#Because they can just bunch up in the choke point and mess you over

[thingsmysplattershotjrtoldme]

Squid bagging in the lobby seems to guarantee a reasonably tough battle with people not taking turf war too seriously.

If they don't, 87% of the time they'll just keep you in spawn and shark until you walk by trying to get to mid

[breathinlove]

sticky fingers ellie williams

read this

synopsis: you and your best friend got popsicles on a hot day, but ellie finishes hers first.

cw: swearing, dialogue heavy at first, homoerotic friendship i fear, hinted themes, dirty minded hoes who act oblivious, a whole lotta mouth and tongue but no nothang but slighhhhhttttlyyy nsfw.

a/n: idk what this is it just came to me as i had a popsicle in the morning lmao... i js missed writing.

you're walking home with one of best friends, ellie, after a day at the park. it was a boring and oppressively hot day. you had bought yourselves ice lollies to help survive the sultry weather.

"is it good?" ellie speaks, pointing to your yellow popsicle.

"yeah, ellie, it's good." you say, matter-of-factly.

"i love pineapple." she looks away from you as you come closer to the crossing, both you looking to the sides of the road in sync.

“i know, me too." you reply shortly, not giving her the time of day, rapidly crossing the street. ellie stays silent, but not for too long.

"well..." she mutters when she catches your trail.

"yes?" you know what she wants but you still play dumb. you're not gonna give it to her.

“just a taste—" she starts whining, and you cut her off.

“nope." that's all you say in response.

you turn the stick horizontally as you get to the middle of the ice lolly, you suck on it and she's snorts heavily. she seems to drag her feet along the sidewalk.

“please, it's so hot out here.” ellie insists on the subject.

"it’s not my fault you fucking gobbled yours." you giggle, flicking her forehead.

she lets out a cartoon-like ‘ouch’ and she pushes your arm.

"bruh, it was small." ellie complains before wiping sweat off her nape, where strands of hair stuck onto.

“doooon't caaaare.” you smirk.

you bite the ice off the stick and she looks like she's mourning its loss. ellie loves pineapple artificial flavoring, despite choosing not to eat too much actual pineapple because when you two ate a bunch of pineapple slices together, you ended up with prickled tongues and mouth ulcers. it wasn't fun.

you can read her expression well enough to let out a chuckle, almost choking on the juice that pools inside your mouth. she clicks her tongue at the sound of slurping coming from you, she focuses on the noise of lawn mowers on your neighborhood instead, but they're just as annoying.

"ellie." you mutter with a heavy breath, she can hear what remains on your tongue moving. she hums in response.

you know ellie's annoyed. you were friends, but you were afraid that you had spoiled her. whenever you denied her anything, she'd catch an attitude. and you liked teasing her. you thought she looked cute when she'd look away from you with a serious face over something so small as a popsicle.

“lukami.” you say, he contorts her face in confusion, and you slurp at the juices to clear your words.

“look at me." you repeat, now coherently, grabbing her cheeks.

“yeah? what do you want?" she looks at you, and you take a disgustingly loud and final slurp.

ellie knows the pineapple stick is gone now, and she didn't even get to taste it. she pictured herself tasting it off your lips, or even your tongue. she wondered if she'd able to feel the refreshment if she sucked on your tongue after all the sucking you did on that popsicle.

“guess what?” you smile, she takes a little too long to answer and you wonder what goes through her mind.

but well, she's nasty, isn't she? she wanted it, no matter if it meant licking around one of her best friend's mouth. she's upset, but she knows it's silly.

“what?” she shrugs.

"i have popsicles at home.” you say excitedly and you look giddy, your sugary fingers still on her face.

“whatever," she looked away, forcing away from your hold. "get those sticky fingers away from me."

"that's a great album, by the way." you ignore her demand, chuckling.

you mess with her cheeks, smearing her with the syrup on your hand. you left a spot on her lips, she licked it. finally, she knows what it tasted like and she yearns for more.

“you're so messy, ya know?" she smiles wide.

you look at your hand as she grabs and holds it where it was, against her lips. you stop on your tracks completely, feeling her tongue stick out of her lips and coming in contact with the pad of your fingers, it tickles. you giggle.

she hums at the sweetness of it and looks up at you from your fingers, what a kid!

"ellie, please, what's wrong with you?" you laugh, and she does too. sugar puts her in a good mood.

“should've just let me taste it.” she speaks.

you would've thought she was done but ellie takes your index finger inside her mouth for shits and giggles, her warm as the day tongue massaging your finger as she sucks on it.

“you're so stupid.” you say, using minimal to no strength to push her face with the hand she entrapped. she smiles around your finger.

you feel the desire to slide your finger further into her mouth to wipe that shit-eating grin of her face. you imagined how ellie would look when she gagged on it, the shock in her eyes would be amusing, you assume. these thoughts run around your mind.

you think she might have an oral fixation by the looks of it,you look around, making sure no one was watching this seemingly obscenity.

"god, ellie.." you sigh in defeat when she flutters her eyes shut. you watch, mind running around her soft features and braking on her pursed lips, tainted red from her late watermelon popsicle.

then she releases your finger, after god knows how long (now that your fingerprint is practically part of her tongue’s muscle memory). you snap back to reality, freshly cut grass smell hitting your nose and unbearable sun hitting your skin.

ellie looks proud of herself.

"it really was good. what flavors you got at home?" she asks and starts walking again. you clean your now spit dirty fingers on your shirt and walk with her, enumerating the flavors of popsicles your dad had bought and stacked in the freezer.

[itneverendshere]

pogue reader getting sick but she can’t call out, but rafes fr mad at you about it

don't want less, don't want more - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

changed it a bit just bc i want to show reader's progress regarding her hyper-independence, they're already dating and past the "i love you" phase, i felt like some progress had to be made by this point, especially bc this is after their big fight in this. hope you enjoy <3

The floor beneath you feels like it's tilting, moving under your feet like a boat rocking on rough water. You blink a couple of times, hoping that’ll shake the haze taking over your vision, but it doesn’t do much. 

The bar lights over your head are too bright, and the music thumping from the speakers makes your head feel like it’s trapped in a vice. The clink of glass, every laugh, every order shouted at you feels like a hammer driving nails straight into your skull.

You swallow hard, trying not to gag. Your throat’s raw, and your chest feels tight, but you’re powering through it because you don’t have much of a choice. Not a choice at all.

"Whiskey sour, extra sour!" some country club douchebag yells from the other side of the bar.

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. You force a smile and nod, reaching for the bottle, but your hands are shaky. You catch yourself on the edge of the bar before you can drop it.

This morning, you could barely get out of bed. Fever burning through you like you were standing too close to a bonfire, throat too sore to talk, and your head pounding so hard you thought you were going to pass out just brushing your teeth. 

You tried calling in. Tried. Told your manager, Greg, that you were sick as hell, couldn’t make it, but the guy just grunted like he always does. "Can’t afford anyone calling out today," he said. Like the world was going to end if you didn’t show up to sling drinks for a bunch of rich assholes.

So here you are.

You rub the back of your neck, trying to loosen up some of the tension building there, but it doesn’t help. Nothing really does at this point.

"Hey!" The guy who ordered the whiskey sour snaps his fingers in your face. "You deaf or something? Whiskey. Sour."

"Got it," You mutter, trying not to let your voice crack as you finally pour his drink. 

Your vision swims a little as you set it down in front of him, and for a second, you think you might actually faint right here at the bar.

That’d be something. Faceplant into a bunch of overpriced cocktails in front of half of the Kooks on this island. Greg would probably just step over you and ask you to get back to work.

You lean against the bar for a second. Your stomach rolls, threatening to revolt, but you choke it back. You can’t afford to be sick here. Not when you’re already in trouble with your manager for barely making it on time. You think back to the half-assed breakfast you tried to eat—if you can call a slice of toast breakfast—and how your stomach rejected it like poison.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rafe coming in. And suddenly, you’re even more aware of how wrecked you are.

You know he still struggles with how independent you are sometimes. You’ve always been the kind of girl who handles things on her own, and Rafe has this tendency to think that means you don’t need him.

Today, though? You need him more than ever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call for help.

You immediately know it’s gonna be a thing.

His eyes lock onto you from across the bar, and even through the fog in your head, you can see that look on his face. He’s pissed. Of course, he’s pissed. His jaw’s clenched like he’s biting back whatever rant he’s about to drop on you, and you can already feel the tension creeping up your neck.

Great, as if you didn’t feel bad enough already.

You try to stand a little straighter, look a little less like you're one second from collapsing, but your legs are jelly, and the room’s still spinning like you’re on some messed-up carnival ride.

You don’t want him to see how bad you’re hurting right now. But today? You’re too out of it to even try and explain.

He strides up to the bar, looking sharp, as usual. Meanwhile, you probably look like death warmed over. His eyes are scanning you, taking in the pale face, the way you’re gripping the edge of the bar like you’re about to keel over. You see his lips tighten, and yeah, he’s definitely about to lay into you.

“You didn’t call,” he says, voice low but definitely annoyed. He leans in, trying to keep this between just the two of you, but with how loud the bar is, it still feels like a confrontation.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. 

Rafe’s eyes narrow. He’s not buying it. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Why didn’t you call me?”

You hate that you feel guilty.

“Because I’m handling it,” you say, voice softer now. But even you can hear how weak you sound.

It’s not convincing. Hell, you’re not even convinced.

He crosses his arms, looking down at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “Handling it? Baby, you can barely stand.”

You let out a sigh, trying not to let it turn into a cough.

"I’m fine," you repeat, but even you know it sounds pathetic at this point. Your head feels like it's full of cotton, you’re not sure if you’ll make it through the next few minutes, let alone your entire shift.

But pride’s a bitch.

Rafe just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to come clean. You can feel his frustration, but there’s something else, too. Worry. It’s in the way his eyes keep flicking over your face, how his fingers are tapping against his arm like he’s holding himself back from just scooping you up and carrying you out of here.

"I heard from Topper," he finally says, like he’s been holding that card in his back pocket. You blink, trying to keep up. "He saw you at the club earlier, said you didn’t look right."

Great. Freaking Topper. Of course, idiot couldn’t mind his own business. You can almost picture him, all dressed up in some preppy golf outfit, spotting you from across the course and making a note to text Rafe the second he saw something off.

Rafe’s still watching you, waiting for a reaction.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with some excuse, some way to brush it off, but your brain’s too foggy, and all you manage is a weak, "I was fine then."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked like you were about to hurl on the 9th hole." He’s trying to keep his voice low, but you can tell he’s annoyed. Not at Topper, not even really at you—just at the whole situation.

You want to snap back, tell him you’re fine, that you’ve got it under control. But instead, all that comes out is another tired sigh. “Greg wouldn’t let me call out. Said they needed me.”

“You serious?”

“Dead-serious.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches so tight you think you hear his teeth grind. His hands come out of his pockets, flexing like he’s about to hit something—or someone. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something he’ll regret.

But you know him—he’s never been great at holding back when he’s pissed. And right now? He’s definitely pissed.

“Greg said that?” His voice is low, but there’s this dangerous edge to it, like he’s two seconds away from losing it, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come down here, I would’ve—”

“I know.” You cut him off because you do know.

He would’ve dropped everything and come running. That’s exactly why you didn’t call. You didn’t want to be the a burden again. Like you said, you’re still working on yourself.

Rafe leans against the bar, his whole body radiating this intensity that makes you feel both comforted and nervous.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, voice louder now, not even bothering to keep it low-key anymore. “You’re sick as hell, and that asshole wouldn’t let you stay home?”

You wince. He’s drawing attention now, people at the bar starting to glance over. You hate seeing him like this, but you don’t have the energy to smooth things over.

“Rafe, please—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, seriously. What kind of fucking manager forces someone to come in when they’re this sick?” His voice carries, and a couple of the other bartenders are giving you looks, like they can’t decide if they’re more surprised or impressed by Rafe’s audacity, "You’re killing yourself for this job, and he doesn’t give a fuck.”

You glance toward the back, hoping Greg’s still in the office and not witnessing this meltdown. The last thing you need right now is more heat from him. But of course, your luck sucks, because just as Rafe’s ramping up, Greg strides out from the back, clipboard in hand, that same stupid scowl on his face like he’s already annoyed at everything.

Rafe spots him instantly, and if you thought he was mad before, now he’s on a whole other level.

"Greg!" Rafe calls out, loud enough that half the bar turns to look. Your stomach sinks. This is about to get ugly.

Greg stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flicking to Rafe and then back to you. He knows. He knows exactly what’s about to happen, and he’s already losing the upper hand.

“Yeah, Rafe?” Greg’s voice is weak, almost shaky. Like he’s trying to keep it together, but he knows he’s got no chance. Rafe’s family literally owns half the island—Greg’s just some middle manager with too much attitude.

Your boyfriend steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them like he’s already won this thing.

“You made her come in today?” His voice is calm, but it’s that scary kind of calm that’s worse than yelling. The kind that makes your stomach drop because you know the person holding it together is barely holding back.

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is this pathetic mumble. “We… we were short-staffed.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his lips pulling into this cold, humorless smile. “Short-staffed?” He glances at you, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You really didn’t want this to turn into a scene, but here you are. “You see how she looks right now? You made her come in like this?”

Greg’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe, and you can see the panic starting to set in. He’s sweating now, probably realizing that this little power trip he’s on is about to bite him in the ass. “She didn’t… uh… say she couldn’t work…”

“She told you she was sick,” Rafe cuts him off, voice like steel. “You’re the manager, right? Thought that meant taking care of your staff. Guess I was wrong.”

Greg’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to think of something to say, but nothing’s coming. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, knowing any move he makes right now could get him fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted from every job on the island. The Cameron’s have that kind of pull.

“I-I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Greg finally stammers, but even he doesn’t sound convinced by his own excuse.

Rafe takes another step forward, practically towering over Greg now. “You didn’t realize?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Look at her, man. How could you not realize?”

You wince as the room seems to get quieter, everyone watching this power struggle unfold. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now, but you also know that Rafe’s not letting this slide.

Greg takes a step back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“I-I was just trying to keep things running. We… we were slammed.”

Rafe’s smile drops, and now it’s just pure ice. “You think that’s a good enough reason to put my girlfriend’s health at risk?”

Greg looks like he’s about to pass out himself at this point, but he manages to mutter, “No… no, I—I didn’t mean…”

“Here’s the deal, Greg,” Rafe says, voice low but dangerous. “You’re gonna back off. Let her finish this shift if she wants. If she doesn’t? She’s out, no questions asked. And next time, when she says she’s sick, you listen.”

Greg nods so fast it’s like his head’s on a swivel. “Of course, of course, Rafe. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”

“Good,” Rafe interrupts, already turning away like he’s done with this conversation. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Greg just stands there, wide-eyed and frozen, clearly too scared to even argue. He stammers some half-hearted apology, but Rafe’s already turning back to you, brushing the whole thing off like it was nothing.

You look up at him, still in shock at how quickly Greg folded. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the bar with that easy confidence he always has. “Yeah, I did,” he says, his tone softening now that it’s just the two of you. “I’m not gonna let some nobody push you around like that.”

You sigh, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed. “You know he’s probably gonna hate me even more now.”

Rafe smirks, like that’s the least of his concerns. “Who cares? He won’t say a fuckin’ thing. Trust me.”

“Everyone’s going to say a thing, baby. They’re gonna think I have some kind of privilege because I’m dating you.”

Rafe’s smirk softens. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear him over the dull roar of the bar.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve been busting your ass here long before I ever stepped in. Nobody can take that from you.”

You bite your lip, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, judgment and curiosity. He’s right in a way—you’ve been working extra hard. But still, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that now, everyone’s going to assume you’ve got some special treatment just because of Rafe’s name.

“It’s not about that,” you murmur, “I just—don’t want people thinking I can’t stand on my own. I don’t want to be the girl who hides behind her boyfriend’s power.”

Rafe tilts his head, studying you with that look he always gives when he knows you're holding back.

“You think that’s what this is?” His voice is steady, his tone a little softer now. “This wasn’t about power, baby. This was about someone treating you like you didn’t matter. And I’m not letting anyone—anyone—do that to you.”

He’s not wrong.

Greg didn’t give a damn about how sick you were, only about keeping the bar running, like you were replaceable. And you hate how right Rafe is, how much you needed someone to step in, even if it makes you feel a little helpless. You swallow hard, the tightness in your chest easing slightly, though your body still feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

“And you’re not working anymore today, or the next week for that matter. You’re gonna get your ass in my car and we’re going to the doctor.”

You nod, knowing there’s no arguing with Rafe when he’s like this, but part of you still feels guilty.

Not for needing help exactly, but for not being able to handle it all on your own. You've always been the girl who grits her teeth and gets through it, but today? Your body is screaming at you that you just can’t. Not anymore.

