#yet there is always higher vibration...

[13thpythagoras]

Loki sequel potential debate be like

Most purpose is more burden than glory. You just choose your burden. And trust me, you never wanna be the guy who avoids it ’cause you can’t live with the burden.

[strwbyoons]

NO ONE ELSE

STARRING ... BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!M. YOONGI X READER

WORD COUNT ... 10.4K

SUMMARY ... yoongi doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he wants you.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slight angst. smut (18+/MDNI). i needed these two to fuck so bad. making them official because they mean the world to me <33 taehyung flirting with reader. jealous!yoongi. basically-lovers-but-not-really to lovers. fingering, p in v sex, protected sex. if i forgot anything let me know.

playlist : still into you (paramore), snooze (sza), kiss me (sixpence none the richer), so american (olivia rodrigo), pink + white (frank ocean), still the one (shania twain), runaway (the corrs), kiss from a rose (seal), are you bored yet? (wallows), here with me (d4vd)

you wake up to the sound of yoongi’s alarm vibrating against the nightstand.

it’s early. too early. the sky outside is still a soft shade of orange, and the only reason you’re even awake is because yoongi, in his infinite wisdom, forgot to turn off his alarm before rolling out of bed to use the bathroom.

and now it’s going off, loud and persistent.

with a groan, you shove your face deeper into his pillow, blindly reaching out to slap at his phone until it stops.

silence. finally.

except, now you’re awake. and now you’re aware. of the lingering warmth beside you, the faint scent of his shampoo clinging to the pillowcase, the way his blanket is still wrapped around you, heavy and comforting.

yoongi’s bed is dangerously comfortable.

it always has been, which is probably why you keep ending up here, despite all the logical reasons why you shouldn’t.

there’s an unspoken understanding between you. whatever this is, whatever you’ve let it become, doesn’t get talked about. doesn’t get labeled. doesn’t change anything outside the walls of his room.

the bathroom door creaks open, and you barely lift your head as yoongi walks back in, hair a mess, hoodie slung loosely over his shoulders, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"your alarm is annoying," you mumble, voice heavy with sleep.

"your face is annoying," he mutters back, dropping onto the bed with zero grace, exhaling sharply when his head hits the pillow beside yours. for a second, neither of you move.

then, yoongi shifts, turning onto his side, gaze flicking over your face like he’s searching for something. he must find it, because his lips twitch, just slightly.

"go back to sleep," he murmurs, tugging the blanket higher over your shoulders.

it should be weird. it should be so weird. but it’s not, so you do.

next time you wake up, yoongi’s side of the bed is cold and empty, and his bedroom door is open.

the house is quiet, save for the faint sound of the tv murmuring from the living room. you stretch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, before finally dragging yourself out of bed, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders as you shuffle out into the hall.

yoongi’s mom is in the kitchen, flipping through a newspaper with a cup of tea in hand. she looks up when she hears you, barely fazed by the fact that you just crawled out of her son’s bedroom like it’s the most normal thing in the world because, at this point, it is.

“morning, sweetheart,” she hums, setting her mug down.

you blink, still half-asleep. “morning.”

her lips twitch slightly, and then she gives you the look.

the same knowing glance she’s been giving you for months now, the one that says you’re not as sneaky as you think you are but also i’ll let you keep pretending anyway.

heat creeps up the back of your neck, but you don’t acknowledge it, just tug the blanket tighter around yourself and step toward the fridge.

“yoongi up?” you ask, peering inside.

“mm,” she hums. “went out a while ago. said something about needing a new lighter.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing a carton of juice. of course. because god forbid he go a full twenty-four hours without replacing one of the dozen lighters he somehow loses in his own room.

you pour yourself a glass, avoiding his mom’s eyes, but you can feel her looking. assessing. thinking about whether or not she should say whatever’s sitting on the tip of her tongue.

and then, “just make sure you're using protection.”

you nearly choke on your juice. “what?”

she shrugs, oh-so-casual, turning a page in her newspaper. “just making sure.”

you gape at her. yoongi’s mom, the same woman who once scolded you and his sister for sneaking out at sixteen, now just casually suggesting that you and yoongi have been fucking each other in his room—which you've thought about, but in any which case is hardly any of her business.

before you can even think of a response, the front door swings open.

yoongi steps inside, looking obnoxiously unbothered, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a new lighter tucked between his fingers. he glances between you and his mom, brows furrowing slightly at your expression.

“what’s with you?”

you shake your head, gulping down the rest of your juice before setting the glass in the sink. “nothing.”

he narrows his eyes, clearly not believing you, but doesn’t push it. just tosses his lighter onto the counter and leans against it, watching as you continue standing there, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, looking way too much like you belong here.

his mom, still smirking, picks up her tea again. “you kids hungry?”

yoongi shrugs. “i could eat.”

you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. “yeah. me too.”

his mom just hums, standing up and patting your cheek on the way to the stove.

yoongi steps up beside you soon after, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his shampoo, something fruity and familiar. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you rinse out your glass, the weight of his gaze settling over you like a second blanket.

then an arm loops around your waist. it’s lazy, effortless. like it’s second nature to him now, the way he pulls you in, his fingers resting against the curve of your hip, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles against your shirt.

you freeze, because his mom is still standing by the stove, very much aware and very much watching. yoongi doesn’t seem to care. instead, he dips his head, pressing a kiss to your temple, soft and fleeting, barely there at all.

he lingers for a second longer, like maybe he wants to say something. maybe he’s thinking about it. but then his mom clears her throat.

not pointedly, not in a hey get your hands off that girl kind of way, but in a so are you two finally gonna get your shit together, or? kind of way.

yoongi ignores her completely. just tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, and sighs. “did you finish all the juice?”

“no,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “there’s more.”

“good,” he murmurs, and that’s it. no teasing, no biting remarks. just this. his voice low and steady, his fingers still tracing idle circles against your side, holding you there like it’s nothing. like it’s everything.

his mom watches for a moment longer, sipping her tea. then, with a shake of her head, she turns back to the stove, muttering something about how she didn’t sign up for this bullshit but is too old to care anymore.

you should pull away. you really, really should. instead, you lean into him just a little more.

yoongi hums against your hair, the sound deep and quiet. “heading to the skate park later,” he murmurs. “gonna meet up with the others.” his fingers tap lightly against your hip, a slow, absent rhythm. “wanna come?”

you’ve been struggling to make friends in his sister’s absence. it’s not like you haven’t been trying. you’ve put yourself out there, made conversation, said yes to plans. but whatever you had going on with yoongi weighed enough guilt on your shoulders to sink you.

because replacing your best friend wouldn’t make you feel any better. wouldn’t fix the fact that she wasn’t here anymore and you had whatever you had going on with her brother.

but then again, if you had other friends, maybe you wouldn’t need to rely on yoongi’s presence so heavily. maybe you wouldn’t be here so much.

you were practically living with the mins at this point, rotating between yoongi’s room and his sister's, burrowing into the space she left behind like a stray cat that refused to be shooed away. as much as you loved being here, you also kind of hated it. hated feeling like a burden, like you were pushing too hard against the edges of a home that wasn’t really yours.

you’d only vanished for dinners with your own family after text after text about how they never see you anymore.

oops.

you shift, exhaling slowly, pressing your fingers into the warmth of yoongi’s hoodie. “who’s going?”

he shrugs against you. “jungkook, tae. maybe joon.”

you think about it. think about how nice it would be to get out of the house for a while. but mostly, you think about how you’re already too tangled up in yoongi’s orbit.

still, you murmur, “okay.”

yoongi doesn’t say anything right away. just tugs you in a little closer, fingers tightening at your hip, and presses another kiss to your forehead. lingering this time, sealing something in place. then, softly, “okay.”

he pulls back first, but only just. his hand stays at your waist, warm and grounding, making sure you don’t change your mind. “eat first,” he murmurs, gaze flicking toward the stove where his mom is flipping eggs. “then shower.”

you blink up at him. “are you calling me dirty?”

his lips twitch. “i’m saying you should shower.”

“sounds fake.”

he huffs, amused but unimpressed. “fine. smell like sleep and my hoodies forever. see if i care.”

you roll your eyes, finally stepping away from him, though you hate the way the absence of his touch feels so immediately wrong. still, you school your features into something appropriately annoyed as you grab a plate from the cabinet.

“can’t believe you’re bullying me first thing in the morning,” you mutter, grabbing a piece of toast.

yoongi snorts, swiping a slice of bacon off the stove before his mom can slap his hand away. “can’t believe you’re still talking.”

his mom groans. “i knew letting you two coexist was a mistake.”

you flash her a grin. “too late now.”

she just shakes her head, turning back to the stove.

yoongi bumps your hip with his before plopping down at the table, stretching his legs out obnoxiously under it. “shower,” he reminds you, mouth half-full of bacon.

you flip him off. he grins.

you roll your eyes, filling your plate with toast and bacon before sliding into the chair across from him. yoongi watches you with that lazy, knowing look, already knowing you’re going to stall as long as possible just to be a menace.

his mom sets a plate down in front of him, shaking her head. “if i hear either of you bickering before i finish my tea, i’m kicking you both out.”

“you love us,” you say, because it’s true.

she sighs, taking a sip. “unfortunately.”

yoongi snickers, stealing another piece of bacon. you don’t miss the way his mom flicks her gaze between the two of you, trying to decide if it’s worth saying anything else. but she just shakes her head again tbefore flipping open the newspaper.

you eat in comfortable silence, nudging at yoongi’s foot under the table just to be annoying. he nudges back. neither of you acknowledge it.

when you finally push your plate away, yoongi lifts a brow. “shower.”

you groan, slumping dramatically against the table. “why do you care so much?”

he chews, swallows, and says, “because you smell like my bed.”

your face heats instantly. “so?”

yoongi shrugs, reaching for his drink. “so people will think i’m obsessed with you or something.”

your heart stumbles over itself, trips and falls flat on its face.

“you are obsessed with me,” you blurt out, pointing at him. “admit it.”

he snorts, taking a sip of his juice. “nah.”

“liar.”

he just shrugs again. “go shower,” he says, pushing back from the table. “we’re leaving in twenty.”

you glare at him, but you still stand up, dragging your feet toward the hallway, making a show of how annoying this whole thing is.

right before you disappear into the bathroom, yoongi calls after you, voice laced with amusement. “don’t use my shampoo.”

you slam the door.

you knew yoongi liked to skate. it's been one of his most defining characteristics since the three of you were kids. along with his habit of being annoying and his penchant to get into trouble.

he'd showed you his collection of skateboards that day on his birthday, explaining how much he'd bought them for, showing you the designs he'd painted onto them himself, and telling you the tricks he'd done on them.

his hair had been blonde then. six months later, it’s a more minty color, faded at the roots. it suits him, you think. even if you’d never tell him that.

the walk to the skate park is quiet. comfortable. the late morning sun filters through the trees, casting warm patches of light onto the pavement, and the air still carries the crispness of early spring.

the path slopes downward, and you hesitate before saying, “i’ve been thinking about applying for an art course.”

“yeah,” yoongi says, kicking a loose rock down the path. “i heard you talking to my sister about it.”

you blink. “you eavesdropped on my call?”

he snorts. “you were in my room.”

fair point.

you nudge him with your elbow, ignoring the way your stomach twists at the idea of him remembering something so small. “so?”

he side-eyes you. “so what?”

you huff. “so, what do you think?”

yoongi rolls his shoulders like it’s obvious. “i think you should do it.”

it’s so simple. so straightforward. like there isn’t even a question in his mind about it.

you chew your lip, staring down at the pavement. “i dunno,” you mumble. “feels kind of stupid.”

yoongi stops walking. you get two more steps ahead before you realize and turn back, watching as he lifts a brow, expression flat.

“what?” you say.

his eyes flick over your face, unimpressed. “what’s stupid about it?”

you shift on your feet. “i don’t know. just... feels kind of late to be figuring out what i wanna do, i guess.”

yoongi stares at you for another long moment. then, without a word, he starts walking again. you fall into step beside him.

“you know namjoon didn’t start writing music until he was almost twenty?” he says eventually.

you frown. “that’s different.”

“not really.”

you glance at him, but he’s still looking ahead, expression unreadable.

“do it,” he says again, voice a little quieter this time. a little less teasing. “stop thinking about it and just do it.”

you exhale slowly, dragging your fingers along the strap of your bag. it’s so easy for him to say. but then again, yoongi has always done whatever he wanted, no matter how much trouble it got him into. maybe you should try it, too.

with that thought, your eyes linger on the side of yoongi’s face.

he’s always been like this. steady, sure of himself in a way that makes you envious. not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in a way that just is. like he’s figured out how to move through life without getting caught up in the little things that keep you stuck in place.

his gaze is focused ahead, brows drawn slightly, thinking about something but not saying what. the sharp line of his jaw softens when he chews at the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s lost in thought.

you wonder what he’s thinking about. if it’s you, or if you’re just making it about you.

either way, you don’t look away.

maybe he feels your stare, or maybe he just knows, because after another few steps, he turns his head, catching your gaze like he was expecting it.

you don’t get the chance to glance away, to play it off.

his lips twitch slightly, the barest hint of amusement. “what?”

you shake your head, shrugging. “nothing.”

yoongi lifts a brow but doesn’t push. just keeps walking, hands still shoved deep into his pockets, that same small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows something you don’t.

and maybe he does.

you're familiar with some of yoongi’s friends. not in a close way, but enough that their names and faces aren’t completely foreign.

namjoon’s the oldest of his skater friends, the one who’s always been around in some capacity, showing up at the min’s house just as much as you used to. taehyung is newer, though still familiar. he’s got one of those personalities that makes you feel like you’ve known him forever, even if you’ve only spoken a handful of times.

and then there’s jungkook.

he was a year above you in school, and if that wasn’t enough to cement him in your memory, yoongi’s sister having the fattest crush on him definitely was.

you remember the way she used to sigh dramatically about him, how she’d make you wait outside the gym after basketball practice just to happen to be there when he walked out.

it was embarrassing.

the skate park is already busy when you arrive, full of guys who look like they’ve been here since sunrise, boards tucked under their arms, half-drunk bottles of gatorade left forgotten on the ledges.

yoongi barely glances around before spotting his friends near the bowl, plopping down on a nearby bench.

“you wanna sit and watch?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.

you hesitate, toeing at a crack in the pavement. jungkook, who’s already mid-conversation with taehyung, spots you first.

“oh, shit,” he says, grin spreading. “yoongi actually brought someone?”

taehyung turns too, eyes widening slightly before recognition clicks. “oh, wait. i know you.”

jungkook’s brow furrows, scanning you again. “yeah, you were a grade below me, right?”

you nod. “yeah. and yoongi’s sister used to be obsessed with you.”

jungkook groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face. “please don’t remind me.”

yoongi snickers beside you. “it was painful to watch, man.”

taehyung laughs, draping an arm over jungkook’s shoulder. “so you do have rizz.”

jungkook shoves him off. “shut up.”

you snort, easing onto the bench next to yoongi, feeling the tension in your chest uncoil just a little. maybe this won’t be so bad.

jungkook shakes his head, still grumbling under his breath about why does everyone keep bringing that up, but the conversation moves on quickly. taehyung says something about a new trick he’s been trying to land, and jungkook immediately challenges him to prove it.

yoongi stretches out beside you, one arm draped across the back of the bench, fingers tapping idly against the wood. he doesn’t seem in a rush to get up, which means you’re not in a rush to either.

“so, you actually skate?” you ask, nodding toward where taehyung is already flipping his board into his hands, preparing for his turn.

yoongi scoffs. “do i skate?”

you lift a brow.

he exhales, sitting up straighter. “i’m not just some guy with a collection, you know.”

“i dunno,” you tease, tilting your head. “i’ve never actually seen you do anything.”

yoongi narrows his eyes. “i showed you my boards.”

“yeah, but that’s like—” you wave a hand, “—showing off a bunch of guitars and never playing one.”

yoongi clicks his tongue, shaking his head. then, without a word, he stands, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his board.

“stay here,” he murmurs before stepping toward the bowl.

taehyung and jungkook are already watching as yoongi drops in, casual as ever, carving the curve of the bowl like it’s second nature.

and okay. fine. maybe you underestimated him a little. because yoongi doesn’t just skate. he’s good.

like, really good. smooth and effortless in a way that looks instinctual. you don’t realize you’re staring until jungkook nudges your arm, smirking.

“damn,” he muses, watching yoongi flip his board before landing clean. “you got a crush or something?”

your stomach flips. “shut up.”

jungkook just laughs.

yoongi moves like he’s been doing this forever. he doesn’t hesitate before dropping in again, knees bending smoothly with the curve of the bowl, shifting his weight just right before pushing into his next trick.

your eyes stay locked on him, unable to look away as he kicks his board up into a perfect flip, landing clean, not even the slightest stumble. he’s completely in his element. focused, sharp, like nothing outside of this moment exists.

you exhale, dragging your fingers across the edge of your sleeve.

“you’re staring,” jungkook teases under his breath, leaning close.

you glare, shoving him away. “i’m watching.”

jungkook snorts, clearly unbothered. “sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

but you don’t take the bait. not when yoongi lands another trick, smooth and seamless, and something tightens in your chest.

because damn. you never doubted that he could skate, but you didn’t expect this. the precision. the ease. the way he moves.

taehyung whistles low, impressed. “he’s showing off.”

you blink. “what?”

taehyung nods toward yoongi, who’s gearing up for another drop-in, his hoodie pulled up over his head now, mint-colored strands falling into his eyes.

“he wasn’t doing all this last time we were here,” taehyung muses, tilting his head. “probably trying to impress someone.”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach does a weird little flip anyway.

jungkook smirks. “wonder who that could be.”

you elbow him in the ribs.

yoongi lands another clean trick, kicking his board up into his hands before finally stepping off, exhaling through his nose as he pushes his hoodie back.

his eyes scan the park once before landing on you, and—

oh. he’s smirking.

a knowing little thing, subtle but there.

your face heats instantly, and you hate the way jungkook and taehyung both make noises of confirmation at the same time.

yoongi strolls over, board tucked under one arm, sweat gathering at his hairline. he stops in front of you, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“so?” he says, tilting his head. “believe me now?”

you cross your arms, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. “eh,” you hum. “i guess you can skate.”

yoongi huffs, shaking his head like. he leans in slightly, gaze flicking over your face, voice quieter when he murmurs “you were watching pretty hard for someone who just guesses.”

"fuck off," you say with a scoff.

taehyung points a dramatic finger at you, his eyes wide with mock intensity. “my turn!” he announces, loud enough to catch the attention of a few other skaters nearby, “this is for you.”

you blink. “uh—”

before you can even ask what he means, taehyung grabs his board, squares his shoulders, and launches into what you assume is supposed to be an ollie.

except his timing is completely off. his foot misses the pop, his weight shifts too far forward, and then he’s face-planting straight into the pavement.

it happens so fast you barely have time to react. one second he’s in the air, the next he’s sprawled out on the ground, limbs tangled with his board, the dull slap of skin meeting concrete ringing through the air.

there’s a brief, stunned silence, and then jungkook wheezes. yoongi snorts so hard he has to clap a hand over his mouth, and you press your fingers to your lips, trying—and failing—to suppress your laugh.

taehyung groans, lifting his head just enough to glare at the three of you. “y’all suck.”

jungkook clutches his stomach, barely able to get words out. “bro, i can’t breathe—”

yoongi shakes his head, stepping toward you. his arm hooks around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest, your laughter cutting off with a small, surprised inhale.

his voice is lower, teasing but warm, as he murmurs, “that’s what he gets for trying to impress my girl.”

your stomach flips. the words settle heavy in your chest, something warm spreading from your ribs outward, curling into your fingers, making your breath hitch just slightly.

yoongi doesn't let go right away, his hold lingering, fingers flexing slightly at your hip like he’s perfectly comfortable keeping you there.

taehyung, still facedown on the pavement, mutters, “i hate all of you.”

yoongi hums, completely unbothered. “you’ll live.”

the skate park trip lasts another hour before the collective hunger settles in. someone suggests maccas, and there’s no argument. because really, there’s no better way to wrap up an afternoon of skating than cheap burgers and greasy fries, so you all walk.

yoongi’s close beside you, like he always is, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, shoulders relaxed. taehyung walks ahead, still rubbing at his scraped-up elbow, while jungkook pushes his board lazily along the sidewalk, rolling it forward with the tip of his shoe.

“so,” jungkook starts, voice full of something already obnoxious, “are you two, like… together or what?”

your reaction is immediate. “no,” you blurt, way too quickly, way too defensively.

yoongi huffs. it’s quiet, barely a breath, but you hear it. so does jungkook.

his brows shoot up, not expecting the level of urgency in your denial. yoongi, for his part, doesn’t say anything, but you feel the way his shoulders tense for a split second. the way his head tilts slightly, side-eyeing you.

you don’t look at him.

jungkook whistles low. “damn. that was fast.”

“right?” taehyung snickers.

your face heats. “because it’s not a thing.”

jungkook hums, unconvinced. “sure.”

taehyung nods. “yeah, totally. absolutely no thing happening here.”

you glare, shoving him as you walk past. yoongi stays quiet.

you don’t glance at him, but you feel his presence beside you, the weight of something tense hanging in the space between you. it doesn’t go away for the rest of the walk.

the mcdonald's is busy when you arrive, buzzing with the usual mix of skateboarders, students, and exhausted parents just trying to survive the afternoon rush.

the four of you shuffle into line, the overhead speaker crackling with some pop song that’s been playing on every radio station for months. jungkook and taehyung are still laughing about something behind you, but you don’t catch it. not when yoongi’s standing beside you, gaze straightforward.

you don’t know why you do it. maybe out of habit. maybe to see if he’ll react. but you nudge his arm, light, just a little bump against his sleeve.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t nudge back. doesn’t even look at you.

your stomach twists, something uncomfortably hot settling behind your ribs. yoongi doesn’t usually ignore you, at least not like this. not in a way that feels so intentional.

still, you don’t say anything.

the line moves forward. when you finally reach the counter, yoongi steps up first, rattling off his usual order without looking at the menu. and then he orders yours, too.

exactly how you like it. down to the make sure there's no pickles.

you blink, caught off guard, but before you can ask, yoongi beats you to it. “i know you don’t have money on you.”

you swallow, shifting on your feet. “oh.”

yoongi doesn’t glance at you. just hands the cashier a crumpled bill from his hoodie pocket.

“thanks,” you mumble, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

yoongi just hums. no teasing. no smug little comment. and that makes your chest ache even more.

you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, shifting closer before tilting your head up, peering up at him through your lashes. “… are you mad at me?”

yoongi exhales sharply through his nose. not annoyed, not exasperated. just something.

he tugs you against him. not rough, just a simple pull, his arm looping around your shoulder. his hoodie smells like faded detergent and cheap cigarette smoke and something unmistakably him.

“i’m not mad,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

you don’t know what to do with your hands, so you just shove them into your own pockets, fingers curling into the fabric. “… promise?”

yoongi sighs, his grip tightening slightly before his chin rests against the top of your head. “yeah,” he mutters. “promise.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent reassurance. a quiet see? i’m not mad. “don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

and you nod, leaning into him.

the playground is quiet this time of day, mostly empty aside from the four of you and the occasional kid passing by with their parents.

jungkook lounges at the bottom of the slide, food balanced on his knees, absentmindedly sipping his coke. yoongi sits a little further off, at the edge of the sandpit, one leg stretched out, the other bent, balancing his burger in one hand.

you and taehyung are on the swings, feet planted in the sand, your bags resting on your laps. the metal creaks slightly as taehyung shifts, twisting just enough to face you, an amused glint in his eyes.

“yours any good?” he asks, nodding toward your milkshake.

you hum, taking another sip. “mm-hmm.”

he leans in, offering his cup, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “wanna try mine?”

you blink at him. “it’s the same flavor.”

he pauses, then laughs, shaking his head. “yeah, but maybe mine tastes better.”

you frown, taking his drink anyway, sipping through the straw before handing it back. “nope. exactly the same.”

taehyung snorts. “right. obviously.”

you don’t catch the way he watches you for a second longer than necessary, or the way yoongi’s gaze flicks over from where he’s sitting.

your fries are nearly gone when tragedy strikes. you shift a little too much, and what’s left of them topples straight into the sand.

you let out a groan, staring down at them in dismay.

taehyung doesn’t hesitate, nudging his own toward you. “here,” he says, tone light, almost teasing. “you can have some of mine. since i’m so generous.”

you smile, grabbing a handful. “thanks, taehyungie. you’re my favorite.”

taehyung blinks, not expecting that response, then recovers quickly, smirk returning. “oh, am i?”

you nod, popping a fry into your mouth. “mm-hmm.”

“better not let yoongi hear that,” he muses, leaning closer, voice dipping just a little lower. “he might get jealous.”

you glance over at yoongi, who hasn’t reacted at all. still sitting there, picking at the wrapper of his burger, expression unreadable. then you shrug, completely missing the way taehyung’s eyes narrow in amusement.

