#obsessed with how in sync they are turning their heads

[ehghtyseven]

up close and personal, and perfectly in sync canadiens at penguins | 22nd february 2024

[nanamiskentos]

34 + 35 = ?! ✤ jujutsu kaisen

SYN. ➤ just some simple hc's about the jujutsu kaisen men going down on you !

𝐉𝐉𝐊 ➤ Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Hiromi, Choso, Kashimo, Naoya [Separate]

cw ─ MDNI. oràl (f), spànking, squírting, overstím, fàce-sitting, reader is called a slút, fíngering, afab!reader

wc. 3k

呪術廻戦 NOTE ( author says ) ariana what are u doing here. lazy post ik...but i had a lot of fun writing it 😭

➤ SATORU GOJO

he is so cocky and smug about it. the strongest will go down with a lazy smile, taking his sweet, sweet time about reaching his destination in the world. a.k.a what lies in between your thighs. kissing n' teasing, licking as thoug he's eating a dessert he made himself.

there's constant jewel-blue eye contact through those impossibly long, snowy lashes, " awh, look at ya'. soo sensitive, pretty girl. " and god, he loves overstimulation, and he's not likely to stop when you (inevitably) cum, and he's such a manwhore, 'cause he'll be moaning into you as though he's the one being pleasured. and in a way he is, because this is nothing strenuous to him, not as long as he's got rct on his side.

gojo's gonna' put your legs over his bare, milky shoulders, and keep you there until you're absolutely shaking splayed out for him. he's absolutely treats going down on you like a game he's determined to win, and he knows he's good. and it shows, with every flick and curl of his pink, kiss-stung tongue.

and you just know how obsessed satoru is with the view, with your flushed cheeks and lidded eyes. trembling thighs, the way your hands grip the fine sheets, or his hair (the key to making him bust a fat load). and the sorcerer just can't shut up when he's eating you out, 'cause he's just talking so damn much! between sucks and licks, he teases you, whispering raspy things like, "already so wet, aren'tcha? and i haven't even gotten serious."

gojo's fingers are going to find your sweet spot and curl so deliciously, working perfectly in sync with his mouth. the more you cum. (because, let's face it, it's multiple times), the more turned on he gets, and he'll keep you on edge, overstimulated and glassy-eyed until he decides to fuck you.

➤SUGURU GETO

oh, he's so worshipping 'bout it. and slow, as though you're sacred, and he's got all the time in the world to pray between your thighs. he uses deep, languid strokes with his tongue, fingers lightly teasing your heat. and geto's definitely moaning softly into you, for he's enjoying this as much as you are.

suguru calls you 'baby' n' 'sweet thing' in the softest voice while his mouth absolutely ruins you. he'll grip your thighs tightly to hold you still when you start squirming, "don't run from it, angel. 'm not done."

and his approach is oh, so intimate. he'll lay you back, kissing the plush flesh of your inner thighs, tracing his fingers over your slick folds while watching every expression that crosses your face. he groans softly when he buries his mouth into you, and it vibrates through you.

geto's not really rushed 'bout it, and he'll luxuriate in the way you arch and sigh, like he's reading poetry in your body. when you tug his raven-silk hair, and roll your needy hips, it's an easy recipe to make him possessive. he holds you down with a rippling, strong arm over your stomach to double down.

and he loves drawing out orgasms, and he makes them so slow and steady, and powerful. "come on, baby. . . let go. let me have it." and if you're a little teary after? he kisses your thighs, admiring the marks that he's left, and rests his head there. probably falls asleep there, like a big cat.

➤ NANAMI KENTO

oh, kento is so thorough and precise. pretty methodical, but what else is expected from the 7:3 sorcerer? he studies you with every lick, learning every reaction, and making it a mission to make you fall apart.

he loves when you tangle your quivering fingers in his amber locks, and pull. probably makes him cum on the spot, but his sheer restraint in trying not to empty his balls turns you on even more, what can you say?

his voice drops several octaves (if that's even possible) when he's between your legs, smooth voice raspy as he coos at your reaction, your glossy cunt winking up at him, "that's it. . . let go for me." and he'll clean you up with his tongue as though it's his last task on earth.

because face it, nanami kento is a gentlemen everywhere else, but between your legs? he's relentless. he starts soft, like a slow kiss, but every motion is calculated. he memories exactly how you react to different forms of stimulation.

nanami grips your thighs firmly, pressing them apart as he dips his head and eats as though he's starved. he doesn't even care how long it takes, and you'll cum at least twice before he even considers stopping.

his deep, calm voice as he talks you through it is absolutely killer, "good girl. keep going, n' don't hold back for me, wife." (yeah he's got a diamond ring in the unfairly tight back pocket of his beige slacks).

➤ TOJI FUSHIGURO

filthy, so filthy. that's all you really need to know. he loves the taste, the mess, the slick. he honestly may have had some trepidation in the early days of his youth, but now he'll fall to his knees for his woman with little questions asked. he'll drag his tongue through you slow at first, primed to devour.

calloused hands spread you wide, holding you down, and it's a sign of little mercy for the night ahead, "you taste so fuckin' good, princess." he'll edge you with his mouth just enough to make you beg, then growl when you finally break, gushin' all over his handsome face.

you'll be yanked to the edge of the shared beg, legs thrown over his broad and rippling shoulders, and his face is buried before you can blink. his dark lashes already flapping in delight over hazy green eyes as he dives right in.

he licks at you fast, deep n' dirty, making noises as though he's addicted to way that you taste. he'll hold you down with one large, warm hand, gripping your hips, and using his other hand to finger you with much vigour, hitting all the right spots.

toji whines into you (but he'll pretend he didn't) and arc his fingers in a three-fingered smack over your sensitive clit, fascinated by the sloppy arc of release and arousal streaking through the air onto his face, "this pussy's all mine, huh? you gon' cum for me again, doll?"

he's always gonna' bite your inner thighs, leaving marks, and it leaves you even more soaked, cunt absolutely drooling over the front of his dark sweatshirt. and you're always going to finish with your legs shaking, locked around his head, and your mind spinning.

➤ RYOMEN SUKUNA

you don't get to cum until the king of curses says you can, let's be real. he will tease and taunt you, while barely brushing your clit with the rough, forked surface of his tongue.

he loves to watch you write, and he thinks (though he'll never admit it), that you're the loveliest sight in the entire world when you squirm, "beg louder, girl. maybe this time i'll actually give ya' what you want."

and when sukuna does go in? it's so brutal, sucking and licking, biting and blowing. he's always growling into you, so loss in the awe of watching your transparent arousal smear over your thighs, drip over his chin. true form sukuna uses two hands to hold you still, and the other two to spread you wide for him to slot in between the gap.

sukuna is cruel, deliberately so, and he'll lap at you softly, teasing your clit with the very tip of his tongue, holding you down while you whimper. if you beg? nah, it's not gonna' move him, and he's going to scoff, "pathetic. is that all it takes to break ya' ?"

there's little warning before he really lets loose, full tongue sucking your clit with insane pressure, alternating between a mind-blowing speed, and then, slow torment that leaves to a flooding torrent of arousal and release.

he'll edge you, deny you, then push you over so hard that your vision goes white. and he can go for hours, from when the sun rises 'till the moment the sun sets and disappears below the horizon. he absolutely kisses you sloppily to make sure you're tasting yourself afterwards.

➤ HIROMI HIGURUMA

the lawyer is surprisingly gentle. . . at first. soft kisses, and shy eye contact, and there's a flush that crawls over his pretty nose, over one temple to the other. but he grows obsessed with the way you sound when you moan and fall apart for him.

hiromi loves makin' you cum on his mouth, over and over. and you just know he loves having you perch your thighs over his face, sitting on it till he crassly jokes that this is his favourite way to go out, being waterboarded.

hiromi is also soft-spoken, but intense. he's a giver, and please you? it's his form of divine salvation. he holds your hips gently, tongue slow and reverent, dark eyes full of restrained hunger.

he starts sweet, but once he hears the right-pitched moan from you? he loses it entirely, and becomes feverish. hungrily lapping at your pussy, and not caring if the slick strands stick to the lapels of his (expensive) suit.

he's got long, elegant fingers, and he's definitely prodding them into your gummy, sticky walls as he eats you out. absolutely enamoured with how your voice cracks and break.

and hiromi is always going to moan into you, getting messy and off-kilter as his perfect composure is thrown out the window, and he's burying his face deeper into you, "you deserve this, let me show ya' just how good this can be.'

➤ HAJIME KASHIMO

for the first week, kashimo pretended as though he was above it all. because, well, he's the strongest sorcerer of his (medieval) era and he'd never be caught doing something so. . . lewd. fortunately for all parties involved, he got one look at your bare thighs and almost fell to his knees, tearing up and pleading for a taste.

so aggressive and chaotic with it, because, of course, kashimo treats everything like a damn race, and a challenge. his tongue is like lightning, literally, fast and precise. overwhelming when you swear you feel a zap! of something sharp over your clit, and he shakes his head vehemently denying the use of his cursed technique, but his cyan eyes gleam with mischief.

kashimo grins when you squirm, grabbing your hips, "is this not what you asked for, little dove?" and he loves to taste you after a fight or a workout, and he'll often quote that there's nothing to get the blood pumping down there like a fight with a beautiful woman.

he's gonna' tease you with barely there touches, and then suddenly leap all in, leaving you gasping and tugging the two bundles of teal hair atop his choppy layers, sorta' like handlebars.

will laugh, low and wild, when you cum too fast, "that easily? huh, it did not take much, hmm?" and he's insatiable about all of it, biting at your clit with gentle pressure to have your thighs tremble and suffocate him in between your legs.

"come on, little dove. one more, you can give me one more." his pink mouth is swollen, smeared with your release, and he's got the most priggish, satisfied grin painted over his face.

fingers never letting up with their pace as he buries them deep within you, that overstimulation mingling pain with pleasure till it ebbs away into quick orgasm after orgasm.

➤ NAOYA ZEN'IN

he has the worst attitude, but the best mouth. you know he's arrogant as hell, and it shows in how he eats you out. and he probably only does it so he has something to laud over you later, but he can't also deny the very faint pink flush dusted over his creamy skin.

"tch', do ya' really think you deserve this?" he's humming, smearing a thumb over your aching clit, "beg properly, and then, maybe i'll give you what you want."

and but when he finally goes down on you, it's intense and messy, fast and precise. unfortunately, he knows what he's doing, and he's so smug about it. he licks at you as though he's proving a point, winning an argument, and if you don't scream his name, he'll take it super personally.

"oh, so now 'm not doing it good enough for ya', is that it?" so, basically, he's going to sulk later if you don't end up gushing over his face. naoya holds your thighs wide open, thumbs digging into your skin so you can't even move, and he wants you trembling.

there's constant eye contact as he eats you out, 'cause he wants you to know that it's him, giving you this much pleasure, and you can see the lidded, dark gaze clouding over his topaz, jewel-tone eyes. pink tongue pressed flat against your throbbing bud, rolling it slow just to watch your face. quickly alternating the pace to flick it rapidly, as arousal leaks out of you, and you're moaning.

"all pretty n' dumb when i'm eating ya' out like this, eh?" and if you try to close your legs from the sheer stimulation, naoya is going to get even meaner, "did i say you could run away?" you cum once, and he doesn't stop nor slow down. tawny, sand-blonde hair plastered to his head as he picks up the pace, "one isn't enough, wifey. not for a slut like you."

and when he does pull away, his mouth is glistening, and he makes a big show of wiping your sticky arousal away, and making faux noises of disgust (you can see the dark, translucent patch over the groin of his fine haori). but he shoves his fingers back into you, "don't pass out, idiot. 'm not done."

➤ CHOSO KAMO

oh, he deserves his own shrine for the way he eats your cunt. he's so quiet about it at first, no teasing nor taunting. just that intense gold-hazel as he drops to his bulky knees, hands gliding up your thighs like you're somethin' precious.

he's so slow and cautious about at first, treating you like a personal alter. kissing at your folds gently, nibbling at the edges of your outer folds. but choso eats you out as though he's starving.

wide tongue flat, licking deep and fast instinctually, then sucking your clit into his mouth with a firm n' sloppy pressure. you make one noise, one mere moan that bubbles past your lips, and choso loses it. groaning into you, fingers digging into his hips as he pushes your legs up to his broad shoulders, atop his soft, white robes.

choso is absolutely the type to cum in his pants just from making you climax, and he needs not even touch himself. he's just that obsessed with the way you taste, the way your thighs squeeze his head, and obscure the rest of the vision until all he can see are the dewy beads of release dripping from your glossy pussy.

he's always panting, messy, with his tongue darting between your folds as though he's desparate and breathless, "you taste so good. . . i can't stop. i don't want to stop." and when you do cum, he's over joyous, and he continues right through your orgasm. hurtling through your first climax to knock down the door to your second.

choso groans into you, face soaked, tongue fucking you through it while you writhe, tugging his stringy, dark hair, "i know, i know, sweet thing. you can give me another one." but afterwards, he's dazed, pupils blown and lips shining, and you know he's proud as hell of himself.

if you sit on his face, he'll moan like a virgin seeing heaven for the first time. hands on the plush of your ass, tongue poking out, and eyes shut, just letting you ride and snag the hood of your clit against the slope of his nose.

[hencheri]

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. jock!jeno x nerdy girl!reader

| warnings. noncon, unprotected sex, squirting, perv!jeno, reader wears glasses.

the cold breeze bites your skin, tears gracefully streaming down your face, reaching your neck and disappearing into the material of your polo shirt. your lashes are wet and stick together as you blink, quietly sniffling, jeno's low moans reaching your ears.

perched over the bleachers, the dents of the metal stairs imprinted on your stomach as your shirt has slightly ridden up, he rocks his hips against your ass, hard cock pulsing in you.

you just wanted to get your bag back as you forgot it earlier in the evening when you went to watch the baseball game with your friends. your university ended up winning, and in the midst of all the cheers and screams, you left without your belongings.

jeno is part of the university baseball's team, and when you came back to the field, he was still there.

you've always known he had an interest in you, but you never reciprocated. maybe you should have—just to avoid this.

your panties sitting on top of your sneakers prevent you from moving too much, giving jeno the liberty to handle you how he desires. his hands hold your hips in place, your skirt flipped up over your ass and his sweats pulled down just enough to free his cock.

"i’ve always wanted you, you know…" he pants loudly as your glasses fog up, being as out of breath as he is. "such a shame that you never let me have this pussy before," he groans, slightly frustrated.

jeno has been waiting for quite a long time now. he never pushed you or went too far, just some attempts here and there, but you always had a negative answer for him.

jaemin once said you were a prude dressed like a slut. a stuck-up; a girl too obsessed by her studies and her image to allow guys to fuck her.

but you weren't too difficult to convince tonight. a little whiny, but oh so docile.

his mouth agape, he fucks his engorged cock into your soppy pussy, his hairy pelvis meeting the curve of your ass each time he bottoms out, making the flesh bounce.

the night is harsh, cooler than usual, the tips of his fingers becoming cold as the time passes. it contrasts vastly with the high temperature of your body.

you slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder, eyes inching up jeno's body, glancing at his hips moving back and forth and then his bare face, illuminated by the bright street lamps all around the field.

he licks his lips before locking eyes with you, but eye-contact is soon broken when a thrust rougher than the others makes you jerk forward, the end of the bench under you digging into the bare skin of your thighs. you gasp, scrunching your eyes shut and involuntary clenching around his girth.

your glasses slip down a little, sweat accumulating where the frame of the glasses sit on your nose. when you open your eyes, you see a foggy silhouette of jeno, your hot breath meeting the cold air of the night creating mist in your lenses.

"fuck," he chokes out, "i knew you'd be tight, but that much..." he chuckles, telling you his unholy thoughts about you. "you have the perfect pussy, i swear. so warm, and fucking wet... god," jeno comments—something you've never thought someone would tell you, even someone as perverted as him.

more endless minutes pass, stopping himself when he feels his orgasm building up in his stomach, going again when the feeling has disappeared—basically edging himself as long as he can.

but eventually his pace gets faster and faster, almost knocking the breath out of your lungs. you cry and whimper under him, the coil at the pit of your stomach ripping, cumming messily around jeno, droplets of clear liquid flooding out of your cunt.

"oh, shit-" he curses, moaning in sync with you as he keeps pounding you.

soon after, weeks worth of jeno's cum spurt in you, filling you up till it drips out of your pussy.

he pulls out and the quivers of your pussy make more of his creamy cum fall, running along your inner thigh.

"so fucking pretty," he exhales, admiring the mess he made of you.

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 — 𝐌.𝐒. & 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: They want you filled to the brim.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, cockingwarming, booty hole plunging, vaginal cave exploration. Doll x Chratt.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Needy, needy hands grabbed and pulled on your skin. 

You had gotten back from a sunset walk not too long ago, curling up on the couch with Matt and Chris almost instantly. And they were pleased, finally getting to have you in their arms after a long day. You had been home. Self care activities with a face mask, an everything shower, and all that good stuff had consumed your attention - attention that they wanted. 

“Doll, sit here.” Matt doesn’t phrase it as a question. He simply pats his lap, already dragging you by your thighs onto his lap. 

Chris isn’t so pleased. 

A huff coming from his lips makes you give him a pointed look. He’d get his turn, he just had to be patient. “-’s so unfair,” he grumbles. 

Matt doesn’t even care. He’s content, grasping at the tops of your thighs with possessive hands, grazing his nose along your neck as he buries his face in your hair. “Smells so good. Did you use the vanilla one?” he asks, referring to the hair mask you had once put on him, and even though he didn’t love the feeling, he did love the scent.

He loved it even more on you. 

“Doll, come here.” Chris urges. Patting his own lap, he gets frustrated seeing your lack of movement, reaching over and starting to drag you by your hand. 

