#HIS PRETTY DOUBLE EYELIDS

[mostly-imagines]

The Morning After The Venus Drug

You wake to an ache that runs straight through your muscles and into your bones. Your eyelids feel weighted as you try to blink yourself to consciousness, the fabric of the pillowcase an unexpectedly tough barrier.

You lay on your stomach, bed sheets pooling around your waist. You recognize the weight of Jason’s arm over you before you see him, hair tousled and face scrunched up against your same pillow.

His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s still perspired, but he looks peaceful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat you’re met with.

You try your hardest to unwrap his arm from around your torso without waking him, an action that requires far more energy than you were hoping to capitulate to. But that movement turns out to be nothing compared to the ache felt when you try to move your legs.

A slight shift has you immediately stilling, the soreness between your legs proving to be more severe than anticipated. You stifle a groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. You have to take a moment to rest your muscles as your legs hang limp over the side of the bed.

Your legs are shaky and unstable as you try to stand and you nearly fall back onto the bed. You need a few practice steps before you’re able to pick up any actual pace towards the door.

You sit on the side of the tub while you clean yourself up, the skin of your thighs almost too tender to bear the ruggedness of the rag. You can’t be sure of how many rounds you went last night, but if you’re in this kind of shape, he must be worse off.

On your way to toss the used cloth in favor of a new one, a glance in the mirror has you double-taking. The hickies scattered across your neck and collarbone are blossoming dark and to be expected. However, the sight of bruises littered across your waist and hips draw some extra attention. They don’t hurt, really, the marks mostly bring forth warm feelings.

But you know that Jason won’t feel the same upon discovering them, so you figure it's best to cover them up for now.

You quietly shuffle through the bedroom drawers and pull out one of his gray shirts that’s even a little big on him. It drowns you out, more than enough to cover your rembrandts from last night.

The floorboards creak as you make your way to the kitchen, steps stiff and awkward. The warm orange light flowing in from the living room curtains is soothing, if not far too bright.

With a restrained pull, you pop the fridge open, careful not to let the unseal make too much noise. You collect a bottle of water and dampen the extra rag with cool water from the faucet.

You tiptoe back to the bedroom, supplies in hand. The mattress springs squeak slightly as your weight returns to them.

One hand comes to rest on Jason’s back as water from the washcloth drips down your other arm. “Hey,” you trace nonsense patterns into his skin, hoping the sensation will be enough to rouse him like it usually is.

But he doesn’t so much as stir, still breathing deeply. “Jay?” you shake him lightly, “You gotta wake up, baby.”

His eyes squeeze shut harder and a groan reverberates from deep in his throat. “Fuck…”

“Hey pretty boy,” you murmur, brushing his hair back. His face burrows further into the pillow as his hand comes up to blindly search for your thigh, kneading your skin once he finds you. “How you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” he croaks, turning his head hesitantly into the light to look at you. He squints as he takes in the sight of you, slowly shifting onto his back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head tenderly, “Just sore.” You hold the water out to him, “Here.”

He looks at the water, then back to you. You huff, “Just drink it. I’ll have some after.”

He perches himself up on his elbow, taking the bottle from your hand with a pout. He chugs down three gulps before pushing the drink back in your hands expectantly. You feel his eyes on you as you take your own sips, only moving to sit up completely when he’s satisfied with your hydration.

He grunts as he adjusts his muscles to the new position, holding a hand out. “Lemme see you.”

“I’m alright,” you tell him, trying to mitigate his worry before it begins.

But his face only sterns, voice becoming serious. “Then let me see you.”

You’re ready to argue more to save him from the sure-to-come guilt, but he tugs your shirt up anyway, blinking a few times to get a clearer look at your skin.

Delicate hands come to hold you by the sides of your ribs, nudging you this way and that to examine the bruises littered across your skin. “Oh fuck, baby..”

He leans in close, running featherlight touches over the marks. “I don’t…” his chest drops, “I don’t remember doing that.”

You nod in understanding, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your body. “They don’t hurt. I like seeing them.”

He peers up at you skeptically and you nod again. “I like them. A lot. I like anything you give me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, “I should give you nicer things. Less painful.”

You gently push his face up to look at yours, keeping hold of his cheeks. “You do give me nice things,” you tell him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. You rest your forehead against his, “But I like the rougher things too. Especially when I get them while you’re feeling good.”

His hands cover yours, moving them back down and turning them so he can hold them properly. “You’re okay?”

“I’m better than okay. Can guarantee I’m feeling better than you are anyways.” You pull back, scanning over his flushed face. You pick up the rag from your now considerably wet thigh, dabbing his forehead with it. “You look overheated.”

He relaxes a bit against the coolness, “Yeah, the effects of the toxin take a little while to wear all the way off. It’s not so bad anymore though.”

You nudge him to lay back down, draping the cloth over his head. He looks over you fondly as you lay a light kiss on his collarbone before tucking yourself into his side with closed eyes.

[killakalx]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

threesome (bruce x reader x selina), sex toys, overstim, begging, very brief double penetration. first time writing for both of them so pls give me grace

they’re no good together. no, too good together. too good at breaking you, reverting you to a wet and squirming mess at his mercy while she holds you in faux comfort.

“bruce,” you cry to him, legs trembling and cunt twitching around the silicon he’s stuffed inside you over and over, too many times to even count. a little vibrator buzzes at your clit again and you sob, thighs snapping together as salty tears bubble under your lashes. “bruce- I can’t, ‘m done, please…”

his eyelids hang low and large hands grip the underside of your thighs, giving what you can only assume is a glare of impatience. “you’re not done,” he corrects, a light slap landing on your swollen clit that has you flinching open. god, he’s insane- you’re leaking around the thing, lips quivering and clawing at sheets, begging for mercy, yet he’s got the nerve to tell you you’re not done.

he’s mean, you realize, and only one arm is needed to leave you vulnerable while the other force’s the thick toy deeper into your cunt. his tongue rolls along his lips, almost in concentration as he stares you down; no indications of his own arousal are clear, but his enthusiasm for abusing your sore and puffy pussy speak volumes.

“I know you can give me another one,” bruce states in a matter-of-fact tone, brows furrowed further when you still attempt pushing him away. “and I know you want to.” the hint of irritation in his voice alludes to dangerous outcomes- hold out on him any longer and he’ll make sure this doesn’t get better for you. he reads you inside and out without missing even one line. bruce knows what makes you tick- what makes you cry, beg, even demand more. he’s almost insulted that you’d even try to withstand his ministrations, and the vibe against your sensitive nerves kicks up a notch.

“be nice, brucie,” selina chimes in with a little tut, pretty and nimble hands tracing your collarbone and jawline. the delicate scratch of her nails send shivers up your spine and you whine at the faux sympathy. “we’re just prepping her, remember? save the brooding act for later.” shit, just prepping?

“oh my god,” you gasp, not even a second before that coil of overwhelming tension breaks, clinging desperately to selina’s arm as your body convulses. you hold onto her as if she’s your final thread, the only thing stopping you from passing out, and the sentiment has her smirking. “fuck, selina, make him… please- just make him…” the man torturing your cunt exchanges a sly look to his counterpart, a low groan from the depths of the throat prompting you to look down.

“aw, make him what? make him keep going?”

she’s evil.

they’re both evil.

“just greedy,” selina coos, only now choosing to ignore your more elaborate pleas of clarification. your mouth hangs open with drool near the corners, and you’ve seemingly resorted to the gods above to grant you mercy- then her thumb drags down your lip and rests on your tongue. it quiets you down as she shushes you, gaze landing back on hers. “greedy, isn’t she…”

“since you want me to be so nice,” bruce hums as the head of his cock prods at your pussy, not even bothering to move either of the toys; fuck, you feel like you’ll die from how much he stretches you out. “i’ll give her what she wants so bad.” ❧

[uhohdad]

(18+) WARNING: HEAVY NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

Loser!König x Reader - Spiking Your Drink

loser!könig can hardly find it in him to feel bad about it. You’ve been teasing him for months, inviting him to devour you with his greedy stare, showing off a body that begs for groping.

loser!könig fixes you a drink after a particularly rough day, his cock twitching at the needy groan you make before airing your thanks. He hopes the extra lime masks the bitter taste that threatens to tip you off, relaxing once you take your first sip without complaint. You’re too good to me, König.

loser!könig’s cock pulses in excitement when he catches your muscles loosening, your eyelids lulling, your body melting further into the couch. Each rise and fall of your chest is drawn-out, the very act of breathing sapping too much of your energy.

loser!könig’s breaths turn shallow at the thick, drowsy slur in your words. When a fragile hand extends in his direction, he knows that you’re too weak to put up the fight that would have been futile regardless. ‘Kön? Don’ feel s’good.’

loser!könig’s movements are gentle, his reassurance cooing as he crawls overtop of you. Calloused hands wrap around yours, guiding the back of your hand to his lips. ‘It’s okay, schatzi. Rest now.’

loser!könig is already grinding himself against your front when you nod, oblivious to his intentions and the aching, leaking cock rutting against you. You nuzzle your cheek further into the couch cushion, pretty eyes fluttering shut.

loser!könig stutters his moans through a particularly drawn-out stint of grinds against you, ripping away with a whine when his cock threatens to stain the fabric of his underwear, the sight of you sprawled out and begging to be ruined too enticing. His knuckles brush against your skin as he lifts your shirt to your underarms, heaving breaths at the sight of your plush tits. Your pants are next, fingers slipping into both of your waistbands and peeling them off you, exposing your pretty little cunt to him.

loser!könig lets out a choke at the sight, nudging open your thighs so he can drool over your spread cunt. He’s fantasized about what you taste like since the moment he met you - he doesn’t hesitate to swipe his hungry tongue across the entirely of your slit, eyes rolling and a groan muffled into your cunt. He uses you for practice, inexperienced tongue picking up a sloppy rhythm. You taste so good, schatzi.

loser!könig cock throbs in his pants when you let out a meek sigh in rest, the slightest twitch in your limbs. The grip he has on your plush thighs tightens, moaning at your sweet taste. His stubble scrapes against your lips as he slobbers over you, a messy, relentless tongue that cannot be satiated lapping over your clit.

loser!könig’s arms nearly give out, doubling over with a strangled cry on his lips as he glides his cock over your spit-stained cunt. Tears well in his eyes, lining himself up, cunt spread and pliant while he works his tip into you. He’s never felt something this good - so warm and tight around his thick cock.

loser!könig sputters as he sinks into you, ignoring the way you shift in your rest, brows creasing ever so slightly. His cock pulses at the barely audible squeak that slips from your pretty lips.

loser!könig can’t hold himself back anymore, burying himself into you, hips slamming against your plush thighs. His moans are choppy and unrestrained as he ravages you with his cock, addicted to the way your tits bounce with each jolt of his powerful thrusts.

loser!könig doesn’t let up when your eyes flutter open, lips barely moving when you mutter unintelligibly. He grabs your jaw when you stir, tilting your head in his direction. ‘Look at me, schatzi. Want to see those pretty eyes.’

loser!könig bites his lip at the hazy look in your eye, staring at him like he was your dream, your fantasy. He shivers, a moan caught in his throat when your weak, delicate hand finds his chest, fingertips tracing down his strong core as you fade out again, pretty eyes disappearing behind lulled eyelids.

loser!könig’s unrelenting thrusts waver through his premature finish, tears steaming down his cheeks and huffed moans spilling from his lips. He’s sure to leave bruises under the crushing grip on your hips when every one of his muscles tense, burying his generous, pent-up finish deep into your cunt.

loser!könig can’t hold himself up anymore, collapsing on top of your weary body. His hardened hands grope your perfect tits once he’s found his breath, nuzzling his nose into your silky skin, hungrily nursing on you. Coating you in spit, flicking his tongue over your nipple while wandering fingers fidget with the other.

loser!könig fucks you each time you bring his cock to attention, bullying himself into your obedient cunt until you’re drooling his finish, until he’s been entirely drained, until his cheeks are puffy and stained with tears of oversensitivity.

loser!könig feels so guilty and ashamed after, he punishes himself to make it up to you by cleaning up the mess he made of your cunt with his tongue :(

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[possiblyreallyme]

Kinktober day 25: fingering with Vash

warning: fingering, soft + virgin vash, multiple rounds mentioned.

Kinktober Masterlist

Vash was a stranger to intimacy. For a man who had a whole introduction and motto about "chasing the elusive mayfly known as love for many many moons now", never once had he so much as stolen a kiss.

But with your help, someone who swept him off his unsuspecting feet, he's learned a thing or two. Like how much you liked it when he held your hand, or how much you loved when he kissed you deeply, or how much you adored it when he used his fingers.

"C'mon, mayfly, please don't hide your noises, y'know I like them," He whined shyly, flushed a bright pink while he played with your clit, slick dripping off his knuckles and down onto the sheets while you writhed.

He was just so good with them. Of course the gunman was, but how someone so inexperienced could have you cumming in minutes, navigating your folds and pushing on the soft-spot that had you curling with his fingers, desperately gripping anything you could get your scrambling hands on while you cried.

"Hey, sh-should I add another finger? You're gettin' real tight, I'd hate to make you wait any longer..." He was so cute above you, all bashful and embarrassed, as if you weren't half-delirious and bucking wildly into his hand. Which soothed you over with grinding the heal of his palm into your clit, slowly sliding another digit into the tight warmth of your drooling pussy, watching with bated breath how you practically sucked him in.

"Woah..." He was entranced— completely encapsulated by the sight of your folds mushed around his knuckles and the thick ring of white smeared along the base of his fingers. The sound of your sweet moans and your squelching cunt. The feeling of you clamping and fluttering so tightly while your hands reached up to tug at his hair for a kiss. The way you smelled, all sweet and sweaty and like a home he never knew before you, air so thick with arousal and sex he had to scrunch his nose and inhale another whiff.

You were cumming in seconds when the sound of his soft moan hit your ears, ever so gently placing his lips on yours and closing those enchanting baby-blue eyes, keeping his prosthetic arm propped up beside your cotton-stuffed little head. He didn't want the cold metal anywhere near your bare flesh; not yet, at least.

"There you go, mayfly, are you cummin'?" He asked gently, boyish voice so soft and quiet against your lips, feeling how you clamped around him and shuddered in ecstasy. "Just a little longer, okay? I don't really know what I'm doin', but you liked it last time when I curled my fingers like thiiis-"

"Oh!" He was a little surprised when you cried out louder and threw your head back, mouth agape and drooling as you babbled out encouragements and praise, almost stunned when the stars behind your eyelids doubled in numbers when he pressed on the new spot.

"Well, a-alright, mayfly," He stuttered lightly in response to your pleasure, unsure of what to say and blinking in awe and embarrassment at how pretty you were, drunk on his bumbling, unskilled, long fingers. "I wanna make you feel good, so..."

The way he leaned down and buried his face in your neck almost made you pause, worried for your beloved boyfriend despite how utterly out of it you felt, completely detached from reality as his voice rang loudly in your mind.

"I know you just finished, but... can we do it again? I really like it."

[satoruhour]

a/n: INTENSE rambling about gojo’s dimples / jjk manga spoilers (alluding to a physical feature of gojo, rather than a plot point) + includes manga panels under the cut + mini barbie spoilers? lol, just a warning if you haven’t watched it! / 0.8k ✶

if satoru notices your recent fascination with his smile, he doesn’t say anything, and rather lets your finger trace over the skin of his face. over the stark white lashes of his eyes to the peculiar double eyelids that ran through the gojo clan. your fingers like to leave trails of unspoken admiration over the skin of his pale cheeks, blushed red from the cold of the tokyo winter to the plump, shiny pair of lips — it’s because he liked to lick them so much.

it first starts out when you’re on the brink of death (gojo puts it that way, you were just immensely tired from fighting a regenerative curse) that you’ve made such a startling discovery, poking at the dip in his cheek in an almost robot-like way before you let out one last sigh, fainting from the fatigue.

and later in shoko’s office, you’re doing it again to his sleeping form, angled toward you while he sat in an uncomfortable chair, hand tightly clutching onto yours. the sight melts your heart, moreso when he leans into your gentle finger, drawing over the familiarity of your love.

“baby! baby, oh my god, you’re awake— let me go get s—”

“stay with me, ’toru,” you mumble, already feeling tired again from the toll which took over your body.

the same soft smile that he donned matches the one in the kitchen just a week ago, enjoying the mediocrity of the morning with your lover. gojo is situated between your legs as you brush the hairs from his face, staring at you with a tug on his heart and trembling breaths. your hands have abandoned your coffee cup, left to the side while you just map out the coordinates of his eyes, his sharp nose, the same plump lips that now frequents your strawberry lip balm.

“why’re you so pretty?” you mumble mindlessly, thumbs subconsciously dipping into the dimples beside his smile. the smile that is only reserved for you, like the one in shoko’s office.

gojo’s smile widens into a grin now as he leaves the question unanswered, mainly because he’s wondering why you’re the one asking the question when he feels like you could rival a goddess and win by miles; when he feels like the ache of his knees from worshipping you is worth every bruise.

“should be asking you that, sweetness,” satoru’s voice is raspy from just waking up, scooting closer to the kitchen counter which you’re propped on and pulling your closer, “you paralyse me each time my eyes lay on you.”

you roll your eyes with a giggle, leaning in for a soft kiss laced with dawn’s morning light of blue and purple, humming needily when you feel his hands wander over your body, squeezing and kneading at your waist. and before he turns away to go ahead with the day (not without a little complaining and more kisses — he’s just so drunk on you), he doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips again, or rather, to the right side of his mouth.

satoru makes a mental note to ask you about it the next time you do it, a stroke of luck when you’re having movie night two days later and instead of staring at ryan gosling yell “SUBLIME!”, you’re admiring gojo’s smile once again and the slight tip of his head when he giggles at the movie.

“you’re not entirely secretive, y’know?” the other simply pulls you closer, satisfied with having you under his embrace and relishing in being able to see how your cheeks heat up with his six eyes. he’s watched barbie once already, so he doesn’t exactly need to pay attention.

“why’d you keep poking my cheek, baby, hm?” gojo is not opposed when you straddle him on the couch, bringing two thumbs to the corners of his mouth and pulling, an exaggerated smile spreading across his face that you can’t help but let out a loud laugh; he catches your wrists and laughs with you, littering little kisses to your fingers.

“why do you like my smile so much?”

“nothin’,” you whisper, “it’s more of your dimples, actually.”