“he’ll live,” you say, reaching for another fry.

taehyung watches you for a moment, absently sipping his milkshake, before tilting his head. "so, you and yoongi," he starts, casual. too casual. "really not a thing?"

you pause. it’s a split-second hesitation, but it's there, and taehyung doesn’t miss it.

you glance over at yoongi before you can stop yourself, like your body reacts before your brain can catch up. he’s still sitting on the edge of the sandpit, half-focused on peeling the wrapper off his burger, but his jaw is tight, his fingers a little too still.

you swallow, forcing yourself to look back at taehyung.

"no," you say, a little slower this time. "we're not."

taehyung hums, he’s turning it over in his mind.

"so, hypothetically," he muses, stretching out his legs in the sand, "if someone, say, me, wanted to take you out—"

you blink.

"—you wouldn't be off limits or anything, right?"

your lips part slightly, confusion flickering across your face before you shake your head. "uh�� no?"

taehyung grins, dragging a fry through his ketchup before popping it into his mouth. "good to know."

you don’t even have time to process that before he shifts again, leaning slightly into your space, his voice dipping just enough to make your ears warm.

he nods toward yoongi, then toward himself, smirking. "technically, you’re with me right now."

you scoff, rolling your eyes. "you wish, taehyung."

"oh, i do," he says smoothly, sipping his milkshake like it's nothing.

you shake your head, tossing a fry at him, and he catches it without missing a beat.

from the edge of the sandpit, yoongi exhales sharply through his nose.

the conversation drifts after that, slipping into something lighter. taehyung teasing jungkook about his tragic attempt at a kickflip earlier, jungkook firing back with a dig about taehyung eating dirt at the skate park.

you listen, half-engaged, but the weight of something still sits in your chest.

yoongi hasn’t said much. hasn’t looked at you much, either.

he finished eating a while ago, now idly toying with the straw in his drink, long fingers tapping a slow, absent rhythm against the plastic cup.

then, after a moment, “we should go.” his voice is even, casual, but something about it makes you straighten a little too quickly.

“yeah,” you say, standing, dusting sand off your jeans. “sounds good.”

taehyung flashes a grin, tilting his head up at you from his swing. “what, leaving me already?”

you roll your eyes. “yeh, i’m done with you losers.”

jungkook snickers from his spot at the slide, but doesn’t comment.

you move to fall in step beside yoongi like you always do, but when you do, he kind of shrugs past you. not harsh, not in an outright dismissive way, but pointed enough that you feel it.

your feet hesitate for a split second before moving again, catching up despite the slight hitch in your chest.

yoongi doesn’t look at you. doesn’t say anything else.

just walks, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, gaze fixed ahead like there’s nothing to talk about. but you feel it. something in the space between you feels different. feels off.

and you don’t know what to do about it.

the walk home is quiet.

it’s not an awkward silence, not exactly, but it’s not the usual kind either. not the comfortable kind that’s filled with shared looks and nudges and stupid little comments that don’t really mean anything but still feel like something.

this silence is… something else. something heavier.

yoongi walks ahead, hands still shoved into his hoodie pockets, his pace easy, unbothered. you trail behind him, dragging your feet just enough to make yourself feel pathetic.

you don’t want to feel like this. don’t want to care that he’s keeping just a little too much distance between you, or that he hasn’t looked at you once since you left the playground, or that your stomach still twists a little too tightly when you think about the way he brushed past you.

but you do care. you care a lot.

you bite the inside of your cheek, arms crossed as you stare down at the pavement, forcing yourself to keep moving, to pretend like this doesn’t feel like some kind of punishment for something you don’t even understand.

when you finally reach his house, yoongi steps inside first, toeing off his shoes without a word before heading toward his room.

you hesitate at the entrance, shifting your weight between your feet.

technically, you don’t live here. technically, you could just turn around and go home. but you don’t. you never do.

so, with a quiet sigh, you step inside, closing the door behind you.

you linger by the entryway for a second longer than necessary, watching yoongi’s back as he disappears down the hall. he doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for you.

so you swallow hard, shoulders curling inward, and follow after him anyway.

by the time you make it up to his room, yoongi’s already in the bathroom. the door isn’t closed all the way. just slightly ajar, steam from the sink curling into the dimly lit hallway. you hesitate for a second, fingers grazing the edge of your sleeve, before stepping inside.

he doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

just stands there, leaning over the sink, brushing his teeth with slow, methodical strokes, his hoodie peeled off and discarded somewhere on the floor. his hair is slightly damp at the ends, probably from splashing his face, mint-colored strands curling just slightly.

you grab your own toothbrush from the cup beside the faucet, running it under the water before squeezing out too much toothpaste. yoongi doesn’t glance at you, so you don’t glance at him either.

the silence is thick.

your shoulders brush as you move, barely, a light little thing that normally wouldn’t mean anything. except tonight, it does. tonight, you notice.

tonight, it feels like yoongi not nudging you back in the maccas line. it feels like yoongi shrugging past you instead of waiting.

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, at the way your brows are slightly furrowed, the way your mouth presses into a thin line as you scrub your teeth a little too hard.

this isn’t normal. normally, this is easy.

normally, you’d be bumping into each other, making faces in the mirror, shoving at his arm when he spits toothpaste too aggressively into the sink.

but tonight, he just brushes his teeth, and you do the same, and neither of you say a word.

when you finish brushing, you hesitate. just for a second.

toothbrush still in hand, you glance at yoongi out of the corner of your eye, watching as he rinses his mouth, spits, and swipes his hand across his face. he doesn’t look at you, just flicks off the faucet with a sharp movement and reaches for his towel.

your stomach feels tight. you should say something, but you don’t.

instead, you put your toothbrush back in the cup and turn toward his room, stepping past him without a word.

but before you can take another step, yoongi grabs you by the shoulders. his touch isn’t rough, but it’s firm. fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, stopping you cold.

your breath catches, pulse stumbling.

“what do you want from me?”

his voice is low, but there’s something frayed at the edges. something not entirely calm.

you blink, caught completely off guard. “what?”

yoongi exhales sharply through his nose, hands tightening slightly.

“what do you want from me?” he repeats, slower this time.

your heart pounds against your ribs. his face is so close, eyes dark, searching, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep his voice even.

“because i—” he swallows hard, fingers flexing against your arms. “i want you. wholly. completely.”

your breath stutters. his grip doesn’t loosen.

“there’s no one else in the world i want more,” he says, voice rough. “but i need to know if i’m wasting my time.”

your throat goes dry, your mind races. the air is thick between you, heavy with something you don’t know how to name, something you don’t know if you can handle.

yoongi’s eyes flick over your face, searching for something, for anything. and you don’t know what to say.

you swallow hard.

yoongi’s fingers twitch against your shoulders, breath warm where it ghosts across your face. he’s so close, too close, looking at you like he’s begging for something—an answer, a reaction, anything.

“what do you see when you look at me?” he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.

your throat feels tight. “yoongi—”

“because when i look at you,” he continues, cutting you off, “i see the girl i kissed in the kitchen on my birthday. the girl i’ve been sharing a bed with for the past six months.”

the words settle heavy in your chest, pressing down, down, down.

“the girl i’m—” he exhales sharply, jaw clenching for a beat before forcing the words out. “the girl i’m hopelessly in love with.”

your breath stutters. his eyes flick over your face, searching, desperate.

he’s shaking now, just slightly. just enough that you feel it, just enough that you know this is costing him something.

“so tell me,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, like he’s scared of what comes next, “what do you see?”

he’s laid himself bare. no more room to dodge, no more room to pretend. it’s your turn.

but your mind is racing, spiraling too fast, trying to catch up.

before you can think, before you can second-guess, before you can talk yourself out of it, you kiss him.

it crashes into him, hands fisting into the fabric of his t-shirt, fingers curling tight like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

yoongi freezes. just for a second, just long enough for you to think you’ve fucked up, but then he moves. his hands slide from your shoulders to your waist, gripping, pulling, needing, mouth pressing firm against yours, breath hot and uneven as he exhales into the kiss.

it’s messy and urgent. six months’ worth of unsaid things spilling out all at once.

yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between frustration and relief, like he’s wanted this for so long he can’t believe it’s finally happening.

and you don’t know why you ever tried to fight it.

yoongi’s hands are firm at your waist, fingers pressing into your sides, his body heat sinking into yours. he lifts you, hands gripping beneath your thighs, shifting you up until you’re perched on the bathroom counter, your knees falling open around him as he steps between them, slotting himself exactly where he belongs.

you gasp against his lips, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, but yoongi just smirks, a slow, teasing thing as he exhales sharply through his nose.

his fingers squeeze at your waist, holding you in place, keeping you trapped against him.

then, voice low, amused, “deja vu?”

your breath catches, stomach flipping. because fuck.

the birthday. the kitchen.

his hands on your thighs, his body between your legs, the first time you let him kiss you like this.

your mouth parts slightly, but nothing comes out. you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the way he’s looking at you. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight.

yoongi’s smirk softens just a little, but his eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and knowing. “got an excuse to stop this time?” he murmurs, tilting his head.

you shake your head. “no.”

yoongi hums, pleased, his fingers flexing against your skin. “good,” he murmurs, before pulling you into him, mouth crashing back against yours.

yoongi kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s been holding back for months, fingers digging into your waist as he tugs you impossibly closer.

his hands move without hesitation. skimming up your sides, brushing beneath your shirt, teasing at the waistband of your shorts, testing how far you’ll let him go.

when you don’t stop him, when you only tighten your grip on his shirt, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, he exhales sharply against your lips.

“yeah?” he murmurs, voice rough, barely holding back.

you nod, breathless. “yeah.”

that’s all he needs.

his hand slips past the elastic of your shorts, fingers pushing beneath the waistband of your underwear, pressing right there, just enough to make your stomach tighten, heat pooling deep in your core.

you gasp against his mouth, back arching slightly.

yoongi smirks, lips brushing against yours as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit, teasing, barely enough pressure to satisfy.

“you’re already wet,” he murmurs, voice laced with something dark and pleased.

you bite your lip, hips shifting toward his hand, but he just hums, keeping the pace agonizingly slow.

“you like this?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.

his fingers press down a little harder, circling just right, and you make a quiet, desperate noise. yoongi groans at that, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him, his mouth brushing against your jaw.

“thought about this,” he mutters, lips ghosting over your skin, “so many times.”

his fingers move faster now, pressing, rubbing, teasing you to the edge, the heat between your legs burning beneath his touch.

“yoongi—” your voice breaks, head tipping back against the mirror.

his lips press against your throat, his breath heavy. he strokes over your clit again, pressing tight little circles that make your stomach twist, make your thighs tense around his waist, make your breath stutter out in sharp, quiet gasps.

yoongi groans against your skin, low and throaty, his mouth brushing along the curve of your jaw. he slides his fingers lower, pushing your underwear aside and teasing at your entrance, dragging them through your slick before pushing in.

a sharp inhale rips through you, your nails digging into his shoulders, his shirt fisting in your hands.

yoongi groans again, deep this time, his fingers sinking into your cunt nice and slow, stretching you open.

“fuck,” he mutters, mouth pressing against the corner of your lips, his breath hot.

his fingers curl, stroke, press into that soft, sensitive spot inside you, and your whole body tenses, a soft whimper slipping from your throat before you can stop it.

yoongi feels it, feels the way you tighten around his fingers, the way your hips jerk toward him, and groans, his forehead pressing to yours.

“yeah? you like that?” he murmurs, voice dark, rough.

you nod, breathless. “y-yeah.”

he exhales sharply, and his fingers keep moving. slow at first, dragging in and out, teasing you open, before pressing deeper, his thumb slipping up to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles. your thighs tremble around him.

“you always this wet, baby?” yoongi rasps, eyes flicking to yours, heavy-lidded, heated.

you don’t get the chance to answer, because then he’s crooking his fingers, pressing right fucking there, and all you can do is gasp, head falling back against the mirror with a quiet, breathless moan.

yoongi watches you. watches the way your body reacts to him, watches the way your lips part, the way your hands clutch at him, your whole body responding to him like you were made for his touch.

his breath shudders out.

“you’re gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you?” he murmurs, pressing his fingers deeper, harder, coaxing another whimper from your lips. his own brush against yours, not quite a kiss, almost. “tell me,” he breathes. “tell me you want it.”

your whole body reacts before your brain even catches up, hips rolling instinctively into yoongi’s hand, chasing the pleasure he’s pulling from you.

“i—” your breath shudders, voice barely above a whisper. “i want it.”

yoongi curses under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours for half a second before he drives his fingers into you again, pressing hard, and you squeal, the sound high-pitched and desperate. before it can fully escape, yoongi’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers pressing against your cheek, his own breath coming out shaky.

“fuck,” he groans, voice thick with something dark.

his fingers don’t slow. they move fast and rough, pumping into you, curling deep, his thumb rubbing messy, urgent circles over your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge until your whole body is trembling, tightening around him, begging for it.

yoongi groans again, his hand still over your lips, muffling every soft, broken noise spilling from your throat.

“be quiet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing himself in the way you react to him, the way you feel around his fingers.

you can’t be quiet. not when he’s touching you like this, not when he’s looking at you like this. eyes heavy, jaw clenched, breathing ragged as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

you whimper into his palm, your hands clutching at his wrist, your whole body tightening as pleasure crashes through you, sending a sharp, blinding wave of heat down your spine.

yoongi groans, watching the way you come undone around his fingers, feeling the way you squeeze down, hips stuttering against his hand.

he doesn’t move his hand from your mouth until the tremors in your thighs start to fade. when he does, he presses his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply, his fingers slipping out of you just as slowly as they slid in.

“we’re not done,” he says, voice low, utterly wrecked.

his breath is still heavy, his forehead pressed to yours, hands sliding back down to your hips, gripping. yoongi grinds against you, his hips rolling forward just enough that you feel him. feel how hard he is through his jeans, the way he presses right up against you.

your breath stutters, fingers tightening in his shirt, and yoongi groans, voice rough, barely holding himself together. “fuck, doll.”

your stomach flips. the name isn’t new. he’s thrown it around before, teasing, casual, just part of the way he speaks. but this is different.

his lips brush over your cheek, jaw, down to your throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses between his words. “you feel that?” he murmurs, voice thick, almost shaky.

you nod, swallowing hard, and yoongi hums, dragging his mouth back up to your ear.

“this is what you do to me,” he breathes.

he grinds again. harder this time, pushing against you, making you feel him. letting you know exactly what you’ve done to him, exactly how much he wants you.

his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the bare skin of your waist, warm and possessive, gripping like he’s making sure you don’t slip away.

“gonna make you feel so good, doll,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath your ear, smirking against your skin when he feels you shudder.

his hips roll forward again, pressing just right, sending a spark of heat straight through you, and a soft whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it.

yoongi groans at that, his grip tightening. “yeah?” he murmurs, teasing. “like that?”

you nod frantically, breathless.

yoongi smirks, lips grazing yours. “good,” he mutters.

then he kisses you hard, hands gripping your thighs, pulling you even closer as his hips roll into yours again, again, again.

your fingers move down fumble against the waistband of his jeans, your breathing uneven, hands barely able to keep up with the urgency buzzing through your veins.

yoongi feels it. feels your desperation, your need, the way your hands shake slightly as you try to pop the button.

he smirks. "impatient, huh?" his voice is low, teasing, lips brushing over yours as he exhales, the warmth of it sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"take these off," you whimper softly, frustrated, fingers tugging uselessly at the fabric, and yoongi chuckles.

“here, doll,” he murmurs, his own hands coming down to cover yours, moving with an effortless ease, his fingers brushing against yours as he pops the button open, then drags the zipper down, slow and deliberate.

he holds your gaze the entire time, watching the way your eyes flicker, the way your chest rises and falls too fast, too eager.

"there we go," he murmurs, voice thick with something almost fond.

his hands shift, moving to the waistband of your shorts now, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, grazing warm over your skin.

“lift your hips for me,” he mutters.

you do, without question, and yoongi chuckles at that, his lips curling just slightly, pleased, before he drags your shorts down, letting them drop to the floor.

his gaze dips, his fingers skimming over your bare thighs, and he hums, voice deep, teasing. "much better."

your breath is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation, but somewhere in the back of your mind you manage to think just clearly enough to gasp out, “wait—do you have a condom?”

yoongi huffs, lips brushing against your jaw as he mutters, “yeah, yeah. hang on.”

then, before you can say anything else, he pulls away, stepping back with a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his messy, mint-tinted hair.

you watch as he disappears into his room, the absence of his warmth making you ache, leaving you cold in a way that has nothing to do with the air against your bare skin.

you hear the faint slide of a drawer opening, the sound of something shifting inside. then the drawer shuts, footsteps padding back toward the bathroom.

yoongi steps inside again, his gaze flicking over you. still perched on the counter, thighs spread, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts the foil packet to his mouth and tears it open with his teeth.

your stomach flips.

his eyes are dark, focused, his breath steady as he pulls the condom free. “gonna be good for me, doll?” he murmurs, voice thick, nearly a growl.

you nod, too breathless to speak, and yoongi smirks.

then he steps between your legs again, his hands warm and possessive at your waist, his mouth ghosting over yours as he mutters “good girl.”

yoongi doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble.

his fingers move smoothly, easily, like he’s done this a million times before, even as his chest is rising a little too fast, his muscles tense beneath his skin.

he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down in one slow, fluid motion, along with his boxers, just far enough to free himself, and your breath catches. he’s hard, aching and heavy, flushed at the tip, standing thick against his stomach.

yoongi exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back, and then he’s sliding the condom over his cock, his fingers sure and steady, his gaze flicking up to yours through heavy-lidded eyes.

“you watching me, doll?”

your cheeks burn. “no....”

yoongi smirks, the corner of his lips curling, completely unbothered by your blatant lie. “sure you aren’t.”

his voice is amused, teasing, but there’s something darker beneath it. something satisfied at the way your thighs shift, the way your breath hitches when his fingers tighten at your waist.

the condom rolls into place, snug around the base, and yoongi gives himself a slow stroke, groaning under his breath before stepping closer, slotting himself between your legs once more.

his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pulling you to the edge of the counter. his length presses against you, hot, throbbing right against your cunt, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders.

yoongi chuckes, but there’s something wrecked in his eyes now, barely holding it together. “still want this?” he murmurs, voice rough, hands squeezing at your skin.

your fingers curl into his shoulders. “yes,” you breathe.

yoongi groans, low and deep in his chest. “good,” he mutters. then he aligns himself and pushes in.

the stretch is intense. your breath stutters, nails digging into his skin as he pushes in slow but insistent, filling you inch by inch.

"fuck," yoongi groans through clenched teeth, his head dropping against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

you whimper, your walls clenching down around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him, the way he’s stretching you open, making space inside you that wasn’t there before.

"tight—" yoongi grits out, his hands squeezing your hips, forcing himself to take it slow. his arms tremble slightly as he holds himself still, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. "so fucking tight, doll," he murmurs, voice strained, lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

you moan softly, head pressing against the side of his. yoongi shudders against you, his fingers twitching where they grip your thighs, his body tense like he’s barely holding on.

"shit," he exhales, his voice wrecked, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder, breath heavy.

you’re both completely still, bodies locked together, hearts pounding in sync. yoongi grits his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose. then, his lips brush against your ear, voice barely more than a breath. "tell me when, doll."

your fingers tighten in yoongi’s shirt, legs trembling around his waist, your whole body thrumming with need, stretched tight around him but craving more, needing him to move.

you tilt your head back against the mirror, breath coming out in quick, shallow gasps.

"please," you whisper, voice wrecked, barely able to get the word out.

yoongi groans, deep in his chest, his hands tightening at your hips. "yeah?" he rasps, his voice low and gravelly. before you can even nod he snaps his hips forward.

the force of it knocks the breath from your lungs, sends a sharp, blinding spark of pleasure through your spine. yoongi curses under his breath, pushes in deeper before pulling back and slamming into you again and again, fast and hard.

every thrust sharp, his grip bruising, his breath hot against your neck as he groans against your skin, completely losing himself in the way you squeeze around him, the way you take him so perfectly.

"fuck, doll," he grits out, voice shaking, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you. "so fucking good."

your hands scramble for purchase, gripping at his shoulders, his hair, his arms, anything to ground yourself as he drives into you, his pace unrelenting.

"wanted this," he groans, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. "wanted you for so fucking long."

your breath hitches, your body tightening around him in response, and yoongi feels it.

"shit," he groans, slamming into you harder, faster, deeper. "say it," he demands, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged. "tell me you wanted this too."

your breath stutters, pleasure coiling so tight in your stomach it’s almost painful.

"i—" your voice breaks, another moan slipping free as he fucks in deep, his cock kissing that sweet spot, his pace just a little too much, just enough to make your thighs shake.

yoongi smirks against your lips. "c’mon, doll."

you clutch at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back, legs tightening around his waist as you finally choke out, "i wanted this."

his body shudders against you, a sharp exhale leaving his lips, his rhythm faltering just slightly before he picks it up again, faster, harder, driving into you like he’s trying to make up for all the months of waiting, of wanting, of not having.

"good girl," he breathes, his hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer and pressing his forehead to yours, his lips hovering just over yours, his breath hot and uneven. "so fucking good for me."

your stomach flips, heat rolling through you like a tidal wave, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. yoongi feels it. feels the way your body tenses, the way your legs shake, the way your walls clamp down tight around him.

"you gonna cum for me, doll?" he murmurs, voice dark, teasing, but there’s something almost soft under it, something needy, something that says he wants this just as much as you do.

you nod, breathless, your body already so close. yoongi groans, his pace punishing, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you.

"then be good," he rasps, voice breaking. "cum for me."

your head tilts back, mouth falling open as a sharp, broken moan escapes your lips, and yoongi reacts on instinct. his hand slaps over your mouth again, muffling the sound, his palm hot against your skin.

"shhh, doll," he groans, his forehead dropping against yours, his own breath coming in ragged, uneven pants. "you gotta be quiet."

his words barely register over the sheer pleasure that slams through you, waves of heat rolling through your body as you gush around him. your whole body shakes, thighs trembling, walls fluttering around his cock, the pressure between your legs snapping so hard you see white.

yoongi grits his teeth, his pace stuttering, his hand still firm over your mouth as he groans deep in his chest. "fuck, baby," he rasps, his voice low, wrecked, almost pleading.

his hips don’t relent, driving into you through the aftershocks, his pace growing more erratic, more desperate, chasing his own high as you pulse around him, your body still milking him for everything he has.

"so fucking tight," he mutters, his lips brushing over your damp skin, his breath hot, ragged. "tou're gonna milk me dry, doll. gonna cum so fucking hard—"

his words send another sharp, overwhelming wave of heat through your already-sensitive body, another muffled whimper slipping past your lips against his palm.

yoongi groans, his movements turning sloppy, his body tensing. and then, with a sharp, wrecked moan, he breaks.

yoongi slams into you one last time, his whole body tensing, a deep, wrecked groan spilling from his lips as he cums, hips jerking against yours, fingers digging into your skin. his breath is shaky, uneven, his forehead pressing against yours, his body trembling slightly as he rides out his high.

his hand is still covering your mouth, his palm warm against your flushed skin, muffling the soft, breathless whimpers still slipping past your lips.

it takes a second. a long, heavy moment where the only sounds in the bathroom are your mingled breathing, the faint hum of the overhead light, the distant creak of the house settling.

and then yoongi exhales hard, his body relaxing against yours, his grip loosening as he finally lets his hand drop from your mouth.

your lips are swollen, your chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, your whole body still reeling from the intensity of it all.

yoongi leans in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. so gentle, so tender, reminding you that even after everything, he’s still him. "you okay, doll?"

his fingers brush over your cheek, his touch light and his gaze flicking over your face, checking. making sure you’re here, with him. making sure he didn’t just wreck you beyond repair.

you swallow hard, blinking up at him, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid to let go. "yeah," you whisper, voice hoarse, spent. "i’m okay."

yoongi hums, his lips twitching just slightly, a hint of something soft beneath the haze of pleasure still clouding his gaze. "good," he murmurs. "‘cause that was—" he exhales sharply, a small, breathy chuckle slipping past his lips, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

you laugh, quiet, breathless, your forehead tipping against his. "yeah," you murmur. "it was."

neither of you move right away. neither of you want to.

right now, it’s just you and him, breathing in the same air, existing in the same space, his hands still on your waist, your legs still wrapped around him, his lips still close enough that all it would take is the smallest movement to kiss him again.

and you want to. but before you can, yoongi snickers, shaking his head as he pulls back just enough to look at you, an amused smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

"well," he mutters, voice teasing, "guess we gotta shower now."

you groan, tilting your head back with an exhausted sigh, "can't we relax a bit first?"

but he just grins, leaning in to press another lazy, lingering kiss to your jaw. "c’mon, doll," he hums against your skin, lips curving as his hands squeeze at your hips.

