto]

i think people should stop thinking in stark black and white and stop taking things violently at face value and maybe society would be a little better. or at least stop making it the problem of other people. it really is a great brain exercise to stop and be like well okay wait a minute. you literally feel better.

[disposal-blueeee]

from this thing lolz

ty to @cherry-207 for the idea !! XPP

vargas by zarla-s

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Just a Tuesday

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: Bob’s decides he can’t take the silence in between missions all alone so he ventures around New York and stumbles across a flower shop with the most gorgeous owner he just knows is his soulmate. Problem? He accidentally says he has a girlfriend, and is now finding ways to still see her at the shop.

WC: 3.4K

Part Two

⸻

The city was quiet in its own crooked, charming way, a quiet that didn’t mean stillness so much as a familiar undercurrent of life. Horns honked lazily in the distance, feet slapped hurriedly against wet pavement, and sirens wailed somewhere far off, like the city sighing through its teeth. New York never truly slept, never fully silenced itself. But that morning, something about it felt subdued. Or maybe it was just Bob.

The Thunderbolts had shipped out hours earlier, some hush-hush mission in the wooded dead zones of upstate New York. Hydra remnants, government paranoia, it didn’t matter. Bob hadn’t even asked for the details. He didn’t need to. He already knew how it went.

He wasn’t invited. He never was.

Not because they didn’t want him. Not exactly. But because they couldn’t. Bob couldn’t let the Sentry, a walking nuclear option, out with the other side. His powers didn’t come alone. They came with him. With it. With the thing inside him that clawed at the walls every time he even considered using them. The Void.

So he stayed behind. Again. Grounded like some too-big dog who might accidentally maul the mailman if someone dropped the leash.

It was becoming routine.

He wandered the long, sterile halls of the Thunderbolts’ tower like a ghost, half-drifting from room to room. He paced. Sat. Stared out windows like they might show him something besides concrete and clouds.

Then he reorganized his comic collection.

Then he reorganized it again, once alphabetically, once by publisher, and once by how the covers made him feel.

He tried baking. Banana bread. Twice. The second loaf burned slightly at the edges, but he ate it anyway, standing barefoot in the kitchen in a hoodie that didn’t fit quite right anymore, wondering if this was what it felt like to live in a snow globe.

The silence pressed in.

It wasn’t peaceful. It was thick, elastic, suffocating in the way only loneliness and fear disguised as control could be. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring just to remind you you’re still alive. The kind that made Bob itch beneath his skin. Made the Void whisper.

He could feel it, coiled and patient, somewhere deep inside. Like a shadow beneath his heartbeat, waiting.

He couldn’t risk it. Not even a flicker of light. Not even a sliver of power. Because when he let the Sentry out, the Void always followed.

And so he didn’t fly. Didn’t lift. Didn’t glow. He stayed grounded. Human. Harmless.

Until that morning, when he simply couldn’t take it anymore.

So Bob Reynolds did something rare. Something almost revolutionary in its simplicity.

He put on his shoes, shrugged into his old zip-up hoodie, pulled the hood over his messy blond hair, and left the house.

Just Bob. Just the city. Just the hope that maybe, somewhere out there between the cracked sidewalks and overpriced coffee, something might remind him how to feel like a person again.

⸻

It was the kind of gray morning that felt like rain was near, the sky heavy with clouds the color of wet concrete, soft and close like they might fall if you looked at them wrong. The kind of morning that muted the city’s chaos just enough to make you believe something meaningful might actually happen.

Bob zipped up his worn hoodie and pulled the hood over his unkempt hair, letting the city swallow him whole. No plan. No direction. Just feet on pavement and the low, steady thrum of New York waking up around him.

He moved through it like a ghost, unnoticed and unremarkable, past bodegas stacked with sun-faded chip bags, past graffiti-tagged corner stores and cafes spilling steam onto the sidewalk, past a man outside a laundromat playing a saxophone with the kind of fury that suggested jazz is the only genre.

Bob might’ve kept walking, might’ve looped the city like he always did until the static in his head quieted, but then the air shifted.

Not in the way he was used to. There was no warning chill, no thunder in his chest. No Void whispering from the seams of his mind.

This was different.

It was subtle, almost fragile. A sudden burst of scent, fresh, sweet, alive.

He turned instinctively, like he’d caught something moving just outside the corner of his eye. And that’s when he saw it.

A flower shop.

Delilah’s. It sat tucked between a wine bar and an antique bookstore, almost too charming to be real, like someone had dropped it in from a movie set. The windows were fogged slightly with morning dew, framed by climbing ivy and painted lettering in faded gold.

He might have kept walking, honestly, he meant to. But then he glanced through the window.

And there you were.

Behind the counter, surrounded by wild arrangements of roses, tulips, peonies and eucalyptus, your hands moving with gentle precision as you wrapped twine around a bouquet. You laughed, something light and true, and tilted your head just slightly as you tucked a final bloom into place for a customer.

Bob froze.

There were things he understood deeply. The gravitational force of the sun. The pressure of time against skin. The weight of a million lives resting on your shoulders. The yawning, endless black of the Void.

But you?

You were something else entirely.

Not celestial, not apocalyptic. Not a vision or a threat. You were, real. Warm. Human in the most impossible, breathtaking way.

And radiant.

Not in the way Bob knew radiance, that blinding power he kept caged behind his ribs. Yours was quieter. A kind of glow that came from being good without needing to prove it. A light that didn’t demand to be seen, but somehow illuminated everything around you.

He panicked.

He stared for exactly three seconds too long, long enough to feel the shame settle into his spine, then spun around like someone who had forgotten how walking worked. His steps became frantic, clumsy, too-loud against the pavement. His heart thudded like a warning bell in his chest.

He didn’t stop until he was three blocks away, chest tight, ears ringing, hoodie pulled low enough to shadow the flush in his cheeks.

But it was already too late.

You were in his head now.

⸻

The next day, Bob found himself walking down the same street.

He told himself it was just coincidence. A convenient route. A longer way to the coffee shop he didn’t even like. But as his steps drew him closer to Delilah’s, his breath hitched in his chest the same way it had the day before.

There you were again.

Through the window, sunlight filtered in golden shafts, catching the strands of your hair as you leaned over a vase. You were laughing, again. Laughing, like joy came easily to you. Like the world hadn’t ever tried to crush it out of you.

Bob didn’t go in. He passed by without turning his head. Except, of course, he did turn his head. Just for a second.

Just enough to see you tuck a flower behind your ear, all soft petals and easy grace, and that was it, he was done for.

And then he came back.

The next day.

And the day after that.

He tried to keep it casual, though casual had never really been in Bob’s skillset. Hoodie pulled low, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he could somehow fold himself into invisibility. A blur of anxious glances, a carefully calculated pace, fast enough to look like he had somewhere to be, slow enough to not miss a glimpse of you.

Some days, he walked past three times. Four. He’d loop the block like a lost tourist, count red lights as a stall tactic, curse how obvious it felt. But you never seemed to notice. You were always busy, greeting customers, arranging spring displays, tying ribbons around wrapped stems. Bob had learned you hummed when you worked. That you wore your hair different every other day. That you had a habit of smiling to yourself when no one was watching.

Except someone was.

Every day, he nearly walked in.

He’d pause near the corner, heart thudding painfully hard against his ribs, hand twitching like it wanted to reach for the door. But the moment would pass. Panic would settle in his chest like a stone. He’d picture himself stammering, fumbling, freezing, ruining whatever spell your world had unknowingly cast over his.

So he didn’t.

Not yet.

⸻

It was day eight when Bob finally cracked.

Something in him gave out, maybe it was the way your laugh echoed through the glass that morning, or how the corner of your mouth lifted as you tied a ribbon with practiced care. Or maybe it was just the quiet that waited for him back at the compound, the echo of empty halls and silence that pressed too hard on his lungs.

Whatever it was, it propelled him forward.

His hands were sweating. Badly. The kind of clammy, panicked sweat that soaked into the sleeves of his hoodie. His heart pounded like war drums in his chest as he stood across the street, psyching himself up like he was about to disarm a bomb instead of walk into a flower shop.

When he finally crossed and pushed open the door, it felt like stepping into another world. The bell above the frame jingled, a small, cheerful sound that somehow made it worse. More real.

The air was warm and sweet with the smell of fresh blooms, eucalyptus, and something soft like jasmine. Everything was bright and lush and beautifully chaotic, with flowers arranged in mismatched vases and shelves lined with little ceramic pots and twine. It was nothing like the cold steel and concrete of his usual life.

Bob stepped in like a man who was unsure of everyting, reverent, terrified, entirely unsure of himself.

You looked up from behind the counter and smiled.

“Hi there!” you greeted, voice honey-light. “What can I help you with?”

Bob opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then opened it again as his brain hit the emergency eject button.

“I, uh—I need flowers,” he said, his voice about an octave higher than normal. “For uh-“

“My girl-..? Uh-“ Bob mentally cursed himself for saying. He didn’t have a girlfriend? He could barely speak to people in general, he got mixed up in his thoughts thinking about this girl and him wanting her to be his girlfriend.

A beat of silence.

You blinked once, then smiled wider, completely unbothered. “Aw, that’s sweet! What’s the occasion?”

Occasion?

Girlfriend?

Right. The lie. Commit to the bit, Reynolds. Commit to the bit.

“It’s just…” Bob cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Tuesday. And she, uh… likes Tuesdays.”

He winced internally. Likes Tuesdays? Really?

But you just giggled, an actual, genuine giggle, and began pulling tulips from a nearby bucket.

“That’s adorable,” you said warmly. “Honestly, I wish more guys bought random flowers just because. What kind does she like?”

Bob’s brain went blank. Static. He couldn’t remember a single flower that existed, except one color.

“Purple.” he said. Confidently. Like it was a personality trait.

You didn’t even pause. “Nice. Irises and lavender, then. They go beautifully together.”

With the grace of someone who’d done this a thousand times, you bundled the bouquet in brown paper and tied it with string, then handed it over like it was nothing.

Bob took it like it was everything.

“Tell her she’s lucky.” you said with a wink.

He managed a noise that might have been “thanks.” shoved a few crumpled bills into the register tray, and turned to leave. His foot caught on the doorframe. Naturally.

Outside, he all but sprinted back to the tower, clutching the bouquet like it might break if he breathed too hard. Once inside, he stuck it in a vase, then stared at it. For an hour. Maybe two.

The flowers sat perfectly still on the counter.

His pulse didn’t slow for the rest of the day.

⸻

It became routine.

Every few days like clockwork, Bob would return, hoodie zipped, hands fidgeting, nerves jangling. Each time, he walked through the door of Delilah’s with a new bouquet request for his completely imaginary girlfriend.

“She likes lilies now.” he said on a Wednesday, eyes darting anywhere but at you.

“Big fan of sunflowers.” He claimed the following Monday

You always played along. No judgment, no suspicion. Just that same warm smile, that same easy grace.

But something changed.

You didn’t just ring him up and send him on his way. You talked to him. Really talked.

You asked what kind of food he liked “Is banana bread a food group?”, what movies made him cry “Okay, but Paddington 2 is a cinematic masterpiece, don’t judge me”, and what he thought the best pizza joint in Manhattan was “That’s a loaded question and I refuse to start a borough war”.

You told him when to visit Central Park for the best view of the cherry blossoms, which corner of the East Village had the best dumplings, how the city sounded different just after rain, quieter, but softer.

You laughed at his awkward jokes. Teased him when he flubbed his words. Every bouquet he bought came with a little extra, a sprig of rosemary, a twist of eucalyptus, a single daisy tucked in with a wink. “Just because.” you’d say with a shrug.

And then came the days when he stopped pretending altogether, well, mostly.

He still mentioned his “girlfriend.” but he stopped buying flowers.

Instead, he brought coffee. A scone. A wrapped muffin from the bakery two blocks down.

“She had a dentist appointment.” he said one morning, sheepishly placing the cup on the counter. “I, uh… just happened to be in the area.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Uh huh. And you just happened to bring my favorite latte?”

“…She likes vanilla.”

“Does she now?”

He nodded, perhaps too vigorously. “She loves it. Obsessed, really.”

You smirked, taking the drink. “Well. She has excellent taste.”

He flushed. A little too pink in the cheeks, a little too jittery in the hands. But he stayed. Leaned against the counter while you prepped arrangements. Asked questions about dahlias and peonies, even though he barely remembered which was which.

It wasn’t just about the flowers anymore. Or the lies.

It was about you.

Your voice, your laughter, the way you scrunched your nose when you miscounted stems or forgot where you put your scissors. The way you always looked so at home in the chaos of petals and twine and color. You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t announce itself, it radiated.

And Bob was caught in your orbit.

He just hadn’t figured out what to do about it yet.

⸻

[writerpeach]

Dichotomy

Kiss Of Life Natty x Julie x m! reader

30k words

---

Read on AO3

“So—“ Natty breaks the silence with a lean forward in her chair, elbows resting on either side of her drink—a matcha latte piled high with an absurd amount of whipped cream. A bit clings to her upper lip before she licks it away. "Have you ever had a threesome before?"

You nearly choke on your drink. 

Even for her, the question is bold, nonchalant, and taking you by surprise as you stir your own coffee. It's hardly the first time you've been surprised by what comes out of her mouth, but it's going to take a much stronger coffee than this one for the mental whiplash. "You know, most people start the day with a hello. Maybe a how are you doing. Good morning, even?"

Natty only smiles. "Then most people are boring. Now, come on. Answer the question."

The thing is, Natty isn't most people and can't even begin to pretend she has a filter, nor any sense of decorum. For as long as you've known her—which is basically since orientation week during your very first semester. Back when both of you were shy and clueless, fumbling along the university hallways. She’s always been like this. Bold and beautiful and utterly shameless. Ever since that one fateful day where she locked herself out of her car in the snow, crying her pretty eyes out until you offered her a ride home that ended with her between your legs—because she wouldn't let you say no to a blowjob as a way to return the favor. 

So romantic.

And you've been inseparable ever since. 

"Where's this even coming from?" you ask, dipping a bite of your pancake into a pool of syrup. "Did you buy me breakfast so you could pry into my sex life?" 

"As if I need an excuse for that," Natty says, lips wrapping around her straw, her cheeks hollowed as she slurps with this gaze that doesn't seem the least bit innocent. "Can't a girl just be curious?"

The pancakes here are impeccable—but not enough to distract from the weight of her question, or how red your cheeks feel under the heat of it. "Curious usually implies a level of subtlety." 

"When was I ever subtle? You'd be bored to death." It's true. So much. If there ever was an opposite to subtlety, Natty would probably be their ambassador. If she ever came up to you and asked something simple like what your favorite color was, you would know something was terribly wrong and she might need to visit the university's clinic right away. "Now, seriously, you're deflecting. Just answer the question."

You sigh, pausing before you pop another piece of pancake in your mouth, fork dangling uselessly between your fingers. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly? It's a yes or no question. Not a lot of gray area here," she points out with this cocky grin that really doesn't help matters. But fuck her and her logic and the way she's sitting there with those tits all proudly on display when she over more, knowing they'll distract you from thinking clearly. "Which one is it?"

"Fine, no. I haven't. Happy now?" you admit, hoping the frustration in your tone would make it clear enough you're not exactly thrilled at being put under a microscope like this. 

"Really?" Her brows raise. It's not often you find Natty speechless but, here we are. She obviously thinks there's a world where you have a threesome every time you do the laundry and she's confused why that isn't the case. "Never? Guy with a cock like yours and you haven't shared it with more than one girl at a time?"

"Sorry to disappoint," you answer, rolling your eyes. You've shared a bed with Natty plenty of times over the years you've known her, and you're not exactly a stranger to each other's bodies—but still, this is not a conversation you ever expected to have over breakfast.

Natty laughs. "Don't be. But sounds like something we should fix then," she offers, casually, like her suggestion is the same as deciding what to order for dessert. 

"Yeah, I'll just find two pretty girls to sleep with at the same time, how hard can that be? Let me post an ad on the campus bulletin board. Pretty sure I'd find a line halfway to the dean's office."

"Two? I'm the first girl you'd choose and you know it," Natty remarks, smug, no trace of self-consciousness in her voice. And she's not entirely wrong. You're never admitting that out loud though. That would go straight to her head and it's already big enough as is. "We'll just have to find you the second one."

"Easy for you to say. Didn't realize you were such an expert in these matters."

"Please, if anyone is, it's me," Natty brags with a casual toss of her hair. "The hottest girl on campus with a body like this and you think I'm not being shared every chance I get? College boys can't get enough of me. Neither can the girls. Why even stop at just two, when I can just get the whole back row of chemistry class involved?"

The worst part is how plausible that actually seems. 

"Look, it's not exactly a priority for me, Nat. You're more than I can handle as is," you say, playing your best card with hopes that it’s enough of a distraction from this subject.

"Well, lucky for you, I'll do all the leg work then. Leave it all to me."

The way she says it, no hesitation whatsoever, is terrifying. Like she has a plan already formed, all that's left is execution. And you're not sure anything should ever be left to her, ever.

But a part of you has to admit—you wouldn't exactly hate sharing a bed with Natty and... someone else. Someone just as pretty, someone with a body made from pure sin who knows how to play with her, who can hold their own against her. You can't even imagine that there are too many potential candidates that would fit the bill, but you try to not get ahead of yourself, because no matter how crazy the idea seems, nothing is for sure. No need to get your hopes up, so soon.

So you finish your breakfast, with no other mention of the topic—even as her foot trails up and down your leg, a reminder that yes, you're definitely both attracted to each other and haven't done anything about it for way too fucking long.

✦ ✦

The next time you see Natty is two days later when she arrives with a laundry basket at your apartment, with some frail excuse about her machine being broken that you see through instantly. Not that you're about to complain when she starts to strip down to just a thong and a black Calvin Klein bra that barely holds in her generous tits, walking around your place half-naked like she lives here.

Which she essentially does, given how often she spends her nights in your bed.

Before her first load of laundry even finishes, you’re already leaning back against the couch, pants and boxers down to your ankles as Natty strokes your hard length. You can’t take your eyes off her tits, watching them jiggle with every movement she makes. 

The view is hypnotic enough, with this agonizingly slow rhythm her hands have as they travel along the length of your cock, and maybe you're thankful for her washer being broken down—regardless of whether or not it's actually the truth.

"You feel so built up, baby," Natty says as her hands work your shaft, thumb rubbing across the slit and spreading what leaks out along your swollen tip. "Don't you jerk off when I'm not around?"

The gentle squeeze she gives is just perfect, enough to get you groaning like you can’t get enough of her touch. "Not much point when I can just wait for you to do the job for me. What would I even watch to get off?"

"Please," she giggles as the movements of her wrist get harder to deal with. "How many pictures of my tits do you have saved on your phone? Or of me without underwear. The ones I send you when I'm so hot for you, in the library, when you're in class, with three fingers inside myself. You jerk off to them, right? Those videos of me riding a toy in my bed while I moan your name, pretending you were behind me."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't keep things like that on my phone," you say, voice cracking midway.

Natty just laughs and your cock throbs against her palm, giving you away completely. 

"You're such a bad fucking liar. Pretty sure you'd jerk off in class if I sent you nudes while you were there." Natty stares you dead in the eye and your lack of response is all the answer she needs. "There's no way you'd ever delete them. Especially not the pictures from the Halloween party, where I blew you in the bathroom. Pretty sure everyone in that house could hear when you fucked my throat."

"Jesus, Nat—fuck," you choke out, and you can still visualize that night, how ridiculously hot the maid costume looked on her, how hard it was for her to keep her phone recording while you ruined her pretty face, mascara running, lipstick smeared all over and god, you'd pay good money to see that view again.

"Do you know how hard it was not to share that video with the whole campus? How much you came in my mouth? How rough you were with me and how much of a mess I was after?"

It's not fair the way she brings up these memories while she strokes your shaft, squeezing a little tighter each time. The way Natty gets a firm grip while you mindlessly stare at those tits, so close to spilling out of her bra working overtime. This conversation alone is practically enough to get off and she knows that, using it for her advantage.

And even with how built-up you were before, this is all getting you there too fast. "I love how fucking hard you are. Throbbing so hard and ready to spill all over my big tits, aren’t you?”

"God, please—your fucking hands are magic.” 

"That's the thing though," Natty tells you, and her strokes become agonizingly slow, until the motion ceases, replaced by a firm, lingering squeeze that’s enough to drive you up the wall. "The best part of laundry day is milking your big fucking cock. Getting such a huge load out of these heavy balls, it’s such a good thing you have me, isn’t it?"

Sometimes, you wonder. 

Thankfully, her pace breaks from the rhythmic squeezing of her hand, returning to full speed with this twisted smile on her face, because you're pretty sure you were dying for a few seconds. "I haven't felt you shooting on my face in ages…"

"Too busy fucking your tight cunt or these huge goddamn tits."

"Can't really blame you for that. They must feel fucking amazing," she boasts, getting a firm grip and a nice twist of her wrist at the same time, bringing you that much closer. And this scene takes you back to the first day you gave her a ride home—when she refused to take no for an answer. A different couch, but the same position, Natty on her knees—an all-too-familiar sight by now. 

"Fuck, so good, Nat, I'm so close," you groan, feeling her pump and squeeze harder by the second, keeping the perfect rhythm and twisting just right. Exactly how you need her to and every stroke has you inching towards the edge.

"Good. Give me a nice thick, big load. I want you to shoot so fucking much all over these tits, ruin this expensive bra," Natty demands, pumping at record speed, voice edging you closer and closer until you can feel it right on the precipice, 

"Shit, god, don’t fucking stop, I'm gonna—"

One last firm pump has you throbbing hard and cum erupts from the tip with thick spurts as she aims you right between her covered breasts, smiling wide. The view of white splattering across her chest and staining the fabric of her bra makes it even better—It's one hell of a load, given how many days worth of cum she's coaxing out, spurting messily and watching as pearlescent strands cling all over her perfect tits. 

It's just absolutely fucking filthy and Natty’s never looked more delighted.

Once Natty’s gotten every drop from you, she glides a finger across her cum-covered chest, tasting it as she pops it into her mouth with a satisfied moan, sucking it clean. "Missed that so fucking much." 

And the strokes don't stop, milking the last bit of your release even after you're past the point of oversensitivity, but you hardly care when you can't tear your gaze from her chest, a canvas of white painted over her that's a perfect work of art.

"I think maybe we should have laundry day together more often…" you muse, content to bask in the lingering bliss as long as you can.

"Of course you do. When is anything with me not fun?" Natty retorts as she releases your cock and gets back on her feet, not even concerned by the fact she's wearing your cum like her favorite necklace. "I think I've got about half an hour left on the dryer. Plenty of time for you to fuck me senseless while we're waiting, don't you think?"

That’s when she saunters off without waiting for an answer, unhooking that cum-stained bra and slipping out of her underwear along the way.

Never one for subtlety.

✦ ✦

And now, you're supposed to focus on class somehow—a two-hour lecture, right after Natty had pulled you into the nearest bathroom, hopped up on the sink, legs spread and heels locked around your waist while you slid balls fucking deep into her. You can't even jot down a note without picturing her shirt ripped open, tits spilling out of her bra and bouncing freely as your hips pounded into her—or the way she guided your fingers around her throat when she came on your cock, greedy and insatiable for more. 

Honestly, you should have just taken her up on that offer to skip class altogether. Especially with your load still dripping down her thighs as she slid her panties back on, doing the bare minimum to look presentable. 

But here you are now, trying to pay attention, both of you sitting a few rows apart to avoid raising any suspicion. Like it's not obvious when Natty looks back and smiles, hair still a bit of a mess, visible marks all over her neck. Natty wears them proudly, not even daring to cover up the proof with makeup, wanting everyone to see what you'd done.

As the class drags on, your phone vibrates, and you're not even sure you want to check it, expecting more photos of her in various states of nudity. Something you always appreciate, but not exactly what you should be looking at in a public area. But still, the curiosity wins, so with a sigh, you tap at the screen, going against your better judgment to open the notification.

> Nat: wish you were still between my legs

this class sucks and you should be bending me over this desk right now

1 image attached

And that’s even more of a warning to not open it up with anyone around. 

The temptation is strong, but your common sense wins—barely, as you silence your phone and shove it back in your pocket. At least it gives something else to think about while time drags on painfully, because god knows what's waiting for you in that picture. Last time you made this mistake in public, it was more shots of in the mirror, tongue out, her tits not covered up one bit, nothing tasteful whatsoever. Who knows what you’ll get this time, but there’s a good chance it’ll be a shot of her in the middle of getting her guts rearranged, because Natty never misses a chance to document every moment of you pounding her.

Either way, you've somehow managed to last the full two hours, mind entirely somewhere else, and it's a sigh of relief when the professor finally dismisses the class. With relative ease, Natty finds you among the sea of students leaving the hall, linking arms. "Hey, handsome. Did you miss me?"

"About as much as a kick to the balls.” 

Natty scoffs. "You ass. That's what I get for sending a present?" 

"What present?" 

She shoves a hip into you and rolls her eyes, clearly unamused. "Don't tell me you didn't see. Did you seriously just ignore them?"

"Like I'd ever check while I'm still surrounded by other students. I'm sure they'd all love a peek at your nudes, but they have to find their own."

Natty's laughter cuts through. "Ungrateful bastard. Railing me in a public bathroom is fine, but you draw the line at seeing my tits. Aren't you just the innocent one?"

“My innocence is not up for debate. Even if you want to corrupt it with your naked body.” 

"Yeah, an innocent guy who just busted inside of me ten minutes before class,” Natty says as she walks beside you, pressing her body close, tits grazing your arm. 

There’s no counter to that, really. 

"I sent more than just nudes though," she admits and pauses, licking her lips before leaning into you and whispering. "Maybe you should just check. You'll like what's waiting for you." 

"Look, Nat, I know how hard it must have been, sitting there horny as fuck for the last hour, but it can wait." 

Natty scrunches her nose in frustration. "Fine. See if I send you anything again. No more tits for you," she threatens, storming off in a huff with a clear swing in her hips. It's the kind of petty tantrum she pulls when she's feeling extra needy and neglected, hoping it’ll push your buttons. But you're not one to give in the moment she throws a little fit.

"What would I ever do without the distraction? Like you could ever resist the chance to show them off in the middle of class."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later—if you behave."

"Ugh, you're so lucky you're cute and your dick's so fucking good. Any other guy would have been on their knees groveling after ignoring nudes from me."

"Good thing you're in love with me then," you quip, smirking and only laughing when her reaction is to punch you in the arm. Not lightly either. But Natty immediately latches back onto your arm, refusing to let go when you try to shrug her off, walking beside you with this annoyed look on her face. "You're such an asshole."

"Learned from the best."

Despite the feigned anger, Natty can't help but lean in, giving you a brief peck on the cheek, staying attached to you the entire walk. She's being particularly clingy today, a rare trait for her. "So, bar tonight?" 

"Only if you're buying."

"Baby, when have I ever bought a single drink in my life?" Natty replies, tugging you down for another quick kiss. 

"Guess you'll have fun drinking alone then."

“Too bad, loser. Guess I'll have fun bringing home one of the cute boys there.” 

"Please, they'll go home broken and you’ll be unsatisfied with whoever is brave enough to come try you,” you say, and she knows that can't even be argued, that the idea of her hooking up with some stranger seems comical at best.

She knows you’re right, and that’s all it takes as Natty runs a hand through her hair and groans. "Fine, I'll buy the first round. Deal?"

"One round? Don't know if that's really enough incentive to even leave the house."

"Greedy much? I'm not made of money,” Natty says, bumping her shoulder into yours. 

"Guess I'll see you next laundry day then."

"Oh my god, fine,” Natty finally agrees. “Two rounds. And I'll suck your dick in the bathroom, is that good enough?"

"It's a start.”

✦ ✦

Turns out, drinks taste so much better when someone else is paying. Natty looks more than pleased to have your company, not even complaining about covering the tab for the first round of shots—tequila right off the bat, because she loves an excuse to lick salt off you.

"Cheers to you for actually coming out with me for once," Natty says as the burn makes its way down her throat. 

"Don't get too used to it. I'm only here for the free drinks."

"And the view," she adds, and you can't disagree as your eyes travel to her low-cut top, drowning in cleavage. This little outfit she picked was chosen to do the most damage, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"The tits are a nice bonus, “ you agree, shamelessly staring as she reaches for another shot and throws her head back.

"Aren't they? Everyone's jealous that you've got these beauties in your face all the time," Natty points out, jutting her big tits out as she runs hands all over and gives them a squeeze, confident as ever. You can't help but laugh, endlessly amused by how much she loves showing off. "Lucky you, huh?"

"Very," you reply, grinning through the burn when you down your second shot. "No arguments there."

"One of the many benefits only you get to experience. Not everyone gets to put their mouth on these. Have their hands all over me. Or even fuck my huge ass whenever they please."

"And humble as ever, I see," you say with a laugh, shaking your head, because that ego is as big as her fucking tits. Natty gets a little handsy as the drinks set in, when the shots switch over to something less strong—something fruity, pink and sugary sweet, the kind that goes down easily as her fingers trail along your inner thighs, gradually getting a bit higher with every sip. The way she looks at you is making it pretty fucking hard to not shove her flat on the table, push that slutty little skirt up and take her where everyone can see.

But that wouldn't exactly fly, nor have you had enough alcohol to give her what she wants in front of an audience.

Before your imagination gets the best of you, Natty shifts in her seat, the movement drawing your eyes straight down when she uncrosses and recrosses her legs, this slight little peek beneath the leather skirt and the urge to fuck her into tomorrow suddenly returns with a vengeance.

"What are you thinking, right now?" you ask, glancing into those dark eyes, thick with mascara and desire.

Natty lifts the straw to her mouth and slowly takes a drink, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Just how much I'd love to suck your dick under the table."

"Jesus, Nat," you reply, knowing it's no idle threat with a woman as brazen as Natty. 

"What, did that not sound appealing to you? Me on my knees with your cock fucking my throat, you pulling on my hair like you love to. Making me gag on you until tears are running down my cheeks and you shoot so fucking far down my throat—"

"I need a stronger fucking drink," you groan, the visual leaving your head spinning. 

"What's wrong, baby? Getting a little worked up? Or is the thought of my pretty lips around your cock making your pants feel a little tight?" Natty asks as her finger traces around the rim of her glass, licking her lips for extra effect. "I did promise you a blowjob in the bathroom, didn't I? Ready to cash that in now?"

"Not a chance I'm standing up now, thanks," you mutter, hiding an awkward adjustment of your jeans that makes Natty grin wide.

"Getting a little hard already, and nothing you can do about that? Poor thing."

"Natty, stop, I swear—"

"Alright, fine. You're no fun. Guess I'll have to talk about literally anything that won't get you thinking about my tits squeezed tight around your big fucking cock."

Yeah, you definitely need another drink. Maybe two. But mercifully, Natty calms down a bit after a few sips, falling quiet for the most part while she plays with the straw between her lips. Over the course of the hour, the number of empty glasses start piling up, so many of them you start to lose track. A light flush settles on her cheeks and she can hardly keep her hands to herself, running fingers through your hair as she downs the remainder of her current drink.

"You know, this place is much better with company," Natty blurts out, words slurred just enough for you to laugh at, because you're pretty sure her tally of drinks has surpassed yours at this point.

"How nice of you to admit it."

"I wasn't talking about you, idiot. You won't even let me suck you off under the table."

You can only let out the biggest sigh, wondering why you agreed to come here in the first place. "Oh, sorry for not wanting to get kicked out of a bar and have public indecency charges added to my record."

"Wouldn't be the first time we've gotten caught," Natty laughs, eyes lit up, and of course she finds it all so funny. "Not my fault that movie was so goddamn boring. Had to give you something better to watch."

"And now we're both banned from that place forever. Thanks, Nat." 

"Oh, please, don't act like you didn't enjoy me bouncing on your dick. How was I supposed to sit through an entire movie like that? If anything they should be thanking us for putting on a better show." 

"You're ridiculous."

"I know, but that's why you spend so much time with me."

"No, it's mostly the tits."

Natty kicks you underneath the table. "Rude." 

The conversation dies for a fleeting moment before Natty leans in closer. She's clearly past tipsy by this point, giggling at nothing and that's definitely the alcohol’s doing. "As I was saying, this place is so much better with company—"

"In case you've forgotten."

"Again, not talking about you. Let me finish a fucking sentence, will you?" Natty doesn't give you time to respond, the second time she's brought this up in just a few minutes. "Not that I don't enjoy making you squirm just by talking, but we could use more company."

“What, someone who’ll let you suck them off under the table?” 

"No, dumbass,” Natty says as she looks at her phone for a second, the bright light illuminating her face. "Look at that. They'll be here soon."

You raise an eyebrow with this puzzled look on your face and take a long drink, trying not to get too terribly invested in whatever Natty is planning. "They? Who, exactly?"

"You'd know if you checked those fucking pictures I sent," she answers back with this sharp tone, looking more offended than you've ever seen her. Might as well pull out the phone from your pocket, swipe through the messages from earlier, and oh. 

There's no hesitation this time as you thumb through a series of photos sent earlier—but they're not of her this time. Whoever the girl on your screen is, it isn't Natty, but she matches the level of hotness perfectly, posing in what looks like a hotel bathroom wearing these tight little shorts with fishnet stockings, a skimpy black top exposing an alarming amount of cleavage—not quite as busty as Natty, but her tits still look divine, as does the rest of her, curves for days with a face prettier than anyone has any right to be.

"What do you think?" Natty asks, watching you practically salivate, and the more you scroll, the less clothed the woman is—standing in the same room with her shorts undone, the next with her top lifted, tits out and barely covered with her arm. She’s completely exposed when you flip to the final image, naked in the mirror, a big smile on her face like she's modeling. 

And what a body, these full hips, long slender legs, and an ass made for grabbing, squeezing, burying your face between and you’ve completely forgotten the fact that Natty's even here.

"She's—uh, pretty," is the best you can manage while still distracted, zooming in a tad closer, to study more of this mystery woman. "Who is this anyway?"

"Pretty? Is that all you can say? Don't be shy, tell me what you're actually thinking. Don't hold back on my account."

"She's really hot, Nat. What the hell am I supposed to say, giving me nudes of some stranger is the last thing I'm expecting, and—"

"There you go, better answer," Natty says with this satisfied smile like you'd finally managed to say something right. "So tell me—do you want to fuck her?"

"Wh-what?" you stutter, immediately shifting your attention back to Natty's gaze.

"Don't pretend like you didn't hear me. Do you want her? Bend her over and pound her real fucking hard into the mattress? She's into most things I am—and plenty we haven't tried." 

"What the fuck kind of question is that, Nat? Jesus—"

"A simple one," Natty replies, as if anything out of her mouth is ever simple. "Do. you. want. to. fuck. her?”

You can't tell if it's the alcohol or Natty's seductive tone turning your brain into mush, struggling to form any coherent answer. "I—uh—"

"Come on, don't play coy now. Be honest, would you or wouldn't you? I know she's your type. Don't you want to just absolutely destroy that big ass of hers?"

The room is definitely spinning at this point. There's not an easy response. So you resort to the most logical one possible in your inebriated state. "Who wouldn't?"

"Good. Then it's settled. You're fucking her. We both are. Tonight."

"I'm sorry, we? Hold on, Nat, what the fuck is—"

"What, you've never had a threesome before, and I told you I would find a pretty girl to join us. So I did."

"Join us? Hold on, you were serious about that? How did you even manage this so fast?"

"Please, did you forget who the fuck you were dealing with? She's a really good friend of mine. In town for the weekend for work and wanted to catch up—I told her we'd hit the bar and see what happens."

"I can't believe—I don't even know her name or anything. "

"But you still have the urge to tear off her clothes and just ravish her, don't you? You wanted a third, I'm bringing you one." Natty reaches out and caresses your cheek, leaning close. "Unless you don't want that anymore. Then I'll just tell her something came up and meet up with her later."

"No, it's not—of course I fucking do, but it's just sudden and all the nudes and now this and—"

"Relax, baby, I've got everything taken care of. There's nothing to be worried about. Say yes and she's yours for the night. We can fuck her until the sun comes up. And even a little bit after."

You inhale sharply, pausing, letting Natty's words sink in, trying not to sound too overly eager when you agree to this. “Y-yeah, ok, let's do it."

"You don’t sound too sure. Be a little more convincing—tell me you really want her."

Natty is grinning as you’ve become a flustered mess, not entirely sober, but unable to think about anything besides seeing this this girl bent over your sheets, whatever her name is, and just fucking her senseless. "God, I want her—need her. Need to fuck her she forgets what day it is, until the sheets are ruined and she’s soaked in sweat, exhausted and dripping cum, looking like a fucking mess and all she's able to say is my name. I want her. I want both of you.” 

There's this impressed look on Natty’s face, like she’s gotten the exact reaction she was fishing for. "Alright, tiger, was that so hard? She'll be here any minute, and trust me, you won't be disappointed."

You finish off the rest of your drink in one go, hoping to steady your nerves before this mystery girl arrives, while also trying not to overthink the decision you've made. And it doesn't take much longer when you hear the chair next to you scrape against the ground, catching a glimpse of what has to be the breathtaking girl from the photos, a seductive smile gracing her lips and oh, those eyes are going to be the death of you.

Natty turns to the newcomer with a pleased little grin. "Hey, gorgeous."

"Hey yourself, pretty girl." 

Her attention shifts from Natty towards you, getting a first glance and looking you up and down. You can’t say it’s easy to return her gaze, but you do your best—admiring this beauty come to life that Natty has managed to snatch right out of your fantasies. "This must be your little boytoy. He's cute." 

"Isn't he? Think I’m keeping this one," Natty teases, possessive in every word she speaks."Absolutely ruins me. Never fails to get the job done."

And seconds in, she's already leaving you an embarrassed, flustered wreck.

"Good choice. I'm Julie, by the way," she says, offering a friendly smile and an outstretched hand, though not hiding the seduction behind her eyes. "I've heard so much about you."

Julie takes your hand with her cold, delicate fingers, and really, she's every bit as stunning as she looked in her photos. Similar features to Natty, though a bit less reserved—a face pretty enough to invite your lingering stare, long dark hair, piercing eyes, and a smile that’s utterly irresistible. 

"Oh, don't worry. Only the good parts."

"As if there are any bad ones," Natty says, all full of confidence per usual, but it’s nice when you’re on the end of it. "Oh, he knows all about you. At least what I've shown him."

"Oh, those? Hope you liked them. There's plenty more," Julie says, like it's nothing to show nudes to a complete stranger, an intriguing mix between forward and shameless

"Don’t worry, he loved them," Natty replies, and you just sit there, in silence, too stunned to say a word. "Couldn't stop talking about how badly he wants to fuck you. Something about him wanting to bury his face between your ass and tonguefuck you for hours.  

"Jesus, fuck Nat, why would you even—" you mutter, looking away, and you think there's still time to make a run for it and never see either of these two again. Your face grows hotter, ears turning red and Julie doesn't seem bothered at all—not the slightest bit embarrassed to hear Natty lay out all your dirty thoughts right here for the world to hear.

Julie leans back a bit, arms crossed, not letting her gaze falter and grins widely. "Did he now? I would certainly love that. Sounds like so much fun."

But the girls just exchange a look and start laughing, which doesn't do any favors for how small and helpless you feel right now. And if that weren’t enough to deal with, Julie places a hand on your thigh, giving a delicate squeeze that puts you even more on edge. "Now now, there's no need to be so shy, handsome. If anything, that's a compliment. Thousands of people see those photos and think the same thing—but not everyone gets to follow up on it.” 

"Professional model," Natty adds, nodding towards Julie with a proud grin. "Don't ever let her convince you otherwise, she's been on every magazine cover imaginable."

Julie gives her own small, soft laugh, glancing in Natty's direction and dismissing her statement. "Oh, please. Not all. There might be some lingerie stores you might recognize me from. But the nudes are just a little side gig." 

"And porn. A lot of porn, mostly anal and—"

"Natty!"

"What? There's no reason to hide it, and I'm sure he doesn't mind one bit," Natty says as she leans back in her seat, and it's rather amusing to be on the other side of a conversation like this. 

"Okay, then, fine. Yes, some porn on occasion. It pays rather well because most girls are more selective, afraid of ruining their reputation or whatever. More opportunities for me."

It's still a struggle to believe a model like Julie is actually sitting across from you, let alone Natty's close friend—because surely they're both out of your league on multiple levels. 

"So, Julie," Natty says, eager to change the subject, and you're more than thankful for it, moving past that horribly awkward interaction. "Up for some shots?"

"Always," Julie replies. without hesitation. “One round, and then you can fill me in on what exactly I'm in for. Or what your boytoy has in mind, whichever comes first. Other than that tonguefuck.” 

It takes everything not to choke on the mouthful of alcohol at her boldness, the blush spreading deeper. No way she's real.

"My boytoy is buying. Whatever you want is on him," Natty says with the same enthusiasm she always carries, waving down a bartender while her lips explore around your ear, nibbling on your earlobe to deepen the red on your face. 

“What happened to free drinks?” you ask, trying not to lose it while Natty makes a show of claiming you. 

“Free drinks were over three rounds ago,” Natty says, breath right against your ear. “Don’t you think it’s your turn to treat us, babe?”

"Don't worry, handsome. I won't break you," Julie whispers, fingers roaming your thigh, further sending you into a dizzy anticipation. 

In no time flat, there's a colorful collection of shots set in front of you, downed the moment they're set down. The burn has dulled at this point, and by now you welcome it, because you don't think you could survive this night without a little more liquid courage. 

"What do you say we get out of here after these?" Natty suggests, that mischievous tone in her voice returning. "Julie's got a fancy hotel suite not too far from here, and it seems like boytoy is already getting a bit restless…”

"Can't imagine why," Julie says with a cute giggle, finishing her shot and slamming it down so hard the table shakes.

"Shall we, then?" They glance at you, expectant with hunger in their eyes, and it’s a moment that makes you feel far too much like prey being stalked, waiting for the right moment to strike. But somehow, you manage to force out a nod while your card gets swiped, leaving you to dwell in the lingering silence. 

"Lead the way,” Julie insists, sealing the deal with a wide, gummy smile, leaning in enough so you can smell her perfume, and god, what the hell did you agree to?

Side by side, they’re absolutely mesmerizing —Natty, all luscious curves and those mouthwatering tits, and Julie, sleek and slender, her endless legs stealing the show, not to mention that perfect ass her tight dress doesn't hide one bit. 

"Right behind you." Again, you have to wonder, what you’ve gotten yourself into—but there’s no time to think about it staring at these two walking ahead, unable to take your eyes off their deadly figures.

✦ ✦

The elevator ride feels longer than usual, and with both girls pressed tight into either side of you, the thoughts run rampant. Natty crashes her lips onto yours first, tongue dipping inside your mouth, running a hand through your hair. She tastes sweet, the alcohol on her breath lingering before pulling away and nipping at your lip. "Nervous?"

”Maybe a little," you mutter under your breath. 

"Don't worry, handsome," Julie says, with this reassuring laugh beside you, casually reaching out to play with a button on your shirt. "We'll take real good care of you."

You're not sure if that helps or makes things worse, but you don't have time to think before Julie pulls you closer and steals a kiss of her own. She's slow, precise—not quite rough like Natty, and a low groan escapes you as her tongue explores, keeping you pulled tight against her until the elevator dings. When she pulls away and glances toward Natty, the pair continue to give that look, one that makes you more nervous than it should when you exit. 

"Not a bad kisser," she tells Natty as she guides towards in the direction of her hotel room. 

"He's had plenty of practice. Just wait until he eats you out,” Natty says, and once again you’re flustered by how open this girl is about everything. “That mouth will fucking ruin you.” 

You feel like your cheeks are going to be permanently red at this rate. 

"Mm, I can only imagine everything that mouth can do," Julie says, but it’s hard to even focus on this conversation—impossible to think of much else besides what lies beneath that dress.

Then a beep. An open door. A handful of stumbling steps later, and two sets of heels hit the ground with a thud, followed by your own shoes as you take everything in. The suite is enormous, brightly lit and spacious with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. Impressive—expensive, no doubt,

Impressive, but expensive—no doubt about it. Likely the best room in the building with an oversized couch and bed big enough to fit three—something you’ll have no trouble taking advantage of. 

Now all that's left is to break it in.

Your jacket gets tossed on the nearest chair while the two explore the place barefoot, like they’re both planning out all the different ways this night can go. 

All of this feels surreal. Two beauties in one place that you’re about to explore every last inch of, eagerly waiting for you to make a move.

But before you do, Julie heads straight to a corner table overlooking the beautiful night sky—where an ice bucket sits, holding an expensive-looking bottle of champagne, practically an invitation to kick things off. She doesn’t even bother with glasses as she starts opening it. 

"This was here when I got here," Julie explains as the cork pops off, drinking straight from the bottle. "No sense in wasting it, right?"

She passes the bottle to Natty, who takes a hearty swig before setting it in front of you. There’s only one option—taking the biggest gulp you can, with an extra one to settle your nerves. It's sweet and fruity as the bubbles slide down your throat. 

When you hand it back to Julie, she takes an even bigger drink—but doesn't swallow it. Instead, she turns to Natty, cupping her face as their lips crash together. Their lips stay locked for a moment as Natty’s fingers weave through Julie’s hair, and there's something wildly intoxicating about two beautiful girls making out so closely in front of you.

"Tastes much better like this," Natty says against Julie, and you swear there isn't anything hotter than watching them drink right out of each other's mouths. The kiss deepens, neither one pulling away, and it doesn't seem it will stop anytime soon. 

If anything, their session grows more ravenous by the second as you just stand there and watch, taking occasional sips from the bottle.

