#I. i need to sit down actually. and sleep. for a long time.

[angelluvsrafe]

୨ৎ ── “im not even tired”

- request a fic - masterlist -

if you could be anywhere in the world at all times it would be rafe’s lap. whether it’s at home, cuddled up next to the fire or even at a party, sat in a quiet corner.

rafe will always pull you into his lap, no matter where you are. he can’t help it, you just fit so nicely and it’s peaceful… when you sit still.

today, you’re curled up in his lap with a soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders. he’s busy on his computer doing his ‘big boy job’ as you call it. you don’t know what he actually does, you just like watching him concentrate.

your head moves as his chest rises and falls heavily. you look up at him to see his handsome face covered with a frustrated expression. he rubs his hand over his face then looks straight back at the screen he’d been staring at for the past three hours.

“rafe, are you okay?” you ask softly, your voice only just audible. he looks down at you, a hint of surprise written on his face.

“hey, sweetie… i didn’t know you were awake.” he presses a kiss to your head and rubs your arm gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “don’t you wanna head to bed, doll? it’s getting late.” he proposes, his voice a low rumble as his finger brushes over the bridge of your nose and up between your brows.

“no, i’d rather stay with you…” you respond, looking up at him, all doe-eyed and sleepy. your grip drops off of his shirt and finds his hand, your fingers wrapping around his thumb.

“really? you don’t wanna sleep in the bed? it’s comfier.” he murmurs, his voice stays smooth and silky. you can hear the rumble in his chest with each word he utters, making you even sleepier.

“no… i’m staying here” you pout, your manicured hand coming up to rub your tired eyes. rafe nips your thigh lightly, not too hard but enough to make you flinch.

“don’t pout. only brats pout.” he tuts, the dark look in his eyes warning and stern. “you. are not a brat…” he finishes, his tone becoming softer than seconds prior.

“i wasn’t trying to be a brat. im just-”

“tired?” he cuts you off, raising his eyebrow at you, your lips purse and your arms cross over your chest. he chuckles and pulls your arms away from your chest, holding your hands in his big ones.

“i’m not even tired…” you mumble, looking down at your lap.

“i smell a lie…” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck and pressing a few soft kisses against your warm skin. his grip becomes tighter around you as he pulls away, feeling the need to hold you to his chest.

“fine. stay here… don’t complain when you wake up with a sore neck.” he winks, looking down at you with a cheeky expression.

“even if i was tired, i’d rather sleep on you than a bed.” you tell him, trying to think of anything to keep his attention on you.

“clingy girl…” he smiles and kisses your soft hair before focusing his attention back on his work. you huff and bury your face into his chest. now that his attention is off you, it’s not that long until you fall asleep.

rafe subconsciously moves his arm to support your head. as much as he wanted to prove his point of your neck hurting if you sleep in his lap, he still didn’t want you to be in pain.

[loserfag]

Suicide method list, in no particular order:

(BY FURTHER READING PAST THIS POINT YOU AUTOMATICALLY CONSENT TO READING ABOUT THE TOPIC MENTIONED ABOVE)

Wrist Cutting: realistically, this entails a considerable amount of force- you’d need to genuinely bash through your wrist with a razor or other such tool and wait a long time for the vein to bleed out and die. I mean why do you think people end up doing it in bathtubs. It’s never as easy as it looks in the movies either. You have a higher chance of leaving several suspicious downwards gashes on your arms than anything. The most efficient way you can actually achieve anything is with a scalpel or tool designed to cut through flesh but even then the average person is no surgeon. Someone has a 100% chance of finding your body injured or dead.

Car accident: has a higher chance of leaving you disabled or unharmed. Since it’s not even a surefire way of dying I don’t even know why the fuck I added it but I’ve seen some people unironically think it’s a surefire way to die.

Carbon monoxide (aka, sitting in your car with the engine on in your closed garage): also takes a considerable amount of time for you to die via this method- if you don’t live alone you have a higher chance of someone walking in on you trying than anything. You generally have a higher chance of leaving this alive, having damaged your respiratory system permanently or significantly.

Sleeping pills or generally, through medication: to kill yourself via anything OTC it would take a considerable dose. You would also need to wait a long time for it to actually get to killing you- realistically someone has a higher chance of finding you exhibiting some drastic side effect and taking you to the hospital where you’ll be brought back to life. Unless you have a surefire pill laced with some sort of cyanide or other poison will it be effective.

Hanging: one of the most painful ways to die. This one also takes a few minutes to actually asphyxiate yourself to death. The human brain and body can go up to 5 minutes without oxygen. Unless you immediately get your body to shut down after you’ve potentially snapped your neck with your own weight pulling you down is it a surefire way of death. But it’s not something you can guarantee happening, even if you’re a heavyset person. You also have a 100% chance at someone finding your body if you do manage to pull through with it. Hanging yourself diagonally or via doorknob is also the same bag and might I add even less effective.

Smoking: if you’re looking to kill yourself through smoking anything it’s going to take a few years, maybe even your whole life. One of the fucking stupidest ways to kill yourself but people still try via this method so I’m adding it.

Gun: unless you do this with a shotgun is this also potentially ineffective. If you’re aiming to kill yourself via a revolver or other gun that won’t make your head implode on impact like a watermelon the bullet may potentially miss your brain and leave you paralyzed for life or just brain dead. It’s why if you are aiming to kill yourself via revolver you’re better off putting it in your mouth and shooting upwards as straight as you can than to your temple. This is a rather messy way to kill yourself- unless you do this in an area where you’re absolutely sure no one will find you ever which I doubt someone has a high chance of walking in on your brains splattered everywhere.

Fall: falling to your death successfully is somewhat dependant on your height. A general rule is that 50% of all falls that are from three times your height are fatal. Example: a 6ft tall person has a 50% chance of dying from an 18ft. fall. However, the human head is a lot like a watermelon- can you imagine watermelon being dropped from 20 stories? Yeah. Also a messy way to kill yourself, someone will 100% have to clean up your brain off the floor or sidewalk.

Drinking bleach: you legitimately won’t be able to get any past your throat without it burning the shit out of your entire esophageal tube. If you try this you will most likely come of it alive and not even possessing the ability to eat solid food anymore. Your intestines would have probably suffered significant damage that you’d be unable to return to a normal life.

It’s so crazy that suicide prevention is just people going awwww don’t!! Awwww come on noooooooooo stopppppp

[saosinn]

let's show mac a magic trick you learned!

nsfw under the cut, amab mac!

for the first time in a while, you actually had a moment to relax, and do something other than sleep in your spare time. you'd been so overwhelmed with your work recently, barely able to take a moment to breathe. due to how busy you were, you hadn't interfaced with mac in days. so, now that you could, why not watch a movie with your partner?

you took the liberty of setting everything up, from the blankets to the snack selection, you were determined to not have to get up unless you absolutely needed to. you deserved to cuddle your computer for a few hours, damn it.

mac happily agreed when you brought this up, having missed you just as much these past few days. and with that, here you two were, nestled on the couch under the same blanket, mac's arm draped over your shoulders. while you were happy to spend time with them, to be able to hold them and be held so close by them, the movie you were watching was awful.

the two of you found more enjoyment in making fun of the movie than actually watching it, having endless material due to the poor line deliveries and awful cgi. you could only stay entertained for so long though, the jokes started to become repetitive, and the movie somehow managed to get worse as it went on. you kept nodding off, head falling foreword as you attempt to stay awake. snuggling further into mac certainly wasn't helping, but you did it nonetheless.

that's when it hit you, you had something that you wanted to try with mac! a few days ago, you were talking to harper, and you two somehow got on the topic of giving head. during this conversation she shared useful insight, like: giving you techniques to use to make it easier to breathe, how to prevent choking, how to keep your throat relaxed, etc.

with a cheshire-esque grin, you turned to mac. "hey, i learned something recently, it's like a magic trick, wanna see?" they nodded, raising a brow at your suspiciously gleeful behavior, but still they wore a smile when looking at you. slipping out of their hold, you kneeled in front of them, pulling the blanket off of their lap, "w-wait-!" to find that they were already hard.

their cheeks were bright red, hand coming up to cover the lower half of their face as they practically fought to avoid your gaze. you sat there, mouth ajar as you stared at them. "you're— wait, how long have you been hard?" the question hung in the air for a moment, mac's face now buried in their hands. "since the beginning of the movie." they admitted shamefully, like they were committing some sort of crime.

thinking about how uncomfortable mac must've been made you feel slightly guilty, how had you not noticed this entire time? with newfound determination, your hands began to unzip their fly. they practically jumped out of their skin at the contact, confused but also very desperate, so despite their embarrassment, they let you continue.

in no time their shorts were pooled around their ankles, their boxers sitting at the halfway point on their thighs while their ever so sensitive cock sat in your hand. without gripping too hard, you gave it a few pumps before gently licking the head, keeping eye contact with mac the entire time. their body jerked, stomach flexing from the sensitivity.

as much as you wanted to take your time with them, you were worried that they might explode if they go another ten minutes without cumming. pressing a chaste kiss to the tip, you brought your mouth down, tongue licking a long stripe from the base to their reddened head. with a deep breath, you tucked your thumb under your fingers, and took the entirety of their cock.

mac almost came immediately, eyes wide as their chest heaved as your head bobbed up and down. where the hell did you learn that? you were never bad at giving head, but your movements were never this confident. their hips bucked up into you, woah— you've never done that with your tongue before.

you'd barely started, but mac was already shaking with anticipation, the muscles of their thighs quivering under your hands. taking this as a challenge, you hollowed your cheeks and sped up your pace. a hand flew to your hair, the grip was harsh but not unwelcome. peering up through your lashes, you moaned loudly when you made eye contact with mac.

the vibrations of your moans made them see stars, breath hiccuping as they did their best to speak. "i-i'm— fuck! i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna cum-!" they barely got their warning out before it happened, their seed spilling into your mouth down your throat. for the first time tonight, you choked a bit, the force of it hitting the back of your throat a bit unexpected.

you brought your head back down, nose against their pubic bone, you couldn't risk wasting a drop. taking in a breath through your nose, you swallowed, the way your throat contracted around their cock making them whine in overstimulation. slowly, you pulled off of their cock, a quiet pop breaking the silence. deciding to be cheeky, you stayed in your position on the floor in front of them, letting their member lay against your face. chuckling breathlessly, they ran a hand through their hair before speaking. "where- where did you even learn how to do that?" giggling softly, another grin made it's way to your lips. "a magician never reveals their secrets."

— 𓈒 ❤︎︎ ࣪ ˖

7/3/25

THIS ONE SUCKS SO BAD I'M SO SORRY. I WROTE THIS IN LESS THAN AN HOUR W LIKE NO SLEEP ILL MAKE IT UP I SWUR.

[p1girlfriend]

dating a victoria’s secret model — f1 grid

🩷 Lando Norris

– posts grainy little iPhone pics of you backstage like “guess who’s the hottest girl in the world AND mine”

– jokingly calls himself your “supportive house husband”

– dies a little inside every time you walk the VS runway but plays it cool

“do you know how HARD it is to see everyone drooling over you and not jump on stage??” – 100% steals your robes to wear around the house – “how do I look babe? runway ready?” – actually watches you more than the races when you're in the crowd – fully your biggest fan (and might cry the first time he sees you in angel wings)

—

🖤 Oscar Piastri

– okay hear me out: lowkey protective boyfriend vibes

– “I’m not jealous, just... do they need to be that close to you backstage?”

– stares at your photo shoots in awe like you’re not the same girl currently sitting on him in a hoodie

– buys every magazine you’re in, quietly keeps them stacked in his drawer

– if someone says something rude about you? cue his dry clapback

“must be exhausting having that much free time and zero taste.” – acts chill in public, panics internally every time he sees you on a billboard “that’s literally my girlfriend. how is this my life.”

—

❤️ Charles Leclerc

– you walk into a room and he literally goes “mamma mia.”

– attends every show possible, front row, flowers in hand

– gets distracted during interviews because he saw a new photo of you on his phone

– brags to his brothers constantly

“did you see the photoshoot? mon dieu.” – you tease him by posing in lingerie around the house and he literally has to sit down – WILL post thirst traps of you with the caption “mine.” – very soft behind closed doors. always tracing your collarbones and whispering, “how did I get this lucky?”

—

💋 Carlos Sainz

– your #1 hype man. reposts everything. compliments everything.

– “this outfit? you’ll make the whole paddock faint.”

– pretends to get annoyed when photographers ask to take pictures of you, but secretly proud as hell

– gets way too into giving you massages after long shoot days

– tries to act like he’s not obsessed with your runway walk — fails every time

“i don’t care how many people saw it. i saw it first.”

—

🌈 Lewis Hamilton

– matches your fashion slay every step of the way

– probably introduces you to designers because he’s that proud

– whispers affirmations to you before big shows

“go shine. go kill it. you’re a queen, love.” – brings you backstage flowers, then kisses you like you're the only one there – makes sure no one talks over you in a room – genuinely in awe of your power and elegance “they think i’m the star, but i know who really is.”

—

💛 Daniel Ricciardo

– oh he’s OBSESSED OBSESSED

– will post the thirstiest thirst trap of you with the caption “the wife 🫡”

– calls you “my angel” every chance he gets

– definitely tries on your wings at least once and makes it a whole thing

– shows your photos to everyone

“this is her, guys. this is the legend. and she eats cereal in my bed.” – doesn’t get jealous, just clingy after shows “you were so hot out there. now come sit on my lap immediately.”

—

💙 Max Verstappen

– doesn’t say much online but is deeply ride-or-die behind the scenes

– stares at your pics for way too long and just goes,

“...wow.” – holds your hand so tightly at events – “I like when people know you’re with me.” – isn’t threatened by the attention, but gets extra soft with you after – lays in bed at 2am scrolling your VS TikToks and texting “can’t sleep, you’re too hot” – you: “i thought you were the serious one” – him: “not about you.”

—

💗 Lance Stroll

– quiet but SO supportive

– will cancel plans to attend your shows

– kisses your forehead before you walk and calls you “superstar”

– saves all your press clippings in a little folder like the sentimental cutie he is

– sometimes just watches you get ready like it’s a religious experience

– if a photographer gets too handsy? he steps in real fast

– “she’s got enough people staring. back off.”

—

🖤 Gabriel Bortoleto

– nervous the first time he comes to a show but now? LOVES it

– claps louder than anyone

– “THAT’S MY GIRL. LOOK AT HER.”

