#but not enough to make up for the rest...sorry

[vinnyvamppp]

Commit To The Bit

Note: No one requested this, but this wonderful idea was bounced between @0bticeo and I, so thank them if you enjoy this as well. Now, let's see what we're working with...

Synopsis: You didn’t mean for it to happen like this. It was supposed to be a dare—something stupid to loosen Mark up after another brutal week of being the galaxy’s most reluctant savior. Just a strip tease. Just a joke. But Mark Grayson commits. To everything. Now, he's challengeing you to survive it.

Warnings: Smut, Mutual Pining, Oral (Male and Female recivieing), Mark Is a Messy Cummer, Fingering, Anal Play (F recieving), Position Changes, Dirty Talk, Light Power Play, Dom/Sub Dynamics, First Time, Switch!Reader, Switch!Mark Grayson, Strip Tease, Game Night Turned...

Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

WC: ... 2.9k (I'M SORRY I GOT EXCITED)

You hadn’t expected to become part of Mark Grayson’s orbit.

You weren’t a Guardian. You didn’t wear a cape, have laser vision, or scream through the sky with sonic speed. You didn’t even have a power unless you counted being chronically online, emotionally intelligent, and just competent enough not to die during a superhuman incident—mostly from luck.

But Mark had saved your life one too many times—not out of obligation, but with this ridiculous, righteous fury in his eyes, like it personally offended him that you were ever in danger. And after the last near-apocalypse (there’d been three that year—you were starting to rank them like earthquakes), you became… tethered.

Not officially. Not in a superhero-has-a-sidekick kind of way. You were more like a ghost in his civilian life—always nearby, always grounding. The one who read him his Seance Dog comics when his hands were still red and rattled from battle, the one who stayed up all night patching his busted hoodie and pretending the sound of his knuckles cracking didn’t bother you.

He was fraying, and you saw it. Everyone saw it, but no one could tell him to stop. Not his mom. Not Eve. Not the Guardians. So you said, “If you won’t rest, you’re going to play.” He squinted. “Like, fetch?” You pause, lips curling excitedly. “Like games. Like dares. Like something dumb and reckless that doesn’t involve space warlords or mind-controlling aliens.” You meant it as a joke. Yet, two weeks later, you were at his place on a Friday night, watching Mark lose at an increasingly feral round of “Truth or Dare Jenga” that had been invented solely to get him to relax.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair soft and messy from where he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He’s glowing. Not in a superhero way — in a boy-who’s-smiling-for-real way. That glow? That was rare.

There are wrappers everywhere. Empty soda cans. Heat radiates off of him in waves, because Mark Grayson runs hot, body temperature just a little too intense even at rest—like a sun flaring under skin.

“Alright,” you say, plucking a block from the Jenga tower. It slides out with a whisper. On the underside, scrawled in black marker: DARE: Lose a piece of clothing.

You grin. “Mark.” He narrows his eyes, shoulders slouching. “No way.”

“You lost, my dude.”

“I’m not taking my pants off.”

“No one said pants! Could be socks, could be your watch. Could be your hoodie.”

“Pfft. Lame.”

He leans back, too cocky and boyish. “What if I make it interesting?” You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting how?” Mark’s grin falters —just for a second, nervousness creeps in—and then he returns, crooked and reckless. “What if I… y’know.” He gestures vaguely. “Did a little striptease instead.” You stare in a stunned silence, mouth agape in what could only be described as an expression caught between a grin and disbelief. He stares back, then laughs too fast and far too loud. “I’m kidding.” “Are you?” You don’t know why you say it. Maybe it’s the soda-sugar buzz in your blood. Maybe it’s the way his cheeks flush, hot pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Or maybe —definitely— it’s the way your brain short-circuits when you imagine it. The slow reveal. That ridiculous, ripped body under all the nerdy-cute layers. You’ve seen him in action. Fighting, bleeding, and almost dying. But this? This would be intimate in a whole new way. He opens his mouth, maybe to deflect. Maybe to say “hell no.” But what comes out is, “Alright. Fine.” The lights are dim. Not dramatic—dim. Just lazy, golden, Friday-night-dim. A song buzzes from your speaker—some R&B tracks you’d been playing ironically earlier, and now it’s betraying you with slow, sensual bass. Mark stands and promptly freezes. “…Do I need a pole or something?” he mumbles. You cackle, leaning back against his bedframe. “Just your awkward ass and commitment.” He glares playfully, then closes his eyes for a second, like he’s mentally preparing for battle. The sweater comes off first—slow, theatrical, too much. It gets caught halfway over his head, and he swears—arms flailing as he almost knocks over the Jenga tower. You’re crying from laughter. Then he —somehow—recovers and hrugs out of the pullover like it owed him money. His t-shirt rides up as he moves, and you get a flash of abs. He notices your ever-drifting gaze and pauses.

Your lips curl into an absentminded smirk. Oh, he absolutely noticed.

Now he’s getting into it. A little hip roll and some wobbly attempt at body waves that makes you snort but also sends your brain into a blender. There’s a vein on his bicep that mocks you. His shirt rides up again, and he keeps it there. Teasing.

What the hell is happening? He peels it off—slower this time. Eyes locked on yours, breath shallow. Like, maybe this started as a joke, but now it’s something else. The tension is thick, and heavy like the altitudes changed.

You swallow thickly, “Are you…” Your voice cracks. “Are you actually good at this?” Mark drops the shirt and steps forward. Just once. Close enough that you have to tilt your head to meet his eyes. “I’m good at lots of things,” he says, low, quiet, like a quiet confession you’re certain you’ve heard in film many times over. Yet, it makes your blood run hot.

You break the tension with a joke. The moment stretches like heat-distorted glass—fragile, bending, on the verge of snapping. Mark stands above you, shirtless, flushed, breath light in his chest. His hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them—touch you, maybe. Run them through his hair or hold on to something so he doesn’t fall. Because falling? That’s what this feels like.

You’re still sitting, half-curled on the floor with your knees up, looking at him. Really looking.

He isn’t chiseled perfection—not like those magazine-perfect, muscle-bound meatheads. He’s real. He’s boyish, golden brown skin glowing under the lamplight, jaw sharp when he clenches it like that. There’s a faint bruise across his ribs and a scattering of freckles over his shoulders that look like stars. You want to trace them like a constellation. He swallows hard. You do too, subconsciously mimicking.

“That’s your big striptease?” you say, voice wobbly with the high-wire tension. “You looked like a winded pelican trying to shimmy out of your shirt.”

Mark blinks before breaking into a disbelieving chortle. He doubles over a little, pressing a hand to his chest like it hurts to laugh that hard — and maybe it does. Maybe it’s the first real laugh he’s had in weeks. Maybe it’s too much to feel something this alive in a room that isn’t soaked in blood or guilt. “You’re such a dick,” he says through breathless chuckles. You grin. “But I’m right.” He rolls his eyes and drops beside you with a thump. His bare shoulder brushes yours. The skin-on-skin contact shoots straight down your spine like a live wire. Your body knows what your heart won’t say.

And Mark? He knows too. Because after the laughter fades, the silence left behind is thick. His smile lingers, but it’s softer now, much quieter. His thigh rests against yours, and he doesn’t move it. He shifts, just enough to look at you. And you know… You know without words that the game’s over, but something else has started.

“You really think I looked that bad?” he asks, mock hurt. “I think you surprised yourself more than me,” you reply, smiling to yourself. Mark tilts his head. His eyes — dark, warm, and wanting — scan your face. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His voice is lower now.

“I didn’t think I’d… get into it.”

There’s a pause. He looks down, hand flexing, resting against his knee. Close to yours, nearly grazing. “You know what’s messed up?” he murmurs. “I wanted you to look away. I thought I did. But then you didn’t. And now…” Your breath catches. “… Now I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me.”

You say nothing; your hand simply finds his. Just fingertips at first—a brush and a question. He answers with stillness and a held breath. Not rejection, nor resistance, but rather waiting for what happens next.

It's not what he says; it's how he says it. Mark Grayson isn’t cool. Not like the heroes in the comics, not like Omni-Man pretended to be. He’s awkward and earnest. He fumbles through jokes and runs into danger headfirst and leaves pieces of himself behind every time. But right now? He’s sitting beside you shirtless, vulnerable, and so, so willing. And you can’t stop looking.

You reach out. Not dramatically, just like gravity’s doing it for you. Your fingers trace the curve of his shoulder and drag lightly down his chest. Over smooth skin, tight muscle. You feel him tense — just a flicker — but he doesn’t pull away. His chest rises too fast, still shallow, like his heart doesn't know when to settle.

He leans in, words a faint whisper. “I’m not gonna be able to walk this off, am I?” He says quietly, like it’s funny — but it isn’t. His voice wavers at the edges, threaded with something rougher, excited, and anxious. Wanting. You hum, fingers dragging lower. “You were the one who committed to the bit.”

He huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah, and now I’m gonna commit a felony if you keep looking at me like that.” You glance up, his eyes already trained upon your face. Flickering between your mouth and your hand and back again. His lips are slightly parted, the flush creeping all the way down to his chest now. He's starving.

You drag your hand lower. His abs flex under your touch — instinct, almost defensive, like his body is reacting faster than his brain can control.

“Jesus,” he mutters. His eyes flutter shut for a second, then snap open.

“You’re not even doing anything.”

“Exactly.”

He makes a sound. It’s halfway between a groan and a laugh — embarrassed, aroused, and horrifically aware that he’s being undone with nothing but touch. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he leans toward you. Lips a breadth from yours. “I’m just saying,” he whispers, “if this ends in me blacking out from sheer thirst, I want it on record I was coerced.” “Oh?” you breathe.

“And what part of that was coercion?” His smile cracks crooked, and he gulps. “All of it. But I liked it.” Your hand drifts lower again, fingertips grazing just above his waistband. His abs contract hard, like they’re bracing for impact. Then, finally, finally, he moves. He reaches up, hand gentle on your jaw, and tilts your head just enough to look you full in the face. His thumb brushes the edge of your cheekbone.

And the look in his eyes? It says everything. And I want you. I want this. I want to give in. But also — I want you to want it too. So you lean in, not for a kiss. Not yet.

Your lips brush his ear, and you whisper: “Finish the striptease, Grayson.”

You say it, and something breaks inside him. Mark sits frozen for half a second, like his brain has short-circuited. And then—slowly and deliberately—he pushes himself to his feet.

He’s shirtless already, but his joggers hang low on his hips, slung there like temptation incarnate. His body is a map of intention—broad chest still rising fast with every breath, flushed all the way down to the waistband. And when he hooks his thumbs into the sides, his eyes flick up to meet yours. Still awkward. Still him. But there’s heat behind that shy smirk now. Perhaps a promise.

“Didn’t realize the bit was that good,” he murmurs.

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m building suspense.”

He kicks off his socks with an undignified grunt—definitely not sexy—and you snort. The laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, but it’s cut off fast when his fingers return to his waistband.

He doesn’t strip fast. He sinks into it. Rolls his hips just slightly, enough to tease. The joggers go low, and you swear you stop breathing. His thighs are carved like someone took Greek statue anatomy and gave it boyish charm. They’re strong and lean, and if you could, you’d trace the outlines with your tongue.

Underneath, he's wearing black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. The outline of him is thick, prominent, and barely contained. There’s a wet spot already forming where the fabric strains tight over his tip. And when his thumbs slip under the waistband of those, he actually hesitates. “Still time to back out,” he says, voice raspy, gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth to the floor.

You shake your head. “Not a chance.” He exhales—shaky and disbelieving. Then drops them.

Mark stands there—naked and completely flushed. Every muscle in his body is tense, like he’s waiting for judgment.

You rise to your knees where you sit on the floor, eyes trailing over him, devouring. His cock is perfect—thick, flushed, curving slightly toward his belly, the tip already beading precum. He’s trimmed but not too neat. It's raw, real, and hard as hell.

You reach for him slowly. Fingers light over the base, then wrapping around him with a gentle squeeze that makes his hips jolt. He gasps. “Shit—okay.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you say sweetly.

“Don’t—” His voice cracks. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

You do. You really do. You press a kiss to his hipbone, then another down the line of his thigh. Your tongue then traces a wet warmth between the divots of his femoral muscle, just until you slowly venture to his groin, his cock nudging your nose. His breath hitches. When you glance up, his eyes are molten—wide and starving.

“Lie back,” you murmur.

He obeys without question. Collapses onto the bed, back to the headboard, legs splayed open and already trembling. There’s a small patch of scars along his side from some long-healed fight, and your hand ghosts over them before sliding back to his cock.

You stroke him slowly. Grip twisting, thumb teasing the slit until his thighs shake. Fingertips gliding down its veins, thumb caressing his frenulum before you take him into your mouth without warning.

Mark screams—chokes on a curse as his hand fists in the sheets. His hips lift without meaning to, and you press him back with a hand to his belly. He’s heavy on your tongue, warm, velvety skin stretched over thick hardness, the kind of weight that commands attention. Each inch you take fills your mouth with heat, the head of his cock slick with the salt-sweet tang of pre. 

“Fuck— oh my god,” he gasps. “You’re—how the hell are you this good?” You hum around him, mouth full, tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. You go slow. Cruel. Letting spit drip from your lips as you work him, glancing up through your lashes to watch him fall apart. He’s panting now, one hand pressed to his forehead like he’s trying to hang on to reality.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans. “Your mouth—your mouth is—you’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you tease, pulling off with a soft pop. His cock twitches in your hand. “You haven’t even seen dramatic,” he pants. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna blow so hard I end up in orbit.”

You laugh, but it melts into a moan as he brushes your hair back, thumb dragging along your cheekbone, reverent.  “You’re unreal,” he whispers. “Seriously. Like… I used to imagine this, but I never thought—fuck.”

You go down again, this time deeper, bobbing your head with a slow, steady rhythm. Your hand strokes the base, twisting, teasing. Every time you swallow around him, his hips twitch, and his voice crumbles into wrecked little sounds. Just to hear more, you go deep—too deep—and your throat clenches around him; his body jolts. He jerks his hips back instinctively, one hand flying to your shoulder. “Shit, shit, I—fuck, are you okay?” he rasps, panic flashing in his eyes. But when you look up at him, spit-slick and needy, and go again? He groans, his head knocking back to the headboard. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that unless you’re trying to kill me.”

You are. You swirl your tongue around the tip and suck hard, his abs seize under your palm—sharp lines flexing in a desperate attempt to hold still. He doesn’t speak. Mark is too stubborn for that. But you feel it in the way his breath hitches, in the shudder that travels from his ribs to his thighs, in the stifled grunt he bites into the back of his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

His forearms are locked, veined, and trembling as he grips the sheets so tightly they threaten to tear. His legs shift restlessly, heels dragging across the mattress, trying to ground himself against pleasure that’s pulling him apart thread by thread. His whole body feels like it's teetering on a wire strung over fire—and your mouth is the heat below.

His scent fills your lungs—soap and sweat and something sharp with adrenaline. There’s heat radiating off his skin in waves, his inner thighs trembling beneath your palms. You swear you can feel his pulse against your lips, racing, thick, and desperate. He’s letting you do this. Letting you see him like this. And Mark Grayson? Doesn’t give that to just anyone.

His thighs tense under your hands, and god, you feel it—the moment he surrenders, like you’ve cracked the sun open and let it melt down your throat. And all you can think is yes—this, this, this—let me give until I can’t speak, until he forgets his own name in my mouth. You’d watch him cum again and again just to chase the aftershock it sends down your spine. Just as you’re relishing in his squirming, his hands slide lower. Long arms reach out, wrapping around you. One arm across your back, anchoring. The other? It drifts. Your hips are raised—knees bent, ass up, pressed against his thigh. His fingers ghost over the curve of you—light, just exploring.

Then he spreads you gently. Thumb dragging down… and lower.

When his fingers stroke between your legs, you groan, his hands parting through the fabric of your shorts and panties.

“Wet already?” He breathes. “I didn’t even get to return the favor yet.” His words were nearly a whine.

You try to say something smart—snarky. But all that comes out is a gasp when two of his fingers slip in. He’s good at it—scissoring slowly, curling just right. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit with a maddening rhythm. “You’re so tight, baby,” he murmurs. “How are you this perfect?” Then you feel it. His other hand slides lower. Down your back, calloused fingers traveling between the fat of your ass—and you know what he’s doing.

His voice drops—filthy, sweet, dangerous. “Too much?” he whispers, fingertip circling gently, slick with spit. “Not even close.” He chuckles, channeling whatever confidence he might have left. “Good.” Because then he slips his thumb in—just barely—while still curling two fingers inside you deep. The pressure is blinding, intimate, and overwhelming.

Your moan cracks into a whimper, and he feels it—loves it. “Oh my god, look at you,” he groans. “You’re gonna make me fucking lose it.” You do. You ride his fingers like they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to earth, mouth hot around him as he starts to thrust gently into your lips, hips flexing— then you pull off with a pop, panting, eyes blown wide.

“Gonna come like this, Mark?” He grins, panting through trembling, weak breaths, “Only if I make you first.” His fingers go deeper. His thumb presses firmer, and you realize neither of you stands a chance.

He’s close and you know it. His cock twitches in your mouth, thighs tensing like coiled springs. He’s gasping now, mouth open, hips stuttering with each flick of your tongue, each twist of your wrist. “Fuck—I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna come,” he gasps, voice cracking like a live wire.

But he doesn’t pull back. He grips the headboard with one hand, the other fisted in your hair, holding—not forcing, just anchoring. His body goes rigid, spine curving. “Oh—fuck, I—” His voice cracks in the middle of the moan as he comes hard, cock throbbing in your mouth. Hot, thick spurts spill onto your tongue, messy and uncontained. He curses again, hips twitching as the pleasure wrecks him, face flushed, jaw slack with disbelief, toes curling as his eyes are blown wide.

You swallow as much as you can, some dripping down your chin, and the look he gives you? Absolutely ruined. “I—I didn’t mean to—shit, I couldn’t—” He pants, voice dazed. “Don’t worry,” you murmur, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “We’re not done.” Because while he’s still gasping, trying to catch his breath, your hips grind down into the bed, slick and aching. And he sees it, and being the stubborn man he is, snaps back into action.

He flips you before you can blink—grabs your thighs and pulls you onto the bed, mouth already between your legs before you can protest. Its ravenous. He slides down your body like it’s something sacred, nuzzling between your thighs with a soft groan like he’s relieved to be there. His big hands hook under your knees, pushing them wide until you’re spread open, dripping and flushed and glistening just for him.

“Oh my god,” he whispers—voice so raw with awe that it hurts. You nod, barely able to speak, but he’s not looking for words. He’s already licking his lips, fingers digging into your thighs as he lowers his face to you. The first lick is tentative. Experimental. A long, slow drag of his tongue from your opening to your clit, like he’s learning the map of you one swipe at a time. The groan he lets out after is devastating. Pure sugar coating tongue as he nudges that honey-woven pearl begging for his touch.