The second your body starts to move, Matt is making his hold firm around your waist, caging you in with an obsessive greed, a certain kind of hold that both infuriates you and makes your stomach feel warm. 

“Come onnnn,” Chris whines, tugging harder. 

Matt’s grip only tightens more, making you uncomfortable from the amount of pushing and pulling, your ribs starting to ache from the pressure. 

Deciding you’ve had enough, you push Matt’s arms off of you, shaking Chris’s hands off as you stand up, glaring down at them with crossed arms. “Do I look like a ragdoll?” you question, attitude drowning from your aura as you squint your eyes. 

A deer caught in headlights. That’s what they both look like, sitting up straighter as they both offer a sympathetic look, mumbling an apology, “Sorry,” they say in sync, their eyes growing sadder as they observe the distance from you. Now neither of them got to hold you. 

Silence consumes the room. The streetlights and stars peering in from the window accompany the little lamp light, a soft glow reflecting on their faces. They just look so sad, so defeated. Afterall, all they wanted was to be closer and they only pushed you away, hurting you in the process. 

Your posture slouches, your arms falling to your side as you let out a sigh, stepping forward and standing in between Matt’s legs. Combing through his hair, you lean down and place a kiss on the crown of his head, ruffling his hair before maneuvering and doing the same to Chris. 

“It’s okay, let’s jus-”

Chris surprises you as you try to talk. While trying to walk away, he tugs at the waistband of your sweats, keeping you in place before staring right up at you, his eyes watering as he murmurs, “Please.” 

Only the one singular word slips through his lips. You feel your heart soften as you admire his sympathetic eyes, looking over to see Matt trying to keep his hands held tightly together, almost as if he’s fighting the urge to force you back into his own lap.They both look like they’re in pain from how badly they just need you. 

“Matt…” you trail off, trying to grab his attention, but his eyes stay trained on his lap. Something’s wrong. 

Walking back over to him, you try to brush your hands through his hair, but Matt moves swiftly, storming off down the hallway to his bedroom. You look back over to Chris, seeing his eyes watering as he stares up at you with a pout. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He nods, his eyes falling to his lap as he starts to twiddle his thumbs. 

The wooden floors creak with each quick step you take. His door is cracked open, his body laying on his bed as he holds a pillow over his face. 

“Matt?” you ask, gaining a muffled groan as he lays still. 

Taking a couple more steps, you climb up on his bed, petting his chest softly. And that makes him break. He pulls the pillow off his face, revealing a mess of tears cascading down his cheek.

“Awww, Matt…what’s wrong?” you coo, brushing his fair back.

All he does is shake his head. You try to move closer to hold him, but he pulls you in before you’re quite ready, making you crumble forward and land on his chest. 

“Just,” he chokes up on his tears, taking a couple deep breaths as he breathes in the vanilla scent coating your hair, “-need you. I don’t wanna share today and I just…need you to be mine.”

The possessive statement doesn’t go unheard - by you or Chris, who happened to be peeping through the door crack…

Your hands flail, a poor attempt at trying to regain an upright position, but Matt pulls you even closer, cradling your head into the crook of his neck as he rolls you over to your sides, swinging a leg over your body.

“Please, just - I need to hold you, I need this so bad. Please don’t make me let go,” he says, crying while his tears drop into your hair. 

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Promise.” As those words leave your mouth, you hear more footsteps - Chris’s footsteps, his hand grazing over your arm as he looks down at you sadly. 

Matt pulls you impossibly closer, practically swatting Chris’s hands off of you. “Go away,” Matt murmurs, cuddling you closer and trying to draw the blanket over the two of you. 

“What about me, baby…” 

His voice is low. The hum in the back of his throat tells you he’s holding back a lot of emotions. You push at Matt’s chest, earning a grumble of aggravation as he tries to pull you closer. However, you lightly tap on his chest. It gains his attention, his grasp loosening as he realizes - he’s doing the same thing he had been doing in the living room, and it’s making you upset. 

“Stop it. Scoot over” Orders fall from your mouth with no room to bicker. Matt scoots back, carrying you with him. You feel the mattress dip with Chris’s weight from behind, his hands grasping at your waist tightly, his fingers digging in slightly as he tries to pull you closer - but you’re already against both of them, only your sweats in the way. 

“Need you closer,” Chris mumbles, hesitantly tugging on the heavy fabric of your hoodie.

As you try to move to pull off the clothes, you feel Matt keep you in his rigid arms, making you unable to move. “Matt, I was gonna take my sweats and stuff off.” 

Matt’s ears perk at that offer. If anything, he wanted you closer too - desperately. Both boys loosen their grips, stripping themselves as you start to peel each item of clothing off, discarding it on the floor randomly.

“Come back,” Matt directs, holding his arms open and lifting the blanket up. You snuggle in, smiling as you feel Chris press his nude body against your from behind. Limbs loosen, your hearts beating in sync as you all relax from the rush of emotions. 

Chris’s breath is hot against your ear. Heavy pants leave his lips as he gently prods his hardening dick against you. He doesn’t want sex, he just wants to be closer. “Can you warm me, baby? I - I won’t move, promise, just…ugh,” he groans, his head falling limp against yours softly. 

Before you can say anything, Matt chirps in, “Wait. What about me?”

It had only really happened one time before. A similar situation to this one, except they had been visiting Boston for over two weeks, they really had a reason to feel desperate. Although you’re not sure why they’re feeling so obsessive tonight, you can’t help but crave that fullness. 

“Do you still have the lube?” 

Matt nods, nudging his head at Chris who immediately understands, swinging his arm off of you and rolling over to plunder through the nightstand drawer, pulling out condoms and the bottle of lube.

Just at the thought, both of their dicks are hard. They loved the way you looked when they had done it before. It felt so raw, so full of passion. 

“No…no moving too much, okay?” you clarify. Although you did love the fullness, it was a lot to be fucked with so much. Both of them nod, peeling open the condoms and rolling them on - they knew at least that would put you at ease and would make it easier. 

Matt slips in with ease, your pussy sucking him in greedily as he pushes his pelvis plush against yours. He’s deep. 

The sound of the lube bottle popping open makes your heart race. A cold liquid being smeared around the rim of your ass making you tense. 

“Shhhhh, just gotta relax,” Matt coos, cradling your head into the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss to your temple. You try to take deep breaths. Your body falls limp as Chris massages your ass, waiting until you let your muscles let loose before starting to prod his cock at your hole.

“I’m gonna go slow. Just - tell me if you need a break, okay?”

You nod, humming as a cry strangles through your lips as he slowly pushes himself in. It’s a lot - enough to make your fingers start to dig into Matt’s shoulders. He coos gently, combing through your hair as Chris holds his hands on your hips, burying himself in you so slowly that it feels like torture, but he doesn’t wanna hurt you. 

A shriek falls from your mouth as he fully bottoms out. Matt’s cock had slipped out just a bit from all the movement, his hips slowly digging back up before he could truly process the motion. Well, until you cry out, your chest pressing against his more. 

“-’m sorry, sweetheart, sorry,” he strains, taking deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. You’re just so warm - so drenched, he can feel the sticky residue starting to drip onto his balls, his gut clenching as he forces himself to halt all movements. 

“-’s…okay…” you breathe, slurring your words as you focus on how utterly full you feel.

Meanwhile, Chris is nearly making his lip bleed, trying to hold back as you nearly suffocate him with your other hole. 

“Doing so good, princess, so good,” Chris praises, massaging your hip as his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

They’re both finally content. 

And you’re finally full. 

[classyrbf]

requesting smth for nanami, choso, or toji….. i’ve been obsessed with the idea of grinding on someone’s thigh while getting my tits sucked on🤤 i feel like this could work as like a teasing thing or a reward thing or a punishment thing…yeah

SHE LIKE IT NASTY! — CHOSO KAMO

SYNOPSIS...what’s better than sitting on your boyfriend’s lap while he sucks on your tits? Nothing, absolutely nothing

INFO...choso x fem!reader, thigh grinding, nipple sucking, praise, cumming in panties, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thank you for the request, and I hope you enjoy!

Choso knew you had been waiting so patiently for him while he played videos games with his friends. The entire time he could see you squirming on the bed, staring at him until he was done playing. He knew his girl deserved a reward. No matter how needy you got, you stayed in your place, keeping your hands to yourself, and keeping quiet no matter how hard it was.

“Can you pay attention to me now, Cho?” Your sweet voice called out to him. The bed shifted under your weight as you got up, feet pattering against the carpeted floor. “Please?”

He turned off his PC, removing his headphones before staring up at you. “What is it that my girl needs so badly?” His hands rested on the back of your thighs, gently rubbing your smooth skin. He pulled you closer so that his leg was in between yours. “Feeling needy? Don’t be shy about it,” he said with a soft chuckle, pulling you down so you were sitting on his thigh. “Gimme a kiss.” He gently grabbed your chin, placing his lips on yours.

You kissed him back almost immediately, your arms finding solace around his neck while your lips moved in sync, swiping your tongue across his bottom him. You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second, so hot and turned on, ignoring your needs all day. You didn’t even realize you were rocking your hips against his leg, your body trying to find release on its own. It wasn’t until Choso pulled away with a smile, looking down at what you were doing. “You grinding against my thigh, baby? Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

You almost felt embarrassed, looking away from your boyfriend because no matter how much of a bitch in heat you looked, you couldn’t stop even if you tried. It felt to good, feeling the fabric of his jeans and the fabric of your panties press up against your needy clit, rubbing against it. Breathy whimpers escaped your throat, his hands comfortably on your waist as he guided your hips back and forth even faster.

You lifted your head to look at him, biting down on your lower lip as you took in the pleasure coursing through your body, feeling your nipples harden under your shirt and your heart beating against your ribcage. “Keep that pace, just like that. Good girl.” His cold hands slipped under your shirt as he leaned into your neck, placing wet kisses along your warm skin, swiping his tongue over collarbone. Your eyes fluttered shut, finding yourself in pure bliss.

Choso sneakily moved his hands up your waist, finally finding the mounds of your tits, feeling how hard your nipples were and just how turned on you were. “Someone’s gotta take care of these pretty tits, baby. They’re not getting any attention at all,” he cooed, lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor. He cupped your tits in his large hands, massaging the mounds of flesh in his palms while toying with your sensitive nipples. That’s when he leaned in, taking your nipple in his mouth, his tongue hot and wet swiping moving around in circles.

“Cho,” you moaned, gasping lightly at the feeling. Your hand entangled in his hair, rocking your hips even faster, humping his thigh. “That feels so good—ah!” You were caught off guard by the feeling of him gently nibbling on your nipple but soon the small amount of pain dissolved into pleasure.

He made sure to give equal amount of attention to each of your tits, squeezing the other in his hand while tweaking your perky nipples between his pointer finger and thumb, switching sides when needed. “These pretty tits are all mine,” he mumbled, kissing down your sternum, making sure to leave his mark. You gripped his hair tighter, still moving your hips back and forth along his thigh, that familiar feeling beginning to build up. Your pussy was soaked, rubbing into your own mess, feeling it through your panties. You were sure you left a wet spot right on his jeans too. But you didn’t care.

“Cho…I-I’m close. Please, please, don’t stop,” you said with such keen. You were so desperate to cum, having been waiting all day for this. And with the feeling of his tongue on your nipples and your clit rubbing against him, you were bound to cum any second. “Nnngh! Yes, yes, yes!” Choso flicked his tongue over your raw nipples, sucking and biting on them as he waited for the moment you came right in your panties. He loved watching the way you were enjoying yourself, being so horny and desperate that you were gonna cum from humping his thigh.

He released your nipple with a pop, softly kissing each of them. “Be a good girl and cum right on my thigh. Make me proud, baby.” He laid his tongue flat against your skin, lazily circling the hardened bud.

“Fuckkk, I’m cumming!” You cried, shaking above, your entire body twitching as your orgasm took over. You held onto him tightly, sweetly moaning like music to his ears. He gripped your hips, moving them back and forth to make sure you dragged every last bit of your orgasm out of you no matter what.

After a few more seconds, you were finally done, mind completely spent. Choso wrapped his arms around you tightly, staring up at your hazy gaze. “For what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asked, a smile on his face. You simply nodded at him, trying to catch your breath. “You deserve it. Come here.” He pulled you down by your neck, slowly kissing you, swallowing your little whimpers. Safe to say this might be one of the best rewards you’ve had in while for being such a patient girlfriend.

[minswriting]

Min I have recently discovered your blog and promptly devoured nearly everything you wrote, you are a god 🧎🏻‍♀️ May I please request a female reader having a daddy kink/authority kink for Aaron and she tries to hide it but he ABSOLUTELY knows? He decides to do something with this information, deliciously 🤤 I’m obsessed with your writing, ily and hope you’re having a marvelous day

giggles daddy kink hotch lives in my daydreams all of the time. i didn’t quite know what i should do so i hope this is good!!

nsfw | mdni | aaron hotchner x reader | daddy kink, fingering (f), praise kink

your relationship with aaron was still relatively new. you guys have only been together for two months and during that time, it’s been absolutely wonderful. aaron was so kind to you, brought you flowers for every date, complimented you every time he saw you. he’d call you while he’s out on cases, making sure you’re doing okay. and the sex? mind blowing. you’d never had a man that made you feel as good as much as aaron did.

there was only one issue with your relationship with aaron. and it was the fact that any time you guys had sex, you were trying your hardest not to moan the one nickname that was always at the tip of your tongue.

daddy.

like right now. you and aaron had just gotten to your place after a lovely date at a fancy restaurant. you were wearing a red dress that hugged your curves beautifully. aaron’s lips were on yours, kissing you deeply against the wall of the inside of your apartment. his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer against him as he felt you up.

“my sweet girl,” aaron whispered against your lips, hiking your dress up as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip. you let out a soft noise, parting your lips. aaron’s tongue explored your mouth as the two of you moved in sync. his fingers moved along the exposed skin of your thigh, inching higher to the waistband of your thong.

aaron pulled away from the kiss, looking at you with his dark eyes. you looked at aaron, eyes wide and turned on by the simplest of movements. “you’re so beautiful,” aaron murmured, using his other hand to move a strand of hair out of your face.

“a-aaron,” you whispered back, licking your lips as aaron moved his fingers underneath the waistband of your thong. his middle finger ran along your slit, feeling your wetness. you let out a gasp, putting a hand on aaron’s shoulder.

“you’re so wet for me, baby,” he said, moving his finger around. he began gently rubbing your clit, causing you to moan so prettily. the way your eyes glazed over with lust and pupils blown out just showed to aaron your submission.

aaron added a second finger as he moved his fingers in circles on your clit, making you let out a whine. aaron maintain eye contact with you, a subtle sign of his authority over you as he watched the way your face contorted in pleasure. aaron’s finger dipped to your hole, teasing the outside of it.

“my pretty girl,” aaron cooed, teasing you. “tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“i-“ you let out a small whine, embarrassed at how needy you felt. “i want you, d-aaron.”

“yeah?” he asked, slipping his finger into your hole but remained unmoving. “what were you going to call me?”

you moaned at the intrusion, your cunt fluttering around his finger. “nothing. just your name,” you whispered. the eye contact that aaron held with you made you want to avert your gaze but you decided against it, mesmerized by the look on his face.

aaron tsked, shaking his head. “you’re lying, sweetheart,” aaron murmured, putting his other hand on the back of your head. “be a good girl and tell me.”

you gasped at the sudden nickname, the words sending a shiver down your spine. and without even thinking, you let out a quiet “daddy.”

“that’s my good girl,” aaron let out a small chuckle, pressing a small kiss onto your lips as he began moving his finger inside of you. “daddy will take good care of you.”

you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as aaron fingered you. “daddy,” you moaned a bit louder, gripping aaron’s shirt as he added a second finger, curling them to hit your g-spot. “o-oh fuck, daddy.”

aaron leaned down, pressing feather light kisses along your neck as he moved his fingers inside of you. he quickened the pace, thoroughly fingering you. the sounds of your moans and the wetness of your cunt filled the room. “god, you’re soaking, baby,” aaron whispered against your skin. “am i making you feel good?”

“yes,” you whined, throwing your head back against the wall.

“yes what?”

“yes, daddy!”

“good girl.”

you could feel yourself getting close, the heat building inside of you. you were whining, moaning, and whimpering, blabbing a whole bunch of nothing as aaron fingered you. “i-i’m so close, daddy,” you whimpered, looking at aaron. you licked your lips, breathing heavily.

aaron hummed, moving his fingers faster inside of you. “go ahead, sweetheart. come for daddy,” he said, watching you at you began falling apart on his fingers.

and with a loud moan, you began cumming, thighs clamping around aaron’s hand as your legs shook underneath you. aaron’s other hand wrapped around your waist, holding you up as he fingered you through your orgasm. when you had finished, aaron pulled his fingers from you, kissing your lips gently. you kissed him back before aaron pulled away.

he allowed you a moment to catch your breath before saying “daddy’s going to fuck you so good, baby,” and pulling you to the bedroom.

it was safe to say that aaron adored your daddy kink.

[bigtedbear]

“ 𝐜𝗼𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫 “

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐩𝐭: 𝐲𝐚𝐧! 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝗼𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐭

content warnings: boss and employee, abuse of power (like that's the entire plot), yandere themes, nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, male reader, amab reader, gay sex, anal penetration, anal fingering, head (character receiving), hickies, hook-ups, friends with benefits (fwb) turned feelings relationships, cock-blocking, situationships, possessive-obsessive behavior, stalking, sunday as your crazy girlfriend (who u don't know is your girlfriend yet !!)

heavy on the yandere themes this time around!

not a lot of smut I fear <//3

warnings that this may not be my best work, it took me a LOONNNG ass time to finish this so the quality, tone, etc. may vary

apologies in advance :')

“ new contact noted! caller sunday has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

“ new contact noted! caller aventurine has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

If anyone were to ask Sunday about the first time he met you, his answer would depend on the person.