"Come here," Natty insists with a beckoning finger, and you obey, stepping closer, until you're a fraction of an inch apart from one another. Without hesitation, the three of you come together, all tongues and saliva, tasting the sweet champagne on each other. Back and forth your head turns between the two, leaving you no less overwhelmed. Julie licks at the champagne dripping down your chin before Natty shoves her tongue deep into the crevice of your lips, getting a handful of your crotch for a squeeze.

Julie shifts to your ear, nibbles a little bit as she steals the champagne back. And then Natty lifts the hem of your shirt, peeling it off, discarding it elsewhere as Julie's lips find your chest, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses and licks, this deadly gaze glued on you as she does.

"Are you about ready to fuck our brains out yet?" Natty asks with a devilish smile as you get her dress unzipped, the thin material dropping around her feet in an instant—left in her underwear and this lace bra that does very little to contain her massive tits.

"Never been more ready," you reply with more confidence than expected, falling back on the edge of the bed with Natty following, until she's straddling on top and kissing you again. 

Julie slips out of her dress, sliding into the space beside the both of you and palms at your bulge while Natty unhooks her bra. You both watch how her breasts spilling out—as she drops her bra to the side, your hands can't help themselves, cupping her tits, kneading them softly, finding her sensitive nipples and devouring them. 

She moans loudly as you slurp, and Julie takes a long swig out of the champagne bottle before pouring it all over Natty's chest, glistening against her bare skin. You lick it off slowly, and her back arches at your touch, nails scraping against the nape of your neck, demanding more.

"You're right—this does taste better," you growl against a wet nipple when you pull off, licking up the valley between her tits, tongue cleaning up the champagne dripping over her chest. "Much better."

"So much better," Natty responds, guiding your mouth back to each of her nipples, so you can suck away whatever remains. While this happens, Julie gets started on her own clothes, removing the black lace and tossing it off to the side. Her tits are just as gorgeous—smaller, paler, but plenty of bounce, with these pretty nipples standing at attention and just waiting to be played with.

"Go on, have a taste," Natty encourages, and you don’t need any further instructions, enjoying every moan that comes out her lips when you switch over to Julie, flicking your tongue around the same way. You suck harder, sloppier, careful not to neglect Natty too badly, sneaking the occasional hand up to knead—but these two make you insatiable, switching back and forth, leaving saliva coating every last inch of flesh and lapping away like you're starved. 

"Hungry little thing, aren't you?" Julie teases as your lips graze across her breasts. You're slobbering back and forth between the girls, tugging at Julie's nipple with your teeth as she whimpers at your touch, biting down harder when moving back to Natty. 

You've never been so lucky—lips back at forth while groping the other, saliva trickling down your lips, completely lost in this buffet of tits. 

"Can you blame him? Especially when you're such a fucking feast," Natty retorts, reaching out to pinch one of Julie's nipples as you take over and get back to devouring the girl in your lap. 

"Speak for yourself, pretty girl. Those tits of yours are something else," Julie says, and when you pull away, her hands greedily grope and knead them, as if to emphasize her point. “These big, juicy tits and sensitive little nipples, god, how is he even able to pry himself away from you?"

Natty laughs as Julie continues fondling her chest. "Oh, he’s not. And don’t act like you haven't seen them before."

"It's been a while," she says as you watch her devour those pretty, swollen nipples, devouring them with this insatiable appetite while Natty throws her head back, moaning loudly. "And we weren't sharing a boytoy then."

Natty sighs softly, obviously enjoying herself, a wry smile crossing her lips. "Speaking of which—poor thing must be fucking throbbing right now. Those pants must be awfully uncomfortable."

"Then we should probably get them off," Julie suggests, as she lowers herself from the bed, unbuckling your belt when Natty scoots to give her enough space. Your zipper goes down slowly, pants removed with ease and forgotten in seconds flat, left behind with a straining erection poking through your underwear. "Wanna get more comfortable for us, handsome?"

You nod, scooting further back towards the pillows, giving plenty of room for them to join. Before climbing up, Julie discards her own panties, and slides Natty out of hers, this slow crawl from the bottom up the length of the bed that drives you fucking crazy with anticipation.

And then you've got a perfectly naked girl on each side—all sinful curves and flawless skin and this deadly glint in both their eyes. 

They don't waste any time in having you match their state of undress, two sets of slender fingers underneath the waistband of your boxers, sliding them down your legs to reveal your swollen cock—both salivating at the sight, so hard and stiff, aching for attention. 

"Knew this wouldn't be a disappointment,” Julie smiles, hand wrapping around your dick, giving a few exploratory pumps. She doesn't even bother hiding the way she admires your cock, hand twisting a little, thumb teasing your leaking slit. "The way Natty talks about you, I assumed she might be exaggerating. Glad I was wrong."

"Hope he meets your expectations.” There’s a devious tone to Natty’s voice as their lips press against the head of your cock simultaneously, planting this messy trail of kisses and lipstick down your shaft that's overwhelming as can be.

"Trust me. More than," Julie returns, lips pressed so deep into the side of your shaft before moving up to the head. Natty joins, dueling tongues teasing the underside of your tip, kissing in between each of these messy swirls that leave you throbbing for more. 

It’s already too much—two eager tongues tracing over your aching length, pushing you closer to desperation. 

A breathless gasp escapes as soft lips glide along either side of your cock, moving in sync, and fuck, you have no idea how to survive it. There’s no urgency, no rush—just slow, deliberate licks, mapping out every inch of you. Natty’s tongue drags down to your balls, so wet, so hungry, Julie following right after, mirroring her every move. They meet again near the tip, exchanging heated kisses along your cock, their frantic licks working you into a frenzy. 

"Does that feel good?" Natty purrs, dipping back down to tease your heavy balls, lapping at each one while Julie pays close attention to your leaking cockhead. "You've gone quiet on us."

"Y-yeah," you stutter, still trying to catch a steady breath, failing miserably with their tongues working you over so carefully. It's pure bliss, the feeling of them both licking the same sensitive areas, knowing exactly what to do to wring the most pleasure out of you. "Just, god, yeah. T-too good."

"Good, that’s what I like to hear," Natty says, and pulls Julie in to kiss her, trapping your cock between their lips, driving you further to the breaking point.

And it’s Julie who’s so close you can feel her hot breath radiating across your needy cock. The two swap a few more long, messy kisses, letting your shaft slide between their tongues, and then go straight back to licking, alternating between your shaft, back down to your balls, and god, watching their lips drag along your length has you ready to burst already. 

"So fucking hard—“ Julie says, this constant need to tease really doing you in. 

It’s hard to even form any response that isn’t a desperate groan as Natty's nimble fingers remain around the base, delivering these long pumps that match the movements of Julie’s tongue, and the two seem determined to absolutely unravel you. 

They’ll do that sooner, rather than later, it turns out. 

Their soft lips make a wet mess around you, drooling and slobbering their way across every inch, taking turns teasing around and across the tip while they stroke, moving as a single unit, and with a great degree of attention, so content with the noises you’re making. 

Natty goes in a different direction and places the head right between her lips, letting you drown in anticipation. The moment they close around, a guttural groan escapes your throat, and her intentions are clear—her warm, wet mouth wants to devour you all. So she inches forward, eyes never breaking contact and starts bobbing, mouth swallowing your shaft. Meanwhile, Julie watches in delight, playing with your balls, cupping their weight before lowering her mouth, suckling, tongue working over the heavy sack and licking with expert precision.

"Jesus, fuck," you mumble, with these tight fistfuls of sheets while Natty picks up the pace, a steady rhythm picking up when she descends, bringing you further, deeper inside the slick cavern of her throat. Not long after she reaches the base, burying you to the hilt—her nose flush against the tensed muscles of your abdomen. And it feels better than it ever has. 

"Can't believe you managed all that," Julie murmurs as Natty brings her head back up, your cock escaping with a wet pop. 

“It was nothing. Lots of practice." 

Natty hardly needs to catch a breath, bobbing effortlessly a few more times and your shaft vanishes into her throat each time, nose buried deep and she doesn't stop—not while Julie watches wide-eyed and amazed, keeping her lips pressed to Natty's whenever she comes up for air. 

Now it's both of them jerking you off at once, this messy mix of tongues in mouths while they pump and squeeze, never a moment where your cock isn't getting stimulation. 

"Let me try," Julie insists, giving another lick down towards your balls as the rhythm of strokes starts to slow down. Her parted lips, coated and shiny, hover over your swollen cockhead, swallowing inch by inch, a little slower than Natty. 

It's clear she's just as talented, if not more—and from this perfect wet heat of her mouth alone, you're already dizzy from pleasure. Like Natty, she's deepthroating you with ease, not even stopping for air—no signs of any struggle at all as her head bobs up and down.

"Fucking hell," you moan as Julie releases, saliva dripping from her lips, and the intensity ramps up from the moment she swallows you again, no resistance as you hit the back of her throat, eyes staring into your own. 

"Good girl, taking it all," Natty whispers in her ear, moving hair out of the way as she dives back in. "Not many can do that on the first try."

Julie can't hide the pride, flashing a smile. "Oh, you know—the whole porn thing."

There's a brief look your way, that dangerous glance that has your heart racing before Julie swallows you whole on repeat, throat contracting around every last inch.

"Really thought you'd gag at least once," Natty says, almost disappointed as she watches Julie bob eagerly up and down your throbbing length. There’s only a loud slurp in response, a thick coating of saliva forming the longer it goes. You’re in absolute heaven when your cock slides so effortlessly down her hungry throat, smothered in warmth as you resist the urge to hold her head down. 

"What can I say? I'm a professional."

Then once again it's Natty's turn, this dizzying exchange between the two women, taking turns consuming your aching cock, both eager to impress. One's sucking you hard while the other slobbers away on your balls, a little back and forth that's downright heaven. They move in tandem, these obscene noises, mouths slurping, lips smacking—drowning your cock with spit and there's nothing quite like watching them share in this messy exchange of lust.

"These delicious balls, god, so full, wanna make them empty," Julie moans as they slip from her mouth with a lewd pop. Natty gives your cock the attention you need, swallowing inch after inch, and you have no idea how much more you can take of this. She speeds up on instinct, cheeks hollowing as she bobs faster, bringing you closer and closer to that release. It's such an unreal sight, watching her suck you off like this—those tight, wet lips around your cock, so messy and greedy, while Julie doesn't disappoint either, playing with your balls so attentively. 

"I think you're almost there," Natty states, not so subtly staring as everything she does makes you groan, dick pulsating when she bottoms out on you. "Mm, god, you’re throbbing so much—must be real close. Two pretty girls on your cock like this for the first time, of course it's too much, right?” 

She's not wrong—watching them work together has you desperate, squeezing the sheets tight as they start doubling their efforts. Everything builds at an insane rate, and you can barely breathe, especially with how messy their ravenous mouths get. 

"Fuck, feels so—" you moan, and can't manage another word, the loud slurps of those eager lips getting the better of you. And they both get even more comfortable, going for the kill and maneuvering flat on their stomach, feet sticking out into the air and mouths moving frantically. 

"Let's make him cum," Natty orders, and they shower your shaft with wet, lust-driven kisses, tongues dancing all over your needy cockhead. Julie slips her lips around your tip, flicking and sucking away until it pops free and Natty resumes where she left off—over and over, passing it back and forth while their lips stay latched on, licking your shaft or suckling those heavy balls as they alternate.

Back and forth they compete over whose mouth can bring you to the edge the fastest—and fuck, you can't resist anymore, that throb, that rush coming forth, nothing more you can possibly do when both of their tongues flick so desperately against your swollen head, so persistent, so aggressive—

"Shit—f-fuck, oh my god," you gasp, clutching desperately into the sheets below, struggling to keep composure.

It happens all at once, just as their tongues slide and overlap—the first burst comes spilling out right into Julie's open mouth, spurting creamy white against her awaiting lips without warning. And yet, despite the volume—perhaps, because of it, both her and Natty manage to share in the release, every single drop landing right where intended.

The deluge of thick spurts continue to flow out, each one heavy and thick, accompanied by your desperate groans, and their mouths stay right at the tip, tongues lapping across to contain your explosive release, a creamy white painting their satisfied smiles. 

It’s seemingly endless, and it lingers on by the look they give you, a hand cupping your balls to keep you from finishing too quickly. Their lips slurp and lick up your cum as the thick spurts slow into a steady dribble, and only when they're satisfied you're properly drained does Natty lean in closer, her fair share pooled in her mouth, not intent on swallowing just yet. She grabs Julie’s face and pulls her into a fiery, passionate kiss, moaning into each other's mouths as the hot load passes from one set of lips into another, dribbling off their chins, and you've never seen anything so filthy, so messy—a perfect blend of cum and saliva mixing between the two.

"Tastes so fucking good," Julie finally says, inching away to catch her breath. "Who needs champagne when I can have this delicious load?"

"Better than any champagne," Natty replies, and wipes her lips with a grin as their lips clash again and fuck, you could watch the two of them kiss for hours, savoring the delectable aftertaste.

"So—how much more do you think your boytoy can handle?" Julie asks, looking over at you, with this loose grip on your cock that's still twitching even after that. "Still hard as fuck."

"Oh, he can go," Natty says with confidence. "Think he's ready for at least a few rounds with the two of us. Aren't you, babe?"

"D-don't you worry about me," you answer, still out of breath, glancing up at both of them with the same insatiable hunger in their eyes. "I can go all night if need be."

"Is that so?" Julie laughs, amused. "I'll hold you to it, then. Not that it would be hard to believe when you've got a thick, gorgeous cock like this."

"With you two—no doubt I can last as long as you'd like."

"That's what I like to hear, handsome," Julie replies, and she kisses the head of your cock, which makes you jerk instantly, sensitive still, though that doesn't stop her from doing it again. "Now, Natty—which one of us gets him shoved in us first?"

"That big thing ruins my insides on a daily basis—think it's only fair you get it first." 

"How generous of you. What do you think, boytoy? Think you can handle me riding you?" Julie purrs, fingers teasingly stroking the length of your shaft, the tiniest contact of pressure making you twitch. 

“Only one way to find out."

"Alright then. Gonna ride the fuck outta you, handsome," Julie says, straddling your waist as Natty moves aside, easing herself on top until she's right above your cock. Lining you up perfectly against her already wet entrance, those pussy lips glisten as she drags your cockhead through the wet folds of her slit. And she doesn't even hesitate, letting it all fill her as she sinks down, allowing every inch inside. "Ah, god, so fucking big—your cock is gonna tear me apart."

Once she's got you buried and right down to the hilt, Julie digs her nails into your chest, lifting her hips slightly and gyrating them as they lower, your dick disappearing slowly inside her. And fuck, she's so tight, so warm inside, her pussy so slick, coated heavily over the entirety of your shaft. There's so much to take in, and for a moment she pauses, needing to adjust, eyes screwed shut.

"Holy shit—how do you survive getting fucked by this every day?" Julie gasps, throwing her head back as her walls constrict around your throbbing shaft, this hungry, almost desperate clench that only intensifies as the time passes.

"You get used to it," Natty laughs, admiring the sight before her. Julie, this gorgeous woman you've known all of an hour ago, in all her beauty—naked, sitting on your cock, stretching her all the way open. "That dick in you looks so good from here."

"Feels even better, pretty girl," Julie says, and exhales, starting a slow, steady pace to warm things up. She pauses upwards, stopping at the tip before repeating her movement. Now, a little quicker, your cock slides effortlessly from the amount of dripping wet arousal, and her thighs shake the first few times, body still adjusting. 

She throws her head back with a sigh, savoring every inch, the messy wetness enveloping your shaft, and fucking hell, that grip, the heat is just insane—

Julie is all smiles as she rides, wet and wonderfully tight and clinging around your throbbing shaft, clenching so hard that you can't even process it. She sinks down with precision, her gorgeous cunt taking everything you have as she rolls those hips, letting it all fill her. 

And with your head back in the pillows, the rush of everything comes full circle, with this mesmerizing view you have, at Julie in her naked glory, an image you’ll never stop staring at. Each drop of her hips causes her breasts to bounce, although less heft than Natty, yet still, irresistible to gawk at. And those eyes, focused so intently, never faltering, full of desire—focused entirely on you and the noises that come from your lips. 

"How's that feel, boytoy?" Julie asks, moving those hips, head thrown back when she slams her full weight down. "Pretty tight, huh?"

"Fucking amazing," you answer, voice ragged, heavy panting with every movement. "Can’t believe how good it feels to be inside you."

"Not every day you get to fuck a porn star," Julie teases, impaling herself deeper, picking up momentum and biting her bottom lip when your cock hits the right spot. "This pussy usually gets stretched by Nat's huge toys—feels good having something real in me."

"Something that can cum in you?" Natty suggests, as your hands run across Julie’s toned stomach, up the curve of her waist, settling there as she fucks you, riding the entirety of your cock with every deep, full stroke.

"Yeah, that too," Julie adds, moving faster, only gasping when it hits the deepest, so deep that she just has to pause and savor the stretch.

"Hope it's everything you dreamed of, handsome," Julie says, hands playing around with your bare chest as she rides faster, bouncing steadily on your cock, the harsh collision of skin becoming louder, frantic. "Because it's so good for me, fuck—Nat, why have you been keeping him from me? "

"Because I knew you'd want him, Jules," Natty says with a laugh, watching her body, her tits, her face all distorted from the pleasure. "Didn't want you stealing my toy, did I?"

“Fair point. Because fuck, he's huge," she gasps, going faster, rocking her hips with more power and you can barely handle it. Your hands continue to grope around her fit, small frame—this quick shift, grabbing her ass when she comes crashing down. 

"God—look at how good she's taking your cock," Natty chimes in, now right behind Julie, breasts pressed into her back, running her tongue down the curve of her neck. She starts leaving open-mouthed kisses on those exposed shoulders, leaving behind trails of wet saliva as one hand teases across her perky breasts. "Just made for this, aren’t you? Perfect little slut."

"O-oh, fuck, Nat," Julie moans, falling into Natty's waiting embrace, and letting her fingers play where they please.

"Give him a good view of what he’s been dying to bury his cock in all night,” Natty demands, her hands sliding down to grab and squeeze those soft, perfect cheeks before landing a few sharp, stinging slaps. "Let boytoy see exactly what he’s gonna ruin tonight—"

There's a few moments of adjusting as the heat disappears from your cock—a sudden repositioning with Julie's legs still spread wide, but her back now to you, delicious ass waiting right there in the air. That's where your hands instinctively land, to get a nice, firm squeeze, taking in the full view of her exposed cunt. She's so drenched, dripping down the thickness of your cock—those pretty, pink lips swollen as that full ass of hers sticks higher into the air, demanding you back inside.

In an instant, Julie takes what she wants, sitting straight down onto your length that throbs with need. She gives no pause for reprieve or adjustment, with her head thrown back and immediately takes the entire thing, pussy devouring you right then and there. Her weight sinks all the way down, the grip tight and your fingertips dig into the softness of her ass as your dick splits her wide open. 

"Fuck—boytoy, you feel so good," she cries out, rolling her hips at the perfect angle, hands now reaching back, desperately finding your thighs for support.

"Come on, nice and deep," Natty says, now face-to-face with Julie as she watches the show before her, mouth agape and this clear jealousy that she isn't the center of attention. "Don't be gentle with him. He can handle it."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Julie says, and gasps when Natty starts pulling roughly at her hardened nipples, groping her breasts and encouraging her movements, as she doubles down with the force of her hips. Every part of her trembles the faster she fucks herself on your cock, this slick tightness of her pussy drowning every last inch when she takes you to the hilt. 

There's an undeniable hunger with the way Julie looks back at you, ass slamming against you as her back arches for more—giving you this sinful view of how the slick warmth of her cunt clings tight, suffocating you in the best way possible. Everything from the way her hips grind with a subtle shift in position, hitting a new spot when slamming herself down on your cock, never giving the chance to miss it when she pulls away. 

“Fuck, this feels incredible—can’t get enough,” you groan, the words tumbling out as the pleasure overwhelms you, your grip on her ass tightening, fingers sinking deeper as your mouth falls open at the way she moves her hips with ease, every thrust driving you wild. 

"Hear him, Jules? That's what your tight pussy does to him," Natty tells her, focused on the blissful expression that stays etched on her features. “Fuck yourself like that, ride him, get that dick balls fucking deep inside that pretty cunt of yours.”

Natty couldn’t be any happier watching how her best friend sinks down on your cock, fingers tugging on her swollen buds without mercy. Julie's a whimpering mess now, hips almost on automatic, slamming down repeatedly with reckless abandon. It's a desperate rhythm, no longer just wanting your cock, but craving the release, desperate for that sweet, blissful climax that follows."

"How's he feeling in you, baby? Every fucking inch making you drip all over him? Having that fucking huge cock in your pretty little cunt—he must love watching it disappear inside of you.” 

The lewder the encouragement, the more urgent her riding becomes, taking every bit of you as Julie crashes her hips down without relent. And you just let her do her thing, this seductive, irresistible woman, using your body, fucking you in ways you've never felt, tight and clinging and so goddamn wet when she bounces her perfect ass on you. 

"Natty—god, fuck, he's gonna make me cum," Julie stammers, all breathless, sweat forming along her naked body. Her nails dig in your thighs, her relentless movements consuming you, never giving a moment to catch your breath. "So good, shit, shit, holy shit—"

And Natty's right there with her, fingers slipping lower to find Julie’s clit, teasing and circling the sensitive nub with relentless precision. Despite the tremble in her thighs, they work in unison, getting the most of you. 

The slick sounds of her arousal fill the room—getting wetter the more she rides, juices running down the entire length of your shaft. "That’s it, gorgeous, let go, cream all over him. Show boytoy how good that cock feels. Ruin these fucking sheets.” 

The bed squeaks and groans beneath you, loud and unapologetic with every filthy slam of your bodies. You do your part, driving Julie closer to the edge—your hand coming down hard on her ass, the sharp smack echoing as it ripples, fingertips sinking into the fullness of her round cheeks. She lets out a strangled moan as her cunt begs for more, hips slamming down like there’s no sense of control left. “Oh fuck, I can’t, gonna—”

You grip her body tighter, fingers digging into her flesh, guiding her movements as she rides that dizzying line between pleasure and climax. Julie can't even speak coherent thoughts, not anymore, a mess of sweat, frantic moans and loud gasps when your palm strikes across each cheek, one after another, leaving a lingering redness each time. 

That’s all it takes. 

When it hits, it hits hard. Her cunt convulses, wet heat clenching around every last inch, and it's just messy the minute she cums, thighs shaking, toes curling, juices gushing all over your shaft. She's falling apart so quickly, head lulled back in sheer ecstasy, lips parted and the most obscene noises coming out. Nothing left but whimpers and desperate cries as she clings onto your body while riding this out, drenching your cock, the sheets—everywhere.

Natty doesn't let the sensations subside, though, not a chance. Instead, she continues—rubbing in a fast and careless motion, unyielding, hearing those breaths get shorter while her fingers get coated with Julie. "Another one. Come on, give yourself another one, Jules. Keep going. Look at me, keep that cock in you—that's it, one more for me."

A second surge of bliss crashes over Julie with startling ease, leaving her trembling and consumed by it all. The remnants of her first climax don’t even have time to fade before Natty draws her into another, her body surrendering completely as her cries fill the air and her eyes roll back. 

Julie’s voice trembles as she buries her face in the crook of Natty’s neck, her words spilling out a slurred mess. “Nat, p-please… I haven’t gotten off like that in ages.” Her body gives out, melting forward as her breaths come out in spurts, chasing a full one she can’t quite catch. 

“Happy to oblige.“ Natty smirks, brushing her lips against Julie’s one last time before pulling back. “Alright, gorgeous—don’t get too greedy. Let me have some fun now.”

Once Julie regains her senses, she complies with ease, pulling off your cock that’s coated with her unrelenting wetness. 

She’s only able to collapse in the sheets beside you, face flushed red, equal parts satisfied and tired, breathing so heavily as her fingers trail across the muscles of your arm. "Goddamn. Should've gotten that on camera."

"Maybe next time.” Natty isn’t hesitant as she takes over where Julie left off—throwing herself right back on your lap, thighs wrapped around either side of your hips. She glances over for a moment, before moving her lips to kiss yours, and this is no ordinary liplock—a rough, desperate exchange of tongues, saliva swapped and moans muffled between her mouth and your own.

"I need this cock to split me the fuck open," Natty says, all demand in her voice as the head of your cock drags against her greedy folds. You're already feeling the intoxicating warmth, the impossible wetness that mirrors Julie, somehow, if such a thing were possible.

She gives you a moment to savor the full view—her slender waist that you could hold on forever, toned and tight, a matching canvas to those incredible tits that you've splattered white so many times. And from below, darting your gaze down to that slick, perfect little pussy—so eager and hungry as she hovers, takes hold and lines your shaft up, then pauses for a quick breath. 

"What are you waiting for then?" Julie chimes in, perched on her side, back to life for a brief moment, just as eager and excited for the show to continue. "He's not gonna fuck himself."

"Hush," Natty fires back, and that's enough as she spreads her legs wider, guiding your throbbing cock where it belongs. One final glance before she sinks down in one fluid motion, stretching out those wet pussy lips so they can swallow every single inch like it's nothing.

All so routine for her, easing her way back up before repeating, hips lifting as her pussy squeezes every bit of your cock, a long sigh escaping her lips when your shaft fills her to the hilt.

"God, baby—that’s so fucking good," Natty groans, when she has you down, stuffed all the way inside. When her walls fully engulf your shaft, stretching wide and nothing's been more inviting, nothing more delicious as that warmth swallows you all up. She doesn’t even try to move—and that’s just as much for your benefit as it is hers as she stays still, holding you hostage, indulging in the sensation of being entirely filled. 

"Look at that pretty pussy drooling everywhere," Julie says, still not able to get a proper breath in as she watches in awe. Despite being the same girl who takes a pounding for a living, somehow, she’s mesmerized by how your cock disappears into her greedy little cunt. 

It's a quick pace from the first bounce, a fevered cadence that’s hard to handle. There’s this insatiable desire that compels Natty when she rides your cock, working every inch inside her until there’s nothing left to fill. When she rises, it’s with a gasp: a trail of slick that drives her hips, greedy for more. The bed continues to protest, but she silences it with another powerful plunge, headboard slamming up against the hotel suite wall. 

And if that wasn’t enough to deal with, those tits—it doesn't take Natty long to notice the way your gaze lands, exactly as intended, those perfect fucking tits of hers bouncing with each inch she claims.

“Boytoy really is lucky. Getting these huge fucking tits shoved in his face whenever he likes. Wonder how many times she’s made you burst all over them?” 

“Too many times to count,” Natty replies, pace never faltering. “Love seeing that look on his face when he explodes all over my chest. Don’t think he’ll ever get enough.” 

“How could anyone?” The question hangs in the air unanswered, as Natty’s rhythm becomes a challenge—a relentless slap of skin on skin that dares you to last. 

"Bet she's so fucking tight. Natty’s cunt feels like heaven, doesn't it?"

You answer with a groan, because that’s all you have in you. But that only fuels Natty—her pace turns relentless, those tits bouncing, heavy and hypnotic, and you wouldn’t dare miss a moment while she impales herself to the hilt. 

“Not sure what I want more—boytoy’s cock in me again, or those pretty tits in my mouth,” Julie says, tongue tracing your earlobe and giving a gentle nip, making your cock twitch even more. “Maybe both at the same time?” 

"Greedy little thing," Natty teases, her giggles a momentary distraction while she leans forward, giving the perfect angle so her tits bounce even more.

“Learned it all from you, pretty girl.” You're left unable to form any response as Natty keeps devouring your shaft with every bounce, all while Julie plants kisses down your bare chest, her tongue finding a nipple to tease as you revel in the pleasure.

"Oh, would you look at that? Boytoy likes it when I do this," Julie says, tongue drawing circles, flicking a few times before those lips wrap and suck, the sensitivity growing. And you're lost in the way this wet cunt squeezes tightly, the way Julie's lips tug, kissing a bit before picking back up. “Someone is a little sensitive, isn’t he? Or maybe that pussy feels a little too good." 

"Both," Natty answers with a grin, sweat now abundant down her skin, glistening from her cleavage down her tight stomach, and those powerful thighs that keep bouncing, keep that slick heat working every bit of your throbbing shaft.

It’s almost impossible to just sit back and enjoy the way her perfect cunt clenches around your cock—so greedy, so demanding you stay inside her, holding you captive with each bounce. 

Natty leans in with that wicked little smirk, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her tits bounce, practically begging for attention, and you don’t dare ignore it. You grab them without hesitation, heavy and soft in your fingertips, and dig your fingers in, groping hard enough to pull a moan from her lips. 

"Mm, fuck yes. Play with those fucking tits, just like that,” Natty groans out, a sharp gasp as you get even greedier. Now she’s the one sensitive as you cup her tits, teasing her nipples between harsh squeezes. You can’t help but indulge in this feast, pushing her tits together so you can watch the jiggle before dragging your tongue between that delicious valley. Her hips fall into an uncontrolled, frantic pace while you bury your face into her chest, tongue swirling a sensitive nipple before pulling it between your teeth—not at all shy when you nibble, lips closing around and sucking with a lewd slurp. 

"Shit, that's it—don’t stop," she encourages, fingers threading through your hair to pull your mouth deeper. And that's all too easy to oblige, latching back and forth onto each slippery nipple like you're starved, sealing your mouth tight and sucking hard while groping the other, not leaving either without attention for too long. 

Each flick of your tongue, each greedy suck makes her clench harder, her moans dissolving into needy whimpers. Julie just watches with amusement, with fingers lazily between her legs as you worship Natty's chest, devouring her as they bounce right in your face, a constant flow of saliva connecting your lips to those swollen nipples.

 "God, look at him go—so hungry for Nat’s perfect fucking tits. Your cock must be ready to explode, must feel so fucking good in that slutty little cunt." 

She’s never been more right, because you’re barely hanging on. 

You groan through another suck, lips fixated on the heavenly weight of Natty’s tits, tongue flicking over the hardened nipple like it’s your only purpose. There’s no hope of lasting much longer, not when Natty is just as relentless as your mouth is, hips not faltering for a single bounce. The heat of her cunt, the impossible wetness, this insane grip—there’s no fighting the inevitable. 

“Boytoy—need those balls emptied in me right fucking now. Fill my tight cunt, cum inside me—pump that hot fucking load deep inside this pussy, give me everything. Every last fucking drop.”

And what else can you possibly do when she demands something like that, determined to make you blow your load in her in no time?

“Fill her, boytoy. Give her that nice, thick load, can’t wait to watch it drip out of her,” Julie says, all the encouragement you need, lips still attached to the shell of your ear, sucking and licking, blowing hot air. It’s all Natty needs too. She’s cumming hard on your cock, body shuddering, thighs trembling violently while you’ve still got her tits in your mouth, slurping away. 

She can barely keep her hips steady, fucking herself through it all, that cunt so impossibly tight. Natty is borderline begging, whining, this high-pitched sob every second your cock hits so deep, until she just breaks down completely—another violent spasm from her pussy. And there's nothing holding you back any longer, because you're right there with her, moments away from making a fucking mess right inside.

"Natty—“ 

One look and you're emptying yourself into Natty's wet cunt, flooding her with that hot, sticky warmth as your cock just unloads. Her pussy clenches hard, demanding every spurt as it swallows up all your cum, the best relief her body can provide. 

A goddamn mess, everywhere—one that paints her insides a hot, creamy white with everything she milks out, greedy for more, not leaving anything left in your aching balls. The constant throbs have no end with you buried to the hilt inside, Natty helping unload it all, groaning with every spurt while you just stare up at her.

Through this intense bliss, Julie watches every second, unable to tear her eyes away. She’s breathing equally heavy as she plays with her clit, fingers rubbing so fast and unable to stop herself from falling right behind. 

When it's all said and done, you're a mess of collapsed bodies, sheets slick and limbs tangled together. You can hear Natty struggling to catch her breath, chest heaving, her warm, sweat-slicked body draped against yours while the two of you just ride this out together, clinging onto one another.

"Jesus, can't believe how much fucking cum your balls still have," Natty finally mumbles out, body shaking through every breath, on the edge of collapsing. “Hope that felt as good as fucking a goddamn porn star." 

Julie lets out a breathless laugh, fingers teasing your chest. "Don't think anything compares to you and your fucking body, Natty."

“Don’t sell yourself short, pretty girl,” Natty tells her, too weak for anything else. With her remaining energy, she cups your face and gives one more appreciative kiss. 

The warmth of your release still lingers between her tired legs, and you can't resist getting a gentle grip on her hips, until she gets the hint to lift up enough—so you can slip all the way out. And there's nothing more satisfying than seeing your release spilling right out of her gorgeous cunt, stretched wide open, an endless stream of thick white flowing out of Natty. 

"Goddamn—what a huge mess. Boytoy really pumped all that cum in you. Gotta get me another turn on that, he’s all mine next round.” Julie isn’t asking, but demanding, not that either of you would have a problem with exactly that. 

"That's what he's here for, isn't it? I need a shower, so he's all yours," Natty says, standing on wobbly legs. 

She looks completely worn out and you can't help but stare at those curves, her wide hips, her body glistening with sweat, your cum dripping down her perfect thighs when she gingerly makes her way towards the bathroom. "Have fun." 

"Oh, we definitely will."

With the sound of water running from the bathroom, Julie is on top, kissing down your body—licking the sweat off your chest and tracing your abs with the tip of her tongue. "You better have something left for me, boytoy."

Your arousal has no end in sight, not when Julie is giving you so much attention. 

Her lips, full and supple, trail across your stomach, planting soft, lingering kisses, savoring every inch of you. She moves slow and so very methodical, like she's memorizing the way you feel under her mouth. You can’t say you don’t enjoy the tease, these light touches that build ever so slowly. 

When she reaches your hips, she pauses—just enough to let the tension rise, and then she dips lower, breath warm, a preview of more to come.  

"Hope Natty's tight little cunt didn't milk you completely fucking dry," she says, her gaze shifting between your legs. "Because I need to feel how big a load you can empty into me."

Turns out, you have much more in you. 

Not that you expected anything less with Julie’s devilish lips wrapped around your cock. Her hands grip your thighs, taking advantage of Natty’s absence to get you back to full mast, a few languid strokes that gets the blood pumping in all the right places. Then she sinks back down—deeper, nose to your crotch like she’s got something to prove.

And before you know it, you’ve got her all folded in half—legs bent at the knee and obscenely spread wide in the air as she takes every inch of you like her cunt is nothing but a mere toy.

If you’re being honest, it’s a position with her name on it. Nothing more than mindless when you fuck her, really fuck her, so goddamn deep—her body feels completely different from Natty's, but it doesn't matter when you're hammering away at that warm cunt, with this fervent need to explode once again. 

With your knees firm on the mattress and Julie’s legs lifted high, you drive into her deeper than ever, her slick heat gripping you tight—yours to take, to ruin. Every thrust buries you to the hilt, your hips slamming into her with the kind of force she craves, the kind she was made for.

She's all sweaty, legs pressed into her chest as you destroy her cunt, these loud whimpers on repeat, so eager to be defiled like her best friend, to be wrecked in this helpless position until you unload again. But there's something so satisfying about Julie begging for this, about watching this beautiful girl, legs folded, letting you hammer into that perfect, wet cunt, so fucking happy to get used.

It's this wild, almost violent rhythm with the way Julie's feet dangle in the air that lasts a lot longer than you both intended, ending only when Natty's done in the bathroom. The sound of a door swinging open doesn't make you slow down either. You're too far gone in that heavenly cunt to even care that Natty's in the room with you again, only just out of the shower, hair still wet as she saunters around the bedroom in only a towel.

"I could fucking hear you two going at it out here," Natty says, amused and jealous. It doesn't stop her from walking to your side of the bed, that towel barely concealing a damn thing as she gets a front row view of you plowing Julie into the mattress. 

"She said it was her favorite position. Couldn’t resist," you explain, moments away from bursting deep in Julie's cunt.

"One of the best," Natty replies with a knowing nod, letting her towel drop to the floor as she lies across the bed beside the two of you while you use Julie's cunt as your personal toy. 

The sight of Natty without a thing covering her, watching as you fuck Julie, like she's not even fazed by what's going on right before her—is what finally makes your dick explode inside that soaked little cunt, blowing a thick, creamy load as you empty deep, all the way into her womb as Julie moans through every burst. 

"There you go. Pump her fucking cunt with all that thick fucking cum," Natty urges, leaning in close to get a better angle as you just fuck it all deep, filling Julie to the brim. "You like that cock in you? Like when he ruins your little cunt and fills you?”

Julie doesn't reply with words, still whimpering, breathless, barely able to keep her eyes open. 

And Natty can't help but be the center of attention when Julie's exhausted on your cock—proud of the job you’ve done, how you’ve fucked her best friend to pieces. 

"Really ruined her, didn't you? Can't even form a fucking sentence. Takes a lot to make her speechless,“ Natty says with a laugh, fingers squeezing your arm as you have the unenviable task of pulling out. And even then, Julie barely even reacts, still trembling with the aftermath, the mess you've made spilling out of her. 

Natty is positioned perfectly to step in now, maneuvering between her legs while she enjoys that warm, sticky release. The taste of you and Julie mixed together creates this delicious cocktail she drinks right out of that wrecked cunt, and that’s when she starts to show signs of life. Legs spread wide as possible, she enjoys how Natty licks her clean, making her squirm as your cum drips off her tongue.

Now it’s your turn to enjoy the show as Natty takes her time eating you out of Julie's cunt—slow and hungrily, these sloppy lewd licks, familiar with every spot. And Julie just lies there, so exhausted from it all, chest heaving, taking all of this—eyes shut in ecstasy as the familiar, wet warmth of Natty's tongue slips through her folds. 

"She tastes so fucking good, especially when she's full of cum," Natty says, lifting her head for a moment to flash a grin at you. This messy blend of white and wetness smears along her face, lips glossy from eating out Julie, but she makes no effort to wipe it off, only staring up for a moment as she dives right back in between those legs.

“N-Natty—“ Julie is far too gone with the overstimulation as Natty licks far past cleaning up, lapping at her swollen clit, wringing out all the sensitivity she can. 

It’s an experience, for sure, watching the two of them. Natty between those thighs like she’s done this hundreds of times. And before you know it, Julie tenses up—legs quivering as she lets out the loudest moan, and she’s climaxing, hard, all over Natty’s gorgeous face. 

“Couldn't fucking help herself," Natty says with an innocent giggle and takes her sweet time cleaning up the gush she’s helped create, dragging her tongue to lap up all the arousal over her thighs. “Messy girl.” 

There's not a single bit of shame in her eyes as Natty slaps at her swollen, sensitive clit a few times—making Julie jolt, so overstimulated after having been eaten out like that. Julie can only whimper in response—too weak to even protest, so overwhelmed by Natty's tongue as it circles around her throbbing clit. "Fuck, Nat. You're too much."

Natty just goes back in between her thighs for one more taste before pulling Julie close, letting her gather all of your combined release on her tongue. "Aren't I? I know what you like when you don't have a cock inside you."

Julie weakly nods in agreement, sharing another deep, hungry kiss, fingers running through Natty's messy hair as they devour each other, all tongue and spit.

"You two are way too much to handle,” you murmur out, this throb between your legs rising again when they finally pull away, lust and need written all over their faces.

"Isn't that the point?" 

✦ ✦

After everything, there's a much needed shower, sharing hot water with Julie as Natty orders some room service. 

Julie's all smiles in the shower, giving you these sweet kisses as the water washes away all the sweat and sex that clings to your bodies. So easy to lose track of how long you're in there, taking your time to get clean, enjoying one another's company without a word muttered. The second you step out of the bathroom, several pizzas sit by the couch where Natty lounges in a bathrobe, already getting started on one.

"Took you guys long enough. Thought you were gonna fuck each other's brains out in there." 

“Considered it—but not without you there to watch,” Julie replies, sitting down right by Natty on the couch with a full plate. 

“How sweet.” 

Discarded clothes still lie scattered about on the floor, and Natty’s the only one dressed in anything more than a towel, just in her bathrobe, most likely put on only so the door could be answered. It's a nice respite from it all—drinking in the quiet with an overindulgence of carbs and melted cheese as you all rest up and recuperate. 

You're all sobered up at this point, mind a bit clearer now as you let this comfortable silence linger, knowing what lies soon ahead. Julie is the first one to speak up, chowing down on a slice of pizza, peeling off the cheese with her teeth as her feet rest in Natty's lap. "So handsome—enjoying having two gorgeous girls all to yourself?"

Natty giggles, stealing a pepperoni off Julie's piece, met with nothing but annoyance. "I'm sure you don't have to ask. Boytoy is in heaven, having the time of his life."

You nod, finishing a slice of pizza and grabbing another one. “Could get used to this. Not sure I'll ever be able to leave this room."

"Why would you ever want to?” Julie asks, shifting in her seat, mouth full of food. "I have the suite booked for a few more days. Two hot sluts to pound all weekend, what more do you need?" 

"Careful, Jules. Don't wanna scare him away, now."

Julie scoffs, rolling her eyes like that's the biggest concern. "I'd be heartbroken. Boytoy's cock is so fucking good, it'd be a tragedy if we never got to see him again."

You have a hard time believing you could ever get tired of something like this. Quite the opposite, the thought of only experiencing this pleasure with Natty while Julie gets left out—you're not sure you can even entertain it. 

"Don’t worry, you'll both get your fill of me. Can't get rid of me now." The second those words leave your lips, the duo are already eyeing each other up—like they both have the same thing on their mind. 

"Wouldn’t dream of it,” Julie says, with this devious look on her face like she’s dying for an excuse to get rid of the towel wrapped around her body. 

"So, boytoy—can you go again, or do we need to give you a little break?"

As much as you hate to admit it, even after that nice, relaxing shower, you're fucking spent—cock barely functional after all that nonstop use this evening. It's obvious enough too, but Julie's quick to answer. "Give the poor guy a break, Natty—I'm sure he wouldn't mind just watching the two of us go at it.” 

"Is that right? You wanna watch us, then?"

“Do I even have to answer that?” And it’s absurd to think you do, but you’re eager to get a glimpse of just how good they look when you're not in the mix. The two of them naked and wet, sweaty and all tangled up as you watch the whole thing go down—it's impossible to pass on that. 

"I think we can arrange that," Julie says, lifting her feet out of Natty's lap. She shrugs off her towel, letting it fall to the floor, then watches as Natty unties her bathrobe and lets it slide from her shoulders. Now you’ve got two beautiful, naked women in front of you, ready to have their wicked, filthy way with one another.

"I’ve missed eating your cunt, Nat,” Julie says as she pushes Natty onto the couch, watching her sprawl out underneath her.

"The feeling is mutual, pretty girl.” 

You just sit back and get comfortable while they take their time with each other now, lips pressed together in a deep kiss, bodies pressed together in an attempt to feel as much of each other’s heat as possible.

Julie starts to explore, sliding down Natty’s curvy body, kissing at that soft, sensitive skin all the way down to her full breasts. She gives them a gentle squeeze, enjoying how they feel in her palm as she slips a taut nipple into her mouth—sucking with purpose, teasing that hard little bud until Natty's moaning for more.

They've done this all before, you can sense it, the two of them so eager and comfortable, needing this more than anything. 

Julie knows this girl���s body more than her own. The way she kisses her, touches her—it’s clear this isn’t new. Her hands move with confidence, tracing every sinful curve like she’s done it a hundred times before. She isn’t exploring; she’s revisiting. She knows exactly where to lick and nibble, sucking at the places where the gasps sound the sweetest.

There's no rush at all, and yet Julie moves down the length of Natty's body at an alarming pace, as if she can't contain herself, so desperate to get in between her thighs. She pauses only a moment, pressing kisses along Natty's bare midriff before lowering herself, flat on her stomach, head positioned right where it matters. “So pretty.” 

It’s this quick tease when Natty spreads her legs as far as possible to let her right in, and Julie kisses the inside of those thick, gorgeous thighs that you’ve had the pleasure of squeezing your head enough times to lose count. 

And Natty's not so subtly guiding her closer to her aching cunt, moaning as Julie goes right to work. They've done it so many times before that there's no need for direction—Julie so completely aware of exactly how to please her with that fucking mouth, a bit of everything as her tongue glides along those soaked, sensitive lips.

Almost zero effort to suppress anything that comes out of Natty’s mouth, she can’t help herself and Julie encourages it by licking her needy cunt so wantonly, holding back nothing. There's something beautiful about watching them go at it, this need Julie has to show off how good with her mouth she is, craving the pride more than Natty. 

Julie licks so slow and methodical, tongue flat against her wet slit, pressing down and tasting all that delicious wetness, flicking through it to gather up her juices. There's no such thing as restraint here, only an urge to taste as much of Natty as possible. And it's obvious Julie loves every single moment—the taste and sound and the sight of Natty squirming underneath her tongue, this rare moment where she's the dominant one.

"Fuck—right there, right there, oh shit," Natty pleads so shamelessly, like a completely different person, not even caring how wrecked her voice comes out. She's lost all sense of composure in this moment of pure pleasure, a hand on the back of Julie's head keeping her firmly in place where her pussy needs her the most. 

You couldn’t be happier with this perfect view to watch everything, Natty all spread out as Julie devours her, lapping up everything, tongue slipping in and out so effortlessly. There’s this ache underneath your towel that you could no doubt easily relieve, slip inside Julie and pound away while she’s working her magic, but there’s something more satisfying about just watching, experiencing this moment without moving a muscle. 

“Oh god—fuck, Jules,” Natty moans, voice trembling as much as her thighs. “You’re so good at that, that tongue, shit—don’t stop.” Her fingers tangle in Julie’s hair, thighs clamping down around her head as well, gasping loud with every lick. 

“Almost like I get paid to get people off,” Julie says with a smirk and slurps on her clit, happy to make Natty fall apart so easily. 

