#so much blushing and fidgeting

[ingravinoveritas]

Video of Michael listening to David's eulogy on the WTAWTAW podcast. The way he is blushing and laughing with his whole body is everything...

[madamechrissy]

Jealousy, Jealousy

This was inspired by the Caleb art in the banner by @baobei-bu please love on ALL their art!! Their JJK/LADS art is PEAK

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Warnings- PWP pretty much, a smut oneshot- HEAVY yandere Caleb, mating press, cum play, oral (f recieiving) tummy bulges, cervix hitting, panty stealing, fingering, overstim, he calls you pip squeak LMAO, JEALOUS obsessed Caleb

My first time for Caleb hehe, rbs/comments appreciated if you enjoyy

"Who is that, Pip squeak?" Caleb murmurs that question with a little smile, as you tense just a bit, feeling your cheeks heating up under his scrutiny, sipping on the straw of your milkshake, letting the sweetness hit your tongue. The two of you have been gaming the day away, taking just a little break in the kitchen now

"It's a... friend." That's what Xavier was really, your sweet friend, who is currently sending you heart emojis.

"Oh, a friend huh? Why so secretive then?" He teases, tapping your nose and just being far... far too close. You shouldn't think so many things about him like this, should you? But you can't help but like his cologne a little too much, like just how his brown locks were falling over his forehead just so, how you can see so much of his muscles flexing in what he wore.

"Just a friend." Your little smile drives him insane, he outwardly laughs, but he can't stop thinking of who's been with you while he's been away, has anyone touched you? When you're meant to be his.

"Let me see then." He yanks your phone high, dark violet eyes flashing for a moment, turning as you sputter and he scrolls through your last messages. "And who is Sylus... Rafael and... Dr. Zayne, I know him, and-"

"Give me my phone back, jerk!" You jump for it, but Caleb is stupid tall, holding it up and feigning a smile he really doesn't feel like giving right now, thoughts racing.

Were you with somebody?

That would never do.

Perhaps he's been gone too long, and you've found someone, but that wouldn't last long when you'd be his. Caleb hands you it finally, laughing a bit as he pats your head. "Relax, Pip Squeak, I was just messing with ya. So cute when you're angry."

"Oh, whatever. Back to the game?" He nods, watching as your bouncy ass sways in whatever excuse for a shorts those were, furious if anyone has ever gotten to see you like this.

You're sitting up on the couch now, legs spread so he sees just a hint of your perfect pussy that lace was hugging, his throat goes dry when you hand him the controller. He smiles with ease, sitting on the floor, hoisting your thighs around his shoulders then, and you pause, faltering just a bit, breath caught in your throat. It should be casual. You two have gamed close forever, but he's so close to your heat, your thighs brushing against his hot skin. Just a white tank top and your shorts separating you both.

"You blushed really hard when I mentioned Sylus huh?" He asks now, as he moves the controllers, and you gulp just a bit, fidgeting some.

"No... imagining things."

"You think he's hot."

You roll your eyes at him, shifting forward as you tilt the controller, slashing your sword and concentrating, the tips of your toes touching his lap. Just that is enough to make Caleb ache and throb, hard cock pulsing, he bites back a moan, you seem too entrapped in the game to notice what your foot is brushing on.

"He's hot, sure. Why, do you... find anyone hot?" Caleb glares down at the controller now.

"Just one girl." You bite your lip, concentrated fully, as he rests a head on your thigh. Hot breath against it making your leg twitch, cunt already soaking. You can't feel this way, you two are just too close... right? How can you be jealous?

"Oh?" Your weak voice just makes Caleb's cock leak precum, he can feel how hot you are behind his neck, he turns his head then, to catch you looking down at him.

"Do you care if I like someone Pip Squeak?"

"N-no..."

"Hmm... hah! Got you!" Caleb's killed your character, making you huff. Laying back some on the couch, you gasp when he turns around, face at level with your cunt, where he sees your damp spot right on your shorts. "Oh no, honey... did you spill something?"

"Huh?" You feel your body react, nipples pressing against your thin top at his proximity, vivid thoughts of far, far too many things working through your heated mind.

"Right here..." he brushes his thumb against the damp sticky arousal, eliciting a cry that makes him goddamn feral. "Can't answer me honey?"

"Caleb I'm... so sorry I..."

"This from me. Or from one of them?" His casual question is laced with something dark, pressing on the spot again, wondering just how many men he'd have to take out, so his sweet girl is all his. "Should I get these off you? Since you're making them so messy?"

"I.... y-you-" Caleb has slipped your shorts off your thighs, your tummy clenches when he clicks his tongue. Now he kisses your inner thigh, fingers running along your swollen lips, breath ghosting too close to your cunt.

"These are ruined too, tsk. Something wrong, pip squeak?" You shake your head, watching as Caleb peels those panties off you, and he has to tuck them in his pocket, thankful your eyes are shut, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks. He needs a fresh pair anyway, you're too meticulous about your laundry and he doesn't get many.

The amount of times he's cum inhaling your panties, drunk off them is insane, even before he left you, when he'd visit on breaks he'd take them, licking any of you up. Sometimes he would jerk off inside them, imagining putting them on you. Making you wear them full of his load as punishment for making him so insane. But nothing prepared him for seeing your glistening cunt, clear trails breaking off, you're so wet you were stuck to those lacy panties clearly.

"Caleb-ah!" He laps you up now, just a stripe up your slit, making your hands entangle in sof thrown hair, as those deep violet eyes look up at you. Dilated, insane, a smirk on his lips.

"Tell me none of them tasted you. Had you."

"What do you mean-"

"Tell me no one touched what's mine."

"You've been gone a long time... you think I just what, wait here, touch myself?" You're shaking as you speak.

"Do you?" You hesitate. "Answer me. Maybe I'll let you cum."

"Let me?" He presses a kiss on your clit now parting your folds and groaning as arousal pools out of your little hole. "Mnh. Fuck... what are we..."

"Am I competing? I'm very competitive you know, pip squeak. I will have to make you forget anything but me then." That's when he spreads your pretty pussy, moaning, he's seen you of course before here and there, glimpses of you naked, but now your perfect cunt is right in his face. He's burying his face against you, nose hitting that clit as his tongue swipes in.

"Oh my god." You shouldn't be like this, you shouldn't be spreading your thighs wider, letting him fuck his tongue in and out of your slick, gummy walls, the noises of his soft whines and slurps echoing in your apartment. His taste buds explore every each that long tongue can reach, you're losing it every moment, those eyes so dark with lust they look black.

He'll make you forget anything.

"That's it, you wanna cum f'me, huh? Pretty girl, all mine." You're struggling to compute his words, to even function, eyes rolling back when he flicks the tip of his tongue on that clit, smile not hitting his insane yes. "Are you?"

"This is crazy, what are we doing... you... I... ngh!" Two fingers slip right inside your hole now, which flutters around the thick, long digits, making your whines even louder as he leans up, his other hand gripping you by your throat, lips so close.

How have you not kissed but he's devoured your pussy?

"You belong to me, only me, can you not see? All this time..." He's desperately scissoring fingers in and out, lashes low over his eyes as he breathes against your bitten lips. "Oh listen, she can talk for you I guess, so slutty for me. Just me, huh?"

You're just arching your hips, a sweet cry from your lips, ones he can imagine wrapped around his cock, while he squeezes your delicate neck harder, hand overtaking your throat. You can merely whimper in response, nodding just a bit, as you're closer and closer, only for him to yank his fingers out, making you whine, aching to be filled by them again.

"Caleb, please." You're crying now, tears running down your cheeks, making you look so fucking pretty to him, igniting something that snaps as he watches them fall glistening down your face.

"Please what, ya need something?" He's squeezing harder, fingers brushing around your soaking entrance, just barely pressing the tip of his finger inside, while you're pressed back against the couch, breasts heaving. "Tell me what you need, don't you know I'll take care of you?"

"In me. Please- ah!" You're getting fuzzy when he slips those long fingers back in your cunt, exhaling as he watches you, curling them just so with filthy squelching noises echoing. "Mnh!"

"This all f'me, huh? All me?" His demanding question barely resonates when you're cumming all over his fingers now, pulsing and gushing, while your own hand grips his thin white tank, pulling him closer. Your eyes roll back, he watches you avidly, every fucking expression while he feels you pulsing on his digits. "You didn't answer me, pretty, that won't do."

He pouts when he pulls his fingers out again, releasing your throat right before you nearly faint, cunt still pulsing. You try to gather yourself, when he's slipping those fingers in his mouth, moaning while he sucks all your arousal off them. He's ripped your top off, moaning as he sees your tits gently bounce out, his own dog tags dangling right between the two of them.

"Look who's right by your heart, hmm?" He presses the cool metal to your lips now, prompting you to kiss them, as he smiles so sweetly, like he hadn't just fucked your head up and tripped you. "Do you wear this every day?"

"Yes."

"Every night?"

"Yes." Your answer ends him, when he picks you up like you're nothing, dragging you right to the plush, soft rug beneath you both, hovering over you, his new tags dangling, as your fingers slip up over his strong chest, his eyes glinting with something you can't quite describe, the situation overwhelming your senses.

"I need to take better care of you, if you feel you need all these 'friends' then I'm not doing my job. I should be more than enough for you." He's leaned up, pulling up his shirt just a bit, revealing rippling abs that you've looked at far too often. "Is that it, I didn't take care of you good enough?"

"No, Caleb you always take care of me. I just... we..." Your thoughts trail off when he's slipped down his sweats, and you see his cock, so long and thick you're unsure you could take it, already oozing precum out of his reddened tip.

"Cat got your tongue, pip squeak? Keep talking, I'm listening, I always listen don't I?" He's leaned over you with one strong arm, yanking your thighs apart further, when you feel his length against your inner thigh, hot and heavy, precum sticking to you, as he cups your face so gently. "I'll listen to every moan, every whisper, so I learn everything your pretty, perfect body likes."

"Oh my god." He's brushing his tip against your engorged clit now, smiling down at you, at how pretty you are on this rug beneath him, your lashes fluttering.

"You work too hard, you need to be massaged everywhere. How could I not see this?" He's shoved his cock so deep inside you then you scream out, and he moans, feeling the stretch, of so many fucking inches. "Look how greedy, she's trying to take him all. Ahh, did you miss me this much?"

You're unable to respond to anything when he's shoved his cock so deep you're stuffed full, whimpering out as your walls struggle to stretch for him, and he's just a breath over you, lips drinking up yours then, finally kissing you after so long, before he is pulling back and shoving so deep he hits your cervix. You're sobbing it feels so fucking good, all while he can't rip his eyes off your face, the dark violet depths swirling.

"Waited so long for this, god don't you know?" He's mumbling now, lost in you, pulling back and smirking as he watches it, his lengthy cock getting sucked inside your too small hole, and the bulge in your tummy. "Look, I hit so fucking deep, don't I?" He grips your chin, shoving your head down so you see it, blushing furious.

"I... that's... s-so big I..." He's moaning as he watches it, his cock making that bulge as he goes achingly slow.

"Look at me fill you, fuck I should keep filling you too, until you can't even think. I need your brain shut off, and focused on me, yeah?" You're already fucked out and stupid, you can only stare at the bulge and blush, when he thrusts his hips with a snap, having you drooling all over his cock. "Can't think of other men now, can you?"

You can't think of a fucking thing, including what's happening, as Caleb begins fucking you harder, faster, delicately kissing your lips like he's making love, as his heavy balls slap your ass with every single filthy fucking thrust. He's whispering your name, until he's got you firm in a mating press, spitting down right on your clit and moaning at the sight.

Folded in half, god you feel so small under him, while his babbling hits your incoherent brain, the lewd slapping of his skin and how wet you are filling the living room. "Only me, I need it to only be me, me inside you, me everywhere."

"Caleb- you... f-fuck!" He's cupping your face as he folds you in that mating press, grinning feral, something unleashed that's damn near scary, but you just want more, nails pressing crescent moons against his biceps.

"Only me. Only me. Mine. Mine. Mine." He's huffing those words as you cum all around his cock, pausing him briefly, feeling your aftershocks grip him, your cunt so messy she's dripping down his balls, down to the rug, making the sounds even louder, the squishing and clicking. "I know, honey, I know, you want me to cum inside, huh?"

"Please. Please." He's smiling, you're being so good for him, and who is he to ever deny his pretty girl anything.

"I'll give you anythign you ask for, don't worry. I'll fill you so good, so, so good, yeah- ha fuck you- ah..." He's stuttering now, faster and harder, his eyes flashing then. "Only me, say it."

"Only y-you... ah- ngh!" You're screaming when he's fucking you so hard it hurts, leaned up to press the backs of your thighs.

"That's it, gonna forget them all, aren't you? Anyone."

"F-forget." Your weak response lets him lose his mind, big hands bruising, his dog tags swinging against your face when he pounds your cunt so hard, cumming so much, with his head thrown back, groaning so loud until it turns into a weak cry, as his hot gooey load coats your pussy everywhere.

"That's it, fuckin perfect pussy, God my good girl, aren't you? Taking me so well." He's murmuring, easing as you're cumming just from him coating your walls, he lets your thighs fall, moaning and kissing you, desperate and hungry. "You alright, pip squeak? Was it too much?"

"It was a lot I..." He's laughing now, softly, pulling back and out, watching the mess of creamy cum pouring down all over, groaning at the sight, you flush as you look down, seeing it all.

"You could have told me you needed more, don't you know how long I've waited for this? I wanted to be your first though, honey, tsk..." He's fingering the cum, making you jerk, so sensitive now, his lips quirking up. "Know how many times I've stroked it? Picturing just this, filling you up?"

"Y-you did?" He's shoving that cum deep, you grip his wrist, gasping now. "Caleb!"

"You're wasting it, that just won't do, I need you to be a good girl." His husky whisper along with those rough fingers makes you cry out.

"Sensitive!"

"You can take more, can't you?" He's shoving cum back in your eager whole, moaning at the sight, his cock already standing back at attention. "I think I know what I need to do, so you never call any of these 'friends' again."

"What?" Your eyes roll back when he's curling his fingers again, hovering over you and grinning, his toned body glistening with a sheen of sweat.

"I'll keep filling you, until you're dripping me constantly." Caleb's got you in your bed next, lapping his own cum right out of your cunt, taste buds dragging in every flavor of the two of you, having you cum over and over, until you're stupid. "Look, so fucked out, aww. You're drooling pip squeak, lemme get that."

He's swiping at your chin, before he's sucking your clit in his mouth again, and you're losing sense of everything, he's fucking you again, bent over, then again, on your stomach, so many loads inside you you're bloated and full, too full. You pass out on him soon, he sighs as he looks at you, so pretty as always in your sleep.

"Ah, pip squeak, we'll have to work on that stamina." He's cleaned you all up, putting your favorite pajamas on you, while you're lightly snoring, clearly he'd been a little too much.

Caleb had waited for years and years after all, for just this moment.

"Sweet dreams, my love. Future wife." He's laughing softly, you don't know just all his plans yet. He goes towards the kitchen to down some water, still naked in your apartment, cock gently swaying when he grabs his sweats, your panties still tucked in his pocket. He slips them on, frowning as he sees your phone light up, texts from Zayne and Sylus.

That just won't do.

He unlocks your phone with ease, it's his birthday of course, you love him even if you don't know how much yet. No worries. Caleb deletes every contact and message, keeping only him, because that's all you'll need now! You won't even be in this apartment soon, he can already picture you at his place, constantly having his babies.

He smiles as he holds you against him that night, but even after fucking you so deep, so much, just seeing you sleeping makes him hard again, and he has to stroke his aching cock just looking at you, waiting for you to wake up.

lmk if you want more Caleb and his freaky ass lol <3

tags- @ember-stars @luvleixo @sickleddreamer @ravenbc @honeymoonfleur @mcdepressed290 @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @valleydoli perm- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru thought this was gonna go differently.

like, way differently.

there was supposed to be sparkles. blushing. a dreamy sigh and you flinging yourself into his arms like, “satoru, that was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. i think i love you. i think i wanna marry you and have your absurdly pretty babies.”

but no.

you’re just standing there. blinking. in silence. on the private rooftop he rented. at sunset. where a live quartet is playing your favorite song in the background.

you look like you're still buffering.

he’s smiling on the outside but internally? he’s going through it. he’s sweating. he thinks his lungs collapsed five seconds ago. he might actually pass out.

because instead of melting into his arms and swooning like a lovestruck anime girl, you're staring at him like he’s grown two heads. (which—okay, to be fair—if he had, he’d still look majestic as hell.)

but that is not in his ten-step seduction plan.

“...so?” he says, trying to recover, giving you his best wink. “pretty romantic, huh? for our third date?”

you finally blink. you slowly tilt your head. “did you… rent a rooftop?”

“…yes.”

“and a live band?”

“yes?”

“…for dinner?”

“yes?!”

you keep staring. like you’re waiting for him to yell ‘gotcha!’ and reveal that this was all an elaborate prank. but it’s not. it’s real. he's real. he just wanted to see you smile.

and now he’s spiraling. because what if it’s too much? what if he overwhelmed you?? what if you’re like ew he's insane i just wanted ramen and a walk and you’re going to ghost him right after this and marry someone normal??

he fidgets. plays it cool. leans against the table casually like “haha unless it’s weird. is it weird? no pressure. i can cancel the shooting stars. i mean they’re just drones, not real stars, i didn’t bribe the universe or anything—unless that would’ve been more impressive, in which case, i’ll try harder next time—”

you blink again and finally, finally—you laugh. soft and breathless. a hand to your face like you can’t believe him. “...you’re insane.”

he thinks he might actually ascend from relief.

he breathes. barely. something uncurls in his chest. “yeah,” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck, grinning like he doesn't know where to look, “but i’m your problem now, right?”

you roll your eyes and reach for his hand anyway. and that’s all he could ever need. he doesn’t care that the pasta’s gone cold or that the damn string quartet’s been playing the same song twice now. you smiled. you stayed.

he’ll call that a win.

(even if he does need to rethink the proposal plan because this woman clearly doesn’t rattle easy.)

[joelsrose]

Father of the Groom

warnings - smut (as always lmao) virgin reader, cheating, spanking, unprotected sex, family dynamics, creampie ..(??!)

🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

You reached for another glass of champagne, your fingers trembling just enough to make the bubbles shimmer against the rim. The suite was quiet now, too quiet, after the flurry of brushes and curling irons, after the hum of music and the soft laughter of your stylist and makeup artist who had only just packed up and left. The air still held the faint scent of hair spray and roses, mixed with the deeper perfume clinging to your skin — warm, floral, soft like summer.

Your hair had been curled into delicate waves, the top pinned back with a cluster of tiny pearls that glimmered every time you moved. Your makeup was bridal perfection — a gentle glow across your cheeks, soft pink lips, lashes long and curled like whispers. You looked like a dream. You felt… like a trembling one. Nerves tangled tightly in your belly, fluttering like ribbons caught in wind. You were getting married today. Today.

The weight of it settled behind your ribs. Excitement, yes — that warm, hopeful kind — but threaded through with something sharper, more restless. The kind of nerves that made your hands fidget, that made you question if you’d eaten too much, if you should’ve worn a different shade of blush, if the weight in your chest was love or fear or… something else entirely.

You were just about to raise the flute to your lips when a knock echoed at the door — soft, deliberate.

Your heart gave a little stutter.

