#and then they JUST DROPPED IT LIKE WHAT THE FUCK

[anantaru]

you say he's too small — love and deepspace

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, brat taming, dirty talk, rough syx, big dicks, they took it personal, petnames used: darling, sweetheart, princess, brat, pretty girl

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne

not the reaction you've expected yet zayne laughs like you've straight up offended him— a low, vicious sound dragging through the lengths of his throat as his hands dig into your flesh, dragging you down on his cock until your breathing was caught sharp in your throat.

"you wanna run your mouth, pretty girl?" his voice sinks low, dragging through the heat between you like smoke, his gaze glinting with something cruel and sweet, "then take all of it, come on, take every inch."

he grabs your ass with roughened palms, pulling you flush against him as he fucks into you with a brutal snap of his hips, "really, so small?" he spits, "you really wanna lie like that when you're leaking down your thighs?" as he starts pounding into you like he's trying to prove a point, thrust until your slick walls take his shape, pulse around him like he's the only thing you've ever known as each thrust felt heavier than the last— utterly thick and brutal rubbing on your walls, so deep it made your eyes roll back.

"can't even handle me," he growls, "you keep trying to squirm away— where's all that bratty shit show now?" you're crying from overstimulation, in fact, everything was just way too hot and too wet, your ass tingling where his hands kept slapping it, squeezing and holding you into place.

"darling," he pants, "you said it, yeah? now you take it," and zayne doesn't stop, not until he's spilling into you with a broken groan, pressing down so you cannot move an inch, grinding through the aftershocks just to make sure it sticks.

"that feel small?" he exhales through his teeth, something like a laugh dying in his throat as he sinks deeper into your warmth, "cause you'll be leaking for me for hours."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier

"...what did you just say?" confusion draws over xavier's facial features as his voice drops into a tone that doesn't even sound human anymore— turning quite disbelieving as his pupils blow wide, staring at you like he might devour you whole.

"you're really gonna say i'm small in the middle of it?" to tease him a little further, you decide to utter it once more, just to see what he'll do and fuck— he snaps, rightfully so as he grabs your thighs, spreads you open with both hands, wide enough that it burns, so you can see the outline of him as he slides back in, "does that feel small?" he snarls, voice thick with possession and something even worse— the urgency to prove you wrong.

"look at your pussy, baby, swallowing me like it's starving— look how fucking deep i am," and you do look as it ruins you, the way he stretches you, the fat base of his cock dragging against something so sensitive it made your stomach seize up, the wet squelch of your cunt fluttering around every inch he buries inside.

he draws back just enough to look, eyes gleaming like he's studying something rare and irreplaceable as his palm snaps sharp against your inner thigh, not out of rage but precision— a sound so wet and filthy it bloomed between you as he watches the recoil with a kind of cold interest that bordered on worship.

"don't lie, you're dripping, look, and i've barely even started moving," as he turns his head down and spits— right where you're joined, thumb smearing the globule of saliva into your clit and mixing it up with the filthy mess, like he wanted to make you see how wrong you were.

"i'll ruin you slow," xavier promises, voice husky, "fuck you until you can't sit without thinking of me, if this is small—" he thrusts deep and laughs, your vision whitening out, "—then you better pray i never really stretch you open."

your nails dig into his back like you're trying to anchor yourself to reality, in fact, to him, to anything, really— because you see, the way he fits inside you was devastating, your stomach coiling and wracked with the agony of being sprawled too rough, his cum thick and endlessly coming in white, warm ribbons as he groans with sin and need, as if your bodies were made only to drown together.

your breath catches onto every gasp as if even the air has become too much for you to endure, your hips stuttering and grinding without meaning, most importantly without will, just chasing the friction that made you feel alive as his cock was the only thing grounding you towards your pleasure.

a fractured hiss slips from him, the sound of a man too far gone as his jaw clenched, eyes wild, like your cunt was some divine punishment and he was utterly grateful to be ruined by it, "that's right, feel how big i really am, sweetheart."

"say it," xavier hisses like he's savoring it, like he wanted you to hear the desperation in his lungs, "say i'm not small— say you love how i fill you up," and you do, because it's true, correct? every single inch of you was wrecked by now, opened up around his cock like you were made to stay there.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel

"oh?" rafayel gives you an intrigued look, his eyes flicking to where you're spread wide for him, all flushed and aching and already gushing around his cock yet spelling out something so laughable, "small?" you don't get the chance to respond before he pushes in with one fast snap of hips— rougher than he had any right to go as he smiles when your legs begin to shake immediately.

"funny," he hums, "considering the way you're clenching down on me like you cannot let go," he stops mid thrust when you whisper it once more, his cock stilled inside within a long pause as you can hear the tick of his jaw when he exhales.

he leans over you now, hand palming your breasts hard enough to make you gasp out into his mouth, "but you're trembling," he drawls underneath his exhale with his jaw locked, like the feel of your walls tensing around him was too much— like it was destructive on him of how tight you were, how greedy and how bratty you were to him yet rafayel still wanted more.

the man watches you like he's analyzing a painting, "you seem to struggle from something so small?"

"you feel that, no?" he growls, hips grinding in slow, devastating circles, "that's me stretching you out, filling every fucking inch— claiming you, so tell me again, come on, who's too small?"

at this point, you cannot even form the simplest of words, drooling down your own chin as your cunt was squelching and twisting around him loud enough to echo within your bedroom as he just grins filthily.

"that's what i thought," rafayel whispers, his tongue moves in slick circles over your tits, voice low like a secret carved out of sin as if he's telling your body what he's going to do without ever asking, like your entire soul was already promised to him, "you're gonna keep me inside for hours, sweetheart, i'll keep cumming until your body knows the shape of me."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus

what got sylus the most was the way you've said it to him— quite soft yet smug, with a saccharine coated pout like you're honestly disappointed in his ability to pleasure you.

what else was he supposed to do other than still himself inside you in shock, the deafening silence that followed next not really being silence, because in reality the atmosphere was charged— you could compare it to an animatic stillness as his grip on your wrists were slowly tightening just enough to make you shiver under him, "you know what you just said?" his voice echoes softly against your cheek, too soft, in fact, as if he was trying the words out on his tongue like a wine he's about to spit out.

the laugh he lets out next was the last warning you'll get, because sylus doesn't say anything else— he just grabs both of your ankles and folds you in half, hips snapping forward with a brutal slam that punches the breath straight out of your chest.

"so small?" he grits, voice breaking into something high and ragged, hips jerking as he fucks you into the mattress like he's attempting to fuck the thought straight out of your darling skull, "you're creaming all over me like you need it, and you've got the nerve to lie like that?"

your tits bounce from the force of his hips, and of course, of course, his hands are all over them, squeezing and pinching your nipples, spreading the mounds of flesh as if trying to claim every inch he's obsessed over as he leans in, biting down just under your nipple, growling, "gonna call me small when you can't even take all of me?"

"all this mess, and you still wanna lie?" and you feel it— the tension between your legs, the burning stretch and your swollen folds, how slick your pussy sounded every time he slams himself back in, every twitch of his thickness dragging against your soaked walls, your body straining and holding, straining and holding, the sheer pressure of him inside you enough to make your vision go halo, like you're being reshaped from the inside out into something that belonged to him.

alas, you put a mental sticker inside your head to never lie to sylus again— you simply can't, in fact, you're already crying from the rough pace he's going for, shaking so bad he has to hold you in place by your wrists just to keep going.

you feel him add additional grinds on your pussy whenever you swallowed him whole, his tip pinching against your sweet spot every time he sinks too deep— like he's reshaping your frame, like your body was always meant to swell around the size of him.

you sob out his name while being stuffed full, thighs shaking from the pressure as he bears down on you, a rhythm built from slow destruction, the pressure inside you mounting as your belly contracts tight, your cunt milking him raw and seizing from how thick and hard he moves and shoves his hips, "there, there's your truth, not so small now, am i?"

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb

caleb pauses, his brain rewiring and blinking down at you in complete disbelief, "you really think that's funny?" he asks you earnestly mid thrust, like he didn't just bottom out and leave you totally whiny underneath his broad figure.

you nod devilishly, lips curled up into a smug little grin when, well, that's what does it, really— with that he leans into you like a challenge, tucking a hand behind your head with his fingers tangled tight in your hair, fucking through the tightness of your hole, all the way until you choke up his name, your smirk suddenly crumbling.

caleb kisses the corner of your tear stricken eye, his ragged breathing warm against your cheek as he coos, "not so small now, huh? it's like your body knows who it belongs to."

the man only just begun and doesn't think your thighs shaking around his waist was enough for you to understand to never say that again, not when your mouth falls open with a strangled moan of his name, not when you attempt to whine that it's too much when he just shushes you sweetly with his soft lips.

"hm, i forgot i'm dating a comedic," he says it like it hurts him and for a second, you see it flicker in his eyes, real heartbreak, or just feigned innocence? before his gaze twists into something dark, near devotional, "princess, oh princess," he coos, grabbing your face in both hands and fucking into you slow and tender like he's trying to reach your heart from underneath, "no, you don't mean that, you're just being cruel, aren't you? just trying to get me to break?"

his cock pulses deep inside you, thick and dragging over every trembling ridge of your cunt as your toes curl and your legs kick just a little, involuntary from the stretch, "you feel that, baby? you feel how your pussy's milking me already? tell me— does something small make your breath hitch like that?"

to caleb, there was nothing more mesmerizing than hearing your voice falling apart, adoring it whenever he's making you taste the consequences of every bratty little lie you've told him, "oh, you're perfect, you're so damn tight i can feel everything, you're gonna take it all for me, every inch, yeah? and then i'll ask if you still think it's small, okay?"

your whines come out in shattered bursts, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, mind fraying at the edges from the slow, relentless drags of his thick cock grazing at your walls, in fact, you're shaking under him as he plays with your body, brain emptied by the way he keeps filling you up.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[cameronsbabydoll]

ditzy!reader and simon “ghost” riley having sex

you’re sprawled on your back, legs wrapped around simon’s waist, moaning like you’re in a goddamn soap opera. he’s slow tonight — grinding deep, eyes fixed on your flushed face, watching every little twitch of your brows like it’s his favorite show.

“feels so good,” you mumble, dreamy and soft. your hands are limp above your head like you’ve given up on existing. “wait… is this still missionary?”

he pauses.

blinks down at you.

“what?”

“like. technically. is this missionary? or is this—like—a variation?”

you squint at him, dead serious, like you just asked him to solve a math problem.

“cuz i think if your knees are up like that it changes the—”

“shut up.”

he says it fast, teeth gritted. “jesus christ, shut up.”

but he’s laughing. kind of. it’s all breath and growling and trying not to smile as he drops his head into your neck, biting down just a little too hard.

“ow,” you squeak, clinging to him like he’s your only life support.

“s-sorry! i was just wondering! i get curious!”

“you get bloody stupid, is what you get,” he grumbles, voice thick with that rough mancunian lilt. “askin’ me about positions while i’m balls deep. what’s next, quiz night?”

you giggle — all bright and breathy like a cartoon — and run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“oh my god wait, do you think this counts as a workout?”

he stops moving.

again.

just stares down at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“…you takin’ the piss?”

“no, i’m serious!” you wiggle beneath him. “my legs feel all burny. like pilates. and you’re sweating. so it’s basically cardio, right?”

simon leans in, mouth by your ear now, dragging his hips so slow and deep it makes your toes curl.

“it ain’t bloody pilates, sweetheart,” he growls. “but if you keep talkin’ like that, i’ll bend you like it is.”

you whimper. immediately shut up.

sort of.

“you’re soooo mean,” you pout, clinging to his arms. “i was just sayin’! and i forgot what i was gonna say next anyway but still!”

“no surprise there,” he mutters.

“—but i know it was really important.”

he groans.

loud.

like he’s in pain.

“fuckin’ hell. i swear your brain leaks out every time i fuck you.”

you beam at him.

“probably does.”

and he just kisses you, hard and messy, dragging your hips back into his lap.

“dumb little thing,” he whispers against your lips. “lucky you’re cute.”

[fushiguho]

oh to be perched on suguru’s lap, back arching away from his chest as he mindlessly stretches you ouuuut on his fingers. they’re almost as mean as his voice, talking nothing but shit in your ear—telling you how sloppy your pussy is for him, how nasty you are for letting him use you like this, how you’re dripping down his wrist like a slut.

how you’re whining like one too.

“you’re loud,” it’s a warm breath to the crook of your neck. roughly, he’s taking your jaw into the palm of his hand, craning your head back to rest against his shoulder. “gotta keep that mouth occupied too, huh?” several fingers are creeping past the drooling crack of your lips, effectively stuffing you from head to toe. “yeah? fill all of those messy little holes for you?”

instinctively, you’re tightening up around his mean digits, saliva seeping from the corners of your pretty lips as you flail in his lap. you’re not there, not really—you’re gone, hips rutting against the palm of his teasing hand, chasing the fleeting stretch of his fingers like it’s the last thing you’ll ever fucking do.

his first mistake was not tying you up, duly noted. part of him wants to laugh watching as you reach between your sprawled thighs, desperate fingers inching toward your poor, aching clit. he watches as you spread yourself impossibly wider, arching further into his embrace as you touch yourself, brushing against his pummeling fingers that are repeatedly sinking inside of your cunt.

“what?” he laughs a little, quickly swatting your hand out of his way. “my fingers not enough for you anymore?”

“f–mmmph—!”

“i’m sorry?” his voices pitches in mockery, a wicked grin cracking along his maddeningly beautiful face. suguru’s fingers are sliding out of your wet mouth and moving to grab your face instead, forcing your lips into a pout. “can’t understand you with your mouth full,” he drops his head to kiss you once, a sweet wisp of saliva tethering your bottom lips. “say it again.”

“pleasefuckmeee,” you manage in a breathless gasp, reaching for his hand, his face, anything. “please, p-please, please?”

he only laughs against your skin, his mean fingers briefly slipping out of you—moving to indulgently slither up the expanse of your hot, drooling cunt then—plap! plap! plap! you wince, body jolting in his grasp as several, tender slaps land against your swollen clit.

“nah, you’re gonna cum just like this,” he grits, sinking his fingers all the way back inside of you with a loud, horrific schlop! “juuust like this… all over my fucking hand, y’hear me?”

you’re delirious, nodding stupidly as he begins to hook his hand beneath the crook of your knee. the discernible tremble of your thighs only encourages him spread you wider. that poor, bare cock aches so unfairly beneath the writhe of your body, hotly pressing against the underside of your thighs, leaking.

“that’s all you fucking need—a couple fingers to suck on and a couple more to stuff that slutty pussy full, right?”

suguru grants you no time to answer him as he’s nodding your head for you, long fingers sinking into your warm skin while forcing your head up and down, answering his own question.

he mutters something nasty against your perspiring skin, pressing his nose to the divot beneath your ear before inhaling deeply. you whimper when his tongue darts out, licking a long, sloppy strip up your flesh, greedily tasting the sweat that trickles down your neck.

you try to moan, but it catches in your throat, desperate hips canting forward into every filthy thrust, mouth open and drool spilling down your chin. suguru notices, raising a hand to drag his thumb over the mess of saliva that adorns your flesh.

“god, you’re a mess.” he groans and it’s almost endearing.

the pads of his fingers begin furling upward, warm palm grinding into your clit with every sloppy plunge, and you’re reeling. you can hardly breathe, choking on every breath you attempt as you tense around the numbing stretch of his digits.

“oh,” suguru gasps in feigned incredulity. “is that it? you cummin’, baby?”

you nod—violently, desperately—every part of you begging, surrendering.

“come on,” he smiles wickedly. “let me feel it.”

abruptly, he’s forcing your head back, lips latching to the heat of your throat as you buck against his hand. a big, relentless thumb is glissading over your clit with enough pressure to make you break—mouthing off nothing but incoherent pleas and fragmented renditions of his name.

it’s not long before you’re crying out for him, body faintly convulsing as you cum around his perfect fingers without even realizing it. you’re sucking him in deeper, pushing your hips into the curl of his fingers while you whimper his sacred name over and over and over again.

“there she issss,” he coos, sliding out of your messy hole to pat your clit thrice, sloppy splatters of slick flying. “that’s my gooood, slutty girl, huh?”

suguru groans as your pretty mouth gapes, mentally snapshotting the way your body reacts as he stuffs three, greedy fingers back inside of you, fucking you all the way through it—deep, heavy strokes as you drip down his steady hand, gleaming arousal kissing his palm.

you’re gasping, fighting the urge to snap your legs closed as he begins to shift beneath you, sliding his bare cock between your sticky lips. his mouth moves over your shoulder, breath hot as he wordlessly raises your wobbly hips, pressing the weeping head of his cock against your fluttering hole.

he smiles against your skin, cock jerking. “still wanna fuck?”

[ohtobeleah]

Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 1of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guys bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author Note: This guy…this fucking guy.. Truly, I could write about him for hours, if not days on end. I love him your honour.

In the practice of medicine, change is inevitable. New surgical techniques are created, and procedures are updated. Levels of expertise increase. Innovation is everything. Nothing remains the same for long, and we either decide to adapt to the change…

Or we get left behind. 

“Sir,” You sighed as you tried your best to have the man in the hospital bed cooperate. “I’m just trying to–” Before you had a chance to finish your sentence, to let the man who’d been brought in during the worst mass casualty event you’d ever worked, that you were just cleaning him up a little in a low period, he was on you like a bad rash. 

“Hel–!” You tried to scream, but two large, bloodied hands wrapped themselves around your throat as the unidentified male, mid-fifties possibly, tackled you to the ground. “H–!” 

*Crack* The sound was jarring. *Crack* The back of your head was repeatedly being slammed into the laminate floor. *Crack* You couldn’t breathe. Your lungs felt like they had been set alight, burning with a deep desire to take in oxygen. 

“Get away from me!” The man yelled as he released one of the hands he had tightly gripped around your neck, only to draw it behind his head and lay a full fist of force against your nose. 

“SECURITY!” You heard Dana shout as she caught sight of the assault happening across the way. She couldn’t tell who it was under the man who’d gone rogue. But it felt too late now…

Everything was a blur. You couldn’t breathe as blood trickled down your throat. The swelling had already begun to take effect. You coughed and rolled onto your side as the man was removed from you in a flurry of blurs. You couldn’t hear the commotion going on around on, but you could see the shadows behind swollen eyes and broken skin. 

“Y/n!?” Robby was the first voice that managed to break through the perpetual ringing. He was just a shadow, mixing with the fluorescent light beaming down on you. “You’re not okay, but you’re gonna be.” You could barely make out what he was saying. If you could, you would’ve panicked at the sheer heaviness in his tone of voice. The worry, the panic that his best friend’s wife had just been attacked. 

“Someone get me Dr. Abbott!” Robbys voice echoed across the entire expanse of the Emergency Room department. Everyone heard the urgent desperation in his voice. Everyone besides Jack…who was someone across the department, elbow deep in saving some guys bowel from needing to be removed. “Tell him it’s his wife!”

Whittaker was the one who dropped what he was doing, albeit not as important as finding Dr. Abbott, but nevertheless, he knew whatever it was that it was bad. Jack hadn’t anticipated one of the new kids to come charging in like it was life or death the way he did. 

“Dr. Abbot! Something happened, you need to come and–” 

“Someone better be dying for you to be taking any of my time away from this man, Whittaker, what is it!?” Jack didn’t shout, nor was it laced with anger. It was a response of pure and total control over the situation. Jack was as calm as they come under crisis. It was just who he was. He saw the solutions in chaos like a puzzle he could put back together. 

“Your wife–” Dennis choked on his own words like he was afraid to deliver bad news. Ironic that delivering bad news to loved ones of patients was a part of the job. “She uh–” 

“She what, Whitaker? My wife, what?” Jack never faltered. He never looked up from where he was working magic. Blood-stained gloves halted to a standstill, however, when the words that left Whittaker’s mouth next knocked the wind right out of Jack’s lungs. 

“She was just attacked, Robby has her in trauma two now, it’s bad, like real bad, sir.”

The air grew thin, the walls began to cave in. Jack Abbot was, on a regular day, as calm as they come under pressure. 

He saved his breakdowns for the roof in the early hours of the morning. He’d spend a few minutes watching as the sun kissed the horizon with a warmth that could only be rivalled by your own. 

He’d hedge his bets, cut his losses and accept what reality had dealt and delivered. All the while continuing all the reasons why he couldn’t take that leap. Always circling back to the most important of all. 

You. 

But when that guiding light is challenged, Jack's body language alters. His normally rigid, ex-military stance softened for a brief moment. 

Jack's heart was breaking. He could feel it being ripped apart inside his chest cavity. The thud of his heart was nearly loud enough to echo off the walls.

“What?” No one had seen Jack Abbot so flustered before. His eyes softened in a moment of what must have looked like weakness. But to Jack, it was love. Pure, that’s my best friend, love. The kind of love that’s deep in your bones, love. The kind of love that haunts you, love. “My, my wife?” 

It was a softness only reserved for you, a side to Jack Abbot that was hidden away behind the safety and security of his own perfectly designed Volt system. His expert ability to compartmentalise only ever falters around you. 

He can’t control it. Jack Abbot had a weakness, an affinity of affection. An addiction to the release of Oxytocin he received whenever you paid him any mind. It had always been like that, a little catch and release. Cat and mouse. Jack loved to watch you walk away because he knew you were always coming back. 

But now…you were hurt. You were hurt, and he was stuck in his own head thinking about the first time he saw you. How you lit up the entire night sky and hung every star just for him to feel comfort in the darkness. 

Your laugh, how it’s the only therapy he’d ever need. The deep cackle that’s not cute, but infectious. You’re like a shot of espresso, keeping Jack on his toes and never allowing him to fall completely off the deep end into permanent geriatric grumpiness. No matter how far he teetered over the edge.

Jack Abbot was just lucky enough to be living in general, but to be living in your world was just the luck of the Anglo-Irish. He wasn’t sure if he could live in a world without you in it. 

