#inbox open!

[violetmuses]

Happy Valentine's Day to my besties! 😍

@persethegawd @episodes-ff @adriennegabriella @fearlesschimera @secretlifeoofmarpessa @mytribalnightmare @adoresmiles @blackgurlnhermoods @dabratzchronicles @nobodygetsza @yassbishimvintage @cevansbaby-dove @fanboygarcia @luvrsluxe @mselenalovebug 🏷

[an-albino-pinetree]

Howdy

I’ve been kinda low on inspiration lately- so I’m gonna open my inbox for a while!

I’m busy making a big supper all of today, anyways :]

[theftshrubbery]

bad johnny flynn oil pastel drawing 🌷🌟✨

who do i draw next

[winniemaywebber]

2 December prompts coming out today! Feel free to send me more from this list if you'd like!!!! 🥰

I'd also love to write a few from this list cos they're just SO ADORABLE so once again, if you feel so inclined, send em in!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

[etherealspacejelly]

Jelly, buddy as someone who knows next to nothing about Star Trek, please tell me what’s happening

ok so spock/kirk is like. the oldest ship ever, okay? they invented slash fiction. these guys pioneered fandom as we know it today

in the last movies they made with those original characters, they were separated into like. alternate universes. okay. these guys were never gonna see each other again and it was very sad and tragic and the fans were kinda sad about it but it is what it is.

then. they made a short film. right. like 8 minutes long. of kirk reuniting with spock. on spocks deathbed. and kirk holds his hand, and they look off into the sunset together.

they got to be reunited. they got to be together in the end. they got their romantic ending i swear to god im losing it.

if it helps. imagine if in 50 years time, they released an 8 minute video of old man dean winchester going to the empty and saving castiel and then they sat on the hood of the impala holding hands and watching the sun set. thats what its like. you see how insane that is??? do you get it???

[bebx]

your blorbo sucks

indeed! not only does he suck, he also swallows

[velvetwyrme]

Optimus prime isopod be like: autobots, roll up!

rhrjdkslfnbtn;g,bdkfhekfbrk

i originally misread this as autopods so. what if they were all isopods.

[some-user56]

Inbox open

my inbox is open for drawing requests

Drawing requests related to Beyblade (Original and Metal series) for now.

Also, maybe some questions for me that have to do with Beyblade.

[violetmuses]

Idea! ❤️‍🩹

An angst Roman fic where Reader finds out that he's leaving after the events of Wrestlemania 41.

She breaks up with him, tired of ALWAYS being alone between returns. 😭💔

[an-albino-pinetree]

I still have some requests to work through yet, but I’ve got a bit of the blues today, and am hoping opening my inbox for a bit might motivate/distract me <:]

Toss your Jax requests on over! (Doppelgänger is requestable, too!)

[ftmboysstuff]

Please, I wanna cum so bad, wanna cum over and over until I can’t for a coherent thought, until I go nonverbal. Until I’m shaking and crying. I need you to tell me how to touch my self, how to please myself, I’m all alone and I wanna cum sooo badddd I need you to call me names, call me your little slut, your good boy, please I’ll take anything as long as I get to cum tonight please tell me what do I’ll be so good for you I promise

[winniemaywebber]

hey bestie!!! oc asks for Olive & Jean if you feel so inclined ☺️ anger, shaved ice, sun?

hi pookie!!!! 🥰

from this emoji ask list <3

💢 ANGER - what are some habits they have that will take some getting used to?

Jean: Jean likes to keep things precise, clean and tidy. She's very particular and I think that'll take her friends some getting used to. Bing is used to it but I think he has to relearn all that after he's home.

Olive: Olive is a procrastinator and that takes her friends a minute to get used to. She uhms and aahs over every tiny decision.

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

Jean: Jean still has her baby blanket. I don't think she would be upset if she lost it, but it's taking on new significance being given to Baby Croz 🥰

Olive: Olive has a locket that Pearl gave her on her first birthday. She has worn it since her dad passed, and it contains a picture of him. It would be devastating to lose, especially going between her two timelines.

☀️ SUN - are they a morning person? what is the first thing they do in the morning?