“You taste so good,” he mumbles into you, nose brushing your mound as he licks again, deeper, firmer this time, drinking from you like wine-filled gauntlet. “Jesus Christ, how are you real?”

His tongue works in messy circles—not perfectly skilled, not yet, but what he lacks in precision he makes up for with hunger. He eats you like he’s been fantasizing about this for months, and he has. You can feel the need in every flick, every groan, every desperate lap.

When his tongue finally finds your clit, your hips jerk. The sensation—hot, wet, pressure that’s just right—makes your back arch and a moan rip from your throat. Mark moans back, the vibration of it lighting you up like a fuse. “You like that?” he pants. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck, Mark—right there. Right there, just like that—” He nearly pauses, a muffled grunt settling in his throat, wrapping his arms under your thighs and dragging you closer until your pussy is pressed to his mouth. Held there, lips spread across his tongue.

You try to move, to buck up or pull away, but his grip is like iron. He keeps you right where he wants you, tongue flicking quick and firm over your clit while he moans like he’s the one being touched. “Fuck yes,” you gasp, one hand flying into his hair. “Just like that, holy shit—Mark, you’re so good, you’re so fucking good at this—”

He whimpers into your cunt like the praise feeds him. That smirk etching into your lips doesn’t miss him. “You gonna moan louder than me, Grayson? Or is this just you begging with your mouth full?” He breathes out a shaky moan into your cunt in response. His tongue dips lower again, licking into your entrance, then back up, sucking your clit between his lips, messy and hot and relentless.

You're grinding into his face now, shameless, and he takes it all. Lets you ride his mouth like he was made for it. He pants, chin soaked, lips swollen. “Come on, baby, I wanna feel it. Wanna taste all of it. Wanna make you scream.”

“Don’t stop now, don’t you dare fucking stop. I’m close—you look so pretty when you’re trying so hard.” Marks tongue gets sloppier, almost panting through the effort. He flattens his tongue and fucks you with it, then sucks your clit hard enough to send your mind reeling as you lurch forward, fingers bruising into your hips as he holds you down while you shatter. Your orgasm like fireworks against your nerves.

Every time he licks you, something coats his tongue that's so good it's obscene. That heady, sweet scent and everything he's ever fantasized about—has him rutting into the sheets without even thinking. Its humid, raw. His brain just shuts the fuck off the second your thighs tighten around his head.

You let out a guttural scream. His tongue works with a purpose, sloppy and greedy, groaning into your pussy like he’s starved. His fingers curl inside you again—those goddamn fingers, reaching that spot he’s already memorized. Calloused fingertips caressing the ridge of your walls, coated in cream with every drag.

Every twitch of your hips, every broken breath, wires into his nerves like lightning—and he’s never needed anything more than the way you look when you’re about to come for him. He wants to drown in it, face buried, lungs empty, no god but the sound of you falling apart.

“You came for me,” he murmurs between licks. “Now I get to return the favor. Gonna make you fall apart, baby. Please. Gonna make you beg. It's gonna feel so good.”

He doesn’t stop until your thighs shake. Until your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. Until you come so hard around his fingers, your voice breaks in a sob of pleasure, your body curling in on itself like it can’t hold that kind of sensation. A slight, sheepish smirk etches into his lips as he watches you tremble and gasp. You scream his name, thighs shaking, hips trying to escape the overstimulation—but he follows, licking you through it, sloppily, like he can’t stop tasting you.

He’s utterly lost. You gently pull his hair, raising his head to look at you. His face is flushed—slick ridden, eyes barely in focus, brows knitted upwards, and his tongue slowly traces the line of lips. His hips twitch against the mattress.

“Mmm, this is so much better than that magazine under your bed. Remember that one? With the brunette riding—” He choked at your words, daze fading into embarrassment as you guided him onto his back. His eyes and hands follow every shift, fingers twitching just a little too eagerly.

“Round two?” you tease, breathless. But before he can answer—a creak from the hallway. You both freeze. “… Was that—?”

“My mom,” Mark mouths silently, wide-eyed. You grin wickedly. “Bet you can’t stay quiet.” His jaw drops. “Are you kidding me right now?!” But you’re already lowering yourself onto him, the stretch making you groan as you sink all the way down until your thighs rest against his. His cock fills you perfectly, and the second he’s fully inside, you feel him twitch.

His hands clamp to your hips. He groans, quiet, and choked off. You rock once, he whimpers. “Stay quiet, Grayson.” He glares at you like he wants to fight it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he buries his face in your shoulder and lets you ride him. Slow at first, then faster. Deeper. His hips stutter up into yours, hands tight on your ass, flexing under you like he wants to take control, but he doesn’t.

Not yet. Not until you lean down and whisper, “Come for me again.”

Then he flips you. Pins you down. And fucks you so deep and hard the mattress creaks, your legs locked around his waist. Every thrust is an apology and a worship. He stays quiet with effort—sweat on his brow, biting his lip bloody—until you come again, groaning into the pillow. And when he finishes with a muffled moan into your neck, full body shaking, he’s whispering your name like it’s a prayer. A/N: Was this long as hell? Yes. Do I regret writing it? No. Let me know your opinion and suggestions, because.... my toes were curling while writing this. I'm not joking. (This was also based on how I'd believe Mark would use the dirty talk he's seen in porn, LMFAO.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[nanamisdollie]

Touched starve rin finally gets his hands on reader, stay with me now

rin missing his girl a lil too much ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

oh trust me i’m with u anon.

smut, mdni, charecters aged up!! cw: dubcon, somno, rin being pathetic and needy<3

it was late when rin finally got home from post game festivities. he hated them in all honesty, anyone who knew him knew that, but he was also way too exhausted to fight the other grown men physically pulling him to an uber while yapping about shots.

zero drinks and three hours later he was unlocking the front door of his apartment.

he didn’t even bother to take his sneakers off, ghosting through the living room followed by the hallway that led to the bedroom. the door was ajar so a gentle push was all it needed.

rins heavy eyes scanned the dark room. when they landed on the bed the sight made something deep in his chest soften; you. you curled up half under the comforter, bare leg kicked out, hair a halo beneath your head. it was a site that never failed to make him weak in the knees.

he had been so busy lately; practice, games, press…not enough of you. it didn’t help that you had your own priorities, but sometimes he wished he could take you away, run away from all of it with you,

but that wasn’t realistic. he loved soccer, and rin may have loved you more but this was the life he built for himself since he was a kid.

so, instead of taking you and leaving everything without a word, he kicked his shoes off and fell face forward onto the soft mattress you shared. sinking in, his teal eyes scanned your figure once more and a hand came to rest on you hip. you stirred, but didn’t wake.

he admired you as you slept for a while. it may have been creepy, but he missed you so damn much. rin didn’t get love the way most kids did when he was growing up, he had sae of course but his parents weren’t…affectionate.

when the two of you began dating he was confused when you would touch him in small, soft way. a hand on his back when he muttered complaints about how he played in a game, holding his hands in yours when you were talking to him sincerely, caressing his cheek while admiring him; after that he was addicted to your touch.

the hand on your hip slid up to your waist, fingers brushing at the skin where your shirt rode up. itd been so long. god damnit, now he was getting hard, all from a few fingers on your skin! it was pathetic, rin knew it, you even knew it. you let him be pathetic, you let him be different from the rin itoshi the world knew.

he loved you.

˚���୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

it was a choked whine that made you stir from sleep, one right in your ear so close that it made the hair on your neck stand up.

a huff fell past your dry lips as your eyes fluttered open. they fell on the digital clock on your cluttered bedside table; 1:27 am. was rin home?

“shit, m’ sorry…”

well, that was certainly an answer. more familiar whines filled the room while your other senses came to; the feeling of friction and wetness between your thighs, a hand underneath your shirt grasping and kneading at your breast, drool on your neck.

“rin?”

another choked sob following by a sloppy wet kiss to the side of your face

“so fuckin’ s-sorry- mmph-“ rins hips began to thrust faster hitting your ass while his cock slid up against your clothed cunt. he was lost in his own pleasure, he could feel your lips from just how much precum he’d leaked.

you tried to look back at him the best you could and when you met him with a mess of black locks, drool dribbling from the side of his mouth, he kissed you.

it wasn’t rough, it was needy. full of want. he kept mumbling out little ‘love you’s and ‘missed you’s whenever there was a pause to breath. his hips still worked against you at an adjusted angle that let his tip hit your clit just right.

when you finally pulled back and were able to rest your forehead to his in the awkward position you shakily spoke “y-you could’ve woken me- mm- up” it was a whisper, so sweet he whimpered in response.

“jus’ missed you so- fuck- fuckin’ bad! needed to t-touch you” rins face fell into the crook of your neck that was still messy with his own drool. he didn’t care. “i love you, y/n. say you love me. please!”

his begs were persistent, his cock was throbbing against you and his pace slowed. he was close. you turned your head once again to look at him properly, your hand coming to hold his face. another whimper escaped his flushed lips.

“i love you, rin”

that was enough for him. his hips press flush to your ass as he finishes, cum staining your thighs and the bed. he was crying at this point, both arms coming to wrap around you tightly.

“thank you-“ a hiccup followed by a shaky sigh “missed being able to touch you…” he already sounded like the exhaustion was catching up to him, post nut clarity filling his senses

that made you soften slightly. you shifted your body the best you could without making more of a mess with his load still sticky and cooling against you skin. you press a kiss to his cheek.

“s’ okay baby…just relax. we can clean up in the morning”

“you sure?” big eyes look up at you. its as if he’s looking at a goddess.

“i’m sure…you owe me head though”

“anything for you, maam~”

tysm for ur request ^.^ i <3 needy pathetic rin!!! I’m sorry if its diff from what you might’ve imagined :,)

[lveegsoi]

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡BITE ME

vampire!ni-ki who lived through centuries of loneliness and silence. Ni-ki has made a habit of feeling your pulse. When he’s holding your hand he likes to press his fingers slightly at your wrist. The slow rhythm of your pulse brings him comfort he hasn’t felt for so many years. He never said anything, he didn’t have to, but you’ve felt how he holds you just a little longer than necessary, how his thumb lingers, pressing gently against your pulse point, as if counting each beat. As if memorizing it. Because it reassures him. That you’re there, that you’re alive and that there’s still something human close enough to touch, to remind him he’s not entirely a monster.

vampire!ni-ki who pierce your bottom lip when he kisses you. At first he’d just peck your lips, quick and soft, but it’s never just a quick kiss with him, especially if he’s hungry for you. It would start slowly with one quick peck, that’s what you say to yourself every time he comes to kiss you, then he’d place a second kiss on your soft lips, one that went on slightly longer than the first. Then would come the third kiss, then the fourth, then the fifth. And just like that, one quick kiss would lead to a full make-out session. And then he’d bite. Not hard, not deep. The bite would be just sharp enough for his fang to pierce the soft flesh of your bottom lip. A single sting, so quick you wouldn’t have time to flinch. His tongue would slowly slide along your lip, tasting the small amount of blood on it. A low moan would leave his mouth as he loses himself in your taste.

“Sorry.” he’d murmur. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Then his thumb would brush your swollen lip, collecting the remaining blood , and after that he’d kiss you again, but this time softer, like he’s trying to say thank you without using words.

vampire!ni-ki who likes to fuck you in missionary or from behind, with your back pressed against his toned chest and one arm around your neck and the other between your legs. What Ni-ki loves the most is marking you up. Most of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s biting your neck while thrusting inside you, not until he hears soft whimpers leaving your mouth from the slight pain of the bite. Marking you is like a second nature to him- the possessiveness, the need to show the world who you belong to.

Aside from your neck, the inside of your thighs is his favorite place to leave his markings. How couldn’t he bite the soft skin of your legs when he goes to eat you out? It’s like placing a cup of blood in front of him and to expect him not to drink it.

vampire!ni-ki who also likes to be marked by you. He finds it cute when you try to imitate him by pressing your canines deeper into his skin, trying to make deep marks just like the ones on your body. Despite the effort you put into every bite, they would fade quicker than the marks he’d leave on your body. But rest assured, Ni-ki would definitely tattoo your bite mark on himself if it meant having a piece of you with him when you're no longer around.

divider by cursed-carmine

[moonstruckme]

hi mae !

not sure if i've requested this before or not, so bear with me haha. my memory is a bit fuzzy.

i struggle deeply with my mental health and have been hospitalized twice over it. things have been thankfully looking up since my second hospitalization but i still have days/moments where the world feels like it's crumbling.

just looking to see if you'd be comfortable writing poly!marauders comforting a reader who might've been recently hospitalized or has trouble adjusting to life after deciding to work on taking care of herself. (for example, getting into regular daily routine like eating/basic hygiene is so weird after ignoring it for so long !)

maybe some crying and just fluff. your poly!marauders is really so special to me and i hold it close to my heart.

no worries if you're not comfortable writing this :)

xoxo

Thank you for your request angel <3

cw: the circumstances are vague but its implied that reader has trouble taking care of herself, some insecurity around self-sufficiency and around poor hygiene

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

It’s rare for you and James to be the last out of bed. In fairness, you think he’s only here to entice you out. James has already gone and come back, with strawberries which Remus is using to make you all muffins. He’s mincing and measuring and mixing laboriously in your kitchen. Sirius loves you all more than he pretends, because he dragged himself out of bed at the thought that Remus might be lonely, and now you can hear the low sounds of their lovesick murmuring from down the hall. James took off his clothes to get back under the covers with you and seems to be sneakily trying to tickle you awake with his mouth underneath your jaw. You refuse to open your eyes. 

“You’re so awake,” says James. 

“I’m not.�� 

“You’re so, so awake.” He buzzes his lips against your skin. You have to bite down on your lower lip. “And you’re laughing.” 

“I am not.” 

“You want to.” James kisses the spot before ending your torment, pressing a kiss to your lips as well. “What’re you thinking about, lovely?” 

You hum, contemplative. “I’m thinking that we need to get Remus a proper mixer.” 

“We really do.” He rests his face in your neck again. “I do like watching him stir, though. It makes his forearms look really…well, you know.” 

“That’s not a good enough reason to force labor on him,” you say, though you do know and are selfishly inclined to agree. 

“No, you’re right,” James sighs. It fans warmly over your skin. “Hey, can I ask you something without it being, like, a thing?” 

Your eyes open now, though you can’t really see him where he’s tucked beneath your chin. “Yeah,” you say cautiously. 

“It’s not a big deal. I just don’t want you to be embarrassed. It’s not embarrassing, but I don’t want you to think that I think it is, if that makes sense.” 

“Okay…” 

“I think you’re lovely, you know that, right? So, it doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not a criticism.” James is rambling now, nervously, and you’re growing nervous along with him. “I just don’t want to keep things from you, because, well, sometimes you have to ask people you love strange things, you know? But that doesn’t make them mean anything more than they really do.” 

“James,” you cut him off. You feel him stop breathing, a stillness beside your neck. “What is it?” 

“Okay, sorry.” He presses a soft kiss to your skin. “I’m just wondering, have you showered lately?” 

It takes you a second. Half of one, really, and then you’re covering your face with your hands, turning away from your boyfriend in mortification. 

“Hey, hey.” James wraps a hand around your hip, keeping you close. “Angel, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Oh my god,” you moan into your hands. Your face feels roaring hot. “I just—I forgot. Like, I forgot I even have to.” 

“I know, lovely. It’s a lot to keep track of, yeah? It is, and that’s why I thought I’d mention it to you. Not because it’s a problem, just because I thought you might not have remembered.” 

It’s not a lot to keep track of, though. It shouldn’t be. Your boyfriends cope with it all just fine, eating and washing themselves and exercising and managing to keep tabs on you on top of all of it. You don’t understand why it seems so much harder for you than for everyone else. 

James can tell you’re about to cry. He makes a soft, doting noise, hugging you as best he can and pressing his cheek to where your hand covers your face.

“It’s okay,” he promises you. “It really is.”

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize. What do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I must smell.” 

“You don’t—” James starts to laugh, choking it off quickly. “You don’t smell. I didn’t ask you because you smell, I just asked because I realized I didn’t think I remembered you showering the last few days. You’re fine, okay, look.” 

Though you can’t see him, you’re aware of movement, and suddenly very aware that James’ face is in your armpit. It’s brief, no more than the time it takes your body to seize up in horror, and then he’s back above you. Your hands have fallen away from your face in shock. 

“Yeah,” he says definitively, “you’re good.” 

“James!” Your tone wavers between dismay and a delighted sort of fondness, which is a decent measure of the rest of you. 

“You’re fine, my love,” he says, and there’s nothing wavering about James’ earnestness. He rubs up and down your side lovingly. “It doesn’t matter. Please don’t be upset, okay?”

You’re still blinking up at him, trying to get your emotions in order, when Sirius comes trudging down the hall. He has a throw from the sitting room around his shoulders and a telling bit of strawberry muffin batter smeared on the side of his nose. 

“James, if you want orange juice, you’re going to have to squeeze it yourself, because—” He falters as he enters, taking in your wet eyes and James’ conciliating hand on your middle. “What’s wrong? What’ve you done to her?” 

The last part is said in jest—it’s usually a safe assumption that James is the last person who would upset any of you—but your boyfriend’s expression turns so terribly guilty that Sirius looks like he regrets the joke. He squeezes James’ arm as he clambers onto the bed with you two, a furrow between his brows. 

“What?” he asks again. 

You sigh and decide to make light of it. “I stink.” 

Sirius’ frown worsens at this. Then, quick as anything, he casually bends and sticks his nose in your armpit, sniffing. You feel your eyes pop. 

“No, you don’t,” he says. 

“What is with you two?”

“Why would you think that you stink?” Sirius asks. His forefinger brushes underneath your lashes, collecting the lingering moisture like he just can’t abide it. “Not that I would mind if you did, of course, but it’s an odd thing to fixate on with no evidence.” 

“I told her she doesn’t,” James says, slumping down onto your chest. He seems happy to share in the labor explaining this to you. “It’s only been a little while since she showered, but now she’s worried she’s disgusting.” 

“Why would you wonder if I’d showered if I didn’t smell?” you ask. 

“Oh.” Sirius nods, as though this now all makes sense. “Because he’s obsessed with you, obviously. We all are. You think I don’t know how many times this week James has been to the gym?” 

James’ eyebrows lift. “Now, why are you keeping track of that?” 

But you only frown, because, actually, you knew that too. But that’s not difficult to keep track of. It’s always plain when you get up in the morning and there’s a half-finished protein shake on the counter, James’ bag missing from its spot by the door. 

“Or are you trying to tell me you don’t know how far Remus is through his puzzle?” 

You shake your head. “It’s on the coffee table, I can see it.” 

“Right,” says Sirius, “but we notice those things because we love them. So James didn’t have to smell you to know you hadn’t showered. He just noticed.”

Your gaze slinks back to James, shame a worm eating away at your middle. “I’m sorry that you notice and I don’t.” 

“Sweetheart, you only forgot,” James says gently. “I don’t mind. You’re doing your best, yeah?” 

You worry your lip. It doesn’t seem like it can be your best, if everyone else manages it as their baseline. Sirius tsks and takes your hand, tugging you up and James with you. 