“oh?” gojo’s lips stretch into a smile he usually gives his students, finger feeling around on his cheek for the familiar dip. to be honest, even he didn’t really pay attention to his features, pressing incessantly at the area once he’s found the dimple. “didn’t even know i had…”

“oh, you do!” satoru trails off as he lets you ramble about the many many times you’ve seen it, focused more on the way your eyes gleam in the dim living room light. he’s fixated on the smell of your shampoo and the illumination of your body from the tv’s light.

at least, in this hour, the sorcerer could wish for everything a normal life could bring; a life where he isn’t weighed down by the title of the strongest, where he could listen to you talk about the features on his face and watch barbie with you.

gojo satoru learns more and more about himself through the lens of your eyes — a love letter sealed with the saccharine strawberry you apply every morning and your whispered confessions that hold a multitude of suns to leave his fingertips blazing and heart soaring.

god i love him sm :(

[seonghw4ffles]

falling asleep on his arm

" i said i love you to death "

playing pretty u ..

ateez hyung line x gn!reader

au: a table of four in a class lecture

genre: fluff, a whole joke, trolling, comfort, js two young silly loverbirds

w/c: 1.8k

summary: no matter how much you try to stay awake you fell asleep anyway...... on your untrustworthy boyfriend. (except for seonghwa's ngl)

tw: physical bashing out of love, "i hate you" = i love you, minor swearing, immaturity, rocket ship drawings

note: BARELY PROOFREAD!! i slept in robotics class and i wish this happened to me 😭😭 and WHY is my ult bias the SHORTEST ONE

the time passes and the class gradually comes closer and closer to its end. that's what you kept telling yourself.

"it's still twenty minutes into a double session, dammit," you whisper to yourself, slamming the table so slightly.

"y/n?? are you sleepy?? little snoozle pook can't stay awake :3" your boyfriend teases, leaning over to your side, to look at your front with some baby ass face.

"oh shut up," you laugh, placing your falm right on his face and pushing it away.

for a while, you kept fighting your heavy eyelids, all to no avail. if you were a candle, you would have already been a plate of soup.

you fold your arms against the surface of the table and you close your eyes. you're just closing your eyes. you're listening, but maybe just rest your eyes for a little.

you trusted yourself a little too much. you fell into slumber, without the intent. but you know what else you didn't intend? sleeping against your boyfriend's arm.

; SEONGHWA — ☆

he's just so sweet

he's talking to mingi, when he feels weight on his right

"y/n?" he says, right before discovering that you're asleep

oh he freezes

his heart goes ballistic

he's a stone he literally DOES NOT MOVE

you make this very uncomfortable position feel so nice :(

he's so much better at freezing when you sleep on him,, rather than when he is asked 'english or spanish'

my guy feels so so lucky that you're on him

he's so distracted by gazing at your effortless beauty, with your natural, rested face

he keeps staring at you like a loser he's just so immersed

he's so worried for you and your sleep schedule, so he tries his very best to keep you asleep

and when mingi from his opposite side was gonna say something to him, he immediately gets shut down

"aye seo-"

seonghwa widens his eyes as a gesture, and stares at mingi demonically.

make a sound, and he will burn down the entire campus.

yeah and mingi just goes back to his business

seonghwa turns back to you, now with softened eyes

the way you look so comfortable on him makes his heart flutter

and then you move and mumble, and he turns pale, as if your consciousness is his biggest fear

"oh.. seonghwa…" you mutter.

when you try get up from his arm out of embarrassment, he immediately takes his other hand and gently wraps it around your hair, softly pushing you back down on him.

he gently caresses you a little bit. "please sleep more," he whispers to you in a voice of worry.

you smile, and your heart beats a little faster as you feel his hands embracing you. the way he allows you to do these things. it's so sweet, the way he makes it so obvious that he loves you.

; HONGJOONG — ☆

okay this guy just trolls you

he immediately sees that youre asleep. "y/n?" he mutters, and no response.

surprised or not,, he only said that to make sure you're ACTUALLY asleep, and oh this kids taking it to advantage

ngl he's now drawing on your notebook with his other hand, conquering the edges and the sides wholeheartedly with a BLUE PEN

all youre beautiful and colourful and neat pretty notes are now absolutely demolished with his DOODLES in BLUE PEN

and its definitely rocketships (that consists of two circles and a big fat oval 😓😓)

im sososo sorry i js have a spot in my heart where i believe in a childish immature 12 year old hongjoong

he's all smiling as he does all this, knowing you're gonna beat him up, but thats the fun adrenaline part

OOOO he has an idea

he opens his large pencilcase, before taking out a stack of posted notes that he had never used before. his smile is so grimacing that it's almost terrifying

he writes down: 'shh i am mewing' on a sticky note

and then he carefully, so carefully sticks it to the back of your sweater

along with many other sticky notes and now youre back is just full of tiny yellow papers

oh hes having a bit too much fun rn hes losing it😭😭

he's mega uncontrollably laughing but no sound comes out of him

but then he accidentally wakes you up HELP

oh hes so fucked

he holds his laughter as you start to breathe deeply, slowly rising from your sleep

"hongjoong…" you mumble, to your boyfriend, stretching

you notice that hongjoong's being weird. he's refusing to speak, frozen in place, and shoving his fist in his mouth

what is happening

you're confused as you look to the notebook in front of you, and you realise

"joong, what the fuck," you mutter, and he bursts out laughing HELP EMEJDNDKSN

"IM SORRY I COULDN-"

"YOURE SO ANNOYING WTF"

youre both screaming whispering as you speak, of course, due to A VERY SPECIFIC unforgivable lecturer

and youre in FURY while hes just laughing silently but maniacally

"when do you grow up," you smack his back. he giggles, turning to you with a wide smile.

"never cus you love me too much," he replies.

you smack him harder, now giggling too.

despite him being annoying, his childlike self is what brings you peace. someone who sees with a youthful perspective embraces all the beauty of the world. he makes you believe in eternal joy, that everything is magnificent, and your worries are always so little when you're with him.

"uhm.. y/n…," wooyoung states with a giggling voice from your other side, and you feel his fingers prickling your back.

you immediately look back, and you see sticky notes in his fingers

its full of 'shh i am mewing' and 'im stupid' and doodles of questionable rocket ships

is he… is he trying to stick these disgraceful notes on you?

"what the hell are you doing??!?>?!?>!?>"

"huh?"

oh you jump him

"WAIT Y/N WAIT IT WASNT ME I WAS TAKING THESE OFF NO WAIT PLEASE" wooyoung screams

"YOU ALWAYS DO THIS"

"NO SERIOUSLY IT WASNT ME IT WAS HONGJOONG"

"YOURE BLAMING THIS ON HONGJOONG??!??"

joongie now has his fist so much deeper into his mouth, facing the other side and just crying at this point

oh and ur being a bit too loud

"WOOYOUNG AND Y/N BEHAVE" the lecturer yells

you both settle down just for the sake of the lesson

you side eye wooyoung like CRAZY and he replies wide eyed with a massive shrug mouthing "WHAT DID I DO"

hongjoong leans into the conversation maturely and says "guys calm down, and wooyoung apologise cuz thats so rude"

wooyoung bursts into tears

; YUNHO — ☆

he just immediately tries to wake you

oh as soon as he knows he immediately wants wakes you up

he leans into you as you sleep, like he's observing every part of your pretty face

"bebbbbiiiiiiiiiiiiiii"

he loves, loves your face so much

like you look so beautiful

and for fun, he blows your face

he just blows on your face, and your hair flies but you STILL dont wake up

your cluelessness entertains him

he pats your head,, messing with your hair

HELP WHY ARENT U WAKING UP

so he starts singing lullabies to you

not really lullabies but kick back yk chainsaw man opening cus why not

and he's NOT sweetly singing to you with a soft voice but rather the opposite

he's emphasising every syllable to annoy you

happy de ume tsukushite rest in peace made ikou ze ykykykykyk

"what are you doing" you say, louder than expected with your eyes still closed. you jumpscared him a little

bro he JUMPED at your sudden response

and then his fright turned immediately to joy and smiles and he starts poking ur face as you're on his arm :3

HE TREATS YOU LIKE A CUTE LIL DOG LMAOOOO

he LOVES to annoy you

he mercilessly just pokes every part of ur face out of ur severe cuteness

"boop oh who's a cutie little patootie boop boop oh its you ofc boopboopboopboopboop"

"stop"

"no"

you wrap your fingers around his wrist and push him away, like you're more than just frustrated. even though you refuse to lift your head from his arm; he knows you're having fun, really. and you know he knows.

"i hate you," you say, with a tone that heavily matches the phrase.

"i love you too <3"

; YEOSANG — ☆

he loves to mess around with you

"dude what are you doing," he says, interrupted from the lecture as soon as he realises the weight on his arm from your side

you don't reply, and he immediately finds that you're sleeping

it was all silent but the lecturers voice, but we don't talk about that old grumpy hag piece of shir

yeosang catches san who's sitting beside you, staring and wildly amused by the situation

san is no1 yeo(y/n) shipper frfr

yeosang is KNOWN to be playfully refusing affection half the time, so why not mess with you now

he leans his head closer to your hair and sniffs, before immediately making the most disgusted nasty nauseous ahh face

he starts moving his arm that you're on as if he doesn't want you on him

that's also while he makes unappealing sounds for the attempt of waking you, imitating the sounds of throwing up to the smell of your hair when he thinks deep down that it isn't even CLOSE to smelling bad

HELP

san is astonished and does a hand gesture of concern, mouthing "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU" in the most silent and respectful way possible

and then you wake up.

you hear these weird noises that sound like yeosang's voice as you shuffle yourself out of sleep

your brain starts working again

youre completely ASHAMED of yourself for falling asleep on his arm

and not only that, you SWEAR you heard him making gagging sounds as if you're gross

but for a second, just a second, you denied it cus hes ur nice and pretty boyfriend

"yeo-"

and immediately out of the gate he WIPES HIS WHOLE ASS ARM ON YOU as if you're some sort of unhygienic monster

"ewwww *gags*"

.

you're pissed. oh you're SO pissed rn like you JUST woke up and THIS is how you're treated???????

you instantly look around the room, and you're eyes land on a seat in the corner.

"yk, the empty table looks real sexy today"

yeosang chuckles wickedly. "too bad that im sexier"

san loses it and dies of some fuckass laughter

'hehehahahuhu' nah bro you get up to move u don't care what the teacher says getting out of here this kid has violated you 9487393 times

"wait y/n wait im joking wait come back"

yeosang's lightly laughing as he catches your wrist with his absolute sleeper build strength that he so easily pulls you back no matter how much you fight

you regret standing up cuz now you're locked

"you're a jerk," you huff, feeling his arm around your shoulder now tightened beyond an extent.

yeosang laughs. "i know," he teases, pressing his forehead to yours with a wide, pretty smile.

you love the way that this bond is so full of warmth and enjoyment. you love the way he has a soft side for you. you love the way he loves you, and you love him too.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 1

Alec Lightwood + Praise Kink

Happy first day of kinktober everyone. I’ve got a lot more schoolwork this year (curse you psychology) but ill be doing my best to try and keep up with my posting.

I’m gonna be honest I haven’t watched Shadowhunters in a long time, but Alec and Magnus still mean a lot to me. So, this is super vague about background stuff, cuz I can’t remember any of the plot from the show or books.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist

Alec found himself sighing as he leaned back in the chair behind his desk, his hand reaching up to rub at his aching temples. He took his duty very seriously, but at times it could do nothing but cause pains and aches throughout his body and psyche. Not only that, but his work kept him apart from you, sometimes for days or even weeks at a time. Alec had known at the time when he gained his rank that this work would fill much of his life, but now that he had finally found his way to you, it almost didn’t feel worth it.

Alec sighed softly as he got out of his seat, there was no reason to keep working any more tonight. At this point he had stared at those reports enough that he was seeing double, and the thought of your shared bed was like an angel’s call. With that in mind, the shadowhunter found himself almost floating to your shared room, a new edition to your relationship. Neither of you even had much time to spend in this room, as you were both important people in your circles and both took your duties seriously.

It was because of this that Alec didn’t even think about you being present when he entered the dimly lit room, his eyelids heavy and half shut as he pulled off his clothes robotically, folding it up neatly and placing it off to the side to go in the laundry in the morning. It was only when he fell onto the bed, now only clad his boxers, that he noticed the second presence in the room. He almost jolted up with shock, but your arm wrapped warmly and securely around his waist, pulling your lover close as you nuzzled into the back of his stiff neck.

“there’s my pretty boy” you rumble, your voice thick with sleep but also the love and admiration you have for Alec. Alec only allows himself to huff a little, feeling embarrassed at your sweet words. He had never gotten used to being complimented or praised, so when you peppered sleepy kisses on his neck and mumbled about his beautiful, he was and how strong he was, the shadowhunter felt himself grow hotter in the face.

“Look at you, all tense” you huff, your warm hands running up and down the planes of Alecs torso as you hook your chin over his shoulder, your thumbs rubbing just below his pecs, the action causing him to twitch and exhale sharply. “Always working so hard for everyone, but you never take care of yourself” you mumble, your lips pressed to the side of his neck. You can’t help but nibble on the skin there, letting your tongue flatten against the rune on his neck.

“Guess that’s why you have me, isn’t it” you almost tease, your hands finally grabbing his tight pecs in your palms, giving him a loving squeeze, making your sensitive lover whine. “Always such a diligent, good boy, aren’t you?” you croon, giving both of his nipples a quick pinch and twist, enjoying the punched-out noise that leaves Alec at the action. You had always loved how sensitive he was, and how easily you could work him up with just a few touches and sweet words.

“My good boy” you purr, hands traveling down his torso at a snail’s pace, almost in a worshipping manner as you feel out every shape that makes up his body, basking in the shaky way he breaths and how he can’t seem to keep his legs still. “My pretty boy” you hum, your thumbs teasing at the elastic of his underwear, an almost catlike smirk on your lips as you let your lover stew in the need and want running through his tired body.

“Just lay back Alec, ill take care of you” you mutter, using your grip to pull him further against your chest, your hips grinding into his own from behind. Alec shakily exhales but seems to melt in your arms, his muscles untensing as you fold his boxers down under his sack, releasing his hardness to the darkness of your shared room.

“Ill always take care of you. Because you are so good, and so beautiful. So smart, and so considerate of everyone around you” you keep mumbling, one of your hands wrapping around where Alec craves you the most. The noise that leaves him sounds drawn out and almost painful, like he had wanted you to touch him for so long. There isn’t a need for lube, as you don’t have to do much to work Alec how he needs it, at the moment he doesn’t need anything wild, he just needs your touch and presence.

The loose grip you have around him and the lazy way you stroke him is enough to have Alec twitching and jolting, his mouth open as he gasps and whimpers, words long gone from his person as he arches his hips into your hand. How you feel about him is impossible to express in words, so you keep laying every compliment you can think of on him as you kiss and suck at his neck and shoulder.

His keens rise in volume, his voice wobbly and almost hoarse as he begs in broken words. “Go on baby. Good boy, come on, be good and give it to me” you rumble, reaching up with your free hand to give one of his nipples a rough pinch and twist. Its all Alec needs to finish, his hips jolting almost painfully into your hand as his essence spills across the sheets in thick white stripes, painting your black sheets in a different shade.

You barely are able to withdraw from his back before Alec is asleep, the exhaustion of the multiple days of nonstop work and the euphoria of his orgasm knocking him out cold. With a soft chuckle, you kiss his temple and start cleaning up, moving him around to change him out of his underwear into a new pair, and getting new sheets on the bed. As you cuddle against his back again, this time under the sheets, you smile softly to yourself as you kiss the back of his neck. “I love you so much, my sweet boy” you whisper before shutting your eyes, burying your face into his hair, and inhaling his scent, letting the familiar scent carry you off into the land of sleep.

[gummyfang]

♡♡♡ |   ˗ˏˋ Perv König  ´ˎ˗

➳　【K ö n i g　ｘ　Ｒｅａｄｅｒ】

❧ Warnings: 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐠/𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this was SUPPOSED to be headcanons. no clue what happened here, it kinda turn into word vom so if it's kinda shit dont come at me. also I made Konig bi hehe. I had some more ideas but this got a bit long and i got lazy so let me know if you'd like a second part to this ♡

Deprivation of touch and sexual attention is nothing unheard of at a location such as a military base. With little ways to relieve their frustration, most men are forced to resort to fantasy as they rub one out.

König was no different. And really, he didn’t have a problem with it. He was never a man who needed much to get going, the mental image of random men and women enough to have him cum all over his hand. It wasn’t desperation for him, just routine. Masturbation was just what helped him relax after a physically and emotionally taxing day. That is, until you came into the picture.

The first time König saw you, he wasn’t being too weird about you. Just watching KorTac’s rookie members walk on by, as he checked them out one by one, his steely gaze lingered on you.

Maybe it was the way you looked so pathetic, doe-like eyes wide as you shuffled along like a lost little deer. Or perhaps it was the way your combat cargo pants (despite not being meant to fit tightly) hugged nicely around your ass. You’d caught König’s attention.

It wasn't until you approached him that he really started taking interest in you. Being such a large man with a reputation for being ruthless on the battlefield did not make König a very approachable man, and he wasn't exactly keen on mingling with strangers either. So when you approached him for his help with a tangled strap on your gear, he was pleasantly surprised.

You apologized quietly and continuously, embarrassed you had to ask for help from someone with so much more experience so early on. Little did you know König was enjoying himself quite a bit.

With a gruff chuckle, his thick fingers started working on untangling the mess of straps and clasps, making him wonder how the fuck you managed to do this in the first place.

His fingers traced your back gently, the light shudder you tried to hide not going unnoticed to the large man.

God, you looked so fucking cute and petite sitting down under him like this. König's eyelids slid down as he sunk into thoughts, thinking back to your doe-like gaze.

Before he knew it, his fingers slid away from the straps to explore along your body, tracing along your sides. Your shirt moved up a little as he did, exposing your lower back. Your underwear was peaking out from under the waist of your trousers, just enough to let the teasing view settle in his mind. König felt his cock twitch in his pants, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue.

He was grateful he still had his sniper hood up. If anyone could see him, well... he looked fucking depraved.

His name floating from your lips snapped him back out of his trance, his large hands quickly dropping back down. He mutters a shitty excuse about checking the other straps, before finally untangling the mess. He excuses himself, and before you can get another word in, he's seen himself out.

That night, his cock felt ten times as sensitive as usual. König tugged it out of his boxers with little grace before fucking his fist animalistically. Where his mind was usually filled with faceless, nude bodies, the picture in his mind had now taken a clearer shape. It was you.

He thought of your pretty waist, how he could hold onto it as he fucked his cum into you. And that underwear, God.

As he bucked into his fist and the spurts of white liquid made his hand sticky, he knew something changed in him. Jacking off by himself like this wasn't going to keep him satisfied. He needed more.