It's hot and sloppy and messy, so lewd the noises coming from them both, as Julie pulls away for only a moment, a thick string of wetness hanging from her chin before she dives back in. "Hard to help myself when you’re this fucking delicious, Nat."

All this sweltering heat fills the room with everything that unfolds inches away, and you’re definitely not above a few strokes through your towel now, trying to ease a little bit of tension for yourself. Nothing could keep your eyes from this scene, enjoying every second, Julie sliding her fingers in and curling them so deep while her tongue continues to assault her swollen clit, pulling more moans out of her. 

The way Natty’s thighs keep Julie right where she needs her, grinding her messy cunt against her face, you’ve never seen her so desperate. These frantic licks have no plans of stopping, keeping pace, and it doesn’t take much more for the pleasure to overwhelm her, letting out all these breathy, broken moans, lips parted when Julie takes her over the edge. 

Fingers digging into Julie’s scalp, the moment Natty hits that peak is fucking gorgeous, a look of sheer pleasure on her contorted face, mouth wide open and eyes screwed shut as she screams in bliss. Her messy thighs quiver around Julie's head, and there’s no end in sight, gasping for air as she keeps lapping at juices that spill out unabated, slurping up all that wetness and you're happy to sit back and enjoy the show.

It's almost unbelievable how often Natty has gotten off today, but this is like something else entirely. A delicious high that lasts a lot longer, body in shambles, barely able to contain herself, shuddering so intensely, one spasm right after another.

"Shit, Jules—I need a minute. W-wait, fuck, I need a fucking minute," Natty says, all desperate in tone when she comes down. Yet Julie doesn’t seem exactly interested in that at all, kissing at her sensitive thighs with purpose, finding her clit again with her tongue for a few more indulgent licks.

"Not a chance, pretty girl," Julie laughs, relentless in her words, middle finger running through her slick folds. 

"Jules, please, I wasn't kidding. I'm so, fuck—sensitive, oh f-fuck," Natty can only murmur with a pitiful little whine, clutching the couch cushions and looking over at you for help.

"No, don't even try to look at boytoy like that. I'm not done with you," Julie replies. Her mouth seals tight right around her clit, sucking at it until Natty yelps in agony, unable to form proper words as she so desperately tries. It's a delicious torment, but that mouth doesn't linger there for long, pulling away.

And then she looks to see Natty looking so pathetic, face flushed with eyes almost teary, positioning herself in just the right way. Julie grabs a leg to interlock their bodies how she pleases, throwing it over her shoulder and rubbing her cunt along Natty's, not hesitating to go at a vigorous pace.

This newfound friction makes Natty lose it, still so sensitive from before, not even able to react beyond these intense shudders and frantic whimpers. It's this perfect symphony as Julie grinds her pussy right along Natty's slickness, arousal smearing and sticking to each other, messy flesh kissing with Julie leading the charge. 

"Too much, gorgeous? Yet you're not even asking me to stop," Julie chuckles, grinding without the slightest remorse, getting herself off without any real concern for Natty. All those messy fluids flow together so nicely, Julie's glistening cunt rubbing all along Natty's, pulling out every last whimper and whine that she can manage. “You’re so wet, just like me. This poor couch is going to be ruined.” 

Natty only has the strength to try and match Julie's pace, because her pride would never let her back down. 

Her clit is absolutely tormented by all the action—every time it rubs up against Julie's own little swollen bud is far too much, but she can hardly pull herself away. Because she's determined, hips moving of their own volition, sliding forward and rubbing right back with the same vigor, refusing to let Julie have all the satisfaction.

And now you definitely need to give yourself some relief, letting that towel fall and revealing just how hard you are, stroking away as you watch this pornographic display right before you, these two grinding on each other, intoxicated by desire.

"Your cunt feels so good, Nat. Almost as good as boytoy's big fucking dick," Julie says, moaning so shamelessly through the messy friction as her juices mingle with Natty's. They're fucking each other like you're not even here, writhing around without restraint, only focused on sharing an orgasm together and using each other for that ultimate result.

There's nothing for Natty to add, ignoring Julie and focusing her attention on their heated grind, the sensitivity having faded a little, now able to put her all into this. You love to watch as the tension builds between the two of them, working towards release, that heavenly image of sensitive flesh rubbing together, all the arousal smeared everywhere. 

Julie doesn't relent in the slightest, merciless with how her pussy just rides against Natty's, moans mixing together with the slick sound of wetness. Natty can only groan and grind right back, struggling not to break first, the pleasure fading from torture to divine delight, enjoying how Julie’s heat feels up against her.

"Jules—oh f-fuck, feels so good, god—“ 

You have no idea who hits the breaking point first, but all the grinding leads to one thing, gasping out at the exact same moment with simultaneous bliss. Neither girl can hold back an expression that mirrors the other, nor a mixture of arousal that gushes right out on the couch below and leaves a sticky mess all over one another.

This intense shared orgasm hits hard for Natty in particular, who hasn't had a chance to fully come down from the previous one. Her clit feels even more sensitive now, whole body practically convulsing against Julie's soaked, hot flesh. There's no end to their noises, breathlessly grinding to an end, Natty left the worst of the two, absolutely trembling, gasping to ride it out. Julie's just grinning through it, watching her quiver, content that she's the one left looking so composed and collected.

It's only when they come down together, looking spent and tired and so gorgeous with their naked bodies glistening with sweat and juices, trying to catch their breath, that Julie gives Natty a short peck on the lips. It's nice and relaxed, a sweet gesture—like they've actually forgotten they have an audience until Julie pulls back and spots you sitting there in a stupor, your hand having slowed down a while back.

"Have fun watching us, handsome? Hope you got something out of it."

“Y-yeah, think I’m good to go now. Fuck, that was just—“

“Hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” Natty says, with this weak tremble in her voice, pretending she’s not totally wiped after all that.

"I think we riled him all up. Poor thing. Maybe he needs some help, you think?" Julie asks, still a bit out of breath.

It takes no further convincing. Julie's already up and off the couch, grabbing you by the cock to lead you towards the bed, with Natty following in tow. All this attention shifts right on you, Julie behind you and Natty right in front, with hands and lips roaming across your body—

"Break time is over, boytoy. What do you wanna do to us?" Natty asks, as they both work in unison. Julie's on her knees, kissing down the small of your back, hand on your hip while she massages your balls in her free hand. On the opposite side, Natty works her fingers around your shaft, thumb rubbing a little tease along the sensitive underside of the tip.

"F-fuck... everything. I wanna do everything with you two."

"Anything specific? This big fucking dick has something special in mind. Doesn't it?" Natty chimes in, fist pumping around your aching shaft. You share a look between them, their naked bodies, those pretty faces—it's impossible to even think about choosing one.

“Don't even know who to ruin first? Can’t blame you,” Julie says as she rises, lips pressed close to your ear, breath hot on your neck. "How about you start with Nat and finish inside me, handsome?"

"Sounds perfect." 

There's a kiss from each of them on your lips, one at a time as they assemble together on the bed with eager anticipation. Julie on her back, Natty on top, breasts squished together, the two of them horizontal and entangled in a heated mess of lips and tongues. 

And part of you just wants to watch them go at it again—but your cock has other intentions. 

"Hang on, boytoy. You're forgetting something,” Julie starts, and it's a short pause that stops you from joining them on the bed, looking a little puzzled when you glance in their direction. "Lube's in my purse. The black bag on the table." 

"Lube? What for?" Natty asks with feigned innocence and a coy little smile, like she doesn't already know why.

"For your ass, obviously."

That's more than enough invitation to rummage around Julie's bag, not even shocked to see what else is stuffed inside—toys, handcuffs, a blindfold, even more fun. Without much trouble, you find what you're looking for, a bottle of clear liquid in the main pocket. And it doesn’t even feel close to full, like it's already seen some use, the curiosity driving you wild as you climb up onto the bed.

Julie's already gotten impatient, playing with Natty's tits in the meantime while she gets right in position, ready and waiting on all fours and points that perfect, round ass right in your direction. And you waste no more time as you watch this lewd display, lubing up your cock like it’s been destined to go here all along. It's just a few strokes and you're already aching to put your dick to use, ready to sink right between Natty's supple cheeks.

The anticipation builds beyond belief as you push a slick finger into her puckered hole—easing it in slowly. But it's clear she's more than ready, and a few gentle pumps is more than enough prep, because this isn't the first time Natty's taken you right here.

Countless times, you’ve gone through this routine, and she's pretty fucking used to it, as evident by the lack of resistance when your finger slips in without any sign of a struggle.

"Mm, need that fucking cock in my ass right now, boytoy. Don't keep a girl waiting." 

You wouldn’t dare dream of it. And then you're behind Natty—one hand grabbing a handful of that big ass, while the other guides your throbbing cock forward to that slick opening. You can tell Julie is watching everything so carefully, taking full note of Natty's expression as she waits to be filled. 

"Hope you're not planning on being too gentle with her. Wanna see that fat ass stretched out properly. Better fucking ruin her.” 

"As if that was ever up for debate," Natty says, that confidence turning into a soft moan when your swollen cockhead disappears between her cheeks, sinking right into her tight little asshole. "Oh fuck, that's so good—“

There's no initial resistance, that ass just consumes the entire head of your cock, swallowing it up in such an instant as you ease inside. No indication of anything but pleasure, either. Natty is a pro with this—knows how to take a dick up her ass like no other, like it's second nature to her. Not a second more wasted as you slide deeper inside this tight, slippery hole, stretching it open that much more.

"Give it to me, boytoy. I can take it—god, that big fucking dick better destroy my asshole." 

You're already sinking balls deep into Natty when she says that, both hands gripping at those sinful wide hips—holding onto her tightly as your cock stretches her out inch by inch. It's tight—it's so goddamn tight, with your cock forcing its way deeper into that snug, unyielding hole. The resistance only makes it better, every inch sliding deeper until you're buried to the base, balls flush against her cheeks. 

“Jesus, Nat,” you growl, needing a moment to catch your breath. “Your tight ass is fucking made for this. Gripping me like it never wants to let go.” 

You don’t hesitate—dragging almost all the way out before slamming back in hard enough to jolt her forward. Her ass ripples from the impact, swallowing your cock whole in one relentless plunge. 

Julie watches with a crooked smile. "You'll do anything to get that dick up your ass, won't you?" she asks, amused, already knowing the answer. But you’re barely aware of her voice, your entire focus locked on the way Natty’s ass clenches around your cock like it’s trying to keep you there forever. The way she reacts to every thrust, every brutal slam of your hips, is fucking addictive—tightening, aching for more. 

The angle is obscene—every thrust driving deep into her ass, the gape of her puckered hole increasing the faster you pump into her. The sweet noises she makes are just a bonus, encouraging you to drive even harder, those perfect cheeks bouncing off your hips with every thrust. 

Julie leans in closer, her breath brushing hot across Natty’s ear. “God, look at you. Getting used like a toy and loving every second.”

"Fuck, Nat—this ass is too fucking good. Needed this for far too long," you groan out, so in disbelief of how tight Natty's asshole feels around you. There's this heavy sigh escaping her lips, and it's hard not to notice the movement below—because she’s riding two fingers while getting her ass plowed, desperate for more pleasure.

"Harder, boytoy," Natty breathes out, glancing back at you with this demanding gaze. "Fuck my ass as hard as you can—I told you to ruin me."

You oblige without another thought, a firm, dominating grip on her hips, making sure there's no escape when you crash hard into her—demonstrating just what you're capable of, showing no mercy. There's this filthy sound on loop, flesh slapping with each deep thrust, and the sight before you is just divine, staring down at her plump ass jiggling away with your cock sunk so deep inside that hole.

“Must feel so good, pounding her ass. Can only imagine how tight she is. I’m a little jealous I’ve only fucked her with a strap.” 

“Would have loved to see that,” you say back, throbbing at the idea of Natty getting wrecked by the older girl, moaning just like she is in front of you. The thought adds fuel to the fire as you spank those full cheeks, wanting them redder than you’ve ever seen before with every aggressive pump of your hips, savoring how tight her ass gets whenever you give a good strike.

“Maybe someday you can.” 

“Hey—I know you can slap my ass harder than that,” Natty demands over her shoulder, nothing ever enough for her. That’s your cue to indulge, one harsh slap after the next that echoes with your cock hammering away, all while those cheeks turn a brighter shade of red.

She sounds so fucked out as you do what’s asked, rubbing out the sting only to make it return once more. And now there’s this beautiful sheen of sweat forming on Natty’s delicious body as you pound deep, sliding your hands up her bare back before leaning forward to capture a handful of those scrumptious tits. 

“Pretty little slut—this ass is mine,” you growl, hands sliding up to cup her bouncing tits from underneath, hungry to feel every ounce of her as you bury your cock impossibly deep.

Your hands roam her chest, palms rough against the softness of her tits as they bounce between deep thrusts. You give them a harsh slap, loving the way they jiggle under your grip. Natty lets out a sharp gasp, back arching deeper, the sound of your hips colliding with her ass turning into a perfect soundtrack you can’t get enough of. And she stays face down on Julie’s warm, naked body, ass high—presenting that tight, puckered hole like a gift. 

"Boytoy really loves tearing that asshole apart, doesn't he?” Julie asks, enjoying the view herself of how you roughly handle Natty, groping her tits and slapping them in between. “God, I can't wait to see what that cock does to me.” 

"Can't fucking help it—this tight fucking ass feels too goddamn good."

There's nothing more from Natty, not when she can hardly string thoughts into words, letting out nothing but sinful, depraved moans. It’s impossible to focus on anything but that hungry little asshole, and those pillowy cheeks that give this unforgettable view, your cock sinking between them like it belongs there. 

“He’s really fucking you, Nat. His thick cock must be tearing your poor asshole apart, can't even imagine. Boytoy looks way too eager to blow that load into you."

She’s not wrong, god she isn’t, because the sight before you is nothing short of hypnotic—the way your dick slides between Natty's plump cheeks, plowing deep into her stretched asshole, there’s never been anything better. 

"Y-yes, need you to cum, give me it—god, pump it deep in my ass," Natty pleads, and her voice sounds so strained, so broken in between your tireless thrusts. 

Not that you'd ever refuse a request like that. It’s not even fair, the things Natty says to get you to explode, gets you all riled up so you’ll fuck her like this, hips snapping back so violently while you throb inside her, every bit desperate to burst.

You can hardly control yourself anymore, hands returning to her wide hips where you belong, fingertips digging deep into that soft, sweaty flesh. Every bit drunk on lust, you pull Natty back on your cock whenever you slam every throbbing inch into her ass, no longer able to think straight while you chase this craving. 

"So fucking close, Nat—gonna fucking fill you up," you groan through clenched teeth, using every last drop of energy thrown into ravaging her. The moans that spill from her throat are a delicious treat, but those ass cheeks smacking, bouncing against your hips? That's the cherry on top. 

There's no choice in the matter, really, when you look down at the way Natty takes you. She clenches without relent, stretched to accommodate every inch while you pound her like this, tightening up beyond belief—and you can’t take another moment of it. 

“Natty—“ 

With one final, forceful thrust, you cling to those divine hips, burying deep as the bliss consumes you. And while Julie watches every moment, you let go as your cock throbs like never before, emptying everything deep inside where Natty needs it the most—right inside her warm little asshole that demands every bit of your thick seed. 

Every violent throb, every loud groan—Natty is all to blame for it as your balls empty, every spurt a new hit of pleasure. Her body claims it all with nothing to spare, milking every last drop you can give, and already it’s overflowing before your thrusts begin to wind down.

"There you go, boytoy. Empty those heavy fucking balls into this slut,” Julie says, unable to tear her gaze away, and she’s more than pleased to watch her best friend get filled to the brim. And you—you’re happy to oblige, the deep relief etched on your face while your cock spurts an endless hot, sticky mess inside.

"Fuck, so full, love all that hot cum dumped right in my ass…” Natty murmurs, sweat glistening all over her decadent body

Whether it’s the sensation of being inside Natty, or having a second pair of eyes watching—you keep emptying like there’s no end. Spurt after spurt, throb after throb, and when it finally slows, you're clinging tight to Natty's body like you’ll collapse otherwise, making a poor attempt to catch your breath. 

Julie on the other hand is quite the opposite, kissing all over Natty, lips pressing against her sweaty neck. You have just enough in you to match those same efforts as you stay hilted deep inside her ass, both showering her with kisses, both sides of Natty covered in affection.

"You're so perfect, Nat, holy fuck—you have no idea what you do to me," you groan out, planting another kiss on her lips, stealing them away for a moment from Julie.

"Think I have an idea with all this cum in my ass, boytoy."

Buried deep, you bask in this high, and there’s all the time in the world to wait for Natty’s lips, Julie far too preoccupied with them. And that’s perfectly fine, because you’re unwilling to part from her warmth, kissing everywhere else in the meantime. But somehow, when the bliss starts to dwindle, you find a way to withdraw from that insane grip, inch by inch—leaving behind a deluge of cum that gushes out of that freshly fucked hole, along Natty's thighs and onto Julie beneath.

"Really filled her up, didn’t you, boytoy? She looks fucking destroyed," Julie says with a smug little laugh, all eager to watch the aftermath. Now that you’ve separated, Natty slowly turns around to face you, giving Julie a much better view of how it all oozes out, a goddamn mess you’ve left in her keeps trickling out. 

Julie can't help but slide a finger in there, playing with your load like she’s trying her hardest to keep it dripping out of her ass. "H-hey, that’s mine, you greedy little whore," Natty replies, almost embarrassed with how she just can't seem to stop leaking your load.

"Friends share, Nat.“ 

Pushing her tongue in this time, Julie gets as deep as she can when she spreads Natty apart to get a good taste. The mess you’ve left inside is more than enough for Julie to enjoy herself, licking up whatever cum she can gather up like she’s famished, flicking her tongue in circles around that stretched opening—insatiable for more. 

"F-fuck, Jules," Natty moans, letting her best friend play with her ass, eyes closed while Julie gives your load all the attention in the world. Her tongue can’t help but bury inside so deep, earning all these shameless groans from Natty as her slick mouth goes to work, nose pressed into those squishy cheeks while she devours your cum right out of that wrecked ass. 

"Tastes as good as it looks," Julie murmurs, flashing a sinful smirk as she slides two fingers back in Natty's ass, sucking them clean with a satisfied moan—not hiding how much she likes it when she turns in your direction. “Ready to pound me next, boytoy?” 

The answer is of course, a resounding yes that you can’t quite get out while Julie keeps eating Natty’s ass, hoping to find more of your fresh load that hasn’t leaked out yet. 

"Go on, shove your tongue in her ass," Natty encourages, voice still a bit weak, almost inaudible. "Isn't that what you wanted to do when you first saw her?”

"Y-yeah, something like that.” 

"Perfect," Julie replies. "Where do you want me, handsome?”

Where don't you, really? So many options—Julie on her back, or lying face down on her stomach, maybe on her knees with that perfect ass in the air. But looking around at the bedroom, at how Natty's already on the verge of collapse, you think maybe there's a better option. The couch works, but it's not exactly what you had in mind, and the bathroom would deprive Julie of an audience, so you choose a perfect alternative. 

“Come here.“

And she listens, climbing off the bed as  she follows behind, gripping your cock in her tight fist and refusing to release. You lead her over to one of the massive windows in the spacious suite, one that overlooks the city with the second best view, the first where you’re about to bury your face. 

"This what you want, handsome? To have your way with me right here?" There’s nothing you’ve wanted more. The thought of pressing Julie’s naked body against the glass—there’s no other option. 

"More than anything."

Just like that, Julie is quick to face the window, primed to be pinned up against it. Her breasts squish against the cold glass, delicious ass raised up in full view, and already there's this smile plastered on her face as you get down on your knees without hesitation. Still, you’re not sure how you ended up in this hotel, but dead set on tongue-fucking Natty’s best friend—the last box to check to fulfill your fantasies. 

"That tongue. I want it, boytoy. I know what it does to Nat, need it in my ass—shove it in deep until you're ready to pound me," Julie says, making demands on her own with hands pressed against the glass to prop herself up, the reflection of her pretty face staring back—her ass right in your face.

But you can’t just dive right in yet, fingers tracing along the curve of those ample cheeks and just savoring how soft Julie’s skin is with these perfect cheeks that equal Natty's, maybe even rivals. 

Impossible not to stare at those deadly curves as you get both hands on each side, spreading her open—and then a long, slow lick from the back of her thigh up, until you reach her puckered little asshole. That earns you the most delicious whimper, one that you need more of as you swirl your tongue around, teasing the rim of Julie’s ass with the tip of your tongue. 

Not that you have the patience for teasing her long, a few more flicks until you bury your face in between her asscheeks, plunging your tongue in that tight hole so eagerly to slide right inside. Julie lets out a loud gasp, one that sounds so beautiful as you get in deep, taking these deliberate licks while you fuck her tight little hole with your tongue. 

"Oh shit, that's so good," Julie cries out with this pathetic moan that doesn’t hide the neediness in her voice, palms flattened against the glass. For a moment, you catch her reflection, tongue going crazy with all these desperate flicks. It’s everything you’ve craved ever since the moment you knew of Julie's existence, and now that it’s all reality, you’re not going to back down. 

“F-fuck, not even Natty is this good at eating my ass—you're going to fucking wreck me with that tongue, don’t stop.” 

As if anything in this world could get you to. You’re not intent on giving any response either other than keeping her ass spread open, giving all the access your tongue needs to get in there deep, to get those moans spilling from Julie while you continue this feast. 

Her breathing stays ragged as your probing tongue knows just what she needs, slowly drawing out every single gasp and whimper, hands digging into that pillowy flesh while you flick around with purpose, tongue-fucking this delicious ass like you’ve been craving. 

“God, Julie,” you groan as you take a brief moment to come up for air, diving right back into that tight hole all slippery with saliva. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this.” 

She moans at the way your tongue lavishes at her puckered hole that clenches around your tongue, and you circle around before you plunge in deep, in and out at a furious rhythm. And you keep this up, keep those cheeks spread while buried deep in her asshole, pulling out as much pleasure out of Julie as you can. 

“I think I do, god, that’s so—feels so fucking good when you shove that tongue up my ass. Is this everything you wanted, boytoy?”

You don’t answer with anything but more sloppy licks, and Julie’s hands slip as they slide along the glass, desperate to push back and shove her ass in your face as much as possible. "If this is how it feels when you're eating my ass, can't wait to have your thick fucking cock in me, stretching me out..."

Julie trails off, and the next moan she chokes out sounds more broken as you can barely pull back from her between her cheeks, just needing more and more with your tongue slipping back inside. There’s not one bit of resistance while you slide your tongue back in her hole, to feel it clench tight and draw you back inside again, exploring every bit of this ass until she's fighting just to stay on her feet.

It goes without saying that Julie is in love with the way you work her like this, and your tongue thrusts back and forth like you’ll never be able to get enough, all sloppy and primal while you indulge on it, savoring every noise you tear from her mouth.

She's going to fall apart, having to close her eyes and fight like hell just not to collapse in bliss. It's a struggle to let out anything but broken words and endless gasps as your tongue fucks her, leaving her with this wicked desire to finally feel that throbbing cock fill up her perfect ass.

And when you can tell that Julie is seconds away from toppling over, that's the moment when you reluctantly pull away, dragging your tongue away with a wet little slurp—your saliva leaving her asshole glistening.

"Julie, god, this ass—" you groan, nearly out of breath from all the work your tongue has done. "That was everything I expected and more."

A desperate gasp falls from Julie's lips, unable to properly speak as her tits smash up against the glass, still propping herself up, legs spread wide and parted for easy access, waiting for whatever comes next.

"Then what the hell are you waiting for, handsome?" she mutters, struggling to get those words out. "Fuck my tight ass—pound it like it's Natty's cunt."

In a second, you're up and at attention, raring for what comes next, Julie's breath fogging up the window while you grab the one thing that’s going to help you slide right between those perfect ass cheeks. Julie's got a hand in between those thighs, slowly rubbing at her clit while you get all slicked up, stroking your cock inches away from where it’s going to feel so goddamn good. 

"Get that cock in me," Julie demands, impatient as she takes up position again, pressing her body up against the window so she can be spread open. 

It's not hard to oblige that request—you move right up against her, sandwiching your slick cock between those soft cheeks, sliding up and down as you nestle it right in there. But that's not going to last long at all, no, Julie wants you deep in her ass, and you can hardly stand not being inside her for another moment.

"Come on, boytoy," is all she says to confirm those desires, turning her head back to steal a glance, tempting you further, begging with her eyes. "Slam that dick in me, don't make me tell you twice."

So you get right behind her, bending her over and spreading her cheeks wide to align yourself. You push in without warning, hands at Julie's hips and tugging her back until that tight ring of muscle relaxes, letting the head of your cock ease its way in nice and slow.

"Oh fuck," you choke out as the rest slides right in, so easily, balls deep as her ass envelops your cock, stretching around every last inch you have to give. “Your ass feels incredible, so tight—"

Your hands get right on those curvy hips, not wasting another second, squeezing tightly when you slide out and slam right in. There's no room for caution or mercy when you have Julie bent over and ass sticking out like an invitation for your cock, nothing but a deep desire to ruin her tight little asshole.

"Shit, handsome—there you go, m-more, want you to split me open on that thick fucking dick."

Gripping hard enough to leave a bruise, you piston your hips to slide back out, pulling her onto you, that gorgeous, perfect ass rippling whenever your body collides with her. And already it's all consuming, that pleasure, the way her asshole swallows your length when you plunge forward, her voice filling the room.

You don't go slow, and don't hold back as you slap Julie's ass—this insatiable desire to make her bounce right back on your throbbing cock. 

"It's gonna take more than that to break me, boytoy. Do whatever the fuck you want—show me what you're capable of," Julie says through gasping breaths as she squeezes around you. You can hardly take how insanely tight she is as her warmth completely suffocates your whole cock while you pound inside. It's impossible not to lose control, using her wide hips to control just how deep you can go, the slap of her huge ass against your hips like music to your ears.

You're beyond feral when you dig both hands back into those perfect cheeks, spreading her open to keep this view of your cock impaling her ass going. And you keep her up against the window, pounding mercilessly into her tight little asshole without pause, again, and again, her ass just taking every thrust, welcoming the full length of your cock.

"God, this ass is too fucking good," you groan out, nearly breathless, gripping tight as her ass crashes back into you. 

“Knew you would love it. Fuck, that cock feels amazing stretching me open—tearing my greedy asshole apart," Julie says, face pressed up against the glass and your eyes glued right below, at where your shaft is buried to the hilt between those delicious cheeks, slamming balls deep every single time. Your hips give their all, pinning Julie against the massive hotel window, tits squished against the cool glass while she just lets you hammer into her ass. 

"More, boytoy, need more—pound me so hard I can't walk straight for a week." Julie knows the pleading in her voice alone is enough to set you off. And that gets you well past that point, hips moving so fast while you give her ass a series of harsh smacks on repeat, each a loud smack that competes with the sounds of hot flesh on hot flesh that fills the apartment with your balls smacking away against her dripping cunt. 

Natty is on her feet again, a hint of exhaustion still on her face. She's watching this with rapt attention, Julie being jolted against the glass while you pound into her without mercy. 

"Didn't get enough, Nat?"

Hardly anything but a nod leaves her, not wanting to interrupt, back against the window, still naked, sweaty, and wearing this curious expression as she watches the show go on. Content to just observe, her hands wander down her stomach, down in between her thighs. "Can’t a girl get a good look at her best friend getting her ass reamed? Too hot not to watch.” 

And then your focus is back on Julie, watching those gorgeous cheeks bounce with every deep thrust, savoring the way her ass squeezes your cock with a vice grip. It's a miracle you're not blowing your load already, but this is too good, not nearly ready to let this end, not with the way Julie's asshole feels wrapped around your cock.

"This is the best fucking thing I've felt in a long time," you manage to get out, not holding back the slightest when your hips meet hers, the sound of flesh echoing through the room.

"I'm glad I can be of service," Julie murmurs. "Look at that, Nat. If you're not careful, I'll steal him from you."

"Please, Jules, like I'm not getting his cock whenever the hell I want. You couldn't even imagine how he uses me. Boytoy is a fucking animal when I let him be," Natty replies, sliding the pad of her finger slowly along her swollen clit while she keeps those eyes fixated on the on the spectacle, how rough you're being with her best friend.

"Good. Because if you're wanting another go at his cock, you're gonna have to wait a bit, Nat. I'm not sharing him for a while."

There's not even an objection—Natty wants to watch too much. And when Julie lets out this breathless, desperate sound, her hands slide up and down against the glass, scrambling for something to anchor herself to. There's not a chance she's giving you up.

"God, boytoy, keep that up—you're going to fucking destroy me," Julie moans out, a slight crack in her voice, like she's about to crumble from how intense it all feels.

"Think that's the plan," Natty replies, not able to look away for a moment as her fingers continue rubbing her clit, occasionally dipping it between her soaked lips. And your palm goes crazy on those asscheeks, slapping away while you thrust your whole cock into Julie's impossibly tight asshole, savoring the way she squeezes the life out of your length. One hard slap, one deep thrust after the other, and there's no sign of slowing down anytime soon, not while you have her up against the window, fucking her like your life depends on it.

"Can't believe you get to have this dick whenever you want, Nat. He's so fucking good—don't know how you ever survive a minute without his cock in you."

"I manage," Natty replies, the faintest of smiles crossing her lips. "I spend most of my mornings riding his fucking brains out. Or his face before class, whatever the mood calls for. Gets me through at least the first couple classes."

“Please, like you even make it through science class without sneaking us to the nearest bathroom.” 

“And? Not my fault I need a little extra to get through the morning. Some people have coffee, and I get my boytoy's cum. Is that really so different?" 

Even Julie can't help but smile at how ridiculous Natty sounds when it all comes out, somehow letting out this little laugh while she's being ravaged. And even with how rough you're getting with her ass—pounding it like you'll die without it, there's still this surreal feeling of not understanding how you got here, lusting over her nudes to being actually buried in her ass.

"Gotta admit—never seen Jules have a better time," Natty says, fingers rubbing her sensitive little clit while she talks. "Girl gets paid to get her ass fucked on the daily and looks like she can barely take that cock. Maybe I should be more selfish with you. Just in case either of you get any bright ideas.” 

“Just might. You picked the right girl for this, god, this fucking ass is insane—“ 

“When have I ever steered you wrong? All these months of dropping my panties for you whenever you want, and you don't trust my judgment yet? I know what you like. Because it’s what I like. Julie is perfect for you in every single way.” 

"Okay, point taken." You'd roll your eyes if you weren't buried deep in Julie's tight asshole—her ass is as addictive and heavenly as Natty's, maybe even more. 

"Just get back to ruining her, boytoy," she says with a chuckle, already too lost in her own fingers. “And don’t leave out the spanking, she fucking loves that.” 

Not like you needed to be told to do that. But you intend on making those plump cheeks as bright red as you possibly can, each slap on her bare ass punctuating your thrusts that Julie takes so well. You don’t even bother to rub out the sting, smacking the sore flesh in the same spot, this delicious clench around your cock tightening up every single time. And you keep it up, these echoing slaps that turn Julie into more of a mess. One that really makes her snap forward before she seizes your wrist, guiding your fingers up her body until it's at her throat—begging you for this without a word.

A request like that is not something you can easily refuse either, tightening up your grip as you continue plunging right into that tight hole, her hand joining yours on her throat, squeezing it. 

"Just like that, fuck," Julie says while your pace picks up speed—to the point that it's difficult not to collapse from how insanely good you feel slamming into her. And if it was a struggle before, the combined grip your fingers have on her throat makes her asshole clamp down on your cock, squeezing like she'll never release and only begging for your load. 

You've got some fight in you still, to try to draw this out as much as possible, determined not to collapse first and ramming so mercilessly into her ass. But your first mistake is letting your eyes shift back up to where Julie is being pinned against the window by your stiff cock. That's a moment of weakness—when your cock hits even deeper, the look on her face, lips parted so all these sinful moans can escape, you nearly lose it. 

The best part is how Natty gets to witness all of it as her fingers do their magic, a rare occasion where she's not said a single thing in minutes. It's difficult not to find it all so arousing as you're deep inside, while she’s got slick fingers in her cunt at the sight of you using Julie like she’s nothing but a toy. 

"Shit, g-gonna cum," Julie gasps out, struggling to form anything more than that, and it's only seconds later her eyes flutter shut, until you feel this tremendous wetness that can’t be contained between her thighs, lips parted with a slur of obscenities unleashed. 

The clenches that follow throw you dangerously close, Julie so sensitive and needy as she rubs her clit, greedy for a second orgasm that follows as you continue to drive her up against the glass. One more look at her reflection, at how wrecked she is, then your gaze shoots to those reddened cheeks, at the pummeling they’ve taken, all stretched out around you and demanding more—you’re almost there yourself. 

It's the last burst of energy you have to make good on it, spreading those cheeks nice and wide to slam into her with whatever is left. With how crazy the pressure in your shaft builds—how that ass swallows your length to the hilt again and again, the release you need so badly is closing in, seconds away at this rate.

That's exactly why you pull out, leaving Julie's hole gaping and needy when you pull her off the glass—already so close to bursting when your hand finds her head and she's forced down on her knees. 

"W-why'd you stop?" Julie manages to get out, but that's all she has time for when you shove yourself past her lips, balls pressed against her chin.

And as good as it feels driving deep into Julie's ass, seeing her get her lips sealed around your dick, having this urge to unload, to have your thick load pouring down her throat—it's too good an opportunity to resist. 

"Needed your fucking throat to finish me off, that's why." 

Without a word of warning, you're grabbing her head, jamming her mouth further onto your cock. There's hardly any resistance—only a little sputter at how your length slips into her throat, hitting the back so you can hear the unmistakable sounds of Julie gagging and choking on it.

Fingers wrapped in that pretty hair, you force her head down your cock as you hit past the point of no return. It's the look in those devilish eyes when you hold her right there that gets you the rest of the way—how desperate and hungry she looks, staring up, your cock spasming right before you unload. 

Her mouth stays right where you need it to be, this tight seal around your shaft as you explode, eyes going wide at the sheer volume of it—hot, thick spurts shooting down her throat, some of it overflowing, the rest straight into her stomach. Your cock twitches violently the whole time, and your grip remains tight on the back of her head so she can't pull away—not that she would ever want to.

When your endless spurts start to lose steam, her lips stay wrapped tight as your climax subsides, the wet heat of her mouth overwhelming in the best ways. You hold her there for as long as you can handle it, until there’s nothing left—just the slow, steady sound of satisfaction humming through Julie’s mouth.

“God, shit—Julie, you’re amazing,” you gasp out as you stand there, trying to catch your breath. She’s still there, lips soft and tight around you, holding you through every last twitch of release. 

“Mm,” she hums again, licking her lips before she presses a deep kiss to the tip. Then she leans back just enough, tilting her head and parting her lips wide, tongue out to show you—nothing left. Every last drop swallowed. “Didn’t want to waste anything.”

"Selfish little whore," Natty chimes in, slumped against the window with a pout resting on her lips. "You weren't gonna save any cum for me? What happened to friends share?"

"Not when it tastes this good. Maybe next time," Julie replies, and the expression on Natty's face is priceless as she gets up, trying to pull her away from the glass with a kiss to no avail. 

"First of all, no, there is no 'next time'—boytoy is mine. I'm just sharing him for tonight because he's never had a threesome before and I felt bad for him."

“Oh, so I’m just a pity fuck to him?” Julie teases, rising to her feet to leave kisses down along Natty's neck. "Didn't seem so, not with the way his cock filled every single inch of my asshole. I've never had a guy use me like this."

"You literally get paid to take cocks up your ass," Natty retorts.

"That's work. This? This was a hundred times more fun. Get used to it—this is happening more frequently, pretty girl. Whether you're willing to share or not." 

"That doesn't make up for stealing my goddamn cum! Friends share, remember?"

"Was it really my fault he wanted to fuck my face until he came down my throat? That's not selfish, I call that helping out."

"Yes it is, because now he's all spent and isn't able to go again any time soon. All because you had to turn your throat into a fleshlight,” Natty groans, pausing for a moment to sulk. 

"Hey, this was all your idea in the first place. Or was I supposed to stop and ask permission before choking on his cock?” 

"Oh fuck off, you selfish slut," Natty laughs, nearly shoving Julie across the room. "Whatever, he at least likes my ass the best anyways, no matter if you're in the room or not."

"Oh really now? What do you think, boytoy? Who made your cock feel better?"

You know better than to try being part of their interrogation, staying silent. There's a slightly terrifying look in both their eyes that you'd rather avoid.

"You two are insane." 

"Insane for this fat cock," Natty says, the two of them sharing a laugh. 

“Can't argue with that, pretty girl.” Julie strokes her fingers lightly through your hair before she leans in for a kiss to silence Natty again—until it turns more ravenous, and god, your poor cock just isn't going to get a break around them. They both break away for a breath after a moment, a string of saliva still connecting their mouths that neither of them seems bothered about. 

“Don't think that you're off the hook because you slipped your tongue in my mouth. Maybe I'll just make you cum a few dozen more times for what you did," Natty says with this sweet giggle, a sudden tug on Julie's nipples that catches her off guard. And then another that follows when she tries to pull away, getting one more moan out of her, fingertips finding her wet slit as Julie squirms to get out of it. "Still wet after all of that?" 

There's little time for Julie to react when she gets pinned against the glass once more, only letting out a desperate moan—a noise that's loud enough to wake the dead. 

"W-wait, Nat—I just came," Julie protests, voice shaking while Natty's relentless fingers run through her cunt, already so oversensitive.

"Don't care. This is what you get for being such a thieving little slut." Finding all this extra wetness, Natty’s fingers slide inside and curl against her sensitive spot. There's no way she can look away, feeling all the shudders Julie tries to suppress, and the little winces of pain that leave her as the pleasure gets mixed together in the most torturous way. It's the kind of wicked revenge Natty loves dishing out. “You must be pretty sensitive after having this fucking dick ruin you, right? Maybe this teaches you to not be such a greedy whore." 

"F-fuck, you're such a fucking jealous bitch," Julie groans, trying her hardest to keep her eyes open despite how sensitive and overwhelming everything feels. Natty knows the weakest places and presses her fingers against it, thumb sliding over her clit every so often just for extra torment.

"The very worst," Natty agrees with a smirk, finding the perfect spot inside and rubbing right there without relent. And seeing how this usually confident girl becomes a quivering mess is more satisfying than you could imagine. 

"Stop, s-shit, not this much, god, please—“ Julie can do little but beg, all pathetic and hopeless, just to have Natty curl her fingers in a way that brings out something guttural from her throat. But Natty disregards every plea, every whimper and whine that gets louder with every relentless stroke.

The helpless desperation in Julie's eyes while her lips tremble only fuels Natty. A crooked little smile crosses her lips at the sound of Julie’s cries as she rolls a hardened nipple between her fingers, pinching down hard—hard enough to make Julie throw her head back, a messy line of drool leaking from her parted lips.

You're frozen to the spot where you watch, mesmerized by how ruthless Natty can get. There's no place left for Julie to escape, trapped between her and the window with the threat of another devastating orgasm her body isn't prepared for.

"God, look at you. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you beg like this. Your cunt must be so fucking sensitive. Which means—you're going to cum just as hard, maybe harder. Not a thing you can do about it either, is there? " 

Julie barely manages a response, too wrecked and overstimulated to do anything but take it. Every touch sets her nerves on fire.

“So fucking selfish,” Natty growls, pace never faltering. “Always have to be the first. First to get dicked down, first to steal the attention—pretty little slut doesn’t actually like sharing, does she? Just likes the spotlight.”

“H-hey, that’s—ah, fuck, ah—not t-true,” Julie gasps out, but it’s useless. Her body tells a different story, writhing against the glass, chasing after Natty’s touch even as she trembles from it.

That’s what gets another wicked laugh out from Natty’s lips. “Poor thing is gonna cum again. This soon?” Her fingers drive in deeper, pushing Julie to the edge whether she’s ready or not. “Thought you weren’t selfish. But looks like you’re proving me right.”

You don’t even have to be watching for what happens next, a broken sob from Julie enough to know the damage has already been done. Natty shoves her over. A sharp cry rips from her throat, her whole body locking up, muscles seizing as the bliss crashes through her. 

She can’t even hide it, can’t even muffle the cries that fall from her throat—Natty won’t let her. A firm grip tears the hand over Julie’s mouth away, forcing her moans to ring loud and proud. 

And Natty isn’t finished. Not even close.

The obscene slickness between Julie’s thighs only grows, coating Natty’s fingers as she keeps them deep, making her gush without a hint of mercy. “Fuck, look at you,” Natty murmurs, her breath hot against Julie’s ear, clearly thrilled by how helpless she’s made her. Julie’s legs tremble so violently she can barely stay upright. “So fucking selfish. You can't stop, can you? Just keep gushing all over my fingers like a needy little mess.”

Julie sobs again, but it’s lost in the wet, obscene rhythm between them—the slick sound of her cunt being worked filling the space louder than any protest she might’ve had left.

Only when she’s had her fill, does Natty finally show mercy. Fingers easing out, she lets Julie slump forward. But not without one last cruel tease—a few sharp slaps to that overstimulated clit, just to watch her flinch. Just to hear that final, wrecked little whimper.

“You fucking—” Julie hisses, barely able to breathe, and still, she can’t even pull away. Not when Natty presses down, applying the lightest, taunting pressure, just to remind her exactly who’s in control. 

"Tell me I'm right—tell me, you self-centered little whore. Tell me that's what you are, or you aren't getting a break."

"Fine! Y-you’re right," Julie chokes out, her voice all broken, thighs twitching as Natty keeps that unbearable pressure right where she knows it’ll ruin her. "I’m selfish. Selfish, greedy, whatever you can add. Proud of it, even. Now, please—"

Natty smirks, dragging her fingers through the mess she’s made, slow and deliberate before licking it clean 

"Jesus, Nat. Can you blame a girl for being addicted to boytoy’s cum? You're the one who sucked his load out of my cunt earlier and didn't share," Julie says, voice still weak, nowhere near recovered. 

"And? What's your point?” Natty fires back. “Still doesn't give you the right to bogart his cum for your filthy little throat.” 

This conversation feels a little too surreal, like you’re not even in the room. And then, suddenly—silence.

“Boytoy,” they say together, perfectly synchronized, and there’s something inherently dangerous in that.

“What was it you said earlier?” Natty muses, tilting her head with that look—you know the one. “Something about going all night if you had to?”

Batting her lashes with feigned innocence, Natty steps forward in perfect sync with Julie, both with this predatory gaze. 

“Or maybe that was just an empty promise—”

Before you can react, you're at the edge of the bed, completely vulnerable with two sets of hands pushing you down. The mattress catches your back, your head spinning, no clue what’s coming next.

“Either way…” Julie purrs, leaning over you, her breath warm against your skin. “We’re far from done with you.”

These two are going to ruin you, without a shadow of a doubt, and you'll still come crawling back for more.

—

And now, you’re exactly where they want you—pinned between them, not going anywhere.

By the time the clock reads well into the next morning, both women are finally tuckered out, fast asleep. Little reminders of the night are scattered across your skin: bruises on your chest, bite marks, lipstick stains, scratches down your back. Each worn with pride. 

Every inch of your body aches in the best way, and even the slightest shift in the sheets sends that soreness pulsing from head to toe. Not that you mind—especially with both of them curled up on either side of you, their warm bodies pressed close, using you as their personal pillow.

Julie is the first to stir, groaning as she nuzzles against you. Her dark hair is still messy and disheveled, almost hesitant to choose whether she wants to wake up or not. But when her eyes flutter open at the sight of you, she peppers a few tired kisses along your skin, her lips curling into a sleepy smile.

"Morning, handsome. Sleep well?" 

You hesitate, lost in the way she looks so beautiful in the morning. "Maybe better than I ever have."

"Me too," Julie says, grinning ear to ear, tracing lazy patterns on your chest as best she can without moving an inch away. "Had me worried for a bit. Thought we broke your cock." 

Not far from the truth, considering you ran through just about every position under the sun—Natty pinned beneath you, legs in the air; Julie’s face shoved into a pillow as you railed her ass for the second time, and then both of them side by side, moaning into the sheets and making out while you plowed them from behind.

You’ll never forget the sight of both of them hanging off the bed, upside-down, your cock plunging into their greedy throats while their perfect tits bounce between your fingertips. 

Or how you’ve lost count of how many times you made each of them gush—on your cock, your fingers, your face, soaked and shaking underneath you. Clenching tight before screaming your name, insatiable and wringing you dry like it was the only thing they knew how to do. Like they’d tear you apart just to do it all over again.

By the end, you could barely think straight—just sweat-slicked skin, the taste of their ravenous mouths, and the way they used you without pause. With your final release, you gave them everything—blasting across their faces as they knelt cheek to cheek, tongues out, makeup smeared, smiling through the mess while the night sky loomed above. Ruined, covered in you, and still starved for more.

The last thing you remember was lying flat on your back, mouth buried between their legs as they took turns riding your face—one after the other, thick thighs clamped around your head, grinding down hard until they were left gasping, trembling with nothing left to take.

"Hardly. I'm still in perfect working order, I'll have you know." 

"Poor boytoy. We really made you go all night, huh?"

Natty starts to rise on the opposite side and stretches in this obscene, unhurried way—arms overhead, back arching, shirt lifting just enough to tease a glimpse of bare skin and the curve of her breasts.

“Ngh, morning…" Natty says as she glances at you, voice hoarse as she rolls closer, draping herself over your chest like she owns it. “He’s still alive? Impressive.”

“Says the one who slept the entire morning.” 

"I was already up,—just didn't wanna move," Natty groans, wrapping her arms tighter around you to press a kiss right into your skin. "Too comfy. Boytoy did a number on me—my ass feels like it's going to be sore for a week."