Strangers would receive a very basic, formal answer. You were assigned to lead the team in charge of his security.

Closer friends may get a different story, depending on how close they are, naturally.

The true story was a little bit embarrassing after all, caught staring a little too long at something you weren’t exactly supposed to see.

He was busy. He’d spent his morning darting to and from locations to make important meetings, be seen in all the right spots, shake hands with the right people, say all the right things. Consistent and careful cultivation of his reputation and his image seemed to be all he ever did with his time and that day was no different.

There was only one problem.

On the day that he first met you, his leads had run dry.

So instead of attending scheduled events, handling confessionals, or making sure he was on time to important meetings, he was left wandering the hotel Lobby on the off chance someone important might see him extending his consideration to Penacony’s regular visitors.

Despite how much the constant fawning grinded on his nerves, he reminded himself over and over again that it would all be worth it in the end. Still, no matter who was in the crowd, it blended together into a constant cacophony of “Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday!”.

“How kind you are, Mister Sunday!”

“It’s always such a joy to see you no matter the hour, Mister Sunday!”

“You’re such a gentleman, Mister Sunday!”

Realizing nobody of concern would be there to see him, he cut himself short. A polite smile here, a well-timed nod there, and a firm handshake with an older gentleman to tie a bow on the conversation, his mouth opened his mouth to say an all too familiar phrase.

“This has been delightful, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.”

With the nearly synced chorus of farewells behind him, Sunday began his retreat to the VIP floor of the Reverie. His contemplation drowned out the pleasant, if not repetitive sound of the elevator music flooding the little cramped metal box. As the doors opened, though, he was abruptly knocked out of his thoughts by the sight that greeted him.

Almost immediately, his eyes locked on to an all too familiar looking iridescent glint from the corner of his vision.

A charmony dove.

Then he really focused on it.

No, not just one charmony dove.

It just looked like one from where he was standing. From where he was, next to the elevator, the flock of charmony doves gathered around this one sitting area on the opposite side of the floor was small enough to make his brain think it was just one charmony dove a lot closer to him.

He glanced around him, making sure no visitors would see, before extending his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light of the chandelier above. He squinted, trying to make out what exactly caused all the birds to gather in the first place.

But his eyes failed him and he was left just as confused.

The wings on either side of his head fluttered slightly in indignation. With one of his hands still tucked behind his back, he ventured closer to the curious gathering of birds. The curved nature of the balcony meant it was still virtually impossible for him to ascertain what exactly he would find upon his arrival.

So imagine his shock when he saw a person in the center of the chaos.

Miraculously undisturbed by the hundreds of birds gathered around the table, even as they continued to sing and warble their signature tune, there was a man laying his head on the table.

Sleeping.

For a moment, Sunday stood at a safe distance, utterly dumbfounded. The next moment, he picked his jaw off the floor.

The charmony doves were more than happy to use the mystery man’s shoulders as a perch. Furthermore, the man was deep enough in his sleep that the brush of feathers and the sensation of little feet all over his arms and the nape of his neck went completely unnoticed.

He used his arms as a cushion for his head, cranium tilted to the side to make room for fresh air flow. Sunday’s eyes trailed just slightly lower, catching sight of a card in the man’s hand.

It was connected to a lanyard hanging off his neck, the ID clutched so tightly it bent with the curvature of his palm. Stranger still, the ID card was a work ID.

“Strange, isn't it? I didn't know what to think the first time I saw it either.”

Before Sunday could get a closer look, he was interrupted by an uncomfortably familiar voice. He jumped slightly, neck snapping to look at the source, “Gallagher.”

The man in question raised his hands defensively, shrugging nonchalantly. The charmony doves seemed to readjust themselves to suit the new rising tension in the air. Still, the sleeping man didn’t seem any more aware than before. “Relax, I'm not here for you.”

Sunday noted that Gallagher’s usually low voice was even dimmer than he remembered, not all that dissimilar to a whisper. Reflexively, he lowered his tone to follow suit, “I presume you're here for him then.”

“Yeah, he usually takes a nap on his lunch breaks,” the older man rumbled, “Hardly gets any sleep with his team leader running him around doing enough work for two people.”

Sunday raised a skeptical brow, “He does this often?”

Gallagher hummed, seemingly rummaging through his memory, “Every once in a while, when he gets assigned shifts near the VIP lounge.”

“The doves… do they gather every time he does this? Why hasn't anyone been made aware of this?”

The older bloodhound crossed his arms, “Didn't see the need to make a problem where there wasn't one. He’s not bothering anyone and he's off the clock.”

The head of the Oak Family frowned, brows pinching in bewilderment. “...I see.”

The two of them stood in silence for another moment before Gallagher looked down to his wrist to check his watch, “His lunch break is about to be over, he’ll wake up soon. You probably have somewhere to be, right?”

Sunday seemed to catch himself, blinking a couple times before nodding, “Ah- I- yes, I should've been on my way back to the Golden Hour.”

Gallagher gave a grunt in response, seemingly unimpressed.

The young halovian bowed his head, eyes darting back over to look at the man sleeping soundly once again.

Without thinking about it, his eyes lingered on the ID badge secured by the man's iron grip as he left. He registered only a few words before he pried eyes off of him for good.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Entry Level Security’

Naturally, Sunday’s inner thoughts and desire for complete control over a situation didn't allow him to simply roll over and accept a natural phenomena within the Reverie without a(n un)healthy dose of worry. Using the new recruit’s name and his extensive ties within Penacony, he pried open the hypothetical crate housing the answer to his burning question with a proverbial crowbar.

A Penacony native, one that came from an average family. Not much was noted about them, his mother and father were seemingly normal civilians that worked hard at their day jobs and landed themselves squarely in the upper-middle class. His mother was the one with ties in the Bloodhound family, the one that vouched for his resume and got him hired in the first place.

But then came the question, why was he constantly surrounded by charmony doves?

The answer to that question was MUCH harder to obtain and, consequently, took weeks of dedicated snooping to figure out.

There simply wasn't an answer.

By all accounts, the man was never particularly fond of them, but they'd followed him around since he was a child. Sunday only managed to find out through the man’s educational records.

He'd gotten in trouble with teachers when he was younger because they suspected he'd been feeding them while their backs were turned, but they later rescinded any accusations upon closer observation. He'd actually taken to trying to scare the birds off, getting into even MORE trouble with his teachers.

It'd started off with him shooing them away by running at them and yelling with his arms raised above head trying to intimidate some kind of angry predator. When they inevitably came back, it escalated to him smacking the birds for landing on him. Eventually, when he hadn't gotten anywhere with that, he started throwing rocks at the doves whenever he'd see them around the schoolyard.

Admittedly, Sunday dug a lot further into it than he'd expected. Worse still, he'd turned up empty-handed.

It frustrated him, to leave it up to a simple “it just happens”, but if this had truly been happening since childhood and had no presumable pattern… what options was he left with?

Eventually, as he got higher and higher within the order of the Family, his list of responsibilities grew longer and longer. The matter found itself buried in thousands of memories of other trivial nonsense he didn't have the luxury of entertaining anymore.

He was too busy tending to confessionals, honing the powers of the harmony, meeting with influential figures of the Family, and finally, taking his place as the head of the Oak Family.

By the time he'd met with you again, he'd almost completely forgotten any and all the strange details surrounding the first time he’d seen you.

It was a bit of a low point in Sunday’s life. He and his sister had chosen two different paths in life. While he was the head of THE most influential faction in Penacony, Robin had always longed to spread harmony to as many people as possible. Even if it meant she had to leave her brother’s side, she began her career as a performer and was signed for an intergalactic tour.

She’d left the week before Sunday was informed there was an extreme staffing overhaul within the Oak family.

The most notable change came in security, citing instances that sensitive information had been leaked to other factions. They couldn't accuse any member of the group specifically, which meant they had to clear out any potential traitors on the outside before they could zero in on any evidence of internal betrayal.

He took the hiccup in stride, but inside he was more than frustrated. Sunday hated change and there were suddenly a lot of big changes happening at once.

Still, like a good soldier, he put on a brave face and cleared a minuscule slot of time to introduce himself to the new officer in charge of the Oak Family’s security staff.

Very honestly, Sunday’s foul circumstances meant he didn't truly make an effort to give the new guy a fair chance at landing in his good graces. The meeting room was a cramped, newly cleaned out office that had a scratched-up, scrappy looking table with flimsy folding chairs. He'd come from a meeting discussing things with people who gave him a headache and barely cleared out fifteen minutes before another meeting with people who got on his nerves.

No matter what happened, Sunday would continue to be in a sour mood.

At least, that was what he thought would happen.

Despite the mounting pile of unfortunate circumstances, you didn't seem to be swayed. You sat in the weak excuse of a chair with your hands folded on top of eachother on the table in front of you with a pleasantly neutral expression on your face.

When the door creaked open, you stood up, as was the etiquette in Penacony.

As the meeting began, a sense of uneasiness washed over the head of the Oak family. There was a tingling sense of apprehension at the back of his mind as he shut the door to the tiny broom closet of a meeting room.

The man was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sunday’s inner dilemma only seemed to worsen when he caught the nearly imperceptible shift in the other’s eye. The man knew there was something off about his expression.

Despite that it didn't stop him from outstretching his hand to offer a greeting. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I hope I won't disappoint.”

Short, concise, polite.

The Oak family head noted, eyes trailing down to the ID card hanging on the man’s lanyard.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Oak Family Personnel’

The wings on either side of his face twitched with the sudden sense of recognition. Trying to remain as level-headed as possible, Sunday took your hand in his. He gave a firm shake. “I’m sure you won’t, you've been a member of the family for a while now.”

You nodded your head silently, going to take out a small folder. "There wasn't much time reserved for this meeting, but I wanted to still wanted to make a good impression. I brought a list of some of my past assignments, but a copy was already forwarded to your office."

A tingle ran down his spine the longer he made eye contact. There was a foreign feeling building up in the bottom of his gut, a feeling that made him apprehensive. "Yes, I'm afraid I'll have to take a look at these later, I have a meeting following shortly after this."

Your eyes crinkled at the corners with an unspoken kindness that tickled the recesses of his ribcage, ghosting butterfly kisses off each bone with tender reverence.

"Of course, sir," your fingers gingerly tucked the manila folder back into the bag you'd brought with you, "I'll be following your lead, starting today."

When you made eye contact, there was something piercing and holistic about the way you looked at him. In the dreamscape, he was used to a more glazed over, passive look no matter who he was speaking to. It was a natural side effect of being in a paradise hidden beyond the gates of sleep.

His response lagged for a second, an awkward pause before he seemed to snap back to his senses.

When he'd looked into it at first, as stated earlier, he couldn't figure out why wherever you went, the charming doves wouldn't be far to follow. The longer he looked however, the more and more he understood.

In a world where everyone bowed to the authority of rest, you were the first person the head of the Oak Family had ever met with such a sharp gaze.

Bright, alert, attentive.

A nervous grin crept up his cheeks, Sunday himself nodding to avoid eye contact. Quietly, he mumbled,

"...I suppose you will."

‘Have you seen Mr. Sunday lately?’ 

‘No, is something the matter with him?’ 

‘Why, it seems to me that Mr. Sunday is growing pretty smitten with a certain someone…’ 

Rumors constantly flit around Dewlight Pavilion, family members whisper hushed musings behind pristine gloves at all times. It is rare, however, that Sunday is seriously brought up in the quiet giggles echoing the corridors. 

A young Pepeshi woman chortles, ‘You should see how much he's brightened up these last couple of weeks.’ 

A cleaner with tousled hair underneath his uniform cap hums, ‘I don't know Mr. Sunday well, but he seems to have gotten some kind of weight off his shoulders.’ 

One of the intelleron consultants chews on a thought, ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about Mr. Sunday, more at ease.’ 

Even stranger, nobody seemed to follow up on those whispers to correct the record.  No members of the Oak Family shushing the loose-lipped gossip mongers usually meant something.  It could mean the gossip wasn't anything worth noting.  But when it came to the romantic status of one of the most sought-after bachelors in Penacony, really nothing was too small.

No, there was something else far more likely hidden in plain sight. 

The family wanted you to believe them.

Sunday wanted you to believe them. 

You swallow the urge to wring your hands nervously but it goes down feeling like the bile rising in the back of your throat.  Walking through Dewlight Pavilion never fails to make you feel like you’re going crazy.  

You hear your coworkers’ voices so clearly you could swear your life on it, but it’s like they have some magical sixth sense that lets them know the second before you’re going to look at them.  It’s like the second your eyes land on them, their lips are pressed into a thin line and the little group they were huddled in disperses to go back to work.  It’s like they’re taunting you.

The various workers depart to their station from the main hall, leaving a clear path for you to take up the stairs.  Each step makes you feel more nauseous than the last, the vintage lights and their golden visage spinning in your peripherals as you try to focus on the plush red carpet under your feet.  It’s soft, but it’s almost like you can’t feel it squished under the soles of your shoes. 

Your feet lead you, on autopilot, to the same office you were always summoned to just after the end of your shift.  There was a sudden surge of anxiety gripping your diaphragm, but you did your best to push it down.  Both hands reached to smooth the front of your uniform, shaking ever so slightly. 

That wouldn’t do.  

You took a deep breath in, clenching your hands into fists, the same breath escaping your nostrils as you let the same hands relax at your sides.  You ended up disappointed anyways, your fingers twitching as they wrapped around the handle to Sunday’s office.  Still, anymore stalling and you’d likely be late for your meeting. 

‘SQUEEEAK!’

Your eyes squeezed shut with a grimace, luckily still hidden by the large wooden door.  You inhaled sharply before wiping the expression off your face, pushing the squeaky door open enough to slip into the room. 

You didn’t need to look up to imagine the same pair of honey-toned eyes lifting from the stacks upon stacks of paperwork on his perfectly organized, polished wooden desk.  Even further, you didn’t need to look up to imagine him haphazardly pushing the stack of papers he’d been looking at to the side.  

“[name]?” 

You let the breath you’d been holding flow out through your nostrils, finally turning around to face him head on.  

Sunday, in all his pristine, well-kempt glory.  He set his pen down on the desk, a gloved hand loosely beckoning you forward.  He didn’t say anything, you didn’t either. The same red carpet covered the inside of his office, the same red carpet squished under your shoe as you walked closer to his desk.  

You didn’t miss the way his eyes followed you wherever you walked, certainly didn’t miss the way they lingered far too long for comfort. 

Opposite his desk, a chair with plush red cushions.  It felt far too fancy for someone as low on the totem pole as yourself, but you didn’t dare make any comment on it.  Making eye contact felt too direct, instead your gaze fell to your lap.   

“...Mr. Sunday,” you asked, attempting to rub your palms off on your slacks, “if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is the purpose of this meeting?” 

He pursed his lips and you feared you’d said something to upset him. “Just Sunday is fine, no need to act like a stranger.” 

The halovian wings on either side of his head opened up before resituating themselves back on either side of his head, his small smile seemed to widen, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind playing tricks on you at this point, “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that have been circulating lately.” 

Your pulse spiked.

“Ah, I-I suppose I have.” 

Your fists tightened into balls where they’d been resting on your thighs.  You could swear you picked up on some kind of twisted amusement dancing in his eyes, like he was toying with you.  

But it vanished just as quickly, his eyes growing downturned, as though embarrassed or understanding, “I understand it may be a tad bit awkward, talking about it I mean,” he rested his elbow on the cool wood, propping his chin up on an open palm, “but I wanted to hear your opinion on them.” 

“My…opinion?” 

He hummed, calm, as though he were asking for something as straight-forward as the color of the sky. 

You swallowed, dryly.  “Well, I can’t say I’m all that fond of them.” 

“Oh?” Even if he didn’t move all that much, his expression made him feel like he was leaning in on you, closing in.  “Do tell.” 

“It…” you paused again, looking for anything around the room except for Sunday to rest your eyes on, “It makes me feel as though my abilities are being brought into question.  People may assume I only got this job or keep this job because of some kind of feelings you harbor for me, but I earned my position just like everyone else.” 

He went to answer, but it seemed like all the feelings you’d been bottling up were surging past your lips like a tsunami you couldn’t hold back anymore.  “Rumors about a relationship aren’t good for your integrity and they aren’t good for ensuring I do my job without interference.”  Your expression got serious, brows settling into a firm line while your lips curved into a frown.  “For both our careers, I think it’d be better if there was a little bit more distance between us in the future.” 

“...”

Sunday was no longer smiling.

The silence was thick enough to suck the air out of the room, hanging in place like a misty fog.  Perhaps that was why it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The wings on either side of Sunday’s head made some kind of fluttering noise as he repositioned them once again, a little less elegantly than the first time.  

“I see.” 

The head of the Oak Family sat up abruptly, resting his other elbow on the table so he could interlace his fingers in front of the lower half of his face. “I wanted your input before I made any decisions handling the rumor mill.  It seems we’re largely on the same page.” 

‘Liar.’ 

It rang clearly in your head like a bell, but you obviously couldn’t say it to his face.  You chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting to the door before returning to your hands in your lap.  “I appreciate the concern, but I’m just a security officer.  I trust you to handle this how you see fit.” 

“...”

“...Am I free to go, sir?” 

Sunday appeared to be thinking.  

“I believe the best outcome will come from both of us staying on the same page,” he started laying his palms flat on the table, “but I understand that you’re probably eager to clock out for today.” 

“...”

His smile returned, jaw unnaturally clenched.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped by tomorrow before clocking out again, just to go over the situation in a little bit more detail.” 