The thought consumed his entire being. A world without you. A life without you. What if he never got to hear your voice again? Or tell you how much he fucking loved you. The contrast between the heat of Jack's skin and the coolness of his wedding band resting upon his heart couldn’t have been more stark. 

“Is she—“ Before Jack could ask if you were okay, he was cut off. 

“Go,” Dr. Ellis damn near ordered. “I got this, go.” She reaffirmed as Jack felt her shove him over, there was no extra time that could be wasted. It was all Jack needed to find his centre of gravity again and get a hold of himself. 

His composure.

“Who attacked her?” But as the surge of panic softened, a wave of uncontrollable rage began to boil deep within Jack. His eyes scanned the utter chaos that was the emergency department, searching for whoever it was that had hurt you. “Where are they now?” 

No one gets to hurt Jack Abbots wife and gets to continue breathing. 

“Uhhh—“ Whitaker stammered, unsure of whether he should disclose that information or not. “He’s with security now, behavioural health two.”

It was a deep-rooted, all-consuming need to hook it left and make a B line directly for behavioural health two. Who did this guy think he was? Huh? Attacking people, no…attacking his wife like this? It wouldn’t be without consequence. 

“Dr. Abbot.” 

“This the guy?” Jack asked one of the security guards with a look of rage behind his exhausted eyes. “I need to speak with him?” 

“The cops and McKay are in there with him now.” 

“It wasn’t a request.” Jack snarled as he tried to make his way into the room that held the man who attacked you.

“JACK!” It was Robby who had yelled. “NOW!” You were in a rough way, Jack would tell by the tone in his friend’s voice. 

“Y/n,” Jack whispered to himself as he looked over at trauma two. “Oh, oh no no no no no.” It was a mumble only to himself, but everyone could feel the heaviness that followed Jack Abbot across and through the emergency department chaos. 

Change. We don’t like it, we fear it. But we can’t stop it from coming. We either adapt to change…

Or we get left behind. 

“She needs to be intubated, get her up for a head CT, we’re looking at some major blunt force trauma here, needs–needs burr holls to relieve the intracranial pressure.” 

“Y/n!” Jack barreled in like a hurricane-force wind. “What the actual fuck happened here, man?” 

“She was with a patient, Y/n? Can you hear me? It’s Robinovich here, don’t you make this difficult for me,” Robby spoke through panicked words as he worked on you as fast as he could. “Guy freaked, psychotic episode, probably a bleed on the brain–”

“Ja–” You barely mumbled as blood spilled from your mouth. Jack heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear as he made his way to your side. His hand was immediately in yours as he made sure to be aware of his spatial awareness as his colleagues worked on you. 

“I’m right here,” Jack cooed as he took in the sight of your face. Beaten, bloodied and bruised. “You’re okay, I’m right here, just hang on for me, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

“I, love–” You were in and out of consciousness, fighting against the pull of whatever it was threatening to pull you away from the surface. 

“Pulse is thready, she’s crashing,” someone announced as all the bells and whistles sounded off at once. You were indeed crashing, right in front of Jack. 

“Sweetheat? You stay with us, you hear me?” Jack was feeling the panic creep up his spine again. “Are you shitting me? What the hell do you think you’re doing being alone with a patient like that?” Jack knew if you were listening, you would have jabbed him back. Of all people to be giving you a lecture on hospital protocol, it shouldn’t have been him. 

You called him a Cowboy for a reason.

“If you die on me, i’m gonna be so fucking screwed here Y/n, get your shit together,” It was Jacks love language. “Robby, get her back!” 

He kept searching for some sort of eye contact, that deep-rooted ability of his that you at times often regarded as his superpower. That intense gaze, the one able to break through anything and reach your very soul. 

But Jack couldn’t see you through you, he couldn’t see anything but the blood that covered your beautiful face. The face he dreamed of at night, when all was said and done, and there was nothing left to do. 

“Working on it, someone get me neuro, NOW!” 

“O.R. is prepped and ready upstairs.” 

“Okay, let’s get her stable and on the move.” 

“I’m coming.” 

“Like fuck you are, brother,” Robby sighed, never missing a beat as he continued to stabilise his best friends wife. The love of his life.”You can watch from observation, but you can’t be in the O.R., hospital policy we—“

“Don’t work on family, I’m not, I’m telling you I’m—“

“If we can’t get her back, you’ll be in there, let me get her back, I’ve got her.” It was a promise Robby shouldn’t have made. But he knew you and he knew you well enough to know that this was not your exit music moment. 

Jack simply held his lips into a tight line of silent panic. He never let go of your hand, opting to walk you all the way to surgery. 

“Wait,” He begged right before the double doors automatically opened on your arrival. Everyone stopped moving as Jack leaned in to whisper something in your ear. “If you die on me so help me god, I’m walking right up to that roof for the last time and you damn well know it, don’t do this to us,” Jack begged. “I love you with all that I am and have.” He said one final time before letting go of your hand. Grazing across your wedding band as he let you go. 

“Let’s move people!” Someone beside your side yelled as all Jack could do was stand still, as you were wheeled away from him. 

“Oh god,” It was immediate, the sudden feeling of sickness. The wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. The nearest fake plant was the best course of action. With one hand on the wall in front of him, Jack emptied the contents of his stomach. It wasn’t much, mainly stomach bile, but the sentiment remained the same. “Fuckk-.” 

The thought of losing you made Jack Abbot's stomach churn. 

It hurts to adapt to change; anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. It’s utter bullshit. But change is inevitable, good or bad. It haunts us like ghosts of our former past. It can taunt us like a small child who thinks you’re having the time of your life. 

But when change is brought about, it’s better to adapt than deny that it's happening in the first place. 

—----------------------

There’s a reason surgeons learn to wield scalpels. They liked to pretend that their hard, cold scientists. They like to pretend that they’re fearless. But the truth is, people become surgeons because somewhere, deep down, they think they can cut away that of which haunts them. 

Weakness, frailty…death. 

Jack woke with a stark jolt. He was sweating, running a fever. The darkness was all-consuming as he tried to gain his bearings. He was in bed. The bed he shared with you.

“Christ,” Jack sighed to himself as he laid on his back in the middle of the night. A hand ran down his face as he collected his thoughts. That had been one of the most intense nightmares, one of the most realistic ones, he’d ever had. 

“Something tells me he had you on do not disturb.” Jack heard you mumble from beside him, wrapped up in a mess of covers and sheets. “Probably, don’t think that guys ever paid much mind to me, has he, sweetheart?”

When you didn’t respond, Jack frowned. You were just talking. Were you talking in your sleep? But you were talking directly to him.

“Y/n, you awake?” It was a question laced with hope. Jack hoped you were. He couldn’t stop thinking about your bloodied face in his nightmare. The way you lay there, lifeless, not breathing. “Hey, c’mere for a minute.” Jack nearly begged as he slowly but surely moved closer to where you were in the bed you shared together. 

With a gentle kiss to your exposed shoulder, Jack maneuvered you from where you were lying on your side to your back. It was then he realised he was still in a living hell. 

“Remember?” Was all you said as blood spilled out of your mouth and down your chin. A bloodied smile was permanently seared into Jack's memory as pure horror washed over him. “You couldn’t protect me, you couldn’t save me. What’s the point of being married to a doctor if you can’t save my life?” 

“No, no this isn’t real,” Jack tried to reason with his mind as he hovered over your now lifeless body in the bed you shared. “Stay with me, sweetheart, stay with me!!” 

But you didn’t move, you were lifeless and cold. So fucking cold. 

“Jack?” He heard through a whisper, a mumbled distance away, “Jack?” There it was again. This time, though, a hand on his shoulder accompanied the male voice, coaxing him back to reality. “Jack, wake up, bother.” 

With a jolt, Jack was waking from where he’d fallen asleep. Right beside you with his head on the spot beside your hand. His in yours. His back ached like no tomorrow, but his hips hurt the worst. 

“I must’ve fallen asleep.” Jack sighed as he tried to regain his composure. The thought of you dead beside him in bed had rocked him to his very core. But it was always the same dream ever since you were attacked. 

I could hear you screaming from the second I stepped out of the elevator,” Robby sighed as he checked your vitals. All the signs pointed to good news. “Have you spoken to your therapist about all this yet?” he asked with a frown of concern from above his glasses. 

“Nope,” Jack explained as he let out a sigh and stretched out in the chair he was sitting on. “Can’t bear to bring it up, might jinx her.” 

“Well, the swelling is mostly stable, she’s regaining strength, and her pulse ox is great, the only thing keeping her under right now is, well, her,” Robby shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s gonna wake up, man.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. He let the silence linger in the air. He watched your steady heartbeat on the monitor. He eyed off your vitals, the way your chest rose and fell with every breath you took unassisted. He was still on edge, but was able to talk himself through it. 

He’d watched you recover over the last week since the attack. Jack hadnt left the hospital once. He’d become what he hated most. A border. But he couldn't bring himself to leave even just for a few minutes. Not when you were here. 

It took a village. Dana had organised someone to collect all the essentials Jack and yourself might need during your stay. The house was probably a mess and the content of the fridge was well past used by, but that wasn't important right now. 

He’d stay here beside you watching you heal. Watching you get stronger. Watching you slowly come back to him like Robby had promised. But no one had any idea how you would react when you finally woke up. There was worry of mental deficits from the head trauma. But Jack knew you well enough to know you were a real fighter. 

He finally knew what it was like for you when he’d lost his leg. A part of him he’d never get back. Jack wondered if you'd feel the same way after, if a part of you died that day. He was anticipating it really. The onset of depression post traumatic events. The PTSD that would haunt you like a ghost. The sleepless nights. The recklessness. The suicidal tendencies. All of it, he knew about it and was prepared for it. 

Only difference is you weren’t. But boy were you a fast learner. And oh boy did Jack understand the other side of it now. How it felt to watch the person you love suffer so much. 

“Here,” Again Robby's voice broke Jack out of his trance-like thinking state. “Drink this, eat this, don’t argue,” A juice box lands in Jack's lap, so did a half eaten sandwich. He looks up at his friend, perplexed…but already knows the answer. “I ate the other half in the elevator.” Robby still explains. 

“Thanks.” Is all Jack has left in him to say. He’s exhausted, but won't say that out loud. Won't admit it to anyone but himself. Robby can see it written in the lines on Jack's face. He can see it in the growth of his facial hair, the bags under his eyes. 

“Have a shower before she starts to stir,” It's one of the last thing Robby says before he leaves. “You look and smell like shit, she’s probably not waking up just to be polite you know.” He doesn't wait for an answer, but as he leaves and heads down the corridor back to the elevator, he knows Jack is smiling behind him. Shaking his head. 

“You would do that, wouldn't you?” Jack sighed, popping the straw into the small juice box. The sugar is a much needed relief for the man running on empty. 

It isn't just surgeons, the truth is, Jack didn't know anyone who wasn't haunted by something…or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet…

Our efforts usually fail. 

—-------------------------------------

Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good. He went into medicine for the rush…for the high…for the ride. 

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. What he lies awake at night, replaying is the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

“One slight gust and you’d be done for, you know?” Jack knew it was you the second he heard the approaching footsteps. 

“What are you doing up here?” Jack replied, all the while he still had his hands tucked away in his pockets. 

“Oh, I dunno,” You sighed as you ducked under the railing. Coming to stand close to but not close enough to where your husband stood. “Heard some lunatic was up on the roof, didn’t take much for me to realise that the lunatic in question was probably my repeat offender.” You rubbed your hands over your face like you’d had enough of today. Coaxing your husband off the ledge of the roof was not something you had on your bingo card for today. “What are you doing up here, Abbot?” 

It was a loaded question, but a question that deserved a genuine response nevertheless. Jack shrugged, unable to look his wife in the eye for once. Something he was really fucking good at doing. 

“Guy lost his leg in a car accident.” You didn’t need much more than that, but Jack continued. You didn’t interrupt. “My call to amputate, we weren’t gonna be able to save it.” You could feel the heaviness weighing on your husband’s heart as he explained what led him to the roof. “Pains been unbearable ever since.” 

You didn’t speak, you didn’t respond, but you sure knew what you had to do. There was a deeper meaning behind the reason Jack made you carry a pocket knife with you. One that wasn’t permitted by the hospital. You casually reached into your back pocket to reveal the small pocket knife. 

“You know, a wise man once told me that you find comfort in darkness,” You said as you knelt down carefully and knew back your arm with just enough force that the blade of your knife would pierce the titanium foot of your husband’s prosthetic leg. “There, should start to feel some slight relief soon.” 

Jack sighed. It never worked when he did it himself. Nor did it work if he knew it was coming. It had to be spontaneous, quick and off guard. You did just that.

“I needed that more than you know.” It was another way of saying ‘I love you’ But you already knew that. 

“Oh trust me, I knew, otherwise we wouldn't be up here standing on the edge of a building.” Jack knew you were right. You knew him better than he knew himself most days. 

That’s why you were his wife. His life partner. His better half. 

Jack let a moment of silence pass the two of you by as you moved to stand beside him once again, both watching the sun gently kiss the horizon. He raised an arm up and over your shoulders. Drawing you close to his side as he left a gentle, but meaningful, kiss to your temple. 

He adored you, far more than you would ever know. Jack was thankful for the way you left the knife in his foot. The more he looked down at it sticking out of his prosthetic, the more the pain alleviated. The more the tendencies subsided.

“You’re pretty good at this comfort thing, you know.” He prayed the roles were never reversed, was there a version of Jack that could offer the same kind of comfort, strength and grace that you could? 

“Comes with the territory,” Was all you said as you let your head against Jack's shoulder. “But seriously, we should totally get down before you spiral again.”  You bumped Jack's hip with your own. He smirked.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Jack teased as he kissed your temple once more. Choosing to leave with you via the stairs rather than over the edge. 

As the warmth of the water cascaded down Jack's exposed body, he stood leaning against the wall. Prosthetic leaning against the doorframe. He needed a moment. 

The scent of your body wash adorned him, using the toiletries you hadn’t had a chance to use yourself yet. Sure, Jack had kept you as clean as you could be during your stay, but wet wipes weren’t the same as your black plum and vanilla scented everything. 

Your wedding ring hung around his dog tags, right next to his. Robby had taken it off before surgery. It had become Jack's comfort blanket. To thumb at the circular silver ring. 

But as the steam threatened to allow Jack's muscles to relax, he heard it…the warning alerts. 

“No,” He gasped. Panic rose inside his chest as he fumbled to switch the water off and wrap the towel around his midsection. Fuck a shirt, this was a hospital and everyone knew basic anatomy. “No, this cannot be happening—not now.“ 

The sight that Jack saw when he stepped out of the bathroom was nothing short of horrific. There you were, surrounded by doctors and nurses alike. Some Jack knew, some he didn't. But they all shared a common goal… 

Avoiding the experience that is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Part Two: Coming Soon. Please leave me something to encourage that to come sooner :)

[ggukivrse]

the art of pretending – jjk | 02

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 4.9k

notes: i dunno how to feel about this chapter, but at least it’s something for you guys loll. also if you can’t tell, i’m horrible with pacing so if it feels like too much of a fast burn i’m so sorry 😖 feedback, likes, comments, reblogs and asks are so so appreciated. enjoy reading my angels <3

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⤷ chapter two — broken cd

don’t think i’m over it / like i always said i was / like a broken cd / that plays on repeat

You shove the key into the door and twist hard, your shoulder still sore from hauling your overloaded backpack up the stairs. It's just one floor, but with the way the straps dug into your skin and your pride refused to let Jungkook help, it might as well have been Everest.

The door creaks open, hinges sticking slightly before giving way.

Amber light spills into the room — warm and rich, the kind of sunset that makes everything look softer than it is. The windows are massive, the glass thrown open to the breeze and the sound of waves crashing in the distance. You turn around to look out the door from the foot of your bed, and from here, you can see the ocean glowing gold under the falling sun, lazy and endless.

It smells like salt and clean sheets and something faintly citrus, probably the resort’s idea of a luxury air freshener.

And right in the middle of the room, unmissable and offensively neat, is one bed.

One.

You don’t even pretend to hide your sigh. “Great,” you mutter, dropping your backpack with a heavy thud. “A single bed. Very romantic.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What, you suddenly shy?” He brushes past, setting his duffel bag down with way less drama than you did. “I’ve literally been inside you. You’ll survive.”

You don’t laugh.

You don’t even look at him.

Instead, you stare at the bed. At the way the light hits the perfectly smooth duvet. At the two pillows, side by side. Like it was made for a couple. Like it was made for you and him.

He notices your silence, eventually.

“Too far?” he asks, voice low.

You shrug. “Just wasn’t that funny.”

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just shifts his weight and runs a hand through his hair like he’s suddenly remembered this whole thing is supposed to be an act. That you’re not really his anymore.

And maybe that’s what stings — the anymore.

You sit on the edge of the bed, bouncing once. It’s too soft. Too quiet. Too intimate.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His jaw’s tight. He’s not looking at you.

There was a time you thought you’d marry him. That you were going to. You’d even gotten your nails done that week, like a fucking idiot.

You blink hard and look away before that memory can settle in your chest like it always does. Instead, you clear your throat and force yourself to speak like you’re not sitting inside the echo of what used to be.

“I’ll take the left side,” you say, voice flat.

Jungkook doesn’t even pause. “I figured.”

Of course he did. He always remembers.

You glance at the bed for a beat longer, then push yourself back up and move toward the window. The floorboards creak slightly under your steps, but the rest of the room stays still.

Outside, the sun is sinking lower, streaking the sky with deep amber and dusky pink. You fold your arms across your chest as the breeze brushes against your skin, cooling the leftover heat from the hike up the stairs.

You can hear muffled laughter from a nearby cabin — familiar voices, the clink of bottles. It’s already starting. The unwinding. The pretending. And you're still up here, wondering how the hell this is going to work.

“We should figure out how we’re doing this,” Jungkook says behind you.

You don’t look at him. “You want to map out how to play house again like it’s some group project?”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds. “I just think... if we’re doing this, we should at least figure out the basics.”

You scoff under your breath. “Basics. Right.”

As if you haven’t already been there. Like you didn’t build the foundation, the walls, the goddamn roof of your relationship from scratch with him, only to watch him walk out before it could become a home.

He shifts again, and you hear the slight squeak of the mattress as he adjusts his weight on the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t want to be doing this,” he says softly. “But no killing me in my sleep, okay?”

You finally turn to look at him. “I can’t make any promises.”

His mouth twitches, almost a smile. But not quite. “Yeah. Fair.”

You don’t say anything to that. You just watch him — how he can’t seem to hold your gaze for more than a few seconds. How his fingers keep twitching like he wants to be doing something with them.

He used to always touch you when he got like this. Knee against yours, hand slipping into your hair, thumb brushing your wrist. It’s weird seeing all that nervous energy go nowhere now.

“Look,” he says eventually, “if it helps, we don’t have to be over the top with it. Just enough to get by.”

You nod, slow and tense. “Keep it casual. Minimal.”

He hesitates, like he’s weighing something. “Right. But… you know they’ll expect us to—”

“No,” you cut in, voice sharp.

“They’ll notice if we don’t.”

“They’ll survive.”

“You’re saying Seokjin’s going to see us not kiss once this entire trip and just let that slide?”

You roll your eyes. “We’ve been together for years. Couples evolve. Maybe we’re just in our chill phase.”

That earns you another ghost of a smile. “We were never chill.”

He’s not wrong.

You were the couple everyone either envied or got annoyed by. Loud in your love. Touchy. Constantly wrapped up in each other like you didn’t know how not to be. There was never anything subtle about the way you felt for him.

You stare at the floor for a second. “I’m not kissing you.”

“Ouch," he mumbles, placing a hand over his heart.

You bite back a smile.

When Jungkook speaks again, his voice is quieter. “I just meant... if it happens, don’t freak out. That’s all.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would it happen?”

He shrugs one shoulder, looking like he regrets bringing it up at all. “I don’t know. Habit?”

That word lands heavier than it should.

You study him for a moment. He’s not cocky. Not smirking like he used to when he’d tease you. He looks unsure, almost guilty. Like he knows he has no right to even suggest that kissing you is something that could still come naturally. Maybe it could. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Fine,” you mutter. “If it happens. And that’s a big if.”

His gaze flicks up. “Understood.”

You sit on the edge of the bed again, leaning back on your hands. Your head tilts back and your gaze reaches the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, the blades catching a sliver of orange light every time they pass. It’s quiet enough to hear the wind outside, the occasional gust rustling the palm leaves.

“I’ll sleep on top of the covers,” Jungkook says suddenly. “Or on the floor, if that makes it less weird.”

You glance over at him. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m not actually gonna set you on fire.”

His mouth quirks. “Good to know.”

You pause. "Maybe."

Jungkook snorts under his breath, and for a second, it almost feels like nothing's changed. Like you're still in some random hotel room on a trip together, teasing and bickering until one of you caves and kisses the other just to shut them up.

But then there's a knock — two quick raps — and before either of you can answer, the door creaks open and Taehyung’s head pokes in.

He scans the room, eyes landing on the bed, then on you and Jungkook sitting a little too far apart to look like people who are supposedly in love. If he notices, he doesn’t comment.

“We're having dinner soon," Taehyung says, leaning against the doorframe. "Seokjin and Yoongi are already cooking. Told me to drag your asses down if you’re not there in ten."

You blink. “Already?”

"We only have a week. Might as well make the most of it," he replies with a shrug.

“We'll be there in a sec,” Jungkook says.

“Cool, but not too long," Taehyung warns, stepping back into the hall. "“Fuck each other later— I'm starving and I'm not waiting for you guys.”

And just like that, he’s gone again, the sound of his flip-flops slapping against the stairs as he yells something incoherent at Seokjin.

You both sit there for a second too long after Taehyung leaves.

Jungkook exhales slowly. “Well. That wasn’t weird at all.”

You glance at him. “He’s going to keep making jokes like that all week.”

“Oh, for sure.” He stands, stretches his arms overhead until his shirt rides up just enough to expose a sliver of skin, then drops them with a sigh. “We should head down before someone sends a search party.”