Julie tries to bite back a laugh, but it slips free as she presses her face into your chest. “You did beg him to rail you like that—not his fault he delivered."

Natty huffs, rolling her eyes as she twirls a strand of your hair between her fingers. “Okay, yeah, but still—no one said he had to listen. There’s a difference between rough and demolished.”

“When has that ever been a problem? Never known you to tap out for anything. Don’t you remember—”

Natty quickly interjects, groaning. "Don’t you dare.”

But Julie has this sly smile that warns you this is already out of your hands. A masterful tease. "That first weekend I met you. And those two guys, in that hotel, the one where we almost got kicked out for being too loud. Pretty girl got spitroasted the whole night, didn’t she? Couldn't even stand once they were finished with her. And all of a sudden, boytoy is just a little too much?"

There's a momentary struggle while Natty tries to block out the memory, her hands about ready to strangle her friend as the laughter spills from Julie.

"Don't you dare let her tell you stories. Anything she says is a goddamn lie. Nothing like that ever happened."

And even when Natty goes dead quiet, Julie still has that evil little giggle, pressing light kisses along your jawline. “No? Then who was holding the camera the whole time? All the videos from that night are on my phone, let me just—”

Julie's cut off by a firm smack on her bare thigh—swift and drawing a yelp from her, and for Natty's sake, she drops the subject.

“Look, those were just two random guys I met. I was drunk, they wanted to fuck me, and I never saw them again. Boytoy is a much better option,” Natty grumbles, defeated.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl. If his dick is too much for you to take, I’ll be more than happy to take him off your hands.”

Natty lifts her head just enough to glare. “Nobody said I couldn’t handle it. I rather like having him rearrange my insides, thank you very much.”

“Oh, that’s obvious with the amount of times you swore you couldn’t go again, only to crawl back for more,” Julie teases.

“Sounds like Nat.”

Rolling her eyes is all Natty can do. “Oh, shut up. Don’t need the girl who takes twelve inches several times a day on camera to lecture me.” 

Julie scoffs and tosses a pillow at her head. “You wish you could handle him like I do.”

“Who was the one all folded up and crying after I came out of the shower after he shoved his cock back in you before you were ready?” Natty fires back, raising an eyebrow. “Could barely get a word out between those moans, babe.”

She laughs, cheeks turning red. "Not my fault boytoy loves making me cum again and again until I can barely move…"

That's when Natty drops it, more focused on kissing her way down your body. “How does breakfast sound, boytoy? Room service? That way we don’t have to get dressed?”

You nod in agreement, too exhausted to say a word.

"Why order breakfast when we've got this to feast on, right here?" Julie purrs, nipping at your shoulder as her fingers trail lower under the sheets. “Poor thing gets so hard in the morning.” 

“Can you blame him when he gets to wake up next to us?” And in typical fashion, it's Natty who joins in, both of them stroking your painful erection beneath the covers. A synchronized pair of squeezes while they both giggle at the moans you can't stop from letting out. 

"God—you really are going to break me, aren't you?"

"Only if we try hard enough. We were a bit easy on you last night, so maybe—"

You swallow hard when both their hands tease along your cock at the exact same time. If last night was easy, then there's no telling what's to come if they don't have to hold back. Not that you aren't looking forward to it. “Is she always like this? This early?”

There’s a look exchanged between them before Julie speaks again. "What, completely obsessed with cock and cum hungry all the time? That would be a yes."

Natty’s smirk deepens as she tosses the sheets aside, making sure you can see every stroke, slow, teasing, and all in perfect sync. 

You can’t help the low moan that escapes your throat, eyes locked on these two between your thighs, on the way your cock twitches in their grip. It’s almost too much already, and they’ve only gotten started. 

"Don’t pretend like you’re not also dying for a nice morning blowjob, handsome,” Julie says while you try and open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp the moment Natty’s thumb teases your tip.

"Hey, don't even think about trying to steal another load when I'm right here, Jules."

"I'll share this time. Promise."

Natty pauses for a second, debating whether to actually believe her friend—who's already kissing up your abdomen while she gets her fingers wrapped around your shaft. "And by share, I'm gonna assume you mean it's going right down your throat where I can't even see it?"

"I'll give you a little taste this time,” Julie says, pausing for effect while she pumps your length. ”If you behave."

"Nuh-uh, it's my turn to be selfish with boytoy," Natty says, not letting anything get in the way of her chance to indulge. Julie’s being shoved aside, and suddenly you’re at the edge of the bed, legs dangling as Natty tosses her shirt aside—full, perfect breasts bouncing when she sinks between your thighs. Her chest has your full attention, and without warning, she engulfs your cock between her soft breasts, burying you in her warm, perfect cleavage.

"Hey, no fair using your tits," Julie whines, but you can't even hear her protest with Natty's tits pressed up tight against your cock.

“You know what's not fair? Stealing all his cum. Now be a good girl and watch."

It's a demand that seems to work—Julie falls silent, and it's impossible not to look where your cock disappears between the weight of her breasts, wrapped tight around your cock, sliding up and down with this delicious friction.

“Fuck, Nat," you groan, eyes focused between her gorgeous tits that she presses tight around you, silky smooth and feeling softer than anything your cock has experienced. The sort of sensation that can put any other to shame—and Natty knows exactly what it does to you. 

"Feels so fucking good doesn't it, boytoy? My fucking tits wrapped around your cock? God, you look like you're ready to bust already." 

She's not wrong, either. The feeling of your cock trapped between her heavy breasts is almost too much—all warm and too inviting, the swollen head poking through her cleavage when she moves her chest in just the right way. Not a single thought left in your brain but pleasure, nothing but clear intent to have you spill your load right between them.

The way her tits hug your cock with every motion only makes the ache worse, and Natty just looks up at you, all proud, like she knows she’s got you under her spell. And she really does, leaning her head down, a thick line of drool spilling down between the  luscious valley to make the slide all that more heavenly.

"Those fucking tits are ridiculous," Julie groans, jealous but still enamored at the sight while you try to fight the growing heat building with every stroke. You've been through everything with these two in the last 24 hours, but Natty's tits—all bounce and sinful softness, still manage to have power all on their own the second they’re around your cock. 

But of course, Julie can’t help herself—with no concept of waiting her turn, she positions herself behind Natty, who doesn’t even realize what’s about to happen until it's too late. Julie gets a hold on those hefty tits for herself, helping them slide down your shaft and taking some semblance of control for herself.

"Hey—what do you think you’re doing, whore?" Natty gasps, caught off guard by the sudden groping as her tits are worked along your cock. She could shove Julie off—but doesn’t, letting her help guide the heavy pair over your shaft instead.

"Sharing, you spoiled little brat, like you promised to do," she purrs, squeezing Natty’s tits tighter around your cock, making sure you feel every inch of their combined efforts. The way Julie digs her fingers into that glorious flesh sends you a little deeper towards your breaking point. 

"Is that what you call it? Because it seems like you're trying to bogart my titfuck, just because you couldn't have him all to yourself," Natty responds, not bothering to try and hide the irritation, but not telling her to stop either. Julie grins, leaning her cheek against Natty's shoulder so she can get closer, forcing your member into a faster rhythm. 

“That's exactly what I'm doing," Julie admits. "Because his dick does look rather nice sliding between your big tits."

You're not even paying attention to their argument—far too busy reveling in the softness of Natty's chest, the friction you desperately need, in the confines of her cleavage. You try your damndest not to spill from just this, their fingers entwined while they work in tandem, getting your length pumping between those heaving mounds.

Natty does nothing but scrunch up her face in annoyance, pouty and upset that her alone time has been interrupted. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're a little jealous." 

Julie keeps smiling, unfazed—maybe a little too much as she continues to use her friend's breasts with not a care in the world, not even realizing how she's pushing you further, your balls feeling heavy and so fucking ready to erupt.

"Maybe a little. How could I not be? Of both these tits and boytoy’s amazing cock that gets to fuck them whenever he wants. Can't even imagine getting to wake up and devour these every morning."

"They are pretty incredible," Natty says, batting her lashes as her tits jiggle, still cradling your aching cock and keeping the heavenly friction constant—no escape in sight. "Not sure who's more lucky, boytoy or me."

You may never know the answer to that. 

All you know is there's no doubt in your mind that this is the best way to experience the true glory of these tits—and the more you stare, the less control you have, the pressure rising between your legs all the more. The groans that leave your throat get a little louder, a little more desperate as these two work to get you off, not easing up at all as they both crave your release.

"God, Nat, your tits really are unbelievable," Julie moans, getting this perfect handful with both hands as she assists, refusing to let the pace slack even a little. She can't get enough of the way they bounce between her fingers—how her touch gets the soft, plump flesh to smother the whole length of your cock. "They're making his dick leak so fucking much already."

"Can you even imagine how much he's going to cum all over them?" Natty adds, almost taunting. "Gonna make a mess, aren't you, boytoy?"

Your hips buck on impulse, not a shred of patience left when she asks that question, and it's not long until the ache of holding back is just too much. Natty stares, this knowing look when she senses the inevitable. You're so, so goddamn close now, needing little more than a few more pumps, these hungry gazes and wicked smiles only pushing you that much closer.

"Almost there, f-fuck—" you manage to blurt out, every pump between those luscious tits somehow more devastating than the last, each one feeling like it could finish you off.

“Cum, boytoy—do it," Julie encourages. “Show us how much of a fucking mess your huge load will make of these perfect tits.”

Natty does little but smile, glancing down to where your cock juts out of her cleavage, throbbing desperately under all this pillowy softness. And all that's needed is another firm squeeze of their hands, those tits smothering you tight to send you straight over the edge.

The eruption follows only moments later, hot, thick spurts of sticky white that makes their eyes go wide at the forceful blast that sprays up Natty's cleavage. It’s endless—shot after shot spilling over those gorgeous tits, painting them like the most sinful canvas imaginable. Your cum spills into the deep valley of her tits, streaking her neck and even hitting her chin, marking her in the most depraved way, just like these two greedy girls wanted. You’ve never seen anything more perfect. 

"Look at all that—there's so much fucking cum," Natty marvels, her heavy breathing causing those hefty tits to rise and fall as Julie lets them free, letting her finish the job, eager to milk out what last final drops she can from you. A few more languid strokes between her cum-streaked breasts and they squeeze around you one last time, drawing out the final dribble before your cock slips free, still twitching from just the sight of that delicious cleavage coated in pearly white. 

It isn't much of a surprise when Julie is the first to taste it, a long lick along Natty's neck, helping her clean up every bit she can get off her. Her tongue drags along her voluminous chest before sealing her mouth around a nipple, savoring the taste on her tongue with a moan.

"Natty looks so pretty covered in boytoy's thick load," Julie murmurs when she comes up for air, lips glossy with spit and cum as she gives one last lingering lick where your load still clings to her glistening tits. “Almost too good to clean up.” 

Natty can hardly disagree, watching her friend dive back into the mess with the voracious appetite that can only be expected—from someone just as obsessed with your cum as she is.

The display leaves you speechless, only able to stare—cock still twitching, spent, yet desperate to bury yourself between the luscious pair all over again.

Julie isn’t done by a long shot, licking up a thick streak of cum from the curve of Natty’s breast, her tongue slow and deliberate as she collects every drop. But instead of swallowing, she lifts Natty’s chin, lips parting to share it in a messy, heated kiss—swapping the load between their tongues, both moaning like they can’t get enough of the taste and each other. 

And if you weren’t still throbbing from such a satisfying release, you certainly are now—watching them swap your load back and forth, savoring it like some sweet delicacy. Insatiable and shameless, they kiss and moan through every messy moment, tongues tangled and lips glistening, the sight alone nearly has you ready to go again.

They eventually part, a thin string of spit and cum still connecting their tongues, both breathless as they steal their share of the mess, licking lips and lost in their own hunger. 

Before you can even recover, Natty’s already sinking back down between your legs, wrapping her lips around your cock with a satisfied hum, like she’s missed the taste of you already. Julie isn’t going to stay idle, and her hands slide up to grope Natty’s still-slick breasts, fingers digging in possessively as she leans close, watching every inch disappear into that heavenly mouth.

“Look at you,” Julie purrs, her breath hot against Natty’s neck as she toys with a glistening nipple between her fingers. “Didn’t even give poor boytoy a break. You really want to break him, huh?”

“Nothing he can’t handle.”

 Your breath hitches, strained and shaky to prove otherwise as Natty sucks harder, tongue swirling with maddening precision, until she suddenly pulls off with a wet pop, your cock glistening and twitching in the cool air. She presses a soft, lingering kiss to your sensitive tip, gaze locked on yours to drink in your reaction while her hand keeps stroking slowly, drawing out every last twitch of overstimulation. It’s too much—but yet you don’t want it to stop. Not now. Not ever.

And just like that, Julie’s lips are right back on Natty’s tits, kissing and sucking like she’s been starved for them, tongue flicking over each nipple, and insatiable can’t even begin to describe it. 

“Nothing like a good breakfast,” Julie hums against Natty’s flesh, too focused on suckling at her tits to say anything else, lips sealed tight as if she can find any more of your seed and relish that taste. 

"You two really are fucking addicted to my tits, aren't you?" Natty laughs breathlessly, enjoying the attention with one hand in Julie’s hair while the other lazily strokes your still-throbbing cock.

Julie pulls off with a lewd pop before grinning up at her. “Can you blame us, Nat?” she breathes, eyes half-lidded with lust as she squeezes one of those heavy breasts. “They’re perfect, pretty girl. Who the fuck could ever resist these?”

And there's nothing for Natty to say, after all—the evidence speaks for itself. Julie’s already latched back onto her tit like she’s tasting heaven, lips sealed over Natty’s swollen nipple, slow and wet. Her free hand kneads the other breast, pulling it closer as if she’s determined to worship every inch. And you’ve got the perfect fucking view of it all.

—-

What feels like hours later, the three of you finally make it to a much-needed shower—the hot water feeling so good on your bodies. There’s a mess of limbs underneath the calming water, and despite the fatigue, and a plethora of smiles and giggles to go around. Kisses are shared without urgency, without need, the soft press of lips against damp skin while hands roam around lazily, more interested in sharing affection than stoking desire. 

It’s a well-earned moment of relaxation that lingers when the water gets turned off and towels hit the floor—just in time for coffee, and maybe some actual breakfast, if these two can keep their hands to themselves long enough to order room service.

But when there’s a knock on the door for exactly that, Julie’s the one who answers the door, striding over in nothing but a tiny pair of red panties and a snug white crop top that barely covers her tits—nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric. 

“He recognized me,” Julie says with a smug grin as she saunters back inside, swinging the door shut behind her with her hip. She sets the tray down on the bar like nothing happened, unable to hide her amusement. “Could barely keep his eyes off my tits. Poor guy almost dropped the food.”

Natty arches a brow, crossing her arms under her own chest as she sits back against the headboard, legs stretched out and a lazy grin playing on her lips—completely naked, not bothering to throw on a single piece of clothing. “Recognized you from what, exactly?” she teases, though there’s already a knowing look in her eyes.

“Oh, you know, he’s a fan,” Julie replies with a wink, plopping down beside Natty on the bed, clearly having no intention of covering up. Her fingers toy idly with the hem of her shirt, as if daring it to ride up even further. “Pretty sure he’ll be jerking off to the memory for weeks.”

"That ass is pretty famous," Natty replies, eyes trailing over Julie’s barely covered curves with shameless appreciation. 

Julie just laughs, stretching lazily, her toned stomach flexing as she raises her arms over her head. The motion makes her crop top ride up even more, exposing just a hint of her bare breasts, but she makes no move to fix it. Instead, she smirks, turning onto her side to face Natty. "Can’t blame him. I'd stare too."

And god knows you are, helpless to resist as you sit back and stare at both of their bodies, knowing fully well they want you to.

You make it through coffee and breakfast, which in actuality is really brunch given the time—something quick, light, and enough to satisfy your hunger. It's a quiet moment that passes while little gets said, the three of you eating on the freshly-changed sheets with little sips of bitter coffee to help wash it down. 

You should have known it wouldn’t be nearly this peaceful.

Julie wastes little time once plates and cups are thrown away, setting the empty tray outside. Coming back in, you're not given a chance to put your phone down before she's bent over and between your legs, boxers pulled off and tossed somewhere in the room.

Little you can do but enjoy this position she's put you in, legs spread while she bobs her head so greedily down your length—lips far down the base with her cheeks hollowed out and her gaze staring straight at yours. Natty's right there too, kneeling beside Julie with that little thong of hers that shows off how good her ass looks as she gives all the spanks deserved, mostly kneading at both cheeks, playing with the soft flesh that feels so good to squeeze.

"Hey, Natty?" Julie asks after she pops off, lifting her head up as she takes a long drag up your cock. "I think I quite like our boytoy."

"Our? What makes him yours all of a sudden?" Natty asks, continuing her massage of that full ass and bringing a slap down against the velvety flesh of her cheeks that makes you jolt up into Julie's mouth. 

"Well, for starters, he loves when I do this," she responds, flashing that cheeky grin as she swallows you to the base yet again, tongue rubbing against that throbbing underside of your shaft as it's shoved down without restraint. 

"You're not keeping him for yourself. Find your own, you greedy little slut." And Natty sounds so fucking offended, with another swat echoing in the air alongside Julie's moan around your cock. You can't tell what's better.

"I'll share—" is all Julie has to offer before Natty cuts her off with another harsh blow to her ass, one that makes her cry out loudly around you.

"Heard that before. I'll let you have him whenever you're around, but that's it—if you're lucky you can use his dick every other weekend." 

"What am I, a library book you can loan to each other or something?"

"Exactly!" The two speak together in perfect sync. Another loud, wet pop, a tongue dragging along the swollen head of your cock as Julie locks that eye contact, swallowing you back down. 

“Have to admit, Jules—you look real good sucking his dick,” Natty sighs. Her hands sink back down to Julie's full ass, squeezing possessively as she gets her fingertips in nice and deep. Your hips buck helplessly, almost on autopilot at the sensations.

Julie finally manages to break off just to respond, but not without leaving several sloppy kisses and needy licks across the head of your cock, lips pressed flush against the glistening shaft as she continues to work.

"What can I say? I'm a professional," she answers, lips latched on your balls as she jerks your throbbing shaft. "Can't help myself. He tastes fucking delicious." 

"That's great and all, but still not sharing. This weekend's been fun but come Monday, it's back to normal."

"And if I just so happen to want him when you're stuck in class, Nat? What are you gonna do then?" Julie teases, dragging a few more lingering licks up your length that drive you crazy. "When you're in chem class and I'm on my knees, with him blasting a huge fucking load all over my pretty face? What if you're too busy to stop me?"

You're only caught up on the visuals Julie's trying to create. Imagining her like this on her knees and begging to be covered, smiling, tongue out while Natty is stuck learning about chemical reactions.

Natty knows Julie can't be tamed, no matter what.

"Then you better do a good job of emptying his balls when I'm not around, whore. Got it?"

"Jesus, do you two ever shut up, for like two seconds? Maybe I'll ask the front desk if there's anyone in need of a fuck, someone a little less high maintenance." The look on Natty's face says all that's needed—and yet she can't come up with a retort either, and not with her best friend grinning up at her with your cock still pressed right against her cheek. 

"As if you could ever find anyone else as hot as us," Natty says with the confidence you would expect. "With a big, thick cock that keeps us satisfied the way we deserve to be."

You roll your eyes as she speaks, Julie already going back down as if on cue, lips wrapped around you, eager for more. "Nat's huge tits and my fat ass, we make the perfect team. Face it, boytoy. You're stuck with us."

That's when Julie gets a bit too greedy, inhaling every inch until her lips can't take any more. Her way of convincing you , perhaps, and you can't say it isn't effective with the way she sucks harder—like she's not going to pull off until you're ready to agree. 

Stuck with the two most gorgeous, insatiable women possible hardly sounds like a terrible fate. Most of your time gets spent balls deep inside Natty the majority of the time regardless—and now when she's not riding the fuck out of you, there’s Julie to enjoy in the meantime.

You couldn’t ask for a better deal. 

[hcneymooners]

⋆ our bodies, two wounds of love.

bodyguard!sevika x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: as the youngest daughter of a highly famous businessman, you're not at all what sevika is expecting upon receiving her assignment.

cw: modern setting, soft!sevika, reader is sugar sweet and slightly shy, reader has long hair, obsessive behavior, dubious consent, as in reader wakes sevi up properly like the eater she is but sevi consents when she wakes up, somnophilia, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, implied/referenced sex, via toys, implied strapping as god intended, overstimulation, impact play, it's pussy slapping, nipple play, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, praise kink, pet names, dom/sub undertones, minor violence, reader speaks german in this for no other reason than i've been watching the empress., soft dom!sevika, love confessions, near-death experiences, non-sexual intimacy, age difference, older woman/younger woman, mommy issues, implied lmfao, makeup sex, arguing, resolved sexual tension, masturbation in bathroom, accidental voyeurism notes: this is set to american by lana del rey. listen here. this is more emotionally heavy, but definitely my favorite. does this plot barely make sense? yes. but is the reward worth it? yes. this is a repost.

out of all her clients, you were the easiest.

sevika shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was, given the research she’d conducted. you were the youngest of four daughters, and the public fed off your penchant for privacy. finding someone like you in her line of work was a rarity: no scandals to cover up, no carefully curated drama for the tabloids. your reputation preceded you—sweet, quiet, and often tired. a homebody, mel had said with an almost indulgent smirk when sevika was handed the assignment.

“you’re lucky,” she added. “the others are a handful.”

sevika didn’t believe in luck.

the flat where she first met you was a monument to your family’s wealth. still it was tasteful—ornate without being garish, quiet grandeur woven into every polished surface. it was the kind of space that swallowed sound and softened the world's edges.

your apartment was beautiful in a way that felt intentional but not performative. soft cream and powder blue walls were traced with delicate vines and florals, the details long faded. it wasn’t pristine—scuffs on the wooden floor and fingerprints smudged onto the low, sculptural table in the center—but it was lived-in, loved in a way that gave the space its warmth.

the table itself was an anchor—organic and raw, its uneven edges smoothed by time, surrounded by cushions in muted grays and pale pinks that had lost some of their color to the steady heat of the sun. a shelf of books stretched to the ceiling, its rows crowded with novels and photography volumes, with stacks of loose papers and half-burnt cigarettes scattered between them. the window beside it was cracked open just enough to let in the sound of rustling leaves, the faint scent of rain-soaked greenery curling through the room like an invisible flatmate.

golden lamps shaped like oversized fans stood at either end of the space, their light pooling onto the woven rug beneath. it cast the room in a kind of half-glow—soft, forgiving—blurring the edges of things just enough to make them feel closer. there was something fragile about how it all fit together like it had been arranged for someone who might leave it behind at any moment.

and yet, it felt distinctly like you. the powdered jasmine in the air, the book splayed open on the armchair, the small dish of rings by the window—it was a home that asked nothing of you but to exist in it. sevika’s stormy gaze caught on an abandoned note on the window sill, the script delicate and curling.

cochem, it read. i miss you. i want to come back to you. i want to disappear inside of you and have you love me again. i want to get lost in the german morning. no one will ever know me, and i’ll be happy, less unfulfilled.

she fingered the edges of the paper, sun-bleached and flaking. then she began to walk again, navigating to what looked like the open door of your study.

you were waiting for her inside, perched in an armchair too big for your frame, as if the room had been designed to diminish you. at first glance, you looked as delicate as the furniture you sat on, barefaced and bathed in soft afternoon light that filtered through sheer curtains. it was the kind of light that made everything look fragile and translucent.

you wore an ivory blouse, thin and shimmering with embroidery that seemed to grow out of the fabric like frost patterns on glass. the neckline skimmed your collarbones, modest but deliberate, while the sleeves flared past your wrists, draping like petals. the cinched waist and pale drawstrings might have belonged to someone dressing for comfort, but on you, it was something else entirely—careless elegance.

the sweatpants should have broken the illusion. they didn’t. instead, they made you seem more unreachable, more unstudied. as if you’d wandered into this world from somewhere else—someplace softer—and were still too young to realize you didn’t belong.

sevika lingered in the doorway for a beat longer than she meant to, her presence large enough to make the room feel smaller. she expected you to bristle at the intrusion, to draw yourself up with the same cool hauteur that so often marked women of your standing. but you didn’t.

you looked up at her, eyes wide and unguarded, and smiled.

“hello,” you said. your voice was so soft, as though you feared disturbing her.

sevika’s eyes swept over you, cataloging every detail: the way your hair—long and heavy—spilled over your shoulders, catching the faint streaks of the incoming light; the way your blouse seemed to ripple as you moved, fabric clinging like a whisper to your skin.

“i’m sevika,” she said finally, voice low and steady. “your father hired my team's services to protect your family. i’ll be your bodyguard.”

you nodded and rose from the chair, the movement unhurried and deliberate. you smoothed your palms over the sides of your sweatpants—grey, nondescript, somehow lovely in the context of you—and stepped closer. you smelled faintly of something soft and fleeting: fresh linen, maybe, or soap.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand, sincerity tucked neatly into every word.

sevika didn’t take it right away. there was something strange about you—something that tugged at her instincts and told her to look closer. your face was open, unguarded, but there was a sadness there, too, stitched into the curve of your mouth, in the way your lashes fell low. she watched the way you stood there, chin lifted just enough to suggest poise but not pride, eyes wide and unguarded as they searched hers for something she wasn’t used to giving.

trust.

and for the first time in a long while, sevika found herself unsure of what to do. you weren’t like the others, all obvious disdain and high expectations. nothing was demanding about you—nothing calculated or sharp. just the soft curve of your mouth, the quiet pull of your gaze, and a kindness she didn’t quite know how to meet.

she clasped your hand firmly but briefly, clearing her throat as she stepped back.

“we should go over security protocol,” she said gruffly, falling back into professionalism as a defense.

you only nodded, that same soft smile still lingering. “of course. whatever you need.”

whatever you need.

sevika didn’t believe in luck, but standing there, looking down at you—your long lashes fluttering as you turned your gaze away, the afternoon light casting faint shadows through the sheer sleeves of your blouse—she wondered, for just a second, if this was as close to it as she would ever get.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

it took three years for both of you to understand that your relationship had outgrown the typical bounds of client and employee. yes, intimacy was inevitable given the circumstances, but even a stranger would’ve seen something uncanny about how you and sevika were… connected, even for a bodyguard.

love affairs always look different to those inside them. you thought nothing of how deeply you needed her, how fondness for her had quietly rooted itself in you. sevika risked her body—her life—to keep you from harm, and it felt natural to bond, to grow into one another. time spent apart became more agonizing only relieved by the hours you were together, yet you ignored the weight of it.

your sisters often spoke of it, though only behind closed doors. you rarely engaged in their chatter. you had always been this way: dreamy, untethered, with a mind like mist and the heart of a prey animal. lame, your mother had called you, her voice sharp with disappointment. sickly, she added, as if naming your frailty might cure it. over time, it became easier to withdraw, to wrap yourself in silence, and let the world chatter on without you.

but with sevika, life required less effort. you rediscovered a tenderness for the act of living in her presence. she was patient, grounding. she found you tolerable even at your worst, and for that, you adored her. no one else had made you feel this way—not men, not women.

while you preferred women, you had dabbled with men, more out of curiosity than desire. it felt clinical, an attempt to decode them like puzzles, perhaps to better understand why you and your father clashed. women, on the other hand, unraveled you.

the realization of your love came in two parts. the first arrived in the languid quiet of a holiday evening at your family’s upstate estate.

you had overexerted yourself in a lagree class, and sevika, ever watchful, had drawn you a warm bath. you watched her through the crack of the bathroom door, your gaze catching on the soft swell of her hips, the worn strength in her movements as she stretched after finishing readying the bed for sleeping. you often shared when traveling. she sat on the edge of it, her familiar perch, closest to the door. she always did this.

it was the smallest things about her that undid you: the way her hair slipped loose from its strict ponytail, the gentle sway of the gold chain brushing against her collarbones. you’d bought her that chain during a weekend in stockholm. now, the sight of it filled you with a sudden, vicious envy. you wanted to be that close to her—always.

the need consumed you. your body buzzed with an unnamed energy, teetering on the edge of itself. you wanted to crawl out of your skin and into hers, to dissolve completely against her warmth. you wanted her blood to run through your veins, her marrow to fuse with yours. your desire was feral, deranged, trembling like a dying pathetic thing.

without thinking, your hand slipped between your thighs. the thought of her—the sharpness of her profile, the tender press of her hands on your waist at the farmer’s market earlier—burned in your mind. you focused on the ridge of her nose, her beautiful nose. everything about her pleased you.

your fingertips pressed harder into the rosy pearl of your clit, and with a wounded cry, you came undone, trembling, your gaze locked on her through the crack in the door.

as if summoned by your thoughts, sevika lifted her head and met your eyes. her stern gaze pinned you, and you sank beneath the water with sudden embarrassment, your skin flush with heat.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the next morning, your pleasure still lingered via a morning glow on your skin. you woke to find sevika beside you, her strong shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of her sleep. you lifted a hand and stroked her brow, cooing softly as she murmured from somewhere deep within her sleep.

she, you thought, is every woman i’ve ever wanted.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the second realization came during an attempt to kill you.

you were the chosen target—a calculated decision. your public image, carefully nurtured by those who sought to use you, made your death a tragedy worth orchestrating. the explosive had been hidden cleverly in the heart of your favorite restaurant, the one you frequented for its thick slices of fresh bread and macadamia milk.

when it detonated, your world fractured. your vision blurred, your ears rang, and blood trickled warm and sticky down your face. the floor rose to meet you, the lacquered wood pressing cold against your cheek. the world went in and out like the weak signal of a radio. someone was screaming—it might have been your mother, though you doubted she cared enough to wail like that.

through the haze, a hand cupped your jaw, firm but careful, and your head was turned until your eyes locked on sevika’s. her gray gaze steadied you, cutting through the chaos. you raised a hand, your french manicured tips trailing lightly against her cheek. one of them, you noticed, was broken.

“[name]. [name], look at me. don’t take your eyes off me.”

“vika,” you whispered, the name slipping from your lips like a prayer. for the first time, you saw fear flicker across her face.

“it’s me,” she said softly. “you’re going to be fine, but i need to get you up. i need to get you out of here.”

you didn’t want to move. here, cradled in her hands, was where you wanted to stay.

“i can hold you, princess,” she murmured, her voice impossibly tender. “if that’s what you want. but i have to move you first. deep breath, okay? here we go.”

she lifted you as though you weighed nothing, her strength unyielding. you clung to her, your broken nails digging into her skin as she carried you through the wreckage. bodies lay strewn across the floor, and your heart broke when you recognized the familiar face of a favorite server.

“it’s okay,” sevika said, her voice a steady anchor. “look at me. just keep looking at me.”

and you did. your gaze drifted to the soft curve of her throat; your face tilted toward her as though she were the sun.

when she laid you on the stretcher, a terrible fear seized you. you reached for her, desperation clawing at your chest.

“stay with me. bitte. bitte, ich flehe dich an.”

sevika froze. if it had been anyone else, she might have refused and headed back to assess the security breach. but it wasn’t anyone else. it was you.

“i’m right behind you, sweetheart,” she promised, her hand pressing firmly to your stomach. “right behind you. just in that car.”

“danke, vika,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du.”

even as the ambulance doors closed, your eyes never left her. you focused on the faint hum of her engine trailing behind you, the sound steady against the fevered rush of your heart.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

sevika was unforgiving after that, and you selfishly enjoyed the over-attention.

she stole you away, back to your flat, and hovered. always within reach, always watching, her presence as constant as the air you breathed. you hated it. you loved it.

she insisted on being in the room while you bathed, while you ate, while you tried to pretend your body wasn’t trembling from the aftershocks of the explosion. the weight of her gaze pressed into your skin like a second layer. she dressed your wounds with quiet efficiency, her fingers steady but firm, and even when you flinched, she refused to soften her touch.

“you should’ve told me this one was hurting,” she murmured one evening, crouched at your side with a damp cloth in hand. her voice was scolding, but there was an undercurrent of something wounded beneath it—something that hadn’t healed properly since the restaurant.

“it’s fine,” you said, looking anywhere but at her.

“it’s not fine,” she snapped, gripping your wrist a little too tightly before loosening her hold. “you don’t tell me when you’re in pain. you don’t—” she stopped herself, shaking her head as if to clear it.

her jaw worked, muscles tight, and you stared at the curve of her throat as she leaned over you, wiping dried blood away with the kind of precision that only made your chest ache.

“you’re smothering me,” you said softly, more to yourself than her, but her head snapped up like you’d struck her.

“you almost died,” she bit out, and the words made you flinch harder than her grip.

“but i didn’t,” you countered, hating the way your voice trembled.

you could be such a child. it crippled you, your desire to please her, to be less burdensome. she’d kill you if she knew what you were thinking. thank god it was your secret.

sevika’s lips parted, but no words came. just that unfaltering, infuriating look—one that said she knew better, that she always knew better, and that you knew this to be true. you raised a finger, traced the glistening edges of her teeth. she kept her mouth open; she never bit down.

and then one evening, you decided you’d had enough.

“i’m going out,” you said, pulling a thick coat of fur—vintage—over your shoulders.

sevika, seated in the chair by the window, didn’t look up from the blade she was sharpening. “no, you’re not.”

“yes, i am,” you replied, voice clipped.

her eyes flicked up to meet yours, the air thickening.

“why would i agree to that?” she asked, standing slowly, her full height suddenly overwhelming in the small space. “why would i let you walk out of here after i almost lost you last time?”

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head.

“let me? you’re not my keeper, vika.”

“really?” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave. “should we do another read of my contact? i’m the person who pulled you out of the rubble. i’m the person who’s been keeping you alive, no thanks to your recklessness.”

“recklessness?” you snapped, whirling to face her fully. “if you’ve learned anything these past years, it is that i am rarely reckless. you promised me. you said you wouldn't be another dictator. you know what my life’s been like. i am allowed to have a life outside of this, outside of what has happened to me.”

her nostrils flared, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“you think i’m doing this for me?” she asked, her voice rough, uneven. “you think i like this?”

“yes,” you spat, the frustration spilling out of you in an unstoppable wave. “this is the most excitement i’ve given you. you must think i’m so fucking boring all of the time. so, yes, i think you’re enjoying it. it makes you feel important. ”

something in her cracked. she closed the distance between you in two steps, her hand shooting out to grip your chin, tilting your face up to hers.

“i'm enjoying this?” she growled, her breath hot against your skin. “watching you get hurt? wondering if this time i’ll be too late? don’t mistake my care for control.”

her grip softened, her thumb brushing your jaw, and suddenly, the room felt unbearably small. you could see the pulse in her throat, the heat in her gaze as her eyes searched yours.

“sevika,” you said. your self-righteousness had passed, and you were so deeply ashamed. “vika, that was unfair. i’m sorry. forgive me.”

her hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the solid warmth of her body against yours. her breath was shallow, her jaw tight, but her eyes—god, her eyes. they burned with something that made your knees weak.

“bitte,” you whispered.

“i’m trying,” she said, her voice trembling, “to keep you safe. to keep myself from—”

she cut herself off, her gaze flicking to your lips. and before you could say anything, before you could breathe, her mouth was on yours.

the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, her hand tightening on your waist as if she was afraid you might disappear. you gasped against her, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, her neck, her hair. but just as quickly as it began, it ended. she pulled back, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and stormy.

“don’t push me like that again,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

and then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving you alone with the echo of her touch.

you crumpled like a paper doll and began to sob. outside, sevika, having turned back, pressed her forehead against the wall. absent-mindedly, the fingers of her prosthetic twitched and aborted their motions, jerking against the door as if fighting to feel you there.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

you needed to repay her for your abhorrent behavior.

you tried through what you knew: lavish breakfasts, waking up early to purchase her favorite flowers and sweets. you’d even carefully cleaned and oiled her prosthetic. sevika said nothing, if only not to further provoke your guilt, but you could tell she felt it was unnecessary. she was always too easy on you.

the universe, however, seemed to agree with you, and the opportunity to protect sevika came faster than you ever expected.

it was another attempt, this time at a crowded gala in the heart of the city. you hadn’t wanted to go, but sevika had insisted—you wanted to go out. besides, you need to be seen. send a message. and she had been there, of course, always in the background, a silent shadow at your side.

you saw the glint of the blade before she did.

it was instinct. your body moved before your mind caught up, and suddenly, you were between sevika and the would-be assassin, your arm jerking upward to deflect the strike with the heavy bracelet you wore. the metal screeched against the blade, and a sharp pain radiated up your arm, but you didn’t falter.

with your other hand, you snatched a knife from the cocktail table behind you. it was small but sharp, and you used it without hesitation. you didn’t feel the burn of the blade as it nicked your palm on the thrust; you only felt the sickening resistance of flesh before the assailant crumpled at your feet.

“get down!” sevika’s voice was a thunderclap, her hand gripping your shoulder as she shoved you behind her. she moved with terrifying precision, her body a blur of strength and fury as she assessed the situation in seconds.

the room was instantly bursting with chaos. a flash of silver caught your eye as sevika swung her prosthetic arm, sending one of the other assailants sprawling. blood slicked the floor, and the copper tang of it hung heavy in the air. your ears rang with the cacophony of fists, steel, and slit flesh.

you shouldn’t have done that; you knew this. the headlines would be more than money could hide.

“fuck!” sevika’s voice cut through the din, sharp and furious, as she turned to find you standing there, breathing hard, your hands stained red. “what the hell did you do?”

“i—i had to,” you stammered, your chest heaving. “you didn’t see him—”

she grabbed your arm, dragging you toward the far side of the room where the air was clearer and less stifling. the fight was dwindling; the attackers were now being rounded up by security, but sevika’s fury was just beginning.

“what were you thinking?” she hissed, her voice trembling. “do you have a death wish?”

you ripped your arm from her grasp, your own anger bubbling to the surface.

“i was saving you! or would you rather i let him stab you in the back?”

“i don’t need you to save me!” she snapped, stepping closer, her broad shoulders towering over you.

“maybe i need to,” you shot back, tears pricking at your eyes. “i refuse to just sit here and watch you die for me. i won’t. you can’t ask that of me.”

her expression faltered, the rage in her eyes dimming, replaced by something heavier, something more understanding. she often forgot how young you were.

“princess, it's not—you don’t understand,” she said. “if anything happened to you—”

“you’d what?” you interrupted, your voice wavering as you stared up at her. “fall apart? i wouldn’t be any different, vika. you're far from inconsequential. i could not survive a world without you.”

the silence between you was deafening. her gaze dropped to your trembling hands, still clutching the bloodied knife, and she let out a low, shuddering breath. more security personnel arrived, breaking the stalemate. the room was secured, and sevika took that as her cue to remove you from the premises, dragging you through the back corridors, her hand iron-tight around your wrist.

the moment the door to your shared suite slammed shut, she spun on you. her eyes glistened as she glared at you, her body taut like a bowstring.

“you don’t get it, do you?” she said, stepping closer. “i can’t—” she broke off, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“you can’t what?” you asked, shifting toward her. “vika, tell me.”

her jaw worked, the muscles in her neck tightening as she tried to hold herself together.

“i feel like i’m so close to losing you,” she said finally, her voice low and broken.

the words hit you like a punch to the chest.

“you won’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i can’t be without you in any way. i won’t allow it.”

her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. the space between you was so heavy. all you wanted was to smooth the worried line of her forehead, to share water with her, and wipe her clean.

“you can’t promise that,” she said finally.

you watched as she turned from you and slipped into the bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

she woke up with your head between her thighs.

sevika might’ve been more pleased about it if it wasn’t in the middle of the night. still, it wasn’t the worst way to come to.

the warmth spidered from her thighs to her hips before coiling tightly in her stomach. her eyes fluttered open, disoriented and struggling to focus. she heard you first: the wet suck of your mouth against her swollen, brown folds. you moaned somewhere deep and hidden in your chest, your hands tightening around the thickness of her thighs even though she was not yet bucking.

it took a while for her to place herself, and then it crashed into her all at once. she gasped and tucked a hand into your hair, which you removed so that you could intertwine your fingers, pressing them away from her head.

you unlatched from her and pressed a soft kiss into her stomach.

“stay still,” you commanded. “please.”

she allowed it.

you worked at her over and over, pushing the back the hood of her clit so you could roll it between your fingers like a rosy pearl. sevika let her pleasure crest until she shuddered into an unearthly orgasm, her legs snapping shut around your head just as a roll of thunder sounded through the early morning.

"couldn’t sleep?" she rasped.

you slowly unfastened her legs and raised your head from where you had been lapping at her, your full mouth glistening with her arousal. sevika sat up fully, legs shifting beneath the butter-yellow comforter, and stared down at you.

you looked back at her with wide eyes like she’d caught you sinning. you. you with your puppy eyes and open mouth. you, with your sweetness, with your eagerness when it came to her. you like a doe on the open road.

"no," you told her. "i couldn’t accept the idea that you hated me."

she sighed and cupped your cheek, thumbing across the plush skin.

"when you do or say something that displeases me, that doesn’t mean i hate you."

"if you’re displeased," you said, your voice thick across the last word, "then it feels the same to me."

with a huff of irritation, she yanked you up and into her lap, guiding you into a bruising kiss.

it wasn’t like the last time. this wasn’t desperation or fear—it was need. pure, unrelenting need. her hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her, and you gasped into her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair.

she shifted you easily, rolling over so that you fell beneath her. her eyes roamed over you, dark and hungry, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“you drive me insane,” she murmured, her voice rough as her hand trailed down your side.

“good,” you whispered, pulling her back to you.

soon, kissing wasn’t enough. you had hungered for her for so long, and she for you.

wetly, your lips broke apart, and she slid back to survey you. the soft, muted light of the room caught on the intricate lace of your undergarments. the set was exquisite; the bra cupped you perfectly. you saw sevika's jaw tighten, her hands flexing at her sides as though restraining herself from reaching for you.

“you look…” her voice faltered, her control waning. “fuck, princess.”

heat spread across your body, and you felt the lace press a little tighter against your skin as your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

sevika leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. her hand rose, hesitant at first, before her fingertips brushed the embroidered lace at your shoulder. she traced the pattern down your arm, her touch light but burning, before resting her palm at your waist.

“you wore this for me?” she murmured, her voice low and dark, as her thumb swept over the sheer fabric, catching on a pebbled nipple.

“who else?” you answered, a tremor in your voice as her hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you up into a soft arch.

she hummed in satisfaction and gently pulled your bra down so that it dipped beneath your tits as they spilled further into view. steadying you with a hand on your stomach, sevika leaned down and coaxed a hard bud into her mouth.

the wet heat of her mouth was akin to a strike of lightning. you moaned as she increased the pressure of her teeth, suckling eagerly at your chest as you pushed desperately into her touch. by instinct, your legs rose to cross behind her hips, forcing her to settle on top of you.

she let go of your nipple with a wet pop and switched to the other, beginning to work her way down your body with a pleased exhale. your panties didn’t even put up a worthy fight. they just slid right down, the fabric bunching around your thighs. the scrap of fabric had barely covered your cunt anyway, your thatch of hair poking through as if to tease her.

she watched your lips gleam and glisten, your pussy drooling with arousal and as deliciously plump as the rest of you. sevika pressed her mouth against it, practically a dog in heat, and relished the way you shivered up against her.

“vika,” you moaned and turned your face to the side in the way you did when you were overcome with embarrassment.

“baby,” she murmured, shifting so that she could force you to look at her. “baby, is this all for me?”

you whined, and sevika smirked, dipping her head down to lick a flat stripe up your dripping cunt.

“vika, fuck,” you cried, and she hummed, hooking a hand around one of your legs to pull it up so that you were further exposed. your clit was swollen and calling out for her.

pulling back, she used her free hand to part your lips so that she could watch the way you clenched around nothing. slick ran steadily down to the crack of your ass, a syrupy stream of desire. carefully, she stroked a metallic finger through your heat, holding you down as she began to rub your clit in tight circles.

“look at that pussy,” she murmured. “can’t believe it’s all mine, princess. thank you. thank you, baby.”

sevika couldn’t help herself and lifted her hand, bringing it down to slap against your cunt. you squealed, and she pressed a kiss to your thigh, delighting in your loss of composure. she considered you beneath her, your body slick and shining with sweat as you writhed. she rained two more strikes across your pussy in quick succession, dropping her head down and sliding her fingers in to let your buck into her open mouth and lolling tongue.

“taste so fucking good, princess,” she purred into you. “that’s it. ride my face, sweet girl. take what you want from me. take what you need.”

you gripped the bed, angling her hips so that you could drag her deeper into the cavern of your cunt. mewling, you trapped her between the link of your legs as you snapped upward and arched, cumming with a high sob.

“oh my god, vika.”

“just me,” she teased.

sevika waited for a couple of seconds before pushing up and rearranging you, sliding your back against her chest. carefully, she pushed your legs back apart and tucked three fingers up into your cunt, building a rhythm until she was thrusting hard enough that the overstimulation made you scream. you curled over yourself, your nails raking down her muscled thighs.

she milked you, patient and unrelenting, until you began to bounce on your own. you rode her hand. hard. slowly, your gummy walls tightened around her, whimpering through the flashes of pain and pleasure before you came again with a silent wail. sevika held you as you shook apart, whispering a stream of steady praises into your ear.

“good girl,” she cooed. “look at how good you are, princess. you needed this, huh? you’ve been begging for it, so desperate to cream all over me. such a good fucking girl.”

you slumped down, whimpering weakly as she pulled away from you. you felt her get up, slipping off the bed and walking somewhere into the darkness of the room. soon, she returned but not alone. you began to come back to yourself, and in doing so, you were able to focus on what she held in your hands.