Jean: Jean wasn't a morning person until she had the baby. She is now; that quiet cup of coffee before the baby wakes is something she just has to have to feel like herself and not just Mom. That's the first thing she does in the morning before rushing upstairs to wash her face.

Olive: It depends. It seems she's only a morning person when she sleeps in the hut. At Pearl’s, she could sleep until past lunchtime and not have FOMO. The first thing she does if she's been at the hut is rush to the shower. If she's in 2021, it's a typical checking of the apps. I'm not sure if she'll miss that if and when she needs to make a decision on where to stay.

[kbunzzi2oa]

Touch of madness

Synopsis☞ Working as a doctor for an asylum was interesting, you had different patients, but one catches your eyes..Yang jungwon a very special patient..

Contains☞ Slow burn, kissing, make out, healing, angst, fluff, unprotected sex, swearing, mentions of killing (a little bit).

W.C☞ 12k..?

Nef notes☞ New jungwon fic based on the CONCEPT PHOTOS, HOLY SHIT, THEY WHERE SO GEWDDD TOO GEEWED! anyways here's some serial killer jungwon, when I saw him hold the chainsaw I had to!..love y'all, reblogs, likes and comments are good for me! feel free to comment!Hope you guys enjoy it (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

The heavy steel door groaned as it closed behind you, a familiar finality echoing off the cold tile walls. The fluorescent lights above buzzed, flickering slightly, casting sterile white over the hallway. The South Wing of the Seoul Psychiatric Detention Center wasn’t a place many dared to linger. Especially not near Room 313.

You weren’t supposed to be here past shift change. But rules had blurred long ago, the first time you made eye contact with Jungwon through that reinforced glass.

He had been transferred under high-security conditions, a 19-year-old with a rap sheet that read like a horror script—four confirmed murders, two suspected, and a trail of evidence so compelling the prosecution hadn’t even bothered with a plea deal. But he was too young for full incarceration. The court ordered psychiatric evaluation instead. Which meant, for now, he belonged in your world.

The first time you'd seen him, he was barefoot, cuffs around his ankles and wrists, still smiling like he'd just walked out of a nightclub. A smile that felt... wrong in all the right ways. Not deranged. Not hollow. But calculated. Charming. Disarming.

You remember looking into his eyes and realizing something terrifying: He knew what you were thinking before you did.

“You’re back early,” his voice drawled through the bars as you stepped into his observation cell.

“I’m late, actually,” you corrected, clutching the clipboard tighter than necessary.

“Late,” he repeated, then slowly sat up from the cot, the faintest sound of chains shifting. “To see me. You know how that makes me feel?”

Your throat dried slightly. You were trained for this. You had degrees, certifications, and months of supervised fieldwork. And still, Jungwon made you feel like the one under observation.

“I’m not here for you,” you said, eyes flicking to the notes in your folder. “Routine wellness check.”

He tilted his head, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.

“You say that every time, Y/N.”

He said your name like a secret he enjoyed unwrapping. Like he had every intention of breaking the rules just to whisper it again.

You didn’t flinch. You’d learned by now that flinching was like blood in the water. But you didn’t have to say anything either, because he leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice dropping.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth, angel?” he purred. “You like watching me. I can feel it when your eyes linger.”

“I watch all the patients.”

“But I’m your favorite.”

You opened your mouth—to deny, to scold, you weren’t sure—but his gaze locked onto yours, and your breath caught.

“I see the way you hesitate outside the glass,” he said softly. “Like you’re trying to convince yourself not to come in.”

He wasn’t wrong. And that’s what made you furious.

Jungwon didn’t just enjoy mind games. He thrived on them. He read body language like poetry. He saw lies like they were highlighted in red.

And lately… he’d turned his attention entirely on you.

You told yourself it was part of the job—understanding him, empathizing just enough to build rapport. You told yourself you weren’t addicted to the electric pull between you, the way his words made your skin feel too tight. You told yourself he didn’t matter.

But that didn’t explain why you started staying past hours.

Didn’t explain why you read his files late into the night, fingers tracing over crime scene photos not in horror—but fascination.

Didn’t explain why, when he smiled, you sometimes smiled back.

“You’re not like them,” he said one night, voice low and silken as rain tapped the windows behind him.

“Like who?”

“The ones who try to fix me. You’re just trying to understand.”