You don’t move right away. You watch him instead — the way he fiddles with his silver ring, the one you bought him for your two-year anniversary. He still wears it. You wish that didn’t mean anything, but your chest feels heavier every time you see it catch the light.

“Hey,” he says, noticing your stare. “You okay?”

You blink once. “Fine.” It’s a lie. You think he knows it, but he doesn’t push.

When you finally leave the room after spending twenty minutes freshening up, the house is buzzing. You can hear it before you even hit the stairs — the low hum of conversation, the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, laughter spilling through the hallways like sunlight through a cracked door.

The stairway smells like something good — grilled meat, maybe, and butter, and garlic — warm and rich and heavy enough to make your stomach twist. It’s a nice smell, a homey smell, the kind you’d associate with nights that end in full stomachs and sore cheeks from smiling too much.

You trail your fingers lightly against the wood of the banister as you go down, Jungkook a step behind you.

The main room opens up all at once when you reach the bottom — wide and airy, with big windows cracked open to let in the evening breeze. The kitchen bleeds straight into the dining area with no walls to separate them, just an island cluttered with drinks, half-unpacked groceries, and a giant speaker playing a playlist you’re pretty sure Kiara made.

The dining table is already half set, chairs scattered around it in the kind of casual, lived-in chaos that happens when twelve people try to organise themselves without a plan.

Bowls of chips, salad, and what looks like some kind of pasta are already on the table, half-covered with napkins to keep flies away. A basket of bread sits at one end, slightly squashed.

In the kitchen, Ari is perched on the counter, laughing at something Yoongi mutters as he chops a mountain of vegetables with terrifying precision. Seokjin stands at the stove, wielding a pair of tongs like a sword, flipping something in a pan with unnecessary flair.

"You two are late," Seokjin calls without turning around. "We almost started without you."

Ari shoots you a grin over her shoulder. "We figured you were busy... catching up."

You force a tight smile and Jungkook just huffs out a quiet laugh behind you, the sound brushing too close to the back of your neck.

There’s a low murmur of greetings as you and Jungkook make your way further inside — Namjoon waving a pair of tongs wildly in the air, Haeun tossing you a quick smile from where she's helping Jimin set out forks and plates.

You glance around for empty seats with a soft sigh.

There are two left. Right next to each other, tucked into the middle of the table, right between Kiara and Taehyung.

Perfect.

You feel Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, both of you registering the same inevitability. No words are exchanged — just a small, tired lift of your eyebrows and the smallest twitch of his mouth.

You move first, weaving through the scattered chairs and half-drunk glasses to get to your seat. The scrape of the chair against the hardwood floor feels unnaturally loud as you pull it out. You sit down carefully, pressing your thighs together, your palms flat against the tops of them under the table.

Jungkook slips into the chair beside you without hesitation. You can feel the heat of his body even through the space between you, the almost-touch of his arm resting on the table next to yours.

You stare straight ahead for a second — at the bowls of food, the condensation slipping down plastic cups, the crumpled paper towels that someone had already dropped on the table — and will yourself to breathe normally.

You can do this.

You have to do this.

For Seokjin and Haeun's sake. For everybody’s sake.

It isn’t long until all the food is set and everyone’s squeezed around the table, shoulder to shoulder, the energy a little loud and a little messy.

Plates are passed down, people piling food high with zero shame. Forks clatter, someone pops open another drink too close to Namjoon’s elbow, and Haeun lets out a squeal when soda almost spills across the table.

The conversations starts light — the usual catching up.

"I can’t believe you’re actually doing it," Kiara says, pointing her fork at Namjoon across the table. "Moving across the country?"

Namjoon chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Scary, right?"

Ari beams at him, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly. "It's exciting. We’re ready."

"You’re insane," Yoongi deadpans. "But good for you."

"You’re just mad no one's trapped you yet," Seokjin says, dodging a grape Yoongi flicks at him.

You laugh, the sound almost surprising yourself with how normal it feels.

Someone brings up Hoseok, and Kiara sets her drink down with a soft clink, letting out a heavy sigh.

"His boss is a total asshole," she says, shaking her head. "Tried to tell him he couldn't take time off— even though he put in the request, like, six months ago."

There's a murmur of annoyance around the table.

Kiara rolls her eyes. "He’s still coming though. Driving down early tomorrow."

The conversation rolls on easily — Jimin complaining about the same landlord he's been cursing out ever since he moved out from the dorms on campus, Haeun sharing a horror story from her latest shift at the hospital, Taehyung and Yasmine excitedly telling everyone their plans of visiting Paris at the end of the year.

You find yourself relaxing in tiny increments, the night smoothing the edges of everything sharp inside you.

Still, every few minutes, a question sneaks your way. Directed at both you and Jungkook. Casual. Friendly. A little too curious.

"So, when’s the next trip?" Yasmine asks, her chin propped in her hand, a lazy grin on her face.

You freeze for a second — just a second — but it’s enough; enough for your brain to scramble, for your heart to lurch into your throat.

You open your mouth to answer at the exact moment Jungkook does.

"Hopefully soon—"

"Maybe end of the year—"

You both stop, the words tripping over each other in the thick summer air. A tiny beat of silence hangs between you, awkward and heavy.

Jungkook clears his throat softly. You let out a small laugh, too tight around the edges to sound natural, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear even though it doesn’t need fixing.

"Uh— soon, hopefully," you say, forcing a smile, trying to smooth it over like it’s no big deal. Like your whole chest isn’t clenching painfully.

"Yeah," Jungkook adds, recovering fast, his voice easy. He stabs a piece of grilled chicken from his plate and pops it into his mouth like it's nothing

If anyone notices the tension simmering between you, they don’t say anything. You hope it’s because everyone’s too buzzed on good food and easy conversation, and not because they feel the awkwardness thick in the air and don’t know how to cut through it.

You’re just starting to feel relieved, letting yourself believe you might get through dinner unnoticed when Taehyung turns toward Jungkook halfway through the meal, nudging him with his shoulder. "Hey, I meant to ask you about—"

He stops mid-sentence.

His gaze flickers downward, quick, almost unnoticeable. Down to your hand resting by your plate.

You don’t catch it, too busy trying to butter a piece of bread without it crumbling to pieces in your hands, but Jungkook does, and you feel his body stiffen for half a second beside you.

Then, smoothly, he jumps in. "—about that new game drop next month. You getting it?"

Taehyung blinks, like he’s catching up to the new topic, then grins wide. "Obviously. I plan on absolutely destroying you."

"You say that every time," Jungkook shoots back, and just like that, the moment’s gone.

Buried under another wave of laughter and teasing.

You and Jungkook mostly stay quiet. You smile when you’re supposed to. You laugh when you have to.

You play your part.

And through it all, under the steady hum of old jokes and new memories being made, Jungkook’s knee shifts ever so slightly to rest against yours under the table.

You fight the urge to move away.

The beach is quiet this late, lit only by the faint glow of the moon and the scattered dots of stars overhead. The sky stretches wide and clear, not a cloud in sight, just a deep navy canvas freckled with light. The waves roll in steadily, calm and even, and the sand is cool now beneath your feet, the heat of the day finally burned off.

It had been Seokjin’s idea to head down after dinner, grabbing drinks for everyone before they could protest. Something about making the most of the night, getting “full value” out of the resort. No one argued. Within minutes, you were all slipping out of shoes and wandering down to the shore, half-full cups in hand, the buzz of dinner still clinging to the air.

Now, everyone’s scattered in loose clusters — some sitting in the sand, others walking along the edge of the water.

You hug your knees to your chest and rest your chin on top of them, eyes fixed on the tide as it pulls in and out, in and out. The repetition is comforting. Predictable. It drowns out the conversations happening around you — Taehyung trying to convince Yasmine to go in past her knees, Jimin narrating an elaborate story to Yoongi and Kiara.

Every now and then, someone laughs too loud, a bottle cap is flicked into the sand, or a sudden breeze sends someone scrambling to catch a napkin mid-air. It all blends together in the background, easy to tune out.

Jungkook is sitting a few feet to your right, legs stretched out in front of him, hands planted in the sand behind him for support. His head is tilted slightly up toward the sky like he’s trying to map constellations, or maybe just avoid looking at anything too real. He hasn’t said anything since you all got down here.

Neither have you. Not to each other, at least.

He shifts once, brushing some sand off his arm. His elbow knocks lightly into yours before he moves it away again without comment.

You don’t react.

Eventually, the group starts thinning. Namjoon stands up first, brushing sand off his jeans and helping Ari to her feet with that soft little smile he seems to save just for her. Yoongi follows soon after, muttering something about not waking up early tomorrow and Jimin follows.

The casual exits happen slowly, naturally, like everyone’s easing out of the night one moment at a time. No dramatic goodbyes, no announcements. Just people disappearing in twos and threes.

You stay put, your eyes still trained on the ocean. There’s something about the way the water moves that holds you there, like letting go of it too soon would mean snapping back into the real world — and you’re not ready for that yet. The sound of the waves fills in all the parts of your head that have been too loud lately.

You hear Jungkook shift beside you again, this time to sit up straighter. He doesn’t stand. Doesn’t move away either.

A few beats pass in silence.

Then, he speaks. Quietly.

“So…” he starts, voice careful. “How’ve you been?”

You don’t look at him. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he says, and you can practically hear the awkward smile in his voice. “You always were a world-class oversharer.”

You glance over just enough to shoot him a look. “Do you want an essay or a lie?”

He huffs a laugh. “I’ll take a haiku.”

“Too bad. You get monosyllables.”

You hear the faint clink of his bracelet as he scratches the back of his neck. He lets the silence stretch between you, and you finally give in.

“Everything's been busy, I guess,” you say. “I’ve been prepping for a bunch of interviews and final stuff. The application season was a mess.”

“That’s good.”

You shrug. “It’s something.”

Another pause. This one hangs heavier. You know what he’s trying to do — pull you back into something like familiarity. The effort is obvious. It makes you tired.

Still, part of you — the small, irritating part that hasn’t unlearned how to read him — notices how tense his shoulders are. How he keeps his hands in the sand, fingers buried deep like he needs the grounding.

“I got offered a spot in a grad program in Berlin last month,” you say suddenly. You don’t know why, but the words tumble from your lips before you can stop them.

He doesn’t flinch.

But he does freeze — just for a second. Barely perceptible, but you feel it like a static shock between you. His eyes flick toward you, then away.

“What?” you ask, turning to him slightly. “Weird pause. What?”

He blinks like he wasn’t expecting you to press. “Nothing. Just… Berlin’s far.”

“Excellent observation.”

“Did you accept it?”

“No,” you say. You pause. “Turned it down.”

This time, he doesn’t mask it as well. There’s something in his face — not relief, not exactly, but something close enough to irritate you.

“What?” you ask again, sharper this time.

“Nothing,” he says, a bit too fast. “Just thought you’d take it. You always talked about wanting to move. To get out.”

“I still want to,” you say. “Just… not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Alone.”

He’s quiet.

You’re not sure why you said it. It wasn’t meant to sound like anything. But now it sits there between you — heavier than the air, thicker than the silence.

“I didn’t think that mattered to you anymore,” Jungkook says after a while.

Your laugh comes out short, dry. “Yeah. You gave up your right to guess what matters to me.”

And now he’s really looking at you, jaw working slightly like he wants to say something back — maybe something honest, maybe something dumb — but he doesn’t.

“Right,” he says finally, nodding once, more to himself than to you.

You exhale slowly, turning your gaze back to the water. You don’t know what kind of response you expected. Maybe an apology, maybe just silence. But that vague, self-soothing “right” somehow pisses you off more than either.

The tide rolls in and out again, steady as ever.

After a moment, you ask — voice even, deliberately uncurious — “What about you?”

He looks over. You can feel it. But you don’t meet his eyes.

“What about me?”

You tilt your head slightly. “How’s your life, Jungkook?”

There’s a pause, like he’s weighing whether or not this is a trap.

“It’s…” He drags out the word. “Fine.”

You glance at him briefly. “Wow. You’ve really evolved.”

He chuckles. “You set the tone. Thought we were keeping it short.”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “Just trying to get through the week, that’s all.”

“Right,” he says again. And for some reason, this one doesn’t irritate you as much.

He shifts his weight, drawing one knee up so he can rest an arm over it. “I've also been attending interviews and stuff. Still need to hear back from them.”

You nod.

“I moved,” he adds after a second. “Place near the river. Quiet.”

“You always said you hated the river.”

“I said I hated the smell.”

“Which comes from the river.”

He shrugs. “I like the quiet now.”

You hum like you don’t quite believe him.

The air’s cooled a bit, the heat of the day finally loosening its grip, and a breeze moves through just enough to lift strands of your hair. Above you, the sky is wide open — deep, dark, and dusted with stars. The kind of stars you never really see in the city.

You tilt your head back slightly, just to look at them. It’s the kind of sky that used to pull words out of you. That used to make both of you go quiet for good reasons. Stargazing had been your thing once — one of those low-effort dreams that somehow still meant everything.

It had even made it onto the bucket list you’d both scribbled out on a small piece of paper one night with a pink pen: “See the northern lights.” “Swim in a bioluminescent bay.” “Stargaze in the middle of nowhere.”

You wonder if he remembers. Part of you hopes he does. Part of you hopes he doesn’t.

You glance sideways. He’s staring at the water. The silence hangs — not awkward, just long. Heavy in a way that feels like a question waiting to be asked.

“I almost didn’t come,” he says eventually, eyes still on the water.

The words hit soft, but they land hard. You don’t say anything. Don’t even look at him. You just stay where you are, watching the water.

“I didn’t want to ruin it for everyone,” he adds after a moment, like that explains anything. Or everything.

You swallow thickly. You don’t know what to do with that — what to say to it — so you choose not to say anything at all. You push your hands into the sand beside you and stand up slowly, brushing off your shorts.

His voice follows you, barely above a whisper.

“But I figured... you’d be here.”

That stops you for half a second. Not because of what he says — those words are vague enough to mean anything — but because of who they’re coming from. You don’t turn around. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. You just stand there, staring at the water like it might offer you patience.

You hate how casual he says it. Like this was all some quiet inevitability. Like it wasn’t him who walked away.

Of course you’re here. You were always going to show up — for Kiara, for Taehyung, for your friends who matter to you. That part never changed. What did, was him deciding, out of nowhere, that the two of you couldn’t work anymore.

That four years together was suddenly a dead end.

So what exactly was that supposed to mean? That he knew you’d come, like he still understood you better than anyone else? Or that he was counting on it?

You feel the words gather in your throat — sharp, instinctive, just on the edge of spilling out. But you swallow them down, pressing your lips together until they stop trying.

You give the ocean one last look, then turn and walk away, mumbling a simple, "I'm going to bed."

Your footsteps are soft in the sand, but your chest is loud with everything you wish you’d said. The lights from the house glow a dull yellow in the distance.

When you step inside, the kitchen’s still half-lit — someone probably left a lamp on over the sink — but the rest of the place is still. You don’t bother turning it off. You just move through the space as quick as you can, back to the room you’re supposed to share with him for the next week.

The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly the quiet feels heavier than the sand you tracked in.

You don’t change. Don’t brush your teeth. Don’t bother pulling back the sheets. You just lie down on top of the covers, facing the window, the sound of the waves leaking in through the small crack you left open.

You try not to think about what he meant. About why he said it. About whether he meant anything at all.

Sleep doesn’t come easily.

You lie there with your eyes closed, but your mind won’t follow. You shift, restless, each turn in the sheets only dragging up memories you wish you could leave in the past — memories you thought you'd already left in the past.

Eventually though, your body gives in. Your thoughts quiet. Your breathing steadies.

You don’t hear the door when he finally comes in.

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[maskedbyghost]

ok possessive reader au x breeding kink…but instead of simon being obsessed with claiming you like that its reader

cw: breeding kink, possessive!reader, lots of dirty talk, dominant reader..

You barely made it through the door before you were on him. Simon had just locked it behind you when you turned around, grabbed his face in both hands, and kissed him like you’d been starving all night. And maybe you had.

Because the entire evening had been one long test of your patience—girls giving him looks, eyes dragging over him like he wasn’t standing next to you with your hand already on his thigh.

And the worst part? He didn’t even notice. He just smiled that shy smile of his, the one that made your insides twist, and kept talking to your group of friends like the other girls didn’t want to eat him alive.

You hated it. You hated how good he looked when he wasn’t even trying. You hated how polite he was, because it only made them want him more. But more than anything, you hated that you couldn’t blame them.

“You have no fucking idea,” you murmured between kisses, your voice breathless, “how bad I wanted to drag you out of there the second that girl started eye-fucking you across the damn table.”

Simon blinked, already flushed, his hands gripping your waist as you pressed him back toward the couch. “Didn’t notice anyone,” he said, almost apologetically, and you believed him—he never did. He was so unaware of his own effect, so painfully oblivious to how good he looked in that black button-down, sleeves rolled up, his tattoos peeking out..

“I know,” you said, pushing him down to sit. “That’s what makes it worse.”

He let you guide him without a fight, wide-eyed and already a little breathless, watching you like you were something wild. You were—especially now, especially after seeing too many women look at what was yours like they had a chance.

You climbed into his lap, straddling him, and he sucked in a sharp breath the moment you settled against the bulge in his jeans. His hands found your hips, his grip firm like he needed to ground himself.

“My pretty boy, all mine,” you whispered, leaning in close, and dragging your lips down the side of his neck. “All of you. Every inch. You know that, right?”

Simon groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “Of course I’m yours, love. Always.”

“Damn right,” you growled, grinding down on him just enough to make him hiss. “And I’m gonna remind you. I’m not stopping ‘til you cum in me.”

His hands tightened on your hips, his whole body tensing under you, but he didn’t say a word. He just looked up at you like he was already unraveling and you hadn’t even gotten his jeans off yet.

“Gonna ride you, baby,” you murmured, rolling your hips slow, teasing, watching his eyes glaze over. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take every drop from you.”

Simon cursed under his breath, eyes locked on yours, his jaw clenched like he was already trying not to lose it too fast. You could feel him twitching under you, hard and throbbing through the denim, and it made you grin.

“Not gonna stop,” you whispered, dragging your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him moan. “Not until you fill me up. You want that, don’t you? Want me to keep you deep inside me ‘til I’m dripping with you?”

His breath stuttered, and he nodded, fucking helpless already. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that.”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Then be a good boy and let me have you.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else—you were already undoing his jeans, already dragging the zipper down slowly just to feel the way he squirmed beneath you.

Simon was panting, flushed deep red from his neck to his ears, his hips twitching up into your hands like he couldn’t help himself. He was so sensitive like this, so reactive when you took control, and you could tell he was trying so fucking hard to keep it together for you.

But you didn’t want him to keep it together.

You wanted to break him.

“God, look at you,” you breathed, wrapping your fingers around him as you pulled him free, already hard, already leaking. “So fucking hard for me and I haven’t even taken my panties off yet. Is this what does it for you, baby? Me taking what’s mine?”

Simon groaned and you felt his cock throb in your hand like it agreed with everything you were saying. He looked up at you with that wrecked expression you loved, lips parted, brows drawn tight like he was already overwhelmed, and you hadn’t even started riding him yet.

“Love…” he whispered, barely holding back. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

You just smirked, shifting your hips as you pushed your panties to the side and lined yourself up. “Nah,” you said, voice low and smug, “I’m just gonna ruin you.”

And then you sank down onto him, slowly, watching the way his whole body trembled underneath you as you took every inch.

“Oh my—fuck,” Simon gasped, eyes rolling back, hands grabbing at your hips like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “You—shit—you feel so good, baby, fuck—”

You moaned at the stretch, at the way he filled you so deep, like your body was made just for him. And it was. No one else had ever fit like this. No one else had ever made you feel so full, so fucking wanted, and you weren’t shy about letting him know.

“You like that?” you whispered, rocking your hips, already starting to move. “You like when I take you like this? Make you mine all over again?”

He nodded, nearly speechless, his mouth hanging open as you rode him slow at first, grinding your hips with purpose, dragging every movement out just to make him feel it. You leaned in close, your lips brushing his, and you said it again.

“Mine.”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. And that was all the encouragement you needed.

You sped up, fucking down onto him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sound of skin slapping filled the room, filthy and loud and perfect.

“Gonna cum in me,” you said, and it wasn’t a question. “You’re gonna fucking cum inside me, baby. I’m not getting off this cock ‘til I feel you fill me up.”

Simon was gone—eyes half-lidded, breath ragged, moaning your name like a prayer.

“Say it,” you demanded, slamming your hips down hard enough to make the couch creak. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “You, baby—fuck, I’m yours—yours—”

“Damn right you are,” you growled, bouncing on him faster now, the pressure building with every movement. “Every inch of you. Every drop. Mine.”

His hands flew to your waist, desperate now, holding you tight as he bucked up into you, chasing that high.

“Cum in me,” you whispered, right against his lips. “Do it, Simon. Fill me up. I want to feel it dripping out of me, want to know it’s yours, want to keep you in me all fucking night.”

He broke with a cry—loud and raw, his whole body tensing as he spilled deep inside you, hips jerking up uncontrollably as he held you down against him. The moment you felt him give in, so helplessly yours, it dragged you right over the edge too.

You came with a strangled moan, nails digging into his shoulders, clenching around him so hard it made him curse under his breath, gasping your name and holding onto you like he never wanted to let go.

And even when it was over, when you finally stilled and let him catch his breath, you leaned in and whispered against his flushed, damp skin— “No one else gets to have this, Simon—not your moans, not your cock, not your fucking cum. Only me. Always me.”

----------------------------------------

i love these two so muchh

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @bunnyxiis

[vanilleandclove]

white mustang; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader

you take comfort in knowing your boyfriend knows how to de-escalate even the most traumatic and stressful situations with ease. stilettos and the emergency department during a mass casualty event are a complete no-go.

warnings: filthy smut, collins and robby truther, this covers the events of pitfest, bleeding ankles, throwing up, mentions of std screenings, mentions of intent to conceive, the flu, non-conventional domesticity, age gap: reader is 30-33, jack is 47-49. word count: 3.5k notes: wrote this and an email consecutively, may do another part. you can read part one here.