“vika, that won’t fit.”

in her hand was a navy harness and matching dildo, girthy and ribbed. you tilted your head as she closed in, your hands finding her waist as if by instinct.

“sevika,” you whispered, your voice breaking as her lips trailed down your jaw, her teeth grazing your throat.

“quiet, baby,” she muttered against your skin, and you sighed softly, the sound catching in your throat as her hands slid lower, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made you shiver. "you know you can take it."

you let out a pathetic, wet cry as she prodded at your puffy cunt, and her face softened. she pulled you closer, peppering your face with soft kisses. there was only her—her heat, her weight, her breath against your skin.

again she watched you, gripping you firmly from beneath your thighs as she nestled the tip of the dildo at the entrance of your pussy.

“princess,” she called to you, and you blinked blearily, clutching at her. “consider this forgiveness.”

it was all you ever wanted.

© hcneymooners.

translations.   bitte — please. bitte, ich flehe dich an — please i beg of you. danke — thank you. du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du. — you are what i need. only you.

[i9chicago]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet loving you.

pairing — spencer reid x professor! fem! reader.

genre — smut (18+ so minors dni)

summary — you think you despise dr. spencer reid with all your bones, you think he's too good and too accomplished at what he does, and you think he despises you too. till you discover his particular liking for you that night when he saw you in a red dress.

word count — 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings — oral (f receiving) fingering, soft dom! spencer cuz it's rotting my brain cells. masturbation. semi-public sex. lots of kissing. reader is a neuroscience professor.

a/n — this is my first fic here so be nice or i'll cry. english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammar mistakes. like for part 2 (please) ehh, i hate the ending. that's it. hope at least you enjoy it! <3

Red was never a color linked to joy. For some, it was the antithesis of calm—an unruly hue brimming with everything those fond of gentler tones tended to avoid: anger, desire, unbridled passion. A color that rose along a scale of relentless intensity, evoking not warmth, but power.

That’s why you chose to wear a crimson dress fitted neatly across your back, for the event. It didn’t need to be overly elegant or striking— just enough to keep you from feeling underdressed. Just enough to give you the confidence to stand tall and lift your chin in a room full of professors and potential future colleagues, the ones you'd meet again in hallways and over hurried lunches. You loved teaching. And truthfully, you didn’t mind being surrounded by university students who emailed you at four in the morning with long-winded excuses dressed up in flowery language to explain why they missed class or hadn’t done the work. You bit your tongue and kept going. People in the field admired your approach to teaching and your background in neuroscience had taken you far—far enough to park your car outside a sleek hotel and walk through its doors to stand among the best. To make your position as a tenured professor feel less like a myth spun into fantasy in your own head—and more like the fact it was becoming.

It was meant to be a calm affair, or so claimed the invitation embossed in gold thread and impeccable calligraphy, which promised a welcoming evening for the newly appointed tenured professors. You were one of them, even though you'd only been teaching for a year. Your heart thudded in erratic rhythms and you clutched your small handbag so tightly your knuckles turned white, the click of your heels echoing across the ceramic-gray tiles. Tilted your head, curious, catching sight of a golden chandelier overhead, mirroring the three-dimensional designs painted into the ceiling. It was such a pivotal moment, and yet, in all the hours spent getting ready, your mind had spiraled through a thousand reasons for things to go wrong. You couldn’t help it. Your head was always turning against you like it took some kind of pleasure in watching you unravel into a mess of nerves and dread, about the room’s reactions, about your own autonomy. Maybe you’d spill wine on your dress. Maybe you’d choke on a piece of ice from a champagne flute. Maybe you'd talk too much and accidentally let slip something painfully personal. The other professors didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know anything about you. Still, when alcohol starts to feel like a second skin, you’d promised yourself you’d manage it, one drink every two hours. Enough to keep disaster at bay.

You greeted a few adjunct professors as they passed by, and the moment you stepped into the grand hall, your jaw nearly dropped. The entire place was blue. Neon lights laced the walls, and a young DJ—probably no older than twenty—was spinning electronic remixes of ‘80s hits. It was almost a joke. There were far too many people for this to be just faculty. You doubted it. The entire teaching department must’ve been here, something you hadn’t quite expected. You’d imagined a more traditional venue: jazz music, old money burning through the most expensive drinks at a quiet bar in the corner. Instead, the tables were dressed in white linen with centerpieces of soft blue and white flowers. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed. You accepted the glass of champagne a waiter offered you, now, it felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. You didn’t see a single familiar face and with the sheer number of bodies crowding the space, heat began to wrap around your bones. Usually, you were good at socializing, at least good enough not to make a fool of yourself. Winning over professors — especially the ones in physics— was a simple task, and the unspoken rule from the arts department was clear: never, under any circumstances, cross them. So yes, faking camaraderie came naturally to you. And with a few drinks, the task became almost idyllic.

You approached a table and picked up a small peach pastry, the sweetness of the powdered sugar melting on your tongue as your eyes scanned the room, now with a faint smudge of red lipstick on the bite. Then, something shifted. You felt it a gaze on the back of your neck. You turned slowly, your breath catching just as your pulse began to quicken.

Spencer Reid. And he was looking at you.

The same who was too ‘good’ to consider a tenured position at the college. The genius. The chosen one. The prodigy. An FBI profiler whose dignity vanished from the young girls in his classes as soon as they saw him or attended his seminars purely to watch him talk and talk and spill random data that none of them really cared about. They just went to see him. And he didn't even notice. Or, if he did, he was perfectly good at turning a blind eye to it.

It made your blood crawl. Cause you spent months hearing praise behind your back about how all his degrees and accomplishments put him in an optimal position to walk the halls as if he were a member of royalty himself. Sometimes you would see him in the gardens talking to some students being so generous and so kind that you would inevitably roll your eyes at his perfect kindness that you wanted to avoid seeing him as soon as possible. Everyone talked about him and you could understand why: He was an excellent prototype of the good man wrapped in good faith. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze at teacher's meetings, passing a cup of coffee in the mornings of pure silent politeness because neither of you had ever conversed in sentences that veered beyond a harmless thank you and good morning. You offered him your best smiles as his fingers brushed yours as you held out the cardboard cup full of black coffee and he would stare longer at your lips before sliding his periphery into your hands and leaving, as if touching you made him burn, as if he ached for the involuntary touch of your skins. Your friends were aware of how much you didn't like at all everything that endorsed his presence, and they didn't understand. You had a stable job. And of almost the same vitality as his. They told you that your reasons for loathing him were ridiculous, childish and, for a moment, they said you just didn't like him because he incarnated in flesh and blood everything you were attracted to in a man. And you were perfect at dismissing that.

Because it was. And that's what you really fucking hated.

You were unlucky. That was it. As if there was some bizarre entity pre-existing that dragged your decisions into an eternal abyss and turned you into a mixture of bad experiences that only increased as the years went by. And Spencer, in theory, seemed to be too surreal. Sure, his proportions as a whole were appropriate. And you had no trouble figuring out why young girls sighed with their hand on their chin every time he opened his mouth. There was no name for what you felt for him. It was just... It was weird. Weird for you, even, because you were used to being around people like him. But never like him. No one was like him.

Maybe your friends were right in saying that your occasional disdain for Spencer was born solely out of a need for adrenaline that you simply stopped paying attention to him. When your eyes met his in the distance, in a crowd, he smiled at you.

Bastard.

He had no right. He had no right to smile warmly at you as he raised his hand slightly in greeting, which he then lowered because of how awkward and absurd it looked. Much less did he have it to look this well melted by a suit that seemed to be itching his skin. With the red tie and the white shirt stuck to his body. All your attempts to pretend to be indifferent when it came to him were more than unsuccessful, in fact, irrational was a better word to describe it. You did nothing more than answer his greeting with a rehearsed smile as you turned to the food table swallowing a couple of those peach snacks, which you simulated with another swig of champagne feeling how the taste of alcohol numbed the few senses you had left one hundred percent. You sighed, much to your dismay, the dress was starting to feel tighter and tighter around your waist and you felt a flash of wind caressing the bare skin of your back. And to think that Spencer was probably watching you sent a searing heat through all your extremities. You stood up on your back and walked to the other end, however, the glass goblet you held in your right hand had a small crack that dug into your palm making you gasp from the sting of the glass against your flesh. Blood, thick and metallic, gushed out in small gushes from the wound. You felt dizzy for a second. And you wanted to go straight to the nearest bathroom.

Spencer followed your figure gliding through the crowd. The music was loud and what he heard from some of the professors, even if he didn't like to admit it (they were a bit older and kind of jerks) he stopped listening to them the moment your eyes connected with his and just lost himself in how he felt his heart rate become erratic. Superficial. He didn't need the world to be quiet to hear his heart racing. And it wasn't in the ingestion of alcohol, so in his glass rested a simple apple cider that he drank with enthusiasm. It was in how you received his perception, he was used to reading between the lines. And he had spent a lot of time reading specifically how you responded to being in his presence. Always evasive. You pleaded silently. He was not indifferent to your avoidance and sometimes caught you looking at him when you thought he didn't notice. In some other context it would seem creepy and worthy of concern. But it was you. All he saw was you. He wanted to see why his limits seemed to be nonexistent when it came to you and everything that warranted your mere objectivity. He listened to you in your classes, giving extensive perorations on the theory of neuroplasticity, and your students raved about you.

There was something irrefutable in how you learned to avoid him with a grace that overwhelmed him. He wished the words you never pronounced could be a clear language. But no. You chose evasion, silence. An elusiveness so subtle that it only left room for curiosity, for the need to understand why you were doing it. As if everything between you was an unwritten dialogue that he couldn't complete.

He could hear the softness of your words as he rummaged deep into his memories, when you talked about the evaluative changes in neuroscience in front of a packed classroom, your voice flowed like a calm river but inside him everything was churning and he didn't even bother to look for its root. It didn't bother him, actually, he was fascinated by how you were able to captivate everyone, and, at the same time, keep him out of your reach.

It killed him. It killed him slowly and torturously how he begged you with the simplicity of his gestures and looks and you purely eluded him. But what killed him the most was that, despite being so close, it always seemed like it wasn't enough. That he never reached that last layer that protected you.

He couldn't help but feel like a doomed voyeur watching as that invisible barricade between you held firm. Talk to me. Look at me. Why not? How long will I endure? Every vestige of desire of his was mounting to catatonic levels.

A cold current was seeping deep into his skin, icing his fingers as he waited, patiently, for some movement, a sign from you.

But nothing.

Only the pleasure of your indifference, so bitter and bewitching, like a trap he didn't know how to escape from. And, damn it, he loved it.

The white walls in the bathroom loomed over you as you walked in hoping for an aid kit somewhere, you looked in the mirror for a moment, realizing how lousy the night was going and you were just getting there. It was supposed to be a good time to continue making friends and finally find more people to have lunch with at noon. You should have seen it coming. You thought for hours about whether it was a good idea to attend and your apartment, not far from the hotel, a few blocks from the venue, was a mess. Dresses strewn across the floor and your cat found the jumble of sleeping fabric in every corner of the house fascinating. The pain in your hand was getting more intense, too strong, unbearable. A burst of burning that intensified every second. You made a point of washing away the bright blood with the water and grimaced at the new coolness and stinging sensation of the cut.

But even the pain didn't lessen the fact that you were thinking about him. And that infuriated you. The gazes that lasted longer than usual, the gestures you avoided and those imperceptible moments charged with something much more substantial. What did you want to do with all of that? Nothing. You couldn't do anything. Spencer was in a completely foreign league to you and you had to respect that.

You didn't even want to imagine what would happen if people at the college found out. People talk, and they don't measure the magnitude of their words and all that a simple hallway rumor could trigger. Like teens. No one should be interested in what two professors were doing outside the institution. And besides, he wasn't even working full time. He was an agent. Even more reason why this growing, heated thing between you two was a flat out no way it was going to happen. It was undermining all your senses. All your good judgment diminishing it to nothing. No, it couldn't happen. The tension was limiting your core beliefs. And as you tried to maintain a control you knew you didn't have, the restlessness in your chest only grew.

As you did everything in you to heal the cut quickly, you heard the faint creak of the door. You raised your head and, in the reflection of the mirror you saw Spencer's figure bursting into the glare of the bathroom lights. You failed to keep calm. Because you had nothing left. Spencer briefly held the handle, his eyes sliding a quick glance between the mess in your hand and the confusion evident on your face, your cheeks flushed, your breathing still uncontrolled. And, without a word, he locked the door.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the air, amplifying the tension already vibrating in the space. His scent enveloped you, the warmth of his presence washed over you so tightly that the sting in your cut receded into the background. But for him it seemed otherwise. He stood in front of you so close you could feel his breath, a faint sigh that seemed to touch your skin, make the air thick, dense. He looked at you briefly, straight into your eyes and that's when you understood why you were avoiding him so much. It was him. His gaze. His warmth. Everything about him sucked you in, pulled you in and was all too evident. His intensity was like a force of gravity that drew you in hopelessly. No matter how much you dodged it, no matter how hard you tried to shield yourself from that connection, it was as if the very nature of the situation had determined that the distances between the two of you were simply not viable.

He looked at you as if asking for permission to heal your hand, and though he didn't say it out loud, he didn't need to. The question was in the solid silence between the two of you, in the way he watched you, so close that you could almost feel his thoughts without a single word needing to be uttered. That look, that little action.

You couldn't hide from him.

You, who had always maintained control, felt how he crumbled at the softness of his gesture, at the implicit trust he offered. At how his hands, veiny and warm, took yours with an unspoken hush. You were trapped in his closeness and in his palpable presence. And worst of all, you wanted to stay there, caught in the nervousness of his look, in the subtle touch of his fingers.

You decided to speak. Or else you couldn't stand it any longer. “I should put in a beef about the dangers of champagne glasses.” You said trying to sound normal, calm. But the tension in your voice was so intense that you ignored it, "It was broken, hmm, I guess it's no big deal. It's probably not even deep."

“You're bleeding out here,” he chuckles, and the sound of his laughter, light but kind of warm, sneaks through the cracks in your conscience. You feel his thumb caress the palm of your hand, and the derision in his tone makes you laugh too. He clears his throat, before scanning his gaze around the bathroom for an aid kit. "You need to clean that. Or it'll get infected.”

“No, no. You don't need to ” you whisper, but you let his hand continue to hold you. “I'm fine, really...”

Spencer stopped in front of you, bent down slightly to look at your hand in more detail. “It does need to,” he replied in a slight murmur. "Superficial wounds can be much more dangerous than they appear. In fact, small cuts are more susceptible to infection than larger ones, because they may go unnoticed, but they leave a perfect entrance for bacterias. In this case, if you don't clean and disinfect it, Staphylococcus aureus bacteria are quite common, and that could lead to a serious infection."

You felt a little stunned. The amount of information he dumped on you so quickly left you somewhat entranced. However, the concern on his face was genuine. And it touched you.

Why did he have to look like that?

“Uh, I can't say I knew that.”

“Does it hurt?”

 “Just a bit.” You replied. It was true. But it hurt more that as he looked at you he kept stroking your hand with his thumb and each caress drove you crazy. “Any diagnostic, doctor?”

He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat. God. His smile was even more charming holding you that close. A pair of dimples growing in his cheeks and he effortlessly aroused sensations in you too primal to admit out loud.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he whispers, the hint of his smile still visible. “But I need to clean that up for you... It's... It's okay if I do?”

You nodded, not knowing what to answer. Her gaze slid across the bathroom coming across a small white box resting on the counter. He turned away from you for brief seconds and, though it was a flicker in time, you felt the emptiness he left. You missed his touch and felt pathetic. So simple. So insignificant. And yet he still managed to unsettle you

Why did his closeness make you feel exposed, vulnerable? You knew something between the two of you was changing, but was it something you really wanted? Or rather, something you could afford to want?

It didn't give you time to think as he stepped in front of you again and wiped a cotton ball with antiseptic. Taking your hand again, the cool sensation of the antiseptic with the warmth of his fingers pressing against you making a twisted contrast of what it was. It was soft. It was gentle. As if he feared to break you with the simplicity of his caress. He was exalted, you could tell by the way he was breathing through his nose and his chest was rising and falling in a continuous back and forth. You couldn't help but think how, for a second, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, and all that was left was him. Just him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It was strange to hear him say that. Because how could he not know that discomfort was, in fact, what made you feel so alive? The vulnerability, the not knowing what was going on between you and the uncertainty you felt in his every gesture. It was all there, hovering between the two of you, and you weren't saying anything about it. You just held each other in this delicate balance that you longed to break.

“You don't.” you said quickly, "It's dumb. I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm not good at this stuff, the last time my cat scratched my whole arm and I'm pretty sure I made the scratches even worse."

Spencer looked up, and for a moment, his expression softened. “I just don't want you to think I'm invading your space,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice was like a soft punch to the chest.

Spencer curved his lips, barely a smile. He continued his slow, meticulous movements cleaning your wound with a precision that was hard to ignore. Every time his finger brushed your skin it was like lighting a thousand matches inside you.

 “This isn't so bad,” he murmured, as he carefully cleaned the area around the cut. “It could have been so much worse.”

“Well, hopefully I'm not bleeding to death,” you replied with a small touch of humor. The slight stinging in the wound when the antiseptic touched your skin was somewhat tolerable now, and his presence somehow made you feel calmer.

And, of course, you decided not to pay attention to the closeness of his face and that incipient beard that adorned it perfectly. All over his jaw, you had the urge to touch it and put the fingers of your free hand on the fabric of your dress as if it contained all those growing desires.

“Hopefully not” Spencer laughed, not looking away from your hand. "It's not that dramatic, but you know, some people faint over something as simple as this. The body's reaction to minimal pain can be interesting."

“Really? How?”

You knew the answer. But hearing him speak for you was a necessity now and you decided to take advantage of every second.

"The fear of pain and the physiological reaction is more prevalent than it seems, that's all kind of like a mind game. That it thinks you have something, when the damage is likely to be minimal.”

“And I assume that if there was anyone here passed out, it would be me.” you said, shaking your head and looking at the wound with mock concern. "Yeah, I should have guessed. I cannot tolerate pain.”

Spencer let out a genuine laugh, a laugh that made the air around the two of you feel less tense.

“Definitely,” he said with a laugh. “But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you.”

“Good to know.”

He continued cleaning and gently placed a children's band-aid (from some cartoon you couldn't recognize) over your cut, now clean and out of harm's way. Were his eyes always this bright or was it the glare of the white lights? And his lips, his lips. Slightly splendorous from whatever he was drinking before he came in. You swallowed saliva, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks as he seemed to have scanned across your face and the bathroom was flooded by a couple of giggles that pretended to say a lot, but was nothing. It wasn't awkward, but that kind of silence that hovered over you and enveloped you in a still atmosphere that you countered with the rowdiness outside. You sat on the countertop, the coldness of the ceramic hitting your thighs hoping he wouldn't leave. You lay your head back in the mirror, and Spencer's head shorted out.

He didn't know how much more he was capable of taking, if he was fit to drown everything that came into his head when he saw through the mirror's reflection that curve of your back, smooth, perfect. The red dress tight to every curve fitting in the right places and that lipstick, lightly smeared across your lower lip. He put his hands in his pockets and swallowed thickly. Your eyes traveled down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with nervousness and notoriety.

“You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself over there" you say amused, your voice tired. "I don't blame you. Teachers' humors are crap."

Spencer nods, standing in front of you. Your knee brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. "I usually enjoy theoretical physics jokes but there's a point where it gets repetitive and boring. If I'm honest, I was looking forward to getting out of there.”

The laugh you let out was soft, almost intimate, as if only he was meant to hear it. Spencer drank it in as if it were something sacred. His fingers, still warm from touching you, flexed in his pants pockets, trying to contain the absurd need to brush against you again. 

“Spencer Reid?” you repeated with an arched eyebrow, watching him with a vague smile as you leaned your head back against the mirror a little more. "You must have the highest tolerance for repetitive. You analyze it, dissect it. You find patterns in it, revel in it. I thought you were used to it.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, tickled by your remark. His eyes roamed over your face with a scrutiny that made you hold your breath. He didn't seem to be looking at you out of mere habit anymore, it seemed he couldn't even help himself. You cleared your throat, but his closeness was brutal. He smelled like aftershave, so strong that the scent drugged you completely.

"Maybe you're right, but there are exceptions. There are always exceptions to the rule, no matter how much I'd rather abide by them." he said, this time turning to you and you swore your heart was going to jump out of your rib cage.

His hands slowly came out of his pockets, and he leaned lightly on the countertop to the side of you. His arm almost brushed your thigh and for an instant you thought he would do it on purpose, that he would trace the fabric of your dress with his fingertips. That he would dare. And you thought how good it would feel to be on his hands, long fingers and protruding veins, holding you like a longing.

“And is tonight one of those exceptions?” you asked, tilting your face toward him, watching him closely. 

His throat worked in a strained swallow. "I'm sure it is.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing got slower, deeper. Your inhibitions out of you. His knuckles, distracted, barely grazed your knee in a touch so light it might have gone unnoticed if it weren't for all your skin igniting in response. Spencer froze at his own boldness, but didn't immediately pull his hand away. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, and his eyelashes lowered slightly as he looked back up at you. All content, his eyes dancing all over your face.

He didn't move. 

He didn't leave. 

The air in the bathroom seemed to thicken as Spencer leaned forward gently, closing the distance with torturous slowness as if to give your body time to react, to reject him. But you didn't. And you had no plans to either. Your back brushed against the mirror, the coolness of the glass seeping through the thin dress as Spencer's warmth enveloped you from the front. His hands continuing to rest on the countertop on either side of your legs, locking you in with devastating ease.

He was tense. You could see it in his jaw. The line of his throat working as he swallowed saliva with visible effort. Almost instinctively, you tilted your head, and mentally beat yourself up as you thought you could ignore or simply disregard everything that revolved around him because it was impossible. You hesitated on whether to do that thing that was killing you so much, to touch his face, to caress his cheek. Let him do something. His gaze made you breathless. Dark, intense. Fixed on you and only you. His dark, chocolate irises, a hazel hue that you could finally detail up close.

He had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.

“Why do you keep avoiding me so much?” his voice was a whisper, but you felt it throughout your body. His breath was warm with a minty undertone, it brushed your mouth. "Did I...did I do something to bother you? I didn't say anything bad about you, if you were wondering. I have eidetic memory, I would remember if I was rude to you at any time.”

You found yourself caught between need and uncertainty. Your hands rested on your thighs, and you wanted him to push them away. Spencer saw it. He saw it in the way your eyelashes quivered in a flutter that sent shocks through his body, in how your gaze dropped fleetingly to his mouth before returning to his eyes, in the way your chest rose and fell too fast, too erratically. 

His knuckles brushed the fabric of your dress with calculated carelessness, a light touch on your right thigh that made everything in you tense with an internal jolt. There was no urgency in his movement. Only a torturous patience, an unspoken question in the way his skin tested yours. As if testing the ground.

A restrained sigh escaped your throat, almost inaudible, but he heard it. 

“You didn't do or say anything bad about me, Spencer.” you murmur, your voice sharp. "It was my thing. I make movies all the time in my head. I think I was just jealous.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. His knuckles still moving in a steady rhythm over the fabric of your dress, “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?”

Your tongue fleetingly moistened your upper lip. His gaze followed the movement with unsettling thoroughness, his fingers twitching subtly on the countertop. You were unconsciously tasting him. And it delighted you to watch his jaw clench.

“I guess you're too good to be real.” you let out an irony-laden laugh, "It's lame. Don't mind me. I actually thought you didn't like me."

“Why would you think that?” he sounded almost offended, incredulous at what you just said as he let his fingers trail southward away from the red fabric. It was silk, fine silk that hugged your thighs beautifully. His fingers were just as warm on your skin and you shivered as his caresses went up and down. Paulatine, subtle, but it made your hair stand on end. And the way he whispered your name... Almost like a longing held on his tongue, like a heavenly prayer. "I've done nothing but silently wanted you. If you only knew... How long I've been saving this. Keeping you. As if just looking at you was enough.”

Your lips parted, but the words stuck in your throat. As if every particle had stopped in time, leaving them suspended in that instant where nothing else existed except the way he touched you. His hand slid, slow, barely perceptible, but enough to set your skin on fire. His fingers traced invisible lines over your thigh with a devotion that left you gasping for breath, memorizing the texture of your skin, the way you reacted under his touch.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, it was the only thing that could come out of your mouth. Your voice cracked, feeling the pressure building in your chest, in your belly, in every nerve ending in your body. 

A sound escaped from his throat. Low. Grave. As if the confession had managed to shake something inside him. 

His hands moved, with deliberate leisure, barely moving up the curve of your thigh before clinginging to the flesh. His torso was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the racing beat of his heart pounding in sync with yours.

"No, don't be sorry" his voice was a whisper, his lips against your temple. They were so close you could feel them, a temptation suspended in the air. The edge of his nose brushed yours, a touch so thin, so intimate, that a shiver danced down your back. "I guess it's my fault for not talking to you in the first place. But if you'll let me... I promise not to ask for more than you're willing to give. Because having you anyway is already more than I ever thought I deserved."

God. 

You couldn't think, not when he was there, so tangible, so immensely real, tearing down every barrier you'd ever built between the both of you. 

His fingers came up again, this time with less hesitation, brushing the inside of your thigh in a barely perceptible movement, but one that sent an electric whiplash up and down your spine. If you moved a little, just a little, he would brush the fabric of your panties.

"Spencer..." his name was a breath caught in your mouth, a plea, a surrender.

He took it. He took your exhalation and made it his own. He kissed you with the kind of awe with where someone touches something sacred for the first time. His mouth rested on yours in a brush that contained months of longing compressed into a single instant. So violently that your body tensed. His lips moved gracefully over yours and his hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs as if he was holding back from touching you further. At first it was slow, painfully slow, waiting for you to refuse. But you had no intention of it. You sensed how his tongue brushed your lower lip in an invitation to thrust inside you, and the sweet gasp that came from your mouth in delight entranced him. He sensed it in the way your fingers reached up to grasp at the lapels of his suit, clinging to him as if you were about to collapse.

Kissing Spencer was just how you imagined it would be. Addictive. Teeth and tongues in a rough dance, he was stunned by how you responded to his caresses. By how your hands stopped trembling and rested on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer to you till you melted into a lingering kiss. Spencer moaned against your mouth, a harsh, restrained sound that reverberated between the both of you, becoming a vibration that traveled down your backbone and spread in torrid heat throughout your body. His fingers, which until now had traced a contained path over superficial parts of your body, twitched over the skin of your thigh, sinking just barely into the soft flesh, as if he needed to hold on to something in particular to keep from twisting his grip. He was losing it completely.

The kiss became hungrier, more impatient. His tongue slid against yours in a fiery, deep caress as his other hand moved up the curve of your back, pressing you against him as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. You shivered from just feeling his touch on your back and how that slit in your dress gave him the opportunity to move down a little.

Every scrape of his lips against yours was a silent confession, every halting gasp a secret that slipped out without the need for words. 

Spencer wasn't doing anything by halves, and kissing you was the ultimate proof of that. He was feeling you with every fiber of his being. He was drinking you in with the devotion of a thirsty man finally finding water in the middle of a forsaken desert.

With every particle of his autonomy, with every heaving breath that escaped his throat and the way his body pressed against yours, drawing closer and closer until the air between you ceased to exist. His hand, the one that had traveled up the curve of your back, slid with exasperating slowness to the base of your nape, tangling in your hair. Wrapping itself around the strands of your locks.

As if afraid you might fade away.

His other hand went up another inch, and when his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your panties, a fierce thrill ran through you, arching your back involuntarily at his touch. Wanting more. That he would turn his attentions upon you. He sensed it in the way your nails scratched his hairline, in how your thighs trembled under his caresses and the sudden gasp that escaped from your mouth, imprisoned in his. 

He pulled away just a few millimeters, just enough to be able to look at you. To see the slight tremble of your lips swollen by his kisses, the febrile shine in your eyes. His breath collided against your skin, warm and ragged, and in the thick silence of the bathroom, his breath seemed an echo of yours. 

The Adam's apple in his throat rose and fell in an effort to swallow saliva. 

"I can't believe we missed this just because we had misconceptions about each other." he whispered, as if he found it hard to speak, as if the words scraped his throat as they came out, "You don't know all you do to me."

"I think I have an idea." you said, stunned. With a slow smile curving your mouth as your hands went back up to his cheeks, his beard stinging your fingers, "But I think I'm starting to like it when you show me."

A low growl escaped his chest before he took your mouth again, and no fantasy could match how good it felt to be in his arms. His kisses were intoxicating, tongue everywhere, low moans sending shocks straight to the recent growing bulge in his pants. He held your jaw and claimed you. And you loved it. You melted into him. Your hands took advantage of traveling to his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders. You could spend hours like that. There was a latent tension in his muscles, in the visible struggle between his control and his desire, in the way his dark gaze devoured every detail of you. His hands were so big, gripping your face as you moved closer until you wrapped your legs around him, your thighs at his sides.

Spencer pulled away, he was a mess. His brown hair tousled and his lips glossy and swollen from you. His thumb traced a sweet line over your lower lip. "You're beautiful," he exhales briefly. "So beautiful.”

You pull him by the neck and kiss him again. Hopeless. Hungry. You were sure the denim of your lingerie was wet and that he could feel it. You move your hips moaning against his mouth from the friction of your center against his pants. Spencer noticed your need, and his knee began to rub you. Slowly, feeling you contract from the pleasure. Your dress rode up over your thighs and he pulled them almost all the way up, to the level of your hips, allowing himself to revel in the matching lace of your wet panties. Soaked. For him. His right hand slid to your chest and groped your dress, seeking to pull it down. You nodded in agreement still with your lips on his, letting him know you needed him. That he would touch you. It was a slight effort, but with blind skill he lowered the top of your dress.

"I'm surprised at how skillfully you did that," you whispered between kisses. You hear his laugh, hoarse and throaty, as his knee continued to rub your center, and you cried out. A low cry that you silenced by biting your tongue.

"If it makes you feel any better, I thought as soon as I saw you come in." he said resting his forehead with yours. Widening his hands below your knees, and when he stretched a little, the breath caught in his throat.

You looked like a gorgeous wreck. Your lipstick was running, your barely visible red lace bra made your hardened nipples noticeable and the feel of the cold made them hard as rocks. Spencer kissed you. Quick, fleeting, placing his thumb and forefinger against your right nipple and pressing it, making you turn your eyes. His touch sent tingles all over your body, no matter how small or large, the mere fact that he was touching you was driving you crazy.

His kisses descend to your neck, leaving soft bites in an everlasting path. He nibbles that spot on your pulse and you tremble. Your hand touching his curls as you gasped uncontrollably.

"You're..." he began, but the word was lost in your neck. He kissed the curve of your collarbone, the racing pulse in your throat. " You're devastating.”

He scattered sporadic kisses across your neck and suddenly you felt like you were out of orbit when his fingers found your panties. Stroking you over the fabric. You wiggled your hips in search of more friction and melted into his arms. He teased both of your nipples. He kissed you with such vehemence and eagerness. It was simply too much. Your eyes traveled to the bulge in his sweatpants, and you had that urge to touch him again. It was big, you deduced immediately by how the fabric of the pants fit painfully around the outline of his cock. Your hand barely grazed it as he pushed you away and returned his kisses to your lips. Tugging at them. Biting, sucking with impetus.

"Is that good or bad?" you asked curving your back.

Spencer looked up from his spot, his eyes burning with an intensity so pure it took your breath away. "It's all I want.”

He bent down with only one knee digging into the floor, and your brain lit up. You were aware of what he was about to do and you pressed your thighs together, almost reluctantly. In response, he put his hands on your knees and looked at you over his long eyelashes and his eyes sparkling from all the excitement that was only growing more and more. No, he had no right to look at you like that. To have you at his mercy with just a kiss. To look so needy for you. 

"Don't get shy now." he said, his fingers squeezing the hypersensitive flesh of your thighs to open them for him again. "I want to touch you, please, angel. Let me show you how much I've needed you. How much I've longed to touch you, please, can I?"

His plea turned you to plasticine. It was a desperation rooted from deep in your chest and the mere thought that he had imagined this precise scene in the past turned you on. That maybe he had it all planned out and now he was kneeling before you basically begging to touch you. Your hand reached out to his curls, stroking his brown, unruly hair and you nodded as your lips curved into a smile that Spencer was quick to retort.

"Of course, I wasn't going to let you leave me like that and then leave." you whisper in amusement, holding his face "You owe me.”

Spencer smiled at you, sweet, almost too sweet for the kind of look he gave you. Filled with desire, with something far, vastly stronger than you. His fingers groping the edges of your panties. Swiftly pulling them down to your ankles. You shuddered at the change in sensations, the gusts of wind setting your nipples on edge and his gaze fixed on your cunt enveloped you in a cloud too intense for your brain to function properly. He looked at you with dilated pupils, licked his lips slowly as if tasting you on it.

"I owe you, huh?" he said, pressing a kiss on your inner thigh. Then on the other. "I guess I should make it up to you, right? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, but he bit down on a thin layer of skin and you gasped.

"Use your words, angel."

"I..." you doubted that your head could work correctly, his touch sent tingles through parts of your body unthinkable. "Fuck, Spencer. Just do it.”

"So desperate." he whispered, his tongue beginning to lick the wetness of your thigh. You swayed in response to the sensation, your back arching as your hands involuntarily moved up to your nipple, pinching and stimulating. You needed to feel him everywhere. It was disarming you. "Have you thought about this, do you think I don't notice when you look at me, when you sneak into my classes?”

He grabbed you by the knees and pulled you into his mouth with such speed that you didn't even have time to get used to the thrill. Fuck. His mouth was desperate, he licked your folds and his curls hide between your legs. You'd let him sleep right at dawn right there. You moaned his name so loud that you were thankful the music outside was so loud no one could hear, 'cause you needed that. You needed to scream how much you enjoyed it and when Spencer gasped in delight, your whole body jerked. A rough hand gripped your thigh, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you open just for him. To keep you from shivering. His tongue was relentless. He swirled with precision, sucked you with intensity and reserved kisses for your clit. You rolled your eyes and your hips followed in a back and forth motion over his mouth, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure.

There was a heat swirling over your belly, over your bloated, hypersensitive center. You shuddered and Spencer hummed above you as you tightened his head making him bury himself in your pussy. You were drunk, it was vertiginous, too much to bear.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. You couldn't see him because he was still hiding between your legs but the image was projected in your head instantly. His lips glossy from your wetness, yearning for more. The fibers of his hair messy from your pulls "How did I not notice before that you are this beautiful?" he kissed one of your folds and your back flexed again. "That you taste so good…”

Your whole body jerked in pleasure as he sealed his lips on your clit. Sucking. Drinking. Opening his mouth wide and devouring every nerve of you like a starving man. As if you were his last entrée that he would hesitate to ravish for how exquisite it was. One hand came up and took away yours that was caressing your boobs, his now cold fingers closing on them. His hand was large. It went all the way around you and pressed your hard, overstimulated nipple between the middle of his fingers.

"Spencer," you moaned, your thighs trembling and his mouth devouring your cunt with vigor, "It's too much. Sensitive."

His mouth closed on you again, your hips still twitching at him. Pleasure engulfed you, your stomach contracted and you swore you saw nebulae and tiny stars the moment his tongue sucked slowly at your slit. It curved, it teased you, driving you to your limit.

"No, not yet" he groaned against your skin, but his fingers didn't falter for a single second. The bundle of stimulation cut your lungs out. "Just one, yes? Can you give it to me, angel?"

You barely nodded as he returned to devouring you. He wanted to take you to the last of your strength. Heat coiled in your stomach and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Irregular beats that succumbed you in instant pleasure. His tongue licked in one last long line in your pussy that tore out a scream that you stifled by biting your lip. The release of your orgasm taking you elsewhere. You were trapped in ecstasy. Your limbs ached and you needed him more and more. His breath was warm as he pulled away and kissed your mons pubis, testing, seeing how much more you could take. It made your hair stood on edge.

"You had this well planned, hmm?" you whimpered in a murmur, feeling the sequels of your first orgasm shaking your body, "I bet you've thought about it too. About how good it would feel to have me in your hands, is that it? Did you want me so bad you couldn't do anything but imagine it?”

He growled in reply, and the sound made your blood rise. Time slowed down around you and for a moment you forgot there was a whole party going on outside. But all you could think about was that you had Spencer on his knees for you, his erection probably being too painful for him and yet he continued to kiss you and tasted all of your senses. The pressure of his lips was deep worship, in restrained cravings that would sooner or later explode into frenzy. Your head fell against the mirrored glass as now his fingers curved lightly to touch your cunt in search of more. He added a finger, then another, patiently opening you up. Your hips throbbed again from the overstimulation, your brow furrowing as he rose and began to spread kisses all over your face.

"You have no idea, I asked myself that every night I pretended I didn't care about you more than I should have." he murmured, his palm pressed against your clit and his bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, in pursuit of a delicious friction you both needed. You were at his mercy completely. You lowered your head and rested your forehead on his shoulder, feeling his fingers move nimbly inside you. "And each time, the answer was yes. I wanted you so much that it hurts. Do you think you can give me one more, sweetheart?"

You nodded again and that sweet moan that came out of your mouth when he added a third finger made you see stars. Your eyes closed, you impaled yourself on his hand until you felt Spencer silencing as best he could his moans by stifling them with his own lips, still glistening from your arousal.

He continued touching you. Kissing you with ardor. And you questioned if you would have done this if you were both talking to each other instead of immediately deducing that you disliked each other. You were an idiot. Because from now on you didn't want to be in the hands of any man but Spencer. You didn't want to see another face. Neither did you want to go back to the normal course of your life when he had brought you to a point of no return that you never reached with anyone else.

"Just like that," he whispered, kissing that dangerous spot in the area of your racing pulse. Provocatively. "Fucking my hand. Gasping for me. You're so good. So beautiful. I can't get enough of you."

He bit back a slim layer of skin, and you moaned.

"Spencer..." you hissed, leaning your hips into him, "Fuck.”

You glimpsed his frown trying to concentrate on your own pleasure, but his hips bucked and he rubbed at your inner thighs, you could almost see some pre seminal liquid pouring out of his pants and the sight made you rush at his touch. His fingers curled, you grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him as you bucked unconsciously and the surges of your second orgasm filled you up to your ears. Spencer gasped as you came in his hand, and he was precious. Beautiful, dark eyes, rosy cheeks and fully swollen, glowing lips. Your breaths hitched in unison as he pulled his hand away from you and you brushed back the strands of hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

You give him a smile, tired, and his head does nothing but spin. At the need, at how good it felt to finally touch you and feel you collapse into him. At how masterful you perceived better than all the times he imagined what it would be like. A giggle escapes from his lips, pressing a kiss to your temple, his warm breath spreading over your skin, and his hand, almost by instinct, moved up your abdomen in a lazy rubbing tracing distracted circles. Now yours played with the hairs at the nape of his neck and you let yourself drift in the sweet silence surrounding you.

"Hmm," he whispered. "It took us longer to heal your wound."

You opened your mouth in an offended gesture, hitting him gently but you didn't have the strength for much. His body vibrated from his laughter, and you loved it. "I want to see you say that later. We'll see who gets the last laugh and it will definitely be me.”

Spencer looked at you with those deer-eyed eyes full of tenderness that your knees felt weaker. He left another soft kiss on your cheek and you hummed in delight at the gesture. Slipping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Melting into him.

"Whatever you say, angel." he said with his eyes closed. "We still have time."

It was as if the entire universe had shrunk to that instant. The feel of your skin against his effortlessly banishing everything you felt for him before. Of knowing he craved you as much as you craved him. His breath attached to yours, coupled in a quiet, slightly agitated rhythm, just enough to fill the bathroom with him.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the slow waves of his breathing, and for a moment you felt light. As if in that minuscule piece where nothing bad could reach you. As if he was the refuge you had always wanted to return to without knowing it.

"Do we have it?" you repeated softly, shyly, almost as a question to yourself.

Spencer nodded, his nose brushing against your temple."We have all the time in the world if you're with me.”

Your lips pursued his just because the words got stuck in your mouth, this time in a more chaste kiss. One that tasted of rest, of complicity. And your heart was beating so fast you could hear its beat rewinding in your ears.

"I like you so much," you murmured against his mouth, barely a whisper. "I reiterate that I'm concerned about all the effects you have on me.”

His hands traced slow figures on your back, the whisper of his voice lulling you low:

"Then let's be scared together. It's much safer for both of us, isn't it?"

And you did. You closed your eyes, sank into him... And, for the first time in a while, you didn't care what came next.

[majestyeverlasting]

the moments in between

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Summary: When Joel and Ellie arrive at the Jackson commune, his strong frame and intense gaze captivate you. But as the days pass, you lose hope that he might be drawn to you as well. That is, until the walls come crashing down and the truth finally reveals itself.

Word Count: 7.3k [slow burn]

A/N: I put a lot of love and time into this one. It's my longest fic so far but it didn't feel hard, which I like to believe is a good thing. Hope it resonates, hope you feel the feels and the yearning between these two—let me know! Hope you're well.

A breeze follows Tommy as he saunters in through the doors of the Tipsy Bison, the soft click of his boot heels echoing off the wood with each easy step. The cowboy hat on his head casts a shadow over his eyes until he takes it off, his dark hair cascading down over his ears. There’s a small smile playing on his lips that makes you narrow your eyes.

Cleaning the bartop suddenly loses its appeal, but you don’t stop, only slow down. The fresh, tangy scent of lemongrass continues to waft up from the motion.     

“We close early on Sunday’s, officer,” you tease as he climbs onto a stool. 

He frowns as he sets his hat aside. “I don’t look like a cop, do I?” You shrug, and he chuckles as his gaze roves over to the pool room. “Nate back there? Yo, Nate!” 

“Evening, Tom,” the older man calls back as he polishes a cue ball. 

“Joel’s made it into town.” There’s no overt emotion in the way he shares the news, but you can see that it’s all in his eyes as he waits for you to react.  

“Joel, Joel? As in your brother?” He nods, still in disbelief himself. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing, Tommy—right? What the heck.” He used to talk about him all the time. 

His exhale makes way for a shaky smile, “I know. Made it in not too long ago with a young girl he’s looking after,” he tells you, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “He’s outside. Wanted to come in and see if you’d let us grab a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Know it’s late. Promise I’ll make up for the trouble.” He knows it’s no trouble. Not when it comes to him. 

He turns around, barstool squeaking, and waves Joel in through the window. 

You move to start working on their whiskies. “Make it up by letting me be the baby’s godmother?” The glasses clink as you set them onto the bar and begin pouring the caramel colored liquid, smirking when you meet his gaze.

Tommy isn’t completely opposed to the idea. You’d been in Jackson since the beginning, a friend to him and Maria in every sense of the word. Arguably family. “If you can manage not to tick me off until the little one gets here.” Despite his words, his eyes are fond. 

The door creaks open, and Joel strides in, scanning the room. There are pictures on the walls of American icons and landmarks, and old Polaroids of commune members. There’s a guarded confidence to the way he walks, an intensity. 

Tommy quickly leans in and whispers, “He means well. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel takes a seat beside his brother and acknowledges you with a curt nod, tugging on the collar of his shirt.  

“Welcome to Jackson,” you greet, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Joel,” he says, taking you in with a steady gaze. 

“Tommy’s told me a lot about you.” You push their glasses closer to them in an encouragement to start drinking.

Joel takes his first sip and fights back a reflexive grimace. It’s been a while, but it's good. Good enough to make him feel pleasantly warm as it glides down. Tommy drinks off his brother’s lead, and you realize just how alike they look. Joel’s hair is a little shorter and accented with streaks of gray, but they both have those same dark, telling eyes. 

They fall into light conversation, but it’s clearly not what they'd talk about if they were alone. That’s when you sense the distance. The slight edge to the space between them. It’s why Tommy resorts to drawing you in, the two of you ripping off each other as Joel listens, fine with not having to speak until this whole little ordeal was winding to an end. However, he does sit up a little straighter whenever you laugh. You pour them more whiskey when their glasses get empty.     

Eventually, the remaining light outside fades away. Tommy hisses at the sight, standing. “I gotta get home to Maria,” he says, stretching his back. Joel moves to get up too, until, “At least finish off this glass, man. You’ve earned it.” Tommy squeezes his brother’s shoulder. He means it genuinely, at least. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Joel. Thanks again for this,” he tells you. 

“Bye, sheriff,” you call after him. Tommy scoffs.  

Joel realizes just how quiet it is when you move aside to tinker with a bison trinket sitting on the counter, unsure of what to say with Tommy gone. He knows you can see him looking at you. “So, are you here by yourself?” he finally asks. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not a creepy question at all,” you tease, quickly gathering that he doesn’t find the implication funny. “Uncle Nate?” you call. 

“Busy!”  

You raise your brows at Joel. “Not alone.”

Nate was chosen family. The man taught you everything you know about shooting, fishing, and survival even though you gave him a hard time for it when you were younger. He was also the founder of the Tipsy Bison. He only came into the bar on the weekends when he wasn't on patrol. His time in the military all those years ago made it hard to step away from a life of service. 

“We were cleaning when Tommy came in,” you tell Joel. He takes in that information wordlessly. 

“You aren’t much for talking, are you?” Joel takes a sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Must mean you don’t miss much. Really observant.” When he doesn’t respond, you smile shyly, realizing he probably just wanted to relax after a long day. “Guess I won’t stand here and talk your ears off.” 

The floor creaks as you disappear into the recreation room with Nate, rounding the corner. Joel exhales, shoulders dropping from being drawn up. He almost misses your company. 

Nate sits hunched over a word search puzzle, using the pool table as if it's a normal desk. He doesn’t look up at you, even when you give an affectionate tug to his curly gray ponytail. It was something you’d been doing since the days you both were out on your own and had to stay quiet all the time. Back when there was no safety, no security, no commune. 