“You are.” He mushes a kiss to your temple as he drags you out of bed. “I can tell. We all slip up sometimes, baby, it’s fine. There’s no sense in agonizing over it. Come have breakfast.” 

The smell wafting from the kitchen is warm and sweet. Remus’ muffins are still in the oven, and he allows James to kiss him good morning only thrice before begging off and letting the James stay with his arms around his middle. 

“Are they tormenting you?” Remus murmurs, plainly amused by James’ uncharacteristic pouting.

“Yes.” James hugs Remus tighter, nuzzling his throat with entirely characteristic clinginess. “Save me from them, please.” 

“He tormented her first,” says Sirius. 

“I didn’t mean to,” James laments. 

Remus clicks his tongue, still holding James but looking to you. You shrug. “He delivered a hard truth,” you say, “but they both stuck their faces in my armpits, which was worse than anything.” 

“Oh.” Remus appears appropriately thrown by this information. “Yeah, that’s…why?” 

“Shut up, you liked it.” Sirius squeezes you meanly. “Don’t listen to her, Moony. I’d sniff your armpit, too.”  

“I’m alright,” Remus says cautiously. “I don’t really see why you would have to, either?” 

“Circumstances arise,” James mumbles into his front. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

[lovesickletters]

💜ℬℯ𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒞𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℋℯ𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃ℴ𝓃𝓈💜

Shadow Milk Cookie

Shadow Milk somehow manages to look like one of the impossible feats of architecture that encircles his spire when he’s wrapped around you, his sprawling limbs entwined amongst your own in a puzzling fashion that makes it difficult to tell where he ends and you begin with a coil as tight as a snake’s. If you feel the urge to get up to grab a drink or stretch your limbs it’s better to just curl up and die. Despite his death grip on you he’s very giggly, and will turn his head to impossible angles just to whisper silly things into your ear to try and make you laugh. A successful twitch of the lips will have him grinning like a Cheshire Cat for the rest of the session.

Burning Spice Cookie

This goes without saying, but so so warm. He runs hot enough to keep you toasty in a blizzard, and warm enough to leave you sweating in any other kind of weather. It’s not easy to cool him off either, he just gets so fired-up around you. Best to keep a fan on while you two are cuddling if you don’t want to overheat instantly. He’s especially handsy too, can’t resist groping and touching as much of you as his hands can reach, and won’t even attempt looking sorry about it if you tell him off.

Eternal Sugar Cookie

If Shadow Milk is difficult to pry free from, then getting away from Eternal Sugar is a momentous task that shouldn’t be attempted by the faint of heart. She’s gentle, and careful not to make you uncomfortable, but any attempt to pull away or tug yourself free is met with a manacle-like grasp and a pout that is not easily rectified unless you agree to stay for longer. Further attempts to pry her off will be met with a light dose of guilt-tripping and threats, by which point you’re better off staying put and letting her nuzzle into your neck, her wings curled around the two of you, honeyed words of affection dripping into your ears.

Mystic Flour Cookie

I’m not convinced she’s capable of lying down at a full 90° angle, but she would be happy to let you rest your head in her lap, so long as you’re quiet and don’t fidget too much. She might even rest a hand on your head and trace patterns against your scalp as she meditates. Should you doze off she’ll continue holding you close, although she might find it harder to concentrate, seeing you so peaceful and vulnerable like that in her lap. Such a dear, sweet thing you are to her.

[redlinespeedster]

how about charlos x driver!reader

I am a slut for both 🫠

OVERTAKE !! ☆

carlos sainz 𝒙 fem!driver reader 𝒙 charles leclerc

[summary] The world of motorsport is shaken by the shocking news: Carlos Sainz has been fired from Ferrari under circumstances many consider unfair. And to make matters worse, his replacement is you—a rising talent, sure, but still a rookie. The news couldn’t hit the Spaniard harder. Suddenly, a newcomer he barely knows is taking everything from him: his seat, his friends, his recognition… and worst of all Charles. Carlos isn’t about to just sit back and watch it happen. (7k)

[warnings] Smut !! threesome, toxic & jealous behavior, dom!carlos, switch!charles, sub!reader, m/m action, rough sex, dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (fem receiving), hand job, this is filthy as fuck. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes.

[notes] At first, I was like “just a simple one shot,” but then I thought—why not turn it into my 100 followers celebration? You already know this account lives and breathes Charlos, so sit back and enjoy. ❤️

The news that Carlos Sainz will leave Ferrari in the 2025 season completely shook the world of motorsport. It was an unexpected blow. Sainz himself admitted to feeling betrayed: he was ready to renew for another year with the Scuderia, and suddenly, he was out. As if he were worth nothing.

But it didn’t take long before it was announced that you would be the one to replace the Spaniard. It almost felt ironic to him: a rookie, also considered a rising star in motorsport, was now joining the biggest team in Formula 1. Although, when you really think about it, it’s not that surprising — something very similar happened with Charles. The Italian team now sees the possibility of winning the Constructors’ Championship over McLaren closer than ever.

But not even then was when Carlos started to resent you. Well, yes — aside from all that, you were egocentric, you thought you could conquer the world, and you carried that same attitude onto the track. You spoke with a confidence meant to project a superiority that didn’t really exist. But not even that bothered him so much about you. In fact, he even found you attractive.

But he couldn’t help the way hatred began to grow inside him when he noticed that Leclerc also seemed attracted to you. It was true that the Monegasque had always been naturally flirty with everyone —something that had already sparked more than one fight in their relationship, fights that almost always ended up being settled in bed. But ever since he left Ferrari, everything changed. No more quick hookups in the drivers’ room, no more wet kisses stolen when no one was looking. Now he was just following you around like a dog… chasing after you —and your pussy. He couldn’t stand it. He felt like changing teams had practically made him cease to exist.

Charles had always had a weakness for pretty, feminine women. Being a woman in a male-dominated sport didn’t mean you couldn’t be as elegant and flirtatious as you wanted. And damn, you really were. Just watching you walk by was enough to leave more than one driver —and even the occasional engineer— sighing. Fuck, you could be so damn annoying.

Carlos would’ve preferred not to know that you and Charles were sleeping together. But it was almost obvious—the way you looked at each other, how he’d rest his hand on the small of your back, or how you laughed at every stupid thing he said. There was no need to even ask. He didn’t have to catch you in a compromising situation to understand what was going on.

Because it had been exactly the same with him.

Those green eyes, shamelessly flirty, were a trap he’d fallen into over and over again. He couldn’t forget the way Charles spoke to him in that soft voice, laced with double meanings, dropping sexual innuendos every other sentence just because he wanted to be pushed against a wall and fucked without hesitation. The way he’d hold his face in those nearly perfect hands, just to kiss him breathless. How he’d sit on his lap while signing a few caps, shamelessly grinding his ass against his erection, knowing exactly what he was doing. And now he wanted to pretend none of that had meant anything?

Carlos had been replaced in every way—at work, in the spotlight… and between Charles’s legs. Now it was you who rode him, who had him inside, who made him moan like he’d never been with anyone else. He couldn’t help but wonder just how tight your pussy had to be to turn him so fucking stupid for you. And the more he thought about it, the stronger the burning curiosity grew inside him to know what it felt like to be squeezed by you like that.

Maybe his anger comes out on track. His hands on the steering wheel don’t just drive — they force him to overthink everything that shouldn’t be in his head. Qualifying was a disaster, and the race was even worse. He just wanted to be faster… or for this damn nightmare to finally end.

He watches you from afar, driving that red single-seater that, in theory, should’ve been his this season. You’re fighting for third place while Carlos is dragging himself around the back of the field. At first, you notice how he won’t let you through. And that resistance costs you time. Too much time.

“Sainz is a fucking child,” you growl over the radio, fed up with the Spanish driver’s immature attitude — one that’s more like a spoiled, overly competitive kid.

But a single mistake behind the wheel can ruin an entire race, taking out multiple drivers. Carlos’s car collides with yours, sending you both spinning off track. There’s not much to be done: you both have to retire.

You’re frustrated. You’re fighting for a championship — you’re not here for decoration like he is. You knew that collision was intentional, that there was no sign it had been an accident, but the FIA didn’t see it that way.

“Fucking selfish idiot! What the hell is he doing?!” you scream furiously over the radio.

Unfortunately, that outburst earns you a penalty.

A dull anger starts to grow inside you after that incident and after spending hours locked up in the hospital. Over and over you kept repeating that you were fine, that it wasn’t a big deal, that it had just been a minor accident. But the nurse, visibly annoyed, had to remind you that you had crashed into a fence at 200 kilometers per hour.

Charles had been luckier than you. The Monegasque got another podium that season, this time behind the McLarens. And when he told you about it with that silly grin while you were alone, you were about to kill him out of rage. Because just because you slept together didn’t mean you were no longer rivals.

“Your boyfriend hit me,” you growl irritably, gritting your teeth. He barely smiles, with that cocky attitude that drives you crazy. “I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose.”

Your legs rested softly on his thighs while he placed a cold ice pack on your forehead. Although the pain wasn’t very intense, the strong impact had caused the skin around it to start swelling slightly.

“He’s not my boyfriend, but yeah, he probably did it on purpose,” he said, trying to downplay the severity of the Spanish guy’s toxic behavior, which was getting more and more obsessive. “He’s super dominant with me. And yeah, he’s jealous of you.”

“Thanks for telling me,” you say with a hint of sarcasm. “I noticed after he sent me to the hospital by crashing me into a fence at two hundred kilometers per hour.”

Charles laughs, moves the ice off your forehead, and pulls you toward him until you’re sitting on his lap. He gives you a slow kiss on the shoulder, over the fabric of your fireproof suit, and slides his hands down your waist cheekily. “It’s not such a big deal. Actually, I think you turn him on a little. But he won’t admit it… he’s stubborn as fuck.”

You open your eyes in surprise; deep down, you still couldn’t quite believe it. “Feels like he hates me right now,” you say honestly, smiling as you feel him planting wet kisses along your neck’s skin. You tilt your head a little, giving him more access.

Charles laughs against your neck, his warm breath brushing your skin as he leaves hickeys shamelessly, marking you as if you were his. You know you’ll have to cover each of those marks with makeup later because they’ll turn purple… but you love the idea of wearing them, of remembering how he devoured you with his mouth. “Maybe he hates you,” he murmurs with a dirty smile, licking right where it makes you shiver the most. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not dying to get between your legs.”

That sentence lingers in your mind for days. Even when you’re alone at home, already in Monaco, and then again in the paddock, with Charles on top of you as always. His hands grip your neck while he fucks you hard until you’re breathless. He doesn’t even know that in your mind it’s Carlos you’re thinking about, imagining what it would be like if he were in Charles’s place. Would he be rougher? Without a doubt. He would bury his cock with such force that you wouldn’t be able to speak or breathe, only feel how he completely dominates you.

Charles notices that you’re distracted, as if your body, feeling so much pleasure, is in the room with him, but your mind is somewhere else. “What’re you thinking about, mon cœur?” he asks you, slowing the intense rhythm with which he was fucking you.

Your cheeks blush with embarrassment; the image of the Spaniard appears again in your mind and Charles notices because you squeeze him harder than usual. “About Carlos.”

The pace that was slow before now stops completely. He’s not upset or annoyed, but rather curious. Of all the things he expected you might be thinking, that was the last. Because if you were thinking about his ex-lover while the two of you were having sex, it definitely couldn’t be anything sweet or innocent.

“About Carlos, huh?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Now he definitely has a lot of questions. “So, why were you thinking about him, amour?” So many days had passed that Charles had completely forgotten he told you he might be attracted to you.

He pulls back inside you so he can talk. Both of you remain aroused: he stays fully erect and you completely soaked. That doesn’t stop curiosity from being stronger, and him having to wait before continuing the action.

“I was thinkin’ about what you told me the other day, that maybe he’s into me. And I just can’t stop thinkin’ about it,” you confess slowly, not caring what he might think because he was open, at least in that regard. Charles, of course, understands the feeling, since he’s experienced it more times than he’d like to admit, and still can’t control his knees trembling every time Carlos breathes near him.

He always missed how good it felt when Carlos slid inside him, how everything fit perfectly, how his back arched, and how his tip touched all the right spots. Those were the memories that usually came back before sleeping, along with the ones he had with you.

“I never got why you two stopped seeing each other all those months,” you say, looking him in the eyes, while he slightly turns toward you to hold your gaze.

He’s silent for a moment, as if searching for the exact words, though he himself doesn’t seem fully sure.

“I guess… not being on the same team kinda pushed us apart. He stopped lookin’ for me, I stopped lookin’ for him. And then… you showed up.”

Your eyes shine, and the heat on your cheeks betrays more than you want. You wanted to think he wasn’t with you just because you were his teammate, though honestly, it wouldn’t be that strange. You were together all the time. If not recording some game for YouTube, you were reviewing strategies for the next race, sharing interviews, press conferences… any excuse was valid to keep you two close. And sometimes, very close. Alone.

Maybe that’s why you ended up tangled. It was inevitable.

You remember the first time was in China, after a race that had been an absolute disaster for both of you. The frustration burned inside and you needed to release it somehow. It was quick, impulsive. Hungry bodies searching for an escape route. And it worked so well that you repeated it. Over and over. Until it became a habit: a weekly need, whether at home or in some hotel room lost somewhere in the world.

Because you loved how he touched you. How he read your body without saying a word. The chemistry between you wasn’t casual, it was fire. And you, addicted to every spark.

You slowly slide until you’re curled up in Charles’s arms. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you firmly, gently pushing you against his chest, as if he needed to feel you close, as if your warmth could calm something inside him. He holds you silently, his lips brushing your hair, breathing deeply.

You want to speak. The words burn in your throat. You’ve never been one to keep your feelings inside, and this time won’t be an exception.

“I think he’s in love with you,” you whisper, not looking at him, your voice barely audible but loaded with meaning.

You can feel how his body reacts. He inhales deeply, his chest rising against your back. The silence that follows stretches, heavy, as Charles closes his eyes. He’s processing it, but doesn’t seem surprised. Deep down… he already knew.

“I know,” he admits calmly. “And I’m in love with you too.”

You sit up slowly, turning to look at him with eyes wide in surprise. But he doesn’t flinch; instead, he takes advantage of your closeness to run his fingers through your hair, caressing you with a tenderness that completely disarms you. As if that confession had been the most natural thing in the world.

You kiss him softly, your lips barely brushing his, as if inviting him to lose himself in you. He responds immediately, deepening the kiss with a slowness that sends shivers across your skin, taking his time to explore your mouth, to taste you, to touch you with every glide until you’re both intoxicated by one another. As if the world had stopped, even though in a few hours you’d have to be back on track for free practice.

And yet, even in the middle of that perfect moment, the memory of Carlos slips into Charles’s mind like a whisper from the past. As you close your eyes and settle against his chest, seeking a few minutes of rest, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if Carlos were there too. Not to take your place—but to share it. The three of you, tangled in a bed, wrapped in desire… or simply together, anywhere in the world. He lets himself drift into that fantasy for a few seconds more, until reality calls him back: the roar of the engines, the flash of cameras, the show waiting for you.

Carlos longed for things to go back to how they were. You were looking for something new. Charles wanted both the old and the new. And maybe that was a sign that all your pieces fit perfectly together.

The following weeks were a true display of dominance by McLaren over the rest of the teams and drivers. It’s fair to say that while everyone else was racing, they were simply flying. Only Max Verstappen still held onto a glimmer of hope of turning the situation around, although even for him it was becoming difficult to face the tyranny imposed by the British team.

And as if that weren’t enough, now in Monaco, Ferrari was starting to get back on its feet after several races plagued by disastrous results with their new car… which looked more like a coffee machine than a race car. Even you were getting frustrated that it wasn’t performing as expected.

You never talked about Carlos again between you, but that didn’t mean you stopped thinking about each other. No one could ignore the stolen glances in the paddock: you, looking for him; Charles, noticing how he looked at your hips when you walked by; and how Charles stared at his arms—and Carlos noticed.

Those almost adolescent behaviors had you all teetering on the edge of unbearable sexual tension. You didn’t speak—not you two and him—but that didn’t stop the looks from saying everything the words kept silent.

But Charles couldn’t hold out much longer. Months had passed without a single word exchanged, even though, in reality, nothing truly serious had happened between them. Maybe that’s why he made a decision that could be considered reckless… but sometimes, just sometimes, he missed even just talking to him. Before anything else, they had been friends. Or at least something like it.

“Rough weekend, huh?” he said, and his face immediately flushed, realizing how stupid the comment sounded. Of course it had been a tough weekend—Carlos had qualified near the back for his home race.

The Spaniard looked at him with mild disdain, and for a moment, Charles’ heart cracked a little. They were alone; he had no idea how Charles had ended up there. But now… were they supposed to coexist? After so many months of silence?

Charles seemed to be searching for something, as always. Because in the end, he always came crawling back to him, tail between his legs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Carlos asked the Monegasque firmly, leaning in just enough to invade his personal space. “Already bored of your new toy, or is that why you’re suddenly all nice and chatty?”

Charles flushed instantly, trying to ignore the phrase he had just used. He tried to regain control of the conversation, as if that could hide the heat creeping up his body.

“I just… I dunno, wanted to see how you were doing. We’ve been way too distant,” he murmured, not very convincingly.

Carlos let out a dry laugh and stepped closer, completely cornering him. His hands pressed against the wall on either side of Charles’ head. They were so close that Carlos’ breath brushed against his lips. Charles closed his eyes for a second, anticipating the inevitable, his body reacting before his mind; he remembered exactly what it felt like to have him like this—so close, so his.

“Whose damn fault is that?” Carlos murmured, raising an eyebrow with a slow smile, as if savoring the question.

He didn’t answer. His mind tangled in excuses and silences: was it the team, was it him? He didn’t know. And Carlos knew that. He watched him unravel before his eyes—and he loved it.

“That’s it, right?” Carlos leaned in a little more, his voice brushing against him like a whisper laced with sweet poison. “She’s got you so fucking gone you can’t even think straight anymore. Got you so fucking hard you can’t even see what’s right in front of you. You’re way too easy to mess with like this…”

Charles felt a wave of heat rush through his chest, rising forcefully until it lodged in his throat. Breathing became difficult; a slight dizziness washed over him, mingling with something dangerously close to arousal. Carlos’ gaze was fixed on his lips—intense, almost devouring—and Charles fought to ignore how shaky his hands had become, how sudden the shiver running down his body was.

“Not even blaming you, man…” Carlos murmured into his ear, wearing a grin that bordered on obscene as he watched goosebumps rise on Charles’ skin from his breath. “I mean, even I wanna know what it’s like to spread her open, sink in slow and feel her clench around me.”

Charles’ eyes opened, a slow smile forming on his lips. That look returned—the one that always appeared when he already had something in mind… or someone.

“Oh no… that face’s got trouble written all over it,” Carlos whispered, brushing his thumb slowly, deliberately across Charles’ lips. “Let me guess… that pretty little brain of yours just cooked up some idea, didn’t it?”