– tries to act cool about your lingerie campaigns but blushes like mad

– kisses the inside of your wrist like a gentleman always

– insists on taking pics of you himself because “no one captures you like I do”

—

💙 Franco Colapinto

– tells everyone you’re his lucky charm

– walks around paddocks with your photo as his lockscreen like it’s no big deal

– fumbles every time you show up in something sexy

– “I mean. yeah. okay. wow. hi.”

– literally speechless after your shows

– “how are you real?”

– loves when you wear his shirts backstage

– and you love watching his jaw drop every time

©p1girlfriend | requested | requests open!

[7spaceace7]

Steve, pacing back and forth at the vet’s office, anxious as hell as he waits for the doctor to come back with his cat who decided to eat something Not Good

Eddie, casually reading a magazine as he waits for the vet to do a look over on the most recent stray he found, but he can’t focus on the words anymore because this guy next to him won’t stop pacing

“Hey man, you good?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Mhm.”

And Eddie’s about to ask if he’s sure, but the guy cuts in—

“It’s just my cat, he hates vets, hates leaving the house really, and I’m not sure if that’s my fault for not taking him out more or what, but he’s also really dumb and ate god-knows-what out of the trash, and I should have thrown the trash out sooner, and I’ve got no idea what he needs or if he’s deathly sick or what and—”

“Whoa, whoa, okay, slow down. Breathe, dude. You look half a step out from either charging back there or collapsing on the floor,” Eddie says quickly, kindly, and the guy surprisingly hinges on his every word, “I’m sure he’ll be okay. You wanna..sit next to me while we wait?”

The guy chews his bottom lip, then nods and slumps in the chair next to him.

“I just have a million scenarios running around my head, and none of them are good,” The guy cringes and rubs a hand over his face, “God, I sound like Robin..”

“Anxiety’s a bitch, man, I get it,” The metalhead nods. He wants to reach over and, like, give him a hug or something, but that’s not what you do to a stranger. Even if the stranger looks totally freaked. And totally attractive, but that’s not relevant. “If it helps though, um. My uncle and I come to this place a lot. Find a lot of strays around the trailer park, so we pick ‘em up and drop ‘em here. Your little guy’s in good hands.”

The man looks up from his slumped position and takes Eddie’s words in. “You think so?”

“Definitely. If he’s got someone who cares about him half as much as you seem to, I’m sure of it.”

His shoulders relax a little. He cracks a less-terrified smile. It’s almost sad. And adorable. Sadorable.

“Thanks. Um…”

“Eddie.”

“Thanks, Eddie. I’m Steve. By the way.”

“No problem, Steve,” Eddie tries to offer a smile of his own.

They get to talking for a little while, and it seems to quell enough of Steve’s anxieties for the time being, until Eddie gets told by the doctor that the stray mutt he brought in today is alright enough to get sent to the nearest shelter. He’s free to go.

But he looks back and Steve is still sitting in the chair next to where Eddie was, leg bouncing as he picks at his arm. He could just wish him well, leave, and go home like a normal person. But now he’s invested in Steve and his silly cat, and dragging his feet out the door is a fate he’s not sure he can muster anymore.

Eddie drops himself back down beside Steve. It earns him a confused frown.

“I thought you were free to leave.”

“I am. Fido in there’s gonna have a decent place to sleep now,” He leans his arm on the arm of the chair between them and tilts his head lopsidedly at Steve, “But I don’t have anywhere to be, and you’ve got me hooked, Steve. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep unless I knew Teddy made it home okay.”

Something about his bold sincerity causes Steve to blush a bit. He smiles, an actual one this time, and nods at Eddie. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Eddie keeps to his word and stays as long as Steve needs.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sunstroke - Part Three.

Actually giggling and kicking my feet at how popular this little series of mine has become! Thank you all SO MUCH for your reads, reblogs and comments. You're giving this gal life right now! I did consider finishing it at part four, but maybe, I might just keep it running. I have no solid ideas for an arc right now other than it just being a lovely, fluffy, smutty lil' tale, but who knows?

Also, just to note, while I will never use the guy's real names in anything I write, it's realistic that the reader character would since she knows them personally. When she does this, names are simply denoted with asterisks.

Summary: As tour manager for Sleep Token, you're naturally close with the lads whom you're employed to look after. Then, there's your closeness with Vessel, the lines between manager and artist seeming to blur into something more meaningful... if you'll let it.

Words: 2,203

Warnings: Fluff and a wee smidgen of smut. Minors DNI!

Previous chapters - Part One Part Two

While the little moment between you and him prior to the show leaves you floating and seems to also affect his mood positively during it, by the time the performance has ended, he’s stewing in ire. A gentle soul he may be, but he’s no pushover, and he’s also hugely intolerant to disrespect.  

Fans calling out his real name to him is tantamount to a distinct lack of respect in his eyes. 

Pointing at the perpetrator, he shakes his head. They do it again. His middle finger rises, spitting on the stage in disgust as he storms from it at speed. Why. Why do they have to do it? If he doesn’t want to be addressed or known as anything other than Vessel, surely adhering to his wishes isn’t too great an ask. 

He catches your eye, jerking his head, letting you know silently that you’re needed. This time, though, you can barely match his stride as he tears a path to his dressing room, coming to a stop in the middle of the space with his back heaving with each deep, annoyed breath.  

“Hey, you alright?” Your hands reach to lay comfort upon his back, the slender muscles taut with burning tension beneath your touch. “Come on, calm down.” 

“Pisses me off,” he spits, sighing. “It was a great show, but nah. People have to ruin it.” You can feel a small tirade, and he doesn’t disappoint. “If I wanted to be known by my name, I’d choose to. I don’t. I want the privacy of anonymity. I know it’s out there, I get that, but fucking hell! One little wish is just too much, and I give them almost every other part of myself up there, night after night.” 

God, he really didn’t hold back. He’s never usually so verbal, being a man capable of conveying his feelings using a much more succinct dialogue. Also, he’s tired. It would be fair to say Ves occasionally errs on the grumpy side when he’s starting to succumb to the rigours of touring.  

Turning, without thinking he takes your hands, raises them to his mouth to kiss. “Sorry, you caught the brunt of all that. And now I’ve covered you in sweaty paint, too.” 

“I don’t mind,” you whisper, reaching for his handsome face, letting your thumbs trail his cheeks. “Go and take a shower. Your clothes are all there and ready.” 

He smiles, and the heaviness begins to ease from him. “Such a darlin’. I won’t be long.”  

While you wipe away the black trails from your hands, he sheds himself of his stage clothes, heading into the bathroom to cleanse himself of the sweat and paint. You’re glad tonight won’t have to be rushed, no packing away or load out since the second show will run a day on from tonight, meaning he can just leave for the hotel whenever he’s ready to.  

By the time he’s done, he looks much more at peace, walking to where you’re sitting on the sofa and reaching out his hands. Pulling you up, he smiles, arms folding around you, holding you close against his chest. Oh, to feel him like that, pressed against all those chiselled muscles.  

It isn’t the first time he’s ever hugged you, but rest have all been fleeting exchanges. This by comparison feels like he’s gently attempting to meld with you, hold you so close that the memory of how your body feels against his will never leave him. You soak it up too, held there in his embrace, knowing how lucky you are to simply stand there clasped against him.  

Thousands of women dream of this, to be caught in the orbit and held in the arms of the man they adore, the enigmatic Vessel. To you, though, he’s something more.  

“Has my Bambo calmed down now?” 

“Mmhmm,” he hums into your hair, the scent of your shampoo comforting to him. “I’m feeling good, not going to be a twat and let people committed to being wankers ruin my night. That was entirely too much rage for a Wednesday.” You then feel his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head back. “I could stand to feel a whole lot better, though.” 

A radiance of excitement beams bright in your tummy. “Yeah?” 

“Mm.” It’s swift, the lean to you that finally has his mouth pressing against yours, the kiss deepening in a moment, your tongues nudging together as his arms tighten around you. And of bloody course, the man kisses with nothing short of perfect finesse, a flutter of butterflies ascending into flight within your chest, your hand reaching to stroke the side of his neck.  

Gently, he pulls away with a little grumble. “No, love. Not the neck,” he rumbles in chuckle, “I’ll get all sex feral if you start stroking my neck.” 

This man. He’s the perfect mix of sweet, sensually gifted, and utterly hilarious. “Maybe I want you to,” you giggle watching him frown. 

“Not here,” he speaks, taking your hand and kissing it before pressing it against his chest and holding it there. God, that’s some solid muscle. “I think too much of you than to give you a bloody good shagging on a backstage sofa.” 

“So, take me to the hotel and give me one there,” you tease, laughing when he virtually growls at the suggestion, leaning down to kiss you again. That’s when you feel it. Ohh. Wow. “I think he agrees with me,” you point out, looking down to where you’re being prodded by nothing short of a splendorous erection. 

“He can fucking calm down,” he snorts, looking down to where his cock is tenting his sweats. “I’ve got to actually leave this place yet, I’d rather not have to try and do so while impersonating a teepee.” 

Throwing your head back, your laughter fills the air, smoothing your hands down his chest as you compose yourself. “Just as long as we’re introduced later.” 

He hums a chuckle, leaning to gently nibble your cheek. “Oh yeah. You will be.” 

Turning from him to begin collecting your things, you can’t keep the grin from your face, virtually fizzing with excitement on the inside. Once outside the arena with the throng of others, you direct people to the waiting MPV’s, everyone being ferried to the two hotels you’ve booked for band and crew.  

While climbing into the fourth black Mercedes with Ves, you’re relieved you had the seeming foresight to book yourself in at the same one he’s staying at when the first hotel didn’t have the required number of rooms. There in the dark, while you continue to check your phone, he chats with his bandmates, all the while discreetly stroking a circle at the side of your knee with his knuckle. 

The anticipation of what’s to come creeps over you like a fog, eventually putting your phone back into your bag. You can’t concentrate on anything else than what you’re shortly about to enjoy. Him. All of him. You almost snort with laughter when a stupidly immature inner voice suddenly announces “Weeee! I get to see him naked!” and you hide your mouth behind your hand while biting back a grin. 

You’re a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, and look what he’s reduced you to! 

Arriving at the hotel, while you head up to the front desk to arrange the very late check in you pre-scheduled with the manager, Ves suddenly realises he’s lacking something very necessary, excusing himself momentarily.  

“Mate, c’mere,” he speaks, tapping iii on the shoulder and pulling him away from a couple of the crew he’s standing with. “Need a favour, and for it not to come with a side of you being a gobby twat.” 

His eyes widen, doing a pearl clutch motion that Ves can’t help but snort laughing at. “Who, me? Never!” he begins, grinning. “Whaddya need?” 

“In short, all the condoms you can spare.”  

An eyebrow is raised, iii looking between Ves and the back of your head a few times, his face growing into a grin of pure mirth. “Oh yeah? Finally got ya hooks in the duchess, have ya? Oooh, ya bad lad, off to shag the boss!”  

“Fucking hurry!” he hisses, iii laughing as he swings his rucksack off his shoulder and begins scouring the many pockets.  

“Alright, I’ve got four,” he speaks after a rapid search, passing them over discreetly. “Is that enough?” 

“Probably not, but thanks, bud.” 

“Horny fucking bugger! Are you planning on letting the poor woman sleep at all?” he laughs, standing up again and returning his rucksack to his back.  

“Mm, maybe for about ten minutes.” he winks, giving him a slap on the arm in thanks. 

“Go enjoy yourself, man. I’ll see you sometime on Friday.” he teases, guffawing at the grin Ves flashes him. It’s been a while in the coming, and he knows that, knowing his friend as well as he does. He’s watched him yearning for you from afar but never asked why he hasn’t made a move. Suffice to say he’s glad Ves finally has.  

If nothing else, he’s a lot more cheerful when he’s getting laid regularly. But the same could be said of anyone, really. 

Once everything is sorted checking in wise, you head to the elevator, a lot of the guys in the crew taking the stairs since their rooms are all located on the first floor. With yours being the closer room, he decides his will remain unslept in, but for the sake of not being obvious rides the elevator up to his floor with the rest when you get off on the second.  

You’re finishing organising your clothes when a soft knock sounds ten minutes later, the door opening to reveal your beautiful, doe eyed man.  

“Sorry, I got talking to Steve,” he apologises, and you immediately understand how that can go if the chief sound engineer tacks himself onto you for a chat. The man is a genuinely lovely person, but truly, doesn’t know when to shut up. 

“No worries. Make yourself comfy, I'm just going to take a quick shower.” you smile, feeling your tummy quake at the look he gives you. It’s... well. It’s nowhere near pure, and god, it sends your nerves and excitement to stratospheric heights in equal measures. Leaving the door slightly ajar, you turn the shower on, beginning to remove your clothes, taking a spare band from your pocket to tie up your hair.  

It’s as you’re securing it that you feel two hands rest at the side of your waist, a set of lips beginning to press kisses at the side of your neck.  

“Oh, I’m being tampered with, am I?”  

“Mm,” he hums, planting another kiss. “You can’t expect me to wait out there, knowing you’re in here, naked.” His fingers then move to the elastic of your undies, giving them a little playful twang against your skin. “Well, nearly naked.” 

His fingers move to the base of your spine, teasing little strokes upward, kisses pressed hot like constellations against your neck, his thumb and forefinger flicking the clasp of your bra. You let it fall down your arms to the floor, the bathroom beginning to fog with steam from the shower as you ground yourself a little, leaning back against his chest.  

Long fingers move to your bare chest, stroking swirls over your breasts, your nipples hardening beneath his touch. He groans softly, and it sends a jolt through you, his teeth gently nipping your earlobe as he begins to softly pinch at your nipples.  

Those pinches tighten, each little bud rolled between his thumbs and forefingers, the action sending little bolts arcing up your spine, the heat of his hard cock pressing into the small of your back. One hand leaves, trailing in a slow, firm stroke down your body, pushing into your underwear.  

You gasp at that first contact, the taper of his fingertips meeting the wet that’s gathered for him, sinking into your slit and stroking over the petals of your cunt. He bites at you again, a faint groan spilling from his mouth to feel how slick you are for him, seeking out your clit before slowly rubbing back and forth.  

Oh, the way he touches you. It sends heat crackling beneath your skin, your muscles juddering, a soft whine of pleasure slipping from your parted lips.  