“Ouch,” he drones, unphased. 

“Are you gonna come out and meet Tommy's brother?” you ask, low so Joel can’t hear. “I feel like you guys have a lot in common: brooding and grumpy.” Pride flutters in your chest when the man’s lips twitch. 

“I’ll meet him… eventually. Gotta finish this puzzle.” You realize there’s a small hourglasses going, the sand swiftly filling the bottom portion. “There ya are—serendipity.” He circles the letters. 

Word searches were something he recently started doing. When you have a past as extensive as his, it’s always chasing after you in one way or another. Especially in those quiet moments that sneak up on you. He claimed that seeking out words from amid an ordered chaos keeps the racing thoughts at bay whenever they come rushing in. 

Joel is finished by the time you join him again, and you realize he’d waited instead of calling out. Already standing, ready to go. 

“Anything else I can get you?” 

He shakes his head. “I appreciate your hospitality.” 

Joel turns to leave but you keep talking, “So I reckon Tommy already squared you away with a house and a tour of the town?” 

He stops. “I’m across the street from him. Gettin’ the tour tomorrow.”  

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found us.” You sound so genuine that there’s a flutter in his gut. “We’re a pretty crazy bunch, but I think you’re gonna like it here.” 

“Hope so.” Those are the words he leaves you with.

Your eyes stay trained on his back as he makes his way towards the door, stride the same as when he first arrived. Perhaps a little looser. Before he exits the bar, his eyes catch a glimpse of one of the decorative license plates secured to the wall: Austin, Texas. 

Shortly after he makes it outside, his heart rate ticks up in that impending way he wishes wasn’t so familiar, breath catching in his throat as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. There’s no escaping the panic as it sets in, surging through him. A few staggering steps allow him to brace a hand on a wooden directory board. 

You see it all from inside. At first, you think he’s trying to read the sign, but then he hunches over more and grips his chest. Without thinking, you jog towards the doors. 

“Joel?” You call once you’ve broken outside. 

It’s a cool spring night, a crescent moon shares its pale glow from above. Most of Jackson is already tucked away inside or at least halfway there. But in this sliver of time, it feels like it’s just the two of you outside. Joel doesn’t let on that he’d heard you, but the moment you’re close enough, you recognize what’s going on. You press your palm to his back to let him know you’re there. That he’s still here. 

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out, just like that,” you encourage, settling on rubbing his back in measured passes. Then you go quiet on the off chance he needs that. 

In your newfound silence, Joel is forced to focus on the shaky breaths rising from his lungs. That’s when he accepts he’s not in control. Not in the grand scheme of things. There’s a whole big fallen world just outside the gates of this haven. A world that had taken people he loved and was cruel enough to let him be the one who lived to tell the tale. The heat that rises to his cheeks is made up of frustration more than distress, crackling like pop. Like coals. 

The ground takes on a vignette as he stares at it, his vision briefly closes in. You never withdraw your touch. 

When his breaths eventually begin to steady, you remember how to breathe yourself. With a tired exhale, he straightens back up to his full height, and you take a few small steps away. Maybe this wasn’t new, but a fact of life for the man who’d rode into Jackson in an air of mystery and a young girl by his side. Maybe he never wanted you to get a glimpse at this side of him. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it obvious. He almost looks appreciative that you’d bothered enough to care. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he rasps, not meeting your gaze even though he can feel it. You want to tell him that there isn’t much that scares you anymore. At least that’s what you like to believe. “I’m usually alone.” 

Except, tonight, he wasn’t. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing. 

•••

Howdy Stranger

This is Jackson Hole

The last of the Old West 

Joel reads the painted wooden sign as Tommy and Maria show him and Ellie around. There are people everywhere. Children playing outside, adults fluttering in and out of shops. All while the Teton mountains loom and watch over it all with their snow-capped peaks. He looks over at the girl when she nudges his arm, pointing to a Calico lounging on a porch. Despite her beaming smile, all he offers is a low hum. 

It was hard to be in the now when his thoughts were split between the past and future. Up until Jackson, there was no such thing as stability, and he couldn’t help but think about the day that the rug would be pulled from beneath the commune as well. Ellie’s smile fades when she notices the harsh squint of his face. He kicks himself for it.   

“Cat hater,” she mumbles under her breath.

Joel grunts and directs his attention back to his brother. 

When the tour comes to an inevitable end, Ellie sings Jackson’s praises after Tommy and Maria go their separate ways with a promise to reconnect later that day. He lets her talk as they make their way back to their new house, idly agreeing every once in a while. A few curious eyes fall on them as they walk, but Joel doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Ellie stops walking to give him a flat look. 

“I hear you,” he insists. “Been hearing you for the past ten minutes.”

There’s no snark in his tone, but Ellie still feels the slight sting of offense. “Well, sorry for being excited about having a nice place to live for once. It’s not like I was born into hell or anything—I mean the Boston QZ.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she starts walking again, faster so it looks like they’re not together.

Joel swallows down guilt like it’s just another pill. His legs are long, so it doesn’t take much to catch back up with her.

“Hey…Kid…Ellie.” She keeps ignoring him. “This is new for me too, okay? Everybody’s got a different way of processing, can we agree on that?” It’s a fair enough proposal. He never had been forward when it came to sharing his thoughts. “Wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, deciding to take a break from her rambling for his sake. The mutual silence isn’t so bad. 

Someone he isn’t expecting to see is you. You’re wearing a backpack and ushering a line of young kids into the community center. One of the little girls stops and stretches her arms up towards you, earning a playful eyeroll before being lifted onto your hip. Joel doesn’t miss the way the afternoon sunlight catches your face. 

•••

The next day, a faint thump against the door startles Ellie as she sketches in the dining room. Rather than getting up from the table, she remains still, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Upstairs, the spray of the shower continues as Joel lets it drown out everything else. Three light knocks eventually sound, and she musters up the courage to scurry to the front. 

She peeks out the window first, spotting you. Someone she hadn’t seen around. An amused smile pulls at her lips at the way you’ve seemingly wrestled the big basket you’re holding into a better grip than before. 

When she opens the door, you let out a relieved sigh. “Special delivery,” you say before introducing yourself. 

“That’s a really pretty name,” she compliments, already warming up to you. “I’m Ellie—is all that stuff for us?” When you nod, she excitedly steps aside and ushers you in. 

“I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t have because that’d be a lie,” she shamelessly admits. “You can put it right over here.” You follow her into the living room and place the welcome basket on the coffee table. 

A few of the ladies you volunteer with helped you put it together after your shift counseling for the spring break camp. There were cookies, seeds, natural soaps, feminine hygiene products, and even a knit blanket that looked particularly soft and cozy. Ellie wastes no time reaching out to run her fingers over it. A laugh bubbles up your throat when her jaw drops. 

“This is literally what clouds feel like.” She haphazardly pulls the blanket out the basket, wrapping it around herself like a cape. “If Joel says anything, this was specifically included for me.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to share if he asked nicely,” you reason, amused. Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “But to be fair, we did think you’d be the one to really appreciate it.”

She smiles at being considered. “Who made it? This is, like, next level.” 

“A woman named Emilia,” you tell her. “She actually made me one back when Jackson was first being built up that I still have,” you tell her, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. The evening sunlight pours in through the windows, casting golden streaks onto the floors. “Now she’s always got a few on standby.” 

Ellie sits beside you, reaching out to dig through the other contents in awe. “They told us the commune's only, like, seven years old on our tour yesterday,” she recounts. Think you’ll have your blanket forever?” 

“Forever’s an awful long time. It might hold up,” you think aloud. Ellie nods, contemplative. “I can take you by to meet her sometime, if you’d like. She’s the resident seamstress, so you’ll probably end up crossing paths anyways.” 

“What about you? What do you do?” she asks, giving you her full attention. 

“I mainly help coordinate community events. Been stepping in to assist with the youth spring break camp for the last couple days, though,” you say. “Also bartend on the nights that I feel like it. Just for fun, you know?” 

Ellie's face lights up. “I’ve had whiskey before.” She puffs out her chest when she says it, and you play into her pride by raising an impressed brow. The first and last time you had a sip was when you snuck it from Nate as a teen. “But that’s really cool, though. The community stuff and all that.” You can tell by her tone that she means it. In more ways than one, you’re reminded of your younger self. 

“Joel’s gonna join the patrol. He says I’m too young, but that’s just bullshit.” She says the last part lower as if he’s somewhere listening. “I’ll figure out a way to make him cave.” There’s an air of confidence to her voice that suggests she’s done it before. The thought warms a tiny portion of your chest.

“I’ve gone out with my uncle Nate a few times. It can be a lot,” you admit. “He just wants you safe, Nate’s the same way.” 

As Joel stops at the top of the staircase, freshly showered, he catches those last words. He’d know your voice even if it’d been forever. His footsteps are quiet as he descends the stairs, but you hear him coming nevertheless. Ellie’s too busy sniffing the pine soap as you straighten up and glance his way. Joel’s eyes are as observant as you remember when they land on you, seeing into you, it seems. His damp hair is combed back in a way that makes him look more distinguished. 

“There you are.” You stand up with a smile. You’d been wondering how he was doing since the panic attack.

He wishes your warmth wasn't so compelling.  

Ellie whips around to look at him. “I know you said not to open the door to strangers—which is practically everybody at this point—but she’s really nice and brought us gifts so you can’t be mad at me,” she rushes out. He clocks the blanket around her shoulders. 

He hmphs. “That’s how they get you.” He’s not being serious, but Ellie frowns, trying to read through his eternal poker face. “Treats and a friendly smile.” Your lips twitch in amusement as Ellie narrows her eyes. 

When Joel starts walking your way, she consoles herself with the fact that he would've already asked you to leave if he sensed your intentions were off. The commune wasn’t filled with questionable people like that anyways. The two of them didn’t have to be apprehensive of every soul they came across anymore. 

He’s close enough now that you can smell the cedar soap on his skin. “I’m not a stranger,” you lightly defend. “Not entirely.” You look from Ellie to Joel. 

A wall rises in real time, shutting you out right along with the night you met. It happens in his eyes just like everything does. He hadn’t mentioned you to her, and it was your mistake for believing he would’ve at least passed on a name. 

You swallow back a small lump in your throat that may not be entirely just. “Anyways, hopefully you guys will be able to put this stuff to use.” 

“Of course we will,” Ellie pipes up. “Are you leaving already?” She hadn’t missed the finality that had crept into your tone. 

You nod. “Don’t wanna take up too much of your evening. I actually meant to come by sooner.” 

“Well, are you going to the dining hall for dinner?” Her gaze flicks to Joel. “Maybe you can come with us.” 

Joel knows he’s in trouble when he hears the fondness in Ellie’s voice. It’s the same sentiment he was straining to tamper down within himself. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at you, it tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last thing he needed was another person getting close enough to see that he was a million tiny pieces being held together by the glue of whatever god was keeping him alive. 

You decline her invitation, expressing plans to go to your uncle’s place. But you give her a rain check. When you go to leave, Joel allows his eyes to flitter down the rest of your body. 

That wouldn’t be the last he saw of you. But it was always from afar, lingering on the outskirts. Wishing there was a seamless way he could fall into your orbit without sending everything spiraling out of control. 

You were always looking right back at him with hope in your eyes, holding space. Waiting for your world to be shaken. 

•••

Laughter, chatter, and music drown out the insects that usually take precedence at night. Weeks of planning had finally come into fruition. All of Main Street is lined with fairy lights that cast their warm glow down on the summer festival. There was no shortage of entertainment, games, and food. It was a time to let loose and relish the sweetness in the air along with that of life. 

Nate plays his harmonica for a group of children around the bonfire, all clapping and stomping along. A smile graces your face as you walk by, waving at him. The fullness of your heart almost overrides the ache that has settled in the arches of your feet. You’d barely sitten down since earlier that morning when preparation began. There was a sense of responsibility that came along with the orange vest you were dawned in. The pressure to assist, and guide, and answer questions wasn’t all on you, but the other volunteers were better at taking breaks. 

Tommy’s grainy voice breaks into the air through a megaphone, “Thirteen-and-up three-legged races starting in five minutes, this is your last call. Grab a partner and make your way over to the east lawn,” he says. “Again, this is the last call.”

Joel and Ellie already happen to be seated at a picnic table that gives them a perfect view of the race setup and Tommy facilitating in an orange vest of his own. Ellie had already worked through her first honey cake and was eyeing Joel’s. He pretends not to notice until she looks up at him all wide-eyed.  

“Can I—” he slides his plate over to her. “Thanks.” 

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he lightly accuses, shaking his head. 

“What does that even mean?” She takes a bite. “Weirdo.” 

Joel just grumbles and tosses a napkin her way. She wipes her mouth and keeps staring at him. Not because she’s waiting for an answer, but because there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. Which happens more often now that they’d had a couple months to settle into Jackson. A laugh was coming, she could feel it. 

“Quit gawking at me and eat.” There’s a tell-tale waver in his voice. 

“No.” Ellie lightly kicks his shin beneath the table and that’s what sets him off. 

He tries to bite back a chuckle, but he gives in when it doesn’t work out, shoulders shaking. Ellie starts grinning at him from across the table, and he kicks her back with the tip of his boot. 

“Hey!” She breaks into giggles and retaliates. He lets her have the little victory. 

A small smile lingers on his face when he regains his composure. They sit in a comfortable silence as Ellie finishes the rest of her dessert, taking in the festivities around them. 

It isn’t long before a girl with dark hair approaches their table. She’s a ball of masked nerves. “Hi,” she greets. “Ellie, right?” She says it as if it’s possible for her to have forgotten. As if after they sat together at last week’s movie night, she hadn’t been thinking about her since. 

Ellie get’s uncharacteristically squirmy. “Oh. Hey, Dina.” 

Joel can’t believe it.

Dina tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “My old partner bailed, so I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna do the three-legged race with me. I think we’d make a better team anyways.” Then she glances at Joel. “If you wouldn’t mind me stealing her away for a bit.” 

“Take her,” Joel quips, making Dina laugh. 

Warmth rushes to Ellie’s cheeks as she stands. “Sure, let’s go.” 

The two of them jog over to get prepped for the race. Joel watches the whole while, warmth kindling in his chest at the fact that she was slowly finding her tribe. The race doesn’t start for another couple minutes, and when it does, Ellie and Dina burst off into first. It’s intense. The whole ordeal is a mess of laughter, stumbling, and flailing limbs. In the end, the duo end up placing second, crossing the finish line only to fall into a heap of giggles with their legs tied together. 

Joel stands from the picnic table with a grunt to throw away all the empty plates. He has every intention to sit back down, but notices a few frazzled volunteers carrying mops and towels. Then his eyes rove over to the long line standing at the drink stands. Adults check their watches, children fidget. A woman in an orange vest is talking to another woman managing the stand. He doesn’t realize is you until you turn away from her and beeline towards the community center, looking stressed. 

“Hey,” he calls out to a stout man wearing an apron. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

He’s surprised Joel caught on. Everyone else was carrying on as usual, carefree and unaware. “There was a spill at the community center. You know Mr. Robertson’s special Summer Fest punch?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent, Joel nods because he’d heard the rave. Apparently it was made especially for the festival. “Kitchen’s flooded with it. I didn’t have time to build an ark,” he jokes.  

Joel wrestles with himself. “I’ll go see if I can help.” 

By the time you exit the community center, gaze fixed over your shoulder, you crash into Joel. He instinctively reaches out to steady you, touch firm but gentle. “Whoa, easy there.” The low timbre of his drawl is enough to draw your mind away from all the noise. “You alright? Here, let’s get out of the way.” You let him pull you aside by your elbow. 

When you look into his eyes, there’s so many things you wish it was the appropriate time to say. It’s been cordial between the two of you, but it always seemed like he was in a constant state of backing away, like an animal scared of giving into a primal craving.  

There was always a reason why he couldn’t stay in your presence longer than he did. He had to get back to Ellie, or turn in early for his patrol shift the next day, or some other excuse. Even during the game nights you hosted, he would always leave before his belly was full and the real fun was about to begin. When everyone was finally free of the day’s worries and truly ready to talk, laugh, and let everything ride on the toss of a dice. 

He’d resigned himself to enjoying you in the little here and there, the moments in between. So much so that even Ellie had begun to notice. It was in the way he never allowed himself to lean in too close whenever you were at his side. Or never fully crawled out of his shell no matter how many times you smiled sweetly or let your fingertips brush his forearm. 

“Does anything hurt?” He asks more intently. As he scans you over, he notices your clothes. The lower portion of your vest and the thighs of your flared jeans are stained with a wet, dark substance. 

“I’m fine, Joel.” You pull away from him with more force than necessary, feeling guilty for the way he swallows and takes a step back. “Sorry.” You release a heavy exhale, tears welling in your eyes with a dull sting. “I’m ruining everyone’s night.” 

Joel frowns. “No you’re not. Tell me what happened.” 

“I was trying to transfer the extra beverage dispenser onto the wagon so I could wheel it out to the drink stand, but it slipped out of my grip,” you explain. “The lid came off and the punch spilled everywhere.” You wipe your tears away quickly, as if they’ll stain too. 

“Accidents happen,” Joel’s tone is steady like scripture, tenderness peeking through just enough to cling onto. “Everybody’s fine. The world's still turning.”

Nobody had reacted in an extreme manner. There were gasps and startled jumps, but assurances came rushing in as the janitorial volunteers insisted that they’d get everything cleaned up. Everyone in that kitchen knew that there were worse things in life than spilled juice. Sure, it was upsetting, considering the time Mr. Robertson spent and the people looking forward to drinking more, but it was a small mistake in the grand scheme of things. But when your heart is already heavy and your mind is tangled with other concerns, those little mishaps feel like the most devastating ones. 

There was a directness about Joel, though, that eased away the guilt crawling beneath your skin. It was like he understood what screwing up truly was and this was many light years from it. 

Dina spots Joel in the distance and points him out to Ellie. “There he is over there.” 

Their smiles fall from their faces when they get closer and realize you’re crying. “Holy shit, what happened?” Ellie looks between you and Joel, worry etched onto her face. 

“I just made a stupid mistake.” You sniffle, trying to regain your composure, not wanting to worry them.  There was always something unavoidably daunting about seeing adults cry. 

“You girls stay here with her for a second. I’ll be right back,” Joel instructs. 

A new song starts up by the live band that’s playing. It’s an instrumental rendition of Every Breath You Take. A decent crowd has gathered, nibbling on sourdough and nodding to the melody. Some people are wrapped in each other’s arms. Joel soaks it all in as he navigates back to the racing lawn. 

Tommy claps him on the back when he makes it and Joel returns the gesture. “You enjoying yourself, man?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “There was a spill at the community center, so no more punch. You think you can get everybody on the same page?” 

“Copy that.” 

Tommy’s voice carries through the megaphone as Joel makes his way back to you, the announcement fading with each step. 

“Howdy, folks. Some of you may have already heard, but in case you haven’t, there’s been a little spill and we are unfortunately all out of Mr. Robertson’s world famous punch for the night. We apologize if you didn’t get the chance to try it, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it up to y'all. In the meantime, I heard the lemonade and ice tea ain’t half bad.” 

His words blur into the background as Joel makes it back to you. There are a few disappointed groans, but nobody is completely devastated by the news. They keep carrying on just as he knew they would. 

Tears no longer streak your face when Joel makes it back, Ellie and Dina seeming to have lifted your spirits a little more. 

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up?” Joel suggests. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin is beginning to grow uncomfortable. You take a deep breath at the thought of walking home, away from Summer Fest, all the energy, all the fun. Joel sees the disappointment on your face. 

“I can go with you,” he offers.

•••

The walk to your house is quiet, the sounds of the night's festivities now distant. The porch steps creak gently under your weight as the two of you ascend them. Joel watches as you unlock the door, but finds himself cemented as you step inside. Confusion, appreciation, frustration, and want are all amalgamated into one look directed right his way. Without saying a word, you head further inside, leaving the door open. 

Joel’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s a live wire wrought with energy. Bugs would fly in if he didn’t do something—that’s the justification he creates. You’re halfway to the laundry room when you hear the front door shut behind him as he follows after you. 

The living room is illuminated by dim lamplight as he walks through. A quick glance into the kitchen gives him sight of one of Ellie’s more recent drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with a smiley face magnet. It's a portrait of your face that you agreed to sit for one lazy afternoon while Joel was away on patrol. 

The air smells like you. Understated and sweet, floral and earthen. Small plants line multiple windowsills despite how convinced you were that you couldn’t keep anything alive. The whole commune would be worse off without you and he’d be the first to wilter away. 

At the sound of a zipper and clothes brushing against skin, he stops his pursuit of you. Miles away even though you’re mere yards apart. All he has is your shadow, dancing in the dim light pooling out of the laundry room and into the hall with him. He backs himself into the cool wall and closes his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Up and down and up again. An SOS in the middle of a sea when salvation was right within reach. It gets quiet after a while. No more running water, or cabinet doors, or shuffling around. 

“You can let me in, you know?” comes your voice, so light it’s almost nothing. Joel releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes to the sight of you, dawned in old shorts and a graphic tee. You wish he would say something, anything. Share a fraction of what’s going on in his mind. “I’m right here, Joel.” 

“I know. I see you.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that’s wounded around the edges, as if he’s trying to accommodate the truth that burns within his ribcage, his stomach, beneath the entirety of his skin. 

“So now what?” You swallow your nerves, studying his face, his neck. “We’re just gonna keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives and that’s it? No knowing, no feeling, no experiencing?” You ask. “No loving?”  

One by one, the walls close in, until it feels like you’re standing toe to toe with nothing but words as weapons and honesty being the only way out. It’s not a fight he’s ready for. He can trek through the harshest winters, fight off monsters and all manner of men, but he’s defenseless in front of you.

There will be no victory, no rising from battle with a bloodied fist or blade, or immediate relief akin to the coming of spring. The only way out is to dig within, and he already knew what resided there. It was a matter of carving it out and laying it on an altar for you to see as you did the same. It’s not a fight at all, it's a sacrifice. All risk with probable reward. 

“I don’t want that to be all that we do.” You’ve never heard Joel speak so quietly. It’s as if there’s Infected lurking nearby and he doesn’t want to be devoured. “Think about you too much.” 

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me at all. Not like how I like you,” you say. 

Joel swallows thickly, warm all over. “How do you like me?” 

You push out of the laundry room doorway to step closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the beating of his heart. You let it thrum against your palm until a shallow breath slips past his lips, then you move to cup his stubbled jaw, lightly brushing your thumb over his lower lip. The urge to touch you back grows so great that he finally gives in and lets both of his strong hands settle on your waist.  

Joel can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he leans in towards you, studying your face, searching for any sign that this might be some elaborate ruse. Instead, he finds something so poignant that he doesn’t have the words to define. It’s as terrifying as it is wonderful to, for once, be unable to size up what he’s up against. 

You close the space in between you with a softness that takes his breath away. Bared heart meeting bared heart. Joel’s lips are gentle and unhurried, every second savored and not a single one missed. You try to focus but it feels like you’re falling and flying all at once. Then his fingers dig into your waist a little harder, a silent plea to stay there with him, the warmth of his kiss, the firmness of his body as he pulls you closer. 

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to play with the hair curled at his nape. The kiss deepens not in urgency but a shared understanding. A promise sealed in the way your bodies fit together. And then, slowly, Joel eases back, lips lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer until a slight space forms between you. Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours, thumb stroking tender circles on your waist. 

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, wondering if you can feel that two worlds having converged into one, buzzing with a newness that’s as beautiful as all the words you’d kept bottled inside. 

•••

It hadn’t taken much. Just a hug and a few soft kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. When Joel’s grumbling finally subsided, it made way for the soothing ripple of the river. You’d settled along the bank and stretched out a few blankets when you first arrived. An hour seemed to pass in the matter of a few seconds, laughter, conversations and all. Now the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon up in the ombre sky. 

It wasn’t any fault of your own that you’d asked Joel if the date could extend a little longer. It’d been a month of getting to see him in this light, open and unguarded, generous with giving those slow, easy smiles. Willing to lay down across your lap like this when you asked sweetly enough. 

The small mouth of a fish breaks the surface of the water as you trace along his hairline, disappearing by the time you run the pad of your finger down his nose. His lips twitch as he continues to ward off sleep. This time, there’s no stopping a soft laugh from rising up your throat. That’s all it takes for his eyes to flutter open, blinking until they’re able to focus on the soft upturn of your lips. No sooner do they avert to the sky, assessing the fleeting light. 

“We gotta head back now,” his voice is gruff. When he moves to sit up, you place a delicate hand on the center of his chest and he settles back down with a sigh. “C’mon, sweetheart, the sun’s setting. I don’t want you out here in the dark.” 

Packing up and riding back to the commune meant this moment would be resigned to a memory. “A few more minutes won’t hurt,” you insist. 

Before Jackson and before you, every second was about enduring to the next. Life was an endless onwards, onwards, onwards reverberating through his veins. Slowing down was always a risk until you showed him that sometimes life’s most worthwhile moments were in the stillness. Somedays that was easier to remember than others, but he sure did put in an effort. 

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am anyways,” you tease. The corners of his lips quirk upwards before he can stop them. 

You continue on like that, tracing his face, occasionally glancing up at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Then an animal catches your attention across the way, lean and tall with short antlers protruding from its head. You suck in a breath of pleasant surprise, and Joel startles upright thinking the worst. His shoulders relax when he sees the creature. It bends its neck down to nibble at something in the grass until deciding to gallop away. 

“Just a mule deer.” He gives you a look. 

“I know, sorry. I get excited.” You offer an apologetic smile and he's reminded of how beautiful you look in the light of the setting sun, features aglow. He doesn’t say anything, just soaks you in here and now. An airiness fills your chest. 

He stands with a groan, extending a helping hand back down to you. When you’re steady on your feet, he takes your chin in one gentle hand and tilts your head back so he can align his lips with yours. The kiss is brief, and he follows it up with a soft peck.  

“Will you let me take you back home now?” he questions. “Ellie’s gonna have our heads if we’re late for game night. Especially when she’s choosing the line up.” 

•••

No heads roll that night. Plenty of dice do, while Uno cards are slapped onto the coffee table, and Jenga blocks fall. Tommy, Maria, Dina, and your uncle Nate, eventually file out of Joel’s house, leaving the three of you alone. Ellie feigns sleep on the couch as soon as it’s time for cleanup, and dozes off for real as you and Joel start taking care of everything yourselves. 

He steps up behind you as you’re standing at the kitchen sink, snaking his arms around your middle. A curious hum rises up your throat as you lean back into him. 

“I think somebody cheated during Jenga tonight,” he hushes against the shell of your ear, relishing the way you shiver at the warmth of his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Joel noses at the back of your head. “So you weren’t the one touchin’ me during that last round?” he asks. “Scratching my back, squeezing my thigh.” 

“It was innocent,” you insist. “It's a stressful game, I was just trying to ease your nerves. How was I supposed to know your hands would get all shaky?” 

A sudden chuckle shakes his chest, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Ease my nerves? We weren’t even on the same team.” His fingers squeeze your hips in quick, gentle pulses, making you arch into him in a spell of helpless giggles. Joel evades your attempts to grab his wrists, but shows you mercy when you turn around, looking up at him through your lashes like you could do no wrong. 

“You’re lucky I happen to like you an awful lot.” He places both hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in. 

You smooth your hands up his chest, admiring the soft lines by his eyes, the handsome bump of his nose. “I know. I’m the luckiest person alive.” 

“No, that’s me,” Joel whispers. 

He’s certain of it. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it’s my favorite thing.

[siribaes]

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 — 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

── .✦ ݁₊ . contents: elijah ‘smoke’ moore x ( black!fem! ) original character. au so no annie my beloved. hella angst. plot-ish? no specific time period but period specific language & references. AAVE. illusions to smut. stoic!smoke. smoke's kinda mean in this one. semi-proofread so excuse the mistakes. minors don’t interact!

the before |

when it started, it was a sexual thing.

dim lighting. bodies packed in like sardines. clouds of cigarette hung above like a thick, storming brewing cloud. an crooning voice was the soundtrack to the absolutely sinful dancing that occurred. hips flushed against fronts— pestle and mortar. bump and grind.

it was truly, divine.

he noticed her first. leaning against a wooden column, after a long pull, blew a puff of smoke into the air. then she appeared— a vision amongst the clear.

on the other side of the room, she might as well have been standing right in front of him, the way the crowd melted away from his view. smoke had tunnel vision, his brain actively rewiring itself, altered chemistry, to note every detail of his mystery girl.

her dress was yellow, a literal sunspot amongst the fray of browns, grays, and other drab shades. she was curvy— just the way smoke liked. a real healthy figure, a full bosom, birthing hips, and a set of calves that smoke could have his way with.

got some meat on her bones.

her face was another story. the swells of her chubby cheeks held a cherubic quality that was rare, angelic even. a button nose, and full lips with a soft cupid’s bow. smoke liked the way her bottom lip was ever-so-slightly bigger than her top ones.

more to kiss on.

her eyes, big and bright held a some trouble in them. smoke liked that. trouble. she would give a run for his money, that he knew. those same lips held a soft smile, as she danced to the music. seeing his mystery girl in motion was magical. she moved in a way that intrigued smoke, he never seen someone move to in such a way. she was in sync with the rhythm and the timbre, yet it wasn’t the mississippi way of low and slow. the mystery girl was fast, moving her feet and limbs with precision. an indication that she wasn’t from here.

tennessee? or maybe the carolinas? further up north?

either way smoke wanted to know. he wanted to know her, her name, where her family’s from, even more intimately, was she shy? or would she let him stick his tongue in her—

all those thoughts were suspended when those same brown eyes smoke had fantasized about were staring back at him.

smoke’s mind might’ve been playing tricks, but he swore he saw a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. she stopped dancing, and stared. she didn’t bother to give smoke the infamous once over he gotten most of his adult life.

you look familiar? which one you is? stack or smoke? you such and such son, huh?

she simply regarded him.

that was different. she was different.

smoke took another pull, letting the cigarette smoke exhale from his nostrils. he gave a moment of brevity before nodding towards her. the mystery girl returned his nod, then in a blink, she vanished.

the abruptness of her departure, made smoke lift off the wooden column. his eyes scanned the crowd, his mystery girl, the sunshine amongst the drab, was gone. there was movement at the entrance-exit but it was too far a way to tell.

smoke cursed himself, instantly the color of the world around him muted. the air became too thick, and the music was suddenly too slow. he needed some air.

the night air was pleasantly crisp, which was rare for this time of year. even the slight breeze the nipped at his neck. it was rare night indeed. the gravely dirt crunched against his shoes. they were oxfords, stack told him, they look nice. he took heed of stack’s advice—smoke never cared much about fashion or how he looked that was his brother’s thing. as he walked towards his car, halfway he stopped. lady luck had shone down on him—there she was, his mystery girl standing by the big oak tree, looking outward to the lake. smoke pivoted, walking towards her.

the gravel-dirt switched to soft grass underneath smoke’s shoes the closer he got. he even slowed his movements not wanting to scare off his mystery girl. she had been flighty once. smoke ventured closer, stopping until he was a some feet behind her. he didn’t speak, instead he noticed how much smaller she was compared to him. it was easily a six-inch difference.

“i love comin’ out here. it’s always so peaceful,”

her voice was smoky and sweet. a gentle rhythm the way she said certain words, there was a unique combination of a drawl, and typewriter’s pace.

“and the way the fireflies float above the water, it’s like they’re dancin’,”

smoke turned and looked. the fireflies flickered there tail bulbs in a musical synchrony, swirling and turning above the water, in constellation like structures. nature’s beauty.

“i’m lila by the way,”

lila. lila. she—no, lila, now stood in front of him, a hand stretched out towards him. he took her hand, the delicate softness of skin contrasted with smoke’s rough callouses. their hands fit like perfect puzzle pieces. his mind wondered—how else they would fit.

“smoke,”

“smoke?”

“yes ma’am,”

lila cocked her head. she eyed smoke, regarding him. then, she giggled.

smoke steeled over. there wasn’t much in this world that smoke didn’t care for, but being laughed at was one of them.

“what’s funny?” smoke gruffed.

“oh,” shock flashed briefly in her eyes, before morphing into a soft, reflective nostalgia as she brought her fingers to her lips. “i ain’t mean nothin’ by it, uh, my cousin, we call him ash…”

oh.

smoke rolled his shoulders, releasing some of the tension that suddenly built up inside. something about lila crackled his nerves. he felt himself growing fidgety. he needed another cigarette.

“you don’t talk much do you?”

now it was smoke’s turn to cock his head.

lila was an observant thing.

“can do more than i could ever say,”

“really,” lila’s lips quirked. eyes glossing over as she did more than just regard him. her gaze raked over smoke’s build, slow and syrupy, like thick molasses. when she finally met his eyes, they were filled a fiery heat, that was just begging to be tamed.

lila stepped closer. her heels brushed against the soft grass as she stood in front of him. her right hand hovered over his chest. a heat sparked between them, sensual—carnal. one move, a single word uttered could ignite a flame. that flame ignited, twice over, lila placed her hand on smoke’s chest. the touch, gentle yet firm, a promise of more. then she spoke—

“what would you do with me?”

words laced want and desire, weaved its way inside of smoke, rooting itself inside of his very being. it drove him.

drove smoke to kiss lila. to grip her fleshy hips. to press lila’s soft body against the rigged bark of the oak tree, sticking stuck his tongue in the softest parts of her. to fuck her within an inch of her life, leaving her throat hoarse from all the moaning and screaming she did.

a sexual thing.

this thing between lila and smoke, quickly became routine. every second tuesday they would meet in the cover of night, and make love fuck.

a sexual thing.

smoke fucked lila everywhere and any which position. cowgirl in the motorcar. doggy in the grass. standing missionary against the trunk of the oak tree. and this one move they were doing up in philadelphia called the seashell. those moments with lila was a private piece of heaven that smoke kept for himself. away from keen eyes and nosy busybodies, even away his brother, for whom he loved dearly, but smoke needed something of his own. this was it.

and with every encounter smoke noticed the little things lila did for him. after the third, or was it the fourth—smoke couldn’t remember but, lila started to dab perfume oil behind her ears and the backs of her thighs. it smelled like jasmine. smoke liked that. she brought rags to wipe himself off with (not that he didn’t have any, sometimes he would run out during rounds. a self proclaim pull-out king, sometimes one just wasn’t enough). a flask filled with cognac and finally, a metal lighter with an engraving of his name.

he remembered the night, exactly.

“i got you somethin’,” lila said. it came out in a huff, she was still catching her breath, smoke had worn her every which way but loose.

they were laying on the grass. full moon's light shining down on them. in the distance the crickets chirped. it was peaceful. lila reached behind her, pulling a small package of parchment paper. she smiled, a gentle one, and handed it to smoke.

"hope you like it,"

he began unwrapping—peeling back the layers neatly folded parchment, with as much care as he could muster. smoke wasn't a careful man, cautious maybe, but careful, no.

smoke's heart panged.

in the paper lay a small sliver lighter. smooth to the touch, it was a marvel of craftsman. something twisted inside him when saw his name—his real one, engraved on the side.

lila sat up on her knees, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"i found it, untouched, in my daddy's old things. he was never much of a smoker like my granddaddy was. so, i was on my way to shop to sell for somethin', then i saw you. well, not you, but stack,"

"you met stack?"

"yeah! he's awful fun and that laugh. i get why all the girls swoon. anyway, we got to talkin' and he told me y'alls birthday was soon. consider it an early birthday gift,"

smoke traced his name. elijah. e-l-i-j-a-h.

no one had ever shown him a kindness like this, ever—emotion hit him like a tidal wave, huge and overwhelming. the deep, achy part, the amplified disesteem— that nipped at the corners of his mind reared its ugly head. immediately, his reflexes kicked in. smoke rose to his feet, zipping his fly, and buckling his belt. he tried to ignore, the look on lila's face as he got himself together.

"smoke? is everything, alright?" she was soft, too, soft. he sensed the disappointment her voice. "talk to me,"

smoke didn't respond as he buttoned his dress-shirt. lila moved in front of him. her bright eyes were dimming.

"do you not like it? i can take back, pawn it maybe. you don't have to keep it,"

"don't be silly," smoke rasped.

"silly?" there was a slight irritation in her voice. " i'm bein' silly? oh, guess when i let you stick your tongue in my cunny, i was bein' silly then too,"

"it wasn't nothin' you ain't want,"

"oh, fuck you, elijah!"

echoes of memories, very unkind ones flooded his brain. his fingers twitched as he wrestled with the top button. on the inside he was a mess of emotions, painful memories of old collided with painful new ones. on the outside, smoke was stoic as stone. unmovable, not shaken in the slightest—that had pissed lila off more as she huffed sliding her heels onto her feet.

"you're a piece of work, y'know that? i got you the damn thing 'cause i cared," lila glared at him as she shifted her dress on her hips. "i never wanted anything from you, smoke. nothing at all," she paused. a wave of a emotion flooded her too. she wiped roughly at a tear the fell from her eye.

"story of my life of my life, i guess. i always fall for the man who can't love me back,"

those words played in his mind, on repeat, on the drive back. it was silent, lila angled her body away from smoke the entire ride. and when the car stopped in front of her house, lila left the car, slamming it behind her. she disappeared into the doorway, not bothering to glance back. why would she? smoke hadn't given her any reason to.

i always fall for the man who can't love me back.

smoke palmed the lighter in his hand. the engine roared as smoke sped off into the night. pain filling his chest, at the realization, lila amongst many before, was but a memory, now.

a painful one.

── .✦ ݁₊ . ݁₊ .✦ ݁──

[ a/n: omgggg hi! i literally wrote this in a day, but i had to join the sinners fan-club, the film was excellent, so if you have the chance definitely go see it in theatres! this is a two-parter, so all the mushy-gushy, reunion smut will be in the next part lol ]

[joeldarling]

hii! could you do an oldman!joel and reader (the flu) but joel is the one who's sick, thank youu🤍

The Flu (Joel’s Version) - Oldman!Joel x F!reader

Summary: Based on this request, Joel is sick and reader takes care of him way too well. The Flu (Reader’s Version) here.

Warnings: MINORS DNI! F!reader, mentions of Abby, literally just porn without tons of plot, no reader description, handjob, blowjob, established couple, delicious oldman!Joel.

Word count: 1.8k.

A/N: As usual, English it’s not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I am literally so thirsty over oldman!Joel that I loved to write this one. In my masterlist you can find more stuff, spicy and soft, obviously. My requests are always open, feel free to chat with me too! 💌

Joel would never admit it, but he was sick.

It was like watching an animal thrashing against death, trying to fight something inevitable, but he got the flu thanks to an extra shift on patrol that night. The extra hours he'd spent in the snow had done their work, and Tommy had warned over the radio that he would certainly be grumpier and in a terrible mood when he got home.

But, well, Joel could be rude and stupid to everyone around him, except for you, and that proved true the moment he stepped into the home, already warm thanks to the wood burning crackling in the fireplace. His nose was red, his glasses were fogged up and he seemed to be shrinking inside his clothes, which made you stifle a laugh. Weeks before, when you had been sick, Joel had been as attentive as possible, taking care of you in every way imaginable—you would do the same for him, your old man needed all the affection in the world, and you were going to make sure he got it.

“I made you tea and there’s sum’ medicine here from the other week.” You said, holding out the cup and the medicine to him. Joel, despite displaying an unmistakable grimace, swallowed the medicine in one go, just as he drank the tea in a few gulps, trying to get rid of it.

“Thank you, darlin’. Ya’ don’t need to worry ‘bout me.” Joel uttered, his voice hoarser than usual as you approached to steal a little kiss from him. His strong, calloused hands quickly went to your waist, holding you with their usual firmness. Usually, when he arrived from patrol, Joel was always hungry, especially from you.

The whole mood was interrupted by a strong cough before he could do anything else and your laughter was inevitable. Joel would have to give in. You hugged him for a few seconds before pulling away completely and held out your hand towards him.

“The bathtub is ready and warm, waiting for you upstairs.” You said, and he couldn't avoid a smile. Joel wasn’t much of an emotional man in front of people and you understood that better than anyone; after all, his eyes were all the necessary answer about how he felt anyways.

“Just like an angel, my sweet girl. I dunno what I did to deserve ya’.” He held your hand, letting you guide him to the bedroom. The whole house was simple, in the Jackson style, but, Joel being Joel meant that some of the wall colors were more vibrant because according to him they matched you better, and the bathroom tiles contained small drawings of marine animals that he himself had lovingly painted for you as a surprise when you first moved in; all the little things that would bring a bit of normalcy to the end of the world.

As they arrived in the bathroom, Joel looked at you, and it was rather obvious what he desired: company for his bath. You helped him undress even though you knew he could do it all himself, and right after, you removed your own layers of clothing, getting into the bathtub with him. You adjusted your body so that Joel could rest between your legs, with his back against your chest, and it wasn't long before you started caressing his hair, a way to relax him as your fingers moved slowly through the graying curls that smelled of the lavender soap you often traded with the neighbor across the street.

He smiled, even though you couldn't see it, sneezing loudly the next instant. The temperature of his skin where the water wasn't touching, especially his cheeks, was quite high, giving Joel an extra rosy color. He would deny it, of course, but you knew he wasn't feeling well.

You hurried the bath a little so he wouldn't be exposed to the cold air that sneaked in through the windows. You helped him dry off; Joel's back always ached, so you were kind enough not to let him move excessively. When you were both out of the bathroom, properly clean and warm, you walked quickly to the bed to fluff the pillows on his side, helping Joel lie down and covering him up.

You laid down beside him and let him settle with his head on your chest, completely needing extra affection and attention. Joel mumbled with his eyes closed, trying to fall asleep, but you weren't feeling not even a bit sleepy. He started to sweat, dampening the t-shirt he was wearing and transferring to the sheets. You would change the bedding the next morning, so you just took an extra look at him. His sleep, when it came, seemed restless, and you weren't surprised when he woke up half an hour later, startled, his heart racing and looking for you.

“Right here, darling.” You said, and Joel's big brown eyes seemed to calm down instantly. He had felt immensely guilty ever since he had saved you from Abby's hands and prevented a tragedy. It was obvious that the girl wanted revenge, but she felt that killing Joel wouldn’t be enough, and beating you to death was the perfect idea to see him suffer the same as she did once. Some scars were still scattered across your body, but most of the time you just chose to ignore what had happened. “Not going anywhere, handsome.”

You joked, and then accepted when Joel approached, stealing a kiss from you; slowly and hungry, as if the cure for that damn flu was right there on your lips. He held your neck, forcing the rest of your body to lie down so he could reach you in the way he desired, and the warm touch against your cold, exposed skin sent shivers down your spine.

“My sweet, sweet girl.” He murmured, and then, his possessive touch traveled down from your neck to capture your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. You hadn't noticed that he was already hard; even in his sixties, he was completely obsessed with you and every part of your body, and it wasn't at all difficult to please the old man. “Help me. Touch me.”

Joel pleaded. Despite being a man in the fullest sense of the word, he enjoyed it when you were in control and took full advantage, especially when his back ached too much and you rode him for long hours until he was completely buried inside you, filling you with his seeds and saying the dirtiest things possible while looking directly to your beautiful eyes.

“As you wish, old man.” You said, and then held his cock over the fabric of the black boxer shorts Joel was wearing. With a nod, you motioned for him to lift his hips and helped him get rid of the worn cotton fabric, soon you were holding the long, pulsating length in your right hand, slowly massaging it, especially the head, and paying complete attention to his reactions as you spread the pre-cum that leaked out in circular motions with your thumb.

“Just like that, sweetheart, yea…” He groaned, completely surrendered to you. His voice clearly indicated that the flu was still there, but especially because of that, your movements remained slow in a tease, acquiring a tortuous rhythm. “Please, darlin’, daddy needs you to take care of him.”

Seeing Joel beg was a rare occurrence, and perhaps that's why something inside you gave way, almost melting. You moved your hand more quickly, feeling every vein in his cock pulse against your skin, something your mouth knew so well. But even though you were salivating, you would make him cum that way first, and then in all the other ways he desired, until he was completely exhausted by your side just as he deserved.

“You look so pretty begging for me to make you cum, daddy.” You said, a soft, short laugh escaping your beautiful lips as Joel rolled his brown eyes, tilting his hips towards you.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart. I’ll cum for you.” His hoarse voice, more so than usual, was your only motivation. You moaned, completely absorbed in him, feeling your cunt fucking wet just from the fact of having Joel melting over you. “I’ll cum over your pretty little hands ‘n then I’ll do it inside of you. I’ll make your tight sweet pussy milk my cock so well.”

The words seemed to have an effect on both of you. You didn't stop for a moment, feeling Joel getting closer and closer to the edge of madness and about to cum, just as you felt your nipples brushing against the old t-shirt you were wearing, bringing an even more exciting sensation. You swallowed a groan or two, pushing the urge to swallow him whole and suck every drop of his cum deep into the back of your mind.

But you couldn't resist; when Joel was almost there, you moved swiftly between the sheets and tilted your body, swallowing his hard cock completely, taking it deep into your throat.

“FUCK!” Joel exclaimed, gripping your hair with a mixture of wanting to help you and the urge to fuck your mouth in the most brutal way possible. You breathed through your nose as you were used to and moved your tongue, lightly scraping his teeth in a tease, concentrating all your attention on his pink and wet head. You brought one of your hands to his balls, gently squeezing them, and allowed him to bury himself deeper into your mouth as the adjustment of your positions allowed. “I’m comin’... Honey… Ah…”

It came in strong, hot spurts, and you swallowed absolutely everything, loving how his legs trembled and accepting all that he had to give you. When you raised your face again, Joel's cum dripped from your mouth and chin. You wiped yourself with your thumb, the bittersweet taste that had temporarily invaded your palate as delicious as ever.