Rafe’s watching you closely, like he’s waiting for you to argue, but you don’t. You’re too drained. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Greg is wearing off, and now all you feel is this bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m not going to a doctor,” you say, even though you know you probably should. “Just home. I just need to sleep.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, but then he just nods. “Fine. But if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m dragging you to urgent care. No arguments.”

You give him a weak smile, trying to show you appreciate it even though you feel like crap.

“Deal.”

Without another word, he moves around the bar, ignoring Greg’s gawking and the way everyone’s still sneaking glances at you two. He gently takes the towel out of your hand, sets it on the counter, and slips an arm around your waist.

It’s the first time you’ve felt stable all day, leaning into him like you might actually make it to the car without collapsing.

“I don’t think I can afford an appointment.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His arm tightens around your waist, steadying you as you start to sway a little on your feet.

"Not worried about the money.”

You try to shake your head, but the movement makes you dizzy, and you stop, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"I just don’t want to be that person, you know? Relying on you for everything."

He gives you a side glance, eyebrows raised.

"Baby, you’re not relying on me for everything. You’re literally sick, and I’m not about to let you tough it out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. We’ve talked about this a million times.”

"I guess," you mumble, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you walk towards the door.

"No guessing about it," he says, softer now, his fingers brushing your arm in a way that makes you feel more grounded. "You’ve been holding down the fort for too long. Let me take care of you for once."

The air outside hits you like a slap, but Rafe keeps you close, leading you toward his car. Your legs are weak, the fever still simmering under your skin, but his body warmth keeps you upright.

"Thanks," you whisper, even though it feels weird to say. You’re not used to thanking people for basic care, but with Rafe, it feels different.

He pauses, opening the passenger door for you.

"You don’t gotta thank me, okay? I’m just doing what anyone who loves you would do."

Your heart skips at that. You’re still not used to how easily he says stuff like that, like it’s no big deal. But he’s rubbing off on you, because you can say it just as easily now.

“I love you too, sorry for being a pain in your ass.”

Rafe chuckles as he helps you into the car, leaning down to make sure you’re settled before he shuts the door. He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You're always a pain in my ass," he murmurs against your skin, grinning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. "But you’re my pain in the ass, and that’s what matters."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite how wrecked you feel. The fever, the headache, the exhaustion—it all takes a backseat, at least for a moment. 

Knowing Rafe’s always got your back? That makes it a little easier to breathe.

[sketchguk]

in my head; kth

➵ pairing: fwb!taehyung x reader

➵ genre: pwp (porn with plot), angst, college au

➵ word count: 8k

➵ synopsis: taehyung’s friends love you ー adore you. they probably want to fuck you, but they’ll never admit to it. instead, they’ll push taehyung’s limits in the middle of a frat party, testing just how close they can get to you before he takes you to bed in a fit of jealousy. and maybe, just maybe, one of his friends can have a taste too (if he’s lucky).  

inspired by thuy's in my head

warnings under the cut!

➵ warnings: unrequited love, commitment issues, dacryphilia, degradation (use of the word slut, whore, and pervert), fingering, oral (f receiving), spit kink, overstimulation, use of the color system, breast play, hand job, unprotected (jealous/possessive) sex, marking, impact play (slapping - face & pussy, spanking), breeding kink, choking, mirror sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, manhandling, mentions of intoxication (mc & taehyung are sober!), use of the word daddy, mentions of religion, ass play, mentions of dp, creampie

You can’t help but think that this is a terrible idea. The heavy bass and the sound of rap lyrics vibrate through the walls of the old Victorian house. Unfamiliar voices are muffled beneath the syncopated beats, and you can’t make out a single word. 

You’ve managed to escape the sticky, beer-stained floors and the heat of the frat party downstairs. Instead, you’ve sought refuge in one of the bedrooms, hand-in-hand with none other than Kim Taehyung himself. 

The space around you is dark, save for the dim lamp behind you. You’re propped on top of his tiny desk, careful not to knock over the expensive camera that rests beside you. 

“I thought you were gonna show me your new photos.” You pull apart from Taehyung’s lips, meeting his gaze between pretty eyelashes. 

Your words slur, finding it difficult to talk with his tongue in your mouth. A string of spit connects your lips together. It threatens to break loose the further you recline. 

With hooded eyes, he leans forward, chasing after your kiss. “What’s the rush?” 

His lips brush against the corner of your mouth as his hand wanders down to the hem of your dress, bunching it over your waist. The straps have already fallen loose from your shoulders, the top of your breasts spill out from over the fabric. 

Taehyung grips your jaw, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. His nose nudges against the column of your neck. A sigh falls from his lips as he lingers over your pulse point, his breath hot against your skin, teeth grazing. 

He glides a finger over the taut fabric of your panties. It’s soaked from your arousal, wet and sticky between your thighs. 

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he taunts with a crooked smile. “I’ve barely even touched you.” 

Although that may be true, you’ve been kissing for what feels like over an hour. 

In an effort to pull him closer, you wrap your legs around his waist. The outline of his erection leaves an imprint against the fabric of his sweats. It rests against your core, hot and heavy. You shift in your seat, desperately wanting him to pull your underwear to the side so he could stuff you full.  

“Who got you this worked up, hm?” Taehyung dips his head down to kiss your shoulder. 

His fingers squeeze your cheeks once again, and he angles your face to look him in the eyes, domineering. The hum of his low voice sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze is dark and hazy with lust and desire. 

There’s a soft glow of light that surrounds you, almost like a halo. Taehyung thinks that you look the prettiest at times like this ー when you’re pressed beneath his weight, right in the palm of his hands. 

You meet his eyes before shifting focus to his swollen lips. He quirks his brow, and you melt in his touch. Perhaps you’ve been staring at him for a moment too long because you can feel your saliva pool out of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. 

Taehyung’s thumb swipes across your bottom lip, collecting your drool. “What’s wrong, love?” He tsks, tapping the side of your cheek. “You always have so much to say, but now what? Don’t tell me you’ve gone this stupid for cock.” 

A fervent whine escapes from your parted lips. Your eyes brim with tears as your cunt pulses with desperate need, aching to feel Taehyung inside of you, even if it’s just the tip. 

Taehyung throbs at the sight of your soaked eyelashes, but he pays no mind to your pleas as he sinks down to his knees. 

“Let’s try again.” He spreads your legs further apart, trailing kisses against the inside of your thigh. “Who made you this wet?” His lips hover over your panty clad cunt before mouthing against the fabric. 

“Taehyung, don’t tease,” you shake your head, babbling. “You’re the only one I want, you know that.” 

He pushes the cotton aside, revealing your sweet pussy to his wandering eyes. 

“I’m the only one?” In a deep voice, he hums against your folds. “Are you sure it’s not Namjoon?” 

You shake your head in denial. “Just you,” you say in a hushed tone. 

His fingers spread your lips apart, watching you clench around nothing. Taehyung lingers above you before releasing a glob of spit onto your core. It glides between your slit, dripping down your entrance. 

You spread your legs wider, making room for his broad shoulders. His gentle, teasing fingers trace across your sensitive lips before dipping them between your velvety walls. 

“You seemed to be really cozy with Joonie though,” Taehyung pumps two fingers inside of you, easily gliding between your soaked cunt. “You were acting like such a needy slut downstairs, I swear that you wanted to fuck my friends.” 

His jaw clenches. You can sense a hint of jealousy in his tone. You find that to be odd considering Taehyung is never jealous. 

He’s not even yours. 

Taehyung has always been difficult to read. More often than not, in the lonely hours of the night, you’re within an arm's reach, prepared to keep him company, dropping everything at his beck and call. 

After tangling between the sheets at the end of every night, he’d comb his fingers through your freshly-washed hair, careful not to linger too long on the hickeys that scatter across your collarbone. 

Meanwhile, you’d trace hearts onto his back, wondering what he thinks about when he looks at you ー whether or not your name sits inside of his head in that current moment, if ever at all. 

Time and time again, he reminds you that this is just casual. The two of you are supposed to let loose and have fun. 

Yet he holds your hand so gently when you cross the street, when you slow dance in the quiet of the night, and when he fucks you deeply and ardently into the mattress. After, he’d order Chinese delivery to your house, stuffing siu mai in your cheeks so that you would shut up and stop talking nonsense about paying him back. 

He even kisses your forehead and calls you his good girl after leaving love bites on your neck.

It would be impossible not to fall for someone like Kim Taehyung as kind, sweet, and humble as he is. 

If you ask him to be your boyfriend, would he laugh? Would he furrow his brows and wonder why? Would he utter a vague response? Something along the lines of “I don’t know.” He often deploys these words when he’s faced with questions he doesn’t want to think about. 

In your mind, the worst case scenario occurs when Taehyung breaks it off right then and there, asking you to leave. Meanwhile, you linger by the door, begging him to love you just once, and maybe twice ー Through the ups, downs, and in betweens. 

It never happens. You never ask. You never bring it up. You just go through the motions, settling for the warmth of Taehyung’s body, even if it’s a temporary fix. 

Lost in your own thoughts, you bite back a whimper. Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Taehyung grabs your wrist, placing it at the edge of his desk. 

“You weren’t this shy when you were whispering in Jimin’s ear ー when his hand was on your thigh, and when you were acting like a huge, desperate cock tease.” 

The possessive part of Taehyung’s brain takes root when he guides his hand between your legs, slapping your clit. Shuddering under his touch, you release a silent scream. 

Taehyung plunges another finger inside of you, stretching you apart with a steady pace. It feels like too much, yet not enough at the same time. Your head is spinning, body sensitive from the heat of his skin against yours. 

“I want to hear you cry for me.” His brows furrow. A look of faux sympathy crosses his angelic features. “Unless you don’t want my friends to hear you being such a whore.” He speaks so casually, as if he didn’t just drop another glob of spit onto your mound. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if Namjoon was here though ー watching you.” 

You shake your head, panting for air, trying to catch your breath as he curls his fingers inside of you. 

“Really? Then how about Jimin?” He taunts you so cruelly.

Your tongue darts out of your mouth, licking your lips before you can bring yourself to speak. It’s too difficult to form words when your mind is numb on pleasure, nothing but a steady hum of static. 

But if there’s one thing that you should know about Taehyung is that he is not a patient man (despite the fact that he’s been edging you for the better part of the last hour). It’s evident when he wraps his hand around your throat, bringing your attention back to his hazy eyes. He needs your answer, and he needs it now. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he says, demanding, squeezing the column of your neck. 

He’s obsessed with the way your throat constricts beneath the pressure of his grip as you swallow your spit.

“Would you prefer if Jeongguk was here then?” 

His lips curl into a smile as if he’s testing you, but you see right through his sweet facade. Kim Taehyung is nothing if not mean in bed. If you were to be honest, he would find a way to punish you despite the reassurance in his tone. 

After all, Kim Taehyung has never been one to show you mercy. He will spank you, choke you, and fuck you until you’re at the edge of your limit, simply because you let him. Because you love it, and you love when you’re reduced to nothing but a slutty little mess. 

“It’s just you, Tae,” you murmur weakly. “Just want you, not Guk.” Despite the affirmation in your voice, your walls clench around Taehyung’s fingers. 

Guk? Since when did you ever use nicknames with Jeongguk? 

“Love, we both know that’s not true,” he says, slapping your clit once again.

You curse under your breath. 

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you sob with tears streaming down your face, but you adore every second of it. Taehyung takes a moment to wipe the tears from your eyes before pressing a tender kiss to the apples of your cheeks. 

“I saw the two of you at the door earlier,” Taehyung begins, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip, biting the flesh between his teeth. 

It’s true that Jeongguk invited you to the party. Actually, he asked you long before Taehyung had even brought it up. But no, Jeongguk is not your date and neither is Taehyung.

At the very least, Jeongguk had the decency to acknowledge you and give you an ounce of attention (Taehyung would argue that Jeongguk looks at you like he’s in love with you, yet you remain oblivious, chalking it down to being friends). 

The entire evening, you talked his ear off about your neuroscience research ー the idea of emotional numbness being a symptom of certain psychological disorders. It sounds depressing, but when you manage to break it down, comparing it to Widowmaker’s genetically modified brain chemistry, Jeongguk clung onto your every word. 

Not only are you so adorable, but so fucking brilliant. On top of that… you can unpack the lore of his favorite Overwatch hero for hours on end? You might just be the girl he’s been searching for in all of his dreams. It’s no wonder he looks at you with so much love in his eyes.  

Meanwhile, throughout the whole night, Taehyung was too “busy” to approach you ー only watched from afar. He can’t risk the thought of people finding out about your relationship. Rather, he was swarmed with girls hanging off of his arm, vying for his attention. Yet the only thing he saw was you. 

You finally had a moment alone when he brushed against your arm, asking you to trail him upstairs to “show” you the photos he took on his new camera.

And that is exactly how you found yourself in this predicament. 

“Jeongguk was so sweet to take off your jacket and offer you a drink.” Taehyung circles your clit with calloused fingers as if he has all the time in the world. 

These soft, gentle touches only mark the beginning of your punishment, and you’d be lucky if you could crawl out of bed tomorrow morning. You close your eyes, praying to a higher power that you’ll make it out of here in one piece.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” He murmurs against your jaw, pressing a kiss to your chin, barely missing the soft curve of your lips. “I’m pretty sure he thinks about you when he touches himself.” 

To emphasize his point, Taehyung glides his hand down the inner part of your thigh. Goosebumps ripple across your skin as you shiver in his hold. 

“What if Jeongguk was here, watching you beg for my cock, hm?” Taehyung hums. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You whine desperately, saying anything that would please Taehyung despite how easily your body betrays you ー pussy pulsing with need, carnal and insatiable. 

Anyone could tell that Jeongguk has a huge crush on you. It’s in the way that he looks at you with wide, lovestruck eyes. He holds onto every single one of his words as if you’re rewriting the stars. Whenever you share a lame joke that flies over everyone’s head, he’s giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

Truthfully? Nothing pisses Taehyung off more than that. 

Somehow, even the sound of Jeongguk’s name makes you clench around Taehyung’s fingers. 

“Do you want him to fuck you?” 

The image of Jeongguk making room for himself in your cunt makes you break into tears, sobbing. Or perhaps Jeongguk would be the type to take it slow, you can never be so sure. His pretty face is so deceptive. Maybe he would memorize every inch of your skin and make love in a way you’ve never quite understood. 

“Because I know that Guk wants to.” Taehyung says it as a matter of fact. As if he knows something that you don’t. There’s malice in his tone when he utters the nickname you’ve defaulted to. 

“Would you let the boys watch? Namjoon? Jimin? You know they’re quite fond of you, right? You might give them the impression that they have a chance with you because you’re such an easy slut.” Taehyung spins a dirty fantasy inside of your head while he rubs deft circles onto your clit. Your slick arousal seeps out of your pulsing cunt, soaking his fingers. 

“I bet you’d let Jeongguk fuck you raw too.” 

The innermost part of you thinks about Jeongguk losing his innocent image so that he could stretch you open and flood you with his cum, round after round. How he would plug your needy cunt with his length, forcing you to cockwarm him, locking his cum inside of you until he’s ready to ruin you all over again. 

How would Taehyung feel if he were to watch? You can’t decide if he would love it or hate it, and neither can you. 

Jeon Jeongguk is nothing if not kind, so surely, he could do you one favor, right? 

With the thought of Jeongguk stretching you open, your orgasm washes over you, and you tremble in Taehyung’s arms, consumed by your climax. You cry out, muttering apologies over and over again. Tears cascade down your cheeks, unable to control yourself. 

But perhaps you’re not sorry at all. 

That’s all it takes for Taehyung to latch his mouth onto your clit, sucking harshly on the small bundle of nerves. You buck your hips, wanting him impossibly closer, but his hands squeeze around your waist, pinning you to the table.

His tongue delves between your entrance, lapping the arousal that drips out of you. The taste of your cum is such a sweet reward, but it’s almost offensive how you could come to the thought of fucking another man, a man who is not him, but one of his friends and fraternity brothers. Even if Taehyung was the one to flood your head with thoughts of Jeongguk, he can’t seem to handle the truth. 

Maybe, just maybe, it’s because you could slip through his fingers and leave him at any point in time. How much longer can you deal with this lack of commitment ー no strings attached situationship? 

The gossip among your friends isn’t lost on him. He knows that they don’t like him, always urging you to step away. An ember ignites inside of his chest when he recounts a conversation he once overheard: ‘Jeongguk’s been asking about you. You should give him a chance, don’t you think? What if he’s the one?’ 

As if Taehyung has something to prove, he works you into overdrive, sucking your clit into his mouth as he rolls the small bundle of nerves with his tongue.