“That’s my job.”

“No, Y/N,” he said, dragging out every syllable. “Your job is to document. But you? You want to know.”

Your silence gave you away.

“And the more you know,” he added, “the more you’ll crave.”

You swallowed. “And what is it I’m supposed to be craving, Jungwon?”

He stood, the chains dragging faintly. There was only a short distance between you now, four thick bars and a lifetime of poor decisions.

“Me,” he whispered.

You tried to pull away. You tried reassignment, switching shifts, working longer with less sleep. It didn’t matter. Jungwon’s voice echoed even in your dreams.

And he noticed.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said one day as you delivered meds to his cell. “Eyes puffy. Little tremble in your hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“You miss me.”

You laughed bitterly. “You’re psychotic.”

He leaned closer. “You keep saying that like it’s a turn-off.”

You hated him. You hated how he saw through everything. And you hated yourself for letting him.

But somewhere between your duty and his obsession, you started wanting the monster.

It came to a head during a lockdown.

A riot broke out in the North Wing. The facility went red-zone, sirens blaring. You were doing rounds, and when the security doors slammed, you were locked in with Jungwon.

The overhead buzzed: “Remain in place. Doors will reopen once clearance is verified.”

You stared at the cell. His door hadn’t locked. Malfunctioning latch. Classic.

And he was watching you. Uncuffed. Smiling. Beautiful and terrifying and real.

“You’re afraid,” he murmured, stepping out of the shadow.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can scream.”

He took a step closer. “And they won’t come.”

Your back hit the wall.

He stopped in front of you, eyes unreadable now. The game dropped. Something deeper took its place.

“I could hurt you,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

You exhaled shakily. “Then don’t.”

His fingers brushed your wrist.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you want this too.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t pull away either.

The kiss was a chemical explosion.

Your hand tangled in the back of his shirt. His lips crashed into yours with fury and restraint, like he wanted to consume you and worship you all at once. You felt teeth, breath the heat he tasted like everything you weren’t supposed to have.

And you let him.

Because the worst part of all this wasn’t that he was a killer.

It was that he made you feel more alive than anyone ever had.

After that, there was no going back.

Late-night visits turned into touches beneath the table. A stolen moment when security cameras glitched. Fingertips brushing across your waist when no one was looking.

You kept his secrets. He kept your sanity.

But the guilt grew.

The lines blurred.

The closer you got to him, the more he opened up. About the pain. The voices. The fear of abandonment that grew claws. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done—but he didn’t regret it either.

“They deserved it,” he told you once. “They hurt people. And no one stopped them.”

“And you think that makes you better?”

He looked at you with those molten eyes.

“No,” he said. “It makes me honest.”

The night you lost control entirely, it was raining.

You’d received notice that Jungwon was being transferred. Maximum security prison. No more therapy. No more contact.

You broke protocol.

You snuck in, unlocked the gate, and stepped into his arms like it was the only place left on Earth that made sense.

“You came,” he whispered.

“I had to.”

There were no more words after that.

Only lips. Tongues. Whispers. Skin. Your body pressed to his, heat searing the cold walls. Chains rattling against the rhythm of your sin. You let him take you, and you took him in return. Like sinners. Like lovers. Like two people who knew they’d burn for this but didn’t care.

He made you cry. He made you scream. He made you feel.

And when he held you after, breathless and shaking, you realized the truth:

You didn’t love him despite the madness.

You loved him because of it.

They found you the next morning, asleep in his arms.

You were stripped of your position. The media swarmed. Your name went viral as "The Angel Who Fell for the Devil."

But he never testified against you.

In fact, he whispered only one thing during his final hearing.

“I would kill for her again.”

Six months later, a body was found near a broken fence line.

Security footage was corrupted.

An empty guard uniform was missing.

And the last thing the night watchman heard before the cameras went dead?

A voice, low and cocky, whispering through static:

“Told you she’d come back for me.”

The motel room was too quiet.

Faded floral curtains. Cheap, flickering light. One bed. A single ticking clock on the wall.

Jungwon stood by the window, shirtless, damp towel around his neck, freshly showered. You sat at the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets. The silence between you buzzed louder than the asylum alarms ever had.