You were quiet.  Too quiet.  

You could feel his stare boring holes into you, even if you refused to make eye contact.

“...of course, Mr. Sunday.”

“Long week?”

You didn’t even raise your head from where you’d slumped over the bar counter.  In fact, you assumed the alluring voice calling from over your shoulder was talking to someone else.  The Soulglad was working its magic, smoothing out any disharmony that seemed to rise from your situation at work. 

It always sloshes around in your mouth cold, fizzy like soda but it goes down your throat like a sweet mug of hot chocolate, bubbling up warm at the bottom of your gut like some kind of warm internal hug.  The glass you’d been nursing was empty by now, though. 

Some people get angry, giggly, reckless when they’re drunk. Maybe you would’ve been one of those people, but today? You were too tired to be anything except sleepy.  Arms crossed on top of the counter, resting your face on your forearms, you were maybe two seconds away from falling into the most blissful slumber of your entire life.  

The slumber, however, was unceremoniously tugged just out of reach by the man situating himself on the bar stool right next to yours.

 I mean, it wasn’t his fault technically. He hadn’t gone out of his way to shake you to get your attention or anything.  It just so happened the creaking of the bar counter under his palms seemed to do the work for him.  That didn’t stop it from ruining your evening, though. 

You pried your head from your forearms  like you needed a proverbial crowbar to pick your neck up.  Your brows were angrily set lower on your face, lips curled with an extra dose of distaste.  There’s a dissatisfied rumble in the back of your throat while you correct your posture, sitting up straight.  Reluctantly, you rub the sleep out of your eyes with a swipe of your hand.  

Impishly, the man who’d called out to you earlier snickers before turning towards the working bartender.  His Soulglad order goes unheard in your little stupor.  You raise your arms towards the ceiling, attempting to get a satisfying crack in your back to no avail, instead slouching in your seat again so you could reach for the nearly forgotten empty cup you’d downed about half an hour ago.

You wait for the bartender to come back from fetching the pretty stranger’s drink, patiently, formerly angry features melting into a much calmer expression.  You massage your temple with your free hand, trying to ignore the incoming hangover you’ll be dealing with come tomorrow morning.  

Despite very obviously appearing to be drowning your problems in liquor, the man sitting next to you seems reluctant to leave you to your sorrows and spirits.  

“You don’t seem to be doing so hot, big guy.”

You tap your finger on the rim on your glass, “Gee, what gave it away?” 

The first thing you notice about the man is his hair.  Compared to the rest of the crowd, it’s a jarringly soft, sandy blonde.  It’s the easiest thing to spot, especially since the alcohol is starting to blur your vision.  

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hums, leaning closer to you over the wooden counter.  “Why don’t you tell me?” 

The next thing you notice is his eyes.  The two of you lock gazes and it feels like you stop breathing for a second.  His iris was made up of electrifying hues of magenta and teal, lining his pupil in alternating rings.  

You stared for a moment too long to be considered natural, completely forgetting what he’d asked you in the first place.  You blinked, embarrassed, turning your attention to how empty your drink was.  You gave a heavy exhale through the nose before responding, “God, where would I even start?” 

“Well, take it from the top.” Finally, you take note of how expensive his clothing is.  As a Penacony native and one who works in tandem with the public sphere, you recognize the rings on his fingers from the high-end jewelers at Oti Mall the very second his rings clink on the wooden countertop. “I’m a really good listener when I want to be.” 

He’s leaning in closer, you can smell just the slightest hint of cologne from where he’s started resting his head on his hand.  

“Well,” You start, eyes tracing the fluff on his collar, “As flattered as I am, my lips are sealed.” 

He elongates the ‘Whaaaatt’ he lets out in response.  He sits up a little bit straighter.  It’s cute, reminds you of a bird fluffing up its feathers.  “I’m just trying to make some friends while I’m in town.  Saw you all by yourself and thought I might have found a kindred soul to talk to over a glass of wine.”

You huff, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips.  His playful attitude is infectious and you can’t help but fold when you’re this drunk and impressionable.  “We can talk, just not about my problems.  I save that for the second date at least.” 

The other man’s eyes light up with mischief, “Oh?”

The bartender finally returns with the mystery man’s wine glass.  He takes a look at the crimson in the glass, sizing it up before seemingly deciding it was satisfactory.  You, on the other hand, place another order for what you’d been pounding back earlier.  The younger bartender eyes you up and down for a moment, trying to figure out if you were drunk enough he should consider cutting you off for the night.  

Still, he disappears behind the counter again with your empty glass to get you another refill and you can focus your attention on the mystery man swishing his wine around in his glass.  He brings the glass just under his nose, seemingly surprised by what he smells. 

You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms over one another on top of the counter again.  “Did they stiff you?” 

He hums, “I can’t tell yet.”  He tips the glass back, taking just about the smallest sip you’ve ever seen anyone manage in a Penacony bar.   He lets the taste settle in his mouth, giving another noncommittal hum.  

You watch him in silence, hanging on his next word.  

Funnily enough, he doesn’t say anything next.  He holds the glass out to you.

You’re reminded of the alcohol muddying your senses when it takes you an extra second to realize he wants you to take the glass from him.  Dumbly, you blink at him, “Me?”  You jab a finger at your own chest, “You want me to taste test your wine?” 

He laughs, more breath than anything else, “Why not?” 

You purse your lips, “Well, I don’t know what you think I’ve been drinking, but the people I know don’t usually get buzzed on red wine.” 

He offers you the glass again, “Just try it, I want to know what you think of it.” 

You look at him funny, earning another laugh from him.  Tentatively, you wrap your fingers around the glass, just barely brushing your fingers with this mystery man.  “You’re strange, y’know.  Not a lot of people offer their drinks to total strangers.” 

You take a sip of his wine as he watches, seemingly captivated with the way your adam’s apple bobs when you swallow.

“Well,” he starts, taking the glass back just as the bartender on shift is returning with your own drink of choice, “We don’t have to be total strangers.” 

You take the glass from your coworker graciously, giving a curt nod to signal your gratitude.  But, unlike the last 3 times he’d gotten you the same drink, you don’t immediately take to gulping half of it down.  Instead, you’re staring back into the same magnetic eyes that you thought ruined your night earlier.  “Yeah? And what do you suggest we do?” 

He’s coy, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his wine, “We could start with names.” 

You didn’t think about it for long, already in too deep to act like you weren’t equally as enamored.  

“(name).” 

He sets his glass down on the table, seemingly uninterested in the contents at this point. 

 “Well, (name), you can call me Aventurine.”

As was customary in the land of festivities, the bar was once again alive with groups of friends, family, lovers, and strangers alike.  As was also customary, almost all of them nursed some kind of alcoholic beverage or Soul Glad while they conversed amongst themselves.  

A young woman with a tall wine glass would bat her eyes at a young fellow gripping a pint of beer like he needed it to breathe.  A group of older gentlemen seemed to have variants of the same drink, each just barely distinguishable from the drink next to it, belly-laughing about nonsense that made it obvious they were drunker than the bar staff should’ve allowed. 

That was the odd thing.  Normally, you’d be doing the same as everyone else.  The moment you clocked out of the most awkward, gruelingly uncomfortable work environment you’d ever been unfortunate enough to be subjected to, you’d just be another face throwing back a couple drinks to take off the edge before heading home to actually relax.  Today, despite the not-so-subtle lingering bar staff, you still hadn’t gotten yourself a drink just yet.  

You were waiting for someone.  

Well, you were maybe waiting for someone. 

 The two of you hadn’t agreed to meet up again after getting drunk off your asses the night prior, but you really hoped he would show up again. 

Absent-mindedly, you drummed your fingers on the top of the familiar wood with one hand, the other reaching into your pocket. It’d become a nervous habit.  Nobody really seemed to notice but the amount you would check the clock had drastically skyrocketed since you’d started working in the Dewlight Pavilion. 

Since you’d started working for Sunday.  

The moment you’d realized what you were doing, it was like a switch went off in your brain.  Your hand moved to tuck your phone back in your pocket, your inner monologue scolding you for getting so worked up over someone you’d only known for a few hours.

“...”

You sat in silence, both hands loosely gripping the edge of the counter top.  

You weren’t left by yourself for long, though.  In fact, literal seconds before you planned on flagging down a bartender to grab a drink, you were startled by a pair of gloved hands reaching out in front of your face to cover your eyes.  

The touch was delicate and the material of the gloves was familiar.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

Your heart rate picked up, automatically on high alert.

“Guess who?” 

Immediately, your heart dropped back down to where it was supposed to be in your chest. 

“Aventurine?” 

The gloves pulled away from your face, no longer obscuring your vision.  You noted immediately that they were black, not white.  You were so caught off-guard by the gesture earlier you hadn’t even thought to check what color the gloves were.  

The aforementioned man, none the wiser to your inner dilemma, rested his hands on your shoulders with a smile.  “How’d you know?”

On auto-pilot, your posture relaxed, an exhale passing through your lips in relief.  You played it off as a joke, swiping a palm across the back of your forehead animatedly, “Well, I only know a couple people with those gloves and you’re the only person who wouldn’t be trying to kill me.” 

He snickered, once again sliding onto the bar stool right next to you.  “Really?  You have enemies?” 

You shrugged in response.  

He hummed, “Color me surprised.” 

You smiled back at him, genuinely this time.  “Live and learn, right?” 

Aventurine nodded, raising an arm to flag down the bartender.  “As much as I’d like a repeat of yesterday afternoon, I actually have somewhere to be today.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Really? What have you got planned for your afternoon in the land of festivities?” 

He cracks a half-smile, “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.” 

You cock your head to the side, earning yourself an amused grin.  

He gazes off towards where the bartenders are running around like headless chickens, attempting to keep guests happy during the after-work rush.  “I rented out a huge roulette table for myself and a few big investors with the company I work for.”

You purse your lips, giving him a certain look he seemingly didn’t anticipate coming from you.  

He pushes your shoulder, “Hey, what’s that face for?  I’m plenty lucky!” 

You nod, incredulously,  “Uh-huh? Anything else you want to say?”  

He huffs, trying to hold a serious expression, but almost immediately he’s fighting an uphill battle.  “I’ve never lost a bet of any kind in my life.” 

You snort, “Whatever you say.” 

He crosses his arms, resting them on the bar counter, “I haven’t!” 

You can’t help the grin on your face nor the overconfident manner in which you doubt him.  You’d seen this kind of thing a million times before.  Tourists always like to play their luck gambling and it turns out, they don’t have much to play.  “Mhm.” 

Anything less than a smile is gone from his face at this point, “If you come to the roulette table with me, I’ll prove it to you.” 

While he’s looking straight at your side profile, you’re looking for a good moment to flag down one of the bartenders that’d seemingly forgotten the two of you existed at all.  “I don’t do gambling anymore.  I lost half a paycheck while I was drunk and I swore I would never do something that stupid ever again.” 

“You don’t need to be the one gambling,” he adds, almost a little too quickly.  “You can just sit back and watch.”  

You were already going to open your mouth to give him a maybe, but he cut you off before you could so much as make a sound.  “I’ll even cover your drinks for the night.”

You glance at the bar counter, seemingly weighing your options.  He interlocks his fingers, playing up the begging act before you swat his hands away with a chuckle, “Okay, okay! You’ve convinced me, you’re going to embarrass the both of us.” 

He silently cheers, hopping off the bar stool before motioning for you to follow him.  

Your jaw drops, “Now? We’re going now?” 

He nods,coffering a hand, “Well? The reservation starts in ten minutes and I plan on getting my money’s worth.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. 

You’re nervous.  

No, you should be nervous. 

You’ve talked to Aventurine for maybe 5 hours total if you’re being generous.  You shouldn’t be this eager to follow a random stranger, albeit  a handsome stranger, into some dark, shady roulette table room.  

But you are.  

You slip your hand into his, letting him lead you out of the VIP Lounge before you can consider turning down his offer. 

‘CRASH!’ 

The sound of the stapler clattering to the ground is deafening in the silence of Sunday’s office.  

With a swipe of his arm, the giant stack of paperwork he had yet to complete flew off the corner of his desk.  

‘THUMP!’ 

It falls in a giant heap to the ground, the recoil sending papers flying across the red carpet floor.  

He grabs the lamp that’d been in the office longer than he had by the base, yanking the cord out of the wall in the process. 

‘SMASH!’ 

The lightbulb shatters when it makes contact with the bookshelf he’d thrown it at.  All that’s left on his desk is the line of neatly organized pens in black and blue ink.  

Even then, that’s too much. 

With Herculean strength he didn’t know he possessed, he grabs his desk by its corners, flipping the entire thing over onto the floor.  

‘BANG!’ 

Sunday’s teeth are grit, grinding against one another hard enough his jaw aches.  His hands are shaking where they’re curled up into fists at his side.  His chest heaves, but not from the exertion.  

Something inside him burns. 

It rumbles, it aches, it hurts. 

His fingers itch for destruction of some kind, more destruction than tearing apart his office can give him.  He needs to see carnage, needs to cause some kind of catastrophe but his status means he can only do so much without jeopardizing his future prospects. 

The wings on either side of his face flutter indignantly. 

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.  

His vision is starting to get spotty.  

Every time he tried to swallow down the urge to tear apart anything and everything he could get his hands on, he just kept on seeing the pictures that’d sent him into such a fervor in the first place. 

Why?

Why? 

What was it about the IPC Stoneheart that caught your interest? 

What did he have to offer that Sunday didn’t? 

Originally, he tried to push down the burning feeling of competition.  

The first picture he’d been sent wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.  Aventurine cradled a glass of blood red wine in one hand, the other one was counting something off on his fingers.  You leaned in, resting your chin on one of your hands while taking a sip of your own drink.  

It was just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar! 

But then it wasn’t just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar, it turned into inviting you out on the town whenever you weren’t working.  

Every picture he was sent made Sunday feel like he was being jabbed with a hot poker.  The nagging voice at the back of his head went from being nothing more than occasional whispers to near constant chatter.  

Competition and jealousy boiled over, returning as steaming hot inadequacy and betrayal.  

The cameras around Penacony caught the two of you frequenting gambling dens, all smiles and coy banter behind the mountains of game chips Aventurine’s supernatural luck managed to rake in.  

The head of the Oak Family tried to come up with a reason why you’d choose to follow after Aventurine.  Maybe the family hadn’t been paying you enough, maybe you were only toying with Aventurine for his money.  If Sunday increased your pay, maybe you’d stop running around behind his back! 

But that would only explain the times you were pictured at the casino tables. 

What about all the times the two of you had wandered around the Moment of Scorchsand? 

Drinking, dancing, bar hopping?  Were those just an added on fling? Another way of cheating Aventurine out of his money?  

Or, or the moment of Stars?  

Did you need Aventurine’s money to have a good time at an amusement park?

Why did you pay for that date then? Why was that date your idea? 

Why did the cameras catch the two of you making out on the elevator ride up to Aventurine’s hotel room? 

The halovian clutched his head in both hands.

He needs the room to stop spinning, he needs those images out of his head. 

But he can’t seem to stop them, no matter how hard he tries.  The second he manages to push one down, another five images are burning themselves into his brain.  

Cruelly, the voice that’d been telling him to act on his suspicions sooner only seems to get louder and louder.  It laughs at him, ridicules him.  

Sunday cries out in pure anguish, sending a fist hurtling straight through the wall behind his desk.  

“FUCK!”

“Hngh… Oh-” 

Aventurine’s fingers curl in your hair, tugging your strands with enough force your scalp burns.  You groan, throat spasming around where you’d taken his cock down to the base.  The pleasant vibrations only send his head tipping back against the silk-cover pillows in a delayed moan, toes curling from where you’d thrown his legs over your shoulder.  

Your middle finger ghosts over his prostate a second time and his jaw drops.  Reflexively, he pulled your face closer to his pelvis leading you to choke.  You lave your tongue over one of the more prominent veins on the underside of his pretty pink shaft on your way up, kitten licking the tip as your chest heaves.  You take in a much deeper breath, pulling off of him completely in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube that’d you’d carelessly thrown aside earlier.  

His eyes are just a smidge glossed over when he picks his head up from the pillow, meeting your gaze with his lower lip jutted out in a pout.  “Mmm… I was so close, why’d you have to stop?” 

He’s a picture, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, teal button-up only half undone and hanging off his shoulders.  His collarbones and shoulders are littered with hickies in a plethora of colors, reminders of each time you’d found yourself in the same hotel room after a haze of a night spent drinking, gambling, and/or flirting.  

“It’s hard getting comfy with something down your throat, babe.” With the cap of the bottle already mostly screwed off, you make quick work of it with your teeth.  Pulling your middle finger out of his tight ass, you squirt a healthy dollop onto your middle and index fingers.  

His eyes drop to where your fingers are working him open, two fingers sinking in knuckle deep.  He whimpers when he hears the filthy squelch the lube makes when you start moving them back and forth.  His breath gets stuck in his lungs when he feels the pads of your fingers glide over his prostate again.  “Hurry up-” he bites his lip when he feels the warmth of your breath fan over his leaking tip, “Wanna feel you inside already.”

Your laugh is breathy as you start to scissor your fingers to make room for a third.  You blow cold air on his tip, relishing the way his knees try to lock up around your neck, the way his cute dick twitches.  He shoots you a half-hearted glare, pushing his hips further on your fingers to try and feel for that one spot that would send him to the stars above.  You’d hooked up with him enough to know exactly where it was in this position, angling your fingers to skillfully knead the little bump with startling accuracy.  

“Fuck- Yes, please, (name), right there!” 

His thighs seize up on either side of your head, eyes rolling into the back of his head.  One of the hands tangled in your hair finds itself covering his mouth, muffling his whines.  The hand still knotted up in your tresses tries to pull you closer, nonverbally pleading for more.  You slip in a third finger and he groans at the stretch,wiggling his hips even though you aren’t moving.