The depravity got to König quickly. Soon, his masturbation sessions doubled. Where he'd usually only satisfy himself at the end of the day, he now found himself waking him hard as a rock with lewd fantasies of you drifting through his mind. Not bothering to wait until his morning wood dissipated, he instead decided using the material his depraved mind provided him with would be easier anyways.

Soon, when he wasn't busy himself, König could frequently be found overseeing rookie training from a distance, though there was really only one he had eye for.

Could you blame him? You were practically asking to be stared at, the way you kept bending over as if you were begging for him to come over and shove you to the floor and have his way with you right then and there.

Each of your little curves and movements were stored in König's memory, only for him to jack off to later.

At first he'd tried being subtle about it. Although he was drawn to you, there was some shame tied to his actions. Eyeing up a new recruit like this? And this often? People would start talking if he weren't careful.

But slowly, it was like he forgot he was supposed to feel ashamed for this. Where he used to find excuses to go to the training room to seek you out, usually claiming it was his turn to clean the training equipment, he now just started leering at you from the doorway.

After all, it was much easier to look at you where his view wasn't obscured by other rookies or equipment.

Then, eventually, just watching you bend your sweaty body in those positions wasn't enough for König. He needed you. Your essence. Anything that had to do with your body.

He didn't act on it. At least, not at first. König was not stupid. His perverse gazes could land him some social repercussions among his peers, but actually going behind your back to pleasure himself with your belongings? That could get him in serious shit.

But then the opportunity presented itself to him on a silver platter. You'd left the radio on your bed in a hurry, and you wouldn't have enough time to eat if you went out to grab it. But of course kind-hearted König didn't mind getting it for you.

Your barracks were empty. His heavily thudding footsteps echoing off the walls and breathing were the only noises he could hear. Your bed wasn’t hard to spot with the small radio thrown on the pillow.

But as he moved to pick it up, he caught a whiff of your scent. Immediately, his cock twitched in his pants. He’d been growing closer to you, and as he did, your scent became one of many aspects that reminded him of how much you turned him on.

But now, here he was, his stiff member forming a tent in his pants as he stood there, all alone. He felt his ears heat up at the realization what his body and mind were screaming for him to do.

For a moment, he convinced himself to just pick up your radio and force his legs to walk himself back out. But as soon as he leaned over to snatch it off the pillow, his shin bumped against the edge of the bed, and he clumsily tumbled onto the sheets.

As soon as his nose was shoved into the sheets, he knew he was done for.

He knew this was wrong. For the first time since he’d met you, he was struck by feelings of actual shame as he writhed around to make himself comfortable, before pulling his cock out and hurriedly pumping his hand up and down.

As he was lying down on your bed, those scenes of you doing sit-ups in those tightly fit pants started replaying in his mind. He whimpered softly as he pressed his thumb down on the head of his cock, the thought of you sleeping here tonight none the wiser of what happened only made him hornier.

A vein popped up on the back of his hand as the grip on the smooth fabric of the sheets tightened, pressing it over his mouth and nose.

Your scent drove him crazy. It offered him a figment of the proximity he imagined when he stroked his cock to your image every night.

His thumb rolled over the head of his cock, the digit gathering some of the precum leaking out the tip to lube up his rough strokes.

A loud moan muffled by the sheets erupted from his throat before his spend was spilling over his hand and abdomen. Thank fuck he'd pulled up his shirt a little.

A few drops leaked onto your bed, but he couldn't be bothered to clean those up. The thought of you sleeping with his semen under your sheets only turned him on more.

God, he felt so fucking dirty.

He knew he was done for. He'd never cummed this hard before in his life. Every single aspect of you turned him on, he needed you.

But you'd be none the wiser. He'd make sure of that, König thought to himself as he wiped away the fluids. He pulled his pants back up and fixed up your bed, before grabbing the radio and heading back out as if nothing happened.

𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

@rahmown @catou1305 @johfaam0 @tulipsbymybed

[mrsnegan]

Daddy's home | Round II

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!Reader x Joe Kessler (The Boys)

Read Part I here.

Summary: Billy and Joe can't get enough of you.

Warnings: 18+ (not suited for minors), smut, mentions of passing out, threesome, daddy!kink, finger sucking, cum play & eating, degradation but also praise, swearing, f!oral, (anal) fingering, manhandling, pussy slapping, dubcon-ish but reader wants them to use her like this, unprotected p in v, anal, double penetration, lots of cum, squirting, creampies, mentions of aftercare

A/N: Holy fuck. This might be the filthiest shit I've ever written. Thank you so much for all the praise for part I. 💛 My mind went from there and couldn't hold back all those words full of smut. I ain't lying when I tell you I made a mess of my panties while writing this. 😅🥵

"You still with us, baby?"

Billy's voice sounds muffled when your eyelids flutter open. He kneels in front of the sofa, his eyes trained on yours.

"Yeah," you answer him timidly. "What...what happened?"

"You came like a fucking waterfall while I fucked you dumb." Joe's grinning face appeard next to Billy's.

"Shut up, asshole. Told you not to break her."

"Hey, who told me to make her squirt like old times? She looks pretty alive to me. And you still want to fuck her ass, right?" He pads Billy on the shoulder, sinister smirk in place "She still has your cum all over her pretty face. I bet she would love to have it drippin' out of her tight ass. Ain't that right, baby?"

With some effort you sit up on the sofa. You still feel light-headed from your orgasms, throat raw, body marked with your mixed fluids. Joe reaches forward, two of his fingers swipe over your heated cheek, collecting Billy's cum onto them and offering them to you.

Every part of your body is on fire again when you lock eyes with him and take his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them to collect Billy's salty spent.

"Good fucking slut," Joe whispers, fucking your mouth slowly with his fingers, making you gag in the process. He feeds you more and more of the cum until your face is more or less clean again.

Billy watches the scene before him and decides to finally undress too. His cock is hardening again at the sight of you, a new rush of arousal flooding his veins.

"Yeah, you definitely like being used," Joe comments proudly while he retreats his fingers from your mouth. A single thread of salvia connects the both of you. His wet fingers wander down your throat, over your collarbone, down again towards your breasts. Your top still dangles there and he doesn't waste a second to rip it from your body, throwing it to the ground carelessly.

His fingers circle your nipples, pinching them while he observes your reaction.

Eyes hooded, mouth agape, your hips move forward, searching friction, anything really to make this aching feeling go away.

Joe just smirks down at you and lowers himself to his knees between your legs. His fingers move south, passing your belly button, south still over your mound and towards your wet folds.

Your breath catches in your throat when he leans down spitting directly onto your clit. His fingers rub his salvia into your folds, leaving you shaking above him.

With practiced movements, he pushes two of his fingers into your hole, pumping them at a steady pace. "Beautiful," he mumbles, watching his cum trickle down the crease of your thigh.

Every movement inside of you has you seeing stars. Your eyes lock with Billy's who watches the both of you with stuttering breaths, hand stroking his cock again. He approaches you, sitting down next to you on the sofa where he has an even better view of Joe fucking you with his fingers.

"We need to prep her, don't you think?" Joe says, eyes turning towards Billy.

"Yeah, we ain't cruel, are we?" His deep voice makes goosebumps appear all over your skin. This right here is far from loving, it's filthy and wrong and degradating but the blinding pleasure they gift you drowns out every logical thought. You want this. You want them to use you, want them to make you theirs.

Joe retreats his fingers, taking some of his cum with him. He circles your thightest hole with his wet fingers, making you gasp and close your legs.

"Nuh uh," he tuts, landing a slap against your inner thigh. "Keep them open."

Billy's hand, which isn't stroking himself, finds a home on your thigh, pushing it down.

"Just like this," Joe comments while his eyes scan your face. "Eyes open too."

Gulping down nervously, you wait for Joe's next move. What you don't expect is him leaning down to lick a broad stripe from your asshole up to your clit, flicking it briefly before sucking it into his waiting mouth. He isn't particularly careful when he suckles on it which makes you moan loudly. The protest of too much is dying in your throat when Billy leans over to capture your lips in a messy kiss. His tongue invades your mouth instantly, making you gasp.

Both are kissing you senseless, their beards scratching deliciously against your heated skin, one of them between your legs, the other one right next to you.

It builds again, the urgent feeling of release, the all-consuming tornado of pleasure. Joe can feel it in the shaking of your legs, your restless whimpers against Billy's mouth.

He pumps his fingers back into you, three this time, and fucks you with them. One rather harsh pull at your clit makes you tip over. You errupt around Joe's fingers, wetting his beard with your release. It isn't as much as before but enough to make Joe pull back and enjoy the view.

He wastes no time, using your high to spread your wetness to your puckered hole. His middle finger circles the tight ring of muscle, then he spits on it and pushes his finger in to the first knuckle. You tense, legs quivering from your latest orgasm and the new sensation.

"Fuck, what a damn sight," Billy observes, watching Joe sink more and more of his finger into your tight hole.

"Good little slut, just like this." Joe's finger retreats, dipping into your cunt again to gather some more wetness. He sinks his finger back into your asshole, pumping it lazily before he decides to add his index finger.

The stretch is nearly too much. You whimper from the intrusion but Joe is relentless. He opens you up like a flower, pumping his fingers into your ass before pushing them into your pussy again. He keeps this rhythym for quite some time, slicking up your tight channel, before he decides to push three fingers in your already gaping hole.

"Fuck, Daddy...too...too much," you gasp, trying to get Billy's attention too but he's working his cock harder and harder while staring at your used holes.

"It isn't. Especially not compared to Billy's cock," Joe reminds you.

After a while he has some kind of mercy with you, a moaning and whimpering mess beneath him. He retreats his fingers, getting up from the floor. With dark eyes, he bends down towards your ear.

"Want me to spank that wet pussy again while Billy my boy takes a dip? I think you deserve a reward for being such an obedient whore, letting us stuff your holes."

At his words you visibly shake, a whimper leaving your mouth. You have no idea if you can take more but your body betrays your mind. The nod you give him makes Joe grin diabolically.

"Fucking slut loves this kinky shit," he comments towards Billy. "C'mere Butcher, need you to keep her pinned on your cock."

Now it's Billy's turn to lift you onto his lap. He is fast and almost too rough with you when he grasps your arms to pull you into his lap, your back hitting his sweaty chest.

"Want me to fuck you, baby? Say it. Need to hear it from you."

You can't see Billy's face in this position, though you have a good idea how wild and absolutely dangerous he has to look right now. If Joe's gaze is even a tiny indicator for their hunger, Billy will surely destroy you from the inside out.

"Shit, Billy...want you to...fuck me, please. Need your big cock."

Billy laughs behind you, taking his cock, briefly massaging your sensitive folds with the head of it before he sinks himself into your pussy, hands flying to your hips, grabbing your flesh possessively. The cry leaving your lips is desperate and needy, the stretch of his cock and the fast rhythym he sets deliciously painful.

Joe watches you writhe on top of Billy, his own fingers pump his cock slowly.

There's another orgasm building inside of you, but before it can errupt, Billy pulls out and lays back against the sofa so he can pull you down with him. The new position allows him to reach your other whole better while presenting Joel your puffy and sodden folds. He reaches around to take a hold of his cock, guiding it towards your asshole, the head resting against it. His other hand lays itself over your stomach, securing your position.

"Here it comes, baby, relax for me."

He pushes in, the head popping into your tight hole and you scream. It's burning despite you being all slicked up and the stretch is so much, you don't know if you can handle another inch. Your eyes are screwed shut, nails leaving marks on Billy's arm while he pushes himself into you.

"Shh, doin' good. You feel so fucking tight, baby," Billy praises.

Just as you are about to make him pull out again, Joe's fingers graze your clit, petting it lightly to distract you from the discomfort.

"Good fucking girl, let him in. Yeah, like this."

Billy thrusts into you inch by inch until he's buried all the way. The moan leaving his lips is louder than what you are used from him.

"Fucking hell, she's squeezing me motherfucking good, tightest hole I've ever had," he tells Joe who still plays with your clit to loosen you up.

Billy pulls all the way out before he pushes into you again, building up his thrusts while Joe starts to spank your pussy again, rubbing you in between.

There are no words to describe the feeling building inside of you. It's intense, the dull pain from before suddenly gone, replaced by another, more delicious pain delivered by Joe's hand. You moan and babble nonsense while both men work you up the edge.

"Fuck Joe, she's about to cum again," Billy warns while Joe slaps you in quick succsession, making more and more wetness spread and trickle down towards where Billy fucks you faster and faster.

There's no turning back, you spiral into the next high, making a mess of the three of you, your release so intense it makes you shake on top of Billy.

"Yeah, fuck, more, give us more," Joe demands, but instead of using his hand, he comes closer and guides his cock into your dripping pussy.

Words have long left your brain, a silent scream of pleasure the only reaction your body can muster. You feel so full, so goddamn full. There's nowhere to go, you are pinned between their strong bodies and the only thing you can do is let them use you, fuck into you roughly, fuck you towards another orgasm. There's no strength in you left when you cum again, pushing both of them out while you shake uncontrollably between them, your release making a wet mess.

"Fucking shit," Billy moans, thrusting into you again while Joe does the same. Both of them lose their rhythym, searching for their own release within your used holes. It doesn't take long for them to cum too, painting your insides with their seed.

Your ears are ringing. White spots are dancing in front of your closed eyes. Your heart hammers inside of your chest, breaths short, body sweating. You feel like jelly from head to toe, there's no part of your body which isn't aching. You have never cum so many times and this intense in your life.

Billy and Joe pull out of you a few moments - or an eternity, you can't tell - later. Their seed is dripping out of you and for a quick heartbeat you expect Joe to run his filthy mouth but he surprises you with a sensual kiss.

"Good girl, so fucking good to us," you hear Billy whisper below you, his fingers ghosting over your heated skin. "Let's get you cleaned up."

[sleepymarimo]

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝.

summary: stuck between the pirate hunter and sorcerer killer... pairing: roronoa zoro x afab!reader x fushiguro toji cw: mdni, threesome (mfm), vaginal sex, creampie, double stuffin', overstimulation, cock drunk reader an: *gestures vaguely* im drunk ok :( need them both :((( wc: 1.3k

you can't say you remember how you got into this predicament. your brain is scrambled, muscles pliant as you mindlessly whine and pant. you're pounded into from behind, strong hands on your hips and keeping you from being lurched forward.

"yeah, keep fuckin' screamin', babydoll." comes a growl from behind you, utter satisfaction lacing each word. toji smacks your ass with a calloused palm, making you cry out. the sound only makes him chuckle, his eyes glued to the red marks forming on your pretty asscheeks. "see if y'can wake up that swordsman, huh?"

your hazy eyes barely register zoro's sleeping form on the bed, sheets haphazardly bunched up against his lower half. you forget how long ago it was that the green haired samurai pumped his hot cum into your cunt, lazily pushing it back in with his fingers before laying down for a nap like it was the most casual thing in the world.

another smack, smack, smack. three quick slaps to your ass bring your focus back on the raven haired man behind you. "t-toji..." you mumble, pathetic sounding as your cheek pressed to the mattress.

not another second passes before zoro stirs, a groan spilling past his lips as his eye opens up, filled with annoyance. "thought i told ya to keep it down…" he grumbles, though the outline of his hard cock against the sheets tells you he doesn't mind all that much.

toji chuckles, his fingers digging into the fat of your ass and pulling you back on him until you're taking his thick cock all the way down to the hilt. "s'what happens when you fuck her too good." he growls, reveling at at how your cunt twitched around him.

you cry out again, seeing white as tears dotted your lashes. "a-ah! i can't! i can't!" sniffling and hiccuping as you attempt to catch your breath, you can do nothing to keep your limbs from wobbling and falling out from beneath you.

the two men barely pay you any mind, caught up in their own world.

"bullshit." zoro scoffs, sitting up and flinging the sheets off of him. "if y'were fuckin' her right, she wouldn't be yappin' so loud."

strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you away from toji's clutches. the moment of reprieve only lasts for so long, a muffled whine leaving you as zoro positions your feeble form over his hard cock.

he pushes you down on him, splitting you open without a care about how overstimulated you are. his arms wrap around you, one across your shoulders and another over your hips where he holds you flush against his cock.

you sharply inhale and release a choked out moan. "z-zo' wait-!"

there's no warning, no build up before he plants his legs on the mattress and begins ramming into you from below. your cunt squelches embarrassingly loud, your juices dripping down his shaft and onto his thighs.

"fuck, woman." he hisses, his focus unwavering even as your pussy spams around him. "feels good, huh?"

you're too cock drunk to speak properly, your head resting on his chest as you're forced to take what he's giving you. some drool spills past your lips, your eyelids fluttering.

zoro keeps up with his brutal pace, hips snapping into yours as his hands dug into your soft flesh. he clicks his tongue, smug as he looks behind you. "told ya. shut her up real good."

not one to back away from a challenge, toji maintains a cool head, his palm wrapping around the base of his dick as he jerked himself off to how helpless you looked above the swordsman. "fuck off." he climbs on the bed, getting behind you and spreading your ass wide open so he could get a better view of your wet and pulsing cunt.

a quick squeeze, a smack, and then he's positioning the head of his dripping cock at your entrance. "y'gonna take us both babydoll?" he asks, as if you actually had a choice.

still, you frantically nod, babbling yeses and squirming in zoro's hold. when you feel him push into you, your mouth falls open and you sob. "ngh-h! ah!" jolts of pleasure run up your spine and effectively fry your brain, nothing else mattering except the two men before you.

"oh, fuck yes..." toji growls, stuffing his cock in your pretty little cunt alongside zoro's. his hands find purchase on your hips, pushing you further down onto the swordsman as he begins to bless your pussy with short, hard strokes.

zoro holds you tighter as you begin to squirm, a satisfied smirk on his face when he feels your walls pulse. "hah, you like it, don't ya?" he times his thrusts with toji's, his gaze trained on your fucked out face.

you barely register his mocking words and you give a deep groan when a hand roughly smacks your ass, the sound sharp.

toji is kind enough to gently massage your tender flesh, hitting deeper as he leans over you and brings his mouth to your ear. "speak up, babydoll. answer his question. y'too fucked out already?"

he lowers his head, wet tongue licking at the side of your neck before biting down on the vulnerable flesh there. zoro follows suit, lifting his head and roughly bringing his canines down on the other side of your neck.

they work in tandem, like a well oiled machine with the only goal being to push you over the edge.

and you feel it.

fuck, you feel it.