You reach down, gripping his hair between your fingers, feeling much too overstimulated after your first orgasm. Taehyung digs his face deeper into your pussy in hopes that he can elicit the sweet whimpers that make his cock leak with beads of precum. 

From beneath his desk, he drags down the band of his sweats, just low enough for him to pull out his dick. His hand wraps around his length, jerking off to the sound of your moans and the way that your pussy weeps for him, squelching into the quiet of the night. 

Taehyung eats you out like he’s starving ー messy and depraved. You’re dripping in arousal, completely soaking his chin with your essence. 

Your legs quiver, closing around Taehyung’s head as you approach your high once again. He circles his arms around your thighs, spreading them wide apart. You’re rendered immobile, forced to take him like the good girl he knows you are. 

He picks up the pace, forcing his tongue deep between your walls. 

Trembling in his hold, you tip over the edge with a sob that rips through your throat. Your cunt pulses as he laps up the cum dripping from your core. 

Your fingernails dig into his scalp, yet Taehyung has no intention of stopping. In fact, the pain drives him to work even faster. He swipes his tongue against your clit, sucking on the bud and working you into overstimulation. He needs to make sure that you don’t ever think about touching another man but him. 

He may not be yours, but you are his without a single doubt.  

Taehyung plunges his fingers back inside of you, massaging the inside of your cunt with delicious friction. It’s on the border of pleasure and pain, yet you welcome it as you ride out your high. 

“Taehyung…” You whimper in a weak voice, “It’s too much…” Once more, you tug on his hair, pulling him apart from your cunt, even as it pulses in his wake. 

But Taehyung can’t help himself, lurching forward, he wedges himself between your thighs. He needs to taste you, just a little more as if this is the last time he’ll ever have you. He kisses your clit, repeatedly, one smooch after another ー completely pussy drunk. He knows that you can take it. 

You slump against his desk, legs weak. But there’s nothing you can do. What Taehyung wants, Taehyung gets. And all he wants is to mark you, claim you, and breed you until you’re filled with his cum for days on end. 

Taehyung wipes his chin with the back of his hand, and it just might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He picks you up from beneath your thighs, and you wrap your arms around his neck. 

You’re no stranger to the bounce of his bed as he lays you on top of his covers. You’ve been there a dozen times before, having memorized the feeling of the cool, linen fabric against your exposed skin. 

Taehyung tugs on the neckline of your dress, revealing your breasts to his hungry eyes. He suckles on one of your pert nipples while twisting the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

Meanwhile, you reach forward, palming his erection through his sweatpants. He grinds against your hand as he hums into your chest. Murmurs of “mine, mine, mine.” 

His hand reaches down to circle your wrist before shoving them down his pants. He dips your hand beneath the fabric, guiding your hand to fist his cock, pumping his length without the burden of cotton in between. 

It’s heavy in your hands, long and thick. You can barely wrap your fingers around the circumference of it all. 

Taehyung shifts focus onto your neck, sucking love bites into your delicate skin. To fuel his ego, he needs the rest of the world to know that you belong to him. That nobody can fuck you better than him. Not Namjoon, not Jimin, and definitely not Jeongguk. 

“Tae, I need you.” The words are slurred coming out of your mouth. You’re delirious, yet you haven’t even had a taste of him. 

“You think you deserve my cock?” He tilts his head to the side, arching his brow. His question is rhetorical, yet you can’t help but nod with desperation.

It’s condescending and downright degrading, but you grow wetter upon tasting his arrogance. You should feel pathetic for wanting his warmth and his comfort, yet in this very moment, he is the only thing that you crave. 

Taehyung tugs his shirt over his head and drags his sweatpants down to his thighs. He slides his bare cock between your folds. It’s puffy and much too sensitive, but you love the feeling of his weight on you. 

He taps your clit with the head of his cock once, twice, three-four times. 

“Who does this pretty cunt belong to?” He doesn’t shift his gaze, even when your eyes roll back, consumed with blinding pleasure. 

“It’s yours, Taehyung,” you whimper, melting into the sheets. “I’m all yours.”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear,” he says before tapping your bottom lip. 

Instinctually, you open your mouth, and he drops a glob of spit straight down your throat. 

Before you can even swallow, Taehyung is lining up his cock with your entrance until he bottoms out, leaving you with little to no time to adjust to his girth.

“My pussy’s all yours.” You manage to mutter a string of words, breathless, half coherent as he stretches you wide open. 

“Mine?” Taehyung quirks his brow. His jaw clenches. “Then how about I fuck a baby inside of you, huh?” 

If you had any semblance of sanity, your rationality would have spoken against it. But when Taehyung looks at you with such desperate eyes, almost animalistic, you can’t help but to wrap your legs around his waist, forcing his cock deeper into your fertile cunt, begging him to breed you. 

The squelch of your heat fills the otherwise quiet room. It’s verging on pornographic ー the sound of skin slapping on skin. When he nestles his hips against yours like two pieces of a puzzle, he groans against your collarbone, resuming his mission to claim you and make you his, ravishing your skin until a deep bruise forms in its place. 

He glides into you so effortlessly, his pace punishing. The slick of your arousal allows him to rut into you like you were made for him. By now, you’re certain that he’s fucked your pussy into the shape of his cock. It’s reserved for Taehyung so long as he’ll have you. 

He grabs the back of your thighs, folding you in half, right into a press, perfect for breeding. But not before roughly delivering a spank to the curve of your ass. The impact leaves a temporary mark, and you thrive off of the attention that he gives you. 

You’re so fucked out, you can’t think of anything other than coming with Taehyung’s name on your tongue. 

He pounds into you with a force that causes your body to inch up the mattress. The bed frame rocks against the wall, but neither of you care about the repercussions. Nobody could possibly hear you whoring yourself out when the boom of the bass is so loud downstairs. 

Would it really be such a bad thing if someone were to catch you? 

It should be humiliating how wet you are, soaking his cock like a bitch in heat. But in fact, you’re in love with the way he prods your cervix as he finds his home nestled inside of you. 

Taehyung grips the underside of your jaw, turning your head so that you can face the floor length mirror on the other side of the bed. 

His lips press against the shell of your ear as he whispers sweet nothings against your blazing hot skin. “You’re such a good girl. Look at how well you take me,” he coos. 

You stare into your reflection, eyes meeting your own in the mirror. Your makeup is a complete and utter mess. Your mascara runs down your cheeks from the tears in your eyes, your lipgloss stained from all the kisses you’ve shared. 

Taehyung’s hips roll against yours, and your gaze shifts to the strain of his muscles. His back is so broad and so strong. His biceps flex from holding himself above your body. 

From this angle, you can see the way he drives into you. Your pussy can’t help but swallow him deeper and deeper, accommodating his length as it drags against your walls with a delicious, slow burn. He fucks you so ardently, he can barely pull away for long before burrowing right back into your core, settling into the deepest parts of you. 

With your eyes trained on the mirror, you can spot the faint love bite that blooms beneath his ear. Perhaps there is a small part of Kim Taehyung that does belong to you. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on your heart once again. 

Taehyung props himself up on his knees for more leverage. But before he can situate himself, he notices the small crack in the doorway, slightly ajar. Through the gap, he can see the wandering eyes of his fellow fraternity brother, none other than Park Jimin. He genuinely has no idea how long he’s been standing there. 

Feeling high on some power trip, Taehyung flashes an amused smirk at the man on the other side of the door, shooting him a wink as he plows his hips against yours.

There’s a small part of Jimin’s subconscious that makes him believe he should walk away and pretend that this never happened. It feels wrong to spy on his best friend splitting your sweet cunt in half, but he can’t seem to look away. The longer he stares, the harder he gets.

Maybe it’s the boost of serotonin that Jimin gets from the sight of your tits. They’re bouncing from the force of Taehyung’s thrusts, and he can only imagine how they would feel beneath his palms. Perhaps it’s the sound of your dulcet voice, begging Taehyung to fuck you deeper, spank you harder, and love you louder. 

Jimin has only ever dreamt about the sound of your moans, but now, he can hear them loud and clear from the other side of the door. 

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Perhaps this is a dream. Or maybe he’s a little too drunk at this point of the night. 

But when he looks up again, he’s met with Taehyung’s darkened eyes. Jimin’s mouth goes dry, wishing that he could be there in place of his dear friend. 

In all of his dreams, Jimin has never pictured you to like it so rough. You’ve always been so kind and so sweet, offering to clean the dishes among his dirty fraternity brothers. You’re so considerate to keep him company while he builds his Lego sets late into the evening. 

You’re practically the face of innocence. 

Now with this knowledge of you being a dirty, little whore, he can stow it away into the back of his mind, saving it for the dark and restless nights.

When Taehyung’s thumb meets your clit, you whimper his name. It’s raw, almost painful, coming from your scratchy throat. 

“Say it again,” Taehyung demands, tapping the side of your face with his free hand before gliding it down to your neck. “Say my name again. If you want me to cum inside of you, beg.” 

You cry out his name as your eyes roll back, his length prodding against your cervix, bruising the soft, spongy spot inside of you. Unintelligible murmurs spill from your lips. “I’ll do whatever you want. I just want your cum, I need it, please, please, please. Need you to fuck me full. I want your babies, daddy. You promised, remember?” 

Something inside of Taehyung ignites whenever you call him daddy. “You need it? Need my cum? My babies?” 

Taehyung picks up the pace, burying himself deep inside of you. His tone is mocking, and you fall apart to the sound of his voice. “What a needy fucking plaything.” 

He pays no mind to the way you shudder beneath him, tears falling down your face. He continues to maneuver you into a different position, manhandling your body in a way that has you clenching around him even tighter, sheathing his cock deeper between your walls. He hooks his arm beneath the bend of your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders until you curl beneath him. 

You’re addicted to the way he fills you to the brim, splitting you in half. A ring of milky cream coats the base of his cock, revealing itself whenever he pulls out the slightest bit. It’s mixed with the saliva that he drops onto your mound, making the glide so effortless. 

Had this been any other night, Taehyung would not let you off the hook this easily. Instead, he would humiliate you into begging. Your face would be pushed into the mattress while he makes a mess of your pussy. He would spill his load inside of you while prolonging your orgasm, only allowing you to come if you beg for it. But tonight, he’s being much too kind in the presence of his guest.

Taehyung brings his hand down, spanking the curve of your ass. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” He groans against your lips. 

You shudder once again when he strikes your clit ー “This pussy is mine.” At this point, you would have thought you’d be used to it by now, but the impact continues to surprise you every time. 

He gives a harsh thrust into your cunt, deep and rough. Rushed murmurs of “mine, mine, mine.” For good measure, he spits on your face and slaps your cheek. Kim Taehyung fully knows that you do belong to him, and he needs Jimin to know that. 

Taehyung grabs your waist and flips you over so that you straddle his hips. He grips your jaw with a firm grasp, forcing your head toward the direction of the door. He doesn’t seem to forget about his dear friend. Because apparently, Park Jimin is as much of a pervert as you are. 

When you lock eyes with Jimin on the other side, you clamp around Taehyung’s length. 

He just knows that you love the attention. 

Your legs tremble on either side of his waist, and you want to collapse into his chest to hide in embarrassment. Humiliation prickles your cheeks, but you know there’s nowhere to run. 

As a reminder of his presence, Taehyung grips your waist. “Color?” All you have to do is say the word, and he’ll stop. 

You’ve expressed your interest in exhibitionism before, yet Taehyung has always been the one to keep your relationship a dirty little secret. So it doesn’t come as a surprise when you nod your head in confirmation, cursing out the words, breathless. “Green.” 

“‘Atta girl,” Taehyung groans, squeezing your hips. “Why don’t you show Jimin how you ride?” He suggests, clenching his jaw. 

There’s an innate need to show Jimin what a pretty, desperate little toy that you are. So you bounce on your knees, fucking yourself onto Taehyung’s cock. 

Jimin can’t keep his eyes off of you as your tits bounce on full display. His eyes scan your body up and down, taking note of the dress that bunches around your waist. It’s the same strawberry pattern that you wore to Sunday service the week prior. 

He remembers how pretty you looked as you sat cross legged on the other side of the pew 一 when you had volunteered to pass around plates of food for the elders at the luncheon and when you had flashed him a gummy smile after pouring you a glass of orange juice. But now, the image of you in that same exact dress has tainted his memory. 

Your hands rest on Taehyung’s chest as you grind your hips onto his. With each brush against your clit, you shudder, slowly losing your senses from the mind numbing pleasure. 

Soon enough, you lose your rhythm, jagged and off-tempo. Your thrusts are much too shallow for Taehyung’s liking, your thighs burning. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. But you can’t help it when you’re a little too distracted by Jimin’s eyes boring into yours. 

“You can do better than that,” Taehyung growls, landing a sharp slap against your ass. His fingers dig into your waist. Your flesh gives way to his grip, dimpling beneath the pressure. 

“Tell Jimin how much you love being fucked like a whore.” Taehyung says, punctuating each syllable with a sharp thrust. 

Because you are constantly under Taehyung’s spell, you do as you’re told, whining out Jimin’s name with tears in your eyes. “Minnie…” Taehyung grits his teeth, hating how close you are to all of his friends. At the end of the day, you’re his. 

There’s no hesitation in your voice. “Love it so much 一 Love being Taehyung's slut. He fucks me so well, he’s ruined me for anyone else. I can’t- I can’t-” The sobs wrack through your body as the dirty words pool out of your mouth. “Please, Tae, I want to come so bad. I’ve been a good girl, please, please please- I promise I won’t act up anymore, I only want you.” 

Taehyung has trouble believing your lies. You’ve been anything but a good girl all night. The images flash before his eyes 一 you drinking with Namjoon, leaning into Jimin’s touch, giggling with Jeongguk. Fuck, the way you came around his fingers when he flooded your pretty little head with thoughts of his friend claiming you in front of everyone like a needy whore 一 it sets a fire ablaze inside of him. 

The only thing you’ve done that’s worthy of praise is making room for Taehyung’s fat cock inside of your slutty cunt. 

Taehyung forces two fingers into your mouth, demanding you to suck. You swirl your tongue around his digits, making them nice and wet before he traces them down your spine. He circles the puckered rim of your ass before dipping right into your tight hole. 

“Would you let Jimin fuck you here?” Taehyung asks, searching for the answer in your eyes. “You could probably come with him in your ass, no?” 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head no. 

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t done it before, love. I know you can come as long as your holes are filled,” he coos. “Wouldn’t it feel so much better if you had two dicks inside of you? Sweet girl, I know you can take it.” 

You clench at the sound of his filthy words. Taehyung has never proposed a threesome before. He hardly talks to his fraternity brothers about you, whether it is out of privacy, jealousy, or embarrassment, you can never be sure. 

Drool starts to drip out of your mouth and pride swells up inside of Taehyung’s heart. 

He circles his arms around your waist, bringing you down to his chest. Digging his heels into the mattress, he bends his knees to thrust into you at a merciless pace. His perfect tempo hits your soft, spongy center with such precision. The head of his cock grazes against your g spot with every stroke, and you whine into his neck. 

Your eyes are threatening to close, and you find it difficult to catch your breath. 

Taehyung murmurs against your skin, reminding you to breathe. Upon hearing his calm voice, your chest heaves against his. 

“Come with me, come with me,” he demands, his voice breathy. “Show him that you’re mine.” 

With a few deep thrusts, you come on Taehyung’s cock, pulsing around his length. You clench around him so tight as though you never want him to leave. The sound of Taehyung’s moans are muffled by the blood rushing to your head. All you can hear is the thrum of your pulse, pounding against your ear drums. 

Taehyung’s hips still against yours as he grabs your waist, trying to find a semblance of self-control. He spills into your cunt with thick spurts of white, hot cum, filling you to the brim. It pours out from between your walls, coating the side of his length. 

Your breath is labored as you collapse into his chest, much too weak to hold yourself up any longer. 

When you look over at Jimin, there’s a dark, wet spot over the crotch of his pants. A small whimper escapes from his parted lips, his eyes screwed shut. 

If you did not have a modicum of rationality in your post orgasmic haze, you would think that Taehyung would offer to invite him inside. But as you’ve come to learn, Taehyung is not a fan of sharing what’s his. 

So when the show is over, Jimin is quick to step into the bathroom where he can touch himself to the fresh visual of you in your strawberry print dress. Perhaps he can conjure up the image of you on your knees, wrapping your pretty lips around his throbbing cock. He would die a happy man if he could paint your perfect tits with his cum. But for now, he’ll have to settle with the glide of his hand, imagining that it’s your tight walls sucking him into the warmth of your cunt. 

And once Jimin cleans himself up, he’ll be on his merry way to tell his dear friends about the best thing he has ever witnessed in his entire life. He’d be $20 richer after Seokjin coughs up the money he bet on your relationship. And maybe Jeongguk will finally come to terms with his feelings before he loses you completely.

