#but tysm!!!!! omg

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

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[erwinsvow]

size kink + manhandling + rafe x shy!reader…. is a concept NO ONE will survive. i stand by my words.

babe this was such a delicious prompt. i fear not even i survived. this almost seems like their first time having sex i feel like she needs such a firm hand in the bedroom. yay! ♡

you glance up at your boyfriend, looking back down again quickly. you don't know how you ended up here, pressed against the door frame of his bedroom, your wrists trapped between rafe's hands, pushed flat against the surface.

rafe's pushed against you, so close that the only thing you can think about is the scent of his cologne. you eyes flutter shut when he moves, pressing his face against your hair, then against your cheek, pressing a hot kiss there. you squirm, wanting to get free, because it's too overwhelming. it's no use—rafe will chase you down even if you manage to run.

"eyes open. up here. look at me." it's a command, and ever-obedient, you comply, looking up though you can hear all the blood rushing into your ears, everything else going blank and fuzzy, the only thought left in your mind is the way your boyfriend's look at you right now, like you're prey that he's finally caught.

he lifts your wrists above your head, pinning them in place with one hand, the other coming down to your jaw, gripping your face tight while he leans in for another kiss. you feel boxed in, all senses flooded with nothing but rafe, and you sigh, cherishing the feeling.

"y'ready? hm?" you nod, but you know it's not enough. "let me hear it, then." you whine, but rafe tightens his grip.

"i'm ready for it, daddy." your eyes shut again, face feeling hot and skin aflame. "swear."

"good girl." you think he's gonna let you go, send you to get ready on his bed, but instead he picks you up just as quickly, throwing you over his shoulder. you let out a yelp, while he slaps your ass from his position. "c'mon, kid. said you're ready. m'not waiting any longer."

[starrytrees]

Based on the poem “The orange” by wendy cope :)

[triona-tribblescore]

IM FUCKING BACK BABYYYY!!!! [Read tags for a lil info!]

(Please accept this silly doodle dump of my brainrot boys uvu ✨)

[tojiswhore-aventurinesslut]

can i request for jingyuan x shy pillow princess reader? :)c

Omg yes this is my first request that isn't from a mutual I'm so excited and flattered 😭 I really hope you enjoy it!!

Not So Bad, Is It?

Warnings: NSFW, little bit of praise (he calls reader good girl), unprotected sex, fingering and oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 2.1k i was just writing idk what happened ☠

Under the cut!

"Come on, let me see your face." Jing Yuan cooed, hovering above you.

You were both in your underwear, and your face was beet red.

His erection was so prominent against the tightness of his briefs, you immediately hid your face in embarrassment the moment you saw it. It's not like you were a virgin, but seeing his desire so shamelessly displayed had you hiding your face behind your hands.

"Nuh-uh." You responded, giving a little shake of your head.

"But it's so beautiful. I want to see exactly how you look when I make you cum on my tongue."

You sucked in a breath at the thought, legs tightening around him.

Jing Yuan began planting kisses over your hands and then down to your neck, nuzzling his way under your arm and forcing one of your hands away.

He looked at you, smiling wider as you cracked an eye open at him.

"See? Not so bad, is it? Now how about removing the other one."

You huffed a sigh and brought both of your hands down, covering your chest in the process.

"Oh now don't do that." he said, looking at your cleavage compressed against your chest. He sat back on his knees and reached out to grab your hands, interlacing his fingers with one as he kissed the inside of your wrist on the other.

You bit your lip, face growing redder at how exposed you felt, not being able to look him in the eyes. Jing Yuan was nothing if not an attentive lover, so he picked up on your hesitation immediately.

"We don't have to go any further if you don't want to." He said earnestly.

You took a breath, "It's not that I don't want to keep going. I'm just not used to....all that." You said, gesturing towards his erection. He was well-endowed, that's for sure. It sent tingles down your spine but also made you look away.

Jing Yuan paused for a moment before giving a hearty laugh.

"All that? Well don't worry," he let go of your hands and crawled back over your body to meet your face, "you can just lay there and let me take care of everything."

He planted a kiss at the corner of your mouth and worked his way down your neck to your breasts. He had already fondled and played with them earlier when you were both making out, but now instead of grabbing the one that wasn't in his mouth, his hand kept moving further down to slide over your mound.

You sighed and tangled your hands in his hair as his thumb lightly rubbed your clit through the thin cloth of your panties.

You opened your legs wider and tipped your head back and his fingers poked at your entrance, feeling around at the wetness that was dripping from you. He moaned around your nipple as he sunk a finger in and your back arched off the bed.

He briefly glanced at your face as he switched to your other breast and curled his finger inside you and rubbed his thumb in a circle. Your eyes were closed and you were biting your lip, trying to stifle your moans.