"i-i like it!" you mewl, borderline crying as pressure builds in your navel. your breaths become erratic, their cocks stealing air right out of your lungs. "m'love it!"

smushed between the pirate hunter and sorcerer killer, you're nothing but mush. strong, rough hands are all over you, palming your tits, pinching your nipples and messily rubbing at your clit.

the scent of sweat and sake fill the air, praises and insults whispered in your ears. it all blends together in a lustful, sinful symphony that has you at a loss for words.

your moan echoes throughout the room as you cum on both of their cocks, pussy stuffed so good that it almost hurts. you're gushing around them, your cum dripping from your cunt and soaking the mattress. there's no where for you to go, pinned between these two demons as you cried for mercy.

"fuck, that's it!" zoro snarls, biting down hard on your shoulder and drawing blood. he's quick to lick it up, sucking at the flesh. "so damn tight..."

the glint in toji's eyes is almost predatory, a smirk splitting his face as he revels in your undoing. he licks a stripe on the nape of your neck, his tone coy. "good fucking girl, takin' two cocks like a little slut."

they both cum, your pussy painted white and getting filled to the brim. sweat coats your skin, their hot release getting pushed further into you as they continue to rut against you. your muscles twitch, spent and utterly useless.

their thrusts are shallow, but purposeful. it's a silent competition of who can get their cum deeper into your cunt.

when they finally do relent, pulling out of you with a wet 'pop', you're already halfway into dreamland.

their hands are on you again, kneading your sore flesh and treating you as if you were made of glass.

zoro's tongue swipes across the angry bite marks on your shoulder, his hands massaging your thighs. toji mumbles lewd, affectionate praises against your temple, caressing your reddened asscheeks and groping your tits.

your eyelids are already closing when you hear snippets of their conversation, knowing you'd be in for it when you woke up.

"oi, i wanna get her from behind next time." the swordsman grumbles, gripping your thigh possessively.

toji scoffs and wraps an arm around your waist, tucking your back into his chest and earning a growl from zoro. "fuck off. first come, first serve."

[tiramissyoucake]

Trying my hand at angst, I don't like this but here you go fjsjfdj

Gojo misses reader and is a mitski fan here, sfw, 1.6k words

Satoru knew he was clingy, he knows he can be overbearing with you at times and you've constantly reassured him that it's one of the many qualities you like about him; you even called it cute and compared him to a lost kitten. However, the longer you're gone, the more stressed he gets, thoughts of worry plague his head if they go unanswered for too long—how you are doing? Is everything going smoothly? Did you eat a full proper meal? Are you sleeping well? He never had to worry for long because he would get an answer the next time he sees you, which would usually be the next few hours or the next day.

When you told him about a trip you had to take out of town to visit family and stay with them for a while, he only smiled and helped you pack as anxiety rattled in his chest— as if trying to bring your attention to it. he chooses to remain silent about his worries even after you tell him you'll be gone for over a week, even if every bone in his body is telling him to trap you in his arms and beg you to stay.

Clingliness be damned, he loved you too much to remain separated from you for over a week, let alone a day.

Dread crept at the back of his mind as you explained your trip, why you were going and when will you leave and return, the entire time Satoru tried to listen his mind would wander and begin to memorise your features as you spoke— the shape of your lips, the crinkle in your eyelids, the structure of your nose, god, did he tell you look beautiful? He couldn't recall if he did today.

".. so don't expect fast replies, okay?"

The dumbfounded expression quickly took over Satoru's features as he sat up, he remembered he mentioned he would call or text you if he gets lonely but after that his brain tuned out his surroundings as if preparing itself for a week of loneliness.

".. repeat that for me, Baby? Please?"

"I said the service is pretty bad at my grandparent's place, so don't expect fast replies."

Ah. He was in hell. He had to watch and help you pack, pretend as if this didn't bother him so you wouldn't cancel for his sake, he even saw you off and kept his goodbye short; a simple kiss, hug and a promise for you to stay safe and call him if anything happens. He would have been proud of himself had he not known how lonely the house would be without you.

For the first three days, the phrase "its just under two weeks" became a mantra Satoru would mutter to himself— from the moment he opens his eyes in the morning feeling the empty space next to him, the phrase is echoed in his head. He made the mistake of preparing two cups of coffee in the beginning forgetting you were off with family, that simple mistake triggers a domino effect; it causes him to remember to contact you, he checks his phone and finds messages sent from you in the wrong order, courtesy of terrible service.

Leaving the house did nothing to alleviate the anxieties floating in his mind about you, whenever he passes by a cafe he has to purchase your favorite item off the menu, this time he had to stop himself and double back from the door remembering the meal would rot away in the fridge before your return. Spotting anything remotely related to your interests activates a knee-jerk reaction where he turns to gesture and mention it to you, looking for the spark that would light up your features in excitement— but alas, you were not here.

The days were longer, the nights were colder, Satoru's love blooms whenever he's near you, and yet now that he's alone, his heart is heavy; an overgrown garden.

The week was over. It was finally over, and yet the torture continued. You specifically told him you'd be gone for over a week— he once again repeats to himself "just under two weeks.." Satoru feels tired, and he doesn't know why. Through his meals and activities throughout the days, he would usually share them with you. He wonders if you felt the same exhaustion.

Just as his eyelids began to weigh down from the exhaustion, his phone released melodious chimes. Satoru grunted in annoyance and sat up in the cold bed, tempted to crush the phone in his hand— was he not even allowed to dream of you?

'LOML💘 Calling...'

His heart soared to his throat, everything he wanted to say to you, threatening to spill out before he even tapped the green button. He hurriedly answered and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello? Satoru?"

"... Baby? Can you hear me?" He immediately wanted to make sure of the call's quality. He won't be swindled by fate.

"Oh, thank god- I've been trying to get a hold of you all week! How are you? Is everything okay? I'm so sorry I couldn't contact you." He could hear chatter in the back. "I'm with my cousin. We drove out to this convenience store, and the service is pretty good!— I mean, yeah, it's a little far, but..." You took a breath, speaking too quickly for your lungs to handle."I'm so happy I get to hear your voice, Satoru..!"

everything he wanted to say, you were saying it for him, Satoru knows he's clingy but when you return his clingliness it makes him believe that he was made for you— that he was truly loved by you.

Suddenly, the stress he felt from worrying about you, the overbearing silence of loneliness, your affections pouring to him through the phone, all of these factors shattered him; a sob choked him.

".. yeah - me too..!" Satoru hiccuped as he tried to wipe away forming tears. He can't be upset now. He has to be tough for you.

You didn't miss the sniffle that followed, setting your soda down in the cup holder of the car. You sat up briefly. "Honey? What's wrong?" Your cousin silently signalled they'll return into the store, not wanting to overhear a lover's quarrel. "Did something happen?"

Satoru shook his head, forgetting you couldn't see him. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. "No - no, I'm fine.. I'm just really happy to hear from you."

Silence filled the call, a moment ago he was preparing himself to yell at you, cry to you, beg you to come home— now he didn't know what to do with himself as he had everything he wanted listening to him on the other end.

"... Hon? I'm really sorry." He hated how you knew just what to say when he began to crack. "I love you, I promise I'll be home soon, okay?"

You love him. You love him. He felt guily; he finally had a chance to speak with you, and he cried and made you feel like the bad guy, made you apologize for wanting to spend quality time with family, does he even deserve you at this point?

"... okay." Is all he can muster, Satoru always sounds so full of life— but now he just sounds defeated, as if faced with a foe that he couldn't damage or evade whatsoever. It broke your heart.

Satoru traced shapes into the covers that he practically kicked off him when he saw your nickname flash on his phone screen, he began. "Baby?"

"Hm? Yeah?"

".. when you get home, I'm gonna be more selfish with you." His tone was serious. He couldn't help but smile when he heard you laugh. "You're already selfish with me!"

"Hey, I've been very emotionally vulnerable recently, okay?" Satoru felt like the usual dynamic of your conversations is slowly seeping back. It felt right, like finding something he thought he misplaced.

"I'm not complaining, hon. I actually love it." He heard you shuffle a bit. "I think you deserve to be a little selfish. You've been so good for me lately, haven't you?"

Of course, he should've expected this from you; you're his smart girl. Of course you would notice how strained he seemed before you went on your trip.

"I thought I hid it pretty well.."

"Satoru."

".. what?" He grew wary of your unimpressed tone. He didn't slip up, did he?

"You were listening to Mitski all week." Ah, your shared music subscription gave him away.

"She perfectly puts my emotions into words, okay? So sue me!"

"I know, hon! But you were listening to First Love / Late Spring. What was I supposed to think?"

The conversation continues, from Lyricism to current routines to favourite cafe desserts. For the first time in a week, Satoru felt safe and comfortable enough to sleep.

Your conversation lulled him to a sleepy state, he could hear you shuffle and move about, he could hear the car start, your family commenting on your dynamic with him, even if the sound was minimised as the phone speaker was only moderately audible, as long as he could hear your voice then he was happy.

"So, either Wednesday or Tuesday..?" Satoru asked groggily after you explained your situation.

"Yeah - I'm hoping Tuesday, but we don't know yet, I'll drive back to the convenience store and tell you once I know." It sounded like a joke, but he knows you would do it.

"Baby- no, I can wait, I swear—"

"Can you, though?" He could hear the smile in your voice, Satoru let out a breathless laugh.

"... nah, I don't think I can."

[lavenderstars-blog]

Blueberriès ~ Kylian Mbappè

Parrings: Kylian mbappè × Reader [oc]

Summary: You are pregnant with twin boys and you find out your mother in law had the same craving as you have when she was pregnant with your husband aka kylian.

Tags: #kylain mbappè # twins # twinboys #dad kylian # pregnant reader # pregnancy # food cravings # fluff # mother in law #real madrid # footballer # love# care # ultrasound pic # romantic husband # caring hubby # kissing

You are currently seven months pregnant with this huge belly around you, wherever you used to go people around you used to think that your due is near.

But it would suprise them when you used to tell them that you are pregnant with twins. Yes twins and that two boy twins, you still remembered how kylian cried tears of happiness after getting to know that he is going to be a dad of twins.

He couldn't stop kissing your belly, saying now there is not one but two of them so he has to double his kissing.

Today you were invited over at his family for dinner, it was a sunny afternoon, you were currently resting on kylian's naked chest. While his big hands were gently messaging your belly with oil.

He loves doing this, taking care of you and his babies. He has always pampered you with care.

~~

Not to tell when we got to know the gender, he quickly ordered everything for their nursery and the next day when you woke up you didn't saw him next to you, so you were worried you searched him in the Whole house, but found him inside the nursery room which you made for the babies, he was arranging everything for his boys, wearing nothing but just boxers. 

His back was facing you, so you cleared your throat to get his attention, and certainly you did got his attention. He looked behind his back and saw your leaning at door of the room, with your one hand on your swollen belly protectively occasionally caressing your belly. Wearing just his loose shirt with few buttons done to cover your cleavage and chest and one of his shorts with your belly on full display.

Because certainly nothing fits you, you even cried about this to kylian, and he as a gentleman gave you his clothes and praised you on being the mother of his kids. He smiled whole heartedly seeing you and came towards you with slow steps, sneaking his arms around your belly he pulled you closer but your pregnant belly was stopping him from closing the distance, he leaned in, you too close your eyes to feel his lips. You have realized you have become extra clingy towards him, these days always wanting to kiss him and he doesn't mind that tho but rather enjoys it.

He kissed your lips passionately devoring every bit of your mouth, while caressing your waist, while you had your hands on his nape, after few seconds he pulled apart after seeing you lacking for breath.

He looked at your swollen red lips glistening as it is coated with his saliva. You couldn't look more beautiful to him, heavily pregnant with his boys, wrapped around his arms in his clothes.

~~

Hearing kylian's heartbeat laying on his chest in a warm and comfortable bed, while he massages you is not less than a paradise.You were getting too sleepy, Because of the massage and the comfortable position laying on his chest wasn't helping you either.

You didn't mind take a little nap, slowly and gradually you fell asleep.

Kylian looked at you, while his large hands still on your belly. On seeing your eyelids closed, he smiled a little, he gently placed a peck on your forehead. He laid you back on bed comfortably, covering your body with a duvet. He went to the closet to get you a comfortable dress which you will be wearing tonight for the dinner. He took out a pretty off shoulder dress in baby blue colour. He also took out his attire for the night.

He left to do some work, after sometimes you woke up from your peacefully slumber, you scrunched  your nose in pain and discomfort, you realized your not laying on kylian anymore, you opened your eyes blinking, rubbing your eyes with a yawn, you called out kylian in almost a whisper "ky, amor". Hearing no response you tried to get up from the bed with great difficulty, somehow you managed it and stood up. At the same time kylian entered with a tray of food.

He quickly placed the food tray and came towards your side asking " what happened why are you up, do you wanna use the washroom?" He bombarded you with questions.

You shook your head " I didn't saw you here so I got up to find you" kylian expressions quickly changed into relief. He smiled at you and made you sit on bed and said " I went to made lunch for us. " He brought the tray to you. You guys ate your lunch together.

~~

It was already evening and you were getting ready while kylian was still in a towel, well you guys took a shower together, and he was helping you get ready first.

He was zipping your dress from behind, after fixing your dress he combed your hair and made you wear your shoes. All this time you were looking at him and felt emotional, you were so lucky to have him.

He quickly placed a kiss on your lips " I'll get ready quickly " you nodded your head.

He took his boxers with his pants and wore it , he took the shirt which placed beside you and wore it. You got up and came towards him and started buttoning his shirt. He placed his hands on your waist.

While you were buttoning the shirt the bump was coming in between you saw kylian leaning in kissing you passionately. You guys pulled apart after few seconds.

Kylian got into the car after getting you inside first. He started the car driving towards his parents house.

On reaching their house, you guys were welcomed by Ethan your brother in law.

You got inside and met your mother in law. There were not many people invited for the dinner. There were few cousins of kylian and their kids were there.

After the dinner ended, everyone left only kylian and you were left Ethan went to his friends house for night stay. So it was just you kylian and his parents.

You were sitting on the comfortable couch. You sighed, you were a little tired but the dinner was good. Everyone one excited for the new babies. While you were rubbing your belly your mother in law came to you with a glass of water, offering it to you. You took it thanking her. She sat down next to you, you smiled at her and drank some water quenching your thirst. As you placed the cup down, kylian's mother asked you about your visit to the doctor two days ago. You told her about the ultrasound, she asked " do you have the ultrasound pictures" you nodded with a grin and took out the ultrasound picture from your bag and showed it to her.

She was so happy seeing that, you see tears forming in her eyes. Seeing that you quickly hugged her. She patted you head asked you about your pregnancy cravings.

Well you had very weird cravings during your pregnancy, you were a little self conscious about this but neither less you told her because she has always treated you like her own child.

You knew she was not gonna judge you so you told her the two weird cravings you have been having throught this whole time.

" I have been this weird cravings, like eating bacon with pickels and I have been wanting to eat alot of spicy food." You said to her with small smile displayed on your face.

She looked at you with a suprised expression, and she exclaimed" I had the exact same craving during my pregnancy with kylian" she placed a sweet kiss on your forehead and went to call your father in Law and your husband and told them about this.

As she was telling, she remembered she might have had a photo of her, so she went to her room in exicitment.

You smiled at her excitement, she is so eager to be a grand mother. You shared a glance with kylian, he smiled and sat down beside you. Your father in law also sat opposite to you guys.

You saw your mother in law coming down from stairs with excitement with a photo album in her hands.

She quickly came towards to show the pics.

She took out a picture and sat beside you showing you.

You took the picture in your hand, it was a picture of her sitting in a comfortable chair with one hand holding her belly and from other hand she was eating bacon with pickels.

You were amazed, such a coincidence you were having the exact same craving which she had when she was pregnant with kylian.

You laughed with your mother in law " it's such a strange coincidence "

You looked towards kylian and smiled at him, he looked into your eyes intensely and placed his warm big hand on your small soft hands which were resting above your baby bump.

The night ended like that with you resting your head on kylian shoulder amd him rubbing your baby bump with his big hands. While his parents were sitting across you guys while watching kylian's baby videos when kylian was a new born.

All of us were thrilled to meet the youngest memebers of the family looking forward on meeting them.

_______________>_<____>_<_______________

🧸𐙚‧₊°✩₊°⊹♡𐙚‧₊˚✩ ₊˚☁️⊹♡✮⋆˙✧˚🧸

Credits to the real owner of the pictures.

I hope you guys like it.🎀

English is not my first language kindly ignore any mistakes. 🍒

[macfrog]

you'll hurt me if you don't trust me sex on fire chapter eight

super special sparkly shoutout to @chloeangelic ✨💛✨ whose influence inspired a whole load of intimacy in this. it is, unashamedly, eleven thousand words of sheer self-indulgence. so. love u guys. see u soon

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re unwell. joel makes you feel better. until he doesn’t.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, softsoftsoft!joel, they eat chinese food together, reader has her period + mention/description of used tampon, discussion of abandonment/absent parents & parental death, discussion of cheating, lying, thigh riding, unprotected piv period shower sex (that is a mouthful thatswhatshesaid), VERY needy reader, SLIGHT dacryphilia (kinda not really?), creampie, aftercare joel, praise kink, daddy kink, angst & fluff & angst all over again

word count: 11k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

Martha had been pretty good about it. She’d watched you near-doubled in pain most of yesterday, hobbling to the kitchen every four hours to top up on pain meds. She knew you weren’t making it up. She made a conservative two jokes about you calling in this morning, and then told you to rest up. She’d let Joel know you’d be back tomorrow.

“You owe me, though. Joel’s got that shareholders meeting today. If I’m forced to sit in with him ‘n his cronies talkin’ numbers and takin’ notes, sweetheart, all so you can catch up on The Bachelorette…”

Alright. Three jokes.

You hang up and slide the phone back across your nightstand; roll over and stuff a pillow between your thighs as if that’ll do anything against the dull throb gnawing at your belly. Your shades are tilted upward, shrinking your bedroom into a foggy gray save for the shards of light which split across the ceiling.

There’s a heavy ache tugging behind your eyes, an irritating weight which shoves you into the arms of sleep and then pulls you back by the hair before you’re taken off by it. You’re dozing, fingertips massaging your eyelids and stretching the skin back and forth when the doorbell slices the stillness of your apartment in two, shrill in your sleep-deprived ears.

You ignore it at first. Fuck that. Fuck whoever that is. You’re not planning on leaving your cocoon today unless it’s to go pee, grab a snack, or maybe if you lose the remote in your sheets.

But it rings out again. Twice, this time. And in a blur of hormonal rage, you whip the sheets back, throw yourself out of bed and stagger down the hallway. You straighten up only enough to peer through the peephole, your palms pressed to the back of the door, and that’s when you see him.

He’s cradling a brown bag in his left arm, a second dangling from his wrist. His head is huge in comparison to his body, owing to the distorted fisheye glass. He shifts from foot to foot impatiently, awkwardly glancing down the hall. You’d recognize that jawline fucking anywhere.

