#because I will never have that in my life

[enhaflixer]

GOLDEN BOY!

golden boy hard dom!Jake x masturbation addict f!reader

ENHA HARD HOURSSSSSSSSSSS 18+ MDNI: masturbation so much of it, really not suitable for work, weed smoking, temp play, filming, ass play, vibrator. this is the filthiest shit i have ever written in my life type shit. but also fluffy so its fine. plot? what plot

your mornings follow a strict routine: wake up. Ignore your alarm. Spread your legs and ruin yourself to the thought of Jake Sim. he doesn’t know you exist. star student, always on time. you stumble into class late, wrecked, barely holding it together. you get paired up for a project. when he figures out why you’re always late? you’re fucked.  literally.

You woke up soaked. Literally, fucking soaked, the sheets beneath you damp with sweat and slick from how hard you’d been grinding against them in your sleep. It was always like this—an unbearable need that gripped you before you were even fully conscious. And you knew exactly who caused it.

Jake Sim.

The moment your hazy mind conjured up his name, your pussy gave a hard throb, as if your body was starved for him. It didn’t matter that you’d never even held a real conversation. All that mattered was that he existed—perfect, unattainable—and you were so pathetically desperate for him that you’d turned it into a daily routine.

With a shaky sigh, you slid your hand under the thin waistband of your panties, fingers pressing into the sticky mess already pooling there. You hissed out a curse at how sensitive you were, thighs twitching as your digits smeared your own arousal around your clit.

“Fuck,” you whispered, voice breaking, as your eyes fluttered shut and your mind fed you the same filthy fantasies it always did. In them, Jake was every bit the cocky bastard you imagined him to be—towering over you, smirking with that lazy confidence, telling you to spread your legs wider so he could see just how ruined you were for him.

You could practically hear his voice:

“That’s it, baby. Show me how wet you are.”

A guttural moan fell from your lips. Your fingers trembled as you sank them deeper, sliding between your folds until you were massaging the swollen, throbbing knot of nerves that made your back arch off the mattress. Every movement sent sparks racing up your spine, and you chased the friction like a fucking addict—because that’s exactly what you were: addicted to the thought of him.

Your other hand fumbled for your phone, nearly dropping it on your face in your clumsy rush. The screen glowed to life, and you immediately opened that private folder. The nerve-wracking thrill of seeing your own explicit videos made your pulse throb.

Your finger hovered over the most recent one for half a second, heart hammering. Then you pressed play.

Instantly, the room filled with the ragged sounds of your recorded moans. On the screen, you were splayed out, hips rolling in a shameless rhythm as you fucked your own fingers like your life depended on it. The memory of that moment made your cheeks burn, but it also made you fucking wetter.

“Jake… please… fuck—” your recorded voice whimpered, your cheeks flushed and your tits bouncing with each thrust of your own hand.

The real you let out a choked noise, clit pulsing under your insistent fingertips. You drove them harder against your flesh, trying to match the frantic pace you’d seen in the video. A filthy squelch echoed in the room, your soaked folds giving you away, and you bit your lip to stifle a cry.

God, you were so damn desperate. It made you feel dirty as hell—and yet, you couldn’t stop. In your mind, you pictured Jake looming over you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He’d probably sneer down at you, that smug grin twisting his gorgeous mouth, telling you how pathetic you looked, cumming all over your own damn fingers just for him.

“Such a fucking slut,” you imagined him saying, and your body convulsed.

You rammed your fingers harder against your slick heat, each drag of your knuckles sending you spiraling higher. Your recorded moans continued to play on loop, mixing with your real ones until you couldn’t tell which was which. Every muscle in your body tensed, bracing for the orgasm that was cresting in your gut like a tidal wave.

“Jake,” you whimpered. It was a half-sob, half-prayer. “Jake, oh God—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and wrenching. Your hips jerked off the bed, your thighs squeezing around your hand so tightly you could barely move. A harsh, broken sound tore from your throat as your body locked up, wave after wave of bliss rippling through your core. You ground your fingers against your clit one last time, milking every second of the high until you thought you’d black out.

Finally, you collapsed, trembling, onto the mattress, breath sawing in and out of your lungs. Your vision blurred with unshed tears from the sheer intensity. Slowly, the quivering in your limbs began to subside, and you eased your damp fingers from between your legs, wincing at how oversensitive you already were.

For a moment, all you could do was lie there, the sticky remains of your orgasm coating your inner thighs, your mind still buzzing with echoes of Jake’s name. You felt disgusting, you felt euphoric—you felt alive in a way that made you crave more.

But reality crashed down the second you glanced at the time on your phone. Fifteen minutes until class started.

“Shit,” you whispered, bolting upright so fast your head spun. Your legs wobbled when you tried to stand, a dull ache centered between your legs reminding you of just how hard you’d gone. You grabbed the first hoodie you saw, yanked it over your head, and fished around for a pair of rumpled jeans from the floor. There was no time to shower, no time to even catch your breath.

As you dashed out of your room, the remnants of your orgasm still clung to your thighs, a humiliating reminder of why you were late in the first place. You couldn’t help but picture what Jake would say if he ever found out the real reason you stumbled through that lecture hall door every day, hair a mess and cheeks still flushed from your obscene morning routine.

He’d probably smirk, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Couldn’t get enough of me, huh?”

The thought made your cheeks flare with shameful heat as you tore across campus, trying not to trip over your own feet. You’d never let him find out—you were certain it would kill you. Yet, a tiny voice in the back of your mind wondered what it would be like if he did know. If he whispered filthy praise in your ear about how you were always late because you were too busy drenching your sheets for him.

Your core clenched at the mental image, and you forced yourself to shove it down. There was no time for daydreams—you were late enough as it was, and your professor was already on the verge of losing his patience with you.

Still, no matter how many times you told yourself you couldn’t keep doing this, you knew you would.

Tomorrow morning, you’d wake up soaked again, thighs trembling, and you’d inevitably plunge your fingers back into that slick warmth while moaning Jake’s name. The filthy cycle would continue, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it, because nothing else felt as good as imagining him breaking you into a moaning, dripping mess.

As you reached the lecture hall, panting and disheveled, you couldn’t help but wonder: what if—just what if—Jake Sim ever saw exactly how bad you had it for him?

But that was a thought for another day, another dirty, mind-shattering morning.

Because you both knew: this wouldn’t be the last time you came undone at the mention of his name.

-

You were already a mess when you stumbled through the lecture hall doors, breath ragged and heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You were late. Again. The professor’s disapproving glare followed you as you practically crashed into your usual seat in the back row, muttering a hastily whispered apology under your breath.

God, you probably looked like you’d rolled straight out of bed—which, let’s be honest, you basically had. Not that you’d been sleeping. No, you’d spent your precious morning minutes rubbing out a frantic orgasm, fueled by thoughts of Jake Sim and all the ways he could ruin you if he ever laid a hand on your needy, desperate body.

Your clit still throbbed with the memory.

You tried to steady your breathing, force your mind to focus on the lecture happening around you. But your professor’s words were just a dull roar in your ears. You caught phrases like “group project” and “semester-long assignment,” but your brain refused to process them, still half-fogged from the wave of pleasure you’d torn out of yourself not fifteen minutes ago.

Then the professor called your name.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze just in time to see that he was pairing you off with someone. The rest of the class fell silent, heads turning toward you as you awkwardly cleared your throat, cheeks warming under the sudden attention.

“Jake Sim,” the professor said, scanning the attendance sheet. “You and Jake will be partners for the entire project.”

Your entire body stiffened.

Jake Sim.

Jake fucking Sim.

Your clit gave a punishing pulse at the mere mention of his name, so strong it sent a hot jolt of need straight through your core. You barely managed to swallow a gasp, thighs clenching under the desk as if that might calm the ache.

Across the room, Jake lifted his head. He had been taking notes, or maybe doodling—hell if you knew. He looked up when he heard his name, and his eyes flicked briefly over to you. He didn’t seem particularly surprised or amused. He just…nodded. Like it was no big deal.

Meanwhile, you sat there, completely frozen, trying not to let your face betray the fact that your cunt was literally fluttering at the prospect of spending hours—hours—with him on this project. Your mind spun with a million frantic thoughts: how were you supposed to look him in the eye when you had fingered yourself that same morning while moaning his name?

You almost wanted to run.

But there was nowhere to go, and the professor’s gaze was still locked on you, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment. So you forced a nod, swallowing hard, your pulse thundering in your ears.

When class finally ended, you practically bolted up from your seat, gathering your things in a clumsy rush. All you could think about was escaping before you did something mortifying—like spontaneously combusting from the intensity of the situation.

But you weren’t fast enough.

Jake Sim stood waiting for you in the aisle. You noticed, with a sinking sensation in your stomach, that he was even taller up close, shoulders broad under that signature hoodie, a slight quirk to his full lips as he watched you fluster about.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but clear in the post-lecture murmur. “Guess we’re partners, huh?”

Your heart just about crawled up your throat and died there. You couldn’t form coherent words. Instead, you let out some pathetic sound halfway between a squeak and a cough.

Jake’s brows rose a fraction, and that quirk at the corner of his lips deepened. “You okay?”

No. Absolutely not. Your palms were sweating, your cheeks were on fire, and your core was still buzzing with the aftereffects of your morning orgasm. Knowing he was so close—close enough to smell the faint hint of laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie—nearly made your knees buckle.

“Uh, yeah,” you managed, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Just—tired.”

“Tired,” he echoed, giving you an appraising once-over. “Rough morning?”

You swallowed, a traitorous flush creeping up your neck. He had no idea just how rough.

“Something like that,” you muttered, pretending to rummage in your backpack to avoid meeting his gaze.

Jake shrugged. “Well, we should probably figure out a time to meet up for the project. Professor wants a proposal next week.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so…normal. Meanwhile, your head was spinning because you were about to be in a room alone with him, studying economics, while your body screamed for him to fuck you senseless.

“Uh, yeah,” you repeated, feeling like a malfunctioning robot. “We…should definitely do that.”

God, you wanted to slap yourself. Could you be any more awkward?

Jake tilted his head, brown eyes flicking over you again, a subtle curiosity in his gaze. “How about tomorrow? Afternoon?”

Tomorrow. That meant you had less than twenty-four hours to get your shit together—to not end up a quivering puddle of arousal at his feet. Less than a day to build up some sort of immunity to his existence.

But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do? “Sure. Works for me.”

He gave a little smile, just a quick curve of his mouth, but it was enough to make your stomach tighten painfully. “Cool. I’ll, uh—text you, I guess?”

“Yeah. Text. Right.”

Your tongue felt leaden and stupid, and your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage. You wondered if he could hear it—wondered if he’d notice the pulse beating in your throat or sense the way your entire body vibrated with the memory of your morning orgasm.

But Jake just nodded again, hands sliding into the pockets of his hoodie. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He turned and left, effortlessly blending into the crowd of students filtering out the door. You stood there like an idiot, your mind replaying the conversation, analyzing every second for hints of pity or amusement on his part.

He didn’t seem weirded out. Didn’t seem suspicious of why you were so…flustered. He’d probably forget about you the moment he headed to his next class.

Meanwhile, you?

You tried to breathe, leaning heavily against one of the desks as you clutched your notes to your chest. Your thighs pressed together, a pitiful attempt to quell the ache that refused to leave you alone. It was as if your body recognized him on some primal level and refused to let go of the fact that he was standing right in front of you.

He had no idea how badly you wanted him—no clue you literally jacked off to his name almost every morning, that you were always late because you were too busy chasing orgasm after orgasm in a delirious haze of lust.

Well, now you’d have to fake it—pretend that you were normal, that you weren’t some perverted mess drooling over him in secret. You just hoped you could keep it together, especially once you were locked in a study room together, going over spreadsheets and supply-demand curves while your body screamed for something entirely different.

And worst of all, you had the sinking feeling that tomorrow’s routine wouldn’t be any different. You’d probably still wake up, still stroke your throbbing clit to the thought of Jake’s voice, Jake’s hands, Jake’s cock…

But maybe, just maybe, you’d manage not to be late this time.

Fat chance.

-

Studying with Jake Sim was a fucking nightmare—in the filthiest, most torturous way possible.

He had this infuriating habit of showing up in the laziest outfits imaginable, usually some combination of sweatpants and a hoodie. You might’ve thought the casual attire would make him look approachable or less intimidating, but it only did the opposite. He wore those gray sweats like a second skin, settling into his chair with an ease that bordered on sinful. His legs spread obscenely wide, claiming space that shouldn’t be his to claim.

The hoodie was somehow worse. It clung to his broad shoulders, emphasizing the sharp line of his collarbones and the solid build of his chest. And since he always—always—rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, you were treated to the tantalizing sight of his forearms: faint veins tracing a path over lightly tanned skin, muscles shifting whenever he flexed his fingers or picked up a pen.

It drove you insane.

Every time he tilted his head in thought, his hair would slip across his forehead, drawing attention to the dark, intense eyes beneath. Sometimes he licked his lips—absently, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it—and every time it happened, a low, pulsing heat rippled through your stomach.

But the worst part? Jake had a thing for tits.

You first noticed it in the little stuff: the way his gaze drifted south whenever you leaned over your notes, the split-second hesitation in his voice if your shirt happened to be cut too low. His eyes would flick to your chest, then dart away so quickly you’d think you’d imagined it—except the slight tension in his jaw proved otherwise.

He tried to hide it. Tried to keep himself polite and focused on the assignment, but the more you studied together, the more obvious it became. He had to physically force himself not to stare, clenching his jaw or gripping his pen with a little too much force whenever your shirt shifted in just the right way.

Eventually, you decided to test him.

One night, you showed up at his place wearing a tight little tank top—no bra underneath, of course. The fabric hugged your curves, thin enough that your nipples peaked through whenever the room got too cold. You pretended to be completely oblivious, scrolling through your laptop as though there wasn’t a very obvious reason Jake’s gaze kept snagging on your chest.

His reaction was immediate. The second you walked in, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating as they betrayed his interest. He coughed, cleared his throat, and busied himself with the project notes, but he couldn’t hide the subtle tremor in his voice when he asked, “So, um, ready to start?”

You dragged a chair up to the small desk, taking care to sit opposite him so he’d have an unobstructed view. For a while, you both pretended to work—typing away, sorting through textbooks, exchanging random facts about supply and demand. But every time you spoke, his attention drifted down, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on your face.

Your heart pounded every time you caught him looking. Desire coiled low in your belly, and your nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric, practically begging for him to notice. Your entire body thrummed with this heady mixture of confidence and need, and you couldn’t help but push it further.