“You know what I’m craving?” Jack exhaled, setting his go-bag in the backseat, leaving you to hum in response as he got into the driver's seat. 

“That steak from my cousin's wedding and champagne” he answered, pushing the button to start the engine, looking behind him as he pulled out.

“You know what I’m thinking?” you posed, preparing to be crude towards him. 

“What? Shower when we get home, sleep ‘til 2, wake up, hot sex, then actually put the dinner reservations to good use and then end the day with bloated sex?” and it was as if he read your mind, looking at you in the passenger’s seat. 

“Hell no to the bloated sex, remember last year after going on a double date with Dana, we almost puked on each other” you laughed, truth be told you were the one about to vomit and needed a cold compress for several hours that night. 

“Not as bad as when Langdon food poisoned us”. 

Your whole body shivered at that memory, suppressed in the darkest part of your mind. You and Jack were new to dating each other, barely approaching two years, still learning each other. 

“Do you have a condom?” Heather pinched your thigh from under the picnic table. 

It was Frank’s baby shower in the spring, his fiancée wanted the whole department to come. Frank decided to grill as his gorgeous fiancée baked the finest pastry goods you ever tasted- amazing tiramisu. 

“Seriously? Now?” you quirked a brow, not knowing Robby had the drive nor stamina. For Heather’s sake you snuck a hand on Jack’s thigh, giving two squeezes for him to turn to you. “Captain horny would like to know if you have a condom on you hon”. 

Jack scoffed, reaching into his back pocket to reveal the golden wrapper of a Magnum thin pre-lubricated condom. You were half stunned that Jack one, had a condom on him at all times, two, didn’t even question the favor. Though he eyed Robby with a ‘fucking freak’ look, he knew damn well they were two of the same.

You handed the condom to Heather only for her to give you the same look Jack just gave Robby, “Hey don’t judge, closest to skin to skin, you won’t regret it” you joked only to earn another pinch on your bare thigh. 

Jack heard the snide comment and rested his own hand on your thigh. The same hand that the middle and ring finger were torturing you all night last night. 

It was obscene. On one hand there’s Heather and Robby eye fucking, the other is you and Jack telepathically fucking and conspiring on an excuse to go back to his place. 

But then Frank served you, and with the hamburgers that were delicious and savory, a new chapter in your relationship bloomed.

The ‘food poisoning and vomiting on your boyfriend’ chapter. 

Jack had stopped at a gas station after the baby shower, that is when hell began to rise. 

“Jesus it feels like a fucking demon” you groaned, immediately taking off your wedges and unclipping your bra, “If this is remotely what pregnancy feels like, don’t you even dare”. 

Jack snickered as he pumped the gas, looking over at you through the window as a sheen coated your skin. He was surprised, he ate the same things you did but nothing was happening to him. 

After the gas station he chose to stop by a pharmacy, the cool breeze of Pittsburgh helped soothe the growing rumble and pain in your stomach. About two miles away from his house, you were about to tell him to drop you off at your apartment, fearing the worst is yet to come. 

“Baby pull over” you groaned, feeling the bile rise and your throat instinctively gagging. 

“Shit” he muttered under his breath just to step on the gas and skid through the row of houses that were his neighbors. Parking in his driveway shitty, he immediately sprung to action to get you from puking in the truck he just got cleaned two days ago. 

Luckily you made it out of the truck, only to puke on his driveway, completely messing up the loafers he decided to wear. 

You cried, worried this was the epic turn off that broke relationships up. Jack stood there shocked for a split second before bursting out in laughter, his then quiet neighborhood was interrupted. 

“What?” your voice mumbled and slightly pouted.

“If you’re puking, I can’t imagine what’s going on with Robby and Collins” he spoke up beneath his laughs, “C’mon pretty lady, let’s get you all cleaned up” he still chuckled, shaking his head from the comically unfortunate chain of events.

The next day during day shift you never once saw Heather that squeamish in regards to vomit.

“Almost killed me, I can’t believe you still wanted to be together after that”. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen” he shrugged, “Plus you stuck by me when I had that fucking flu two years ago”.

“Ah, the flu from outer space”.

It was the middle of June that Jack had got the flu from his brother’s kids, they were snotty iPad kids with zero control of where their sneezes protruded from. Therefore when he watched them for a week away from home and you, the first facetime was a stark difference.

“Jesus christ those kids sucked the life out of you babe” you said, laying down in your shared bed with your phone angled just perfectly to see your cleavage. 

A week without sex with Jack is like a year in the sex-time continuum. You said it once while drunk now Jack never lets you live it down. 

“You can tell?” his voice was congested, he had a light cough, “This would be the perfect time for that nurse role play thing you’ve been begging about”.

“Is your mind all just about sex?”.

“Honey, your areola is peaking out and saying hi”. 

By the time he came home, you were greeted with an even more sunken eye and congested nose with glassy eyes. Never in your entire time of hookups and dating did you see Jack have a fever until then.

“Babe just let me take you” you pleaded, Jack’s fever was reaching the 102 mark, within the hour it kept rising. 

“Fuck no, Walsh and Shen would not live this down ever” his voice was nasally and a cough erupted from him, “Just hand me the NyQuil please baby”.

“We’re out, finished the bottle this morning” you told him. 

He sighed and after a moment of silence, “Kiss me?” he proposed. You were touch starved from him, you gladly gave it minus the repercussions but that only meant he’d have to be in your position in a few days.

With your hand ghosting each side of his throat as you kissed him, that’s when you felt it. Swollen lymph nodes. 

“Babe” you said with his lips against yours, “It’s strep”.

“What?” he pulled away, his hair disheveled and grey, curls loose. 

“Your lymph nodes are swollen” you told him, pressing on his throat lightly, “I’m taking you I don’t care”.

One trip to the emergency room, a prescription of amoxicillin, and slow sex on his living room couch, Jack was up and running by the turn of the week. 

“Oh my god, remember when Robby and Collins were getting checked at the same time?” you gasped as you recalled that same year, it both posed offense to them and showed their connected trait as a health nut. 

“I just need you to screen me please?” Heather told you over the phone, it was 3 am and your and Jack’s first day off in the weekend you took off for your anniversary.  

You looked to the side of you where Jack kept a secure arm on your waist, “Honey can this wait till tomorrow morning- at a reasonable time?”. Only for the other side of the bed on the nightstand, Jack’s phone blared, startling both of you. Jack grunted and muttered several curses half-asleep.

“Yeah. Is 10 am good?” she asked only to receive a groan in response, “12?” to which she got a hum, “Okay, go back to bed”. 

You turned to your side to be met with a disgruntled Jack on the phone.

“You can’t do it yourself?” he groaned, “Also shouldn’t you be more transparent with the women you have sex with? Okay fine, date”.

You could only imagine it was Robby on the other line or one of his brothers. Too tired to care, you curled into him as he rested his body against the headboard. Falling asleep from the sound of his breathing.

The next morning you came in for Heather in your regular clothes, Donnie was worried something happened to you, Jack had come in at 6:30 to help Robby. Neither of them had anything but it did lead to an interesting talk at dinner with both of them.

“Thank you for the food Y/n” Robby spoke with his mouth full of chicken caprese.

You nodded, glancing at Jack who has his hand on the small of your back. That wasn’t until your phone rang from the hospital for a craniotomy since the attending neurosurgeon was away on vacation and their fellow is nowhere to be found. You sighed in disbelief, mouthing a “Sorry” to Jack who followed you.

“Just take the truck” Jack told you, getting your scrubs as you undressed yourself, “I’ll be fine, they shouldn’t be too much to manage”.

At Jack’s behest, once he sighed he heard the sounds of both Robby and Heather arguing. “Yeah maybe you should just drop me off” you responded. Jack agreed, deciding to work in the emergency room while you were occupied with the craniotomy. Jack contested it was an insane way to spend your anniversary weekend, you thought it was perfect.

The next day, Robby came over for beers, you went on a brunch date with Heather. Both explained to each other that they decided to call it off. That night you and Jack both knew it wasn’t permanent. 

“You think they’re going to try again?” you asked as Jack pulled into the breakfast spot you both went to after a long shift.

“It would make for interesting dates again, love Dana and her husband but they’re…” he trailed on as he parked, “I’ll go in, the usual?”.

“Yeah, thank you baby” you nodded.

You got home at 7:38, deciding showering together was the wisest option, Jack was in bed by 8, you decided to blow dry your hair and by 8:40, you were in bed too. You both stuck true to your plan, woke up at 2 pm, called ahead to this fancy restaurant in downtown, now it was time for steamy hot sex. 

“Fuck” you moaned out, rolling your hips with your clit grazing the skin of Jack’s pelvis. Jack gripped onto your tits, letting you lead this time. “Can I?” you mutter insinuating if you can bounce, Jack nodded, moving his hand to rest on your clit, leading your breath to shudder. 

Jack was always vocal during sex, whispering sweet nothings in your ears as he held your hair, his breath hitched when you rode him. The times you’d let him take you from behind, he’d pull your hair to press your back against his chest, the sweat of both of you intermingling. Sex was never boring, never repetitive, even after 6 years. 

You felt your head lull back as you went up and down, on the third bounce, Jack thrusted up, leading you to squeal. Your right hand caught onto Jack’s neck, gripping onto the curls in the back, while your left hand met his at your clit. “Good girl” he grunted, feeling your back move away from the sheer velocity of pleasure, he took his free hand to hold you together. 

Your moans bounced off the walls of your shared bedroom, engulfing your lips in a kiss. It was as if he inhaled your moans, smirking against your lips as you tightened around him.

“You gonna cum?” Jack teased, slowing his pace. He knew your body, knew the pulse of your pussy signaled the near of an orgasm. “Wanna try?”.

Your mind was muddled and occupied with pleasure, “What?”.

“Wanna start trying?” He looked at you deeply. His eyes said everything he was either too embarrassed to say or didn’t know how to pose the question. 

“Are you sure?” you whimpered, still focusing on making yourself and him cum, “This isn’t about earlier is it?”.

“You’re the one who said I’d be one hell of a dilf”. 

“And 65 at graduation daddy” you smiled, kissing him once more, “Yeah, let’s start”. 

Getting ready with Jack was always a game of tug of war. Put the man in a suit with his cologne that smells like santal, with his grey curls, wrinkles and eye bags; he was a walking wet dream. 

“We’re going to be late hon” Jack said as he looked at his watch, “Dinner reservations are at 6”, it took 30 minutes to get there and it was already 5:20, Jack loved being punctual, courtesy of the years of service. 

“Eh fuck it, I could always cook steaks for us” you shrugged evening out the small creases on Jack’s suit, “You’re quite the stud you know that?”. 

“Just get in the truck” he chuckled, smacking your ass as he walked to the front door for the security system and you headed towards the garage with his keys.

The garage was dark, laundry machines next to the door, TV and lounge chairs for playoff season when it was too cold, his truck and stationary workout machines that collected dust, the dart board that led to way too many play darts in Robby’s and Frank’s neck.

You flipped the switch for the garage door to open, only to hear Jack’s alert voice.

“We have to get to the hospital” he breathed out as he ran over to you, go-bag slung on his shoulder. You panicked inside thinking something happened to him, “There’s an active shooter Pitfest, all of ‘em going to the Pitt”.

Your phone buzzed within a minute with texts from Dana and Yolanda, “Okay” you nodded, not caring for the stilettos you had on or the dress, you immediately dialed Walsh, “Imma need you to bring extra sneakers for me please Em- and scrubs”. She didn’t care for the reason she just agreed, you sighed, “You ready for this?”.

“Nothing I haven’t seen,” Jack replied, pulling out of the driveway, “Can you call Shen and Ellis?”.

You’ve never seen Jack drive so fast, he grabbed his backup scrubs from his trunk in the parking lot, you waited for Walsh. “Hey wait cowboy” you said before Jack walked off, giving him a kiss when he turned to you, “I’ll bring down your extra 11s” he nodded, “I love you”.

“I love you” he responded, walking off as Walsh pulled in.

You walked towards her car, seeing both John and Parker pull up having to park in the upper floors. Your heels were killing you as you weren’t accustomed to them in longer hours. “Do I even want to know?” Walsh snickered, “I couldn’t get extra sneakers hon, I’m sorry” she told you, “You or me in charge for surgery”.

“Jack’s ER chief, I’ll be in the OR most of the time probably” you responded, grabbing the scrubs she took out from her backseat, putting them over your dress. “They’re clearing all 25 as we speak”.

Both you and Emery ran into the emergency room, walking in on Jack and Robby’s briefing. Your heels clicked on the floor, leading to questionable looks from the medical students and the new intern. 

“Y/n is our attending trauma surgeon, if you cannot find Jack or I, go to her. If a patient is surgical and misplaced, find her immediately” Robby added, he eyed your heels and moved back towards you, “You okay like that?” he whispered, only gaining a nod from you.

Walking off to the behavioral health rooms to arrange all the supplies, “Just take my shoes” Jack spoke up behind you.

You shook your head, “It’s okay, if anything I’ll go barefoot in the OR” you responded, “Plus works out the calves”.

“Y/n, three GSWs waiting in OR 6, Walsh and Garcia are heading up there” Dana said next to the door, “We need you down here after”.

You ran off, seeing the triaged patients begin to be rolled in. The next 50 minutes were filled with the sight of crimson and smell of copper, sending the surgeries to Walsh and your fellows, signing off on the approval. Going back down to see even more chaos.

“Anyone else O-Neg?” Dana yelled out. Jack told you about the blood bag protocol, when you need to ration blood or there’s none of it, unscreened blood donations were medically necessary. 

“Hand me a kit, I’ll work while drawing” you told Dana as she reached in the back of her scrubs for a blood bag and needle for drawing. It wasn’t your idea first as Jack was donating while working with Samira. You couldn’t deny it was sexy and admirable.

You worked on three different unconscious patients, most of the same with compromised airways, blunt trauma to the head, and hemorrhages. It took a near 10 minutes to move away to a mother and daughter, the mother was unconscious but stable, the daughter was near-lucid with a laceration to her head,

The watch on your wrist read 7:50 pm as blood stained it. Cleaning the daughter’s wound before she started to convulse, Robby to your side as you both began to intubate and page surgery. “Shit” you groaned, feeling your knees begin to shake lightly, looking down to see your ankles begin to bleed.

Robby looked up at you, “Y/n there’s unscreened blood, you could-”.

“Be at risk, I know, we have more things to worry about” you responded, scurrying off to the next trauma room with Samira and Jack, Jack closing off Walsh from intervening, “What’s going on?”.

“Pull the pigtail Doctor Mohan” Jack told Samira.

“Your boy toy could’ve killed someone who is supposed to go to general” Emery replied.

“Nice work Doctor Mohan” you spoke up, sucking in a breath from the pain, “Em make sure he’s next for general surgery, Doctor Abbot and Mohan just saved your ass from those asshole tenured attendings in general” you told her, winking at Samira.

You limped off out of the trauma room just as Jack caught your arm, “Go sit down, you’re bleeding, it’s dying down”.

“I’m fine-”.

“There is blood filling your heel, unscreened blood all over the place-”.

“Jack, I’m fine” you grunted, your eyebrows furrowed in pain but you did not let it succumb you.

40 minutes, 4 different patients, more and more blood coating your gown as your own blood flowed and crusted over. You helped Robby, Samira, Melissa at least twice, Jack last. You almost slipped on the mopped floors, feeling as if you would vomit from the pain. It died down as regular emergency patients came in.

It was a cycle of life all over the emergency room. It was approaching 9 pm when you sat in the nurses station next to Jack as he did both of your charting work, icing your ankles. With officers approaching and trying to arrest Cassie, Gloria going on a rant on the phone, you were ready to go home with Jack and sleep longer than 10 hours.

“Baby” Jack spoke up in your ear, as you slightly dozed off in the computer chair, “Head home, I’m gonna stay with Robby for a bit”. You nodded, your eyes failing you as they were heavy and not relenting, “You okay with driving?”.

He knew you weren’t fully okay, but he also knew he could trust you and your instincts. He kissed your forehead, massaged your temples, not a care in the world for who saw or wondered. Your eyes were as red as the blood on your ankles, at least you could drive home barefoot, pick up tequila and greasy food for you and Jack.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[willyoubemycherryy]

FYT (Stack.M x R)

Summary: “I might end up with us kissing, touching, fuckin’…girl ya body’s callin’ for me, I’m fucking you tonight.”

Contains: my extremely poor self control, everyone has a country accent, this is still for the _ strictly for the _, cursing, smut, kissing, oral (fem receiving), he’s not a vampire but he’s STILL a munch, his di€k is big and fat because cmon look at this man, nasty kissing seriously, unprotected s£x, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, rough s£x, I’m talm bout innnitttt, choking, one spank, petnames, begging, nippIe sucking, biting, u got that WAP fr, it’s cool bc Stack ain’t scared of drowning, he’s also a pvssy bully, smoke got jokes apparently😒and anything else I know I’m forgetting 🙂🤷🏽‍♀️

A/n- this is long so good luck🤝🏽🫶🏽 @childishgambinaax @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @twistedsistas-stuff @ayeeeitsmiracle @browngirldominion

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

The room was silent.

Nothing besides the sound of your breathing and the muffled music from downstairs but the air buzzed with an electric kind of tension, thick and dangerous.

“Last chance baby, you wanna tell me what was that earlier?”

Your heart skips a beat as you feel yourself grow even more restless. The fact that he was giving you an easy way out already tipped you off that you were about to get put through your paces and that was fine because you didn’t want it easy, you wanted it hard. And in order to guarantee that…

“Not unless you wanna admit that yo’ ears was working just fine and that you don’t really need me to tell you a damn thing, then nah. I’m good.” You snark as you tilt your chin up and it actually does get dead quiet. Stack squints, furrowing his eyebrows while blinking because it’s no way he heard you correctly…except he did.

There’s a click of teeth and before you can brace yourself or open your mouth to sass him some more- you’re flat on your back with your heart in your neck and a big hand locked around your throat getting tighter by the second.

It doesn’t paint you in the best light as a lady, especially not one who’s supposed to be respectable the way you soak through your panties, hips twitching upwards and your dress pooling around your hips from because of the man standing between your thighs looking down at your everything as you whine- shamelessly. Stack watches the way your eyes flutter, mouth dropping open as you gasp. Partially because of the lack of oxygen and also because of the arousal burning though your body.

His grip is tight.

Tight enough to make you lightheaded but he knows you wouldn’t have it any other way; so wet he can taste you in the air and he smiles at how your mouth wasn’t the only thing slick about you. The sight of gold adorning his canines almost make you pass out. Shuffling your hips back a bit, you go to hump up against the fat swell in the front of his slacks and surprisingly, not only does Stack let you- he meets you. Grinding down heavily against your cunt, bending over to suck wetly at your mouth and you’re in heaven.

Bringing a hand to his belt, you pull softly at the leather and instead of taking it off, he pulls away, cooing in mock sympathy at the needy frustration on your face.

“You want it, sweet thing?”

Instinctively, you almost close your eyes because it’s bait and you know it is. It always is when he gets to talkin’ to you like that- low and indulgent. Still,

“Mhm”, you swallow; breathing somewhat clearer with Stack’s hand loosened, “I-I want it-”,

“Tough, ‘cause you can’t have it.”

Your blood is boiling underneath your skin from how bad you need him and pissed off tears begin to bud in your eyes as you glare up at him with all the heat in hell itself but his grin stays in place. Moving his hands on either side of your head as he starts moving against your core, hitting your button with every filthy grind and you moan weakly.

“Why n-”,

“Because I’m in charge and you ain’t ask nicely enough for my tastes.” He purrs against your collarbone before licking a hot wet stripe up your throat to suck nasty bruises under that spot beneath your ear that makes you keen. Large hands grope all over your body, settling on the low cut of your dress and Stack slots his mouth over yours again, tongue filling your mouth and you’re rutting against him just as hard while sucking on the muscle in pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you run your nails down the nape of his neck. Bad(good) move.

All of the sudden, there’s a loud rip. Stack yanks away from your lips to look at the torn top of your dress. Was it expensive? Yes. Did you care? No. He swears before taking one of the swollen buds into his mouth and you gasp, drawing your eyebrows together in bliss- head spinning. Yet before you can loose yourself, Stack rolls the bud between his teeth and bites.

Pain blooms through your chest instantly making you choke, Stack tugging it before he lets go, letting the swell bounce back into place. The sting lingers something real fierce though and before you can bitch at him for it, he laves his firm tongue thickly over it, soothing the tenderness and you shudder.

Unfortunately for you, it’s only the start of the cycle as he gives your other nipple the same treatment. Sucking, biting to the point of pain, then heavy licking. It hurt but it was also good. So good that the thrumming pain in your nipples paired with the delicious waves of pleasure in your rutting core has you coming hard.

Stack doesn’t take his eyes off you.

No, he loves to see the way your pretty face forms into a pout and your swollen lips form that sexy O as you gasp and cry for him, smooth skin and licked raw nipples. Biting his lip, he watches dazed as you writhe in ecstasy, panting when you start to come down.

You’re dizzy and sweaty but you’ve never felt better still you need more. When try you catch your breath, you end up swallowing it when Stack begins to undo his vest and shirt with one hand and sliding your cum slick panties off then pocketing them with the other. You get to drink in the hard lines of muscle before he drops to his knees, pushing your dress up all the way n pressing a fat wet kiss to your clit before sucking it into his greedy mouth and you hear colors.

He’s got you sobbing in under a minute because normally when you cum, he’s kind enough to give you a couple minutes.

You really should have taken him up on taking the easy way out.

Nestling himself further into your cunt, it’s lick after lick between your swollen pussy lips, electricity running up your spine as you tremble. Heat rushes over you in mind numbing waves and threatens to overtake you completely when you’re filled with three of his thick fingers, back arching as they start to swirl harshly against that spot inside you that makes you melt, thrusting sloppily.

Stack presses his lips tight around your nub and when he starts to suck, you fall apart and he groans into your pussy while you lose it and it’s music to his ears.