Your breath pushes nervously against the door. You click the lock and curl around the heavy wood, your fingers clamping on the edge.

The two of you eye one another up and down before Joel speaks.

“Hi, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Martha said you were sick?”

You pause. Look down to the bunch of wild flowers sat in the crook of his elbow, and then back up to his face, painted with – what is it – concern? There are lines you rarely see when he’s looking at you, carved deep between his brows.

A fire strikes in your belly.

“…I’m fine. I’m – I’m all good. Just – feeling a little…”

“What is it? Is it the flu? I brought flu stuff.” He nods into the bag, and reaches inside for a box of cold tablets and a pack of tissues. He tosses them across the threshold and you catch them, holding them close against your shoulder.

You smile, trying to hold back on a laugh, but also because what the fuck? He’s so sweet. The flames lick at the bottom of your lungs.

“It’s not…it’s not the flu, no.”

Joel nods, looking back into the bag. “Good thing I also brought these, then.”

He tilts it forward and you unhook from the door, leaning over to peer in. A box of Tampax, two bottles of painkillers, green packets of face masks and floral sachets of herbal teas. You fish one out.

“Chamomile,” you muse, pouting.

He shrugs. “Lady at the store said it’s a good muscle relaxant, I don’t know.”

���Don’t you have a meeting today?”

“Cancelled it. You freaked me out.”

Your heart knocks on your chest wall. Did you fucking hear that? You freaked him out. You gulp in response. Swallow hard to shut it the hell up.

“So, Martha’s in the office by herself?”

“She’s a big girl. Told her she could leave early if she got my to-do list done. I give it until one,” he mutters, glancing down at his watch. “Oh,” he says then, spotting the brush of green and burst of purple in his arm, “got you these. I don’t know what you like yet, but…”

Yet. Yet yet yet.

You take the posy delicately between your fingers, as if it might fall apart at the mere touch of your hand. The brown paper crinkles as it lifts from Joel’s arm, and you tilt them in the hallway’s milky light.

The sprigs shoot in wild directions, tangling and twisting around one another. Daisies, lazy in their climb, swirling around the gentle brush of lavender, wrapped tightly to some other flower you don’t recognize. They’re tied together in a neat, white lace bow.

You imagine Joel stood in the middle of some fragrant florist, rotating on the spot. Dumbfounded before some assistant in a flowing skirt and tinkling bracelets sweeps over to him. I don’t know what she likes – yet, he tells them. And your heart screams into the pillow of muscle surrounding it.

“Thank you.” The smile on your lips threatens to break into a grin. At the same time, a shot of pain rips across your belly. “Come in,” you groan through a wince, taking his shirt in your fist and pulling him inside.

Your apartment is probably a couple years too small for you. You’ve accumulated so much in the time you’ve lived here that you could do with finding a bigger place – but you’re comfortable. It feels like home, when nowhere did for so long. It’s snug, and humble, and as you lead him down your hallway, you imagine you’re feeling how Joel probably did when he showed you around his childhood home.

Your cheeks flush with something a little blunter than embarrassment, but prickled with nerves. Your living room rolls its eyes inward, every object looking over in suspicion and wonder. Who the hell is this man, in your space, armed with toiletries and a ten-grand watch on his wrist?

You pause by the sink, filling a glass with water for the flowers. Your teeth bite down on your lip. There are dishes on the counter, there’s laundry piled on stools, blankets and cushions strewn messily across your couch. Joel shakes his head when you apologize, holds a palm up when you try to explain how you’d gotten home from work last night and gone straight to bed. I haven’t had the energy to clean.

He won’t hear it. Says he’s not here to see your clean apartment. Here to see you.

He sets the bags on the worktop and looks around the room. Blinks from the sheer curtains guarding the balcony doors, to the pastel candles on your coffee table. Smiles when he notices the Pretty Woman poster framed above the couch.

“What?” you ask, when his eyes finally land back on you. You tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it further down your bare thighs.

“Nothin’. Just – knew there was somethin’ more to you.”

You fold your arms and rock forward gently on the balls of your feet. Your head tilts. Your brows knit.

Joel clarifies, “I knew you weren’t as put together as you pretend to be at work. This – looks like your place. That’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? ‘n what does my place look like?

His cheeks lift. “Little all over the place. Little surprising. But bright. Cozy. You.”

“Bright ‘n cozy,” you echo.

He nods. Purses his lips, then adds, “And great in bed.”

You cough a laugh, reach out to shove his arm, and he catches your hand. He reels you in against his body and cups your head, fixing some flyaway strands of hair. You stare up at him, eyelashes slowly blinking him in and out of focus. His mottled beard and hazel eyes. The flecks of honeydew and amber swimming around his pupil. His shirt wrinkles beneath your chin.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rumbling through his chest. You seem to understand the vibrations sooner than the words, these days. He reaches for the handles of the white bag, sliding it over towards you. “I brought lunch.”

“You brought lunch.” You scoff, grinning to yourself. It quickly fades, though, when your hand lowers into the bag and meets a warm, flat surface – two halves of a folded lid. Your brows pull. “You brought…”

Joel smiles as you lift the box, popping it open. Hot steam escapes the minute the lid folds back.

“Chinese okay? I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise by callin’ to ask what you wanted. I can run out and grab somethin’ else if you’re not –”

“How did you know to get…?” Your voice whittles to nothing as you stare down at the fresh-cooked meal, the bed of greasy noodles mixed with fried vegetables. Your tongue swipes at the corners of your mouth.

“’cause I know you,” Joel says, digging for a second box from the bag. “Anytime you’re stressed with work, anytime I give you a hard day, that’s what you order in for lunch, right?” He nods to the container as he tosses an egg roll into his mouth.

You giggle, lifting the box to hide your swollen cheeks. Your heartbeat hammers below your jaw.

“Right?” Joel laughs. “Chow mein? I’m right, ain’t I? You know I’m right.”

He nudges against you, taking his own lunch from the bag, and casts a familiar glance – the same one you saw a few days ago in Lavender Oaks. Like the decades-old mask slips just for a second and suddenly, a younger, shyer Joel shines through. He’s almost imperceptible, almost concealed by the cocky smirk and witty remarks of his older self, but you’ve seen him once, and now – he’s impossible to lose sight of.

“You’re weird,” you note, spinning off towards your bedroom.

Joel’s hot at your heels. “I’m weird?”

“Uhuh. For noticing that.”

He snorts, and then you feel a slap to your ass cheek. “Nice underwear, by the way. Who’d you steal them from?” he murmurs close to your ear, averting your gaze when you turn back, beaming.

You pad across the soft rug to your bed, dropping down and pulling the sheets back to make room for Joel. He’s setting his food down. You think to offer him a change of clothes – something more comfortable than a dress shirt and suit trousers – but the best you’d have is an oversized tee, and not much else.

The thought almost dizzies you. Joel, in his boxers and a t-shirt from your wardrobe. A shirt that smells like you, feels like you, belongs to you. A piece of you, hung from his shoulders like it was always meant to be shared between you. The way it’d still smell of him even after the sun had set and he’d peeled it from his body, folded it into a pile at the end of your bed and left in his button up.

He sits on the edge of your mattress to kick his shoes off, and marvels some more at the room just like he did in the kitchen. The fire in your chest is slowly turning your lungs to ash, stealing breath each time his dimples appear – squinting at the framed photographs on your dresser, tilting his head to read the titles of the books on your shelves.

When he catches sight of the paint-splattered easel in the corner, he turns back. Your eyes are already locked back on your chow mein, refusing to meet his. He doesn’t say anything. Just shuffles up against the headboard, nudges your knee with his own.

“You get that at the concert?” he asks, eyes a little south of yours.

You glance down. You’re wearing an old Queen tour tee, graphic print accompanied by 1986 in multicolored lettering. A little before your grand entrance on the planet. A little after Joel’s.

“Rod’s Retro, eastside,” you reply. “You find some cool stuff in there, Mr. CEO.”

Joel’s chin lifts, considering. “Hm,” he says, “you gonna take me someday?”

You nod. Maybe a little too eagerly. It doesn’t feel like you ought to care. “Um, yes. You would fucking love it. Half my wardrobe is thrifted.”

He nods once – banking the information. “Every day, I learn somethin’ new.”

“Shut up,” you quip, kicking him gently. “How come I never get to learn anything new about you?”

He shrugs, chewing. “Self-absorbed.”

You kick him for real this time. He laughs into his takeout box.

“I’m messing with you. You know plenty about me. You met my mom the other day, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Not enough. Don’t know where you get all your clothes from, or what your comfort food is.”

He replies through a mouthful of chop suey. “Then, ask.”

Your voice is high, defensive. “No. That’s too easy.”

Joel snorts.

You reach for the remote and click the screen opposite to life. Joel lifts his arm to let you sink against his body, and you flick through the channels. Shark Tank, Grey’s Anatomy, Wendy fucking Williams, and then –

You gasp. Joel looks up from his food. His brows arch, eyes flitting from you to the screen. You swear a groan escapes from his lips. You feel the thunder against your ear.

“You ever seen it?”

“Dirty Dancing? Yeah, I’ve seen Dirty Dancing, pretty girl.”

“You probably saw it at the movies, right? When it came out? In the eighties?”

“Careful.”

You smile. “What did you think of it?”

Joel’s shoulders lift. His eyes are back on the screen. Be My Baby is crooning from the TV. “I liked Patrick Swayze,” he says.

You watch him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you lean closer. “You…you liked Patrick Swayze?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, like it’s obvious. He turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “He was cool. You don’t like ‘im in it?”

“No, I like Patrick Swayze,” you tell him. “Just…if that’s all you like about it, then…we might have a problem.”

He scoffs. “I don’t remember much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Good. We’re watching it.”

Your head moves with his chest as he sucks in a deep, defeated breath. “Baby, I –”

“Ah,” you tap the remote on his knuckles, “you remember the Baby part.”

With a laugh which sounds an awful lot like approval and a grunt which sounds an awful lot like Alright, Joel sinks lower into the mattress. You drape your legs across his, and when he finishes eating, his fingers draw round shapes on your hot skin, daring past the hem of his own boxers on your thighs.

Somewhere around the lake scene, you notice your hand intertwined with his. Locked together, surfing over one another, squeezing and then loosening. Tracing the curve of each other’s palms and learning the lines scored into the skin. Fingertips becoming fluent in the landscape of one another’s bodies. Mapping them, like you’re afraid to forget.

Your eyes glass over, whether from fatigue, or from the now smoldering fire inside you, or from something harder to pinpoint. Your head feels heavy, leaning on Joel’s chest, listening to the drum of his heart against your ear. It sounds familiar, like you’ve known it forever. Like you can almost hear the whisperings between the soft thudding.

You start when you feel him moving beneath you. He groans, stretches his arms, and then snakes them around your body. The end credits are rolling. The movie’s over. You weren’t asleep, but you missed half of it. Your mind elsewhere – though you have no idea where.

Maybe you do. Maybe that’s not something you can bear – yet. Yet yet yet.

You crane your neck and look up to your boss. He’s already staring right back at you. His eyes widen.

“What did you think?” you ask sleepily.

He sniffs. “It’s good. Very politically charged. Lotsa Swayze.”

Your lips curve, cheek nuzzles into his shirt. “Very us, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Especially that part in the water. When he –” his arms lift, holding an invisible Baby up – “y’know? You ‘n me, we do that all the time.”

“I hate you.”

He tightens his grip around your shoulders and lifts you closer, smiling. You think, when his eyes dart for half a second to your lips, that he might kiss you. You think you want him to. But he simply asks, “You want some tea?” and reaches over to swipe the empty containers from your nightstand.

You nod. “I’ll come help.”

“I got it,” he assures in that Southern gentleman tone, steady hand on your thigh as he slips out of bed.

“You don’t even know where the mugs are.”

Joel considers this for all of five seconds. Shrugs. Tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” and disappears through to the kitchen.

You lay back and close your eyes, counting each cupboard door opening and then immediately falling shut as he makes his way around the place, seeking out your collection of mugs. When he eventually opens what must be the right one, you hear him exclaim.

“Ha! First try.”

You snort, bleary eyes opening again to focus on the TV. They’re discussing the Kardashians on The View. Your eyebrows lift in agreement as if you’re sat in the studio with them. They move on to some segment on the president.

Joel returns a few minutes later, two mugs in hand, and passes you the one shaped like a ghost.

“Cute,” you whisper, taking it in both hands.

He flashes you a proud grin as he lays back down, sipping on a black coffee in a faded mug your mom gave you years ago.

You tap your nail against the ceramic in his hands. “World’s Best Daughter.”

“That’s me,” he replies, propping himself up on an elbow. “Your mom get you it?”

Your head drops, eyes staring at him from under low brows. “No. My fucking neighbor did.”

He stares back as he lifts the mug to his lips. They melt in a kiss against the ceramic. When he pulls it away again, he swallows, and says, “You’re close to her.”

“My neighbor? Yeah, she lives right next door.”

“Easy, smartass.”

You flash him a smug grin, which dissolves as quickly as you notice his eyes lingering on the half-heart charm around your neck. By instinct, your fingers clutch the smooth gold, as if protecting the smallest part of yourself from him. The only part you’ve never let him in on.

But there’s something in his eye – something that feels less like a spotlight and more like a warm fire. Sharing secrets muted by the sputtering of wood, held safely by the round rusty glow of the flames. Something kinder. Something protective.

“Yeah,” you say, voice crackling, “we’re closer ‘n anyone. Been through a lot together.”

Joel nods. He knew that already. “I’ll bet, pretty girl.”

And in typical Joel fashion, he doesn’t press for any more than you willingly offer. A part of you kind of wants him to ask more, wants him to push you. A weight jumps at the bottom of your chest, like the words fail to launch. And before you can retry, before you can confess more of yourself into his hands, he says –

“Ask me som’.”

You stall, and look at him intently. “What?”

“Anything you want. Free pass.”

Your cheeks swell. “What do you mean?”

 “If we’re sharin’ things, ‘s only fair we both do.”

“I don’t – We don’t have to –”

“Ask me,” he says slowly, eyebrows twitching.

“O-kay…”

You push a deep breath from your lips, cheeks globing as you scan around the room for inspiration. Something casual enough that you can ask it with ease, but deep enough that he’ll give you an answer worth sinking your teeth into. Something you don’t know about him; light enough to roll off your tongue, and then heavy when it lands in your palms.

Your gaze orbits back to his patient form and you ask, “How did you get the money to start your company?”

Joel seems to feel the weight of it when he catches it. Heavy, rather than light. Deep, rather than casual. He opens his mouth, runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he answers. “My, uh…my dad. He had a little bit of money.”

“He invest in it?”

“No, no. He, uh…he left it when he died.”

Your lips pull in a wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and Joel looks up.

“’s okay, baby,” he replies, with a soft chuckle that makes the loose collar of his shirt quiver. He pushes some hair out of your face, settles his hand on your knee.

You hook two fingers around his thumb. He squeezes lightly.

“He musta loved you a lot. Leavin’ you so much.”

Another deep breath. His body stiffens. You think to unlock your fingers and take his hand properly, comfort him, maybe – but he’s already lifting it, scratching his beard with his thumb. He watches a bubble swirl around in his mug until it disappears with a pop into the dark coffee, and he finally looks up.

“It’s kinda…complicated. He and my mom – they were married for years, ‘n he ended up…” Joel swallows. His jaw clenches. “He cheated on her. Had this mistress for months. Mom found out through a friend of hers. She kicked him out of the house, but they never divorced. Just stayed separated until he died, ‘n then he left all his money to her.”

“To your mom?”

Joel nods. “She didn’t want a penny of it. Hated the man ‘til the day he died ‘n beyond.”

And you believe it. Ruth Miller was kind, warm and charming to you. She laughed with you, she smiled like she’d known you her whole life, she held your hands and she whispered secrets about Joel in your ear – purposefully to embarrass him, to make that bashful side turn its head again.

But she was sharp. She was quick, and you knew within the first five minutes of meeting her exactly where Joel got his wit and his mind. You can see her, clear as day, guarding the front porch of that little white house – one hand on her hip and the other pointing in the direction her cheating husband was to head.

Just as clear, you can see her stood over that same husband’s grave, waving her fist and tearing his will into confetti. It brings something of a smile to your face. Sad, sympathetic, but…impressed.

“Wow…So she – she gave it to you? And you – put it into the company?”

He shrugs, grip tightening around the mug. “When I started makin’ money, I paid off the mortgage on her house, managed to convince her to retire early. Got her into a good retirement home, once she was ready for it.”

Smart guy.

A calm quiet falls between you. Joel turns to watch the commercials on TV. Your chest fills with a need to ask him something – a feeling all too familiar whenever you’re around him. Only him. A weight on your mind, a bubbling which starts in your stomach and rises up until it’s practically pushing the words out over your tongue.

“Your dad – how do you not hate him?”

He turns back. Your eyes are stinging. He notices. Holds his palm out, and your fingers instantly lace through his. Your nails find those same valleys, the grooves you’d traced while Swayze and Grey mamboed.

Joel stares up at you, face suddenly tight with worry. He knows there’s something loaded behind your question. Knows you’re asking for something more than another jigsaw piece of him. You’re doing it again. You’re freakin’ him out.

“I…” He falls quiet, looks between your eyes at the pearly tears which form in the corners, the way your face sets to stone. He glances down at your necklace again, and shakes his head softly. “I spent a long time hatin’ him, baby. Changed nothin’. He did what he did. He was a scumbag.”

The answer melts your angry frame, body folding and sinking further into your pillows. You tug the bedsheet a little closer to your chin, press your lips into the top of the ceramic ghost’s head.

Your voice sounds small, sounds like it doesn’t even come from your chest, when you say, “I think I hate my dad. For what he did.”

Joel finally relaxes. Like he’s finally seen the tiny creature casting the huge, stretched shadow on the wall. “You…Yeah?”

You nod. Stare at the cotton mountain of your legs entangled in his. “Yeah. He just up ‘n left, when things got boring. When I grew up, and my mom got older. Just packed his car, and…I always wonder –” a breath lurches from your chest, “– I always wonder why I wasn’t worth stickin’ around for. Why he just – decided one day to…”

Your voice fails to carry. Joel knows the end of the sentence, anyway.

You’ve never told anybody any of this. Not Blake, not your mom, not any of your friends; you barely even know in yourself how you feel about it – even twelve years later. But the air in the room feels different – feels thicker, like you’re tucked away from the world. The conversation won’t leave your apartment, you know that much. Know that Joel wouldn’t speak of it again, wouldn’t so much as let it cross his own mind, if you asked him not to. And so you let the words tumble from your tongue, let them sit heavy in the space between you.