“Ugh, it’s so hot in here,” you sighed dramatically, arching your back to stretch. The movement sent your breasts straining against the tank top, and you saw Jake’s jaw clench, the tendons in his neck standing out as he forced himself not to stare directly at you.

He tried to keep his cool, but his next words came out more clipped than usual. “I can open the window.”

You shrugged, letting the straps of the tank top slide a fraction of an inch down your shoulder. “Nah,” you said, voice laced with feigned innocence. “Don’t worry about it.”

The tension in the air was palpable, an almost electric charge crackling between you. Your thighs pressed together beneath the desk, desperate for some kind of friction. You could practically feel his gaze lingering on your chest when you looked away, fueling that simmering warmth between your legs.

Finally, Jake snapped.

“You do that shit on purpose, don’t you?” he muttered, voice pitched low and tight enough to send shivers skittering down your spine.

You fought the smirk threatening to curve your lips. Your stomach flipped with excitement and arousal. “Do what?” you asked, feigning obliviousness, even though your heart was about to hammer out of your chest.

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the tank top that was barely containing your chest. “You know what,” he ground out, then made a visible effort to calm himself, dragging his gaze to your face.

It took everything in you not to let out a triumphant laugh. You could see the frustration warring with desire in his dark eyes, saw the way his fingers curled into fists as if he had to physically restrain himself. There was a fine tremor in his forearms—those fucking forearms—that made your insides clench with a perverse satisfaction.

Your own arousal pulsed, nipples practically aching as they brushed against the fabric. There was this suffocating urge to crawl into his lap, to press your tits against his chest and see just how fast you could break that composure. But you held back. Because that wasn’t the plan. Not yet.

“I’m just trying to study,” you said, tone as sweet as sugar, batting your eyelashes in an overdone performance of innocence.

Jake’s stare hardened, and for a moment, you thought he might say something brash—something that would make the air sizzle. But he merely set his jaw, took a long, measured breath, and turned back to the notes.

“Right. Study,” he mumbled, jaw working like he was trying to chew through nails.

You bit your lip to smother a grin, your pulse still thrumming in your ears from the pure, uncut tension between you. Your nipples were so stiff they practically throbbed; you had to shift in your seat to accommodate the constant, nagging ache in your core.

Nothing else happened that night—no heated kisses, no tangled limbs—but it didn’t need to. The filth was already there, simmering beneath every glance, every roll of his shoulders, every suppressed flick of his gaze toward your tits. You could sense the unspoken hunger radiating off him like heat waves, matching the relentless heartbeat pounding in your own chest.

And that was more than enough to leave you soaking by the time you finally left.

-

You woke up with a pounding need at the base of your spine. It was deeper than usual, an ache that gnawed at you relentlessly, demanding satisfaction. The worst part? You already knew exactly who you were going to picture to take the edge off:

Jake Sim.

Every nerve in your body thrummed with anticipation, remembering the way he’d looked at you during your last study session—eyes flickering from your face down to your chest, jaw clenched like he was fighting some internal battle. You’d left his dorm with slick thighs and your mind racing, your entire body aflame.

Today, you wanted to push your usual routine even further. Your fingers alone wouldn’t cut it. With your teeth worrying your bottom lip, you slipped out of bed and rummaged through your nightstand until your hand closed around the small, discreet vibrator you’d impulsively bought a few weeks ago. It was sleek, silicone-coated, made for exactly the kind of play you were craving.

You bit back a trembling sigh and grabbed your phone, propping it against a pillow at the foot of your bed. The little red light began to blink, capturing you in all your messy, unmade-bed glory—hair tangled, cheeks still carrying the warmth of sleep, and a fiercely determined look in your eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whispered, half to yourself, half to the imaginary version of Jake you conjured whenever you got off.

But you didn’t hesitate. You shed your oversized T-shirt, tossing it aside to expose bare skin. Your nipples peaked in the cool air, and you ran a hand over one breast, giving it a light squeeze before trailing your palm down over your stomach. You settled into the pillows, propping your hips up slightly so the camera had a perfect view.

“Jake,” you murmured, letting your thighs fall apart, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your free hand teased your clit, already slick with arousal, while the other clutched the vibrator. The buzzing anticipation in your veins intensified as you clicked it on, feeling the soft hum rattle against your palm.

Normally, you’d sink it straight into your cunt, but today, you were craving something more depraved. Your breath hitched at the thought of that taboo stretch you barely ever indulged—your ass. The mere idea of Jake guiding it inside you, watching you squirm as you took it deeper, was enough to send a fresh gush of heat through your body.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, heart hammering as you angled the toy behind you. “Jake, I want you…want you here.”

Carefully, you smeared your own wetness over the silicone, letting your middle finger gather some of the slick so it’d slide in smoothly. A gasp broke from your throat the moment you pressed the vibrator’s tip to that tight ring of muscle—just the tiniest bit of pressure made your nerves light up like a live wire.

You couldn’t help the shameless moan that echoed off your bedroom walls. Even though it was just the tip, the sensation had you delirious. You spread your cheeks with one hand, guiding the buzzing silicone in a fraction of an inch, your body tensing and then relaxing around it. A ragged whine tore from your lips.

You could almost feel Jake’s hands there, big and warm, whispering filth in your ear:

“Relax. You can take it. Just like that—fuck, look at you…”

Your other hand found your clit, rubbing messy circles that turned your moans into broken sobs of pleasure. Each slow push of the vibrator inched deeper, stretching you in a way that made your eyes roll back.

“Nngh—Jake, please,” you babbled, voice shaking as you tried to push it just a bit further. “Wish it was your cock…wish you’d pin me down and shove it all the way in…”

You couldn’t hold back. The pressure and vibration melded into something explosive, your clit throbbing under your frantic fingertips. Every muscle in your body coiled tighter, lungs seizing as you hovered on the precipice. The camera recorded it all—the sweat beading at your temples, the flushed curve of your cheeks, the wet, filthy sounds filling the room.

Then it hit. Your orgasm came crashing down, ripping a strangled scream from your throat. Your legs shook, your ass clamping around the toy, your cunt pulsing in sympathy. You writhed against the sheets, half-blinded by the force of it, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming relief.

It felt like forever before you could breathe again, the buzz in your nerves slowly receding. You eased the vibrator out, wincing at the hyper-sensitivity, then stopped the recording with a trembling hand. On the screen, the thumbnail showed a glimpse of you with your mouth open in a silent cry, body arched off the bed, pure rapture etched on your face.

Fuck. If Jake ever saw that…

But there wasn’t time for guilt or second thoughts. A glance at the clock made your heart plummet—it was late, and you had to scramble to get to class before your professor threatened to fail you for tardiness. Again.

You only managed a quick wipe-down, barely rinsing the toy and tossing it in a drawer, before you yanked on clothes and sprinted out the door, phone still warm in your pocket from the video you’d just recorded.

The lecture hall was already half-full when you snuck in. You found your seat, cheeks still hot from both the run across campus and the memory of the vibrator filling your ass less than an hour ago. You avoided Jake’s eyes completely, which was easy because he was focused on the front of the class—though you could still feel the tension that seemed to magnetize you whenever he was close.

Throughout the lesson, your mind wandered, replaying the moment of penetration, the hum of the toy, the fantasy of Jake’s hands gripping your hips. You clenched your thighs under the desk, wishing you could burn the images out of your head.

Little did you know, in just a few hours, your world would implode in the filthiest way imaginable.

That evening, you met Jake for a study session in his dorm. The room was small but cozy, a lived-in space with a single bed in the corner, textbooks piled on the floor. He greeted you at the door, wearing a fitted T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in a way that made your pulse flutter.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside so you could walk in. “Let’s try to knock out the rest of the research tonight.”

You nodded stiffly, mouth dry. You were always too aware of him—his scent, the way the muscle in his jaw worked when he concentrated, the slight furrow of his brows. It didn’t help that you’d spent your morning taking a vibrator in your ass, moaning his name like you were possessed.

You settled at the small desk with your laptop, while Jake sat on the bed flipping through a shared Google Doc on his phone. The tension was thick enough to taste. Sometimes you swore you caught him watching you from the corner of his eye, but every time you glanced over, he was scrolling or typing, expression neutral.

After about twenty minutes, the soda you’d chugged on your way over came back to haunt you. You needed the bathroom—badly.

“I’ll be right back,” you muttered, closing your laptop’s lid but not fully locking it. Nerves and bladder pressure made you forget the simplest precaution: you’d left a minimized window open from transferring your new “vibrator video” into your private folder.

Jake just nodded. “Sure. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You slipped out of the dorm, heart still fluttering, mind on autopilot. The hallway was dimly lit, and you disappeared into the bathroom, exhaling a relieved sigh once the door clicked shut.

Alone in the room, Jake glanced at your laptop, noticing the faint glow beneath the lid. Curiosity—mixed with something deeper—bubbled in his chest. He’d been suspecting something was up with you, ever since you arrived late looking thoroughly wrecked every morning. The tension you carried around him was obvious, and he’d caught glimpses of…subtle clues.

With a swift move, he lifted the laptop’s lid. The screen flickered back to life, revealing a folder half-tucked behind your research notes. A folder labeled something simple, but ominous: “Private.”

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told himself it was none of his business. But a stubborn, electric thrill spurred him to open it. A series of video files stared back at him, each with a plain name—things like “Vid001,” “Vid002.” And the most recent one? Time-stamped that morning.

His heart thudded. He clicked on it.

What loaded made his blood run hot.

You. Naked. Bent back on your bed with a vibrator in your ass, face scrunched up in a mix of pain and pleasure as you eased it deeper. The audio kicked in, and Jake’s eyes went wide when he heard your moans:

“Jake…God, I want you so deep in me…wanna be stretched by your cock…”

His pulse roared in his ears. The image on the screen was so explicit it felt like a punch to the gut. You whimpered, back arched, your hand working your clit with desperate speed, all while the vibrator buzzed between your spread cheeks. And the filthy things you were saying—how you wanted him to shove it all the way in, how you wished it was his cock instead of cold silicone.

Jake’s cock twitched in his pants, heat pooling low in his gut. He watched, transfixed, as your face contorted in a mind-blowing orgasm, your body jerking, thighs trembling. You were screaming his name through it all.

A low, shaky exhalation left his lips. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sure, he’d suspected you had some kind of thing for him, but this? This was on another level. You were a wrecked, filthy, ass-play-obsessed mess, and all of it was for him.

He paused the video at the peak of your orgasm, hand nearly trembling with adrenaline. Blood pounded in his ears, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Part of him wanted to keep watching, to see every second of your depravity, but he had to be quick. You’d be back any minute.

With an almost reverent care, he closed out of the folder and gently lowered the laptop’s lid. Then he dragged in a ragged breath, trying to get his heart rate under control.

His mind raced. You were a shy presence at times, stumbling over words, blushing whenever he looked at you too long. Yet behind closed doors, you were filming yourself stretching your ass with a vibrator, moaning his name like he was the only person in the world.

Jake could barely contain the predatory thrill that coursed through him. He tried to shove the arousal down, adjusting his position on the bed so he didn’t look painfully hard if you walked in that second. But there was no ignoring the fact that everything had changed.

You had no idea what you’d just handed him, and Jake was more than ready to see how you’d squirm now that he had proof of just how desperately you wanted him.

-

You barely made it through class without combusting.

Your skin felt too hot, every nerve in your body on edge, a lingering burn still coiled between your thighs from the morning’s routine. As if that wasn’t bad enough, every time Jake so much as shifted in his seat, your body reacted—trained by weeks, months, of late mornings spent getting yourself off to the very thought of him.

And then, class ended.

The moment you stepped into the hall, still shaken, still barely holding it together, Jake was waiting for you.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking infuriatingly calm while you felt like you were on the verge of collapsing. His dark eyes flicked over you, a slow drag, lingering just long enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was studying you, examining you, as if piecing together a puzzle that had finally clicked into place.

A slow curl of heat unfurled in your belly. Something about the way he held your gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, made you feel exposed. Laid bare.

Something was wrong.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, breath uneven as you tried to keep your face neutral. “What?” you asked, attempting to sound indifferent, but your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly on the single word.

Jake didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, dragging his tongue over his lower lip in thought. His fingers twitched against his arms where they were crossed over his chest, and his gaze dipped lower—not just over your body, but like he was seeing straight through you.

Your stomach clenched. He knew something.

“Didn’t sleep well?” he finally asked, voice deceptively casual.

Your heart lurched. He was playing with you.

You forced yourself to scoff. “What are you talking about?”

Jake hummed, tilting his head slightly, and your stomach sank at the knowing glint in his eyes. You felt yourself locking up, body screaming at you to flee, but it was too late.

“I wonder…” he mused, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Is that why you’re always late?”

The world tilted beneath you.

Your throat closed, fingers twitching at your sides, because he didn’t say it like an accusation—he said it like a revelation.

Jake took a step closer, and you swore your knees almost buckled.

“You’re always late,” he murmured, voice smooth as sin, laced with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours as he leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Always looking like you’ve just been fucked.”

Your breath hitched. Your pulse roared in your ears.

“What—” Your voice barely worked, caught between panic and something even deeper—something raw, electric, dangerous.

Jake’s lips curved, dark amusement flashing across his face. “You get off before class, don’t you?”

Your entire body went up in flames. Your thighs clenched so tightly that you swore he could see it, see the way his words wrecked you from the inside out.

Jake didn’t wait for you to answer. He already knew. He had proof.

The realization crashed into you like a truck. The video.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your laptop. The folder. The fucking recording from that morning.

The vibrator. The way you moaned his name. The way you begged for it to be him.

Jake had seen it.

Oh my god.

He had fucking seen it.

A low chuckle vibrated from deep in his chest, his lips twitching upward at the sheer horror that must have been written all over your face. His eyes darkened, filling with something lethal, something triumphant.

And then came the final blow—the words that shattered you, sent that familiar ache between your legs into something unbearable.

“You could’ve just asked me to help, baby.”

Your stomach dropped. Your knees almost buckled.

You were done for.

The world tilted on its axis. Everything else around you—the bustling students, the muffled sounds of conversations, the faint scraping of chairs against tile—blurred into meaningless background noise. All that existed was him. His smirk. His words. The absolute certainty in his voice that left no room for denial.

Your mouth opened, some kind of weak protest forming on your tongue, but Jake moved closer, shutting you down before you even had a chance to breathe. His presence was overwhelming, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, his scent—clean, musky, laced with something so distinctly him—filling your senses, making your knees weak.