"round two?"

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie @yooniivrse @annyeongbitch7 @hemmosfear

[slttygeto]

tags: pure filth, fem! reader, established relationship, use of a vibrator, squirting, dirty talk.

word count: 1k

sex with suguru could only be described as unpredictable. sure, you were able to detect hints of lust thrown your way by the tall man, thick and rough pads of his fingers skimming over your smooth skin underneath your shirt as he passes behind you, hands gripping your sides and squeezing. your body reacts to his teasing and it’s easy to follow him to the bedroom. he feels in control, likes that sweet words and soft touches can make you end up on top of him, riding his dick like the sweet girl that you are.

however, when the two of you are…excessively needier than usual, sex can turn into something sort of animalistic. the carnal desire to devour one another, bring as many orgasms out of each other and the sounds—the sounds should embarrass both of you.

suguru doesn’t consider himself to be extremely vocal. he groans, moans and shows his appreciation for your ministration on his body but right now—his mouth won’t stop.

“yeah baby, yeaaah,” his words are straight up filth as he presses the vibrator to your clit. his pace is unforgiving, strong hips driving into yours with the force of a predator hunting. your hands are on the headboard, trying to protect your head from the contact but it’s all hazy.

“suguru!” you cry out, eyes staring down at where your boyfriend is pressing the pink vibrator against your clit. your legs try to close from the overstimulation, but a strong hand keeps them open and your head turns to the side with a loud cry.

“keep em open for me, fuck—don’t run away from it, I know you want it.”

your hand grips at the pillow beneath you whilst the other makes a failed attempt at gripping suguru’s forearm. choked sobs and whines are the only sounds you can manage as he starts rubbing the vibrator over your clit, your thighs shaking and twitching at the unbearable yet delicious stimulation.

“yeah? pussy wants a fat cock ruining her and a vibrator, a lil greedy, don’t ya think?”

as he says that, his free comes to your stomach and traces the skin with his thumb, very gentle at first and your brain feels like mush at the contrast between his brutal fucking, the vibrator and his gentle touch. but you should’ve known that suguru is the type to softly lead you into his territory, only to jump you the moment he notices that you let your guards down.

the hand on your stomach presses down and you hear several clicks on the pink device, and when your body jolts up—you realize that he set the level higher.

the gasp that escapes your body sounds inhuman, and your body tries to run away from suguru despite being caged between his strong thighs. he is fucking you with a purpose, needing to prove something—he towers over you and presses his forehead against yours.

“look at me, come on baby look up—theere she is,” he grins at your fucked out expression, half lidded eyes glossed over with tears that had already fallen a couple of minutes ago. “feels good, huh? should’ve done this sooner,” he leans down and kisses your pulse and then travels back up to your cheek and finally your ear.

when he starts fucking you at a different angle, your hands fly down to his hips and your nails dig into his skin. you can’t talk, you don’t trust yourself with words now—but suguru always thought you were like an open book to him. especially when naked and vulnerable beneath him.

“oh here?”

“fuck! fuck fuck fuck—“ you choke out a sob. “suguru—oh baby, I’m close, I’m so so close,” you’re blabbering, barely breathing and suguru’s self control is slowly dissipating. up until this point, he’s been able to control himself and not explode inside you. your cunt was squeezing him deliciously, your cries, the way you said his name or how you held onto him—suguru needed to cum inside you.

“yeah you are,” he breathes out, any hint of playfulness overshadowed by the sudden lust washing over him. his orgasm crept up on him fast, and he needed to make sure you fell over the edge first. “come on, I know you can cum for me,” he says while rubbing the vibrator over your clit.

when you finally cum, the added pressure of his hand on your stomach makes something snap in your stomach and you feel wet. you don’t have time to register, everything is like white noise for a while before your brain leisurely takes control again. your breathing slows down, yet your hands hold onto suguru’s shoulders as he throws the vibrator somewhere in the corner of your bedroom to grab onto your hips properly.

his eyebrows are pinched, a sheen layer of sweat coating his forehead as his bangs stick to the skin. he looks magical, even more so when you start to fuck up into him, help him reach his own orgasm.

“fuck baby—“

“mmm sugu,” you whine at how his dick keeps abusing that one spot inside you. “cum baby, please,” your arms wrap around his neck to pull him down into a hug. “fill me up, I want all of it,”

when being the one talked dirty to, suguru malfunctions. his brain short circuits and his body seizes up as he drops his head on your shoulder. he empties himself inside you with a few more stuttered thrusts, thick and hot ropes of cum serving as the reward of his hard and incessant fucking.

running your fingers through his hair, both of you take the time to catch your breath, enjoy the intimacy and the nakedness of it all. moments like these are precious, suguru’s body nuzzles against yours like a cat trying to live in your skin— and you giggle when his nose nuzzles against your pulse.

“ya liked the vibrator?” he mumbles against your skin.

“oh fuck—“ the realization hits you that were all messy from squirting on him. “I…came messy,” the shyness that washes over you, preventing you from saying “squirt” makes suguru laugh into your neck.

“you mean you squirted?”

“not the point!”

note: another self indulgent piece. will i ever stop? no.

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[yuukiiqwq]

Satoru Gojo was more than ready to propose to you. For you to be his pretty little wife. For you to take his last name. To see you walk down the aisle in a white dress. He has spent weeks picking out a ring for you. Weeks finding the perfect place to propose. Weeks just for this moment. He knows you'll say yes.

Today was the day he would propose. He had everything all set up and ready. The ring box is in his pocket. He just needs to come home to you and get you ready for the date. He had long made a promise to himself. He'll make you happy because you are the world to him.

He then felt a vibration in his pocket from his phone, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts. He opened his phone to see that Shoko had called him. He accepted the call and was about to ask Shoko what she needed before she interrupted him.

"Satoru."

Satoru immediately freezes. Shoko had never called him by his first name. It was always Gojo.

"Come to my office," was the only thing Shoko said before ending the call. Her voice was shaking.

Dread filled Satoru's body. A chill was sent down his spine. Something was wrong, so he immediately teleported to Shoko's office. He was greeted with the sight of Shoko, his students, and you. The students' eyes red from crying. Shoko is unable to look him in the eyes. You covered in blood. Your curse energy completely diminished. Your lifeless body is on the table.

Oh. Oh.

"I'm sorry, sensei! It's all my fault!" Yuji apologies as he cries.

"She saved us." Nobara whispered as she continued to wipe her endless tears.

"We let our guard down." Megumi looks down. He was holding in his pain. "It's my fault. I was careless. They were wrong about–"

Satoru doesn't register the rest of Megumi's word. His ears were ringing, and his vision was blurring. A void in replacement of his heart. The ring in his pocket felt a lot heavier. He stares at your body before closing his eyes. He then turned toward his students with a smile.

"Hey, hey! It's alright, guys. It's not your fault. It was an accident! Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault at all. How about you guys take the next few days to relax! I'm sure this was very traumatic for you to lose a teacher in front of your eyes!"

"Gojo–" Megumi started, but he was pushed out the door with his friends before he could utter another word.

"Here, take my card and buy some stuff to help you take your mind off this, yeah? You guys need rest!" Satoru says as he closes the door. He's glad that he has his blindfold on so the students couldn't see the grief and pain in his eyes. He waited until he could no longer sense their curse energy before turning around towards you and Shoko.

"Shoko. Can you leave too? Just for a bit?" He asked. No. He pleaded. His voice was no higher than a whisper. He can't cry yet. Not in front of anyone but you. He's the strongest.

Shoko nodded and walked towards the door. "I'm sorry, Satoru. I tried to save her. I know today was suppose–" Shoko stopped before she finished the sentence. She bit the bottom of her lips before apologizing once more and then left.

Now, Satoru was left alone in the room with your lifeless body. He took off his blindfold and walked up to you. He held your once warm hand in his. He caressed your cheek as the tears that he was holding back finally fall down his face. He was going to propose to you today. You were supposed to be his wife. You were supposed to be with him until the day he died. But now... he would no longer see you. Your smile. Your laugh. You would no longer be smiling at him. In his arms. In his embrace. He wouldn't get to see your beautiful eyes open. Your voice. He wouldn't be able to hear your love for him. He won't be able to hear your "I love you, Satoru." You would no longer call his name. Oh, how he loved his name coming from your lips. It was supposed to be one of his happiest days. If he could only go back to yesterday. Where you were still in his arms, the two of you whispering your love to one another. Kisses being exchanged. Where you were still warm and alive. Where he can still stretch out his hand and reach you.

Fate loves taunting him with his loved ones. It loves to ruin him. To tear him apart. To rip his heart out and shred it to pieces because he's the strongest. So he'll always fail to protect the ones he loves. Fate is laughing at him because he is a joke. Fate is celebrating his grief. He has losted and fate has won again.

He doesn't know how much time has passed. Him next to your lifeless body, praying that you would just wake up. He wants to join you. Join you in the afterlife. To see you. To be with you. But he can't. He knows you'll never forgive him if he did. He still has his students to look after. A world to save. A revenge to sought after. He wiped his tears away because you would hate seeing him cry. He kissed you gently for the last time and whispered his eternal love towards you and a "I'll see you soon."

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. Your ring. He slipped it onto your ring finger and asked– "Will you marry me?"

A yes forever unspoken.

[mariasont]

i loved lipgloss!!! i was wondering if i could pls request smth where spencer walks in the BAU unaware of the lipgloss on his lips from kissing bimbo!receptionist or on his cheeks from being kissed then everyone's like "👀☝️🤨" (english isnt my first language im sorry😭)

STICKY SITUATIONS - S.R

a/n: back with the lipstick trope yeehaw, can't tell you all how much i appreicate u all and how patient u guys are with me when i ghost for like 5 months at a time. thank you so much for the request sug <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: spencer daydreaming about inappropriate things! PDA!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer woke up feeling untouchable, like nothing in the world could shake him. The kind of invincible where even the sky didn't seem like a limit. You had stayed the night, as you often did, and yet every time he woke up with you beside him, it felt like walking on air. Today was no exception.

You made sure he was late today — both of you were. He blamed you entirely, though he didn't mind. You pinned him down with a thousand little kisses, laughing as you insisted that it's essential for a day filled with good luck, and how else was he going to catch all the bad guys without a little charm from you?

Spencer's body vibrated like it was attuned to some invisible, higher frequency, one you alone could set. The smile threatening to break free felt inevitable, like a law of nature, as his mind drifted to thoughts of you — so unavoidable it was as if trying to pinpoint an electron's exact position and momentum in time. 

He had half a mind to swing by the reception desk just to see you. Just for a second. He'd convince himself it was enough, even though it never really was. Today, however, there was no chance he'd make it to his meeting. Not when you were wearing that skirt — his favorite. The one that fit you like it had been hand-stitched by hand for you alone, showing off your thighs in a way that made him picture them around his —

“Reid, you're —,” Hotch's voice snapped him back into reality, his brows down turning as he regarded Spencer with a curious frown before shaking his head. “Late. C'mon.”

Spencer followed Hotch into the conference room, their entrance as routine as ever, or so he assumed. But the moment they stepped inside, something shifted. The room crackled with stifled laughter, a ripple of poorly contained snickers breaking out across the team.

He froze mid-step, confusion knitting his brow as he scanned the room. His gaze flitted from face to face, trying to uncover the source of their amusement. The laughter, he realized with growing bewilderment, was somehow aimed squarely at him.

His pulse quickened as self-awareness kicked in, and his eyes darted downward, trying to detect the anomaly that had captured everyone's damn attention. A loose thread? A stain? Panic bloomed in his chest as he mentally ticked through a list of possibilities. His sweater seemed intact, no wayward strings. His pants were fine, no errant coffee stains or wrinkles. And his hair — well, his hair always had a mind of its own, but it wasn't that unruly today. Right?

Bastards.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, what did I miss?”

Emily tried, and failed, to smother her laughter behind a closed hand, shaking her head. “I think you might need to go to look in the mirror, lover boy.”

Spencer didn't bother questioning her. No explanation would be offered, at least not freely. He knew he'd get no real answers from this group, and honestly, he wasn't even sure he wanted them at this point. Instead, he slipped out of the conference room and headed down the hall, his mind a muddled tangle of confusion.

He was so distracted, so consumed with trying to figure out what he'd missed, that he nearly missed the sound of quick, approaching footsteps. It was only at the last second that he looked up, just in time for you to collide with him.

His hands moved instinctively, catching your waist as you stumbled forward, stopping you from toppling over.

Spencer's breath caught. Gods know if you'd fallen in those heels, you'd be lucky to escape with just a sprained ankle. But you didn't fall. Instead, you let out a startled giggle as you looked up at him wide-eyed.

“Whoopsie,” you said with a smile. “Hi there, handsome.”

The instant the words left your lips, you clamped a hand over your mouth, fighting back a high-pitched squeal of laughter.

Spencer, even more bewildered, furrowed his brows in confusion. “Okay, what?”

“Hold still,” you instructed, though your voice wavered between stifled giggles. You reached up for him, your fingertips hovering near his face.

He followed your hand with his eyes, still clueless, until you gently cupped his cheek. Whatever it was on his skin drew another wave of laughter from you, and in response, he prodded at your sides, each poke sending you into another fit of delighted squeals.

“Hey, that's not holding still, Dr.!” you gasped, halfheartedly swatting at his hands while you finished wiping away the last bit of whatever had clung to his face.

“Whoopsie daisy,” you said again, still brushing invisible flecks from his cheek, your voice reminding him of what he envisioned sunshine poured into a teacup would manifest as. “Aw, Spence, looks like I kinda-sorta-maybe left a tiny little lipstick stain behind.”

Your tone was drenched in honeyed innocence, as if this kind of thing just happened and you had no earthly clue how.

Spencer's eyes narrowed. “Is that why I've been subjected to my team's thinly veiled harassment?”

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped as if you'd just witnessed a high crime. “They were giving you trouble? Oh my gosh!”You pressed your fingertips to your lips. “Do I need to have a word with them?”

The determination in your voice sounded all too serious, and he was a little scared that you were actually prepared to march back to that conference room in your pretty heels and give the entire BAU a piece of your mind.

Spencer nearly chocked on a laugh. Of all possible reactions, yours was the sweetest, most fiercely protective, and downright hilarious. He held up a hand in a placating gesture, lips curving into a boyish grin. 

“Hmm, I appreciate the offer,” he murmured, gently tapping his chin with a finger as if considering it. “However, I think you might need to have a word with the real culprit who decided my face should double as her personal canvas this morning.”

“Me?” You pressed a hand dramatically to your heart. “I would never! I mean, sure, I might've given you a million good-luck kisses before you left, and maybe one or two... or three of my lip gloss stains decided to stick around, but that's hardly my fault!”

You shifted your weight to the balls of your feet and wiggled your fingers in a helpless sort of gesture. “That's just how good my gloss is, y'know?”

“Right,” he replied, voice quieter now, eyes warm as they traced your face. “Clearly the lip gloss is at fault. We'll have to issue it a stern warning later.”

“Exactly! Don't blame poor, innocent me.”You paused, lowering your voice conspiratorially, leaning close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume. “And if any of the team give you grief again, you know where to find me!”

Spencer hummed, placing a light hand on the small of your back, steering you gently away from the corridor.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he murmured, smiling as if the world had just aligned perfectly in that very hallway. “But for now, maybe we should try to make sure I get back to my meeting... gloss-free.”

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72

join my taglist here!

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: 3

Part 1, Part 2

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 4650

Synopsis: Cait and Vi introduce a few new things to you

Warnings: Bullying/mocking, power imbalance, FFF threesome, secret filming of sex*, mention of masturbation with toy, fingering (r! receiving), sex toys (anal beads, nipple clamps, butt plugs, vibrators, dildos) strap-on, strap-on referred to as cock, description of masturbation with sex toys, squirting, mild degradation, mild spit play, dirty talk, praise kink, finger sucking, anal fingering (r! receiving), anal sex (r! receiving), double strap usage, mild choking/breath play

Notes: We've got more of this to come!

Secret filming of sex*: I don't want to spoil the story but I need to disclaim this now: this is not a revenge porn/public humiliation scenario. Those recording do not intend to release the footage or show it to any third parties. It's a toxic behaviour that will be addressed in a future chapter. I do not condone or encourage this behaviour.

A few days later, and thankfully without a second visit from Sky, you got a text in the group chat. You still hated the chat name ‘Plaything’ but your tummy always got fluttery when you saw a message come in.

It was Cait, sending you an address.

Caitlyn K: 7pm?

You: That works for me

Caitlyn K: You remember we talked about those toys of yours?

You: …Yes? 😳

Caitlyn K: Bring everything you have, we’ll see what we like when you get here

At 7pm, the Uber pulled up outside a large ornate house. Not quite a mansion, but a house most people would dream of living in. You thanked the driver, then walked up to the front door, admiring the house as you went.

Ringing the doorbell, you waited.

Cait answered a few seconds later. She looked as perfect as she always did, tight-fitting navy blue blouse pristinely tucked into tailored pants. “You’re on time. Good.” She stepped aside, letting you in.

“This is your house?” you asked in amazement, looking around at the marble floors and ornate decorations. Art covered the walls, expensive rugs protected the shining floor.

“Her family’s rich,” Vi explained, leaning against a doorframe as she looked you up and down, “remember?”

“My parents purchased the house in the summer before we started at Piltover, so we could live somewhere suitable.”

“Live somewhere forever? Because this is beautiful,” you gushed, not even noticing Cait taking your hand and pulling you into the kitchen.

She chuckled. “Don’t be silly; this is just our college home. We’ll move somewhere else when we graduate.”

“Another family property,” Vi smirked, joking, “I’m gonna be a trophy wife.”

“Is your wife single?” you joked back.

Cait eased the Piltover Uni tote bag off your shoulder. “Is this all of it?” she asked, not looking through it yet.

You blushed, suddenly remembering why you were there. “Yeah, that’s everything.”

Vi leant one elbow against the kitchen island. “Hey, sweetheart,” she called to you, “come here.”

You walked over, standing in front of Vi. And waited.

She smirked back at you, looking you up and down ravenously. “Pretty skirt.”

You looked down, touching your blue flowy knee-length skirt. “Thank you.”

“Bend over,” Vi instructed, nodding her head to the counter.

You flushed. “Bend…?”

“Bend. Over.”

You hesitated but obeyed. The counter was a little higher than your hips, so you had to pull yourself up a little, your feet dangling off the floor.

Vi lifted your skirt over your hips and snickered when she saw your underwear. “How many times do we have to tell you, sweetheart?” she teased, pulling them down and stuffing them into her back pocket.

“Are you going to take them every time?” you demanded, trying not to blush as Vi’s fingers spread your pussy, exposing your moist hole.

“Damn right we are, until you learn not to wear them.”

“But people will see-”

You gasped as, in a split second, Vi bent down to your pussy, spat on your hole, and slid two fingers into you.

Cait laughed as she looked inside the bag. “I said bring what you have, not go and buy out a sex store.”

You trembled as Vi turned her fingers inside you. “I didn’t!”

She did a double take at the bag’s contents. “You already had all this?”

“Yes,” you whined.

“And you’ve used all of it?”

“Most of it.”

Cait laughed, rummaging through the toys inside. “Well, you were a horny little freak.”

Vi curled her fingers inside you. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Cupcake; what’s she got?”

Cait just shook her head in disbelief, laughing as she started pulling out items, placing them one by one on the counter next to you. Multiple sets of anal beads; nipple clamps; half a dozen butt plugs; several vibrators of different sizes; different brands of lubricant; and an unopened beginner’s leather bondage kit, including a blindfold, ball-gag, wrist and ankle cuffs, a small paddle, and a small flogger.

Vi’s fingers stopped in your pussy. Looking over the array of toys now spread out on the counter, she grinned at Cait, then into the camera recording you all from the side from its hiding place in an outlet in the wall,. “Well, well, sweetheart. You are just full of surprises.”

“This,” Cait said, picking up the bondage kit, still in its clear packaging, “I’m curious about. You clearly haven’t used it; were you too scared?” she asked in a patronising tone, bending down in front of your face, holding up the kit.

You shook your head, lip trembling as Vi resumed fucking you. “It was a joke gift-”

“A gag gift, you mean?” Vi mocked with a chuckle.

“From some people I worked with over a summer. They said it would get me out of my shell.”

Cait ran her thumb over your bottom lip. “Oh, but you had no-one to use it with,” she taunted.

You shook your head, your clit throbbing as Vi started curling her fingers.

“How about we open it when we go upstairs? Finally put it to use?” She slipped her thumb into your mouth, and you sucked it with a moan. “Which of those is your favourite?” she asked, nodding her head to your collection but keeping her eyes on yours.

You blushed as you glanced at them from the corner of your eye, Cait’s grip on your mouth keeping your head straight. “Lots.”

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell us.” She kept her grip on you, turning your head to the side so you could see more clearly. “How did the lonely little virgin spend her Friday nights?”

“I’d…” Vi started thrusting faster, like a woman on a mission, “Oh god…I’d put the clamps on.”

“Hmmm,” Cait nodded.

“Put in some beads.”

“Any particular ones?”

“I like those ones best,” you pointed to the average sized black beads connected by a flexible thread.

She nodded again, feeling her own pussy grow wet at the thought. “And then?”

“And I’d play with my pussy with that vibe,” you finished, pointing at a relatively small pink realistic vibrator.

“Very nice,” Cait praised. “Shall we recreate that upstairs?”

“Not yet, Cupcake, we’re not finished here,” Vi insisted, reaching a hand under you and starting to rub your clit.

A strange feeling started to build up inside your pussy, making your legs shake. “Wait, Vi, stop! I-I need to pee!”

“No, you don’t,” she ignored you, continuing her thrusts.

You gritted your teeth, fighting against the feeling. “No, really, stop! I don’t want to pee!”

“Sweetheart,” Cait said softly, turning your head back to look at her, giving you a firm but reassuring look. “You are not going to pee. Just let go, and see what happens.”

You wanted to resist – it seriously felt like you needed to pee! – but they were both so sure you wouldn’t. And they would know better…

You forced your body to relax, taking a deep breath, allowing the feeling to build up inside you. You panted as you rocked your hips on Vi’s hand.

“Good girl,” Vi praised, rubbing your clit a little faster, “Just let go, baby. Let go.”

With that, your pussy clamped down on her fingers and violently squirted all over her hands and the floor. You gasped for breath as your hips writhed on the counter, your feet scrambling for purchase against the cupboard doors.

“Fuuuck,” you breathed out, moaning as your eyes rolled back, flopping down on the counter.

“Good girl,” Cait praised, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s take a few things upstairs.”

You sprawled across the counter as they moved around you, Vi washing her hands in the sink, and then helping you up on shaky legs. You looked down at the floor, seeing the large amount of liquid splattered there.

“Oh god!”

“It’s not pee,” Vi assured somewhat testily, holding you against her front.

How could it not be?! you wanted to ask. “Are you sure?”

Vi’s hand cupped your cheek, turning your head to hers. “What did we say before you came?”

You whimpered. “That I wouldn’t pee.”

“So, are you calling us liars?”

Your eyes widened. “No! No, I swear.”

“It’s squirt, not pee. So, stop fussing.” She started pulling you upstairs, leaving Cait in the kitchen to choose some toys.

Their bedroom was just as finely decorated as the kitchen and foyer. A large rug covering most of the marble floor, one wall covered in spotless floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a bookcase filled to the brim with books and knick-knacks on another wall. Against the wall in front of the door was an extra-large bed covered in fresh sage green sheets, a violet-coloured throw spread across the end.

You were only able to marvel at the décor for a second, before Vi nudged you further inside, pulling her shirt over her head. You watched in awe as her torso and breasts were revealed, your hands automatically reaching for her.

She chuckled. “Eager, are we?”

You just nodded, cupping her breasts.

“Good,” she said, cupping the back of your head and pulling you in for a deep kiss. You moved your arms over her shoulders, running your hand through her hair as she cupped and squeezed your ass. Pulling you against her front, something hard rubbed into your lower tummy.

You pulled away briefly, giving her a playful squint. “Have you got something in your pocket?”

“Something that’ll wipe that smile off your face,” she challenged. “On your knees.”

Your cheeks turned redder, but you obeyed as Vi opened her jeans. Around her hips was strapped a larger toy than before, thicker and more detailed. Without Vi saying it, you sat on your heels, opening your mouth and waiting patiently.

She chuckled as she looked down at you. “Oh, such an eager little slut, aren't you?” You didn't blush; you nodded. She was impressed at your eagerness. “Then get to work.”

You leaned forward, taking the tip of the toy into your mouth. You slowly slid your mouth up and down the toy, unsure of your movements but enthusiastically trying your best. You couldn’t get very far down before you coughed and gagged, but Vi soothed you, stroking your cheek until you tried again. You didn’t get any further, whining unhappily.