“Luke, I swear,” you muttered under your breath with a nervous smile, setting the glass down, “you know you’re not supposed to see me until the ceremony…”

You padded toward the door in nothing but your white silk robe — the one you’d saved for today, smooth as water and tied loosely at your waist. You pulled it tighter on instinct, fingers curling around the fabric as you turned the handle and opened the door—

—and there he was.

Joel.

Mr. Miller.

Your fiancé’s father.

🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

Joel Miller stood in the doorway like he’d stepped out of another world and into this one just to see you — tall and broad in his dark suit, the tailored jacket pulling across his shoulders in a way that made your breath hitch for reasons you didn’t want to examine.

His tie was a muted navy, slightly loosened at the collar like he hadn’t bothered to finish getting ready yet, and in the neat fold of his jacket pocket sat a single white rose — likely chosen to match your bouquet, the detail not missed by you. His hair had been swept back, soft curls glinting silver under the room’s warm light. He looked handsome — devastatingly so — in that older, quiet kind of way that made you want to look at him just a second too long.

“Joel,” you smiled gently, surprised, your fingers tightening slightly on the robe’s sash as you leaned your shoulder to the doorframe, “I thought you were Luke.”

His brow ticked up, but the smile he gave you was warm, touched with something that felt just a little too fond. “Well… look at you, sweetheart.” He stepped closer, eyes scanning you with a reverence that made your skin burn beneath the silk. He leaned in and kissed both of your cheeks — the roughness of his stubble grazing your skin, the warmth of his hands settling lightly on your arms. “You look like a damn dream.”

A quiet breath left you as you backed up slightly to let him in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks, Joel,” you murmured, turning toward the side table where the champagne and spirits were arranged, the glasses catching soft golden light. “Would you like a drink? There’s whiskey.”

He chuckled — low, gravelly, like it lived deep in his chest. “You know me well.”

You didn’t see the way his eyes dropped to your legs, how they lingered on the smooth line of your thigh revealed by the shift of your robe as you reached forward, silk sliding up just enough to test the limits of modesty. You didn’t catch the subtle way his jaw shifted or how his thumb dragged once over his palm before reaching for the glass you passed him.

“How’s your morning been?” he asked, voice smooth, conversational, but his gaze wandered — over the room, yes, but always returning to you.

You motioned for him to sit, and when he did, he chose the armchair closest to you — close enough that his knee nearly brushed yours. You sat down again, smoothing the robe over your legs as you sipped the last of your champagne, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of nerves in your chest that had nothing to do with wedding-day jitters.

“It’s been busy,” you admitted softly, your voice lighter now. “Hair and makeup only just left. Luke and I are getting photos done soon… in—” you glanced at your phone, “less than an hour, actually.”

Joel nodded slowly, the motion almost absentminded, though his eyes hadn’t left you once — eyes that held something too heavy to be casual, too soft to be paternal. There was reverence in them, yes, but also a flicker of something else, something deep and unspoken, as if he was trying to memorize every angle of you in that moment — the slope of your cheekbone catching the morning light, the gentle way your bottom lip stayed tucked beneath your teeth when you were nervous, the way you kept fidgeting with the edge of your silk robe like you didn’t quite know what to do with your hands now that he was sitting so close.

“You nervous?” he asked at last, his voice quieter than before — lower, almost thoughtful, like it wasn’t just a question but something weightier, an offering.

You smiled softly, almost bashful, eyes dropping to your lap where your fingers twisted the belt of your robe into a little knot. “A little.”

When you looked up again, his gaze was still locked on yours — unwavering, steady, and laced with something warm enough to make your skin prickle.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be nervous about, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice slow and syrupy, rich with something comforting and southern and familiar. “If anything, my damn son oughta be nervous. He’ll get a whoopin’ if he ain’t takin’ care of you proper.”

That made you laugh — the kind of laugh Joel always pulled out of you with so little effort, the kind that spilled out like a secret, the kind that reminded you of every dinner at their family home, of the way he always made sure your wine glass was full, how he always offered you the best slice of roast first, the way he always called you “sweetheart” like it meant something more. Holidays, birthdays, Sunday brunches — Joel was the kind of man who made you feel seen, held, steady in a world that sometimes spun too fast.

And now, as your laughter died down to a gentle smile, he was watching you again — like you were something fragile and golden and borrowed just for a moment. His hand moved slowly, resting gently on your knee, warm and solid where your skin peeked from beneath the silk. His palm was broad, roughened from years of work, but the way he touched you was soft, reverent, fingers still against your skin like he didn’t dare move.

You kept your eyes trained on his, breath catching faintly, though it wasn’t fear that fluttered in your chest. He smelled good — a mix of something woodsy and clean, a little cologne maybe, but mostly Joel — that distinct, masculine scent that always lingered when he hugged you goodbye.

He smiled a little, eyes soft, almost nostalgic. “You remind me of Tess on our wedding day,” he said quietly, and you felt that compliment bloom somewhere deep in your belly, warm and sharp. “She had this look in her eyes — somethin’ soft. Somethin’ like you got now. Though I don’t think she ever wore a robe like that 'round me before the vows.”

The last part slipped out lower, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and you blushed instantly, lowering your eyes with a shy smile, your fingers tightening just slightly around the edge of your robe.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice almost too quiet to hear.

Joel smiled again, tilting his head just a little, and then leaned forward, the hand on your knee giving the gentlest squeeze. “Now come on,” he said, voice teasing but kind, “stand up and give me a twirl. I wanna see my future daughter-in-law in all her glory.”

You let out a little giggle — partly from the champagne dancing in your bloodstream, partly from the way his voice held that proud affection, but mostly from the way he was looking at you. Like you were beautiful. Like he knew you were.

You gave a playful little twirl, champagne dancing in your veins and nerves making your limbs feel feather-light. The hem of your silk robe fluttered around your thighs, and you struck a mock pose at the end, one hand on your hip, the other lifting just enough of the fabric to wink at the lace garter snug around your upper thigh — delicate ivory and barely-there sheer, the one your maid of honor had slipped to you that morning with a wink and a giggle.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, the sound rough and warm and unmistakably male, like it was caught in the back of his throat. He leaned forward slightly in the armchair, elbow resting on one knee, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass of whiskey. But it wasn’t the drink he was looking at.

Your movements had swayed just enough for him to catch a flash of lace — and his eyes tracked it like they had a mind of their own.

“Hold up,” Joel said suddenly, his voice casual but the glint in his eyes not quite matching the lazy ease in his tone. He leaned forward in the chair just slightly, resting his glass on the side table as his gaze settled somewhere lower — somewhere that made heat crawl beneath your skin. “C’mere for a sec, sweetheart.”

You blinked, your breath catching as you stepped toward him with a small, hesitant smile, eyes soft with concern. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your brows furrowed as your mind spun — Did I drop something? Do I have something on my face? Did my lipstick smudge already?

But Joel didn’t answer you right away. Instead, he reached out with one hand, slow and deliberate, his fingers warm as they brushed against the outside of your thigh — the place where the hem of your robe had shifted just enough during your little twirl to reveal a sliver of ivory lace. His touch was gentle, almost absentminded, but his movements were precise. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“This,” he murmured, dragging his finger beneath the silk as he shifted the fabric slightly to the side, revealing more of the garter cinched high on your thigh — delicate and bridal and not meant to be seen by him. “Thought I saw somethin’. Damn near missed it.”

He was smiling — that sweet, fatherly smile he always gave you — but there was something else there too, something in the way his eyes lingered, in the way his thumb brushed the edge of the lace like he was admiring it for more than just tradition’s sake.

You froze, a flush blooming across your cheeks, your chest tightening beneath the satin as you struggled to find words. How were you supposed to explain to your future father-in-law that you were wearing a garter? That it was supposed to be seen by someone else — his son, no less. That it was part of some ancient wedding tradition meant to feel cheeky, fun, maybe even a little flirtatious, but now felt scandalous, intimate, exposed in front of the man who should’ve looked away the second he noticed.

Your voice caught in your throat, lodged somewhere between your chest and your lips, and all you could manage was a breathy, flustered, “It’s…” You swallowed hard, cheeks burning as you reached absently for the belt of your robe, needing something to do with your hands, anything to ground you beneath the weight of his gaze. “Tradition, apparently,” you mumbled. “My maid of honour gave it to me this morning.”

Joel didn’t say anything right away. His fingers — the same ones that had just ghosted over the soft skin of your thigh — trailed off with an infuriating slowness, leaving behind a trail of heat like a brand. He let go of the silk as if he hadn’t just touched something sacred, as if his hand hadn’t rested somewhere it most certainly should not have been — like the act itself hadn’t tilted the axis of the room just a fraction. Like it wasn’t so unbearably wrong you felt dizzy with it.

He leaned back in the armchair, the movement languid and unhurried, like he was stretching into the moment instead of trying to escape it. One arm draped along the back of the seat, the other resting on his thigh, fingers idly brushing his whiskey glass. His gaze moved slowly — dragging unapologetically from your legs, up the length of your body, pausing at the dip of your waist where the robe clung, the soft curve of your chest, the flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat — before finally, finally settling on your face again.

“Well,” he said, his voice warm and low, that Southern drawl folding over you like velvet, smooth but weighted, “it’s a real pretty little thing.”

He paused, his smile curling at the edge with something far too knowing, too intimate.

“Just like you.”

Your breath hitched. You blinked, eyes wide, the blush rising higher on your cheeks as you stood frozen in place, unsure what to say, unsure what could be said. You felt suddenly very young, very exposed — like a girl playing dress-up in a woman’s world, standing in a silk robe that felt too thin, with lace too intimate, in front of a man who should have looked away by now. A man who should have been like a father. A man who wasn’t.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling slightly, your gaze darting away in a poor attempt to gather composure. But you could still feel his eyes on you — the weight of them. Gentle. Heavy. Wanting.

You sat down again, your legs folding delicately beneath you, hyperaware now of the space between you — or rather, the lack of it. His knee brushed yours when you shifted slightly, and the silk of your robe clung a little too close to your skin, made you feel a little too seen. Your skin still tingled where his hand had rested moments before.

“What are the boys doing?” you asked, your voice soft, trying to ease the thrum in your chest by returning to something normal — something safe — but even as you said it, your voice betrayed you, just a little too airy, a little too unsure.

Joel chuckled, low and warm, that rich gravel sound that lived somewhere deep in his chest. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass with idle ease. “Luke and the boys?” he said, eyes still fixed on you like you were more interesting than anything happening elsewhere. “They’re just gettin’ ready in the suite down the hall. Arguin’ over whose tie’s crooked, takin’ shots behind your mama’s back.”

You smiled, shoulders relaxing a touch, but then — then Joel shifted his wrist as he brought the glass to his lips, and just as his arm brushed yours, he fumbled.

It was subtle. Believable. Performed so naturally you would’ve sworn it was real.

The glass tilted — just enough — and a slow, honeyed trickle of whiskey spilled over the rim, slipping down the side of the tumbler and landing squarely on your thigh.

Your gasp was soft, surprised, as the warm liquid soaked into the silk, darkening it in a bloom that made the fabric cling scandalously to your skin. It rolled down your leg in a slow, sinful line.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, deep and throaty, setting the glass aside instantly. His hand followed the spill without hesitation, brushing the fabric with the back of his knuckles, trying — pretending — to help. “Damn, m’sorry, sweetheart. Wasn’t lookin’. Didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice thin, fluttering from your lips like it had to push through the tightness in your chest. Your breath hitched as Joel’s fingers lingered, just for a second too long, his knuckles grazing the edge of your thigh as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “It’s just—just the robe.”

He pulled back, but not far, reaching behind him for the box of tissues on the table with a low chuckle, his voice roughened by something that felt deeper than amusement. “Sorry, darlin’,” he muttered as he shook his head, pulling a few tissues loose. “Old man like me can’t do nothin’ right with these damn hands anymore. Slippery glass, nerves shot, eyesight probably goin’.”

You laughed softly, unsure whether it was the champagne or the way your heart felt like it had climbed into your throat. “You’re not old,” you murmured, looking down at your lap to avoid his gaze.

Joel didn’t respond to that — not directly. Instead, he leaned forward again, pressing the tissue to your thigh with a gentleness that made the breath stall in your lungs. His hand was warm, firm but careful, like he was scared he might hurt you, or maybe scared of something entirely different.

He dabbed at the silk uselessly, the fabric already soaked through, transparent now and clinging like a second skin.

“Damn,” he muttered again, more to himself this time as his eyes followed the trail of amber staining the pale ivory. “I’m makin’ it worse, ain’t I?”

You didn’t answer, your mouth dry, because he wasn’t really asking.

Joel looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity, and then back down at the fabric. “This ain’t gonna come clean like this,” he said after a moment, holding the tissue up like proof. “You’ll catch a chill sittin’ in it all wet like that.”

You hesitated, blinking. “It’s fine, really—”

“Nah,” he said gently, his voice taking on that soft but insistent tone, the one that always made people listen. “You’re gonna wrinkle that beautiful dress if this soaks through. Here—” his fingers moved to the sash at your waist before you even realized, pausing just long enough for your eyes to go wide.

“May I?” he asked, and the way he said it — quiet, kind, not pushy but so utterly deliberate — made your stomach twist with something sharp and hot, something that curled behind your ribs and settled low, where your thoughts shouldn’t be wandering.

“I—” you exhaled a shaky breath, a breathy, nervous laugh tumbling out of you. “I’m not sure—”

Joel’s smile was warm, sweet even, but his hands were already ready — positioned at your waist like he was just waiting for permission he already knew you’d give. “We gotta get you cleaned up, baby,” he said gently, glancing at the watch on his wrist like this was all just time-sensitive logistics and not a private, forbidden unraveling. “You got what… twenty minutes till the photographer shows up? Tess, Lord, she dropped every damn thing on her dress back on our day. Nerves’ll do that to ya. But this?” His hand brushed the stained silk. “This’s before the ceremony. Can’t have your wedding robe lookin’ like this in the photos, sugar. People’ll talk.”

He chuckled, soft and low, like he’d just said something harmless, like this wasn’t the most dangerous thing he’d ever done. And your voice — so small and unsure and trembling in a way you couldn’t seem to stop — came out as little more than a breath: “Okay.”

Before you even realized what was happening, his fingers worked the sash loose, slow and careful like he was handling something breakable. The robe slid off your shoulders with the softest whisper of silk and warmth, pooling at your waist before slipping down your hips entirely. Joel caught it in one hand like it was something sacred, something fragile that deserved care — but his eyes…

His eyes didn’t stay on the robe.

He pretended to examine the stained fabric, muttering something under his breath about the fibers and how whiskey sets, holding it like he was doing you a favor — but his gaze lifted a second later, and when it did, it hit you like heat.

Because now you were standing in front of him in nothing but your wedding-day lingerie.

Lace and satin hugged your body, delicate and white and unforgiving, sheer in places where it shouldn’t have been, the garter still snug on your thigh, the tops of your stockings barely visible beneath the hem of the lace. You felt bare. Exposed. Like you’d been unwrapped and laid open just for him.

And Joel — your fiancé’s father, the man who’d kissed your cheek over birthday cake, who’d fixed the broken lock on your apartment door, who’d always called you sweetheart like it was your name — looked up at you then.

His eyes trailed up the length of your legs, slowly, reverently, over your hips, your stomach, the soft line of your chest rising and falling far too quickly.

He didn’t smile.

He just looked.

And in that still, humming silence — where the only sound was the soft rustle of lace against skin and the distant echo of footsteps in some far-off hallway that no longer felt real — you realized with a throb in your chest that Joel had never looked at you like this before.

But he wasn’t stopping.

Not this time.

His eyes dragged over you slowly, reverently, so intensely it made your skin feel too tight, like you were glowing from the inside out, flushed and trembling in nothing but that thin veil of bridal lace that barely counted as clothing. His mouth parted, just slightly, like the words were trying to catch up with the way his thoughts had already unraveled.

“Well,” he drawled at last, voice low and breathless with disbelief, a wry edge of admiration curling around every syllable, “hell, darlin’... I didn’t even know they made underwear like that.”

You gasped — soft, startled — and instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, trying to shield yourself with trembling hands, but there was barely anything to cover. The silk and lace clung to you like a whisper, translucent in places it shouldn’t be, tight across curves he was now seeing for the very first time, and the heat in his eyes made your knees threaten to give out.

Joel dropped the robe without looking, the silk puddling soundlessly at his feet, forgotten, like it was meaningless compared to the vision standing before him. His voice dipped deeper, reverent but laced with something unholy, something so filthy it made your pulse stutter.

“Shit, honey…” he whispered, gaze flicking down again, breath catching as he took you in from head to toe, “…this lace don’t even cover your pussy, does it?”

You froze, stunned, lips parted in a silent gasp, your body prickling with heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how the words hit you — low and wicked, like something molten pooling behind your ribs.

He shook his head slowly, as though trying to make sense of what he was seeing, as though the sight of you — flushed and trembling and wrapped in lace that did nothing to hide the soft, sacred shape of your body — was more than his tired, aging heart could bear. His voice, when it came, was hushed and aching, like it had to claw its way up from somewhere deep in his chest. “You look like heaven on earth,” he murmured, almost broken by it, like saying the words out loud wounded him in some unspeakable way. “Like somethin’ God himself made just to fuck with me.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

Your arms were still crossed tightly over your chest, but your hands had slackened, your fingers curled uselessly against your skin as if even they had surrendered to the weight of his gaze. Your lips were parted in shock, your mouth dry, and your heart was pounding so hard you swore he could see it in the way your collarbone trembled beneath the thin thread of satin. You didn’t know if you should run — throw on the robe, end this before it went any further — or reach for him, admit what your body had already betrayed.

Joel stood then, slowly, without a word, and took the few steps toward you with the calm, deliberate steadiness of a man who had made up his mind.

You didn’t move when he reached you.

Didn’t protest when his rough, warm hands slid gently over your wrists, guiding your arms down and away from your chest, until they hung limply at your sides and you were bare before him in a way you had never been before.

His gaze dropped immediately, and there was nothing coy about it now, nothing shy or hesitant in the way his eyes devoured the sight of you. His breath hitched audibly when he saw your chest, and his voice, when it came, was low and ragged and thick with hunger.

“Jesus, baby…” he muttered, his voice strained and reverent like he was confessing a sin, “I can see your fuckin’ nipples through that lace.”

The way he said it — not vulgar, not joking, but stunned, ruined, like it was a miracle he didn’t deserve to witness — sent a ripple of heat straight through your spine. You felt like you were on fire, like your skin was glowing beneath his gaze, like you were something holy being blasphemed.

“Joel,” you warned, or tried to, though your voice cracked under the weight of your own trembling.

Your brows furrowed, your breath shallow, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Because his eyes were still fixed on your breasts, on the way the sheer lace hugged the swell of them, your nipples peaked and visible through the delicate floral embroidery, the faint rise and fall of your chest growing sharper with each second his gaze remained. And Joel — your future father-in-law, the man who’d always carried himself with the kind of unshakable dignity only age could bring — just looked.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t say sorry.

He just kept looking at you like he’d never seen anything so goddamn beautiful in his life — like the sight of you, soft and trembling in white lace that barely clung to your skin, had cracked something open in him so deep and buried he no longer remembered how to pretend it wasn’t there.

And then, in a voice so calm and so casual it could’ve been mistaken for small talk, he murmured, “Now you can’t blame an old man for admirin’, can you?”

The way he said it — low, warm, with the faintest flicker of amusement curling in his chest — made your stomach flip. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like you were the one being silly for acting like he hadn’t just devoured you with his eyes.