“You get off before class,” he repeated, softer this time, almost teasing, like he was savoring the confession he had yet to hear from your own lips. His voice dropped lower, becoming something dark, possessive. “And you think about me when you do it, don’t you?”

Your lungs seized. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

Jake tilted his head, studying you, watching the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted in a silent gasp, the way your thighs pressed together instinctively—as if that would do anything to stop the inevitable, the brutal ache between your legs that he had just made ten times worse.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” His voice was smooth, dripping with mocking confidence, because he knew you couldn’t.

Your brain scrambled for an escape. For an excuse. For anything that might get you out of this, because if you admitted it—if you said it out loud—there would be no turning back. You’d be his. Completely. Utterly.

Jake was too close now, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear, his tone taunting. “What is it, baby?” His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite touching but close enough to drive you insane. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you too busy thinking about the way you spread your legs for me every morning?”

Your breath left you in a shattered gasp.

You shouldn’t have reacted. You knew better. But your body betrayed you—your thighs clenched harder, your nipples tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, your entire core clenched around nothing, desperate for the friction you had been denying yourself all class.

Jake saw it. He saw everything.

He chuckled, voice dark and satisfied. “Oh, you really are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body burned.

Jake smirked. His fingers—strong, veined, perfect—finally reached you, just the barest brush of his knuckle against the inside of your wrist, but it sent a violent shudder through you.

And now, he fucking knew it.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said smoothly, turning away like he hadn’t just left you a trembling, soaking mess in the middle of the hallway.

-

You spent the entire day in a state of absolute wreckage.

After Jake’s confrontation in the hallway, after his words had wrapped around you like a noose, you had barely functioned. Your thoughts were a mess, your body useless, stuck in a constant loop of shame, arousal, and anticipation. He had seen it. He had seen you—spread out, stuffed full, moaning his name like a desperate, filthy thing. And now, tonight, you had to face him again.

Your stomach flipped violently as you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, gripping the sink, forcing yourself to take slow, measured breaths.

You had to get it together. You had to act like you weren’t already falling apart before you even stepped into his dorm.

But the problem was—you were. You so were.

The moment you let your mind wander, it all came rushing back. Jake’s voice, low and taunting. His gaze, dark and knowing. The way his fingers had hovered so close to your skin, how he had whispered filth into your ear like he already owned you.

And now, tonight, he would.

Your breath shuddered. Your thighs clenched.

You couldn’t go to him like this, already weak and needy. You needed to take the edge off, just enough to think clearly, just enough to face him without completely unraveling the second he looked at you.

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts before you could think twice.

You sighed, the relief instant as your fingers slid through the ridiculous mess between your legs. You were soaked, soaked, had been all day. It was humiliating, how little it took. The heat, the tension, the memory of him catching you—it had left you dripping, thighs sticky and aching since the moment he walked away from you in that hallway.

But tonight, you needed more than your fingers.

Your eyes flicked to the cool bathroom sink, and your breath hitched.

You turned around, hands bracing against the counter, angling yourself just right before slipping your fingers behind you, dragging them through your folds from the back, teasing your entrance in a way that made your legs tremble.

A gasp ripped from your throat as you pressed two fingers inside, stretching yourself open while your hips rocked forward, grinding your clit against the cold, smooth porcelain. The sensation was overwhelming—the deep, slow stretch inside you paired with the delicious friction against your swollen, aching clit.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, forehead pressing against the mirror as you humped the sink, fingering yourself deeper, imagining it was Jake standing behind you, one big hand on your hip, the other sliding down between your legs to keep you in place while he filled you up.

Your breath came ragged, hips stuttering, thighs quivering as you rode the edge, grinding your clit down harder, fucking your fingers deeper, thinking about how Jake would hold you still, how he’d groan against your ear, whispering, “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your stomach tightened, the orgasm coiling, building, about to—

And then your phone buzzed.

You froze.

Your heart stopped. Your stomach plummeted. Your fingers stilled immediately, guilt crashing over you in suffocating waves.

You scrambled for your phone, unlocking it with shaking hands.

Jake: Don’t. Touch. Yourself.

Your blood ran cold.

You swallowed, staring at the text, heart pounding as another one came through.

Jake: You’ll do that when you’re here.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale, thighs clenching involuntarily at the absolute authority in his words. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could only sit there, fingers still buried inside yourself, aching, trembling, waiting.

Then—

Jake: And when you get here? You’re going to show me just how much you need it.

Your entire body shuddered.

Your clit pulsed beneath your untouched folds, but you didn’t dare move. Not now. Not when you were seconds away from finishing, and Jake had just ripped that privilege away from you.

Another text buzzed onto the screen.

Jake: If you’re even a second late, I’ll make you wait even longer.

You swallowed a whimper. You had to go. Now.

Your legs felt like they barely worked as you stumbled up from the sink, heart hammering, stomach twisting into knots of frustration, anticipation, arousal so thick you could choke on it.

You had no idea how you were going to survive this night.

-

You hesitated outside Jake’s door, hands clammy, thighs pressed together so tightly it almost hurt.

Your body wasn’t over it.

Not even close.

The bathroom incident had left you on the brink, your body still buzzing, still needy, still aching for something you weren’t allowed to have until you stepped inside. You could still feel it—the cool sink against your clit, the way your own fingers had stretched you open from behind, the way Jake’s texts had snapped you back to reality at the worst possible moment.

And now you were here.

You wiped your palms on your thighs, forced yourself to breathe, forced yourself to knock even though every part of you screamed run.

The door opened almost immediately.

Jake stood there, leaning against the frame, one hand braced above his head, the other resting casually in the pocket of his sweatpants. His eyes raked over you, scanning your body like he already knew what kind of state you were in.

Like he could smell it on you.

You swallowed hard, barely holding back a whimper.

“Come in.”

His voice was smooth, deep, dripping with something dangerous. He stepped aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze past him. The second you moved, his hand brushed against your lower back—a simple touch, barely even there, but it felt like a brand.

Your breath hitched.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You were alone with him now.

The air felt thick, suffocating, charged. You could hear your own pulse pounding in your ears, the faint sound of your breath coming in quick, uneven puffs. Your nerves were a mess, anticipation tangling with embarrassment because—

You knew why you were here.

And so did Jake.

You took a shaky step forward, barely processing the way Jake moved behind you. Slow. Calculated.

“So,” he murmured, the heat of his breath suddenly right at your ear. “Are you gonna tell me how close you were?”

Your entire body seized up.

He wasn’t touching you—not yet—but his presence alone was suffocating, pressing against you like a heavy weight.

You licked your lips, swallowed hard. “W-what?”

Jake chuckled.

“Don’t play dumb, baby.” His fingers ghosted over your hip, just enough to make you tremble. “I told you not to touch yourself. And yet…”

You sucked in a breath as his other hand trailed up, dragging two fingers over your exposed throat, pressing just lightly enough that your head tipped back on instinct.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Your thighs clenched.

His touch was barely there but it was too much. Too much, because you were already soaked, already aching, already at the point where you’d do anything—

But he wasn’t giving it to you.

Not yet.

Instead, he pressed his fingers just a little more firmly against your throat, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look at him. His dark eyes held yours, and the corner of his mouth curled.

“Be honest with me.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your thighs.

Jake’s fingers brushed down your throat, slow, teasing, until they rested just beneath your collarbone. His thumb dragged lower, just barely dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt.

You could barely breathe.

You shouldn’t have been this turned on just from a few words. Just from the way his thumb traced your skin, from the way he was looking at you like he already owned you.

But then he leaned in, so fucking close, lips just barely brushing against your ear as he whispered—

“How close were you when I told you to stop?”

A whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low and satisfied. His fingers tightened, just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your body scream for more.

“I bet you were close.” His breath was hot, his tone mocking. “I bet you were right there, fingers dripping, about to make a mess of yourself.”

You bit your lip hard enough to sting, trying to stop the truth from slipping out.

Because if he knew the full truth—if he knew what you’d actually been doing—

Grinding against the bathroom sink, rubbing your clit against the cool porcelain like some desperate, shameless thing—

You’d die on the spot.

Jake must have sensed it. Felt it. Because his fingers curled against your chin, tilting your face up. His eyes searched yours, his smirk deepening, his voice dropping even lower.

“What else?”

Your pulse skipped. “W-what?”

His lips nearly brushed yours. “You were doing more than just touching yourself, weren’t you?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your silence was a dead giveaway.

Jake chuckled, dark and knowing. His grip on your chin tightened. “Tell me.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I…” The words got stuck in your throat.

His smirk widened. “You’re gonna say it out loud, baby. Or I’ll make you.”

Your breath shook, your entire body on the verge of collapse. You wanted to fight it, wanted to pretend you still had some dignity left, but Jake’s gaze was relentless.

And he wouldn’t let you go until you gave him what he wanted.

A deep, humiliating heat spread over your body as you finally whispered, “I—I was…grinding against the sink.”

Jake inhaled sharply, his entire body going still.

His grip on your chin tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just processed what you’d just admitted.

Then, slowly, so deliberately that it made your stomach flip, he let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his free hand flexing at his side. “That’s what you were doing?”

You nodded weakly, shame pooling in your stomach.

Jake exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching, and suddenly, his hand slid from your chin to your throat, holding you there—not squeezing, just keeping you still.

“You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Jake smirked, something dangerous flashing in his gaze, something calculated.

“You’re gonna show me,” he murmured. “Later.”

Your breath hitched.

“And I’m gonna take a video.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

Jake sat back on his bed, legs spread wide, leaning against the headboard with an ease that only made the situation worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. His hoodie was gone, discarded somewhere in the room, leaving nothing but smooth, bare skin, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the toned muscles of his chest, and the faintest trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

But what really ruined you was the bulge straining against the soft fabric of his grey sweats.

It was… big. Heavy. Obscene. The kind of size that made your stomach clench with something dangerously close to desperation. He wasn’t even touching himself, wasn’t even adjusting—just sitting there, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

And then he did something that made your breath stutter.

He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his phone, unlocking it with a single flick before tilting his head at you, smirk lazy, expectant.

“I’m filming this,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “Start stripping.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your body burned.

You should have hesitated—should have felt embarrassed, should have tried to argue—but the only thing you felt was a deep, thrilling pulse between your legs.

You didn’t even question it.

Your hands moved before your brain caught up, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, peeling it up slowly, dragging it over your stomach, higher, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him. The air felt thick, charged, electric as you bared more skin, the camera recording every second.

Jake hummed approvingly. “Good girl. Keep going.”

The shirt hit the floor. You reached for your shorts next, hooking your thumbs into the waistband, dragging them down inch by inch, knowing exactly how much of a show you were giving him.

By the time you stood before him, stripped down to nothing but your soaked panties, Jake’s smirk had sharpened into something dangerous.

“Lose those too,” he ordered, tilting the phone slightly to capture your every movement.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop.

You slid your hands down, curling your fingers beneath the waistband, peeling them down agonizingly slow, letting the fabric drag over your thighs before stepping out of them completely.

Now you were bare.

Jake exhaled through his nose, pleased. His free hand dragged over his own thigh, fingers flexing, his grip tightening the moment you stepped forward, fully exposed, completely his.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Let me see what you do when you think about me.”

You obeyed instantly, trailing your fingers over your stomach, your thighs, your hips—everywhere but where you needed it most. Your breath came in slow, teasing gasps as you let your fingers finally slip lower, grazing your clit, a sharp whimper escaping as you made contact with the aching heat between your legs.

Jake groaned, the sound low, filthy.

“Louder.”

You whimpered, fingers pressing deeper, moving slower, dragging the pleasure out just to tease him, just to see how long he’d let you keep control.

“Louder,” he said again, voice darker this time. “I want to hear every filthy little sound you make.”

Something inside you snapped.

You moaned. Loudly.

Then again. And again.

It was like you couldn’t stop. The moment the first shameless, desperate noise slipped past your lips, your mouth wouldn’t close, your voice wouldn’t stop spilling every thought you had.

“Jake—fuck—I think about you all the time—”

Your fingers slid deeper, your hips rocking into the pressure.

“I think about your hands, how big they are, how rough they’d feel on me—”

Jake let out a low, ragged groan, his fingers twitching against the bed.

“I think about your mouth, how you’d ruin me with it, how you’d hold me still and make me take it—”

Your breath hitched as you spread your legs wider, rubbing yourself faster, your mind a mess of filth.

“I think about your cock,” you gasped, your fingers slick, sliding in and out shamelessly. “How big it is, how you’d stretch me open, how you’d fill me so fucking deep—”

Jake exhaled sharply, his jaw locked, his knuckles turning white against his thigh.

Then, in an instant, he moved.

You barely had time to react before his hand wrapped around your throat, gripping firm, dominant, unrelenting as he dragged you forward. Your breath caught, a choked gasp escaping as he pulled you right into his lap, forcing you to straddle him, the heat of his body pressing against you.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it.

“Stop pretending,” he growled, his breath hot against your lips, his other hand pushing between your thighs, feeling how soaked you were. “You want to act like a shy little thing? Like you’re so innocent?”

His fingers dragged through your slick, making you tremble, making you whimper as your hands gripped his shoulders for support.

“Enough of that.” His thumb pressed against your throat, tilting your head back, his gaze dark, dangerous. “Start acting like the filthy little slut you actually are.”

Something in you broke open.

You whimpered, thighs clenching, your fingers digging into his skin as your hips rolled forward, grinding against his sweatpants, against the huge, heavy bulge pressing against you.

Jake groaned, his grip on your throat flexing, his lips twitching into something darkly amused as you completely fell apart for him.

“There she is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted.”

Your mouth ran wild, the words spilling before you could stop them—

“I want you to ruin me, Jake—”

You rocked against him, panting, desperate, his hand tight in your hair now, keeping you in place, making you take it.

“Want you to spread me open—make me take every inch of you—”

Jake groaned, low and wrecked, his hands gripping your hips, holding you against him as you rubbed yourself raw against his cock, soaking his sweatpants with how desperate you were.

You did exactly that.

You pulled your fingers out, spreading your slick between them, before shifting positions—

Turning around.

Bending over.

Spreading yourself open for him.

A sharp, gritted curse came from behind you.

Jake’s fingers flexed against his thigh, his entire body going rigid as he took in the sight before him—your ass up, your fingers teasing at your entrance, the shameless, dripping mess you were making of yourself.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, one that sounded so ragged, so fucking strained, that you almost moaned just from hearing it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked.