“Still think I’m the villain?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

You met his eyes. That same mix of trouble and tenderness. His voice was low, cocky, but not careless.

“No,” you said. “I think you’re something worse.”

He tilted his head. “Oh?”

“Unpredictable.”

Jungwon chuckled. “That’s not always a bad thing, sweetheart.”

He walked toward you, the towel falling from his neck. He wasn’t trying to be seductive. He didn’t need to try. It was in the way he moved confident, controlled, like he could shatter or shelter you at will.

“Why’d you come with me?” he asked.

You didn’t answer right away. Because the truth was messy.

Because part of you wanted to save him. And another part, maybe darker, wanted to belong to the madness too.

“You asked me to,” you whispered.

He knelt in front of you, between your knees. “That all it took?”

You reached for him, fingertips brushing his cheek. “I couldn’t let them take you back.”

“Because you care?”

You nodded.

He leaned in, lips brushing yours, soft, almost reverent. Then he pulled back, gaze suddenly serious.

“You know I’ve killed people,” he said. “Real people. Not just stories on paper.”

“I know.”

“I’m not cured.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll never be what you want me to be.”

You stood and kissed him.

“I never asked you to be.”

The past few weeks where like a fever dream.

They were a tangle of sheets and hands and whispered confessions. Sometimes soft, sometimes desperate. Sometimes violent—not in a way that hurt, but in the way people do when they’re clinging to each other like lifelines.

And then came the nightmares.

Jungwon would wake up gasping, sweating, eyes wild. You’d wrap your arms around him, hold him until he stopped shaking.

“What do you see?” you asked once.

He whispered, “You… leaving.”

You never did.

But peace is temporary when blood’s in your past.

A photo leaked online. Grainy. A gas station security cam. You and Jungwon, buying snacks. It wasn’t a clear shot, but it was enough.

Suddenly, you weren’t ghosts anymore.

You were fugitives.

Jungwon wanted to run. You wanted to plan.

They almost caught you in Denver.

Marked car. Two agents. You had to run through the rain, barefoot, laughing through the panic. You crashed in a stolen car, engine still warm. Jungwon was bleeding from his temple. You stitched him up in the backseat, hands shaking.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, eyes glassy.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need to.”

Weeks passed.

You became something else. Not quite lovers, not quite fugitives partners in the truest, most terrifying sense.

You learned his patterns.

He learned yours.

He was still dangerous. Still sharp and impulsive and morally gray.

But with you—he tried.

He held your face after kissing you too rough and whispered, “Sorry.”

He stopped running ahead without checking if you could keep up.

He looked at you like you were the last good thing in the world and maybe, for him, you were.

One night, in a cabin deep in the woods of Oregon, you sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. Jungwon poured wine into two mismatched mugs.

“You ever think about staying?” he asked.

“Here?”

“Anywhere. Not running. Just… us.”

You stared at the flames. “Every day.”

He sat beside you. “We could fake our deaths.”

You smiled. “You’d love that.”

“I mean it. Burn the car. Leave blood. No more names. Just you. Just me. Forever.”

You looked at him. “Forever’s a long time.”

“I’ve done longer.”

He kissed you—slow this time, hands framing your face. There was no lust behind it. Just… devotion. A promise.

And when he whispered, “I love you,” it wasn’t a trick.

It was the truest thing he’d ever said.

But you knew better than to believe in happy endings.

The fire snapped in the hearth, casting golden light across Jungwon’s bare collarbones. He was lounging beside you on the floor, wine-stained lips curved into a smirk as he watched the flames flicker, though it was clear his attention hadn’t left you for even a second.

“You keep staring,” you said, swirling the last of your wine.

He leaned closer, his voice velvet and smoke. “Because you look like sin in candlelight.”

Your breath hitched as he took the mug from your hand, setting it aside. His fingers brushed yours featherlight, teasing, possessive.

“And I’ve been starving,” he murmured.

You parted your lips, about to speak, but he was already crawling toward you...slow, deliberate. The blanket slipped off your shoulders, and the cold kissed your skin for just a moment before Jungwon's body pressed against yours, warm and familiar and infinitely dangerous.

“You sure?” he asked against your jaw, voice low, teasing, but still asking.