Vi laughed, pulling out. “Don’t worry, sweetheart; you’ve got plenty of time to practice.” She sat down on the floor, only a few feet away from the large mirrors, pulling you into her lap. “Open again,” she held up her middle and ring fingers, sliding them into your mouth. You moaned around the digits, moving your tongue over them, keeping your eyes locked with hers.

Pupils blown wide, her own cheeks flushed, she smirked at you. “Little slut,” she said affectionately. Pulling her fingers out, she moved them to your pussy, sliding inside again. “Gotta get you warmed up for this strap.”

“I’m warm!” you protested, riding her fingers.

“Oh really?” she raised an eyebrow. “You think you can take this?” she nodded down at the toy glistening with your spit.

“Yes,” you whined. “Just fuck me!”

She laughed. “Alright then, you asked for it.”

Pulling her fingers out, she aimed the toy at your entrance, pulling your hips to slowly lower you onto it. It stretched you immediately, making you gasp and groan. Your breath caught in your throat as she forced you further down, not stopping until your hips pressed against hers, the toy pushing against your cervix.

“See? I told you,” she mocked, rocking your hips back and forth a little, letting you adjust.

“Fuck,” you breathed, trying to hide your wince.

“Think you’re a big girl now? That you can take any cock you see?” she challenged.

You shook your head. “No,” you pouted.

“You gonna believe us in future when we say you need warming up?”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Good, so you’ll listen to me now.” Cait appeared in the doorway, your tote bag hanging from her hand, a strap around her own waist. Looking closely, you saw your small pink vibrator attached the harness.

“Cait?”

She approached you seductively, her hips swaying as she walked. “Where do you think I’m going to put this, darling?”

You paused, opening your mouth as a guess when she stopped in front of you.

They both laughed at you.

“Try again,” she taunted, kneeling behind you.

“What?” you squeaked, trying to look around but Vi held your cheeks, forcing you to look at her.

“You can’t dangle those toys in front of us and not expect us to play with your ass,” Vi smirked.

“But you’re already in-”

“And this is why I’m going to warm you up,” Cait chided, taking a tub of lubricant out of your bag, “If you’ll allow me to, Your Highness,” she mocked.

“Ohhh…” you moaned, a little worried.

Vi held you tightly, moving you both to lie on your side, her hips sliding her toy in and out of you slowly. “Just relax, baby,” she soothed, kissing your neck. “We’ll take care of you.”

Warm fingers pressed cold lube to your back hole, making you twitch. Cait rubbed the lube around, before gently sliding a finger inside. It was so much, with the toy already stretching your pussy, but not enough at the same time. They both filled you slowly, carefully, letting your body adjust to both of them.

When you were moaning loud enough for them, your head thrown back and eyes closed, Cait reached into your bag, pulling out a small camera. Half the size of a Rubik’s cube, she turned it on and angled it between your legs, directly at your holes. Vi pulled your top leg up, holding it back to your side, opening and exposing both your holes.

Slowly, she added a second finger, making you gasp and shudder as she stretched your ass just a little. “Breathe,” she coaxed in your ear. “Well done.” She pumped her fingers inside you gently, turning them slowly, stretching you a little. With her free hand, she coated your toy with some more lube, moving onto her side behind you.

“Ready?” Cait asked softly in your ear, pulling her fingers out of your ass, holding the base of the vibe to your hole.

You nodded desperately. “Yes. Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck my ass,” you begged, and were rewarded with Cait sliding the toy into your waiting hole. You moaned softly, your eyes closing as you felt Cait turn on the vibe, the sensations moving through your body.

Cait rocked inside you, letting you adapt to the feeling of being filled fully in both holes. “Are you alright, darling?”

You panted. “So full,” you whined when Vi slowly started moving again. You let your head hang down to the side, too weak to keep it up.

Vi gave Cait a look above you. “Sweetheart, look in the mirror,” she said, knowing you were too tired to do so.

As if you’d planned it together, you whined sadly. “I'm too tired.”

“C'mon, try for me,” she encouraged, knowing you wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.

You weakly lifted your head up, but you couldn't see around your propped up leg. “I can't see,” you complained, flopping your head back down.

Vi hummed thoughtfully. “Do you want us to show you later?”

“Show...later?” you asked weakly, your clit throbbing from the sensations in both holes.

“We could record it? Show you later?”

You whimpered at the thought of them filming you. “But…Who else would see?”

“No-one,” Cait promised firmly from behind you, kissing under your ear. “No-one else gets to see you like this.”

“Just for us, sweetheart.”

You hesitated. That sounded risky…

Vi continued. “Imagine having something you can look back on, something to remember this moment.”

Cait added, “And you’d remember how your body felt, how we feel inside you right now, filling these little holes. You could remember that every time you watched it back.”

You whimpered again, it did sound fun when they said it like that. “O-Okay. Just for us though!”

Cait smiled at the successful ruse, reached for her phone inside the bag, and resting it on the floor between all your legs, next to the small camera that was already recording. She angled it directly at your holes, pressing the record button. When the timer started counting, she returned to kissing your neck.

“You’ll look so pretty for us, sweetheart, our star of the show.”

“You wanna say how this feels?” Vi asked, stroking your thigh as she supports it.

“It feels so good,” you whined weakly.

“Louder for the camera, baby,” Cait coaxed in your ear.

You trembled at the mention of the camera, even as it made your pussy leak. “It-It feels good,” you said louder. Vi raised an eyebrow at you, urging you to continue. “It feels good in my pussy. In my ass too.”

She smiled proudly. “You like having a vibe in your ass?”

You nodded. “It feels really good. It's making my clit throb.”

Cait smiled against your cheek. “Well done, sweet girl,” she praised. “Reach your hand down, play with that button for us.”

You moved your hand down your body and rested it on your clit, rubbing gently. You didn't want to cum straight away.

“Good girl,” Vi praised, looking down at you rubbing yourself. “Show the camera how much you want to cum.”

You moaned loudly, rubbing faster as you imagined what the camera was capturing. As you drew closer, your holes started clenching on the toys, your hips rocking between the two women.

“I’m cumming,” you gasped, your fingers moving faster.

“Wait for us, sweetheart,” Cait breathed in your ear, chasing her own climax as her strap vibrated against her clit.

Shaking your head, you panted, “I can’t.”

Vi took hold of your throat, squeezing firmly. “Cait said wait, baby. Do as she says.”

The blood rushed to your head as Vi kept her grip on your throat, both women working themselves towards orgasm. You’d stopped rubbing your clit as it threatened to send you over the edge too soon, but Cait took over, forcing you to hold yourself back until they were ready.

When they were just about to cum, Vi released your throat. The sudden rush of air and blood, combined with Cait’s manicured fingers on your aching clit, sent your brain into overdrive. All three of you climaxed simultaneously, all writhing and moaning together, your bodies moving as one.

When you all settled down and caught your breath, Cait gently pulled out of your ass, earning a groan from your tired throat. Sitting up, she picked up the small camera off the bed, stopping the recording. Switching it to photo mode, she quickly pointed it at the three of you, taking a few post-sex selfies, you and Vi clearly visible in the background. With your head down and breathing deeply, you were none the wiser about what Cait was doing, but Vi smirked at the camera, kissing you or rubbing your body, at one point giving the camera a ‘rock on’ hand sign as she stuck her tongue out. Pointing it at you, she took a few more, then stood up, heading into the bathroom. She hid the turned off camera in a drawer, slipping the harness off.

Heading back into the bedroom, she picked up her phone, stopping that recording. Stroking your leg gently, she called your name.

“Sweetheart? You want to take a look?”

It had been a few weeks since that night, since Vi and Cait had finally asked, out loud and deliberately, if they could film you. You’d said yes, conditionally. From then on, you always said yes when they held up a camera or their phones, and they grinned like you were giving them a gift each time.

At first, it felt like control. Like a choice. And the look in their eyes, how hungry they were to capture you, to remember you; it had made you feel flattered, even powerful. You’d flushed under Cait’s praise as she scrolled through shots afterwards, and Vi’s rough kisses had made your heart flutter in ways you hadn’t expected.

After that, it became something regular. Not constant. Not predictable. Just often.

They’d ask. Usually. Cait with her soft, coaxing tone, or Vi with a smirk and a tilt of her phone. Sometimes it was during sex, sometimes it was after, when you were curled up in their bed, bare-chested, blinking blearily as your brain tried to function again after being fucked dumb. Sometimes it was video, sometimes pics. Sometimes both.

You tried to keep track. Tried to remember all the times you’d agreed. You told yourself it was fine. That you trusted them. That the way Cait sometimes didn't ask was just forgetfulness, or heat-of-the-moment urgency. That the one time you noticed Vi filming from the side of the bed as you ate Cait out on your knees…Well, maybe she’d just assumed you’d be okay with it, since you always were.

Your stomach always twisted after those moments.

But you didn’t stop. You never stopped.

Your dorm room was quiet, late afternoon sun stretching long and lazy across the carpet. The warmth clung to your skin as you sat on your bed, your phone buzzing steadily in your hands.

Cait had been sending more photos again. A drip-feed of images from the past few weeks. Ones you remembered approving. You tapped through them slowly, mouth watering. As they had told you during the first time they asked, your body flushed and throbbed as you remembered what you were doing when the photos were taken.

You saved each one.

Your phone buzzed again. Another image. You tapped the screen.

It was from two nights ago: their room, soft lighting, Cait’s fingers splayed across your bare stomach, Vi’s hands on your breasts. The photo was angled from above, beautifully framed, almost cinematic. You remembered that moment. You remembered saying yes.

A knock on your door broke you out of it. Heading over, you opened the door for Powder.

“Hey, babe!” she greeted cheerfully. Holding up a bag of snacks and drinks, she stepped inside. “Ready for that new season?”

The two of you lay together on your bed, her phone connected to a mini projector, casting the TV show onto your ceiling. The volume wasn’t too loud – you were still paranoid about a formal noise complaint, even though the three of you had stopped having sex in your room. Cait had added you to her Uber account, so you go over whenever you wanted, her family's card footing the bill.

Your phone buzzed every so often, but you ignored it. It was most likely Cait, sending you more things. You couldn’t open those messages next to Powder!

After about the tenth buzz, Powder paused the show.

“Just answer that, would you?” she teased, sitting up and getting a drink.

You sat up too, turning a little so she wouldn’t be able to see your screen. You were right, it was Cait. And the photos were rather intimate. She’d sent a few photos, but also made some GIFs from videos. Your own body parts and theirs filled your group chat.

“What are you looking at?” Powder asked teasingly, seeing your blushing face.

You held your phone against your chest. “Nothing!”

“I don't think ‘nothing’ makes people blush like that. Oh wait, is it Vi?” she grimaced.

“No. No, it's Cait.”

“What's going on?”

“Just some pics.”

Powder oooh'd playfully. “What kind of pics? Naughty pics?”

You blushed. “Maybe. Of us.”

“Of you? Together?” You nodded. “Like, sex pics?”

“Uh, yeah,” you laughed nervously.

“Oh my god, show me! Nothing with Vi in it!”

Your eyes widened. “Really? You want to see that?”

“I bet you look hot! C'mon, show me,” she winked.

You supposed one pic couldn't hurt. You held your phone close to you, so Powder couldn't see – to which she groaned dramatically and looked away – and looked through all the pics Cait had shared with you over the weeks. You flicked through, looking for one that was either just you or just you and Cait.

You found one, turning your phone to Powder. “For both our sakes, don't swipe!”

“Alright, alright, jeez...”

The pic you'd selected was of you and Cait. You both knelt on the bed in front of the large floor-length mirror, her front pressed to your back as she filled you with a strap. You couldn’t see her breasts or pelvis, only her side profile, so you’d felt comfortable showing Powder. Her hand closest to the mirror held the phone by her side, her other hand turning your face to the mirror and the phone. She was smiling, you looked blissfully fucked out.

“Wow! Holy shit, Y/N, you're gorgeous! Look at your tits, they’re so perky. Why do you hide them under those clothes?”

You blushed but enjoyed the compliments.

“What's that?” Powder asked, zooming in on the image.

“Don't zoom in! You might see something you don't want to see! What if Vi’s in the background?”

“Well, what's that? Is it a camera?”

Your head shot up, grabbing the phone from her. You squinted at the zoomed in image. Your slightly old phone didn't cope very well with the pixels but even you could tell what you were looking at. In the back of the room, obscured on a shelf in the back, was undeniably a small camera. Pointed directly at the bed, a small red pixel above the lens. Had the camera been recording? You remember that day, Cait hadn’t said anything recording videos, she only asked for that one photo.

“You guys record too? Jeez, I don't even want to imagine what footage you have. You could probably make a fortune online though.”

You felt sick.

And you continued to feel sick for days. You felt like there were bugs crawling all over your skin, and your stomach twisted and flipped anytime you thought of the women. You'd successfully avoided them since you made the discovery of the camera in the background of that photo, telling them you’d caught a stomach bug and were recovering in your dorm. They wished you well but didn’t come over, though Cait had sent a courier with rehydration meds, anti-nausea pills, and some food packs.

Since then, you'd spent hours trawling over every frame in every photo and video Cait and Vi had sent you. You didn't find any other cameras, but some of the files felt off to you. You couldn't always remember when they'd been taken.

Most of them, like the one with you and Cait on the bed, you definitely remember happening. You remember seeing one of them pick up the phone or camera, ask you if they could take something, and the files matched what you'd been doing in the moment. But some other files...You weren't sure you remembered. One video was you on your back, Vi riding your face as you fucked yourself with a toy. Cait had been with you, but she had supposedly been pleasuring herself too, not taking videos of you. Some photos of either woman using a strap on you, normally with your ass up, face buried in a pillow or the covers.

Like you hadn't known the camera was there.

You went to the coffee shop early one morning, hoping to get your mind off those images. You knew it was too early for Vi or Cait to be on campus; on Thursdays their first class was at 11 and they stayed home until then.

You sat at your usual corner table, quietly and miserably reading a textbook, trying to get back into your study habits, when a soft accented voice spoke.

“Sorry to bother you; are you Y/N?”

You looked up, really not wanting to talk to the pretty redhead with freckles. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, we haven't met before. I'm Maddie. Can we talk?”

@sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516

[bueckets]

Love Me Tender (Then Crank Up the Dial)

Pairing: dom!Paige x sub!reader

Genre: uh vibrator, a bathroom, and your little shit girlfriend, this is just literal porn

Description: It’s supposed to be dinner. A quiet, romantic, Valentine’s Day reservation. But nothing about is quiet—especially not when she’s got a remote in her hand, a smug look on her face, and complete control over the vibrator tucked between your thighs.

Spoiler alert: you won’t leave the restaurant dry—or alone.

WC: 4.3k

Notes: i’m unwell.

The smooth silk of your dress clings to you, hugging the shape of your thighs where you sit stiffly in the restaurant booth, hands folded in your lap like you’re prim and proper. Like you’re not unraveling. Like you’re not shaking, just barely, under the heat of Paige’s gaze.

She’s across from you, fingers wrapped loosely around the stem of her wine glass, that ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She’s in a suit—tailored to perfection, navy-blue, the crisp lines sculpting along her broad shoulders, the deep V of her collar teasing a glimpse of collarbone. Paige has always known how to command attention without trying, without forcing it—she owns it, the same way she owns the court, the same way she owns you.

Under the table, pressed between your legs, is a slick, buzzing little secret. Her secret. The vibrator nestled against your clit hums at the lowest setting, teasing, thrumming against your pulse. Paired with the stretch of the plug buried inside your ass—God, you’re already at the edge of insanity.

The worst part? She hasn’t even touched the remote yet. Not properly, at least. Just enough to remind you it’s there, enough to make every shift of your hips a risk, every movement a battle between relief and torture.

Your breath hitches as she tilts her head, watching you closely, fingers tapping lightly against the remote resting beside her plate. Her nails are short, painted clear, effortlessly clean—the same hands that have spent hours palming a basketball, wrapping around your throat, spreading you open like she has all the time in the world.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs, taking a slow sip of wine. “Something wrong, baby?”

Your jaw clenches. You want to glare at her. You want to fight, but you can’t—because Paige loves this part too much. Loves the way you squirm, loves the way you bite your lip bloody just to keep from moaning in a public setting.

Her foot slides forward under the table, nudging against your ankle, teasing its way up your calf, slow, lazy.

“Tell me,” she says. “Or do I have to turn it up to get you to talk?”

Your nails dig into your palms. The thought of her cranking the setting higher—no, no, not here.

You clear your throat, forcing your voice even. “I’m fine.”

Paige hums, unconvinced, swirling the wine in her glass before setting it down. “Mmm. Liar.”

Your heart stops—or maybe it kicks up, your pulse hammering in your throat as she casually picks up the remote, thumb hovering over the dial. Your muscles go rigid, every nerve locked in anticipation.

She doesn’t press it. Not yet. Instead, she leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping to something dangerously soft.

“Let me guess,” she murmurs, eyes flicking down toward your lap. “It’s starting to get a little unbearable, isn’t it?”

Your thighs clench, heat flashing through your body. Fuck. You shouldn’t—shouldn’t react so much to just her words, but she knows you too well. Knows how to slip under your skin, how to make you burn with just a look.

Paige smirks, and then she finally presses the button.

A sharp, sudden jolt slams through you. The vibration spikes—no longer a subtle tease, but a deep, rolling pulse against your clit, strong enough that you jerk in your seat.

Your fork clatters onto your plate. Heat immediately rushes to your face.

“That’s better,” she muses, tilting her head. “So sensitive tonight, baby. Maybe I should’ve gone with something stronger.”

Your breath comes out in short, uneven gasps. The plug stretches tight inside you, every pulse of the vibrator amplifying the heat coiling low in your stomach. It’s too much. Too much and not enough, because you need to move, need to grind down, but you can’t—not here, not in a fucking restaurant.

“Paige,” you hiss under your breath, barely managing to keep the desperation from your voice.

She quirks a brow. “What?”

“Turn it down.”

She laughs—low, deep, like she enjoys your suffering. “Turn it down?” Her gaze flicks to your lap, her smirk sharpening. “But you’re already soaking through your dress, baby.”

Your stomach plummets.

Your hands fly to your lap—fuck, fuck, she’s right. The silk fabric, already thin, has betrayed you, the dark spot between your thighs a damning proof of your arousal.

Paige hums in satisfaction, setting the remote back down, not bothering to lower the setting. Your whole body trembles.

She leans back, taking her time, pretending to glance over the menu like she hasn’t just reduced you to a mess in the middle of a five-star restaurant.

“You’re such a good girl for me,” she murmurs, not looking up. “Sitting there, taking it.”

A shudder runs through you. Your mind is a blur, the pleasure cresting just enough to drive you insane but never enough to push you over.

Paige knows exactly how to keep you suffering. You sit there, legs squeezed so tight your thighs ache, hands clenched into useless little fists in your lap, every muscle locked as you fight to hold yourself together. To keep from breaking.

Paige is relaxed. She sits back against the plush leather of the private booth, legs spread, hand resting lazily over the remote, thumb idly circling the dial but not pressing it. Yet. Just teasing. Just reminding you that she’s in control.

Your breath is ragged, shoulders trembling as you try to not fucking whimper in a public setting.

A waitress approaches—blonde, pretty, her uniform perfectly pressed—and for a second, just a second, you think Paige might have some mercy. Might turn the toy off while she places her order.

You should know better.

"Have you decided, ma’am?" the waitress asks, her voice smooth and polite.

Paige hums, tapping her finger against the remote like she’s thinking. Like she’s deliberating. And then—oh, fuck—she turns the dial up another level.

A sharp, intense pulse slams through your clit, the vibrator kicking up into a deep, rolling rhythm that has you jerking against the seat, nails digging hard into your palms as you bite back a strangled moan.

Paige doesn’t even look at you. She’s calm, unreadable, as if she’s not watching you come apart right in front of her.

"I’ll have the filet mignon," she says smoothly, voice completely even, like she’s not currently wrecking you under the table. "Medium-rare. And she’ll have—" Paige pauses, finally looking at you, eyes dark, lips quirked.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Your chest rises and falls too fast, breath shaky, helpless, as the relentless vibration works you open, thrumming deep through your clit, pulsing against the plug inside you. It’s too much, too good, but not enough—never enough—because Paige is keeping you right there, dangling on the edge, teasing, tormenting, watching you drown in it.

"She’ll have the salmon," Paige finally says, answering for you.

Her eyes are locked on you, watching you struggle. Watching you break.

The waitress scribbles it down. "Any drinks?"

"Mmm," Paige hums, pretending to think—and then, just to be a bitch, she cranks the setting higher.

A sharp, punishing jolt tears through you.

Your body locks, your breath catches, a tiny, choked whimper slipping out before you can stop it. The waitress doesn’t notice, but Paige does. She loves this, lives for it.

"Just water for her," she says smoothly, shutting the menu. "She’s already a little… flushed."

Your whole face burns, thighs trembling as you desperately try to keep your breathing under control.

The waitress nods, stepping away, leaving you alone in the private booth with her.

Silence stretches. Paige leans forward, eyes glinting, her fingers slowly tracing the outline of the remote like she’s considering ending you right here, right now. Her voice is low, sultry, dragging over you like silk and sin.

"Did you just whimper for me, baby?"

Your breath stutters, muscles coiled so tight you might shatter, the relentless, pulsing vibration burrowing through you like a second heartbeat—no, stronger, crueler, because your heart doesn’t make your knees weak, doesn’t flood your core with helpless, dripping heat. Paige watches you like a wolf watching prey, that smirk just bordering on smug as she twirls the remote between her fingers.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. “Such a mess, and I haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

You swallow hard. Your thighs clench—useless. The silk of your dress is ruined, clinging to you like sin, like evidence. The heat of the restaurant, the murmur of distant conversation, the candlelight flickering between you—it all feels unreal, like you’ve been removed from normalcy and placed in a purgatory of her design, one where every breath, every twitch, is hers to control.

The waitress is gone, the order placed, and yet Paige still hasn’t granted you relief. If anything, she’s enjoying the game too much, savoring your trembling hands, the way your body betrays you with every involuntary shudder. You feel it in the way she leans back, lazy, her legs spread beneath the table, confidence dripping from her like fine wine.

“What’s the matter, baby?” she taunts, her fingers flexing over the remote. “You look like you’ve got something to say.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes. Not when she shifts slightly, boot nudging between your ankles, forcing your legs apart just enough to remind you who’s in control. Not when she presses the remote’s dial forward another click—just one. Just enough to send a fresh wave of torturous pleasure rolling through your oversensitive core.

Your breath shatters into something between a gasp and a choked moan. Your fingers fly to the edge of the table, gripping hard, knuckles white.

Paige’s eyes glint.

“Careful,” she warns, tilting her head. “People might hear you.”

It’s too much. You can feel yourself unraveling, every nerve raw, every second a stretch of unbearable tension. And she knows. Oh, she fucking knows. The bastard. The sadist. The woman who holds you together and tears you apart in equal measure.

Paige leans in, slow, deliberate, resting her chin on her palm like she has all the time in the world. Like she’s not currently dismantling you one pulse at a time. The flickering candlelight between you casts shadows across her sharp jaw, highlights the smug amusement in her eyes as she watches you tremble on the edge of something devastating.

“You’re shaking, baby,” she murmurs, voice syrup-thick, low enough that it curls around your spine like a touch. “That bad, huh?”

Your nails bite into the tablecloth, your breath a wrecked thing in your chest. The vibrator’s merciless now, the setting just high enough to keep you right on the brink, never letting you tip over, never letting you breathe. It’s a calculated cruelty—Paige knows exactly how to play you, how to keep you strung out, how to turn you into a mess of heat and need with nothing but a dial and a smirk.

Her boot slides further between your legs, pressing, just barely, but it’s enough to send a fresh bolt of pleasure lancing through you. Your thighs clench around nothing, your body an open wound of want, so fucking desperate it’s humiliating.

“Paige,” you whisper, half a plea, half a warning.

She hums, tilting her head, pretending to consider. “What is it, sweetheart? You want me to stop?”

Paige sees the truth before you can even think to lie. Her smirk sharpens, and then—she has the audacity to stretch, to feign casual boredom as she flicks the remote again. Just a little. Just enough to send another sharp pulse through your clit, enough to make your body jerk, enough to make your mouth fall open on a silent gasp.

She watches you drown in it. Watches your shoulders shudder, watches the way your legs twitch under the table, helpless against the cruel, endless tease. And then—she sighs, setting the remote down with an air of finality, like she’s lost interest. Like she’s done playing.

Your stomach drops, panic cutting through the haze of arousal, because no—no, she can’t just leave you like this, can’t just push you to the edge and then fucking abandon you in the middle of a restaurant.

“I think you need a moment,” she says, smooth, detached, like she’s commenting on the wine selection instead of completely wrecking you.

She leans back, stretching her arms over the booth, legs spread in that infuriatingly casual way, radiating dominance, confidence, control. You can feel it from across the table, the weight of her ownership, the unspoken demand curling thick between you.