“Fuck, ***,” you whisper, and he loves the sound of his name on your lips, in a voice lost to the pleasure he gives you, his other hand cupping beneath your jaw to tilt your head back, leaning to kiss you with smouldering heat.  

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your mouth, nuzzling you, plating another kiss on your flushed lips. 

“Mmm,” you whine, the dexterity of his fingers sending you mindless already. 

He chuckles softly, pulling his hand away. “Go have your shower. I’ll be waiting.”  

You turn, watching him suck his wettened fingers with a wink. “Bloody tease,” you chide, Ves shrugging lightly. 

“Trust me,” he grunts, his voice all smoky grit, “Once you’re on that bed with me, I won’t be.”  

You’ve never taken a shower so rapidly in all of your life.  

Did you enjoy what you just read? If so, please help your author out by commenting/reblogging. If you want to be added to the taglist, please do let me know, too!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

a little singed

Pop-Up Prompt: Fireworks | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Mention of Eddie's Drug Dealing, Language | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Set S3, Missing Scene(s) in "The Battle of Starcourt", Hurt/Comfort, Steve Knows They Need More Firepower

"We need to make a pit stop," Steve says, and Robin looks dubious.

"We don't have time for whatever you're distracted by. Focus," she shouts over the air rushing around them in the convertible. He's speeding.

Time or not, they need more firepower. Sinclair's idea was good, damn good, but a couple crates of grocery store fireworks aren't gonna cut it.

They need the big guns.

"We're here! See? It's on our way!"

Steve yanks the wheel, turning off into the trailer park, skidding across the gravel as he comes to a sliding stop in front of Eddie Munson's place. 

If anyone has the good shit, the illegal shit, it's Eddie Munson.

Steve bangs on the door, and when Eddie yanks it open, he's pissed. 

"Who the fuck—"

Then, his face softens. 

"Harrington. What happened to your face? Whose car is that?" Eddie asks, taking a step out onto the porch.

"Nothing, I'm fine. Don't worry about it. Listen, do you have any fireworks? Big fireworks, the bigger the better."

"Uh, I'm not sure—"

"Now! Please," Steve pleads, and for some reason, Eddie listens, retreating back inside.

Steve follows, and Eddie starts digging under his bed. He pulls out a trunk, and flips the lid. It's his good stash, apparently. Weed, and some pills, a knife, but underneath it is a box filled with explosives.

Jackpot. He knew it was Eddie that set them off at graduation.

"Harrington, I don't feel good about this," Eddie says, but Steve doesn't have time to listen.

Steve reaches in, grabbing the box, "They took my wallet. You know I'm good for it."

And he will pay up. If he lives.

He tosses the box in the backseat of The Todfather, pulling away as Eddie Munson watches them go.

"What'd Eddie Munson have that we needed?" Robin asks, leaning over the seat to look.

"Explosives," Steve says, flooring it as they turn, hitting the pavement.

It's over. They won, but it was bad, worse than last time. 

After showering and getting his spare set of keys, he heads back to Eddie Munson's house. Eddie's sitting on the porch couch, smoking.

Steve steps out of his car, and Eddie's staring at him as he climbs the steps, sitting down beside him, cash in hand.

"Did you blow up the mall?" Eddie asks.

Steve lies, "Nah. How much do I owe you?"

"Harrington," Eddie says, clearly not believing him. 

"You don't want to know, man. Trust me," Steve says, reaching over to take Eddie's lit cigarette from his hand, pulling a deep drag into his lungs. Anything to keep his mouth shut. The truth serum is still itching to make him spill everything he's ever known. Not enough to actually do it, but there's a hum of tell him buzzing in his brain.

He's not telling him.

It's been a long fucking night.

It's been a long couple years.

He tilts his head back, and rests it against the couch cushion. It sort of smells like mildew and weed. He closes his eyes, and the last thing Steve feels is Eddie's fingers brushing his, taking back the lit cigarette.

When Steve jolts awake, it's to the sound of gunfire.

"It's just the kids over there, shooting off the last of their fireworks," Eddie says, and Steve's heart is hammering in his chest. His whole body aches. He groans, and isn't sure he can move. He shouldn't have sat down, he shouldn't have stopped moving.

The sun has set, and that means he's been sleeping on Eddie Munson's porch all day. 

Munson has a binder on his lap, pencil scratching notes. 

"You should have woken me," Steve says.

Eddie just shrugs, "Seemed like you needed the sleep."

Yeah, he did. But now he's so stiff. He didn't realize how bad it was until now. Pay Eddie, and get the fuck out of here, that's what he needs to do. But he just can't make his body move. The couch is broken down, and he's sunken into it. It's comfortable, he just doesn't think he can stand up from this position.

He's beginning to think he may have to slide off the couch, roll onto his knees, and push himself up that way.

Testing the waters, he tries to scoot towards the edge of the couch, and every muscle in his body is screaming at him to stop doing that. 

Eddie stands easily, and Steve's jealous of him. 

"Give me a minute," Steve says, and he moves to push his hands into the cushions. Determined to just power through the pain.

"Here," Eddie says, and offers him both hands, and Steve takes them, letting Eddie pull him to his feet.

He takes a tentative step, then another. He feels a thousand years old. 

"Goddamnit," Steve says, and braces himself against the support pole.

"You've really been put through the wringer, huh?" Eddie says, and holds open the back door. Steve follows, entering the little hallway right by Eddie's room. He didn't get a good look at it last night, too focused on the explosives. 

It's filled with posters and drawings and a guitar mounted over the mirror. Handcuffs on long chains, hanging on the wall.

It feels so chaotic. Just like Eddie Munson. 

"Over here," Eddie says, and Steve follows. In the kitchen, Eddie pulls two mugs out of the dish drainer, and starts a pot of coffee. Then he starts digging in the icebox. Pulling out a carton of eggs, some bacon, and Steve sits at the little table. Knowing it'll be easier to get up from than another couch.

Steve stares down at his hands. They hurt, a little singed from the fireworks. 

"You okay?"

Eddie's looking at him with big, wide eyes.

"Yeah," Steve answers, and thinks it's at least eighty percent true.

"Okay then," Eddie says, spatula in hand, "The fireworks are gonna cost ya, but the breakfast is free with purchase."

Steve laughs, and that sounds like a pretty good deal to him.

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🎆

[mrs-delaney]

Love You For A Long Time | A Hide Short

Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (oc)

Word Count: 1k very short very sweet

Author’s Note: This one’s short and sweet—just a little idea that’s been living rent-free in my head. A lot of you have been asking to see Riley writing something for Joe, so… here you go. 🤍

Start here: my full masterlist

New here? *Hide* starts here

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Joe woke to an empty bed.

His hand found cold cotton where Riley should have been. He lay still, listening. His wrist throbbed—sleep had been restless anyway.

But he woke because she wasn't there.

He sat up slowly, cradling his injured wrist against his chest, and listened again. There, soft and barely audible, the gentle fingerpicking of guitar strings drifting up from downstairs.

Joe padded down the hallway, the dim pathway lights casting soft shadows on the walls. As he reached the top of the stairs, and the music became clearer. Riley's voice, hushed and careful, weaving through a melody he didn't recognize.

"I hate to see your heart break," she sang softly, the words barely above a whisper. "I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close, but I've been there before."

She repeated the phrase, trying different chords. Joe paused on the staircase, she was working through something.

The living room came into view as he descended, and there she was: sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, guitar cradled in her lap. She wore one of his t-shirts, her hair falling in loose waves around her face as she looked down at the fretboard. The security lighting from outside cast everything in a soft, amber glow, making her look like something caught between dream and reality.

Riley sensed him before she saw him, the way she always did. Her fingers stilled on the strings, and she looked up, meeting his eyes across the room.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, concern immediately creasing her features.

Joe shook his head, moving closer. "I've been restless. Reached over and you were gone." He settled onto the couch behind her, close enough that she could lean back against his legs if she wanted. "Had to check on you."

Riley's expression softened. "Couldn't sleep either. Had something stuck in my head and had to work it out."

"Is that about me?" The question came out quieter than he'd intended, but he needed to know.

Joe was quiet for a moment, absorbing that. "That makes two now."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Riley's mouth. "Two that you know about."

Something shifted in his chest—surprise, curiosity, maybe something deeper. "How many are there?"

Riley set the guitar aside and turned to face him fully, pulling her knees up to her chest. "A few. Different ones for different... feelings, I guess. Moments." She shrugged. "One from after New York, when I wasn't sure if you'd actually call. Another from Cincinnati, about how your house felt like home."

Joe felt his throat tighten. "Are any of them finished?"

"A couple."

"Can I hear one?"

Riley studied his face for a moment, as if gauging something, then reached for her guitar again. "This one's been stuck in my head lately." She repositioned herself, fingers finding the opening chords. "It's about... well, you'll see."

The melody that emerged was different from the one she'd been working on when he came down—warmer, happier. When she began to sing, her voice was clear and unhurried:

Came in like a vision from the old west wind

Like a bright new dream that I was steppin' in

I saw your face and I knew it was a sign

And I still think about that moment all of the time

Joe watched her face as she sang, the way her eyes closed during certain phrases, how her entire body seemed to sway with the rhythm. The lyrics painted pictures he recognized—their first meeting, how neither of them had been looking for this.

And in the mornin' when I'm wakin' up 

I swear that you're the first thing that I'm thinkin' of 

I feel it in my body, know it in my mind, oh, I 

I'm gonna love you for a long time 

The chorus settled somewhere deep in his chest. Riley's voice grew stronger, more confident, as she continued:

I'm gonna love you for a long time

I'm gonna love you for a long time

By the time she reached the bridge, Joe was completely still, afraid to move and break whatever spell this was:

Oh, don't slow down now, gonna break me down

Keep your hands in my hair, keep your mouth on my mouth

Don't slow this down, never let me go

Baby, don't you wanna see how far this thing can go?

The final chorus came:

And in the mornin' when you wrap me up

I know that forever could never be enough

I feel it in my body, know it in my mind, oh, I

I'm gonna love you for a long time

I'm gonna love you for a long time

I'm gonna love you for a long time

When the last note faded, silence settled between them. Riley's fingers remained poised over the strings, and Joe could see the slight flush in her cheeks, the vulnerability of having just shared something so personal.

"When did you write that?" he asked, his voice rougher than expected.

"Months ago." Riley's answer came quietly, almost hesitant.

"Months ago." Joe repeated the words, processing. "Before we said I love you."

"Yes."

The single word hung in the air between them. Joe stared at her, this woman who had apparently been writing songs about loving him forever before either of them had worked up the courage to say those three words out loud. Who had been carrying that certainty quietly, privately, while he was still figuring out what this thing between them even was.

"Fuck," he breathed. "I love you."

Before Riley could respond, Joe was sliding down off the couch, his good hand cupping her face as he kissed her. She melted into him immediately, the guitar sliding forgotten to the side.

When they broke apart, Joe pulled her fully into his lap, holding her against his chest with his good arm. Riley tucked her face into the crook of his neck, and they stayed like that in the amber-lit quiet, both of them processing what had just happened.

"Birdie," Joe murmured into her hair.

"I know," Riley whispered back. "I love you too."

Joe pressed his lips to the top of her head. Outside, the world was waking up to them, but in here it was just them, holding each other in the dark.

[chrattvibe]

៹missed reply. dealer!chris.

Chris

I expect a full report on how much you aced that exam

Good luck, you’ve got this.

She frowned, more out of reflex than surprise. She set aside her notes and picked up her phone. Read the name again. Chris.

For a second, she just looked at it, rereading the message to make sure she hadn’t misread it. It warmed her a little that he remembered today, this hour, her exam. And at the same time, it left a strange discomfort in her chest. Because if Chris was everything people said he was—distant, hard to pin down, incapable of sticking around for long—then what did this message mean? And why did the most cautious part of her feel like she needed to stay alert?

It had been about two days since they last talked. In fact, she'd been the one pulling back a bit. Not out of bad intentions. Just... self-regulating.

She didn’t mean to seem disinterested, but she had noticed it was always her starting the conversations, always her oversharing about her day, maybe giving away too much. Not that Chris ever seemed to mind—if anything, he seemed to enjoy it. But she wanted him to show a little initiative, too.

And he did. Chris would text her too, and their conversations were fun. Not as constant as before, but manageable. These last two days without talking didn’t feel bad, just... unusual.

She didn’t get around to replying. The message had popped up right as she was on her way to class, mind fully consumed by study notes and the lack of sleep from cramming the night before. She figured she’d answer later.

The exam wasn’t a disaster. At least not as bad as she feared. She didn’t walk out smiling, but she felt lighter. Satisfied. She knew she'd pass. She made her way through the halls, the soft afternoon air slipping through the open windows. As she stepped outside, she spotted a few of her friends already sitting on the front steps, waiting to go wander around somewhere.

She was heading straight toward them when she saw him.

Chris, standing in front of the building, leaning against his black Kia. One hand in his pocket, the other idly playing with a lighter that looked small between his fingers.

His gaze drifted across the courtyard, to the people walking past. He wasn’t dressed to blend in, but he wasn’t exactly trying to stand out either. He was just there, like he happened to be passing by. Like he hadn’t actually been waiting there for a while.

Chris had to drop something off last minute for a guy in one of the nearby fraternities. Didn’t seem like a bad idea to stick around and see her walk out. He knew how much this exam had been stressing her out. He knew she probably got caught up with the exam, but since he was already nearby, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to stick around a few more minutes. When he noticed her friends—the ones he already recognized—gathering on the steps, he realized that she would probably be out soon.

He got in and out of the car, scrolled on his phone, played some music. Took a quick walk, stretched his legs. Even chatted with a couple of familiar faces that passed by.

She changed course with a small jog in his direction. Chris smiled the second he realized it was her.

"Hey," Chris straightened up, cleared his throat a little. "How’d it go?"

"It went well. Really well, actually," she said, smiling, suddenly more energetic than she had been minutes ago. "You... what are you doin' here?"

"Oh, I had to drop something off for a guy in that fraternity over there." He motioned vaguely toward a building in the distance. "Didn’t have much else to do so I figured I’d walk around a bit. Thought I might run into you, ask how it went"

"Right. You texted me, thank you! I’m so sorry I didn’t answer, I was in a rush- I totally forgot-." She spoke quickly, feeling the need to explain herself, but Chris cut in before she could keep going.