He nodded, parting his lips slightly, a soft breath escaping as he shivered under the touch.

“Maybe…” he murmured, voice deep and playful. Carlos looked at him like he already knew exactly what he was thinking.

It doesn’t even take you a day to uncover the Monegasque’s twisted plan. All it takes is seeing him grinning from ear to ear every time you go somewhere together—the truth gives itself away. He’s not exactly a master at hiding what goes on in that head of his, and you can tell by the way Carlos keeps throwing glances his way in the media pen, while both of them continue giving interviews after the race.

They weren’t even trying to hide it.

Suddenly, you pinch his arm, pulling him out of his bubble of fantasies and forcing all his attention on you. “Ow! What the hell’s your problem…?”

You don’t let him finish; you just flash him a mischievous smile, raising your brows in amusement. “My problem? No, babe, what’s yours? You’re looking at him like a total idiot. Spill it—what happened?”

“Nothing…” he replies, but he quickly gives up. It’s impossible to lie to you when you’re looking at him like that, with eyes that clearly don’t believe a word he says. “Okay, fine… yeah. But I can’t tell you here.”

Now you’re even more confused. You don’t get the secrecy. Was it really that hard to just say “we fucked”? Because that’s exactly what you were starting to suspect happened. And the worst part? The thought gave you a sharp pang of jealousy. Though you weren’t sure if it was because of Carlos… or Charles.

But it’s the Spaniard who approaches you, leaving you nearly breathless with how calmly and deliberately he moves. To anyone else, it just looks like a casual conversation between three people. Who would suspect something else was brewing in the middle of that seemingly innocent gathering?

“Didn’t your boyfriend tell you already?” he asks, shamelessly slinging an arm around your shoulders. Your cheeks instantly flush red with embarrassment. You’re about to blurt out, “he’s not my boyfriend, for fuck’s sake,” but you hold your tongue, deciding to let him talk. “You didn’t tell her, babe?”

“I was gonna!” Charles replies, rolling his eyes with a crooked little smirk, clearly amused by your confusion. “Carlos and I were thinking—”

“No, just you. You were the one thinking with that dirty brain of yours,” Carlos cuts in, arms crossed—though the gleam in his eyes betrays the fact that he’s not nearly as annoyed as he pretends to be.

It was maddening. Not only did you have no clue what they were talking about, but they seemed to enjoy the game—keeping you out, speaking in half sentences. Like you weren’t even there. Like they found it amusing to see you lost.

“Oh my god, let me talk, will you?” Charles snaps, clearly impatient, though his tone stays more playful than serious. He shoots Carlos a quick glance, then looks back at you. “Carlos and I wanted to…”

But he doesn’t finish the sentence.

It’s Carlos who breaks the silence, his voice firm and almost indifferent. He looks you straight in the eyes, without a hint of nerves or regret, as if it were no big deal.

“We wanted to have a threesome.”

“Oh…” The air gets stuck in your lungs. For a moment, you’re not sure you heard right. Your mind tries to process it, but Carlos’ dry, straightforward tone leaves no room for doubt. He meant it. And the worst part? Neither of them looks the slightest bit sorry.

“‘Oh’? That’s your answer, amor? C’mon—yes or no, spit it out,” he murmurs with a teasing tone that sends shivers down your spine and sparks a flicker of desire inside you.

Your cheeks burn a deep red as you answer, voice firm yet shaky,

“Yeah…”

Carlos smirks wickedly and, with fingers both gentle and deliberate, lifts your chin to lock eyes with you, gaze blazing.

“Buena chica.”

Then he steps away like nothing happened—like he didn’t just leave you with trembling legs, a racing heart, and heat pooling between your thighs, imagining every detail of what had just happened… and what could come next.

They were you and him, as always, in that hotel room somewhere. This time, in Canada. For the last thirty minutes, he had been fingering you without stopping. His words were harsh, full of desire and provocation. He had you on the bed, legs spread, his fingers buried deep inside your pussy, making every touch burn you from within. And you only thought about how long it would take Carlos to arrive to give you the second part of this warm-up that had you on the edge.

“You two can’t even go ten minutes without touching each other, right?” The voice interrupts the moment. You. Because Charles doesn’t even flinch. You open your eyes and see him standing there in front of you, arms crossed, with a look that’s part amused, part annoyed. “Relax, he gave me a card to get in.”

Charles smiles like it’s nothing, not stopping his rhythm. The most disconcerting thing is that he keeps fingering you with the same calmness he uses to speak. He has three fingers inside you, completely soaked, sliding with a precision that makes you arch your back. He moves them with total control: pushing in, twisting, pulling out, then pushing deeper again, hitting exactly where he knows it unravels you.

“How inconvenient,” he murmurs with that deep voice that heats your body. “You should’ve arrived more than half an hour ago. We couldn’t keep waiting…”

Your breathing goes wild; orgasm is dangerously close. Waves of pleasure flow through you nonstop, making you arch your back while broken moans escape your lips. You don’t even care anymore about being half-naked in front of Carlos. And clearly, he doesn’t either.

He watches you calmly, as if he has all the time in the world to admire you. Your legs open, your clothes a mess, your breasts barely covered. You are pure chaos, and yet, you look perfect like that: soaked, trembling, exposed.

“If you want her to cum… touch her clit,” Carlos says as he sits next to Charles on the bed, shamelessly watching his fingers firmly entering and exiting you. “It’ll be easier. She’s probably so swollen she barely needs a touch.”

It feels strange how they talk about you out loud, like you’re a thing. Not invisible… but not quite human either. Like you’re just there to be used, admired, pushed to the limit.

“I know,” Charles replies, not taking his eyes off your face. Then he pulls his three fingers out all at once, slow as they come out, wet, shining from how soaked you are. The emptiness shakes you immediately; you feel your body instinctively contract, searching for what’s no longer there. “I just wanted her to last a little longer.”

Carlos firmly grabs Charles’s wrist and guides his fingers to his mouth, without asking, without hesitation. He opens his lips and wraps them around each finger with his tongue, licking slowly, savoring every wet trace they carry from you. He sucks shamelessly, wanting to extract every last drop of your taste, and when he releases them, he licks his lips with closed eyes and a clearly hungry expression.

You climb onto the bed on your knees, moving closer to them, completely surrendered. Charles reaches out urgently, stripping every piece of clothing still hanging from your body with a mix of anxiety and desire. Carlos doesn’t even help; he’s too focused on staring at your breasts. Your nipples, hard from excitement, hypnotize him. He didn’t need to check to know you were wet… but he would anyway. He wanted to dive into that heat, taste every drop, hear you moan with parted lips and trembling body.

He also wanted Charles to do it.

It’s Carlos’s hands that calmly slide down his clothes, removing them with the same familiarity he’s done so many times. His eyes are fixed on him as he undresses him, and his lips glide to his shoulders, leaving slow, almost possessive kisses.

Charles lets it happen, smiling with that disarming confidence, and meanwhile, he pulls your shirt off over your head, as if everything were perfectly synchronized.

You moan softly when his thumbs brush your nipples, teasing them until they harden. You stay sitting on the bed, legs spread, while they watch you from the edge, standing, devouring you with their eyes.

Carlos doesn’t take his eyes off you. They’re lit up, full of desire, although his lips still get lost on Charles’s neck. Until he kneels in front of you without saying a word, holding your hips and pushing you a little more toward the center of the bed. His face buries without hesitation between your thighs, kissing, licking, breathing you in, as if he needed to taste you to survive.

Charles moves behind you, his gaze just as fiery as Carlos’s. He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, settling you against him. His hands grip your thighs and spread them wider, leaving you completely exposed. He holds you there—open for Carlos—offering him the view of everything he’s about to devour.

“Fuck… you’ve got such a pretty pussy,” the Spaniard mutters, his tongue dragging slowly along the sides of your swollen folds, not slipping between them just yet. The way his breath hits you—hot and close—and the teasing swipe of his tongue has you moaning, already desperate for more.

Charles lowers his hand slowly, like he’s really enjoying every second. His fingers trace your soaked folds until you’re completely open. With two fingers shaped like a “V,” he gently parts your lips, showing your clit completely. “So pretty… and so damn wet,” he murmurs, rubbing it with his fingertip in slow circles, knowing exactly how to mess you up.

You’re a mess of moans. Your legs keep shaking as Carlos finally runs his tongue all over your pussy, from top to bottom, tasting you eagerly. He starts slow, enjoying every drop, every reaction from you. Then he circles your clit with his tongue, playing with it so perfectly it takes your breath away—right as Charles carefully pulls back the hood, exposing it even more with his fingertips.

You arch your back involuntarily, gasping, your head resting on Charles’s shoulder. Your moans spiral out of control, and that only seems to turn Carlos on even more. He’s completely hard, his cock pressing taut against the fabric of his pants as he strokes himself with one hand. With the other, he holds your thighs open, pushing his tongue deeper, seeking every sensitive spot inside you until you scream, unable to hold back.

The Monegasque catches you with a wild kiss, his tongue forcefully entering your mouth, as if he wants to possess you from there too, muffling your moans while the other devours you mercilessly, with his wet, hot tongue, desperate to make you tremble again.

Whether you come or not, tears are running down your cheeks from pure pleasure. They’re taking you so far that you don’t even know if you’re crying from how good it feels, from too much, or from something you can’t even put into words.

“Fuck… you’re so damn sensitive, mon amour,” Charles teases in your ear, his voice low and dripping with desire. Carlos looks up from between your legs, and you can see the satisfied shine in his eyes. He’s loving every single second.

“You and I both know you go crazy having a mouth between your legs,” he whispers from behind, brushing a strand of hair off your face with fake tenderness, as your head falls back, giving in on his shoulder. “And you know damn well how much we love eating you out for hours… until you break.”

His fingers close firmly around your nipples, twisting them, making you moan uncontrollably. Carlos doesn’t stop: his tongue moves mercilessly between your swollen folds, licking, sucking, pushing with the tip exactly where you need it most. He sends shivers through you with every movement, while Charles plays with your breasts, nibbling your neck, whispering dirty things in your ear.

The combination is brutal. Your body arches between them, trembling, moans escaping without restraint. You’re so close you can hardly think. The only thing that exists are their mouths, their hands, and that burning desire consuming you from within.

But before you could react, Carlos stopped completely. He left you hanging on the edge, burning, moans caught in your throat and your body trembling with unsatisfied desire. You fell against Charles’s chest, surrendered, sobbing, completely wrapped in the frustration of pleasure that never came.

They both laughed at you, mercilessly, enjoying seeing you like this: vulnerable, needy, desperate.

“Desperate slut,” Carlos murmured with a dirty smile before grabbing you firmly by the waist and spinning you around, placing you on your knees and hands, completely ready.

Your face was barely inches from Charles’ cock, so hard it throbbed in front of you, and so wet that a drop of pre-cum brushed your chin.

‘Fuck…’ he moaned, tracing the tip along your lips, marking them with his wetness, leaving a shiny trail on your chin. ‘I’ve been wanting to see you like this all week… on your knees, exactly where you belong.’

“I’ve been imagining how your pussy’s gonna feel for three months,” he growls, watching you shiver under his touch. “And if you squeeze like that with just your fingers… damn, I can’t wait to feel you all over.”

The younger of the two sinks all the way down your throat, making you choke out a moan. Your tongue moves desperately, licking every corner, while saliva gathers and drips down his cock, wet and shining. His hands tangle in your hair, gripping tightly to set the pace and take your mouth mercilessly. Your eyes fill with tears as you struggle to take it all in.

Behind you, the older one pushes his way between your soaked folds. He goes deep, and your walls wrap around him tightly, warm and narrow, swallowing every inch. You moan with ragged breath, but can barely make a sound with your mouth so full.

The image is so delicious that the Monegasque in front of you completely loses himself, entranced, and fucks your mouth with more hunger—faster, deeper.

“Guess she sucks it better than you, huh?” Carlos throws with a teasing grin, looking at Charles just to provoke him.

And as the words leave his mouth, he drives into you with savage force — so deep he slams right into that perfect, aching spot inside you with every thrust. The rhythm is relentless, merciless; you’re gasping for air, legs shaking uncontrollably, your whole body burning with heat. Moans catch in your throat, strangled and desperate, while flashes of white explode behind your eyelids.

Charles is just as far gone. His eyes stay locked on yours as his cock plunges into your mouth — wet, hungry, hot — fucking your mouth like he needs to consume you. He groans, shameless and rough, his sweat dripping from his forehead, veins bulging along his forearms as he holds you in place. His lips are parted, panting, completely at the mercy of your mouth.

And still, he laughs — low, breathless, like he’s got all the time in the world to ruin you.

“And guess what… you don’t fuck her like I do, mon amour.”

His tone is full of challenge, and it only makes everything burn hotter. Carlos thrusts harder, deeper, determined to prove the other wrong. He wants to show you that you’re no one else’s but his. And your body doesn’t fight it—clenching tight, trembling around him until it drains him completely.

You’re a mess. You cry, mouth full, as the orgasm shakes you so hard you feel like it’s breaking you from the inside. You can barely breathe, and amid that overwhelming pleasure, you feel Carlos coming inside you too, filling you up until his heat spills over your thighs.

Your cum mixes with Carlos’s inside you, filling you to the limit, so much that you start dripping uncontrollably. When Charles cum in your mouth as well, you do your best to swallow it all, though keeping your composure is hard. You’re completely wrecked, feeling used, surrendered, and consumed by both. You fall onto the mattress, your body trembling like a leaf, exhausted and vulnerable.

“What a beautiful mess,” Carlos says with a defiant smile. “So dirty and full.”

Carlos grabs Charles by the arm and pulls him firmly against his body. You turn around, lying on your back and still weak, while watching. Carlos lunges at Charles with a ravenous kiss, a tangle of tongues fighting for control, though it’s Carlos who dominates. His hands grip the Monegasque’s nape tightly, forcing him to surrender without protest.

The younger one pulls away, gasping with heavy breaths, but the other doesn’t let go of the back of his neck and pushes him hard between your legs, giving a clear order: to clean you up with his tongue.

He doesn’t stop. His tongue traces every inch of your open pussy, licking hungrily, seeking to erase every trace of cum, devouring you as if nothing else existed.

You’re so sensitive that tears spring to your eyes immediately, but that doesn’t stop him. His eyes, intense and beautiful, burn against your skin as they lock onto you with a mix of desire and fascination. His tongue cleans you up eagerly, exploring you and trying to soak up every corner. Carlos’s hand doesn’t leave his head, holding it gently while pressing it to sink even deeper.

The other hand slowly slid down to caress him, grazing his cock with a calculated slowness that made him feel tortured, unable to resist that sensation. “Keep going like that, baby…” he insisted in a firm voice, while a mix of desire and vulnerability made them feel on the verge of breaking, as if any movement could unleash everything.

“Carlos…” he moaned, his voice broken and heavy with desire, barely lifting his head while his mouth trembled, wet and eager. The slow pace was consuming him, like a torture that tore at his skin and set every nerve in his body on fire. His body screamed for intensity, for urgency, for a passion that slipped away with every passing second. “I can’t… keep like this… I need more…”

His hand quickens its movements, though only slightly. The scene amuses him: seeing him so desperate while you burn with need, longing to feel him between your thighs again. “You stop, I stop,” he warns in a firm voice, releasing him for just a second. “And you know I will.”

After that cruel threat, he buries his head against you with twice the force, driven by the certainty that his effort will be richly rewarded if he does it right. He feels you writhe beneath his weight, while your hand rests on Carlos’s; both press firmly, driving his head deeper and deeper against your pussy.

As he gives himself with force, Carlos responds with his hand, his movements faster and longer, tracing every inch. You feel the vibrations of Charles’s moans escaping between his lips, resonating against your skin, shaking you from within. That deep, low sound full of desire takes you straight to the edge, consuming you in an uncontrollable fire.

“That’s it, fuck. You take it so damn well… buen chico,” Carlos growls, his voice thick with desire as he watches his hand glide fast and firm along all of Charles’s cock. The heat under his palm, now soaked with precum, pulls a sly grin from him. He’s so close he can feel Charles’s shaky breath, the slight tremble in his thighs, and the wet, steady sound of his movements just turns him on even more.

He’s not the only one, because you can clearly feel your orgasm about to erupt on his tongue. Though focused on his own pleasure, he doesn’t lose rhythm or intensity; he licks you with ravenous precision, without pause, until you’re left completely dry and trembling.

And finally, you give in under his lips, surrendering completely. Your orgasm bursts against your stomach for the third time with an almost unfamiliar intensity — a wave that crashes through you and drags you under, leaving you completely wrecked, spent, and breathless, lying on the mattress that seems to hold every last sigh you let out.

With exhaustion still pulsing through your skin, you watch with sleepy eyes as the same thing happens to the Monegasque. He reaches his limit too, spilling into Carlos’s hand until he’s completely spent. Normally, his drive would push him to keep going, to stretch the moment a little longer, but this time fatigue wins. Carlos feels it right away, senses the subtle shift in his breathing, the looseness in his body. He gently turns, lying on his side to wrap his arms around him, pulling his vulnerable body close to his chest like he’s offering shelter and comfort.

He holds him with tenderness, whispering words of encouragement, telling him how well he did, his voice calm and full of admiration. That deep, quiet connection they shared seemed to form a world of its own — one that, for a moment, you felt you didn’t quite belong in.

Charles rests his head against Carlos’s chest, eyes closed, his face showing relief and comfort. The older one runs his fingers slowly through his hair, soft and careful, like he’s putting every piece of him back together. It was their silent after care ritual — a gesture full of care that spoke louder than a thousand words.

You, however, feel a wave of shyness and embarrassment rise in you, your cheeks flushing deep red. Being there, caught in the middle of something so intimate, makes you feel like an intruder — a misplaced detail in an otherwise perfect picture.

But then Carlos turns his gaze to you, and in his eyes you see something different — a warm, gentle smile that wraps around you without demand. He reaches out a hand and murmurs in a low, almost secretive voice, “Come here, cariño.” That simple invitation turns your blush into something softer — sweet and filled with emotion.

Without thinking twice, you let his free arm pull you in, resting your head on the open space of his chest, right beside Charles. The steady beat of his heart surrounds you with calm and safety, like a warm haven washing away any lingering fear or doubt. That mix of peace, tenderness, and connection settles into you — perfect and unrepeatable.

It was simply perfect.

[animeomegas]

Omega!Shikamaru x Alpha!Reader - The Little Octopus

Ask: Hello!! Could you write Shikamaru and their Alpha help their only pup make a nest? I think that would be so cute! Whether they go shopping together or maybe the pup gets a bit frustrated that it's not just right and something is off? Love your writing, have a good day/night!!!

Answer: Yes! Of course! This ask was super, super cute! I hope you like it!

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: None.

"This is dumb," Shikadai murmured, kicking at the floor. He looked tired as tired as you felt after an hour wandering around the nesting shop. "I want to go home."