Surely, when all is said and done, Taehyung has cleaned up the mess that he’s made, making sure that you’re happy and well taken care of. He kisses your lips and rubs your back, taking his time to clean you up. 

He’s extra gentle when he wipes a wet cloth against your swollen pussy. It’s far too sore after the rough pounding that he had put you through. Possibly bruised and broken, at least that’s how your body feels, yet you wouldn’t be opposed if he suggested another round after you’ve recuperated because you’re simply insatiable. 

Yet that moment never comes because the two of you tuck yourselves beneath the covers, making small talk until the morning rises. 

You never mention Namjoon nor Jimin. And you definitely wouldn’t dare to utter Jeongguk’s name. With sleepy thoughts and heavy eyelids, you simply let the night cut into the day. 

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a beam across the thin film of your eyes. You’ve been awake for the last hour, keeping yourself occupied by counting the beauty marks that scatter across Taehyung’s face. You’ve done it a million times before. You could probably point them out in the dark, completely blind. 

“Creep,” he mutters under his breath when he catches you staring. 

A chuckle vibrates through your chest as you playfully push his shoulders. He rolls onto his side, facing the wall, but you cage him in your arms, wrapping them around his waist, molding your body to his. Your laugh tickles the nape of his neck.

Taehyung tries his best to ignore the lingering scent of your perfume on his bed sheets. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the right side of his bed where there’s a dip in the mattress ー the same shape as you. 

He won’t even bring up your awful bedhead because he thinks it’s funny. He likes how he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. You’re at your prettiest when you’re beneath him, but also beside him. 

Yet if he were to speak of this out loud, it would mean that all of this is his ー that he has something worth losing.

“How about I make some pancakes?” You offer, wiping the exhaustion from your eyes with the back of your hand. 

Taehyung shifts in your embrace. He strains his neck to gauge your expression. “Pancakes?” 

“Yeah, you got any strawberries?” They’re his favorite. He may have mentioned it once or twice in passing between soft kisses and sleepy yawns. Something about it being a reminder of his grandfather’s farm in Daegu. “Thought I saw some in the fridge the other day.” 

“Don’t you have class soon?” Taehyung wonders out loud. He already knows the answer. He has your schedule memorized. How could he not? 

“I could be late,” you shrug. “Remember what I told you about Professor Lee? He’s boring anyways.” 

On any other day, Taehyung would have said yes without a second thought. But the fact that you’re willing to skip class doesn’t sit right with him. Suffering through medical philosophy 301 might not be that important to you, but… would you honestly prefer to spend your time making strawberry pancakes? 

Taehyung clears his throat. “Before I say yes, can I ask you something?” 

The air is thick. 

There’s hesitation in your response, but you nod nevertheless. “What is it?” 

“Are these just pancakes, or… is it something else?” 

You part your lips, ready to respond, but the words are stuck in your throat. The answer should have been “just pancakes,” yet you’re certain that it’s more than that. 

Perhaps it’s the casual intimacy or the domesticity. Maybe it’s an extra 30 minutes spent with the guy you’re half in love with. Is that too much? Are you too much? 

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” You decide to play it safe as if you don’t want to die on the inside. As if his answer won’t have your organs collapsing on itself. 

How the hell is Taehyung supposed to tell you that he wants more than just breakfast and half an hour of your time. He wants all of it and more, but it’s selfish to ask for that. You deserve the world, but he can’t give you what you need. 

Time and time again, Taehyung has said that this is just casual. No strings attached. But how could he let it get this far? 

There’s an adoring look in your eye that triggers his fight or flight response. He’s scared. 

“I think… I just want pancakes.” There’s a dull ache in his heart and a voice that’s screaming in the back of his head. “But maybe next time. You should go to class.” 

Little do you know, it took a hell of a lot of courage to say anything but “Please have me. Please hold me. I’m sorry.” 

You try to push down the sting of his rejection as if it isn’t a reflection of the love that you deserve. “Okay, so I’ll see you later?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Taehyung curls onto his side of the bed, retreating into himself. The heat of his body escapes yours. His responses shrink, reduced to nothing but an “I don’t know.” 

You contemplate his cold tone and decide not to push any further. Yet you’re certain that you’ll keep yourself awake in the dead of the night by finding meaning in his silence. 

For Taehyung, it hurts knowing that he can’t be the man for you. When his efforts fall short of what you deserve, he has a feeling that you’ll slip through his fingers once again. Would that hurt more than pushing you away?

When Taehyung asks you if you need a ride back to your place, a vile feeling bubbles up in the pit of your stomach. You can’t quite explain what it is. Anger? Hatred? Animosity? The truth is, you could never hate Kim Taehyung. Not for all the dreams you’ve shared. Not for all the wasted time. Not for the things he never said. 

Taehyung thinks a ride is the best he could do if he can’t offer himself to you. If he can’t be your boyfriend. 

You simply decline. “I think I wanna walk,” you mutter. Perhaps a little bit of fresh air is exactly what you need. Some time and space to clear your head and just think.

You hum, flashing him a smile that isn’t much of a smile at all. It doesn’t sit right on your face, Taehyung thinks. It doesn’t reach your eyes the way he’s accustomed to ー like when you ace your physiology exam, when two bags of chips fall out of the vending machine, or when you wave hello to a stray cat from across the street. Even if Taehyung notices the ill-fitting smile on your face, he doesn’t seem to mention it. 

So you slip out the door without another word, falling apart in the usual way. 

It’s chilly in the hallway outside of Taehyung’s room. You shiver at the feeling. 

From the back of your pocket, you pull out your phone, drafting a text to Taehyung: “It’s cold out. You should wear a jacket.” 

You contemplate hitting send, but before you can decide against it, a familiar voice brings you to a halt. 

“Hey, Y/N, morning!” The sweet lull of Jeongguk’s voice resonates through your eardrums. He’s always awake early in the morning, but perhaps he never went to bed to begin with.

His hair is messy. Disheveled. He has a crumb of toast that sits pretty on the corner of his lips, and you don’t hesitate to dust it off. He flashes a warm smile at you, thankful for the action. 

As he often does, you think that he might offer a ride to prevent the walk of shame. If you ever decline, he’ll just nod his head, shrug on a jacket, and walk by your side to the foot of your apartment building. In spite of Jeongguk’s frat boy status, he may be the only decent member of the fraternity. 

But this time, you don’t decline. You tuck your head between your shoulders as you shrug. An “okay” slips from your lips, followed by a “thank you.” 

Maybe you could use a friend. Maybe you could have more than that. 

There’s a set of keys in one of Jeongguk’s hands and a knit scarf in the other. He wraps it around your neck so that you can brave the cold, fifteen steps to his car at the end of the driveway. 

But as he fixes your bedhead, pulling your hair to the side, careful to not get it caught beneath the fabric of his scarf, he chimes with yet another question. 

“Are you and Taehyung serious by the way?”

You shake your head no. “No, not at all,” you murmur, sullen. 

There’s a hopeful smile that affixes itself onto his lips. “What would you say if I asked you out on a date?” 

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

I'll Show You Just How Sad I Am

a raymond smith x reader quick little blurb, just 1k words

there's mentions of smut in this so read at your own risk <33 who knows, maybe raymond will make a more regular occurrence on my blog over the next few weeks

here's my masterlist in case you want to check out my other works

"Should be the door to your left, honey."

Your voice is sweet in his ear, a pleasant distraction from the run-down building Mickey had sent him off to. It's smelly and dirty and even though he knows he should most likely feel pity, he's still just as disgusted. He'd be with you in a heartbeat if he could, safe and clean in the comfort of your home.

"Mickey should've sent a cleaning lady", he grunts as he knocks at the door, your chuckle almost making up for the very truthful, thinly veiled anger behind his words.

"Mickey wanted you because you're the best", you recite - you've told him often enough by now that it really is reciting. "And because he trusts you to keep this clean."

Which is easier said than done.

Twenty minutes later, the whole thing's anything but clean.

Sure, he'd very much accomplished bringing Laura home - but he'd also left a dead teenager in a puddle of blood about two stories down from where he should've been sitting.

"Left, left!", you call into the mic. Even though you're far from panicking, you're still much too loud, your voice flowing from his earpiece and stinging his brain.

"I'm trying, darling", he grunts back, breathless and panting as he pushes on, one foot in front of the other on the pavement of some random South London streets.

"I know, I know", you sigh. He isn't sure whether he's actually hearing you chew on your lip or imagining it, but he doesn't really have the capacity to think too much about it at the moment. "He's right in front of you. You've got him, Ray."

Yeah... The only problem is that what you must be seeing as a moving, flashing dot on a digital map, he's seeing as a bunch of teenagers trying to look intimidating. Probably feeling intimidating too. God, this is exactly why he didn't want the job. He isn't made for the fucking low-classed youth.

"You've seen enough?", that bastard of a boy spits at him. "Now I've got backup."

Raymond steadies his hands on his thighs and takes a deep breath in.

"You couldn't back up a phone, you cunt", he rasps, his erratic heartbeat slowly starting to calm back down.

"Raymond", you scold. "That's a child."

"That's a bastard", he mutters, before he finally straightens and tries his best at a somewhat mannered bargain. He's really only here for the fucking phone. He needs those pictures, then he's gone. He doesn't want to leave more unnecessary corpses to take care of.

So he offers them money. Which is something that they should definitely take, just judging by how they look. Plus a visit to a very good psychiatrist. But they don't. It's the same fucking bastard who's taken the pictures in the first case and got him into this mess that refuses - and in such a really stupid way, too: "How 'bout you give us that bag and be gone anyway?" - god, even you let out a choked up laugh at that, your breath carrying through the mic and into Ray's earpiece.

He drops his chin to his chest and shakes his head. What a fucking bunch of idiots. Goddamn it. He can feel his blood boil, hot and hotter.

"It's bait", you mutter, your voice low. "Calm down, love. You've got a machine gun. Use it."

Yeah, fucking hell, it's bait, he knows that. It doesn't change the way he's feeling. But your voice in his ear at least brings him back down to reality.

"Right", he grunts, then he swipes his coat to the side, closes his hand around the grip of the gun and steadies his fingertips against the trigger. He pulls it out in one swift motion, points it at the sky and shoots. For a good three seconds longer than necessary.

"Just like that", you breathe, your grin dripping down onto your voice and melting into his ear like honey. You've really got to stop that, he actually loses his focus for half a moment there and in his line of work, next time that means sure death.

The entire bunch of teenage boys flees - as expected - and in less than a minute, Raymond has the phone pressed into his palm.

"God, sometimes I really hate that I'm not there", you sigh, something in the background ruffling, probably as you shift into a more comfortable position on your chair. "Kinda wish I could've seen you."

"Run after a little cunt like that? You didn't miss anything, darling", he says, turning his head left and right before he strides back towards the car, his steps long and purposeful.

"Turn the corner here", you mutter, your voice taking on that specific tone that tells him there's a lazy grin licking at your lips. He can just imagine how you're looking (especially now that he has the time and freedom of mind for it) - one foot propped up on those bar stools that you'd bought for the kitchen, your equipment organised on the table top in front of you, his shirt hanging from your shoulders and pooling in your lap, your head tilted back and your eyes half-closed as you talk to him.

"I don't mean the little idiot", you go on, undeterred even as he narrowly avoids a trash can. Fuck, you really distract him too much. "I'm talking about you. God, you sounded so hot I wanted to jump at you. Actually scratch that, I still do."

He lets out a chuckle as he spots the car, his steps slowing. He should hurry up, he knows that. But he's got you in his ear, talking in that sweet voice of yours about just how much he affects you. He can't pass up on that.

"You're a little fuckin' minx, darling", he mutters with a grin, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check if there's any possibility he could be overheard. He doesn't necessarily feel like making your conversation public, even as you hum into the microphone.

"Yeah, but yours", you mumble. It sounds like you're almost proud of that. "Here's an idea, love: Get back home before I finish my shower and I'll show you just how sad I am that I couldn't watch you."

[vampykween]

you don't own me

wrote this purely because nic @ghostlywhiskey was fueling my delusions tonight cw: simon is literally the definition of toxic, humiliation (kinda?) literally just toxic love-hate sex so mdni!

You always end up like this – face down, ass up, dress bunched around your waist, with tear stains ruining all the effort you put into your makeup.

Your face burns slightly as the force of your boyfriend’s thrust jolt you unwaveringly. He’s fucking you like he’s punishing you - which he is, and your crime this time is wearing what he called ‘an attention seeking whore’ dress. It’s always something with him; at first you loved the fact that he was possessive, it was incredibly hot. He was a well-built older man who swore up and down he could spoil you and treat you right – and he did for the most part, or at least he used to.

He'd buy you anything your heart desired and fucked you like no one had ever before. Maybe that’s why you stick around, because even though you shouldn’t love it the way he fucks you like you’re his and his alone does something sick to your brain.

Simon roughly pulls you up by your hair and grunts in your ear, “I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just behave, love. But no, you’re obsessed with showing off everything like a fuckin little slut. How many times do I have to remind you, you belong to me.”

He punctuates his last words by thrusting even harder and you’re momentarily seeing stars. You’re choking on sobs at this point – and you can’t decide if you want him to slow down or keep going. He wraps his other large hand around your throat effectively restricting your breathing.

“Fuck you,” you spit out as best you can, and all Simon does is laugh at you. He knows you don’t mean it. You’re so wet, it’s leaking around his cock and making a mess of both of your thighs.

His thrusts never faltering as he slaps your ass harshly and barks at you to shut up. Simon’s hands now make their way to your waist, and he slams you back onto his cock so roughly that the breath is punched out of your lungs. When your boyfriend punishes you like this, it’s all about him and his needs. It’s his way of staking claim over you, you can feel it through his menacing thrusts and from the bruises where he’s marked you all over with his mouth and hands.

You can tell he’s getting close by the way his rhythm is stuttering and the deep groans he’s emitting. He tugs at your hair again and drags you down until you’re on your knees right next to the couch.  You know what’s about to happen; he works his hand over his cock so close to your face, if you stuck out your tongue, you’d be able to taste the beads of precum bubbling at his angry tip. He lets out a growl as his orgasm washes over him and spurts of cum are painting your face.

“There ya go, now you look like the whore you act like you are,” he says as he uses his fingers to spread the evidence of his release messily all over your face.

[moneymartin]

jealous possessive Lottie hcs?:3

🦌- jealous!lottie hcs

used nat as the punching bag here but this includes every other yj or wtv. this is so lowk kinda long sry i got lured in real deep. also probably makes no sense lol!

honestly i don’t think she’s a very jealous girl… she’s moreso the type to just cling to you a lot cause she’s scared 😭

but ohhhh my lord when she sees you with someone from her team it’s all over

she starts off easy probably asking simple questions like “oh, what were you and nat talking about yesterday at lunch?”

she doesn’t wanna seem too obvious but you can tell there’s something wrong

when you and that specific teammate hang out a lot more lottie tends to take much more notice. she’s noting down the times you come back to her place after that hangout and shit

the times are extremely repetitive and you come home around the same time which makes her believe you’re hooking up with them…….

that makes lottie become a lot more mean because she truly does not have the heart to end things with you. she can only be mean. also i genuinely can’t see her breaking things off i know she’d be a mess 😣

when you ask her questions it’s kind of like the typical jealousy filled answer.

you ask her for the homework answers and she’ll say “go ask nat.” and you can’t really get them out of her cause she’s so mad. you’d literally ask her “what’s for dinner” and she’d respond with something completely unrelated like “maybe nat can make you dinner??” OMFG WHAT A BJTCH

before one of the hangouts you have with that person lottie pulls you to the side for a few minutes before you leave

she’s on your lap and biting your neck to mark you up >__< leaving hickeys on your jaw and neck and on your collarbone. WHEW

the person you’re always with notices them and asks you whats wrong but you just say it’s a bunch of bites 💀💀

after that lottie tends to mark you up a lot more. especially in bed. scratching your back and arms as hard as she can. not to the point where it bleeds i think just to the point where they’re extremely noticeable

when you come home and she sees a ‘new hickey’ she is DONE! it’s not even new though it’s literally her’s she jus doesn’t remember it -_-

but she’s too fed up and takes you up to the bedroom to strip everything off of you

she takes her anger out on you during the sex…

like she’ll probably drive into you with her strap soo hard. it’s smth you aren’t very used to yet but she could care less

also tries to choke you too but you do that little tapping thing on her hand so she can stop. she feels bad but keeps going anyways cause shes so fucking jealous

during it she’ll grunt things out like “can they fuck you like i can??!” and it gets you real confused 😭 “bet they can’t be this deep in you, huh? is that right?!”

afterwards you’d confront her about it though. asking her what she meant by that and then she says “well, you’ve been hanging out with (whoever) wayy too much, and i- i got jealous and…”

she babbles on a bunch and starts crying even though you’re the one who practically got ripped in half!!!

you manage to comfort her though saying things like “y’know i’m just hanging out with them because they’re my friend. i’m not that type of person, lott.” while you wipe away her tears 😞💔

anyways she somehow starts to fall asleep before you do while she traces the scratches on your back

in the morning she kisses all of the purple and reddish hickeys on your skin to apologize for being jealous and way too rough the night before. she also kisses the scratches and helps you treat them with some creams ☹️

[cha-melodius]

Can I request firstprince alternative first meeting in Rio for your fandom fest? Thanks! ❤️💙

(Yes, I'm still working on these! I'm guessing this isn't exactly what you had in mind when you sent in this prompt, but it fit in very well with the Olympics, and it IS a (very) alternative first meeting lol. I hope you enjoy!)