Your mouth is on his tip in an attempt to pacify him, licking over his slit as you pull your fingers out again.  He’s easily distracted and his hips are trying their best to thrust up from where they’re pinned on the mattress.  There’s another healthy slathering of lube on your fingers before you’re working him open again, taking as much of his pretty pink cock in your mouth without using your throat.  

His moans are getting higher and higher in pitch, grip getting tighter and tighter on your scalp.  He whimpers between them like he’s in pain, but the way his heels are digging into the small of your back, you know he isn’t actually hurting.   

“Ah~, (nickname), I’m gonna- I’m gonna cummmngh~”

Crystalline tears pool at the corners of his eyes, his back rising in the perfect arch the deeper you’re thrusting your fingers.  You pull off his dick with a smile, a line of saliva between your lips and the angry red tip serving a messy reminder.  You’re panting, both trying to catch your breath but also because you’re hardly containing your own excitement.  “Yeah? You’re gonna cum?” 

He nods his head quickly biting his lips, and Aeons, he sounds angelic when you prod around his insides looking for his prostate again.  “Mmhm… Ngh~” 

Your free hand wraps around the base of his dick with a smile, chuckling when his grip on your hair is just about tight enough he’s getting ready to pull out chunks of your follicles.  You’re stroking him up and down, nice and slow at the same pace you’re thrusting.  “You wanna cum?” 

He nods his head even harder this time, the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes starting to slide down his cheeks one by one.  

You stop stroking him, hand coming to a stop working his insides too, “I wanna hear you say it,” you press a lingering kiss on the top of his thigh, “Need to hear you say it f’me before you cum, darling.” 

He chokes on a frustrated sob, “I-I needa cum- please, baby, n-need it so bad-”

He’s too slow to bite his lip again, an uncharacteristically screamlike moan ripped from his throat the moment your hands started massaging his sweet spot again.  Despite already being arched, his back is pushing itself off the bed as he struggles to keep his voice down.  He’s chasing your hands, despite the fact they aren’t going anywhere. 

You start sucking a hickey into his inner thigh, watching the way his cock twitches and his legs jolt.  

“CUMminGgh! Oh, hoh- I’m cumMINg~” 

He keens, spasming and seizing up before he creams thick and heavy onto his chest with a labored sob.  His chest is moving so fast it looks like he’s hyperventilating and he’s scrambling to pry your mouth off his over sensitive inner thighs.  

You groan against his skin, immediately getting up from where you’re kneeling at the foot of the bed to crawl on top of him.  Despite just how intense he came, he’s more than eager to welcome you onto the bed with open arms.  His hands are immediately reaching for your shirt buttons, fumbling to get them undone with shaky hands.  You’re caging him in with one arm, the other reaching up to help him undo your button-up.  

He scowls at the last few–the ones he decided were taking too long–before he’s taking the fabric in both hands and popping the buttons off in one fell swoop.  You’re pleasantly surprised, even more so when his hand is reaching for your belt buckle all on his own.  

Usually, he enjoyed being pampered in bed, him taking the initiative was more than unexpected–pleasant, but unexpected. 

“What’s the rush?” You tease, letting your arm fall back into place holding you up, “I’m all yours, all night.” 

Aventurine whines, fingers catching on the clasp of the buckle, “That’s not soon enough, wanna feel you now.”

“Fuck…” The sight of him being so needy is turning you on to an embarrassing degree.  At this point, you’re guessing the front of your boxers are all but soaked through.  

The man underneath you isn’t the only one that’s impatient, it seems.  Moments later, your hand is reaching down to help him free you from the confines of your uniform slacks.  One of his hands reaches up to yank you down close enough to kiss him, clumsy and wanting. 

Your lips are about to connect, the night’s really heating up, and you couldn’t think of anything that could ruin the moment until- 

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

The two of you freeze, eyes darting towards the door.  

You look back down at him, “Were you expecting anyone tonight?” 

“No.” Aventurine scowls, pursing his lips, “I told the front desk to say I wasn’t here tonight.” 

You frown, “Then, who-” 

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

You get off the disheveled blonde, snatching his robe off the back of his closet door.  He takes it quickly, getting off the bed to cover himself.  

You’re trying to button-up what buttons remain on your shirt, redoing your belt buckle while you’re at it.  

Aventurine turns back to you, approaching the entrance to his luxury hotel suite as he shrugs the fluffy black robe, “Don’t think you’re getting away from me, we’re starting up again the second I’m-”

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

He grits his teeth, “I’m on my way!” 

He ties the waistband into a knot, sliding on a pair of equally fluffy slippers by the bedroom door before disappearing from sight. 

You don’t think much of it, after all, you’d spent enough nights out with Aventurine to know he was someone important in a huge corporation.  It didn’t seem out of the question that something might’ve needed his immediate attention. 

In the mirror of the wardrobe next to the bed, you’re fixing your hair and counting the buttons missing from your uniform when the door opens. 

“Sunday! What a pleasant surprise.”

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" happy gay month cuz u know u gay and stuff <3 "

guys there isn't that much smut don't be mad at me i have a heat fic and another fic about blowing out brant's back to write😔

ANYWAYS

If you guys haven't checked my pinned lately, I'd recommend giving it a read because it contains my plans for this account's future and all that good stuff <3

I really appreciate the people who stuck with me over like 5 months of prolonged absence, y'all are real ones and I wish I could kiss u all hot and romantical on the mouth

I'll admit this isn't my best work, especially since I've kind of fallen out of HSR and Genshin, but it's here for whoever wants to read it !

It's been wonderful getting to know all of you guys and I'm sincerely grateful for all the support you guys have shown for me and my little writing hobby :,)))))

divider credits:

@/im4yeons

@/saradika-graphics

@/enchanthings

@/cutestgrotto

[wosospacegirl]

i know we’re not there yet in the story but could it be possible to have some other head canons about r and kika when they’re together? i’m so obsessed with them 😭

Their first time

- The morning after was quiet.

- Y/n stirred first, groggy and slow, her brain foggy as flashes of the night before started to piece themselves together. She turned over, blinking the sleep from her eyes--and froze

- Kika was already awake, lying on her side, eyes wide and blinking fast like she hadn’t moved all night. When their eyes met, Kika blushed instantly. 

- “H-hi,” Kika whispered, already blushing like she’d been rehearsing it in her head for the past hour.

- Y/n stared at her for a second. Then groaned and face-planted into Kika’s shoulder.

- “Not much of a talker?” Kika asked, voice quiet but a little amused.

- Y/n shook her head, pressing a lazy kiss to Kika’s collarbone. “I just don’t know what to say,” she murmured against her skin.

- “It’s okay. I don’t know either.”

- Y/n didn’t move--just shifted closer, arm draping over Kika’s waist. “I’m tired. You’re warm. I like it.”

- Kika smiled, shy but full of something…tender.

- “Then stay.”

- “After last night, I’m never leaving,” Y/n said, voice raspy with sleep, her hand wandering to the side of Kika’s body, settling firmly against her skin. “Your thighs are very soft.”

- Kika blushed again, lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

- “Your boobs too,” Y/n added, tone completely serious.

- “You’re talking a lot for someone who didn’t know what to say,” Kika said, hiding her fluster with a playful eye roll.

Before they go to bed

- Every night, Kika teaches Y/n a little Portuguese. Y/n insists she wants to learn the swear words first. Kika always kisses her and says, “No--good ones first.”

- That’s how, just a few weeks into dating, Y/n knows how to say “meu coração” and “minha garota”. [my heart/my girl].

- Kika melts every time she hears them.

- Y/n pretends she only says them to get a reaction and a few kissed--but really, she loves how they sound when Kika smiles like that.

During games

- Y/n always looks for Kika when she’s ready to make a pass. Not because she’s unprofessional or has a favorite, but because their on-pitch connection is actually insane.

- Kika’s just always there–-perfect angle, perfect timing, always making the pass look effortless. It’s like they’re synced without even trying.

- They don’t realize it at first, but after a few games, someone points it out: they always walk off the pitch together. No words, no eye contact-–just shoulder to shoulder, a little brush of hands, and then they disappear into the tunnel.

..

I hope I kept you fed, dear anon.

i wrote two more point but they are way too small

[camzeecorner]

𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃 𝙱. 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃

To say you were obsessed was an understatement. Watching as Matt walked around the room, your eyes followed every movement. You couldn’t look away no matter how hard you tried, not that you wanted to.

You bit your bottom lip, watching as your eyes roamed his body. His back muscles flexed as he reached for the shelf above him. Watching as his pants hung low on his waist. The waistband from his boxers could be seen.

His shirt was discarded on the floor next to your bed. His hair wet from the shower, hanging down in front of his face. His silver chain hung from his neck as it sparkled in the light.

The bold ink displayed on his arms was enough to make you wet. You felt as your panties grew wet, making you clench around nothing. Your eyes never left his body, as if you were hypnotized.

As Matt walked closer to you sitting on the bed his eyes remained down, watching his phone. He was completely unaware of your eyes as they were glued to his body. A million thoughts were running through your head, feeling your breath quicken.

As Matt leaned back on the bed he caught a glimpse of you. Watching as your eyes stayed on him he couldn’t help but nervously smile. “You okay..?” He asked hesitantly. As you continued to watch him his words flew over your head.

Getting thrown off, you snapped back into reality when you see his hand waving in front of your face. Blinking rapidly, you turn your face to the side. “Did you hear me?” Matt asked. You slowly shook your head, watching as he rubbed his stomach in small circles.

“No, sorry.” You spoke up clearing your throat. Matt chuckled, “I asked are you okay. You were like in a different world for a minute.” You smiled at him and nodded. “All good.” Your voice light.

Matt nodded and went back to watching his phone. You grew even wetter over the last couple minutes. You were desperate for him to touch you. Feeling your core throb, you squeezed your thighs in hopes of feeling the release you were aching for.

Deciding you had enough, you quickly slid your pants off tossing them aside. You felt as the cold air hit your body feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. Getting up slightly you walk to the other end of the bed, where Matt laid still oblivious to your presence.

Slowly climbing on him, you watch as his phone went down as his eyes landed on you. His cheeks grew red as he looked your body up and down. He took notice as you were only wearing an oversized shirt with no pants.

“What are you.. doing?” Matt asked confused. You smile at him as you ran your fingertips over his chest. “Matty I need you.” You moaned in between your words. He gulped feeling his chest tighten.

“O-okay.” Matt said nodding. As he gave you his permission you slowly moved your hips on his stomach feeling the pleasure build. As you humped his waist you couldn’t help but moan. Feeling your core leak through and soak your panties, you looked at Matt.

His jaw was slack, watching your movements. He grew hard as he watched you pleasure yourself. He’d always fantasize seeing you like this. The idea of using him to get off. He was so in love with the sight of you like this. Watching you straddle his waist as you moved your body against his.

You felt his hands wrap around your torso helping you move. You threw your head back as you let out whimpers. Placing your hands on his chest, you leaned in kissing his lips passionately. Chasing your climax you felt your stomach tighten.

Feeling his lips move in sync with yours you moaned into his mouth. He slid his tongue over your lips silently asking permission to enter your mouth. Opening your mouth slightly you felt as his tongue found your own. As you desperately pressed your mouth against his craving more, you felt your legs shake.

“You gonna cum?” Matt asked against your mouth. You moaned, letting the whines and whimpers fall from you. As you choked on your words you nodded repeatedly. “Y-yea..” feeling as your eyes rolled backwards you bit your lip.

“Gonna cum from humping me? You’re such a fucking slut. What turned you on baby?” Hearing his words, you grew even wetter. “Y-you.. oh- you looked so good.” He chuckled as you struggled. He placed his fingers on you core, feeling the wetness. “So wet, all for me right?” He asked.

“All for you.” You moaned. Feeling his fingers push your panties to the side he quickly began rubbing small circles on your clit. As you felt his fingers abuse your leaking cunt your body trembled.

You squeezed around his fingers, watching as your cum coated his fingers. As he let you ride out your high, he slowly pulled his fingers from you. You whimpered quietly, as the feeling of being so full quickly disappeared.

He brought his fingers to his mouth sucking up all your juices. He moaned at the taste, licking his lips. As you regained your breath you felt your body grow tired. “Feel better?” He asked. You nodded slowly feeling your eyelids grow heavy, slowly collapsing your body on top of his.

Tag list - @shaquilles-0atmeal @monroesturnns @blahbel668 @mattssluttywaist @jetaimevous @kayeeaa @ribread03 @meatballlover10 @mattslolita @sophand4n4 @riasturns @nickysturnss @emely9274

dividers → @bernardsbendystraws gif → @vxnitra

[goldfades]

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[vanteguccir]

thinking about you and you and matt baking naked and your only wearing an apron while he stands behind you, his arms around either side of you helping you cook. BURB OF THIS???🙏🙏🙏

── ୨୧ !　BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

baking naked with matt!! 😩 + matt obsessed with your tits 🫶🏻

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The house was unusually quiet, save for the occasional hum of the oven preheating. Chris and Nick were out for the day, leaving Matt and Y/N alone, a rarity they both looked forward to.

Y/N stood by the counter, a soft, oversized apron tied snugly around her waist, skimming just above her thighs. Beneath it, she wore nothing, her skin warm against the fabric. The open air against her back was a familiar feeling, as was the comforting warmth of Matt’s body behind her.

Matt, just as naked, stood close, his chest pressing gently against her. His arms circled her waist loosely, the solid weight of his hands resting just above her hips, their warmth spreading into her skin. His head dipped, his lips brushing the curve of her shoulder in a lazy, featherlight kiss, lifting his blue eyes to watch her measure out flour into a mixing bowl.

"Are you sure this is the right amount?" She asked, tilting her head slightly to give him more access to what she was doing.

Matt squinted at the measuring cup, remembering the recipe he had just read on his phone.

"Eh, close enough. Baking is just like cooking, right? A little spontaneity never hurt anyone." His voice sounded low and slightly raspy.

Y/N laughed, her tone light.

"Baking is not like cooking, Matt. It’s a science. Too much flour, and these cookies will turn into hockey pucks."

"Alright, scientist." Matt grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Does it even count as baking if I’m just holding you the whole time?" He asked after some seconds of silence.

Y/N shrugged, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"You’re not just holding me. You’re also being a human heat and making it harder to focus."

Matt smirked, his lips twitching as he nuzzled back into the crook of her neck, close to her ear.

"Am I distracting you? I thought I was helping, with all the reading, you know?"

"You are distracting." She confirmed, her voice soft, though the smile in her tone betrayed her lack of protest.

His lips moved languidly along the line of her jaw, pressing small, innocent kisses that left her skin tingling. His breath was warm against her, his nose brushing lightly against her collarbone as he murmured.

"Tell me how I can help, then."

Y/N sighed, a mix of amusement and fondness.

"Okay, hold the bowl steady while I add the flour. No funny business."

Matt’s hands slipped from her waist to the red mixing bowl in front of her, keeping close, half of his chest flush against her right shoulder. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with hers, as if he were an extension of her own body.

As she measured the flour, she felt him shift slightly, the brush of his hips against the curve of her lower back sending a wave of warmth through her. His body fit so naturally against hers, and the skin-to-skin contact wasn’t strange or embarrassing. It was simply them.

"Careful." She said, biting back a giggle as he leaned forward to kiss her ear, his stubble lightly tickling her skin.

"I am careful." He mumbled, his voice muffled as he pressed another kiss to her jaw. "You’re the one spilling flour everywhere."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and melodic as she turned her head slightly to glare at him playfully.

"If I spill, it’s because you won’t stop kissing me!"

Matt’s lips curved into a smile against her neck.

"It’s not my fault you’re so kissable."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across her face. As she began mixing the ingredients, Matt’s hands found their way back to her body, his fingers splayed across her bare front.

His thumbs moved in slow, absentminded circles, his touch so gentle it made her heart squeeze. She felt his fingers skim just below her ribs, brushing lightly against her skin. His touch lingered along the soft curve of her stomach, and she noticed how his movements slowed, almost reverent.

"You' know that you have these little hairs right... here?" He murmured, almost as if he was just discovering that - which wasn't the case, since Matt always found his way to the area very easily. His voice sounded soft and almost in awe as his fingertips caressed the barely noticeable peach fuzz along her lower stomach.

Y/N felt a flush of warmth rise to her cheeks, though his gentle movements soothed any hint of self-consciousness she could ever have.

"Is that a bad thing?" She asked, her voice light but curious.

"No." Matt replied immediately, his voice filled with admiration. "I love it. It’s you."

She didn’t respond, only leaned back into him, her hands still working on the soon-to-be cookies.

"How do you make this look so easy?" He asked, observing Y/N whisking the batter.

"Practice." She answered with a small shrug. "And patience. Two things you’re not exactly known for."

Matt gasped in mock offense.

"Rude. I am the meaning of patience."

"Matt, you couldn’t wait five minutes for Chris to finish in the shower last night before filming."

"Okay, but that’s different. Chris takes forever in there." He defended, making her laugh again.

Finally, the dough was ready, and they began shaping it into small balls to place on the baking sheet. Matt insisted on making one overly large cookie "for testing", while Y/N meticulously lined up her smaller, perfectly formed balls.

"Yours are so... perfect." Matt observed.

"Yours looks like baseball balls." She retorted, smirking.

"Jealousy doesn’t suit you, babe." He teased, pressing a kiss to the side of her forehead.

"Shut up and help me put those into the oven."

Whith the cookies - now inside the oven - growing, the warm, sugary aroma filling the kitchen, Y/N leaned against the table, stealing a quiet moment to admire the stillness of the house. She could feel Matt’s gaze on her before she even turned around.

"Come here." He asked softly, his voice a low hum of affection.