And that was the moment you knew.

Jake was going to destroy you.

Jake let the silence stretch, let the weight of his gaze sink into you, let you feel just how much he was holding back—barely.

You were still bent over in front of him, still spreading yourself wide, still waiting, dripping, panting, desperate, while he sat back and took his time.

His voice, low, rough, taunting:

“You think this is how I’d fuck you?”

Your stomach plummeted.

Jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his jaw before shaking his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

“That’s cute, baby,” he murmured, shifting forward until you could feel his heat against you, his presence looming over your back, his breath hitting your spine.

But then—

He grabbed your hips, both hands firm, controlling, and yanked you back against him. Your breath hitched, a choked gasp slipping from your lips at the sudden contact—your bare, slick heat pressing against the thick, hard outline of his cock.

Jake groaned, low, deep, wrecked, his fingers tightening, his chest heaving as he held you there, perfectly still, completely at his mercy.

“First mistake,” he muttered, voice rough against your ear. “You wouldn’t be in charge of how fast or slow I fuck you. That’s my job.”

A shudder ran through you, your hands clenching against the sheets as Jake’s grip ground you against him, making you feel every inch of his cock through his sweatpants.

“Second mistake?” he continued, dragging his fingers over the curve of your ass, featherlight, teasing. “You think I’d let you touch yourself first?”

Your breath caught as his hand moved lower, closer, his touch just barely skimming over your soaked entrance, not enough, not even close, just a tease.

His fingers—elegant, veined, strong—dragged through your slick, gathering it, smearing it over you, spreading you open, making you tremble.

“I’d have you like this first,” Jake murmured, voice silk and gravel, his breath hitting the nape of your neck as his fingers teased, circled, prodded, but never gave you what you needed. “Dripping. Begging.”

His fingers brushed over your tight, untouched entrance, slicking it up with your own mess, and you whimpered, hips jolting forward on instinct, trying to escape the sensation—

But Jake just chuckled.

“Oh?” His tone was mocking, amused. “That got your attention?”

Your whole body seized, heat flaming through your spine, burning at your core, because—

He was still teasing your ass.

Just barely, just the pad of his fingertip, smearing your slick in slow, lazy circles, pressing, nudging, teasing, but not pushing inside.

And he wasn’t letting you run from it.

His free hand pressed into your lower back, keeping you right where he wanted you, keeping you spread, exposed, open.

“You think about this too?” he murmured, voice dark, edged with pure sin. “You think about my fingers stretching you out?”

Your throat closed, your body burning, your breath hitching in a desperate, humiliated whimper, because—

Yes.

Yes, you did.

Jake chuckled, pleased, tilting his head as if piecing it all together.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, his fingertip pressing just a little more insistently, not pushing in yet, just teasing, just threatening to. “You should’ve seen yourself.”

Your pulse pounded.

“I bet you don’t even know how messy you looked,” he continued, mocking, condescending. “Whimpering, drooling all over your pillow, fucking yourself open for me.”

Your entire body jerked, because you knew exactly what video he was talking about.

Jake just laughed under his breath, slow, deliberate, dragging it out.

“I don’t even think you knew what you were saying, baby,” he murmured, voice almost affectionate, like he was reminiscing. “Kept whining about how you wished it was my cock stretching you open, stuffing you full.”

A wrecked, desperate moan tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low, pleased.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

His finger pressed harder, circling, coaxing, never giving you enough—just teasing, just pushing your body past what it thought it could take.

His other hand moved.

His fingers found your clit, pinching, rolling, flicking over the swollen bud with zero mercy.

You gasped, your legs nearly giving out, your moan high, broken, utterly wrecked.

Jake groaned at the sound, his own restraint hanging by a thread, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered, voice deep, commanding.

You barely had time to process the words before your mouth obeyed, tongue slipping out, slick and needy, desperate for whatever he’d give you.

Jake exhaled through his nose, satisfied.

He shoved his fingers inside your mouth.

You whined, head tilting back as he pressed deeper, letting you taste the salt of his skin, letting you soak them, letting you understand exactly what he was about to do.

“Suck,” he murmured, and you did, your lips wrapping around his fingers, your tongue laving over them, your moans vibrating through your chest.

Jake cursed under his breath, his cock twitching hard beneath his sweatpants, his control hanging on by a fucking thread.

He pulled his fingers out, slick, wet, dripping with your spit.

And then he shoved that same finger inside you.

Your whole body jerked, your breath stuttering, your mind blanking completely as the wet stretch burned, as your body took him, clenched around him, pulled him deeper.

Jake groaned, his free hand slamming onto your lower back, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

“God,” he muttered, voice strained. “Look at you.”

His finger slid deeper, fucking into you, spreading you open, filling you slowly, deliberately, ruining you.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?” he murmured. “Made to be filled.”

Your moans shattered, your legs trembling, your hands gripping the sheets, your whole body unraveling under him.

Jake just smirked, watching you come apart.

“That’s okay, baby,” he murmured, his lips curling against your ear. “I’m gonna make sure you take it better than that next time.”

Your stomach dropped.

Next time.

Jake just smirked.

“Oh,” he murmured, voice lethal. “And don’t forget—I’m filming the next one.”

Jake had had enough.

Enough of teasing, enough of waiting, enough of holding back while you squirmed, while you whimpered, while you dripped all over yourself without him even needing to try.

Now he was going to ruin you.

His fingers slid out of you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the slick drag, letting your body clench around nothing, aching, desperate for more.

You whined, shifting, pushing back instinctively, chasing friction, but Jake’s hands were already on you, pushing you down, flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on you.

His grip locked onto your thighs, spreading you wide, forcing your legs apart so you had no choice but to bare yourself to him completely.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake exhaled slowly, his eyes dark, hungry, his gaze locked onto the messy, dripping heat between your legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, his fingers flexing against your thighs, holding you open like you belonged to him.

Your stomach flipped. Your breath hitched. Your body throbbed.

“Be a good girl and show me how bad you want it.”

Your brain blanked.

You knew what he meant. Knew he was testing you. Knew he wanted to see if you were still pretending, still holding back, still playing shy when you were already dripping for him.

He would stop.

He would kick you out.

His voice was low, slow, unforgiving when he spoke again. “If you don’t act like the whore I know you are, I’m gonna stop. And I’m gonna make you leave.”

Your breath shattered.

The weight of his words hit you like a slap to the face.

No more hesitation. No more nerves. No more pretending.

Your whole body flushed hot, heat spreading from your cheeks down to your core as you swallowed your pride, swallowed your shame, and did exactly what he asked.

You let your thighs fall even wider, your hands sliding down your stomach, past your hips, until your fingers spread yourself open for him, letting him see everything.

Jake’s breath left him in a ragged curse.

“That’s it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “There she is.”

His mouth latched onto you immediately, tongue dragging through your folds, hot and wet and messy, licking up every bit of slick that had spilled from you since he started his torment.

You screamed.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling, gripping, holding on for dear life as Jake ate you alive.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core, making your hips buck, making you writhe beneath him.

But Jake was ready for it.

His arms hooked under your thighs, locking them over his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips tight, pinning you down as he worked you over with his tongue, messy and relentless, like he was trying to drown in you.

“Oh my fucking—Jake—”

You gasped, sobbed, choked on your own moans, because he wasn’t just licking you,

He was devouring you.

Sucking, flicking, rolling his tongue over your clit, dipping lower to fuck you with it, groaning into you every time your walls fluttered around the slick muscle.

Your body twitched, overwhelmed, shaking under the pressure of his grip, the raw, unrelenting pace of his tongue.

He was merciless.

No teasing. No holding back.

Just Jake, consuming you, controlling you, wrecking you.

Your thighs tensed, your stomach tightened, your breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps, and Jake fucking felt it.

He knew you were close.

So he got mean.

He pulled away just enough to whisper against your swollen, drenched folds—

“Make a mess of my face, baby.”

Your stomach dropped.

He sucked your clit into his mouth and flicked his tongue over it hard.

Everything snapped.

Your whole body bowed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your vision blurring, blanking, as pleasure slammed into you, violent and unforgiving.

You came hard, your body convulsing, your legs trying to snap shut around his head, but Jake just held you there, kept you wide open, kept his tongue right where you needed it, licking you through it, dragging it out until you were a shaking, sobbing mess beneath him.

When it finally became too much, when your whimpers turned into soft, wrecked sobs, Jake eased up, pressing slow, teasing kisses against your oversensitive clit before finally pulling away.

Your chest heaved, your skin flushed, your whole body buzzing, as you blinked up at the ceiling, completely wrecked, ruined, destroyed.

Jake sat back, grinning, his lips and chin shiny, slick, messy with you.

His voice was smug, satisfied, when he finally spoke.

“That’s my girl.”

You were still panting, still trembling, your body wrecked from the brutal pace of his tongue. But Jake wasn’t done with you yet.

Not even close.

Before you could recover, before you could even think, his hands were on you again, flipping you onto your stomach with zero effort, pressing his weight down against you, his body hot, heavy, overwhelming.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it,

The thick, hot length of his cock pressing between your thighs, dragging through your slick, coating himself in the mess he’d made of you.

Your whole body shuddered.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice dark, dangerous. “You ready for me, baby?”

You barely managed to nod, your hips tilting up, your back arching, offering yourself up to him in the filthiest display of submission.

Jake groaned, his breath shuddering against your shoulder.

“Yeah, you are,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’ve been ready for me since day one.”

Your breath hitched when he pulled back, when you felt him shift, when you felt him line himself up,

You felt it.

The thick, heavy weight of his cock sliding between your folds, dragging over your clit, teasing your entrance, spreading you open inch by inch, but not pushing in yet.

You whimpered, a wrecked, frustrated sound, trying to push back, trying to take him, but Jake’s hands were on your hips immediately, holding you still.

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice taunting, smug. “You feel that?”

Your whole body tightened as he dragged himself over your entrance again, so close but still not giving it to you.

“Feel how big I am?”

You nodded furiously, eyes blown wide, unfocused, needy, trying to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of his cock stretching you open already before he was even inside.

Jake chuckled, one hand leaving your hip, gripping the thick base of himself, dragging the fat, swollen head against your entrance over and over, smearing your slick across his length.

“Bet you thought about it, huh?” he murmured, his free hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you further into the mattress. “Bet you imagined how deep I’d be.”

A wrecked, whiny little moan tumbled from your lips.

Yeah. You had.

And now you could feel it.

Jake was thick. Heavy. Long enough that you knew he was going to ruin you completely.

The head of his cock was flushed a deep, angry red, already slick with precum and the mess you’d made of yourself. A thick vein ran down the underside, pulsing against your entrance as he dragged himself over your folds again and again, teasing, taunting, letting you feel every single inch of what was about to wreck you.

Your thighs shook, your hands fisting the sheets, your whole body fighting to stay still.

Jake smirked.

“Want it that bad?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, pressing back against him, desperate to be filled.

Jake groaned, low, dark, lethal.

He spat directly onto your asshole.

Your whole body jerked violently, your breath choking out of you, a sharp, desperate gasp breaking from your throat at the filthy, messy sound of it.

Jake chuckled darkly, rubbing the wetness into you with his thumb, spreading it over your tight entrance, teasing, circling, smearing it with your own slick.

“Thought about this too, huh?” he murmured, pressing just the tip of his thumb against it, making your thighs tremble, making your stomach flip, making you whine.

But he didn’t push in.

No—he dragged his spit-slicked thumb down, tracing it between your folds, pressing it against your clit in a slow, taunting rub just as he finally—

Pushed inside.

Your mouth fell open in a wrecked, silent scream, your entire body going taut, because Jake didn’t ease in.

He split you open.

A long, low groan rumbled in his chest, his fingers tightening on your hips, his breath shaking as he forced you to take every inch.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his voice strained, wrecked, strained as he buried himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight.”

Your fingernails dug into the sheets, your legs shaking, your breath completely gone, because the stretch was unbearable, overwhelming, perfect.

Jake didn’t move right away.

He let you feel it.

Feel how deep he was, how full he made you, how there was no more space inside you for anything else but him.

He pulled back, 

And slammed back in.

Your whole body jolted forward, a sharp, shocked moan spilling from your lips as Jake set a brutal, punishing pace immediately.

“You’re gonna take it like a good little slut, yeah?” he growled, his voice low, rough, filthy. “Gonna take it just like you do in those videos?”

You sobbed, whimpered, nodded frantically, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe.

Jake groaned, watching you fall apart, watching you drool all over his cock, watching your mouth fall open in perfect, wordless pleasure.

He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear, his pace never faltering, pounding into you so deep you saw stars.

“Push back on it,” he ordered.

You barely even registered the command—just obeyed immediately, rocking back against him, meeting every thrust, taking him like you were made for it.

Jake growled, his grip tightening, watching the way his cock slid in and out of you, watching the way you took every inch, watching the way you spread yourself open for him completely.

“Good girl,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his temples, his breath ragged. “That’s it, baby. Show me what a good little whore you are.”

His fingers slid back down, toying with your clit, rubbing it in tight, filthy circles, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, meaner.

Your vision blurred.

Your body shook violently.

“Jake—fuck—I can’t—”

He chuckled darkly, leaning over you again, his lips brushing your ear as he ruined you completely.

“Yes, you can.”

“Be a good girl and come all over my cock.”

Your whole world shattered.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and everything filthy you’d just done.

Your body was still shaking, your limbs still boneless, every nerve still buzzing from the way Jake had just completely, utterly wrecked you.

His hands were on you again.

Gentle.

You barely registered the shift at first—too dazed, too exhausted, too blissed out to notice the way Jake’s grip had softened, the way his rough, dominant touch had turned into something careful, careful, careful.

You blinked, still coming down, still floating, as Jake slowly eased himself out of you, hushing you immediately when you whimpered at the loss.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, a stark contrast to the filthy, merciless way he’d been talking to you minutes ago.

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

Because Jake sounded different.

You barely had time to process it before he moved, scooping you up effortlessly, pulling you into his lap like you were the most precious fucking thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped.

“Jake—”

“Shh.”

His lips brushed your forehead.

Your heart skipped. Your breath caught.

Because Jake had kissed you.

For the first time. But not on your lips.

Not yet.

His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice a quiet murmur against your skin. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at him, completely thrown. Because what the fuck?

Where was the cocky, filthy-mouthed Jake who had just spent the past hour ruining your entire existence?