Tonight, You're Gold

(M, 6k, read it below or on AO3)

Henry wasn’t expecting the Rio Olympics to be particularly eventful, all things considered. These weren’t his first games, after all, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s not a favourite in the men’s Laser sailing fleet this year. Coming back from a knee injury has been hard, and he’s proud of what he’s achieved this season. If he can make it into the medal race, he’ll be ecstatic. Mostly, he’s been enjoying the experience. Enjoying watching the different sports. Enjoying the city of Rio. Enjoying the other athletes.

As one does.

Normally, he wouldn’t have gone out tonight, but Pez had cajoled him into it, saying even if he wasn’t going to find a hookup he could at least take his mind off his impending first-round race rather than stewing alone in his room. Henry had to admit he had a point. That was before this, though.

One minute Henry’s listening to a ridiculously gorgeous American beach volleyball player with big brown eyes and eyelashes that would be a handicap in many sports complain about how his room was the victim of catastrophic flooding thanks to a burst pipe, and the next, all of his common sense simply deserts him.

“…and Liam ended up finding a place with this diver named Spencer, but I got fucked over because the only extra bed right now is with Hunter,” the American, whose name is Alex, is saying. He pushes a mess of gorgeous dark curls back from his face, only for several of them to flop back and curve just under his ears, framing a jaw that could cut glass. “Who— I mean, you don’t know him, and you should be thankful for that because he’s insufferable. But the real problem is that he snores like a chainsaw, so how the fuck am I supposed to get a decent night’s sleep?”

“You could stay with me,” Henry says before he can properly think it through. Across from him, Alex raises his eyebrows. Christ. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Only, my roommate’s already done competing, and he’s moved out. So I have an extra bed.”

Alex laughs, his curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to just move into Team Great Britain territory.”

Henry shrugs and takes a sip of his mocktail—he’s not dumb enough to drink with a race tomorrow, even if he is dumb enough to make this suggestion. “Given the revolving doors on some of these rooms, I don’t think you’ll draw much attention.”

Henry should know, after all. He’s had more than a few overnight visitors since Basil finished on the second day of the games. It’s been incredibly convenient having a room to himself—Fabrizio the Italian gymnast had been a highlight, to say nothing of half the Dutch rowing team—and now he’s about to give that up for a mouthy American that he’s pretty sure is straight. Because he’s a bloody idiot, apparently.

“I mean, people would probably assume…” Alex trails off, the darkening of his cheeks obvious even in the low light.

“That we’re fucking?” Henry finishes bluntly, and Alex chokes on his drink. Definitely straight, then. Pity. “It's true, they might. I understand if those kinds of rumours are not something you’re willing to risk.”

For some reason, that makes Alex look slightly stricken. “No, I mean, I don’t care if a bunch of random athletes think I’m queer. That’s not, like, a problem.”

“So it’s just me that’s objectionable, then,” Henry quips.

Alex is stunning when he laughs. It’s becoming a whole problem. “Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs. “Fuck, man. I should be so lucky.”

Henry only narrowly resists suggesting that he could be. Even if he thought Alex would be interested, he’s offering a place to stay. Not a quick shag.

“I should… probably get to bed. Races start early tomorrow,” Henry says, offering a little smile. “The offer stands, if you decide you need a break from the chainsaw.”

Alex draws his full lower lip through his teeth, which is supremely distracting. “Fuck. We do have a match tomorrow. And it’s against the Italians who are fucking good this year.” He squints sceptically at Henry. “Are you sure you don’t mind? You just met me. For all you know, I could fuck up your sleep.”

It’s insane to say he almost wouldn’t mind, so he doesn’t. He thinks it, though. “I doubt you’ll be worse than my roommate at the London games. And if you are, I’ll just kick you out.”

He says the last bit with a teasing smirk, which makes Alex laugh again, and Henry knows already he has no hope of surviving this man. Perfect. Just what he needs while he’s competing on the world’s biggest stage.

~~~~~

Alex is a wonderful roommate, as it turns out, which is lovely but also terrible. He’s considerate about noise and the odd hours they all have to keep between training sessions and competitions. He’s a chaotic whirlwind, but he’s also incredibly organised—“My brain is enough of a mess,” he’d told Henry on the second day—and always knows where everything is at any given time. He always makes sure there’s hot water in the kettle for Henry’s tea whenever he makes himself yet another no-doubt-coach-unapproved coffee. He’s an excellent conversation partner whenever their schedules line up, but he seems to intuitively know when Henry needs some time to himself. Today, he woke up before Henry’s third day of opening series races to hype him up, even though he had no reason to be up that early.

That’s not even considering what he looks like when he comes out of the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his curls onto some of the most well-sculpted shoulders Henry’s ever seen.

Henry is well and truly fucked.

“Hey, do people watch you guys compete?” Alex asks as Henry goes through his pre-race morning routine. “Do you have spectators?”

Henry hums, sipping his tea. “Not really. Most of the courses are barely visible from shore. They’ll put us reasonably close in for the medal race, but it’s still not much to see.”

“That’s the 15th, right?” Alex says, looking to Henry for confirmation even though he’s clearly already pulled the schedule up on his phone. “Maybe I could swing that. Our game should be late. You know, assuming we make the quarterfinals.”

Henry doesn’t quite know what to say to that. No one comes to see him compete, primarily for the aforementioned reasons of it not being the most scintillating or comprehensible sport to watch in person. Bea, at least, watches the televised races where the cameras, graphics, and commentators make it much easier to follow and texts him about a hundred times saying things like I can’t believe that asshole crossed in front of you and that Australian fucker stole your wind, which make him laugh as he reads through them once he’s back on shore.

“You don’t have to do that,” Henry demurs. “It’s really not worth it. Plus, I might not even make the medal race.”

“You will,” Alex says confidently, even though he knows next to nothing about sailing or Henry’s capabilities. Henry’s done pretty well in his first four races, but there are still six to go. “And anyway, it’s not really about watching the race. You guys deserve to have people to support and cheer for you too.”

Henry’s throat is tight. “Right, well, one step at a time,” he mumbles. Best to change the subject. “Tell me about your match today?”

Alex smiles like he knows what Henry is doing, but he lets it go, and Henry spends the rest of the time before has to depart for the race listening to Alex go on about digs and float serves and line shots. It’s a surprisingly effective way of soothing pre-race jitters and getting out of his own head, even if it’s one he knows he shouldn’t get used to.

~~~~~

Henry’s not sure he’s ever watched a beach volleyball match before, which was clearly a significant oversight on his part. He is sweating and not only because the sun is beating relentlessly down on him as he sits in the stands. It’s certainly not helped by the USA’s uniforms, which feature shorts a full hands-breadth shorter than seemingly any other team’s and vests with deeply scooped arm holes. Alex’s teammate, Liam, is wearing a white ball cap, but Alex has eschewed a hat, instead pushing his curls back from his face with a blue elastic hair band, which is more endearing than it has any right to be.

“Christ, would you look at his arse,” Pez says appreciatively from his position at Henry’s side as Alex leans over with his hands on his knees.

“You say that like I’ve been able to look anywhere else,” Henry returns. There’s no shortage of hot people in minimal amounts of spandex at the games, yet the way those shorts cling to Alex’s arse is somehow more tantalising than all of them. “I’m convinced he was specially sculpted by the gods explicitly to torment me.”

Pez tsks and slants a sideways look at him. “Still haven’t gotten him into your bed, then?”

“I’m not his type, Pez.”

On the court, Alex spikes a ball over the net, scoring a point, then runs over to Liam to celebrate. Which involves smacking each other vigorously on the arse. They’ve been doing it all match. Once, after a particularly exceptional point scored, Alex kissed him enthusiastically on the cheek.

“You’re certain about that?” Pez asks sceptically.

“You know straight men and their homoerotic sports rituals,” Henry sighs.

“Mm,” Pez hums. “I wouldn’t mind testing that hypothesis with his partner. Those arms.”

Henry snorts. “Godspeed, my friend.”

“Never underestimate my charm, Hazza,” Pez chirps, watching as Liam dives for the ball and knocks it back over toward Alex. “They really are very good at this.”

It’s not like Alex has been modest when he’s talked about their performance, but it’s very clear that he’s still managed to undersell it. The US men are practically putting on a clinic, dominating every set of the match. Both Alex and Liam are clearly exceptional players, operating like a well-oiled machine, but Henry admittedly can’t take his eyes off Alex. The way his muscles ripple under bronzed skin as he stretches to make a save. The raw power behind his serves. The brilliance of his smiles when he turns away from the net to celebrate after each point. Of course it wasn’t enough that Alex had to be gorgeous and kind and thoughtful and funny—he had to be absurdly skilled, too, even taking into consideration that everyone here is at the top of their game.

Alex is clearly still hopped up on adrenaline when Henry catches up with him after their decisive win, talking animatedly to one of the other Team USA athletes. Henry does his best to feel nothing about the way Alex lights up when he spots Henry lurking by the sidelines, immediately ditching his conversation partner to jog over to him. He’s glistening and flushed and Henry wants to lick him.

Christ, he needs to get a bloody grip.

“Did you see that save in the second set?” Alex chirps excitedly. “When I did a fucking flip and just caught the ball, and then”—he mimes a jump—“Liam slammed it into the corner?”

“It was hard to miss,” Henry tells him indulgently, biting down on his too-wide smile at Alex’s antics. “You were incredible, Alex.”

“So how’d you like your first beach volleyball game?” Alex asks. “Think you’ll come back?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Henry admits. It’s too honest by half, but entirely worth it for the truly brilliant grin he gets from Alex in return.

~~~~~

The thing about sailing is that there are no crowds you can see, no cheering you can hear. There’s just you and the boat and the wind—and nine other guys trying to cut a tighter path on the course to shave off a few seconds.

The wind is gusty during the medal race, and Henry ends up drenched in spray within the first ten seconds of getting out on the water. He loves these conditions, though, the way they push a sailor to their limits, the way it feels like you could take off in flight at any moment. The boat is responsive under his hands, skipping across the water like a stone, and he finds good angles to the wind that send him rocketing forward right off the starting gun. His luck holds, helped by the French competitor nearly capsizing in a gust and the Italian having to do a penalty turn at the second mark, and in the end he crosses the finish line at the front of the fleet in a cluster so tight it’s impossible to tell the final rankings from the water.

It probably won’t be enough to medal, even if he managed to score in the top three—his previous finishes were just a little too far back in the fleet—but frankly, he can’t find it in himself to care. Because when he finally gets back to shore, there’s an extremely excitable American who practically launches himself into Henry’s tired arms before he can even check the scores.

“Second place, you motherfucker!” Alex yelps in his ear.

Henry blinks, pulling away to look at him properly. “Are you serious?”

“They just announced it,” Alex confirms breathlessly. “What does that mean? Do you get silver?”

“No, the final scores are cumulative. It’ll depends on how the leaders finished, can you look—”

But Alex already has his phone out, looking up the scores as Henry’s coach hurries up to them, his eyes wide.

“Burton and Sheldt were both over the line at the start,” Shaan tells him urgently. “They were disqualified. With your second place, that means—”

“Fucking bronze!” Alex shouts, like he’s just won the medal, and abruptly Henry’s knees don’t feel steady enough to hold him up anymore.

It takes several minutes before Henry’s breathing returns to something like it’s normal rate, and he finds Alex sitting next to him, chewing on his thumbnail as he reads something on his phone. A short ways away, Shaan is taking care of putting away Henry’s boat for him, leaving the two of them in their own little bubble.

“This scoring system is bonkers, I hope you know,” Alex tells him. “I can’t believe it’s cumulative over eleven races.”

“I can’t believe I won a medal,” Henry replies, staring off into the distance. He can see the women’s Radial fleet on the course already, the colourful flag-patterned spinnakers cutting across the horizon. Nothing quite seems real yet.

“Yeah you did,” Alex says, grinning as he bumps his shoulder into Henry’s. “You were right, by the way. I couldn’t see jack shit. But I’m glad I was here.”

Henry’s not going to cry. He’s not. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on the connection between their shoulders like he can draw strength from it. “I am too, Alex.”

~~~~~

“Shouldn’t you be out getting wasted?” Alex asks when Henry eases the door closed behind him.

Henry really thought Alex would be asleep at this point, given that the semifinal games are tomorrow. Instead, Alex is sitting up in bed with his iPad laying on the mattress in front of him showing a paused beach volleyball game and a notebook next to that. They’d been out with a mixed group of Brits and Americans celebrating Henry’s medal and Alex and Liam’s quarterfinal victory, but Alex had begged off early to come back to their room, leaving Henry in Pez’s clutches with too much champagne flowing.

“Maybe I’m going back out,” Henry says, more defensively than is probably warranted. He is, actually. Just not to party. He walks over to his bed and pulls his medal over his head, laying it carefully on the side table where the bronze glints softly in the low light from Alex’s lamp.

“Hm,” Alex hums doubtfully as he looks Henry up and down. “You’re up to something. I can tell.”

“It’s nothing.” Fuck. He probably should have denied that.

“Henry,” Alex says flatly, giving him a Look. “I’m not gonna judge you.”

Henry sighs and leans against the wall, letting his head thunk backward. That might have been a mistake, because everything is spinning now. “I was going to sneak back to the marina and take my boat out,” he confesses.

The room is silent, and when Henry opens his eyes again, he finds Alex frowning at him. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Best time to see the stars,” Henry says with a weak smile.

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous? And against the rules?”

“Hence the sneaking.”

Alex stares another beat, then he nods, turning off his iPad. “Ok, let’s go.”

“…What?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you go out there by yourself,” Alex says firmly. “What if you slipped and hit your head or something?”

“If we got caught, you could be kicked out of the games,” Henry argues.

“And they could take away your medal,” Alex counters, folding his arms over his chest. “Whatever this is, it must mean a lot to you if you’re risking something like that. So if you’re going, I’m going.”

Christ, but he is stubborn. “My boat isn’t exactly built for two people, Alex.”

Alex shrugs. “We’ll make it work.”

Against the odds and all good sense, they do. Sneaking into the marina is easier than expected, thanks to shockingly lax security, and they find Henry’s boat amongst the other Lasers slumbering by the waterside in their cradles. Henry is well-practised at launching it by himself, so they just have to make sure Alex doesn’t capsize it when he climbs in—a near miss that leaves Alex white-knuckling the edge of the cockpit and Henry trying to hold back his laughter as Alex glares at him. The breeze has slackened now that the sun is down, just strong enough to take them out into the bay, where Henry drops the sail again and they both cram into the tiny cockpit with their knees bent and their legs weaved together.

“So,” Alex says, once they’re settled in and staring up at the stars, “are you gonna tell me what this is really about? Because I’m guessing it’s not just stargazing. Not that they aren’t amazing out here, but still.”

There’s a reason Henry didn’t put up much of a fight about Alex coming along, and it’s not how unspeakably beautiful he is with the pale moonlight in his curls. They might have only met a week ago, but he feels safe with Alex in a way he rarely does around anyone, able to share parts of him that he usually keeps buried. He takes a deep breath, letting every point of connection between them ground him.

“My father taught me how to sail,” Henry finally begins. “When I was small, we used to go out on his boat at night—a much larger one than this, mind you—until you almost couldn’t see the shore, just so we could see the stars better.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “He died when I was eighteen. All of this—the racing, the Olympics, coming out here after regattas to look at the stars no matter where I am in the world—everything I do. It’s all for him.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the soft lap of the water against the hull of the boat, but then Henry feels Alex’s fingers against his, his hand pushing into Henry’s loose grip as he twines their fingers together and squeezes. “He’d be so fucking proud of you, H.”

“I know,” Henry whispers, not trusting his voice.

“Absolutely no pressure, but…” Another squeeze. “Do you want to talk about him?”