His hand rose, slow and unhurried, and settled against your hip — broad and warm, his thumb brushing bare skin where the lace ended. The contact was electric, your breath catching in your throat as you gasped softly, your eyes snapping up to his.

“You wear this for him?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, gaze trailing from your mouth to your breasts again like he couldn’t help himself. “This pretty little set?”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even think. Not with his hand on you, not with his voice all low and close like that, like a secret being whispered in a confessional.

“Bet he can’t even fuck ya right,” Joel muttered, more to himself than to you, like the words had slipped out from somewhere dark and unchecked.

“Joel,” you said, eyes wide, voice trembling, every part of your body pulsing with heat and something dangerously close to arousal.

But he didn’t back away. Didn’t apologize. Just looked at you harder, darker, like he wanted to pull every secret from your lips one by one.

“Am I right?” he asked, his thumb pressing slightly into your hip, his voice rough now, frayed around the edges. “Answer me.”

“He’s—” you stuttered, struggling to find breath, to find balance. “We—”

Joel leaned closer, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek, close enough that your body instinctively tilted toward his like gravity itself wanted to betray you.

“What?” he asked again, quieter this time, more intimate. “Tell me, baby.”

You swallowed hard, lashes fluttering, unable to meet his gaze. “We’re waiting,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “I… I’m waiting for marriage.”

Joel stilled completely, his hand still on your hip, the silence stretching like a rubber band between you, pulled taut with something unspeakable.

“Is that right?” he said, his voice rasping out of him now — not mocking, not surprised, but so deep and low it made your thighs press together without thought.

And then, with a smirk so slow and sinful it felt like a hand dragging down your spine, he murmured—

“Wearin’ nothin’ but that little lace set… nipples hard and pussy barely covered… waitin’ for marriage?” He laughed under his breath, eyes glinting with heat as his thumb stroked over your hipbone again. “Sugar, you don’t look like you’re waitin’ for anything at all.”

You swallowed, the words catching in your throat before you could push them out, your body so tense it ached. “It’s true,” you whispered finally, barely able to look at him, your eyes darting toward the door, the hallway, the window — anywhere but the furnace of his gaze — “Joel… you should go. You have to leave.”

The reality of it struck you all at once — how easily someone could walk in, a bridesmaid, your mother, Luke, God forbid — how they’d see you like this, half-naked in white lace with your robe discarded, flushed and trembling in front of a man who wasn’t your groom but your fiancé’s father — and yet your feet didn’t move, your body didn’t pull away, your hands still resting lightly against his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt like he was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“Ain’t no one been in here?” Joel asked as the pad of his finger tapped once against the thin lace stretched over your cunt — then again, firmer this time — and your knees nearly gave out, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your entire body shuddered, the contact so sharp, so intimate, so forbidden you couldn’t breathe.

Your arms flew up, instinctive, desperate for balance, and gripped his shoulders for support, fingers digging into the fabric as your forehead dropped forward against his chest, your body swaying against his like it was trying to find safety in the very place it should’ve run from.

“No,” you said shakily, head turning slightly against him, your voice catching somewhere between shame and pleading. “I’m—Joel, I’m—no one’s.”

He stilled.

Everything in him seemed to go quiet, like your words had struck something sacred.

“Christ,” he breathed, low and reverent, his hand still cupping you through the lace, fingers twitching against the heat of you, “you mean to tell me…”

You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, could hear the raw edge of restraint unraveling in his voice.

“And you’re gonna let Luke be the first?”

You flinched, eyes fluttering shut as guilt and desire tangled painfully in your chest. “He’s my fiancé,” you said softly, almost defensively, even though you couldn’t lift your head from Joel’s chest, even though your body was pressing closer to his with each heartbeat. “We’re… we’re getting married.”

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, his fingers dragging gently over the soaked lace between your legs, not quite touching, just tracing, feeling, memorizing.

His voice came softer now, but no less devastating.

“And still… he ain’t the one you’re tremblin’ for, is he?”

“I—” you tried to speak, to form a protest, a thought, anything — but your words were swallowed before they ever had the chance to live, devoured by the press of Joel’s mouth crashing down onto yours.

Warm, demanding, his lips slanted over yours with the kind of hunger that had clearly been simmering just beneath the surface, patient and quiet until now. His tongue swept into your mouth before you could process the heat of it, before you could decide whether to stop him, and his hands — large, calloused, far too steady — came to cradle either side of your face as though this were something sacred, something earned.

You gasped into him, the kiss knocking the breath from your lungs, your palms pressed flat against his chest at first as though you might push him away, but the moment was already slipping too far beyond your control. You were drowning in the taste of him, in the scent of whiskey and cologne and Joel, in the feel of his body against yours — broad, solid, unwavering — and before you could stop yourself, your lips parted further beneath his, soft and needy, a quiet sound escaping your throat as your hands curled into the front of his shirt and you kissed him back.

Joel groaned into your mouth, a deep, wrecked sound that came from somewhere low in his gut, and when he pulled back just an inch, just long enough to drag in a breath, his eyes were black with something feral.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice rough with triumph, like he’d just uncovered a truth he’d been aching to confirm. “Little virgin with a mouth like sin… wearin’ lace for your weddin’, but kissin’ me like you’re starvin’ for it.”

His hands dropped then, feverish and impatient, fumbling with the buckle of his belt as you stood frozen, breathless, dazed beneath him, your lips still tingling, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted to escape your body.

“A virgin,” he rasped, eyes dragging down the length of you like a man unwrapping a forbidden gift, “but still a fuckin’ whore for me.”

You whimpered — barely audible — but you didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. Because every inch of your body was betraying you, soaked and trembling and swaying toward him like gravity itself had changed direction.

Joel moved fast, years of control finally unraveling as he gripped your waist and guided you backwards, turning you effortlessly, and before you could register what was happening, you felt the soft brush of velvet behind your knees.

You bent instinctively, breath catching in your throat, and he pressed you down onto the couch — the same pale satin loveseat where your robe had been draped just minutes before — your spine arching as your knees folded beneath you, your chest bracing against the cushions.

Everything moved too quickly and yet not quick enough, your thoughts spinning, your skin burning, the cool air kissing your bare thighs as your position shifted, hips raised, your lace-covered ass now exposed, tilted up toward him like an offering.

You heard the clink of his belt dropping open.

And Joel — standing behind you now, belt unfastened — stared down at you with an expression so dark, so wrecked with lust and disbelief, you could feel the weight of it without even turning around. His breath came heavier now, the air between you thick and humid with something that felt like sin and smelled like cologne and sex, and when he finally spoke, it was little more than a gravel-coated whisper, ruined and reverent.

“Look at that fuckin’ view…”

The words made your spine arch involuntarily, heat crawling up your neck and pooling between your thighs, the lace of your panties so damp it clung to you like a second skin. You turned your head, looking back over your shoulder, your voice small and trembling, barely able to make its way past the knot forming in your throat.

“Joel… what are you doing?”

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Just stepped forward, one hand settling heavy and possessive on the curve of your ass, his voice low and casual, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gonna fuck you, sweetie.”

Your mouth fell open, a breath escaping so sharp it felt like a wound.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice cracking from the inside out, but you didn’t move — didn’t pull away, didn’t protest, didn’t stop him — and that alone told him everything he needed to know.

His palm came down fast.

The crack echoed softly against the suite walls, sharp and sudden, your body jolting from the contact as you yelped in surprise, eyes fluttering shut from the sting that bloomed across your skin.

Joel’s hand returned immediately, smoothing over the flesh he’d just struck, warm and steady, grounding you through the burn.

“Gotta be quiet, angel,” he murmured, his voice rich and amused, thick with the kind of heat that made your toes curl. “Don’t wanna spook the wedding planner. She’ll come knockin’ if she hears you squealin’ like that.”

And then, with a patience so unholy it made your head spin, he lifted his hand again — and brought it down once more.

The second smack was firmer, more confident, and this time, he watched with a hunger so intense it bordered on reverence as a soft red bloom appeared across the curve of your ass, glowing beneath the sheer lace.

He exhaled like a man in prayer.

“Fuck…” he whispered, dragging his thumb along the edge of the mark, watching the skin warm and swell beneath his touch. “Look how pretty you blush for me.”

You whimpered, your cheek pressed against the cushion, fingers curling into the fabric as your body burned with shame and need, trembling under his hands, soaked through and aching for more.

“Should be sweet,” he murmured, almost to himself now, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, like it hurt him in all the wrong, delicious ways. “It’s your first time, ain’t it? Should be slow. Should be gentle…”

He paused above you, the solid weight of his chest hovering just shy of your back, his breath warm and steady against your ear as he whispered like he had all the time in the world, like this wasn’t happening in the bridal suite moments before your wedding. “…But you bent over so easy for me, angel,” he murmured, the heat of his words seeping into your skin like smoke, “didn’t even need to be asked — now I’m thinkin’ maybe you don’t want it sweet.”

You whimpered his name, the sound spilling from your lips before you could stop it, trembling with the need clawing its way through your chest. “Please, Joel,” you whispered, voice raw and soaked in shame and longing.

His lips brushed your ear, low and indulgent. “Please what, baby?”

You hesitated only for a breath, the humiliation of the words curling in your throat, but it was overtaken by need, by the aching, throbbing emptiness that only he could fill. “I want you to fuck me,” you said finally, your voice cracking under the weight of it, tears slipping down your cheeks now, mascara probably smeared, dignity long gone, “please, I—I need it so bad.”

Your hand moved before your thoughts could catch up, fingers reaching between your thighs to drag the drenched lace of your panties to the side, desperate to give him access, to offer yourself up in the most obscene, pleading way.

But Joel moved faster.

He stepped in, growling something low in his throat, and pushed your hand away like you were doing it all wrong. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the soaked panties and yanked them down with deliberate slowness, dragging the sticky fabric over your thighs, your knees, until it slipped free completely and left your bare pussy exposed, glistening and trembling beneath his gaze.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you, his voice gravel-edged with hunger and reverence, “not to the side, baby — I wanna see all of it. Want nothin’ in the way of this sweet little pussy. S’too fuckin’ pretty to be hidden.”

You heard the soft rustle of fabric as he folded the panties once, then again, and without ceremony — like it was the most casual act in the world — he shoved them into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

“Fuck,” he breathed, stepping back to take in the sight of you, bent over for him, lace bra hugging your chest, your ass bare and soft, and your pussy so slick it shone in the low light of the room. “She’s leakin’, baby. Soakin’ the fuckin’ air.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, your cheeks burning, your lip trembling, and when your eyes met his, you saw something wild and dark, something feral that had been buried under years of restraint and was finally, violently free.

Joel’s eyes dropped again to your cunt — pink, swollen, dripping — and he let out a low whistle, shaking his head like he was seeing something too good for this world. “Look at that,” he whispered, his thumb brushing along the curve of your ass, just shy of where you needed him most. “She’s just beggin’ to be filled, ain’t she? Never been touched, never been fucked, and already actin’ like she knows who she belongs to.”

His hand moved then, slow and reverent, fingers grazing your folds with barely-there pressure, teasing the slick mess between your legs. “You hear that?” he murmured, almost in awe as your body answered him with a wet, needy sound. “She’s talkin’ to me, baby. Cryin’ for it. She wants me bad — this pussy knows who she wants first.”

His fingers pressed deeper between your thighs now, soaked and shameless, and the way he touched you wasn’t rushed or careless, but slow and possessive — like he’d already decided that this part of you belonged to him, no matter who was waiting outside with a ring. He leaned in again, his mouth grazing the side of your jaw as he murmured low against your skin, every syllable thick with heat and power, “Tell me, sweetheart… did he ever taste you?”

Your lips parted, breath trembling, and it took you a moment to respond, because even now, as you knelt there in nothing but lace and sin, your body already given over, the shame still clung to your voice like it didn’t want to be spoken. “Yes,” you whispered finally, eyes fluttering closed, “he has.”

Joel’s hum was deep and thoughtful, his hand never stopping its slow rhythm as he circled your entrance with one thick finger, teasing you without mercy. He didn’t sound jealous, but rather contemplative — like he was trying to figure out how to rewrite every memory your body had ever known. And then, after another breathless pause, his voice dropped even lower, almost gentle now, as he asked, “And you ever suck him off, baby? Ever get that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around his cock?”

Your cheeks burned, throat tightening, and you nodded once, eyes already glassy, tears hot beneath your lashes. “Yes,” you squeaked out, barely audible.

Joel exhaled slowly, like the sound of your voice had settled deep in his chest. And when he spoke again, it was with a reverence that made your stomach flip. “Then I reckon this tight little cunt’s still untouched,” he said, fingers spreading you open now, deliberately exposing the soft, slick heat he hadn’t even begun to take. “You’re gonna be tight, angel. Might hurt a little when I stretch you open.”

You shook your head hard, hips pushing back against his hand without even meaning to, your voice breaking apart on a moan. “I don’t care,” you gasped, the words dissolving into desperation, “please, Joel… I need it, I need you.”

The moment you said it — the moment that last piece of resistance crumbled — he moved like something primal had been set loose in him. His belt hit the floor with a low clink, and then you heard it — the sound of fabric shifting, his breath catching, the soft curse under his breath — and you turned your head, just barely, to see it.

Joel’s cock — thick, flushed, the tip already leaking — was heavy in his hand, larger than anything you'd ever taken, long and wide and veined in a way that made your knees shake. He looked down at you, still kneeling, still trembling, and the expression on his face was unlike anything you'd ever seen on him before — not protective, not amused, not even hungry — but possessive, like the sight of you below him, spread and waiting, had finally answered something inside him that had been restless for years.

Your eyes went wide, lips parting, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out — honest and stunned and burning hot. “You’re… you’re so much bigger than him.”

Joel’s brows lifted, his expression faltering for a moment like your soft little confession had caught him off-guard, and then his mouth curved into something dark and triumphant, a grin that held no humor, only heat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice soft but curling with something almost cruel. “That right, angel? My shy little girl just saw my cock and realized she’s been settlin’ for less all this time?”

Your face flushed deeper, but you nodded, thighs pressing together with need, your body already aching for the stretch.

Joel’s hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock, dragging the thick head through your folds, collecting your wetness and coating himself in it like it was something sacred. He let out a low groan, deep and reverent, as he whispered against your spine, “You’re about to learn what it means to be filled proper, baby — gonna ruin you so good, you won’t remember how he ever made you feel, and you’re gonna thank me for it.”

With one hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock, guiding himself with a precision that bordered on reverence, and the other braced firmly on your hip, his fingers digging into the soft swell of your flesh, Joel positioned himself behind you like a man about to sin so deeply he didn’t expect to walk away clean. He dragged the thick, leaking head through your folds one last time, gathering the wetness that clung to your skin like honey, before lining himself up at your entrance, pressing forward with a slow, relentless roll of his hips that knocked the breath straight from your lungs.

The moment his cock breached you — that first, unbearable stretch of thick muscle forcing you open for the first time — your mouth dropped open in a silent scream before the sound tore free of your throat, a strangled cry that buried itself in the pillow beneath your face as your fingers clawed at the cushions like you were trying to anchor yourself to something, anything.

Joel groaned above you, loud and ragged, like your cunt had knocked the air straight out of his chest, his breath hitching as he sank deeper into you, inch by devastating inch, until the full weight of his cock was buried inside your trembling body. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice ruined and low, “that’s my good girl, takin’ it like she was fuckin’ made for it — Jesus Christ, this tight little pussy’s grippin’ me like she don’t wanna let go.”

Your thighs trembled, your toes curling, your eyes filling again with tears as you sobbed into the pillow, the fullness so sharp it hurt, a stretch so wide and foreign it felt like your body couldn’t possibly take it — and yet, the heat, the pressure, the weight of him made your entire body burn with something dangerously close to bliss.

He gave you barely a second, just enough to gasp for breath, before his hips drew back and slammed forward again, not with violence, but with intent — each thrust deep and punishing, like he’d waited long enough and now he needed all of you, needed to fuck you through the pain and into something filthy and perfect and his.

You screamed again, voice shaking, body arching up to meet him as he fucked into you, deep and fast and so much.

“Fuck,” you cried, the sound punched out of you, every word breaking on a moan as your body fought to keep up with the brutal stretch.

Joel leaned over you then, one arm bracing beside your head, his chest pressed flush to your back, his mouth at your ear as he growled, “That good, angel? You cryin’ on my cock ‘cause it feels that fuckin’ good?”

You could barely speak, could barely breathe, but you nodded helplessly, tears streaking your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess, your pussy stretched around the thickest cock you’d ever felt in your life — and Joel, old enough to know better, too far gone to care, only fucked you harder.

Joel was relentless now, driving into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs, each thrust impossibly deep, thick, and brutal, the sound of his hips slapping against your soaked flesh echoing through the bridal suite like a hymn made of sin. You were sobbing by then, not from pain but from the overwhelming stretch, the brutal pleasure that had overtaken your body like wildfire, every nerve lit up, every breath punched out of you, your throat raw from crying his name like it was the only thing you knew.

And then, without warning, he pulled you back — hard — one strong arm wrapping around your waist to wrench you upright until your back collided with his chest, your spine arched against the heat of him, your ass pressed flush to his groin, his cock still buried to the hilt inside your fluttering cunt.

He was still fully dressed — the open front of his suit brushing your bare skin, the crisp fabric harsh against your softness — and the contrast only made it filthier, more obscene, like you were some trembling little bride mounted by a man who hadn’t even bothered to take off his jacket before ruining you.

His hand slid up, slow and steady, until it wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, just holding — possessive and firm, a collar of ownership as he leaned down to growl in your ear, his voice thick with the sound of his own unraveling.

“Gonna cream all over this virgin fuckin’ pussy, baby,” he groaned, his cock throbbing inside you, twitching against your walls with every brutal thrust. “Gonna fill you up so deep, you’ll be walkin’ down that aisle with my cum drippin’ outta you.”

The new angle was dizzying — every stroke hitting something deeper, rougher, worse, dragging cries from your throat that didn’t even sound like words anymore. Your legs trembled violently, muscles going slack as the pleasure coiled tight in your belly, white-hot and blinding.

“I—I think I’m gonna—Joel—” you gasped, voice choked, your head falling back against his shoulder as your thighs began to shake uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he rasped, fucking into you harder now, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your toes curl. “Come on, baby, give it to me — wanna feel this sweet little cunt clench when she lets go — fuckin’ knew you’d come all over my cock.”

And you did — with a scream so loud it barely sounded human, your pussy clamping down around him in waves, your entire body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you, soaking him in heat and slick and something filthy and pure all at once.

Joel cursed behind you, a deep, raw sound of something breaking loose inside him, and his rhythm faltered as his hands gripped you tight, dragging you down hard on his cock one final time.

“Fuck—Jesus, I’m gonna—shit—” he growled, voice splintering as he shoved himself impossibly deeper, grinding his hips against you as his cock pulsed violently inside your pussy.

And then he came — hot and thick and overwhelming — spilling deep inside you in heavy, pulsing waves, each thrust slower now but just as deep, his breath hot and ragged against the side of your neck as he held you still, as if your trembling body could take any more. His hand remained wrapped around your throat, not squeezing now but resting there like a vow, like he couldn’t bear to let go of the place he’d claimed. Your insides fluttered around him, spasming weakly as his cock throbbed within you, every thick drop of his cum flooding your aching cunt, the sensation so warm, so full, so all-consuming, it felt like your body wasn’t your own anymore — like it belonged to him now, marked and filled and known.

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

The heat curled through your chest like smoke, leaving you dizzy and dazed, your limbs too heavy to move as the wet, messy slickness dripped slowly from between your thighs.