And just like he knew you would, you beg.

Between the sobbing, the screaming, gasping, moaning and even apologizing…you beg- certain you were gonna lose your mind if he kept going. But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear so he kept lapping away. Drinking you down like you were the best liquor in the country.

“I- uh! Said I was s-sorry- fuck!” Shaky, worn out moans break up your sentence as Stack pulls away with an obscene smack, looking up at you with a wet mouth and lidded eyes- he licks his lips, humming at your taste.

“I heard ya but you know I want more than a lil sorry..”, he trails off and you know what he means; left to choose between your pride or your sanity.

In the moments that you decide, Stack resumes. You feel him roll your nub around with his tongue and when you feel the start of teeth- you break.

“Okay! Okay! Before- I-i said somethin’ under my breath! You was right..”, and Stack looks like the cat the got the cream.

“And what did y’say, pretty?”

Your face burns but you still speak loud enough for him to clearly hear that:

“I said that I..,” you swallow and decide to just get it over with.

“‘Said that I wish you’d break me in.”

“Good girl.”

Satisfaction rolls off Stack in waves as he nods slowly, rising to his feet with a smirk. He hums to himself as he manhandles you onto your stomach, pressing you down into a deep arch and when you hear his belt and fly come undone, blood rushes through your ears. The fat head of his tip presses at the messy wetness of your hole and he bites his lip.

“Y’ready for me to break you in, sweets?”

A warbled moan is the best you got and he takes it, stuffing you full in one thrust. Jesus Christ, it’s such a tight fit that it hurts but in the best way- back arching further as you grapple weakly at the desk. Sobbing moans and wet smacks filling the room. Stack lets out a heady groan, watching the fat of your ass recoil with every thrust, thick strings of your wetness dripping off his cock every time he slides out and he snaps.

Tangling his fingers through your hair, he gets a good grip and pulls, landing a heavy smack on your ass too. The sting makes your eyes water, intensifying the pleasure you already feel as you tighten around him and he’s fucking into you hard enough to knock the air clean out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Stack’s so overcome with pleasure that he can barely think, tingles coiling up is spine as his cock is wrapped in the tightest heat he’s had in his life, ears ringing with your moans that are rising and he knows that when you cum, it’ll be heard-even over the music.

He’s so big that he doesn’t even have to try to hit that spot inside you- shifting a little, pounding away at the nerves n’ the way you go boneless tells him all he needs to know.

“That’s the spot, huh?”

It feels like his fat head is snug up against your stomach and you just can’t quiet yourself down. Broken cries spilling from your throat with drool pooling underneath your cheek and the sight makes his chest burn; railing more than a few of your screws loose.

You were so close.

You’d been close before you waved the white flag by admission and of course he knew that. The twitching of your cunt is on the verge of milking him and he lets go of your hair to wrap his grip around your throat instead, biceps bulging as he squeezes, lips flush against your ear whispering the nastiest things and it’s too much.

Clamping down around his fat cock so tight, he can’t even move as you cum. Its like each and every one of your nerves sizzle before exploding while you leak messily around him, almost blacking out from the overwhelmingness of it all. Stack hisses at how your walls pulse around him, fucking into you with his grip tight around your windpipe until soon enough he lets go too, shooting deep into your pussy with a heavy groan.

You both take a good couple minutes to catch your breath but Stack recovers first. Pulling out slowly then adjusting himself before helping you turn over to lay on your back, breathing heavily. You’re sweaty, you can’t feel your legs, you didn’t have an extra dress to change into, but you got what you wanted and that’s what matters. A lazy grin comes over your face and Stack smiles with you, leaning down to kiss you softly and you purr happily.

“See? Y’so much nicer after you get sum ‘act right’.” Stack’s grin broadens, dimples deepening when you roll your eyes, unamused.

“Not true. I always act right.” Now that was a lie. A lie so blatantly obvious that he laughs, chest warm as it moves against yours and your face warms in affection.

“Right. And I’m Jim Crow-”, his chuckles cut off his own sentence as you swat him on the arm, laughing with him and he’s all too content until there’s a knock at the door.

“Stack n’ company? Y’all decent?” Smoke’s voice is muffled through the wood. You snort at the ‘n company’ part while Stack hurries to cover you with his jacket. It’s big so it works and kind of itchy but smells wonderful and you glow as you nod at him to respond.

“As decent as we’ll be tonight. Come in.”

Smoke comes in and his eyes widen at the state of you two. Whistling,

“Damn! You know it’s bad when you can tell who floats like a butterfly and who stings like a bee-”,

You cover your face in embarrassment as Smoke laughs so hard he has to lean against the door to hold himself up. Stack has to bite his lip to keep from laughing with him too. Sucking his teeth instead.

“Man, what do you want?” Smoke shakes his head before answering like it’s obvious.

“To see if y’all ready to go home or if y’all staying here all night.”

Huh?

“Smoke, what time is it?” He looks at his watch then back at you.

“1:47- almost 2 in the mornin’.”

Damn. The joint closed at one. Wait-! That meant-

“Could y’all-”,

“Hear? Nah, we imagined it. Cornbread gon be talkin’ bout y’all though. Anywho-“,

Your lips thin into a line and you feel a headache coming on before Stack tells his brother that yes, you’re going home and to go wait by the bar and while y’all fix up and he shoots him a look before going, turning on his heel and closing the door. You look up to find Stack already looking at you, smile soft as cotton.

“You alright, baby?”

Warmth blooms all over and you just wanna cuddle him but that’ll wait until you’re back in bed. Leaning up, you kiss him sweetly on the cheek.

“My back hurts but m’ absolutely perfect, now cmon. Smoke’s waitin'.” He nods, kissing you one last time before pulling off you. Making himself presentable and buttoning the oversized blazer of his you have on.

Stack’s carrying you down the stairs to meet Smoke and go home when you gasp, remembering something.

“Do you think Cornbread’ll have told the entire world by tomorrow?”

[heavenlybodies333]

Viagra, really? - S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

All you'd wanted was to satisfy a dumb curiosity—whether or not Viagra had an effect on women. It wasn’t like you were going to pop a whole pill and throw yourself at the next human being in sight. It was just a fun, stupid experiment for a boring Wednesday afternoon. You’d split the dose in half, dropped one into each of two steaming cups of black coffee—one for you, one for JJ—and left them on your desk while you stepped away to make Dr. Spencer Fucking Reid his usual. Like you did everyday.

The man had a freakish internal clock—he always took his second coffee at exactly 3:17 PM. You were the one who usually made it for him, and this time, that was your downfall. You had left your desk to go make his usual cup, completely forgetting you’d left the two tainted ones sitting there.

When you walked back in, everything went to hell. JJ looked chipper, a little pink in the cheeks, sipping from one of the cups. Spencer was holding the other spiked one. You stared at the third cup in your hand, the safe, non-Viagra-laced cup you’d made specifically for him, and your stomach dropped.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

He noticed you staring, eyes narrowing behind those glasses.“What?”

“Nothing!” you blurted, voice too high, too guilty. “Just—coffee. You know. Love it. Can’t live without it.” JJ gave you a sidelong glance over her cup, one eyebrow rising looking over at Reid, who of course, had already half-finished the drink.

Fifteen minutes later, he shifted in his seat. Twenty minutes in, he tugged at his tie. Cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed. You didn’t want to believe it was happening, but it was.

The Viagra was definitely working.

At twenty-five minutes, Spencer Reid stopped typing mid-sentence. His hands froze over the keyboard. His brows knitted in concentration, he glanced at you. His expression unreadable. Then he stood abruptly. His chair rolled back. His hand pressed low to his stomach—almost reflexively—and he muttered, “I need to step out.”

You blinked. “What?” But he didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the hallway bathroom. You turned slowly to JJ. She looked back at you. Eyes wide. “Did he just—?”

“He drank yours,” you hissed. JJ nearly choked. “Then who—?”

“I have his.” You looked at the untouched cup beside you. “You took mine. He took yours.” JJ snorted so hard she had to cover her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“This isn’t funny!” you whisper-yelled.

“I can’t believe you accidentally drugged Reid!”

“I didn’t drug him! I—okay, technically, yes, I—” You groaned. “JJ. I gave Spence a goddamn boner pill.” You dropped your face into your hands.

It took him thirty-six minutes to come back. And when he did? You knew immediately. Because he knew. His eyes landed on you with laser precision. He didn’t speak, not at first. He just walked—calmly, slowly—over to your desk. You looked up, throat dry.

“You wanna tell me,” he said angrily hushed, “why I just spent half an hour in the men’s room trying to hide a completely inexplicable erection?”

You stared at him before looking around for JJ to be your saving grace, of course that bitch was nowhere to be found. “Spencer, I can explain—”

“Can you?” His voice was low, sharp. “Because the only logical explanation is that someone laced my coffee with sildenafil citrate.”

You winced. “We were just—curious. JJ and I.”

His jaw ticked. “We?”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to—” You fumbled. “It was for JJ and me! I made two cups, left them on my desk, and then went to get your usual—”

“And you didn’t think to label them?” His voice cracked at the end, furious and scandalized. “You didn’t think to mention the presence of a powerful vasodilator in the office kitchen?”

“Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“I am hard in trousers I can’t stand up in.”

You bit your bottom lip. “Oh my God, Spencer—”

“Don’t use that tone—like I’m the one in the wrong here.”

You were fighting a laugh. He looked so mad, and so flushed, and so painfully, obviously turned on.

His slacks betrayed him completely. The sharp cut of his jacket couldn’t hide the tension in his body, couldn’t cover the way he shifted, subtle and controlled, like every move was an effort not to feel too much.

“Are you seriously mad at me?” you asked, voice low, eyes darting around.

He leaned in, his mouth near your ear. “I’m hard,” he whispered, “and I’ve been hard for forty-five minutes. You drugged me. You think this is funny?”

You swallowed. “No.” But your voice said otherwise.

“It’s not funny,” you said, grinning. “It’s just—”

“What?” His voice dropped. “It’s what?” He just sat there, visibly hard, visibly panicking, eyes darting toward his lap like his own body was betraying him in real time.

“Reid,” you whispered, “do you want me to take you somewhere private?”

“I—uh—what? No. I mean, yes, I just—” He exhaled sharply and pressed the heels of his palms into his thighs, like that would help the situation. “This is not... I don’t normally feel like this. Not around you. I mean, not because of you. Not—not that I don’t find you attractive, because you’re very attractive, obviously. It’s just—I wasn’t prepared for this. You dosed me.”

You tried not to laugh. “I didn’t dose you, I made a coffee laced with a questionable pharmaceutical as a joke for JJ, and you drank it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t make it better.”

“No,” you agreed, biting your lip. “But it does make it kind of hot.”

He gawked. “Hot?”

You leaned in, your voice hushed. “You. Like this. All flustered and mad and trying really hard to pretend you're not turned on in front of me.”

He made a wounded, embarrassed sound and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh my god. You’re enjoying this.”

You tilted your head. “A little.”

“I could report you to HR,” he muttered, though it had no real bite. His cheeks were flushed, jaw tight with discomfort and... something else. He refused to meet your eyes.

“And what would you say?” you teased gently. “‘She accidentally gave me a hard-on in the middle of the bullpen and then looked too hot about it?’”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re the worst.” you noticed he didn’t move away when you inched a little closer, nor did he stop you when you rested your hand lightly on his knee.

He looked down at it. Then up at you. And his voice cracked a little when he asked, “What... are you doing?”

You smiled. “Making it up to you.”

“You can’t just—just seduce your way out of this,” he stammered. “This is medical. Physiological. I—I’m experiencing venous occlusion and—and increased nitric oxide—”

“God, even flustered, you’re the most ridiculously hot person I’ve ever met,” you muttered, half to yourself.

He stared at you, lips parted. “Are you serious right now?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Dead serious.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Spence,” you said softly. “Just come with me. Somewhere private. I’ll take care of it.”

He hesitated. Eyes searching yours like he was weighing every possible outcome. Then he stood suddenly, stiffly, clearly trying to adjust himself without making it worse.

He stared at you. Then he looked toward Hotch’s office. Empty. Toward the hallway. Quiet. Back at you.

He grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to register it. He pulled you down the hallway, fast and quiet, past the copier, past the tech room, past the old conference wing. His grip was hot and firm around your wrist

You knew where he was going before you saw the door: Storage 4C – Surplus Tech.

Dead zone. No cameras. Half the time even Garcia forgot it existed. He pulled you in. Shut the door. Locked it. Watching him pace in a tight circle, he looked like he might combust.

“This is insane,” he said. “I’ve got dopamine overload, I can’t think straight, my pants—” He gestured wildly toward his zipper. “I can’t even sit down like this.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Then don’t sit down.” He opened his mouth—probably to ask what the hell you meant—but before he could speak, you dropped to your knees.

“Wh—what are you—” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, sharp and panicked.

You looked up through your lashes, palms dragging slowly up the backs of his thighs. “You said you didn’t know what to do, right? So let me.” You reached up to undo his belt, watching the muscles in his stomach tighten beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You don’t have to—” he choked out.

“I want to,” you said simply.

He made a soft, moan when you freed him from the confines of his slacks—thick and flushed, already straining with pressure. The tip was leaking, glistening, and you could tell just how sensitive he was by the way his thighs trembled the second your breath ghosted over his skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my god.” You wrapped your fingers around the base and leaned in, licking a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of his cock. His whole body jolted.

One hand shot out instinctively and tangled in your hair, the other hovered helplessly in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His head tipped back against the wall, breath ragged.

“Y-you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

You smiled around him as you took him into your mouth, slowly, letting him feel the heat, the suction, the way your tongue curled just right. He gasped—a sharp, disbelieving sound—and his hips jerked forward before he forced himself back, muttering a frantic, “Sorry—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You moaned around him in response, letting him know you liked it, and the sound dragged another whimper out of him.

He looked down at you, his face flushed, his lips parted, his expression somewhere between awe and desperation. His fingers tightened in your hair again when you took him deeper, your throat relaxing around him.

“God, you’re—” He cut off with a moan, teeth digging into his lower lip. “You feel... fuck, you feel so good.”

You bobbed your head slowly, deliberately, watching him unravel. He was panting now, trying and failing to keep it together. His knees buckled slightly and his grip in your hair more needy.

“I’m—I can’t—” he stammered, trying to pull you back gently. “You—you have to stop or I’m gonna—”

You hummed low in your throat, and that was it. His cock twitched in your mouth as he came. you sucked harder, mouth still wrapped around him, swallowing everything, hands steady on his hips while he sagged against the wall,

You let him go with one last slow drag of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like it was just another Tuesday.

His eyes were still closed when you stood. Like he couldn’t quite process as you leaned in close, your voice a whisper at his ear, “I said I’d fix it,” you murmured, “consider us even.” And then you turned and walked out—leaving him dazed, pants half-open, jaw slack, completely wrecked in the supply closet of the BAU.

No shame. Just the soft sound of your boots against the tile, echoing back to him

Spencer Reid didn’t move for a full five minutes. And when he finally did, all he could say was: “…Holy shit.”

a/n: omfg it’s confirmed Matthew is coming back for season 18 of criminal minds im losing my shit

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[iamthatonefangirl]

riding beefy bucky while he praises the living shit out of you bug also degrading you just a little (freaking love your work!!!!!!!!)

forever - nsfw beefy bucky

oh you know it anon. I love beefy bucky and his LIPS and his HAIR and his ARMS

(lmk if you'd like to pick an emoji ily)

~~~

he's laying back on the bed, sheets mussed and soaked in sweat. he's craning his neck up to look at you, all while he's whining like a baby and watching you move up and down so perfectly on his dick.

"god, you're such a good little whore for me. taking it so well for me, just like always, you know that, babydoll?"

he grabs at the flesh of your ass before running his hand up to the small of your back where he pushes gently down on you to keep you from moving again. the sudden change surprises you when he doesn't let you up, holding you in place, just admiring the view from behind.

you've never ridden him like this before, facing away from him. while the feeling is heavenly, he misses seeing you.

"wanna see your pretty face, baby," he admits, completely out of breath. you smile to yourself, even as tired as you are, sweat dripping down your forehead and narrowly missing falling into your eyes.

you un-straddle him and turn around to lay on him for a moment, resting a hand on his chest as you lean down to kiss his soft, perky lips.

he grips you by the waist, dipping his tongue into your mouth lazily as you kiss for a few slow minutes. everything else seems so infinitesimal as you feel him kissing you so perfectly. somehow he just makes you feel whole, especially when he kisses you like this, like he's truly trying to show you how much he loves you.

eventually, you both get yourself worked up again. he manhandles you without any effort at all, easily picking you up and moving your entire weight on top of him. he wraps a hand around the base of his length and begins to rut up against you, coating himself in your arousal once again.

"love the way you react to me," he says, still sounding like he's stunned into breathlessness. you always take his breath away with your inherent beauty. "such a good girl. so pretty. letting me fuck her the way she deserves," he heaves while he notches his tip against your opening.

he slowly pulls you back down onto him, stretching you out once again. he's far more pleased with this position, watching your every facial expression as he opens you up for him.

he's so big, you wonder every time how it fits inside you. "made for me," he whispers when your hips meet his, taking his entire length in stride.

"you're gonna be gaping for me, all open and loose, aren't you baby?" he teases, and you throw your head back a little bit while you begin to move on top of him.

he helps you, taking the strain off your knees. he's fucking you so beautifully, adjusting your hips under his grip to try and find your sweet spot.

"look at me, sweetheart," he pleads. he needs to see your face, the way your eyes are hooded with lust for him, the way your jaw clenches and relaxes...

"tell me you're my good girl.”

"oh..." is all you manage as he finally thrusts just right to make you whine out into the room.

he watches as your jaw drops slightly to form the syllable, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating your skin and the droplets of sweat on your brow.

you're fucking stunning like this. tits on display, face tilted perfectly to let him watch you, letting yourself go as you ride him.

"sweetheart?" he goads, patting your ass gently. "what did I say?"

"your good girl," you affirm for him, knowing it's true. "only for you."

"who stretches you open so good, hmm? who's allowed to fuck you til you're a wet, gaping mess?"

"you, Bucky. only you," you whisper, bringing your fingertips to your clit to send you over the edge.

"uh-uh. when I'm fucking you, I'm the one who pleaures you, baby," he corrects, batting your hand away and replacing it with his own.

once upon a time, you were too scared to ride him like this. but with a lot of encouragement and kisses and orgasms, you gained the courage. he fucking adores the way you're so shameless, granting him the privilege of seeing every inch of you this way.

"yes, please, Bucky," you reply, so in love with the feeling of his fingers on you.

he sees the way you're getting tired, and even with his help, it's a lot of work. good thing he's so damn strong.

he digs his metal fingers in deeper to the plush of your waist and sits up, bringing your chests together. he practically lifts you over and over, doing all the work for you, all with one hand. you love how strong he is, how his muscles and his tits and his tummy are all so delectable.

his flesh fingers continue to work you between your legs where you're joined, and he begins to whisper in your ear. "my pretty baby. too weak to even ride me til she comes, isn't that right?"

"need your help, Bucky, always," you say, spurring him on. you love when he gets like this; you know how it helps his self-esteem, feeling like you actually need him for something. which of course, you do. how he could ever doubt that is beyond you.

"tell me you love me," he says out of nowhere. "please, baby. say my name when you come. and tell me you love me."

he's the one sounding so desperate now. you hear the vulnerability in his words, the way he's getting in his head.

you grip his hair gently but firmly, bringing him to make eye contact with you.

"I love you, James. I love you forever," you affirm.

he nods, taking in your words. it's hard for him to accept, but he knows you mean it. he trusts you, he loves you. he knows you're going to tell him the truth, always.

"I love you, too, baby. love you forever, too," he whines. even for a man of such strength and resolve, you see it begin to crack as his face contorts in need and the movements of his hips begin to falter.

"come on, pretty girl. let me see you come," he encourages. "let me see how good I make you feel written all over your gorgeous face."

at that, you grit your teeth and let it happen. he loves your expressions, the natural responses you have to everything, and he loves to see your face when you come.

you tried to hide your face from him one time when you came, and he was not pleased.

"James," you whine, and your voice breaks as you come. you squeeze him like a vice, sending him into his own orgasm.

he lets out a beautiful cry, saying your name and a soft "love you, baby."

he leans into you, holding you close to his chest, letting your heat soak into his skin. you pepper kisses over his soft cheeks and his lips.

"I love you, baby. so much. always and forever," you whisper as you worship him the way he deserves.

"I love you, baby. gonna make sure you're mine forever. never gonna let anything happen to you..."

~~~

uhh someone tell me where this softness came from. but I guess even with the shameless smut I write I'm still a lovergirl at heart smh

anyways its after 11:30pm and I just wrote this but I had to get a post out before the day is over bc i love you all

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially

[cribabey]

perv!m.g x bsf!r

a/n - my own dirty filthy thoughts about pervert mark grayson who's just recently gotten his powers, and his sense of smell is insane....