For the first time in a long while, Henry does.

~~~~~

“What do you think?” Alex asks as he emerges from the bathroom. He turns in a slow circle, holding his arms out to the side, to show off his outfit—absurdly tiny shorts that are practically painted on and a lacy shirt that he’s seen fit to close with only a single button just above his navel. There’s a gold Olympic rings pendant laying over his collarbones, and his dark curls are shining with whatever product he’s put in them to tame them just so.

Henry narrowly avoids swallowing his tongue. “I think you’ll be very popular,” he manages.

Alex’s nose wrinkles as if that is not entirely the point. He’s been invited to a party at some extremely exclusive club in the city hosted by the Brazilian women’s beach volleyball team, who happen to be two stunningly gorgeous women that seem to particularly enjoy flirting with Alex. Not that Henry can blame them, but that doesn’t make him feel any less grumpy about the whole situation.

“I’m not trying to be popular,” Alex says as he turns again, twisting around to look at his arse in the mirror. He frowns, and mutters, “Only one person’s eye I’m trying to catch.”

Henry isn’t sure if he’s meant to hear that, or respond to it, but he swallows against the disappointment that wells up in his chest. So Alex does have someone in mind. He should have expected it, really—there’s no way someone who looks like Alex could go the whole games and not find company eventually. Not to mention he’s going to be playing in the gold medal match in a day’s time, and is thus guaranteed no lower than a silver medal. There are always plenty of participants at the games who consider bedding an Olympic medalist the next best thing if they’re not going to win one themselves.

“Well,” Henry says, trying to appear as if he’s reading and not surreptitiously ogling his roommate, “whoever it is, they’d have to be an idiot not to notice you.”

“Ok, but I’m asking what you think,” Alex says, a little petulantly.

Henry sighs and closes his book on his thumb. “You look incredible, Alex. Truly.”

That makes Alex beam, and Henry’s stomach flips. Christ, he’s hopeless.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Alex asks, casting his eyes over Henry’s slightly ragged joggers and Team Great Britain hoodie from 2012. “I’m pretty sure they’re not going to let you into the club like that.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, Alex,” Henry says. “I’m not going to any club.”

“Uh, yeah you are. You’re coming with me,” Alex says, like it’s obvious.

Henry scoffs. “I think my invitation got lost.”

“You’re a medalist,” Alex points out with an unnecessary eye roll. “Medalists have an automatic invite to every party. I thought this wasn’t your first Olympics?”

Henry pointedly looks down at his hoodie then back up again. “I know how these things work, Alex. I’m also certain that none of them are interested in having me there.”

“Well, I want you there, so.” He cocks an eyebrow, like he’s challenging Henry to deny him.

Like he knows Henry won’t.

Henry refuses to bring his medal with him because he’s absolutely not going to risk getting mugged for it, but in the end he doesn’t need the proof; apparently, he’s somehow on the list already along with Alex. And also, perhaps unsurprisingly, Pez, who’s already inside and practically shrieks when he sees Henry.

“Hazza! It’s a miracle!” he shouts as he looks appraisingly at Henry’s sedate trousers and the button-down shirt, which Alex had insisted he leave open down to the middle of his sternum. “I thought we had big plans to sulk in our room tonight.”

Henry glares at him and ignores Alex’s curious gaze. “I wasn’t aware having a quiet night in was a crime.”

“It’s the Olympics, H!” Alex puts in, clapping his shoulder with enough force to make Henry nearly stumble. “You can have all the quiet nights you want after the games.”

“See, this man knows how it’s done,” Pez agrees, then turns his attention to Alex. “I don’t suppose your dashing court partner is going to be here tonight…?”

Alex shrugs. “He said he was coming.”

Pez claps delightedly. “Wonderful!”

Alex says he isn’t drinking tonight, given his ongoing competition, which is understandable. Henry, on the other hand, is fairly certain he’s not going to survive the night watching Alex dance with scantily-clad women without significant assistance. He starts with a gin and tonic, but Pez keeps on appearing in a whirlwind with a myriad of brightly-coloured shots, so it’s not long before he’s very much feeling the loosening effects of the alcohol thrumming through his veins. When Alex reappears some time later with a sheen of sweat on his skin and an ipê-amarelo in his hair, Henry even lets himself be dragged out onto the dance floor, pretending his heart isn’t hammering in his chest when Alex pulls their bodies close with his hands on Henry’s hips.

“Hey, that first party we met,” Alex asks, his voice low and husky in Henry’s ear, just audible over the thumping bass, “were you trying to hit on me?”

Henry can’t help it; he laughs. “Well, yes, at the start,” he admits despite himself, his lips thoroughly loosened by all those shots. “I wanted to talk to you, so I did. I figured out you weren’t interested, but…” He shakes his head. “It didn’t matter. I was happy just getting to know you. Then I heard about your room situation, so it was kind of moot.”

Alex’s hands tighten on his waist. “Right.” There’s an odd note in his voice as he pulls back to stare up at Henry with those big brown eyes, the lights of the club painting multicoloured patterns on his face. “And if I wasn’t not interested…?”

There are far too many negatives in that sentence for Henry to be able to parse in his current state. He blinks at Alex, frowning deeply. He might also be slightly cross-eyed. “What?”

“Fuck, you’re really drunk, aren’t you?” Alex says with a huff of laughter. He pushes a lock of hair back from Henry’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to the room, yeah?”

“Sensible,” Henry says through a yawn, and contentedly leans against Alex’s side as he steers them toward the exit.

~~~~~

The American women take bronze in beach volleyball, and Henry sweats out the rest of the alcohol in his blood as he sits in the unrelenting tropical sun at the match. Next to him, Alex is in high spirits and seemingly all too happy to add to Henry’s torment.

“Did I tell you about the time we protested the beach volleyball uniforms rule at a tournament match?

Henry squints at him behind his sunglasses. He doesn’t remember much about the  previous night, which he suspects is probably for the best. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“You know the women have these rules that they have to wear these skimpy bathing suits while the men get shorts and tank tops, right?” Alex explains. “Well, Liam and I made a deal with the women’s team to trade uniforms.”

It is frankly in Henry’s best interests not to picture such a thing, and he tries valiantly, but Alex already has his phone out and is shoving a photo in his face. In it, Alex and Liam are posing next to each other, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, wearing nothing but huge grins and matching tiny red bikinis. It’s actually absurd how well Alex’s pecs fill out the top, but the bottoms are another matter entirely. A women’s bikini contains decidedly less fabric than a men’s suit would, and the tiny scrap of fabric is stretched to its absolute limits, leaving precisely nothing to the imagination.

“The officials made us go change before we could play the match, of course,” Alex continues, oblivious to Henry’s suffering. “But it was worth it.”

“Quite,” Henry nearly whimpers.

“We still have the suits, actually. Said we’d wear them again at the medal ceremony if we won gold this year. Guess we’ll see tomorrow, huh?”

Henry has to close his eyes and breathe through his nose, and hopes desperately that Alex doesn’t notice.

~~~~~

Somehow, Alex manages to finagle Henry a seat in the front row for the final match. It’s a little awkward, sitting with Alex’s family, all of whom eye Henry with confused suspicion when he tries to explain how a British sailor ended up as a special guest of their son and brother. Apparently, Alex hadn’t bothered telling them about his altered living arrangements, a fact that has his mother—who Henry understands is some sort of American politician—pulling out her phone to have words with the US Olympic Committee and possibly the IOC as well, before her daughter tells her to cut it out and watch the match.

Alex is spectacular, of course, even when the Brazilians give them a run for their money, forcing the match into a nail-biting third set. Henry ends up with each of his hands crushed in the matching grips of Alex’s sister and her girlfriend (also Alex’s best friend), a statistician who has apparently run all the stats on this game and keeps rattling off numbers and percentages that Henry admittedly doesn’t quite follow.

It comes down to the final match point. Liam serves the ball, and they end up in a spectacular volley that seems to go on and on—the Brazilians make an incredible save that keeps it in play, somehow blocking a spike that Alex sends rocketing over the net, and Liam dives to prevent a ball from going out of bounds that Alex already touched. Finally, the Americans set up a shot, winding up like they’re going to drive it to the back of the court, but once the Brazilians have moved backwards to counter it, Alex softens his strike and the ball falls weakly into the Brazilian zone on the other side of the net.

The resulting cheers are deafening as Alex and Liam crash together in an ecstatic hug, knocking Liam’s cap off and nearly sending both of them down into the sand. Then Alex is running full-tilt toward them, barely pausing to accept an American flag from someone in the stands, which he throws over his shoulders like a cape as he gets enveloped in hugs from his family over the railing. It’s incredible, and Henry is so bloody happy for him, and—

And Alex grabs him, Henry assumes to drag him into a hug, but then Alex is pulling back and putting his hands on either side of Henry’s face and kissing him soundly on the mouth. Henry can see at least five cameras out of his peripheral vision, all crowding in to try and get the shot, but his attention is quickly torn away because Alex is kissing him, full and deep and claiming, and Henry can do nothing but cling for dear life as he kisses Alex back.

Alex presses their foreheads together when they finally part and says something, though Henry can’t quite comprehend it over the roar of the crowd. Only later will the words finally resolve themselves in his head, once Alex has been drawn away to be congratulated by others and Henry is still sitting dazed and touching his lips as people ask him questions he doesn’t know the answers to.

“I’m interested, baby.”

~~~~~

Alex and Liam do not, in fact, wear bikinis at their medal ceremony. Henry finds out later that the US Olympic committee’s emphatic directive that athletes wear their official Team USA track suit or else was, in the end, enough to spook the two men into behaving.

“That, and I’m pretty sure my mother would murder me,” Alex tells him once Henry manages to steal him away from the numerous well-wishers and endless press after the ceremony.

Henry has no clue where they’re going, having never been in the non-public parts of this stadium, so he lets Alex take over, leading them into the bowels of the training areas and locker rooms. By now it’s nearly three in the morning, and Henry is slightly delirious, though that’s less from the fatigue than the fact that he still hasn’t recovered from Alex kissing him in front of the entire world. They could have gone back to their room in the Village, except that apparently neither of them are willing to wait any longer.

“We should talk,” Henry says when Alex finally pushes him into an empty training room and closes the door behind them with a soft snick.

“Counterpoint,” Alex says, grinning wickedly as he crosses the room. There’s a swagger in his stride that really only comes when there’s a gold medal hanging around a person’s neck and, unfortunately, it’s devastatingly attractive. He backs Henry up against a wall, sliding his hands up Henry’s chest as he leans in so close their noses brush. “This now. Talking later.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Henry breathes.

“I know I do, sweetheart,” Alex says smugly, and Henry has no choice but to kiss the smirk off his face.

This kiss is nothing like the one they shared after the match. Henry takes his time, luxuriating in the slide of their lips and the cut of Alex’s teeth, licking into Alex’s mouth to feel their tongues slip against each other. He gets his hands into Alex’s hair like he’s wanted to since that first night, letting the curls twine around his fingers as he tightens his grip in a way that makes Alex moan into his mouth. Alex’s body is a firm weight against him, nothing but solid, corded muscle clenching under Henry’s palm. His hips rock forward, so subtly that Henry’s not even sure he knows he’s doing it, but the effect is unmistakable all the same.

In one smooth movement, Henry turns them, pressing Alex back against the wall and dropping to his knees, and the sight of the hard length of Alex’s cock straining in his trousers is enough to make Henry’s mouth water. He looks back up to find Alex gaping at him, his chest heaving and his knuckles going pale where his hands are clenched into fists by his side.

Henry licks his lips and slides his palms up Alex’s thighs to the elastic waistband of his trousers. “Can I blow you?”

“Fuck, please,” Alex exhales, a gratifying tremor in his voice.

Grinning, Henry hooks his fingers into the waistband and yanks downward to reveal—

“You’re a bloody demon, you know that?” Henry huffs as Alex’s cock twitches against the skimpy red spandex of the bikini bottoms.

“I said I was gonna wear it on the podium, and I keep my word,” Alex says, grinning, only to swear loudly when Henry leans in and presses his open mouth to the damp spot on the fabric.

Thank god this area is deserted at this time of night because Alex is loud as Henry shows off his not inconsiderable skill. He teases Alex through the bikini until he’s trembling all over, and when Henry finally sucks him down to the root, it takes no more than a few swirls of his tongue before Alex is coming with a shout and a fist tugging on Henry’s hair hard enough that Henry sees stars.

“Gold medal,” Alex breathes, his chest heaving and his thumb pressing at the corner of Henry’s mouth as Henry gentles him through the last aftershocks.

Henry doesn’t have the heart tell him that he’s not the first person to say that at the games. If cock sucking were an Olympic sport, Henry’s medal count would put Michael Phelps to shame. None of that matters now. Alex curls his hands in the front of Henry’s jacket and drags him back up to kiss him deeply, and the way they fit together is simply… perfect.

Alex doesn’t miss a beat in the rhythm of the kiss as his hand slides down to palm Henry’s cock through the front of his trousers, but Henry catches his wrist. “Later, love,” he murmurs against Alex’s lips. “What I want, we need to go back to the room for.”

They have two days before the end of the games, and Henry intends to make the most of it.

[gerrystamour]

just one more drink, please come inside [one shot]

Explicit★Steddie★1400 Words★Complete

[ PREVIOUS FIC ]

Summary: ‘Man, this DJ really does suck,’ Eddie thought with no small amount of amusement as another poorly timed mix was allowed to play. In the poor guy’s defense, he was a little distracted Part of my series of unrelated pwp fics after I got sad that a bunch of thot job options for Steve lost to bartender in a Tumblr poll. CW: Public sex, Oral sex, Undernegotiated kink, Deepthroating, Throat pie, Eddie Munson is Steve Harrington’s good boy

[ READ ON AO3 ]

‘Man, this DJ really does suck,’ Eddie thought with no small amount of amusement as another poorly timed mix was allowed to play. In the poor guy’s defense, he was a little distracted. 

With that thought, Eddie pulled back to catch his breath around the thick cock in his mouth, sucking and lapping at the head hungrily. Working the head was his favourite part of any blowjob, especially with particularly handsy partners like Steve apparently was. The hand twisting roughly in his hair was almost enough to make up for Eddie not being able to hear him. 

The club was understandably loud, and Steve’s set-up was up a set of stairs so they were well out of sight. Honestly, if there wasn’t someone always up there, Eddie would consider it a great place for hook-ups. It was private and plenty intimate given the cramped space. It was a revelation because he never gave it much thought before. This domain was that of his best friends, Jeff and Gareth, so Eddie never dreamed of invading it. 

But when Eddie looked up at the DJ booth to see who exactly was doing such a piss-poor job (since it obviously wasn’t either of his friends), he nearly choked on his own spit. The man upstairs spinning discs was absolutely gorgeous, and Eddie needed to know him immediately in the Biblical sense. 

“Pretty sure none of the stuff that just came out of your mouth is in the Bible, Eddie,” Chrissy said blandly, but Eddie was already walking away and toward the stairs. 

Eddie wasn’t even sure how he made it to the top because it felt like he just blinked and then he was standing in the booth next to the man. The gorgeous God in human flesh glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, his expression so beautifully bitchy that Eddie was ready to bend right over the turntable and offer up his hole. 

“Hi,” Eddie said with a big grin, carefully placing his hand on the table and leaning heavily, tipping closer to the DJ until he leaned away a bit. “I’m Eddie.” 

For a long moment, the DJ looked like he was going to ignore Eddie completely before he replied, “Steve.”

“Oh, that’s an easy name to remember. Steve,” Eddie said, as if testing the name on his tongue. Humming, Eddie tested it a few more times, his voice pitching up, going breathier on each repeat until he was outright moaning it. 

“Can I help you?” Steve asked, and God, that bitchy expression was back and going straight to Eddie’s dick. 

“Got a request for ya, big boy,” Eddie replied, his voice practically a purr as he leaned in even closer. 

Somehow, Steve’s expression turned even bitchier, as if that would make Eddie any less ready to jump his fucking bones. Then he wordlessly pointed at the sign just over Eddie’s shoulder:

‘NO REQUESTS’

“Oh, no, it wasn’t going to be one of those requests. How silly of me not to specify,” Eddie said, jokingly popping himself on the forehead with the heel of his palm.

“Listen, man, I’m just a bouncer, but the DJ for tonight called in sick and I’m the only one on who knows anything about this shit. So, can you finish whatever game you’re playing?” Steve said with a huge exasperated sigh, and Eddie sort of felt bad for messing with him.

Only sort of.

Grinning, Eddie leaned in really close and murmured against Steve’s ear, “BJ for the DJ?”

Steve was caught so off-guard by the request that he snorted and blinked down at the turntable before looking back at Eddie’s shit-eating grin. “That your best line?”

“Is it working?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly at Steve. 