Shikamaru looked just as tired as you, rolling his eyes as he dragged the still-empty floor basket behind him. "You're the one who wanted to come. And if we leave with nothing, I'm going to have to deal with your tantrum later. We aren't leaving until you pick something, so just do it."

Shikadai's lips pulled back into a snarl as he growled at his oma. Shikamaru didn't respond to the challenge, but he pinned his pup with an unimpressed look that only made the growling louder.

"Alright, alright," you soothed, running a hand over your son's head. His growl petered out as he turned to bury his face into your stomach. "That's enough, both of you."

Your poor baby had been struggling with the sudden onset of new emotions and instincts since he had turned twelve. He was a low maintenance child by temperament, but his nesting instincts had been making him irritable and territorial. And everytime you had taken him to buy nesting supplies, he had found nothing he liked, become frustrated, demanded to go home, and then inevitably been moody at his lack of nest, lashing out in every direction, but especially Shikamaru's, who had clearly reached the end of his rope.

It would probably help if Shikamaru had a nest Shikadai could use, but he was a minimal nester who didn't keep a permanent nest and was more than happy with a pillow and blanket thrown on the couch and a borrowed item of your clothing resting on his chest. Shikadai, for all that he was so very similar to his oma, clearly had much more particular tastes that he didn't know yet how to manage.

"Shikadai, we need to get you some nesting materials, even if it's just a few bits before we leave today, okay?" He whined and you shushed him again, scratching at the base of his head where his hair met the bare skin of his neck. "Shikamaru, stop being an asshole."

Shikadai giggled at the unexpected reprimand and your mate sent you an offended look.

"I'm not being-"

"Yes, yes you are," you cut him off, unimpressed. "You're his oma, you need to help him, not make this worse."

Shikamaru opened his mouth to argue, but you interrupted him once more.

"I'm not joking, Shikamaru."

The fight drained out of him at your serious look and a lot of the tension flowed out of his body with a sigh. He passed you the handle for the basket and crouched down beside Shikadai, who removed his head from your tummy when he felt his oma poke him on the back of the head. He bristled at the touch.

"Hey!"

Shikamaru ignored him, grabbing and holding the back of his neck and using the leverage to press both of their foreheads together. Shikadai quieted at the comforting gesture from his oma.

"Sorry," Shikamaru muttered. "Nesting stuff is complicated, okay, you aren't doing anything wrong. Everything you discard as wrong brings us closer to something that's right."

"But-"

"But nothing. You'll find something Shikadai, but no more growling, we're trying to help you."

Shikamaru squeezed where his hand still rested before he let go of Shikadai, who had suspiciously wet eyes and instead picked him up to hold in his arms. Your son laid his head on his oma's shoulder immediately.

"You're overtired, which is making everything worse, so don't worry about walking, we'll hand you stuff to try, and you focus on finding what you like, okay?"

"Okay, oma... sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

Potential crisis averted, you, Shikamaru, and Shikadai made your way around the store, slowly formulating a plan as you went by narrowing down your son's likes and dislikes as you went. It was certainly heavy on the dislikes, but every piece of information was welcome.

He didn't like wool. He didn't like silk. He actually recoiled at gauze-y fabrics. He wouldn't even touch any blanket that was too fluffy. And he appeared to despise anything with tassels or embroidered designs.

At least, as far as you could tell, he didn't seem to have colour preferences, which would certainly help if you ever managed to find a texture he could tolerate.

Unfortunately, Shikamaru's success at calming your pup down didn't last forever, and with every rejection, he was getting more and more frustrated.

"What about this one?" you said, handing him a small beige cushion. The cover was made of leather, something he hadn't tried yet.

He took the cushion in one hand, but you could immediately tell that it wasn't the right choice. His face fell and he dropped it back into your hands before burying his face in Shikamaru's neck.

"I hate this," he said, voice shaky. "I want to go home."

"I know you're stressed darling, but we're not going home until we've found at least one thing, that's the deal, Shikadai."

He growled and kicked out at you, but Shikamaru easily caught his leg.

"Do not kick your appa Shikadai," Shikamaru's voice was firm. He was a lax parent in pretty much every way, but you were still his obsession, and aggression towards you was not tolerated, even from his own pup. "If you do that again, I will double your chores list for a month."

Shikadai huffed, a weird petulant trilling noise escaping him before he buried his face even further into Shikamaru's shoulder.

You and Shikamaru exchanged exhausted looks over your pup's head. He had been the easiest toddler in existence and you seemed to be cashing in that karma for his pre-teen years.

You both continued walking, passing your way from cushions into cuddly toys. You stopped suddenly as your eyes landed on a little soft octopus toy. It was a warm peach colour, about the size of one of your hands, and much to your amusement, it had a little frown on it's face. You laughed softly and picked it up.

"Here Shikadai, this octopus is just as happy as you are to be here, you should be friends!"

He lifted his head up to scowl at you and then at the octopus toy in your hands.

"I'm twelve, not two."

"Aww, but he wants to be friends with you! I can tell," you teased, playfully running the octopus toy up his arm.

You expected him to push you away or provide you with some kind of damning pre-teen commentary on your teasing, but no such thing happened. Instead, the moment the toy made contact with his skin, Shikadai stiffened so abruptly that even Shikamaru startled. He stared at the toy like he'd never seen anything like it before.

You and Shikamaru exchanged an alarmed look, but before you could do anything, Shikadai snatched the octopus toy from your hand, clutched it to his chest, hid his face back in his oma's shoulder, and then dissolved into heavy, choking sobs.

Oh. Oh, your poor pup was struggling, wasn't he? Your heart melted at the sight. Shikamaru held onto your precious boy even tighter.

"Do you want the octopus, baby?" you said softly, rubbing at his back.

Shikadai nodded his head, but couldn't speak, any attempts at words drowned amongst the tears.

Shikamaru sighed in relief, "good, that's good, that's great Shikadai, good job. One thing is enough for today though, I think."

Shikadai was so grown up in so many ways, but it was moments like this that really highlighted how young he was. Letting him have a rest and some privacy was probably for the best.

"You're right, let's head home."

...

By the time you arrived at home, Shikadai was fast asleep in his oma's arms, the little octopus still clutched tightly to his chest. He hadn't let go of it for a second, even when the cashier had needed to scan it.

Shikamaru tucked him into his bed for a nap before returning downstairs to join you on the sofa. He collapsed on the cushions and then flopped sideways with a sigh, leaning his full weight on you. You shifted to accept him, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

"I thought this was supposed to get easier the older he got."

You snorted, "you wish. This was always going to happen. You don't remember being a moody teen?"

"I was not a moody teen."

"Lies!" You let out a surprised cackle, throwing your head back at the sheer audacity at making such a claim. "Lies and slander!"

"I was not!"

You laughed even harder as he glared up at you.

"Whatever you say, honey."

He huffed, clearly not willing to continue to argument as you laughed at him. You noticed the tips of his ears were pink.

The conversation fell into a lull for a few minutes as your laughter died down into nothing. Even then, the silence held as you each got lost in your own thoughts.

"You did good today," you commented idly, breaking the silence. "It was a bit of a rough start, but you redeemed it."

"Yeah..." Shikamaru said, sighing deeply. "It's been a rough few weeks at work and with him storming around the house and being a terror, I think I was starting to take my frustration out on him. I know I shouldn't do that... I won't do it again."

"You can apologise to him again after he wakes up. Besides, we only came away with a single cuddly toy, we'll be back in that nesting shop before long and you'll have a chance to do it right this time."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"Sorry," you laughed, not sorry at all. "I take it that you also don't want me reminding you that even after we get the materials, we'll still have to help him build the damn thing then?"

There was a beat of silence as your words sank in.

"I hate you so much," he groaned, burying his face in your neck, not unlike the way Shikadai had been buried in his just twenty minutes earlier.

"No, you don't."

"No..." he whispered, pressing a kiss to the skin just below your jaw. "I don't."

[darkangelsofmine]

Stay The Night.

Getting your girlfriend's attention proved to be difficult when you're competing with her videogames

"Fuck." Megan sighs as the defeat card flashes on her screen. Exasperated, she throws her head back, pushing gently on her gaming chair as she starts a new match again.

It's not often that she gets a day off like this and even it's more rare that she's not too tired to actually do anything. Rather than spending her free time outside, Megan opted for a more relaxing option. Playing Valorant all day.

Click.

The sound breaks her laser focus. She adjusts one of her headphones to hear better.

"Mei?"

She pries her eyes away from the screen for a second, a wide smile forming on her face, it was you. "Hi, baby," Her eyes land on your little outfit first— her band tshirt draped on your figure, almost engulfing you. It was too big, contrasting the cute frilly shorts that you wore, barely visible from under your shirt. The next thing she noticed was the plates on your hand, it was an assortment of different things; one with her favorite hainan chicken rice, the other containing fruits, and a can soda. "Is that for mee?"

You roll your eyes playfully, setting the plates on her table. "No, it's for my girlfriend, sorry."

"Is her name Megan Skiendiel, by any chance?" She's giggly, in her typical Megan fashion, bug eyes beaming at you.

"No way. How'd you know?"

Her hands naturally find themselves on your waist, "Just a hunch," she ends your little banter, tucking your soft locks in your ears, kissing your glossy lips. "Thank you, baby. You know I appreciate it."

"I have the perfect girl." The sudden seriousness in your girlfriend's voice makes you blush, it wasn't a big deal.

"It's just food, Mei. Nothing to fuss about, just thought you were hungry."

She scoffs at your insistence to downplay your actions. "Yes, food that my sweet girl got me." No one had ever brought her food in the midst of her gaming session, your thoughtfulness warmed her heart in ways that you couldn't even imagine. There was something so domestic about seeing you in her apartment, in her clothes, bring her food. "It means everything to me. Thank you, my love."

You could only nod, face warm from her affection. Subconsciously, you tilt your gaze to her eyes, knuckles gently adjusting her glasses up her nose bridge. You bite your lips at her temperament: so casual yet so sexy. Dark hoodie on with gray sweats— and oh, the glasses. You kiss Mei once more, manicured hands landing on her shoulders to perch yourself up.

"You look so good today."

You mumble through your kisses, her tongue managing to find its way in you without any resistance, your girlfriend was such a messy kisser.

Softly, you moaned into her mouth as she ran her ringed fingertips in your shirt, gliding across your skin as she groped your tits. You felt your knees buckle a bit, managing to catch yourself at the last second. Megan smirks at your little slip. "You think I look good?" How you wish you could wipe the cocky smirk off her face.

You could only dream of going further as her little Valo match starts up again and your girlfriends attention is back on the screen, only giving you a quick 'thank you' kiss on the cheeks for the food and going to back to her game.

You decide to stay for a little while, quietly cheering her on and feeding her some strawberries. Soon enough, you start getting a little sleepy and decided it was time to go, you rub her shoulders as a little form of goodbye, heading out the door.

9:30PM, 8 hours later

"Mei, c'mon, let's eat dinner now."

"Wait. After this."

You were getting a little annoyed. "You've told me that ten times already." It's been hours at this point and it's already well past dinner time. You didn't have a problem with your girlfriend spending some alone time doing her hobbies but you definitely did not stand for unhealthy habits.

"You need to rest your eyes, Mei. Let's eat dinner, it'll only take 30 minutes." You ask once more but it seems that your words fall on deafs ears as she doesn't even glance at you, full entranced at the screen.

"Wait, wait—" she signals at you, "fucking dumbass." She curses at her teammate for missing the shot. You sigh, taking the empty plates on her desk.

"Okay, I'll come back in 10 minutes." Your last straw was when you tap her shoulder gently, only for your hand to be swatted away cause it was 'distracting'

Okay. That's it.

You know damn well you didn't clear all your plans this weekend, drive an hour away from your apartment to hers, prepared your girlfriend lunch, made her dinner— only to be swatted away and ignored.

Megan doesn't even process her own actions, unaware of your sour mood, until she sees you start packing up your clothes and grabbing your car keys from her desk.

"What are you doing?" Megan asks, eyes glancing at your direction for a millisecond.

"Leaving."

"Leaving?—" Megan felt her brain short circuiting, finally lifting her hands off her keyboard. "What, why?"

"Why do you think?"

She glances at you then at the PC Screen. Fuck. She fucked up. She chews on her bottom lip nervously, tossing her headphones to the side as she tried to catch up to you. "Wait, wait— baby." She grabs your wrists, rings gently digging into your skin.

"What do you want?" You snap, wondering why she decided to pay attention to you now when she had spent all those previous hours on her computer.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry for not paying attention to you. I'm sorry for being mean—" Megan hangs her head down in shame, she towered your smaller frame but still managed to look like such a small puppy. She felt absolutely horrible for neglecting you all day when all you wanted to do was take care of her. "I swear, I'll stop playing. I'm done with it now, why don't we - why don't we eat dinner?"

"Just please don't go." She pleads, practically down on her knees, begging you.

You shake your head. "Mei, I don't know. It's fine. You can keep playing and there's already dinner downstairs. I'll come back tomorrow."

At this point, you're trying to keep your own temper in check. She rarely gets time off like this. You didn't exactly want to intrude on that, personal space is still good, which is why you decided to just go home for now.

Without a word, Megan picks you up on her shoulders, "Mei!" You gently hit her back, legs dangling as she held you up. It was those damn dancer muscles making her so strong. She clears out the shit on the table— her mouse, keyboard, plopping your body down in front of her.

The screen shows a mess on the map, she can see her teammates cursing her off for inactivity, but Megan doesn't care about anything anymore. "I'm sorry." She adjusts her sweats, her frame pinning you down so you can't go.

There's a deep frown on her face, clicking her tongue as her veiny hands brushed along your hips to carry your weight. It was only when she lifts your legs over her shoulders do you realize what was going on.

"Mei—" Megan quickly drowns your protests with her lips. She does it so well, knowing all your weak spots, hips grinding against the heat in between your legs. She coerces your lips open, slipping her tongue in gently. Cool fingertips slide down your abdomen, running between your wet cunt as your shorts are ripped off.

"I'll buy you a new one. Take you out shopping tomorrow." She whispers in between kisses, guess that's another thing she has to apologize for. "Let me show you how sorry I am."

Shamelessly, she licks her fingers covered in your slick, never losing eye contact. She knew her power over you. All of a sudden, the script is flipped against you, and now you're the one begging for her.

Megan kneels on the floor, messily eating your pussy before the main course began. Her lip combo is smeared on her chin, replaced with your juices instead, nose pressing against your abdomen as your hips move against her. "M-Mei!" You cry out, overstimulated, trying to push her face away.

A slap lands on your pussy and you whine. "Don't try to run away." Mei adjusts her glasses on her bridge, refusing to take them off even when she was nose deep in your pussy. You sniffle as she stands up, gathering your hair into a fist.

She tightens her grip on your scalp, forcing you go look up at her. "You're mine, you know that?"

You nod.

"Yeah, baby. Who's your daddy?" She chuckles, unable to keep up her serious facade, beaming at you, her whisker dimples peeking through.

"Mei," She chuckles at your breathy tone. "You're my daddy."

She releases your locks from her grip, now stroking a visible imprint in her gray sweats. A strap? — since when? It caught you off guard but it was just such a Megan thing to do. And Megan definitely catches the bewilderment in your eyes.

"Wasn't gonna end today without fucking you." She explains, eyes focused on your flushed pussy, all red from being slapped. So cute. She slips out the faux dick from her sweats, not even bothering to take them off, she preferred it like this. All she does is lift her hoodie to lessen the heat.

"Please." You whimper, flinching when the tip of 'her' dick rubs against your clit.

"Be patient, love." She clicks her tongue, lathering her cock with your juices first, going so far as sliding her fingers in mouth then using those same fingers to rub her cock to 'moisten it up'.

When she thinks you're ready, she runs her tip on your soaked hole, slipping it in. "Mhm, fuck. You're taking me so well." The way your pussy swallowed her strap made her wish she had a real dick to actually feel this. "So tight, baby."

Your pussy weeps against her cock, chest heaving heavily — she was fucking you stupid, pounding hard and deep inside your pussy, angling herself to hit your most sensitive spots everytime.

She kept her mouth busy with your tits, partially to keep her own moans in check. Making you feel good made her feel just as good, if not more.

"Daddy, daddy," you felt your mind going numb and all you can focus on is your pussy being pounded. You leave marks on her arms, having nowhere else to hold, you tug against her dark locks, pink bangs stuck to her forehead from sweat, her glasses now fogged up from the sweat. She was as much of a mess as you.

"You look so pretty like this," She breathes, admiring the red glow on your cheeks, your teary eyes. She could tell you were losing it, you were close.

"Mei, I'm gonna cum!"

"Cum for me, baby." She swallows your moans, pressing your legs fully to your tummy, fucking into you even deeper. You shake from under her, warm juices soaking the table. You couldn't keep yourself quiet anymore - moaning her name so loud that you were fully expecting a noise complaint from your neighbors in the morning.

Panting, you wrap your hands around her neck, kissing her with much intensity. She feels you hold back as you pepper kisses all over her neck, careful not to mark her up as she had on upcoming show this Tuesday. Even when you were mad (or maybe not anymore) you were still so attentive.

"Y'so sexy." You mumble, eyes getting that sleepy look.

But Megan wasn't tired, not one bit, her stamina at an all time high. Instead, she hoists you up on her lap, sat on her chair.

She doesn't give you a breather, carrying your body weight, bouncing your body on her cock cowgirl style. This time, she pays extra attention to your ass, making sure to mark it up with her handprints.

Her PC screen illuminates your fucked out expression and it only eggs her on to keep going. In fact, the neighbors should know her name, they should know that she was making her girl feed good. She was cocky like that.

"I love you, baby. Gonna make you cum til' we're all made up."

The next morning, 8:47 am

"Wake up, sleepyhead." You groan as you're woken up by the sun peaking through the blinds. You recognize Mei's voice, rubbing your legs gently.

"Goodmorningg."

"Morning." You croak, voice gone from all the screaming last night. You could barely open your eyes or even move at all. Your entire body was killing you. "I can't feel my legs. Mhm, something smells nice."

You finally open your eyes, greeted by the sight of your girlfriend smiling at you, a soft blush on her cheeks as she presents the little plate of breakfast she made. She knew she wasn't the best at cooking, even being rated as the worst cook in the group, but she at least trusted herself to make a simple sunny side up with bacon on the side.

"Made something for you as a collateral for last night. For your legs and.. everything. I'm sorry for how I acted last night." She continues, your mind honestly not even fully taking in what she was saying because of how touched you were. You weren't even mad anymore. You never really were.

"I didn't mean to act like a bitch and—"

"Mei," You cut her off with a gentle kiss on her lips. "Thank you. It's okay, all is forgiven. I understand. I was just worried for your health. You knew just how quick your girlfriend could spiral and you wanted to prevent that. "Thank you for the breakfast, baby."

Something tugs at your heart when she flashes those whisker dimples that you love so much. "Thanks, I worked hard on that. All for youu. Wait, let me feed you."

You naturally find yourself on her lap while she feeds you. "Such a privilege to be fed by the global popstar, Megan Skiendiel."