You nodded, barely breathing. “Always.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth crashed into yours, urgent and claiming. He kissed like he wanted to ruin you and worship you in the same breath. His hands slid under your shirt, greedy, tugging until the fabric peeled away and your bare skin met the chill of the room and the heat of his mouth.

He kissed down your neck, softly at first, then with teeth, marking. One hand gripped your waist while the other slid between your thighs, already knowing exactly how to undo you.

“You’re soaked,” he groaned, two fingers pressing lightly against your panties. “All that for me?”

“All for you,” you gasped, hips rocking forward.

He tore the fabric down your legs, lips ghosting over every inch of skin he revealed, until you were sprawled on the soft fur rug...open, panting, waiting.

And then he knelt between your legs, tongue darting out to taste you, slow and devastating. You gasped, back arching, hands clawing at the rug as he licked deeper, then flicked over your clit with maddening rhythm.

“Jungwon—please—” you moaned.

He chuckled against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. “God, you sound so good like this. Could record you right now and use it as my new favorite lullaby.”

His fingers replaced his mouth, two sliding in effortlessly as his tongue stayed on your clit, moving in sync. Your body bucked, firelight catching the sweat on your chest, and you came hard, crying out as the heat consumed you from inside out.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Jungwon rose, undressing slowly, like he wanted you to watch, to ache. He was lean muscle and sharp edges, all scars and quiet power, and the moment he lined himself up against your entrance, he looked you dead in the eye.

“This…” he said, pushing in, slow and deep, “is mine now.”

You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails sinking in as he filled you completely.

“Yours,” you breathed. “Only yours.”

He started to move, hips rolling, each thrust rougher, deeper, hotter than the last. You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, moaning his name like a prayer.

The fire roared behind him, casting shadows over his face. His expression was dark, hungry, worshipful, like he couldn't decide whether to break you or beg for your soul.

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cried out. “I’m yours, Jungwon”

He kissed you again, silencing the scream as he drove into you harder, faster, until you were unraveling beneath him, again, trembling and moaning as your second orgasm ripped through you like wildfire.

His pace stuttered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice strangled. “I’m gonna...Y/N—”

“Do it,” you whispered, pulling him in. “Come inside. Fill me.”

And when he did, when he came with a ragged moan, clutching you to his chest like he was afraid you’d vanish, you felt more alive than you ever had.

Like you belonged there. In his arms. In the dark. In the madness.

After, he didn’t speak.

He just held you, bodies tangled on the rug, the firelight fading into embers.

You were sore. Marked. Loved.

And when he whispered, “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me,”

you believed him.

Because you’d do the same.

Tags☞ None!

[sw33tm0urningl4mb]

Deep/Fun Questions to Ask!

Do you like watching sunsets?

Have you ever started a rumor?

What makes you laugh hard?

What's the last concert you went to?

If you believed in it, what would you be reincarnated to?

What's your current vocal stim?

What shirt are you wearing?

Who or what is on your mind?

What are your favorite pair of shoes?

What would easily win you over if someone gave you it?

What three words describe you?

What's a funny memory you have?

Do you have any drunk stories?

What's one thing you own that you're sure no one else has?

Do you have any superstitions?

What is your guilty pleasure?

What weird thing do you do when you're alone?

What is the worst food you've ever had?

What fictional character would you bring to life if you could?

If you could join a career immediately, what would it be?

What keeps you going during the day?

Current song on repeat?

Funniest inside joke?

What's your favorite piece of jewelry you own?

Favorite niche topic?

What fandom are you currently in?

Most controversial take?

Favorite ship and why?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos, and what are they?

What is your worst & best quality?

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐔𝐩 — 𝐌.𝐒.

Synopsis: Bunny and Chris come home early, letting Doll and Matt know they need to shut the fuck up.

Warnings: Smut, p n v, soft dom Matt. Doll Reader x Matt. Bunny x Chris (combined AU with @muwapsturniolo)

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’re gonna let me hear everything, hm?” Matt smiles against your lips, mumbling the words sloppily as he moves his mouth against yours with immense passion. 

Bunny and Chris were finally gone, out on a surprise date Chris had planned. Nick was off with his own friends too. The house was yours. And Matt was more than ready to take advantage of that. 

“Mhm,” you hum. 