Joel panted behind you, his mouth still close to your ear, his free hand still groping greedily at your breasts like he wasn’t finished, like he needed every last inch of you under his palms even after emptying himself inside you. And then, without warning, his mouth descended to your neck, kissing along your pulse point, soft and slow, then dragging lower — your shoulder, the curve of your back, the lace strap clinging to your flushed skin — every kiss a brand, every press of his lips a silent admission.

“Fucking perfect for me,” he rasped, the words spoken so quietly it felt like a confession, not meant for anyone but your skin.

Your legs gave out the moment he loosened his hold, and you collapsed onto the couch in a daze, your breathing shallow, mascara smudged, hair clinging to the sweat on your face, the inside of your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. Joel stood, finally withdrawing from your soaked body with a low groan, his cock wet with your slick and his cum, and for a long, quiet second, he just looked down at you — completely undone, flushed and leaking, back arched against the velvet couch cushions like a vision he’d spend the rest of his life remembering.

He tucked himself back into his slacks with slow, practiced movements, the suit wrinkled now, his shirt untucked and his belt hanging loosely from the loops, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking about his appearance. He was thinking about you — about what he’d just done — about the way your body still shook for him.

Then he bent down, breath still uneven, and slid one arm beneath your back, the other beneath your knees, pulling you gently until your hips were right at the edge of the couch and your legs were dangling over the side, parted just slightly from how loose and ruined you were. His large hands cradled your thighs as he looked between them, his expression dark and reverent, and he used both thumbs to part your folds, exposing your swollen, slick cunt — raw, red, flushed from the stretch — and the thick, creamy mess of his cum already beginning to spill from you.

“Shit,” he whispered, his voice cracking with awe and filth in equal measure, “look at that... she’s still full of me, baby. Still fuckin’ leakin’.”

He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile.

He just stared.

Joel leaned in again, no longer rough or wild, but slow, calm, tender, and pressed his mouth to yours with a softness so at odds with the filth he’d just whispered into your ear that it made your stomach turn with something dizzying. You whimpered into the kiss before you could stop yourself, lips parting beneath his without hesitation, and your fingers reached up to find the soft waves of his curls, threading through them like you needed him closer — like you needed him inside you again.

But just as his tongue swept into your mouth and your thighs shifted instinctively to pull him back between them, there was a knock on the door.

Sharp. Semi-urgent. A voice just outside that made your entire body lock up.

You gasped, eyes going wide, body tensing under his hands, panic flashing across your face as you turned to him in alarm, your mouth already open with a breathless, what do we do?

But Joel — calm, unbothered, still warm from the high of fucking you — only smiled, kissed your cheek once more, and moved like a man who had nothing to hide. He reached down, smoothing your sweat-slicked hair away from your face with one broad palm, and then reached for the discarded robe on the arm of the couch, holding it out with practiced ease.

“Put this on, baby,” he murmured, his voice so quiet and so casual that you almost forgot to be afraid. “C’mon now, just like that.”

Your hands trembled as you slipped the robe over your shoulders, the silk clinging to your still-damp skin, the warmth of his cum still sticky between your thighs, seeping down slowly as you stood there dazed and wide-eyed, heart hammering as Joel calmly walked to the door.

He opened it with a quiet click.

You couldn’t see much — just his body blocking most of the entrance — but you could hear the voice that followed, light and affectionate.

“Hey, honey,” Joel said, his tone so casual it made your head spin, “I was just checkin’ on her.”

And then Tess walked in.

Your future mother-in-law.

She entered the room smiling, holding a small clutch and wearing heels that clicked softly against the tile. But her smile faltered the moment she saw your face — the smudged makeup, the dampness still clinging to your flushed cheeks, the robe wrapped haphazardly over your trembling frame.

“Oh, honey,” she said, brows knitting together as she crossed the room, her voice full of concern, “your makeup’s a mess… what happened?”

You froze. You couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t speak. Could only look at Joel.

He let out a soft sigh, the kind that sounded burdened and weary, and stepped beside you like he’d been coaching you through a meltdown. His voice was soft, warm, careful — the voice of a father figure handling a delicate girl on the verge of collapse.

“Poor thing started cryin’ while we were talkin’,” he said gently, his hand brushing your shoulder like he’d been comforting you this whole time. “Think the day’s just gotten to her a bit. I was tryin’ to calm her down, but it’s all hittin’ her at once.”

Tess was already moving toward you, one hand reaching to grab a tissue, the other pulling her compact from her clutch.

“Oh, Joel,” she said with a little laugh, smacking his arm as she passed, “you always get her so emotional. You really gotta stop with all your big speeches before the ceremony, honestly.”

She was smiling, teasing, already wiping gently under your eyes, fussing with your hair, smoothing the fabric of the robe over your bare shoulders — and she didn’t suspect a thing.

But you could still feel Joel’s hand ghosting against your back.

Still feel the ache deep inside you.

Still feel the slow, hot trickle of his cum leaking from your pussy and onto the inside of your thigh.

And when he caught your gaze from across the room — his expression unreadable, calm, smug, and maybe even a little proud — you realized something awful.

You were still his.

And he wasn’t done.

🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

maybe i am deranged and disgusting but i am free xx hope yall enjoyed

[moechies]

kinktober ⋆౨ৎ entry #1 ; cockwarming w toji fushiguro .ᐟ

dear diary ♡,

a couple days ago, mister toji taught me how to 'cockwarm.' it's where i simply sit on his . . . cock, and warm him up -- he says. i was so nervous ! he is so big , and i thought it was going to hurt tons ! it burned a little , but felt so much better after settling a little. mister toji was touching me so softly all over, calling me sweet things, and even played with my tail! i'm so embarrassed -- i must've been blushing so much! i think i may ask him to do it again today , i hope he doesn't get angry . . . i love mister toji so so sooooooo much ! ♡

“c—can we do it when you’re done?”

“what?”

he can tell by the way you’re fidgeting and your ears are twitching— you need something. you pinch at the skin of your thigh, nervous with little courage as you ask.

“the— the thing you taught me. last week. the warming one?” you quip, tugging on toji’s shirt as he finishes up cleaning the dishes in the sink.

“oh.. y’want my fat dick in y’r lil bunny pussy is what ‘m hearing, is that right ?” he emphasizes on dick. he’s so blunt, and it makes you want to crawl and hide. he turns to you with a checkered apron hanging onto his neck, hand leaning against the sink. his smug smile spreads across his face, seeming to enjoy the way you grow flustered.

you whine at his choice of words, thighs rubbing against eachother with need. he acts as if he doesn’t see you writhing besides him, your arm purposefully pressed against your chest to suppress your sore tits.

he can practically smell the sweet slick spilling from your pussy bunny, smearing over the crotch of your panties.

toji briefly tugs at the string that holds the back of his apron together, swiftly pulling it over his head before tossing the piece of fabric onto the dining table. he steps forward, figure pressed against yours and you unconsciously stumble back. he makes you so weak.

“uh huh—“ you’re about to beg again, but he’s quick to scoop you up by your legs, hoisting you up into his arms. you yelp, but make no effort to get away — instead, nuzzling your face closer into the crevice his neck, dizzy at the detected mixed scent of his woody colonge and tart sweat.

he chuckles when you huff at the intial drop of your body onto the matress of your shared room, your plush body sinking into the pillowy sheets. your legs part naturally, taking up your invitation and having him slot himself right where you need him most. his broad shoulders press up against your plush thighs, spreading them further than before.

“bad bunny. y’know you can’t just have cock in ya twenty-four seven, right?” his left pointer finger tugs your flimsy shorts aside, and right thumb presses against the soaked patch of your cunt. you mewl under his touch, soft pads of your feet coming up to press him away. you gently shove at his bicep, but he barely moves. he knows you don’t want him to move anyway. “‘m n—not a bad bunny!”

“you are.”

“n—not, ‘m not mister!”

“hmm, i dunno about that.” he hums, pressing against your clothed clit. “are ya ever not in heat?"

"sir, please, n’more questions!" you whine in fustration, yelping when his pointer and thumb meanly pinches at your swollen bud. your eyes bulb with tears, meeting his that suddenly glare so meanly in comparison to his often soft, emerald ones.

"do you know who you're talking to?" toji growls, squishing the chub of your folds together, the slight simulation to your clit making you flinch.

"y—yes, sir. but please . . . mister, need you here, need your cock here!" you whine, ears sullied and pointed low. your hand moves his to take ahold of his finger, pressing it against your aching slit.

"there there . . ." he coos, thumb sliding over your clothed slit but paying it no attention. he presses a warm kiss on the soddened fabric, low lidded eyes and a smug grin that meet yours when he does. you're adorable like this — absolutely worked up and so terribly desperate; it's his favorite version of you.

"m—mister," you stammer,

"c'mere doll." he sits up against the headboard, pulling you onto his lap. you yelp when you feel the chub of his cock pressing against your folds, grinding down senselessly. toji laughs, getting a hold of your bicep to halt your hips movements. "don't be so greedy, bun."

"hnn—" you whine, tail thumping against his thigh. you slowly tug down his sweats, ears perking up when you realize the missing piece of fabric below — he's not wearing boxers!

he notices the way your eyes light up, cheeks begin to flush, and your expression grows brighter than before — you're one step closer to where you need to be. he almost hates the adorable expression sprawled across your face, chuckling when you look up to him with big-doed eyes searching for a green light.

you salivate when you tug the sweats just low enough, his cock slaps against his stomach. he scoffs, watching his cock leak against his soft skin. he’s getting old.

“inside now— mister—“ you pant, drool spilling at the corners of your mouth. you whine again, hands weakly tugging aside your shorts along with your panties, and aligning his cock head with your fat slit. “mister . . .” you whine, hinting for help.

“y’can do it.” toji grunts, placing a hand onto your plush hip. “ mmh, you got it.”

maybe you don’t ‘got it,’ because it burns so terribly when your folds swallow his cock!

“m—mister, mister !” you whine, quickly pulling yourself off his bulbous tip at the initial burn. he watches your slick stretch from your wet slit to his cock head, making him groan.

“calm down . . y’r rushin,’” he readjusts you, pulling your quivering hips close before you’re hovering over his cock again with small tears. “my bunny can’t do it herself, can’t she? whatta dumb lil’ thing.” toji chuckles, “there there.” he whispers with a sultry voice, making your cunt quiver around nothing.

you whine when you feel him tug down at your hips, whining when his hot tip presses against your slit once again — your slits kissing.

“big sir, s—so big,” you whine, a stutter in your voice from the stretch down low.

“slow down, hurts ‘cause you’re rushin.’ see?” he coos, lifting and lowering your hips over and over, fucking you on his tip. no — you don’t see because you’re awfully lightheaded, hands weakly stabilizing yourself above him but little do you know it’s solely his support keeping you up.

your cunt squelches with each and every single movement, a low ‘pop’ that elicits from your pussy whenever he moves you. “good girl. you can take it, am i ever wrong?”

“i—i can, can take it . . .” you slur, head fluffy and hands weak against his pelvis. “good girl. now sit.”

he grunts, pulling your hips down suddenly all the way, your cunt kissing on his dewy balls. “fuck, damn it.” toji groans — you cry at the stretch, cunt sore and raw when he grinds you down further than possible. “m—mister !”

he chuckles again, breath labored as he pushes the loose strands of his hair back. “worst part’s over, doll.” toji presses down at your arch to lay you against him. he can still feel your body twitching from hiccups of your previous fit — poor bunny. “i—it is . . “ you hiccup. he pets at your soft ear that trails down to your waist, giving your plush skin a soft pinch with a hum. “mister . . feels good . .” you purr, tail twitching incessantly again.

“course it does.”

[ingravinoveritas]

I just need to talk about this one little moment from the Ireland AM interview yesterday. It went by so quickly, but I had several folks DMing me about it, so I thought it was worth mentioning.

It was the "we looked like a Christmas card" and "Our Christmas card" that struck me so particularly here. It would've made sense if Michael had said "The set was so beautiful that it looked like a Christmas card," but he said "we" instead. As if David was a very specific, notable part of what gave the set the atmosphere it had. And with the "our Christmas card," I wasn't even sure if Michael realized what he said, at first, but if you watch the second gif, it looks like he said it without even thinking and then caught himself a few seconds later.

So could he and David be sending out Christmas cards together? Who knows. This could certainly just be me reading too much into things, but then you have the interview from today with Michael and David talking about Aziraphale and Crowley going onto a date and immediate shifting into talking in the first person ("I"/"we"), as if they are talking about themselves, and it's just the cumulative effect of them doing this over and over that really makes you wonder...

[anonf1writer]

It's stuck — LN4 TikTok Trend

hellooo! based on this request I wrote 1,6k words not about george, not about charles, but about lando loll. like i said, i was skeptical about it, but then i watched a few videos and couldn't help myself - i needed to write something. as silly as it was.

so this is it. rushed and random, but cute and easygoing at the same time. idk. hope you enjoy it. +18 PLEASE!!!

────────────

Alone in the bathroom, you settled the phone on the counter and took a step back, making sure the camera was hidden well enough so Lando wouldn’t notice it, but not so much it wouldn’t get you both in the shot. Once happy with the result, you leaned closer to start recording and wished yourself good luck, knowing this prank had everything to go well, but also everything to go terribly as hell. 

“Lan!” you shouted, shaking your hands up and down to relieve some of the stress. “Can you come here please?!” 

“Yeah!” he shouted back. “One second babe!” 

“Now, Lando! I need you now!” 

He must’ve sensed the urgency in your voice, because he rushed across the apartment. Loudly. His feet echoing heavily as he stomped from his gaming room, through the hallway, to the bedroom.

“What?” you heard his voice, slightly out of breath, and the mere thought of him worrying that much about you was enough to curl your mouth up. “Where are you?!”

You covered your mouth to try and wipe the smile from your face, then waited as he approached the bathroom. 

“What’s wrong?” He stepped through the door with widened eyes, chest visibly going up and down underneath his black hoodie. “What happened?”

“I…” you tried, biting your nail if only to stop yourself from giving the lie away. “Sorry. I just need your help.”

“OK.” He nodded. And blinked. Hands on his hips. Tongue darting through his lips. “Sure, yeah.” Another nod. Catching his breath. “Help with what?”

“My tampon.”

“Your…”

Lando furrowed his brows. 

“What?” He flinched back and chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry. Your what now?”

“My tampon,” you repeated, dropping your hands to your stomach and fidgeting with your own fingers. “It’s stuck. I can’t get it out.”

Lando took a step back, and his eyes grew as wide as they possibly could. 

“Stuck where? Get it out from where?!” 

“What do you mean from where?!” You laughed, your voice growing just as loud as his. “It’s inside me! You know…” 

You wiggled your eyebrows and pointed discreetly between your legs, and at that, he gasped. 

“Shut up! Your tampon is inside you and you can’t get it out?!” 

“Yes!” 

He dropped his jaw. 

Looked between your legs, and up to your face. 

Then he closed his mouth.

Only to open it again.

And then close it again. 

And then he looked down to your feet, and you watched his expression change as his brain tried to put all the information together. 

“How… How is that even possible?” he murmured. 

Laughter bubbled in your chest, and you covered your mouth before glancing up to the ceiling. 

He looked adorable, to be honest, all confused while wearing his most comfortable clothes. With his curls still wet from the shower, and his cheeks slightly blushed, probably from the topic. Part of you wanted to kiss him and apologize for bringing this joke up, but also part of you wanted to know how far he was willing to go for you. So you tried to speak again, even if you didn’t really know what to say, because it was the only way to stop yourself from giving the prank away. 

“This is so embarrassing…” You sighed, then closed your eyes and focused. “I shouldn’t… I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, no.” Lando stepped forward and placed his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look down at him. “C’mon. It’s fine. I’m here, yeah? Just tell me what to do.” 

Shit.

“I… I don’t know!” You blinked. Twice as fast. “It’s stuck, so…” 

“So we need to get it out.”

“Um, that’s the idea,” you chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Right. How do you normally do it? When it’s not… Y’know… Stuck.”

“Normally with a string, but… Hm…” You blinked again, searching for a lie to tell. “I don’t know what happened with it this time, I mean… I tried, but… Shit, I don’t know, Lan! I’m nervous, I—”

“OK, ok.” He nodded and brushed his thumbs up and down on your cheeks. Clearly an attempt to sooth you. Or maybe to sooth himself. “We’ll figure it out. That’s ok.”

“Can you… Can you pull it out for me?”

“S—Sure.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah babe, of course.”

“Do you know how?” 

“No.” He laughed, and you laughed. “But I’ve been there before, so…”

He shrugged. 

And you frowned. Eyebrows pulling together as you took a tiny step back and pulled his hands down from your face. 

“What do you mean you’ve been there before? You’ve pulled a tampon out of whom?” 

He mirrored the confusion on your face, but it only lasted one second before he cackled.  

“Babe…” Laughing, he stepped closer again, hands reaching for your waist as he hunched slightly to look straight into your eyes. Demanding your attention. “Do I look like someone who’s done this before? I mean I’ve been there before… As in, inside you.”

“What?”

“I get my fingers inside you all the time.” He shrugged. “So it’s not like I don’t know where to go or what I’ll find or—” 

“Lando!” You shoved him away and gasped, laughter falling out your chest as you covered your mouth to hide your utter shock. “Oh my God!”

“What?!” He laughed, too. “It’s true! Even during your period. We just gotta get in the shower like we did in—”

“No!” You shook your head and launched yourself forward, cradling his face and smashing his cheeks under your palms. “Shut up, ok? Just, stop. Please just stop.”  

He laughed louder, all muffled and squished between your hands. “Why are you acting like this? It’s not like—” 

“Because,” you interrupted again, standing onto the tips of your toes and pressing your lips to his. 

Lando instantly melted, leaning down and squeezing his hands around your hips. 

Breaking into a smile, you pulled away and pecked his lips one more time, then moved your arms down his chest and around his back, enveloping him into a hug while stepping closer to snuggle your cheek against his hoodie. 

“Why do you always have to come up with something sexual?”

“Babe,” Lando chuckled, circling his own arms around your neck and leaning his own cheek onto the top of your head. “You’re asking me to help you get a tampon out of your vagina, I don’t—”

“Ugh!” You turned to hide your face against his chest and shook your head, half-laughing, half-crying at him. “Jesus Christ, I can’t have you on tiktok saying any of this, y’know.”

He froze. Arms going tense and posture going straight. 

“Tiktok?”

You sighed and nodded. And then you took a step back, tilting your chin up and meeting the confusion written all over his face. 

“You were doing so great babe, and you still are… I mean, your willingness to just help me was adorable.” You stood on your toes and kissed him, mostly because you could never miss a chance to do so. “But there���s nothing stuck inside me, don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

Another kiss.

“Sorry.” 

And another one.

“Is this,” — and then Lando kissed you — “another one of those pranks?” 

Kiss.

“Mhm.” Another kiss, the soft, wet mwah bouncing between the four walls of the bathroom. “Sorry.”

“You’re unbelievable…” he murmured around your lips, hands finding a place around your neck, fingers tangling slightly with your hair. And then he kissed you again. And again. Softer. Longer. 

Your lips curled into a smile, but you didn’t pull away from the kiss. Instead, you twisted your hands around his hoodie and pulled him closer, both of you stumbling across the bathroom as you blindly made your way towards the counter. 

“We should…” you mumbled into his mouth, one hand reaching behind you to find your phone. “The video…”

“Mhmm…” He moved his kisses to your cheek, down your jaw, and neck. 