Rolling his eyes with a sigh, Steve smiled almost grudgingly as he looked at the buttons again. “I’m off in an hour,” he finally replied, and Eddie giggled.

“No need to wait, big boy,” he crooned and before Steve could say anything, Eddie sidled between him and the turntable and slid to his knees underneath it.

‘Fuck, ‘big boy’ indeed,’ Eddie thought, moaning as he bobbed his head on Steve’s thick cock, his hole twitching at the thought of having that girth inside him. Sucking sloppily, Eddie reached up to fondle Steve’s heavy balls, rolling them gently in his hand and squeezing them just to see how he liked that. From the burst of salty precum on his tongue and the hand twisting viciously in his hair, Eddie figured he really liked that.

With a low sound, Eddie reached further back, just to press a fingertip against Steve’s taint, and the reaction was glorious. Yes, Steve’s hips jerked forward and gagged Eddie. Yes, the ensuing noise Eddie made around Steve’s cock and the amount of spit that dribbled from his mouth in thick strands were gross.

But, Jesus H Christ, did Eddie live for that rough treatment.

With a gurgling, desperate moan, Eddie curled his fingers into the belt loops on Steve’s pants and pulled him forward, hoping he got the hint. The beautiful, gorgeous, perfect man above him was quick to react, shifting the hand in his hair to the back of his head before driving his dick deep into Eddie’s mouth.

It got even messier from there, with Eddie gagging when he mistimed a swallow and spit and tears wetting his face, and Christ Steve was a vision above him. Eddie gazed up at him adoringly, watching the muscle in his jaw tense with every thrust, his eyes still resolutely on the turntable in front of him. The music was barely even audible to Eddie at this point, the only noises his ears were able to pick up being the sucking, wet slide of a cock inside his mouth and his own wanton sounds.

Then Steve tapped on Eddie’s head, a warning, and when Eddie just pressed closer the man dragged him forward until his nose was buried in the coarse cloud of hair around the base. Taking a slow breath in through his nose, Eddie closed his eyes and hummed, shivering happily as Steve spilled straight down his throat. 

Eddie was painfully hard in his pants, and he wanted Steve’s hands on him so fucking badly, but when Eddie tried to pull him to the floor, the brute slapped his hands away. Whining around the softening cock in his mouth, Eddie looked pleadingly up at Steve through his tear-soaked lashes.

Steve swallowed thickly as he finally looked down at him. “I’m still on the clock,” he said, loud enough for Eddie to hear as he shifted his hips back, slipping out of Eddie’s mouth.

“I’m so fucking hard,” Eddie complained, and Steve pouted condescendingly down at him.

“Should’ve thought about that before you sucked my dick while I was at work,” Steve teased, and Eddie whined.

“How was I supposed to know you took your job so seriously?” he asked pitifully, and Steve just stuck his lip out further, mocking him. That wasn’t helping Eddie’s boner one bit.

With a put-upon sigh, Steve shifted his weight and slid a booted foot between Eddie’s legs. “If you can’t wait ‘till the end of my shift and you absolutely need me to get you off, there,” he said pointedly as he reached down and put his cock away before getting back to work on the turntable.

Eddie stared up at Steve, shocked, then down at the boot between his legs. The choice was agonizing—rub one out now on the floor under a turntable, or wait until Steve’s shift was over and then let the man take care of him properly. His dick begged for the former, and Eddie couldn’t help the way he rocked down against Steve’s foot.

But then he stopped himself, dropping his head against Steve’s hip with a whine as he lifted himself up onto his knees. “You’re so fucking mean,” he groused, and he shivered at the laugh that pulled from Steve. One of his big hands was petting his hair, as if trying to soothe him.

“Yeah, but I can tell you like ‘em mean, don’t you?” Steve asked, and this time when Eddie looked up, that bitchy expression was back and—oh, fuck, this guy had Eddie’s number the second he walked in there.

Shivering, Eddie dropped his forehead back against Steve’s hip and grinned down at the floor, settling in to wait until Steve’s shift ended.

[ READ ON AO3 ]

Taglist! (from memory because my laptop is dead and with it my note with my taglist) @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @inairbinad @stobinesque @xenon-demon @hellion-child @spectrum-spectre @sidekick-hero @yournowheregirl @thefreakandthehair @estrellami-1 @mylilplanet @theheadlessphilosopher @spicysix @steddieas-shegoes @spookednsaucy @matchingbatbites @hangsters

[daenysthedreamer101]

Youngest Original ~ TVDU

Mikaelson!OC headcanons

Kassandra's personal style

TVD Masterlist

Obviously, Kassie has lived through many fashion eras/periods but I'll be focusing on her current 21st-century style aka what she wears in her day-to-day life

Office Siren/Sexy librarian vibes

think Gisele Bundchen in 'Devil Wears Prada'

Unlike Rebekah, she has lived through most of the 20th century so she's not as shocked by 21st century fashion.

After 900 years of having to wear skirts/dresses, Kassie was more than pleased when it became socially acceptable for women to wear pants

As she was daggered back in the mid-90s, most of her clothes are from that era.

VESTS VESTS VESTS

Dress pants, dress shirts - think corporate business wear but make it sexy

Heels, boots, heeled boots

clean lines, structured pieces - it helps elongate her figure

mostly neutral colors like brown, grey, white, and black, + a pop of dark red, dark blue, and dark purple

ofc sometimes she switches it up and comes out in a full girly pink outfit (it depends on how she's feeling)

Blazers when she wants to emulate Elijah lol

speaking of him, she's often compared to him, not just because of their similar personalities but also the way they present themselves

Obviously owns suits herself, only a few (ok more like a dozen lol)

She's just very inspired by her big brother and wants to be like him

Elijah finds it very endearing actually ☺

When it comes to hair and makeup Kassie sticks to what works best for her

Makeup is very 'clean/professional' looking

loves a bold lip, loves it

has at least 10 different lip glosses

think 90s brown lip + white/blue eyeshadow combo

thin eyebrows lol though she has grown them back

Her hair is her pride and joy so she takes great care of it

in the 90s had the classic 90s blowout/Rachel from Friends cut

has naturally curly hair but straightens it when she's lazy

dyed her hair blonde in the 90s because she missed Bekah (she was always lowkey envious of Bekah's blonde hair)

loves headbands and bows, owns a bunch of them (think Blair Waldorf)

hates when people mess her hair up *cough, Kol, cough*

actually choke-slammed him once against a wall and almost staked him for it

Elijah intervened at the last second

Rebekah and Klaus were laughing in the corner of the room

Finn was very confused/too scared to say anything and Freya was kinda of freaked out by her newfound family lol

Hayley almost had a heart attack

When it comes to accessories, she mostly wears rings and earrings

has collected hundreds of rings/earrings over the centuries

the most important one is obviously her golden daylight ring

prefers silver jewelry

isn't that big of a fan of necklaces/bracelets

there is one necklace she wears religiously

for her 100th birthday, her brothers got her a beautiful silver necklace with a small opal (her birthstone) in the center

the other super important ring to her is a simple heart-shaped ring

She and Bekah bought a matching pair in the 1800s and have worn them ever since. Hers is silver and Bekah's is golden

Totally owns a pair of Bayonetta glasses

Does she need them? Of course not.

Does she wear them as an accessory? Absolutely.

She loves painting her nails and takes great care of her hands/nails

Mostly sticks with red/black/brown or any darker color

But as previously stated, can switch it up and paint her nails in a glittery pink

Likes her nails to be long and extra sharp

Can often be found sharpening her nails with a nail file

"Bloody hell, you could gouge someone's eyes with those things!" Kol once commented as he noticed Kassie filing her nails in the living room

"That is the point, dear brother" Kassie responded with a pointed glare

Kol quickly excused himself from the room, not wanting to be used as a practice dummy

[authorred]

Loki Laufey/Odinson NSFW HC’s cause I’m slacking off in class

This will definitely be NSFW (18+) so minors DNI (do not interact). Unless you do, which in that case I refuse to be held responsible for the content you consume.

Warning(s): NSFW

Superiority complex through the roof

I really want to say switch top

Has lacked true control and power his entire life, so allow him to take the reins every once in a while

However, his cockiness and brattiness can and should be tamed

Very servile when submissive--will pleasure you in whatever way he can, and you want

When he’s dominant, he’s calm and very soft. Rarely gets rough on his own incentive. You’d have to ask for it specifically and/or tell him it’s alright before hand

He’s probably more submissive than dominant, so if you want him to be your good boy, just lean up and purr into his ear how much he’s pleasuring you/how good he’s doing

He will melt and lose his dominant front

KISS HIS NECK NOW

Kiss the back of his hand whilst keeping eye contact. He won’t say it, but that gets him off

Call him ‘My Prince’

His favorite position in general would be underneath you

Ride him whilst he sitting or lying down, he will hold you and assist you if you want or need

Choke this whore

Quickest way to get him horny is to challenge him

Whether he wins or loses doesn’t matter, though if he loses to you that’s bonus points

If he wins his ego will go through the roof

If he loses, on his knees he’ll go

It really depends on your preferred dynamic tbh

He’s a complex person with a bunch of contradicting emotions and feelings

Sometimes he’ll sub and then decide to dom because he’s so used to submitting to others, it’s a habit to try and ‘be better’ than them, or ‘one up’ them in some way

If you want him to sub to you, not only do you have to show him he can trust and respect you, but you have to show him you’re worth it

Might cry one of the first times icl

Body worship, affirmations, praise

EMPHASIS ON THE PRAISE--PRAISE THIS GOD FOR THE LOVE OF DFGNJBHHNBUJGDTRHBUAREBH

If you ask him to fuck you over a desk or a table or on a piece of furniture, chances are he’ll do it

Emerald green lingerie, that’s it

Any lingerie you wear would get him to go awooga, but EMERALD GREEN would get him to bark without a doubt, that man’s a whore for that color

Look him dead in the eye, tell him ‘Kneel’ and he’ll give you that ‘really?’ look of his before obeying

Play with his hair, pull it, grip it, use it to guide him

Will whimper--MAKE him whimper--literally turn this god into a submissive whimpering mess

Slight mommy issues, but will never you call ‘mommy’

Will call you things like ‘My Princess’, ‘My Love’ ‘My Dear’, ‘Darling’, ‘Sweetheart’

Will use your actual name in times of intense of pleasure

Might not be into pegging that much? He might try, but there’s a bigger chance of him disliking it

Slap him (not too hard) when he brats. He’ll become shocked and that’s the perfect time to dom him

Sit on his lap and kiss his neck, he’ll be gone

He probably knows how to play some sort of classical instrument like piano. So, when he’s playing, come up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, hickey up the side of his neck, and watch him mess up the entire song

Push him against the wall and boldly proclaim he’s yours

Soft touches and tender kisses between rough moments whilst fucking

Eye contact--a lot of it

‘My beautiful prince’ is his favorite compliment/name

He will get on his knees and kiss up your leg and slowly unclothe you if that’s what you desire

Absolute god at using his tongue

Hits that specific spot (regardless of what he’s using: tongue, fingers, dick) and keeps it up until you cum

He gets a bit lost with toys, and seems a bit offended if you bring it up first (he believes he’s all you need)

Will have to reassure him that toys are friends, not foes

After the first few minutes of disgruntlement, he does come to the quick realization of the possibilities

Will pleasure you the way you want with them 4/5 times

Wants to give and receive pretty equally if he’s not in a certain headspace

If you’re between his legs and you kiss his thighs, he’ll blush and tell you to ‘not do that’ only because he’s flustered

[itsdeathofabachelor]

Remember the post I made about Jotaro being the same level of fucked up as Kakyoin but in different ways? I think I need to give examples because I have a very distinct thing in my brain I need all of you people to grasp to some extent here.

Jotaro is fucking huge. Ginormous for no reason considering he very likely hadn’t had the time to work out in between beating the shit out of local gang members, dashing and dining, and being a bitch to his mother. But because he hasn’t really been in a setting with a bunch of people with similar physiques as him, he has no idea how to act outside of being ‘cool’. Like, he sees no point in flaunting how he looks so he doesn’t, unlike with someone who, say, worked at their body image for months.

So I am being dead serious when I say Holly didn’t make him a school lunch one time (she had such a bad flu bug she couldn’t get out of bed) Jotaro skips all of his classes, entire day ruined. He goes out to the convenience store, red faced, puffy eyed, and shoves a packet of donuts down his shirt. No one even fucking notices. He eats all of them and cries, it’s so fucking funny.

I should probably mention, Kakyoin is one hundred percent the only one who Jotaro could give less of a shit seeing him do this. So he’s there, gingerly explaining the breeding cycles of salmon and trout in hopes of engaging Jotaro’s autism enough so he doesn’t choke and fucking die around the three donuts he shoved in his mouth.

So, six foot five, bulging muscles, could pop a can of tomatoes open if he put it in between his thighs and squeezed slightly, having a breakdown under a tree somewhere in a national park, defeated. A red haired, twitchy twunk drawing with a stick in the ground saying some shit like, ‘you can tell it’s a type of mammal because of its fin bones, even if it’s exclusively in the water now— please slow down Jojo I really don’t want you to throw up again’.

No, like, he’s a mess all the time but would rather die than be around literally anyone when he has that ‘calm before the storm’ meltdown feeling. So he just sort of shows up at Kakyoin’s doorstep like a stray and lays on his bedroom floor for three hours. Sometimes he falls asleep and Kakyoin uses him as a backrest because he always chooses to be face first directly in front of his Atari and Kakyoin wants to play his games.

Kakyoin’s mother one hundred percent thinks Jotaro is some dangerous delinquent who is going to put her son into a grave, life or death peer pressure situation until she sees Jotaro being dragged out of the house by his ankles with an out of breath Kakyoin carting both their bags under one arm, Jotaro’s coat over one shoulder, and Jotaro’s foot in both his hands. Like, ‘We have a math test. I need good grades. I am not explaining to Miss Holly why you have to retake highschool’.

And Jotaro’s completely limp, like three hundred fucking pounds of pure muscle, wearing a tank top, face down with his hat brim dragging on the floor. He looks fucking dead. He looks like a dead fucking rat. And Kakyoin’s mother no longer has nearly as many worries about Jotaro but also is forever cursed with the knowledge that, even if she were to gossip to her book club about it, they would never believe her.

Also, she’s seen Jotaro cry three separate times on the kitchen floor as Kakyoin makes his grilled cheese in the shapes of dolphins because his favourite cereal changed their packaging or Sadao calls and he’s just losing it in a puddle of tears. He never mentions it again and literally goes back to normal like nothing had happened.

He could beat the shit out of a whole biker gang, spear and set their leader on fire, all stoic and angry and totally badass. Everything falls into place with perfectly timed catchphrases and comebacks, but he’ll still be at Kakyoin’s house, twenty minutes later, face down infront of his Atari. And Kakyoin will use him as a back rest to play his games.

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

Hello! Could you write something for the om brothers and a (half)dragon mc? ^^ have a good day 💜💜💜

half dragon gives so many different choices of various traits

Lucifer, whose immediate thought upon hearing mc is half dragon, 'please do not be the fire breathing kind I have to clean up enough of everyone else messes as is.' Imagine him finding out they do breathe fire is because they're helping Beel toast marshmallows. And when he tries to scold them, they just give him a toothy smile claiming they have great control over their fire breath and he doesn't need to worry about them burning the place down. Famous last words when a week later they sneeze and set the dining table on fire. He struggles to get too angry with them because they’ve figured out to widen their pupils on purpose and give him the look of a wounded puppy when being scolded. 

Mammon, knows the stories about dragons guarding great treasures, so of course he comes up with the theory that mc must have a priceless treasure in their possession that would make him rich. Of course when he first asks them about it, they are aloof and don't even properly answer his question about treasure. "Life's greatest treasures are often found right around us, perhaps you should simply look closer to your surroundings." Eventually mc tells him they were being metaphorical, and even later shows him their treasure stash under their bed. It's just a bunch of shiny things, but Mammon chokes up when he notices a lot of things he's given them among the pile. He has to not talk for a while so he doesn’t cry when they start talking about how everything there is priceless to them regardless of material value. 

Leviathan doesn't even realise mc is half dragon under he gets a close up view of some of their scales. And realise that theirs are incredibly shiny, shinier then his are. Which only becomes worse when they show him that their scales can stick up and are sharp enough to be used as weapons. He's jealous. To the point where it takes a while for him to get over it. However he comes around when a neuron activates after he catches them laughing and sees how sharp their fangs are. This after it's discovered their half dragon side gives them a slight superiority complex over humans, "and the poor little worm couldn't even lift up my treasure chest, what an idiot." Levi hasn't been the same since. He'll be their poor little worm, just give him a chance.