"It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize. I figured you’d be busy anyway." He shrugged. "I’m just glad it went well." His smile was genuine, calm. "I knew it would."

"Thanks. For remembering, and... for coming in person. That's so sweet."

"It’s not a big deal." —It was.— Chris nodded toward his car. "Do you want a ride home? Or we could grab a coffee or something? We gotta celebrate you passing." He grinned.

She hesitated, just for a second. Looked over to the steps, where her friends were still chatting without a care.

"I already made plans with them," she said, not with guilt, but with a softness that showed she didn’t want to reject him outright.

Chris nodded, slowly. Didn’t push. Like he’d already prepared himself for that no.

"It’s okay, no worries. I’m still glad I ran into you."

"Me too. And thanks... again," she added, voice a bit quieter. "But we should hang out again. Soon."

He looked at her with a spark he didn’t try to hide. "Whenever you want."

They said goodbye. Chris got back in his car and smiled as he watched her friends pull her into a small celebration hug after she shared how the exam went. He started the engine and drove off with a taste of rejection he’d braced himself for.

She walked off with her friends, their voices light and scattered between laughs. The sun was starting to set, lining the buildings in gold. One of them asked if that was the guy—teasing, almost playful. She smiled but didn’t answer.

As they neared the campus exit, she reached into her bag to return some borrowed notes, and her hand brushed her phone. She checked the time, and the message from Chris was still sitting in her notifications. Her chest tightened a little.

She fell a few steps behind the group, pausing quietly.

Typed fast, without thinking much:

so my plans might’ve changed. I might be free later.

—chrattvibe.

masterlist.

taglist.

[writingdarling]

Hello!!, could you please do kc Li x Reader who has a catlike personality or/and looks??

Hiii ! I got another ask also asking for this so I'm answering both right here !!!

I have 3 cats so I know my stuff, though my cats r dumb as shit so maybe there are more traits I didn't write about lol

I hope you enjoy !!

Content Warnings: None !

Killer Chat L.I's x Catlike!Reader

Ronin

Ronin probably loves your personality

You’re cold and distant, prone to fiery verbal (and sometimes physical) attacks and he’s soooooo fucking down for it

But that one moment where you let down your guard ? He loves that the most 

Maybe it’s during movie night when you allow yourself to relax against him, muzzling your face into his neck, half-asleep already

Your hand are squeezing the fabric of his hoodie, nails poking him every so often

You don’t apologize

He doesn’t ask you to

Sometimes you wake up with a bell around your neck, courtesy of the motherfucker you call your boyfriend

“Come on darlin’, all cats wear bells and collars right ? You’re ‘spose to love ‘em.”

He sleeps on the couch that night

He probably distracts himself by just, gently squishing your palms and fingers, muttering about how damn soft they are

“Ain’t logical baby, you’re a writer for fucks sake. Ain’t your hands supposed to be all calloused and rough and shit ?”

“Unlike you I pride myself on self-care.”

Probably brings you along on murder sprees for your dates

For the so-called “Hunt”

Well

You can’t say that you don’t enjoy the chase 

The adrenaline pumping in your blood as you catch your prey, watching their eyes widen in horror-

“Good kitty~”

Annndddd Ronin’s ruined your fun, as per usual

“Fuckass discord mod-” “WHAT.”

Also, Ronin is not a fan of your spooky nightly antics

You know the type

Once he wakes up at 3 in the morning for a drink

Walks into his kitchen and there you are, perched on his kitchen counter like you belong there, bright eyes shining in the dark as you turn to him so fast he swears he hears a crack

“.....What the fuck baby.”

Angel

She thinks your mannerisms are adorable !

Buys you cat themed outfits and accessories 

Cat beanies, cat socks, a little cat charm bracelet that jingles softly

She’s always gonna be obsessed with you and she’s even more obsessed with how much you remind her of those adorable little kitties !

Once, while the two of you were cuddling, you allowed a soft happy grumbling noise escape your throat

Angel sits up so fast you’re practically thrown out of her grasp

“You’re literally purring baby !”

You deny, burying your face in her pillows

But when Angel scratches your hair in just the right way, you let the sound out again

To humor her (not)

You and her go out a lot, to parks to see the birds, just anywhere in the city

And of course, you encounter so many dogs

To make a long story short, the amount of times you’ve plastered yourself to her side while a dog passes by is unmeasurable

“Oh sweetheart~” She coos softly, cradling your face in her hands, uncaring if anyone is watching

“You’re fine sweetheart, you’re absolutely ok.”

You mumble something about not being afraid, that you’re only so close to her to protect her from the giant ass dogs obviously

“Sureee you are baby.”

The one time a dog actually tries to hurt Angel ?

You’re in front of her in a flash, growling, making yourself seem bigger, scarier

She swoons into your arms when the dog had ran off

“My knight in shining armor!”

Misaki

They match your energy obviously

The two of you are very golden retriever x black cat core

She sends you tiktok videos about every cat and dog duo there is and sends ‘em with the caption “OMG THIS IS SO US RIGHT BABE ??”

For your first Halloween in real life, your couples costume is of a Werewolf and a Werecat, simple and sweet (and Misaki doesn’t even need to buy a new one ! Score !)

Ronin calls you both uninspired

Misaki practically leaps up at him and pull you into their arms like a soldier protecting their beloved

“HOW DARE YOU RONIN >:<.”

You have absolutely no idea what’s going on but hey, you get to hug Misaki so you’re happy 

They are so down for your intrusive thoughts it’s almost like you share the same braincell

“Misaki.” You lean in close to your partner, Misaki slinging their arm around you, pulling you even closer. You can see the mischievous glimmer in her eyes as she whisper right back

“Yes my little sugar baby dumpling-”

You gesture towards the glass bottle on V’s dining room table

Empty, it’s entrance barely big enough to fit in 2 fingers (stay with me this is not NSFW I swear)

“Bet I can fit 3 fingers in there.”

Misaki hums. Tilts to the right, to the left before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek

“I’ll take that bet.”

V comes back to a crying Misaki and a panicky you, who can’t get seem to get your fingers out of that damn bottle-

V saws the bottle open- “Idiots. Both of you. Please do not procreate, that child will be a menace.”- and uses olive oil to slide your fingers out

Finally free, the first thing you do when he leaves the room is to eye the staircase and bet that you can fit your head through the gaps

Safe to say, you and Misaki are no longer allowed to make bets with each other

V

“I find people who behave like animals much more tolerable than normal humans.” 

V watches you hum softly, rubbing your cheek against his outheld hand

“...Stop thinking what you’re thinking, Valentin Viljoen.”

A rare smile tugs at his lips as he kisses your temples. “Hm ? And what am I thinking beloved ?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not a cat-”

The thunder outside roars and you practically jump 5 feet in the air

You end up on V’s lap, nails digging into his shoulders as you hide your face in his stomach

“....You’re laughing at me.”

V clears his throat like he wasn’t just shaking with silent laughter “What gives you that idea love ?”

V’s cats love you so so so much

You lie down and all of a sudden it’s a kitty party

A particularly spicy rescue cat V had saved from a abusive breeder takes to you nicely, purring on your chest as you both lay in the sun

“I hoped that I had enough beds in this house. I see I need to buy a new one ?”

V looks down, his voice making the tiny little thing hiss, it only calms down when you scratch it behind the ears

“No need V. Me and the little guy just need sun and floor time.”

V nods and sits on the couch across from you for a while

But soon he’s sitting cross legged on the ground right next to you, his hand brushing through your hair as you sleep

V supplies you with cat facts randomly throughout the day, every one seemingly relating back to you

“Cat’s have incredible hearing, often used in the wild for catching prey.”

V pauses and looks at you

“You only use it to tackle me in the middle of the night however.”

Loves how protective you are of your space, your boundaries and the things that belong to you

He’s lumped into the last category

Despite his “cool and calm” persona, he can’t stop the smirk that crosses his face when you practically snarl at another woman to “get her paws off of your boyfriend”.

As it is custom for cats, he also doesn't move if you fall asleep on him

His personal record is going 6 hours without moving, while you slept in his lap throughout the night

“Don’t worry love, the pain is worth it if it means you slept well.”

Going feral for all of them actually

(get it cause feral, cats, feral cats-? I'll see myself out)

[sydwritess]

The Life of Racing Pt. 10

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: through it all, the racing, the media, the meetings. What matters to Lando the most is you. His home life is just as important as track life. Some days, he doesn't balance it easily. But through it all, the both of you try. Going through some challenges, but always coming out together, hand in hand again.

Second Person POV

Notes: my first F1 series! Requests are open!

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13

You wake up early in the morning, secured in Lando's arms as he sleeps. You gently go to get out of bed, but Lando's arms tighten around you.

"You're not asleep, are you?" You ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Wide awake, darling." He smirks, nuzzling his head into your back.

"We need to get up." You say gently. You manage to turn in his grasp, facing him.

"Five more minutes?"

"Fine. Five more minutes." You smile. "How long have you been up anyway?" You ask.

"An hour." He says innocently.

"An hour? And... what were you doing for an hour?"

"You were cold, so I hugged you to make you warm again." He says slyly.

"Do you ever think I want to be cold?"

"That's dangerous."

"So is being to hot."

"Fine... I just wanted to admire you while you weren't paying attention." He says.

"Mhm, I assumed so." You say, smirking. He reaches under the blanket, resting his hand on top of yours. You winced a little at the tiny sharp pain.

"Oh shit. I'm sorry." He said quickly, pulling his hand away.

"No- it's fine. I don't care."

"Well, I care. I hurt you." He frowned.

"You didn't hurt me."

"But I did! I never want to hurt you." He pouted.

You took a minute to yourself, thinking. He never acts this way. Sure, he acts lovable but not like... this.

You immediately tilt his head back onto the pillow, grabbing his eye-lid and pulling it up.

"Ow! What happened to not hurting each other." He whined.

"Your high." You say, removing your hand from his face.

"No."

"Yeah you are. Your pupils are dilated."

"Okay... I had one hit of the pen, but I can still drive." He smiled.

"Lando! Oh my God!" You say loudly.

"To be fair, I did it for you. I couldn't fall asleep without knowing if you were hurt." He said.

"That's very sweet, but still."

"I can still drive. I actually already did. As soon as I got up, I did a lap on the Sim in the lobby downstairs and I won."

"And was anybody else with you in the game?"

"Max."

"Hm, that is pretty fair. He is good."

"I know, right?"

"Lando." You say firmly.

"Alright, mum, I won't do it again." He rolls his eyes.

"No more cuddle time for you." You say, sitting up at the edge of the bed.

"Oh no, you don't." He says. He rolls towards you, hooking his arm around you and pulling you back to bed.

"Lando!" You screech at the unexpected action.

"Five minutes starts now." He says. You comply, not moving from your spot.

You spend the next five minutes lying in silence. A peaceful silence. You slowly get up out of his arms and walk to the small closet, picking out a pair of clothes for the day.

Lando gets up and stands with you, getting his McLaren outfit out for the day.

"Come here." You say, walking over into the bathroom. He walks behind you. You open the medicine cabinet and grab eye drops.

"Tilt your head back." You say. Lando drops his head back harshly.

"Oh my God!" You say, watching the way his head bounced back up harshly from the drop. All he does is laugh.

You grab the back of his head, holding it still as you put the drops in.

"Oh my word! It's freezing!" He says.

"Don't touch your eyes!" You scold, swatting his hand down from his face.

"Oh, wait. This feels kind of nice. But I can't see."

"You'll be fine. Give it like two minutes." You say.

"Alright." He says, walking out of the bathroom and sitting on the bed.

You shut the door behind him, changing quickly before opening it again. You throw your hair up in a neat ponytail and walk into the main room.

Lando goes right into the bathroom shortly after you and comes out quickly. You open the curtains in the room and look outside at the gloomy sky.

The hotel wasn't bad, two beds, full bathroom, and a little kitchen. Like any other hotel. You turn back around, going over to the kitchen.

You grab yourself your water bottle and a protein bar for the road.

"Your going to eat more than that... right?" Lando says, standing behind you.

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm not even that hungry anyway." You say, putting it in your bag.

"That's not very healthy."

"And eating Kinder Bars is?" You smirk, looking back at him. He lets out a dry laugh and stands next to you, getting his stuff ready.

You both get your bags, quickly put your shoes on, and walk out of the hotel room, meeting Oscar along the way.

Lando and Oscar were chatting up a storm on the walk to the elevators. When you get there, you press the button and the doors open immediately, but they were still talking. Not even paying attention.

You walk in, and the doors close. You laugh to yourself at how oblivious they are as you start slowly going down to the lobby.

You reach it in no time. You walk through quickly, the lines huge for both checking in and out. A big crowd was surrounded by the sim racing machine in the lobby. You make your way through and out to Lando's car, which you leaned against, waiting for him.

You see their figures just through the lobby windows, rushing outside. The front doors opened quickly and they sprinted out.

"Times ticking boys." You say, tapping your finger on your wrist.

"Why didn't you wait for us?" Lando said, out of breath.

"You were having a nice chat with each other. So, I let you two kids have fun." You smile, going over to the passenger side of the car.

"I'll see you at work mate." Oscar said, shaking hands with Lando before going into his car.

"See you." Lando said, smiling. He turned onto his heel to see you about to get in the car.

"Wait! No!" He yelled, rushing over towards you.

"What?"

"I'm supposed to open the door for you." He smiled. You stepped away from the car. He closed the door and opened it back up, allowing you to get in.

Lando got in shortly after you and started driving off to the circuit.

"So, I have this whole thing planned for if I win. A big dinner with all my friends, including you if course. No party, though." He says.

"Wow, no party, huh?" You say.

"Nah, I'm not really feeling it. But anyway, then after that, the next night. Because we have like two weeks off, the next night we might go over to my parents' house, and have dinner with them." He said.

"That's... I could do that." You say.

"Really? I thought you'd be scared."

"Why? For meeting another human being?"

"Well no- usually girls are scared to meet peoples parents."

"Because they probably don't want them to find out their secrets."

"Do you have any secrets?" Lando asked, pulling into the circuit parking lot.

"I know how to race."

"Already knew that."

"I know how to not be scared at meeting people's parents." You say, he chuckled lightly. You both got out if the car when he parked and thr fans all cheered behind him.

He went up to the crowd, signing a couple of things before making his to the garages with you.