You closed your eyes, then. Head dropping, lips parting and stomach twisting as his tongue traced a wet path on your skin. 

“Was this,” he murmured, “how the prank was supposed to go?”

You smiled at the ceiling, one hand threading his curls and resting on the back of his head as he kept tasting your neck. 

Kissing, licking, nibbling. 

So fucking good.

“Don’t think so…”

He moved closer to your ear, lips circling your sweet spot before he sucked it in. 

Your knees buckled, and the quietest gasp escaped out of your throat. 

“I say,” Lando murmured, right into your ear, “we should still try to find it…”

His hands moved down your back and to your thighs. The moment his fingers dug into your leg, you knew what he wanted, and you gave a little jump right as he hoisted you up to sit on the counter. 

You spread your legs for him to stand between them, and then you tilted your head and kissed him again. His tongue tasting your mouth with the same need and hunger he had tasted your neck one second before. 

“I think…” you murmured, breaking apart and searching for air. 

But then Lando was kissing you again. And then you were kissing him right back. And his hands were wandering all over your back, and thighs, and chest. And it was hard to keep up with your thoughts. 

“Damn…” you breathed out, fingers twisting around his curls. “My… My phone…”

He nodded, but he never broke apart. He just kept you distracted while reaching to where the phone could be. 

When he found it, and when he stopped recording, the screen faded to black. Just like everything else around you. 

And then it was just you, and him, in the bathroom. Making the most out of the very unexpected turn of events at a tiktok prank.

A tiktok prank that you would never forget, but that it would also never see the light of day.

────────────

[luna-azzurra]

Character Movements — When They’re in Love (and Probably Don’t Want to Admit It)

Love doesn’t just blush and flutter. It aches. It stumbles. It leaks through the cracks, even when a character is trying to play it cool. Here’s what love looks like when it’s happening in the body before the character’s brave enough to say it.

╰ They lean in—and don’t realize it.

It’s instinct. Subconscious. Like their body is quietly screaming, closer. A slow drift during conversation. A head tilted slightly too far. A step forward they don’t take back.

╰ They can’t quite make eye contact—but they can’t stop looking.

They glance. Look away. Glance again. Maybe their gaze drops to the mouth. Maybe it hovers on the hands. Eye contact is too dangerous, it sees too much, but looking away entirely? Impossible.

╰ They fidget in specific, revealing ways.

Tugging sleeves. Adjusting jewelry. Touching their mouth when the other person talks. These aren’t nervous tics, they’re little release valves for all the don’t-say-it-don’t-feel-it energy.

╰ They mirror the other person.

Their gestures sync. Their laughs overlap. They cross their arms a beat after the other person does, and don’t even notice. Their body’s doing the bonding for them.

╰ They hover instead of touching.

The space between two people in love-but-not-there-yet is holy. Brushing hands. Shared drinks. Standing so close their shoulders almost touch, but never quite. Like if they make contact, it’s game over.

[strangerexee]

ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴘᴛ.2

Set in 1932 Reader x Bo Chow (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | stamina king Bo | backshots | riding | size kink | dominance ("good girl," "show me how bad you want it") | manhandling (he moves her around) | keep going until he’s satisfied | overstimulation (but hot and willing) | mild spanking | praise mixed with teasing) ᴡᴄ : 3ᴋ ᴘᴛ.1

You were still trying to catch your breath — still perched all pretty on that wobbly old stool in the back storeroom — your dress hitched up indecently high, your thighs sticky and trembling.

And Bo Chow — Lord have mercy — he just stood there.

Cool as you please.

Straightened up to his full height — the buttons of his crisp white shirt stretched just a little across his broad chest — and tilted his head at you.

That little tilt— like he was studying something he was about to break just to put it back together again.

And then—

his voice.

Low. Sweet. Thick like honey poured real slow from the jar.

"Where you want it, sweetheart?" "Front or back?"

Your whole body shivered.

A deep, aching heat rolled through you so thick you almost couldn't breathe.

You should’ve been embarrassed. You should’ve blushed, fidgeted, something.

But you didn’t.

You met his gaze — eyes wide, breathing uneven — and somehow, somehow, you found the guts to say it:

"However you want it…sir."

Something dark and wild flickered in Bo’s eyes.

Not surprise.

Satisfaction.

Like he knew all along you were gonna fold for him — and now you had.

Good and proper.

He huffed a little chuckle through his nose — low, raspy, wrecking you without even trying.

"Yeah?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.

Drawled it out slow, almost teasing. His hand flexed loose at his side — like he was thinking about how exactly he wanted to handle you.

The tension crackled in the air— sweet and hot and dangerous.

Bo took a slow step toward you.

Boots heavy on the old wood floor.

You couldn't look away — felt frozen in place, heart pounding in your throat.

Without a word — he leaned down, slow and deliberate, and wrapped those big, rough hands around your ankles.

Gentle.

Almost careful.

You shivered when his fingers brushed your bare skin.

He found your panties — the ones bunched messily around your ankles — and with a little smirk, pulled them back up for you.

Real slow. Real deliberate. Like he was taking his time dressing you — only because it was his pleasure to undress you later.

The soft fabric dragged up your calves, your thighs — until it snapped back into place under your dress.

Bo let his hands linger at your hips— thumbs pressing into the soft curves — before he straightened up again.

God, he was so tall. So broad. So dangerous.

And still—

still a damn gentleman about it.

"You still got a job to do, sunshine," he murmured, voice syrup-sweet and rough-edged.

"Customers waitin’."

He winked — the cockiest, filthiest little wink you ever saw — and then turned and strode for the door without a second glance back.

Left you there.

Shaking. Flushed. Soaked through. Panting like you’d just run a mile barefoot.

You slid off the stool with shaking knees — hands smoothing your skirt down, trying to fix yourself — but it was no use.

You felt ruined.

And Bo Chow?

He knew it.

He wanted you to feel it.

The door swung back open a second later — and he popped his head in, grinning that wicked grin.

"Don't fret, sweetheart," he drawled. "I'll give it to ya later."

And then he was gone again — his voice still floating in the air like smoke and sin.

You stumbled out into the main store — face hot, hands shaking, body still thrumming with leftover need.

The bell over the door jingled as a new customer walked in. And there was Bo — already behind the counter, wiping his hands on a rag, cool and casual like he hadn’t just had his mouth on you five minutes ago.

You caught his eye across the room.

He winked again.

Slow. Confident. Wicked.

You almost dropped the basket you were holding.

Lord have mercy.

You were in so much trouble.

And you loved it.

The second the store closed and that front door clicked shut, Bo was on you.

No words. No soft coaxing. Just heat—raw and blinding.

He gripped your wrist, real firm but not hurting, and pulled you to the truck outside without a damn care for anything else. Tossed your basket onto the seat beside you like it weighed nothing.

You barely had time to blink before he was climbing behind the wheel— those big, work-worn hands flexing around it tight enough to make the leather creak.

You sat there, squirming on the cracked leather bench seat, heart hammering outta your chest, sneaking glances at him out the corner of your eye.

Good Lord.

The rolled-up sleeves. The thick forearms dusted with dark hair. The way his jaw ticked when he caught you looking and grinned like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Bo didn’t say much on the ride.

Just kept one big hand firm on your thigh the whole way back. Fingers squeezing sometimes, like he just had to remind himself you were real. His thumb stroking lazy circles on your skin. Low, rumbling hums escaping his throat when you shifted, when your skirt crept higher, when your breathing hitched.

You pulled up to a squat little house on the edge of town — plain and sturdy, just like him.

Before you could reach for the door handle, Bo was already moving.

Rounded the truck, opened your door for you, and when you hopped down — too slow for his liking — he just grabbed you.

Big hands under your thighs — hauling you up against him like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, clinging to his shoulders. The muscles there flexed hard under your fingers.

"Don't worry, sunshine," he rasped, lips brushing your ear. "Ain't gonna drop ya. 'M gonna take real good care of you."

He carried you clean into the house — booted the door shut behind him — and didn’t stop moving 'til he had you in his bedroom.

Dropped you right on the mattress — rough but careful — and stood back just long enough to unbutton his sleeves and shove them up his thick forearms.

You stared.

Lord have mercy.

The cut of his arms. The thick veins. The wide, calloused hands that had already ruined you once today and were about to do it again.

You scrambled up onto your knees at the edge of the bed, reaching for him without even thinking.

And Bo — God bless him — caught your wrists in one big hand, smirking like the devil himself.

"So greedy already, sweetheart?" he teased, voice syrup-slow and mean-sweet.

You nodded fast — bold and shameless now, drunk on him — and whispered:

"Please."

Bo chuckled low in his chest — that filthy sound that made your whole body clench.

He leaned down — gripped the hem of your dress — and yanked it up over your hips without ceremony.

You were soaked for him.

His eyes darkened, heavy and hot.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered. "Look at you. Drippin' for me already."

He told you to get on your hands and knees. Of course you listened.

He shoved at your back, real gentle but real firm, until you were braced on your elbows, ass high for him.

You gasped when you felt him— big, hot, hard against the back of your thigh.

You twisted around to look at him— wide-eyed, panting.

Bo just laughed under his breath.

One hand gripped your hip— tight enough to bruise— and the other lined himself up right at your entrance.

"Hold still for me, sugar," he rasped. "Gonna make you feel real good."

And then he pushed in— slow at first—just the thick head stretching you open— until you whimpered desperately and pushed back against him, needing more.

Bo groaned — low and filthy — and gripped your hips even tighter.

"Greedy lil thing," he panted. "Want all of it, huh?"

"Y-yeah—sir—" you gasped.

He laughed — a rough, broken sound — and slammed the rest of the way in.

You saw stars. Your elbows buckled, your body rocked forward with the force of it.

Bo grabbed a fistful of your hair — yanked your head back just enough to murmur in your ear:

"Takin' me so good, pretty girl." "So tight around me."

Then he started to move.

Rough. Hard. Deep.

Driving into you like he owned you — like you were his and only his — like he was gonna fuck every other thought right outta your pretty little head.

You cried out — loud and gasping and needy — hand reaching back to push against him — as if that would do anything. but not broken.

Never broken.

Just wild and burning for him.

Every time his hips snapped against your ass, his hand slid rough over your waist— holding you still, guiding you where he wanted you.

At one point, he gave your ass a light smack — just a quick, sharp tap — and rumbled:

"That's it, baby. Take it."

You keened — high and breathless — and he laughed, rough and full of filthy pride.

He didn’t slow down. No —

Kept you bent just right, his thick cock hitting that sweet, aching spot inside you over and over— kept you teetering right on the edge of breaking.

Every inch of you burned for him. Every thrust punched little moans from your throat. You could barely breathe, barely think—

And you loved it.

You loved the way he handled you— like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed you.

"Gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he panted against your ear. "Gonna let me fill this sweet lil pussy up?"

"Yes—sir—yes—" you sobbed, desperate and honest.

Bo groaned low — like he was proud of you — and reached around, sliding two thick fingers to rub tight circles over your clit while he kept pounding into you from behind.

That was it.

The world shattered — heat exploding behind your eyes — your body locking up, clenching around him hard enough to drag a deep, broken curse from his throat.

Bo drove into you three more times — deep, brutal strokes — before he spilled inside you with a low, ragged groan.

You collapsed forward onto the mattress, gasping, shaking. Bo slumped over you, breathing heavy against your shoulder.

He didn’t pull away.

Just stayed there — heavy and warm and solid — pressing kisses to the nape of your neck.

Real soft now. Real sweet.

After a minute, he finally leaned back— ran a hand over your back, your ass, your thighs — soothing, praising, claiming.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Took me so fuckin' good."

You smiled — soft and wrecked and stupidly happy — and let him roll you into his arms.

Safe. Satisfied. Ruined.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before Bo was shifting under you — reaching up, grabbing your hips, flipping you onto him with zero effort.

You landed across his broad chest, sprawled and gasping, blinking down at him.

He looked wrecked— hair wild, jaw tight, chest heaving.

But his cock— Jesus Christ— his cock was still hard.

Thick and heavy against his stomach. Still leaking, still hungry.

You swallowed hard.

Bo just grinned — slow and wolfish — and tapped two fingers against your thigh.

"C'mon, sugar." "Ain't done with you yet." "Get up here. Ride me like a good girl."

Your whole body throbbed at the command. You nodded — eager, aching — and scrambled up.

Bo leaned back against the headboard, hands braced behind his head, just watching you with lazy, hooded eyes.

Letting you do the work.

Letting you prove yourself.

You straddled his hips — reached down to wrap your hand around the base of him — and whimpered a little at the sheer size.

Still so thick. Still so hot and hard it made your mouth water.

You hovered over him, breathing fast.

Bo chuckled under his breath.

"What's the matter, sunshine?" he rasped. "You scared now?"

You narrowed your eyes — stubborn — and shook your head.

He smirked.

"That's my girl."

You lined him up again — rubbed the fat head against your soaked folds — and sank down slow.

FUCK.

Your body clenched around him, struggling to take it — as if your pussy just forgot what he felt like. He stretched you so wide it bordered on pain— but it felt so good you couldn't stop.

Bo groaned low when you bottomed out — his hands gripping your thighs so tight you could already feel the bruises blooming.

"Tight fuckin' pussy," he muttered. "Jesus Christ. Fit me like a damn glove."

You whimpered, dizzy with how full you felt.

But he wasn’t satisfied yet.

Bo loosened one hand from your thigh — licked his thumb — and reached down, slicking it over your clit with rough, filthy circles.

You jerked, crying out, hips grinding against him without meaning to.

"That's it, pretty girl," he growled. "Show me how bad you want it."

You started to move.

Slow at first — rocking your hips back and forth — feeling every thick inch of him drag against your walls.

Bo leaned his head back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open on a ragged moan.

You rode him harder. Faster. Chasing that hot, electric feeling building low in your belly.

"Boooo." your head tilted back, eyes squeezing shut. the man onl

Your hands planted on his chest — fingers digging into the hard muscle — and you used him like he told you to.

"Fuckkk, baby," he grunted. "Look at you. Bouncin' on my cock like you were fuckin' made for it."

You whined — high and broken — but kept going.

Kept grinding down on him, riding him so good his thighs flexed under your knees.

At some point, he grabbed your hips and started fucking up into you — meeting your thrusts with brutal, punishing strokes. Had your jaw slack, letting out broken moans.

The slap of skin on skin filled the room. The headboard banged against the wall. You didn’t care.

You chased it — the pleasure, the heat, the way Bo made you feel like nothing else in the whole goddamn world mattered.

You felt yourself getting close again — too fast — overwhelmed but desperate for it.

Bo saw it.

Felt the way you started trembling on top of him.

He grinned — sharp and feral — and gripped your chin in one hand, forcing you to look down at him.

"You wanna come?" he panted. "Wanna make a mess all over my cock?"

You nodded.

"Please—please, sir—"

Bo's thumb pressed tight against your clit — cruel and perfect — and he groaned:

"Then fuckin' take it. Show me how bad you need it."

That was it.

You shattered again — crying out his name — body locking up around him so tight he cursed under his breath, fucking up into you harder to ride it out.

You collapsed against his chest, shaking.

But Bo didn’t let up.

Not yet. The man sighed like he was bored.

"Uh uh," he rasped against your hair, wrapping one big arm around your waist, holding you pinned. "Ain't done with you, sweetheart." "Gonna ride me 'til I say we're done."

You whimpered — not from fear, not from pain — but from the raw, burning NEED he dragged out of you.

You wanted it. You wanted him.

You nodded into his chest — barely managing a breathless:

"Yes, sir."

Bo chuckled — soft and rough and full of pride.

He grabbed your hips again — started bouncing you up and down on his cock, using your body like his favorite toy.

You moaned, wrecked and shaking but so fucking happy you couldn’t even think straight.

You'd give him anything.

Everything.

It felt like forever.

Bo kept you riding him through two more orgasms — holding you there, stuffed full and gasping — until he finally groaned deep and broken against your neck, hips jerking up hard one last time.

You felt him pulse deep inside you — hot and thick — and you whimpered at the stretch, the heat, the feeling of being so full you could hardly breathe.

Bo slumped back against the pillows, dragging you down with him.

Panting. Shaking.

You both laid there — sweaty, trembling, ruined — and he ran a heavy hand up and down your back, soothing you.

"You did so good," he murmured, kissing your hair. "Took every goddamn inch of me like a fuckin' champ."

You smiled against his chest — weak and giddy and so, so full — and whispered:

"Anything for you, sir."

You laid flat on your back, dazed, the sheets twisted under you. Your thighs still trembled from the way Bo had used you, and you could feel his cum already leaking out of you, sticky and warm between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head.

Bo shifted beside you — big and solid and alive — and you thought maybe he was just gonna pass out too.

Instead, you heard him grunt softly.

"Stay there, baby," he murmured.

You felt the bed dip as he stood up — bare-ass naked, heavy steps toward the bathroom.

You tried to lift your head again, but everything was heavy. You flopped back down, whining a little.

Bo came back a moment later — shirtless, flushed, eyes dark but soft — holding a warm, damp rag in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

He dropped the rag on the bed for a second — reached out — and brushed your hair back from your sticky forehead.

"Look at you," he said, voice low and rough. "Wore you the fuck out, huh?"

You gave a weak, sleepy nod.

Bo chuckled — not unkind — and leaned down to kiss your temple.

"'S what happens when you ask for all of me, sugar," he whispered.

He crouched down beside the bed, gentle but firm.

Picked up the rag.

And started cleaning you up.

Slow, careful wipes between your thighs — soft shushing sounds when you whined at the oversensitive feeling.

He was so tender you wanted to cry — but not from sadness. From how safe he made you feel.

He cleaned every inch of you — your thighs, your stomach, even the sticky patches on your hip where he'd gripped you too hard — until you were fresh and warm and shivering again for a different reason.

Bo tossed the rag into the laundry basket without even looking.

Grabbed the glass of water.

Sat on the edge of the bed and slid his big hand under your head — lifting you up against his chest like you weighed nothing.

He pressed the cool glass into your hands.

"Drink, baby," he said — voice brooking no argument.

You blinked blearily up at him — exhausted, limp — but you tried.

Took a few weak sips.

Bo watched you, unsmiling now. Patient. Waiting.

When you faltered — your hands shaking — he tsked quietly.

Took the glass from you with one hand, tipping it back to your lips.

"Uh uh," he said under his breath. "Told you to drink, sweet girl. Need you hydrated for me, yeah?"

The water spilled against your mouth as he tilted it — not enough to choke you, but enough that you had no choice but to swallow.

You drank it down in slow gulps, the cold water easing some of the haze in your brain.

Bo murmured soft praise against your hair the whole time:

"There you go." "Good girl." "My good girl."

When the glass was empty, he set it aside.

Held you against his chest for a minute longer — stroking slow, lazy circles on your bare back — before pulling away just enough to look you in the eye.

His hand cupped your jaw — thumb stroking your cheekbone.

"Bathroom now, baby," he said, voice firm but quiet. "Need you to go pee for me, alright?"

You wrinkled your nose, sleepy and a little embarrassed.

Bo smirked — saw it all over your face.

"Don't get shy on me now," he teased, flicking your forehead.

You grumbled — soft and half-hearted — but you slid out of bed.

Bo watched you the whole way — arms folded behind his head, cocky and content — until you disappeared into the bathroom.

You heard him chuckle low when you slammed the door behind you.

When you came back out — legs still wobbly, wearing nothing but his crumpled button-down — Bo held out one hand.

You crossed the room like you were sleepwalking. Crawled right back into the bed, right back onto him, like you belonged there.