Your pulse hammers. Your thighs tremble. The ache between your legs is unbearable.

Paige cocks a brow.

“Well?”

It’s not a question. Your breath catches. A second passes. Then another.

And then—your legs move before your brain catches up. You force yourself out of the booth, every step shaky, every nerve raw. The vibrator is still on, still buzzing insistently inside you, and it takes everything in you not to stumble, not to let your knees give out under the weight of your own need.

The air of the restaurant is thick, suffocating, heat curling in your chest, your head. You barely register the dim lighting, the hushed conversation around you, the clinking of silverware against porcelain. All you can feel is the slick, throbbing ache between your legs, the torturous pulse of pleasure rolling through your core.

You don’t have to look to know Paige is watching you.

The moment you step into the hallway leading to the bathrooms, the noise of the restaurant fades, leaving you in a quiet, empty stretch of dimly lit space. Your breath is shallow, ragged, your body vibrating with tension.

The second you slip into the bathroom, you brace yourself against the sink, gripping the cool porcelain like it can ground you. Your reflection stares back at you—flushed, disheveled, pupils blown wide with need. You barely recognize yourself.

The door creaks open behind you. Paige steps in. Then locks it. Her boots strike the tile slow. Measured. She stalks toward you like a huntress with the kill already bleeding in her claws. You don’t move. Can’t. Your fingers clutch the sink, trembling, white-knuckled, and that treacherous little hum still buzzes in your core, low and deep and maddening. Your thighs are soaked. Your knees feel like they’re not yours. And Paige—Paige is silent as she comes up behind you, a shadow in navy and control.

You meet your own eyes in the mirror—wide, desperate, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any color left. Behind you, Paige moves closer. The heat of her body rolls off her in waves, a living furnace pressed just shy of your spine.

“You’re a mess,” she murmurs, her voice just a breath, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Look at you.”

You do. God, you do, even though shame burns hot under your skin. She places her hand over yours on the sink—solid, sure, hers—and leans in just enough that her front brushes your back. It’s not a question. It’s an assessment. A challenge. A reminder.

“You walked through a five-star restaurant dripping into your fucking heels,” she says, dark amusement threading through every word. “And no one knew. No one but me.”

Your breath catches, a soft whimper escaping without permission, and she grins—teeth sharp, cruel delight dancing at the edge of her lips. The hand not bracing you pins your hip, pulling you back into her. And then her thumb dips between your thighs, presses firm against the soaked silk clinging to your cunt.

“Still buzzing for me?” she teases, rubbing in a slow, maddening circle, the pressure enough to make your legs wobble. “Fuck, baby. You’re soaked. That little toy’s been working overtime, huh?”

You nod, desperate, a choked sound breaking in your throat. You want to beg. Want to scream. Want to come and die and live again all in one breath. Paige just chuckles.

“Oh no,” she purrs, her lips brushing your neck. “You don’t get to come just because you need it.”

The hand at your hip tightens. She lifts the hem of your dress slowly, dragging the silk up your thighs, exposing more and more ruined skin until the cool air kisses your slick folds and the faint metallic glint of the plug winks in the mirror. Her eyes meet yours in the reflection, hunger coiling deep in the burnished gold of her stare.

“You get to come,” she whispers, “when I say you come.”

She drops to her knees. Your hips jerk as her hands spread you open, rough palms skating up the insides of your thighs. Her mouth—God, her mouth—is hot and brutal when it lands on your clit, tongue pressing firm against the vibrator’s head, the added pressure making your knees buckle. She moans into you, devours like she’s starved, licking and sucking with calculated cruelty, the vibrations driving deeper under the intensity of her touch.

You’re gasping, broken little whines spilling from your lips as her tongue works you open, the plug inside you shifting with every tremor, every pulse. Her grip bruises your hips, nails digging crescent moons into your skin as she pulls you back onto her face like she owns it. Like you’re not allowed to escape.

You don’t want to. You want to come. Want to shatter.

She stops.

The silence hits like a slap. Your body trembles, needy, on the very edge of ruin—and Paige just stands. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes glittering with something feral. You watch her in the mirror, desperate, wrecked.

“On your knees,” she commands.

You drop. The floor is cold tile against your knees. Your thighs are twitching, trembling, drool slicking the corner of your lips just from the aftertaste of her tongue on your cunt. And Paige stands tall above you—tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease her inked collarbone, her strap already bulging thick beneath her slacks, ready.

She unzips. You whimper.

“Open wide, baby.”

Your mouth drops before she finishes the sentence. Tongue out, lips parted, already drooling down your chin, desperate for it. Paige fisting your hair is the only warning you get—then she feeds it to you in one slow, deliberate thrust. Her cock hits the back of your throat before your reflex even wakes up.

You choke.

“That’s it,” she growls, holding you there, her hips flush with your lips, her grip tightening until your scalp aches. “Fucking take it. You’ve been gagging on my attention all night, haven’t you? Look at you now—on your knees, plugged and soaked, and I haven’t even made you come yet.”

Your throat spasms around her, spit spilling free, dripping messily down your neck, your chest. She starts moving—slow thrusts that build, in and out, in and out, then faster, harder, until your head’s bobbing like a toy on a string, her grip controlling every inch. Your mascara smears, tears spilling as she fucks your face without mercy.

“Sloppy little cockdrunk whore,” she snarls, slapping your cheek with the flat of her hand when you gag too hard. “You like being used like this? Don’t answer. I know you do.”

Your eyes roll. Your throat stretches. The tip of her strap punches into your resistance with every brutal thrust, and still you moan. You moan around it like you love being used, like you need it deeper. Paige’s eyes flash with something dark, primal.

She spits. Right in your mouth. Doesn’t stop fucking your face even when the mess dribbles out again.

“Swallow. Good cumslut always swallows.”

Then she yanks you off. Just enough for a ragged breath, your tongue lolling, chin and chest shiny-wet, and before you can suck in oxygen—

SLAP.

Her palm cracks across your cheek. You whimper once again, drained.

“God, you’re pathetic. Can’t go five fucking minutes without drooling like a bitch in heat. Get up.”

Your legs barely obey. The plug’s still inside you, throbbing in time with your clit, the toy still buzzing—a wicked low pulse that’s kept you riding the knife’s edge of orgasm for so fucking long. She shoves you hard against the stall door, yanks your wrists behind your back and holds them with one hand, the other dragging your dress up again.

And then her mouth is on your ass. Her teeth bite your cheek, her tongue licks the base of the plug.

“Oh my god—Paige—!”

Her chuckle is low and mean. She spits again, this time between your cheeks, letting the wet drip down the base of the toy. Then she licks it—slow, nasty, devouring. Her tongue circles the plug, and then presses against your hole, licking around it, fucking into it until you’re moaning like a fucking animal.

“Filthy little anal slut,” she breathes, slapping your ass so hard you jump. “You want me to fuck you here instead? Make you come with nothing in your pussy at all?”

You shake your head. She slaps you again.

“Wrong answer.”

Then her fingers slip between your folds. One slap to your clit, and your knees buckle.

“Look at this fucking mess,” she murmurs, fingers sliding through the slick heat of your folds. “You’re gushing and you haven’t even come. Ruined your panties, ruined your dress, ruined yourself. Just a broken, desperate little thing waiting to be bred.”

You whine. Your voice is gone. But your body screams—hips jerking back, needy for anything, everything.

“Beg for it,” she growls, pulling your head back by your hair. “Beg for your orgasm. Beg like a fucking bitch.”

“Please, Paige—please—fuck, I need to come—I’ll do anything—”

“Anything?”

She steps behind you again, lines the slick cock up with your soaked pussy. The stretch hits instantly, wide and mean and so deep your eyes cross. She doesn’t give you time to adjust. She just slams in. Hips crashing into yours. Your voice breaks on a scream.

Then—she twists the vibrator inside you higher. The plug pulses. The cock rams deep. You explode.

You don’t just come—you implode. Screaming, sobbing, squirting all over the floor, her thighs, your own. She holds you down by the hair as your legs collapse, fucking into your orgasm with vicious, unrelenting force. You scream her name, voice ragged, throat raw, body twitching.

She doesn’t stop.

“Oh no, baby. We’re not done.”

One hand grabs your throat, choking you just enough to feel your pulse stutter. The other slaps your clit. Over. And over. And over.

You squirt again.

“That’s it,” she growls, voice right in your ear. “Give me everything. You’re not leaving this bathroom until you’re empty.”

Your knees are still shaking. Your slick coats your inner thighs, streaked down to your calves, puddled on the floor under you in obscene splashes. The plug’s still in. The vibrator’s still buzzing, just low now, like a sick little reminder of everything she just did. You can barely lift your face from the cold, come-smeared tile. Mascara tears painted down your cheeks, lips swollen, your cunt raw and twitching from being fucked through three—four?—mind-shattering orgasms.

Paige is fixing her collar like nothing happened. Cool. Composed. Buttoning up her shirt with smooth fingers, wrist flicking her tie back into place, slipping her belt through the loops like she didn’t just break you over her strap and leave you leaking like a used toy. The scent of sex clings to the air thick as heat. But she doesn’t even look mussed.

You finally find your voice—barely.

“P-Paige—”

“Shhh.” Her tone slices through the haze. Calm. Cold. Final. “You’ll clean up when you’re back at the table.”

She slides the remote into her pocket with a quiet click that still makes your thighs twitch, and crouches down just long enough to tug your ruined dress down your hips again. Not fixing your hair. Not bothering with your makeup. She wants them to see. Wants you walking back out into that restaurant wrecked, ruined, dripping like a whore who just got used in a public restroom and liked it.

She leans in, breath brushing your temple.

“Get up, baby.”

You do. Fuck, you do, legs wobbling, cum still leaking with every step. The plug shifts. The vibrator hums. You shudder. Your cunt pulses around emptiness.

“You’re not done yet,” she says, brushing invisible lint off her slacks. “I’ve still got dessert coming. And so do you.”

She reaches over, grabs your chin, makes you look up at her. Her thumb brushes your spit-slick bottom lip—then presses in. Makes you suck. You moan, automatic.

“Good girl.”

Then she turns. Unlocks the bathroom stall. Walks out. Just like that. No looking back. No waiting. Not even a final command—just the click of her boots as she strides back toward the table, calm as ever, as if she hadn’t just turned you into a dripping, shaking, breathless thing.

And now it’s on you. To fix your hair. To wipe your mouth. To walk out there soaked, flushed, plug inside you, vibrator still on, heels clicking through your shame.

To follow. Like a good girl.

[rafedarling]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞

pairing: drew starkey x fem!reader

summary: drew has always been the one to initiate intimacy, usually under the soft glow of night. but this morning, you decide it’s your turn to show him just how much you adore him.

warning(s): english is not my native language. smut, minor dni, p in v, fingering, masterbate.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist.

You lay there, propped up on one elbow, watching Drew’s chest rise and fall in the gentle rhythm of sleep. His face was peaceful, his lips slightly parted, his dark hair tousled against the pillow. He looked so beautiful. And yet, your mind was elsewhere… somewhere far less innocent.

You’d been thinking about this for weeks. Drew was always the one who initiated things at night, his hands roaming, his voice low and teasing as he worked you into a frenzy.

But today?

Today was your turn. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to surprise him, to take control, to show him just how much you’d been craving this.

Carefully, you slid your hand under the sheet, your fingers brushing against his bare thigh. Drew always slept naked, something you’d come to adore. The warmth of his skin against yours made your breath hitch. You bit your lip, your heart pounding as you let your hand drift higher, your fingertips grazing the base of his cock. It was soft for now, but you knew how quickly that would change.

God, he felt so fucking good.

You couldn’t help but smile as you wrapped your fingers around him, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. He stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake.

Not yet.

You squeezed gently, feeling him begin to harden in your hand. The sensation made your own body ache with need, but you forced yourself to focus. This was about him. About making him feel just as good as he always made you feel.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear.

“Drew,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Wake up for me, baby.”

He groaned softly, his body shifting as he began to rouse. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he just stared at you, confusion clouding his sleepy gaze.

And then he felt your hand, still wrapped around him, still stroking him so slowly, so deliberately.

“Y/N…”

His voice was rough with sleep, his eyes darkening as he looked at you.

“What are you doing?”

You grinned, your hand never stopping.

“Hmm, I don’t know, Drew,” you said, your tone teasing.

“I just thought I’d give you a little morning surprise.”

His breath hitched, his hips twitching as your hand moved faster. You could see the way his body tensed, the way his cock hardened completely in your grasp. It was intoxicating, the way he reacted to you, the way he couldn’t hide just how much he loved this.

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, you leaned down, your lips brushing against the tip of his cock.

He let out a strangled moan, his hips bucking as you wrapped your mouth around him. The taste of him, the warmth, the way he throbbed against your tongue, it was everything.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hand tangling in your hair.

“Y/N… God, you feel so good.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him swear under his breath. Your tongue swirled around the tip, your lips sucking gently as you worked him deeper into your mouth. His hips moved instinctively, but you kept him still with one hand on his thigh, your other hand still stroking the base of his cock.

“You like it, baby?”

You asked, pulling back just enough to speak, your lips brushing against him as you did.

Drew nodded, his eyes half-lidded, his chest heaving.

“I love you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I love it when your mouth’s wrapped around me. It’s… fuck, it’s perfect.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth again. He let out a strangled squeak, his body jerking at the sudden sensitivity. You could feel how close he was already, the way his muscles tensed, the way his cock twitched against your tongue. But you didn’t want him to cum yet. Not yet.

You pulled back again, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroked him slowly, teasingly. Drew groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Y/N… please. Don’t stop.”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” you said, your voice low and teasing.

“I just want to play with you for a little while. Is that okay?”

He nodded, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just… don’t stop.”

You grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to his thigh.

“Good boy.”

And then you took him into your mouth again, your hand moving in time with your lips, your tongue swirling around the tip of his cock. Drew’s moans filled the room, his hands clutching at the sheets as you worked him closer and closer to the edge.

You could feel it, the way his body tensed, the way his cock throbbed in your mouth. But you didn’t stop. Not even when he came, his cum hitting the back of your throat.

You swallowed, your lips still wrapped tightly around him as you kept sucking, kept stroking. Drew’s body jerked, his hips bucking as he tried to pull away, but you held him still, your hand tightening on his thigh.

“Y/N… please. I can’t… I can’t take it,” he begged, his voice breaking.

You grinned, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

“You sure about that, baby?” you asked, your tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock.

“Because I think you can take a little more.”

Drew cried out, his hands tangling in your hair as you took him into your mouth again.

You pulled back slowly, your lips releasing him with a soft, wet sound that made Drew shudder. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were glazed with pleasure, but there was a hunger in them too a hunger that mirrored your own. You didn’t want to stop here. You wanted more.

“Drew, I need you.”

His gaze snapped to yours, and for a moment, it felt like the air in the room shifted, charged with something electric.

You didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, you reached down, your fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties. You hooked your thumbs into the fabric, pulling them down slowly, deliberately, letting him watch every inch of skin you revealed. Drew’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you.

You knelt on the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress as you positioned yourself in front of him. Your hand trailed down your body, brushing over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. Your fingers found your clit, and you let out a soft moan as you began to rub slow, teasing circles. You could feel Drew’s eyes on you, his gaze burning into your skin as he watched you touch yourself.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

You didn’t respond, too focused on the pleasure building in your body. You slipped a finger inside yourself, your wetness coating your hand as you moved in and out, your movements slow and deliberate. You could feel yourself getting hotter, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you worked yourself closer to the edge. When you pulled your hand away, it was slick with your arousal, and you couldn’t help but smile as you saw the way Drew’s eyes followed the movement.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“So fucking wet for me.”

“Only for you, daddy,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He moved then, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you toward him. His breath was hot against your skin as he leaned in, his tongue tracing a slow, teasing path up your thigh. You gasped, your hands gripping the sheets as his mouth found your clit, his tongue lapping at you with a rhythm that made your head spin. He was relentless, his hands holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue flicking and circling until you were moaning, your hips bucking against his face.

“Drew… oh god, Drew,” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He didn’t stop, his tongue pushing inside you as he worked you toward the edge. You could feel the pressure building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach until it snapped, your body shaking as you came, your cries of pleasure filling the room. Drew didn’t let up, his tongue continuing to stroke you through your climax until you were panting, your body trembling with the aftershocks.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, you reached for him, your hands pushing him back onto the bed. You straddled his hips, your wet pussy hovering over his cock as you looked down at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath coming in short, ragged pants as he watched you.

“My turn,” you said, your voice low and sultry.

Lowered yourself onto him slowly, his thick cock stretching you as you took him inch by inch. You groaned, your head falling back as he filled you completely, your walls clenching around him. You could feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock inside you, and it made you shudder with pleasure. You moved your hips, grinding against him as you started to ride him, your movements slow and deliberate.

“Fuck, y/n… you feel so good,” Drew groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he watched you move.

You leaned forward, your hands resting on his chest as you quickened your pace, your pussy tightening around him with every thrust. His hands moved to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples and sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You moaned, your hips rolling against his as you lost yourself in the rhythm, the pleasure building with every movement.

“You like that, baby?” you asked, your voice breathless.

Drew nodded, his eyes locked on yours.

“God, yes… you’re so fucking tight.”

You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, and you knew he was close. But you weren’t done yet. You wanted to push him over the edge, to make him lose control. You leaned back, your hands resting on his thighs as you increased your pace, your pussy clenching around him as you rode him harder, faster. You could feel the tension building in your body, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

“Drew… I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, your voice trembling.

He didn’t respond, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust up into you, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. You cried out, your body shaking as you came, your pussy pulsing around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Drew groaned, his hips bucking as he thrust into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself inside you.

You collapsed onto the bed beside him, your body still trembling with the aftershocks. Drew turned to you, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face as he looked into your eyes.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You smiled, your hand resting on his chest as you felt his heartbeat slowing beneath your palm.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” you said softly.

“You did,” he replied, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

You shifted, moving so that you were lying on your side, Drew’s arm wrapped around you as you pressed your back against his chest. His cock was still inside you, and you could feel it twitching as it softened. His other hand moved between your legs, his fingers brushing over your clit in slow, teasing circles that made you shiver.

“Drew…” you whimpered, your body still sensitive from your orgasm.

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

“Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the sensation of his fingers on your clit, his cock still buried deep inside you. It was overwhelming, the pleasure building again as his hand moved faster, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. You could feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling with the need to cum again.

“Drew, I’m gonna…” you started, your voice breaking as the pleasure crested.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky and low.

You cried out, your body shaking as you came again, your pussy clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure washed over you. Drew held you close, his arms wrapping around you as you rode out the waves of your orgasm.

Lay there, his cock still inside you, his hand still stroking your clit. You were exhausted, your body limp and boneless, but you didn’t want it to end. You wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped in Drew’s arms, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice soft and sleepy.

[ditzyrafe]

ex!rafe sabotaging readers date, and them ending up fucking in the washroom or something

— ex!rafe ruining your date (and your🐱)

warnings — public sex, cheating (kinda), petnames, unprotected sex, lewd language

the cheap metal lock on the stall door digs uncomfortably into your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from rafe's body pressed hard against yours. his mouth is fused to yours, a bruising, desperate kiss that tastes like expensive whiskey and bad decisions. one of his hands tangles roughly in your hair, angling your head just right, while the other hikes your dress higher up your thighs, fingers digging possessively into your hip.

you shouldn't be here. you should be back out there, making polite conversations with your date, the nice stable guy currently nursing a drink at the bar, completely oblivious to the fact that you slipped away to the restroom only to be cornered by your ex. but the moment rafe followed you in, blocking the exit with that intense, hungry look in his eyes, all semblance of good sense evaporated.

now, his cock is buried deep inside you, stretching you, filling that familiar ache you try so hard to pretend doesn't exist anymore. he moves with a frantic urgency, slamming into you against the flimsy partition, each thrust jarring, visceral. muffled sounds escape your throat against his lips — half-moans, half-gasps.

"missed this cock, haven't you?" rafe murmurs against your mouth, his voice low and gravelly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. his gaze is dark, possessive. "bet he'd never fuck you like this."

"shut up," you breath back, but your hips instinctively arch, meeting his next thrust, betraying your words. the cramped space, the risk of discovery — it's all overwhelming yet it has you clenching around his cock at the thought.

he chuckles darkly, a sound that vibrates through his chest into yours. "you always did love fuckin' in public, didn't you? this turn you on, baby?" he grabs your other hip, lifting you slightly, changing the angle to something deeper, rougher. you cry out softly into his mouth as he pounds into you relentlessly.

"cum for daddy," the friction builds impossibly fast, a wildfire consuming every rational thought. your climax hits like a lightening strike, sharp and almost violent, making your body convulse around him. you cling to his shoulders, knuckles white, biting down hard on your lip to stifle the scream building in your throat. he groans your name, a rough, guttural sound, as he finds his own release just moments later, emptying himself deep inside you with a final, powerful thrust of his hips.

he stays pressed against you for a long second, pinning you to the stall door, both of you panting heavily, the small space thick with the scent of sex and adrenaline. then, just as quickly, he pulls out, leaving you slick and trembling, his cum dripping down your thighs. he steps back, admiring the work he created, and smirked.

"tell him you're taken," he murmurs, gesturing towards the stall lock. he watches you fumble with the lock, his eyes lingering on your flushed face and slightly swollen lips before you leave, heart pounding, body still humming, acutely aware of the betrayal you just committed and the man waiting oblivious for you back at the bar.

taglist ; @mojitrvo @mayanqueenxx @kisses4rafey @zoenighshade555 @feverg1rl @onxlyemery @yncoded @millie--billie @laniirackssss @slut4you @g3t2kn0w @kravitzwhore @dollyfiles @kild4re @zzhenyac @sparklyananas @dsfault @rafesprttyprincess @lynst91 @nonbeliever1 @drewsephrry @soft-starr @k4yr14 @babydollll-bunny @leleasalwaysblog @cokewithcameron @mialuvsrafe @urcoolgf @love-ella333 (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[angelsforthenight]

take care of me…

ellie williams x fem! reader

cw: mdni, modern AU, sub! ellie, dom! reader, loser!ellie, established relationship, use of vibrator, cunnilingus, slight degrading, overstimulation, bush! ellie 🤑, begging, crying, cursing, sub-space, aftercare + some fluff at the end :3

WHAT IS SUB-SPACE? sub-space is an altered state of consciousness that can happen during BDSM play. typically it’s when the bottom gets all high and floaty. subs in subspace may have a higher pain tolerance, have difficulty speaking, and lose all sense of time.

“nn—nnhhh… i can’t— i can’t, y/n, please.” ellie gasps out, on the cusp of release. she feels too much, too overwhelmed by the plethora of different sensations. grabbing your hair for some sort of anchor, her jaw falls slack: pathetic whines and pleasured sobs tumbling from her lips as they melt against the loud humming of the vibrator nudged against her clit. and your mouth only keeps moving.

hold on, run that back. wanna know how you got here?

“babe, i’m not even kidding, i think i ripped out a tastebud.” ellie’s been complaining about this for the entire day, but doing nothing about it. to be frank, it’s been pissing you off a little. ellie could just as well get up and take a look in the mirror for herself, but for some reason she insists on you checking it out.

this isn’t the first time you’ve had to play doctor. don’t get it twisted, it’s cute! having to take care of your girlfriend is a gift you want to keep safe in an enclosed haven. but only when something has actually happened.

when false alarms happen one too many times, it’s only natural you get at least a little annoyed, and you’re very positive that this moment is another one of that case, yet you never seem to get enough. you set the book you were reading down, sitting up on your bed.

“let me see.” you sigh, placing your fingers on her chin, tilting her head up. ellie sticks her tongue out and to no surprise at all, there’s nothing.

“you’re kidding me, right?”

“what? no! i just hurt my tongue so bad trying to shred the guitar!” ellie says defensively.

“well then you’re stupid.” you laugh, “who the hell does that?”

“jimi hendrix does…” she mumbles sullenly, hanging her head low and so very clearly trying to make you pity her and give in. and alas, it’s working.

“stop pouting and come here.” you roll your eyes, even if there’s a hint of a smile on your lips. ellie lights up too, shuffling closer and opening her mouth again.

you scrutinise your stare. it’s a little red, yes, but that’s the entire tip of her tongue. if ellie ripped out a tastebud like she claims she did, she would have at least been bleeding a little bit.

meanwhile, ellie keeps her eyes trained on you. it’s so quiet in the room apart from the whirring fan noises and the sounds of cars driving past every now and then. she likes seeing you all focused, with your attention on nothing else but her. secretly, that’s why she’s always pestering you about meaningless injuries.