MDNI- thigh fucking, pervy mark, he can smell you (?) porn w/o plot somnophilia

mark's powers came in gradually. first was his increased sense of smell, then his hearing, and then the rest of his powers.

his sense of smell, well....it came in at a rather bad time. he'd just come over for another movie night between the two of you, and he could suddenly smell everything clearer.

the smell of the flowers on your dining table was crisp in his nose, despite being in your room, a floor above the dining room. the smell of your perfume on your skin, and the smell of you.

mark has always had some kind of feelings for you, that he had realised suddenly. he started getting hot every time you brushed up against him, and his eyes began always dropping lower than they should be, at a respectable level. his pants were too tight around you, and seemingly innocent things would get him all bothered.

but it wasn't like he just wanted to fuck you, he actually had feelings for you. he wanted to take you on dates, wanted to be able to love you in the open, not just internally while hiding it from everyone else.

the problem? he was your best friend, and it wasn't like he could just come out with his emotions, in the fear of losing you.

so mark was content to wait, until he gets the go-ahead from you, he'll just wait, however desperate for you he was.

but the other problem? you did like him. but he didn't know that.

suddenly, mark had become this insanely attractive guy to you overnight. initially you just started noticing the small things, like the flex of his forearms when he was doing something as small as writing, and the strain of the muscle in his back and arms when he threw you around in circles. i mean, you'd always known mark was attractive, but it all just suddenly hit you. he was sweet, smart and considerate, always being so tuned into you. he'd know when you were cold, and would drop his sweater around your shoulders without you even having to ask.

so in all, you were down bad, both romantically and physically.

which brings us to the present.

mark had come over for your typical movie marathon friday night.

you'd both sat on your bed together, your leg thrown over his as you'd watched your tv on your bed. an idea that always had him popping a chub, as dirty thoughts raced through his head. you, taking his cock so pliantly as he drilled you into your frilly blue bedsheets, him, in between your legs, discovering what heaven might actually taste like. you, choking on his cock as you looked up at him with those eyes of yours.

safe to say, he was definitely sprouting a boner.

it was a miracle you never noticed, with how often it happened. once, you had gotten dangerously close, your cheek smushed right above his groin when you were lying on top of him. he had to think of his poor dead grandmother's dentures in a cup of water to get it to go down. per usual, you'd been lying together on your bed, and when you both fell asleep, he woke up first.

at some point during your sleep, you'd both moved, so that you were pressed to his front with your back to him. your ass pressed against his dick, which was getting harder with every second.

he needed to move away, to scoot away or else he'd lose all semblance of control, so he tried to scoot away just a little. it gave him a temporary measure to get a break, but the next thing he knew, you were following, ass pressing to his groin again. he groaned out loud, quietly, and he just stopped moving, afraid to wake you to the feel of his hard on your ass. you started moving just a little bit in your sleep, and the friction that mark felt was insane.

his voice caught in his throat, and he tried his best not to moan immediately. this was bad, this was really bad. you were basically grinding on him in his sleep!

while this may have been one of his fantasies literally come to life, he could only think about how you might wake up to it and never want to speak to him again.

but he couldn't move, not at all.

but something switched in mark when he smelt it. saccharine sweet and light at the same time, and so unbelievably you.

it took mark a little to realise what it was.

you were wet.

from him.

because of him.

and you wanted this just as badly as he did, because even in your sleep you were grinding on him.

mark let out a guttural growl, needing more of that smell. he can't hold back anymore.

the next thing he knows, he's pulled his sweatpants down. the waistband is around his thighs, and he's pushed his boxers down with them.

he pulls his dick out, pumping it a couple times next to your sleeping form, pressing his nose to your pulse point as he inhales.

oh god, you smell so good. he thinks to himself. he feels the precum beading at his tip, and uses it as a lube for his dick as he fists his cock, pretending it's your hand as you smile up at him.

if it was you, he thinks of how your hand would struggle to wrap around his girth, and you'd drool at the thought of him slamming into you, making you cum over and over again.

using his thumb, he plays with his slit. he screws his eyes shut, his breathing heavy as he imagines your tongue playing with his slit, gobbling up his precum as if it was something valuable.

he'd get you so cock-drunk, you'd never be able to look at any other guys ever again, and you'd only ever want his dick inside you, always. he'd bend you over every surface in your house and his, and fuck you till you're screaming his name and unable to walk.

mark starts rutting against your body, before he gently manhandles you as to not wake you up, lifting one of your legs so he can slot his dick in between your soft thighs.

you're warm, and it makes him groan. this is literally so hot to him, your body compliant and responsive to his, and he can feel the tightening of his stomach muscles, knowing he's close to his climax.

he briefly acknowledges the obscene, wet sounds that come hims precum dribbling from his leaky tip, the slap, slap noise of his hip bones hitting the back of your thighs as he chases his high.

his climax hits him hard, and he groans into your ear, licking a stripe up the column of your neck as he chases the end of his high. his cum splurts all over your thighs and your frilly bedsheets, and he can only think of how good you smell, with the saccharine sweet of your arousal mixing up with his cum.

once he's finished from his ejaculation, he tucks himself back into his boxers and sweatpants, leaving the mess for you to find later. he knows this won't be the last time he uses you when you're sleeping.

you wake up to a sticky substance coating your thighs, and your own panties dripping wet. you don't know what's happened as you've always been a deep sleeper, but you have a feeling that mark's got something to do with it.

you can still feel boner pressing against your ass still, so you have a guess as to what it is.

doesn't matter though, because you're happy to help this one go down as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n omg this is my first smutt.....mark has had an absolute chokehold on me lately....... anyway! let me know what you think!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[tojisteddy]

Mean nasty daddy simon when you try to rile him up? (The piss kink one made me..... realise stuff)

Feenin | cw: dark content, 18+ mdni, daddy kink (icky), meanie!simon/toxic (ish), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t try this at home folks), smol degregation, overstim, cunnilingus, edging (to hell), breath play, p in v, cum play, dd/lg dynamics, slight sub-drop, some after care, blackcat!reader

a/n: I’m sorry if this is too long. I just had a vision and had to map it out. Lmk what you think.

No one is surprised when Simon brushes you off.

He could be a complete and utter asshole, he’d brush off plenty of women in his day. Other women too. But he was doing it to you, his girlfriend. His precious kitty, who he sworn he cared deeply about.

All you wanted was for him to look at your outfit, tell you how pretty you look, hold your chin in his hand and adorn you with a peck on your pretty lip lined lips. But he simply gave you a glance and went on talking to Soap. You blinked, once, twice. He was kidding, right?

Not when you’d spent more than an hour curling your hair and getting it absolutely volumized and every curl in the perfect spot. Not when you’d picked out something undoubtedly sexy to have him eating out of your palm.

Did you look too uppity— god no. Never. A little slutty of course, a little minx— the way you liked it. The way the blonde, tattooed man should have. He does.

Soap gave you an apologetic smile, “You look great lass. Out ‘f a magazine.” And you did.

Who wouldn’t want to be with the girls out of a fashion magazine? Clearly not the man you’d actually want attention from.

“Thank you Soap,” you tried not to speak so tightly. with that, you turned, digging yourself out the small ditch you’d gotten stuck in— your feelings— and continuing to option D.

If the brute couldnt be bothered, you go seek attention else where.

It would never be your first option, or your second… or your third— the last resort— not since you’d been with Simon. But there was a rare occasion, like now, that ass hole would really try to make you mad. So you did what you had to do to get his attention. Show him what he was missing in the exact moment.

It was easy to get it too. You had the allure, pretty smile, a voice anyone would be at the edge of their seats to hear, enchant anyone with the sway of your hips to the music. It didn’t take long for you to find yourself sat next to some stranger at the bar. A fuck boy right of the bat, drowning you in compliments just as you wanted. But he was someone you and Simon both knew looked like the type you’d used to fuck.

Pretty, tall, too far gone up their own ass for their own good— men who looked right off of Paris Fashion Week.

The exact opposite of Simon Riley.

You were just playing at first. A little causal flirting never hurt anyone most of the time. A playful push of the shoulder, biting your long manicured nail and looking at him like he was the prettiest thing ever, a small giggle, playing with the necklace Ghost had gifted you so that the guy would look down at your perfect tits. No harm, no foul.

It was when he’d bought you a martini and coincidentally started talking about a show he was watching— your favorite show. You weren’t flirting anymore, you were fully indulging in deep conversation. Unknowingly making the guy think he had a chance against the rugged man who was staring you down now that you actually looked like you gave a shit about the man beside you.

You’d known Simon had to be watching by now. You felt it in your gut, those butterflies flying higher and higher. You couldn’t help that smug smirk that got on your face. The idiot beside you thinking it was for him.

Enough of the bullshit.

Simon stood from his seat, he didn’t need to yell, didn’t need to call out your name, didn’t even need to look directly at you. You saw him stand in the corner of your eye, then move towards the exit. You scramble to get up, eyebrows furrowing, your nose flaring. Not because you have to leave, because he didn’t give you the reaction you wanted.

He never did.

“Where you going? We were just having a good time right?” You-didn’t-even-know-his-name, asked as you double checked your purse.

“My boyfriend just left, we’re going home.” You say as if he should’ve already known that. Games over.

The drive home was quiet, so was the shower you too took together, and then he’s telling you to go to your room and think about what you did wrong. You didn’t even get the chance to refute it, he just went to his room— where you usually slept together— and shut it.

You woke up with a puffy face, you’d cried yourself to sleep before it even really got to the bad part. Your first instinct was to rush to where ever Simon was but you’d head the music from the garage blaring, so you knew it’d be harder to get your words out the way you wanted.

Push through it like Simon told you to.

So you occupied an hour or so of your time with other tasks, getting dressed just to stay in the house, eating the breakfast Simon left for you. Cleaning off the shelves of Simon’s large movie collection.

And here comes the hard part. Talking it out. Apologizing because you fucked up. Crossed the line.

“I’m sorry Pa,” you squeeked out over the music. And he knows you’re looking down on the floor, he can see you rocking in your little kitten heals from the corner of his eye, beyond nervous. But he doesn’t look up from the car he was tinkering with, just turns down the volume to the music. He doesn’t have to verbally say it, ‘for?’

“I’m sorry for flirting with that guy. I was- I was mad you didn’t pay attention to me. I wasn’t usin my brain like you tell me to. ‘Nd it’s not an excuse for bein tipsy.”

“No, no it’s not.,” he shuts the hood of the truck with a sigh. Moving over to wash his hands at the utility sink. He comes toward you, really taking you in— his gorgeous babe. You looked like the sexiest thing alive last night. Simon knew that. The asshole just likes fucking with you a little bit, get you riled up so he can fuck you. Tell you you’re the best thing in the world, his fucking girl. The blonde didn’t expect for you to play his game better than him. Get him jealous and pissed off.

His kiddo learned fast, didn’t you? Sweet thing. So loveable.

Flirting was a line never to be crossed with either one of you. You’d danced on it last night and the man would have to show you what that actually meant. But jeez, how fucking pretty did you look right now in your denim pencil skirt, cheetah print and lace cami, light make up just for a day in the house, gold hoops, your curls flowing down your back— the most adorable pout on your trembling, glossed bottom lip— he’d ruin it. Ruin you.

In the best way of course.

Simon holds your chin in his fingers, pecks your lips— you want to cry, you want to melt. It’s all what you wanted this whole time but you knew you can’t take, and take, and take. Someone’s gotta give.

“Dad’s gotta teach you to a lesson, doesn’t he kitty?”

You already want to say sorry again, maybe rewind and cancel out your prior actions and shake the sense into yourself. But you nod, tell yourself just to wait it out. Be a good girl for once.

“Yes sir.”

Simon wouldn’t let you cum.

The fucking demon, the bastard— had you running to grasp on to your own sanity.

He snatched your skirt off, spreading you thighs open on the hood of that old unfinished car Simon had been working on and ate. His tongue running through your folds, down to your hole, sopping up any of your sweet fluids that flowed out, making sure to catch every drop. Then slowly worked his tongue up to your fat clit. Swirling it around in his mouth before full on French kissing it.

Just when you felt your eyes cross, you tried to close your thighs that were pushed back with Simons large hands, that magical feeling coming to you— the blonde gave your cunt a harsh smack that got car wet from your juices.

“You’re not cumming that fuckin fast, are you?”

You want to scuff and shove his face away. But you’re trembling just from the thought of cumming. You wanted him to fuck the daylights out of you. “I-I’m fine.” You force out, turning your head away.

You so easily fall for the little bit of teasing. Simon’s little kitty, he’d fuck your little brain up. He’d continue eating away at you, sucking, rubbing, licking— until your mascara was smudged, tears falling from your face and not letting you cum.

But he was just getting started.

He fucked you againt the car, squeezing and pulling at your breasts through the seamless cami and then right as he felt you clench, with a smack to the ass, Simon would pull out. Stroking his own dick till he released all over ass. Then again, your leg over his shoulder, shoving all of his veiny cock in your sobbing pussy that was aching for release. Pulling away and cumming on your stomach. In between your thighs, right on your fucking pussy. Not giving a fuck that he worked it into you when he fucked you again.

And now, you’re on the ground, knees scrapping the concrete of the ground while he fucks you, rough. His hands gripping your hips enough to leave a bruise. You can feel it building inside your stomach, you shimmy your ass against Simon for more but you know he won’t give it to you by the swat he leaves on your ass, going to rub your more abused and misused clit.

Your sobs were loud, clawing at the ground, you babble, “Daddy, I wanna-“

“Shut it.”

“But-“

“[+],” he warns through a grunt, yanking his dick out of you again and you shake you head. Like a child who’s gotten their favorite toy taken away, crying even harder. Simon’s hand goes back and forth against his shaft, and holding you tightly by your hair.

“Spent all that time last night, talkin that pricks head off, now you’re gonna shut the fuck up for me. Be my little sex doll, yeah?” Simon rubs the tip of his dick on your ass, then in between the two globes, shuddering at how good you made him feel. His cum spurting all over you. He thrusts his dick a couple more times, making sure it’s properly smeared.

He groans at the sight of you, it’s fucking filthy the mess he’s created on you, dripping down to the floor.

“Hold y’self open for me.” Your hands aren’t even steady anymore, you’re quivering. You reach behind, your manicured nails spreading your pussy lips open. And it’s like if you stared at the sun for too long, seen Jesus rise from the tomb— your pink insides, glistening with his cum and your shining slick.

“Stay there.” And then you hear his footsteps going away and the door to the garage that’s connected to the house, close.

“Daddy, I don’t- I can’t-“ you stumble over words, but there no immediate response. In fact there’s no response at all. Just the sound of the breeze, music low from when Simon turned it down, cars passing in the distance, you can’t even hear the tv in the living room. It’s silent— like he’s gone.

And you wrack your brain, your eyes start to glisten— what if he’s gone and he doesn’t come back? What if your left here and someone comes and sees you in this state?

The embarrassment builds, worry, you’re scared— “Daddy! I can’t do this anymore- please! I’m sorry!” You keen, still unmoving, just in case he changed his mind. He’d come for you. You wanted to be good.

And then, you hear the sound of a car pulling up. Not passing, it’s coming through the paved brush, and soon it’ll come up go the house. They’ll get out for car—

Someone’s gonna see you like this, your skirt god knows where, heels in two different places while you were a disheveled, stupid and fucked out mess. You plop down on the ground, your hands in your lap, one hiccup comes out— and right on queue, the garage door comes down. The dam breaks open.

The delivery driver doesn’t see you. He goes straight to the front door. Your favorite food in hand because the blonde knows his sweet girl needs a treat after this punishment—

“Everything alright sir?” The delivery driver asks.

“My kids just ‘avin a little cry,” no a big one, your sobs were echoing loudly. Even to where they stood. The delivery man gave an understanding nod and went about his way. Ghost placed the food down on one of the end tables and immediately went to you.

You feel arms wrap around you, pulling you close. You try to shove them away but he holds onto you tighter. Snaps in your face and you finally open your puffy eyes. Lashes clunked together as you struggle to look at the big man holding you’.

“Fuckin ‘ell, hey look at me, look at me,” and he turns your head to look at him, “I’m right ‘ere. Daddy’s right here.” Simon lifts you holds you against his firm chest.

“Y-youuu, left Daddy. You left!” You get out through your hiccups and ragged voice. Clutching onto his shirt.

“Just like you did to me last night, right? Dad doesn’t like when you go runnin off like that, do I?”

“No sir, ‘m sorry. I wasn’t good- I was bad.”

Simon brushes your curls back, planting a soft kiss to your cheek, coaxing you, “You just made a mistake ‘s all. It’s okay. You’re okay. You learned your lesson.”

Your concept of time is off, you don’t even realize Ghost has now put you on the bed, gently placing you on all fours, he rubs the fat of your ass, down to your thighs. Then angles himself to your hole, “Gonna let you cum once, okay? Did fuckin perfect for your Daddy, gotta treat you.”

Ghost sinks into your heat, deep, snug— just as he molded you pretty cunt. Ghost is slow this time. Immediately thrusting into your g-spot, the sound of your thighs clapping against each other bounces off the walls. You mewl, arching your back further into him. Drool starts forming down your mouth and Simon wipes it, just before covering your mouth.

“Shhhhh, just feel it kitty. You got it. S’okay.”

You can’t breath— you try through to through your nose but it’s not helping going straight to your brain. It makes you dizzy, while you moan out Simons name in muffled cries while he drives you further and further to the brink of your first orgasm of the night.

Simon gives you one last thrust, and that’s what it takes for you to unravel around him. And it’s fucking euphoric, earth shattering. Life changing. You let out a scream, muffled by Simons hand. Your gooey walls gripping onto his cock. The man finally lets you go and you fall against the mattress, chest heaving up and down, as your legs shake, tears drops falling against the sheets. Simon kisses your scalp as you shake, he mumbles, “Did so good for me doll. Took your punishment so well. Knew you could, so proud of you.”

You hiccup, eyes finding him as he slowly slides out from you. Throwing his pants on and then going over to the pile of stuffed animals you had on the floor. He lifts your two go to’s. A Miffy rabbit or the stuffed stripped tiger.

“Miffy or George?” And you sniffle, eyes slowly blinking at the two objects he’s holding out.

You point, “G-eorge.” Your voice is shot for sure. Ghost would worry about that later.

“Yeah? Fuckin good choice kitty.” He hands you the stuffed animal. Kissing your full lips, once, twice.

“Gonna clean you up, alright? Go to sleep, Daddy’s got you.”

Your eyes flutter shut, cuddling onto George tight, “Okay Daddy.”

a/n: if you ever wonder why it takes me so long to do requests. This is why. I do it for the plot. I need plot. Istg I’m writing it, I just gotta have the vision and proper inspo. This was fun to write tho. Luv you babes lots.

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon.

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @mims900

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 3┃ Still Think I’m Soft?

Male reader x Ningning Word count: 6.8k Tags: facefucking, anal, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2

She didn’t slam the door.

That would’ve been easier.

Karina just stood there. Her hand still on the knob. Eyes on me.

Not on Giselle. Not the bed. Not the scattered clothes or the marks still cooling on her skin.

Me.

I’d never been looked at like that. Not with disgust. Not even with shock.

Just... like she was measuring my worth.

Like she was pulling up a chair in her mind and watching me bleed without touching the knife.

Giselle pulled the sheet tighter around herself. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Her face was flushed, lashes damp, mouth still kiss-bitten. She looked like what she was — someone who’d just been fucked hard and loved every second of it.

And now she was trying to hide it.

Karina’s gaze didn’t move.

I sat there. Half-covered. My breath still uneven. Muscles tensed in places I hadn’t known were still working. My shirt was somewhere on the floor. My jeans, still open. The air was warm, but I felt cold.

“Karina,” Giselle finally said, voice soft. Unsteady. “This isn’t— I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

No answer.

From behind her, I heard another voice. Softer. Curious.

“Is everything okay?”

Another followed. Lighter, with a spark.

Karina stepped forward slightly. Just enough for the other two girls to peer inside.

I didn’t know their names.

But I knew when people were sizing me up.

One of them let out a low whistle. “Huh.”

The other didn’t say anything.

Karina’s voice was level.

She didn’t yell.

Didn’t ask what happened.

Didn’t call security.

Just looked at me like I already didn’t belong here.

And said: "You need to leave."

I looked at Giselle.

She was already standing. Bare feet on the floor. Sheet wrapped around her like a robe, but it couldn’t hide the tension in her shoulders. Or the bruises shaped like fingerprints on her thighs.

“No,” she said. “He’s staying.”

Karina didn’t blink.

“Giselle.”

“I invited him.”

Silence.

The girl who whistled leaned against the doorframe like this was all a performance. The other just watched, unreadable.

Karina’s voice dropped half a degree. "We're not just talking about you room, Giselle. We're talking about this house. About all of us. And you brought a stranger into it like it didn't mean anything."

Giselle’s jaw clenched. “I’m not ashamed of this.”

“Doesn’t mean it was smart.”

Karina didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t scold.

She didn’t have to.

It was in the way she looked at Giselle — like she expected better.

And in the way she looked at me — like I had no business being there.

This wasn’t about sex.

It was about respect.

About the lines you don’t cross when you’re part of something bigger than yourself.

No one moved at first.

Not Karina. Not the two girls flanking her. Not even Giselle, who stood like she was bracing for a slap that hadn’t landed yet.

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t ashamed.

The silence made me feel like I should be.

Karina turned without another word, the door swinging wider as she walked out. The girl who’d whistled followed a beat later, still silent but smirking, like she was filing the whole thing away for later.

The last one lingered.

She looked at me — not like Karina had, not like I was a stain on the rug — but like she was curious. Her head tilted slightly, just enough to let a piece of her hair fall into her eye. She didn’t move it. She didn’t say a word.

And then she left too.

The door stayed open.

I sat there, bare-chested on the bed, trying to remember how to breathe.

Giselle was already moving — collecting my shirt from the floor, tossing it onto the bed like it was a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” she said, without looking at me.

Her voice was sharp. Not angry. Just embarrassed — not at me, but because of the situation.

“You don’t have to be,” I said.

She pulled a hoodie from the back of a chair and tugged it on. Her hair was a mess. Her cheeks still blotchy with sex and tension. Faint bruises were already blooming on her thighs — places I’d gripped too hard, places she hadn’t told me to stop.

She looked like someone who wanted to be anywhere else but here.

I slipped my shirt over my head and stood, grabbing my jeans off the edge of the bed.

“Maybe I should go.”

Her eyes snapped up.

“No.” 

Then softer, almost like she regretted how fast that came out. 

“I mean… unless you want to.”

I didn’t answer right away. My fingers fumbled with the button on my jeans.

There was a sound down the hall — a door closing. Then another. The house had that strange, eerie quiet big places always had when something loud had just happened.

Giselle exhaled through her nose, pacing. “She wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“I figured.”

She gave a hollow little laugh. “Of course she’s early. Karina’s always early.”

I sat back on the edge of the bed, half-dressed, waiting for the panic or guilt or even anger to kick in. Nothing did.

“You in trouble?”

“With her?” Giselle asked. “No. Not really.”

She paused.

“But if she decides to make it a problem... I’ll know.”