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn’t resist as he gently tugged her away from the table and into his arms. Her back pressed against his chest as his hands found her waist first, his fingers brushing lightly over the apron’s edge.

"Matt." She said with a content sigh, already sensing where this was going.

"What?" He murmured, his tone playful but tender. "I’ve got time to kill, and you’re standing here looking irresistible."

Before she could respond, his hands moved upward, slipping beneath the soft fabric of her apron. His palms skimmed her sides before settling over her boobs, cupping them gently.

"Every day." He murmured against her ear. "Every single day, I think about these beauties. Can’t help myself."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned further into him, her body relaxing against his.

"You’re obsessed, you know that?"

"I’m not even denying it." Matt replied, a smirk evident in his tone.

His hands moved in slow circles, his thumbs brushing lightly over her nipples. His touch was neither rushed nor teasing, just tender, familiar, and grounding, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes as she let herself sink into the moment, feeling grateful for the weight against her chest and her back loosening for a bit. His lips brushed the shell of her ear before moving lower, leaving a trail of soft kisses along the curve of her neck.

"They're so soft." He murmured, his voice warm and hushed as if he were sharing a secret. "I could stay like this forever."

Y/N smiled, tilting her head slightly to allow him better access.

"You say that every time."

"And I mean it every time." He countered, his lips curving against her skin. "This is nice."

"Yeah." Y/N agreed, finally moving her hands, resting them on top of his, squeezing slightly. "Just us. No noise, no chaos..."

He nodded against her hair.

"We should do this more often. Naked baking. It’s a vibe."

Y/N laughed, turning her head to look at him.

"As long as no one comes home early. I don’t think Chris or Nick would appreciate finding us like this."

Matt made a face.

"Yeah, that’s definitely a mood killer."

The timer beeped, signaling the cookies were ready. Matt let go of Y/N so she could grab the oven mitts and pull the tray out. The sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the kitchen, making both their mouths water.

Matt grabbed a cookie as soon as it was on the cooling rack, ignoring Y/N’s protests about waiting.

"Fuck! That's so hot!" He exclaimed, tossing the cookie between his hands before finally blowing on it.

Y/N shook her head, grinning as she took one herself, waiting a moment before taking a bite.

"You’re ridiculous." She said, crumbs clinging to her lips.

"And you love it." Matt replied, leaning in to kiss the crumbs away.

"I do." She admitted softly, her smile widening as she saw him reaching for more cookies. "Matt, leave some for your brothers!"

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"!

[bunnyscryptarchived]

So Wet

content / warnings -> MDNI (18+) —TABOO

🖋️sarah cameron x fem!reader: cw ; perv!sarah, masturbating with shower faucet, oral(f), degradation, praise, fingering.

part one!

sarah couldn't help it. she knew it was wrong—still, she couldn't stop herself from swiping your panties out of your laundry after she told you she was heading up to take a bath before bed. relishing in her perversion. she buried her nose deeper in to the soft fabric and inhaled deeply. gripping the edge of the tub so hard her knuckles turned white as the warm water flows on her puffy clit. sarah rotates her hips— bucking in to the water as she pictures you touching her. hands gripping her breasts, traveling down her stomach, before burying your face in to her cunt. you'd make her feel so good. her obsession with you grew day by day and tonight it's at an all time high.

you laid back on the couch. finishing up the last of the movie. stomach full of worry. sarah had been gone awhile, it's not like her to miss out on a movie. maybe you should go and check on her.. she has been acting strange lately. climbing up the stairs, it's eerily quiet until you hear water running and the sound of heavy breathing.

inching closer to the bathroom, you crack the door open. seeing sarah writhing under the faucet, your panties under her nose. jaw dropped and eyes wide as your eyes lock on to the way she holds herself up with arm. chest rising rapidly as her stomach contorts. she looks angelic. her tanned skin glistening. the entire scene had you losing your mind with lust, clenching your thighs as you admire your best friend get off. loving the pretty sounds leaving her lips. you could tell from the way her eyes rolled back and the speed of her hips that she was close and you didn’t want to miss out.

“want some help there?” your voice comes as a shock as sarahs screams and nearly looses her grip. clumsily jolting to sit inside the tub fully. the sight woudve been comical enough to make you laugh but you’re far too turned on.

“i- what… how long have you been standing there!?” she makes no move to cover her chest as you stalk closer to her. arms stretched across the tub as your face is inches away from hers.

“long enough.” tongue darting out to wet your bottom lips as your eyes travel down her body. “now i asked… if you wanted some help.”

sarah lays against your chest, head thrown back on your shoulder. muffled moans coming thru the panties that you shoved in her mouth, brown eyes squeezed shut as your fingers disappear deep inside her and come back out soaked.

"take my fingers so well" planting greedy kisses against the soft skin of her neck while circling the tip of your pointer finger over her clit, she bucked her hips at the feeling.

"wanna see you cum, baby, show me, how you cum”

you felt her tighten around your fingers, her body shaking as she panted heavily against you.

you pulled sarah's body tighter against your chest, locking her in place as you took the panties out of her mouth— fingers gradually, but quickly quickening their pace inside of her.

you could hear her moans more clearly now and my god did she sound so sexy.

she whined and bucked her hips harder into the palm of your hand. she tried closing her legs close around your hand, but you used your free hand to pry them back apart. “nah baby, keep those legs open for me” 

"be a good slut for me."

her fingers clenched tightly on the arm you used to pin her body against yours as there pit in her stomach raged at this point. " oh fuck— fuck! wanna cum for you”

"then cum for me."

the sync of your fingers inside of her and the way the heel of your hand grinded on her clit just right had her seeing stars as her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

you could feel a wet slick pool on the palm of your hand as she rocked against you. her body pressed hard against you mixed with watching her cum jump starting your own orgasm.

"o-oh shit"

her nails dug deep into your arm as you both squirmed against each other. your teeth latching on to her shoulder.

as you both came down from your highs, basking in each other's presence. sarah's head tucked into the crook of your neck as you planted a kiss to her hairline. you sat in comfortable silence until,

"so when did you turn in to such a little perv huh?"

your friendship is not going to be the same after this

tags: @juniebugg @breeistired @ijustwantttoread

[lilolebambi]

pretty little angel...m.s

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ: FILTH. p in v (#wrapthat #dont do this!!) theres barely plot. riding. use of angel n baby. (heh.) sub!matt<3 teasing. creampie. use of ma. (ONCE) praise. thas abt it.

You've been wanting Matt for a while. It's not a crush at this point. It's an obsession. You've been jumping over hurdles to get with this guy. Every party you see him at, every hang out you guys have—There's tension, the eye contact, the almost kisses... it's ridiculous. Everyone else can tell you're into him, and as far as you're concerned, he's into you.

You were so sitting on the couch watching a movie with Matt, his finger tracing patterns on your thigh when you just couldn't take it anymore. "Matt?"

"Hmm?" His eyes don't tear away from the screen, "I'm gonna fuck you."

He slowly turns towards you, eyes widening. "....wha?" You smile at his reaction. "That okay with you?" He nods. "Y-yeah— that's amazing with me—"

One kiss leads to another kiss, which leads to you dragging him to your room and his Matt's boxers being discarded on your floor along with your panties. You're so finally happy to have him under you like this. Flushed cheeks and sweaty hairs sticking to his face while he can let out are moans and whimpers. This'll be engraved in your memory for sure.

A helpless whine escapes his lips as you roll your hips, stimulating his cock perfectly. He throws his arm over his face. "Nuh uh, none of that, Angel. Wanna see your pretty face as I fuck you." His hips rise to yours in small, careful thrusts. "Don't call me th—that—"

"Why?" You remove his arm from his face, "You look like an angel, you should see how good you like right now," You purr, moving your hand to his chin. "Maybe I should fuck you in front of my mirror so you can see for yourself."

His dick twitches inside of you as his eyes widen. "N-no— mh—" You giggle at his reaction. "Why...? You'd get to see how good I'm taking your cock, you'd like that wouldn't you?" You tease, his cheeks flush as his breath hitches. His hips move in sync with yours, "M' just teasing. Maybe next time, though.... since you like the idea so much." You release his chin, beginning to bounce on his cock.

He throws his head back into the pillows, a loud cry of pleasure escaping his lips at your movements. His fingers dig into your hips, desperately trying to find something to hold onto. "That feel good, Angel?"

His face scrunches up, his nose crinkling. He lets out a shaky moan. "Mh-hm... toogood— when you bounce like that—" His hips stuttering up, "G-gonna make me cum—" You smirk at his words, leaning down to leave marks on his neck, "So pretty, Baby.. so, so, pretty." You murmur into his neck. He melts at your words, the praise getting to his head. "Shi— stop calling me pretty or m gonna cum—"

"But you are.." You purr, sitting up to give his neck a break. "Such a pretty boy...makin' pretty noises all f'me." His eyes roll back slightly, a deep moan escaping his lips as he struggles to maintain control. "Fuccccck— you're gonna make me cum!" His hips buck wildly, his cock throbbing inside you. "Wan— wanna cum with you— b-but I can't hold it—" He whines, tears forming in his eyes. "Shhh, you can make me cum later, kay?" You kiss his cheek before slamming down your hips on him, making him gasp.

"Gonna cum for me, Matt?" He nods desperately, face twisting in pleasure. "Yyes— gonna fucking cum! Gonna make me cum so hard— please– let me cum inside you—" He pants, you tilt your head at him. "You want it that bad?" He nods frantically, his body trembling. "Yyes! I want it so bad– want to fill you up, want you milk every drop out of my cock!" He's barely coherent at this point, completely lost in pleasure. "Please... I'll be your good boy." He's too cute.

You slam down your hips one more time, "Cum for me, Matt." His body tenses then convulses as that band in his stomach snaps. A loud, pathetic cry leaves his lips as his cock pulses and throbs, releasing a hot stream of cum deep inside you. His hips buck uncontrollably, riding out the waves of pleasure as he empties himself completely. You kiss him deeply as his thrusts slowly come to a stop. "Was that..?"

He pants heavily, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high. He looks up at you with unfocused, satisfied eyes. "That was.... fucking incredible." He swallows hard, a soft smile on his lips as he slides from under you and onto the floor. "You said I could make you cum later, right?" He says softly, parting your legs and licking at his cum and your juices running down your legs.

"Gonna make you feel so good, Mama."

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns @drewswife @strnilolover @cvnts4demi

a/n: idk where this came from tbh.....erm!

[almostempty]

because of you (dave york x f!reader)

wc: 7k | other fics | rating: 18+ dddne | read on ao3 |

summary: You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

note: as per usual i took a prompt that could’ve been simple.. ‘never have i ever cried during sex’ x dave york .. and i thought.. how can i make him worse? so…here’s some dark!dave and no worries if any of the tags are a nope, i’ll be back with more threesomes soon

tags/warnings: explicit, dead dove do not eat, non con, unreliable narrator, delusional dave, infidelity, just a little bit of knife play 🔪 (no blood), pussy slap(s), face slap(s), a few uses of whore and slut, raw non-con piv and creampie (duh), bi reader has a wife!, crying during sex, little bit of ass play (whoa, who did that), obsessive behavior/ruminating, no york kids, no y/n, able bodied afab reader, ooc dave but also he’s a loving husband okay

thanks to: @auteurdelabre @gothcsz @syd-djarin @slimybeth69 @hoelaris @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @yxtkiwiyxt (…i think the gang’s all here lmao <3) it takes a village and thanks to y’all for support at different stages of this idea and over the darkest days of the year. i think this is the first thing i’ve been able to finish since December, so like we’re so back! (i hope) And to kiwi <3 i was so flattered you would trust me with a prompt for your man and, uh, i hope you would again after this lmao! 

"Oh! Marina, do you still have that game?"

Heads swivel, all focus shifting to you–bouncing on the balls of your feet and sporting a sheepish grin as you realize you’ve interrupted your party host. Your neighbor is unfazed and parts easily from the other neighbors she was entertaining, finding the game for you as the party-goers voices resume buzzing.

The light in your eyes brightens, your whole face awash with excitement. Dave watches as you find a seat for yourself, cross-legged on the floor in front of your spouse, reaching for the box the hostess grabs from the shelf.

“I loved playing this in college!” You look like a kid on Christmas as you open up the box. 

Autumn, your wife, shakes her head as she laughs. “You just loved using this game to make your move in college.”

Dave exhales a quiet chuckle, though something darker hums beneath it. He turns his wedding band between his fingers, but his eyes haven’t left you.

“Yeah, well it worked on you,” you jest over your shoulder as she passes your wine glass to you, in sync. 

You’re too expressive—your reactions are instant, unguarded. Loud laughter, teasing quips, a warmth that feels too good to be real. He’s spent most of the night cataloging them, the faces you make, the sound of your voice, and the curve of your lips. 

He wonders what your eyes would do if he wrapped his hand around your throat. Would they sparkle with the same joy? Would you be willing and eager for him? 

That thought slithers in and settles in the front of his mind.

He can’t make out what it is about you that draws him in. But he keeps watching. Waiting.

And now, in a room full of people, you have his rapt attention. He’s glued to everything you do. 

“What was your move?” Carol asks before Dave can. 

Autumn starts to tell the story for you. In college, you were always that person who stayed up the latest. The one that was still in the kitchen at three in the morning, having a heart-to-heart with a friend or a stranger. How you’d convince anyone to watch the sunrise with you. 

And that you had this habit of asking everyone their middle name before you’d finish your second drink.

You nod along as she describes the college version of you. Dave can picture it all clearly. He thinks you’d still stay up to watch the sunrise if anyone else at this party was willing. There’s something different about you–an energy that the rest of the run of the mill neighbors have had beaten out of them with HOA meetings and shitty bosses. 

“But her real trick,” Autumn continues warmly, with just a hint of teasing, “she’d lure you in with her magnetic personality—” 

“Is that what you’re calling my tits now?” The two of you laugh, ignorant to some of the uncomfortable husbands and wives shifting their weight as their eyes dart away from your chest. 

“No. They know what I mean!” Autumn addresses the room again, “She’d take you by the hand and pull you somewhere secluded…” 

“Not, like, immediately! I like to actually play the game too,” you edit before taking a sip from your glass, mesmerizing Dave with a behavior as simple as swallowing.

“I think you just liked trying to set up your friends before you’d run off with whoever you’d picked to get lucky.” 

“I’m good at matchmaking.” You shrug. 

“Is that what you wanna call it?” your wife teases. 

“Mmm, what about..” you roll your head around like it’s heavy, “I’m good at reading when two people wanna fuck. And giving them a little push.” You squish two invisible people together between your hands with a satisfied grin, and when your eyes flick to match Dave’s he feels the world start to narrow. 

“Right.” Autumn agrees, reluctantly. “So picture this,” she goes on addressing the whole party. “It’s late, you’ve been drinking, and now she’s got you with this look that says, ‘I wanna know everything about you.’” 

“I do like getting to know people,” you mouth quietly, aware you’ve been interrupting. Your eyes are still on Dave and he lets the meaning of your attention sink in.   

Until Autumn squeezes your shoulder, a silent I know, and you tip your head against her hand affectionately as she continues. 

“But the thing is, you see, she’s still got your full name in here,” she taps your temple gently. “She’d play everyone right into her hand with ‘Never have I ever’ rounds that would make you blush.”

“So, now she’s got you all starry-eyed, right? All worked up and flirty, spilling your secrets... And that’s when she pulls out her move—” She cuts herself off with a smirk, looking across the room. “Dave, what’s Carol’s middle name?” 

“Marie.” 

“Show her,” Autumn murmurs in your ear. With a wave of your hand Dave shifts on the sofa, so you can squeeze in next to his wife. He lets you in, but stays unnecessarily snug. 

Pressing your knee into Carol’s, you give her your undivided attention, gleaming eyes locked on hers.

“Never have I ever…” you tap your lip in thought, a hint of a smirk curling, “kissed a woman named Carol Marie.” 

Neither of you move. 

Dave’s skin heats up watching you hit on his wife—even if it’s just a demonstration—the chemistry is palpable. You hold his wife’s gaze for a long pause, letting the charge fill the whole room. 

“You think you could help me change that?” you ask, putting on an innocent voice, and tucking Carol’s hair behind her ear like a hallmark romance movie. 

For a second, Dave swears you start to lean in, but his wife breaks the spell. 

“Well, I can see how you’d seal a deal with that move.” Carol laughs, a little breathy, shaking you off. You skip back across the room like you just won something, or stole it. 

“All in good faith,” you claim with a wink, and everything comes into focus for Dave. You wanted him to watch, to get the front row seat. To feel the warmth of your body next to his. You were planting a seed, making a show of toying with Carol. 

You’re good. He smirks to himself, before sliding back to his wife, a possessive hand resting on her thigh. “Thought you were going to whisk this one away from me for a second there,” he says, eyes locked on you. 

“It’s powerful, right?” Autumn shares with pride, clasping her hands on your shoulders as you lean back against her knees. 

“I did alright with it,” you add on. “College boys were almost too easy, though. Some strong eye contact and they’d fold without even getting into the game!” Your quip lightens the room, the charge between you and Carol fading away. But Dave knows it was a coded message. He’ll play your game. 

Your story inspired some other college tales from the other neighbors. Marina’s husband brings out some more snacks and the conversations carry easily as the night wears on. 

The room is softly lit and the drinks flow. Eventually couples file out and soon the party has dwindled just to you and your wife, the hosts, and Carol and Dave. 

You convince the remaining couples to play the game for real, rifling through the cards and frowning at a few of the pre-written statements before shuffling them up. “After dark my ass,” you chide reading the marketing claim on the box. “Some of these are more like icebreakers for a corporate team building event but I saw some good ones in here too.” 