Well that won't do, he thought, and added another finger as he started pumping them both in and out of you.

You couldn't help but moan that time, his fingers stretching you out and reaching places you couldn't yourself.

"Mm, that's more like it." He hummed against your nipple.

You blushed and tried biting your lip again to stifle yourself, but Jing Yuan wasn't having it.

He detached from your nipple and abruptly took his fingers out of you, but before you could ask why he stopped, he was settling his head between your legs and eating your pussy like a man starved.

He licked and sucked at your clit with a fervor that had you throwing your head back and moaning loudly, unable to control yourself.

He moaned in response against you, the vibrations of it heightening the pleasure you were feeling. He dipped his tongue down into your entrance, licking at your walls and curling his tongue inside of you while his thumb went back to playing with your clit.

Your moans were coming faster now and your breathing was heavy. You could feel yourself almost reaching that peak of release and you couldn't stop squirming under him, your body naturally reacting to his stimulation and trying to cross that threshold into explosive bliss.

You covered your mouth to quiet yourself as you felt that knot in your stomach about to snap, but the moment you did, Jing Yuan stopped.

You looked at him, panting and desperate, "Why'd you stop?"

"I want to hear you." He said, licking the wetness around his lips. You tasted divine. "Don't stifle yourself. There's nobody here but you and me. Be as loud as you want. Be louder, even."

"But-"

"No buts. That's an order." A sly smile crossed his face and you blushed even harder as his command made your pussy throb.

"O-okay."

"Good girl." And he immediately picked up where he left off. His demand and praise made you feel hot, and it wasn't long before you were once again on the brink of an orgasm, except this time you didn't bother covering your mouth.

Your moans spurred Jing Yuan on and he worked your pussy with his fingers as he shook his head over your clit, tongue dragging across it.

You came hard, hips bucking up with each wave of your orgasm that hit you. You moaned loudly through the whole thing, much to Jing Yuan's pleasure.

His cock throbbed in his briefs as he felt your walls clench and unclench around his fingers as you came, cum dripping out of you. A wet spot had formed in his briefs from how much precum he'd been leaking. He couldn't wait to replace his fingers with his dick and see just how loud he could make you scream.

As you came down from your orgasm Jing Yuan took his fingers out and sucked them clean. You were so dazed from your orgasm that you barely found it in you to be embarrassed. You couldn't believe how hard you came. Something about allowing yourself to moan and react freely made it so much more intense.

As you caught your breath Jing Yuan removed his briefs, stroking his cock as he watched the wet spot form under your cunt. Damn, you were going to feel so good around him, he thought.

When he looked up he caught you staring at him, or rather, maybe you caught him staring. Regardless he moved to crawl back over your body, his heavy erection resting over your clit and making you shudder.

"Are you ready to see just how loud you can be?" His question was genuine as he planted kisses across your neck.

"I-I- um" You stuttered at his question but also at the way his length was dragging across your clit as he slowly rocked his hips.

"Like I said, you don't have to do a thing," he kissed your flushed cheek, "just lay here," and your other one, "and let me make you feel good." He said against your lips before closing the distance and kissing you deeply. He moved his hips back so that his tip was at your entrance and you moaned into his mouth as he prodded at it.

You opened your legs wider, giving him permission, and he pushed his tip in, causing you both to moan against each other.

You ran your hands through his hair as his lips moved against yours and he slowly slid in, inch by inch, stretching your pussy and filling you up completely. When he finally bottomed out, he broke the kiss, both of you were panting hard.

"So good, and you took it all." He said as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, sucking on the skin there.

He gave you a second to get used to his size, and when he felt your pussy flutter around him he began to move.

He pulled his hip back until he was almost completely out of you and then pushed back in in one slow, fluid movement.

"Oooohhhh" You groaned. The drag of him against your walls caused one long pleasureful ache in your pussy.

He did it again, savoring how easily he could slide in and out, both of you groaning in unison.

After the second one though he picked up his pace, pulling out but pushing back in faster and harder, causing his tip to hit your g-spot and making you yelp.

"Oh right there, huh?" He cooed breathily, snapping his hips into you again and pounding into that sweet spot over and over.

"Oh god... Jing Yuan." You moaned, tits bouncing as he pounded into you.

"Yes moan my name. Moan my name again."

He sped up, every thrust into you sending shock waves of pleasure to your core as you moaned his name with each one. You could hear his balls slapping against your ass with the force of each thrust and it heightened your arousal.

In the back of your mind you could feel your embarrassment at how loud you were being but the way he was making you feel. The way his cock was drilling into you and the way his pupils dilated when you said his name had you leaning into it.

Your own moans were bringing you close to orgasming with the same quickness as when he was eating you out. You could feel that familiar tightening as he built you up with each thrust.