“You regret it?”

She didn’t answer right away.

She was sitting beside me — not touching, but close enough that it felt like she wanted to.

The hoodie she threw on hung off one shoulder, and her hands were curled around the edge of the mattress like she needed to grip something solid.

Then: “No. Not even a little.”

She said it too fast. Like she wanted it out of her mouth before she could change her mind.

I nodded slowly. “Good.”

She glanced at me. “You?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

I met her eyes. “You want me to lie?”

She smiled. Not her flashy stage smile — the real one. Small, unguarded, like I’d caught her off balance and she didn’t hate the feeling.

“That’s the part I wasn’t ready for,” she said softly. “You… not treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“You’re not.”

“Some people act like I am. Like if they say the wrong thing, I’ll cry or call my manager.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Only if I need to.”

That got a laugh out of me.

She bumped her shoulder against mine.

I let it linger.

We sat there for a while, quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like it’s holding its breath. Like the room itself knew something had shifted and didn’t want to jinx it.

Her hand slid across the blanket and brushed mine.

I took it.

Her fingers curled around mine like they’d been waiting for permission.

“I don’t do this,” she said.

“Invite guys into your room?”

“Let them stay.”

I looked at her profile — the way lips compressed when she was unsure, how her gaze kept dancing around the room like it was safer to look anywhere but at me.

“Do you want me to go?”

She hesitated.

“No,” she said. Then, quieter: “But maybe you should.”

“Because of Karina?”

“Because of all of it.”

She looked at me then — really looked — and I saw it: not fear. Not shame. Just the recognition that something real had happened. And real things had a way of changing everything around them.

“This wasn’t how you planned it, was it?”

She looked down. Her fingers picked at the edge of the sheet.

“No. Not really.”

“You mean, it was supposed to be casual.”

“Controlled,” she added.

“You mean you were supposed to be in control.”

She didn’t argue.

I didn’t leave right away.

I thought I would. Get dressed, find the door, disappear before anyone changes their mind.

But I didn’t.

We sat there a few more minutes — her with her legs drawn up and her hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, me with my elbows on my knees, trying not to think too hard about what came next.

Eventually she stood and stretched, the fabric of her hoodie riding up just enough to tease. She caught me looking and didn’t hide her smirk.

“I should get dressed for real,” she said.

I nodded and stood, brushing off my jeans.

“I’ll give you a minute.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched me head toward the door like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop me.

Out in the hallway, it was darker. Quiet.

I didn’t get two steps before someone was there.

Shorter than me. Wide eyes. Long dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail and a silk robe she hadn’t bothered to tie properly.

She was leaning against the wall across from Giselle’s door, arms folded, like she’d been waiting.

We locked eyes.

She didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Hey,” she said, like we were old friends who’d just run into each other in line at the grocery store.

“Hey,” I replied, slower.

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not very good at sneaking out.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

That got a little grin. “Bold.”

I nodded toward the far end of the hall. “You standing guard?”

“I’m standing.”

“Right.”

We both looked at each other for a second too long.

Then she pushed off the wall and took a few steps closer. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood.

“Just so you know,” she said, voice lower now, “I don’t think you should feel bad.”

“About what?”

“Whatever happened in there.” She glanced toward Giselle’s door. “She’s not stupid. And she doesn’t usually let people in like that.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Ningning gave a little shrug. “Well. You got past the front gate. That’s something.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing.

She stopped in front of me. Not close enough to crowd me. Just close enough to see her eyes weren’t as playful as her tone had been.

“You have a name?” she asked.

“Mylo.”

Her lips curved just slightly. “I’m Ningning.”

I nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

She leaned in — not to whisper, just to keep the moment between us.

“You’re already causing trouble,” she said. “Might as well enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

Then she walked past me, back toward her room, not looking back.

The hallway felt colder after she walked away.

I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the space she left behind. Then I turned, walked back to Giselle’s door, and knocked lightly before pushing it open.

She was sitting on the bed with her legs folded under her, now in a fresh pair of loose shorts and a tank top. Hair combed, skin scrubbed, no makeup — just her. The kind of raw, pretty that didn’t need effort.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She nodded, but something in her expression told me she’d been thinking too much.

“I ran into Ningning.”

Her mouth twitched. “Let me guess. She flirted with you.”

“Little bit.”

“She’s shameless.”

I sat on the edge of the bed. “Clearly.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then Giselle looked up, hesitant. “You’ll text me?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She walked me to the door, barefoot. No words this time. Just stood in front of me, fingers playing with the edge of her shirt.

“I liked tonight,” she said.

“Me too.”

Her eyes flicked to my mouth. “Don’t ruin it.”

I smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She leaned in and kissed me. Quick. Soft. Final.

Then she nodded toward the hallway. “Guest room’s second door on the left.”

I smiled. “So I’m not kicked out after all.”

“Not yet.”

She opened the door.

The sheets were too clean.

That was the first thing I noticed when I lay down. Everything smelled like detergent and linen spray and something vaguely floral — nothing human. No warmth. No breath. Just a pristine bed in a house too big for comfort.

I lay there with one arm behind my head, eyes on the ceiling, not really thinking. Or maybe thinking too much. Giselle’s kiss still sat at the edge of my mouth. The way she looked at me — not like an idol, not like someone who knew how to pose for cameras — it stuck.

I heard footsteps.

Soft, then softer. Slowed just before my door.

I didn’t move. I waited.

Nothing.

Then another step — this time toward the guest bathroom. A creak. Running water. Silence.

The door across the hall clicked.

I closed my eyes.

I should’ve stayed in bed. Should’ve slept. Should’ve done anything but what I did.

But I got up.

I cracked the door open just as her light went on — a soft gold spill from the room across the hall. Her door wasn’t shut. Not fully.

And I swear I saw her silhouette pause at the mirror. Then her eyes flicked toward me.

And then?

She walked out of sight.

Leaving the door half open.

I didn’t knock.

I told myself I would. Told myself I’d stay on my side of the hallway, be the respectful guy, the guest with boundaries. But the door was cracked just enough — just wide enough to whisper you can instead of you shouldn’t.

And I stepped inside.

The room was warmer than mine. Not just physically. It had that lived-in feel — cluttered vanity, a hoodie draped over the desk chair, perfume bottles scattered like forgotten glass chess pieces. Her phone was face down, glowing faintly. The music was low, some soft synth line playing under a steady pulse. And Ningning?

She was brushing her hair.

Slow, methodical strokes. Like it wasn’t about untangling anything. Like it was a ritual.

She caught my reflection before I said anything.

“I was wondering how long you’d wait.”

“I wasn’t—”

She looked at me through the mirror. “Yes, you were.”

I didn’t argue.

She kept brushing. “You sleep okay in the showroom guest suite?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

Ningning set the brush down and turned on the stool, crossing one leg over the other. Her robe had slid halfway down one shoulder. Not by accident.

“You don’t strike me as the polite house guest type.”

I shrugged. “You left your door open.”

“Did I?”

She stood slowly and padded toward me barefoot, the hem of her silk robe swaying just above her knees. It wasn’t tied shut. Just overlapping at the front, loosely. One wrong movement and it’d fall open.

I didn’t look away.

She stopped in front of me. Close. Not touching. Just hovering at that delicious, unbearable distance.

“You’re quiet,” she said.

“You’re not.”

That got a smile. “Fair.”

I waited. I didn’t know what for.

She moved first. Her fingers brushed the hem of my shirt, light and deliberate.

“You already broke one rule tonight,” she murmured. “Might as well break a few more.”

I caught her wrist gently. Not to stop her. Just to slow it down.

“This isn’t a game,” I said.

Her eyebrow arched, amused. “Sure it is.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.” Her hand twisted in my grip, fingertips sliding up my forearm. “That’s why it’s fun.”

Her other hand came up, palm flat on my chest. She didn’t push. Just let it rest there.

“You’re not mine,” she said, low. “I know that.”

“I didn’t say—”

“But you’re not hers, either.”

I hesitated.

“That’s what makes this okay,” she added, stepping even closer, pressing her body to mine. “We’re not breaking anything. We’re just… seeing what fits.”

Her lips brushed my jaw — a test, not a kiss. Her breath smelled faintly like green tea and strawberries.

“Still thinking?” she whispered.

I didn’t answer.

She pulled back, just a little, and looked up at me. “You can leave. Right now. No hard feelings.”

I didn’t move.

“Or,” she said, fingers sliding down the front of my shirt, “you can stop pretending you don’t want this.”

I kissed her.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was the kind of kiss that says I’ve already made my decision. She tasted exactly like she smelled — bright and sweet with something darker underneath, something playful, biting.

Her arms slid around my neck. Mine found her waist. The robe shifted.

“I thought you were the quiet one,” she breathed between kisses.

“Only when I’m not being kissed like that.”

She laughed, and it turned into a moan as I sucked lightly on her lower lip.

Then she pulled back, just a step. Enough to look me over.

“Take off your shirt.”

I did.

She let her eyes roam, open and slow, not shy about it. She stepped forward again and ran her fingers across my chest, down my stomach. Nails dragging. Barely.

“Don’t get shy now,” she teased.

“I’m not the shy one.”

“Oh? You think I’m shy?”

I gave her a look.

Ningning stepped back and shrugged off her robe in one fluid motion. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

Not lingerie. Not a bra. Not even a pair of shorts.

Just skin and heat and that cocky little smirk she wore like armor.

“Well,” she said. “Now you know I’m not.”

I stared for a second too long. She knew I would. Her body was smaller than Giselle’s, but just as dangerous — smooth lines, delicate curves, a kind of quiet athleticism that said she could climb you like a rope and make you thank her for it.

She climbed onto the bed without a word.

Then looked back at me, on her knees, hair falling over one shoulder, mouth parted.

“Your turn.”

I stood at the edge, shirt off, hard as hell, pulse drumming behind my ears. She looked at me with her legs folded underneath her, hair slipping down one shoulder. Her nipples were already hard, rising and falling with her breath like she was trying not to pant.

“You're gonna stand there and admire me,” she said, licking her lower lip, “or are you gonna do something?”

I didn’t answer.

I crawled onto the bed.

She gasped when I grabbed her hips and pulled her forward in one clean motion, forcing her to lie back. Her head landed on a pillow, eyes wide but hungry. My mouth met hers hard — no teasing, no soft warm-up. Tongues colliding. Teeth scraping. Her moan vibrated against my lips as my hand slid between her thighs and pressed.

“F—fuck—yes,” she breathed, hips lifting into my palm.

Wet didn’t even begin to cover it. She was soaked. Dripping. Her legs opened wider without me asking, one hand gripping the sheets like she needed something to anchor her.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” I said into her mouth.

She nodded fast, whining a little. “Yes. Yes. God, yes.”

My fingers slid through her folds, and she choked out a moan, already squirming.

“You like it messy?”

She didn’t answer — just bucked her hips again.

I kissed her neck, dragging my teeth along her collarbone, and pressed one finger inside her pussy. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. Then—

“Aghh—ahh! F-fuck, yes…”

I pumped once, twice, watching her unravel with just my hand. Her hips rolled like she couldn’t decide if she wanted more or was already overwhelmed.

“Another,” she gasped. “Give me another—fuck—yes—there—right there—”

I added a second finger and curled them just right. Her back arched. Her thighs trembled.

She reached for me blindly, nails scratching down my back, pulling me close enough that her breath hit my cheek.

“I want your cock so bad—please, please—just—God—”

I pulled my hand away.

“No—!”

She whined, actual frustration in her voice.

“I didn’t say stop…”

“You didn’t say please.”

“I did—!” she gasped. “Twice—fuck—please, please—”

I reached down and grabbed a pair of panties from the floor. Light blue, still warm, still damp. I balled them up and brought them to her mouth.

“Too loud,” I said.

Her eyes widened, then darkened.

And she opened her mouth.

I stuffed the panties in slowly. She moaned behind the gag, lips closing over the fabric as her hips rolled against the air, searching.

“Good girl,” I said, kissing her jaw. “You’re gonna stay quiet now.”

She nodded — barely — and I could see her trying to breathe through her nose, flushed from the buildup, thighs squeezing together.

I pulled back just enough to admire the view.

Ningning. Spread open. Gagged with her own panties. Dripping wet and twitching under me like she was wired to explode.

“You ready for it?”

She moaned against the gag. Nodded hard.

“Don’t cum until I tell you.”

Her eyes rolled.

And then I slid down the bed, hands pushing her legs apart, breath brushing her soaked cunt — tongue about to meet heat.

I didn’t ease into it.

The second my tongue met her, she convulsed — thighs twitching, toes curling, a desperate muffled moan vibrating behind the panties stuffed in her mouth. I flattened my tongue against her clit and dragged it slow, deliberate, from bottom to top. She clenched hard.

Her taste was perfect. Salty-sweet, slick, fever-hot. Her pussy was already swollen, soaked, begging. And I hadn’t even used my fingers again yet.

She whimpered behind the gag — soft, choked, and feral.

I reached up and pressed a hand flat against her stomach, holding her down as she tried to grind against my mouth. Her hips had no rhythm now — just jerks of raw need. Her body couldn’t decide if it was trying to run or pull me deeper.

She tried to say something behind the gag. Couldn’t. Just a desperate, high-pitched moan.

I circled her clit with the tip of my tongue, then flicked harder — faster. I didn’t stop. I didn’t let up. She was panting through her nose like she couldn’t take it.

Then she started crying — not sobbing, not pain. Just overstimulated tears that spilled sideways from the corners of her eyes.

Her whole body writhed.

She was right on the edge.

And I didn’t stop.

I locked my arms under her thighs and kept eating. Tongue lapping, lips sucking, eyes locked on the way her stomach kept twitching under me. Her muffled voice was wrecked now — whines and moans bleeding together, hands clawing the sheets, one leg jerking involuntarily every time I sucked hard.

She tried to shake her head. I looked up.

Her eyes were wide. She was trying to tell me something.

I reached up, pulled the gag gently from her mouth.

She gasped the second it came out, chest heaving.

“C-Can I cum?” she begged. “Please, please—Mylo, fuck—please let me—”

Her voice broke.

I growled against her pussy, then nodded once.

“Do it.”

She shattered.

Her scream ripped from her throat as her thighs locked around my head. Her back arched clear off the bed, hips bucking like she was being electrocuted. Her pussy clenched and throbbed, gushing against my tongue — so wet I could feel it drip down my chin. Her hands tangled in my hair like she couldn’t tell if she was trying to pull me off or keep me there forever.

“AHH—ahh—fuck, fuck, I’m cumming—!”

I didn’t stop.

I kept licking. Slower. Then faster again.

Her scream cut off into choked moans — then laughter, then moaning again, her voice completely undone.

“Ohmygod—oh fuck—stop, I—I can’t—”

I didn’t stop.

She started shaking.

Her hips lifted — then collapsed — then lifted again.

“No—no—fuck—too much, too much—!”

Her body betrayed her. Another orgasm slammed into her out of nowhere — a second wave she didn’t see coming.

She sobbed through it.

And I kept going.

I pulled back only when she physically tried to crawl away from me — legs twitching, voice wrecked, pussy throbbing and red and soaked.

I crawled up her body, licking my lips.

She was breathless.

Hair tangled. Face flushed. Drool at the corner of her mouth. Her nipples were stiff, her chest heaving, and her thighs still trembled.

“Y-You’re a fucking psycho,” she whispered, half-laughing.

I smiled.

“You’re not done.”

She turned her head slowly. Met my eyes.

Then smirked.

“No,” she said. “You’re not done.”

She pulled one leg up, bent at the knee. Her fingers slid behind her, teasing herself — then stopping just long enough to say:

“Do me here.”

I blinked.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “I want you in my ass.”

I didn’t move.

“I want to feel all of you,” she whispered. “Stretch me out. Use me. Don’t be gentle.”

Then she grabbed her panties from where they were still damp on the sheets.

Smiling, breathless, glowing.

“I’ll need these.”

She said it with a smirk, voice rough and breathless, holding out her damp panties like she was giving me a challenge. Her legs were still trembling, her chest flushed, lips parted with that smug, post-orgasm haze painted all over her.

I took them from her hand.

But instead of turning around for me — instead of staying soft, pliant, desperate — she rolled onto her side and gave me a look. A raised brow. That same spark from earlier, only sharper now. Hungrier. Dirtier.

“You’ve got no idea what to do with me, do you?”

I blinked once.

She tilted her head, dragging her nails across her thigh, slow and deliberate.

“That little tongue act? Cute. Real cute. And maybe that sweet-boy edge works on Giselle, but me?” She ran her fingers between her legs, deliberately collecting the slick I’d left there, then licked them clean while holding eye contact. “I need more than a guy who thinks making me cum twice is enough.”

I didn’t speak.

“Thought you were dangerous,” she added, voice soft and mocking. “Right now, I feel like I should pat your head and call you adorable.”

That did it.

I grabbed her by the hips and yanked her hard, dragging her onto her stomach. She yelped, legs kicking instinctively, but she didn’t resist — not really. Not when I shoved her thighs apart. Not when I spread her ass and let that second of silence stretch.

She was soaked, still twitching. Her cunt glistened. Her asshole clenched when the air hit it.

“You sure you want this?” I asked low, voice near her ear as I leaned over her.

She grinned into the sheets.

“Break me.”

I poured lube straight down the middle of her, cool and slick. She gasped, just once, and then pressed her hips back against my hand. Shameless. Eager.

“You gonna take it like a good girl?” I muttered, lining up behind her.

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming.

“I’m not a good girl.”

I shoved the panties between her lips.

“Then shut up and take it.”

She groaned — deep, needy — and her hips twitched the moment the head of my cock touched her. I pushed forward slowly at first, watching her face, her body, the little flinch of resistance.

And then I didn’t wait.

I pushed all the way in.

Her scream was muffled by her own panties, loud and broken. Her hands clawed at the sheets, body bucking underneath me as I buried myself inside her tight, tight ass.

“Ffff—fuck—mmmph—!”

I stayed deep for a second, feeling the way she clenched around me. Then I pulled back — almost all the way — and slammed into her again.

Her body jolted.

Again.

And again.

Harder. Rougher. Her ass rippled with every thrust, every slap of skin echoing through the room. She moaned into the gag, messy and half-strangled, drooling now, her face wrecked and twitching.

She tried to push back against me — match my pace — but I grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the bed above her head, and really started to fuck her.

Brutal.

No rhythm, no mercy. Just sound. Just flesh.

She couldn’t form words anymore.

Only screams.

Only sobs.

Her legs started to give out. Her face smashed into the pillow. Her body trembled violently with every thrust. But I didn’t stop.

I was going to ruin her like she’d fucking asked.

And she was loving every second of it.

Half-screaming into the panties stuffed in her mouth, drool running down her chin, her entire body trembling under me like every nerve had been lit up and exposed. Her wrists strained against my grip, but not to escape — just reacting, raw and helpless, twitching under the weight of every thrust.

Her ass was red now, every slap echoing. My cock slammed into her with no softness left, just wet heat, friction, and tight, relentless pressure. I was buried to the hilt every time. She took it. Every inch. Every time.

And she didn’t stop moaning.

Not once.

She was gasping around the gag like she needed air between sobs, but her hips still pushed back on instinct. Her cunt was soaked — dripping onto the sheets — and every time I bottomed out, her body clenched again like she was trying to milk me from both ends.

She was shaking violently.

Her legs twitched. Her toes curled. Her arms gave out and her face dropped to the pillow. Her back arched like she was being held in place by invisible strings.

Still, I didn’t stop.

I grunted as I leaned forward, yanked the panties from her mouth, and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up.

“You still think I’m soft?”

She tried to speak. Nothing came out but a broken sound — part laugh, part sob.

I slowed down just enough to let her catch one word.

“More.”

It wasn’t even a whisper. It was a prayer.

I growled and pulled out.

She collapsed face-first, moaning when I let go of her wrists. Her whole body quivered. Her ass stayed high, begging. Her pussy was glistening and wide open, twitching like it hadn’t been touched in hours, even though it had just been flooded with her own juices and my cock rubbing past it.

I pushed her flat onto her back. She groaned — too limp to help me move her, but not resisting. I kissed her once — slow, rough — and grabbed her thighs.

“You want more?”

She nodded weakly. Then smirked.

“Don’t slow down now.”

Her voice was wrecked, hoarse, scratchy with use — but that smile. That cocky little curl.

She wasn’t broken.

Not yet.

I caught the glint of something on the nightstand drawer- a small toy, black and sleek, the switch already worn from use.

I spread her legs, grabbed the vibrator on the drawer and turned it on. The hum was low. She flinched when I pressed it to her clit.

“No—no—fuck—” she gasped, laughing like she couldn’t believe it. “Mylo—Jesus—oh my God—”

She screamed.

There wasn’t a better word for it. Just a ragged, full-body cry as her pussy clenched around me again — hotter, wetter, tighter than before. Her legs locked around my waist and her nails clawed my back, but I didn’t stop moving.

“You’re insane—ahh! Fuck, I’m gonna cum—don’t—don’t—don’t stop—”

I didn’t.

She came again.

Hard.

Her body jerked. Her voice cracked. Her whole core clenched like she was trying to push me out and pull me deeper all at once.

I felt her break.

Her arms went limp. Her hands slapped against the mattress. Her eyes rolled back for half a second, and a drool thread slipped from her open mouth.

She moaned like she couldn’t help it.

Again. And again.

And then?

She laughed.

This breathless, dizzy little laugh.

“Still think I can’t take it?” she choked out.

I slowed.

Then pulled out.

She blinked — dazed.

“What—?”

I grabbed her by the jaw. Lifted her chin. My cock pressed against her lips.

“Open.”

She blinked again.

Then smiled — half-wrecked, all heat.

Her mouth opened slowly, still catching her breath, eyes half-lidded and lips glistening from moans and drool. I gripped my cock at the base, slid the tip across her bottom lip, and watched her tongue dart out like instinct.

She wasn’t broken.

She was starving.

I didn’t slide it in gently.

I pushed past her lips, past her tongue, to the back of her throat.