There’s some kind of point keeping system written in the box that you immediately decide to ignore in favor of just ‘getting to know each other’s secrets’. 

And, you’re right, of course. Some of the cards are more tame like, ‘never have I ever been in a hot tub’ or, ‘never have I ever shoplifted,’ though, you do end up revealing your sticky fingers as a youth to the room. 

You laugh it off, claiming you were just a dumb kid that should’ve been caught. But Dave sees beneath it. You’re a thrill chaser. Too smart to get caught, even as a teen. Or maybe if you were caught, you’d talk your way right out of it. 

Some of the cards are a little racier, revealing some intimate details Dave didn’t expect to learn about his neighbors, along with some “scandalous” stories he finds boring. Strip club stories, faking orgasms, a story about role playing in the bedroom that had Marina’s husband shrinking in his seat before she cut herself off. 

Your answers are consistently on the adventurous side, he doesn’t see any shame in your face. Even when you surprise your wife with some answers.  

Dave knows you watch him, he can feel you studying his reactions and keeping track of every answer. He feels you when he’s not looking, feels the connection between you tugging at him. 

You hide it well, such a smart girl. Nobody besides him would be able to decode your silent communications. It makes the entire game more interesting to Dave. 

You find yourselves locking eyes again as your lips meet your glass. The gleam in your eyes shoots straight down to the base of his spine, but he keeps cool. The game keeps unfolding as you take turns drawing cards and swapping stories. 

Dave doesn’t volunteer any stories, more content with listening. He doesn’t balk when Carol shares anything, if anything it only adds to the buzz already present in his veins from the liquor, and strokes his ego. He decides your wife seems open, not embarrassed by much. 

Marina giggles again. Dave clenches his jaw. If this game got really dark, she’d be the first to pass out. He bets she’d faint before he even reached for his drink.

‘Never have I ever stabbed someone and watched the light fade from their eyes,’ he swirls his tumbler imagining the thud of Marina hitting the floor. She’d definitely pass out if he drank to that. But, you? You wouldn’t. He can tell. 

Turns out none of the cards have any prompts about murder or espionage. Just more first date types of questions or kinky ideas for housewives. 

But, there is one. One unassuming card that does something sinister to Dave. It sinks sharp little claws into Dave’s mind and latches on tight. 

It’s not the most sexually depraved card. It doesn’t uncover some shocking truth about you. It’s not something he would’ve thought twice about before tonight. 

But then, you read it out loud. In your too sultry voice for present company. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” 

Your brow furrows in thought. Everyone, including Marina’s husband, takes a sip of their drink admitting they’ve shed coital tears. 

But you’re still. Head tilted, staring into space like you’re trying to run calculations. 

“This is what stumps you?” your wife jokes as you continue sorting through memories. “You saying I’ve never fucked you to tears?” 

That gets a smile out of you. “No, things definitely get wet. Maybe some tears, but not, like–really crying? I don’t think so.” 

“Not even messy makeup sex? After a fight?”

You shake your head. Marina frowns. 

“Makes it more intense,” Carol floats. “Physically…emotionally.” 

Dave glances at his wife with a smirk. He can feel the weight of everyone’s attention shifting between him and his wife. Whatever they’re picturing probably isn’t far from the truth. 

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with something before you nod your head. You draw a card for your wife to read, clearly hoping to move on. But you don’t. 

“Never have I ever…had sex in a car.” Autumn reads out. The whole room drinks to that one, and you raise your glass, jokingly toasting the room for the shared debauchery. But Dave sees the curiosity still brewing inside of you. He sees it the rest of the night. Between rounds and as conversations fizzle. 

You never move on from the thought of really crying during sex. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing. The emotional release. 

He knows you’re still thinking of it. 

He’s still thinking of it. What you’d sound like. The way your entire body would jerk beneath him with every sob. 

It’s late and Dave can tell Carol’s nearly ready to call it a night. She gives him a nod and they’re up and saying their goodnights. You and Autumn take the cue to leave as well, gathering your things and heading for the door at the same time. 

You head out into the clear night, walking together for a block before waving Dave and Carol off and turning into the cul-de-sac. Dave can still hear your warm voice in the air as he opens the front door for his wife. 

It echoes in his head the rest of the night. 

He can still hear it when he wakes up. 

When he closes his eyes he sees yours glinting back at him. Your smile and the long line of your neck when you toss your head back with laughter. 

He can still smell the perfume you wore. The one that wrapped around his mind and lodged itself in his memory bank. 

He can still feel the warmth of your body from when you sat next to him to put your move to work on his wife.  

But, above all else one moment rings loudly–so salient he can touch it and taste it. It’s the wrinkle between your worried brows. The faraway look he aches to correct. The dreamlike yearning behind your eyes for a fantasy yet to be fulfilled. A fantasy he will fulfill. An idea. 

An idea he cannot stop picturing. …a plan.

It haunts his waking consciousness and fills his dreams at night. Visions of you with tears streaming from your eyes, lips parted with his name rolling off your tongue. Between gasps you’re pleading, choking his name out between sobs, eyes wide, begging for mercy. It stirs something he can’t ignore, and it burns like embers, day and night. 

At first, Dave indulges. 

When he wakes with a throbbing erection and the ghost, the dream version of you against heating his skin, it’s simple. He transfers his passion to his wife, finding some relief as he spills hot and desperate inside of her. 

If they don’t have time in the morning, he makes time in the shower, tugging earnestly at his cock until it pulses in his fist as your name haunts his mouth. He goes on like this for days, waiting for the intensity to pass. To ease. 

But over time, Dave becomes irritated. 

He can’t get you out of his fucking head. At work, at home, in bed, in the middle of the night, before he wakes up. Unprompted, unprovoked. You’re in his skin, in his blood, in his subconscious. 

Your roots grow deeper. No matter how he twists it, the same image plays on repeat. Over and over. You, fixed in his mind.

Dave decides to start getting up even earlier. He goes for long runs in the morning, trying to reprogram his own body. Soldiering through this affliction. The exertion should be enough of a distraction, some other kind of physical outlet has to help. But as well intended as it is, the plan backfires horrendously. 

Because of you. 

You’re also an early morning person. Of course. 

Dave passes you on the sidewalk, on the walking trail, in another neighborhood entirely. No matter which direction he starts in, he can’t escape your path. And worst of all you’re just as chipper before the sun is up as you are after it sets. 

You wave and say good morning or hello or maybe you’re calling him an asshole he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t stop. He can’t. 

Dave only nods, muttering a good morning as he passes you. His feet pound against the sidewalk as loud as his heart pounds in his ears. 

He can’t stop. He won’t stop. 

When he stops you’re thrilled, a wide grin spreads on your face as you confess you’ve been hoping to catch him on a cool down. That you’ve been delighted to see another person taking advantage of the calm before the world wakes up. You chat away softly as his mind races and he responds with appropriately timed grunts and nods. 

Sweat cools on his back and his shirt sticks to his skin between his shoulder blades, a discomfort that pales in comparison to the twisted scream in his gut before it all goes quiet. Calm. 

Dave walks back through the neighborhood with you mirroring the same glowing smile you wear.

He can allow this. Walking together. It's a coincidence really, it wasn’t something he planned. 

And it’s easy. 

Because of you. 

You’re talkative and reliable. In the same place at the same time. Full of stories and jokes, and with an exceptional memory for details—at least for anything he shares about himself. 

You don’t have the same strength as him—not cardio wise—but to resist. To abstain from the pull that connects you. The fated path that draws you together like gravity. 

You brace a hand on his bicep when you laugh, you hold his gaze longer than necessary when you share something personal, and you only cement yourself deeper into his soul day by day. His walls stay up, he’ll hold the boundaries for you both. 

He won’t break them. He can’t. 

Danger is unpredictable and lurks in the most insidious places. A neighborhood barbecue. The draw between you is overpowering and with every glass of wine, you’re closer to asking a question he won’t be able to resist. 

The night pulls in closer, wrapping around just the two of you. You want this. He can see it. Feel it in the way your body leans toward his and the whispers in your smile. When you sit next to him on Marina’s back porch he can taste the trouble rolling off of your tongue. 

You ask for his middle name with what he swears is a wink, and you lean against him shoulder to shoulder, sighing so deeply he feels it in his bones. Like you were meant to hold each other up, to ease the weight of the universe. 

Before you say anything else, Autumn saunters through the yard. She takes your hand and walks you home and Dave finds his own wife and does the same. Leading Carol just past the entryway of their home before he’s tearing off her clothes and sinking his cock deep inside her. It dulls the ache, but doesn’t fully soothe the pain. Nothing will. 

Because of you. 

You’re a splitting headache demanding his attention, pulsing beneath his skull and racing down his spine. Relentless and insatiable. 

After that night, he notices you change tactics. You feed him little crumbs in every conversation. Leads you know he’ll follow. Hints about the weak spots in your relationship, your unlived dreams, your pent up desires. 

He knows what you’re asking for. He reads exactly what you’re saying between the lines. His walls are crumbling and it gets harder and harder to be the one solely responsible for keeping the boundaries between you. 

He compartmentalizes. Conceding. You can have his dreams, his showers, his mornings. Take them. Keep them. 

But it’s never enough. 

It grows stronger. 

To obsession. 

Inky and dark it slips through his morality calling to the part he keeps locked up. The part that lets him take a life and twelve hours later be a husband. The part that lets him distort casualties to unfortunate consequences of the work. The part that perverts complexities into black and white decisions. 

Simplified. 

Dave blinks again. 

When he opens his eyes he stares at his dark ceiling listening to the sound of Carol’s breathing. And when he closes his eyes he sees you. He hears you begging for him. He can taste the salt on your skin and feel your nails digging into his shoulders. And it’s clear. 

Because of you. 

Clarity is a drug. You aren’t a distraction—you’re his path. This is what he was made for. Missions, execution. Giving you what you’ve been asking for? Child’s play.

He already has most of the information he needs. It’s a game of waiting and watching. 

Learning. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out the details. The challenge is that you and Autumn are rarely apart. You both work from home, leaving such small windows of time where you’re reliably separate. It’s not hard to get the intel he needs, he has all the connections he needs to find out about the companies you work for. 

He knows every meeting on your schedule. Every professional development conference on Autumn’s company calendar. 

From here, it’s effortless. 

Dave walks up your steps, checking Autumn’s schedule once more on his phone before slipping it into his pocket and knocking on the door. You answer with surprise before inviting him in, apologizing that your wife is on a work call upstairs. He assures you it’s fine, he just wanted to give something to you. 

Cookies. 

Dave brings cookies that Carol made. A neighborly gesture. No ulterior motive. Aside from taking the opportunity to snoop around the house, scoping out everything he needs to know while you’re none the wiser and your wife never even sees him. 

You’re gracious, of course, offering coffee or something stronger. And then your voice lowers and you’re closer without even moving your feet. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I know.” 

It’s in your eyes again, that look he knows how to fix. “Thank you,” you speak deliberately, slowly. “Thank you for being more than a neighbor. For being…a friend.” 

But you don’t mean friend. Not the way you tilt your head and the dopey smile you flash. No, he knows exactly what you mean. You don’t have to say it out loud. 

He smirks to himself, satisfied not just with the intel he collected, but with how smitten you are with him in your kitchen. How bad you must need him—he can practically smell it on you. His fingers twitch, idly at his side. 

He knows exactly how many minutes are left before Autumn’s meeting ends. The daylight and open windows don’t deter him. He could have you wrecked and put back together, presentably, in the minutes he has to work with. But he’s greedy. When he gets you to himself he’s not going to stop until presentable is no longer an option. 

Days pass, routine and bland. He doesn’t see you for a few days. Then you’re back to your morning run. But it doesn’t matter. He’s consumed by the details of the next step. He channels everything into it. He’s been given purpose. 

And when it’s finally here, the night he intends to execute his plan, he’s calm. His heart beats slowly, rhythmically, and he moves with steady, premeditated motions.   

Carol is out of town, that was easy to arrange. Autumn is out of town. That required some coordination, pulling strings and cashing in on a favor. He organized an invite to an elite seminar in another state, confirming her arrival and attendance earlier this evening. 

Everything is aligned as he designed it to be. He almost wishes his team was here, just because they work so seamlessly together and he gets off on the rush—but you’re going to be his and his alone tonight. 

He slinks inside, avoiding the front door camera, disabling the alarm. Straight to your bedroom. As planned. You’re sleeping soundly for him.

You’re perfect. 

The strap of your thin top is askew over your shoulder, the rest of you hidden beneath your covers. He could watch you longer, but that would be a disservice to you. You’ve been waiting so long. 

You need this. You need him. 

He pulls the cover off of you, pausing for the briefest moment to take in the smooth skin of your thighs, the dips and curves of your entire body, the serenity in your resting form. 

He crawls over you slowly, his weight sinking into the mattress and pinning you down. He soaks in your sleep-warmed body beneath him, your scent coiling around his spine and your deep breaths. Your chest expands as your lungs fill with air, but it’s his blood that is oxygenated by your body. 

The reality creeps into Dave’s mind. Here he is with you completely unconscious on your back underneath him. It’s a miracle you’ve both waited so long—or maybe it’s been purgatory. 

Either way, you’re no longer a vision. You’re flesh and blood and he’s desperate to fulfill your fantasy. To make your dream and his a tangible experience. 

He covers your mouth with one hand–you’re alone, but you still have neighbors, and he worries you might be disoriented at first. 

Thankfully, Dave waited long enough that his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom, because he’d never have forgiven himself if he’d missed the expressions that flash across your face as you wake up. 

Holding a finger to his lips, he conveys his request for quiet. With only the moonlight pouring into the room your eyes shine as they widen. Dave is struck by your beauty and the overwhelming closeness. 

Your voice is muffled under his palm, but he can’t let you talk yet. The heat between your bodies keeps building and he lowers more of his weight against you. It’s intoxicating, just the shape of your body against his. 

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I’m here now.” 

You push and shove at his chest, then claw at his arms, it only makes him chuckle dismissively. You ease up eventually, just waiting beneath him for what happens next. Good. 

The blanket shifts. It’s almost gentle—like a slow Sunday morning—until he adjusts. And then Dave grinds against you, expression darkening and a smile splitting across his face when you squirm and whine. “So sensitive, I know. Must be just aching already.” 

You fight him again—hands pressing, nails biting into his arms, little jerks of your body beneath him. But Dave just watches. He lets you get it out of your system. And then, just as he knew you would, you go still. A little more acceptance settling in this time.

You still flinch and arch as he keeps one hand on your mouth, straddles your waist, and cups the swell of your breasts with his free hand. 

Tears start to well and one rolls down the side of your face. Dave leans down and presses a kiss to the wet corner of your eye. 

“Crying for me?” His voice is thick, drenched in lust and awe. “So pretty like that.” He pulls out a knife and you go rigid beneath him, head straining uselessly under his large hand. 

The sound of metal sliding free makes your breath stutter. Then cold and sharp against your chest. You freeze. Heart hammering, every muscle tense.

"Oh, you like this?" he murmurs, almost amused.

He presses the flat of the blade against your sternum, dragging it up—just enough for you to feel it, for panic to crawl up your throat. Then he shifts it lower, skimming between your ribs, unhurried. 

Teasing.

"Bet you’d let me cut these off," he muses, toying with the thin straps of your top. He could just rip them. But he wants to draw it out. 

You don’t move. Can’t. Your breath is short, chest rising in shallow gasps beneath the steel.

You suck in a breath, but he’s already tilting your chin up, smirking down at you. "Smart girl," he purrs, tracing the blade’s blunt edge down your stomach, inch by inch.

Fear locks up your joints. He mutters to himself about how you’re better than he imagined. Going to be so perfect for him. Not good—because you’re not a good girl—but perfect. For Dave. 

Tears roll freely now, your body trembling beneath him, making Dave groan. He kisses your cheek, savoring the way you shake for him. You’re wired tight and he’s flooded with everything he wants to do with you all at once. Your chest racks with sobs, pulling him to the present. The sounds are muffled beneath his hand, but Dave hears the way your breath hitches—you’re so tense. You need a release. Of course you do, that’s why he’s here. Ready to be what you need. And incredibly turned on. 

Because of you.  

“Fuck–” he hisses, grinding you deeper into the mattress with his pelvis pinned to yours. 

You squirm, hips bucking, but it only makes his cock pulse with heat. 

“You feel that?” His voice is dripping with pride. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your crying gets wilder. Louder. “The more you sob, the harder it makes me.” 

He doesn’t need to hear you to know. Your muscles respond to his lewd statement, quivering for him. 

Impatient. 

The corner of his mouth quirks. A subdued portrayal of his excitement. He drinks in the moment, the heat blazing between you and the glow of your dewy skin. 

Your muted voice is amplified by the stillness of the night. The calm cover of dark. Dave was built to be nocturnal–like a wild cat, and he’s patient. Precise with his prey. 

But that’s not what you are to him. You’re an equal. A creature of the night, just the same. 

So as bad as he wants it and as vulnerable as you are right now–he waits. Swallowing down groans as a fierce need courses through his veins. His weight holds you in place, but he still feels all of the tension rolling within you. 

He knows you can’t ask for this, that he has to give it to you. But, fuck, when you resist it makes him want you even more. Has him practically buzzing. Using the last of his patience. 

Until you’re ready. 

Surrender sinks in, deep, softening your limbs as you melt. He can feel the swell of emotions crescendo and dissipate as you transform with grace, becoming pliable and moldable.

And when you open your eyes, he knows. You’re offering yourself wordlessly, to him. Now. 

He drags the back of his knife down your chest languidly, before dropping the tease and slicing your top and panties with finesse. You protest into his palm but he doesn’t stop exploring, he’s sure you have other sleep clothes or he’ll replace these. 