“You taste so good, daddy.” You said, watching Joel completely out of breath, his chest rising and falling in a completely congested, extremely flu-ridden mess. “But I fear that now it’s time to sleep and you can fuck me by the morning. As much as I want it now, you have to rest.”

It was the truth, and no matter how much he wanted to argue with you, the discomfort of the flu started overwhelming him now that he was completely empty. You lay back down and again allowed him to settle his body against yours, resuming the gentle caresses through his hair and across his back.

“I love you, sweet pea.” Joel mumbled. “But as soon as ‘m fine, ‘m gonna end ya’.”

It was a promise, and you had no doubt about it; in fact, you could hardly wait.

[okay-j-hannah]

The Kickstart | Smosh 💛

Smosh : Multishot

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, Spencer pining, reader is struggling in LA, not a lot of money, multiple jobs, poor studio apartment, inconsiderate boyfriend, lots of musical theatre talk, reader insert but a few things are already decided (last name is Bennett, favorite drink is Diet Coke, love the colors blue and green, artist, theatre nerd, etc.)

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: I haven't written for Smosh in years... but the current cast and crew has me sucked back into the fandom. And I am sorely in need of more Spencer content 😭

I was initially inspired by this incredibly well done fic "Late Night" by @simpingsavant Please give it a read because it's a masterpiece.

Part 1: The Kickstart {You Are Here}

Part 2: Mama Bear

It was nearly three in the morning. The witching hour, you think with a smile. There was a light flickering near the fountain drinks. You lean against the checkout counter, thumbing through an aged script.

You memorize the cue lines that signal when quick changes are supposed to happen between scenes. The current musical you are working on is Hairspray.

Going through the script and your production notes really help pass the time.

The small rinky-dink gas station you manage is your reluctant home most nights. It wasn’t your favorite place, but it helped with the bills. Trying to make a living on production design for musicals isn’t the money maker you hoped it would be in LA.

You barely made anything doing hair and makeup for the community theatre. But it was something you loved.

And wouldn’t you rather be doing something you love than being miserable in a high paying corporate job?

Sure, you think.

It had been nearly eight months since you started working at this gas station. The owner was as rinky-dink as the store itself, speaking in short, to the point sentences and avoiding eye contact. There were only two gas pumps out front that rarely attracted customers.

The biggest commodity are the cheap drinks and snacks inside. Many stop by for something quick on their way to and from work.

Normally working the night shifts from 10pm to 6am, you are quick to notice any regulars. Not many people are awake at this time of night, let alone on their way to the gas station for a drink.

The bell sounds above the door as a familiar face enters. It was Glasses.

That’s what you called him after seeing him for the third time in a week, back when you first started working here.

He usually came in late like this, looking exhausted. He has curly dark hair, gold rimmed glasses, and some scruff. Today he’s dressed in jeans rolled up at the cuffs, brown boots, and a gray sweatshirt.

He gives you an awkward, close-lipped smile as he passes. You watch him go for the drink fridges. Energy drinks are his specialty, maybe the occasional coffee or breakfast sandwich. He always bought them two at a time, taking the slight discount for buying a duo instead of a single.

About every other week he’s there three to four of those days. You’ve always wondered why – especially when he always looked so tired when he came in.

But you’ve never had a conversation that’s lasted longer than the cordial exchanges.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” he replies with his awkward smile.

You scan his drinks, Mountain Dew Kickstarts like always. “Find everything you need?”

“Yep.”

The computer beeps. “That’ll be $8.56.”

“All right.” He taps his card on the machine in front of him.

“Would you like your receipt?”

“No thanks.” He grabs his two cans.

“Have a nice night.”

“You too.”

It had been like that for maybe six of those eight months. After that, your curiosity began to plague you. The next time he came in, you watch him browse for a Kickstart and a breakfast muffin.

Saying hello to him had felt routine. But it was clear that you both recognized each other. So you decide to say something a little more than usual.

“Getting breakfast a little early?” you joke in your quiet voice.

He smiles, pulling out his wallet. “I just haven’t eaten anything all night.”

“Sounds like a rough night. That’s $9.34.”

He scans his card. “It has been.”

With him looking down at the keypad, you take the time to look at the circles under his eyes. “You should try the croissant sandwiches. Much better than stale muffins.”

He nods his head, “Next time. Thanks.”

You watch him walk away, still at a loss as to why he’s always in there this late at night.

A couple days later he’s walking in and giving you a wave. You smile at him as he makes for the drinks again.

He’s dressed in those same jeans and combat boots. Now he wears a t-shirt with a denim jacket. If you had friends to talk to, you’d want to tell them how Glasses loves to wear the same jeans and jackets all the time.

He comes to the counter and clears his throat.

You scan his drinks and a breakfast sandwich. A croissant sandwich.

You chuckle, “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m counting on it,” he says, tapping his card against his hand while he waits.

“Haven’t eaten anything all night again?”

He hums, shrugging his shoulders, “Felt peckish.”

“Do you want your receipt?”

“No, that’s fine. Have a good night.”

You throw the balled up receipt into the garbage bin beside you. “You too.”

You’d love to tell a friend that Glasses seems shy. He seems nice.

A few weeks later, you’re drawing sketches for costume designs. You were doing Shrek The Musical at the community theatre. Papers were full of drawings depicting a white rabbit, a wicked witch, a wolf in granny clothes, and fairies with colorful makeup.

You were humming one of the songs when Glasses came in with a yawn. His eyes search for you and he waves, “Good evening.”

“Good night,” you say sarcastically.

He grabs his drinks and comes to the counter with wandering eyes. You try to move your sketches and pencils out of the way.

“Sorry,” you say, “That’ll be $8.56.”

He scans his card, but keeps looking at your art. “You draw those?”

“Yeah,” you say, abashedly. “Little project.”

“They’re really good,” he pops open one of the drinks and takes a sip. “Are they just for fun, or…?”

You shyly pull out a drawing of a person in a dragon scale costume. “They’re for the musical I’m a part of. Down at the local theatre.”

“That’s cool,” his face lights up.

Something warm tickles your stomach. You were actually having a normal conversation with Glasses.

“Are you the costume designer?”

“Assistant,” you bow your head. “I’m head of hair and makeup.”

He nods, clearly interested. “Have you been a part of production teams much?”

“For years,” you smile, “I love theatre. I’ve done almost everything. Acting, costumes, set design, lighting – you name it.”

He pockets the other energy drink in his jacket pocket. “Sounds like fun. Have a nice rest of your night.”

“Thank you, you too.”

If you had friends, maybe you’d tell them that Glasses might become a friend. The only person you have to text is your new boyfriend Aaron. But he wasn’t a fan of nonsense texts – texts that were unnecessary.

A few weeks go by, now seven months into your job at the gas station. Glasses was still making his almost daily visits. You caught him standing outside the window for a minute before coming in.

You have confusion in your face, but a smile on your lips. “You okay there?”

He raises his eyebrows and talks as he walks to the fridges. “What do you mean?”

“Was there something on that window or were you just making sure you weren’t a vampire?” At his knitted brows, you continue, “You know… checking that you still had a reflection.”

Heat floods your face at the poor attempt at a joke, but Glasses laughs, nonetheless. “I might be nocturnal, but no, I’m not a vampire.”

You smile, admiring him walking towards you. His fluffy curls were sticking out from beneath a green hat. In white embroidery it says, Smosh.

“How were auditions?” he asks, getting his card ready.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Good. I think we’ll have a good cast.” Earlier that week he asked about the latest Hairspray script that was on your counter. “The quick changes will be fun.”

He clears his throat, having paid but still standing at the register.

“I’m sorry, did you want your receipt?” you ask suddenly. “Normally you don’t so I stopped asking.”

“No, no – sorry. I’ve been trying to find some clever segway to introduce myself. But we’ve been seeing each other for months and it feels strange to do it now.” He rubs his forehead, struggling to maintain eye contact with you while he talks. “I mean, it’s not like I have a nametag like you.”

You look down at your chest to see (Y/N) printed on the laminated tag. “That’s true.”

He takes a deep breath and extends his hand. “I’m Spencer.”

You take his hand. It was very warm. “(Y/N).”

He smiles, “Nice to officially meet you.”

Maybe you’ll tell Aaron that Glasses has a new name now. Spencer.

One night at two in the morning, you were asked to do inventory while another employee managed the registers. It was strange to have a coworker with you on night shifts, but when things need to be restocked, it took a team.

You use a box cutter to break through packages, pulling out chip bags and candies. You roll them out on a dolly. Plastic wrappers crinkling as you restock shelves, you don’t notice who Eric at the counter is talking to.

But then a pair of glasses peek around the corner. “Hey!”

You smile wide, “Spencer!”

He smiles back, “I was worried when I didn’t see you at the registers.”

“Yeah, they need two of us here when we do inventory,” you shake a bag of doritos before putting it on the shelf. “How was your day?”

He sighs, opening his drink, “Long. Shooting weeks always are.” He tells you about the online comedy group he’s a part of. It was called Smosh.

“Oh, you’ve worn some merch that has that logo on it,” you say, moving a box out of the way.

Spencer nods, “Gotta promote whenever we can.”

“How large is the group?”

“Well, it’s more of an entertainment company. We have a huge production team and a cast. We film content for four different channels.”

“That’s impressive.”

He suddenly dips down to help hand you boxes of candy. “I guess. I think most of LA are internet personalities in one way or another.”

“I’m not,” you say quietly. “It is impressive.”

You learn about his directorial position on one of the channels. Being a head producer, he has a lot of sway on that content. You commend him on the responsibility, and he seems pleased, if not a little embarrassed.

He excuses himself not long after that.

You head towards the registers to restock the candy on the counters. Eric is there giving you a telling smile.

“What are you looking at?” you ask.

The middle-aged man scoffs, “That guy came in with the biggest smile on his face, but then he realized I was the one standing at the counter and he looked so disappointed.”

“I’m sure he was just in need of an energy drink.”

Eric shakes his head, “It wasn’t me that he wanted to see.”

Now in the present, you stand at the counter while Spencer leans against the other side. You had just revealed the fact that you have a boyfriend.

“H-How long have you been together?” he asks with much more nervousness than before.

You scrunch your nose in thought, “About two months. It’s been great though. He gives me rides to work and everything.”

“You don’t have a car?” Spencer asks, paying for his snacks.

You throw the receipt away, “No. I was taking the bus before I met him.” Noticing the awkwardness enter Spencer’s face, you say, “Rough I know. But I manage.”

“It’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, especially because I don’t really make enough to get a car right now.”

“Isn’t that why you have this job on top of the musical theatre stuff?” he offers you a package of your favorite candy.

It makes you smile, “Sure. But rent isn’t helping with my savings. Living paycheck to paycheck.”

“Does Aaron drive you to theatre too?”

Your gaze falls from Spencer’s, eating a piece of candy to give you some time before answering. “No, he’s not a big fan of musicals.”

Spencer scrunches his brow. Unsure of what was stepping over the line with this new friend of his, he tiptoes. “He won’t drive you because he doesn’t like theatre?”

“It’s kind of inconvenient asking him to come get me late after rehearsals. I shouldn’t ask for so much, he’ll think I’m dating him just to have a cab driver.” You snicker at your joke, but Spencer doesn’t seem to think it’s very funny.

He drinks from his can when another customer enters the store. That always meant he would excuse himself so you could get back to your job.

You start to expect Spencer each week. You wait for when you know a filming week was at Smosh. During that time, Spencer would visit for his necessary caffeine. He always stops to talk to you for a few minutes before leaving.

You always feel bad since he normally came in exhausted from work. He denies himself sleep just to spend a few more minutes with you.

It takes a couple more weeks, but he starts to stay even when more customers come in. He just steps to the side and waits for you to ring the customer up.

Then he comes back to continue your conversation.

“So do you prefer acting or production?”

You share the snacks that he’s purchased. “Production, for sure. I kind of developed stage fright a couple years ago. But I do miss being on stage sometimes.”

He looks at you while you talk. He’s an active listener. He zeros in on your face while you speak, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything.

But when he speaks, he tends to look elsewhere. “Did something happen?”

You shrug, “I just get nervous being in the spotlight now. I don’t like the attention much.”

“I get that. I haven’t always loved being on camera. It’s taken finding the right company to do it.”

You nod, “That sounds nice. To be so comfortable in the workplace. And to have everyone there as friends.”

He agrees, “Though a lot of them like to crack jokes about not seeing each other outside of work.” He chuckles as he remembers something. “It’s great being a part of a company where the goal is comedy content. You get to have fun with your friends every day.”

“And you’ve been there for so long,” you say, “You’ve definitely earned your place.”

“Thank you,” he feels warm around the collar, “It’s been hard at times, but well worth it now.”

You suddenly feel a warmth in your cheeks. “You know, um… my show opens next week. If – If you’re interested in seeing it. I’ll be there every night.”

“Helping Edna quick change into her fancy 60s outfit,” he smiles kindly. His eyes are soft and considerate as he watches your nervous gesture. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

You brighten, “Great!”

A week later you’re in the wings of the stage, sweaty with the heat the spotlights generate. A headset adorns your head, microphone near your mouth. You’re readjusting a costume onto a rack from the last quick change.

The last number of the show was currently playing: You Can’t Stop the Beat. You whisper the lyrics and subtly follow along with the choreography.

It was safe to do so with the curtains hiding you from the audience.

You listen to the applause as the cast bows. You imagine them gesturing to the tech booth, acknowledging the production team behind the scenes. You give a little imaginary bow to the audience.

Waiting in the dressing rooms, you help organize the costumes and clean up the makeup counters. Cast members thank you for your help, carrying massive bouquets and presents from the crowd.

You compliment the flowers and give your praise to their performances. It’s forty minutes later, having put the makeup and hairspray away, preening the wigs, and spraying down the character shoes, that you find your purse and head towards the front doors.

Outside on the sidewalk you’re met with an unexpected surprise.

Spencer.

He stands under the white lights of the theatre logo. He adorns his usual rolled up jeans and band t-shirt, denim jacket over it. His curls look extra defined tonight and in his hand are three colorful carnation flowers.

“Spencer? What are you…? I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” You walk towards him and for the first time since meeting him – you hug him.

Arms around his shoulders, smelling his clean, fresh scent. He seems timid to hug you back.

“Well… I did say I would come see the show.”

You shake your head. “I would have come out sooner if I knew you’d be here. I’m so sorry to keep you so long.”

“It’s no problem,” he offers the flowers. “Worth the wait.”

You give a smile, but your face is still regretful, “You shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even on stage.”

“Of course you were,” he says, “Your costumes and wigs and makeup were there.”

You hold the few flowers, completely endeared by him. “Thank you. This is really kind of you. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, shoving his empty hands into his pockets. “It’s kind of weird seeing you out of uniform. I’ve never seen you out of that polo and black pants.”

“Well, stage crew attire isn’t much different,” you laugh, gesturing to the long sleeve black shirt and leggings. “What did you think of the show?”

“It was excellent,” he says, “It’s such a fun show. I bet you loved teasing those wigs and picking out costumes with those crazy patterns.”

“And the quick changes?”

“I counted like 38 seconds,” he laughs, “That’s super impressive.”

You smile warmly, though the night air had a chill to it. “Thank you for coming, Spencer. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” he steps away, “I’ll see you later.”

You start to walk down the sidewalk, opposite the parking lot. Spencer suddenly has a thought. He runs up to you.

“Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Oh, I walk to the bus stop and take that.”

He looks down at your crossed arms trying to keep you warm. “Aaron really won’t come get you?”

“I don’t want to inconvenience him.” You wave away the look of worry in his face. “I do this every night, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, but… you shouldn’t have to.”

“Have a good night, Spence.”

You’ve never used a nickname with him before. He huffs a little before following your retreating figure, “Then let me give you a ride.”

You keep walking, “Really, Spence – I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says, “But let me help. I want to give you a ride. It’s cold.”

Your fingers feel like ice against your arms. You look in the direction of the bus stop before looking at the pleading in Spencer’s face.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Relief floods his expression, “Great, this way.”

He guides you to his car and even opens the passenger door for you. It’s a kind gesture that you aren’t used to. He turns on the heater and your seat warmer before exiting the parking lot.

You direct him to your poor excuse of a studio apartment. The pair of you speak pleasantries the entire way. The lighting design of the musical, the strategic sets that move quickly, the realistic prop hairspray, and things like that.

He didn’t notice how you cower in the seat. He thinks it’s just because you’re still cold.

“Is the gas station good about changing your schedule so you can be there on show nights?”

“Yes, they’re so kind about it,” you say, playing with your fingers. It was a nervous habit of yours – pinching, rubbing, and picking at them. “I switch with a usual day shifter.”

Spencer nods, “I – I’ve missed seeing you at our usual time.”

“Our usual time?” you laugh, like your gas station hangouts were scheduled playdates.

He smiles, embarrassed, “Yeah, I mean… your customer service is so excellent. How am I supposed to get a Kickstart when you’re not there?”

“You know there are dozens of other gas stations and convenience stores around here.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have you.”

Something beats loudly in your chest. It sends a waterfall of warm, fizzing fireworks into your stomach.

Your apartment building is in a scary part of LA – but it’s what you can afford. Aaron was hinting at moving in together just for the ease of splitting the rent. It did sound appealing when you could actually save a little for a car.

“Thanks again for the ride,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He looks nervous again, “Anytime. And… maybe we could exchange numbers – in case you need another ride from the theatre?”

You look at him warmly, “I’m not going to ask you to come grab me when you could be in a filming week.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I would still come.”

With a small smile, you take out your phone and open a new contact. In the name slot you put ‘Glasses.’ Spencer switches your phones and puts his number in.

You smile wider as you put your name in the contact and put a little theatre emoji after it.

“Glasses?” he asks, handing you back your phone.

“Yeah, that’s…” you brush warm fingers with him as you accept your phone. “That’s what I called you when I noticed you as a regular at the gas station. I didn’t know your name, so I gave you one in my head.”

He seems overly please about that. He has to look away from you and smile. “That’s funny, I like it. What would you do if you saw me without glasses? It would be a whole new identify to you.”

“Very Clark Kent of you,” you laugh.

He suddenly removes his gold rimmed glasses and looks at you all serious. “You’re right, during the day I’m fighting crime with the Justice League and at night I refuel at the gas station.”

“Superman refuels with energy drinks?” you laugh, causally reaching over to snatch his glasses. “I don’t know if Krypton would approve.”

“No, no – Kryptonians thrive off extra energy. Sun energy and now caffeine energy.”

His eyes are a dark green-gray color. Maybe that’s just because it’s dark outside. But you can’t decide what color they actually are. They’re definitely not brown.

You raise the glasses to your eyes and look at him. “I didn’t realize Superman was so blind.”

“It’s not that bad,” Spencer laughs, looking at you fondly.

You return the glasses, “Drive safe. Thanks again for the ride. Text me when you get home safely.”

He waves you off, waiting until you’re able to unlock your door before driving away.

Inside your apartment, you look at the chipped walls and cracked ceiling. The musty, uncomfortable couch in front of the small tv atop a table you got free off a lawn. To the right is the tiny kitchen with only one counter and no dining table.

Rummaging through a cabinet, you find a tall plastic cup to put your carnation flowers into.

The bathroom is straight ahead, where you go into to get ready for bed.

The porcelain of the tub and sink have rust stains around the handles. The tile of the floor is broken in places and the dim light above is giving off an ugly yellow glow.

You open the mirror cabinet to grab what you need to brush your teeth. Brand names are all obscure as you did get the supplies from a dollar store down the street.

If you had a little more money, you would buy a face wash and face towels. But the essentials were good enough.

You cross the hall to get to your bed. Being a studio apartment, there isn’t a separate room for your bed. It lies on the floor behind the tv stand and in front of the only window in the whole place.

The queen mattress was the one thing you spent a little more money on. It doesn’t have a headboard or support to keep it off the ground, but it was comfortable and had nice periwinkle blue sheets.

You change into sage green pajamas with little daisies on them, climbing into your bed and fumbling for the phone charger next to the mattress.

As you plug your phone in, a text message comes in from Glasses.

“Just got home. You did amazing tonight! See you later this week.”

You heart his message and give him a thank you in reply.

~~~

The end of the week is approaching and you’re at the theatre again. Headset on, you hang in the tech booth, grabbing a few more safety pins, mic tape, and alcohol wipes.

The oversized fanny pack you love to wear across your chest is open and full of supplies. You stuff the microphone items inside, watching the stage from the view of the booth.

Tracy was beginning the song Welcome to the 60s. You turn on the microphone by your mouth.

“Head to the wings for quick change pretty please.”

A muffled reply comes through the headset, “On the way, (Y/N).”

You leave the tech booth and walk out of the audience room to the side entrance of the wings. Waiting on stage right, you hold Edna’s new dress for the song. Two stage crew members help by holding accessories and waiting to take off Edna’s current costume.

“Go mama, go, go go!”

Edna comes running off to stage right, tossing their purse to the stage crew member. They wiggle out of their simple purple plaid dress and step right into the sparkly pink dress you have waiting open on the floor.

You pull up the fabric as you hear the lyrics continue on stage.

“Don’t let nobody try to steal your fun, ‘cause a little touch of lipstick never hurt no one.

The future’s got a million roads for you to choose, but you’ll walk a little taller in some high-heeled shoes.”

You zip up the dress and readjust the mic pack on the suit strap beneath. Stage crew throws a new necklace on and a sparkle to the lip makeup. The other stage crew snugs a fuller wig onto the actor, starting to pin it down onto the wig cap. You hand a feather boa to the actor and help pin the new wig in.

“Come on out, hear us shout. Mama, that’s your cue!”

Just in time, you think, sending the actor back onto stage. It always felt like a close call, but the audience shouting their surprise and praise always felt like a reward.

You smile at the stage crew members and wave them off to help with set pieces. You then take the old purple plaid costume to the rack to keep it from wrinkling on the floor.

While in the dressing rooms you meet the actress playing Penny Pingleton, “Hey, sis – I noticed your mic tape not sitting so good on your cheek.”

She smiles worriedly, the action making the mic tape unstick from her face and the microphone dangle from her ear. “Just a little.”

You pull out an alcohol wipe and roll of tape from your pack. “There might just be too much makeup in the way.” You wipe the spot where the microphone sits on her cheek, fanning your hand to make the alcohol dry.

Cutting two pieces of tape, you line the microphone and stick it in place. The actress keeps her face straight, letting it adhere.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Anytime.” You leave the dressing room to find the man playing Seaweed. His mic belt kept twisting beneath his costume.

You track him down and use safety pins to secure the mic belt to his undershirt. Now as he dances and changes, the mic pack will stay in place. He shares his gratitude and runs off to the next scene.

The rest of the show goes without a hitch. The audience claps during the bows, and you give your imaginary bow to the curtains.

You begin to clean the dressing rooms when you get a text. From Glasses.

“Hey, I’m at the entrance by the concessions when you’re done in the back.”

A smile creeps onto your face. He saw the show a second time? You text back, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You’re quick to clean up and organize the costumes before heading out. The front was still packed with audience members trying to talk and take pictures with the cast members. You push your way towards the concessions table to see Spencer there.

He was wearing a black Creed t-shirt, arms full of silly tattoos on total display. Instead of holding flowers, he’s holding a Diet Coke from the concessions. You grin, falling out of the crowd and into him for a hug.

He catches you and hugs you back. You feel the cold soda against your shirt.

“I can’t believe you came again!” You pull away, eyes shining. You’ve never had someone to meet outside the theatre after a show before.

He extends the drink he got for you. “I told you it was an excellent show. And I wanted to bring a friend to see it too.”

A woman stands beside him, “And he misses seeing you at the gas station every day.”

You miss how Spencer nudges the woman with his elbow. You were too busy recognizing her face.

“Oh my god – oh my fucking god,” you accidentally shake the soda as you wave your hands. “You’re Angela Giarratana!”

Her brown eyes widen ridiculously, “Um… yeah, I am.”

“You were on Nerdy Prudes Must Die!”

A smile replaces the surprise on her face, “Oh, yes! I was in that show last year. You really scared me there for a second.”

Spencer licks his lips, watching the excitement on your face. “I wondered if you’d seen anything from StarKid.”

“Well, I’m a theatre kid, aren’t I?” you say, “I literally have a Hatchetfield Nighthawks letterman jacket. It’s so nice to meet you, Angela. I’m (Y/N).” You lean into a hug and Angela returns it kindly.

“I know, Spencer’s talked about you.” She steps away and compliments the show, “You did a great job with the costume design. Spencer and I were timing the quick changes.”

“I am very proud of those,” you say excitedly. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop smiling. Thank you for coming to our show. How do you know Spencer?”

Angela smacks Spencer’s arm, “We work together. He’s more behind the scenes and I’m more on camera.”

“At Smosh? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” she says, looking to Spencer and then laughing. “I gotta be careful or Spencer won’t put me in any of the videos on Games.”

You open your soda, drinking it like you were parched all night. “Are you working on any more theatre projects?”

“Eh, not at the moment,” Angela says, folding her arms. “I’m spending most of my time on Smosh sets.” She eyes you for a second before saying, “Do you have a portfolio by chance?”

“A portfolio?” you ask, wiping your lip of soda. “Of what?”

Angela rubs at her chin, “Sketches of your costume designs or makeup aesthetics. Maybe a performing arts resume. Pictures of your work on stage.”

“Um…” you pull awkwardly on the edge of your shirt. “No, not formally. But I could pull something together.”

“That’d be great. I’d love to see more of your work.”

Spencer looks incredibly pleased with himself, biting on his lips. “Would you let me give you a ride home?”

Your eyes are still shining, flitting your gaze between the two friends. “Um… yeah – that’d be great.”

All of you walk outside the theatre and towards the parking lot. Spencer is quick to open the passenger door for you and you give an awkward thank you.

Angela rolls her eyes and climbs into the back. “He’s such a doofus.” You watch Spencer walk around the hood of the car to get into the drivers side.

“A what?” you laugh.

“Just watch him – you’ll notice sooner or later.”

He climbs in and uses the seatbelt, “Watch who?”

You clear your throat, “Joey Richter. He’s another actor on StarKid Productions. He’s super talented.”

Angela snickers in the back. “What was the first thing you watched on StarKid?”

“A Very Potter Musical,” you laugh, “Way back in the day.”

“Classic,” Angela says, folding her arms and slumping into the seat. “What brought you to LA?”

You play with your fingers. “I wanted to move out of my home state. And I wanted to get more into the arts. But it’s been hard to find stable work.”

“You’re telling me. That’s the life of an actor – just jumping from one gig to another.”

“It would be the dream,” you sigh, “To do this full time. I just wish I had a little more security with it. A stable income. Not to be afraid with how I’ll afford food every month.” You awkwardly laugh as you realize you might’ve said too much. “But I’m doing all right.”

Angela agrees, “It’s hard to do well in the arts.”

“Hard to be recognized,” Spencer says. “(Y/N) already does well in the arts.”

You smile, your cheeks warm. “When is your next filming week?”

“Next week,” Angela sighs, yawning big. “Which reminds me – I gotta pick up that new pair of glasses for the office.”

“Angela is super blind and never wears her glasses during shoots,” Spencer explains. “Especially on the games channel. She’s always squinting super bad at the tv whenever we’re playing a game.”

“And I’ve been doing just fine!” Angela says loudly, “I’ve been training my eyes to see that far.”

Spencer scoffs, “Yeah, and the compilations of you squinting are growing at an exponential rate because of it.”

“Shut up!” Angela yells.

You laugh at their antics. “Are you allowed to yell at your boss like that?”

Spencer looks in the rearview mirror, “Yeah, Angela. As your superior you need to treat me with a high level of respect. I expect a full written apology and a certain amount of groveling before you’re allowed back on the Games set.” His tone was serious, but by the wide comical look in his eye, you know he’s using hyperbole as a joke.

“The heads of Smosh are actually Ian and Anthony, so don’t you even pull that superiority card!”

You keep giggling at this funnier, more outspoken Spencer. Proof that he was very comfortable with this coworker and their workplace.

It sounds nice.

~~~

Angela sits in the passenger seat now, slumped into the door and leaning her forehead against the window.

“She’s really nice.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says quietly, thoughts still lingering on you.

Angela looks over at him and smirks. “You like her so fucking much. I knew you did when you wouldn’t shut up about her at the office, but damn – seeing you with her was nearly painful.”

“What are you talking about? I’m so subtle about it.”

“So you don’t deny it!” she sits up stick straight, so fast that the seatbelt locks into place and stops her from moving anymore.

Spencer flounders, “I – what – no, that’s not what I said!”

“You totally did you little fucker! You like her so much it hurts. You like her so much your cheeks are going to burst into flames. You like her so much you can’t get a full sentence out.”

“Angela, shut the fuck up – you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She bounces in her seat, “I’m so subtle about it. I can’t believe you. You’ve been talking about this girl for almost a year. Of course you have a crush on her!”

“Angela, I swear to god, don’t ruin this for me.”

“How would I ruin this? I want my little Spencey to have true love. You have to ask her out.”

“Yeah, genius – you’re forgetting about a teensy little detail. She has a fucking boyfriend.”

Angela freezes, sitting back. “Right.” She bites her lip, “Should have made your shot earlier.”

“And risk looking like a creep asking a girl out at a gas station? No thank you.”

“Is you considering her for the production team on Smosh an elaborate way to play the long game with her?”

“No!” Spencer grips the steering wheel, sounding like a bickering sibling. “She has real talent, and I think she deserves the position.”

Angela holds up her hands, “All right, okay.” She side eyes him with raised brows, “… but you wouldn’t be upset if she suddenly became available and you could ask her out?”

He refuses to meet Angela’s eyes. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction by answering that question.”

“You basically just answered it,” she folds her arms, “You know… I can’t promise I can keep this from Amanda. Or Shayne.”

Spencer puts his elbow against the window and holds his temple.

“Or Chanse.”

“I figured.”

Angela gave him a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth – I think she has a real shot. We should get her portfolio to Ian and Anthony asap.”

~~~

You’re cleaning the counters at the gas station. It’s nearing the end of your shift, almost 6am. And Spencer hadn’t visited you like he usually did. It was actually making you worried.

You had spent the last few days collecting every piece of art and experience you had to compile a portfolio. It didn’t feel like a very thick folder, but it had every ounce of hard work from the last few years.

It sits within a blue cover under the registers, waiting for Spencer to come.

“Hey!” there he comes through the door. “I’m so sorry, we had an overnight shoot, and I forgot to tell you.”

You look confused, “Spence, you didn’t have any obligation to be here. We didn’t make any plans.”

“I know, but I usually…” he looks flustered and upset. “You know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

You smile kindly, “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

He runs a hand through his curly hair, his eyes considering you as you clean. “This early in the morning, we both look exhausted now.”

“Aw, we have matching dark circles under our eyes!” You go under the counter to grab the blue folder. “Here’s that portfolio Angela was asking about. I wasn’t sure how to get it to her, so maybe you could take it to work?”

“Um… yeah, for sure. Thanks.”

The bell above the door rings, signaling the appearance of a new customer. Usually at this point in the mornings, customers would come in for their sustenance before work. You’re focused on Spencer, unaware of the person walking towards you.

“(Y/N), let’s go.”

You turn your eyes around and see Aaron beelining for your counter.

“Oh, hey,” you say quietly, “You’re twenty minutes early.”

“And?”

This man was over six foot, broad shouldered, and unkempt. His eyes are lazy and hard pressed, his jaw tense as you contradict him.

You wring your hands, “I’m not allowed to leave until six.”

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s go.”

“That’s…” you suck in a breath. He smells like stale beer. “Let me clock out and tell my boss.” You round the counter and are quick to enter the back rooms.

Spencer stays where he is, holding the blue portfolio, and looking at Aaron with an air of disdain. It was not the first impression he was expecting when picturing your boyfriend.

“You waiting to buy something?” Aaron asks, frowning at the way Spencer’s looking at him.

“No, I was just…” he swallows. “I was just talking with (Y/N).”

Aaron squints his eyes, hands moving to his hips. “And you know her because?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“(Y/N) doesn’t have any friends.”

“Untrue, because I’m standing right here.”

Aaron flexes his jaw, “She hasn’t mentioned you before.”

“Yes, I have,” you reappear without your nametag and your purse now around your shoulder. “I’ve talked about him a couple times.” You stand beside Spencer and instantly feel the tension.

Aaron extends his hand like he wants to take yours. “If you did talk about him, I would have remembered. We’re leaving.”

You go to hold his hand, but he moves his to grab your arm, pulling you towards the door. You turn your head to mouth, “Sorry,” towards Spencer.

Spencer waves at you, his face placid and upset. He watches out the windows to see Aaron let you go on the sidewalk to get into the car yourself. He slams the car shut, neglecting his seatbelt, and squealing out of the parking lot.

Still upset, Spencer gets into his car and contemplates his next move. His instincts told him that you weren’t completely safe. He wonders if you and Aaron have moved in together yet – he was trying to pull the ‘cheaper rent’ card on that account.

It was blatantly clear that Aaron was gaslighting you. Within three minutes, he was pegged as an asshole.

Spencer pulls out his phone and sends you a text. “Nice seeing you today, hope you get some good sleep.”

He rubs hard at his face before driving off. He plans to show your portfolio to Ian and Anthony tomorrow.

~~~

You’re sitting on the couch, playing on your PlayStation, when someone knocks on the door. Enjoying the day off, you wonder what door-to-door salesman is at your house.

You open the door and a giant smile envelopes your face, “Spencer! You didn’t tell me you were going to visit.”

He take a breath, “Um… yeah, I wanted to ask you something and I couldn’t wait until you were on shift.”

You lean against the doorframe, biting your lip. “Well, I would invite you inside, but I have to warn you… it’s not very nice.”

“I don’t care,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just want to talk.”

“All right,” you say shyly, opening the door wide. You watch his reaction, already feeling embarrassment brewing in your stomach.

Spencer looks around for a second, taking in the minimal furniture and all around lackluster state of the structure. He zeros in on the old tv displaying your video game.

“Are you playing Red Dead Redemption 2?”

“Uh… yeah,” you say quietly, holding yourself and you walk into the living room. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Spencer smiles, finding it amazing to learn something new about you that he loves. “Nice horse.”

You laugh, sitting on the couch and grabbing your controller. Your cowboy character was riding a white horse in the middle of a river. “It’s the White Arabian you have to tame by Lake Isabella.”

“Is that… like the best horse or something?” Spencer comes to sit beside you, sinking into the musty couch.

“It’s the only elite Arabian horse that you can find in the wild.”

Spencer leans against the couch arm, resting his face in one hand. “I didn’t realize you were a gamer.”

“The more you know me, the more of a nerd I become.”

“Nothing wrong with that, you big nerd.”

You giggle, “What did you want to talk about?’

Spencer clears his throat. “I uh… I took your portfolio to work.”

“What did Angela think?”

“She thought it was all great. But um… a few others got a look at it too.” He shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “There’s this job opening on the production team, specifically on the Smosh main channel. But they would help with all the channels.”

You pause the game again and really look at him. “What is the position?”

“An assistant art coordinator. They help the art directors with creating sets, costumes, and character looks.”

“And what are the responsibilities?”

“They’re looking for someone to manage hair and makeup for Smosh skits and any character work on other channels. Most of the cast do it themselves, but we do need someone who specializes in prosthetics makeup. And you seem to have done that a lot in theatre. We also need someone to manage costume work – the upkeep of them.”

You swallow hard, arms slowly moving to hold yourself. “Do you know what the salary is?”

“I think it’s around 50k-60k. You’ll make between $24 - $28 an hour.”

You bite your cheek. “That’s great.” You look at your surroundings. This new job would be paying you over $10 more than you’re getting now. “Are you saying Smosh is interested in interviewing me for assistant art coordinator?”

Spencer nods his head. “That is basically what I’m saying.”

“Did you show your bosses my portfolio on purpose?” You lower your eyes but look at him through your lashes.

He takes a deep breath, stretching out on the couch. “Maybe. Maybe I thought you deserved a chance.” He looks at you seriously, “I think you’ve got some real talent, (Y/N). You should go for an interview.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll do it.”

You look at him, “I’m suddenly super nervous.” A laugh escapes you, “I… I have to talk to Aaron about it.”

“Okay,” Spencer says with an edge. He tries to be respectful. “Have you two…”

“We’ve moved in together,” you say softly. “To make bills a little easier. And… and as a trial run, I guess. I’ll be able to save up for a car now.”

Spencer has a finger on the corner of his mouth. “Do you think you could make an interview this Thursday?”

You think for a second, “I’m sure Aaron would be okay with that. I’ll just talk to him about it tonight.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that statement. But instead of saying something he might regret, he points to the PlayStation. “Have you completed this game before?”

“Oh, yeah – maybe three times,” you pick up the controller again. “This time I’m trying to complete all of the side quests before finishing the main story.”

“You should be wearing a cowboy hat while playing.”

“That would be awesome,” you laugh. You look at him with sincerity, “Thank you for looking out for me, Spence. I appreciate the chance.”

