#the fucking suspense is killing me

[sbrown82]

[bitegore]

A good while ago me and my dad were talking and he said it would be better for me to go get myself killed than for his house to be robbed. I know what he meant by that but it feels like permission. I really do not need that.

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

for the ask game - I need to know what categories dabihawks and shigadabi fall under for u 👀

- @yinyuedijun

HI MAO I would be delighted!!!!! Thanks for the ask! =D

Shigadabi - Makes sense, compels me. Simple and clean. Actually tied with dabitwice as my favorite canon dabi ship

Dabihawks - THIS ONE IS LESS CLEAR. On one hand, there are SO many thematic parallels between these characters and I like the idea of pairing Hawks with loud emotional borderline manic characters to contrast his near terrifying control, so on one hand I wanna say Makes Sense, Doesn't Compel Me. But on the other hand, HORI NEVER FUCKING DID ANYTHING WITH THOSE PARALLELS!!!!!!!!! IT LITERALLY HOLDS ZERO WEIGHT IN REGARDS TO THE CANON CHARACTERS AND THEIR INTERACTIONS!!!!!!!! IT BUILDS UP TO NOTHING!!!! So in that case, I have to say Doesn't Make Sense, Doesn't Compel Me.

Unfortunately it will always be Doesn't Compel Me cause I do not like Hawks as a character specifically in regards to the canon. Idk how Hori did it, but he literally created a character that is literally Cop Incarnate, down to his patchy-ass goatee, and it REPELS me. It's like I've literally already been a room with this man irl and I could feel the slime from proximity.

(It doesn't help that Hawks has a lot of potentially interesting parts to his character, but Hori never takes them further than that. He's literally ONLY Cop Incarnate. Which is why I think I CAN be persuaded to read him in fic form, because sometimes those traits are explored and given the appropriate amount of screen time!!! So then he's still Cop but at least gets to be interesting about it!!!!!)

(also the dabihawks/dabixhawksxreader fics I have read have been.....................................................................................we'll say juvenile, to be nice)

(on that note, I will say that the porn that comes from those two is hot as hell!!!!!!!!! They be puttin them boys in situations!!!!!!! 👀👀)

Stick a ship in my ask box and I'll tell you which of these options it is for me!

[balteus]

i read the horizon manhwa out of curiosity and bc the premise seems interesting but all im getting out of it is that the author is a christian who's weird about women.

[elmmni]

guess who's about to be insufferable about spiderverse!!!!!

[niroke]

👀 Hey Jonny what's going on over there?

[databard]

Had a dream that basically told me to go check my email about the library job I've been hoping for

I apparently got notice last week that 3 out of the 4 positions have been filled

The 4th one is the one I'd told them I preferred due to the fact that the branch is right down the street from where I live

Pray for me y'all I might still have a chance

[hwangsify]

just so everyone knows.. i'll be gone on camp from june 28 to july 9 so i wont be able to post at all since they wont allow phones into the camp 😭 i'll be back by july 9 on my usual posting schedule and hopefully be able to post a few wips b4 my second camp starts so please wait for me !!

[nominalnebula]

once again with feeling

GODDAMN YOU MATTHEW MERCER

[gaywario420]

fckin arrived at college way too early... been standing here for like a full half hour... 10 minutes left!

[lady-tortilla-chip]

I want her 😩

[unproduciblesmackdown]