Asmodeus spots mc’s unique characteristics from miles away. Slit pupils, and sharp teeth, is that a tail? He’s pieced together what mc might be before they tell him, and upon finding out they’re part dragon he’s surprised as he didn’t expect that. He also finds it really cute when their eyes seem to settle on whatever jewelry he might be wearing that day, and the shinier the piece is the more their pupils seem to expand. He starts using their excitement to gauge whether or not something is too gaudy, “okay so the hairpin draws too much attention away from my face, got it.” Something he also loves is how grateful they are when he gives them accessories, they always talk about treasuring each gift forever and no matter how often he hears it, his heart still melts. 

Dragon traits = cat traits. At least that's Satan's opinion on mc's half dragon nature. The first time he sees their pupils dilate widely upon seeing something they like, he's been documenting their different behaviours ever since. Their pupils also change in different light settings, they enjoy napping in warm places, can be incredibly food driven at times and have a tendency to stalk small creatures, like mice. They also have a strong like for causing chaos, which is always funny to watch Lucifer pull his hair out trying to get Belphie and Satan to stop encouraging mc. They also happen to have some ancient books in their possession that he’s coaxing them to let him borrow through trade of shiny things. 

“In my opinion that meat tastes best charred.” Is the gateway sentence said by mc, that leads to rabbit hole of bizarre bonding activities between mc and Beelzebub. Which always ends with mc setting something on fire with their fire breath and Beel rating it 1-10 on whether or not it made the food better. Between the pair of them, they can smell a steak within a three mile radius, it is ridiculous. But also Beel is a form of impulse control whenever he and mc are together, because they’ll get a sudden urge to just do something incredibly destructive and Beel will just make a sad face thinking about getting punished by Lucifer. “We’ll get in trouble.” Is all he has to say to make them reconsider being destructive. 

Belphie and mc are very alike. mc enjoys napping, specifically during the day and being more active during the night. Belphie, spends most of his time asleep, which means in weird hours of the night the two run into each other a lot. And a lot of the times mc will be sneaking around looking like they’re doing something suspicious. “I am moving everything in the house an inch out of place to see if Lucifer notices.” Is what they told him one night at like 4am, nothing has been the same since. These two gremlins have made Lucifer’s life h e l l. Things will completely go missing because either Belphie moved it, or mc was like: ‘cool shiny.’ And while mc is now the obvious choice ranking above Mammon, they’ve started making new places for their hoards of things with Belphie’s help. But neither of them will say where. Belphie pretends he’s asleep. While mc just blinks at them, cocking their head as if they don’t understand what’s being asked of them. The items do go back to their owners eventually, but not before Belphie has had a good laugh about the whole thing. 

[scenetocause]

any guesses as to how max and lando both wound up sick. just curious.

[cn: cheating]

"You haven't sucked me off for ages," Lando pouts. Max nearly chokes on his mouthful of avocado toast.

"Mate." His ears are turning pink, he can't look at Pietra. "What the fuck."

"Well it's true, you haven't." Lando says it primly, goes back to demolishing some poached eggs with gay - literally - abandon. Like he hasn't just derailed Max's life for the fiftieth and possibly worst time this week.

He's going to have to do it at some point so he glances round at Pietra, who at least doesn't look completely disgusted with him, just like she's contemplating ways to kill Lando. Which he's fully onboard with, actually. It could be a new date concept, if Lando's going to insist on coming along.

"No, I haven't," is all he can muster as a response.

-

The thing is. The thing is that Max knows he's being a little bit of a hypocrite on a whole bunch of levels. Because he used to come on all Lando and Luisa's dates and fill in all the ways Lando's a rubbish boyfriend by being a better one and she didn't seem to mind that Lando just doesn't count sleeping with Max as anything, so they'd carried on doing it. Max is also pretty good at being Lando's boyfriend, in terms of getting him to act normally.

But Max should've known it wasn't going to work the other way around. He'd been so careful to keep them separated, at first. Partly out of fear Pietra would realise he's very much not an F1 driver and realise she could do better but much more out of knowing this wasn't going to go down well with either of them. It's a hard sell "hey can my best friend, who's chronically weird, hang out with us all the time and also sometimes he has to spoon me for emotional support."

He's tried to find things in it for Pietra but she could go to Monaco anyway and have a more normal time. She's not that keen on coming to grand prix, although he thinks she would if it was his racing and let's not take that train of thought too far to the depression station.

And Lando can't act normal about him and Max doesn't want him to. Was maybe trying to provoke this by getting a girlfriend in the first place - which isn't fair, that's not why he's dating her, it's just that something makes him want Lando's attention as much as Lando wants to give it to him and if they could ever just make that work they'd probably be a lot more normal.

The problem, really, is that Lando feels much more like forever than his girlfriend does. Which is pretty cursed, especially when he's openly sabotaging Max in the middle of brunch.

-

She doesn't bring it up with him, probably because there's nothing to talk about. Max had caved under about one minute of scrutiny from her about the nature of his relationship to Lando and then promised they weren't like that anymore and then slept with Lando the second he touched down in Nice.

Which is bad. He knows it's bad. He objectively knows this is bad boyfriend stuff and he doesn't want to be that, he wants to make things work and be in love and get married and have kids. Be normal - except that he can't.

It's like the stupid mess in his brain. He could just not have whatever makes him demotivated and mopey for days on end and it'd be better. Simpler, at least. Make more sense for the way his life's supposed to be going but instead he's had Lando fussing over him for a week because Max accidentally said some depressed stuff even though he'd been pretending that wasn't really going on anymore and now Lando's trying to add every possible enrichment to his enclosure.

Which is how they've ended up in Max's bedroom, Lando's hair freshly clipped and stream done, with Lando trying to get his cock in Max's mouth.

"Will you," he bats Lando's hand away from his hair, "just stay still and let me do this?"

"I'm trying to help." Lando sounds way too aggrieved for a man about to get a blow job. "It's been so long maybe you've forgotten how to - ah"

Max hums, knowing how good that feels when someone's got their mouth round your dick and then relaxes his throat, leans into it. Feels himself drooling on Lando's dick at the same time as Lando settles back into the mattress, sighs out how much he's enjoying it.

"Ah, that's so good - you're so good."

It's embarrassing how easily taken apart Max is by the praise.

Lando's fingers thread through his hair and he doesn't fight it, this time. "I missed you, baby," Max groans at the nickname, dick twitching. "I missed this, missed us."

It's a good job there's a dick halfway down Max's throat so he can't say anything stupid like 'me too, buddy.'

Lando's leaking already, messy in Max's mouth when he swipes his tongue over the head, lapping at it. He always gets so needy for it, whimpering and whining and pushing his hips up in desperate little circles - it's like the opposite of the way he fucks Max, all deliberateness. Like this he's just a helpless kitten, biting his own fist to try and stifle the noises he's making.

Max pulls off for a second, strokes Lando's hip, when he's getting really desperate. "It's ok," he says, trying to guide Lando, get him to turn the overwhelming sensation into a conclusion and Lando just whimpers again, biting his lip.

He comes into Max's mouth a minute later, back arching and Max lies down, head on Lando's tummy, to kiss his heaving abs afterwards. Lando pulls him up after a minute, holds him and Max's erection isn't so urgent he can't enjoy it for awhile.

When Lando returns the favour, chaotically sucking Max's balls while he's jacking him off, it doesn't take long either for Max to come or for the guilt to sink in. He can't come up with an excuse for why he can't stop doing this, only the inevitability that he won't.

-

They both claim their sore throats are from golfing or the rain or hayfever or something. Lando smuggles Max back to Monte Carlo two days later and fucks him in every room.

[gourdkeeper]

Could you do a fic where reader and Jamie are at a house party with some other fighters, and towards the end of the night, things get a little spicy? ^^

Yes I can! Let me know if anyone wants a continuation on this one 😳

Word count: 1465

Content warnings: 18+, afab reader, established relationship, reader is drunk as hell, reader gets taken care of by kimberly and luke until jamie arrives, cnc (very mild and very very consenting), choking, reader gets "blue balled"

Part 2 here!

You had nothing planned today, you were bored out of your mind when suddenly the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey hey! There's a party tonight! Bunch of people are gonna come, do you wanna join?"

It was your friend Kimberly, somehow she always found something cool to do or some plan to get you out of boring shit. You didn't know her for very long but after she saved your ass one night you just, got along since. She's even taught you some parkour and bushinryu, she was fun to hang out with.

"Sure!! Where and what time?"

She explains all the details and you start getting ready while still on the phone because apparently you don't have that much time before it starts.

---

You arrive, and damn Kim was right, that's a whole lot of people, you recognize your friend Luke and a few other fighters that have trained you so far, even Manon? You thought she was still in France right now but it's a nice surprise.

Finally you see Kim and she runs over to you to hug you tight, knocking her headphones out of her neck in the process "Whoops, don't wanna break that haha! How are you?"

You thank her for inviting you and start catching up to date. You've danced together, you've drank together. Maybe a bit too much. You at least.

Kimberly seems fresh as always, then again, she did drink a bunch of ice tea, you on the other hand eeeehhh maybe the whiskey and the rum cokes were starting hitting too hard. You were a giggly mess.

The party was going on for a few hours now and some people were already on the way out.

"Hmmm I don't think you should be going anywhere alone but I also need to leave, I still have stuff to do..."

"What?" You hiccup, "You gon'infiltrate another high security buildi-"

"SHHH-" She places her finger in front of your mouth hurriedly, "Not so loud 'kay? Look," she pauses, "I'm gonna go grab Luke, he'll know who to call to help."

Kim goes in search for Luke while you stay sipping on yet another drink at the bar. She quickly spots the large forearms and fluffy air in the distance.

"Luke!"

"Oh hey, can I help?"

"Can you call someone to help her out?" She points in your direction, "I can't stay the whole night and I'm scared of leaving her alone, she's wayyy too tipsy and it'll only get worse."

"No worries," he pats her shoulder, "I know just who to call, 'sides, I'll keep an eye on her, she'll be safe." He finishes with a wink and a sympathetic smile.

"Knew I could count on you, thanks! I gotta bounce, cya around!"

She quickly leaves, passing by you first to give you a hug and be on her way.

You're now entrusted to Luke, not that it matters much anyway, this drink is far too nice.

Luke grabs his phone while keeping tabs on you. He sighs.

"Can't believe I gotta call this asshole over here..."

The call goes through.

"Sullivan?! The fuck you want?" The rival barks through the speaker.

Pleasant as ever, the blonde thinks.

"Spare me the bullshit. It's about your girl, she's plastered, will you come get her?"

"..My girl?? Where are you?"

"The party at the docks, she drank way too much and she needs to be taken home, will you? Please?"

"Never thought I'd hear you plead for anything meathead but yeah, I'm doing this for her, be there in 10."

Jamie hung up the phone and immediately hurried to the location.

Luke approaches you and tells you that you should stop drinking.

"Pfft who are you, my dad?"

"Oh jeez you reek of booze..." He pinches the bridge of his nose and waves his other hand in front of his nose. "Look, someone will come pick you up to take you home, maybe just put the drink down, really."

Jamie arrives and spots the both of you. Luke excuses himself and walks over to meet him, for once they don't fight or butt heads the moment they see each other, instead they just talk for a second, Luke walks off and Jamie approaches you instead.

He places his hand on your shoulder, "Hey babe-"

"Get your hands off me what the fuck?"

"Huh?" He's bewildered.

"I'm not up for grabs ye creep." You don't recognize him in the low lights of the party or amidst your glossed over vision.

"What do you mean? Come on, I'll take you home..." He pulls on you and you immediately slap his hand away.

"Get away from me! I have a boyfriend and if he sees you he's beating the crap out of you! Get lost!"

Jamie can't contain his laughter, hand covering his mouth.

"The fuck's so funny moron?" You ask, showing indignation and taking the glass to your lips.

"Nothing, nothing... You sure that boyfriend of yours will beat me?" He points his thumb at himself, leaning forward with a hand on his hip, giggling at the situation.

"He'd make sure not even your mom would recognize you, now beat it." You don't even look at him and just down the contents of the glass.

That sure is an ego boost, not that Jamie lacks confidence, but hearing you, drunk or not so proudly boast about him makes his heart flutter a bit. "That's my girl alright." He thinks.

He plays along.

"Oh! That so? Would love to see him try." Smile still on his lips, he grabs you by your waist and flips you over his shoulder, ready to walk off with you.

"HEY! Put me down! What the fuck!" You slam your fists on his back, thinking you'd achieve anything at all, obviously he doesn't budge and just carries you away from the bar with ease.

"Shhh quiet down princess."

"Only my boyfriend can call me that, you hear me? Now let go!"

"Nah I don't think I will."

You kick into his groin and he puts you down, pained.

The light is far better here than it was at the bar and oh. Oh fuck.

"Jamie?! Fuck I'm sorry!" You blurt out, realizing it was him.

"Tsk... Thought your boyfriend was gonna beat me, not you..." He jokes, still clearly hurt but trying to hide it.

"I'm so sorry..." you giggle, "Why are you here?"

"Is that your way of saying hi after kicking me in the balls? Sheesh... I'm taking *you* home." He presses his index finger to your nose. "You drank way too much, you smell like a distillery!"

"I do not!" You pout at him.

He smacks your ass and tells you to get moving.

"What if I don't want to?"

"You have to. C'mon babe, it's late, you need to sleep that off."

"Make me."

Those were the magic words for Jamie and you knew it. He likes it when you're bratty, it riles him up like crazy.

"You sure you wanna play that way princess?" He growls at your ear, eyebrow cocked up, you flash him a smirk. "Fine." He barks.

He picks you back up, over his shoulder and carries you outside while you pretend you want to get out of his grip. "Put me down!" You cry out.

Once he gets outside he takes you towards a small alley and puts you down agaisnt the wall. "Why can't you just behave, huh?" His hand on your neck, stilling you in place, "Why can't you just be a good girl for me? Hm? Your boyfriend can't help you~ No one can..." He teases, whispering low by your ear.

You melt with his smooth voice and the implications. Playing pretend could be fun...

"Please don't hurt me!" You put your hands around his own that tighten around your neck in a low effort to pull them off, squirming and kicking around.

"If you behave, I won't... You could be a good girl and just let me shoot my load in you right here...or you could try and fight me off and I'll make sure to break you... Which one will it be, hm, pretty thing? Which one will get your boyfriend angrier?" He takes his hands to your crotch and starts rubbing over your clothes, making you gasp for air and your knees buckle.

Suddenly he lets go off of you. "But not today, you need to sleep that drink off first." He smacks your ass again and walks with your under his arm. "We can pick it up from where we left off in the morning if you still want it, princess." He gives you a mischievous smile.

Well now you just have no choice but to lay off the drink and sleep it off.

[bvannn]

Weekly report July 21, 2023

I’ve been keeping at it, but I’m definitely having issues with my body. I am exhausted, I am not eating well, any time I eat well I eat too fast and choke and end up with chunks of food up my nose. I’ve been drawing and animating though that’s cool.

About a third of the way through the new test’s animations, two thirds of the way through reimporting assets for the rig. I can probably finish it off tomorrow it wouldn’t take too long I just wasn’t thinking about it today because I’ve been busy with Artfight. I hope tomorrow that I’ll be able to do another good stretch of tween frames, enough to hopefully test out a strategy for another effect.

I was watching a bunch of Bad Religion music videos today too, since that group makes me think of Mikey, it’s good inspiration. Today I was specifically focusing on the visuals, and messing with CSP. I found a couple neat little strategies and features I didn’t know about, so hopefully I’ll be able to try them out with some illustrations (and animations too hopefully). I’ve already done a couple of the more simple things for some Artfight pics you saw today and you’ll see more of tomorrow, but I want to lean harder into certain strategies for shading and backgrounds.

Doing Artfight has really had me thinking about my own characters more in general. Next month once artfight’s over I’ll try to take another crack at some stuff I’ve wanted to do with them. Music and writing, and maybe I’ll take another jab at animating in pure CSP, although my focus will still be with TRGA. If I can figure out CSP animation I can probably fix some issues I’ve been having with certain parts in flash too. Everything I do leads into itself I swear. I’ll try outlining some writing this month, while I’m at work or whatever, while continuing Artfight and TRGA primarily. And get going on music stuffs next month and see where it leads me.

Last note I kinda abandoned my tiktok last week imma try to get back to it. I ditched it because I didn’t want to screw with Adobe premiere, even though I made a decent template for videos, and I tried again this week and the template works nice so hooray for that. I’ll fuck around with premiere more at some point and once I have music I’ll throw that on tiktok as well. Idk I’m at a weird point where I have motivation and inspiration but not time or energy. Tomorrow I need to sell my blood again but then I’m free to do whatever, which will probably be Artfight and animation. Or planning other projects. Whichever.