"Race is in fifteen." Zak says. Lando nods his head. You both sit in the garage together at a table, mostly away from everyone.

"You ready?" You ask, looking at Lando.

"Yeah."

"You." You point a finger into his chest. "Need to stop over thinking and doubting yourself." You say.

"I know, I know. I can't help it." He says, smiling.

He gets up from the stool and goes over to the closet in the garage, getting his race suit out.

"I'll be back." He says. You nod as he walks out of the door and down to the drivers' rooms.

You look over from the door to see Gerard starring at you. Arms crossed, an angry expression on his face.

"So I can't look or talk to him, but he's aloud to look at me like a troll?" You ask Zak. His gaze fixes from the computer to Gerard.

"G, get back to work!" He yells. He immediately does.

"I need to go to the bathroom, am I allowed to do that alone?" You ask.

"Sadly not. Work probation." He says, standing up. You stand up with him and walk to the back of the garage, and down the hall to the bathroom.

He stands on the opposite side of the door as you go in. You quickly do what you need to and stand at the sink, washing your hands.

You get an idea pop into your head. You quickly dry your hands off and pull out your phone, making an Instagram and Snapchat story.

You quickly post it and walk out of the bathroom to find Zak still there. You two walk down the hallway, but he took you the long way around instead of going through the garage door.

You enter the main area of the indoor paddock, where you see Max, Lewis, Charles, Lando, and George all talking to each other.

"Girls got her own body guard." Max says loudly.

"You know it! I feel special as hell." You say. Zak puts a hand on your back.

"No, let me talk to my friends. The least you could do." You say. You turn on your heel and make your way to the group.

"Nice snap story." George smirks.

"Created by your very own." You smile. Zak comes up and stands near you.

"Your living the full V.I.P life." Charles says.

"I know. Bodyguard, bathroom escort, creepy ass Gerard starring at me like he wants to kill me. Living the dream." You say, the group laughs.

"Did you get your socializing in yet?" Zak says.

"Sure. Might as well live under a rock."

"Well, if you hadn't done what you did yesterday, you wouldn't be in this position."

"Well... it's like what the fans say, right? Defending Land Norris isn't enough, I need a gun." You quote.

The group laughs behind you as you walk away with Zak.

"I'll see you later." You hear Lando say. He jogs up right behind you, suit half hanging around his waist, hair messy under his cap. He grabs your hand gently and walks with you.

You walk into the garage, and Lando goes right up to his car, zipping up his suit and grabbing his helmet.

"Good luck." You say, hugging him.

"Thank you." He smiles. You step away as he puts his helmet on. He looks at you before getting into the car. He gets all buckled in before going out to the grid.

He goes out to the first spot, and the others filed in behind him. Soon after the lights go off, they rush down the track.

Lando started off strong for the first thirty minutes, Oscar was right behind him until he had to pit. Lando went around another lap until one of the guys told him to pit. There was around twenty-seven more minutes left of the practice after he made the pit stop.

Lando go around the track again, Oscar following right behind him. He was now in seventh due to the stop, Oscar was in eighth. Lando slowly climbs his way slowly up to fourth place.

It was almost the end of the race, the red flag had went out due to Gabriel and Ollie crashing. All of the drivers made their way into the garage, stopping due to the clean up.

You get out of your chai and walk up to Lando.

"Are you doing okay?" You ask. He nods.

"What are we stopped for? They didn't tell us." He asked loudly over the noise of the car

"Gabe and Ollie crashed. Their all right though, don't worry." You say. He nods again. He doesn't say much of anything but points tot he counter. You look over and go grab his water, handing it to him.

"I don't think I'm coming out of fourth." He says, handing you his bottle again.

"Just try your best Lan, that's all that matters." You say. Zak calls you back into the garage further. You walk back over to him, sit down and watch Lando leave the garage.

Charles was first out on the track again, everyone lined up in their positions and drove around the track. Oscar managed to climb up to second place, Max in third, and Lando in fourth. Soon after, a yellow flag went off, and then another red flag, and the drivers slowed down on the track.

Charles was still in first. Due to the flags, Ladno wasn't getting much further than fourth. Everyone crossed the finish line under the safety car. No extra laps were done. Everybody went to their own garages.

Lando and Oscar both got out of their cars, talking to each other.

"Jesus, one hell of a confusing race." Zak said. You nod in agreement. Land and Oscar walk over to you and Zak, sitting down across from you guys.

"What were all of the flags about?" Oscar asked.

"I don't think I've seen three in one race." Lando chuckles.

"Bearman and Bortoleto crashed, left a good amount of debris. They had you guys come out to early, that's the yellow flag. Couldn't clean up in time, the second red flag." Zak said. Both drivers nod.

You weren't paying attention to the conversation. You had your eyes locked in on something... or rather, someone.

"Are you okay?" Lando asked, waving a hand in front of you face.

"Look at that dumb bitch. Starring at me like he's going to do something." You say, all three look at Garard.

"Sit your pussy ass down Gerard, you know your not going to do nothing." You say loudly.

"Y/n!" Zak scolds.

"What? He's looking at me like he's going to jump me. Ugly ass. Look I'm sorry, I don't usually go for looks, but fuck. Anyone who falls for him must've been dropped on their head." You say, rolling your eyes. Both Lando, and Oscar snicker a laugh.

"So hypothetically... if Lando looked like Gerard, would you still date him?"

"Well that depends. If he looks like Gerard and acts like Lando, then yes. If he looks like Gerard, and acts like Gerard, then no."

"Wow. I see where I stand." Lando says.

"Relax, drama queen. She didn't say she'd break up with you. Oscar teased.

"Yeah, besides. I'm way sexier that Gerard." Lando smirked, flipping his imaginary hair back.

"Oh my God." You laugh out.

"Your crazy." Oscar says.

©sydwritess

Hey loves! Pt. 10 is here! Comment to be added to the tag list! Requests are open!

Tag list:

@mimisweetz @latay7 @dakotapaigelove @lex2205 @landofotographyy

[notesofthemountain]

The Favorite

♡ Author’s note: English isn’t my first language, so sorry if something feels a bit off! Thanks a lot for reading, and please remember this is just fiction — nothing personal ♡♡♡

♡ Content: platonic bond (platonic S.Coups x reader), 14th member of Seventeen, reader is S.Coups’ favorite, slice of life, light angst, fluff, a bit of humor

The practice room was quieter than usual. Even though it was early in the morning, most of the members were still asleep. However, the one brimming with energy was S.Coups — and it wasn’t just because he liked to start the day off right. No. It was because three members were late, and irritation was starting to crawl up his spine with every second that passed without them walking through the door.

It took ten minutes before a disheveled and anxious Mingyu finally rushed in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, hyung,” he apologized, bowing to the group leader, who eyed him with suspicion.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Got it? You can explain later what excuse you came up with for being this late,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

Mingyu nodded nervously and went over to the rest of the boys, who were still sitting on the floor waiting to begin rehearsal—except for Hoshi, who was already running through the choreography in his head.

“Seriously, where are these kids? I’m gonna have to count how many new gray hairs I’ve grown tonight,” S.Coups muttered sarcastically.

Jeonghan, watching him with an amused look, replied, “Well, that’s what happens when you’re the oldest and the leader, right? Plus, one of the people missing is your favorite, you know.”

At that, Seungcheol crossed his arms and responded with a casual tone, “I know. But I’m sure something actually happened to her. You know traffic’s always awful from her place to here. That’s understandable. Unlike Dino—he’s getting his ears pulled later for showing up late to work.”

Just as he finished speaking, the door opened, and a completely exhausted and sweaty Dino stumbled in, like he’d just run a marathon. Right behind him, you entered—calm and composed—sipping iced coffee through a straw.

Jeonghan let out a laugh and called Joshua over to watch the scene unfold. The two of them positioned themselves like they were at the movies—only the popcorn was missing.

“So?” S.Coups asked, glaring directly at Dino.

“Well, hyung, you won’t believe this, but I was walking and almost got hit by a car. Then some old lady needed help with her groceries, and then, then—”

“Enough. Spare me the excuses. I want the truth. The real truth. Got it?” the leader snapped, cutting him off.

You were still calmly sipping your coffee. Honestly, S.Coups did scare you a little in moments like this—mostly because you didn’t have any excuse. And the truth was... more embarrassing than you'd like to admit. You had stayed up watching a new anime, telling yourself each episode would be the last.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

You ended up getting only three hours of sleep, and even then, you struggled to get out of bed. Then came the coffee emergency—you needed caffeine to function, and of course, you had forgotten to restock. So you stopped by a café on the way, which only made you later.

It only took a few seconds, but S.Coups gave you one of those leader stares that made you blurt out the truth immediately.

“I needed coffee, and the line at the café was really long. That’s why I’m late,” you said, clutching your cup nervously.

He softened immediately and gave you a small smile.

“It’s okay. Totally understandable. I need coffee to start my day too. Next time, just text me and I’ll bring one for you to rehearsal,” he said with a warm smile, motioning you over to give you a short hug.

Dino sighed, relieved that his hyung had finally calmed down.

“I didn’t get any coffee... you don’t have some to spare, do you, hyung?” he asked, walking over.

“Don’t even think about asking for coffee right now. Go join the others—we’re already starting late,” S.Coups said, scolding the youngest, who stood there, mouth agape at how quickly his leader had switched moods.

“But, I bet she stayed up all night watching something and that’s why she got delayed at the café,” Dino muttered, not wrong in the slightest.

“How do you know that? Do you live with Y/N now? She already said there was a line. Not her fault, okay?” S.Coups shot back, defending you.

Rolling his eyes, Dino turned and walked off toward the group, grumbling that he was only being scolded because you were clearly the leader’s favorite. And he wasn’t wrong about that either.

It was no secret to anyone that you were Seungcheol’s soft spot. He’d always kept you under his wing, like a mama hen protecting her chick from the world.

S.Coups gently ruffled your hair as you finished your coffee. You gave him a smile, and he looked at you with sparkling eyes as he guided you toward the others.

“Let’s go, sleepyhead,” he whispered with a grin that was only ever meant for you.

Jeonghan and Joshua watched with knowing smiles, watching how the oldest member always melted around you. Not that you had to do much to win him over. It must’ve just been part of the perks of being Seungcheol’s favorite.

-

This time, you were filming an episode of Going Seventeen—specifically, the MouseBusters episode. Naturally, you ended up as a mouse. And even though your hiding skills weren’t the greatest (and your running skills were worse), you still wanted to try your best and win.

Honestly though, just spending time and having fun with the boys was enough to get you excited to film this kind of content.

You’d asked the cameraman to let you carry the camera, because if not, it would be obvious a mouse was hiding there. You found a spot under some white tarps that covered sacks of material. It was a tight squeeze, but if you crouched and curled up into a ball, maybe you’d stay hidden. Hopefully. Because really, hiding there was more an act of faith than a solid strategy.

While making funny faces at the camera, you heard someone’s footsteps nearby. You couldn’t tell who it was, but you silently prayed they’d pass by without noticing.

No luck.

The tarp suddenly lifted, revealing your curled-up form.

“Got you!” shouted S.Coups, pointing a toy water gun at you.

But the moment he saw it was you, he laughed and lowered the gun.

You looked up at him, fully caught. Not that you could have escaped anyway—your running wouldn’t have saved you for more than three seconds.

“Since it’s my little mouse, Y/N, I’ll let you get away. But don’t tell anyone, okay? Otherwise, the guys will lock me up as a traitor,” he grinned, helping you to your feet. “Better find a new hiding spot fast—the others won’t take long to get here.”

Once you were out, he pulled you into a quick hug and chuckled at how cute you looked in the mouse costume.

“Why are you such an adorable little mouse?” he babbled, squishing your cheeks like you were a kid.

“Hyung, come on. I’m not a little girl anymore. Can I go now?” you asked, glancing around to make sure no one saw.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’ve grown. But I still can’t help wanting to take care of you—”

“Hyung!” a shout cut him off. His eyes widened in surprise.

“What are you doing being nice to a mouse? You’re supposed to catch them, not cuddle them!” Seungkwan yelled, running toward you.

“Alright, Y/N, time to run. Otherwise, all my efforts to protect you will have been for nothing,” S.Coups whispered, giving you a few gentle nudges.

You bolted down the alleyway—just in time to hear Seungkwan’s complaints.

“Hyung! Again?! Stop with the favoritism and help us win. You want to lose or what?!”

“Calm down, Mr. Thomas,” S.Coups replied without shame. “Her cuteness broke all my defenses. I was attacked.”

Seungkwan groaned dramatically.

And yes, being S.Coups’ favorite meant he’d take your side—even when his role was to be your greatest enemy in the game.

-

You had just finished another rehearsal for an upcoming performance. The members were excited but drained—these last few days had been intense. Still, it had all been worth it.

However, during practice, you couldn’t help noticing how Seungcheol flinched slightly every time a move forced his knee. Ever since the ligament injury, he had been pushing himself hard to hide the pain you could still clearly see. Even though he strained his knee several times, he said nothing. And as soon as rehearsal ended, he quietly left after saying goodbye to everyone.

You were worried about his knee. It hadn’t been that long since the injury, and he clearly wasn’t fully healed. But he never stopped—he always wanted to be there, to give his all, even if the pain burned him from the inside.

You knew he’d be in one of the break rooms, checking on things that weren’t even his responsibility. That was just who he was—leader, even in silence.

So, before going in, you grabbed an ice pack to help with the swelling. Without knocking, you entered and found him sitting there, his knee propped on a chair, staring at his laptop in deep focus.

He looked up when he heard you and smiled—though it looked more like a grimace.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you? You looked good in practice,” he greeted you, motioning to the chair next to him.

You walked over and sat beside him with a gentle smile. “I’m good, hyung. But I could tell you weren’t,” you said, pointing at his knee. He winced. “I saw how much it hurt. You don’t have to push through it if you’re not okay.”

You gently placed the ice on his knee. He let out a relieved sigh.

“Thanks,” he murmured, still staring at his leg.

“It’s nothing. But Cheol, you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. We know what happened, and we’re all here for you. If you need to rest, do it. We can change the choreography if needed. Just… don’t force yourself,” you whispered, noticing the worry still in his eyes.

“I know I should talk about it. But I’m scared I won’t be the same. This injury, this knee... it’s like a sign I’m not who I used to be.”