"It's nothing special since you're going to be a Skiendiel soon, too." You roll your eyes at her remark.

"Not with that gaming addiction of yours, I won't."

She gasps dramatically. "Heyy, I thought we were over that. Plus, you have to admit that I was really good. I'm like the Lebron of Valorant."

"Yes, Mei. You're exactly like the Lebron of Valorant."

You laugh at her strange choice of words - and you do so in a way that makes Megan's heart pound. To her, your laugh was the sweetest sound in the world. She never knew she could feel so tender.

One look at you and she knew this is where she belonged. She was going to spend the rest of the day making it up to you and spoiling you. (And cleaning up the mess left on her thousand dollar set up, probably replace her keyboard, but that comes later.)

On behalf of Megan coming out as Bi, I present to you all Gamer Megan💗 love my bi queen.

[whenstarsundress]

HEEELLLOOO THIS IS MY FIRST TIME REQUESTING. Can you make nsfw a jealous sylus punishing the reader in the bed. Choking her in his big c*ck hehe. I'm curious how sylus punishing s/o in the bed. Free to ignore this if you don't want this request. but if you want to make it 😻😻 heheh😻......Thaaank youuuu... (Sorry for grammar mistakes)

you were curled on the couch, legs draped over his lap, scrolling your phone with that smug little smile you knew would get you in trouble. “seriously, sylus,” you’d huffed earlier, playfully pushing his hand off your thigh, “you’re all bark lately. but no bite.”

he’d raised an eyebrow and said nothing. just leaned back, expression unreadable, but his jaw ticked. once.

“thought you were supposed to be dangerous,” you’d whispered in his ear with a giggle. “guess they overhyped you, huh?”

that was it.

now your knees were digging into the carpet, eyes watering, throat burning and sylus was watching you like a king punishing his favorite plaything.

“yeah?” he rasped, one hand buried in your hair, the other guiding his cock deeper between your lips. “still think i’m all bark and no bite, princess?”

you tried to respond, tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, and he shoved forward, hard. you choked around him, drool spilling past your lips. eyes fluttering, fingers clawing at his thighs, to hold on.

“you run that mouth all fucking day,” he growled lowly. “and now look at you. can’t say a word.”

you gagged again as his hips rolled forward, the fat head of his cock nudging the back of your throat. you couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t care. the way he grunted under his breath, the way his thighs tensed, was pure erotic cinema.

“look at you,” he muttered, hand cradling your jaw, tilting your head up so he could watch your wrecked expression. “so pretty like this. full of me. crying on my cock.”

you whimpered, tears streaking your cheeks as he fucked into your throat roughly and controlled. exactly the way he wanted it.

“you gonna behave now?” he asked. “or do i need to fuck the rest of the attitude out of you?”

you moaned around him desperately and clenched your thighs together. he pulled out enough to let you suck in a gasp, but not long enough to answer. because you didn’t need to. your mouth was already wide open again, begging with your tongue out.

sylus smiled dangerously. “thought so, angel. now take it.”

your throat was raw. eyes swollen. mouth dripping. he’d used you until you broke, until your pride cracked and all that bratty mouth of yours could do was whimper around his cock. you were still catching your breath when he scooped you up effortlessly and carried you to the bed.

“i’m not done with you yet, angel,” he whispered full of promises and sin.

you blinked at him, dazed. “sylus…”

he was already undressing you… no, he was ripping the clothes from your body, until you were nothing, but flushed skin and slick between your thighs. you reached for him. “i’m sorry, i—”

he climbed over you, caging your body beneath his. “too late for that.”

and then he folded you, legs up and knees pinned to your chest. his big hands holding your thighs wide apart, keeping you completely open for him.

the mating press.

you gasped, eyes flying wide as he pushed in deep. too deep.

your back arched off the mattress with a cry. “f-fuck! sylus—!”

“yeah?” he grunted, voice thick with arousal. “that too much for you now, baby? you were sure running your mouth earlier. what happened?”

you moaned helplessly. he thrust again, cruelly deep, until your cunt clenched around him like it didn’t know whether to run or beg for more. you clawed at his arms. “i—i can’t—”

“you will,” he growled, picking up the pace. “you want to act like a brat? then i’ll fuck you like one. ruin you so good you forget your own name.”

and he did. every thrust slammed into your sweet spot, deep and brutal. his pelvis flush against yours, his cock thick and relentless inside you.

you babbled his name, tears slipping from your lashes. “sylus, i—fuck, i feel so—full—”

“that’s ‘cause you are,” he rasped against your neck, biting down softly. “taking me so well. so fuckin’ good for me now.”

you tried to talk, but all that came out was broken sounds—whimpers, breathless cries, nonsense. and sylus loved it.

“aw,” he cooed darkly, hips snapping harder. “my perfect little brat finally shut up. look at you. dumb on my cock. you gonna come for me like this?”

you nodded fast, desperate for release. “please—need you—need to come—need you so bad—”

“you got me,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek as he ruined your body. “you always got me.”

he kissed you sloppily and possessive, and came inside you, cock twitching as your walls squeezed around him. you shattered under him, crying out as your orgasm rocked through you, wave after wave crashing down.

when it was over, he didn’t pull out. he stayed buried deep, holding you soft and close, stroking your hair like you hadn’t just been manhandled into oblivion.

“you okay, baby?” he murmured against your temple.

you nodded, barely conscious, face flushed and dewy. “i—i think you broke me.”

he chuckled, kissing your jaw. “serves you right.” he paused shortly and added, softly, “still my bratty good girl, though.”

I hope you enjoyed this 🫶🏼

… oh i just noticed you wrote jealous and i went for bratty… guess i have to write a jealous!sylus next. i apologize anon. please don’t be mad ☹️

[elysiasasuya]

Honesty in sickness

Characters : Megumi Fushiguro, father figure! Gojo Satoru and mother figure! Reader.

Summary : When Megumi was young, he met an obnoxiously loud man who approached him with an undeniable reassuring presence. At his apperance, his world stretched wider, no longer stuck at the world he was once in. Gojo Satoru. That's the one who stepped up when he was quietly in need of support. Not just his mentor, more of a father. Alongside him, was you, not just Satoru's wife, more of his mother. The young couple who stood with him.

Genre : ADORABLE FLUFF.

Content tags : Parental figure Gojo Satoru and reader, Familial affection between Megumi and you, romantic moments with Gojo Satoru, use of teasing words to Megumi (gumi, little gumi), Megumi is actually a teenager here, use of familial terms (dad, mom, papa, mama). Adorable fluff.

Word count : 1515

Author's note : this is a oneshot idea coming from anon! Make sure that you read the names and pronouns to know which one is speaking. I hope it is clear and not confusing however. Enjoy!

Megumi feels both hot and cold. Cold because of the shivers that ran down his whole body, his hair standing up at the uncontrollable temperature of his surroundings. That's why he's curled up in bed, seeking to be away from the cold. Hot because of the heat his body is emitting, due to the fact that his temperature struck up to 38C°. One touch is enough to burn you like a lava just touched you. That meant nothing to you though, you were nursing him– touching his skin so carelessly that he has to remind you the same reminder: “ Don't get too close, I'm sick. You might catch it. ”

Stubborn as you are, you smiled at him, wiping his sweat through the use of a clean damp towel. “ I've been nursing you since yesterday, I won't get sick. ” it was true. You haven't left at all, you stayed by his side, ready to assist him in any way you can. He says you didn't need to. He says he can do it himself and yet he remains rotten in bed, unmoving. Damn this sickness– is all he could think of. He is being a burden. He just hopes it will pass soon so you don't strain yourself too hard. “ I hope you recover, Gumi. ” amidst his thoughts, her hand finds his, squeezing it lightly. Oh, he prays for that. Right away even. So just he wouldn't be a burden.

Or maybe so he wouldn't have to endure the unbearable beam of energy Gojo Satoru carries. Here he comes. “ Yo, Gumi Gumi! Guess what your dad bought? ” and here is the exact person he dreaded to deal with. The same grin since yesterday is plastered on his lips as he approaches the bed, plopping right beside him, near you. “ Aww, the baby Gumi is sweaty and needs a shower. Good thing his mama is here. ” absolutely horrendous. Now this time it isn't because of the sickness, perhaps it is, of him that is. He might even consider getting sick just because of his constant teasing. His stress levels must be up there.

“ Satoru, really? You know Gumi doesn't like your teasing antics, playing house and all. ” you chuckled. Deep inside however, he knew that a feeling of happiness and warmth is already blooming in you. So for the sake of it, he tolerates Gojo Satoru. He lets him trespass and poke his tired and heavy body. He groans at him though when he literally just pushes him up, earning a smack from you. “ Be careful, can you? Oh gosh, sorry Gumi. ” again, the irritation leaves and he just nods at her. “ Damn, what favoritism. Here I am getting you the food you wanted and that's what I get? ” Satoru huffs.

“ That's enough for you two, Gumi has to eat now. I'll- ” hope swells up in his chest when he waits for what he most wanted to hear, you to feed him. Definitely not because he enjoys it, he does. but because that means Gojo wouldn't have to play airplanes in feeding him but oh well, poor luck. “ You can rest, wifey. I'll feed our Gumi Gumi. Poor baby needs to eat. ” this elicited a glare from him, about to finally send out a protest– once again cut off. “I know you stayed up late at night for Gumi, go on and rest. ” Satoru knew what he was doing when he used the final blow of reasoning, winking at Gumi knowingly. He cannot refuse now for you.

So here he is, sitting against the headboard, body still a little bit paralyzed. If it weren't for that poisonous curse, he wouldn't be here, getting fed by no other than his mentor. Truly, damn. “ Stop cursing me in your head will you? Get this airplane in your mouth, woosh here it comes! ” Satoru mimicked a plane landing towards the lane or not because he dodged, he cannot bear this. “ Oh no! The plane crashed now. ” Satoru laughs, almost letting out a huge snort when he ends up complying because the food actually did fall down. Just a few bits went onto the sheets though. “ Clean it up, I don't want her to clean this mess. ”

“ Go eat then. ” Satoru knew he would and he did. Minutes passed and Megumi was finally done. Finally, finally, no more Gojo Satoru. Just you who has come back from a nap it seems. You stretched out your arms there, sauntering to Satoru's side who gave you a forehead kiss. “ Successful landing, pilot? ” you teased and he let you. “ Very much, just for my pretty darling. ” Satoru mused, drowning in your scent as he pressed his lips on your neck. Great, now he has to see this unfold. Cough. Cough. Cough. “ Alright, I'll accompany Gumi now, get your ass going 'toru. ” you shake your head, keeping your laughter hidden because of the face of disgust Megumi was showing.

Now, the " finally " actually happened. It's just a comfortable silence. Softer. Better. Because you're here. “ I'm sorry about Satoru. He may be overbearing to you but let me tell you how he insists on visiting you daily despite busy missions. ” he feels himself go steady, voluntarily this time. His eyes focus better on your face, the light beside the bed illuminating the gentle expression it has. He knows that look. The look of love towards Satoru and him. He feels this warm feeling creeping up to his chest again. “ He actually rushes to finish curses just to buy you what you ate earlier. ” you shook your head, smiling even wider. The warmth he felt suffused even more.

“ Yeah. He's like that. I'm sorry if I'm irritable during moments like this. ” He acknowledged it, bowing his head low as a sign of reverence. He looks just like a dog filled with guilt. He knew that their energy levels don't match up, technically like what extroverts and introverts are like. But once again, he knew that his teasing was more than just for the sake of pissing him off, it was his care for him. “ Please don't tell him but as much as I am irritated with the teasing and noises, I am grateful for him. ” you, who was sitting on the seat stood up to lay down beside him. This act is for more intimacy and secrecy. A display of her trustworthiness. “ I won't tell him. So, you actually think that? ”

“ I would be ungrateful and spoiled if I didn't. He did take me in when me and Tsumiki were barely living with the lack of needs. ” his eyes cast themselves low, nostalgia and something tender swirling in his irises. “ I remember, it was also our first meeting. Kinda like we were having our first kids. ” you bit your lower lip, a cheeky smile of pride and joy hidden as to not cause him discomfort. “ It was, thank you.. ” a pause, silence. This time you felt the bed grow heavier and warmer so your eyes drift to check up on him. You were right, he's sleeping– “ Dad is a stubborn and joyous man. It's bad if I don't accept him and the contagious joy. ” your breath hitches.

“ Mom, thank you. You two. ” now silence again. The vastness of the room is nothing in comparison to the small space the two of you are in so you can confirm his asleep state. “ So shocked? He can be straightforward when he's sick and sleepy. ” Satoru emerges from the shadow of the door left ajar earlier. He dips beside you, admiring the huge smile on your lips. “ I didn't know he actually thought of us like that. ” you whispered, reaching out to hug him. It felt so domestic, so loving. “ It feels like a family huh? I know that's what you're thinking. ” he laughs softly and quietly.

“ I know, I know, we are, honey. You did well with Gumi's growth. Well done mama. ” you raised your head from his embrace immediately though and smirked. “ Why are you acting like he didn't acknowledge you first hm? You shy then, papa? ” now's your turn, a revenge for your little Gumi. Satoru froze then, his face flushed with a hint of smile forming on his mouth. “ He did. ” this time, it's not hot and cold for Megumi now. It's warm and nice. He fell asleep right after hearing it.

© @elysiasasuya 2025. © Ri (edits) © kodasworld (dividers) . Hearts, reblogs and shares are appreciated!

[applepiiex]

TASTE LIKE HOME ! ! ! 𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐.ᐟ

Nanami Kento x FTM! Reader— NSFW

There are just some days when your body upsets you. You don’t feel right, the skin is too tight, the shirt is too tight, the world is too tight. Those days are hard, and Nanami sees its toll on you. Good thing he makes it his mission to always remind you that he loves every. single. part of you. A/N: oral!reader receiving, terms of pussy and clit, unprotected PIV.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔

You toe off your shoes by the door, shoulders heavy with the kind of exhaustion that isn’t just physical. It’s bone-deep. A tiredness that follows you into the house, into your skin.

Nanami’s already in the kitchen. You hear the low simmer of something on the stove and the soft hum of his voice not singing, just… existing out loud, the way he does when he thinks no one’s home yet.

He turns at the sound of the door.

“Welcome back.”Warm, even, calm. His voice is the first thing today that hasn’t felt like pressure.

You try to smile, but it’s half-hearted.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late,” he says, as if the concept itself is ridiculous. “You’re home.”

That makes your throat catch, just a little. You drop your coat onto the back of a chair and step into the kitchen. Nanami’s already moving, ladling soup into bowls, slicing the last bit of green onion to garnish. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to the elbows, and his tie is loosened just enough to remind you he’s been off the clock a while.

“Rough day?” he asks, still not pressing.

You nod. You don’t want to get into it.

You sit in silence at the table while he sets everything down. He doesn’t force you to talk, he just eats beside you, calm and steady. When your hand shakes a little lifting the spoon, he pretends not to see. You know he does. That’s the thing about Nanami. He sees everything and chooses grace, every time.

Halfway through dinner, your voice slips out quieter than you mean. “I just didn’t feel good in my skin today.”

You don’t look up when you say it. You can’t. It feels silly, even though you know he’ll never treat it that way.

Nanami doesn’t respond right away. You hear the soft clink of his spoon against the bowl as he sets it down. Then the chair beside you slides back, and you feel the warmth of his hand on your thigh under the table.

“Thank you for telling me.”

That alone undoes you a little more than you expect. You blink fast. “You don’t have to say anything—”

“I know.” He squeezes your leg gently. “But I want you to hear me.”

You finally look up. His face is calm, but his eyes … god, his eyes. That soft, focused intensity you’ve only ever seen aimed at you. Like nothing else in the room matters.

“You’re mine,” he says, low and steady. “And I don’t love you despite anything. I love you entirely.”He waits. Watches you breathe through it. Then adds, softer, “Let me help.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t need to.

The rest of dinner is forgotten. The lights stay dim. His hand finds yours as you lead him to the bedroom, slowly, quietly, like neither of you want to startle the fragile comfort you’ve built in these last few minutes.

You sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, his fingers gentle as they undo the buttons of your shirt, not rushing, just letting you breathe into it. Letting you decide how far you want to go, how close you’ll let him.

You meet his eyes again. “I want you to touch me like I’m yours.”

His breath catches. His gaze darkens, not with lust, but with reverence.

“You are.”

His hands slide beneath your shirt, slow, practiced, asking without words. You nod, and he helps ease the fabric up and over your head, careful not to let it snag. You shiver at the shift in temperature, not from cold but from being seen.

Nanami doesn’t stare. He studies. His hands rest lightly on your sides, and then he leans in, pressing a warm, grounding kiss to your sternum.

And then lower to the edge of one scar.

You flinch. Not because it hurts. Just… it’s overwhelming. You feel everything. His lips pause, just barely brushing the tissue. He lifts his eyes to meet yours. “Still okay?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “Y-Yeah. Just… sensitive.”

His smile is small but sincere. “That’s okay.”

He kisses one scar again, softer. Reverent. Not skipping past it, not avoiding it. He lingers there like it’s holy. Then the other. Then just above, right beneath your collarbone, where his hands settle like he’s anchoring you to yourself.

And just like that, the dysphoria quiets. Not gone. But dulled by the weight of his love.

When he pulls back, your eyes are glassy, but your voice is steady. “Kento…”

He presses his forehead to yours. “Let me love you. Just like this.”

And you let him.

His mouth meets yours, gentle as a familiar rhythm is settle between your lips. Then, his mouth pulls back and kisses your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Down to the jugular nutch, your collarbones, and so on.

A soft whimper escapes your throat as Nanami kisses your scars again, then moves down your stomach. His fingers gently pulls your sweatpants down, leaving you in your boxers at his disposal.

“You okay?” He asks as you nods, running your hands through his blonde locks softly.

His mouth moves further down, kissing your thighs as one hand sneaks up to open your legs. You aid, spreading them as Nanami massages your thighs.

Kissing the inner thigh, Nanami begins to move closer and closer to your heat. Trembling, he meets yours eyes as you give a subtle nod, which he takes eagerly and begins kissing above your clothed groin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, the movement making you shiver a little. Your boxers damping, you push Nanami off so you can shuck the uncomfortably wet fabric off.

“So beautiful,” he repeats, using his fingers to spread your lips slowly, running them up and down your wetting lips.

Christ, no matter how many times he’s done this, you never get tired of his fingers.

“Can you look at me?” You whisper, the sounds of your breathing and the wetness gathering on Nanami’s fingers being the only sound in the bedroom.

Nanami doesn’t speak, just looks up to meet your eyes as his mouth locks onto your crotch.

You inhale, meeting his eyes as Nanami looks at you so lovingly as his mouth begins to kiss and lick you. Fingers now massaging your thighs once more, you whimper at the sensation.

Getting eaten out used to make you so nervous, so dysphoric. But with Nanami? It feels heavenly.

Another gasp is pulled out of you as a finger slips inside you. Long, it reaches that little spot inside you that Nanami knows all too well.