The space between you, which is now silent, like you’re both preoccupied. Joel, taking in the weight of what you’ve said into strong, safe hands; and you, feeling that same weight lift off of your chest. Until the silence itself feels clunky, and awkward, and you scram to find something to break it up.

“Anyway. Sorry to be a bummer.”

“You ain’t a bummer. Are you kidding?” Joel sighs. “I’m sorry, babygirl. Sorry that happened to you.”

“’s okay. He was just a scumbag, right?”

“Sure sounds it.”

You take a small sip, the tea sugarcoating your lips and flooding over your tongue – the sweet taste ridding them of the bitter memory of your dad. “Your turn,” you hum.

Joel’s head jerks. “No, darlin’, you already told me somethin’. You go again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I’m changin’ the rules.”

You try to protest, manage the sound Jo– before his hand lifts and he shushes you.

“That’s what I was gonna ask, anyways. Was gonna ask about you ‘n your dad. Now, go.”

He’s lying. You know it, and you suspect he knows you know it, too. It’s a terrible attempt at a lie, no matter how kind it is. But you’re too tired, a little too in pain to argue back over it. And he’s looking at you again, with that honeycomb twinkle in his eye, that Joel look which stirs something in you every time he shows you it.

You sigh, accepting defeat, and rack your brain for something else you want him to talk about.

“Alright, uh…What about your brother? He didn’t want any of your dad’s money?”

Joel’s face twists into something of a grimace. You instantly regret bringing it up.

“Touchy subject?” you ask, already coming up with five new, two-dimensional questions to ask in place of that one. Who was your first kiss and what was your first car and when did you find your first gray hair and what’s your mom’s maiden name and –

But you don’t need them.

Joel says, “Not with you,” and tilts his head, like measuring up his answer. He takes his time letting it filter down to his lips, and you reckon you’ve a good idea of why.

He was closed-off about it in Paris. About his brother. Didn’t say more than three sentences about him. And that was only where a sheep farm was considered. What you’re asking about right now is a hell of a lot deeper and a hell of a lot more difficult than a ranch in the Texan countryside.

“He was always closer to Dad. They used to go out huntin’ every Sunday. Liked the same music, watched the same TV. They were buddies, more ‘n anything. When it turned out my dad had this whole other life behind our backs – behind Tommy’s back – he flipped. Couldn’t take it. He disappeared, never looked back. Just packed his car, moved across the country.”

He’s staring at the TV now, barely blinking. Barely breathing, until you speak and it’s like he remembers he’s in your apartment, on your bed, with you. Not back in time twenty years, watching the dust kick up from under his little brother’s tires.

“He must’ve been pretty mad.”

“Yeah. Tommy’s like that, he’s got a hot head on his shoulders. But it meant leavin’ Mom, y’know? She went through all of that without him. I had to pick up all these broken pieces, juggle all this stuff, ‘n he just got to walk away from it all. And then, when Dad died, he refused to come back still. Left me to organize everything – the money, the funeral. The whole damn thing.”

He flicks his head, resentfully, like trying to dislodge the memory from his mind. Trying to shake it free. When you speak, it seems to soften him. Seems to thaw whatever angry image was frozen behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that part sucks. I bet it was hard goin’ through all that without him.”

Joel’s head angles towards you. “Not any harder ‘n it was on you, goin’ through what you did.”

“Well…I know I would’ve found it easier if I had a brother or sister. Someone like me, someone who gets it, y’know?”

“Hm. We weren’t all that close to begin with, I guess.”

“You were close enough to want to buy a ranch together.”

He shakes his head again, this time refusing to let the idea in. Turning it away at the door.

“You miss him?”

“It my turn to ask somethin’ yet?” he asks, smiling.

But you’re feeling braver now. He’s answered everything up until now; it feels less like a game and more like…more like he wants to talk about it. Like it’s been pent up all this time and this is the first anyone’s brought it up. A relief to get it off his chest, if nothing else.

You ignore him. Press him. “Do you?”

Joel sighs deep enough that his coffee ripples a little in his mug, and then nods. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if we were on speaking terms, yeah.”

“So, call him. You have his number?”

“I ain’t gonna call him, baby.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Last I heard, ‘n it was a long time ago now – he was in Wyoming. Married, kid on the way.”

“Call him. You really gonna let that kid grow up without Uncle Joel around?”

“Uncle Joel,” he repeats, laughing now. “He does not want to hear from me, angel. Let it go.”

Joel turns the volume up and settles back into bed, pillows propped behind him. You pass him your empty mug and he slots it alongside his own. As the commercials end and Whoopi Goldberg flashes a grin into the camera, you give it one final shot.

“I’d give anything to have someone who knew and understood me as well as a brother might.”

His hand falls limp against your bedsheets, remote loose in his fingers. You lift his arm, nuzzling underneath it to lean your head by his heart, and he sighs.

Argument won.

“Too many big questions,” you mutter after a while, eyes clinging to the screen. “Ask me somethin’ stupid.”

“Somethin’ stupid,” Joel repeats, and you nod. “Alright. Who’d you lose your virginity to?”

You slap his chest. “Dirtbag!”

He chuckles. “Who was it? Blake?”

“No,” you reply.

“Damn. Who?”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see you.

But suddenly you feel the loose spaghetti straps of a slip dress over your shoulders, see the off-white glow of three-year-old sneakers crossed at your ankles, chipped pink fingernails tracing the blurry pastel shapes on floral bedsheets. A dry throat, the sanitized backwash of vodka and coke splashing across your tongue. A smash from downstairs – someone’s broken the host’s mom’s best vase.

“Was just this guy I slept with at a house party,” you tell Joel, clearing your throat. “Lisa Tait’s sweet sixteenth. We were in her bedroom, all of us, ‘n everyone started heading downstairs, ‘til it was just me ‘n this dude Jack laying on her bed.”

“You had sex on some other girl’s bed?”

You nod, cringing a little. “I wasn’t even friends with her. Wasn’t even friends with him. Just thought, fuck it. I didn’t wanna go into senior year a virgin ‘n neither did he, I guess.”

“How’d it go?”

The messy, uncomfortable thrusts between your legs. The hand shooting down to guide himself back in. The wet lips running along the shell of your ear, the acidic breath on your cheek. Is that good for you? Yeah, it’s good for me. You sure? I’m sure. Just hurry up.

“Lasted, like, four minutes, thirty seconds.”

Joel’s body jerks. You know he’s staring at the crown of your head. “You timed him?”

“No. He lasted as long as Paradise by Coldplay. It was playin’ downstairs in the living room.”

He tips his head back and laughs to the ceiling. You giggle into his shirt.

“Poor guy,” Joel says, rubbing your shoulder.

“Poor me, more like.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and pats your head. “Least you’re doin’ alright now.”

You push yourself up from his chest and glare at his satisfied smirk, dodging his thumb when it lifts to clip your chin. “Oh, you’re so smug about it.”

“Are you kidding? For lastin’ longer than five minutes? ‘course I am. Can make you come twice in that time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. Runs the tip of his tongue along his top lip, corners of his mouth twitching. Something sparks to life inside you.

Your knee lifts, reaching over his waist and planting into the mattress on the opposite side. Joel’s hands come to rest on your thighs, fingers slipping up beneath the black cotton and edging against your hipbones. You bend over him, lips running a wet trail from the base of his neck to his earlobe. His breath falters.

“Prove it, daddy,” you whisper, and his grip tightens.

“Baby,” he warns, voice suddenly sharper. “We don’t have to –”

You ignore him, holding him down by the shoulders. “I want to.”

“I’m just sayin’,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, “’s not why I came here. We can just hang out.”

“We are hanging out,” you tell him. “This is what we do.”

And he seems to agree. Or, at least, accepts defeat, in the form of rolling his hips upwards. His fingers slip through yours, locking at your knuckles, anchoring you to him. You grind against his belt buckle, the hard metal flat against your clit. Joel clocks you instantly.

He sits up. Holds you by the ass on his body until your center is flush with his. You feel him stir beneath your open legs.

He shifts to the edge of the bed, keeping you chest to chest in his lap. Your teeth grit against one another. His lips are warm, they still taste like coffee. You lick at the corners.

“Wanna make yourself feel good on me?” he asks.

A smile as sweet as sugar and laced with something darker spreads across your lips. “You’re best at it, right?”

Joel hums. “Alright,” he says, impressed. His chin lifts; he breathes a laugh as you pepper his jaw with kisses. “Take what you need, angel. ‘s all yours.”

Your knees spread wider. You push down on his swollen crotch, voice catching as he meets you halfway, bucking up into you again. Your clit throbs at the contact, forcing you back up off him.

“D-addy,” you choke, hands suddenly gripping his shoulders.

Joel’s stronger. He takes your waist and replaces you on his lap. “Shh,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “’s okay, baby. I got you. We’re gonna make you feel good together, alright? Here.”

He slides you over until your legs are either side of one of his, his thick thigh flat against your most sensitive spot. You dig your nails into his forearms, squeezing hard, but he doesn’t budge. Just looks up at you, holding you steady, and says –

“Go on. Ride it, babygirl.”

You move an inch. The rough fabric catches on the soft of Joel’s underwear. You gasp, relief mixing with arousal and spilling warm and soothing between your legs.

Joel squeezes your hips. “Do it, darlin’. Make yourself feel good. ‘m here, I’ll watch.”

The fabric beneath your pussy is soaked, probably dampening a mark into his pants – and you don’t fucking care. It feels good – the steady weight of him, lifting his thigh as you drag yourself along it, beginning to rock back and forth.

Your eyes are closed, head to the ceiling, grinding your core against his. You can feel him staring. Watching you, his gaze red hot on your already fevered skin. You collapse into him over and over, his body solid as a rock, letting yours fold against him. Liquid in pleasure and feeling.

Your eyes open a sliver and you smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel smirks. “You know how fucking perfect you look right now?”

You nod, forehead coming to lean heavily on his.

He bucks his leg, jaw tight. “How – fucking – beautiful you are? Making yourself come on daddy’s thigh?”

You inhale the words as he speaks them, swallowing them in gasps and parting your lips complacently for more. Keep going. Keep telling me –

“–you my good girl?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, legs starting to give.

“Gonna get me covered in you? Gonna come all fuckin’ over me, babygirl?”

“Daddy, I want –”

“Tell me,” he demands, “tell me what you want.”

His hands are clamped on your waist, guiding you – driving you, more than your weak hips are able to – holding you to him almost painfully. Your body circles messily, becoming sloppier the closer your orgasm draws, quivering when the feeling runs a delicate hand through your hair and plants wet kisses along your neck.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” you whine, body rocking again. Your hand lowers to cup the outline of him, rock-hard and restrained beneath linen. He shudders when you squeeze him – looks down to your small hand on the huge bulge in his trousers. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Your own eyes are stuck on the place where your bodies connect, writhing against one another – the wet seam of Joel’s underwear, the folds of his pant leg as you rut against him. Your empty cunt tightens, aching for more against his firm thigh.

“’m gonna, pretty girl,” he says, groaning as you palm him. “‘m gonna fuck you so good. Just give me one first, alright? Let me see you come for me.”

Your body jolts as you come. Hips lose their rhythm; arms lock tight around Joel’s shoulders. And all the while, his lips stay pressed against your ear.

“Look so good, baby,” he coos. “That feel good, angel? Yeah?”

As quickly as your orgasm sent you under, you’re pulling back. You haven’t even regained feeling between your legs, but you’re pushing yourself from his lap, separating your bodies.

Joel sits back, body lightweight when you tug on his wrists and drag him up to height in front of you. You’re backing up across the plush rug, his chest bumping against yours, your fingers fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Your back hits the bathroom door. Joel twists the handle.

You spill onto the cold tile, attached at the mouth, frantically tearing clothes from each other’s bodies. It’s desperate. It’s burning. It’s almost fucking painful, how bad you need him.

His hands run from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt, hauling it over your torso and tossing it to the counter. You peel the shirt from his shoulders and your bare chest meets his, his hands finding your hips again when he whips them from his sleeves. The white shirt drops to your damp floor, dark, wet marks spreading across the dress fabric.

“Shoot,” you mumble against his lips. “My – bad. Sorry.”

“Don’t – care,” Joel breathes, and his thumbs push beneath his waistband.

You spin on your heel, backing towards the shower and taking him by the jaw with you. He shoves the clothing down his legs, stepping out of them and catching you again in time to drag the underwear from your thighs.

You shift into the shower, both fully naked. Joel spins the nozzle and the warm water rains down between you. His chest quickly soaks, dark hair thicker and blacker, flat against his glistening skin. He tilts his head under the spray and soaks his hair – gives one heavy flick of the head like a wet dog, and you laugh as he pulls you in again.

His hands cup your face as he connects your lips, and then his right drifts down your neck and pushes your tit up, squeezing the sensitive skin in his palm and rolling your firm nipple between two fingers. He lets it drop, runs his hand delicately down your frame, following the curve of your waist to your hips. He cups between your legs.

You come up for air, a sudden realization over your head as though the water runs freezing cold. “Wait,” you start, “I gotta –”

But he’s rubbing gentle circles against your clit, slow, pacing you as the tide of your first orgasm disappears to sea. He doesn’t seem to know, yet – or if he does, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Joel –”

“I know,” he says, voice low and busy, but still – assuring. Unbothered. He moves his hand lower, surfing along your slit, until his fingers brush the wet string.

Your breathing jumps. He taps the seam of your thigh twice, and your leg tilts aside. Your eyes flit back up, crossing over his chest to fix on his jaw. You feel a flushing heat cross your cheeks, a moment’s hesitation before your fingers clamp around his wrist.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him over the running of the shower. He keeps his left hand on your jaw, his right between your legs. He shakes his head once, and takes the string in two fingers, and –

Gently pulls. Only a fraction, and then he pauses. Looks back up at you, a question in his stare.

You nod, exhaling heavily. He pulls again, and he doesn’t stop.

The tampon falls wet and heavy into his palm. His hand leaves your cheek and settles around your waist, leaning both of you out of the shower while he reaches for some toilet paper. Once it’s wrapped in a roll of white tissue and sat on your sink, he moves back into the cubicle.

He runs his palm under the flow; splashes of red swept up, watered down, and carried to the drain along with every last whispering of worry on your lips. Your elbows bend around his neck and he dips his head to kiss you, pushing you carefully into the corner.

“You tell me –” he kisses you, “– if it hurts or it gets too much, you tell me.” His body stands huge, blocking yours from the stream of water. Your back bumps against the shower wall; the shock of the cold tile pushes you closer to Joel.

“Just – fuck me.”

But he’s adamant. “You tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. You’ll know.”

“This is about you feelin’ good.”

“I’ll tell you,” you whine.

“We’re gonna have a word,” Joel instructs, lining up between your legs. He lifts your thigh to sit on his hip. “’n if you say it, I stop. Alright?”

You nod, fervently. “Please –”

His fingers separate your lips; his tip nudges your entrance. “Maple, alright? It gets too much, you say maple. You do that?”

“Joel, if you don’t –”

“Baby.”

“Maple,” you agree, “I’ll say it. Just –”

He pushes in without another word.

How many times has it been, by now? Ten? More than that? Enough for you to know in your mind, if not from trying to learn then simply from muscle memory, exactly how he feels. The curve of his cock, the width of the tip, the length of him as he slots deep inside you.

And yet – every fucking time – you feel so full. Full of him in every sense – your cunt, swollen around him, your lungs, breathing his scent, your every thought and feeling and sense replaced by Joel. Joel Joel Joel Joel –

He’s suffocating. And if you died right now – if you were smothered by him, swaddled until you couldn’t feel anything anymore – you’re not sure you’d be able to tell. Not sure you’d care enough to notice.

He pushes in slow, but deep. So fucking deep. Lets your walls expand around him the first few thrusts, lets your body welcome him back in. His lips press against your temple, his arms cradle your lower back. Your weight bears down on his shoulders and he lifts you, your other leg sitting on his waist. He holds your ass in both hands, begins to bounce you steadily.

“So good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me. You’re daddy’s girl, ain’t you?”

Your answer leaves your lips in the form of a moan. Something shaped like his name, or maybe some attempt at a response to his question, or maybe something more dangerous.

“My girl,” he repeats, whatever it was you said. “Daddy’s girl.”

Your head rolls back, cushioned by Joel’s hand between you and the tile wall. He knots his fingers in your hair, snaps his hips quick and hard, panting into your shoulder. And there’s a feeling – a stinging, a burning, sweeping across your eyes, and for a second you think it feels like shampoo, like the sharp scratch of soap between your lashes, until you realize it’s –

Tears. The heavy cut of tears, brimming your eyes. Blurring your vision. And with every thrust, every blissful meeting of Joel’s cock and your cervix, every inch he spreads you open wide – they form quicker, and quicker, and quicker. Until they spill down onto your cheeks, and you can’t tell the difference between them and the spray of the shower.

But Joel can. His head lifts from the crook of your neck, his teeth dragging from your skin. He spots your eyelashes, silky and wet, and in one motion, wraps his arm around your head, holds you with the inside of his elbow.

He dips his jaw, presses his lips featherlight to your cheeks, kisses the tears away as quickly as they roll down.

“I –” gasp, “– don’t know –” gasp, “– why I’m –”

Joel’s head shakes as he pulls away. Shuts you up. His answer is simple. You believe it instantly.

“’s okay. You’re okay.”

And right then – you think you understand.

Because you can see him – plain as day. You can see the amounts he cares for you, the limitless needs he can meet for you. There’s a warmth within you, spread throughout your body for him, and you have no fucking idea how to let him feel it. How to have it seep through your skin – so that every time his fingers ghost over your body, he’s met with a blaze strong enough to burn. A fire, big enough and bright enough that it shows him exactly how you feel.

Only him. No one else. A flame only he can see, dancing across your eyes when you look at him. A heat only he can feel. How do you make him feel it? How do you tell him? What combination of words might translate it?

It’s like slamming your fists against a glass barrier. A transparent wall, that allows you only to see him and draw near to him – never to feel him. Not really.

And so, you cry. You cry for him, for yourself. And Joel lets you.

For a little while.

His lips are back on your neck, biting marks into the soaking skin. “’attagirl,” he hums. It rattles your pulse, disturbs the rhythm and sends his own beating through your veins. “So good, baby.”

They soothe you – his lips, and the words which come from them. Soothe the sweet pain between your legs, the swollen ache every time Joel pushes into you. The stretch, the bruising tinge when his tip finds home in the deepest part of your body. Somewhere no one has ever reached, no one has ever found. No one, you feel, has ever been worthy enough to know.

Until him. Until Joel.