She choked once — a reflex — but didn’t pull away. She looked up at me with tears brimming, gagging around the thickness like it was nothing new.

I groaned. “That’s it.”

I grabbed a fistful of her hair, both hands now, and started thrusting — short, controlled strokes at first, then deeper. Sloppier.

Her moans vibrated around me, low and wet, her jaw flexing as her spit ran down my length. Her eyes didn’t close. She stared up at me while I used her mouth like it belonged to me.

Then I said it:

“Touch yourself.”

Her brows twitched. Her hands slid down.

“Yeah,” I growled. “Rub that ruined little pussy while I fuck your throat.”

She obeyed.

I felt it before I saw it — her body shifting slightly, hips squirming, legs twitching. Then her moan turned desperate. Higher. Faster.

“Good girl,” I muttered.

Her eyes rolled back as I pushed deeper, forcing her nose to my skin. She gagged, eyes fluttering, and I pulled back just enough to let her breathe before I rammed in again.

Again.

And again.

Her spit coated my shaft, dripping down her chin, mixing with the mess already painting her face. Her fingers moved faster between her legs now — wild and sloppy — and every time I bottomed out in her mouth, her thighs flexed.

“You want to cum?” I asked, hips slamming forward again. “Make yourself cum. I want to feel you fall apart while you choke on me.”

She whimpered, barely audible, her throat full.

I didn’t stop.

Her nails dug into her thighs. Her legs trembled. Her moans grew frantic, desperate little gulps of air between strokes. Her whole body jerked when I stayed deep just a second longer.

Then she started to twitch.

Her thighs clenched.

Her pussy clenched around her fingers.

She was cumming.

Sobbing and choking around my cock, her whole body writhing as she came for the fourth — fifth? — time tonight. Her scream was trapped inside me. Her lips sealed around the base. Her eyes rolled back.

I was close.

I gripped her hair tight and let go — thrusting deep, staying there.

“Fuck—take it—take all of it—”

I came hard.

Down her throat.

Hot, thick, pulse after pulse, and she took it — moaning as I filled her, drool and cum leaking from the corners of her mouth, her body still twitching, her hand still working her pussy like she couldn’t stop.

When I pulled out, she gasped once — then let her tongue loll out, panting, face soaked and wrecked.

I dropped to my knees and kissed her.

Hard.

Tasting myself. Tasting her. She moaned into my mouth, and I felt her legs give out.

We sank down together — breathless and shaking, sprawled across the sweat-damp sheets, skin to skin and fucked clean out of words.

And just before she drifted off — eyes fluttering shut — she mumbled it.

“Mylo…”

Then, softer.

“Goddamn.”

I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until I woke up to her laughing.

Not loud. Just this low, breathy giggle, like she was trying not to move too much but couldn’t help herself.

She was lying sideways across the bed, one leg thrown over mine, face buried in a pillow, bare ass peeking from under a sheet. Her hair was tangled, lips shiny and pink, and when I shifted, she blinked slowly like she’d forgotten I was real.

“That was you,” she murmured. “Huh?”

I rubbed my eyes. “You're just figuring that out?”

“No,” she said, yawning. “Just processing.”

She flopped back beside me, arm stretching over her head.

“Damn,” she whispered. “I thought I was gonna break you.”

I snorted. “You tried.”

“I succeeded.” She poked me in the ribs. “You were shaking at one point.”

“You were sobbing.”

“You gagged me!” she laughed.

“You handed me the gag.”

She smiled, smug and satisfied. “I know. And I stand by that decision.”

The room was quiet again for a beat. She curled up beside me, head nudging into the crook of my shoulder, like it was a habit she hadn’t realized she had.

I ran my fingers slowly down her back. She hummed at the touch.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Better than okay,” she said. “Just… quiet.”

Her hand moved to my chest, resting flat.

“People always think I’m loud,” she said. “Like, nonstop. Funny. Bubbly. That’s what they want, you know? The energy.”

I stayed quiet.

“But I like quiet, too,” she added. “Like now. After.”

“Yeah,” I murmured.

She looked up at me. “Do you always fuck people like that?”

“Like what?”

She laughed again. “Like you’re trying to prove a point.”

I didn’t answer.

She traced slow circles on my chest.

“I liked it,” she said. “Just so we’re clear. You’re not in trouble.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“Mmhm.”

Another beat.

“Do you think Karina heard anything?”

I blinked. “I—what?”

“I mean, her room’s down the hall.” She stretched her arms above her head. “And I was loud.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“She’ll pretend she didn’t. But she’s definitely going to say something passive-aggressive at breakfast.”

I groaned and dragged a pillow over my face. Ningning cackled.

“She’ll be fine,” she said. “Eventually.”

“Right. Because she loves me.”

“No. She doesn’t.” Ningning rolled onto her side. “But that’s not your fault.”

I peeked at her under the pillow.

“She’s under a lot of pressure,” Ningning said, tone softer now. “She has to be the leader, the oldest, the one who keeps it all together.”

She paused.

“People forget that it takes a toll.”

I stayed quiet. Let her keep going.

“She’s always expected to protect everyone. Keep us moving. Carry the image, the team, the weight. But nobody ever really stops to think…”

She trailed off.

“To think what?” I asked.

Ningning’s gaze flicked toward the ceiling.

“Who protects her?”

It sat heavy and quiet in the room, louder than her laughter, more grounded than her teasing.

After a moment, she sighed, shifting so her cheek rested on my chest again.

“You should go soon,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” I said.

Neither of us moved.

I dressed quietly.

Ningning didn’t move much — just curled deeper into the mess of blankets, her breath soft and even, one arm tucked under her head like she’d melted into the bed. She was flushed, glowing, hair fanned out on the pillow like the aftermath of a storm.

For a second, I didn’t want to leave.

I pulled my shirt over my head and watched her shift slightly, murmuring something incomprehensible. Her lips parted, then closed again.

I grabbed my jeans. Shoes in hand.

Careful.

The hallway outside was dim, washed in low amber light from the sconces. Quiet. Not the kind of quiet that felt peaceful — the kind that felt like it was watching.

I crept down the hall, heart beating faster than I wanted it to. Not fear, exactly. Just awareness. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this hallway, not on this floor, not in this part of the story.

I paused at the top of the stairs.

The house was beautiful in the dark. Expensive without being loud. Sculpted. Stylish. But sterile, too. Like every piece had been approved by a manager and a stylist before it earned a place on the shelf.

Like nothing here belonged to them. Not really.

I started down.

Halfway to the landing, my phone buzzed.

I flinched. Fumbled it from my pocket.

Giselle.

A text.

The last thing she’d sent: "Tell me if you leave?”

I stared at it.

Then I looked away.

I kept moving.

The front door came into view. I reached for the handle — paused when I caught my reflection in the glass.

Shirt rumpled. Hair a mess. Lips swollen. Scratches across my neck.

No hiding what happened.

The guilt wasn’t sharp. Not a stab. Just a slow curl in my chest. A twist.

Giselle and I weren’t anything. No promises. No label. But there had been… something.

Connection.

I hadn’t forgotten it.

I just hadn’t known what to do with it.

I stepped outside.

Cool air hit my face. Night still hanging low. The stars blurred into the city haze and the wind carried just a hint of jasmine from the garden. I breathed it in and closed the door gently behind me.

The driveway was empty. The gates were still open.

I walked.

No noise. No music. Just the sound of my shoes on pavement and the thoughts I didn’t want to hold onto:

Giselle’s hand in mine. Her voice. Her breath in my ear when she told me she wanted me again.

The way she looked when I kissed her goodbye at the door.

I wasn’t sure what I’d say if she asked.

If she looked at me with that half-smile and said, Did you miss me?

I didn’t know.

But I was starting to wish I had.

A woman’s voice pulled me back. Soft. Familiar.

Across the street, a mom was helping her kid into a carseat. Brushing the hair from his face.

“Come on, sweetie. It’s for our own good, remember?”

My stomach twisted.

I stopped walking.

The words echoed in a different voice. One I hadn’t heard in years.

"It’s for our good, okay?" My mother. Not looking at me. Not meeting my eyes. The hallway light yellow and sick. A man in a suit smiling at me. An envelope changing hands. The click of a door closing. The sound of a zipper.

I blinked.

Came back.

The woman was gone. Just taillights now. Fading around a corner.

I breathed out and rubbed at my face with both hands.

Kept walking.

I didn’t know where I was going.

But it wasn’t away from her.

Not anymore.

TO BE CONTINUED... PART 4

[your-greatest-queen]

counter suggestion: high school tv drama, but it's the teachers. Idk about y'all but nobody had more crazy shit going on in my high school than the teachers.

The teacher everyone thought was a lesbian in freshmen year but apparently had a husband divorced him in senior year because she was in fact a lesbian, she was just the last one to find out. The art teacher snuck a baby pig into her classroom and had her art students help raise it for weeks before she had to smuggle it back out. Same art teacher almost burned down one of her rooms and the school had to be closed for two days because the whole place smelled like a burnt tire. World's best drama teacher has a secret girlfriend who is very pregnant but if you asked him about it he would come up with an outrageous lie to cover up his extremely normal life. Three principals in four years and the third one came into his first day of school with a cast on because he stopped a guy from stealing his neighbours car by shoving his entire arm in the door before the guy could close it. The art teacher (yes, the same one) sprayed a stain on the floor with sanitizing spray and dropped the F bomb when it bleached the floor, then made me promise not to tell on her. Freshmen year math teacher introduced himself by telling us about a Robert Munsch book and then revealing that the book was about his sister and the baby illustrated throughout the book was him, and promised if anyone ever brought the book in he would cancel class to read and talk about it even if it were a major test day. Drama teacher (the one with a secret gf) has a dad who's a youth pastor and he got arrested for kissing a teen girl which severely fucked up his life as a teacher of teenagers also. Science teacher got a yellow light one day and thought he could speed through it but got slammed and ended up upside down in his truck, crawled out without a scratch, and 15 minutes later realized he should probably let his son know before he saw it on the news (he has three kids and a wife, unsure of why only the one son got to know). Same science teacher doubled as a religious studies teacher senior year and during a presentation where a Hamilton song was played the eco science teacher next door came over and cried while watching. English teacher so flamboyant and captivating that he doesn't even need weird events to be a major plot point in my high school journey or a tv show. Same English teacher decided to direct a stage performance of beauty and the beast and the previously mentioned eco science teacher played Mrs. Pots and apparently there was crazy show drama that they would not elaborate on.

And these are just things that I as an old student knew about! And this isn't even all of them! Add the extra flourish of creativity that comes with writing a fictional series and boom! A tv high school drama series! I mean what could go wrong? Riverdale lowered the bar so much that it's guaranteed to be a hit ✨

can we have tv dramas set in college please. fucking nothing happens in hs man. now im in college and my friend got chased by feral hogs a week ago in the woods and its like the 5th craziest thing to happen this week

[ce1estiall]

flowers

summary paige x teammate!reader paige became bold and flirty with you at practice. that was just the start. part 2 “dopamine”

warnings slight making out, some sexual tension, mostly fluff

celestial notes hey! first fic ever postedd i hope you guys like it! sorry its so short, im not used to writing a lot. ill make a part 2 probably of them being freakyyy. also feel free to leave me any requests you have!

“one two three, a secret awakening, the night in full bloom, a blooming joy.

just like a fantasy in my garden, show me your flowers.” aespa - flowers

the practice facility was brezzy and cool, a relieving place to be due to the heat outside. you went to the locker room to get ready for practice. you were grabbing your shoes and practice jersey when you noticed paige in the corner of your eye.

“someone looks a little too beautiful just for practice. you got a date or something?” paige asked, being a tease. two can play that game, you thought to yourself. “no, why? jealous if i did have one because it wasn’t you?” you smirked

“i dont know. would i? time can only tell.” she left the locker room as she winked at you. paige was a lot of things. annoying, childish, and bold. but she was never this flirty.

only the team knew paige was gay, and they promised to hide it from the media. however, as paige teased you in that short moment, a fire ignited in your body.

you walked out and onto the court doing the norm. laps, stretching, then layups. when you were doing drills, you would catch paige staribg at you. or when she handed you the ball, she would brush her hand across yours. it caught you off guard, which caused you to mess up and coach geno got angry, but you brushed it off.

after practice, you headed to the locker room to get your stuff, then headed to your apartment.

you entered your apartment and immediately dropped your items down. you felt exhausted. dealing with paige, running on 5 hours of sleep, and practice. it was all catching up to you. you were sweaty and decided to take a shower.

post-everything shower, as you were combing your hair, a knock came from your front door.

you whispered under your breath. “what the fuck.”

you opened the door when you say paige infront of you. “look who came to hunt me down. dont you have a psych test tomorrow you should be studying for?”

“it can wait.” she replied, standing there in a black hoodie, grey sweats and slides. “can i come in?”

you reached out an arm, signaling her to come in. she entered and went to your room and plopped on your bed. you weren’t bothered, just confused.

you followed, standing at the door frame. she patted next to her, telling you to sit down.

you obeyed, sitting down next to her as her arm rested around your shoulders. you broke the silence as she was looking for something to watch with you.

“someone was really bold today in the locker room, i wonder why.” you spoke. paige rolled her eyes in defense. “you know you love it when im bold with you.” she replied. “just wanted to see your reaction.”

“who said i didn’t?” you scoot closer to her, looking at her. “it caught me off guard.”

“you did look really beautiful.” she turned to look at you. you became flushed at her sudden comment.

“during the whole practice, i couldn’t stop looking at you. i couldn’t pay attention to anything to save my life. you were distracting me.” things were becoming crystal clear. paige was falling for you. you didn’t know what to say or how to reply.

“am i just that magnetic towards you?” you teased her. you wanted to see how much it took until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“mmm maybe.” she said with a smirk.

“your eyes looked like you wanted to kiss me right there. why didn’t you?” you were having too much fun. adrenaline was flowing through your body.

she chuckled. “i was waiting for the right time.”

“is that why you came to my dorm?” you got up too close to her face. you then whispered in her ear. “you just can’t resist me.”

it was the turning point for her. she couldn’t stop herself.

she leaned in, cupping your face. her soft lips touching yours, tasting each other, then leaving. soft moans in between. she then leaned in your neck, smelling your fragrance. “are you wearing the one i got for you? the floral one for your birthday?”

“mhm.” you replied.

“no wonder you have me on this effect today.” she placed sweet kisses on your neck while also inhaling the floral fragrance. you had her under a spell, in her garden. and you were a special flower with a special scent she came back to, needing, craving more.

“you’re making this so fucking hard for me.”

[leriexoxo]

Angry Boys - Felix

Bronze Again?

Tags: unprotected sex, rough/angry sex, light humiliation and degradation, semi-public sex, possessive behavior, power imbalance (consensual), overstimulation/ mild dumbification, smut, MDNI

Word count: 1.5k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

ANGRY BOYS MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It started off stupid. Harmless.

Felix had just lost a match. Lost it bad.

You could tell it was over the moment his headset clattered onto the desk—tossed like it personally betrayed him. His bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pout, brows furrowed while he mumbled curses under his breath. Onscreen, his death recap played in slow motion, like it wanted to mock him, too.

From the living room, Changbin’s laugh cracked loud and sharp.

“Yo! Bronze Yongbok’s back, baby!”

Then Jisung chimed in, wheezing: “Uninstall, man. Even Hyunjin could out-frag you at this point.”

You were curled up on his bed, watching the drama unfold with mild amusement. Scrolling aimlessly through your phone, trying not to giggle.

But then you said it. The one thing you didn’t mean to say aloud:

“Maybe I should carry you next time, baby. Could boost you to silver—at least.”

The silence that followed?

Heavy. Absolute.

Your gaze flicked up just in time to catch Felix turning from the monitor, slow and mechanical. His brows didn’t move. His mouth didn’t twitch. But his eyes—those pretty, doll-like eyes—hardened into something unreadable. Cold. Controlled.

Like you’d just hit a switch you didn’t know existed.

“You think that’s funny?” he asked quietly.

You paused, phone still in hand, trying not to smile. “Kinda…”

His jaw tensed. Just once. “You’re teasing me in front of them?”

“Lix, I—”

You didn’t even finish.

He stood up.

Snatched your phone right out of your hand, tossed it onto the desk hard enough to make it bounce, then grabbed your waist with one hand and hauled you into his lap as he dropped back into the gaming chair.

Your heart raced. Your breath hitched.

This wasn’t playful.

“Felix—?”

“You like teasing me, yeah?” His voice dropped lower, now a hiss. His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to hold his stare. “Let’s see if you think it’s still cute when I make this whole dorm hear how fucking diamond I can be.”

You didn’t even see him coming.

One second your shirt was still on—then Felix was yanking it over your head, fast and rough, tossing your phone aside like it disgusted him. You gasped as your back hit his chest again, body hauled into his lap like he owned you.

And god—he did.

“I said,” he growled, low in your ear, “you like teasing me, right?”

His fingers slid beneath your waistband, not even bothering with finesse. Your breath caught as he shoved your panties to the side and palmed your bare heat—already soaked. You tried to clench your thighs, tried to stop your hips from moving, but his legs were spread wide beneath you and you were pinned open.

The chair creaked.

From the living room, you could still hear Jisung laughing, Changbin talking over him.

They had no idea what was happening in here.

Not yet.

Felix kissed your shoulder, slow and mocking. “Door’s open,” he whispered. “Say something smart now.”

You froze.

He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing—what he wanted them to hear.

His hands gripped your hips and rocked you against his cock, still hard and straining in his briefs, dragging up along your folds. You whimpered, trying to hold it in—but that made it worse. He just groaned, biting down on your neck as you squirmed.

“Aw. Embarrassed now?” he teased. “Didn’t sound so shy when you were running your mouth earlier.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, but he caught it and pinned it behind your back with one hand.

“Nope. They’re gonna hear everything.”

He tugged your shorts down just enough to get access—just enough to ruin you—and then he was pushing in. No warning. Just heat, pressure, stretch.

You cried out.

Loud.

Changbin’s laugh stuttered. Somewhere, something clattered.

Felix smiled.

“Oh, they definitely heard that.”

Your scream still echoed down the hallway when Felix shoved in all the way.

No mercy. No patience. Just punishment.

The chair slammed against the floor, jerking under every snap of his hips. Your thighs trembled on either side of his, one foot slipping off the armrest from how hard he was fucking up into you. Slick sounds filled the room—sticky, wet, obscene—and they were nothing compared to your voice.

Because you were loud. So loud.

And outside?

Not a single sound now.

Jisung had stopped laughing.

Changbin had gone dead quiet.

Not even a breath from the hallway.

But Felix wasn’t satisfied.

He fisted your hair and yanked your head back, growling into your ear, “Scream louder. Let ‘em know who fucking owns you.”

You shook your head, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from how much you needed him, how deep he was, how wrecked you already felt.

“Felix—Felix, please—”

“Please, what?” His teeth grazed your throat. “Please stop?”

You were panting now, moaning through your answer. “No…”

“That’s right,” he hissed, driving into you harder. “So take it. Take every fucking rank I’m giving you.”

He slapped your thigh, spreading you wider. Your legs twitched, overstimulated and locked into his pace. Your voice cracked on a cry, and then—

“Fuck!”

It ripped from your chest without your permission. Raw. Desperate.

A slam from somewhere down the hall. Footsteps scrambling.

Felix grinned.

“There it is,” he laughed, fucking into you harder. “Dorm’s finally listening.”

You reached back blindly, trying to grab his wrist—tap out, slow him down, something—but he only caught your arm and pinned it behind you again, pushing you down onto the desk this time, folding your body in half.

“Who’s bronze now?” he growled, hammering you into the wood.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe through the way you were unraveling, overstimulated and crying his name.

Felix dragged your face up by the hair and made you look at the open door.

“You wanna tease me in front of them?” His voice was sharp, furious, filthy. “Let them see who you belong to next time.”

And just like that, you came again—loud, messy, broken.

And somewhere in the dorm, a door closed.

Maybe in horror.

Maybe in shame.

But you and Felix? Didn’t stop.

—

You didn’t remember falling limp.

One second you were full of him, legs shaking, throat raw from screaming—

The next, you were in his arms. Warm. Floaty. Boneless.

Felix held you against his chest, one arm locked around your waist while the other gently pushed your hair from your sweaty face. You could still feel him inside you, twitching with aftershocks, but he wasn’t moving now. Just keeping you close. Letting you breathe.

“Still with me, baby?” he whispered, his voice hoarse but gentle now.

You managed a nod—barely.

“Did so good,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “So fucking good for me.”

Your cheek pressed to his collarbone, heartbeat thudding wildly. You were exhausted, sore, thoroughly used—and so impossibly turned on by how soft he was suddenly being.

Then…

From down the hallway, a door creaked. A cautious footstep.

Felix grinned against your skin. “Thought I told them to shut the fuck up.”

You groaned. “Felix…”

“They heard every second of you begging,” he whispered proudly. “Bet they’ll mute their mics for the next week just to avoid hearing you again.”

Your face burned, burying into his neck. “You left the door open on purpose?”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Next time, you gonna call me Bronze in front of the boys?”

“…No,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

You sighed, louder. “No, Felix.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He kissed your shoulder, easing you off his lap. His hands stayed on you, rubbing your back while he reached for a towel from his desk drawer—God help you, he had that shit ready.

As he helped you clean up, you glanced toward the door—still wide open.

“Do you think they saw—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Felix interrupted. “You’re mine. Let them hear it. Let them know.”

He tugged one of his oversized hoodies over your head, guiding your wobbly legs back into bed. Then he dropped a kiss to your thigh before climbing in behind you, arm draped over your waist.

“…Still wanna carry me next game?” he asked, lips brushing your ear.

You exhaled a laugh. “Not unless I want to die.”

“Smart girl.”

You didn’t say anything after that. Just lay there, chest rising and falling, still throbbing with aftershocks while Felix curled around you like he hadn’t just ruined you for life.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: Finally wrote something about the “Bronze” issue 😂 Guys guys! I need those notes to go uppppp! Gimme the likes, reblogs and comments thank you!!! Look out for the other members on the masterlist

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