S.Coups had always been the one in control. Steady. Reliable. And you could see how this had shaken him—both physically and emotionally.

“Maybe you’re not the same. But you’re still our Cheol. And that’s what matters,” you said with a soft smile. “As long as we’re together, the rest doesn’t matter.”

“Do you think I’m still doing okay as a leader? That this injury hasn’t made me...less?” he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

“You’re the best leader we could ever ask for. I’ll say that forever. You always look after us, make sure we’re okay, that everything’s done right—and none of that has changed,” you replied, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you hugged him sideways. “So please, let us take care of you now. Let me take care of you.”

He stroked your hair gently and hugged you tighter.

“You’re not less for needing rest. You’re human. And we love you all the more for it. To me, you’ll always be the one—the most worthy to lead this group,” you whispered into his arm.

Because yes, S.Coups was the leader who looked after everyone. But sometimes, he needed to be reminded just how amazing and valuable he truly was.

And yes—no one could deny you were a soft spot for Seungcheol. But by now, he had become yours too. Even if he only rarely showed his vulnerability, you’d always be there to hold him.

Because that was also one of the things that only he could have:

you, unconditionally.

-

/ᐠ. ｡.ᐟ\ᵐᵉᵒʷˎˊ˗

[tlatia-the-radiant]

- @askthecaptiangeneral

I will club you to death with your own fucking femur

[thetangibleghost]

"give me a beer, a lullaby, and a word in my ear" -guy at a speed dating event in my dream

[redtippedcanines]

you only do the things you do for me out of obligation

[nanamisgirly]

hey gorgjus, I have a request 😛

Lads men when reader is ovulating and all she wants to do is..well her man. Doesn’t matter where or when she’s just super needy for multiple rounds to the point where maybe even they’re a bit shocked, but up for the challenge~ ofc u don’t have to but I’d die if u did 🤭💕

୨୧ — a/n HIIII it took me so long to write, I was turned on each time HELPPPP, anyway I gave my whole hope you will enjoy!! ALSO sorry I yapped so much (as per usual 😔), COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED MA GIRLIIIIES <3333 (especially comments I love talking to you 💋)

୨୧ — FEAT bestfriend!Caleb, boyfriend!guitarist!Xavier (have the vision IT'S CANON IDCCC), boyfriend!Rafayel (day at the beach), boyfriend!Zayne (grinding on him), boyfriend!Sylus (on mission duuuh) x fem!reader

୨୧ — cw multiple position (prone bone, matting press, cowgirl,..), cumplay, rough & messy sex, degrading (calling her a whore, needy), praise, nipple play, pet name, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink in Caleb, creampied, cumming dry, oral sex (Caleb giving, Rafayel receiving), squirting in Caleb, cumming on face in Caleb, size kink, big stretch, big cock, masturbation, semi-voyeurism (Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus), Caleb just won't shut up, unashamed reader, fighting for dominance, sub Rafayel, Sylus is down bad for her, mean Zayne, teasing, belly bulge (Xavier), lot of spit and drool, overstimulated reader and men!, they do moan bc as long as I live my men WILL moan!

𓂃۶ৎ CALEB

Caleb is sprawled out beside you on the couch, legs widely open, one ankle resting lazily on the edge of the coffee table. His thighs are stretching the grey fabric of his sweatpants, making your case much worse and making you impossible to focus on the movie playing on the TV.

And the way his hoodie is pushed up to show those big veiny forearms, golden skin stretched on muscles…

You shake your head, trying to stop the thoughts, you’re his best friend for fuck’s sake. You’re supposed to be watching a movie and maybe eating popcorn, not fantasizing about straddling him and grinding against his muscular thigh. You’re not supposed to salivate for the bushy happy trail picking under his ridden-up hoodie.

It’s useless…your skin is so hot, your pulse is thudding behind your ears, and you’re so wet it’s uncomfortable how your pantie is clinging to you. 

“You okay?” he asks, as he saw you shift for the nth time. 

And it’s unfair, unfair how pretty his face is. Soft, boyish lips, tenting you, with a stubble he didn’t bother shaving this morning making you wonder how it’d feel between your legs. And no need to talk about his big round purple eyes, making you go insane. 

“yeah” you say standing way too fast. “I just…don’t feel well. Gonna head to bed early.”

“Oh…” he blinks those giant puppy eyes at you, making you grow wetter. “Okay. Do you need anything?” 

“No, don’t worry. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright. Sleep tight, babe.” His follows you with big concerned eyes. 

Babe.

Babe?!

You swear you’re about to slam your head against the wall. Why is he making everything so hard? Your pussy is pulsing, in need. So in need to be stuffed it actually hurt.

It’s unbearable.

And really, is it wrong to take matters into your own hands?

To grab that big, veiny dildo you keep stashed in your bedside drawer and sink it into your dripping cunt while your best friend sits just meters away in the other room?

Is it really wrong to tweak your nipple with your free hand, imagining it’s his rough palm twisting and tugging, his voice in your ear telling you how tight and messy you are for him?

You gasp as you push it in, slow at first, then desperate. You’re already soaked and your walls clench around the toy greedily. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw slack, hips lifting off the bed as you start to fuck yourself faster, harder.

And all you have in your mind is Caleb. His purple eyes, his strong and big body that could easily manhandle you—roughly. 

You moan—loud, unashamed—and arch off the bed, back taut, lips parted as the waves build fast and wild.

You don’t hear the door creak open.

Not until—

“I keep hearing you making noises, I’m worried you—”

You freeze—only for a second—when your eyes, heavy and glassy, blink toward the doorway.

Caleb is frozen mid-step, one hand on the doorknob, his brows dawn in confusion that melts into something darker. His mouth parts, his eyes drop to the way your legs are spread, how your hand is working that dildo inside you like you need it to breathe.

But at this point? You truly don’t care. Your hips keep jerking, desperate and out of control, slick coating your thighs in glossy streaks. Your gaze meets his—blurry with tears of frustration—and you let out the most fragile, needy whine.

He doesn’t move, he simply stares—like he’s watching the holiest, dirtiest thing he’s ever seen. You can only see his chest rises and falls, nostrils flaring.

His eyes drop to the soaked sheets, the obscene squelch of the toy still buried between your legs and your fucked-out eyes begging him to do something are driving him into oblivion. His cock already hard and painful.

“you’re fucking yourself…” his voice is low, “lying in here whining for me like that. Thought you were sick.”

You watch as he approaches—slow at first, like he’s afraid the dream will vanish—before he kneels at the edge of the bed. He grabs your wrist, almost gently, and yanks the toy from your cunt with a wet, messy pop. You keen at the loss, hips bucking, slick spilling onto the sheets. 

“You needed this bad, huh? So bad you couldn’t ask me? So bad you were ashamed to sit next to me on the couch?”

You can’t answer—just nod through the haze, cheeks flushedyour walls clenching around nothing, feeling so empty it hurts.

His gaze drops to your empty hole and how your hips keep twitching.

“Are you in heat or something?” his eyes are still fixated on your cunt, almost like he’s talking to her. “You smell like it. Like you’re ready to be bred.”

You whimper, spreading your legs wider, offering yourself. “Caleb... Fuck, do something ‘bout it. I can’t... it’s too empty... I need—I need—"

That’s all it takes.

Caleb lunges, hands bruising on your thighs as he pulls you down to the edge of the bed. 

“fuckin’ hell.” He buries his face between your legs with a groan that sounds like agony and bliss all at once. “This pussy’s crying for cock, babe.”

You gasp when he wraps his arms under your thighs and locks you in place, dragging his mouth through your folds—tongue’s everywhere sloppy and greedy, licking everything you could give him.

“mmmh such a sweet taste.” His voice’s muffled by your puffy lips. “You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Please, let me have it, please. I want you to mark me. Wanna be drenched in you. I’ve waited so long to be covered in your cum, your sweet liquid all over my face, hot and warm.” 

His lips suck on your clit, hard—creating suction.

“No more toys. No more hiding in your room touching yourself when I’m out there. All this cum going to waste? Not in my watch.” You’re lips part in a silent scream when he suddenly inserts two long fingers into your soaked pussy, curling them just right—just onto your spongy spot.

“Caleb, don’t stop—ah!—feels so good,” you pant, rocking into him. “Your tongue—oh! Right here! Yes, fuck—need more…”

“You’re gonna get it—mph keep tugging on them—” Caleb’s eyes roll back as your fingers grope his hair, pushing him deeper in your cunt. “gonna give you the real thing if you make a pretty mess on my face. You can do that right?”

Your heart is pounding so hard, and your walls keep clenching and clenching. At this point, you’re gushing all over his face. 

The pleasure overwhelming your sense. “Caleb move your fingers faster..”

And he does just as you asked. His fingers soaked, filthy sounds escaping your pussy every time he moves them in, they’re white. White of your arousal.

And when he sucks on your clit once again, you cum harder than ever. Back arching, scream ripped straight from your lungs as you convulse around his fingers.

But when you collapse, breath ragged, the ache in your core only gets worse. Your body aches, womb throbbing—begging for him and only him. A hunger that no toy, no fingers and no tongue could satisfy.

You prop yourself on your elbows, eyes blown wide and pupils sharp as you look down the thick, flushed length already in his hand. Veins running up the shaft, the tip swollen and deep brown. So pretty your mouth goes dry. There’s probably drool coming out of the corner of your lips. 

“Need you to fuck me.” You rasp. “Fuck me so deep I could feel you for days.”

His jaw clenches, knuckles going white around the base of his cock. “You’re not ready—”

“You smell me, don’t you?” you grab your knees and pull them up, wide, exposing everything. “You said it—I’m in fucking heat. I want to be stuffed. I need to be bred. Caleb, please…” you look up at him with teary eyes.

“Fuckin’ mine.” He snarls, yanking your hips down until your ass is flush with the edge of the bed and he’s lined up, cock head brushing over your soaked entrance. You arch up into him panting and almost crying from the pressure building under your skin.

Caleb moves his cock head up and down your entrance, circling your sensitive clit with his fat tip—smearing all his precum across your folds.

“Caleb…stop the tease. Put it in.”

He leans over you, face twisted in lust and longing. “As the lady begs.”

And in one brutal thrust, he’s deeeep inside you. Your cunt stretches wide around him, to its maximum, it’s borderline with pain. His cock’s so thick you swear you can feel every tiny twitch, every fucking pulse against your walls.

His forehead presses to yours, one hand fisted in your hair, the other locked under your knee to keep you open. “You’re so tight. . like so fuckin’ tight—shit, hiding this perfect pussy from me, you some of selfish girl, ain’t you ?”

“Caleb,” you cry, tears leaking from your eyes. “If you don’t move—”

He lets out a guttural sound, something animalistic—cutting you off—and starts driving into you, fast. The bed creaks under his thrust, wet slaps echo around you.

“My needy little fuckdoll…” he whispers against your ear, “So so wet and desperate, how long have you been walking around wanting this pussy to be fucked properly?” He pants, thrusting harder, “My cock’s the only thing that’ll help you, mhh? Say it.”

You sob, words crumbling in your throat, your pussy gripping him so tight it’s like you’ll never let him go. “Forever.” The word rips out of you, cracked and breathless. “I thought about you every night. Wanted this cock in me so bad I couldn’t fucking sleep—please, Caleb, I need it.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, thrusts getting messier. “I knew it. Knew you were touchin’ yourself thinkin’ about me—slippin’ fingers into that sloppy little hole pretending it was mine.” 

“Yes!” you cry, choking on it, back arching off the bed.

Big rough hands suddenly slam into your hips, holding you down—pinning you on the mattress as his thrusts becomes more and more sloppier. And when his fat tip hits something wicked inside you—

“Holy fuck,” his voice wrecked, pausing only a split second to look down at the mess you just made. “Did you—did you just…squirted?” his eyes are still on the white liquid all over his pelvis, his balls and thighs.

You nod, a bit ashamed, a bit too fucked-out to fully comprehend.

“Gonna make you do that again.” He shifts your legs up higher, hitting now at a deeper angle, hips pistoning without mercy. “Wanna see that pussy gush all over me again, spill for me—paint my cock with it even. Fuck that’s so hot, you have no idea.”

𓂃۶ৎ XAVIER

Are you a whore for wanting to fuck Xavier’s cock buried deep in you again? And right before his big concert, no less.

He’s waited for this moment for so long, going on and on about how excited he was to perform with his band at this famous festival — a major turning point in their career.

And it’s not like Xavier didn’t satisfy you before coming here. He knew you were ovulating and was more than happy to fuck you for who knows how long—long enough to cum dry, reduced to those weak, poor little spurts.

But it is his fault for looking so damn sexy in the back stage waiting room : pretty makeup, painted nails, and some mouthwatering outfit—if we could call even call that an outfit. It’s just tight leather pants and a jacket with nothing under it, his abs—and the tattoo down his hips—plus his pink nipples are right there in front of you. and watching him run through his setlist on guitar wasn’t helping one bit. His long fingers gliding over the strings, teasing the cords…

“Hey, you good?” Xavier’s voice pulls you out of your trance. “You all flushed and…shifting in your seat.” He tilts his head, clearly concerned. “If you need something I can call—” 

“No!” you respond too quickly, making him furrows his brows. 

When he smirks and his pupils dilate more, you realize he knows exactly what’s going on. “You really are one horny girl.” He laughs softly, shaking his head in disbelief before turning his attention back to his guitar. 

“God forbid a girl wants her man all over her.” You mutter, crossing your arms with a fake pout.

Xavier hums, amused—only making you even more irritated. 

You cross your legs. Then uncross. Then squeeze your thighs together, desperate for relief. 

“Something wrong with the seat?” he asks, still pretending to look at his guitar, rings flashing under the light.

You shoot him a glare, but it only fuels him. He lets his eyes roam over you for a long second, slow and unashamed. “You really are squirmy tonight. Is it the pants?” he gestures lazily to himself. “You don’t like leather, maybe?”

Before you can answer, someone passes by the open door of the backstage lounge, tossing Xavier a quick, “Five minutes, man!” 

He waves a hand without looking. His eyes stay on you. “I’ll make it quick,” he shouts back—but you don’t know if he means it to him or…to you.

More people start moving outside—crew, staff, the bandmate walking past, making it much worse. The room doesn’t even have a door, just a curtain half-drawn. But it might as well not be there at all.

And Xavier starts tuning again, lazily, strumming slow, deep chords. It’s like foreplay with a guitar. Every sound, every note, synced to the rise and fall of your breath. Like he’s playing you.