fr incredibly epic subversion move in creep 2 is denying the audience the "understanding" that our perspective is that of Neutral Objective Arbiter. we aren't shown arguments of the protagonist's unfiltered, private thoughts & feelings through visuals or dialogue for us as obstensibly our way to believe she's vulnerable: she is, we understand she understands this, and then we aren't privy to any more "proof" of this by observing whatever attacks or simply emotional duress. we can assess and judge and guess about this person, but the movie doesn't let us believe we're Not, and that instead we're simply "understanding" the conveyed factual information. the killer man uses performance as a way to generate vulnerability, the protagonist young nonwhite woman uses performance to strategically interrupt such efforts from malicious to exploitative to violently so men on like any given tuesday, and the killer man's approach to performance is not truly equipped to react to her adaptation and flexibility; his loss of control turns vulnerability back around on him, whereupon he stumbles and flounders and is knocked off course, while existing in continuous vulnerability even when succeeding at her efforts is, again, any tuesday for the protagonist. putting him in a position of having something to prove just by expressing skepticism abt his threat of eventually killing her. when he tries to leverage Gender to discomfit her by saying she (or, they both) should undress, only to be the one clearly discomfited when instead she simply does so with her nudity a matter of fact (and not really shown, b/c the killer guy's camera pov doesn't just provide some full body shot, he's directing it down, around, at her set, unbothered expression, Showing his own vulnerability in the situation now, unable to deal with her body outside his effort to make its very existence a power play. but isn't being a woman sexual, which is to say, inherently available for consumption by men???). when we get the killer guy's pov as he is looking for the protagonist around the house, increasingly turning it into a threatening sort of hide and seek (kind of creeping around, creepily, even) and we wait for his, and our, expected vision of her being Afraid and Menaced and possibly Attacked, only for her to jumpscare him, and us, knock him on his ass and laugh at him. the killer's like melancholic musings as established in the first film being a situation in which the protagonist plays into the gender of "women provide comfort, emotional support, intimacy!" to extend the relative vulnerability of that and prolong the delay of any violence, how far-fetched....while this narrative of her navigating & kind of heist breaking out of this danger doesn't ask her to like "overcome" or "transcend" that vulnerability like oh hooray she's now Strong enough to win, Too Strong to be thusly vulnerable ever again; nor ever puts forth that she can, or should, ever just turn the situation around completely to win. jumpscaring the guy? still happening in the context of her performing as, at most, "playing along." he's trying to get the advantage over her, she's trying to more so establish / prolong a dynamic of closer to equals to protect herself and interrupt this: despite her inability to take control of the situation / name the game in any lasting way: killer guy is still driven by ego. in the end it's that ego that makes him vulnerable enough for her to again surprise him and us with the final physical fight maneuver to get away, in that last minute and culmination able to drop any performing as her survival strategy, but still able to take advantage of his own performance as means of control and driven by ego

this also compared to horror genre ostensible commentary by way of "subversion" that's just still also misogyny: just Showing women's pain? what else is new. we're asked to recognize it not by understanding it's there as a matter of fact, but by observing and assessing some unfiltered display of it. or the classic of "but if we put a man through the same violence or pain. makes you think huh." or ohh we posited this disabled person as a scary threat but now they're dead b/c they weren't the real threat, makes you think huh? or the classic of "but if we keep the disability as threatening & scary but we also kind of ask the audience to Pity it. makes you think huh." like no, the power dynamic of [the audience (with a clear assumed perspective) is neutral! they must be able to assess and judge The Other onscreen] is there. pity requiring the power difference to Deign to extend it. "well disability is scary but some things are scarier" wow. indulging in [women experiencing violence / harm] as privy observers b/c it doesn't exist if you're not looking right at it, judging it as legitimate for yourself rather than via having to accept the character understands it as legitimate for themself, whether their most unfiltered (in an expectedly externalized way) pain or even simply what was done to them was shown directly to you or not. that women trying to insulate/extricate themselves from harm must also "look" unusually elevated & intense & extreme to be "real," it can't be so matter of fact and even potentially made invisible as for us to be Surprised by the efforts of the protagonist here, and have to wonder what she'll do next, and not be convinced she'll make it out of this forever through taking control and transcending her vulnerability

point is like yeah any character but also any person Making billions should've watched creep 2. the power dynamics not only re: successful Gender relevance in the text but also in the genre of horror, of film itself. the potential violence of looking? that's made constantly relevant. the audience does not get to understand itself as impartial judge. the protagonist doesn't have to earn anything from our assessment: this is a strategic heist, not, again, some kind of commentary on [gender/ed violence, huh?] that presents a Narrative Arc of a woman's who "overcomes" this by becoming "better" (stronger, braver, smarter, etc....). again, with the premise of an egotistical murder man who uses performance and wants to himself be assessed for his own power trip and amusement, the protagonist already prepared to perform in response to such efforts has a survival skill that completely eclipses the ability of murder man, who can only be on the offensive, while not being a mere [just being on the offensive in turn] response which would only become a Power Levels competition. it's not about "winning" at someone else's game that shouldn't exist, it's just about getting through it until there's the opportunity to get away.

and, again, like that we and the protagonist doesn't Need to know if he really means to kill her for real. uneven power and misogyny and the threat of a man and what room there is for her to act in ways that throw off, interrupt, divert, but don't make overt that she's deliberately doing so or threaten in turn? we can understand that this woman is already at all prepared to navigate that; the killer man is not (who, in a true "that is a choice" element of the first movie which is more [whatever] and not required viewing for the vastly superior sequel imo, has implicitly killed mostly to all men before (Choicedly b/c there is given this angle of like, "performing" any affection towards these men. that and the "uh oh! he's Weird!" angle carrying so much more weight like, zzz to the first one. "uh oh! he's a man immediately trying to fuck with this woman!" in the second being much more actually interesting, as well as the performance of / desire/expectation for affection, intimacy from a woman amidst this context of violence like yeah and that's cishet ideals for you!)