Gripping the sheets at your side, you choke out another moan as Nanami’s mouth moves up to lick your clit.

“Kento…” is murmured through your lips, looking back down at Nanami between your legs.

His finger is pumping inside you, hitting that spot right on as his eyes are closed, like your pussy is the only thing in the world. Like he’s drowning with it.

His tongue is flicking against your clit at an unpredictable rhythm that keeps you on your toes. The combination of the two, and the groan Nanami lets out, makes your thighs begin to tremble.

“Gosh…” you finally begin to find your breath as his pace picks up, eyes opening to meet yours. Hungry, he looks.

One hand lets go of your thighs, sneaking up your chest to push your back against the bed. Legs being hiked over his shoulders, he begins to move with a new found purpose.

“Ah! God— Kento!” You shout, taken aback by the sudden change in atmosphere.

He’s a man on a mission now, tasked with making your abdomen clench and back arch as you find your hands in his hair. Both trying to bring his face closer and push him away as you get overwhelmed, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head.

“Kento— I’m close—“ the words are torn from your throat as you feel his tongue move off your sensitive bud to slip inside you. One hand releasing your wrists as his thumb rubs your clit. Vigorously.

“Kento— Wait—“ you can help the moan that breaks your sentences. Coherent thoughts long gone as you feel your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Come on baby, you’re right there,” Kento murmurs into your pussy, the vibrations finally sending you over edge as you cum hard with a shout of his name. Hands moving to hold Nanami’s hair tightly, your body convulses as he licks you through your orgasm.

“Such a beautiful boy,” he says. Chin drenched as he licks his lips, he unzips his pants and pulls himself out.

Stroking himself for a few seconds, you try to catch your breath as you look up at him. His eyes are hooded with a desire that makes you shiver. Resting on your back, you close your eyes as you feel him slide up and down your slit, soaking his cock in your juices.

Some rummaging can be heard, so you sit up and tap at Nanami. Shaking your head, “I just want to feel you.”

The search of the condom is abandoned as Nanami kissing your forehead as he slips the head in.

“Christ…” he mumbles as he begins to push in, painfully slow to drag out the stretch. Hands going to your side as he uses the bed for leverage.

“You’re still so tight…” he says quietly into your ear. Finally bottoming out, your arms move to hold his shoulders as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. But that doesn’t fly. Nanami moves to push you back down on the bed, seeing you laying down and spread out for him.

“You’re stunning,” he says as he begins pulling in and out, angling his hips just so he can continue reaching that collection of nerves inside you.

“Mmm, so warm. So wet. So tight. Such a handsome man,” he purrs as he brings one of your arms up and begins kissing your palm, wrists, and fingers. He begins to worship your body, like it’s the most priceless piece of art in the world. Rocking his hips into a rhythm you know all too well, he draws out more whimpers from your lips.

“Kento—“ he cuts you off by dropping your hand and moving his thumb to trace slow painful circles are your clit.

As if you’re still not sensitive from your first orgasm just mere minutes ago.

“Wait— Kento baby— I’m still—“ you try to protest, but get cut off by another moan as he pushes the little bundle down.

“I know baby. But see how much I love your body? So perfect for me,” Kento rasped, before bringing your legs up to fold you into a mating press.

Now, his pubes are the ones brushing up your clit, the new feeling adding another layer of pleasure as the angle allows him to push further into you.

His balls slap against your ass, the sound of the flesh so vulgar, mixing in with the sweat and the gasps you let out.

“Ah— Ah— Ah—“ is the only sound you can make out. Nanami moves his hands right by your head, your own arms moving to hold onto his back. Nails dig into his skin, scratching down as you desperately try cling on to him.

He’s always been so good at this, it’s downright criminal.

“Feel good, baby?” He asks, voice rough as he picks up the pace, fucking into you like it’s his last mission.

You nod, whimpering as you cling on to him quicker. “Yes— God!— Yes, Kento. So good…”

He moves harder. Faster. His horribly skilled hand coming back between the two of you to rub that little bud again.

Your stomach begins to cramp, your eyes squeeze shut, your hands digger deeper into his back.

“Kento, I’m close—“ You can’t finish as he begins to kiss your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Coming up to mouth, he whispers right into your lips, “Come for me.” And by mighty you do.

Shaking as your jaw goes slack, his hand quickening against your clit, he feels you clench and tighten up as you orgasm violently.

“Kento!”

“Fuck—“ he moans right back, his orgasm rapidly approaching. Fucking you through your own finish as he approaches his, his hands come off your puffy pussy as he begins pounding you like it’s life or death. Snapping his hips violently, you’re a whimpering mess as he grunts above you.

“Inside, please,” is all you need to say as the groan is violently ripped from his throat as he freezes. You feel the warmth flood you, and Nanami’s hands give out as he lowers your legs.

You finally seem to catch enough air. Legs cramping up a little, but able to relax now that Nanami moved off to your side to hold you.

And he does. For a while.

You should get cleaned up, but right now, Nanami holds you like you’re the most precious thing on the planet.

[chaacakez]

“You Could’ve Just Asked.“

MDNI.

(f!reader)

The creak of the door was soft, but it was enough. He flinched. Frozen like a deer caught in headlights. Eyes wide, breath held. His hand was still between his thighs, slow strokes halted mid-motion. Moving his hand an inch away from his pre-cum slickened cock. You just blinked at him first.

You huffed and raised an eyebrow at the scene. Looking him up and down, Finding it quite pathetic already.

“Oh?” you hummed, leaning against the doorframe. Crossing your arms over your chest along with a small head tilt of disapproval, “You serious right now..?”

His face flushed immediately. A deep red rushed across his cheeks, down his neck. His other hand shot over himself, like he could hide the obvious mess between his legs. His boxers were tugged low, cock twitching, tip soaked, chest rising like he’d been at it a while already. Looking away from you in guilt by being caught in the act.

“I-It isn't-” he stammered, voice cracking like a boy caught doing something dirty (this time, he really was). “Wasn’t tryna—fuck—shit, I-I didn’t hear you come in…” He admitted in his quiet defeat.

Your eyebrows fell flat this time now, pushing yourself off of the door frame and stepping closer, slow. Methodically. “You didn’t even lock the door. Were you hopin’ I’d catch you?”

He whimpered. No denial. Shaking already under your gaze, shoulders trembling. Lips quivering.

“Aww,” you cooed in false pity, eyes dropping to his lap. “Been jerkin’ it this whole time? Could hear those lil’ whines from the hall, y’know.”

He curled in on himself, hand clenching the sheets. Smalling himself down in embarrassment of the truth. Legs shaking meanwhile his dick twitched again. He was so hard it looked painful.

“L-look, I-fuck, I didn't mean for you to see...-” His voice turned soft, almost teary as he looked at you pathetically. Eyes searching for yours in this moment for a sense of understanding for his actions. “I just… couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you… n’ your voice… n’ the way you talk to me…”

You snickered lowly continuing your way towards the bed as you sit on the beds edge. Leaning over to him, making sure you got real close to him. Hand resting beside his head on the bed. “So needy you couldn’t wait? Couldn’t just ask me like a good boy, hmm?”

He whimpered again, eyes glossy, lip trembling just a bit. You saw the way his thighs twitched together for a second, the way his cock bobbed. He was close already. Had probably edged himself while whispering your name right before you came in.

“N-no! I-I tried, I swear, I-fuck-...fuck, I got too worked up…”

You clicked your tongue and ran a finger down his stomach, light and teasing. His hips jumped at the light sensation. “Tsk. Such a mess. Look at you…”

You tilted your head at him. Looking down into his lap where his achingly hard cock was. Taking your hand and ran your fingers across his flushed tip. He gasped when your fingers brushed over the tip. So sensitive, he almost cried. His head falling back as an strangled high pitch moan fell from his lips. His body shivering on contact.

“Bet you’d beg if I told you to.” You jokingly teased as you laughed at his pathetic behavior right now. But you knew it was the truth. He'd always beg for your touch. Especially right now, only wanting nothing but for you to help him with something he was caught trying to fix himself.

“P-please!-please, baby-I-I’ll do whatever, just-fuck!-I need it so bad, c-can’t think straight!”

“Hmm.. Not sure if I should help a bad boy who touches himself like that without permission..” You continued the torture of running your fingers against his tip, dragging slowly across his slit. Leaking with beaded pre-cum. Spreading it around the head of his dick.

His face crumbled. A low whine left him. His head hanging low as he gripped the sheet and crumbled them in his hands. Huffing out apologies. “I’m sorry! I-I swear I won’t do it again! J-just… please, touch me… lemme cum…”

You lifted your head and looked at him before taking his pleas into consideration. Then sliding your hand further down his dick, wrapping your fingers around his base. He choked on a moan. Immediately bucked into your grip like he’d been starved. Back arching and voice hitching.

“Goodness..baby,” you muttered, feeling how he throbbed, how sticky he already was.. “were you really about to make yourself cum like this? Humpin’ your hand like a bitch in heat?”

He whined high in his throat. “M’not...I’m not a bitch-just-fuck-I just missed you, wanted you so bad-n’ I-I got so hard n’ couldn’t-!”

“Shh,” you breathed, hushing him, pumping him slowly, more deliberately. “You want me to take care of you now, baby?” "Is that what you want pretty boy..?"

He nodded fast at your offering. Voice sounding breathless. “Y-yeah, yeah, please-gimme, I-I’ll be good, promise, promise! Fuck-”

Your grip tightened a little on him, and he cried out. You gave a few quick pumps, then stopped. His hips jerked up.

“Wait-w-wait, why’d you stop-?!”

“Your about to cum without askin’," pointing out how more pre-cum leaked from his tips slit falling down his base onto your finger that was holding his base. You murmured, moving your hand to rubbing just under the crown of his tip. The sight made you tsk at him. “Now you gotta earn it, sweetheart.”

“I-I can! I-I will-I-I’ll do anything-!” He shot up as he started begging you again. Pleading with you not to stop. He was close so soon.

You smile at his pleas for you. You began working him again, this time faster, meaner, and his hips snapped up on instinct. “That’s it,” you breathed, “needy lil’ thing, just wanna get used, huh?” You huff.

He whimpered. His head fell back against the headboard. “Y-yeah, yeah, please, use me, fuck!-m’so close—!” He moans out as his hands gripped at anything beside him, hips squirming, unraveling under you as he's close to releasing.

“Already?” you teased. Your tone bored and unamused. Gazing at him lazily, with an eyebrow at him. “And I barely touched you.”

“Can’t-can’t hold it-been holdin’ it in so long-!” He trembled. Thighs clenched together. Breathing becoming shallower. Eyes tightly closed shut. Lip quivering. He was genuinely trying to hold on a little longer for you.

“Then cum for me.” You leaned in closer to him, moving to force him to look at you by using your other hand to cup, and squeeze his jaw between your fingers. His eyes shot open as he looked at you. Finally said the words he was waiting to hear.

And oh, he did.

Hard.

Violently.

He bucked his hips, cried out, body tensing and shaking as he came in thick, messy spurts all over your hand, his stomach, even up to his chest. But you didn’t stop. You kept going. Continuing to stroke him. His head falling from your hand as it fell back.

He screamed.

“N-no, nghh!-baby! T-too much! m'-s-sensitive-!” He cried and whined out to you. Legs shaking.

“You said you’d do anything,” you just whispered against his ear. Pumping him through the overstimulation. “One lil’ orgasm and you’re already whining?” You asked, hand pumping only faster.

He sobbed. Truly sobbed. Clutched the sheets and thrashed his hips. His legs shook. “F-fuck! Can’t-c-can’t! I-I’m gonna-g-gonna cum again-!”

And he did. Again. Body convulsing, thighs trembling, back arching in pure, sweet agony. Crying out more. Hands pressing further into the sheets. Voice reverberating throughout the room serval times over.

You didn’t let up. You enjoyed this reaction. It's the best you've seen yet, you didn't stop. You licked your lips.

Wanting him until his voice was hoarse, his cock twitching, and he was trembling right under your hands. wet, panting, drooling a little, lips parted, tears in the corners of his eyes. Teeth clenching together.

“That's a good boy....” you whispered, brushing your lips against his sweat-drenched cheek. Pressing a sweet kiss against it.

He smiled weakly, dazed, blissed-out, ruined. Panting out, “T-thank you…”

Izuku Midoriya,Armin Arlert, Tamaki Amajiki, Shinazugawa Genya, Kazuha, Yuuta Okkotsu, Zenitsu Agatsuma Tanjiro Kamado, Itadori Yuuji, Kazuha,Tighnari

THANK YA FOR ALMOST LIKE… 400 NOTES ON THE LAST ONE MY SWEETCAKES ILYYYYYYYYSM!!!!💋💞

so happeh right naow 🥹 it’s 2 am writing this hehehehehe…

reblogs, likes, comments, any of that stuff is always appreciated... ⋆.𐙚 ̊

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡

[demie90s]

MASTERLIST | MORE | Part 1

Pairing: UConn x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Your not officially dating anyone, but she acts like someone's girlfriend every practice. It starts as a joke... until someone catches feelings. Then another. Then another.

GENRE:Flirtation, team chaos, poly tension, slow-burn drama, light comedy

WARNINGS: Mild language, suggestive behavior, light possessiveness, jealousy (playful but real)

Word Count~ 2.4 k

I don’t say a word the next day. Don’t reference the flowers. Don’t mention the kiss. I sit in the locker room like nothing happened, hoodie half-on, leg bouncing, scrolling my phone like I didn’t have the whole team in emotional distress just twenty-four hours ago. Azzi won’t stop glancing over, and the rest of them? Silent. Watching. Waiting. KK’s already squinting like she knows I’m on bullshit. Jana hasn’t even taken off her headphones.

But me? I stretch. I yawn. I stand.

“Where Inês at?” I ask casually, knowing damn well she’s already in the gym.

Azzi’s head snaps up. Nika chokes on her water. Paige mutters, “Wait..what?.”

I don’t wait for commentary.

I stroll into the gym with my usual strut—unbothered, a little cocky, just enough bounce to make a scene without trying. Inês is mid-shot, brow furrowed, locked in. She doesn’t even see me at first. I stand behind her, watching her form, arms crossed, then finally tilt my head.

“Your arc’s better when you don’t overthink it,” I say low, just enough to make her jump slightly. She turns fast, and there it is—that wide-eyed, flustered look she always gives me like she hasn’t figured out how to build immunity yet.

“You scared me,” she breathes, laughing, nervous, adjusting her stance.

“Sorry, princesa,” I grin. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I step closer, barely in her space but enough. Just to get in her head. Just to see what happens. Her cheeks are already pink, but she holds her ground.

“Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?” I ask, eyes flicking from her mouth to her eyes. “Curious?”

She swallows, hard. She’s trying to act tough, but her hand tightens on the ball.

“You kissed Azzi.”

I smirk. “Did I?”

“She told me.”

“Did she say I meant it?”

Silence.

Then I lean in—slow, easy, same way I did with Azzi—but this time i don’t kiss her. Just act like it. I pull back with a small smirk after seeing her eyes widen. “It’s just flowers. Just a kiss. Means nothing… unless I wanted it to.”

And then I walk off. Again. I can feel the heat of her stare. And somewhere back in the hallway, the whole team is probably watching. But like I said: I didn’t choose anybody.

And I’m not gonna. Because I like women. And I’m having fun.

⸻

I walked into practice like nothing happened. No kiss. No locker room tension. No stolen glances from Azzi that lingered a little too long.

I breezed in, hoodie on, slides dragging, chewing gum like I didn’t leave the locker room yesterday with the entire team on edge and a smirk on my face. KK was already on the floor—early, focused, stretching like she had something to prove. Perfect.

I slid in next to her, dropped a pack of Tru Fru in her lap with zero explanation, and just nodded like it was owed.

She blinked at me, then back at the candy. “What’s this?”

I tilted my head. “You know what it is. I remembered you were mad I didn’t bring you any last week.”

Her face lit up, that little dimple showing as she tried not to act too hype—but KK? She was gone already. She leaned against me like we’d been locked in for months, not whatever weird limbo this actually was. And I let her. Rested my head on her shoulder like I belonged there. Played with the end of her braid while we watched the rest of the team file in.

I didn’t miss Azzi coming in behind them.

Didn’t miss the look she gave me either. The same one she gave those flowers sitting in her room right now. The same look that still held the ghost of yesterday’s kiss.

But I didn’t even flinch. Didn’t look her way. I laughed at something KK said and popped a Tru Fru in her mouth like it was just us in the gym.

Because this? This was a game now. They wanted me to choose—so I said, bet. Let’s see how far y’all wanna take it.

Nika kept staring from across the court. Paige looked like she was trying not to care, but the tight jaw said otherwise. Jana smirked every time I leaned closer to KK, like she knew I was stirring the pot on purpose. Because I was.

Scrimmage started and KK asked if I wanted to run on her team. I said of course, clapped her hand loud in front of everyone, and called her “baby” under my breath just loud enough for Azzi to hear. She stiffened.

Afterward, we all cooled off on the bleachers. KK stretched across the bench, feet in my lap, and I rubbed her calves like she was mine.

Azzi sat a few rows up, quiet, hoodie pulled low, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Paige finally broke the tension.

“So… you pickin’ her now?”

I looked up mid-bite of a protein bar. “Pickin’ who?”

She gestured between me and KK. “You know what I mean.”

I blinked like I was confused. “Ohhh. Y’all thought I was serious?”

KK turned toward me slowly. “Wait… so what is this then?”

I smiled and shrugged. “This is me being friendly.”

That was the moment. The moment the entire team realized I was unserious. Or worse—too serious in the wrong way.

Because I wasn’t choosing. I was watching. Testing. Seeing who cracked first. And they were all cracking.

The kiss with Azzi. The Tru Fru for KK. The lap sits. The hugs. The locker room tension. I’d been affectionate with all of them—but not consistent. Not committal.

Just enough to make each one wonder if they were special.Just enough to keep them in the game. And me?

I was having the time of my life.

———

I flirt. I kiss cheeks, drop pet names, buy snacks, steal hoodies, make girls blush, all that. Never said anything. So when they started catching feelings?

Not my fault. Still… today hit different.

It started at lunch. I had just sat down, headphones on, hoodie up, trying to eat in peace when Paige slid in across from me like she owned the bench. Didn’t even flinch. Just leaned forward, grabbed my drink, and took a long, disrespectful-ass sip. Her eyes never left mine. She wiped her mouth slow and said, “You gon’ stop me?”

I tilted my head. “You bold.”

She grinned. “Nah, I’m just done pretending.”

I chuckled, went back to eating like she wasn’t sitting there with my drink in her hand and her ego on ten. Then KK showed up.

No warning. No words. Just dropped into the seat next to me and slung one leg over mine like it was natural. Like I was her personal recliner. She handed me her Tru Fru like I was supposed to open it—so I did. No shame.

“Say please,” I muttered.

KK laughed and popped one in her mouth. “Say less. You cute when you do what I say.”

She leaned in close, mouth sticky sweet, voice low. “You pickin’ today or nah?”

I looked between the two of them and smiled. “Nah.”