“Touch yourself,” he says quietly.

Your head snaps up. 

“No one’s looking. Just a little. Over the pants.” He adds like that’s supposed to help your case.

“No need to tell me twice.” You shift, subtly, rocking your hips the smallest bit where you sit.

“Rub your clit a bit, get some relief before I go out there.” He whispers for only you to hear, his pupils have eaten the deep ocean blue of his eyes. “I’ll be thinking about it the whole time.”

You bring a hand to your clothed pussy, cupping it, your thumb coming to your swollen bund, pressing and circling it—you whimper at the sensation, a deep exhale leaving your lips.

“Fuck this.” He groans.

He drops the guitar onto the couch, grabs your wrist and pulls you up like you weigh nothing. You stumble into his chest, dizzy with the contact, with the heat radiating off his skin. He looks left, right and practically drags you out of the lounge, down a narrow hallway and around the corner. 

There’s a supply closet. Barely lit. barely big enough to stand in—but it will do.

He shoves the door open and pulls you in.

The moment it shuts, he slams you against it—hard enough to rattle your bone in the best way—and cages you in with both arms.

“You couldn’t wait,” he breathes against your cheek. “My cock is still sensitive from earlier and here you are. Shifting in your seat like a brat. Was it not enough?”

“Well, you wore leather,” you tease, smiling fully—but it disappears as fast as it appeared when his mouth crushed onto yours.

His tongue licks your lips, kissing you with all he got. One thigh sliding between yours and pressing against your aching core. His hands move down your hips, forcing you to grind down on him, adding more pressure as his tongue invades your mouth.

The kiss is filthy—both of you fighting for dominance. Nothing sweet or gentle. Just teeth, spit and bruising heat. Wet sounds echo in the cramped closet—muffling the world behind the tiny door—drool dripping down your chins.

“I swear you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says once he pulls away to take a needed breath. “My cock is barely functioning, and—fuck” his eyes rolls back when you arch to reach one of his strawberry-colored nipples with your mouth, teeth tugging enough to make him hiss. 

“We gotta be quick, okay? Don’t be too loud—”

“I’m not the one who’s loud, Xavier,” You snap, hands already on his belt, pulling his cock free. “Pull my pants down now, would ya? It’s not like we have time to lose, mh?”

You nuzzle into the side of his neck, kissing the sensitive spot under his ear while his thigh presses back and forth against your soaked panties.

His hands move fast, yanking your pants and underwear down in one go—then flipping you around so your bare ass is pressed flush to his leaking tip.

“I don’t need to be prepared—”

“So greedy,” he cuts you off, slamming his hips forward and sinking into your warm, dripping cunt.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan, palms flat against the cold wall, pushing your hips back, desperate to take all of him. Xavier’s cock is curved perfectly to hit that throbbing, aching spot that had your vision going white within seconds.

He holds you tight, grinding his hips into yours in a punishing, frantic rhythm. His mouth crashes to your shoulder and his bites into it. “How’s that?” he pants, breath hot and wild. “Is it a good fuck? Do you like being fucked like this?” one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass, fingers digging in hard. 

“That’s what you wanted? My fat cock inside your needy cunt.” his hips clapping against yours with filthy, echoing slaps. You can feel it. Every inch. Every stretch of him.

And you feel so full—the pressure is insane. Your belly is tight, heat coiling in your core and crawling up your spine. When you glance down, just barely, you can see it—a faint bulge at the bottom of your stomach every time he slams in, punching the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “You’re so deep—I can see you inside me.”

His rhythm stutters, a choked moan ripping from his throat as he presses a hand flat over your lower stomach, right where his cock is visible. “Stuffing this tight pussy all nice.”

Your head tips back, a broken moan ripping from your throat as your back arches, hips rocking to meet him halfway. “So good—ah!—really good Xavier—don’t you dare stop,” you cry out, voice trembling. 

And just as his other hand comes to twist your nipple, hard fast, just how you like it—

“Has anyone seen Xavier?” a voice cuts in, rushed and far too close.

Your head whips toward him, but he’s already looking at you—his face stricken for a second, then overtaken by that same unhinged, hungry need. 

“He was in his room, like, two minutes ago.” You distingue one of his bandmate’s voice.

“Shit, shit—we gotta hurry,” he grits out, barely louder than a breath. He’s still buried in you, still chasing that last high.

His thrusts grow ragged and sloppy. He grips your hips tighter, slamming into you harder, deeper—the slap of skin on skin is loud and soaked with all the slick leaking down your thighs.

“Please, come with me, sweetie…” his voice’s raw, fucked-out against your shoulder. One hand fumble between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles.

Every thrust slam into your sweet spot with punishing accuracy, and the pressure in your belly coils tighter and tighter. You can’t think—can’t breathe—his cock is pulsing inside you, so hot, so hard—

“gonna come—I’m gonna —” you whisper, eyes fluttering, completely gone.

“Do it,” he groans. “Let go. Come for me. Make a mess on my cock—make this pussy gush, baby.” He demands, fingers pressing tighter to your clit—coaxing your orgasm, his thrusts getting more erratic and rougher.

Your walls locking down around him, gushing, your legs shaking. The orgasm crashes into you like a fucking truck. Your body convulses, clit pulsing under his fingers, your cunt fluttering around his cock—the bulge in your stomach pulses with every thrust.

Xavier hisses through his teeth, losing control the second your walls squeeze once too hard around his wide length. “Jesus—fuck, yes!—j-just like that—oh shit…” he chokes out, burying himself deep inside as hot ropes of cum fills your womb, cock twitching.

His head drops to your shoulder, forehead slick with sweat against your skin.

For a second, it’s just your breathing—ragged, tangled, all-consuming.

“Xavier! You coming or what?” someone shouts, just outside the door. 

“Goddamn it.” He mutters, pulling out of you with a protesting whimper, trying to steady his breath. His cum starts dripping down your thigh as he stumbles back, moving fast and try to shove himself back into his boxers, one hand fumbling with his zipper.

You stumble a little, legs shaking as you fix your clothes, heart still hammering in your chest. 

Before he can fully turn away, you grab his jaw—his breath stills, eyes snapping to you.

You pull him into a filthy, wet kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. Going on your tiptoes, you bring your mouth to his ear and murmurs “Don’t forget…we’re not done, pretty boy.”

Your tongue flicks against the shell of his ear­—goosebumps parkouring down his neck.

You smirk and purr at his reaction. “And don’t forget who you belong to when girls start throwing their bras at your face, mh?”

His eyes widen, hungry, and then he’s gone—rushing out the door, jaw still tingling from your grip.

𓂃۶ৎ RAFAYEL

It was such a hot day. .

The kind of heat that slicked your skin in sweat before you’d even moved, the kind that left the air heavy and unbearable. 

So, when Rafayel suggested a beach day, with that shy little tilt of his head, you had almost laughed. Not because it was stupid idea, but he thought it would cool you down.

He didn’t know better.

You were absolutely a wet mess for his cock. Your body was way more much hotter than the sun hitting on the sand.

So, of course, when you found the hidden cove—all shadows and crashing waves—you were on Rafayel before he could even make a comment on the view. 

“Please, Rafayel,” you whispered, breath ghosting hot across his lips. Your chest heaved against his, pinning him effortlessly, and your fingers curled around his wrist.

His breath hitched, pupils blown wide, violet eyes barely visible through the haze of lust and disbelief. Even his lips were still kiss-swollen.

“I—I don’t think I can even fuck you properly,” he stammered, voice cracking so cutely. “Even If I wanted to. I’m still—God—I haven’t recovered yet…”

And indeed, you’d both spent most of your times in the hotel’s bed sheets, fucking all night all day from the kitchen floor to the bathroom’s sink. His mouth and dick buried between your thighs pulling so many orgasms out of you, and him. Non-stop.

Your body pressed tighter, practically purring against his as you leaned into his neck, nipping just above his collarbone. He gasped—so easily startled 

You could feel his pulse against your lips—frantic. You took your chance and slid your hand down his toned stomach until it reached the front of his swim shorts. When you cupped his length with your palm, he twitched violently.

“For a man who says he hasn’t recovered, you’re quite well-functioning y’know.” You mock. 

You slowly lift your gaze from his cock to his face—eyes glassy with hunger—and you whisper, “you only have to be here. I can do all the work…please, Rafayel. I need to soothe the ache.”

He blinked, breath stuttering hips already betraying him with a slow roll forward. “I can’t take much more—”

You cut him off with a grind of your hips, dragging your soaked bikini bottom over the swell of him, letting him feel exactly how needy you were—your folds stuck to the fabric, your slick a mess between you both, and he whimpered.

“Just keep looking pretty,” you murmured, licking into his open mouth. “That’s all you ever have to do.”

You sank to your knees, hands tugging at the waistband of his shorts with zero patience. His cock slapped up against his stomach—flushed an angry pink, throbbing, soaked in precum—his tip redder than usual from the overstimulation.

You let out the most pornographic moan ever, head tilting as you watched the fat bead of slick drip from his slit. He twitched under your gaze, a pitiful whimper slipping from his bitten-red lips.

You flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, dragging it cruelly from the base to the tip, savoring the salty-slick taste of him. You circled his swollen head with the tip of your tongue, smearing his own precum around it, watching his thighs tremble.

“F-fuck—ah, I—” he choked, fingers scrambling against the rock behind him, eyes wide. “P-please—please, baby, don’t tease—” 

You laughed against his cock before sinking down, swallowing him in one wet, choking glide, shoving your face until your nose pressed into the soft curls at his pelvis.

His back arched.

One hand clawed helplessly at the rock wall behind him while the other gripped your hair in a panic-tight hold, trying to either stop you or pull you deeper—he didn’t even know.

You moaned around him, loud and guttural, your thora vibrating around his cock, drool bubbling at the corners of your mouth. Your ruined bikini clung to your body like a second skin, soaked clean through—fabric bunched between your folds, practically dripping as you rocked your hips against nothing.

You pulled back just to spit thickly onto his cock, watching it mix with your slick and his precum, running down your chin, stringing between your lips and his tip as you licked back up with filthy abandon.

“I—I can’t—” he sobbed, head slamming back against the rock. “Y-you’re too—fuck—it’s too much, I can’t—”

“You can,” you snarled, fisting the base of his cock with one hand, pumping him hard as you licked his tip with quick, sloppy little flicks. “You will.”

The second he came—spilling down your throat, twitching in your mouth, voice broken and wrecked—you climbed on top of him. Still on your knees in the sand, bikini bottom shoved aside, folds glistening and dripping with need.

He was still softening when you straddled him, and he looked at you with dazed, glassy eyes—eyes that screamed mercy.

But you were past hearing it.

“Fuck, I need you,” you rasped, nails digging into his chest as you guided him back to your soaked, pulsing heat. “I don’t care if you’re not ready. I can’t—I can’t wait anymore, Rafayel. I need to cum or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” 

“I—I just came…and maybe, your pussy needs to—”

“I’ll make it fit,” you snapped, grinding his oversensitive cockhead through your swollen clit. His body tried to flinch away from the contact, but you caged him in—legs strong, body relentless—and pushed.

His mouth fell open in a silent moan, his whole frame spasming beneath you. “Oh God—it’s too much, I swear—”

You dropped onto him fully, hips slamming down as you bottomed out in one desperate stroke—not listening to what he was saying, driven by lust.

Even softening, his cock was stretching you full, he still reached deep. 

“Rafayel, babe—I need it,” you whimpered, already riding him, pace feral. “Need to cum sooo bad.”

Your cunt was making noises to the point of indecency, your juices squelching loud and obscene, splashing everywhere around you—on you. His hands gripped your hips weakly. 

“You’re milking me—I can’t, it hurts—please, fuck, I—oh fuck!”

“you’re gonna take it,” you snarled, sweat dripping down your temples, your ruined bikini top falling askew, tits bouncing with every thrust. “I want to cream on your cock, Rafayel. You want it too, right? Lemme pretty, be a good boy.”

His hips bucked up once, involuntarily, and you screamed—your clit grinding against his pelvis, your pussy fluttering, sucking him in deeper like your body knew nothing but this hunger now. 

With tears in his eyes, cock twitching helplessly inside you, he whispers “I’m gonna cum again—”

“Fucking do it,” you panted, riding him faster, rougher, losing all rhythm, chasing your orgasm like a woman possessed.

And no long after, you felt hot long ropes of cum filling your cunt, his fingers bruising your thighs as his eyes closed shut. Cumming harder than before, body completely at your mercy.

You followed seconds after, cunt spasming wildly around him, milking him through his own overstimulation. 

You collapsed forward, chest to chest, both of you soaked in sweat and cum.

𓂃۶ৎ ZAYNE

you squint at the red glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand.

4:00 am.

You stare at the ceiling like it might talk you down. It’s fine. One day. You can do it. You’re not a sex addict, right? One day is fine. 

You tell yourself that. Over and over. For over an hour now. Since you woke up, heart pounding hard against your ribcage, panties soaked. 

You’ve twisted in the sheets, rolled from side to side, trying to calm it, trying to wait it out. 

No use.

You sigh as your turn your head toward Zayne. You watch the slow raise and fall of his back as his breath steadily. He’s out cold, like someone completely exhausted can be. And you get it—he had a brutal shift at the hospital. He has… What? Twelve or thirteen hours on his feet? Probably more. And he’ll be up again in ninety minutes. 

He needs this sleep. 

But the way his back stretches in the moonlight, muscles taut and perfect like someone sculpted him out of sleep and sweat—it makes you ache. Makes your thighs clench. Makes patience feel like a joke.

He’s always giving so much. To his job, to everyone. Always putting in more than he has to. Always chasing better. And he deserves rest. He really does.

But unfortunately, there’s this pulse between your thighs, stubborn. A knot of need that won’t untangle. Your panties feel like a tease, there’re soaked to the point it feels like they’re mocking you for trying to be patient.

You turn toward Zayne once again. Your gaze shifting between the ceiling and him.

He hasn’t moved. His lips are parted just slightly, his skin’s warm under your fingertips as you brush his hip.

You bite your lower lip as you mentally curse yourself for what you’re about to do. 

You swloly slide closer to him, careful not to wake him up, your legs slips between his, and you press in, grinding your needy core against the strong curve of his thigh—it’s solid and so perfect… exactly what you desperately need.