anyways yeah lot of media analysis, the pov & not like "negotiating" with the audience to interact w/the understood theme of gendered power dynamics, the audience not getting to think it is granted an objective omniscience, the [this is An Other Person] turned on the protagonist made Relevant, our lack of complete access to her is Relevant, we do not get to expect we are entitled to that full access or forget that we're observing as An Other Person ourselves to instead believe we're a removed, impartial judge who has to be presented with and convinced of every element out here. much more to say but this is like effort #5 & we can't be here all day, gotta throw down a draft at some point, and can't readily rediscover some short essay about it from closer to its actual release. well, it pwns. like i was saying the handling of gender / power going on in there is >>>>>>>> like god knows horror material generally including that which tries to be About it too, but also really just anything in any genre. billions should've watched creep 2 & been different now. imagining s5 where after axe gets peak horribly possessive towards wendy, being outwardly petty towards her over her also shit & boring & Superior artist bf, stalking her about it, sabotaging the relationship about it, secretly taking the portrait of her that he resented her having before....and then we get the repulsive "romantic" scene about wendy going "aw gosh :) you only want me to be [single] so You get access to me!! :))" like and then axe doesn't show up on the helicopter in the end while wendy's like haha i knew :) b/c she rendezvoused with him and killed him. society if only. superhell for real

[theghostofashton]

a silly procedural should not have the right to make me cry like this tbh

[anonymouswh]

It's not summer unless it's over 25 degrees and thunder storming

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

[blackkwidowed]

Rewatching black widow has led to the conclusion that in the scene in Norway where Nat is watching the movie in her trailer, that woman is entirely just in a shirt and underwear.

norway nat is a favourite of mine, here is another lil taste of my brain. did someone order dirty talk? she's not wearing underwear this time

Nat emerges from the bathroom, quietly pottering down the hall to where you're half-lay on the couch with a book in your hands and a blanket over your lap.

She's wearing your shirt this time, you note. It makes you smile softly at her as she reaches you, taking the book from your hands and setting it aside. You know what she's after, her intentions clear when she straddles your lap and presses her lips feather light against your neck.

"I like when you wear my clothes." You mutter. Your hands find her hips, sliding down her thighs.

She sighs at the touch, humming at your words as she continues trailing her lips across your skin.

"This shirt is mine now, actually."

You grin, raking your nails lightly across her thighs. You hear a soft sigh against your neck, where her lips still linger. It makes you shiver.

"That's a shame," you note. Your hands roam, grabbing a handful of her ass in one and sliding the other over her hip. "I like fucking you when you're wearing my clothes."

Her breath catches, and she sinks her teeth into your collarbone, pulling at the skin with her teeth. She knows it makes you weak.

"But I suppose it'll do."

She groans against you when you grip her hip tighter, running your thumb over the bone and attempting to pull her closer yet.

"I was thinking about you in the shower," she murmurs. "I can't get you out of my head."

"Is that so?" You chuckle, grinning. "What exactly were you thinking of in there?"

Her hips are at your neck again, but firmer this time. Your skin's on fire. You might know very well how to make her weak, but you know it goes both ways. Her lips are hot, mouth wet, hips moving on top of you where she's seated. Fuck. You can't get enough of her.

Nat's moving up your neck, to your ear where she nips gently at it and whispers, "how badly I want your fingers in me."

Fuck.

You tangle your fingers through her hair, pulling her back gently for her to look at you. "They feel so good. I love the way I feel so full when you're inside me like that."

Releasing a low hum of appreciation, you attach your lips to her neck, biting softly until she emits that beautiful, soft whine you're used to when you find the spot that makes her tick. She isn't about to dance around and play games tonight, no, she's telling you what she wants and you'd be downright stupid to deny it from her.

"So is it a coincidence that it's one of my favourite things?" One hand remains in her hair, the other at her hip still, but this time encouraging her movements in your lap. "I just love how wet you get for me."

You litter kisses across her jaw.

"How you grab at my wrist when I've got my fingers in you. It's how I know you never want me to stop."

She moans. Soft. Your favourite sound. You know you're already driving her crazy and you couldn't be happier about it.

Your trail kisses up to her ear, lowering your voice to a whisper. "How hard it is for me to move when you're about to come around my fingers."

Natasha closes her eyes, clenching around nothing. God, she needs them. Desperately. She knows it, and she knows you know it. Both of her hands rest on either side of your neck, holding herself. Your voice, the eye contact, it makes her knees weak.

She rests her forehead against yours, breathing louder than she'd want to when the hand on her hip glides across her inner thigh. It's inching higher, and even though neither of you can count the amount of times you'd done this, the suspense is killing her. It somehow, always feels like the first time.