Where was the smug, insufferable bastard who had made you beg for it, who had spat on your ass, who had laughed while you drooled all over his cock?

Because the guy holding you now? Was someone else entirely. His hands were warm, steady, grounding. His gaze was soft, searching, real.

Your lips parted, still stunned, but before you could say anything, Jake let out a quiet, almost nervous chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “I should’ve kissed you first.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake exhaled, shaking his head. “Before all of that.” His fingers traced light, delicate patterns up and down your spine. “Didn’t want the first time I kissed you to be during sex.”

Something in your chest ached. You didn’t know what to say.

Because this wasn’t what you expected.

Jake had spent weeks taunting you, teasing you, pushing you past your limits— Now he was holding you like he never wanted to let go. You swallowed, watching him carefully, studying him, trying to understand.

“Why?” you whispered.

Jake’s lips curled into a small, almost sheepish smirk.

His fingers found your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Because I wanted it to mean something.”

Your entire body stilled. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake held your gaze, serious now, voice soft but firm.

“I don’t share,” he murmured.

Your stomach plummeted.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Jake tilted his head, his fingers sliding up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, so gentle, so intimate, so fucking real.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he continued, his voice low, steady, certain. “I don’t want you fucking anyone else.”

Your breath shuddered. Jake’s eyes flickered down to your lips, slowly He finally kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Consuming.

And just like that, you knew you were done for.

-

Jake’s words from that first night still haunted you.

“You’re gonna show me later.”

You were.

The bathroom lights were dim, the mirror already fogging up from the heat of the room, but none of that mattered. Not when Jake was standing behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other holding his phone, recording every filthy, desperate second.

Your palms were pressed against the edge of the sink, your body bent forward, the cold porcelain digging into your clit as you grinded against it, mimicking exactly what he had caught you doing before.

Only this time, Jake was fucking you through it.

His cock dragged in and out of you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, splitting you open, making you feel every thick, devastating inch as you rocked your hips forward, rubbing yourself against the sink just like you had before he ever touched you.

Now, Jake was watching.

Now, Jake was inside you.

His breath was hot against your neck, his free hand trailing up your spine, fingers pressing between your shoulder blades, pushing you further down against the sink, making you spread your legs wider, making you take more of him, making you completely his.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice wrecked, low, approving, his free hand digging into your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Just like that. Just like you did for me before I ever fucking touched you.”

Your moans were high, gasping, desperate, bouncing off the tile walls, growing louder and louder as Jake’s thrusts grew faster, sharper, filthier.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, angling the phone so you could see the reflection—see the way your face was contorted with pleasure, see the way your tits bounced with every thrust, see the way his cock disappeared inside you, stretching you wide, filling you completely.

You locked eyes with him through the mirror, and something snapped.

A slow, wicked smirk curled on your lips, and suddenly, the whimpering mess you had been was gone.

You arched your back further, pushing your ass back against him, grinding onto his cock, fucking yourself onto him even harder, your mouth spilling filth without hesitation.

“You see that, baby?” Your voice was thick with sin, sultry and commanding. “See how good your cock looks inside me? Stretching me open like I was fucking made for it?”

Jake groaned, dark and wrecked, his grip tightening on your hips.

“Oh, you like that?” you cooed, deliberately clenching around him, making him hiss through his teeth. “Like watching me fuck myself on you?”

He gritted his teeth. “Jesus Christ.”

“Thought about this for so long,” you purred, rolling your hips. “Thought about you taking me like this—filming me—showing me what a good little slut I am for you.”

Jake cursed under his breath, his thrusts growing harder, faster, deeper, his control shattering as he pounded into you, forcing you against the sink, making you feel every fucking inch.

“You wanna keep talking, baby?” he gritted out, his hand snaking up to grip your throat, making you hold his gaze in the mirror. “Or do you wanna fucking come?”

Your moan broke, your whole body trembling, your legs shaking violently.

“I—I want both,” you gasped, a shameless, breathless mess. “Wanna come all over your cock while you fucking record it. Wanna make the dirtiest fucking video for you—so you can watch me fall apart over and over—”

Jake groaned, his restraint snapping completely.

His hand slid between your thighs, rubbing you mercilessly, his cock slamming into you faster, harder, filthier, and before you could even process it—

You were screaming, your orgasm ripping through you violently, your whole body convulsing, shaking, breaking apart.

Jake got every second on video.

-

Jake liked to smoke weed after long days.

He liked to do it while wrecking you.

The air was thick with smoke, the room hot, hazy, suffocating in the most intoxicating way. You were sprawled out on his bed, your thighs spread wide, your wrists pinned beside your head as Jake’s tongue dragged lazy, filthy circles over your clit, lapping at you with zero urgency, completely unbothered by how fucking desperate you were getting.

In his free hand? A joint.

Burning slow. The smoke curling through the air, weaving between your tangled bodies, seeping into your skin, into your mind, into your bones.

Every nerve in your body was on fire. Every slow, teasing flick of his tongue felt magnified, every inhale he took deepening the fog that was swallowing you whole.

You moaned, squirming, your fingers digging into the sheets as your hips lifted, chasing his mouth, trying to get more, but Jake just chuckled darkly, pinning you down, refusing to let you take control.

He lifted his head slightly, blowing a long, slow stream of thick, warm smoke over your drenched, swollen clit.

Your body jerked violently, a sharp cry breaking from your throat, the sensation too much, too overwhelming, too fucking filthy.

“Fuck—Jake—”

He groaned, lazy, satisfied, licking his lips before dragging his tongue through your folds again, so slow, so teasing, so fucking unbearable.

“Sensitive, baby?” His voice was thick, taunting, dripping with amusement. He took another deep inhale from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs, letting his fingers slide through your wetness, teasing, circling, rubbing—but never giving you enough.

He exhaled another thick, slow drag of smoke, letting it roll over your heat, watching as the wisps curled around your trembling thighs, your stomach, your completely wrecked, ruined body.

A wrecked, filthy moan spilled from your lips.

Jake smirked against your inner thigh, watching you twitch, tremble, shake, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly, watching the way your fingers clawed at the sheets, desperate for more.

“You like that, baby?” he murmured, his fingers sliding deeper, pressing inside you so fucking slow, dragging against your walls, curling just right.

You whimpered, back arching off the mattress. “Yes—fuck, yes—”

Jake hummed approvingly, the sound low and sinful, his lips dragging over your inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh, teasing, taunting.

He did something unholy.

He brought the joint down,

And pressed the burning tip directly to your clit.

It didn’t hurt—it was barely a graze, the heat of the ember just close enough to send a violent shockwave of pleasure-pain through your entire fucking body.

You screamed, your legs snapping closed around his head, but Jake just growled, gripping your thighs and spreading them wide again, forcing you open for him.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, bringing the joint back to his lips for another slow, deep pull. “Keep those legs open, baby.”

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning, every part of you hypersensitive, overstimulated, teetering on the fucking edge.

Jake watched you, eyes blown, hungry, dark, as he reached between your thighs again, his fingers finding your swollen, overstimulated clit, rubbing messy, lazy circles, smearing your slick, keeping you right there, right on the brink.

He exhaled another cloud of smoke, letting it roll directly over your heat.

Your moan broke, a sharp, wrecked sob, your body tensing, shaking, fighting the unbearable pressure building inside you.

“Oh, baby,” Jake mocked, his voice thick with sin, his fingers never stopping, never slowing. “You’re gonna fucking come just from this, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, writhing, your whole body fighting to hold itself together.

Jake’s lips twitched, his cock straining against his sweats, his own control slipping as he dragged the joint over your soaked folds, rubbing the tip against your clit, watching you jerk, watching your legs tremble, watching you fall apart for him.

You said it.

Your voice was high, wrecked, desperate.

“Please, Daddy.”

Jake froze.

He let out a deep, low groan, something dark flashing in his eyes. His grip on your thighs tightened, his body tensed, his restraint snapping completely.

His voice was rough, strained, wrecked beyond recognition.

“Say that shit again.”

You whimpered, grinding against nothing, teetering right on the edge of something violent.

“Please, Daddy,” you repeated, voice syrupy sweet, dripping with sin. “My pussy wants a hit too it needs it. Need you to make me come so fucking hard I forget my own name—”

Jake growled, his entire body shuddering, his control obliterated.

He took another slow inhale,

He pressed the joint back to your clit, the heat searing, shocking, sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

Your legs spasmed, your stomach tensed, and suddenly you were gushing, soaking his face, his chest, the sheets beneath you, every single muscle in your body seizing as you squirted all over him.

Jake groaned loudly, his hand gripping your thigh bruisingly tight, his tongue lapping up the mess you made, drinking you down, humming against your dripping folds like he’d just found his new favorite way to get high.

Jake took the joint, still damp from where he’d pressed it against your soaked heat, brought it back to his lips, and took one final, slow hit.

His exhale was slow, deep, pure sin as he looked down at you, wrecked, spent, twitching beneath him.

He leaned in, grabbed your jaw, and kissed you.

Filthy. Deep. Destroying.

Smoke still lingered on his tongue, on his breath, invading your lungs, intoxicating you more than any drug ever could.

His teeth tugged at your lower lip, his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

And as he pulled away, leaving you breathless, ruined, completely fucking gone, he grinned against your lips, voice nothing but a low, wrecked murmur.

“Bet you taste even better than the high, baby.”

-

The bathroom was already steaming, condensation rolling down the glass shower door, the air thick with humidity—and the sounds of Jake fucking you senseless.

Your body was pressed against the glass, the cool surface a stark contrast to your feverish, flushed skin, your nipples dragging against it with every brutal thrust, leaving streaks of your desperation across the fogged-up surface.

Jake’s hands were everywhere—one gripping your hip tight enough to bruise, the other wrapped around your throat, holding you in place, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Fucking lethal.

“You wanted this, huh?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear, his cock slamming into you from behind, deep, ruthless, unforgiving. “Wanted Daddy to take you like this?”

You whimpered, your forehead pressing into the glass, your nails scraping uselessly against it, because you had no control over anything anymore.

Jake wasn’t just fucking you. He was owning you.

His hand on your throat tightened, forcing you to lift your head, making you stare at your own fucked-out reflection in the glass.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone condescending, filthy, dripping with amusement. “You see yourself, baby?”

Your mouth hung open, your lips puffy, swollen, wrecked, your body shaking with every deep thrust, your nipples dragging against the slick surface of the glass, leaving desperate little streaks with every movement.

Jake chuckled darkly. “So fucking dumb for me, huh?”

You tried to speak—tried to say something, anything—but all that came out was a wrecked, helpless little sob.

Jake groaned, his free hand sliding down, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back, forcing you to keep looking.

“You wanted to fuck me in the shower?” he mocked, his hips snapping forward, burying himself so deep you saw fucking stars. “Now you can barely even stand.”

Your whole body convulsed, your walls clenching tightly around him, and Jake felt it.

Felt how fucking wrecked you were.

Felt how close you were.

And he wasn’t having it.

Not yet.

His thrusts suddenly slowed, the brutal, relentless pace shifting into deep, slow, torturous rolls of his hips, dragging his cock out of you so slowly, before slamming back inside.

You sobbed, the glass fogging up from your panting, helpless gasps.

“Oh, you don’t like that, baby?” he taunted, his grip on your jaw tightening, his thumb pushing into your mouth, forcing it open. “Thought you wanted Daddy to fuck you. What happened, huh?”

You whimpered around his thumb, your tongue lapping at the rough pad, sucking instinctively, needing something to hold onto before you fucking lost your mind.

Jake groaned, his pace picking up again, faster, harsher, filthier, his cock hitting deep, devastating spots inside you that made your legs buckle beneath you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, high, gasping little cries that bounced off the tile walls, mixing with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the shower running, the heavy panting of both of you completely fucking falling apart.

Jake leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his hand on your jaw sliding down, wrapping fully around your throat.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he murmured, low, dark, dangerous.

You nodded frantically, whimpering, your hands bracing against the glass, leaving messy little fingerprints in the condensation.

Jake groaned, watching you lose yourself, watching the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled, the way you fucking fell apart for him.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured, his thrusts turning erratic, ruthless, brutal, perfect. “Come for me.”

Your whole body snapped.

A shattered, broken moan spilled from your lips as your orgasm slammed into you, your walls clenching, pulsing, milking him, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Jake cursed, his grip tightening, his own breath shattering against your ear as he thrust into you a few more times, then he buried himself deep, groaning through gritted teeth, coming inside you, his body tensing, shaking, completely fucking wrecked.

The only sound left in the room was your panting breaths, the steady patter of the shower, the faint creak of the glass as your bodies pressed against it, spent, ruined, completely fucking gone.

Jake’s hands slid to your hips, his grip softening, pulling you back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you as his forehead pressed against the back of your neck.

A quiet, breathless chuckle escaped him. “Damn, baby.”

You laughed, weak, fucked-out, completely ruined.

“Next time,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re riding me.”

-

Jake had never been gentle.

Not really. Not when it came to you.

Because you pulled something reckless, desperate, uncontrollable out of him.

Tonight was different.

The candles flickered softly, the scent of warm vanilla filling the air, mixing with the faint traces of Jake’s cologne on his sheets. The playlist he made for you played quietly in the background, soft, slow, achingly sweet.

Jake was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

His hands were slow, careful, reverent as he traced your body, fingertips ghosting over your bare skin, leaving shivers in their wake.

He hovered over you, his gaze heavy, intense, the way he always looked at you when he was about to ruin you.

Tonight, he was going to love you.

“Happy one month, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours, soft, teasing, unbearably tender.

Your stomach flipped, your chest aching, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him down, needing more.

Jake chuckled against your mouth, letting you kiss him, letting you taste the slow, burning affection behind every drag of his lips.

“You always so needy for me, huh?” he teased, grinning against your mouth, teasing but soft, always so soft.

You pouted, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, slower.

Jake groaned, his body pressing into yours, his warmth wrapping around you, completely engulfing you.

And when he finally—finally—pushed inside you, it was the slowest thing you’d ever felt.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, your head falling back as Jake’s body sank into yours, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven, wrecked, completely lost in you.

You clenched around him, your thighs tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper, needing more,

But Jake just smirked, shaking his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw.

“Not rushing tonight, baby,” he murmured, voice low, gentle, soothing, but firm. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Your chest ached, your breath shaking, your fingers sliding down his back, gripping onto him, holding him close.

Jake moved slowly, agonizingly so, rolling his hips into yours in long, deep strokes, his body pressed flush against you, his lips tracing every inch of your skin.

It was everything.