You bite your lip, hard. It’s the only way to stop the sound that nearly escapes when your clit drags just right across his thigh.

His skin against yours, the faint scent of him clinging to the sheets, the little flex of his leg when he shifts ever so slightly in his sleep—it’s so freaking good.

There’s nothing cute or sweet with what you’re doing.

You’re rutting against your boyfriend’s sleeping body like some feral thing, chasing your orgasm in silence, praying he doesn’t wake up and see you like this—panting, wide-eyed.

You’re so wet it should be illegal—slick soaking through the lace, leaving his thigh all slicky with your arousal. 

Every roll of your hips sends sparks through your core, your face twists.

Stop. You should stop. Just go to the bathroom. Use your hand. 

But you can’t. even with all the will power of the world. 

You can’t.

His body, his warmth, his strength. There’s something so Zayne that only him can do.

Even if he doesn’t touch you back, even if he’s deep in some dream far away from you—you’re still losing your mind grinding on him. 

Quietly.

Your thighs tremble as the pressure builds, heat coiling low and tight, your body twitching for more, more, just a little more—

You bury your face in the pillow, teeth sinking in, trying to smother every sound.

You’re right there—hips twitching, whole body shivering around the friction, balancing on that thin, shaking edge. One more grind and—

“Mmh…” Zayne stirs, a low grunt rumbling from his chest as he moves, disoriented.

“what time is it…?”

Shit.

Heart in your throat, you stop moving entirely. 

Too drenched in need to think straight, too mortified to breathe.

You don’t say a word. Maybe he’ll roll over. With a bit of luck…maybe he won’t even notice.

His thigh flexes, your slick clings to his skin. And he goes still too.

A long pause.

“…are you grinding on me?” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy—making your clit throb. 

You press your face deeper into the pillow, cheeks burning, shame crawling down your spine. “I—I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I just...I couldn’t sleep.”

His gaze drops. To your hips. Then your ruined panties. His thigh wet with your arousal.and even though he looks like he’s still trying to process the image, his body reacts faster than his brain.

“Jesus.” he mutters, voice rougher. “…How long have you been doing this?”

“…a while.” You reply quietly.

That pulls a breathy, stunned laugh from his, still half-asleep but definitely hard. Zayne props himself up on one elbow, eyes adjusting, blinking—trying to pull himself out of the sleep.

“I tried not to wake you.”

He watches you for a long second, hair messy, “You were gonna cum on my thigh and not say a thing?”

You nod, barely, ashamed and aching.

“Fuck. You’re actually serious.” His hand reaches out, thumb brushing the curve of your tummy. “You needy little thing,” His lips twitch in a mean smile. Way too amused for someone who just woke up to his girlfriend fucking herself on him.

“You’re so fucked.” He drags the words out in that wrecked, sleepy voice of his—the one that send a shiver down your spine.

“Take ‘em off.” 

You blink.

He tapes your panties, eyes glinting. “Go on. Take those ruined little things off. Since you’re already this far.”

You hesitate, heart pounding.

“Aww, now you’re shy?” his tone turns sharp with mock sympathy as his golden eyes fix yours. His hands come to your hips, and he rips your panties off.

The sharp sting causing you to gasp. “Here we go…wasn’t that hard.”

 He leans in, breath warm against your cheek, that grin still curling his lips. “You gonna finish what you started?” he murmurs. “Gonna show me how bad you needed it? Since you couldn’t even wait for me to wake up?”

You can’t even answer—just a shaky whimper as you straddle him again, your body obeying even as it trembles, already too raw. Zayne leans back, propping himself up against the headboard, spreading his legs wide. “Atta girl,” His voice’s thick with sleep and arousal. “Show me.”

But the second you drop your full weight onto his thigh, your body jolts. Your hips twitch instead of rock, thighs squeezing as your head falls back in a helpless arc.

It’s too much.

You can’t move. Can’t even breathe right. The slick drag of skin-on-skin against your pulsing clit is sharp and unbearable—like pleasure and pain got tangled together and started burning.

Zayne notices instantly.

“Ohhh,” he breathes, tilting his head to the side, lip caught between his teeth. “You really were fucking losing it, huh?”

Your mouth falls open in a pretty O, eyes fluttering shut as he flexes his muscles under you. 

“Look at you,” he laughs softly, darkly, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his other hand threads into your hair and pulls—not hard, just enough to make your throat arch for him. “Fucked yourself out all alone, like a big girl. What, thought you’d just hump my leg and sneak off to sleep after?”

He kisses lower, breath brushing hot against your neck as his mouth drags over your skin. One hand grips your ass, the other holding your hair tight to keep your neck bared as he leaves kiss after kiss down the curve of it—open-mouthed and wet.

Every part of you is sensitive. Your cunt’s throbbing, leaking onto his thigh, your whole body barely stilling with every tiny shift of friction.

“Lemme take this off for you,” he whispers onto your collarbone, hands slipping beneath your shirt. “There we go… You feel much better like this don’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He just smirks at the sight of your bare chest, nipples hardened and flushed, completely at his mercy.

He leans in, blows softly onto one—just enough to make you shiver—and the sensation shoots straight between your legs. You whimper, hips bucking as one of his hands returns to your waist, forcing you to grind your drenched pussy against the firm muscle of his thigh.

“Go on,” he murmurs, voice muffled as his mouth closes around your nipple. He nips at it, then sucks

“Be a good girl. Cum on me. I want you to make a mess on me.” he flexes his thigh just right beneath you and you can’t hold it anymore.

A loud moan escapes you as his teeth close again on your nipple, this time a slow aching chew—your body locks up—back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as you cry out. Your climax rips through you, messy and unrestrained. 

Before the tremor even leaves your body, he’s moving.

You feel his hands slide beneath your thighs—rough, commanding—and in a blur, you’re flipped onto your stomach, face buried into the pillows, ass lifted high.

You barely catch your breath before he’s behind you, spreading you open with no hesitation, breath hot, voice gone dark.

“You will take this like a good girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, almost too gentle for how he manhandles you. He peppers kisses across your shoulders—probably apologizing in advance. 

His weight settles over you, chest pressing into your back, caging you between the mattress and his wide, unrelenting body. His hands keep your ass in the air, firm and unyielding, while his cock brushes teasingly against your soaked, oversensitive center.

“Gonna be a bit rough,” he warns, breath warm against your ear. “That okay with you?”

You whimper, nod, and he grins—low and sharp.

“Yeah… I know it is. You love being fucked like this. Like a dirty little whore.” He slaps your perfect little ass before adding, “Hold onto the pillows, love.”

And in one brutal push, he’s all the way in. his cock buries to the hilt, stretching you wide open, the sudden fullness knocking the breath from your lungs. His hips are flush to yours, pubic hair brushing your holes, his body locked tight against yours.

“Fuck!—Z-Zayne…’s lot—ah!—”

“That’s okay,” he pants, mouth at your neck—almost drooling over your skin. “You’re my strong girl. You can take it.”

And then he moves—thrusting into you like he’s lost to it, all control burned away. Each stroke is brutal, deep, precise, pounding you into the mattress with relentless force. The bed slams against the wall with every thrust, the headboard rattling loud enough to drown your cries.

He keeps you pinned, keeps your hips arched just right, locked in that perfect angle. All you can do is hold on—fingers twisting in the sheets, face pressed into the pillows, body trembling with the force of it all.

“’S right,” he rasps, pleasure thick in every breath, sweat sticking his chest to your back. He’s nearly gone, nearly forgetting he’s got to be up in less than an hour. “Takin’ this dick so damn well… you’re perfect.”

Your body responds on instinct—tightening around him, walls clenching like a vice. It hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Fuck,” he groans.

You whimper beneath him, nearly sobbing into the pillow. You can feel everything—every thick ridge, every puffy vein, the way his cock drags and stretches you just a little more with every deep thrust. It’s overwhelming. Too much. Not enough.

He hisses through his teeth, hips stuttering for half a second.

“Shit,” he grits out, golden eyes locked to where your bodies meet—where you’re dripping, splashing, making a soaked mess with every slam of his hips. “You tryin’ to choke my cock or somethin’, huh?”

His hands move from your hips until both palms are cupping your breasts. He squeezes onto the soft plush, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples as his thrusts keep slamming into you from behind—only to hear your pretty ‘Ah! Ah!’ followed with ‘Deeper Zayne!’

“Can’t stop clenching. So sensitive—these fuckin’ tits—” he groans again, rolling one nipple between his fingers. 

You arch into him, helpless. His cock driving into you, his hands pulling at your chest, his mouth licking your neck—all of him wrapped around you, inside you.

“Hold still,” he growls, voice barely human now, hips picking up pace, bed slamming again. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock with my hands all over you.”

𓂃۶ৎ SYLUS

“Again?” Sylus’s voice comes raspy, broken in the edge. 

“Pleaaaase,” you purr, letting the word rolls on your tongue, hands firmly pressed on his chest—pushing him against the cold wall.

His head falls back with a dull thud. “Kitten…” he breathes, his ruby eyes dropping to look at you as you press your body against his. “We’re on a mission… I don’t think that’s the moment—”

“You’re sweating,” you whisper, fingers dragging down his forehead, lips ghosting the corner of his jaw. “That’s not like you.” You’ve seen him calm in gunfire, unfazed in blood—it was uncharacteristically of him to have an uneven breath.

“I just think…” you trail off, rising onto your toes, mouth brushing his ear, “if we make it quick… no one has to know.” You bat your lashes, voice a soft, sultry question. You already know the answer. You know you got him wrapped around your finger. You only needed to find the right arguments. It was just a matter of seconds.

Sylus exhales hard through his nose, like it physically hurts to resist you. His jaw ticks.

“You’re insufferable.” He snaps as his hand fists in your shirt, dragging you down the hall without a word. 

You smile like crazy. He’s just so cute, isn’t he? 

You pass doors. Equipment crates. A stack of mission gear left behind. His body is tense, every step coiled like he’s keeping himself from pinning you to the wall right there and tearing into you in front of anyone who might walk past.

Once he finds a room, he shuts the door with his boot and pin you against it. Dim light filters through a single wall panel, dust swirls in the air, it’s abandoned, quiet and safe.

His hands cage your jaw, his forehead presses to yours. He's panting like he just fought someone off.

"You drive me insane," he growls.

“Is that so?” you blink up at him, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle the laugh. You play dumb, “didn’t notice.”

His hand shoots up, fisting the collar of your shirt. And before you can even gasp, his mouth crashes into your—bruising, teeth clicking, no space to breathe between the kiss and the punishment.

There’s nothing delicate.

His lips crush yours, dragging your bottom one between his teeth until you whimper. The heat of it stings the ache spreading deliciously down your spine. He kisses like’s he’s mad at you, mad at him for not knowing how to tell you ‘No’. 

And you kiss him back just as hard. Your fingers tangle in front of his shirt, twisting fabrics tight in your fists. One hand slip between your bodies, palming him through his pants firmly.

He jerks in your grip, groaning straight into your mouth. His hand flies to your hip, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. The other grabs your wrist, stopping your hand mid-stroke.

“I don’t think I can cum.” His eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks at you. 

“As long as you can get hard,” You smirk, lips swollen and heart racing. “that’s all I need.”

With a growl, Sylus moves fast. He drags your pants down your legs with urgency. Your panties don’t stand a chance—he doesn’t even pull them off, just pushes them to the side, fingers grazing hot and rough against your soaked heat.

You’re already undoing his zipper, not bothering with finesse. His pants stay on, barely shoved down enough to free his cock, thick and flushed in your hand. 

He lifts you with no more ceremony, strong hands under your thighs then rapidly under your knees so your legs could rest on his wide shoulder. The position locks you open, exposed—your back pressed to the cold door, legs draped high and wide against his warm body.

His cock drags upward through your slick folds, heavy and hot, teasing that swollen ache with just enough pressure to make you whimper. The contrast of his warmth against the door’s chill makes your skin burn.

Teeth graze along your jaw, and his voice comes out low, “Gonna fuck you all nice and good, promise. Hold on tight.”

You don’t even realize you’ve grabbed two fistfuls of his white hair until he thrusts forward, so hard that your entire body tightens, already bracing for the stretch, the slam, the mess.

His forearms warp around your thick thighs, holding you in place with an iron grip as he piston into you. You’re suspended between the door and his chest, barely able to think—let alone speak.

When he moves it’s rough—slow but deep. The weight of his pants clings to his hips, the waistband scraping your thighs every time he thrusts in. 

His mushroom cock head kisses your cervix each time he brutally bottoms out, drawing a raw cry from your throat.

The sound of the scrape of wood behind you is almost louder than your own voice breaking. “Is this how you wanted it?” he rasps against your mouth, his breath hot, sharp. “On a mission—still begging to be stretched wide?”

Sweat beads at his temple. His jaw’s clenched. And all you can do is take it.

“Yes-Yes! Exactly…you’re so—oh shit!—good to me Sylus.” You pant, head hitting the door behind you as your eyes roll back. The way he’s still mostly dressed, the grind of fabric and heat—it's driving you to the edge faster than you’d admit. 

His jaw tightens when you yank on his hair again, and he groans—low and ragged. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. He keeps you pinned high, panting into your neck as his pace builds—fast now, reckless. His gaze flickers down to the way you’re clinging around his length.

His arms flex with the effort. He resumes his pace to quick deep strokes. Wanting you to reach your orgasm.

“I—I think I’m going to cum dry...” he chokes out against your ear.

“That’s okay Sylus, j-just don’t stop—” You can feel his cock twitching violently against your gummy walls. 

“You feel so—so—fuck!” He drops your legs from his shoulders, almost trembling himself, he doesn’t let your feet hit the floor. He keeps you flush against the door, panting into your neck. 

His hips keep moving, slower but no less intense—the friction of your ruined panties, pressed awkwardly between you, makes everything more unbearable.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you again to tilt your hips, to find that devasting spot that has your vision white out at the edges.

“’m gonna cum, kitten—’m sorry—” he rasps. 

You feel the stuttering of his hips, the soft broken sound he makes into your shoulder as his body goes taut and shudders hard. What little he has left spills in weak, pulsing ropes.

But you? Sylus’s long fingers slip beneath what’s left of your panties, finding your clit instantly. He presses and flicks in quick, messy motions. He’s still coming from his high as your pussy paints his cock white.

^⌯𖥦⌯^੭