Bo caught you against his chest — kissed the top of your head — and tucked the blankets up around your bare legs.

"Good girl," he murmured again — a low, private sound just for you. "My best girl."

You mumbled something — half a thank you, half a love letter — but it didn’t matter.

Bo already knew.

He kissed you — slow and deep and tender — his hand cradling the back of your head like you were the most precious thing he'd ever touched.

You sighed against his mouth — soft and full — and melted into him like you were made to fit there.

Bo smiled into the kiss.

"Get some sleep, sugar," he whispered, nuzzling your cheek. "Ain't done with you yet. Got a whole night left to love on you."

A/N: I was supposed to post this yesterday...sorry

[rowarn]

soap x reader x simon

soap doesn't know how to make you cum on his cock so he asks his trusted lieutenant to teach him how.

sub!reader, dom!simon, switch?soap, getting fucked by soap in simon's lap, wet&messy, cumming untouched, size difference/kink, threesome, fat dick!soap, MDNI

<3 just some horny nonsense that was spinning in my brain!!!

When Simon found out that sweet Johnny was struggling with something personal and even as embarrassing as making you cum, Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain with an offer he never thought he would utter.

“I could help you out with that,” he had said, making Soap pause, mouth agape. Simon almost rescinded those words, brushing it off as a crude joke.

But then Soap spoke.

“Would you?” he asked, blue eyes glistening hopefully.

And Simon felt his cock twitch in his jeans.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t make you cum, Soap had defended on the drive over to your shared flat. Soap was good with his tongue and his fingers, could make you squirt by just rubbing that sweet little spot inside your gooey cunt.

The problem was whenever Johnny got his cock in you, he just could never get it right. The pace was wrong, the angle was off, he went too deep – anything that he could do wrong, he would do wrong.

“It’s never been like this with other…partners,” Soap shyly whispered. Though it was dark in the truck, Simon knew his friend was blushing in embarrassment, “I-I don’t know what I’m doin’ wrong this time.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out, Johnny,” Simon assured, shoving the door open the second Soap turned the engine off.

You and Soap lived on the top floor and the elevator ride up was stifling. Soap was fidgeting, clearly more than a little nervous about how this night was meant to go.

You and he had been together for a while – long enough to move in together. Simon wondered what finally made Soap reach out for help on this little problem after so long.

But Simon wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d wanted to get his fucking hands on you from the second you bounced into the room, radiant and so sweet in the way you shyly clung to Soap’s arm. You were precious and Simon’s not proud to admit he had gone home and tugged his cock fucking raw over the way you had batted your pretty lashes at him when you looked up at him – so much smaller than him.

He knew he would be a fucking wreck the second he had you within his grasp and fuck, he was right.

His hands were shaking as he held you in his lap, gripping your knees to keep you spread wide for Soap to slot his hips between them.

You were a sensitive little thing, Simon learned. You came so easily around Soaps fingers when he worked to stretch you open for him. If you came so easily then why the fuck couldn’t Johnny get you off from his cock?

You were trembling, wide eyes teary as you watched your boyfriend carefully work his cock into you. The stretch was always so good, always making your eyes roll back in your head. Your cunt was so slick and sticky, eagerly swallowing every inch of Soap. So fucking messy. It made Simon's mouth fill with saliva at the sight of how wet you were, he wanted to taste you so badly.

Johnnys cock was fat, thick and heavy, no doubt burning your poor little cunt with how wide he had you stretched around him. You creamed around him, juices dribbling down his balls and wetting his sweatpants. You even dripped all over Simon who held you in his lap.

When Johnny started thrusting, Simon immediately understood why you couldn't seem to cum. Sure, it felt good, and you were moaning - twitching and gasping every time Soap sunk in and brushed against any sweet little spot inside. But Soaps rhythm and pace were inconsistent and he didn't seem to have any idea how to aim his cock to really hit those gooey spots that would have you falling over the edge into bliss.

Simon took a few moments to admire the scene unfolding right in his lap. You, creaming all over a cock that couldn't make you cum. Soap desperately humping your pretty cunt haphazardly and sloppily. He wasn't even bothering to touch your clit. Beneath his mask, Simon grinned.

It was so cute how Johnny went so stupid the second he got his cock wrapped up in a tight, hot pussy.

“Johnny…” Simon finally spoke, “Slow down.”

Immediately, Soap did as he was told. His pace slowed, careful rolls of his hips replacing the jackhammering.

“There's a good boy,” Simon praised, eyes darkening at the sight of Soap’s ears turning red, “Go nice ‘nd deep You gotta hit all those nice spots inside.”

Soap’s pretty, blue eyes were half-lidded as he watched you writhe and twitch in his Lieutenant’s arms. With every deep stroke, both of them could hear the sticky, wet noises of your pussy swallowing every inch.

One of Simon’s hands trailed down your thigh, inching down and down. Soap’s eyes followed every movement until his fingers finally found your hard little clit. Immediately, your cunt clamped down around Soap’s cock and the Scot moaned.

“You gotta touch this cute little clit,” Simon teased, “If you really wanna know how it feels to have a pretty cunt cum around you.”

Soap nonsensically nodded, blunt nails digging into your hips as he held himself back from fucking you like a madman again. He kept Simon’s words in mind - deep and slow. Aim for those little spots. He knows where they are, he knows where it feels good. Just don't think with his cock - that's all he had to do.

With Simon’s callused fingers swirling over your sticky clit and Soap’s fat cock stuffing you full just right, it came as no surprise when you finally came.

Soap wasn't able to stand how good it felt with how tight you were squeezing around him, pulsing through every wave of your orgasm. You were gushing, creaming sticky and wet all over him. Simon could feel you clit twitching under the pads of his fingers.

With a shout, Soap filled you up with his load, “Fuck!”

As the two of you came down, Simon’s big hands carefully stroked up and down your thighs until their trembling ceased.

“You know, Lt,” Soap panted, looking up at him through his lashes, “I think I could use a little more hands on training. How about you really show me how it's done.”

Even though Simon had quietly came in his own pants, his cock was chubbing up again at those words.

“I like the sound of that, Seargent.”

do not modify translate, or repost to other websites. reblogs welcome!

[sakuraszn]

ft. choso kamo

summary: how choso is as your boyfriend.

choso kamo who is possessive but quitely so, he doesn’t need to raise his voice or make a scene to remind you who you belong to. A simple glance, the way his fingers tighten around your body, or the way his lips ghost against your ear when he speaks is enough.

choso kamo puts you in your place gently but firmly, he’s not the type to argue. If you act out, he’ll simply back you into a wall, tilt your chin up, and whisper, “Try that again.” His tone is soft, but the weight of his authority is undeniable.

choso kamo who worships you like a princes, he loves caring for you, whether it’s running his fingers through your hair until you fall asleep or making sure you eat properly. But that doesn’t mean he lets you get away with everything. If you pout too much, he’ll chuckle before dragging you onto his lap, murmuring, “Don’t act spoiled unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences.”

choso kamo who has subtle but intense touches, he’s always touching you—brushing his knuckles down your arm, pressing his palm to the small of your back, tracing circles on your thigh under the table. It’s never overt, but it always lingers just long enough to make your heart race.

choso kamo who has a low, raspy voice that makes you weak, his voice is soft and deep, and when he murmurs, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, princess,” in that lazy, commanding tone, you have no choice but to obey.

choso kamo who is always in control even when he’s gentle, choso doesn’t need to raise his voice or act rough to assert dominance. It’s in the way he holds your chin, the way he whispers, “Be good for me,” with quiet authority. Even his softest touches feel like commands.

choso kamo loves taking care of you, but on his terms, he’ll brush your hair out of your face, fix your clothes, and feed you if he thinks you aren’t eating enough. But if you get a little too bratty? He’ll tilt his head and say, “You’re being difficult today. Do you want attention that badly?”

choso kamo where jealousy is subtle but dangerous, he doesn’t get angry, doesn’t make a scene. But if someone flirts with you, his arm will slide around your waist, his grip firm. He’ll lean in close and whisper, “You like testing me, don’t you?” before pulling you into his lap without another word.

choso kamo punishes with deprivations, If you push him too far, he doesn’t scold or yell—he just withholds what you want most. No kisses, no touches, just a knowing smirk as he watches you squirm. “You’ll learn patience,” he murmurs, eyes dark with amusement.

choso kamo who has casual dominance in public, a hand on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow circles. Holding your wrist when he senses you getting restless. Fixing your necklace, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear—his touches always feel like a reminder that you belong to him.

choso kamo who pulls you into his lap without a word, whether you’re pouting or just being stubborn, he’ll solve the problem easily—by dragging you onto his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist, and keeping you there until you’re calm. “That’s better,” he hums, his voice deep and satisfied.

choso kamo who sleeps with a hand on you, whether it’s an arm wrapped around your waist or fingers loosely curled around your wrist, he always has to be touching you while you sleep. If you try to move, his grip tightens just slightly, pulling you back into him.

choso kamo who loves when you get flustered, he enjoys watching you stammer or fidget when he gets too close. He’ll lean in, lips barely brushing your ear, and ask, “Why are you blushing? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

choso kamo is an intensely loyal and devoted partner, someone who would go to any lengths to protect the one he loves. He’s quiet, observant, and sometimes awkward with emotions, but his love is unwavering and deeply felt.

© sakuraszn! xoxo

[vincinnamontoast]

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 CAITVI X READER SFW & NSFW HCS 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

word count: 3.4k

contains: my random unorganized caitvi x reader hcs. lowercase intended, lightly proofread, nsfw towards the end. sorry this took me forever (</3)

❥ caitlyn is so insistent on you and vi quitting your jobs and just being her cute little housewives

❥ caitlyn keeps track of all of your periods, always making sure you have enough snacks and pads/tampons.

❥ all of you get a bit snippy with each other during your periods—because, unfortunately, they’ve synced up. But no matter how catty things get, you’re always there to take care of each other.

❥ vi loves to cook and caitlyn likes to clean up after. they’ll ask you to do little things like cut the carrots while you all yap

❥ caitlyn sleeps pretty early while you and vi stay up running around together. you try to be quiet for her but you and vi have each other cackling every 5 seconds. eventually you both are kicked out of the bedroom and have to continue your giggly shenanigans in the living room

❥ vi is the most physically affectionate, always wrapping an arm around you or caitlyn, pulling you into her lap, or resting her chin on your shoulder. caitlyn shows her affection in subtle ways—brushing your hair out of your face, fixing vi’s collar absentmindedly, always making sure you’re both taken care of.

❥ they both gang up on you when you’re flustered. If you blush, you’re done for.

❥ if you get cold at night, caitlyn will tuck an extra blanket around you, and vi will just throw herself on top of you like a human furnace.

❥ vi insists on braiding caitlyn’s hair but gets distracted halfway through and just leaves it half-done. caitlyn tries to act like she doesn’t care, but she secretly waits for you to fix it.

❥ caitlyn makes vi fancy cocktails and tea, even though she always complains it’s too strong or not strong enough. but vi always drinks it anyway.

❥ vi hates to admit it but she can’t sleep without either of you and a little night light in the corner (my baby girl ugh)

❥ vi tends to leave her boots and gauntlets lying around. you and caitlyn have tripped over them too many times. And unfortunately for you and caitlyn, vi loves her punishments

❥ vi fidgets constantly. If she’s not cracking her knuckles, she’s bouncing her knee or clicking a pen until caitlyn snatches it away.

❥ vi is always teasing you when she realizes something makes you flustered. she will never let it go.

❥ caitlyn tends to overthink everything. vi and you have to stop her from spiraling into a “logical” breakdown over simple things.

❥ caitlyn gets very particular about how things are arranged—her tea set, books, weapons. vi purposely moves things just to annoy her, which leads to you getting onto vi and caitlyn whining/fussing.

❥ caitlyn is secretly a perfectionist. If she cooks for you, she’ll throw out an entire batch if it doesn’t look right, even if it tastes fine.

❥ vi loves to bake and will randomly come back after a couple hours with a bunch of cookies and pastries for you all to share with a big smile on her face

❥ vi and caitlyn tend to stare at you a lot. caitlyn doesn’t do it nearly as much as vi does, but they are both mutually obsessed.

❥ vi is always humming or singing some song softly when she does like literally anything around the house. she loves when you follow her around to hear it (bc yes this bitch can sing.)

❥ they’re both incredibly protective—sometimes to an intense degree. It’s never their intention to be overbearing, but after everything they’ve lost, losing each other would be unbearable. they’re not willing to take that risk.

❥ vi plays with your hair all the time, whether it’s running her fingers through it or twirling a strand absentmindedly.

❥ vi games a lot and begs you to play with her. If you don’t, she’ll insist you and caitlyn are close. caitlyn will be reading or scrolling through her pinterest, while playing with your hair. (she can be on that app forever.) listening to vi yell and rage quit is just a part of your everyday life.

❥ If you or caitlyn are standing next to vi, she’ll always have a hand on you—your waist, your hip, the back of your neck. It’s like a grounding thing for her. physical touch is a big need of hers.

❥ vi struggles with separation anxiety, though she does her best to hide it and refuses to admit it. still, when you or caitlyn are busy or absent, she catches herself fidgeting—twitching her fingers, bouncing her leg, and blinking back tears she doesn’t want to shed.

❥ vi deliberately calls you the most ridiculous pet names just to see your reaction. “hey, sugar lips.” “vi, please.” she’s shameless, fully aware of how cringe she is—and she loves every second of it.

❥ vi is always trying to sneak kisses when you’re distracted.

❥ caitlyn brings you and vi tea in the mornings, adjusting it exactly how you like it.

❥ vi is better at comforting through actions, hugging, cooking, kissing, cleaning, and caitlyn is better with her words. they will give you both but they are better in certain areas in their own ways.

❥ the advice caitlyn gives is always the best, she loves hearing you rant and complain. vi does too, but she spaces out sometimes.

❥ caitlyn writes little notes for you both, usually sweet but sometimes sarcastic. (“vi, if you leave your boots in the hallway one more time…”) she’ll pack you both lunches with cute little sticky notes.

❥ caitlyn gets really quiet when she’s worried, but she’ll hover around you and vi until you ask what’s wrong.

❥ you and vi secretly love getting scolded by caitlyn.

❥ caitlyn likes to have some space after an argument; vi does not. caitlyn needs time to breathe and collect herself—it never takes too long, but vi wants things fixed immediately. she always caves first, apologizing even when it’s not her fault. and every time, it breaks both of your hearts.

❥ caitlyn will brush her fingers over your knuckles or the inside of your wrist absentmindedly, like she’s memorizing the feeling.

❥ vi tends to lean against walls, arms crossed, looking effortlessly cool—but if you or caitlyn walk by, she immediately straightens up like a puppy looking for attention.

❥ caitlyn carries herself with elegance, but when she’s comfortable, she relaxes—crosses her legs lazily, rests her head on your shoulder, lets herself just be.

❥ vi cannot keep her mouth shut or hide her expressions. baby is naturally expressive, so even when she insists she’s not upset, it’s obvious—the way she pouts, puffs her cheeks, and huffs under her breath gives her away every time.

❥ vi will spam call and triple or more text, while caitlyn will call or text twice at most to get your attention. but you can bet your ass you’ll be getting a mini lecture about not picking up her calls. you know something is wrong if you have more than 3 missed calls from her.

❥ they’re both highly observant, picking up on even the smallest details of your mannerisms.

❥ caitlyn has a very subtle smirk when she’s amused, and you and vi live to make it appear.

❥ caitlyn always bites her lip when she’s thinking, while vi taps her fingers against whatever surface is nearby.

❥ vi would absolutely fight anyone who looks at you wrong. caitlyn, meanwhile, will just ruin them socially. a terrifying duo truly.

❥ vi carries you if you’re tired. no hesitation. “c’mon, baby, you’re walking too slow.” she is a bit of a fast walker.

❥ vi would take a punch for you without thinking. caitlyn would make sure you never get into that situation in the first place.

❥ vi lives to make you laugh. she gets so excited to hear you cackle and giggle. and she knows she’s funny asf too.

❥ late nights when caitlyn has work in the morning (vi does too, but she loves staying up), you and vi roll into each other—kissing, giggling, playing games. you beg caitlyn to stay up, but once it hits 11 PM, she struggles to keep her eyes open.

❥ caitlyn sleeps early and wakes up early. vi, on the other hand, stays up late but still manages to wake up early—a leftover habit from prison. but if caitlyn doesn’t get her full eight hours, you can expect her to be moody and pouty all day.

❥ If you have a bad day, caitlyn will make you tea and quietly listen while vi pulls you into her arms and presses little kisses to your hair until you feel better.

❥ vi loves making caitlyn laugh—really laugh. It’s rare, but when it happens, she looks at caitlyn like she just won the lottery.

❥ caitlyn lets vi be reckless only to a point—then she pulls rank. “vi, no.” vi groans but listens.

❥ vi hates dressing up, but if you or caitlyn ask nicely? yeah, she’ll do it. she’ll grumble the whole time, but she’ll do it.

❥ vi walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps an arm around your waist in crowds, subtly but firmly making sure you’re safe at all times.

❥ caitlyn is more of a silent protector. she notices things before they become threats, watches your surroundings like a hawk, and is always one step ahead.

❥ vi has a terrible habit of pulling you onto her lap, no matter where you are. she’ll just grab your waist and plop you down.

❥ caitlyn is more likely to respect your privacy, but if you’re heading to the bathroom, expect vi to be right on your tail—watching you pee. deadass.

❥ vi loves hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about. even if she doesn’t understand half of it, she just grins and watches you like you hung the stars.

❥ vi always finds the stupidest excuses to get your attention. “baby, come here.” “what is it?” “…nothing, just missed you.”

❥ vi is obsessed with forehead kisses, especially when she’s feeling soft. It’s her way of saying, I love you without words. melts when you kiss and squish her cheeks.

❥ she lovesss being babied, which you and caitlyn love doing.

❥ If you’re wearing something cute or whatever? vi wolf-whistles and dramatically fans herself. caitlyn groans in the background. “vi, please.” caitlyn comes behind you to kiss below your ear “mmm so beautiful, sweetheart.”

❥ vi sulks when she’s sick and will only take medicine if you or caitlyn give it to her. “I’ll take it if you kiss me after.” caitlyn is the best caregiver when the both of you are sick, you will feel better in no time.

❥ If vi is feeling needy, she’ll flop down on top of you with zero warning. “what are you doing?” “dunno. just love you.” because you will give her attention. she is very puppy.

❥ caitlyn tucks your hair behind your ear so gently it makes your heart ache. she does it every time—even if it wasn’t in your face.

❥ If you fall asleep somewhere uncomfortable, caitlyn will immediately move to fix it. you wake up to a pillow under your head, a blanket over you, and buried in caitlyn’s arms.

❥ caitlyn is very particular about your tea (as well as vi’s. she knows how you both like it). If she makes it, it’s perfect. If vi makes it? caitlyn tastes it, sighs, and subtly replaces it with a better cup. vi will pout about this. It’s inevitable.

❥ caitlyn keeps an eye out for little things you might need. you offhandedly mentioned needing more hair ties? she has extras in her pocket the next day.

❥ caitlyn is secretly so touch-starved. If you initiate affection, she melts. put your arms around her waist? kiss her temple? she gets so soft.

❥ caitlyn fixes vi’s bandages with the most exasperated look, but you can see the tenderness in her hands. “honestly, violet, do you even try to be careful?”

❥ vi leans against caitlyn or you dramatically whenever she’s bored. you both just sigh and let it happen. she gets bored pretty easy.