"Fuck." He moaned as he felt your pussy tightening around him. It felt even better than he could have imagined and he could feel himself getting close too. He wanted to last longer but the way you were moaning his name and panting had him needing to bust right inside of you.

Jing Yuan moved so that he was no longer hovering over you and instead sitting back on his knees, holding both of your legs against his chest.

"Oh fuck, Jing Yuan, fuck." You had started bouncing between cursing and his name. He was going in so deep now and you could see the sweat drip down his chest and his abs flex as he fucked himself into you over and over again.

"Im gonna cum im gonna cum i'm gonna-" Your words were cut off by your orgasm. You arched off the bed as you came, screaming the general's name as you felt your entire body shatter. It was electric the way the pleasure radiated out to every nerve and you felt your pussy clenching and unclenching as your cum gushed around him.

Your screaming and orgasm pushed Jing Yuan over the edge and he was emptying everything he had into you, balls tight as rope after rope of his cum coated your walls white and your pussy milked him for all he had.

After a second, he released your legs and they fell on either side of him as he sat back on his calves. Both of you breathing hard.

You stared at the ceiling as you tried to come back to yourself. You had never cum that hard in your life. Nobody had ever made you lose yourself so completely. You were always so shy when it came to sex that even if it felt good you tried to keep quiet.

But something about Jing Yuan made that impossible. Even if he didn't tell you not to stifle yourself, you're not sure you would have been very successful anyways. You blushed when you thought about him telling you to moan his name.

Jing Yuan pulled himself out and moved to lay down next to you, propping himself up on his elbow.

"I think it's safe to say you enjoyed yourself, yes?" He traced his finger over your stomach as you still tried to catch your breath.

"Yeah...yeah I think so." You said, avoiding his eyes.

"Oh now that's not very convincing. I suppose I'll just have to make you scream even louder next time."

Your eyes widened and you covered your face with your hands again, embarrassed to think about how loud you must have been.

Jing Yuan laughed, "Oh come now I'm just teasing. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. And few things are better than knowing how good you make your partner feel; I've lived long enough to say that with some confidence."

You peaked at him through your fingers.

He radiated such a genuine warmth. It was easy to let your guard down around him, and you slowly moved your hands down.

He smiled at you before leaning in to kiss your forehead.

"There, not so bad, is it?"

[sweetsweetbumblebee]

You are so hot

ashdkdlsdksms thank youuuuu

[pyonpyoncircus]

♧ Not even a photo can capture your beauty

A silly drawing that almost didn't get finished but after reworking the lineart for pomni it's finally here. A jester n ragdoll being gay (also the outfits they have are stolen from pinterest)

[papanowo]

i know clone troopers dont really become force ghosts when they die but like... what if they did

[matd0]

CW// blood

-

-

finished an old wip i didn't rlly like but it actually turned out alright !! yippee

idk i kinda want to add more textures to my art lol :3

also idk if anyone cares about my headcanons orwhatever but jsdhjdhejd i think he kindof reminds me of snakes !!! like have you guys ever seen a snake eat??? cool ashell (this post was sponsored by my pet snake dahlia, shes rlly cool) and also. did you know that some snakes have infrared vision??? like that is so fucking cool omg??? so yea i think he can also see stuff based on temperature :3 (but hes otherwise blind) (imo) (you can disagree) (ijust think its cool) (♡)

[ebechnasheim]

I’ll never get over this. These are so gorgeous oh my god! | source

[deerspherestudios]

He's so cute🥺👉👈✨

[fayes-fics]

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death. 

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society. 

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul. 

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even. 

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach. 

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought. 

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily. 

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit. 

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball. 

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony. 

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone. 

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize. 

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life. 

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future. 

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

[peachfruitcake]

not really here anymore

[yeonzzzn]

Hi I'm that anon who requested about the enha hyung line sperm sample. I've had that thought for a very long time already, glad u liked it. I also have another req. Enha hyung line as your college classmate who loves to finger you while your prof discusses in front.

-🪻

omg yes I enjoyed your req so much!! it was so creative your brain is *chefs kiss* and omg my first emoji anon 🥹 you now have ur own # for when you send me stuff 🫶🏻 hope you enjoy this one as much as the last req! these are long 🤭

・❥・ heeseung would have his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he slowly reaches over to you, sliding his hand under your skirt and slowly rubbing his fingers against your folds. you’d try to not jump in your seat, fingers gripping your pencil and other into a fist that laid on top of the table. you should have known heeseung was up to something when he suggested to sit in the middle of the classroom today. heeseung fingering you during lecture is a normal thing, but it was usually in the back of the class. he wanted to watch you squirm under his touch. wanted to watch the way your body shudders when he slides your panties to the side and slides his long fingers inside you. he knew with being in the middle of the classroom, the easier it would be to get caught and that turned him on so badly. you secretly cursed at him while trying to act normal, thinking if you closed your legs tight enough around his hand that it’ll be easier to stay calm, but no, oh no, it just made it easier for heeseung to push his fingers in further until his knuckles were inside, curling his fingers into your g-spot. you covered your hand over your mouth, biting down on your lip to keep from making any sounds. heeseung just chuckles, seeing the way you came undone with his fingers through his peripherals. 