“you didn’t tell me where…” you murmur, but you leave no space for her to respond when you clamp her tongue down with your thumb and forefinger; pulling her tongue down a little further so you can get a closer look. the pad of your thumb drags across it to feel something, even if you don’t know what it is you’re really looking for. ellie’s caught off guard by this move. in fact, it projects her into this sudden state of being very aware of what you two are doing, the feel of your fingers in her mouth, on her tongue. she can’t help but fidget, getting distracted.

“don’t move.” you mutter, oblivious to the way ellie’s feeling. that firm command stirs her up even more, her breathing uncontrollably growing heavier. she tries to lock in, but with the way she’s suddenly conscious? horny? fuuuck, it’s difficult. you feel her hot breath fan against your knuckles.

“if you ripped out a tastebud then you would’ve been bleed—“ you trail off in the middle of your sentence when you glance up at ellie. her cheeks are a light shade of pink, prominent even under the warm amber glow of your bedroom lamp lights. her eyebrows are arched upwards, staring at you with this helpless look on her face. she looks so, undeniably pathetic. surprised, you let go of her tongue.

ellie looks away, wiping her mouth with her fist. you realise she’s very faintly trembling.

“ellie…” you murmur softly.

“what are we gonna have for dinner, by the way? you cooked yesterday but i’m very shit at cooking so we could order door-dash but at the same time we did door-dash the day before yesterday and the day before-before so..” she begins to ramble, clearly flustered and embarrassed. you smile.

“ellie.” you say again, taking her hands in yours. she pauses, staring at you. her chest heaves, eyes all big and yielding.

“let’s do this again, ‘kay? wanna tell me what you really want?” you say slowly, and the way your tone is soft makes ellie’s head feel foggy. she takes a deep breath, which almost sounds like a whine.

“i… um…” ellie’s always had trouble communicating what she wants. she avoids your gaze, trying to find the right words to say. she feels like a glop of slime, slowly melting. you give her an encouraging smile, brushing your thumb against the back of her palm in repeated back and forth motions.

“i want you… to, um— i need you to take care of me.” her voice crackles with neediness, urgency laced in her tone. her lips are quivering. you can tell how bad she wants this, but you can’t help but prod her some more.

“take care of you how? lots of ways i can do that.” your voice is consistently soft, almost cooing. ellie’s mind keeps on slipping into this hazy state, lips quivering and eyes half-slits.

“y-you know. i don’t have to tell you…”

“damn right you do.” you tut. “you’re gonna use your words and tell me what you want. i’m not inside your brain now, am i?” the slight change in tone makes ellie flinch, as she’d quite frankly die before disappointing you. you can literally see the cogs in her head moving, calculating what to say so that you’re able to give her what she wants and simultaneously not being bad.

her eyebrows arch again, subtly scooting even closer to you so that her knees are pressed directly against yours.

“can we… uh… like, have sex? like you touching me and stuff?” she whispers, as if somebody else could hear. you initially try to stifle in your laughter, but it slips out.

“oh yeah? how do you want it?” you giggle, amused by the way ellie’s fumbling over her words and constructing her sentences in this weird, adorable way. ellie scowls, not finding this the least bit funny.

“stop laughing at me.”

“how do you want it?” you repeat, grinning.

“i don’t know, you can do anything you want… just… please. i need to cum.” ellie groans, but it sounds more like a helpless mewl. you stare at her whilst ellie fidgets in her seat, eyes repeatedly flicking between your eyes, your lips and your lap. you can’t help but ‘awww’ in pity.

“anything, yeah? don’t hold your word against me, okay?” you raise your brows, expecting a response. ellie shudders in excitement.

“okay.”

so next thing you know, you two are kissing whilst ellie’s propped up on your lap. you’re aware of how she's grinding on you; trying to give herself flickers of stimulation. you let it happen, occasionally teasing her by bucking your own hips up. whenever you do so, ellie has a hard time kissing you back, losing composure and moaning in your mouth. it’s the hottest thing.

you pull away so you can marvel at the look on ellie’s face; quietly panting for breath whilst she stares at you with the most pliant look. so malleable it’s as if you could bend her into anything you wanted with just a command.

you smush your lips against hers again, only you’re more greedy this time: pushing forwards so you both drop onto the bed. you intertwine your fingers with hers, peppering wet kisses on her neck. the way your lips tug on her skin compiles ellie into mush, with no thoughts running through her head. she whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as her back arches, chest against chest. you continue to administer neck-kisses, leaving a few selfish marks whilst your free hand slowly inches it’s way towards ellie’s pants, tugging it down. ellie’s in her own world: wriggling free from the confines of her sweatpants as her head lolls against the pillow. next, your hand quietly reaches for the drawer. ellie’s eyes are closed, so she doesn’t realise when you pull out a vibrator with the head of a cute bear. you bite your lip, stifling in your amused excitement when you press the machine against ellie’s clothed cunt. ellie harshly gasps, eyes flying open before groaning.

“oh, i fucking hate you…” she laughs, head plopping back down, “you just had… to go for the— stupid bear one…” her words keep on getting broken up by moans slipping out.

“do you like this?” you grin. a wet spot slowly fades in the centre of ellie’s underwear. ellie whines when you heighten the setting. “yes or no?”

“yes….” ellie squeaks. “can we… t-take… aaah…” ellie’s having a hard time speaking with the vibrator flush against her. her underwear is growing wetter and wetter, outlining her vulva clearly. her stomach tightens.

“hmmmm?” ellie’s thighs twitch in delight at the sensation, back arching as she seeks out for more.

“my underwear… take it off, please.” she gasps out, her entire body buzzing. you turn the vibrator off so she has time to breathe, deciding to be nice for now: serving as a prior make-up for how much you’re going to ruin the poor girl. that’s why you do what she’s asked of you, slowly pulling off her undies. ellie shivers at the way it rolls down her legs, twitching at the air fanning her now bare cunt. your place your hand at the top of her mound, fingers spreading through her pubes as your thumb grazes against her folds, slightly opening it and watching as the juices eagerly flow out. you unconsciously lick your lips, pupils darkening. ellie watches you and blushes.

“you’re this needy? just ‘cuz of the tongue thing?” you taunt whilst ellie whines in response. you dip your head in between her legs, tongue flicking out to get a taste. “ohhhh my god, yesyesyesyes…” ellie whispers. you’re hungry, munching on her pussy like you’ve been starving for damn near weeks. ellie’s back flies off the bed, her hands desperately gripping the sheets.

“pathetic…” you mumble, and ellie moans at the way the word thrums against her pussy, sending vibrations in her entire body. her moans unabashedly rip out of her lips at the way you kiss and suck her heat. the frenzy consumes her, as her body jerks uncontrollably. to induce the cruelty, you suddenly pause: an idea flicking through your head like a light bulb.

“i’m really gonna mess you up. sorry, baby…” you murmur but ellie couldn’t care any less, so goddamn needy for release she’ll accept anything you give her. you grab the discarded bear-head and press down against her clit, the setting even higher than last time. it elicits loud reactions from ellie, helpless whimpers tumbling from her lips as she receives thrum after thrums of pleasure.

to make matters (better) worse, you resume your pussy-licking, so ellie can feel both the vibrator and your lips on her mound. ellie cries out, thighs instinctively trying to close themselves up. your hand firmly presses down on her thigh, keeping them open.

“nn—nnhhh… i can’t— i can’t, y/n, please.” ellie gasps out, on the cusp of release. she feels too much, too overwhelmed by the plethora of different sensations. grabbing your hair for some sort of anchor, her jaw falls slack: pathetic whines and pleasured sobs tumbling from her lips as they melt against the loud humming of the vibrator nudged against her clit. and your mouth only keeps moving.

you’re putting the work in, going to town on her and really fucking her up. thick tears stream down her face from how insanely good it all feels, her entire body twitching and jolting. your tongue laps strongly, whilst the vibrator is on the highest setting it can be. ellie’s bordering on becoming animalistic, letting out grunts and loud moans.

“g-gonna cum.. —cumming, i’m cumming..” ellie babbles pathetically, seldom coherent. jolting sharply, she grips your hair tightly, in which you groan from the slight pain, as you feel her warm juices flowing in your mouth. ellie pants as you turn the bear-head off, lifting your head up to glance at ellie.

you did succeed in breaking the hell out of her. there’s a heavy, dazed look written across her face; eyes glazed-over and as if she’s not really here. she looks boneless yet plush. you lift yourself up, gazing at her softly. it’s understandable she’s entered into sub-space after what they’ve just done.

“oh, baby…” you whisper, lifting her up so you two are sitting. ellie complies silently, weakly wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in the crook of your neck. there is no train of thought running through her head, and it’s almost as if she’s unconscious whilst fully awake. you run your fingers through her hair, kissing her head.

“my sweet girl… you did so good. so proud of you.” you whisper in her ear. ellie hums in response, burying her face even more. she’s all blissed out, liking the way the tip of your nails dance across her scalp. it makes her feel safe, but most of all loved.

hours later, when you two do end up ordering door-dash for the third time this week, ellie ends up flatly denying the state she had been in earlier.

“nope. no idea what you’re talking about.” she says, yet unable to hide her sheepish smile.

a/n: my singular contribution to kinktober 🧎‍♀️also i am a suuuuucker for sub! ellie like i was so giggly writing this!!! lmk if u were too (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)!!

[yourlipstogodsears]

Teasing and Tasteful Mornings (Jack Abbot Smut!)

Summary: Jack decides to make their lazy morning more exciting. (established relationship, Teasing, dryhumping, fingering, praise, the usual smutty stuff)

He laughs softly, pulling her against him and wrapping his arms around her.

"Because you looked too adorable sleeping in my bed and my shirt. And I figured l'd sit and drink coffee and not wake you yet..." He kisses the top of her head. "So?"

she tackles him down onto the bed.

Laughs loudly as he falls back onto the bed with her on top of him. "Is that a yes you’re okay that I did that or are you trying to tackle me into submission?" He wraps his arms around her waist, keeping her pinned to his chest. "Because either way, I like where this is going."

she kisses him, mmm good

He smiles against her lips, kissing her back deeply. "I love you." He runs his hands up her back, pulling her even closer.

He grins, flipping them over so that he's on top. He starts trailing kisses down her neck and collarbone. "I can wake you up early when I get up if you’d rather…." He mumbles against her skin, already starting to get distracted by her.

“mmm” she hums “ god forbid you let me sleep on our rare day off…”

He chuckles softly, knowing exactly what she means. He pulls back slightly to look into her eyes, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Sleeping in it is." He leans down to kiss her deeply, his hands exploring her body under the shirt she's wearing.

she spreads her legs to allow his hips between them.

He slides between her legs perfectly, his growing hardness pressing against her center through their clothes. One hand holds himself up next to her head while the other traces patterns along her bare thigh. "You know, I'm starting to think you only want me for my body,"

“I’m starting to think you need these pj bottoms off..”

He laughs, the vibrations rumbling through his chest. He quickly strips off his pajama pants, tossing them aside carelessly. His hard length springs free, pressing directly against her core now. "Better?" He asks teasingly, grinding his hips slowly against hers.

she moans “yes-”

He grins, loving the sound of her moans.

He leans down to kiss her again, his hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm against her. "God, I love how you feel against me." He whispers against her lips, his hands sliding under her shirt to cup her breasts.

she reaches down to take her panties off.

He stops her hand with his own, holding it gently. "Leave them on." He commands softly, his voice low and husky. He kisses her again, his hips continuing to move slowly against hers. Through the thin fabric of her panties, he can feel how wet she's already becoming.

She whines, “why”

He laughs softly, his hips jerking slightly against hers. "Because it'll feel good like this." He explains softly, his voice dropping an octave. He spreads her legs wider with his thighs, hitting her higher with each thrust against her panties."No condom, just fabric."

“I'm not dry humping you like a teenager”

He chuckles deeply, nipping at her bottom lip playfully. "Oh, believe me, beautiful..." He grinds against her harder, pressing right against her clit through the thin fabric. "This is far from teenage dry humping."

she whines and arches “that's so unfair”

He smirks, knowing he has her right where he wants her. "Life isn't always fair." He grinds against her again, hitting that sweet spot perfectly. "And besides," He leans down to whisper in her ear, "I'm not just rubbing against you like some horny teenager.”

“Mmm please Jack”

"Please what? He continues the maddening rhythm, his lips trailing down her neck. "Please fuck you?" His thumb hooks into the edge of her panties briefly, teasing her entrance but not quite sliding inside. "Or please make you come all over my cock through your panties?”

Mmm, she whines

"Those moans are killing me, beautiful." He continues the torturously slow grind, making sure to hit her clit with each movement. He leans down to catch her bottom lip between his teeth. "You want more pressure here? *He asks, pressing harder against her through the wet fabric."

she whines and gasps “fuck- don't make me cum”

He smirks devilishly, knowing exactly what he's doing to her. "Then tell me to stop." He grinds against her harder, faster, his hand moving to keep her panties in place. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're damn close."

she blushes, finding it a little embarrassing how close she is to cumming like this

He notices her blush and softens his expression, but doesn't stop the slow grind against her. He knows she's close and he loves seeing her like this— flushed and embarrassed but incredibly turned on. "There's nothing wrong with coming like this." He whispers softly, "In fact,"

"It's fucking sexy as hell." He leans down to kiss her gently, his hips never stopping their slow, sensual movement against her. "You have no idea how hot it is to see you like this…all flushed and needy, ready to come undone from just a little friction."

He groans softly, feeling his own arousal growing more intense. He loves her little sounds and knows he's pushing her right to the edge. "Goddamn, those noises..." He grinds against her harder, hitting her clit with more force. "You're so fucking close."

“So- close”

His self-control is impressive. He knows he's essentially dry humping her, making that wet spot on her panties bigger with each thrust. He spreads her legs wider with his thighs, going deeper. “Baby, answer me one question." He growls softly."Mmm?"

“Mmm yeah?”

"How badly do you want to come right now?" He increases pressure slightly, knowing exactly where she's most sensitive. "Would you hate me if I made you cum like this through your panties?" He whispers against her ear, his breath hot. "In about five more thrusts?"

“Mmm it's so embarrassing” she whines into his shoulder.

He groans deeply at the whine, his hips moving harder against her. “Embarrassing is fucking cute." He presses his lips against her neck gently.

"And I promise not to tell anyone how my woman came apart from getting fucked through her panties."

“You better not-“ all heat is silent on her tongue with a rock of his hips.

His breath catches at her reaction, feeling her about to lose control. He presses against her harder, faster, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

"Shit..." He murmurs against her neck, knowing she's seconds away. "You're soaking through your panties..."

she grips him tight, “don't move much just rut”

He freezes slightly, then grinds against her shallowly and slowly-small thrusts with a lot of pressure. He gets it. She's close and she doesn't want it too intense. He spreads her legs wider with his thighs, rutting softly.

she cums hard soaking his cock through the layer of lace. His eyes roll back slightly. He swallows hard, his hips moving slightly faster as he realizes he's made her come just from dry humping her. He pulls back to look down at her panties-wet spot big and dark. He groans softly, pushing his hips forward again slowly.

"Holy..."she pants

He leans down to kiss her neck gently, continuing the slow, shallow thrusts against her soaking wet pussy through her lace underwear. "You came so fucking hard, baby." He groans softly against her neck.

"Look at your fucking underwear." He hums against her neck, “They're soaked. So fucking wet." He kisses her neck again, his hands gripping her hips possessively. "I can feel how warm your pussy is through them."

He continues to grind against her slowly, knowing she's sensitive now. "Goddamn, baby."

“Mmm feels so warm”, she blushes beet red.

He runs his nose along her jaw line, enjoying her blush - completely turned on by how sensitive and sweet she is.

"You know what's fucking crazy?" He continues slow, gentle thrusts, barely enough to feel but keeping her arousal going.

"I can feel how warm and puffy your pussy is through your underwear." He presses his hips forward, making her feel his hard length through the fabric.

"And I can feel how hard your clit is." He kisses her neck softly. "It's sticking out through the lace.”

“Mmm gonna take care of my creamy pussy?”

"Fuck..." His breath catches at those words. "Yes ma'am, I sure am. But first..." He continues the slow grinding motion, not wanting to stop touching her. "First, let me just..." He presses against her clit directly with the head of his cock through the fabric.

she whines softly.

"Mmm, yeah." He presses harder, moving his hips in slow circles. "Let me just enjoy your wet little pussy for a second through your underwear." He groans softly, knowing he's being ridiculous but completely addicted to the warmth and wetness he feels.

she blushes at his words and nods.

He smiles softly against her neck, his hands squeezing her hips gently as he continues the slow, teasing circles against her clit through her soaked underwear. "That's my good girl." He murmurs softly. "Just let me play with your pretty pussy for a little bit longer like this."

she nods, god he's so hot when he talks dirty with her.

His self-control is impressive. He knows he's dry humping her pussy through her underwear like a teenager. He Spreads her legs wider with his thighs, watching her face get redder with his dirty talk.

He realizes she loves it. He presses harder against her clit. "Baby?"

"Does my sweet girl like it when I talk dirty to her while I grind against her little pussy?" He keeps a steady, firm pressure on her clit, feeling it swell against his cock. "You getting all red and cute for me? Knowing I'm making your panties soaking wet..”

"Good fucking girl." His self-control is really starting to break. The way she just melted at 'Yes sir' makes his cock ache.

"You know what l'm imagining right now?" He maintains the slow, steady rhythm on her clit.

"I'm imagining pushing these wet little underwear to the side and sinking my big dick inside your tiny pussy." His voice gets lower, rougher. "I bet you'd be so fucking tight, your little cunt gripping my big dick so good." He bites her neck softly.

she gasps and whines at the mental image, she swears she can almost feel it and he hasn't even done it.

"Would you like that, baby? Having your tight little pussy stuffed full of my cock?" He continues the slow grind, knowing he's driving her crazy. "Would you take it like a good girl? Would you let me fuck you deep and slow?" His breathing is getting heavier.

“Mhmm please Jack”

"Fuck, baby." He groans softly, his hips moving faster against her clit. "You know what I want to do?" He kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth as he speaks. "I want to rip these fucking panties off and fuck you right here."

“Please” she whines.

His self-control almost snaps. He loves reducing her to needy whines and soft cries. He spreads her legs wider with his thighs, knowing her underwear are the only thing between his big dick and her tight little pussy. "Baby?"

“Yes sir?”

"I'm gonna start fucking you through your underwear, okay?" He looks her in the eyes, checking for consent. "I'm gonna grind my cock against your clit until you soak through these panties and make a mess of your bed." He waits for her nod before continuing the movement.

she blushes, “you wanna do it again..?!”

He smirks, loving her innocence and eagerness. "Fuck yes, I do." He presses his cock harder against her clit, feeling the wetness soaking through her underwear. "You like when I rub my big dick against your little pussy like this?"

“You wanna make me cum a second time just grinding?” She mumbles and asked.

"Mhmm, I do." He kisses her deeply, his tongue swirling with hers as he starts to pick up the pace, grinding his clothed cock against her clit harder and faster. "I wanna make you squirt all over these pretty panties and ruin them for me."

"If I slide my fingers under your panties right now and touch your pussy, would you be wet and swollen for me?"

she nods.

"Fucking hell." He groans softly, his hips moving faster as he imagines her perfect little pussy. "Let me check real quick." Before she can even respond, he slides his hand under her underwear, finding her soaking wet and completely drenched “Jesus Christ” he mutters.

she hums covered in my own cum covered lace.

"Fuck, baby." He groans, his cock throbbing at the sight and feel of her.

He rubs her clit gently, spreading her wetness around. "These panties are fucking ruined now." He grinds his cock against her clit harder through their clothes.

"You know what I want to do now?" He asks, his voice low and husky as he continues to grind against her. "I want to take these panties off and see how much of a mess you made." He slips his fingers under the waistband, slowly pulling them down.

As he pulls her panties down, he can see the glistening wetness on her thighs and the soaked fabric. "Fucking hell, baby." He tosses the panties aside, revealing her swollen pussy lips. "Look at you. You're fucking drenched."

“Mmhmm” her pussy coated in her cum, more cum at her opening.

His eyes darken as he takes in the sight before him. Her pussy is literally dripping with her own cum, some of it even leaking out onto her bedsheets. He swallows hard, his self-control hanging by a thread. "Spread your legs wider for me, baby."

As she spreads her legs, he gets an even better view of her messy little pussy. He can see how puffy and swollen her lips are, and how her hole is gaping slightly, more cum leaking out. "Jesus Christ, you're a fucking mess."

“Please Jack... need you”

His control snaps. He quickly grabs her thighs and pulls them over his arms, spreading her wide open before him like a feast. "Fuck it." He lines himself up with her dripping entrance.

she gasps softly as his thick tip pushes in. He has such a pretty cock- atleast 7 inches, big viens that drag against her walls beautifully, trimmed pubes, circumcised.

"Fuck, baby..." He slowly pushes more of himself inside her tight little pussy, watching as her cum coats his cock.

"Look how fucking perfect you take me..." He enters her inch by inch, feeling her walls stretch around him. "Your fucking cream all over my dick..."

she nods with her mouth softly agape.

He bottoms out inside her with a grunt, his hips flush against her thighs. He's fully sheathed in her tight, messy pussy.

"Fuck….. I'm all the way in." He pulls out slowly, watching her cum slide down his shaft before pushing back in just as slow.

Mmm feel good?

"Fuck yes, baby." He groans, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm as he fucks her. "Your pussy feels so fucking good. So tight and wet." He leans down to kiss her softly, his cock still moving in and out of her.

she kisses back moaning softly.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers as he picks up the pace. He starts to fuck her harder, his hips slamming against hers with each thrust.

The sound of their skin slapping together fills the room, along with her soft moans. "You like that, baby?"

“so fuckin good”

"Mmm, fuck yeah it is." He grunts, one hand reaching down to play with her clit as he pounds into her. "Your pussy is so fucking messy and perfect..." He hits a spot deep inside her that makes her eyes roll back.

she arches and her eyes roll “fill me so well” she mumbles the pleasure taking her strength to speak.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good when you're like this." He groans, his cock swelling inside her as he continues to hit that spot over and over. "You want me to fill you up, don't you?" He asks, knowing full well that she does.

“Mhmm”

His self-control disappears. He spreads her legs wider apart and lifts them up higher, changing the angle. He starts hammering into her little pussy like a madman, each thrust going deep and hard. Her tits bounce with each thrust, her mouth open in a silent O. "Damn baby-“

she grips the sheets, moaning and whining and squealing when he hits just right.

He leans down and takes one of her hard nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting on it as he continues to fuck her senseless. He can feel her getting tighter around him, her pussy starting to flutter and clench. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me cum..."

“Fuck l'm so close- don't stop please don't stop-“

"I'm not gonna stop, baby. I'm gonna fuck this messy little pussy until I fill it up." He growls, his hips moving faster and harder. He can feel himself getting ready to blow his load deep inside her.

"You gonna cum with me, baby?"

“Yes yes yes!” she chants she's right at the edge, each thrust sending her teetering on climax.

"Fuck yeah, cum for me." He roars, his cock swelling to its maximum size inside her as he slams home one final time. He holds himself deep as his hot load starts to erupt, filling her tiny pussy with thick streams of cum. “Ugnngh fuck-!" He hisses.

she whines at the warm as she cums with him, their combined fluid overflows as he starts to buck his hips, each buck pushes their cum leaking onto the bed.

He continues to slowly move his hips, milking out the last of his cum into her as he kisses her deeply. He pulls out and watches as his cum leaks out of her well used hole and onto the bed. He smirks and pulls her close. "You did so good, baby."

He kisses her forehead gently, knowing she's sensitive and tired after being fucked so hard. He pulls her onto his lap and starts playing with her messy pussy, spreading his cum around. "You're all full of my cum now." He murmurs possessively. "So fucking cute."

He squeezes her ass, his fingers still playing with her messy hole.

"I love seeing you all messy and used like this. My good girl." He praises her, his voice low and filled with desire for more.

she whines softly “you love playin with it huh”

"Mhmm." He slides a finger slowly inside her, feeling his own cum dripping out.

"Your messy little pussy is fucking addictive. I could play with it all day." He kisses her neck softly. "Does it feel good when I do this?"

she whines “yes-“ she loves when he kisses her neck and fingers her.

He smiles against her neck, his finger moving in and out of her slowly. He adds a second finger, stretching her a little more as he kisses and bites her neck He loves how responsive she is after being fucked so hard. "Spread your legs wider for me."

He slips a third finger into her pussy, stretching her wide and making her moan softly. He loves how easily she takes him now that she's so wet and messy from their sex. "Such a good girl for me." He praises her while moving his fingers faster inside her.

she whines and her hips buck to his hand

He chuckles and holds her hips down, keeping his fingers buried deep as he curls them up to hit her spot. "Shh, baby.

Just let me play with my messy little pussy." He whispers against her neck, his fingers moving in and out at a steady pace.

she whines and pushes her face into his neck, it's the only way she can settle and let him play.

He smiles softly and spreads her legs wider apart, giving him better access.