❥ vi hyperfixates hard—if she wants something, she needs it now. caitlyn, on the other hand, is patient and willing to wait.

❥ they both compete to see who can make you blush more.

❥ the kisses you all share before parting for work, events, or anything else are downright sickening—it takes forever to break free from their hold.

"when will you be home?"

"do we need to pick you up?"

"you have your location on? I asked you not to turn it off."

"please be home before dinner."

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

NSFW:

❥ caitlyn and vi are lowkey kinky and into some wild shit—behind closed doors, it’s a whole different story.

❥ vi is a big moaner—whimpering, gasping, completely unashamed. caitlyn, on the other hand, has a softer moan but lets out more groans and grunts.

❥ both of them are very vocal and talkative during sex—whispering, teasing, praising, and never letting a moment go by in silence.

❥ this is so random but vi decides she wants to go zip-lining for her birthday, and the way they both effortlessly slip on, adjust, and tighten their waist harnesses has your legs squeezing together. they notice. grinning at each other before tightening your own harness, vi leans in, voice teasing—"you like that, pretty girl?"

❥ vi is best with her mouth and fingers, but she’s a god with the strap regardless—just a little more reckless, rough, completely lost in it. caitlyn, on the other hand, is all precision, focused on hitting every spot and angle with near-perfect accuracy.

❥ vi gets so into making you squirm. she’ll kiss you deep and then pull away just as you’re chasing after her lips.

❥ caitlyn loves whispering in your ear—low, sultry, making promises that send a shiver down your spine. “you’re being so good for me, love.”

❥ vi lives for praise during sex. tell her how good she’s making you feel, moan her name like it’s the only word you know, and she’ll melt—eyes hazy, lips parted, desperate to hear more. She craves it, thrives on it, and if you whimper out a “just like that, baby” or a breathless “you’re so good to me,” she’ll only go harder, more determined to pull every sound from your lips.

❥ vi has a thing for spit—messy, unrestrained, completely shameless. she loves the way it glistens on your lips after a kiss, the way it drips down your chin when she pulls away just to admire you. and when she presses two fingers against your tongue, eyes dark and teasing, voice thick with want—"c'mon, pretty girl, let me see,"—you don’t even hesitate.

❥ vi is a mess between you both—panting, whining, completely unraveling. caitlyn keeps her steady, fucking into her with slow, precise thrusts, while you cradle her face, kissing her deep, swallowing every gasp and moan. she tries to keep up, tries to kiss you back, but she’s losing herself fast—her body trembling, fingers digging into your waist as she chokes out a desperate, “fuck, baby—” before her words melt into nothing but needy whimpers.

❥ you never stand a chance against them. vi is relentless, all hands and teasing remarks, while caitlyn makes sure you’re completely overwhelmed.

❥ caitlyn and vi love ganging up on you. one whispering filth into your ear while the other makes sure you feel every word.

❥ vi is all passion and need, caitlyn is slow and deliberate.

❥ vi bites. hard. jawline, neck, thighs—she wants to leave marks, wants people to see them and know you’re hers.

❥ vi has a filthy mouth. whispering in your ear, voice low and husky, telling you exactly what she’s going to do to you.

❥ If you’re in public, vi will lean in, press her lips just below your ear, and murmur something filthy—acting completely normal while you try to keep your composure.

❥ caitlyn has a thing for control. she’ll make you wait, make you beg, smirking as she keeps her touch just out of reach. “patience, love. I’ll give you what you need—when I decide you deserve it.”

❥ vi loves whispering dirty things in caitlyn’s ear while she is teasing you—grinning as caitlyn’s composure finally cracks.

❥ If vi is feeling extra possessive, she’ll wrap an arm around your waist, nipping at your neck while caitlyn smirks and watches. “damn, cupcake, she looks so pretty like this, huh?”

❥ the moment vi realizes she actually loves you taking control, she’s gone—gripping your hips, looking up at you with blown pupils, breathing all heavy. scratching at your back and whimpering in your ear. to see her undone is heavenly.

❥ she loves when you grab her by the jaw, forcing her to look at you while you shove your fingers inside her, curling them into her. If you’re feeling mean, you can even whisper, “what’s wrong, vi? thought you were tough?” and watch her whimper.

❥ eye contact is their thing during sex—intense, unwavering, drowning you in it. Vi’s is raw, desperate, like she’s trying to etch the sight of you into her memory, needing to see every reaction. caitlyn’s is calculated, focused, like she’s studying every twitch, every shiver, just to use it against you. It’s so intimate it makes your chest ache, so intimidating it has you squirming, but they don’t let you look away. not for a second.

❥ vi is loud. she groans, pants, grits her teeth like she’s trying to hold back, but the second you really start working her up? she loses it.

❥ If you drag your nails down her abs, tracing every ridge of her muscles, she shudders—grabbing at your thighs, fingers twitching like she doesn’t know whether to fight back or let you have your way.

❥ pull vi’s hair. grab her by the roots, tug her head back, and she moans—not even trying to hide how much she likes it.

❥ she’s obsessed with your confidence. If you lean in, teasing against her lips, voice all sultry, “you’re so desperate, vi,” she growls—trying to flip the script, but her grip is weak, and you’re already pinning her back down.

❥ if you take your time, dragging things out, teasing her just enough to make her beg? she hates it—but she’s also so into it. “please, baby, don’t be mean—need you, fuck.”

❥ caitlyn is a quiet mess when she’s being topped—breath hitching, lips parting, biting her lip like she’s trying to hold back. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

❥ caitlyn has a weak spot for when you talk her through it. “you feel good, cait? you’re so beautiful like this.” her head tilts back, her breath shuddering, and she completely submits.

❥ vi gets so soft when you take your time. kissing her shoulders, whispering her name, telling her how beautiful she is. “fuck, baby, I—” her voice cracks, and you feel her clench around your fingers.

❥ when vi is strapping you, she’ll dip down, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked—"I wish I could feel what it’s like to be inside of you." there’s something desperate in the way she says it, in the way her hips stutter for just a second, like the thought alone is enough to drive her crazy. and then she’s fucking into you harder, chasing the next sound you’ll make, needing to feel you in every way she can.

❥ when vi is topping caitlyn, you can’t help but just watch—completely mesmerized, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of them tangled together, loving on each other so deeply. It’s something intimate, something raw, and you adore them for it. but then, as if they can feel your gaze, they both turn to look at you—eyes soft, full of something even deeper. caitlyn reaches for you, vi smirks, breathless, and then comes the invitation, low and tender—"come here, baby."

❥ they love you so much, and they love each other just as fiercely. being in a relationship with them is like having a force of nature on your side—wild, protective, and all-consuming in the best way.

a/n: they’re so cat and puppy omg, hope you like <3!

[cobraaah]

Sebastian solace x gn reader (fem anatomy but like,, they/them pronouns if that's alr,,) smut,,, breeding kink,, or something like that,, preferably with emphasis on size dif and power imbalance,, and perhaps some degrading? PLEASE IM BEGGING SOOOOO HARD

Pairing• [Sebastian ♡ Reader]

A/N• YES!! I originally was gonna do something like this in the first place, so it worked out! I had multiple ideas on how his anatomy would work , like some 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 ideas. But I decided to keep it tame since I don't know how 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 you guys are. I still don't know how warnings work, LOL.

Warnings• Smut 18+, breeding, size dif, power imbalance, degrading

Word count• 1.1 K

Discount

Reaching door fifty wasn't the easiest, considering you accidently angered Eyefestation, and you managed to actually survive Pandemonium on a whim. With you being rushed multiple times by Angler and Blitz, you never had the right opportunities to check for data, leaving you with a measly one hundred intel. With a deep breath pushing open door fifty, you're met with the familiar voice of your condescending fishy friend, Sebastian. "Hey, over here." His voice rang through the vent beside you, sounding unexciting as ever. Popping open the vent and crawling through you're met with the tall hybrid, towering over you. As your eyes locked on his bored ones, his fins flared out slightly upon noticing it was you. "Oh! Hello my little minnow, what may you be looking for today? I stumbled upon this black light, it's pretty rare, four hundred Intel for it." A small smirk came on his face as a frown formed on yours. "What's the problem? Couldn't reel in that much Intel so far? Normally, you come in and buy everything, but it seems you're lacking today." A soft tsking noise can be heard from him as his tail flicked. You bit the inside of your cheek, eyeing the black light strapped to his tail. It could come in use against those annoying squiddle later on. "Could you maybe give me a . . discount?" Managing to look back up at him, his gaze still boreing in on you. Silence covered the room as he stared at you before laughing. "A. . A discount?"

His laughter quickly died down as he realized you weren't joking with him. "Awh. . oh.." He glanced off to the side with his eyes squinted, he pops his clawed fingers in a fidgeting motion as he seemed in thought. His esca flickerd for a moment before he turned back to you, "I have a proposition! How about I give you a very generous discount since you're not an annoying parasite like the rest of the little divers they send down here. ." His voice trailed off to something more luscious. "In exchange though, you give yourself up to me?" A patronizing grin formed on his face as he saw the soft blush creep onto your face. Your mouth moved, but nothing came out in protest, just soft stutterd "I. ."'s and "Wha. ."'s fell from your mouth. The embarrassment at the idea picked at your brain. "Are you stupid or something? Did you forget how to speak?" The snarkness in his voice makes your stomach flutter. "I guess. ." Timidly accepting his terms, his grin comes back, briefly flashing his sharp teeth. "Well then, shall we get started, my dear?"

Sebastian is leaned against the wall, he's already ripped off your diving gear, leaving you bare on top of him. With your back flushed against his chest, two of his lower arms hold onto your waist, covering it completely, holding you in place. "Seb. ." You softly mumble out as your head is tilted down looking at how his tentacle like cock slithers out of the slit a bit under his lower abdomen where his tail like body starts. His unoccupied hand grabs your chin rather roughly tilting it up, his hot breath pants against your neck. His long tongue emerges from his mouth licking along your neck before mumbling something incoherent you couldn't catch onto. You feel his cock rub against your stomach in a sort of rutting motion, pre slicked onto your stomach as Sebastian let out a groan. He slowly guided his cock inside you, you gasp at the unfamiliar feeling of the arrow like head pushing its way deeper into you. The stretch making you gasp as he finally lowered you all the way. He lifted you up effortlessly and pushing you back down, using you like you were nothing. You whimpered at the feeling of him biting down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. Your mouth forms a 'o' shape as the head of his cock kisses your cervix and the small bumps on the underside of his member rubbing against spots you never knew existed, making your vision haze with pleasure.

His thrusts pick up, using you effortlessly. "Fuh. . hah.. fucking take it." He groans against the nape of your neck. "Jeez. . humph.. m'gonna fuck you till you're stupid. You won't mind right?" His patronizing tone resurfacing as you respond with choked gasps and whimpers. "Aww you can't even form any words, you're so fucking dumb. My dumb little toy." He harshly groaned against your ear, feeling how you're walls clenched around him as he said that. "Such a dirty, dirty little thing." He nipped against your neck as he neared his climax, your eyes open up slighty as you hear a soft thumping noise. Glancing over you see Sebastians tail wagging against the floor. "Drive me so crazy. . m'gonna fill you up. Yeah?" His voice wavers into soft hitches as you feel him twitch inside you. The feeling of one of his hands dragging down your stomach to the clit, roughly flicking the pad of his finger back and forth, desperate for your release on him. That familiar burning feeling in your stomach quickly builds up. With a few final flicks of his finger you let out a whimper as you reach your climax and cum around his cock. He twitches inside you for a final time before roughly slamming you down all the way on him, groaning against your neck as he stuffs your tiny cunt full of his cum. He holds you down for a few more moments before his grip on you softens.

Both of your soft pants and breaths fill the room as you come down from your highs. Gently lifting you off of his retreating member, he helps you get dressed again in your gear. "And heres your promised discounted item, my sea fireflie." A sofend grin formed on his face as he picked the black light off his tail and handed it to you. "Th. . thanks.." You mumbled as you leaned against the table next to him, having a hard time standing up. "Maybe discounts for you will be more frequent. Don't cha' agree?" A snicker left him as you collected yourself. "Thanks Seb." You mumbled your goodbyes to him and crawled back through the vent. "Goodbye." He said, dragging it out longer than he should.

[y2kstarr]

Chris just can't keep his hands to himself

࣪˖ ִ⭑ ࣪ warnings : 18+, smut w/o plot, fingering, (eventually) getting caught, dirty talk

When Chris had complimented you in your new, pretty sundress, teasing that he'd totally find a way to finger you with the much easier access, you didn't think he'd be stupid enough to do it in the worst fucking place imaginable.

Of course, you thought wrong.

Different seating arrangements were made to accommodate Nick's comfort, leaving you and Chris to sit in the back of the car whilst Matt and Nick chatted away with one another to the camera upfront, making a new car video for the channel.

At some point, you and Chris had turned quiet, instead letting Matt and Nick talk about anything they were wanting to share with the camera. In the silence from the backseats, you hear nails gently scrape against something, making your eyes glance over at Chris's hand and feeling your breath stutter just for a moment.

His three fingers were hooked in the cup holder at the back of the console box, pinky on the outside of it as his thumb pressed on the back of it. His ring glinted on his index finger, his middle and ring fingers flexing and twitching a bit within the cup holder.

Your traitorous brain pictured those long fingers somewhere else, stroking and pumping between your thighs rather than just fidgeting on their own, but you tried to clean you mind of those thoughts, lifting your gaze to look at Chris... only to be met with his pretty blue eyes already surveying you.

A playfully, mischievous little smirk curled at the corners of his lips before he raised his eyebrows, as if silently asking you for something, and oh, you knew exactly what that something was.

You mouthed a silent "no" to him, as if that was crazy for him to even think about doing. But god damnit, your blushing cheeks and pressed together thighs were all Chris needed to unhook his fingers from that cup holder.

Thick, long fingers now found their way sliding into your cunt with ease, his hand as hidden as he could get it underneath the skirt of your dress. Your lips now held bite marks as his fingers slowly pumped in and out, thankfully any quiet sounds muffled by Matt and Nick conversing.

"So wet f' me, ma," Chris cooed quietly in your ear, loving the way you had to physically hold yourself back from making noises, a mean smirk on his lips as he curled his fingers just right to hit that sweet spot for you.

You quickly turned your head away from him, burying your mouth into your palm, sealing your lips closed as blush tinted your cheeks and the tips of your ears due to a slight whine escaping from your throat, only to be muffled against your skin.

Pleasure burned between your thighs and within your tummy, your free hand starting to grip the fabric of your skirt hard as Chris picked up speed a bit. Your heart raced at the risk of his brothers turning to look back at you two, a gut feeling of adrenaline and nerves mixing into one as your knee jerked.

"So anxious, ma, it's cool," Chris assured your thoughts, whispering into your ear once more before pressing a kiss to that spot right underneath your ear, your eyes fluttering just a bit. "They ain't gonna know.."

But what if they did? What if Nick turned his head just a few more angles? What if Matt glanced in the rearview mirror? What if their conversation stopped and the noises spilled without you being able to hold them back?

Nerves sparked like loose wires, you didn't even realize Nick was outroing the video, your body tensing with pleasure and fear at the same time as he grabbed the camera and tilted it down, turning it off.

Chris's fingers curled once more, in an almost teasing manner with the silence, that growing knot in your stomach tightening, your fingers nearly turning white as you internally begged yourself not to cum yet, please not yet-

It was as if the gods were finally in your favor.

Matt quickly made his way out of the driver's seat with the reason being he had to piss bad, and Nick too busy with packing the camera back into his bag at his feet to even look back. You jolted for a moment as Nick questioned you both, asking if you were getting out or not, your face burning hot as you tried to stumble out words.

"W–we uh—"

"Yeah, in a minute, dropped my phone back here," Chris answered instead with such ease, as if his fingers weren't knuckle deep in your pussy right now. You finally let go of your breath as Nick needed no more explanation before huffing and getting out of the car, finally going inside and leaving the two of you out in the garage.

"Told you they wouldn't find out," Chris chuckled next to you, finally turning his body a bit more. God you wanted to hit him and scold him so bad right now, the fucking asshole– but all that came out of your mouth was a whine that had been held back for far too long.

He grinned like a damn kid in a candy shop as his fingers picked up speed, the noises of your soaked cunt starting to become audible, mixing with your quickening breaths and moans, and fuck, it was hot.

"S–shit— Chris—" Your hand, previous on your mouth, gripped the car door armrest tight, your other moving from the skirt of your dress to his forearm, your nails digging crescent shapes into his skin.

"Gonna cum, mama?" He teased against your cheek, making you feel pressed up against the door as you whimpered and nodded your head, before letting it fall back against the headrest. A mewl poured from your mouth as his thumb began drawing circles against your clit, the added stimulation making your thighs start to tremble.

"Soak my fingers, baby, c'mon–" He nearly groaned in your ear, his fingers keeping up a heavenly pace as that knot tightened harder and harder within you, your chest heaving with pants, until Chris's name fell from your parted lips in a choke moan.

Pure, delicious pleasure crashed over you as you gushed around his fingers, back arching from the seat, your thighs clenching around his hand as his fingers just kept pumping, sweet praises whispered in your ear nearly muffled from the intense orgasm.

Your body finally fell slack against the leather, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths as Chris finally slowed down his fingers for you, pressing kisses all over your face like some affectionate puppy, your earlier anger washing away to adoration as you weakly giggled.

"Need to get you more dresses, so fuckin' pretty and accessible," He cheesed against your forehead before gently slipping his fingers from your spent cunt, pressing his lips to yours before licking his fingers clean.

Later...

You and Chris chilled out in his room, the both of you watching some random movie, when suddenly you'd heard Nick's voice booming from his room.

"YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING GROSS!"

It didn't take you long to piece together that he was probably editing the video right now and had seen their backseat shenanigans, your face flushing with blush out of pure embarrassment.

You wanted to absolutely die, disappear out of thin air right then and there, but suddenly you heard Chris next to you, making you glance over at him just to see him holding back a laugh, which earned him a slap to his chest, his loud laugh finally pouring out shamelessly like it was the funniest thing in the world.

God damnit, you hated him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

a / n : since @brookheartsmatt asked so nicely 😋

i dunno if i like how this turned out, im sorryyy 😭 regardless i hope you guys like it

based off of this clip i need him to finger me BAD

tags : @sillysillymatt, @jcsturniolo11, @strnilolover, @whore4mattsturniolo, @courta13, @sophand4n4, @blueboeh444, @mattspinkiefinger, @theyluvivi, @thecrawlys, @k4urltzx, @chrislova, @fadedstvrn, @emely9274, @raesturns

dividers → me

[hoondrop]

JUNGWON IS THE PERFECT CANDIDATE FOR LOOKS SWEET AND PLAYFUL AND SOFT BUT BEING ACTUALLY MEAN

unable to stop picturing him with an older gf inexperienced and shy and him being the one in control 🥴 pls pls post anything about mean younger bf jungwon ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

i love how most of my asks are for wonie

MEAN YOUNGER BF! JUNGWON HEADCANONS

warnings: female reader, mean jungwon, jungwon constantly reminds reader he's younger, noona kink, baby trapping, dubcon?

1. He lives for the contrast. You're older, more reserved, still blushing over things he says and he adores it. The way you shy away when he whispers something filthy in your ear? He’ll say it again, slower, with a smirk, just to see you fidget.

“Why’re you acting so shy, noona? You’re the older one. Shouldn’t you be teaching me?”