Your hands curl in his hair, his lips starting to kiss down your neck. Matt sucks on the sensitive skin, letting his hands roam up and down your naked sides, hovering over you as you feel his sticky tip glide between your thighs – almost brushing against the heat between your legs. 

The way he touches you is intoxicating. It’s not rushed, but it’s excited. Slow movements somehow feeling desperate, his own moans vibrating against your skin as he glides his cock against your thigh for some sort of friction. 

“Doll, I – I wanna hear it all, okay? No holdin’ back,” he husks, lifting his head up to look you straight in the eyes. 

Biting on your lip, you nod up at him. You love how obsessed he is with hearing you moan for him – you love how passionate he is about pleasing you. 

Matt licks over his teeth, dipping his head into the crook of your neck as he lets out a shaky sigh, slowly pushing his cock into your sobbing pussy. 

“Fuckkkkkkk,” he seethes, pausing as he bottoms out, almost as if to stop himself from cumming right then and there. 

The sharp gasp that leaves your lips is hypnotizing. Matt finds himself slowly starting to pump his cock in and out of you, his pride floating as whines push through your mouth. 

He’s making you feel good. So good.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he rasps, grunting as he starts to push himself deeper and harder into you, “-lemme hear it – fuck – sound so pretty for me. So fuckin’ – mph,” he bites on his lips hard. His words and movements are already affecting you so much, your walls pulsating around his length as you feel the high start to build in your gut. 

Matt flexes his hips as far as they will go, keeping himself buried in you, grinding his cock inside while stimulating your clit. It’s all to make you feel good. And to stop himself from cumming too soon. 

“Doll, you – shit – keep suckin’ me in. So – so deep,”

Your moans get louder and louder. The creaking of the bed only seems to become more aggressive, the noise only amplifying the sensation of his hard length rutting into you over and over again. 

“Matt, Matt — oh!” 

A cry crumbles through your lips as he fucks himself right into your sweet spot. Your clit has become more sensitive, his grinding motions only feeding the swarm of warmth in your stomach as you clutch onto his biceps. 

Matt seethes as he feels your nails sink in. The whines and moans singing through your lips only encourage him, making his hips ram into you with lust and passion. 

“My – my girl,” he says, stuttering between thrusts. 

Your mouth drops open with raw sounds. You’re so lost in the moment – so lost in everything he’s giving you. 

And he’s the same. 

Matt is trying to hold off his release. He watches your face scrunch, biting hard on his lower lips as he feels himself edge impossibly close. 

Both of you are so distracted, so intertwined in the pure bliss, pleasure, and love. 

“-’m – c-close,” you stammer. 

And he can feel it. 

Matt’s chest and stomach clench hard as he feels your walls start to collapse even tighter around his cock. He’s completely drunk off of you, letting his instincts take over as he keeps gliding his hard length in and out of you, making sure to grind against your puffy clit. 

Squelches echoe. The sound of footsteps are almost nonexistent – until they come right towards the door, a pounding on the wood nearly drawing you out of your blissful state. 

“You horny fucks, keep it down!” Bunny exclaims. 

Your eyes go wide with shock. 

But – you’re so close. 

Matt looks down at you, keeping his motions precise and rhythmic. “Shhhhh, just – fuck, Doll. Focus on me, just me, okay? Thaaattt’s it – “ he sighs, cradling your head into the crook of his neck as he rides you through the intense high, his own cum starting to spill into you as he finally lets go. 

“-good job, sweetheart. Fuck,” he purrs, the feeling of your walls practically milking him consuming every single thought passing through his mind, “--so good, do-doin’ so good.” 

His movements come to a slow halt. 

Realization rushes through you, embarrassment making your face scrunch up as you hear another pounding on the door, a more aggressive bang accompanied by Chris’ voice, “Shut the fuck up. Bun and I don’t need to hear that shit. Jesus.” 

Matt rolls his eyes, falling limp on top of you as he starts to nuzzle his face between your breasts. 

“Chris,” he shouts, pulling you tighter as he tries to keep some of his temper under control, “-go away and get over it.”

You laugh as you hear Chris mumbling through the door;

“-get over it? Can you believe that shit, Bun? I mean, the kids are fuckin’ so damn loud…”