The way he whispered against your lips, soft, teasing, murmuring about how perfect you felt, how much he loved being inside you.

The way he kissed you between every word, slow, messy, deep, like he needed you to feel every bit of how much he wanted you, adored you, fucking loved you.

The way his hands caressed your body, memorizing every inch of you, fingertips dragging over your waist, your ribs, your thighs, like he needed to burn you into his skin.

It was soft.

It was overwhelming.

It was Jake, giving you every single piece of himself.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick, wrecked, raw, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, your jaw, before finding your lips again.

And when he finally—finally—pushed you over the edge, it was like drowning.

Your orgasm hit slow, deep, all-consuming, your whole body melting into his, your fingers gripping his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth.

Jake followed right after, burying himself deep, shuddering, groaning into your mouth, completely fucking lost in you.

When you were spent, ruined, completely wrapped up in him, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

Instead, he cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, soft, tender, adoring.

He kissed you.

Slow. Lingering. Perfect.

“I Love you,” he murmured, lips still pressed against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped.

Your breath hitched.

When you whispered it back, Jake smiled against your mouth.

-

Jake had been staring at you for a full ten minutes.

Not subtly. Not in passing. Full-on, pouty-lipped, arms-crossed, lovesick puppy-dog-eyes staring.

You had noticed, of course—you always noticed when Jake was desperate for attention—but you had been trying to see how long he would hold out before cracking. You scrolled through your phone lazily, sipping from your water bottle, pretending to be completely oblivious to the fact that your boyfriend was sulking next to you like you had just broken his heart.

A deep, dramatic sigh.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly to catch him in your peripheral. Sure enough, he was still pouting, still glaring at you like you had done something terrible.

You raised a brow. “What?”

Jake let out another, even heavier sigh, rolling onto his side to face you, his arms curling around your waist, pulling you against him like you were his last source of oxygen.

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” he muttered, muffled against your shirt.

You blinked. “What?”

Jake lifted his head, his expression pure devastation.

“You haven’t kissed me,” he repeated, dead serious.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected, pointing to his cheek expectantly.

You bit your lip, eyes glimmering with amusement, but leaned in anyway, pressing a soft, slow peck to his cheek.

Jake let out the happiest sigh, his lips curling into the softest, sweetest little smile, eyes fluttering shut like he had just been granted salvation.

“Mmm,” he hummed, squeezing you tighter. “Better.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, trailing your fingers through his hair, but before you could pull away, he was tilting his chin up, tapping his other cheek.

“Missed a spot.”

You rolled your eyes, but indulged him, pressing another gentle kiss to his other cheek.

Jake sighed even deeper, his hands tightening around your waist, his grin growing even wider.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his face into your neck, breathing you in.

You bit your lip, heart melting at how soft, sweet, and completely in love he was. Jake had his moods—he could be cocky, insatiable, dominant, but this? This was your favorite.

He nuzzled against you, sighing softly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about our wedding.”

Your breath hitched. “Oh?”

Jake just nodded, his smile so content, so blissful.

“Yeah. I’ve got it all planned out,” he mused, tilting his chin up expectantly again.

You smirked. “What?”

Jake pointed to his lips.

You giggled, leaning down, kissing him slow, savoring the soft little hum he let out, the way his fingers curled tighter into your sides.

When you pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Okay, so,” he started, eyes glimmering. “It’s gotta be on a beach. You in some flowy-ass dress, looking like a literal angel.”

You smiled at the thought, pressing another kiss to his temple.

Jake sighed, eyes slipping shut for a moment, his body completely relaxed, completely wrapped up in the idea.

“And our honeymoon?” he continued, his voice getting even softer, even dreamier. “Bora Bora. Or the Maldives. Somewhere I can keep you in bed for a whole week.”

You gasped, swatting his chest playfully. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected again, glaring immediately.

You sighed dramatically, leaning down and pressing a peck to his nose.

Jake sighed, so blissed out he could barely speak for a second.

“God, I love you,” he murmured, pressing tiny kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

You smiled against his skin, your lips still ghosting over his temple. “Love you too.”

Jake hummed, shifting so he could press his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

“You know,” he started, his voice lower, softer, full of something even deeper. “I was thinking three kids. Two boys, one girl.”

You smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Or,” he continued, grinning, “what if we get twins? Like, one of each?”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jake huffed, tugging you closer, burying himself into your warmth. “Not ridiculous. Just in love.”

He closed his eyes, sighing. “You’re gonna stay home, right? Take care of the house, the kids, let me take care of you?”

Your chest tightened. “You’d be okay with that?”

He snorted, pulling back to look at you like you had lost your mind. “Baby, I’d love that. I’d spoil you rotten.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Think about it,” he murmured, his voice turning lower, teasing. “You, waiting for me when I come home, wearing one of my shirts, telling me how much you missed me.”

You felt hot all over.

He smirked. “God, you’d be the best little housewife.”

You pressed your face into his chest, flustered, overwhelmed, completely wrapped around his finger.

Jake just laughed, holding you so tight, so safe, so his.

“And the house?” he murmured, squeezing your waist. “We need something big, but cozy. A huge kitchen—‘cause I know you love to cook. A fireplace, maybe? A backyard for the kids. A big-ass bed so I can keep you all to myself.”

You whined, squeezing your eyes shut. “Jake, stop.”

Jake grinned. “Jakey,” he corrected one last time, tapping his lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned down anyway, kissing him slow, soft, deep.

He sighed into it, his fingers curling into your hair, holding you there, kissing you like he had all the time in the world.

And when you pulled away, breathless, hearts pounding, he whispered against your lips, “You’re gonna marry me.”

Your chest ached.

You couldn’t wait to. “Yeah, Jakey. I’m gonna marry you.”

-

The morning had started innocent enough.

At least, as innocent as waking up naked and tangled with Jake Sim could be.

You were supposed to get up early. You were supposed to go to class on time for once. But then Jake shifted, his warm, bare skin pressing into yours, his breath heavy against your ear, his hand already sliding between your thighs before you were even fully awake.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, raspy, teasing, completely unbothered by the fact that you were already running late.

You lost all track of time.

Jake didn’t need to touch you to ruin you.

Sometimes, all it took was his voice.

“You’re not gonna make it to class, are you?” he mused, low and smug, his lips brushing against your ear.

You shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to just his words.

Jake chuckled, shifting so he was propped up on one elbow, looking down at you like he was already planning how much worse he was going to make it. Slow, teasing, torturously confident.

“You always do this,” he murmured, tracing lazy patterns along your stomach. “Pretend you’re gonna leave. Act like you’re strong enough to walk away from me.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the sheets, your chest rising and falling too quickly.

Jake smirked. He noticed.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice was taunting, almost sympathetic. “Already shaking and I haven’t even touched you yet?”

You exhaled sharply, squeezing your legs tighter together.

Jake tsked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

His hand ghosted down, his fingers dragging over your hip, down the outside of your thigh, barely there, completely teasing.

“You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, biting your lip, refusing to answer.

He hummed, shaking his head. “So easy for me.”

You turned your head, hiding your face against the pillow, but Jake wasn’t having that.

“Look at me,” he murmured, low and firm, the kind of tone that made your stomach flip.

You hesitated, but turned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, heavy, filled with pure amusement.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, running a finger down your cheek, his voice turning softer, but still full of that unbearable smugness.

You swallowed, trying to keep your breathing even, but Jake could see right through you.

“You don’t wanna go to class,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your jaw, so soft, so slow. “You wanna stay right here, let me ruin you all over again.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets.

“Say it,” he coaxed, his hand sliding lower, his mouth hovering just above yours. “Tell me you’d rather be late.”

Your lips parted, your breath shaky.

Jake smirked, running his nose along your cheek, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth.

“You wanna be good for me, don’t you, baby?”

You whimpered, your resolve crumbling.

And that’s all it took.

Jake chuckled, shifting over you fully, pressing you back into the mattress.

“That’s my girl.”

-

By the time you both finally dragged yourselves out of bed, you were already doomed.

Jake smirked as you struggled to stand on shaky legs, his grip on your waist firm as he steadied you, smug as ever.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, biting his lip as he took in the mess he had made of you.

You shoved him, grumbling under your breath as you pulled on your sweater, knowing full well that no amount of adjusting was going to hide the way you looked thoroughly ruined.

Jake didn’t even try.

He pulled on the first hoodie he could find, rubbing a hand through his already-mussed-up hair, his lips still swollen from kissing you senseless.

By the time you actually left, you were beyond late.

Your professor narrowed his eyes immediately.

Jake grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders like it was no big deal, guiding you to your seats with zero shame, zero regret.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” your professor said dryly, crossing his arms, glancing between the two of you.

You swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah, sorry,”

Your professor raised a brow. “You both look… disheveled.”

You felt your entire body heat up, shifting in your seat as Jake just smirked.

“Must’ve been the wind,” Jake said smoothly, kicking his feet up under the desk, looking completely unbothered.

Your professor wasn’t convinced.

He squinted, glancing at you, then at Jake, then back at you.

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “The wind.”

Jake grinned wider.

Your professor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

You nearly collapsed in relief, but Jake?

Jake was having way too much fun.

He leaned over, whispering in your ear, his voice low, teasing, smug.

“Baby, I think we’re getting too obvious.”

You resisted the urge to kick him under the desk.

From then on, every time you and Jake showed up late to class, looking like an absolute mess— Your professor just sighed, shook his head, and looked the other way.

fin.

-

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @naurwayyyyy @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @annybah @zzhengyu @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P2)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: this is mad cause I said part 2 would take me a while but that message motivated me so here part 2. BAHHAAH. this is gonna be a series so if you'd wanted to be added to the taglist lmk!!! okay p3 will now officially take me a bit of time (this may be a lie idk).

warnings: mentions of alcohol, rafe topper and kelce being rude af

(P1) (P2)

The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting golden rays over the manicured lawns of the country club. Y/N adjusted the tray in her hands, balancing a margarita and beer as she approached a familiar table near the patio. Mr. and Mrs. Harris, long-time members, sat comfortably, the older man flipping lazily through the club’s newsletter while his wife fixed the diamond bracelet on her wrist. 

“There’s our favourite girl”

Mr. Harris greeted her with a knowing smile as Y/N set down their drinks, “Tell me, sweetheart, did you hear about the chaos at the Lewis’ fundraiser last weekend?”

 “Oh, no way- what happened?”

Y/N forced a light chuckle, tucking the tray under her arm. Mr. Harris leaned in, delighted to have an audience to entertain their gossip, “Their youngest daughter got caught sneaking around with that auto repair boy. Can you imagine? In front of everyone…”

“That must have been quite the scene.”

Y/N bit back her smile from spreading too widely across her face. Rich people drama never failed to entertain. Mrs. Harris flashes her a warm smile, taking a sip of her margarita- the diamond bracelet around her wrist catching the light as she thanks the girl for her beverage. Y/N’s eyes catch on the jewelry, and before she can stop herself, she hums in appreciation.

“That’s gorgeous,” she says, nodding towards it. 

“Is it new?”

The older woman practically beams, lifting her wrist to give Y/N a better look. “Oh, you noticed! Yes, it was a gift from Reggie,” she says, casting a pointed look at the older man in front of her, who merely chuckles and shakes his head. Y/N teases lightly, hand coming out to pat his arm,

“You spoil her, sir,” 

“Only because she lets me” 

Mr. Harris says with a wink, making his wife laugh as she waves him off playfully. As Y/N picked up their empty plates placing it on her tray, from the corner of her eye she watched as Mr. Harris pulled a crisp fifty from his wallet and tucked it onto her tray. 

“For keeping us entertained.”

“You’re too kind Mr. Harris, enjoy your drinks!”

Y/N accepted it with practiced ease, flashing a grateful smile as she turned away. Making her way back toward the bar, she spotted Sofia behind it, stacking glasses. Y/N made her way over, letting out a sigh as she leaned against the counter.

“You’re their favorite,” Sofia comments, smirking as she nudges Y/N’s arm. “They practically light up when they see you.”

“Please, they just like that I actually listen to their gossip.”

Y/N snorts, leaning against the counter for a brief second before swiping a cool glass of water. Sofia hums, her tone teasing. 

“That, and you’re a kiss-ass.”

Y/N gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her chest, “Excuse me, I provide an excellent guest experience? Some of us have to work for our tips, Miss ‘My Customer Just Slid Me a Twenty for Smiling at Him.’”

“What can I say? I have a very approachable face Y/N.”

Sofia grins, shrugging as she picks up her tray. Y/N rolls her eyes but laughs anyway, feeling a brief moment of normalcy in the otherwise long day. They’ve been working side by side for years now, Sofia being one of the only reasons Y/N hasn’t completely lost her mind at this job.

“So, what’s our bet for today?” Sofia asks, lowering her voice as they both glance around the club’s patio area. “Who’s going to cause a scene first? My money’s on Calloway- she’s already on her second mojito- and she asked for a double.”

Y/N bites her lip, pretending to consider it, “Tempting, but I think Jacobs is gonna start yelling at the golf caddies again.”

“Hmmm” Sofia considers before she smiles, “Loser buys dinner from the wreck after our shift?”

“Go on then”

Y/N grins, picking up her own tray just as a new table waves her over. As she walks away, she hears Sofia call out, “Hey, if the Harrington's try to marry you off to their nephew again, let me know- I wanna watch this time!”

 “As if they’d mix their pure blood with a dirty Pogue.”

Y/N jokes as she glances over her shoulder with an amused smile. Sofia bursts out laughing, nearly spilling a drink off her tray. Y/N just shakes her head, biting back a smile as she heads to her next table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two girls had slipped away from the chaos of the bar, taking refuge in the quieter space near the staff lockers at the back of the club. The noise from the restaurant faded, replaced by the hum of the kitchen and the occasional sound of clinking dishes. Sofia leaned casually against one of the lockers, a playful smile stretching across her face as she crossed her arms.

"So..." Sofia started, her voice light and teasing as she glanced at the girl, "tell me… who's got your attention these days?"

"Nothing to tell, Sof"

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes with a small smile. Sofia raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying into her friend's deflection of the conversation. "Come on, there's gotta be someone. Or are you too busy with all the rich Kook’s checking you out at the club?" Y/N let out a dry laugh, her expression shifting to a bit of an eye roll. 

"Please. They only like me when I'm serving them drinks, Sofia."

"Well, why not date one of them?" Sofia teased, her grin widening.

 "I mean, might as well elevate the Pogue name, right?"