Later, I dipped out early and went to class, just tryna get away. I walked fast. Hoodie up. Low profile. And then Inês popped up beside me like a ghost. She didn’t say shit. Just started walking so close our arms brushed with every step. Then her hand slipped into mine like it was nothing. No eye contact. No question. Just hers.

I slowed. Looked at her.

She met my stare and raised an eyebrow. “Say something.”

I didn’t. I just let her hold it.

Then gym time came around. I was early. Needed space. Music in. Ball in hand. And there’s Jana—already there, already shooting, already wearing my hoodie like she paid for it.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she called, not even turning. “You left it.”

She finally faced me, tugged the collar up, smirking. “I claimed it.”

I laughed. “You really think I care?”

She walked past, bumped my shoulder, and whispered, “I know you don’t. But they do.”

By the time practice ended, I had Paige hovering near my locker, KK waiting with her arms folded by the door, Inês watching me like a hawk from across the room, and Jana? She was on her phone—taking pictures. Of me.

I stretched my arms, cracked my neck, and grabbed my bag like none of them were there. My job wasn’t to choose. My job was to walk out and let them figure out who wanted it more.

They keep pushing. They keep showing up.

They keep claiming space like they forgot who taught them how to take it in the first place. I’m still the problem.

———

It’s getting bad. And I mean bad. I thought I was being chill today—sweatpants, messy bun, no lashes, hoodie damn near swallowing me whole. Just existing. I wasn’t even trying to be cute.

Didn’t matter.

I walked into the gym and Nika was already on one. She was sitting on the scorer’s table, sipping from my water bottle like it was hers, legs crossed, cool as hell. When she saw me, she nodded like, Finally.

“You’re late,” she said, hopping down. “I was about to get mad.”

I raised a brow. “You always mad.”

She grinned. “Only when I miss you.”

Nika slid my water bottle back into my bag like she was tucking in a secret and walked away. I barely made it to half-court before Aubrey snatched my attention. Literally. Homegirl grabbed my wrist mid-warmup and spun me around like she was in a rom-com.

“You really not gonna say hi to me today?” she asked, pout on full display.

I smirked. “I see you. You ain’t hard to miss.”

She let go—slowly—and then winked. “Just making sure you remember who been here.”

Ayanna wasn’t far behind. She didn’t say anything at first. Just bumped me with her hip mid-drill, hard enough to throw me off balance, then laughed when I caught myself. Loud, unbothered, Ayanna.

“Keep playing,” she said, pointing at me with her water bottle. “You gon’ find out.”

I licked my lips and chuckled. “You threatening me or flirting?”

She smiled. “Both.”

Ice? Oh, Ice was different. Real lowkey. Just coolin’ in the corner until I came to grab a towel. She passed it to me without looking, but when our fingers brushed, she locked eyes like she’d been waiting for that one second all day.

“You smell good,” she said.

I blinked. “It’s sweat.”

She shrugged. “Still.”

And then Caroline—Caroline had the nerve to act like she wasn’t pressed. Just leaning against the wall after practice, scrolling her phone, all nonchalant. Until I walked by. Then she reached out and fixed the drawstring on my sweatpants like it was bothering her.

“Loose,” she said. “Had to fix it.”

“Could’ve just told me.”

She smirked. “Didn’t want to ask.”

I walked away that time. Couldn’t even hold in the laugh. This whole team was ridiculous. Nika was texting me about where I was going after practice. Ayanna was playfully mean-mugging across the locker room. Aubrey was already halfway in my hoodie. Ice was watching me like I was art. Caroline? She caught me looking and just raised her brows, like, Yeah?

And then Paige walked in and saw all of them hovering.

Then smiled. Like, Game on.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, blew a kiss toward the room, and said, “Y’all have fun figuring this out.”

————

Ice cut me off in the hallway. “You good?” she asked, eyes soft like she actually cared. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem,” I said.

I made it to the locker room, hoping to shower in peace. But Nika was already waiting inside, sitting on the bench, drinking out of my water bottle like she owned it. “You mad at me or something?”

I looked at her. Dead in the face. “No, I’m mad at everyone.”

She blinked, confused. But I didn’t stop to explain. Aubrey whistled when I passed her. Ayanna smirked and asked where I was going. Caroline reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear like she hadn’t been giving me attitude for three days straight. KK said I looked tired and offered me Tru Fru like that was gonna fix it.

And that’s when I snapped. I dropped my bag so hard the strap popped.

“Back. Off. All of you.”

The room went still.

“No more flirting. No more touching. No more stupid ‘where you going’ texts or sitting on my lap like I’m Santa. I’m not your emotional support dom. I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not even your friend right now. I came here to play. You wanna make out, go do it with each other.”

They looked stunned. Genuinely. Nika opened her mouth to say something and I shut it down with a look.

“I’m not picking. Because I never wanted to play. You started the game. I just let it happen. But it ends now.” I walked out.

Didn’t even change. Just marched straight to Geno’s office in my damn slides and hoodie, heart racing. Knocked once. Walked in.

He looked up from whatever play sheet he was studying and raised an eyebrow. “You look like hell.”

“Yeah? It’s your team’s fault.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Talk.”

So I did. Told him everything. The flirting, the drama, the distractions, the way every time I blink, someone’s trying to get my attention. I didn’t snitch on names—I wasn’t messy. Just facts. I told him I couldn’t breathe without one of them trying to steal it.

Geno listened, nodded once, and then said, “So fix it.”

I blinked. “I just did.”

He chuckled, low and dry. “No—you vented. Fixing it means if they don’t listen, I bench them.”

I stared at him. He stared right back.

“Let me know who needs to sit,” he said. “I’ll take the heat.”

[callikari]

MOON RIVER ★ P.SH

PRECIS 。 two drifters off to see the world, there's such a crazy word to see. moon river, wider than a smile.

박성훈 x fem!reader 66O fluff angst soft romance ─ emotional intimacy comfort crying heavy emotions skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

the rooftop is warm with summer air, the stars blinking shyly above the quiet hum of the city.

the party downstairs is still going, but neither of you care. not when the sky looks like this. not when you’re beside each other like this. not when the night feels like a secret shared between two hearts that never really stopped beating for one another.

you sit next to sunghoon, shoulder to shoulder. his hoodie sleeves are pulled down over his hands like always, and he’s got that distant look again. the one that makes you ache a little.

you glance over at him. “what are you thinking about?”

he blinks slowly. then, “do you think there’s a version of us… somewhere out there, that never lost each other?”

your breath catches. “sunghoon…”

he doesn’t look at you.

you reach for his hand under the fabric, threading your fingers through. “i think there’s a version of us right now that’s still here. still trying.”

that’s when he finally turns.

his eyes are glassy. lower lashes wet. he tries to blink it away, but a tear slips down anyway.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “i don’t—i didn’t mean to ruin tonight—”

“hey,” you whisper, heart clenching. “you didn’t ruin anything.”

he shakes his head, but the tears come anyway—thick and quiet and heartbreaking. he hides his face in his hands like he’s ashamed of it.

you move closer instantly, gently pulling his hands away from his face. your thumbs stroke his knuckles as you cup his cheeks with both hands.

“sunghoon,” you say softly. “look at me, baby.”

his lashes flutter, red-rimmed eyes blinking up at you. and god, he looks so young like this. like a boy who’s been brave for too long. like someone who just needs to be held.

“i’m so tired,” he chokes out. “i don’t know why it hit me now. i just… i miss when things were easy. when it was just us. i—i wanted to protect this. protect you.”

you hush him gently, thumbs brushing his damp cheeks. “you don’t have to protect me from your feelings. you’re allowed to cry. you’re allowed to fall apart with me.”

he leans into your palms like they’re the only steady thing in his world. his lip trembles a little. “i hate crying in front of people.”

you smile softly, brushing a tear from under his eye. “i’m not people. i’m yours.”

his breath hitches at that, a broken little sound in the back of his throat.

so you scoot even closer, tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder. your arms wrap around him completely now, warm and tight, and you kiss the crown of his head once. then again. and again.

“you’re okay,” you whisper into his hair. “you’re safe. i’ve got you, baby. i’ll always have you.”

he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, but you don’t. you just keep rocking him gently, like the world outside doesn’t matter. like he’s your whole universe.

and in a way, he is.

after a while, the sobs slow down. the hiccups turn to quiet breathing. and his fingers curl into the hem of your shirt like a child clinging to something soft in the dark.

“thank you,” he whispers hoarsely.

you kiss his forehead this time. “anytime. always.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, face still puffy but calmer now. “you make everything feel okay.”

you grin. “that’s because we’re two drifters, remember? off to see the world.”

he sniffles. “moon river?”

you nod. “you and me.”

and he smiles, all teary-eyed and soft. “i love you.”

your hands slide back up to cradle his face again, and you kiss his nose, then the corner of his lips.

“i love you more.”

he closes his eyes and lets himself melt into you completely.

and beneath the moonlight, two tired hearts rest against each other. not broken. not lost.

just finally safe.

vi says :: i absolutely love frank ocean oh my gosh

enhypen taglist :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @jungwonbropls @manariees @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ijustreallylike2read @nicholasluvbot

© CALLIKARI 

[onyxedenfox]

I desperately want someone to flirt with. Someone to tease. Someone who knows me. Someone who knows exactly what buttons to push and delights in being pushed back. Someone to wake up with gentle touches, then start groping them harder, pulling them to grind against me, getting hot, needy, and leaking. And then to pull away from them and say "we have to get up, we'll be late for work", and laugh as they grumble and whine and try to pull me back to bed.

Someone to make breakfast for while they slip behind me, grinding against me, rubbing my sides, hands sneaking under my tshirt, fingers gliding over my chest, pebbling my nipples. All the while I pretend I'm unaffected, even as they squirm and plead "join me in the shower". I shake my head and refuse them, I have to log onto teams and prep their lunch besides. They wolf their food down and grumble under breath as they finally leave off and go get ready.

I see them off at the door, with a filthy, moaning, burning hands-in-hair, lung squeezing tight type of kiss, that startles them at first, but soon enough they sink right into it and begin to melt away. Right as their hands make their way down my back and round my ass in a tightening grip, I push them through the threshold, sweep their hair into place and with a sweet smile "you're gonna miss your train" I wave and send them on their way, closing the door in their face.

Later that morning, when I know they have their weekly team meeting, I start sending them text after text. Saying that I miss them, that I touched myself to the thought of them in the shower, that I wish they'd put a toy in me and taken charge of the app all day, that I should come to their office in nothing but a trenchcoat and sink between their thighs right then and there, get them to the edge, then throw myself over the desk so they can pummel into me, destroy me, right infront of the ceiling to floor windows, for the whole world to see.

I'd get ignored at first, but they'd break soon enough, reproaching me initially and then giving in, talking about all the nasty things they'd do to me in return. Saying how they'd ruin me, own me, again and again, and right then, as they're getting heated, I pull away one more time with a final message, "sorry honey I've got a training to deliver. Ciao", and put my phone down without a second look even as they blow it up from the other side.

At lunch, I'd open the packages our postman just dropped off. The lingerie sets I ordered have finally arrived. I try them on one after the other, and take pic after pic. From the front, from behind, up, down, bending over, kneeling down. All the angles I know they love. I send them with innocent intentions "look what I got darling!" and wait for the response. At first nothing comes, and then a deluge of exclamation points and keyboard smashes. I picture the burning ears, tinged cheeks and thumping heartbeat. I ignore it all, "do they fit alright or should I return them?" Then I see the three dots pop up immediately "DONT YOU DARE!!!" comes the swift reply. I cackle in delight and put my phone down again through another storm of messages.

In the afternoon, I take a video. I'm on my knees, our favourite dildo in hand. I swallow it down, head bobbing, throat working. Eyes wide open and pleading. I look up at the camera, tears starting to form, drool dripping down my chin, just how they like it. Then I pull off, "had to get it nice and wet" I chuckle and wink at my phone, then I lean back against the foot of the bed and turn the camera around. I'm on the floor, in front our closet mirror. Slowly I spread my legs to reveal the purple lace crotchless panties, orange butterfly, resting gently above my clit. I run the dildo's head through my folds, gathering the wetness, tip circling my cock head. It is delicious and I moan as I drag the dildo down and push it slowly in, sinking the tip into my hole. Back arching, eyes rolling, gasping their name - I cut the camera off. I send the video and I don't even wait to see what they say. After a minute, a dam breaks and ping after ping, a cacophony of notifications fills the room. It feels amazing.

I swipe the mic recording app on, put the phone down and lay back. I tease myself, moaning and groaning. Whimpering and gasping. Adding that much more lube, to make sure the sounds are clear and sloppy. Fuck myself in and out, while wild fingers swirl over my clit. Every second exhale is their name, a "yes please", "more", "harder", "right there", "don't stop", "please, please, please, plea-" and I come. Screaming. Nice and loud, just for them. I turn the app off. It is now almost the end of their day, I start getting ready for the shower. As they leave work, I send it, they'll listen on the train. I know. I put my phone down in the bedroom, and head for the bath. I can hear the phone ringing, again and again, even through the warm rain above my head. I'm in heaven.

I get dry and do my hair. I check my phone. 6 missed calls, 78 unread texts, 3 unopened voice messages. Oh well.

There is one set I didn't show them. It's special, their favourite colours. Front tie up corset, with full lace sleeves, garters, stockings, and embroidered panties, with a thong at the back, and a button up crotch line at the front. They'll love it. I finish my face, just enough mascara to run down alongside my tears, just enough lipstick to smudge over their face, their neck, their fingers. Their favourite perfume to boot. I'm ready.

They should be on their way home from the station by now. I go to the window and gently pull the curtain back where you can see to the end of our street. Sure enough, there they are, rounding the corner in the most harried speed walk I've ever seen. Hair windswept, panting, almost running. I laugh, oh what a joy.

I walk down the stairs and strike a nonchalant pose midway, as if I'm just pausing mid step. I hear the keys jangling and can see them trough the glass, desperately trying to get in. They drop them on the ground with what I know are shaking hands and curse loudly, to themselves and myself I imagine.

I can barely hold in my laugh, when finally they burst in, upset already bubbling over "you bloody fucking tea-". What I know would have been an impassioned biting speech dies on their lips as soon as their eyes land on me coming down the staircase. Voice pure innocence, my face gives away nothing "Gosh, you're so affected, really? I didn't think some silly fashion show pictures could do such things". Their chest is rising and falling, fast. Vision darting over every inch of me, the lace, the panties, my lips, the way the corset hugs my waist, pushes up my chest. Mouth hanging, they're salivating. "Do you need a tissue to wipe the drool off your chin?" I smile slyly one last time as I make my way down to them and wrap my arms around their neck, pushing us nose to nose and chest to chest, "besides angel, it's only teasing if you don't intend to follow through. And I do, fully intend to, after all" a grin stretches across my face and I finally give away that I knew exactly what I was doing all along.

That's it. The last straw. They growl and crush our mouths together in a kiss even filthier than the one we shared in that same spot a mere 10 hours ago. They pull me impossibly close, till I can barely breathe. We pull apart in a gasp, coming up for air "God I missed you," they whisper "but you will pay" they hiss out menacingly, more predator than person. "I sure hope so", I tell them and kiss them again, softly one last time, because I know there will be nothing soft about what is to come next. Not until tomorrow at the earliest.

CIS HET MEN, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

[barnesmutt]

tease him

perv boss!bucky x perv employee!reader ᥫ᭡.

fic warnings: smut, nsfw content, groping, no protection, slight power dynamic, mentions of y/n, p in v, f!reader, not proofread.

kinda part 2 to the blurb, didn’t know what direction to take it

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀

your mind had been elsewhere, especially today, 3 days ago around lunchtime everyone was over-poured with work, you had already finished yours for the day, thus-far trying to help others, your coworker had asked you kindly to make coffee in the lunchroom, slightly rushing you had knocked a container of creamer over, increasingly frustrated your breath picked up before your boss, james, walked up behind you. pressing his pelvis against the back of you, grabbing the creamer and cleaning it up. “i’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

back to the present, today was practically the dead opposite, only half the workers really needed to come in, it was a quiet day and your mind was racking the entire time, especially being near bucky, his cologne only sending you straight back to the other day.

you wondered if he did it on purpose, jutted his hips against you in the middle of the day, just to throw you off. maybe he thought-

a snap of fingers in your face draws you out of trance. “hey? are you listening to me?” he groans at you, pinching his brows together. “i’ve been talking about our plan for 10 minutes, what planet are you on?”

“i-i’m sorry sir, i just didn’t get alot of sleep and-“

“sure you didn’t.”

slightly startled when you look up, he’s refusing to break eye contact, his breath heavy.

“stay late tonight, come to my office before you head out.”

that night, around 9pm, your heart racing as your last coworker says bye, grabbing her bags and leaving, you glance around, the lamp still on in buckys office, blaring thru the curtains. before you can even knock he cracks the door, waving you in desperately.

the second you’re inside his hands are around your hips tightly, staring down at you intensely.

“you gonna tell me why you’ve actually been walking around like you’re drugged, y/n?”

“I don’t k-“

“stop. don’t lie to me.”

“I just haven’t been getting rest, y’know stress and all sir..”

“it isn’t cause you felt how fucking hard i am for you?”

the silence instantly drags on, he should’ve known your throat would go dry.

“come on, baby, you’re always so good for me, don’t lose it now, is that why? you can tell me.”

despite your better judgment, and the fear of him firing you. (which he would never do anyways, not to his best girl as he calls you.) you nod, too nervous to look up at him.

“good, you know how hard it is to hold back when i see you? you weren’t wearing a bra that day.”

“i- huh?” you stiffle out, completely oblivious.

“yeah baby, running around helping everyone, could see your fucking tits thru that blouse all day.

so,, it was on purpose, he was doing it to fuck with you.

you’re bent over his desk, papers and pens scattered across the floor, a broken mug.

he’s fucking into you, raw on top of it, your skirt ridden up and your panties around your ankles.

he slaps your ass with one hand while speeding up, the other groping your chest. groaning loud enough you can tell he’s been dying to be inside of you.

“you’re the biggest fucking tease ever, think i can’t tell when you pout your fucking chest forward, i can see when you stare at my bulge baby, not even fucking trying to hide it.”

oh he was so right, you were just as sick, you even stole one of his ties before when everyone went home for the day, excusing “it’s okay, i can close up” just to press it against your face while fingering yourself.

on the other hand, currently he’s fucking losing it at every noise you make, rubbing your clit till you cum on him, which doesn’t take long before you breakdown. whining to himself anytime you twitch, sweat pooling on his forehead as his hand pushes you down roughly, spilling inside of you.

“ohhh fuckkk me baby you’re so good-“ he whines out shakily, panting in your ear and wrapping his arms around your stomach to keep you held up.

that night he ends up driving you back to his house, collapsing in bed with you after making you tea, contently falling asleep on him, trying to forget you literally just had sex with your boss.

—————

i need to recreate secretary (2002) with him..

also i hate this and wanna cry convince me it’s good before i lose it