He starts moving his fingers slower and deeper, watching her little body react to his touch. He loves that she's so sensitive and needy after good sex.

she hums and whines against his pulse point “Jack-“

"Mmm?" He picks up his pace slightly, knowing she's getting close again. He loves hearing his name like that - needy and breathless. "What do you need, baby?" He asks in a low whisper, his fingers driving in and out of her soaked, messy pussy

Gonna cum- her voice is whiny, like she's unsure of if it's okay or not.

He smiles against her neck and curls his fingers up, hitting her spot perfectly as he bites down gently on her neck. "Then cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers like a good girl." His voice is commanding yet gentle, encouraging her release.

she cums hard for a third time tonight.

Abbot’s been keeping count. 5 is her limit

He smiles as she cums around his fingers, her body convulsing with pleasure. He keeps his fingers moving slowly through her orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible. Once she starts to come down, he slowly pulls his fingers out and brings them up to her mouth. "Clean them off, baby."

she opens her mouth instantly.

He pushes his fingers into her mouth, coating her tongue with their combined tastes. He watches as she sucks and licks his fingers clean, her eyes fluttering shut in contentment. "Good girl." He praises her softly, removing his fingers when they're clean.

her lips chase his fingers, she likes sucking on them.

He smiles at her cute habit and slips his fingers back into her mouth. She immediately starts sucking again, humming softly as she sucks. "You really like sucking on my fingers, don't you?" He asks quietly, his other hand squeezing her ass possessively. "So fucking cute."

she drools softly as their combined cum drips onto his strong thighs.

His eyes darken as he watches her drool and his own cum drip down his thighs.

He's suddenly hit with a dirty thought.

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth slowly, watching more saliva and cum drip out. "Baby?"He calls softly, his voice lower than before.

"I want you to lick my cum off my thighs..." He watches her reaction carefully, knowing he's pushing her boundaries but turned on at the idea of her sweet little tongue cleaning up their mess. His hand squeezes her ass tighter. "Only if you want to, baby."

she blushes, “I made a mess on your thighs?”

He nods, his eyes burning with desire as he watches her blush. "Yeah, you did.

Our cum is all over my thighs right now.

I want you to lick it off for me." He spreads his legs wider, giving her a better view of the mess she made.

she grinds her pussy on his thigh getting it covered.

His eyes roll back as she intentionally grinds her soaked pussy on his thigh, spreading more cum and her own arousal. "Fuck... you're making it worse now." He hisses, his hands gripping her hips to hold her still. "Stop teasing me and just lick it off already."

she hum and dismounts and lays between his legs and runs her tongue the length of his thigh, her tongue capturing the release and pulls back and shows him before swallowing.

He watches in awe as she lays between his thighs and starts licking his thigh clean. His heart races at the sight of her small tongue lapping up their combined release. When she pulls back and shows him before swallowing, he groans loudly, his dick twitching back to life.

"Holy fuck..."

"Jesus..." He mutters softly, watching her innocent face pucker slightly to taste their combined release. He finds it surprisingly hot. He watches her small tongue dart out again to lick more off his inner thigh.

Afterwards Jack walks to the bathroom with a slight gait in his steps. He needs to take his prosthetic off and relax. So they get cleaned up and lay on the bed in light layers of clothes. Her body drapes over his. She kisses his tan freckled skin.

“Jesus Christ is he a Keeper or what?” is all her mind can think.

[daylighted]

. ㅤ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𓂃 . ☘︎ ݁ ˖ ⌞ keep quiet for me .ᐟ⌝

the pairing ⌇ dean winchester x f!reader

the summary ⌇ sam has impeccable timing, calling his brother from college

the notes ⌇ this layout is inspired by @deansbeer! my pretty twin makes the PRETTIEST post layouts in the whole universe hehehe

the warnings ⌇ smut, minors back off! somewhat without plot driver's seat sex unprotected voyeurism justice for sam overstimulation dean likes pushing your limits . . . probably too much finger sucking

the driver's seat is pushed all way the back that it can be, the window next to it fogged over completely in thick condensation. dean has his hand on your waist, guiding the bounce of your hips, up and down atop of him.

"that's it, pretty girl," he murmurs into the thick heat of the small space, the tip of his nose brushed against yours. he hasn't looked away from the hooded downturn of your eyes, watching each movement he directs you into making. "just like that. always take me so well."

the only sound is the slight creak of the driver's seat beneath the both of your weight with every harsh bounce you make on his cock, your undulating hips grinding against his pelvis each time they kiss.

dean's other hand raises to your chin, tilting your head up with two fingers to force your eyes up to meet his. his gaze falls to your lips, caught on the soft curves of your parted mouth, and he might have been about to kiss you.

might have, if not for the phone buzzing in his pocket.

he didn't get his jeans shoved down all of the way what with the cramped space, so you can feel the vibration of it from where your thigh rests framing his, and you stop. maybe it was important.

dean groans, hand dropping between you to slap against his full pocket. he flips it open, which makes you grin — of course it does, he has a flip phone in this day and age and you're not supposed to find it adorably endearing? — even when his tight-lipped frown only drops deep enough to pinch the skin between his eyebrows.

"it's sammy," he says in explanation, gnawing on the chapped skin in the corner of his lip in thought.

you nod, bracing yourself with your fingers closed around his shoulders to get up. sam was important. sam had been gone at school for three years, now, so every call dean got from him was important.

dean's frown somehow deepens. his open hand closes around your thigh and shoves you back down onto his lap, earning a little whimper at the again familiar feel of him stretching you open, still buried inside of you. "what—" you start, but don't get the chance to finish.

dean clicks the green button on his phone's keypad and raises it to his ear. "hey, sammy," he says, with all of the enthusiasm of a man who'd been doing nothing at all prior to answering. "what's up?"

it feels like an intrusion, being close enough like this to hear sam's answers. still, he keeps his fingers tight around your leg to stop you from moving even an inch away.

"nothing," sam's scratchy voice comes through the phone's little speaker. "just wanted to check in on you. s'been a while. needed to make sure dad hadn't killed you yet."

dean's thumb massages the plush skin beneath his hand, little circles on the upper part of your thigh, where his fingertips stay tightly around the sensitive inner skin. "not yet," he answers with a little laugh, "but not that he hasn't tried."

you try to catch dean's eye, to mouth something in protest to all of this, but now it's his eyes that are downcast to his lap.

"where are you right now?"

it's like a sleeper agent trigger phrase, the way that dean's eyes flick up to yours. he starts to guide your movements again, urging you to rise your hips higher up until only the tip of his cock is stretching you open around it, teasing you with it with little rocks of his hips. the effort it takes to keep your breathing even and quiet instead of labored and shallow is much more than you expect it to be.

your eyes are wide when dean meets them, and it only makes him smirk. he mouths with enunciating emphasis, 'keep quiet for me.'

"in the car," dean finally responds, only to choose that moment to push you fully down on the length of his cock, splitting you down the center as you stretch to fit him inside. he thrusts up at the same time to bury deeper, the tip of him kissing your cervix, and right when you gasp sharply, he speaks into the phone again. "why? wanting all the gory deets?"

he sets a slow but torturous rhythm, pulling nearly completely out of you just to slam home, not hard enough for the slap of skin-on-skin to echo throughout the car, but enough to make your toes curl and your teeth to sink into your plush bottom lip.

"i'll pass," sam laughs, the sound of it making your heartbeat quicken in your chest. his voice is just quiet enough in the speakers for you to forget that dean was currently on the phone with him, but the laugh was loud enough for you to hear over the muffled noises you make behind your closed lips. "what are you hunting?"

"it's a secret." dean's voice is, at least, starting to become raspier now. no longer was this just something to torture you with doing; now the evidence that this effected him too was splayed on the table. "something big n' bad."

wendigo. he'd told you so when you asked, and then pulled you into his lap because 'he's clocked out for the night' and didn't want to go into it. seems that he really meant that, too — not just an excuse to get in your pants quicker.

sam scoffs, the sound of it scratching through the phone. "we're not kids anymore, dean."

dean adjusts the phone against his ear, holding it there with his lifted shoulder. he huffs out a humorless laugh. "no, we most certainly are not."

his hand, now freed, slips between your joined bodies and finds your soaking heat. dean dips his fingers between your folds and rubs slow circles around the sensitive nub of your puffy clit, just as torturous as the rhythm of his cock pumping into you.

"so... what, you on the way to the bar right now? is that why you're in the car?"

you cover your mouth, grinding your hips down further against his to rock them into his thick, invading fingers. "mmm, somethin' like that," dean mumbles into the receiver, his breaths ragged and deep.

sam is quiet for a long while, and you nearly still — but can't, not with dean's grip controlling your movements. "well, since you're being cryptic about the case," sam finally says on a sigh, and you relax your tensed shoulders in relief that he hadn't been on the cusp of realizing what his brother was doing, "i'll have you know, i've aced a couple of my exams already. only a few left."

dean cocks his head to the side, an impressed quirk to his lips. "hell yeah, sammy," he rasps, letting his forehead thump forward to knock against yours.

he's close. you can always tell. every filthy word he usually likes to whisper into your ear halts when he gets close, like the only thing he can focus on is how you're making him feel.

dean lifts his fingers from where they'd teased between your legs and presses the wetness of his skin against your bottom lip. you hold his gaze through the thick of your eyelashes before your mouth parts like the sea for him to rest his digits against your tongue.

sam's saying something, the crackle of the phone's speaker echoing like a backdrop, but it's quickly interrupted by dean's low groan. you grin around his fingers, tightening your lips around them in encouragement, your tongue swirling and exploring every inch of them.

"dean?" sam asks tentatively, and you'd laugh if you weren't so close, so focused on keeping quiet to think about anything else.

your legs tighten around his waist, the telltale sign of your impending release starting on the base of your spine. it takes a few seconds longer for dean to answer, his eyes zeroed in on your face as everything begins to crescendo. "sorry. bar parking lot's full."

yeah, you were full, alright. you clench tighter around him, your lips pressed together hard enough that they pale and numb, nails raking down his chest through the soft cotton of his shirt. you're panting behind your palm, stars dancing in the corner of your vision.

dean's thrusts deepen as he comes only seconds later, the warmth of his release overflowing from where he'd buried within you, dripping down his cock and the inners of his thighs. "sorry, what was that?" he asks after a too long of silence, his voice strained and small, the light pants of breath ghosting over your face.

"dean, what are you really doing?" sam's accusatory tone comes, finally, later than you expected.

you release dean's fingers with a little pop, licking the taste of yourself and his salty skin off of your lips. dean's pretty green eyes darken, even as a smirk widens across his lips.

"relax, sammy, i ain't doin' anything," he shoots you a wink, because of course he's right, in a way — he's not doing anything right then. "hey, baby, sammy says hi."

your eyes widen at your sudden inclusion in his conversation, a breathless laugh scoffing from your lips at the same time as they warm with timid embarrassment, as if sam could see right through the flip phone at what you and his brother had been up to.

silence again. and then, "dean!"

the notes ⌇ sorry the ending kind of sucks and maybe this all kind of sucks i had this idea while i was high earlier and had hella inspo and then it went poof by the time i got to it PLS. BE GENTLE!!

the tags ⌇ @titsout4jackles @deanswidow @beausling @jensenacklesballsack @pieandflannel @viluren @h8aaz @yulianie @angelicjackles @lanasgirlfr @bejeweledinterludes @veyveyx @itszarinaig @tinas111 @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @spiritkissin @skyfaeriex @aurevina @bruisedfig @soldiersgirl @angelblqde @honeyyxxbee @honeyroots @angelicp0etry @blossomingorchids @idk6505 @funkycoloured @irecalllatenovember1 @mahi-wayy @k-slla @bluemerakis @lilyyyjcb @theosaurous @maeji-may @rositaslabyrinth @v1v1-3 @nymphet-quenn @ltotheucyy @barnes70stark @pinkspiitz @blue-d @tiniinproblems @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @fuckedupfate @unfortunate-brat @acklesangel

[itsnesss]

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | max & charles × fem!reader

summary | you're stuck between two pilots, praying for them and letting them do whatever they want to you

warnings | smut without plot, threesome, rough, power dynamics, dom!max, dom!charles, sub!reader, fingering, oral, p in v, unprotected

word count | 1.1 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ more cl16 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The dim lights of the hospitality barely illuminate their silhouettes, but you don’t need to fully see them to feel them. Max is behind you now, his hot breath against your neck, while Charles kneels in front of you with that determined look he always wears on the track… and clearly, he has it here too.

"Leave her breathless, mon cher," Max says with that deep voice that vibrates straight through your stomach. "I want to see her beg.

Charles obeys without hesitation, slow at first, almost torturing you with soft touches, barely-there kisses that make you arch involuntarily. Your hands search for support on Max’s shoulders, but he doesn’t let you escape.

"Not so fast," he whispers against your ear. "Hold on. I want to see her lose control for us."

The tension builds. Your legs tremble. Max’s hands slide down your hips with surgical precision, while Charles’s lips explore you like every inch of skin is new territory to conquer.

And when Max finally whispers your name, loaded with restrained desire you know you’re lost. There’s no podium higher than this. No race more intense.

The heat between the three of you is almost unbearable. Max holds you firmly by the waist, forcing you to stand upright while Charles kneels between your legs, impatient, determined.

"Open wider" Max commands in a low, dangerous tone. It's not a suggestion, it's an order. And you comply.

Charles doesn't wait any longer. His tongue finds you with precision, as if he knows every exact point where to break you into a thousand pieces. You moan, one hand tangling in his hair while Max holds your face, forcing you to look at him.

"I want to see you react. I want to see you unraveling for us—he says, his lips almost brushing against yours". Don't close your eyes. Look at me while he makes you tremble.

You feel your whole body burn, an explosive mix of pleasure and desire. Charles growls against you, more impatient, deeper, knowing exactly how to make you lose control. Your back arches, your legs tremble, and you are about to…

"Not so fast" Max says, pulling you back just at the edge of the abyss. Your lips protest, your hips seek more, but he doesn't allow it.

Charles rises with wet lips and an arrogant smile.

"Not yet" Max adds, gently pushing you toward the bed behind you. "Let's take our time with you".

They both surround you, one on each side. Hands everywhere. Lips, teeth, gasps. There's no room for modesty. There are no rules. Just the sweet punishment of their bodies claiming you as if you were theirs.

Because tonight, you are.

Max is the first to remove your clothing, each garment taken off with a mix of urgency and reverence, as if undressing you were a privilege that only he had the right to exercise. Charles is not far behind. His fingers trace your skin as if memorizing every line, every curve, every shudder they provoke.

"So perfect..." murmurs Charles as his lips travel down your abdomen. "Let's make you feel it all".

You are trapped between them. Max behind you, naked, his firm chest against your back as his hand slides between your thighs, playing with the wetness you can no longer hide. Charles, between your legs again, but this time his fingers join the dance. It's two against one, and they know it. They enjoy it.

Your hips move uncontrollably, seeking more, begging without words.

"Do you want more?" asks Max in his gravelly voice, gently squeezing your neck as he bites your earlobe. "Ask for it".

"Please..." you sigh, unashamed, without resistance.

He tilts you forward while Charles stands, his erection brushing against your lips. You look up, swallowing hard. He smiles, caressing your cheek.

"Be good" he says, guiding himself toward your mouth.

As your lips wrap around him, Max thrusts into you from behind, a single thrust that elicits a muffled moan from you. You are completely full, completely trapped between the two of them.

The pace is intense. Max takes you forcefully, without rest, his hands firm on your hips. Charles moves in sync, gasping each time your lips close tighter, every time your eyes look up at him, filled with lust.

"Look at her..." Max says with a grunt. "She’s made for this. For us".

Your body no longer belongs to you. Each thrust, each caress, each command... is fire. And when Max finally comes with a guttural groan, trembling against your back, it's not the end. It's only the beginning.

Charles takes you next, lifting you effortlessly, placing you on top of him on the bed. And then it’s you who moves, who sets the rhythm, as Max watches, still panting, with a satisfied smile.

"I want to see her come on you, Charles"he says. "I want to hear her scream your name".

You don't need much more. You're so close. So on the edge.

And when you break, you do so with a scream that carries both names, both bodies, both pleasures intertwined.

Your body surrenders. But they do not.

Your body still trembles, breathless, muscles relaxing after that first climax that left you gasping. But they are not satisfied. They are never satisfied.

"We’re not finished with you yet" whispers Max, sitting beside you, his hand trailing down your chest to your belly, slowly, possessively. "Can you handle another round, sweetheart?"

Charles doesn't wait for a response. He is already standing again, walking around the bed with that smirk that is pure sin. He grabs you by the waist and drags you to the edge of the mattress.

"Face down" he orders, his accent thickened by heavy breathing. "I want to see you from behind, trembling for me".

You obey, your body still sensitive, but each of his touches ignites a new fire within you. Max positions himself in front of you, tenderly caressing your face while Charles takes you from behind, slow at first, stretching the moment until all you can do is moan his name against Max's belly.

"Open your mouth" Max tells you in a soft, commanding voice. "Let me soothe you".

And you do. Without thinking, without holding back. You take him in your mouth as Charles quickens behind you, thrusting forcefully, hungrily, until the moans blend together, wet, dirty, perfect.

You are caught between two men who know exactly what they are doing. Every movement, every thrust, every word. They are experts at taking you to the limit... and then crossing it.

When Max comes again in your mouth, his fingers tangled in your hair, Charles doesn't take long to follow, buried deep within you.moaning your name as if it were a mantra.

You collapse among them, gasping, body marked by lips and hands and desire. Max kisses your forehead. Charles gently strokes your back.

"Now yes… " says Max, a satisfied smile on his lips. "Now you are completely ours".

And you cannot dispute it.

You do not want to.

[smiley-pansy]

ask me again when you're sober / j.ww

pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader (ft. bff hoshi)

synopsis: seventeen is away filming ttt when you have a very sweet phone call with your boyfriend, wonwoo. (and hoshi)

word count: 500~

a/n: short and sweet. that's it; ALSO requests are open if you wanna send me something <3

Wonwoo was pleasantly tipsy. Just buzzed enough to feel warm and fuzzy inside, but not drunk. Not drunk like some of his members were (Hoshi). Seventeen were filming the latest installment of their TTT series. They had spent the evening playing drinking games. The cameras had since been turned off and the members were enjoying their well-deserved time off. Some of the members were much drunker than the others. Wonwoo had opted to sip on a beer and just watch the chaos unfold. 

He was listening to BooSeokSoon belting out yet another Twice song on the karaoke machine when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out of his pocket and smiled when he saw who was calling.

“Hey, baby,” He said, low voice growling in your ear.

“Hey, you,” you say, unable to fight back the smile that your boyfriend always managed to put on your face. “I just wanted to call before I head to bed. Just to say good night. And I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Wonwoo says, chuckling. It has only been a few hours since he left. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“I know but I still miss you. Anyways, I’ll let you go. Go have fun.”

“I will. And-“

“WONWOO-YAH!” Hoshi had found Wonwoo’s quiet hideout. “Come sing with us!’

“Wow, I can tell how drunk he is through the phone,” you said, laughing.

“Y/N!” Hoshi finally noticed that Wonwoo was on the phone. And correctly assumed he was talking to you. There was a sound from the other end that sounded suspiciously like Hoshi stealing the phone out of Wonwoo’s hand. “Y/N! I’m having so much fun!”

“Yeah? I can tell,” you were laughing at Hoshi’s antics, like always. He is always so good at putting a smile on anyone’s face.

“You should’ve come. I think you would’ve had fun,” Hoshi said, suddenly somber. Drunk Hoshi and his mood swings.

“That’s sweet, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t. HEY MEMBERS!”

Oh god, you mumbled under your breath.

“All in favor of y/n coming on our next trip say ‘horanghae’!”

A chorus of 12 ‘horanghae’s came through your phone’s speakers. 

“That is the first and last time I’ll say that,” Woozi said.

“Then it’s settled. You are coming next time.”

You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere while Hoshi was drunk out of his mind. But, you still smiled because the gesture was so sweet.

“You know what, invite me when you’re sober and I’ll think about it.”

“Deal!”

There was more shuffling from the other end of the phone.

“Monsta X! Monsta X!” Hoshi was now chanting from a distance.

The phone was finally back in Wonwoo’s hands.

“Sorry about that.” “It’s more than okay. I like being reminded that they actually like me.”

“Of course they do. You’re impossible not to like. Plus I like you and I have excellent taste,” Wonwoo said. That’s how you could tell he was drunker than usual. His flirt level got turned up way higher. You were glad he couldn’t see your blush through the phone.

“Okay, okay. I should go now. You go have fun. You deserve it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, just for the record, I also would like for you to come along next time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll think about it. Good night, Wonwoo.”

“Good night, love.”

[theorist-fox]

Rationally

John 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader

Cross posted on AO3

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: you're rational but love isn't—and thank god for that.

CW: canon typical violence, blood, injuries (broken nose), suggestive smut, fluff, friends to lovers

Masterlist 🦊

There’s a reason why you never spar with Johnny.

It’s definitely not because he’s bad at it. Because he isn’t. Actually, he’s the perfect balance of measured and unhinged: he puts you on the spot and creates an environment akin to the field, but he’s always so careful with it.

With you.

But no, you can’t train with Johnny. You’re not insane.

How would you even fit a punch here and there if he's staring at you with those smart baby blues riddled with mischief and wonder.

How could you stop yourself from staring at his shirtless top, at the trickles of sweat running down the divot of his chest.

At his arms.

At his sweaty, swollen, freckled arms. Thick, so thick. Able to take away your life if carefully wrapped around your neck, or to bring you to the edge of heaven if slipped between your thighs.

How you’ve managed to keep yourself decent around him for all these years is something truly remarkable. Perhaps you have a superpower of sorts, some rock-hard self-control. 

All the times he’s spent the night at your place, too drunk to even speak—drawl heavier yet sweet, and his dramatically whispered “Thank ye, hen, can’t drive when I’m this pished. Saved ma life, y'have.”

All the times you found him lingering by the stove of your kitchen, with your breakfast in the pan, and his rumble of a voice—“Ach, wanted ta wake you up with it, bonnie. Humour me an' go back to bed.”

All the times you caught him looking at you with a similar longing but never dared to touch the subject—because maybe you’ve imagined it, because work, of course, because friendship, because excuses and your cowardice. 

Coward, that’s what you are. A weak, spineless coward.

And Johnny’s training on his own today, in a corner of the gym, as you spar with… someone. Some grunt, you think. You met her barely past the threshold, and she offered to spar with you when you jumped on the mat. A few punches here and there; you landed some and dodged most. It’s fine, she’s easy to predict. Younger. Brash. Perhaps wanted to show off by training with someone higher in the ranks. 

You understand. You’ve done that too.

And you keep sparring, movements fluid but somewhat distracted. She hits, you dodge. You hit, she takes. Or… whatever. You don’t know, you’re not sure—the world’s in slow motion, the chatter fluffed.

Because your eyes are on him.

Calloused hands in fingerless gloves strapped at his wrists. 

His fists hit the punching bag swinging in front of him. 

Thud.

The vibrations of the impact cause his biceps to ripple. Your eyes follow each wave. Its firmness, sturdy and tight, all the way to his neck.

Corded. Bitable.

Thud, thud.

Sweat explodes from his skin like dewdrops. He glistens like he’s drenched in fucking oil, with his loose shorts that hang low on his hips. Happy trail in full show, and you’re starting to wonder how it would feel to have your nose buried in there.

Your throat filled.

Right hook. Uppercut. Left. Left again.

Fuck.

Something cracks in your skull.

And then it's like the world is not in slow motion anymore, like it picks up the pace again. And the pain that shoots up in your face is the catalyst for it—what pressed the speed-up button of reality.

Your scream echoes like a roar, as the attention of the whole gym falls onto you.

"Fuck!"

Sitting on the gurney in the infirmary gives you a very much needed reality check. 

You keep your hands cupping your nose as it swells and bleeds, head tilted forward. Your tongue peeks out every now and then to soothe a split on your lip.

A curtain is pulled. The rings that keep it up clink against each other. It’s your cue.

But instead of a nurse, it’s Johnny who walks in. 

He didn’t bother to wear the t-shirt, of course. That’s John MacTavish for you.

You can’t help but sneak a look at the ruffled hairs growing fiercely on his chest. How they create a trail down his stomach, before expanding just above the hem of his shorts—leading to what you can only guess is fucking heaven.

"Och, that's a braw shiner ye got there," he says, giving you quite an entertained look.

Yeah, you got caught. 

Warmth spreads from your neck to your cheeks, and thankfully he can't see the nervous smile under your palms shielding your nose. “Had worse.”

A scoff from him, but not a spiteful one. Softer than that. 

He shoos your hands away without touching you to take a peek at your nose. Vigilant eyes inspect the mottled bruise slowly forming along the bridge and right under your eye. 

“My nurse today, Johnny?” You quip if only to dissipate the heat building up under your skin.