That same rhythm – your pulse on his wavelength – begins to flee south. Loops and swirls and dives to where his body connects with yours. Tightens rapidly around your cunt. Your hips grind against his, your thighs clamp on his waist. He starts to falter, hips slipping whether from blood or come or water. And then he’s growling, face burying into your chest as he steadies the two of you with an abrupt palm on the wall, and he stills.

The feeling of his release tips you over. The warmth spreading inside, so far you feel him in your stomach. Your walls contract around him, squeezing until every last drop of him is buried somewhere in you, and you lower one foot to the shower floor.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants, pulling his lips from your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, head rolling against the wall behind. You’re not crying anymore. The shower whirrs somewhere over Joel’s shoulder. Your chest feels tight. And you feel fucking euphoric.

He gives three more lazy, broken thrusts, pushing his come deeper inside. You both still, mouths curved open, exchanging breath and letting your tongues flick idly against one another.

You hold onto him long after your orgasm is shallow ripples between your legs. Long after the feeling has washed back into the ocean, your high a glimmer of sunlight bursting over the distant horizon, the aftereffects painting your world golden.

You hold onto him, and you let him run his hands slowly up and down your spine, and you sift your weak fingers through his dark hair, and you let him kiss your neck and your shoulders and your collarbones. He leans back; the flow of water cascades between you, carrying away any mess left on your bodies.

And then you let him carry you out of the shower, his tip still inside you, slowly softening. He settles you carefully against your counter, and reaches over for two white towels, caping one around your shoulders and using it to draw your body against his own.

You take the corners from his fingers and he lifts your chin, pushing your lips apart with his tongue. Then he pulls away, allows you to wrap the terry around yourself.

Joel wraps his own towel around his waist, slung loose enough that you can trace the dark hair peppered from his belly button down between his hips.

“You know how inappropriate it is to look at your boss like that?” he tuts.

You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back in. “Then stop lookin’ at me the way you do,” you tease, and he kisses your cheek.

He disappears through to your kitchen, reappears moments later with the box of Tampax, and you don’t even think to laugh or tell him you’ve an open box sat in the cupboard you’re leaning against. You just smile, and accept the clean tampon he holds out in his fingers. He leaves you to get dressed with the door closed over.

He’s sat on your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, holding his soaking shirt between two fingers. “Sorry about, uh…”

“’s alright,” he shrugs, standing up, “I’ll take it from your paycheck.”

His knuckles pinch your nose. You free yourself to place a chaste kiss on his fingers, and pass him the crinkled mess.

“I have something that’ll fit you somewhere,” you mutter, slipping past him as he hangs the shirt by the collar over your door.

“Do me a favor,” Joel’s voice follows, and he takes your wrist. You turn back to face him. “Catch your breath.”

“Huh?” you ask, and his hand comes up to mold around your cheek, the way it always fucking does. As if your bodies were made to be held by one another.

“Just – take a breath. You’re doin’ it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Movin’ at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe for me.”

You scoff, loosening yourself from his grasp to go sift through your wardrobe for something big enough for him. You settle for a Jurassic Park tee – logo faded and cracked, hem a little ragged.

“Rod’s?” he asks, holding the shirt up.

You’re already collapsing onto the mattress. “You bet.”

Joel smirks and tugs it over his head, throwing himself down against the headboard. Your hand wraps around his thigh, lips press soft kisses on the skin. He runs his hand over your hair.

“Are you gonna take a sick day off me for this?” you ask.

He shakes his head simply. “Doctor’s orders. Can’t say nothin’ to that.”

“I didn’t go to the doc–”

His thumb presses against your lips. “You don’t know when to fuckin’ lie, do you?” he whispers. “’s alright, we’ll getcha trained up.”

You snort, shaking yourself free of his hand. Your head settles by his hip, nails draw aimless patterns along the curve of his stomach.

“Need you better by Sunday, anyway,” Joel sighs, “Martha’s son’s birthday party.”

You grunt in response. You forgot about that.

Joel tuts. “Still gotta find him a present. How in the hell do I know what to buy a twelve-year-old?”

Your hand pauses. Neck cranes up to look at him. He’s staring down at you, his trademark glower still recognizable even upside down. Somehow, not sat upright in front of him, the thought seems less scary. Less of a commitment, more a casual suggestion.

“Why don’t we just get ‘im a joint one?”

The hard expression immediately wipes from his face. Replaced by something rounder. He blinks at you. “Really? From – you ‘n me?”

You shrug against his waist. It’s not answer enough for him.

“As in, you n’ me?” he asks.

“Why not?”

Joel’s head shakes. His mouth curves as he considers the thought. But he can’t mask the pang it sends through his body; can’t pretend he’s not covering the way his veins light and his nerves stand to attention by taking your hand in his and squeezing it briskly.

It doesn’t have to mean something. You, Joel, and Deb are the only people from work that Martha invited, and Deb’s bringing her two sons, which means her gift will be from them, too. All it has to mean is that you’re Martha’s co-workers, and figured it’d be cheaper and easier to get one gift over two.

Except – one of you is a millionaire.

It means something. The fact you asked. You’re not asking to save a buck, to make it simpler. You’re asking because you want to wrap some video game in paper Joel picked out; you want him to hold the folds down with one finger while you tear tape with your teeth. You want to sign the card with both of your names, in your handwriting. See how they look paired up.

You ask him because you want to feel the way you think you ought to have felt this entire time. Your body is ablaze. You’re ready to let him feel it. And you ‘n me seems like a pretty good combination of words to start with.

You’re ready. And that’s why you ask him.

Joel’s quiet for as long as you are. You both go to talk at the same time, both noticing how silent the room has fallen while you realize all of those things in real time.

“Sorry, baby, you go,” Joel says, sniffing.

“No, I was just – no, you go. What were you gonna say?”

He smiles. “Was just – wonderin’ what you wanted to get Alan.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and then you pause. “Al–? What?”

“What you wanted to get ‘im,” Joel repeats.

You push yourself up, lean on one hip in front of him. “Yeah, I heard that part. What did you call him?”

“Alan?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel stares right back. “Martha’s son.”

“Martha’s son’s name is Henry.”

“No, it fuckin’ ain’t.”

You’re biting back a laugh. “Yes, it fuckin’ is.”

“She calls him Little Al. All the damn time, baby, he’s –”

“That’s because he acts like Alan. Her husband. His father. All the damn time. You gotta be messing with me. Have you been calling him Alan the entire time he’s been alive?”

“No.”

His expression tells you yes.

You’re laughing now. Really laughing. It breaks your words in two, your head tilting back to the ceiling. “You…idiot.”

Joel’s struggling to compose himself, sliding off the bed. “The email she sent out says Alan’s Twelfth Birthday. The hell’s my phone?”

“You think she had a kid in two thousand eleven, and named it Alan? You don’t think they’d call Child Protection on her for that?”

He points a finger, tossing pillows to the bottom of your bed. “That’s disrespectful to the Alans of the world. Where the fuck is my –?”

Your chest swells in a giggle, eyes start to sting with tears. “What do you write in her Christmas cards? To Martha, Alan, and Alan?”

You slap the bed, leaning forward with a deep gasp, trying to catch your fucking breath. Joel’s still stripping the bed, still keeping his own laughter deep in his chest, but it’s quickly crumbling.

“Her email –” he chuckles, “– says Alan’s Twel–”

“She’s fucking with you!” you holler, catching the pillows he throws to you. “She’s fucking with – I’m gonna piss my pants. Martha, Alan, and Alan, oh my fucking –”

“Here,” he finally throws you the phone, “go find it. Find the email. Search the damn word Alan; she uses it every time she talks about him. Jesus Christ, I need a coffee. You want another chamomile tea, Little Miss Smartass?”

He lifts your mug and tilts it in your direction. You nod as you reach for the phone, wiping tears from your cheeks. Joel disappears through to the kitchen.

He clued you in on his passcode a few months after you started. You were still in the office past five o’clock, looking out files he needed for some client visit the following morning. His phone had buzzed, you were nearest it. He lifted his head and nodded to the lit screen.

1-6-9-1, he told you.

It finally made sense only a few days ago, after three years of wondering. Three years of knowing and never asking; a mystery solved. 1691 Maple.

His background was always one of the standard ones. The boring ones. A soft, blue gradient. Usually, his lock screen was too populated by notifications for you to even notice.

But now – it’s changed.

Now, it’s a photo of the view from the terrace in Paris. The pale sunset, faded blue into sweet yellow. The Eiffel Tower carved out in the center. You suck in a deep breath as you swipe texts and emails away to properly study it, figure out exactly where he was standing to take it, and exactly where you might’ve been when he did.

You tap in the four digits and his home screen lays out before you. Only, the background is different – again.

It’s Paris, still, but indoors. Dark wall, an ornate frame pinned to it, housing an amused smirk and soft hands. She’s looking off into the distance, past the photographer. Or maybe – she’s looking at you.

You, stood leaning on the barrier in front of her. The Mona Lisa. Your head tilted towards her, beaming like it’s a photo with your favorite celebrity.

It’s not a big deal. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s his home screen. Only visible if you know his password – and you’re fairly sure that you’re the only one who does. Not even Martha would know that this photo exists, never mind the fact that it’s his wallpaper. It’s not a big fucking deal.

No matter how much you think you want it to be.

You swiftly tap on the email app icon, trying to rid your mind of your own cheesing image. He has thirteen unread emails, all from the last hour. Some you know he’ll forward straight to you and Martha; others look a little more serious. As you’re scrolling down them, you notice a familiar face.

Denis Pelletier. His square-jawed grin flashes back at you from the tiny circle icon beside his name. You tap on the email, and your cheeks lift higher the further down it you read.

I hope your flight home was pleasant, and It was wonderful to take you both around Paris, and Your assistant was very sweet. You breathe a laugh, scrolling down the three-paragraph message urging Joel that if he’s ever back in Paris – if you’re ever back in Paris, both of you – to make sure you let the chauffeur know.

But there’s no email from Martha. At least, none in Joel’s inbox. You return out of the folder and wheel down to his Deleted folder, scrolling past password reset emails, panicked cries for help from Mackley and Tom, past order confirmations for brands you’ve never heard of, when –

A head of hair, more salt than pepper. A bright, unnerving smile, too many dazzling teeth in a mouth too small to house them. A pink sky behind him; candy floss clouds and townhouses glowing orange in the sunset – the building blocks of the Paris skyline.

Jean-Marc. An email – a deleted email – from Jean-Marc.

Dear Joel, It was such a pl… is all you can read from the preview. Your eyes flit up to your door. Joel’s still in the kitchen, humming. You glance back down to his phone.

Would it be invading his privacy? It’s only an email from Jean-Marc. It’s not like you don’t know who he is. What if your thumb slipped? Accidentally opened it? What if your eyes scanned over the text before you quickly swiped back out of the email?

There’s the sound of a drawer rolling closed. A spoon rattling against ceramic. He’s stirring your tea.

You click on the email.

It was such a pleasure to see you again.

You scan over the first paragraph. It’s just Jean-Marc cozying up to Joel. Your nose wrinkles and your lips turn.

I loved meeting your assistant, the next paragraph begins. And your focus is pulled.

I wonder if you had given our conversation any more thought? Whether she might be looking for a new challenge? Something this side of the Atlantic, perhaps?

Your heart skips a beat. A new challenge.

“You want the last egg roll?” Joel calls from the kitchen.

You jolt back to life. “N-no, you have it,” you reply. You hear the rustle of the bag.

I wonder if you might relay the message onto her, Jean-Marc continues. Please give her my email address and phone number.

You quickly pull the screen up, noting the date the message was sent. Three days after you got home from Paris. More than a week ago. You tap on Joel’s response as his footsteps creak back towards your bedroom.

His reply is as short and sweet as the few words he spoke to the Frenchman that Sunday morning.

I’ll pass on your details, he’s written, but unfortunately, my assistant is currently unavailable. Maybe sometime in the future.

Your jaw jerks. Eyes trace the words, over and over. Thumb scrolls up and down the email, making sure you’re reading it right. Joel, making promises he never followed through. Joel – your Joel, the one you pestered for fucking days after Paris over what he’d talked with Jean-Marc about – one hand laced through yours, the other with a vice grip around a secret he never intended to clue you in on.

You. He’d talked about you. They’d probably talked about you the entire fucking meeting, as soon as Joel mentioned you. You can see Jean-Marc’s ears twig; his eyebrows lift with interest. The way he sets his wine glass down, offers Joel another whiskey and invites him to say more.

Joel. Lying. And covering up. And keeping you close by his hip, walking in stride with him out of that fucking penthouse – like you’re on some kind of leash, or something.

The fabric of his underwear on your hips feels claustrophobic; a second layer of skin that rubs against yours like sandpaper. You want to rip them off off off – want to separate yourself from him, peel him from your body and forget the feeling of him as quickly as you seemed to absorb it. Instinct tells you to detach yourself – to remove any trace of him ever having laid eyes on you, never mind touched you.

What a fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t fucking care about you after all.

You don’t even notice when his form saunters back into the room, when he shoves the door closed with his elbow. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue, sour with disappointment. Acrid with anger. Sick with fear.

Unavail–?

“You find it?” he asks, and you subconsciously clutch the phone to your chest.

“Not yet,” you murmur, watching as he sets the mug back on your nightstand.

His fingers slip through the handle, knuckle nudges the temple of the ghost a little further along the surface, and he straightens, lifting his own mug to his lips.

“’s in there,” he says against the ceramic. He holds a hand out, curls his fingers. “Let’s see.”

“Never mind,” you say, tapping out of the email, out of the folder, out of the app. “I believe you.”

And then –

“…You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

He licks his lips. Holds the mug by his side, fingers gripping the lip. He gives a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

“No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?”

[leclsrc]

team effort ✴︎ cl16, cs55

genre: 18+, pwp (very little plot), filthy, fem!reader 

word count: 3.3k 

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but now you’re in-between your boyfriend and his teammate again. So really, maybe, this could become a regular thing. (sequel of sorts to this but can stand alone just fine)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… alright. a threesome, penetrative sex, anal sex, oral sex (M receiving), handjob (F receiving), double penetration (crowd leaves), dirty talk (degradation), crying, breeding, rough sex, size kink, requires suspension of belief regarding the inner workings of anal and positions apologies, spit kink (crowd leaves again)

probably the most requested thing i get, and i felt like practicing my pwp writing so—i hope you like it everyone! :) love auds

“Hey, you brought the pretty girl,” teases Carlos, a glass of alcohol in hand. He pushes it into Charles’ hand and you watch as your boyfriend takes a sip, vision semi-obstructed by how dark the place is. “Mind if I get a picture?”

“Course I did.” Charles smiles, and his left eye drops into a subtle wink. “And sure, she begged to come anyway.” His teammate laughs. “Nothing I haven’t heard before. Come say hi to the others.”

Your face turns hot when it registers what he’s just said, but it’s too late to get a quip in; a gentle hand at your waist is guiding you through the crowd of people, by the DJ booth, and into the seats just beside it populated by several familiar faces. You accept and return a few hellos and heeeys from Lando and Pierre, among others, and when a shot is offered to you by Danny, you take it.

Charles lets you wander around the area for a while to get used to the place, watches you laugh about something with Carmen and try your hand at the DJ table with Lando, combing your hair over to one side. You take a few shots because George feels like “letting loose” (he takes two). 

He sees a patch of concealer just below your collarbone; granted, it’d have been hidden if you were wearing something less low-cut than your dress right now, but he spots it and he immediately realizes what it is with an amused laugh.

When his eyes glide upward from your cleavage, he finds you’re already looking at him, eyes half-lidded and mouth tugged into a pretty smile. He sees you excuse yourself, walking right into his arms, pouting. He tips his glass over to your lips, pours some of his drink in.

“What’s the matter, baby? Wanna smoke?” He leans against the railing of the VIP area, seating himself there and pulling you close so you’re pressed up against him. You inhale his scent, his cologne, nip at his jaw. You always get so touchy when you’ve got some alcohol in you.

There’s a blunt or three being passed around, you smell it. “Nothing. I think ‘m getting a little tipsy, I don’t want to crossfade.” You blink and it’s like your eyelids are droopy with honey. The party’s thick with the heady scent of tequila, mixed perfume, weed, and saturated with heavy bass. If you’re totally honest you’ve lost track of time.

“There you are,” goes a voice, and you tense. 

“I was looking for you, too, mate.” Your boyfriend’s arm reaches to someone behind you and shakes. “Girlfriend’s feeling a bit tipsy.” He pulls his hand back in, rests it over your the small of your back. 

“You okay?” Carlos leans in, his voice hot against your ear. You blink, in a daze of tipsy and hot, nodding. You’re in between them now, still pressed against your boyfriend. Slowly, your head lolls onto Carlos’ shoulder, exposing your neck. If you stepped back just a bit, you realize—

—you’d feel Carlos’ dick pressed against your ass. “A little tired,” you say, opening your eyes to meet your boyfriend’s. Normally they’re green, but now they’re so dark you can barely tell. The limited lighting doesn’t help. Your knees are weak with the way you resist the urge to grind back onto Carlos, who’s laughing, observing your ditzy face. 

“Let’s get you out of here, huh?” Charles smiles. He’s always so sweet. Doing what you want, what you need, a nice guy in that respect. So he can take what he wants later. He and Carlos down the rest of their drinks, and they’re both ushering you out the back exit and directly into the parking lot.

It’s a direct replay of what happened a few months ago, and what happened a few times afterward. After dinners, races, nights out—it wasn’t too frequent, but enough that it became a thing. Enough, too, that you could grow antsy if it didn’t happen for too long. 

Your boyfriend brought a different car today, his Range Rover with a spacious backseat you’re being guided into. The lack of heavy bass and strobe lights help you feel more sober, but don’t help with the arousal at all. As you climb, your dress hikes up a bit, and Carlos catches a peek of your panties underneath, white and almost see-through, showing the outline of your pussy.

They’re on either side of you, your breath hitching when they lean in closer, lip caught between your teeth and eyes screwed shut. Your boyfriend’s hand grazes your thigh and you spread your legs, involuntary, sighing a low please. Please what, you don’t even know.

“You want this?” Charles asks. He takes things slowly, a dreamy smile on his face, eyebrows knitted together. His hand moves upward, and he runs a few teasing fingers over the lace of your white panties, pressing them harder until you’re starting to squirm, breathless ahs leaving your lips.

“Please,” you say, voice small and desperate. “Yes.”

Your approval makes them more excited; they’ve both missed this more than they’re willing to let on. Your mouth is half open, letting out noises, eyes half-open; Carlos wonders what you’d look like covered in cum. Both his and Charles’, splayed all over your pretty waiting face.