・❥・ jay just stares with a blank face at the front of the class, paying attention to lecture as his fingers work their magic inside your cunt. the buttons of your jeans would be undone and the zipper as far down as it could go as his hand is shoved between your panties and skin. you slouched down in the seat, giving him more access to push his fingers deeper inside you. you thanked any god who was listening that the two of you sat in the back of the classroom away from the eyes of your classmates and professor. your hands gripped the sides of your seat, knuckles turning white as your held your breath to keep from making any noises beside the small inhales from his touch. even though jay seemed calm and collected, on the inside he was going insane. he was loving the way your were giving him more access, being so dirty for him in such a public space. he loved glancing over to you, seeing your squirm and bite your lips. loved that your black laced panties even just a little, were displayed only for him to see. unfortunately for you, a small moan escapes your lips. it wasn’t loud, but just loud enough the professor stops lecturing to face you, “everything okay miss yn?” jay’s eyes were now on you, his smirk so obvious that it was making him so hard that you both were caught, his fingers not stopping, “yeah, yn, everything okay?” you nodded and apologized, saying you had a small cramp in your leg, eyes shooting daggers at jay once everyone’s attention was back at the front, his fingers moving at a faster pace as he kept eye contact with you this time, making you cum in his hand.

・❥・ jake would be trying so hard to not come undone just from fingering you. his own hand palming himself in synchronization with his fingers pushing inside you as he stares at the front of the class, watching the professor write on the board. jake couldn’t even focus on the lecture, the professors voice was muffled, the only thing jake was able to hear was the sounds your cunt was making of his fingers moving in and out of you. it was so lewd and so fucking hot it made his head spin. jake slumped down in his seat, hitting his knee with yours to signal you do the same. which you did, slowly sliding yourself down in your chair, giving jake more reach into your pussy. it took everything in him to not fling his head back and release a moan, to pump his fingers faster into you just to hear you moan out his name, to let everyone in this classroom know how good he was making you feel. jake glances over, loving the way you had your lips tucked between your teeth and hands gripping the chair. oh fuck he almost came just from seeing that. his eyes wander down, loving the sight of his hand moving in your sweatpants, imaging what it would look like to finally finger fuck you without any clothes on at all. the image alone made him palm his cock faster, biting his tongue and locking his jaw in place to not moan. but the moment he felt your cum coat his fingers, he was cumming in his pants.

・❥・ sunghoon would be so relentless. he’d already be sitting in the front row of the classroom, index finger pointing at you and then into the seat beside him. you already knew what you were in for, sunghoon was in a mood and you knew there was no way to convince him to move to the back of the class. but sunghoon would have a plan, waiting until ten minutes into lecture when he knew everyone’s eyes would be on the professor or their notes books or off in lala land. he slowly leaned over to you, whispering, “act like you’re writing something,” your heart raced, picking up your pencil and flipping to an empty spot in your notebook, writing scribbles onto the paper. sunghoon got to work quickly, his fingers unbuttoning your jeans and moving down the zipper, his cold hand then sliding down your panties and between your folds. your body shuddered against the coolness of his hand, trying to focus your hand to keep writing nothing on to the paper. his fingers slide inside you, pumping into at a slow pace and then picking up the pace. his thumb tapped your thigh, signaling you to spread your legs. you were scared to get caught, and due to nervousness you only slightly moved your legs, but felt his got breathe on your ear not even a second later, “I said spread your legs,” he whispered aggressively then moved back into his seat, so you did as you were told and moved your legs further apart. but that wasn’t enough for sunghoon. his free hand reached across him and landing on your thigh, fingers gripping the fabric of your jeans and spreading your legs out wide, his hand that was in your pants moved down further, shoving his fingers knuckles deep into your cunt. you tried to push your legs back together out of pure instinct to keep his hand there, but sunghoon was quick to wrap his leg around yours, keeping that one spread out. you knew better than to move the other leg, deciding to wrap that one around the leg of the table. you glanced over at him, already seeing his lust filled eyes staring back at you, “good girl,” he mouthed, “keep writing,” you tried to focus on the paper, now drawing terrible circles all over the paper, biting your tongue to keep from making a sound.

[geniusbuilttm]

Note: Mikey’s food is usually great, just stay away from his ‘new recipes’ if you like your taste buds -❤️🐢

@tmntaucompetition

[shownuxhyungwon]

favorite things about changkyun: — his habit of messing w/ the cameraperson