He traces your body with the weapon, mapping different paths he’d like to trace with his lips instead. Dream versions of you feel like an insult, he confesses in murmurs–nearly imperceptible. 

Your heart beats loudly for him, increasing as he toys with pressure and misdirection. He touches you everywhere except for where you expect. A mastermind. You don’t know when he’s going to touch you. 

Time is an exquisite luxury tonight and he meditates with a clear mind as he breathes with you. Dave could stay like this for hours. But you start to twitch and flinch and toss your head. He laughs, amused with your show of discomfort. 

He’s in control. Like you wanted. The longer the tension builds, the more your tears flow, wet, warm, and constant. 

He drops his hand from your mouth, knowing you won’t scream now. 

“Please,” you whisper into the dark. “Dave, please.” He’s darkly devoted to you, obsessed with how your body tells him everything. Your chest heaves, nipples strained and taut without being touched. Just at the prospect of it. And then there’s your glistening pussy, crying so pretty for him, just like you. He’s so entranced he almost doesn’t hear you. 

“Please,” your voice cracks as another violent sob steals your breath. 

“I know,” he purrs above you. “I’m here.” 

Your words slur into garbled wails as he leans in close, pressing kisses to your wet temple, down your jaw and neck. He can taste the salt on your skin and it’s immediately addictive, but he stays focused. 

“Let me take care of you.” His voice dips, velvety and gentle. The blade in his hand tells a different story, teasing a direct path down your stomach.

"She’s so swollen, poor thing,” he murmurs, tapping the flat of the knife against your cunt, making you jerk. "You need this. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

His fingers replace the cold metal, stroking you, rubbing over your clit—slow at first, then cruel, faster and faster. You twist, struggling to get away, but it only makes him laugh under his breath.

“Relax.” He dips two fingers inside you, curling them and teasing. 

“That’s good,” his breath is hot against your ear and he works quickly to free his drooling cock and guide it up and down your wet lips. You jolt, bumping against him at the raw heat and the pressure. 

“She’s meant for this,” he murmurs drunkenly, “made for me.” 

“Dave,” you cry weakly. He grins, pleased that you’re already so wrecked you can barely speak up. 

"Say it louder."

You shake your head, biting your lip. Refusing. 

He hums, low and disapproving. His cock slides against you, teasing—pressing, not quite giving in. Until he realizes you’re serious about arguing. Then, he pulls back and with a quiet, steady voice tries again. 

"Say my name."

When you don’t, his palm comes down against your clit—sharp, shocking, and disorienting. You gasp, writhing, but he only looks pleased.

"Oh, she liked that," he purrs, doing it again. Another slap. A roll of his thumb, a wicked, relentless rhythm that makes your body push against him, reaching for more. He watches the pain and pleasure on your face meld. 

"Say. My. Name."

You choke on it, barely more than a whisper—“Dave.”

“Mmm. Again.”

You hesitate. Another slap. Harder. 

“Louder.”

You sob his name. 

“Good.”

He knew he’d win, but he decides you deserve a reward for that. He doubles down, using his hands and keen observations to work you closer and closer, catching every tremble of your muscles and tensing of your hips until he feels your cunt clenching pathetically around his fingers. 

“There you go.” 

You gawk openly as he coats his cock with the arousal shining on his fingers, before he’s sliding it along your seam once more. Then, he starts to sink inside of you, forcing himself to take it slow. Savoring the tight stretch, the resistance, when you yelp— “Wait!” 

"No," he growls, pressing your hips down. “No more waiting.” Then he buries himself inside you with one hard stroke. "Oh, fuck—"

It’s slow at first. He saws into you with long, drawn out strokes. Unhurried and mesmerized by the tight grip of your cunt and your hands. You dig your nails into his shoulders like his dreams predicted, but he never could’ve imagined how soft and wet you’d be for him. 

He thrusts in deeper and deeper as you clench firmly around him. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, losing himself to the perfect fit of your bodies. He rocks into you, steadily building up speed, and his groans cut off his words. 

He fucks you like you’re the love of his life. Giving you all of this part of him. Determined to prove that he’s been listening this whole time. 

The way you sob—it’s different than he imagined. More raw. But the way you arch under him? That’s real. That’s instinct. You don’t even realize the way you’re sucking him in.

"Yeah,” he groans. “So fucking pretty when you cry for me."

His lips brush softly over your temple, so gentle it feels mocking. Then, in the same breath—

"My perfect little whore. Look at you—a mess. So needy.”

He pounds into you, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

“Listen,” he orders and you stifle your gasps and pleas. The only sounds are the slick, slapping noises where you’re joined and the grunts he tries to muffle when he meets the end of you. 

“Taking it so well, just like that. So good for me.” 

You wince when he praises you. He notices. He laughs.

"Oh, but good girls don’t drip all over my cock like this, do they?"

You don’t say anything. Letting your head loll as he keeps up the same pace. 

“That’s it,” he encourages. Praising you for existing. The moment stretches and shrinks from forever to fleeting. 

His words dissolve into grunts. He folds your knee to your chest, fucking you harder—brutal now.

Quiet whimpers escape your lips as your body bounces from the force of him. The sweet sound incites a primal fire inside of Dave, drawing all of his focus. 

“You like it rough, don’t you?”

Your answer is just a choked, broken sound. It’s not enough.

“Say it.”

You slam your eyes shut, refusing. He’s not playing this game again. The slap is instant. A sharp crack across your cheek that stuns you.

“Say. It.”

Your voice shakes. “I like it rough.”

“My filthy fucking slut,” he groans, fucking you deeper. Your hips shift, proving his point.

“Of course my perfect girl likes it rough. Wants it harder too.”

His voice drops lower, rougher. “Now say thank you.”

You whimper, shaking your head. The slap is instant. Sharp. Blistering.

“Say it.”

“Thank you.” You spit the words out quickly. 

“Mmm, that’s better. So polite.”

He manhandles you onto your stomach, pinning you ass up. His weight crushes you into the mattress—and then he slams back inside, deep.

The angle knocks the air right out of your lungs, choking gasping breaths fill the room and he curses behind you. 

“Look at you. Clenching down on me like you don’t want me to leave.”

He watches as he sinks inside you again and again, and you cry louder, unable to quiet yourself. Not when he’s giving you what you’ve been begging for all this time. 

Your whines are stuttered by his hips snapping into you and muffled by the mattress you’re pressed into. If you had anything to say he wouldn’t be able to listen now. But it doesn’t matter anyway.

You rock against him, not coordinated in your timing, but more urgent, primal. The tight, wet squeeze of your cunt pulling him deeper is close to divinity—debaucherous maybe, but still heavenly. Engulfed by your warmth, deep as he can reach, your muscles contract pulsing around him dangerously. But he catches on. 

“Trying to milk my cock, already?” He huffs the question, memorizing the way you mewl with disappointment as he slows down. 

“No. You’re not done yet.”

You sway, relying on him for support. He steadies you easily with a firm hold, fingers digging into your waist, gliding his other hand up your spine. It’s a soothing touch, just resting along the curve of your ass, until he starts to knead and spread your cheeks wider for a better view. 

He grins as you twitch under his gaze, before he spits on your other hole. He groans, a deep rumbling sound that comes from his chest as he spreads his saliva with his thumb. 

As if compelled by a voice from within, Dave resumes his pace. He fucks you hard and fast now, watching your plush flesh ripple as you bounce against him. He keeps hitting it just right, adding pressure at the perfect angle to make you cry out his name. 

He knows you’re getting close, the tension in your core pulls tighter even despite your exhaustion. You almost let go before he makes it a guarantee, working his thumb into your ass until he hears it. The moment you stop thinking. You’re too fucking full to think, to speak, to feel any shame. 

“Come for me.” 

Honest, ragged sounds pour out of you. 

“Of course, my needy whore isn’t happy with only one hole filled.” 

Everything is unfiltered as your muscles contract and you writhe against him. The strength builds from somewhere deep, beyond your control. Your body all but gives out, jerking faintly as you take everything he gives you. 

The sounds you make go straight to Dave’s head. You’ve gone dumb for him, empty-headed, out of tears. The satisfaction gives him a heady rush, and he surges into you with renewed vigor. His grunts and curses punctuate the obscene sounds coming from between your bodies as everything starts to blur. 

In one swift show of strength, he lifts your upper body, holding you against his chest. He kisses your cheek, wet and sticky from your tears—then he’s gasping, low and raspy as he fucks his come into you as deep as he can manage. 

“Fuck.” 

Your intermingled breathing is louder than any other sounds you’ve made tonight. 

“Easy,” he husks, “let me stay.”

He lowers you with care, ultimately pinning you under his weight. His cock is still buried inside you, thick and leaking, making sure every drop stays where he put it.

“Stay just like this. I want you to feel me dripping out of you all night.” You’re still collapsed in a heap when he gets up, and still stuck to the sheets when he returns. You barely stir when he sets a glass of water on your nightstand, or when he peels the torn scraps of fabrics you’d worn earlier from beneath you and drapes the covers back over your body. 

But, when he leans toward your face you flinch away, turning your head. He doesn’t like that. 

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. His thumb strokes over your bruised cheek, mocking softness. 

Then, a kiss—pressed against your damp temple. His breath lingers, warm. You shudder.

Overwhelmed. 

He sees the fatigue clouding your eyes and his pride swells knowing you’re as sated as he is.

“Because of you,” he whispers. 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply, leaving as quietly as he entered. 

A few months later it’s game night at Marina’s again. The Never have I ever box is open on the table. 

The prompts spark laughter and more stories of mildly adventurous escapades and college memories. 

They’re a few rounds into the game when Dave pulls another card. He stops himself from rolling his eyes at the prompt. It reads like an idea pitched by a 21 year old corporate intern. Instead, he pretends to read from the card using his own idea. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” A crooked smile spreads on Dave’s face. You sip your drink this time, holding eye contact without blinking.

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[hysteria-things]

can you do another story like closer it was so good im obsessed.

MAKE UP OR MAKE OUT?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: stopping by to give your enemy a piece of your mind doesn’t go as planned.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SUGGESTIVE, swearing, making out, ass grabbing lol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 525

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this isn’t really like closer but also kind of is? possibly?

i was going to add onto this to make it longer and i can probably make a part two (hint hint: sub!chris, perhaps😉)

❝it’s like i’m powerful with a little bit of tender

an emotional sexual bender

mess me up, yeah, but no one does it better

there’s nothin’ better.❞

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

how the fuck did this happen? is the only thought rushing through your brain at this very moment. along with the plump pair of lips moving in sync with yours.

minutes ago you were standing on your arch nemesis's doorstep, having a screaming match about whatever it was that ticked both of you off. now you're inside of his home, pushed up against the door by his weight with his tongue down your throat; the muscle intertwining sloppily with yours. chris's body is hot against your own, causing your cheeks to flush.

brunette strands of hair feel soft between your fingers, the tips of them tugging and pulling at the rest under his hood. legs starting to give out from being on your tippy toes for a long period, chris pulls away slightly. “jump.” he whispers against your lips.

obeying his order, he grips onto your ass and massages it as your legs wrap around his waist. you whimper, this new angle making the bulge poking through his jeans rub gently against your bud. your hands roam down his neck to his chest, bunching into fists at the collar of his hoodie to pull him impossibly closer.

fogginess starts to form in your head, bliss rushing to your veins. it's getting harder to breathe, the two of you panting loudly. lewd and wet sounds fill the empty house, that alone making you needier. he bites your bottom lip before pulling away to where your noses touch.

his mouth is swollen and red, your pink lipstick smeared around it. yours doesn’t look any better. “i can't stand you.” you complain.

all he does is let out a hum, looking at your mouth and leaning into where he needs you most yet again. you're like a magnet to him. “i'm not kidding.” you continue. “god, i hate you so much.”

“good.”

diving back in, he kisses you harder than before. jesus, what's wrong with you? making out with chris was not on the agenda for today, or any day for that matter.

gasping and moaning softly into his mouth, your phone starts to ring. you take it out of your pocket and answer it without looking.

you pull back to talk. “yeah, what?”

not bothering to listen to what the voice on the other end has to say, you get in a few more kisses before pulling away abruptly. “right now?” you say into the phone, pushing the boy away so you can get back on your feet. “fine. i'll be back soon.”

clearing your throat, you try to make yourself look presentable by straightening out your clothes, wiping your mouth, and fixing your hair. “i have to go.”

a mixture of shock and confusion overcomes chris's face. “you're going to leave me like this?”

glancing down, you see the raging boner between his legs. “yup.” you nod with a smile.

grabbing your bag you've thrown on the floor in the fit of rage you had when you first got here, you walk out the door and down the steps to your car without turning back. “fuck you, y/l/n!”

“maybe next time! if you're lucky!”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

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[madamechrissy]

Losing Control Now - part three preview

It's HERE

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

MDNI- kissing, teasing, grinding, Satoru being kinda psycho, lowkey yan highkey obsessed Mobster Satoru, dirty talk- this runs in sync with Pour it Up part six (sukuna's story) if you're reading in order!

“Let’s take Mei out too.” Satoru says, making you pull back with a gasp, eyeing his feral, insane grin and eyes that are too bright.

“Satoru!” You admonish, earning his cute little pout, like he’s some sweet baby and not speaking of murder. “No killing.”

“Do you know what a mafia is, baby?” You sigh, shaking your head.

“The solution can’t be taking people out.” Choso chimes in, Satoru sighs, leaning back and faking a yawn.

“Boring.” He mumbles, to the agreement of the room. “Let’s try to threaten them.” Satoru says then, and the room all reluctantly agree. “I’ll deal with Mei, Choso can deal with the Zenin before we get Sukuna involved.”

“What why!?”

“You’ll kill him, that’s why. Not that I disagree.” Toji says with a chuckle, and soon the room is dispersing, leaving you and Satoru again, just like that first time, and he’s eyeing you curiously.

“Do you mind if I kill her so much?”

“Oh god!” He’s grinning again, looking batshit insane, as you turn in his lap, straddling him now, watching his expression shift as he holds you in his lap, pressing you against his length. He’s feeling your heat, remembering the sweetness of your arousal all over his mouth, dying to fuck into you. “No killing.”

“For now.”

“Satoru!”

“I’ll try not to?” You sigh then, but that sigh turns into a gasp when he pulls you down further, and you’re grinding against his cock, whining out, his huge hands gripping your hair, lips hovering an inch from you. “I’ll try to negotiate first.”

“D-don’t pay for me, promise?” He frowns then, shaking his head.

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Please, I can’t take charity f-from- mnh…” He’s kissing you again, as you’re grinding on him, and he can’t think of anything but killing anyone who’s ever fucking touched you, your mom included, he doesn’t care.

He needs you to be his.

You’re soaking his slacks, earning his little smirk against your lips, hands slipping up the curve of your waist and hips. “Just trust me baby girl, can you?”

“I do.” You whisper, watching his snowy lashes lower, when his timer starts to go off from his pocket, and he winces.

“Can you get it for me? I hurt.” You laugh breathless, hand slipping into his pocket, making your cunt lift off him for just a moment, as his cock is pulsing, ready to fill your tight little cunt so good he can’t take it. You hand him the phone as he curses under his breath. “I have to go, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, of course!” You go to get up, but he’s pulling you back down, your arms wrap his neck, a hand brushing his snowy locks back then. “What is it, Satoru?”

“A date. Can we go on a date?” You feel your heart race at his words, god when is the last time you have had a date? And with Satoru!?

“Yes! I mean… yes.” He’s got a big grin on his pretty face, cupping your face with his long, slender fingers.

“I’ve never been on one?”

“What!? How!”

“That’s a story for the date, hmm?” You nod shyly, so fucking adorable Satoru can’t take it, the excitement making your tired eyes glitter. “Perfect, then I’ll have it all set for tomorrow, after I… take care of the situation.”

“Without killing.”

“Psh.” You nudge at him, and he rolls his baby blues. “Oh fine, yes. But, a date, you’re really down for it?”

“How couldn’t I be? I’d love to.” You feel a blush heat on your cheeks as he stands you up then, bending low and cupping your face with his huge hands, your own hands grip his wrists, looking up at him, seeing his pupils dilate, feeling the intensity of your emotions overwhelming.

“You deserve a good night’s sleep. And to relax, to have some fun, shit to just… live, okay? I want you rested up for the date.” He kisses your lips so sweetly, before it’s more passionate, and he barely resists picking you up and slamming you right against a wall, fucking into you until you pass out from how hard he’d have you cumming.

“I’ll need my energy, huh?” You tease against his lips, but he’s very serious as he pulls you against him in the room, still cloudy with smoke, but all you can breathe or feel is Satoru.

“You’ll need all your energy, baby.” He tilts your chin up, pressing another kiss, swiping off his phone when he pulls back. “You have yummy drinks to make, don’t you pretty?”

“I do!” He walks you towards the bar, the club is filled to the brim with men everywhere, women dancing, smiling, serving drinks, but Satoru’s eyes are only on you when you take back over the bar, and he leans forward.

“If you need me, you have my number, any time. Okay?” You nod and tuck your hair behind your ear, making his heart ache with affection. “You’re so cute.”

“You’re too sweet.” He leans forward, kissing you again, in front of curious eyes of the club goers and workers, murmuring about the notorious head of the Gojo family with a pretty bartender. You feel just a little frisky, yanking on his tie, deepening the kiss, and he moans into your lips. “Taste sweet.”

“Not as sweet as you.” He’s sighing when he pulls back, he doesn’t want all these stupid responsibilities, he wants to spend every moment with you.

Inside you.

Fuck his dick hurts, and he did it to himself.

“Will you text me when you get home safe?” You ask softly, so caring and sweet you melt him, he brushes his cool thumbs under your eyes carefully, watching you sigh in relief.

“I will. Good night pretty bartender.”

“Good night Mr. Gojo.”

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