He gives a close-lipped smile. “Always.”

~~~

You step off the bus and begin to walk down the street. Using your phone, you follow the directions that Spencer gave you.

The Smosh office was right around the corner.

You enter the building, pulling on the only pair of dress pants you own. You readjust the simple blouse to show off the single diamond necklace you wear around your neck. You hope it gives you a professional first impression.

The main entrance of the building shows a little receptionist desk and plush chairs to wait in. You advance the desk while noticing behind it are many tables and folding chairs – probably for lunches.

“Hello, how are you?” a nice lady at the desk says.

You wave shakily, “I’m good. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Hecox and Mr. Padilla.”

She seems to find you saying their surnames comical judging by the little smile on her face. But she gestures to the plush armchairs behind you. “Sure, just wait there and I’ll call them.”

You turn around and notice that behind the chairs is a large window showing a large kitchen. The lunch tables and folding chairs makes more sense.

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the name plate, “Selina.” You sit down and holding your famously large fanny pack in your lap. It gives you something to hold with your fidgeting hands.

Now sitting, you can see the wide windows behind Selina’s desk. There’s a long conference table in there with a television and speakers on a stand. There’s a phone speaker in the middle of the table for any people that are being called in remotely.

Behind the conference table is a little sitting area with a couch and armchair. A couple tables and folding chairs are in the rest of the open space. It’s probably a big room for any meetings with teams or big groups of people.

“(Y/N) Bennett?” someone asks. You jump and stand to see two men coming around the corner.

One is taller with dark, wavy styled hair, a nose ring, and cool tattoos spidering up his neck. He has a great smile and just radiates a natural energy you like.

The other is slightly shorter with brown hair in a classic cut. He has a scruffy beard and black square glasses. He gives very much dad energy with how he’s dressed.

“Yes,” you say rather breathlessly. “I’m (Y/N) Bennett.”

“I’m Anthony,” the taller says, “And this is Ian.”

You shake hands with them, Ian gesturing to the conference room. “We’ll meet in here.”

The three of you walk into the room and take seats around the long table. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say quietly, “Thank you for offering me an interview.”

“For sure,” Anthony says, leaning forward in his chair. Ian sits and immediately starts spinning back and forth. “We saw your portfolio and were really impressed with your work.”

“Thank you,” you say eagerly.

Ian clears his throat, “Could you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“Well, I’m living here with my boyfriend. I’ve lived here for about two years. Before that I was in Nevada, just outside of Vegas. My family is still there,” you say quietly. “I’ve been a theatre and fine arts student all my life. I’ve been doing community and school productions since second grade. I have experience in both stage acting and in tech behind the scenes.”

“Which do you prefer?” Anthony asks.

You hold onto your fanny pack, “Right now, probably tech. I really enjoy designing costumes and putting characters together. Sometimes I do miss acting though.”

“What do you enjoy about art design?” Ian questions.

You focus on his chair spinning back and forth. “I’m a fan of storytelling. I think one of the greatest talents a person can have is in telling a story, no matter the platform. If I can be a part of that process, I’d enjoy every second. I want to show the story in costumes, hair, and makeup. It’s the most expressive way to describe a person or character.”

“Well said,” Anthony nods. “How would you manage a set when coordinating those things?”

“I would need to see the costume closet to know how to care for it. Organization is key, ensuring you don’t lose any pieces. You’d need a costume rack on set and some essentials, like safety pins, apparel tape, a lint roller, things like that. Makeup vanities will need to be disinfected and cleaned after use, brushes clean and organized. Prosthetics and stage makeup would need to be cared for to make sure we don’t share any germs and possible infections. The same goes for any hair and wig essentials.”

Ian seems a little lost in your explanation, just impressed that you were on top of it. “You have a fine arts degree, is that right?”

You nod, voice still quiet with the nerves. “That’s right. I got a bachelor’s in fine arts at Utah Tech University in St. George, Utah.”

“Is that close to where you’re from in Nevada?” Anthony asks.

You smile, “Yeah, it’s just over an hour away. It has a well known outdoor theatre called the Tuacahn Amphitheatre. I helped with a few tech things during summer shows. And then I acted at the college.”

“What shows did you act in?” Anthony asks further.

You play with your fingers. “We did Footloose, Addams Family, The Drowsy Chaperone, Elf: The Musical, Measure for Measure, and Much Ado About Nothing.”

Anthony whistles, “You did Shakespeare?”

“I love Shakespeare,” you say. “Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite play.”

“You are a major theatre kid,” Ian says, “Why don’t you act anymore?”

You squeeze your fanny pack, “I’ve gotten a little camera shy the last couple years. I prefer helping with quick changes and fixing any mic tape mishaps.”

You take a turn asking some questions about their art department and typical filming schedule. You learn about their expectations for the job and what the salary would be. It was exactly as Spencer had said.

Ian and Anthony share a look with each other before leaning forward. Anthony looks at you kindly, “Would you mind if we conference for a minute? We want to give you an answer today.”

You widen your eyes, “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

The pair stand and excuse themselves to discuss things outside the room. You’re left in the swivel chair, picking at your fingers and praying that the interview went well. It would be incredible to be given a job that grants you the security and stable income you wanted.

There was a chance to have friends here. Spencer and Angela would be here. You would be storytelling in little comedy sketches. You’d be a part of a team that designed characters. You’d be in charge of ensuring faces weren’t shiny on camera, hair was in place, and clothes looked good.

This could be a home for you.

It takes almost ten minutes for Ian and Anthony to return. They come back with two others that are introduced as Cassie and Erin. They are art director and assistant art director for all productions.

You would be working beneath them should you be offered the position.

More questions are asked by the newcomers, and you find them to be very kind and artistic like yourself. You agree on many fronts, having many things in common. You would be happy to be working in their department.

Ian and Anthony both have smiles on their faces when they say:

“(Y/N), we want to formally offer you the position of assistant art coordinator. Responsible for hair and makeup, and the costumes of the cast. You’ll be our main reference for any special effects makeup and prosthetics. And you’ll help coordinate for all four channels.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. “Really?”

Cassie and Erin had faces full of sympathy. Cassie was covering her face with her hands. Erin was folding their arms and smiling.

Ian was standing their awkwardly, looking at your emotional reaction, but Anthony was quicker to ask. “Is that a yes?”

You laugh tearily, “Yes! Yes, I’d love to take the position. Thank you guys so much. I’m so excited – I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

They all clap momentarily, Ian announcing, “Then we should call everyone to the lunchroom and make introductions.”

“We’ll have Selina bring up contracts to sign,” Anthony says, gesturing to the door. “You want to follow us?”

You nod enthusiastically, shaking hands with everyone on the way out. There are lots of thank yous and congratulations.

Cassie, Erin, and Ian go to round up cast and crew to the lunch tables you spotted earlier. Anthony goes to speak with Selina at the receptionist desk.

You exit the conference room, wiping tears away and clutching your fanny pack.

Spencer was there, pacing by the plush armchairs you sat in earlier. He has his arms crossed, one hand at his mouth, tracing his lips in a nervous gesture.

At your arrival, his head whips to you, eyes wide at the tears running down your face. He looks so afraid, unsure of how the interview went. But he might’ve misinterpreted your tears.

“(Y/N),” he says softly, “What… what did they say?”

He didn’t even notice the other people gathering at the lunch tables.

You walk towards him, still trying to wipe at your face, “Spence.”

He wants to hug you desperately then. He wants to comfort you. And he wants to hurt whoever decided to make you cry.

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face there. He holds you back, still at a loss as to what the final verdict was.

“(Y/N)!” you hear Anthony, “Get over here!”

Spencer still holds you as you whisper to him, “I got the job.”

He pulls away and holds your waist, “What?”

“I got the job,” you whisper more excitedly. “They’re about to announce it to everyone.” You flounce away to stand at a counter with a few mini fridges, addressing a group of cast and crew. You notice Angela standing in the crowd.

She gives you two thumbs up and you wave back.

Spencer walks over just as Ian begins to talk.

“Hey, guys! We wanted to introduce our newest member of Smosh. This is (Y/N) Bennett!”

Anthony continues, “She will be working in the art department as an assistant art coordinator. She’ll be our head of character design and management of costumes, hair, and makeup.”

The crowd begins clapping and shouting their congratulations. Spencer joins them, standing next to Angela and a few others.

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, some cast and crew were sharing looks. People you hadn’t met yet were winking at each other. They knew full well how much Spencer wanted you to get this job.

You wave at everyone, “Hello! I’m so excited to meet you all and start working on these projects.”

Everyone breaks apart to introduce themselves.

Angela brings over a number of people, “Hey, (Y/N).” She says, “Here are some of our castmates.”

A tall woman in a beautiful jumpsuit says, “I’m Amanda, welcome to the Smosh family.”

“I’m Shayne,” a fit blonde man shakes your hand, “And this is Courtney.”

“Hi,” a blonde woman then shakes your hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Angela sticks her head in, “Those two are married.”

You nod, giggling, “Wonderful.”

“I’m Chanse,” a curly haired man says, giving you a hug, “Welcome to the team.”

A tall man with a great mustache waves, “I’m Tommy!”

“Hi!” you say, “It might take me a while to remember all your names. Thank you for being so welcoming. I’m so excited to start.”

“Spencer’s told us a lot about you,” Amanda says with a cheeky smile.

You look toward Spencer’s rosy face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely,” Shayne laughs, “He has nothing but praise for you.”

Spencer ignores the immediate retort that the single worst thing about you is your boyfriend. “You guys need to calm down.”

“Can we give you a tour?” Amanda asks, taking your arm, “The office has a lot of sets and rooms.”

Courtney appears on your other side, “We can show you the art department and the costumes closet!”

“And the makeup vanities,” Chanse says, already leading the way, “There are a couple by the sets, but there is one in the green room where Angela takes her naps.”

“Hey!” Angela instantly retorts, “Hey, hey, hey… uncalled for!”

Amanda scoffs, “But true.”

Angela snorts, “Yeah, sure.”

You are dragged away by Amanda and Courtney, Chanse and Angela still bickering along the way.

Spencer stays where he is with Shayne. The latter having a very knowing smirk on his face. Spencer ignores him as long as he can.

“Have you ever been told that you shouldn’t make faces because you’ll be stuck that way?”

Shayne chortles, “I’m just curious how you feel about this.”

“Clearly you already have a theory.”

“I do, based purely on the last eleven months of you pining over this girl.”

“I am incapable of pining.”

Shayne wheezes, “Yeah, sure. What do you call bringing up (Y/N) whenever possible, talking through ways to introduce yourself to her, workshopping conversations with me to get to know her…”

“All of those things were in confidence.”

“And all blatant examples of pining over a woman you’ve grown attached to!”

Spencer licks his lips, watching you being dragged by Angela towards the pods of employee desks. “I don’t… I can’t do anything about it now.”

“I’ve never seen you like this, man,” Shayne chortles. “It’s kind of throwing me off right now. You don’t talk about girls much.”

“The dating apps have been seriously lacking the last year.”

“Because you’ve been talking up some chick at the gas station,” Shayne laughs again. “I have to commend you for playing the long game.”

Spencer shakes his head, “I have to be fine with being just friends.”

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be your best friend.

[lexiputellas]

Room 1102 — Broken Vows

mdni

The hotel is too perfect. A five-star lie wrapped in gold and glass, designed to make you forget reality. The air smells like lilies—expensive, artificial, like they pump it through the vents to convince you this place is special.

But nothing about tonight is special.

Your heels click sharply against the marble, a rhythmic, deliberate sound as you walk toward the front desk. Your coat, long and black, clings to you, hiding the outfit beneath—a striped button-down blouse, tucked neatly into fitted jeans. The fabric is smooth, crisp, the kind that wrinkles if you grip it too tight.

"Room 1102." Your voice is flat.

The receptionist types something into the computer, then nods. "She’s expecting you."

You nod once. Nothing else is necessary.

Good.

You don’t need anyone to pretend they care.

You move toward the elevators, your pulse a slow, steady drum in your ears. The mirrored doors slide open, and you step inside, pressing 11 with the tip of your finger. The doors close with a soft hush, sealing you in.

Silence.

The space is sleek, modern—mirrored walls, brushed steel, the faintest scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air, probably from the last person who stood here. You stare at your reflection. Your posture is stiff, your expression blank, but beneath the surface—beneath the careful armor—you are unraveling.

The floor numbers blink past one by one, a slow ascent, a quiet climb toward something you shouldn’t be walking into.

By the time the doors open, your breath feels too tight in your chest.

You walk down the hallway, plush carpet soft beneath your steps, the muted glow of wall sconces casting elongated shadows along the corridor. The walls are a deep, muted gray, textured, cool under your fingertips when you let your hand trail against them.

1102.

You stop in front of it.

Exhale.

Knock.

Alexia opens the door too fast. Like she’s been waiting.

She looks like shit.

Messy hair, tired eyes, wearing your t-shirt—one she stole years ago and never gave back.

She still wears your things.

Like she still belongs to you.

But she doesn’t.

You stare at each other.

"You gonna let me in?" Your voice is cold.

She swallows. "Yeah."

You step inside, and the door clicks shut behind you.

The suite is a disaster. Clothes everywhere—some crumpled on the floor, some half-folded, some tossed carelessly over furniture like she was in too much of a hurry to care. A half-empty glass of water rests on the nightstand, the condensation long since dried.

The room itself is pristine beneath the mess—polished floors, soft cream-colored walls, the kind of expensive minimalism that belongs in places like this. A sleek, modern lamp casts a dim glow over the king-sized bed, its crisp white sheets slightly rumpled. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, the heavy curtains drawn back just enough to reveal the city skyline, glittering and vast against the night.

You don’t sit. Neither does she.

"You wanted to talk," you say. "So talk."

She exhales. "I don’t know where to start."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Try starting with the part where you decided to fuck someone else."

She flinches.

"Come on, Alexia," you press. "Be honest. Was it fun? Did she make you feel special? Did it make you feel young again? Or was it just exciting to sneak around behind my back?"

Her throat works. "It wasn’t like that."

You tilt your head. "Then tell me—what was it like?"

Silence.

"Who is she?"

Alexia freezes.

You smile—sharp, cruel. "Oh, you don’t want to say? That’s funny, because you had no problem fucking her."

She swallows. "Her name is Eva."

Something twists in your stomach.

You blink. "I know that. And what does Eva do?"

Alexia exhales. "She’s… on the medical team."

You laugh. A sharp, bitter sound. "So she sees you every day?"

Alexia shifts. "Yes. Not like that anymore—"

"Oh, so that makes it better?" Your voice is razor-sharp. "So tell me, Alexia—where? Where did you do it?"

She blinks. "What?"

You take a step forward. "Where. Did. You. Fuck. Her?"

Alexia closes her eyes. "Hotel rooms. Sometimes… her apartment."

You nod slowly. "And when? When did it start?"

Her voice is small. "Nine months ago."

You laugh. "Nine months. A whole pregnancy."

Her face crumbles.

"How did it happen?" you push. "Did she just look at you one day, and suddenly your wedding vows stopped mattering? Or was it slower?"

Alexia swallows hard. "We were talking. We got too comfortable."

"Too comfortable?" Your voice is sharp. "What does that mean? Did she touch you first, or did you touch her?"

Alexia hesitates.

You step forward.

"Did you kiss her first? Or did she kiss you?"

Alexia’s voice is barely there. "I kissed her."

You let out a slow breath.

"You kissed her," you repeat.

She nods.

You smile—sharp and vicious. "And then? What? You just couldn’t stop yourself?"

Alexia shakes her head. "I wasn’t thinking—"

"Clearly."

She flinches.

You press a hand to your forehead, exhaling hard.

Then, finally:

"I want her fired."

Alexia’s head snaps up. "What?"

"You heard me." Your voice is cold. "I want Eva gone."

Alexia hesitates.

And that hesitation?

Pisses you off.

"You shouldn’t even have to think about this," you say, voice ice-cold. "You should want her gone. You should want to erase every fucking trace of her."

Alexia swallows hard. "I’ll talk to them."

"You’ll do more than talk."

She exhales sharply. "I’ll handle it."

You nod. "Good."

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself. "I'm going to ask you something, and you have to promise me. No lies. No excuses."

Alexia nods, hesitant, like she already knows what's coming.

"Do you love her?"

Her answer is immediate. "No."

"Do you want to be with her?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You search her face, looking for any hesitation, any flicker of doubt. But there’s none.

Still, you need to ask.

"At any point… did you ever think—maybe if I didn’t have a wife or kids, I’d be happy with her?"

Alexia flinches, her lips parting, but no words come out at first. Her breath wobbles. She looks away.

"Not with her," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Never with her."

Your stomach clenches. "But?"

She swallows. "But there were moments where I felt… stuck. Not because of you. Not because of them. Just—because of me."

She exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. "And I hated that. I hated myself for even thinking it."

"Was it just her? Eva? Or was there more?"

Alexia hesitates, just for a second. "Just Eva."

"That should make me feel better." You shake your head. "But it doesn’t."

Her brows furrow. "Why—"

"Because if it had been more than one person, it would’ve meant nothing," you cut in. "But just her? That means you wanted something in her. Something you won’t even admit to me. Or to yourself."

You step back.

Your breath shakes. "We’re done."

Alexia freezes.

"I can’t be with you." Your voice is steady, even as your chest caves in. "I need space. I need time. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you."

Alexia shakes her head, quickly, desperately. "No. You don’t mean that."

"I do. But the girls need stability. I’ll stay at the house. If you want to stay instead, let me know, and we’ll go." Your voice is firm. "Either way, we’re not together. We’ll figure out how to co-parent later."

Alexia looks wrecked.

You turn to leave.

She grabs you.

Her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm, desperate, like she can’t let you go.

Like she won’t.

She pulls you back, closing the space between you in one slow, deliberate step.

You should pull away. You should leave.

But you don’t.

She tilts her chin down, eyes locked on yours, dark and desperate. "I love you."

It sounds broken.

Like it’s not enough.

Her forehead touches yours. Her breath mixes with yours.

You don’t move.

You don’t breathe.

Her hands tremble where they rest on your waist, fingers pressing into your coat, holding you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And you hate her. You hate her for what she did.

For throwing you away.

For making you feel like this—like you still love her, like you still need her, like your body still remembers her even when you don’t want it to.

You kiss her.

Hard.

Her gasp melts into a moan as she kisses you back, hands desperate, frantic, pulling at your clothes like she can’t get you bare fast enough.

You shove her shirt—your shirt—up and over her head.

It’s barely off before she’s reaching for your coat, your blouse, her fingers shaking as she undoes the buttons, one by one.

She spins you.

The backs of your knees hit the bed, and you sink down, breathless.

Alexia follows, kneeling between your legs.

You start on your blouse, slow, deliberate, making her watch.

Her lips brush your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

Her breath is hot, unsteady.

She doesn’t stop kissing you.

She doesn’t stop touching you.

Her hands skim your ribs, your stomach, mapping every inch like she’s trying to memorize you.

Your blouse falls open.

She pulls it off your shoulders, soft, reverent, like she’s undressing something holy.

She stares.

At you.

At the body she knows so well.

The body she gave up.

Her hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, your stomach, tracing every curve like she’s trying to remember what it feels like to have you.

She leans in, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, your stomach, her breath shaky against your skin.

By the time she reaches the edge of your thighs, you’re already trembling, already too far gone.

And then—

Her mouth is on you.

Wet, relentless.

Her tongue presses, curls, flicks in a way that sends electric shocks down your spine.

Your body reacts before you can think, back arching, thighs trembling as you gasp and fist your hands into her hair, holding her there like you need this to survive.

She groans against you, the vibration shooting through your core, making your stomach tighten.

Your breath stutters, eyes squeezing shut as she spreads you open with her hands, holding you in place as she devours you.

Her tongue dips inside, then moves up again, circling, teasing, never stopping, never giving you room to breathe.

"Fuck," you gasp, your fingers digging into her scalp.

She hums in response, flicking her tongue faster, drinking in every moan, every shake, every broken sound she pulls from you.

Her hands grip your thighs harder, thumbs pressing into your skin like she wants to leave bruises, like she wants you to feel her even after this is over.

You feel the build, the sharp pull of pleasure rising higher and higher, winding tight inside you.

Alexia knows—she always knows.

She shifts slightly, the new angle sending fire through your veins, and then you’re gone, the orgasm ripping through you so hard you forget how to breathe.

Your body jerks against her mouth, thighs shaking as you cry out, your grip on her tightening.

She doesn’t stop.

Her tongue keeps moving, slow, lazy, dragging out every last tremor, making you whimper as the pleasure turns almost unbearable.

Only when your body sags against the sheets, chest rising and falling in desperate pants, does she finally pull away.

She kisses her way back up your body, slow, reverent, her lips brushing over your stomach, your ribs, your chest.

When she reaches your mouth, she kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

She pulls back just enough to whisper, "Can I use it?"

Her voice is wrecked, low and husky, her eyes dark with something that makes your stomach tighten all over again.

You should say no.

You should stop this before you lose yourself completely.

But you don’t.

You nod, desperate.

Alexia reaches for it, in the suitcase—the one you threw all of her things into, every single one of them.

She pulls out the strap, the harness fitting snug around her hips, adjusting it with practiced ease.

Your stomach clenches at the way her muscles flex, at how confident she looks, at how much you still want her.

She slides her fingers between your thighs again, groaning when she feels how wet you still are.

"Fuck," she mutters, almost to herself.

She drags her fingers through your slickness, spreading it, coating the toy in it, preparing.

Your breath catches, your body already reacting to the thought of her inside you.

She kisses your chest, your stomach, biting gently, teasing.

You reach for her, trying to pull her closer, but she catches your wrists, pinning them down above your head.

Her grip is firm, commanding.

"You were always so impatient," she murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

You whimper, shifting, trying to move your hips against hers, needing her to do something, anything.

She takes your own hand, guiding it between your legs, pressing your fingers against yourself.

"Feel that," she whispers.

Your breath stutters, your fingers trembling as you follow her lead.

She watches, her breathing turning ragged.

Then she takes your fingers into her mouth, her tongue moving slow and deliberate as she sucks them clean.

She groans, eyes locked onto yours, and then—

She pushes inside.

A sharp gasp tears from your throat as she fills you, stretching you, the pressure overwhelming in the best way.

Your hands fly to her shoulders, fingers digging in, holding on as she starts to move.

She sets the pace slow at first, so slow it makes you whimper, makes your body beg for more.

"God, you feel so good," she groans, voice breaking.

Her forehead presses against yours, her breath hot against your lips.

"I love you. I love you so much."

You feel the tear slip down your cheek.

You turn your head so she can’t see, but she does.

She kisses them away, soft, apologetic.

Her hands grip you tighter, like you’re the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

And maybe you are.

Because you feel it too.

This is the end of something that was once beautiful.

Until it wasn’t.

You don’t want to be here anymore.

You are devastated in a way you can’t put into words.

It hurts. Deep, bone-crushing, breath-stealing pain.

Your nails dig into her back, desperate, needing to feel grounded, needing something real to hold on to.

You can’t believe she did this to you.

That she did this to you both.

[whateveriwant]

I love the headcanon that Simon has had his nose broken multiple times, but I like to take it one step further and imagine: what if Simon’s nose has been broken so many times that it’s permanently affected his sense of smell?

That would explain why the big bastard is so grumpy all the time, right? I mean, wouldn’t you be if you lost one (and more than likely, two) of your five primary senses?

Like, just imagine what it would be like to lose both your sense of smell and taste (because the two are strongly intertwined). It would be like living every day of your life as if you have a bad head cold. It would make eating – something you have to do to survive – a chore instead of something to be enjoyed.

And I know what you’re thinking. No, I’m not about to insert a “British food is bland anyway so it’s not like he’s missing much” joke here. That would be in poor taste (just like their food, hey-oh!)

Okok no but seriously. Imagine what losing those two major senses would do to a person mentally. Knowing Simon, he would probably pretend like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter that everything smells and tastes like the color gray to him, even though secretly that couldn’t be further from the truth.

So imagine if that didn’t have to be the case any longer. Imagine if there was something – say, nasal surgery – that could restore those abilities he almost forgot he had once upon a time. (I’m not a doctor so I don’t know if surgery would work, but let’s just run with it, ok?)

For starters, I don’t think he’d be the one to initially seek out a treatment. The idea would have to come from an outside source (like from you, his loving partner) and it would take a lot of convincing to get him to go under the knife.

But say that you are able to convince him to have the surgery; that you get him to agree to have his bones rebroken and properly set this time, to have his olfactory nerves reattached to the places they’d been severed from. What would it be like to sit beside him as he wakes up and takes that first, deep inhale? What would it be like to witness him experience the power of smelling again for the first time in what feels like forever?

Would he be overwhelmed? Underwhelmed? Something that’s impossible for him to put into precise words?

And what would be the first smell that sticks out to him? The medicinal air of his hospital room? The clean aroma of his bed linens? The coppery tang of his own blood congealing around his sutures?

Realistically, I don’t think it would be until he goes home that any real change is apparent to you. It’s once he has the freedom to do whatever he wants, like a former shelter dog getting to explore the world for the first time, that you’d notice the drastic switch in him.

All of a sudden, Simon would be super adventurous when it comes to trying new foods. In the past, he just shoveled down whatever tasteless slop would keep his body fueled. But now, he’d find the fun in trying all sorts of different cuisines, ordering entire menus at a time to discover what he does and doesn’t like to eat.

I also think he would start experimenting with ways to perfume himself. Yes, he used soap and deodorant even when he had no sense of smell (for others’ sake, truly). But now, he’d go beyond those basic items, wandering into scented shampoos, specialty aftershaves, even dabbling with cologne.

Of course, things wouldn’t be all peachy 100% of the time, as I feel like he would soon get very picky about the kinds of scents he could tolerate in your home. The kind of fabric softener you use in the laundry, the kind of hand soap you have in the bathroom, the kind of leftovers you can and absolutely cannot reheat in the microwave the next day, just to name a few.

But through it all – the good and the bad, the bold and the nuanced – Simon finds there’s one scent in particular that eclipses anything else he’s encountered: You.

And I’m not talking about the products you use in your hair or the fragrances you like to wear on a night out. I’m talking about the raw, natural, pheromonal scent of you.

It’s like a drug to Simon, that warm, pleasurable smell that clings to your skin. There’s something about it that brings him an abundance of comfort, and he finds that after he’s had a long day, he wants nothing more than to come home and bury his face in your neck as he cuddles you to sleep.

Call it what you want. Biology, psychology, psychopathy, or so on. Simon doesn’t know what it is about your scent that’s so irresistible to him, nor does he really care. All he knows is that for a long time, something was missing from his life beyond just his ability to smell. And now that he’s realized what it is, he can’t believe he ever lived without it:

His reason to breathe.

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Alien

Part 1

Yandere! Alien who’s been living with you for a few months now. It’s not easy living with an alien. You two are from completely different worlds, it’s a massive cultural shock for the both of you. He keeps talking about you being his betrothed, he can’t keep his hands to himself, and he just keeps trying to—what? Court you? Seduce you? You don’t even know anymore. This whole situation is just too weird.

Yandere! Alien who barely lets you out of the apartment. You’ve tried explaining to him that you can’t just stay home all the time, no matter how much he begs. You have a job, you need to go there sometimes to get money and provide for the two of you. Cause you know damn well he can’t go and do it himself. But he eventually accepts it, with a lot of tears involved in the process.

Yandere! Alien who has a phone now. You thought that the best way to check on him in case he does anything stupid is with a phone, and this also allows him to still be somehow connected with you, so it’s a win-win. But now you have to endure the hundreds of messages that he sends you throughout the day! He sends you memes that he finds funny, long paragraphs saying how much he misses you, a link to an ‘Alien x Reader’ fic—wait. What? This is how he spends his free time? Why is he even reading that?

Yandere! Alien who enjoys the midnight strolls that you take with him. You always show him new places, and never fail to make sure that it’s safe for him. He loves seeing all the bright neon lights, the big parks that are filled with colorful flowers and trees, and playing with the stray cats from the alleys you pass by. It’s very peaceful and intimate. Romantic even. He wishes he could take these same strolls during the day. It’s so unfair, he just wants to go out with his future spouse in broad daylight, that’s not a crime! Would people really get that freaked out if they saw him? Really? He’s just a chill guy! Sure, he may have antennae, gray skin, and pointy ears. But he’s just like everybody else! Here, check him out. You’ll see just how much resemblance he has with male humans.

Yandere! Alien who’s been courting you ever since he met you, and you still haven’t reciprocated his feelings! He’s starting to get a bit impatient. He’s pretty sure he has seen every single rom-com there is, so why isn’t it working?! He cuddles you every night, makes you breakfast in the morning, he greets you with a kiss on your cheek when you come back from work. Ugh! He even ripped off his tracker chip from his body so no one on his planet would find him! Should he start courting you the way they do on his planet instead? You want him to behead your enemies and bring you their skin?

Yandere! Alien who on one hand knows that he can’t stop you from having friends and hanging out with them. But on the other hand he wants to stab them for taking you away from him. So he does the only logical thing, he breaks the one rule that you’ve asked him not to break. He leaves the apartment to stalk—make sure you’re okay! Can you blame him though? Those ‘friends’ of yours are a bunch of creeps. C’mon, why would a stinky human male hug you? That guy is probably trying to court you—why are you hugging him back?! No, nop, absolutely not. He cannot stand for this.

Yandere! Alien who carries you in his arms the second you get home, bringing you to your bedroom as you yell at him to let you go, kicking and pushing at him to try to break free. He ignores your failed attempts and mutes out your confused pries, finally letting you down on your bed. He pins you down to the mattress, getting on top of you to prevent you from escaping his hold. He’s tried so hard to show you just how much he wants you, needs you. You’re his savior, the person who takes care of him day after day. So why do you let other males get so close to you? But…this is on him. Perhaps he should’ve been clearer on his intentions, more assertive on his feelings. Oh, this has gone too far, he has to let you know exactly what he wants. There will be no doubts of his love for you when he’s done. He’ll make sure to show you all the love he has for you.

Yandere! Alien who caresses your skin so softly, as if he was afraid it would break. His hand creeping up under your shirt, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You hope that you’re somehow misinterpreting the situation. You never thought that his approaches would’ve ended up in…this. All those times his hands grazed your waist when you passed by. When his touch would always linger a little too long. You didn’t think it would get to this, and look at you know.

Yandere! Alien who has kept you so busy ever since you met him, that you never had time to go on dates or meet new people. Now that you think about it, it’s been a while since you’ve relieved some stress. You certainly wouldn’t mind receiving some well needed attention. So…you can either let go of your common sense and enjoy yourself—with the knowledge that you’ll have to deal with an alien being ten times clingier than before and who will probably take this as your consent to getting married—or…just stick to your lucidity and turn him down…

Yandere! Alien who makes you forget you ever had common sense in the first place. C’mon, you have the right to have a good time, you’ll deal with the consequences later! So just lie down, relax, and let your lovely alien please you the way he knows how. That website he’s been watching has taught him all he needs to know about it. It really came in handy in the end, huh?

Yandere! Alien who will make you see stars.

Here it is! Part 2! I didn't think that the first part would get so many likes, so I kinda had to improvise this one. I know it's shorter than the first one, I just wanted to post something, anything. So I came up with this. I hope you like it. Thank you so much for all the support. Writting sure is difficult, but I really like it, and your support insipires me! Kisses <3

[kiss4tell]

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒, john price.

summary: john has spent years feeling like his desirability has faded with age, but when his daughter’s best friend starts making subtle advances, he finds himself unable to resist the temptation. cw: age gap, taboo relationship, unprotected sex, mild dirty talk, praise, porn with slight plot. g!n reader, female anatomy. wc: 2.3k note: i was inspired by the song 'colors' by halsey. those who get it, get it.

John isn’t old—not really. But some days, he feels it.

It’s in the way his knees ache when he stands too quickly. The gray creeping into his beard, a little more stubborn each year. The way people call him sir now, not out of respect, but because he looks like he belongs to another time.

He’s never minded getting older, never cared for vanity, but something about it feels heavier lately. Maybe it’s because his daughter—his little girl—isn’t so little anymore. She’s in college now, fully grown, filling the house with stories of her own life that no longer revolve around him.

He listens, nods in the right places, but he knows he’s fading into the background. A spectator to youth, no longer a part of it.

And then, there’s you.

You, her best friend. You, always at his house, curled up on his couch, laughing at things he doesn’t quite understand. You, in little shorts that ride up your thighs, oversized sweaters slipping off your shoulders, bare legs tucked beneath you as you steal glances at him over the rim of your glass.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining it. The way your gaze lingers when he walks past. The way you stretch, slow and deliberate, when you know he’s looking. The way your lips curl around the edge of your spoon when you eat ice cream straight from the carton.

Subtle things. Nothing he can call out without sounding mad.

But then there are the other things. The way you compliment him too much—that sweater looks good on you, Mr. Price… The way your touches linger, fingers brushing over his when you pass him a drink. The way your lips part just slightly when he speaks, like you’re hanging on every word.

He tells himself he’s imagining it, because the alternative is dangerous.

But tonight, he knows.

The house is quiet, his daughter out for the evening. You shouldn’t be here, not really, but you’d dropped by to return a book, your usual excuse. And now, you’re standing in his kitchen, wearing something too small, too sheer, something that tells him you knew exactly what you were doing when you came over.

“You don’t have to rush off,” he says, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t give you a reason to stay.

But you smile, slow and knowing, like you were waiting for him to ask.

The tension between you stretches thin, tighter with each passing second. You close the distance first, stepping into his space, tilting your head up to look at him. He can smell your perfume—sweet, warm, something that makes his pulse slow and heavy.

“You always act so polite,” you murmur, eyes flickering over his face. “But I think you like when I test you.”

His jaw tenses. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You hum, fingers lifting to graze the collar of his shirt, featherlight. “I think I do.”

He exhales sharply, hands bracing against the counter behind him. He shouldn’t touch you. Shouldn’t let you get this close. But your fingers slide higher, brushing along the thick column of his throat, tracing the edge of his beard.

“Been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?” you ask, breath warm against his cheek.

Christ. You’re shameless. And worse—he wants to give in.

His resolve crumbles when you press onto the balls of your feet, lips barely brushing his. A silent invitation. A challenge.

He grips your waist, not gentle, not hesitant, pulling you flush against him. A sharp inhale, a second’s hesitation—then his lips crash into yours, swallowing whatever taunt you were about to whisper next.

You melt against him, fingers twisting into his shirt, pulling him closer like you’ve wanted this just as badly. He groans into your mouth, deep and needy, his beard rough against your soft skin as his hands tighten, feeling the warmth of your body beneath his palms.

It’s been a long time since he’s let himself take something. And fuck, you’re making it impossible to stop now.

You gasp against his lips, a sweet little sound that shoots straight through him, sending all the blood in his body rushing south. His cock, already straining uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans, presses hard against your belly, and he swears under his breath.

“You—” he starts, voice rough, but the words die in his throat when your hand slides between you, palming him through his jeans. A sharp hiss slips past his teeth. “—fuck. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, love.”

The endearment hangs heavy between you, thick with meaning, and the way your breath hitches tells him you felt it, too. You pull back just enough to meet his gaze through your lashes, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“…I think I know exactly what I do to you,” you murmur, voice dripping with sweet, teasing sin.

His control snaps.

In one swift motion, he spins you, gripping the backs of your thighs and hoisting you onto the kitchen counter with effortless strength. You let out a soft, breathless laugh, hands clutching at his shoulders as he steps between your legs, settling his hips flush against yours.

“You’re a fuckin’ menace,” he growls, the words half-admiring, half-accusing, but his smirk betrays him. His hands slide up the heated skin of your thighs, thumbs pressing into soft flesh before gliding higher, slipping beneath the hem of your tank top.

When he pushes it up, his breath stutters.

Pastel pink lace. A delicate little bow in the center, nestled between the swell of your breasts. Fucking hell.

“For me?” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher, as he dips his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, until he reaches the sensitive spot at the curve of your shoulder.

You hum in affirmation, fingers threading into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He shudders at the feeling, at the way your hips shift, restless against his, seeking more.

His hands find the hem of your tiny little shorts, fingers hooking beneath the fabric with a quiet grunt. He gives them a sharp tug, impatience written in every movement.

“Hips,” he orders, voice thick, edged with need.

You obey without hesitation, lifting them eagerly, breath catching as he drags the fabric down your legs in one rough motion before tossing them to the floor. He’s barely paying attention to them now—no, his focus is locked entirely on you, on the delicate scrap of lace still clinging to your hips.

His pupils darken, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he takes in the sight of you, all wrapped up in soft, sheer fabric, the matching set he’s certain you wore just for him.

“Christ,” he mutters, running his hands up your thighs, fingers pressing possessively into warm skin. “You just had to be a fuckin’ tease, didn’t you?”

You smirk, shifting slightly on the counter, letting your legs spread just a little wider, an unspoken invitation. His jaw tightens, eyes flicking back up to yours, searching for something—permission, maybe, or control he knows he’s already lost.

A low curse rumbles in his chest as his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with a practiced ease. The soft clink of metal echoes through the kitchen, followed by the slow, deliberate unzipping of his jeans. He shoves them down just enough, boxers sliding with them to mid-thigh, freeing his cock—heavy, hard, already leaking at the tip.

Your breath hitches, eyes flickering downward, but before you can say anything, he’s already moving. One hand gripping your hip, the other curling around the damp fabric of your panties.

“They’re too pretty to take off,” he murmurs, voice dark with something almost reverent as he tugs them to the side, exposing the wet heat of you. His cock twitches at the sight, at the way you shiver under his touch, at the way you’re already so fucking ready for him.

“Gonna ruin you just like this,” he breathes, lining himself up, dragging his thick head through your slick folds, teasing, testing. His forehead presses to yours, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with hunger.

“You want it, don’t you?” he rasps, nudging just barely at your entrance, enough to make you gasp. “Say it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself against the solid warmth of him. His forehead stays pressed to yours, his breath hot, unsteady, as he keeps himself poised right at your entrance, refusing to move until you give him what he wants.

“Say it,” he murmurs again, voice deeper now, rougher. His cock throbs against you, thick and heavy, the head catching just enough to make your thighs twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, the word barely a breath.

His lips part, something dark and satisfied flashing across his face before he finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one slow, aching thrust. Your mouth falls open, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as he stretches you, your body molding around him, taking him in inch by inch.

“Fuck—” he exhales, his grip on your hips tightening, fingers digging into soft flesh. “That’s it… take it, love.”

His pace is slow at first, savoring the way you flutter around him, the way your nails press into his shoulders, clinging to him as if you’d fall apart otherwise. The fabric of your panties, still pushed to the side, rubs against the base of his cock with every movement, a delicious friction that makes his head spin.

“God, you feel so good,” he mutters, his lips brushing along your jaw, nipping at the delicate skin beneath your ear. “So fuckin’ tight around me.”

A broken moan escapes you, your hips rolling up to meet his, desperate for more. He grins against your skin, hands sliding up your waist before gripping beneath your thighs, angling you just right.

Then he moves—slow, deep strokes that have you gasping his name, your body trembling against his.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching the way your face twists in pleasure, how your lips part, how your eyes flutter shut. His own restraint is fraying, unraveling with every needy little sound you make. “Been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you? Been wantin’ me to fuck you just like this.”

You nod frantically, unable to form words, nails raking down his arms, your body burning beneath his.

He chuckles, voice laced with something dark, something utterly wrecked.

“Yeah,” he rasps, thrusting into you harder, deeper, his forehead pressing to yours once more. “Me too.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling deep in your belly as his hips snap against yours, slow and deliberate, dragging every inch of himself from your soaked cunt only to sink back in, stretching you all over again

Your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white, nails digging into the muscle beneath. He groans at the sting, at the way your body clenches around him like you never want to let him go.

"Fuckin' hell, love," he breathes against your lips, swallowing your moans as he kisses you, messy and consuming. "Look at you… takin’ me so damn well."

The words make your walls flutter, make him grunt as he buries himself to the hilt, keeping you pinned between the warmth of his body and the cool kitchen counter. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, urging him deeper, harder, until you're nothing but gasps and desperate little sounds against his mouth.

His breath is ragged, his control slipping as he watches the way your body moves with his, the way your fingers tug at his hair, dragging him closer, as if you need him pressed into you, as if you want him to consume you whole.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, his voice raw. His grip on your waist tightens, his strokes turning more forceful, his cock hitting that devastating spot that has your back arching, a strangled moan falling from your lips.

"John—" His name breaks apart on your tongue.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs, forehead pressing to yours, sweat clinging to his brow. "I know—"

His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers pressing against the swollen bundle of nerves between your thighs, rubbing slow, tight circles. The pleasure spikes instantly, your body tensing, toes curling, the coil in your stomach winding impossibly tight.

"Come on, love," he encourages, voice rough, desperate. "Let me feel you. Let me have you."

Your breath shudders, your body bowing against his, and then you’re falling—pleasure ripping through you in waves, blinding and all-consuming. You clench around him, your walls milking him, dragging him to the edge with you.

"That's it—fuck—" His rhythm falters, his grip on you bruising as he thrusts deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he spills into you with a ragged groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rides out the high.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your heavy breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the warmth of his body pressing you down into the counter. His hands, rough and calloused, smooth over your trembling thighs, grounding you, keeping you there.

He exhales a quiet laugh against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. "Christ, sweetheart," he mutters, voice spent, a little hoarse. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

You hum in amusement, fingers dragging idly through his damp hair. "Guess I should start making funeral arrangements, then."

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are still dark, still hazy with what just transpired, but there’s something softer there, too. Something that makes your stomach flutter all over again.

His fingers ghost over your cheek before trailing down your body, adjusting your panties back into place with a satisfied smirk.

"You," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, "are trouble."

[cherrylibby]

Chasing the Storms

The Oklahoma sky was bruised with the colors of an oncoming storm—deep violets and angry grays swirling above the horizon. Tyler barely noticed. His heart was pounding harder than it had on any chase as he stood on your front porch, waiting for you to slam the door in his face.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, eyes burning with something between fury and heartbreak, your arms crossed like a shield against him. The years hadn’t dulled your fire—if anything, they’d made it sharper. And damn, if that didn’t hurt just as much as it made him miss you.

"You got some nerve showing up here, Tyler," you said, voice tight.

He nodded once. "Yeah. I do."

A bitter smirk pulled at your lips, but there was no humor in it. "What do you want?"

Tyler exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. "I need your help. There’s a storm system coming, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. We’ve got a solid team, the tech, but…" He hesitated. "No one tracks storms like you."

You scoffed, stepping back like he’d just insulted you. "Unbelievable. You disappear for years—no calls, no letters, not a damn word—and now you show up at my door because you need something? Do you even hear yourself?"

He flinched. He deserved that.

"It’s not just about the storm," he tried, but you weren’t having it.

"Oh, really? Then what is it about, Tyler?" Your voice cracked on his name, and that nearly broke him. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you only come back when it’s convenient for you."

His jaw tightened. "You told me you were done."

"You left!"

"You made me leave!" The words exploded out of him, sharp and desperate, cutting through the space between you. "You quit chasing, you shut down, and you looked at me like I was the worst thing that ever happened to you. I didn’t know how to fix that!"

You shook your head, eyes glistening, but you refused to let a tear fall. "You didn’t even try," you whispered.

Silence.

The wind picked up around you, rustling the old wind chimes hanging from the porch. The storm was rolling in fast now, but the one brewing between you and Tyler was worse.

"You think it was easy for me to walk away?" he asked, voice lower now, strained. "You think I wanted to leave you?" He took a step closer, and to his relief, you didn’t move away. "Every damn day, I thought about coming back. About calling you. But what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, sorry for nearly getting you killed—wanna chase another storm?’" He let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. "I left because I thought you’d be better off without me."

You swallowed hard, arms tightening around yourself like you were holding yourself together. "That wasn’t your choice to make."

Tyler ran a hand over his face. "I know." He let out a breath, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I know."

A long pause.

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he’d ever sounded—he said, "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught.

For a second, you looked away, blinking fast, but then you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with that same defiance he’d always loved about you. "Then why did you leave me to love you alone?"

That shattered him.

His hand came up, hesitating just for a second before he cupped your cheek. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into his touch, just the slightest bit, and that was all he needed.

Before you could say another word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful, wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate and raw, full of everything left unsaid over the years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and when your fingers tangled in his hair, he groaned into the kiss.

You tasted like the past and everything he’d ever wanted in the future.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, foreheads resting together, he whispered, "Come with me."

You exhaled shakily. "Tyler—"

"Not just for the storms. For us." His grip on you tightened like he was terrified of letting go again. "I screwed up. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve fought harder. But I’m here now, and if you tell me to leave, I’ll go. But I swear to God, I don’t want to run anymore. I just want you."

You stared at him, torn between every scar he’d left on your heart and the undeniable truth that you still loved him.

Outside, thunder rumbled, shaking the sky.

You sighed. Then, finally, finally, you muttered, "Damn it, Tyler."

He grinned. "I’ll take that as a yes."

You rolled your eyes, but when you pulled him down for another kiss, he knew he was finally home.

[crushmeeren]

ᝰ ITACHI’S NSFW ALPHABET .ᐟ

̽ ⋆ ﹒♡﹒ Listen… we all knew Itachi would be first out of my naruto versions because he’s my life and I love him, so, yeah. No warnings, Itachi’s super sweet.

master list link

ᝰ A ‣ ‣ AFTERCARE { ༝༝ what is itachi like after sex? ༝༝ }

No doubt about it, Itachi’s a sweetheart. This man loves to relax afterwards, catching his breath, and just exist in the moment with you.

He’ll flop onto his back next to you, searching for your hand in the sheets, and thread them together as he closes his eyes with a soft smile. Itachi hums happily when you roll to tuck yourself into his chest, arm winding around your shoulders to hold you close.

Eventually he’ll untangle from your octopus limbs, being sure to help you get clean enough to sleep or move on with your day. He’ll grab you whatever you want, snacks, a drink, your favorite oversized sleeping shirt. It doesn’t matter what it is, Itachi loves to pamper you.

Itachi himself gets super sleepy after sex, yawning and stretching like a big cat. He naps almost every time, even if it’s only a five minute power nap.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ B ‣ ‣ BODY PART { ༝༝ itachi’s favorite ༝༝ }

Itachi is in love with every single inch of your body, but he’s been drawn to your lips since the beginning. They’re so soft, so cute, and he gets butterflies when you smile at him.

But of course, he enjoys in them in a much filthier manner as well. He loves to kiss, the anticipation before each new press of your lips to his makes him shiver. When your lips close around his fingers and suck, tongue teasing the sensitive pads, he gets dizzy when all the blood from his head rushes to his cock.

Itachi swears he’s been set on fire each and every time you swallow his cock. Sometimes, you worry he doesn’t blink with how intensely he watches you. He never lasts long, not with the way your lips drag up and down his shaft, dick shiny when you pull back. He almost chews through his bottom lip, eyes flashing red as he spills down your throat.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ C ‣ ‣ CUM { ༝༝ where does itachi like to cum? ༝༝ }

Just the thought of cumming down your throat drives him wild. His eyes will roll to the back of his head when your tight throat squeezes him, forcing him over the edge with your nose buried into his pelvis.

His cheeks always turn scarlet when you tell him to paint your face. You’ll free his cock with a soft pop, sticking your tongue out with heavy lidded eyes. Itachi’s breath catches in his throat, hand a blur up and down his dick, and his next moan pitches higher as he covers your tongue, your chin, and most importantly, your lips.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ E ‣ ‣ EXPERIENCE { ༝༝ how much does itachi have? ༝༝ }

Itachi was mostly a virgin when you met.

He’d been focused on a multitude of different stressful things throughout his entire life, and sex had never managed to land anywhere on his priority list. He’d had the urge, of course, but he wore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Consequently his desire for sex never lingered for long.

He’d….tried to have sex before. He couldn’t seem to get out of his head long enough to stay hard or to eve. enjoy it, really. When he got together with you, it was like colors had suddenly snapped into existence, the world no longer dreary and gray. You opened his eyes, helped Itachi learn and discover things about himself he’d never have known otherwise.

Now, Itachi loves having sex.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ F ‣ ‣ FAVORITE POSITION { ༝༝ itachi’s favorite ༝༝ }

Hands down Itachi’s favorite position is missionary. Or some sort of variant of it.

Itachi likes to crowd in close until you’re breathing the same air, one hand secured at the nape of your neck, the other lacing with yours as he murmurs “keep those eyes on me sweet girl, let me see how good you feel when I make you cum.”

Other times, if Itachi is feeling insatiable, he’ll press one of your thighs close to your chest, fuck you hard and fast, and push two fingers into your mouth. He’ll press down on your tongue and beg you to suck his fingers, unable to decide if he wants to watch himself disappear into your pussy or stare at your lips.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ H ‣ ‣ HAIR { ༝༝ does itachi shave or care? ༝༝ }

Itachi prefers to trim. He’ll shave if he’s in the mood to shape his hair into a certain pattern for you, or if it gets too out of hand, but mostly hair doesn’t bother him.

Itachi enjoys when you have some hair on your pussy instead of being bald. He likes to touch it, kiss it, play with it. He would never tell you what to do with your body, and he loves whatever you do, but even just a little hair on your pussy turns him on.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ I ‣ ‣ INTIMACY { ༝༝ is itachi romantic? ༝༝ }

Is this even up for debate? Itachi is so romantic. He’s so lovey dovey and cute, you never have to worry about his feelings for you.

They say when someone loves you they put in the effort, and Itachi always puts in the effort. This is the man who lit candles the first time you had sex. Who made sure his sheets were clean, that they were warm, and laid out some of his clothing for you to wear afterwards if you wanted it.

He’s the man who, even after all this time, still lights candles. Who still keeps things clean and comfortable for you. Who loves on every part of your body he can get his hands on, rubbing your shoulders, your feet, your back, etc.

If you ask Itachi, often he’ll say he’s making love to you. To him, the intimate way your bodies move together and connect could not be described as something as simple as having sex.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ J ‣ ‣ JERKING OFF { ༝༝ does itachi jerk off? ༝༝ }

Itachi jerks off once every blue moon.

There’s not much appeal in it to him. Yeah, it feels good, but he’s only stroking his cock and thinking about you, missing you more than he already does. His cock still throbs when he’s finished, the quick release never truly satisfying him. His hand pales in comparison to you.

Although, asking Itachi to jerk off in front of you? That he can get behind. He’s gorgeous, body lithe and toned, relaxing on pillows in front of you while he pumps his full, flushed dick. If you tease your fingers up his inner thighs, squeeze his balls a little, he’ll cum so hard it lands on his chin.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ K ‣ ‣ KINKS { ༝༝ what are itachi’s? ༝༝ }

Itachi has an auralism kink.

Nothing turns Itachi on like listening to the sounds you make during sex. When your breath hitches, the little whines and whimpers of his name. He loves when you cry out, warning him that he’s about to make you cum. All of it makes Itachi’s cock ache and his balls draw up tight.

I think Itachi has to bite down on his finger when he starts to fuck you fast, the slick, sticky sound of your skin meeting over and over sending fire down his spine and hurtling him towards his release.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ L ‣ ‣ LOCATION { ༝༝ where itachi likes to have sex ༝༝ }

Itachi, obviously, loves taking you in your bed. But he’ll have you anywhere your heart desires.

Under the hot spray of the shower, with steam curling in the air? Of course. On the couch, riding him until your thighs hurt? Hell yeah. Bent over the kitchen counter? In the backseat of his car? In the locker room at your gym? You bet your fucking ass Itachi will do it if it makes you happy.

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ᝰ O ‣ ‣ ORAL { ༝༝ itachi’s thoughts on oral sex ༝༝ }

On Itachi’s top five favorite things to do list, eating your pussy ranks high, if not number one.

He loves to drag his tongue through your soft lips, the faint saltiness hitting his taste buds and never failing to make his cock thicken, twitching where it’s trapped between his belly and the sheets. He moans when he eats you out, eyes fluttering shut, begging you to pull his hair and guide his head however you want. His cheeks burn when he sucks on your clit, the sweet whines that fall from your mouth driving him up the wall.

When Itachi gets his dick sucked he never lasts long. You were the first one to give him a blow job, and his cock is so fucking sensitive, he can’t help but cum less than a minute after you start to bob your head.

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ᝰ Q ‣ ‣ QUICKIES { ༝༝ itachi and quickies ༝༝ }

Sweet boy Itachi has a thing for quickies that are kind of quickies, but not really. For example, one night a few friends were over, you and Itachi both had a few cocktails, and the buzz of the alcohol warmed your belly. Itachi look stupid hot, all glazed eyes and sweet smiles.

You dragged Itachi to the bedroom with the worst possible excuse you could think of, but you spent more time than intended riding him. It was supposed to be a quickie so you could return to your friends without suspicion. Yeah, that didn’t work. Itachi wouldn’t let you go, pouting and begging “Give me one more, my sweet girl. Nobody will notice how long we’ve been gone.”

When you returned to the living room and one friend teased Itachi by informing him his shirt was on backwards, you almost withered away in embarrassment.

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ᝰ S ‣ ‣ STAMINA { ༝༝ itachi’s stamina ༝༝ }

Itach’s stamina fluctuates. It depends on the situation, on how riled up he is. If he notices that your head’s in the clouds, babbling his name with your eyes rolled back, Itachi can focus and drag it out. He’ll work you through as many orgasms as you want him to pull from you.

If he’s getting a blow job, or if you’ve decided to be the one in charge, Itachi’s entire body is like a live wire. His tip will drip with precum the entire time, and when you tell him to cum for you he cries out and does so on the spot.

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ᝰ T ‣ ‣ TEASE { ༝༝ does itachi tease you? ༝༝ }

Itachi does like to tease you. But it’s always warm and playful, leaving you chasing away butterflies.

He’ll gaze down at you with a smile so soft, so adoring that your heart jumps into your throat. Your face will flush and you’ll push at his shoulder, asking him if he wants to take a picture because it’ll last longer. Itachi’s low chuckle makes your stomach draw in tight, his sweet smile turning devious.

“Maybe I do want to take a picture,” Itachi would tease, brushing his lips over your cheek, dipping his head to place a kiss to your collarbone. “You’re so fucking hot, I’d love to keep naked pictures of my sweet girl on my phone. I’d get hard every time I see it, and it’d be all your fault.”

You’d know he’s serious because Itachi doesn’t curse often.

He’d go lower and lower, muttering praises into your skin, stopping to suck a hickey into your hipbone, and then he’d eat your pussy until you squirted on his tongue.