Y/N couldn’t help but snort at that. "Yeah, maybe you can do that first," she shot back, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I'm too busy trying to make money right now."

"Whatever. But you know you can talk to me, right?" 

Her tone shifted, softening just a bit. There was a concern in her eyes that Y/N wasn’t used to seeing, a genuine care that made her hesitate. She’d known Sofia for ages- she was basically her best friend. Yet she could never bring herself to tell her about her problems as she knew the girl had burdens of her own. Y/N’s smile faltered for a moment, and she glanced down at the floor, fighting the subtle shift in her mood. After a beat of silence, she forced the smile back.

 "Yeah- but I’m fine."

"You know you can’t lie to me, right?"

Sofia studied her carefully, then leaned in with a knowing look.  Y/N chuckled, though it was light and forced. She shrugged, brushing it off with a quick wave of her hand. 

"Don’t worry about it. Really."

Sofia lingered for a moment, looking at her, her smile soft and understanding, she didn’t push further though, sensing that the girl wasn’t ready to open up. The brief silence between them was interrupted by the sudden buzz of Y/N’s phone in her pocket. She pulled it out, glancing down at the screen. The name on the caller ID made her relax a little- JJ. Without thinking, she answered the call, her tone shifting instantly to something lighter.

"Hey, Jay. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything’s great!" JJ’s voice came through the phone, a familiar mixture of excitement and laughter in the background. "I just wanted to uh- check in. How’s the shift going?"

Y/N smiled softly as his voice flooded through the small speaker of her cracked up phone, "Same old, same old- serving drinks and pretending to care." JJ laughed, the sound of music and voices rising in the background. 

"Sounds fun- uh anyways, I need a little favor." Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, "What’s up?" There was a brief pause before Jay’s voice grew a little more pleading,

"Uh, I was wondering if I could borrow some money?"

Y/N’s stomach tightened at the request, but she was already too familiar with this routine. She groaned lightly, her hand coming up to rub her eye, and she couldn't tell if it was from irritation or from exhaustion.

"JJ..." 

"Please Y/N, you know I’ll pay you back! I’m literally begging you on my knees right now- but you can't see cause well you're on the phone but uh- Hey Pope! Come take a picture of me man-"

Despite herself, Y/N’s lips curved into a small smile at his stupid behavior. She shook her head, the playful warmth in her expression impossible to hide as she rested her chin on her hand, arm being propped up on her knee as she sat on the small bench near the lockers. 

"You���re not real."

"So, you’ll help me out?" 

JJ asked, practically bouncing through the phone. Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t resist. "Fine. Go home, go into my room, and in the back of the cupboard under the bottom shelf, there’s a small jewelry box with flowers on it. Open it and you’ll find cash in there."

"YES- yes okay, I love you sis, you’re the best"

JJ’s voice immediately brightened and Y/n could hear a chorus of ‘thanks Y/N!’ being called out from around him, and she didn't need to think hard to guess who they were coming from. Y/N smiled softly, her heart lightning just a little. 

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t blow it on something stupid, okay?"

"I promise- Thanks!" 

He replied, and the line went dead with a click. Y/N sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in her hand. She could feel Sofia’s eyes on her, watching with that quiet understanding that only a real friend could have. After a moment, Y/N let out a breath, rolling her eyes as she tucked the phone back into her pocket and Sofia’s voice called out to her,

“He’s not paying you back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N walked back toward the bar with Sofia, her fingers idly flipping onto the page of her writing pad. She lets out a breath as she approaches her next table, scribbling down the table number as she speaks, eyes still lowered. "Hi, I'm Y/N, I'll be your server—" Her tone drops as she finally looks up. "—tonight."

Jesus Christ. 

Are you serious?

Sitting at the table, looking like they own the place, were Rafe, Topper, and Kelce. All three of them already smirking, like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment. She straightens her posture, pen tapping against the notepad. 

"What can I get you guys?"

"I dunno," Topper hums, leaning back lazily in his chair, arm crossing and eyes darting down to the menu on the table. 

"What do you recommend?"

"The menu is right in front of you Thornton"

She deadpans. She knows exactly what they’re like, thinking of the smallest things to make her life more difficult as if working a 12 hour shift wasn't enough. Kelce snickers, while Rafe just watches her, eyes practically burning into her.

"Mmm, yeah, but, like, what’s good here?" Topper presses, tapping the menu against the table like it’s a drum. Y/N clenches her jaw, her patience thinning by the second. 

"Everything is fine."

"Fine? That’s not reassuring" Kelce says, shaking his head teasingly, "I think we need a little more detail Y/N."

"Are you actually going to order, or are you just gonna waste my time?"

She grits her teeth, looking at the three of them expectantly. Topper raises his brows, amused at her small outburst. 

"Damn, someone's in a mood today- you on your period or what?"

"You’re making it worse," she mutters under her breath, flipping her notepad open again. Rafe finally leans forward, elbows on the table, drawing her attention whether she likes it or not. "I’ll take a burger," he drawls, "medium rare. No pickles, extra onions. And make sure the fries are crispy, not soggy." Kelce hums, “I’ll do the same” then he sits up slightly like he’s just remembered something, "Oh, yeah, and no tomatoes on mine. Actually- no, extra tomatoes. But, like, not too much. And ranch on the side." Topper drums his fingers against the table. 

" I think I want the chicken or- nah, maybe the steak. Is the steak good today?"

Y/N stares at him blankly as the three of them ramble at her, her wrist hurting a little from scribing their over complicated orders down furiously down on the notepad.

 "You think I cook the food?"

"Fine, fine. Chicken. But if it's dry, I’m sending it back."

Topper just grins as he shoves the menu in her direction. She exhales sharply through her nose, taking the menu that was seconds prior shoved into her face. 

"Is that all?"

"How about a smile, hmm?" 

Rafe tilts his head, eyes practically devouring the irritation on her face as he lifts his drink to his lips, his voice smooth, "not very welcoming are you." Her grip tightens on the menus in her hand. For a second, she debates telling him exactly where he can shove them- but she can't. Not here, not in uniform, not at her actual job. So instead, she forces out a tight, practiced smile, her teeth clenched behind it. 

"Better?"

"Drop the attitude too"

Rafe smirks, tilting his glass towards her. Her smile drops immediately. She spins on her heel before she can stop herself from rolling her eyes, making her way back toward the bar to place their orders. She makes it back to the kitchen, her jaw tight as she punches in the obnoxiously complicated order. The machine beeps as she keys in the final modifications- extra ice in his lemonade, but not too much, a lime wedge, not a lemon, sauce on the side of Kelce’s plate but not in a separate dish. She exhales sharply, rolling her shoulders before spinning on her heel to head back to the floor. She’s barely a few steps out when she collides with someone. A clatter fills the air as metal cutlery spills across the floor, scattering in every direction.

"Oh my god, I’m so sorry!" 

Y/N blurts out, slapping her hands over her face before immediately dropping to her knees, helping the dishwasher- who looks just as startled as her- to gather the mess. The entrance to the kitchen is already chaotic, the sound of orders being called, plates being stacked, and oil sizzling only adding to the overwhelming noise. Her cheeks burn, humiliated, as she hurriedly stacks the forks and knives back onto the tray. She doesn’t even have to look up to know she has an audience. From across the room, Rafe, Topper, and Kelce sit at their table, watching it all unfold. Rafe has a slow smirk stretched across his lips, a lazy amusement glinting in his eyes as he leans back in his seat. He’s eating this up- seeing her flustered, on her knees, scrambling to pick up silverware like it’s the most humiliating thing she could be doing.

“What a klutz”

He says as he watches, head tilting slightly, gaze locked on her flushed face as she hurries to her feet, murmuring another apology to the dishwasher before brushing her hands off on her apron.

Now balancing two plates in her hands, Y/N strides back to the table, keeping her expression neutral despite the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. She carefully places one dish in front of Rafe, the other in front of Topper, before Kelce leans back in his chair, arms crossed. 

"Uh, where's mine?"

"I only have two hands" 

Y/N says, voice tight. Rafe tsks, shaking his head, "Talking to him like that- reeeealll unprofessional."

Her eyes snap to his, burning with frustration, but she swallows down the urge to say something she’ll regret. Instead, she presses her lips into a thin line before spinning on her heel, marching back to the kitchen. She snatches Kelce’s plate from the counter with a little too much force, returning to the table and placing it in front of him. He doesn’t even bother to say thanks- typical. 

“I need tomato sauce” 

Topper pipes up, waving a fry lazily in the air. Y/N exhales sharply through her nose but nods. “Sure thing.” She turns back toward the kitchen retrieving the sauce, and places it in front of him. Topper barely acknowledges it before adding,

 “Actually, I also need ranch.”

She forces a pleasant hum, her fingers gripping her notepad as she walks off again. She can feel their eyes on her back, the smug expressions radiating from the table. Grabbing the next bottle from the kitchen, she strides back out, setting it down a little harder than necessary.

“Oh, and mayo?” 

Topper asks just as she’s about to leave. Her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek, forcing a neutral expression. She exhales slowly, then pastes on a saccharine smile. 

“Will that be all, Topper?”

“Sure thing babe.” 

He grins, winking at her. Y/N turns stiffly, heading back to the kitchen, but from the corner of her eye, she catches Rafe reaching under the table, slapping his hand against Topper’s with a smirk. They’re all laughing quietly, thoroughly enjoying their little game at her expense. Her blood simmers, but she forces herself to keep moving, keep smiling. 

Just a few more hours. 

Just a few more hours?

The night had already drained her, but the final straw came in the form of a screaming toddler at table five. His mother looked exhausted, his father seemed more interested in his phone than the mashed potatoes his son had just flung onto the floor, and Y/N had been the unlucky one stuck cleaning it up. She crouched down, scraping the mush off the floor while the mother muttered a halfhearted apology. Y/N only nodded, brushing it off, but by the time she was back on her feet, her patience had worn dangerously thin. Now, balancing a tray of drinks, she made her way toward another table when a sharp whistle cut through the air and her head snaps around.

Rafe.

Sitting there, completely at ease, his smirk carved deep into his face as he tapped at the expensive watch on his wrist, she clenched her jaw. God, she hated him. Still, she forced herself to finish up at the other table, dumping their drinks off quickly before she had no choice but to approach him.

"Are you done with your meals?" 

She asked flatly, not bothering to sound sweet anymore. She was tired, her shift was almost over, and she just wanted to go home. She reached out, grabbing their plates, stacking them with ease as she muttered, 

“I’ll get you the bill—”

“—No. We’d like some drinks actually.”

Rafe cut her off smoothly. Her grip tightened around the plates, but she forced her lips into something resembling a smile. “Sure, what can I get you?” She flicked open her notepad, pen poised, waiting.

“A beer.” 

Rafe said easily, his eyes dancing with amusement. Kelce and Topper rattled off their orders- both opting for a whiskey. She jotted it all down, lips pressed into a tight line She returned a few minutes later, balancing the drinks on a tray as she weaved through tables. Her feet ached, her patience had now become nonexistent. Sure enough, the moment she set Kelce’s whiskey down, he scoffed. 

“What, did you brew his beer yourself? Took you long enough.”

Y/N said nothing, pressing her lips together as she continued placing the rest of the drinks down. Topper leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. 

“Are you gonna apologize for our inconvenience?”

Her eye twitched, but she plastered on the fakest, most saccharine smile she could muster. “I’m so sorry for your inconvenience,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “It won’t happen again.” Rafe only hummed, reaching for his beer, but before he could even take a sip, his face twisted in displeasure, eyes focused on the pint glass in front of him.

“What is this?”

She blinked, “Your beer?”

“Yeah, who the fuck poured this?” 

He lifted the glass, examining it like it personally offended him. The foam had settled at the top, maybe a little too much, but it was nothing dramatic. Y/N fought back the urge to roll her eyes- she very clearly isn't the bartender. 

“I don’t pour the drinks—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he cut her off. 

“Go get me another one.”

Her nails dug into the palm of her hand as she turned on her heel, biting her tongue to stop herself from snapping at him. She took the beer back to the bar, inhaling deeply as she watched the bartender pour a fresh one, and by the time she made it back to the table, she was barely holding it together. She placed the new beer in front of him, her fingers itching to just throw it at him, but she forced herself to keep it together. Rafe lifted it to his lips, took a sip, then frowned.

“This shit is warm. Are you serious?”

 “I just told you, I’m a waitress, I don’t pour your drin—”

“Cut the fucking attitude, alright?”

Her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. She could feel her manager watching from the bar, could see him keeping an eye on the interaction, and she knew if she said anything back, she’d be the one in trouble, because everyone who worked at the club knew that - the customer is always right.

“Get me another,” Rafe said, tilting his head, eyes locked on hers, that same cocky smirk playing on his lips.

 “And don’t make me send you back again.”

She reached for the glass, barely restraining herself from throwing it at his head. Rafe leaned back in his chair, eyes still on her.

 “Or are you too dumb to do that?”

Kelce and Topper sniggered beside him. Y/N forced her lips into a fake smile letting out a small hum at his words, grabbing the beer and spinning on her heel.

She was going to lose her fucking mind.

When she came back, her jaw locked so tightly it ached, she was surprised her teeth hadn't fallen out yet. She didn’t even bother to mask the anger burning in her eyes as she slammed the beer down onto the table, the liquid sloshing over the rim and splashing onto Rafe’s lap. His head snapped up, his jaw clenching, eyes darkening with irritation.

“Oops” 

She said, voice laced with mock innocence. Rafe pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor as he shot up. Before she could step away, his hand snapped around her wrist, yanking her closer.

“What the fuck are you playing at huh Maybank?” 

His grip was firm, fingers digging into her skin just enough to make it ache. She could sense the two other boys gazing at them amused, speaking in hushed murmurs. Y/N yanked at her arm, glaring up at him but his grip around her didn't loosen. 

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking dick—”

He scoffed, his breath fanning against her face as he leaned in slightly, grip tightening. She refused to flinch, refused to give him the satisfaction, even though her pulse was hammering harshly in her ears. Then, his voice dropped, lowering into something only she could hear.

“I think you’re forgetting what I know hmm... bunny?”

She froze as the word passed his lips, eyes flickering over his face. Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk, his thumb pressing against her wrist. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured, “So stop being such a little bitch and—”

“Is everything okay here?”

Her manager’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, and Rafe immediately let go, his expression shifting in an instant as he turned to face them. “Oh yeah, man,” he said, all faux innocence. “Just had a little spill, didn’t we?” Y/N was still stiff, her wrist burning where he’d grabbed her, but she forced herself to clear her throat, nodding quickly. 