“Aye, bonnie.” He smirks. “Nurse MacTavish at yer beck an’ call.”

You manage, somehow, to bat your lashes even though one of your eyes is starting to look like a ripe plum. “Mmmh, m’so lucky, then.”

“Luckiest.” He replies in kind, “’Cause I know just the way to treat ye.”

You purse your lips, trying not to mind the way it pulls at the taut skin on your left cheekbone. “What is it, then? Can I still keep my nose? Or am I doomed to wander 'round like a bloody Lego puppet?"

Gently, like he’s measuring even the pressure he puts on the pads of his fingers, he flicks your forehead. 

He gives you an unamused look, one that melts away as soon as he spots the way your lips twitch. “Lemme do my thing, aye?”

His accent is thicker today, like honey falling in ropes from a spoon. It’s sweet to your ears, and the gruffness of it barely manages to hide his concern. Johnny and his heart, so big it spills out everywhere, even in the rough vibrations of his Scottish lilt.

It makes you soften, like a hardened sponge under the jet of water. 

You bring your hand to your forehead in a mock salute. “Sir yes, Sir.”

He shakes his head fondly, before testing here and there along the bridge of your nose, quietly apologizing each time you flinch, until his fingers find a specific spot on each side. 

He settles there, secure.

“Remember tha’ I love ye, yeah?”

Your brows shoot to your forehead. “You wha—”

Johnny snaps his fingers to the side. 

Your nose sets back into place with a nauseating crack. 

“M’sorry,” he murmurs, sounding genuinely apologetic, but you barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. “M’sorry, don’t hate me now, love.”

You feel queasy, and the world around you spins—so much so that your hands automatically search for him to tether you steady. Fingers curl in an iron grip around his wrists, nails dig in between his tendons.

“Alright?” He asks. Stupidly.

“Ngh,” is all you manage to utter. Pathetically.

The unexpected blessing is that you’re able to swallow an even more miserable retch.

You suck.

“Cuttin’ off my blood flow there, bonnie,” he says with a breathy laugh, nodding idly at the deadly hold you have on his wrists.

That was cute, you think. That was the cutest chuckle you’ve ever heard. Your eyes would morph into tiny hearts if your head wasn’t pounding in agonizing pain.

This is awful. You’re sitting there with your pupils rolled back and a cocktail of tears, snot and blood running down your face. Your tongue overflows with the coppery taste rushing from your nose into your mouth and the bitterness lingers long enough to worsen your nausea.

You shouldn’t allow yourself to look this miserably ugly in front of Johnny. You should suck it up and at least reduce the quantity of bodily fluids streaming down your cheeks to look a pinch more palatable, a tad more fuckable. 

Maybe that punch should’ve knocked you out for good and saved you the embarrassment.

However, his words reach your ears through the vicious pounding of your heart, and you feel bad enough to release him from his shackles—because he can’t see you as bloody, ugly and violent too.

Johnny’s tender, though. Gingerly, he moves his fingers from your nose. One hand reaches the shelf bolted in the wall overhead and tests blindly, looking for a gauze he must’ve spotted beforehand.

He finds it. Cups your cheek while carefully cleaning up below your nose, before gently pressing it to your nostrils. He tuts when you go reach it with your hand to hold it up, offering to keep it there for you.

“Sorry for cutting off your blood flow,” you say with a voice so disgustingly nasal it doesn’t even sound like you.

Johnny’s lips curl in a smile. “Returnin’ the favor.”

You snort and flinch. Curse yourself—“Fuck me.”

“Aye,” he mumbles impudently. “Soon ‘nough, hopefully.”

There’s no time for you to register that, a joke that has spark to it. The fuse of a dynamite flickering to life, promising an explosion that won’t come just yet. A promise, a quip—perhaps just to keep you distracted, perhaps just to divert your focus from the pulsing pain in your face to more lighthearted subjects.

But when you see his smile, you can’t help but mimic him, infectious as it is. Or, well, you try—it’s a little hard. What is turning into a black eye manages a twitch, while your safe one turns into a pretty crescent.

And maybe, due to the chaos of events that have submerged you in blood and tears, you almost forgot what Johnny told you when his hands set your nose back into place. 

Almost being the keyword. 

Because when it comes back to you, you gasp. Gasp and choke, because there’s still a bit of blood left on your tongue, dribbling down your throat. 

Your coughing startles Johnny, of course. He asks things you can’t quite hear over the ringing in your ears, but you manage to pull away from his fussy hands just enough to focus on his face.

You could look lower and meet the expanse of his chest still shining in sweat. You reckon blood rushing to your pussy instead of your nose would be a convenient way to slow down the hemorrhage—it’d be much easier to take care of an orgasm than to deal with blood loss.

But no, you meet Johnny’s eyes instead.

Blue and pinched, like he’s much too worried about your well-being to pay attention to the intensity with which you’re looking at him.

He's so beautiful. Not handsome—he's beautiful. 

There’s so much of him for you to look at. Not a single line that contours his shape is worth missing out—from the tips of his ears to the muscles in his calves. He looks like he was carved in marble, once upon a time; even his imperfections—the scar on his chin, the slight tilt of his jaw—seem carefully chiselled, details added to glue the pieces together into one gorgeous, perfect man.

But it’s his eyes that hold your attention, always have. Thick, dark brows frame bright blues. Wrinkles branch out the corners when he smiles, or when he worries. They’re deep now, aptly carved similarly to the single line above his nose. Concern, not happiness.

You’re not sure you like them just as equally when they’re not blossoming from joy.

“Easy,” he whispers, hand drawing circles on your back to soothe your cough. 

The bloody gauze has dropped on your thighs and onto the floor. A wet patch left on the dark grey of your sweats.

When you lift your head, your eyes touch. 

Johnny looks so soft, like he’s not really there at all, like it’s a figment of your imagination and maybe you’re delirious because the pain is that strong.

Perhaps it’s the mist in your eyes playing tricks, or the tears prickling at the corners, but he’s never looked this gorgeous, his blues never this deep.

“You said you loved me.” You say, and it’s a bit hard to talk because your nose is stuffy and your heart’s in your throat.

Johnny cocks his head. If he's taken by surprise at your statement, you don't know. He doesn't show it—odd, you think, because he's constantly wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Not now, you guess. Fuck him, because today is the day you actually need him to show everything pretty fucking blatantly.

“I did.”

That’s it, he doesn’t add much to it.

And so, you reason with him. “Because I was hurt and you felt bad that you had to hurt me more.” 

Logical. Makes sense.

His mouth opens for a reply. Nothing leaves him. It falls closed again. You’re so attentive to each movement you think you can hear the swallow of his throat, the smack of his lips.

At his silence, you go on.

“You needed the shock value,” you explain nasally, “So I would focus on that instead of the pain. A distraction.”

Rational. Good.

However, he’s never been quicker to reply. “No.”

You blink.

There is no reason in his answer. You live by that—swear by that. Things happen logically. Things happen because other things have happened before. Domino tiles fall because they’ve been hit by the previous, until the last one finally falls flat, and life ends.

Cause and consequence.

There have always been signs, true. You were never blind to Johnny’s lingering hands, to his softening eyes, but you’re also a chronic pessimist and an awful overthinker—so what if he acts like that just because he’s kind, and you’re reading too much into it. 

And yeah, maybe you’re a coward. Maybe you’re a spineless, weak coward, and recognizing the signs would mean facing the music. The consequences that would bring, how many tiles would fall chaotically: your jobs, the friendly relationship you would lose, the horrifying prospect of heartbreak—you’ve never been quite ready for that.

Still, this feels like a tile falling stupidly by itself, miles ahead, due to a gust of wind that had no business blowing in this direction, today—because how can a punch and a broken nose lead to this.

Obviously, the conversation can’t end there. You want to ask why, what, and how, but the air around you has suddenly tensed, and you’re afraid you have to measure your words and have your doubts solved with one question only.

And when you think you have it ready, you can’t even utter it.

Johnny’s thumb comes to rest on your lower lip, next to the split bisecting it. His fingers are curled in a loose fist right under your chin.

He presses down, exposing your teeth. You watch his eyes fall, abandoning yours to favour the sight that it’s your mouth. 

There’s blood there, you’re sure of it. You can feel how slick your skin is under his pad—he doesn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest. 

“I—I meant it,” he whispers, and his voice sounds like it’s cracking. “Hard no’ to, eh.”

You feel quite faint. You might peg it to the uppercut that just rocked your skull, but you’re not that naïve. 

In fact, it might just be because Johnny’s thumb gently presses against your teeth.

Your jaw pliantly unlocks, welcoming his finger inside. 

“’Course I meant it,” he says hoarsely, “Look at you.”

You taste iron, mostly—the pungent flavour of blood. And then, underneath all of it, once he’s settled his thumb in the cradle of your tongue, you feel the salt of his skin, too. You want more of it, and so your lips wrap around his knuckle. 

“Steamin’ fucking Jesus,” he breathes, utterly disarmed. 

You’re keeping your eyes on his face, and your good one widens when he lifts his own.

Johnny slowly licks his lips and then presses his mouth closed. His cheek sinks in like he's biting into it, and God, how you wish he had no restraints whatsoever right now.

Your heart jumps in your throat when Johnny uses his thumb to smear your spit over your lips. 

His eyes aren’t on yours anymore. He’s mostly intent on watching his handiwork: the pink lines left by his thumb on your mouth, the clipped breaths brushing like breeze over his hand.

Instinctively, you part your legs, and the gesture must’ve made him feel welcome because he walks that step forward. He’s a broad man, which is why he barely fits in the space you created for him. The drape of loose boxing shorts covers his muscles but fails to mask the tent growing in between.

No amount of pain could stop your mouth from watering at the sight.

He presses forward until your noses touch. His eyes flit back to yours. 

You’re not really aware whether you’re breathing or not.

“’Course I—" he cuts himself off. Swallows.

And somehow, he doesn’t sound as worked up as you think he should be. 

Lust is there, clearly, if not in his eyes, then in his cock faintly brushing your lower stomach. But there’s something else too, some barely veiled sorrow he’s trying so hard to mask but failing oh, so miserably.

“’Course I love ye,” he sighs, tilting your head back so your lips can level with his. “Don’t even know how ta stop talkin’ about it—L.T. bloody hates me.”

He’s struggling to control the way he breathes; you can tell. Struggling to control where to put his free hand, curling into a fist at his side.

You’re not faring much better.

“Makin’ a fool o’ myself, bloody hell—” he croaks, shaking his head. 

There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a certain pinkness to his cheeks that makes him all the more endearing.

Johnny cracks through your dreamlike state when his eyes clock yours. Pleading, like he wants—needs—you to understand.

“—but I love ye. Fuck, I do.”

Rationally, now would be a good time to pull away. 

There are so many don’ts and a very much single do.

You’ve just stopped bleeding. First don’t. 

There’s still blood smeared on your face, from your nose downwards. Some of it is fresh, some of it is mixed with your spit, and some more is dried up on your chin and on your cupid’s bow, flaking off. Second, third, fourth don’t. 

The fifth don’t would be that half of your face is tumid and dark. It hurts to blink your left eye, there’s a split on your lip that burns like a bitch, and a whole migraine is rearing its ugly head in response to the concussion.

That’s already a sixth and a seventh and an eighth don’t.

There’s a single do, however, that somehow has the weight of thousands.

Johnny loves you.

And it’s enough.

You lean up, using your palms pressed on the cushioned gurney as leverage, and your lips brush with his.

One of his eyes twitches, and Johnny dives in.

It’s a soft kiss.

It doesn't match the hurried way with which he met you halfway as though he's had to rein it in for your sake.

Your lips slot together, and you wish you could have a better feel of how his own taste, to see if it matches what you’ve spent countless nights dreaming about—alas your tongue still lingers with the taste of blood. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to care, though, no. Because his hand leaves your chin and threads with your hair at your nape.

His head lolls to the side with a sigh. It doesn’t feel like a controlled movement, it’s more like the muscles of his neck have given out and turned slack. You kind of understand, because you’ve gone much softer too—especially when his free hand rises to cup the side of your neck.

The position allows for the kiss to deepen. 

His tongue dances with yours; the coppery layer veiling every other flavour becomes dull. Diluted. And suddenly you’re overflown with Johnny’s taste. His scent, too—earthy, salty with sweat. Intense, grounding. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even more than that punch did. 

And it doesn’t meet your expectations, no.

It exceeds them.

You feel yourself sigh, fluttering your eyes closed as the shock abates and leaves the front seat to relief, to absolute fucking wonder.

He checks in often, kiss after kiss. 

Can ye breathe, love?, whispered just a breath from your lips.

Am I hurtin’ ye?, as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

Your hands land on his chest.

Somehow, the trepid drum of his heartbeat feels contrastingly calming, and you feel less alone in this fear like it's a jump into the unknown that you didn't take on your own.

Johnny kisses you carefully, but the more he goes on, the more his hunger grows.

He shows it in the softer groans that leave him when you press closer, and his cock nudges your belly. Or when his fingers brush your ribs, when they trace right under your breast. The touch is barely there, and his fingers still tremble, but it makes you shiver nonetheless.

It’s electric. It tips at your sex and your hips instinctively grind against the gurney.

Johnny takes the hint, tracing the line of your bra until your back arches against him. Your shirt sticks to his chest, heartbeats in sync—erratic, afraid, sweet.

He leaves the back of your head, perhaps finally trusting you won’t move away, and uses those fingers to trace your jaw, then the slope of your neck, your collarbone.

"We should stop," you whisper but don't follow your own advice, keeping your lips on his instead.

“Aye we should,” he agrees, but only verbally, because he doesn’t part from you either.

Every single touch makes you soften that bit more, and you find yourself absolutely powerless against him. You lock your arms around his waist and simply graze with your nails at the indent of his spine, feeling the goosebumps that rise along his skin.

You allow yourself to be taken care of. 

Johnny does that. 

His hand finally reaches your breast, where he kneads the fat gently until you’re panting in the kiss. Until your head spins when his thumb draws circles around your nipple, perked and prominent under your shirt. 

He tentatively reaches downwards. Hooks his finger at the hem of your shirt. Lifts it up agonizingly slow, and you feel the cold air kiss every inch of skin as it's slowly uncovered. Gooseflesh laps your stomach, tips at your skull. Johnny’s fingers languidly rake up and down your abdomen, turning the heel of his hand when it reaches just under the line of your bra, only to travel downwards to the hem of your sweats. Your belly clenches in rippling waves, delighted in the slow tortures he delivers.

He reaches for your bra, hooks his knuckles at the cups, and drags it down. Your breasts subtly bounce as they fall out of it, bra wedged just underneath. Johnny takes a second there, watching like a hawk at the indents left by seams of your garment, at the darker skin of your nipples.

He locks your eyes. Heavy lids fall on them, mouth parted to say something he can’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he cradles your jaw and brushes his thumb on your cheek, gentle as can be. A peck to your lips, then another, only left after checking in with you through his eyes.

His palm cups your breast—it's warm again. You sigh against his mouth, and Johnny curses under his breath when you do.

“Can I?” He whispers, but he’s already trailing down with his lips.

He’s already nipping at your jawline, sucking at the tender flesh of your neck. He’s already turning you breathless, pinching your nipple between thumb and forefinger. Already kissing at your breastbone, and it’s only there that you manage to breathe a “Yes,” to his request.

He's hunched over quite a bit, so you favour him by arching your back and presenting your chest to his mercy. Slow, open-mouthed kisses drink up the taste that permeates your skin until he reaches your nipple. He sucks and nibbles as it pebbles on his tongue, turgid and sensitive. Liquid pools at your lower belly, invading the crevices inside—hot like molten gold, dense like the sweetest of syrups.

You moan a staggered breath, fingers digging into the plasticky leather of the gurney—the same one you're subtly grinding against. Johnny's mouth is full of you, but still he manages a groan that makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

He unlatches from your skin, glossy lips panting warm breath against your breasts.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ," he murmurs as his thumb flicks your nipple and smears it with his spit. “Fuckin’ killing me ‘ere, hen.”

He drops to his knees. Rapid. The knock against the floor is faint but still loud enough for you to worry and look down to check on him.

You find a mesmerized man with pupils swallowing his eyes. You find a hungry hound with blood around his lips, caked into the stubble at his chin. You feel two hands, calloused and rough, wrap around your waist, thumbs dimpling where your stomach gets softer.

Johnny kisses your belly, smooths his palms at your sides. Your hand moves instinctively, threading into his mohawk, still damp with sweat—messy strands slipping through the gaps between your fingers as you brush them back.

You’re panting, so caught up with the way he tries to get a taste of you that you forget about the pain irradiating from your nose, about the mist clouding your vision from one eye—the throb of your bruise, the effort it takes for you to do something as natural as breathing. They vanish when his tongue draws a fat line from your belly button to the hollow of your ribs, when he cocks his head sideways, gently sinking his teeth into your stomach.

To see Johnny’s nose buried in your middle, to see his hands cinch at your waist, his head comfortably snug between your thighs—to see him on his knees just so he can taste you, just so he can have you, ravenous like he’s been waiting far too long just to have this—

—it’s enough.

Perhaps sometimes a gust of wind is needed—the tiles can break that cause-effect relationship and fall without being knocked over by anything else if not a fresh breeze. Wind, creating a new path, placing new tiles. Bringing something new, something loved, right where you need it—right where it belongs.

There’s no logic in that, you’re aware. But alas, there’s no logic in love either.

And you’re okay with that.

Your lips move on their own, your voice barely a whisper he must’ve strained to catch.

“I love you.” 

You can feel his hands still, twitching at your sides. His brows furrow right before you like he's concentrating, absorbing, realizing. His eyes flit to yours, holding you loosely by the waist, but still alert—in case you want to make a run for it.

As if.

“Yeah?” He croaks, perching his chin on your belly.

You swallow something thick. “Yeah.”

Your t-shirt, scrunched and resting atop your breasts, is finally succumbing to gravity. Johnny pinches the hem between his fingers and brings it back down to cover your torso again, tracing back the same path he followed before.

He pulls back. Stands up. A hand runs down his mouth, slowly, smearing the blood that has transferred from your skin to his. 

It's absurd to you how he doesn't seem to mind.

He searches for doubt in your eyes, you think, maybe something that tells him you’re not being truthful—you have no idea how to convey that you’ve never been this genuine in your life.

The mood is suddenly somber like you haven't just uttered words that would light up the world for most. You allow him to think, to go through the mental gymnastics of it—give him space if that's what he needs, even though he'd been the first one to say it, the first one to put you in this spot.

You fix your bra, rip a piece of the exam paper now all scrunched and torn in different places on the gurney. Gingerly, you bring it to your nose to check for blood. You try it all—anything that might yank your head out of your ass, anything to stop the spiral.

Perhaps you're still in time to save that single tile from hitting the next. Perhaps you're still in time to fix it, press the rewind button, find a way to stop the wind.

Rationally, it’s impossible—but reason doesn’t have a fucking place here anymore.

And there, right there, when the silence has turned heavy and scary, when your heart is drumming a dark tune—Johnny brightens it.

He chuckles. It’s breathy, tinged with disbelief, like you can’t be for real. 

Like you, with your black eye and your cracked nose that definitely needs an ice pack and a doctor, with your blood smeared on your mouth and a split on your lip, can love him.

You want to tell him that it's the easiest, most natural thing you've ever done, but he cuts you off as soon as you start and kisses you again.

It’s… excited.

It’s a kiss that thrums with happiness. It’s a peck, after peck, after peck, with his hands slotted on the slopes of your neck. Johnny barely manages to purse his lips to kiss you, too busy smiling. 

And that’s another natural thing, to smile with him.

He pulls back, only enough to speak.

"Yer laughin'," he says, laughing himself, soft as can be.

He gives you another nip. You chuckle.

Something in your stomach turns and knots when one of his hands drops on your thigh. The weight of it, the warmth that so easily seeps through your sweats—it’s enough to turn you into a puddle of yourself.

God, you’re a goner.

“I am,” you murmur. “This is very funny.”

And you kiss him back.

Johnny cocks his head with a smile. “Is it.”

That pulsating ache on the left side of your face dulls, as much as the one in your nose. 

Or maybe you simply forgot to pay attention to it, because your focus is solely on the beautiful man in front of you and his bloody lips now trailing down your cheek to your jaw.

Your fingers dance on his chest upwards. He catches one of your hands, gently curling his fist around it.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” You whisper with a smile, like you two are there sharing secrets. “You got my bloody bl—my fuckin’ blood on your face.”

His brows flutter to his forehead, smirking as he catches you awkwardly stumbling on your curses. 

The warning glint in your eyes is meaningless, dimmed by the fire glowing inside of you, shining even through the darker swelling of your face—alas, peeking through it with a smile.

“Yer bloody blood.” He parrots.

"Oh, fuck off!" You chuckle, pushing at his shoulder.

“On ma face, aye,” he chortles, leaving a fat kiss on your good cheek instead.

“Johnny!”

He explodes in a laugh, so loud you think everyone outside of the infirmary must have heard it. You don’t manage to shush him, don’t manage to chide him, to tell him that you don’t fancy getting caught in this predicament by a superior.

You don’t manage because you’re laughing, too.

He comes back to your lips. Kisses you until you’re sighing in his mouth. The sound must do something to him because his fingers dig into the fat of your thigh. You wish he weren’t standing in the middle so you could clench them together and find some semblance of relief.

Thankfully, having him in between your legs still feels unbelievably nice.

“Can I get more o’ it, ye think?” He quips.

It steals a smile from you. “Of what?”

He nips at your lower lip. “Yer bloody blood.”

You pinch his side in retaliation, but otherwise reciprocate the kiss.

“That’s disgusting, MacTavish,” you say, even though you couldn’t care less about being decent.

“Just say yes.”

You do.

And you do so many times after that day, that it’s hard to pinpoint which one is your favourite.

If the yes you said after you got your nose broken, or the one you said years later when he got on one knee.

[monstersholygrail]

Vampires are a very composed and prideful sort of monster and your Vampire bf is no different.

He is the picture of perfection and sophistication in all public regards. His posture is so straight you’d swear he was statue. His language is smooth and charming to the point where he could convince an orc he was actually a troll. At society events he is the one to talk to with a row of awaiting guests lined up down the halls. Always with you standing right by his side. While he keeps you close, aching to have you near, he’s always respectful in his acts around you.

As leader of his coven he has to be.

But he’s not like that when he’s alone with you. No, never. When you’re the only one around he finally feels free to be completely himself. Not having to put on a show for everyone while also maintaining all his responsibilities. In the quiet of your chambers he can simply be your mate. As you are his mate. His eternal love. And this affects him deeper than he realizes. He has more of a soft spot for you than even he can admit to himself at times.

Particularly when your Vampire bf drinks your blood. He swears he’s not addicted to it. To the flavors that dance and mingle amongst the copper tang, to the thick warmth that mimics your tender embrace as it coats his throat, to the spark of adrenaline akin to lightning that shoots through his body as your blood pumps through his veins. No, definitely not addicted…

Yet just one drop of your life force has him falling to his knees, whining and whimpering as he nuzzles into your stomach. But it’s important to know that he doesn’t beg— he never begs for it. That is one thing your Vampire bf always says for certain (denies). He definitely doesn’t beg.

Not even as he’s pounding into you from behind, the glide of his cock along your walls making your head spin. His face in your neck, inhaling deeply as he soaks up your scent. So you must mishear him every time he takes you whispering, “P-please, my heart. You know I need all of you. Jus’ wanna consume you, darling, please.”

Of course your neck is bared for him before either of you can utter another word. Yet you cry out as your Vampire bf’s hips jolt, slamming against that spot along your gummy walls at just the mere sight of the slope of your neck.

His fangs sink into your flesh with a quiet squelch that mirrors the wet noise echoing throughout the room as your hips meet with each thrust. Mirroring moans leaving you as you both melt into each other. Your powerful Vampire bf turning into a puddle of arousal at a single drop of your blood.

Loud whines fall past your bf’s lips and vibrate into your neck. You moan, head rolling back. The ecstasy of your bf sucking your blood meeting the intensity of his cock rutting into your pussy just right. Vampire bf rubs against you, desperate to touch every inch of your skin. His hands scouring and groping every soft bit of flesh he can get his hands on. Nuzzling impossibly deeper into your neck as he turns into a whimpering mess of senseless limbs.

All these sensations crash into each other, overwhelming you in the best possible way. They send you flying higher and higher until your orgasm washes over you and you’re mewling as you arch back into your Vampire bf. Your touch and the clenching of your cunt sends your bf into his own orgasm, both of you weakly riding out the waves of euphoria in each other’s arms.

His tongue laps at any remaining blood trickling out as his fangs release you. He brings you into his arms, his form surrounding and curling around you as you lay on the bed. His body hypertensive to touch but he nuzzles into you anyway, seeking more of your warmth.

You hold onto him tightly, swearing that nothing is better than when your sophisticated and proper bf morphs into a total mess. And only ever for you.