The first time this happened, Carlos watched for the most part. He’d been chained to the driver’s seat, listening to the wet noises of Charles’ fingers fucking into you. He made eye cotnact with you right as you came, a long, drawn-out moan leaving your mouth. He fucked you another time. And he’s missed the feeling. He’s missed the sight of your fucked-out face, moaning on his cock, or his teammate’s, or both.

You press your lips to Charles and he encourages you to part them, slowly deepening the kiss until you’re moaning into his mouth, hips bucking up into nothing. “Please,” you say, “give me something.” Anything, you’ll take anything.

Carlos brings two big fingers to his mouth, laves his tongue over them, and brings them to the apex of your thighs, pushing aside the lace and fucking them into you, one by one. You gasp into Charles’ mouth—his fingers are so thick, pumping in and out at a brutal pace without waiting for you to adjust to the strength. You whimper, breaking the kiss because everything’s too much, head leaning back and eyes meeting the grey ceiling of the car.

“God, she’s wet.” You hear the teasing smile without looking up. “And tight.”

“I know,” your boyfriend says, smiling as he sucks a hickey onto your throat. Your legs quiver. 

It’s Charles’ voice again, sweet and deep against your ear. “Feel good?”

“Yes,” you say, nodding eagerly, lifting your head up and looking right at him. 

“Thank him,” he orders. They always do this, make you talk and use your words when your brain is all scrambled and going a thousand different directions. It’s only worse when they start talking about you like you’re not there, using dirty words and sliding into native languages you can’t understand, but they can, and they laugh watching you whimper for more.

“Thank—thank you,” you whisper, turning from your boyfriend’s face to Carlos.

“You’re welcome, princesa. You’re going to make us feel good, too, right?”

You nod.

“Why don’t you start now?” The instruction comes from Charles and you follow suit, hands going from your sides to the tents in their jeans, grabbing at the huge bulges there. You’re losing grip, Carlos’ big fingers are moving faster, feeling your orgasm approach faster. 

Already? Shiiit, your boyfriend says with a low laugh. Go ahead and cum first, baby. Go ahead.

His words are so sweet, kissing up and down your neck, the stimulation pushing you further until you’re cumming from just two fingers. The messy squelch of Carlos’ fingers moving in and out of you gets them both so hard, aching to fuck you, take you apart, make your voice raw. Your moans grow louder and louder, legs trying to close around the hand in between them—they’re held open by two free hands and you have to lie there and take it.

“‘M cumming,” you gasp, tension bursting inside you, pussy contracting around Carlos’ digits. You squeeze at their bulges again, wishing you had the coherency to undo the buttons and the zips. They get the message, undoing their jeans just enough to pull out their cocks.

“Wanna suck you off,” you say, turning to Charles. Shyly, you add, “Both of you.”

The only way to do that is by kneeling on the limited floor space of the car. There’s not much space, and you shuffle around a few times, but eventually you find a position, legs folded and on your knees, in between the two of them.

They’re both looking down at you with dark eyes and devious, teasing grins that feel downright evil, hands wrapped loosely around their cocks. They jack themselves off a few times, and you hoist yourself up higher to watch closely, brows furrowed.

“Open your mouth,” Carlos says sharply, tone low and rushed. You obey, sticking your tongue out, and watch as he rubs the precum off his tip and onto your tongue. He laughs, looking at your boyfriend. “Look at that. Like that?”

“Yea,” you mutter, turning a bit to let your boyfriend to the same, letting your spit drip down from the tip so the glide is easier. He slaps your cheek with it, laughs at the way you pout, and advises Carlos to do the same. You turn again, taking Carlos into your mouth until he’s prodding at the back of your throat and it’s wet all over.

They love seeing you like this—with their precum being smeared al over your shiny, spit-covered cheeks and lips, tongue peeking out to get a taste every time they drag their cocks closer to your mouth. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Sucks dick like she was made for it,” Carlos says, punctuating his sentence with a quip in Italian. They both laugh as you gag around Charles’ dick, jerking Carlos off messily. You’re choking, precum coating the back of your throat and wrist wearing out.

“You look so pretty, baby.” Your boyfriend says, grunting with pleasure.

“Pretty lips, too, yeah?” Carlos says, his hand shadowing yours and making you jack him off faster.

“She can’t reply, Carlos. Too busy gagging on my dick,” Charles says, and your eyes well up with embarrassment that you’ve basically soaked through your panties from their words alone. You want them to cum, cover your lips and eyelashes with them so you can scoop it off and let them watch you swallow it. Be good for them, their good girl.

But they never like cumming if it’s not in you, or after they’ve been in you, so you anticipate the way you’re guided off your boyfriend’s cock by your hair. They tug your head backwards, a bit on the edge of roughly, exposing the column of your throat, littered with spit and lovebites.

Your pussy is getting wetter, dripping through your panties and onto your legs folded underneath. It’s the first thing they inspect when they heave you back into the middle of the backseat, bent over Carlos’ lap so your ass is on full display for Charles and, if he cranes his head, Carlos, too.

It’s humiliating. Your mind’s so hazy you can barely tell whose hands are whose, groping at your ass, pulling away the lace to reveal your puffy, wet cunt and letting the thin strip of fabric snap back to make you yelp. Two fingers push into you, going fast instantly until you’re sobbing for them to slow down. It’s Charles. You can tell because you feel the metal of his rings.

There’s a third at that point, stretching you out further, getting you even wetter and more desperate. You cum easily, overstimulated, tears rolling down your spit-streaked face as you quiver with it, blinking them away as you’re guided back into the middle. They maneuver themselves so they’re facing each other, your pussy right above Carlos’ tip, which is just beside your boyfriend’s.

You’re itching to sit yourself down, feel the familiar stretch of his dick, big and barely fitting when he stuffs himself inside you. It’s addictive. But there’s something Charles wants to do first, evident because he’s not yet letting you ride Carlos, his big hands bruising at your hips. “We’ve done enough to your pretty pussy, haven’t we? Your lips, too, that cute mouth.” He coos, almost. “But there’s something we haven’t even touched tonight, baby.”

Carlos’ hands spread your cheeks apart and Charles’ spit-soaked thumb rubs over your tight hole, causing you to shiver. Oh, God. You squirm above their laps, heart beating with nerves and arousal, pussy rubbing over the tips of their dicks as you go. “I’m nervous,” you whimper.

“Aw, go give Carlos a kiss,” your boyfriend says, his voice teasing and goading. You lean forward, slotting your mouth onto Carlos’ soft lips, parting them with your tongue immediately. He gets you all needy when you kiss him, smiling and enjoying your mindless, needy little grinds. As you kiss him, messy with spit and tongues colliding, you feel fingers teasing you again.

You whimper, Carlos’ hands roughly pulling the low-cut top of your dress down to grope at your tits, roughing them up, flicking your nipples. You moan out loud, caught up in the multiple sensations; your boyfriend loosens you up until his finger goes deep, deeper, bottoming out and stretching your ass out.

He collects some of your slick to lube another finger up, stuffing two into your tiny little hole. You gasp with the new feeling, lips open against Carlos’, who wraps a hand around your throat to guide you into kissing him again. Distractions. Pleasure.

“Jesus, she’s tight,” Charles says, not addressing you at all.

“She’s being really good for me up here,” Carlos replies, squeezing your tits. “Taking everything I give her.”

“Give me more,” you beg, licking over his lips until he’s parting them to kiss you messily all over again. You’re unaware, lost in the numb pleasure and dull painful stretch, that there are three buried in your ass now. He should prep more, Charles figures, but he’s impatient, just wanting to wreck you already, fuck moans out of you until you’re crying.

He nudges the tip of his dick against your ass, slipping the head in and listening to your ohhh as he goes, groaning. It hurts, Charles, you whisper, but your whine is swallowed into a kiss. 

“Relax, baby,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Just relax.”

You’re so tight, squeezing him so, so tight as he bottoms out.

You’re clenching around him so hard he could cum, pump all his cum in you and watch it leak out. But he’s patient. He’s sweet. He lets Carlos finally coax his own cock up your cunt, where the glide’s easier, but the stretch now is unfathomable. You blink tears out of your eyes, ones of pain that slowly become unbelievable pleasure, moans spilling forth from your lips, slick gushing out of your puffy cunt.

Carlos thrusts upward, deep, and eventually Charles finds a rhythm too, your legs spread and eyes rolling back with how fast they’re slamming into you. You want to move, you want to avoid the pleasure from how overwhelming it is, the way it feels when they both bottom out at the same time ans you can feel the way your stomach bulges with Carlos’ cock.

“Slow down,” you whine, but they only laugh, watching your face grow more sweaty and flushed and debauched.

“Feel good?” Charles asks. “Use your words, love.”

“S—so fucking good,” you say, words punched out of you thrust by thrust. Carlos leans forward, brings his flushed forehead just flush of yours, both of you bobbing in time with their thrusts, and spits messily into your half-open mouth. Most enters, some splatters over your lips, and your eyes darken with it. You’re certain you’ve cum again just from that.

“Swallow it,” he laughs. “Be a good slut.” His eyes break from yours and meet Charles’, and they exchange a few quips in Italian before your boyfriend’s hand is raking you backwards, leaning over and spitting again. He pushes your cheek around a little, laughing at your docile, fucked-out face.

“Swallow that now,” he says. “Both of them.”

Obediently, you shut your lips, your whimpers pausing as you swallow their spit down. Your cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“There you go,” Carlos says. You’re absolutely falling apart on their dicks, wet and messy and hot, your legs quivering with it. Carlos slams up harder, pressing your lips together again so he can feel your moans, hear your cute little voice saying Carlos please let me cum  right by his ear.

He pulls out, moving himself higher to use your mouth instead; the added space gives Charles the opportunity to fully bend you over, on your knees and too weak to use your elbows, face smushed against Carlos’ dick. You’re shaking, pussy still trembling and tears of overstimulation rolling down your cheek. You’re struggling to take his dick well, but Charles keeps fucking you, determined to finish.

He pushes you down so your back arches deeper, your lips parted around Carlos’ huge cock. “That’s right,” he groans. “Take it, come on, be a good girl for me.”  

“She’s so tight still,” he says to Carlos. The latter’s hand strokes over your hair, pulls at it, grips at either side of your throat so he can fuck your face properly. He fucks your throat hard, watches you cough and squirm around his spit-coated cock, his balls slapping your face every time he bottoms out. He’s close—Charles is close—and you’ve cum twice again now, pulling off and whimpering I’m cumming— before finishing, gushing release all over your thighs.

“It’s our turn now,” Charles orders. They pull you off at the same time, and you go on your knees again on the floor, gazing up at them with big eyes and a flushed, pretty face, lips pink and puffy from having just been fucked. 

You reach two hands up and jerk them both off again, both their hands guiding you to go faster, faster and faster until—

You flinch, the first hot spurt landing just on your cheek, then your lips, then a bit on your nose. Somewhere in between, Carlos presses his tip to your lips, coaxing them open so he can shoot cum on your tongue and chin. They lean back, collapsing onto the backseat, heaving sighs.

They both look down at you, your nasty, cum-coated face, smiling up at both of them. Carlos blinks a couple times and then smiles. “Hey, mind if I get a picture?”

[yourstrqly]

SPINNING THREADS

alex albon x mafiosa!reader x george russell

after killing your fiance, you take your right hand and his lover to your bed, fucking like filthy animals.

warnings: smut — threesome (fmm), slight mm, praise kink, george's a dirty talker, mafia au, talks of readers death fiance, double vaginal penetration, breastplay, squirting, raw (use a condom!!), cockwarming, use of whore and slut

part one — masterlist

as hard as you tried to keep silent, bitting your inner cheeks to suppress moans and whines, it didn't convince anyone much less yourself. you were a mess, panties still on but already soaked with your juice.

fingers delicately danced above the place you desperately wanted them to be; the teasing and denying started seemingly hours ago, making you dizzy with lust.

"stop it, alex", you hissed out lowly.

"ah no, birdy don't tell him what to do", george said, voice laced in pleasure, as he marked your neck and squeezed your throat gently. the other man's fingers dipped beneath the elastic of your panties, causing your breathing to stop in anticipation, and your head fell on alex' shoulder.

the brit made himself comfortable in a chair before you, locking eyes with you as he sat down, legs manspread and a smirk etched on his lips.

your eyelids fluttered shut as the thai brushed against your bundle of nerves over the fabric, cutting george off from your sight. whimpering, you clawed your nails on his back, knowing there will be pretty red marks in the morning.

"trying to your hardest to fight it, don't you? but we know you want it", the brit rumbled roughly. "You love nothing more than being fucked like the dirty little whore you are. you'd love for your fiance to hear you screaming our names as we fuck you, wouldn't you? too bad i ended his life, should've kept him alive for a bit to see true passion, no?"

a quite moan escaped your mouth, seemingly agreeing with the filthy words but also the feeling of alex' fingers pulling your panties to the side to expose your warmth made your head spin. Even though his fingers were rough from the hard work you gave him, he ever so gently strocked along your slit, never dipping deep enough to satisfy you — if you gathered one thing of this threesome arrangement, then it was that your right hand loved to edge you a bit while george enjoyed the show, slowly strocking himself.

"alex, stop teasing", you whined, body jerking whenever his fingers dipped between the lips but never inserting in your snatch.

the man's hand left, only to hit your pussy, making you wail loudly. his mouth pressed against your ear, telling you to shut up or you'll get nothing but being handcuffed to the single chair in the large bedroom while he fucks george.

"she'd like that, don't you?", the brit laughed, capturing the other man's lips in a passionate kiss — you hadn't noticed him standing up but you weren't mad at the sight of the taller man pressed against the thai.

breaking the kiss, george pushed alex away from you to glide his hands up and down your torso, halting at your breasts to squeeze them all while pressing hot kisses onto your jaw and maneuvering you towards the bed, where he pushed you down, falling with you. his abs pressed against the softness of your stomach and his dick rubbed between your bodies. you let out a pathetic moan as he grinded into your stomach, arms fisting the bedsheets tightly; you didn't dare to be a brat, george would absolutely make alex words true.

abruptly the brit was pulled off you and in his place was alex, who gently nudged the tip of his cock in your cunt, gathering wetness. then, with a smooth yet strong push he glided into your cunt, stuffing you to the brim.

a satisfied groan escaped your throat. "I— harder, pretty boy, make me see the stars."

over and over again he pushed rapidly in your pussy, turning your brain into mush till he threw you over, letting you ride him as he guided your hips, pace slower than before but much more intense because of the eye contact you held.

the click of a bottle being opened made your head turn to the other man in the room, who presented you with a dirty grin; in his left hand was lube that he spread on his right hand, throwing the bottle away to apply the liquid onto his large, to the left bend, dick. he walked over to the pair of you, pushing your upper body down, resulting in your head resting on alex shoulder. you pressed butterfly kisses on his throat, enjoying the man's hand massaging your sides as george gently pushed next to alex' cock inside your pussy.

a whimmer left your mouth at the feeling; george's dick rubbed against alex, filling you to the brim. george watched himself pulling out to the tip, only to roughly push inside again, admiring the way your pussy clutched onto the two dicks you took. he saw a circle of your wetness clinching on the base of his lover's thick length, indicating of how turned on you were.

"'s too much, too big", you babbled, tears prickling and escaping your eyes which the thai ever so lovingly kissed away, tasting the saltiness. "i can't hold it, s' too much. can i cum?"

the brit kept pushing, waiting for alex to decide. "come for us butterfly, be a good girl", he mumbled against your lips, tasting the need and vanilla ice cream you had eaten earlier. "you deserve this after that brick and his tiny cook. couldn't satisfy a girl like you, isn't that right?"

you didn't answer, to absorbed in the approaching orgasm, the wandering hands of the brit and the fullness. george forced your body up, pressing your back to his front, to swipe his tongue in your mouth and his free hand creeped your stomach down to your clit, pinching the puffy clit. on the other hand, alex leaned towards your body, taking your left nipple inside his hot mouth as one hand grabbed around you to touch his lover's happy tail.

"a good little slut like her needs a man or two, to feel pleasure. that disgrace of a man didn't know how to work a body like yours or how to get you to sing like this", george said, suppressing a groan as alex fucked upwards, his tip being squeezed to his.

with a long shuddering moan, your orgasm clashed down, leaving you a crying mess underneath george who slowed his pace, watching as your toes curled and legs shook repeatedly, beautiful eyes hidden behind the lids. a deep groan had left his and alex lips as you eagerly coated their cooks, nearly pressing them too hard as if they'd fall off due to failing blood. you had squirted on them.

despite your mind blowing orgasm, they continued to fuck you, alex mouthing your other tit while george massaged your thropping clit in circles. you felt another orgasm on its way, feeling their dicks working in tandem — their pace became unregulated, pushed inside at the same time, causing you to cum again, this time more intense.

even though your mind was hazzy, blown away from the toecurrling orgasms, you felt that the men were close to finish, their panting and groaning growing louder, sounding like music to yout ears.

alex muttered a fuck as his cum filled you up, dick twitching against georges, who also came raw inside you. you felt george trying to gently pull out. "stay inside, wanna feel you till the morning", your sleepy voice rasped, making him halt in the process.

"and then, you can fuck me awake."

[soaps-mohawk]

More tame and domestic CRCB thought since it lives rent-free in my mind:

Price has to REALLY watch Omega when they take her to the store, especially if she veers towards the skincare section. He made the mistake once of letting her just throw shit in the cart, thinking it was a lot, but maybe she's really intense about skincare. Whatever.

Until he finds her smearing a peel-off mask over his nose because he has blackheads. She's on his lap, holding his face as tight as she can so he can't look away.

Soap and Gaz probably seek her out. Gaz, I imagine, probably takes pretty good care of his own face. Has his own skincare. Soap uses a bar of hand soap and cold water, but he runs to her like a puppy once a week just to have his face massaged with whatever she deems necessary.

Ghost gets off easy. Until he starts taking off his mask. Then she's chasing him with makeup remover and cotton pads to scrub off the eyeblack that he sleeps in because 'it'll rub off eventually anyway.'

I mean, Price probably has to watch the reader whenever they go to a store period 😂 girl be loading up the cart with lots of things.

Oh but absolutely. The reader and Kyle are double teaming the skincare of the other three. Jumping them when they least expect it and trying to get them to just use a moisturizer 😭

Johnny so likes the facial part. He likes to be pampered by someone else, but doing it himself?? Nah. No thank you.

The reader and Kyle have a full breakdown whenever Simon takes off the mask. Man probably has acne and permanently stained eyelids from the eyeblack he never washes off. Kyle holds him down while the reader sits on him and aggressively cleanses his skin and puts a mask on him 😂 it becomes a regular thing after that.