You kiss her hard. It's laced with want, need, love, passion, everything that makes her heart soar and a fire light in her stomach. She knows she's already embarrassingly wet, she has been since jumping out of the shower. But now, with your voice in her ear and your hands everywhere, Natasha knows she's a mess. She can feel it.

You can too, even without touching her between her legs yet. Your fingers rest at the top of her inner thigh, but you can feel the heat from her still. And as much as you love teasing her, hearing her pleas and begs, you want her. There's an overwhelming urge to just give her everything, so you do.

Your fingers graze her clit and her hips buck in surprise. She's so sensitive it's driving your crazy. She can't keep herself still. As soon as you make contact, she's rotating her hips for pressure from your fingers.

"God, fuck, that feels so good." She whimpers, pressing her lips to yours again. It's hungry, desperate and all-consuming. She needs you, and you know it.

She rests her forehead against your shoulder while you make slow, lazy circles across her clit. God, she's wet. You gather slick with your fingers and she groans when you meet her clit again. She's more and more sensitive by the minute, and the debate in your head of keeping her waiting or just giving her what she wants is a constant battle.

Her lips against your ear again, this time already breathless at the heat between the two of you that's come seemingly from nowhere. An hour ago you were playing a board game quietly, laughing to each other while some movie played in the background that neither of you were paying any attention to. Yet now, she was sat on top of you, cunt leaking and silently begging you to take her.

What makes you break though, is the one thing she knows full well makes you the weakest.

A final, soft bite at your ear lobe, and with her voice low, thick with arousal. "Please, baby."

Your eyes close, thighs clenching. Your other hand finds her hip, pulling her tight against your body. The fingers across her clit stop, but almost no time passes before you slip two of them inside her.

The moan in your ear is everything to you. It's pleasure, fireworks, lustful. Filthy.

Being inside her is like nothing else, especially when she clenches to get you deeper, keeping you inside because as she said herself, it's her favourite thing. You think it's yours too. Except of course, her whimpers directly in your ear, but they go hand in hand usually.

"Yes, yes, just like that."

You pull her to face you again, demanding eye contact while your fingers hit just where she needs them. Her hips move in rhythm, and fuck she doesn't know how it's always so unbelievably perfect feeling you inside her, your fingers curling, or thrusting languidly.

Her pupils are blown, and she smirks when she sees yours. She knows she's making you crazy.

"You're such a wreck, pretty girl, is this what you've been thinking about?"

She nods quickly, a god, yes, falling from her lips in a whine to answer you verbally.

"Touch yourself for me."

She smirks again, freeing a hand from your neck and trailing it down her stomach to her own clit. The moan is exquisite, and you're certain now you've ruined your own underwear. You can feel the wetness pool and your clit throb at the sight in front of you. Your stomach drops.

Natasha looks radiant like this, moving on two of your fingers and rubbing gentle, languid circles across her own clit. Your fingers curl and she throws her head back, neck exposed to you. You take the opportunity to attach to that spot again, suckling softly and grazing your teeth across it. You want to leave a mark, it's her favourite place and you both know it.

It makes her whimpers louder than before. It's all so good, every part of it. She can't get enough, and neither can you.

You fuck into her with your fingers, feeling the soft, spongy area that makes her collapse into you when you crook your digits. She's loud now, you know she's close already. You speed up your movements and she grips hard at the back of your neck with her free hand.

The movements across her clit are faster now, and you're in awe watching her make herself come for you. She can't wait any longer, that's obvious, but it's still as though she's waiting for permission.

"You gonna make yourself come for me, baby, hm? You gonna come around my fingers for me?" Your voice is low, laced with desire. God, she's yearning for it, her fingers moving faster. She's clenching around you, so hard you can barely move, just like you love to feel.

"Fuck, yes," she sobs. "I'm gonna come for you. Fuck-"

You feel it. Her body stiffens, mouth agape in silence, eyes still locked with yours until they roll back and her hips snap.

"Okay, baby, okay." You soothe her softly, the grip on her hip loosening and the fingers between her legs slow, guiding her back to reality. "I've got you."

She breathes heavy against your neck where she's collapsed against you. Her hips have slowed. Her quiet moans through her breathing are still there, though, because despite everything you're still inside her, and she's not about to forget that quickly.

"I came so fucking hard," she breathes, chest heaving. "I-christ."

"Mmhmm." You move your fingers slightly, and her hips jump against your hand. She's beautifully sensitive. "I know you did, sweetheart, I had a front row seat."

She laughs softly, moving finally. She brings her lips to yours, kissing your deep, slow. Her tongue brushes yours and you moan quietly against her lips. "Think you can handle an encore?"