2. Has a massive noona kink. He gets hard just hearing you call yourself that. "I’m older than you, I should know better…” and he’s like, "yeah, but you don’t. That’s what makes it so fun.”

3. Teasing touches all the time. His hand on your thigh under the table, thumb rubbing tiny circles. Leans in too close when speaking, brushing lips against your ear like it's nothing. Whispers, “Are you getting nervous again? You’re so easy to read, noona.”

4. Calls you “noona” in the filthiest tone. When you’re whimpering, trembling, begging. he murmurs it like a reward and a taunt. “You sound so pretty, noona. This is what you needed, huh?”

5. He's a pervert, full stop. The kind who steals your panties, keeps voice recordings of you moaning, takes photos of your expressions when you're lost in pleasure, especially your flushed, tear-streaked face.

“Don’t hide your face. Let me see you. You’re so cute when you fall apart for me, noona.”

6. Degrading praise. “So dumb on my cock, huh? Is that what you like? Being ruined by someone younger than you?” But he kisses your tears away after, always holds you close afterward. It’s twisted and tender all at once.

7. Loves corrupting you. You're innocent, not clueless, but you've never done much. And that just turns him on more. He loves being your first for everything; first orgasm from someone else's fingers, first time on your knees, first time tied up.

8. Brings toys. Vibrators, silk ties, plugs. and he teaches you how to use them, patient but smug. “We’ll go slow, don’t worry. But by the end of the night, you’ll be begging me to fuck you stupid with this.”

9. Power play is constant. You’re older, but he’s always in control. Pushes you on the bed, makes you repeat what you want. "Say it. Say ‘please make me cum, wonie...’ and when you do,

"Good girl.”

10. Dirty talking kink. Whispering to you during phone calls, voice notes, or while you’re out in public. “I want you to think about my fingers while you sit there acting all professional, noona. Are you wet just from my voice?”

11. Aftercare prince. He knows he goes too far sometimes, so afterwards.. he cuddles you like you’re fragile glass. Runs his fingers through your hair, tells you how pretty and good you were for him, makes you drink water, kisses your wrists and cheeks like a sweet boyfriend.

12. “You’re older, but I’m the one teaching you?” He’ll say this while you're squirming under him, moaning helplessly as he thrusts into you like he owns you. "How embarrassing for you, noona." He says it with a smile that makes your stomach twist.

13. He taunts you with your age while fucking you, always in that mock-innocent tone. “Shouldn’t a noona like you be better at this? Look at you... shaking like a virgin.”

“How does it feel to be this ruined by someone younger?” He says that right after pulling his fingers from you and sucking them clean in front of your face. “Bet no one ever made you cum like this, huh?”

14. Loves to humiliate you in private. Asks you filthy questions with a sweet voice: “Noona, how many guys have done this to you? …No one? Just me? You’re my dirty little angel then, aren’t you?”

15. Gets hard at the thought of being your first real lover. The fact that you’re inexperienced eats at his control. He’ll bend you over and whisper, “You waited this long just to be mine, didn’t you?” while grinding against you.

16. Makes you say it. Repeats filthy lines till you whimper them on your own. “Say it. Say ‘wonie, you fuck me better than anyone ever has.’ Say ‘You’re the only one who knows how to touch me.’ Come on, noona, don’t be shy now.”

17. Public whispers. In elevators, crowded places, dinners. he leans in and softly murmurs, “Remember how you begged for my cock last night? Noona, I can still feel your nails scratching down my back.” Then just smirks while you choke on your drink.

18. Wants to break you into only craving him. “You’ll never be able to cum without thinking of me again, noona. I’m gonna ruin every toy, every memory you had before me. Your body? it's mine now.”

19. Possessive as hell. Gets jealous you had a life before him, even if it was boring or sexless. He gets off on replacing it. “Don’t even think about them. I’m the only one in your head now, aren’t I?”

you nod.

"that's right.. in your head, your eyes, your heart.. and your pussy"

20. He always pulls out. Or at least he used to. But lately… he’s been stopping. Slipping up. Telling you mid-thrust that he can’t help it.

“I know I said I’d pull out, noona. But your pussy’s just begging to be filled. Look at how it squeezes me.”

21. He keeps a quiet, private calendar of your cycle. Acts chill. Until one day, you mention cramps and he lights up with dark, excited eyes.

“You’re late, right?” he asks, voice flat but hopeful in that sick way.

You stare at him. He just shrugs and kisses your neck.

“Good. I’ve been cumming in you like it’s my job.”

taglist: @jaylaxies @yourislandgirl

[callsigns-haze]

The quiet ones

Summary: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

Chapter Warning: Secret relationship reveal, unexpected PDA, and flustered teammates, drinking.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x reader

The sun is barely up, casting a soft glow over the empty beach outside The Hard Deck as you pull open the doors and step into the familiar dimness of the bar.

You've been doing this for years—unlocking before the heat of the day sets in, setting up stools, and sliding glasses onto the shelves with the smooth rhythm you've perfected. Today feels the same, but something in the air hints it won't be an ordinary shift. There's a buzz, the sort that comes with Navy missions brewing, whispered over drinks in tones low enough that only bartenders know how to hear.

You're wiping down the bar when the door creaks open. You look up and spot a guy with dark-rimmed glasses, a touch of shyness evident in the way he stands at the door, scanning the place like he’s about to get reprimanded just for being here early. He's tall but sort of unassuming, a guy who'd rather fade into the background. He's a contrast to the pilots who usually come in loud, all bravado and swagger. You recognize him instantly: Bob, the quiet one who stands at the edges of the Dagger Squad.

As he approaches, you give him a slow, easy smile and cross your arms, leaning back. "Hey there. Early start for you guys?"

He swallows hard, adjusting his glasses. “Uh…yeah. Just…getting a round for the squad.” His voice is barely audible, like he’s half-hoping you’ll mishear and let him walk away without much fuss.

Your eyes flick over him, taking in his nervous fidgeting. It’s endearing, really, the way he seems like he'd rather be anywhere but standing across from you. And maybe it’s because he's the polar opposite of the loud types, but you can’t help teasing him a little.

“So…who’s in charge of this little mission?” you ask, setting down a few glasses with a subtle clink.

He hesitates, caught off guard by the question. “Uh…Admiral Simpson.”

You chuckle. “Beau? That's my uncle."

Bob's eyes widen, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he stammers out a response. "Oh. Uh, wow. I… I didn’t know." The faintest blush creeps up his cheeks, and he looks down, almost embarrassed to be caught off guard like that.

You can’t resist needling him just a bit more, leaning in just close enough to watch him fluster. You know the effect you have—the low neckline of your top, the tattoos trailing down your arm, the glint of your piercings just visible through the thin fabric. He’s doing his best not to stare, but his eyes flick down for a split second before he yanks his gaze back up, his face turning redder by the second.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a smirk, letting your fingers trace the rim of a glass, “your secret’s safe with me.”

“Uh…thanks. I just—um, I’ll take…uh, the round,” he manages, his voice catching as you pour the drinks.

You can see his struggle—the way he wants to say something, but every time he opens his mouth, he clams up. He's never met anyone like you before, that’s obvious. The confidence, the tattoos, the piercings peeking through the fabric—it all ties together into something that leaves him completely off balance. And he’s… well, adorable.

As you slide the last glass across the bar to him, you give him a wink. “See you around, Bob. Bring your friends by sometime.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you” and shuffles out, beers in hand and cheeks flushed. And as he heads out the door, you can't help but grin to yourself, wondering if he’ll find the nerve to say more next time.

---

It’s a typical night at The Hard Deck, the bar buzzing with energy, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and rock music blaring from the jukebox. The place is packed with Navy types, just as it always is when there’s no active mission holding them back. You’re behind the bar, quick on your feet, sliding drinks to customers and catching up with the regulars. Then, through the crowd, you spot him.

Hangman strides up to the bar with that cocky swagger he’s famous for. Tall, blond, and all confidence, he’s got a grin that could charm the devil himself. And he knows it. Tonight, he’s dressed in his usual off-duty look—just tight enough T-shirt and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the guy who doesn’t take “no” for an answer. But that’s the game he plays, and tonight you’re ready for him.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he drawls, leaning across the bar just a little too close. “Thought you’d be closed by now.”

You raise an eyebrow, resting your hands on the bar and meeting his gaze without flinching. “Well, I thought you’d be up in the air by now,” you shoot back, your tone teasing. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

He chuckles, clearly delighted by the challenge. “All right, you got me there,” he says, glancing around. “But I’ve got a list for you. The squad’s thirsty tonight.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” you say, pulling out a row of glasses, ready to work but giving him your full attention.

He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone. “Well, let’s start with two beers for Phoenix and Bob. Can’t have ‘em dehydrating, right?” There’s a slight pause, and he gives you a smirk, his gaze lingering a bit longer than necessary. “Make sure Bob’s is extra cold—he’s, uh, still cooling off after the last time you talked to him.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you start on the beers. “Don’t tell me he’s still flustered from that., it's been years.”

“Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance with you around, no matter the time,” Hangman says with a wink. “But hey, he’ll survive. Next up, Coyote wants a whiskey—neat. You know how he is. And Rooster…” He pauses, rolling his eyes in that way he does whenever he brings up Rooster. “Rooster’s a beer guy, as usual. But let’s give him the lighter stuff. Don’t want him trying to prove anything tonight.”

You slide the beers across to him, already pouring the whiskey as he keeps going. “And what about you, Hangman?” you ask, tossing him a smirk. “Anything special, or do you just want a mirror to stare into?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth. “Ouch, darlin’. That one stings.” He places a hand over his heart, feigning offense before letting his gaze flick down to the line of tattoos trailing up your arm, then back to meet your eyes with a mischievous glint. “But as long as you’re the one serving, I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

You pour him a whiskey, sliding it over the bar with a raised brow. “Think you can handle it?”

He picks up the glass, holding it up to you with that easy, confident grin. “Oh, I can handle a lot more than that. But I like a bartender who can keep me on my toes.” He takes a sip, never breaking eye contact, letting the moment hang in the air.

The bar is still loud around you, but there’s a beat where it’s just you and him, his gaze heavy and flirtatious, yours daring him to keep going. He leans in a little closer, his voice a quiet murmur. “You know, we should get a drink somewhere else sometime. Just you and me.”

You lean back, letting a slow smile spread across your face, but truly this guy is not for you. “Oh, is that an invitation?”

“Consider it an open one,” he replies, giving you a wink before stepping back to gather up the drinks. “But hey, don’t take too long thinking it over. I don’t like waiting.”

It’s been a busy night, the bar still packed as the crowd buzzes with the kind of energy that only comes when there’s no telling when the next mission will roll around. You’re behind the bar, catching your breath after that last round, when you catch sight of Rooster winding his way through the crowd, headed straight for you.

He’s wearing his usual laid-back style—well-worn jeans, a vintage band T-shirt, and that aviator jacket slung over his shoulders. He looks like something out of a different time, especially with those sunglasses perched up in his curls, even though it’s night. Rooster always has this quiet, steady confidence, like he knows he doesn’t need to announce himself. And there’s something a little different in his step as he approaches you, maybe a touch of playfulness in the way he’s looking at you, a half-smile already curving on his lips.

“Hey, bartender,” he says, leaning onto the bar with an easy grin. “I’m back for the squad’s refills, but this time I think we’re changing things up.”

“Oh yeah?” You give him an amused look, resting your hands on the bar and leaning in just enough to close the space between you. “Guessing Hangman finally realized he can order something other than whiskey?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, Hangman’s hard to change. But the rest of us? We’re open to suggestions. Figured you might know what we need better than we do.”

You raise a brow, sensing the tease in his tone. “Oh, so now I’m in charge of drinks? Guess I must be moving up in the world.”

“Better believe it.” He flashes you a quick grin. “But you still gotta keep me entertained while you’re at it.”

You laugh, reaching for a row of glasses. “Let me see… Something tells me you could handle a little extra kick tonight.” You pour a round of tequila for Phoenix and Coyote, grabbing lime wedges and a sprinkle of salt for the rims.

“Tequila for Phoenix and Coyote,” you announce, lining them up. “And… let’s do something different for Bob. A Moscow Mule might be more his speed—something smooth but not too strong, I know he likes it.”

“Perfect,” Rooster nods, his eyes catching on the way your hands move as you pour, clearly fascinated. “And what do you recommend for me?”

“Hmm,” you say, pretending to consider as you tilt your head, catching his gaze. “Something with a bit of bite, I think. Something… classic.”

You reach for the whiskey, but instead of neat, you add a twist of orange, pouring a well-balanced Old Fashioned. You slide it over to him, catching his eye with a smirk. “Think you’re ready for that?”

He picks up the glass, turning it slowly in his hand, that same lazy smile lingering on his face. “Only if you’re ready to join me for one sometime,” he says, his voice low enough to make sure you catch the hint. He takes a sip, and his gaze stays fixed on you, watching your reaction, clearly testing the waters.

You raise an eyebrow, not about to let him off easy. “And what makes you think I’d go for a guy who takes drink recommendations from the bartender?”

He chuckles, not missing a beat. “Because I don’t think you’d waste your time with just any guy.” He holds your gaze, letting the words hang in the air, something challenging in his smile. “You seem a little… particular.”

“And you think you’re up to the standards?” You tilt your head, leaning on the bar just close enough that he has to take in every word.

His eyes flick down to your arm, where your tattoos catch the light, and then back up to meet yours, a flicker of mischief in his gaze. “I think I’d be willing to try,” he says, his voice smooth, steady. “But I’ll leave it up to you if I get the chance.”

You shake your head, suppressing a grin, and reach for another glass, pouring yourself a splash of soda as you lean back. “How about you focus on delivering those drinks first, hotshot?”

Rooster raises his glass in a mock salute, his eyes never leaving yours. “Alright, boss,” he says, clearly amused. “But don’t think I’m letting this go that easily.”

He picks up the tray, balancing it with practiced ease as he throws one last look over his shoulder before heading back to the squad. You’re left behind the bar, catching your breath with a smile as you watch him go, knowing full well he’ll be back for another round—and maybe another shot at breaking through.

-

The Dagger Squad is clustered around a corner table, the drinks you just served scattered across the tabletop. Conversation and laughter flow easily, but the energy shifts the second Hangman and Rooster start eyeing each other, sizing each other up with cocky grins and sidelong glances. Bob, meanwhile, is trying his best to blend into the background, clutching his Moscow Mule and looking more than a little flustered as he watches his teammates' latest standoff unfold.

“You know, Rooster,” Jake drawls, leaning back in his chair and raising his whiskey with an infuriatingly smug smile, “you’re wasting your time here. She’s clearly more into a guy with… confidence.” He emphasizes the last word, smirking as he takes a slow sip, his eyes flicking over to the bar where you’re serving another customer.

Rooster snorts, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Confidence? Is that what you call whatever it is you do?” He shakes his head, trying to keep his voice casual, but the competitive gleam in his eyes betrays him. “Trust me, Bagman, she’s not going for the guy who struts around like a damn peacock.”

Phoenix snickers, sipping her tequila and watching the scene unfold like it’s her favourite soap opera. “This is priceless,” she mutters to Coyote, who nods, clearly entertained.

“Oh, please,” Jake fires back, unfazed. “You think that ‘slow burn’ routine of yours is going to win her over? Women don’t want to wait around forever. They like a guy who knows what he wants.” He casts another confident glance toward the bar, and Rooster follows his gaze, jaw tightening just slightly.

Bob, meanwhile, is turning a shade of red that nearly matches his squadmate’s call sign. He keeps his eyes firmly on his drink, but Phoenix catches the flush creeping up his neck and nudges him with her elbow.

“Hey, Bob,” she says with a mischievous grin, “you’re awfully quiet over there. What do you think? Who’s got the better shot?”

Bob’s eyes widen as every head at the table turns to look at him. He stammers, his grip tightening on his glass. “I—I don’t know,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I, uh… I think she’d go for someone… respectful. Kind of… uh…”

Rooster grins, reaching over to pat Bob’s shoulder, his tone almost affectionate. “See, Bob gets it. A guy who’s not all in her face about it.”

Jake rolls his eyes, scoffing as he leans back. “Right. Because nothing says ‘charming’ like shyly staring into your drink.”

Bob just blushes harder, sinking a little lower in his seat as Phoenix pats his back in a show of support. “Ignore them, Bob. They’re just scared you’re the dark horse here,” she teases, sending Jake and Bradley a challenging look.

“Oh, is that it?” Hangman laughs, tipping his glass toward Bob in mock salute. “Tell you what, Bob—if she turns me down, I’ll let you take a shot.”

Rooster shakes his head, chuckling. “Sure, Bob. If Jake somehow fails—and trust me, he will—you’ve got my blessing.”

Bob’s face is now a deep shade of crimson, and he lets out a nervous laugh, clearly mortified. But he can’t resist glancing over toward the bar, where you’re moving easily between customers, completely unaware of the mini-drama playing out across the room.

“You know what?” Rooster says, straightening up and giving Jake a look that’s half-challenge, half-smirk. “Why don’t we let her decide who’s worth her time?”

Jake’s eyes narrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Fine by me, Rooster. May the best man win.”

Bob practically melts into his seat, but despite his obvious embarrassment, there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glances at you.

-

You’ve been keeping an eye on the Dagger Squad from behind the bar, and you’ve caught enough of the banter to know they’re up to something. You can feel the weight of their stares now, so you decide to put them out of their misery. With a knowing smile, you grab a couple of fresh napkins and make your way over to the table, letting your gaze linger on one person in particular.

Bob’s leaning on the railing, doing his best to stay out of the spotlight as Jake and Bradley bicker, each too wrapped up in their little rivalry to notice you coming. Only Phoenix catches your approach, her eyes widening in excitement as she realizes what’s about to happen. She’s the only one who knows, after all.

“Hey, Bobby,” you say with a playful lilt, giving him a warm smile. His head snaps up, his cheeks turning an immediate shade of pink.

You can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but there’s a flicker of pure adoration in his eyes as he takes you in. Without a word, he leans in, brushing his lips softly against yours, his hand finding your waist as he pulls you in. His usual shyness fades as he melts into the kiss, his touch growing just a little bolder, like he’s letting himself savour every second.

Around you, the entire squad has gone silent. Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote are all staring, mouths slightly open in complete disbelief. But it’s not the kiss that has them in shock. It’s the glint of your engagement ring—hanging on a delicate chain around your neck, tucked just under the collar of your shirt. The light catches it as you pull back from Bob, and you see the realization dawn on each of their faces.

“Oh, my god,” Phoenix gasps, covering her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as she watches Jake and Bradley try to process what they’re seeing. “No way. All this time, and she’s been with… Bobby?” Her eyes sparkle with pure delight as she glances back at you, unable to contain her excitement.

Bob, still flushed from the kiss, shifts awkwardly as he catches sight of his teammates’ stunned expressions. He ducks his head, clearly overwhelmed by all the attention, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“Wait…you’re with Bob?” Hangman says, still sounding completely baffled. He shakes his head, his usual confidence gone. “And you’re engaged?”

“Guess we kept it under wraps a little too well,” you say with a smirk, running a hand affectionately through Bob’s hair, watching as he blushes even deeper but relaxes into your touch. He looks at you with such genuine, quiet adoration that it’s impossible not to smile.

Rooster, still processing, lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Wow. And here I was thinking shy guys didn’t stand a chance.”

Phoenix is practically beside herself with joy, and she can’t help but gloat just a little. “Well, guess what, boys?” You grin, crossing your arms. “Turns out all I wanted was the quiet one.”