“Yeah- um, yes. I was just going to get some tissues.”

Her manager gave her a lingering look, as if trying to assess the situation, but eventually just nodded before walking off. Rafe sat back down, picking up his beer as if nothing had happened. Y/N exhaled sharply before stalking off to grab some napkins. When she returned, she slapped them onto the table, using one to wipe up the spill on the surface.

“Clean it up, Maybank.”

“What do you think I’m doing, Cameron?”

Rafe grinned at her evident distress, leaning back in his chair as he watched her. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he snapped his fingers in front of her face a few times and pointed down at his lap, where the beer had splashed onto his trousers.

“I said, clean it up.”

Y/N let out a sharp scoff, eyes narrowing at him in pure disgust. Rafe only smirked, leaning back leisurely in his seat. He lifted his hand, fingers tapping against the side of the cold beer glass, which now had a small ring of condensation pooling around it.

“You want me to call your manager hmm?”

She could feel the heat of Topper and Kelce’s stares, the way they were barely holding back their laughter, waiting to see what she’d do. Her fingers curled around the napkin in her hand, nearly tearing it in frustration. But she contemplated her next move- she realised she didn’t have much of a choice.

Not with the leverage he had over her.

Biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper, she forced herself to move forward, lowering herself slightly as she brought the napkin to his lap, pressing it against his upper thigh. The fabric was damp beneath her fingertips soaking into the tissue, and she felt the way his leg tensed slightly beneath her touch. Rafe didn’t shift away though- no, he only watched her, his lips curled in satisfaction as she dabbed at the wet patch on his trousers.

She hated him.

Hated the way he was enjoying this. Hated the way her skin prickled with embarrassment, the heat of his gaze locked onto her every movement. Then, just as she started to move her hand up slightly to cover the rest of the spill, his voice dropped into something condescendingly smooth.

“Wrong job, princess.”

Her head snapped up, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her expression twisted with nothing but pure, seething hatred and Rafe just smirked, tilting his head at her like he was daring her to really react.

“Go get me my bill”

Y/N clenched her fists so tightly she swore her nails would break skin. But she didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back. Because she couldn’t afford to. Because if she stepped out of bounds one more time, she didn't want to know what he’d do with the ‘information’ he had. Without another word, she turned on her heel toward the bar to retrieve the check, her hands trembling with the effort of restraining herself. Then she came back with the bill, placing it down on the table without a word. She didn’t wait around for them to check it, didn’t even spare Rafe another glance as she turned and made her way straight back to the bar. Sofia was already there, leaning against the counter, watching her approach. As soon as Y/N let out a long breath and dropped her head into her hands, fingers pressing against her temples, Sofia raised an eyebrow.

“What’s Rafe got against you?” 

She asked, voice light but laced with curiosity. Y/N just exhaled, shaking her head slightly as she mumbled, 

“I don’t know.”

Sofia clicked her tongue, watching Rafe over the girls shoulder, “He’s an privileged Kook living off of his daddy’s money. Don’t let him get to you, Y/N.”

Y/N only hummed in response, too drained to say anything else. Instead, she watched as Rafe got up, tilting his head back as he downed the rest of his beer in one go. Topper and Kelce were already heading toward the door, pushing past a couple of other customers on their way out, but Rafe lingered for just a second longer. 

And then he turned with that look.

The one that sent a slow, crawling chill up her spine. His eyes locked on hers, dark and unreadable, amusement still tugging at the corner of his lips, like he knew something she didn’t. Like he enjoyed getting under her skin. Y/N didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. Just stared back at him, her expression twisted with nothing but pure hatred.

Rafe smirked.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out after his friends. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, rolling her shoulders slightly as she straightened up. A minute passed before she finally made her way back over to their empty table. It was a mess- napkins shifted across the table, now empty glasses with rings of condensation staining the wood. And in the middle of it, the small, folded wallet that held their payment. Y/N reached for it, flipping it open, eyes scanning over the receipt. Her lips parted slightly,

The total: $150.

She glanced at the stack of bills tucked inside- multiple fifties, covering the full price of the meal. And then, nestled between them, a single one-dollar bill. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a pit of frustration already bubbling in her stomach, but when she shifted her gaze lower, she saw the note. Written in the same blue ink as the receipt, scrawled in lazy, careless handwriting:

Drop the attitude, Bunny.

And at the bottom of the final receipt, where the tip amount had been written in: Y/N stared at it for a long moment, jaw clenching, the paper crinkling slightly between her fingers as she tightened her grip.

$1.00.

Fucking asshole.

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog @rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @rafesgurl @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl @silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt @willowpains @ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn @emeloyy @pluviophilis

[tojisteddy]

Daddy issues | “and if you were my little girl, I’d do whatever I could do…”

cw: 18+ MDNI, 4.1k words (omfg), smut with plot, meanie!simon (he’s a crazy, asshole), Daddy kink, daddy issues (obvi), dd/lg dynamics, mentions of abuse, sexualization of ‘pa, kiddo’ (truly a case of if you hate it just scroll), oral (f receiving), dacryphilia, creampie, full nelson, age gap (reader mid-late 20s, Simon early-mid 30s), no use of y/n (I use [+]).

a/n: obviously influenced by daddy issues by the neighborhood (I know it’s not about this at all, take it up with god), also by take you down by sza :3

You weren’t used to being this needy in your entire life.

You swore you didn’t need anyone, let alone Ghost Riley. You’d been repetitively normal in all your past relationships.

But he’d run through your mind like the Flash going back in time— the older man ruined some of the circuits in your brain.

You’d two gotten into an argument, shocker, but this time over how you were acting. The usually chilled out girl who Ghost would call when he wanted to see his little kitten purr, was now desperate for every little bit of his attention. The blonde despised every bit of it.

“You’re bein fuckin greedy.” He told you, walking away from where you stood after you told you’d wanted to stay over again for another week. Of course, you easily followed right behind, attempting to match his long stride. You never could.

“By wanting to be with you? Aren’t boyfriends supposed to want to see their girlfriends? Supposed to spend time together? There are probably a million girls and guys with sweet boyfriends—“

“—Do I look like one of those buddy buddy, pretty boys you like to fuck to you, [+]?” He turned on his heal, luckily you didn’t crash into his chest like you usually did. His voice was ice cold, “Answer me.”

“No sir.” You mumbled, the air was thick, tightly wrapping around your vocal cords.

“Then why the hell are you bein so damn needy? I told you, I won’t give you all my attention. I’ve got my own shit to take care of and you want me to, what? Hold you on my fuckin hip like a baby?” Well, hey— “Stop bein a damn brat and get the fuck out my face.”

“ ‘M not askin you to take care of me Si, but, I just want-“

“—Cut the shit [+]. You’re pissin me off, why can’t you just fuckin listen? I hate the clingy, desperate shit, get it out of your damn head and get it out of my fuckin house.” He stormed off into one of the bedrooms with a slam of the door.

Simon never had to tell you when he was kicking you out. You’d always go on your own.

He swore if he saw you and you were still stuck on the idea that you had to cling to him, he was gonna rip you a new one.

Did you take him serious?

On a good day, never.

You’d be stuck thinking about how good he looked, blonde hair a mess, veins popping out his neck and his arms, large muscles flexing, face screwed up towards you— you’d lick up all the poison he’d spewed to you over and over. It’s funny, at times like that you’d just wanted to know, if he’d fuck all his anger into you? Maybe you’d cum so many times just from finger fucking you, you’d be a babbling mess, begging for more—

Delusional.

Maybe when he was actually angry with you, not when Ghost was aggravated to the point he didnt want to physically see you.

And at the absolute worst of times, you’d trusted his words. You stayed away for a couple weeks just as you were told because you so desperately wanted to be told how good you were when you got that call. How you weren’t a needy bitch, but the prettiest & smartest girl he’d ever been with.

And of course you could’ve heard those simple words from anyone in a ten mile radius, ask your online followers for a few complements and you would’ve gotten them like clockwork. But you needed to hear it from that meanie.

Did you have a praise kink? Perhaps.

Did you need men’s approval to live? God forbid.

You just wanted Ghosts approval. His rough hands from those long days of being in action to touch your body, the playful head pats you swore you hated it cause it messed up your hair, a good smack to the ass as praise when he instructed you on how to change a car tire, fat fingers trailing your back as you sat in his lap, reading those books you loved a loud. Gruff voice praising after you had such an amazing day at work— as if you’d been the one to align everything so it could all work in your favor. ‘Good job doll, you’re doin well for yourself.”

Those underlying daddy issues would tear themselves out of you— like some junkie, you craved to hear his praises, feel it on your skin. It tingled the ivory inside you like a piano.

You tried taking your mind off it, throwing yourself into work, hanging out with your friends, doing a stream or two just to see if anyone showed up, get your mind straight so you wouldn’t be so dependent.

But giving a stray attention then yanking it away would be plain rude.

Your brain was in turmoil, front of your brain started to thunk, thunk, thunk from how much you were over thinking. To top it off, your father had called you just as you’d gotten done having lunch with some friends.

It’d be a long fucking night.

“No, I'm not moving back to the US just so I can be married off to someone stranger. Are you crazy?” You practically shrieked once you’d heard your stupid father on the other side of the call. No ‘hello,’ ‘how are you?’ ‘It’s been a while’ just straight bullshit.

Something about an arranged marriage with the son of a businessman he was trying to partner with. You wanted to punch him square in his jaw— ooooh calm down. You were okay. It’s perfectly fine.

“It’s for the betterment of your future, [+]. Why am I the only one who cares about that? You can’t go playing around with dogs all day—“

“I have serious clients dad, famous ones. Rich one’s. I’m not grooming dogs for nothing, even talked about opening my own place.” You tried. It was your dream, something not even your boss knew about. But Simon knew, in fact, he was the one who pushed you the most about really chasing after what you wanted. He had the most faith in you, and you yearned to hear him reassure you right now. Even if it was just him saying, ‘dont let those cunts get in your head, you’re my smart girl, aren’t ya? You know best.’

You would’ve killed to hear that right now.

Your father chastised, “A little grooming license isn’t a bachelors degree, is it?”

Oh. You blinked. He always had to take it there when he couldn’t get his way, because everything needed to go your father’s way or no one could be happy. You wiped your hand over your face in frustration, huffing as you continued on to your apartment, tuning out whatever the man was saying with ‘mmhm’.

Like a knight in shining armor but the opposing enemy, there the skull mask wearing man sat in his big black truck right in front of your apartment building. Simon didn’t even have to say anything when he caught your brown eyes, just motioned his head. ‘Come.’

Did he have to tell you twice?

You climbed in the car, heart pounding, not even listening to the words that were coming from the other side of the line because someone ten times more important had showed up.

“Where’ve you been?” He’d filled the cars silence in a hushed tone. Just enough so you could hear but your father couldn’t.

You fumbled around with your purse, looking at anything you could but the man beside you, “…You told me not to come over.”

“And you actually listened?” Simon griminced, eyebrow raised at you as he continued to drive.

Because usually, you’d show up even if you were the one who was mad. Ignoring him like he did you, even if you two were in the same space but you were still together. He’d still pull you in his arms, rubbing his head in the crevice of your neck because you were so damn cute with those eyebrows furrowed and pout.

“I didn’t wanna make you more upset this time.” You wanted to hide yourself but that truck left no room for it.

Well that didn’t work, did it? It just made him more annoyed. To the point Price had to tell him to ease up on the lower ranked soldiers during training. Even if he did push you away, you were a boomerang, always finding your way back to the older brute— a constant. You were a stray cat that would brush into Simon each time he gave you a little attention, a little food, a little love. And he liked it, his cute little thing that would ease his mind from everything even if you were a little annoying. Something to care for.

Like, a puppy? A kitten? No, more. Girlfriend? Of course. A step down to hell. His baby girl. His baby—

Before Simon could get another word out, the rambling from your phone the both of you were ignoring turned into yelling. His hand gripped the wheel with a scuff. Simon hated your father to say the very least, an annoying, prude that man was. He had a nasty habit of calling you and spewing utter bullshit in your ear, critiquing every little one of your life choices even though he didn’t raise you, didn’t pay for anything— he was just another entitled sperm donor. Simon had to tell you to hang up different times because he couldn’t stand someone talking to you like that.

It took Simon back to his own father, that abusive, psychopathic prick. Didn’t know what the hell he was doing with him and his younger brother, fucker always was on ballistic shit. Throwing things against the wall, putting his hands on anyone in that God forsaken house that breathed wrong, drinking non stop and the goddamn yelling. He didn’t want that for you— didn’t want to end up like that bastard. Simon cared about you too much, he wouldn’t let that happen. So in his fucked up way of caring, he’d push you away. Saying anything that came to mind, only meaning 61% what he actually said.

But that proved to be a new dead end.

Which led to a new resolution: he’d fix whatever issue went on in his head and keep you if it meant not having to see you very clearly, shut yourself down to cope or having to hear your annoying father talking down on you like an imbecile.

Ghost’s own head was reeling— he would never let anyone talk to you like you were an idiot. Couldn’t even imagine it. Yes, you were a little agitating, a little fucking dumb— but that was fixable. Nothing Daddy couldn’t fix. And if you trip and fall on your mistakes, the older man was right there to catch you. He’d refix your problems a thousand times over if he had to, why? Because he adored you to pieces.

But you weren’t an idiot, you can’t fix inherent incompetence.

His princess wasn’t incompetent.

That’s why every fuckin time you were on the phone with your father, which was already rare, he wanted to shove his booted foot right the man’s ass. Sew his asshole shut and keep feeding him, and feeding him, and feeding him. Water board the guy and show everyone how he was the fuckin embarrassment and not his sweet precious daughter—

Simon would try to hold whatever anger was festering this time because you, for your mothers sake, were trying to fix the relationship you didn’t break.

He was off the rocker, yes, but he’d get the shit together. Quick. Somehow. For you.

Be good, good, be good, be good—

“—And I bet you’re still fucking around with that ass aren’t you, [+]? You can be such a fucking idiot, it’s time to grow the hell up-“

You weren’t a fucking idiot. Never. If Simon didn’t call you that, what made anyone think they had the right to?

He didn’t hesitate to snatch the phone out of your hands, “—Are you out of your fuckin mind!?”

His voice boomed, filling the car, not even your father was talking anymore. The only sound that could be heard was the engine and the tires rolling on the pavement.

“Ya don’t say shit to your own kid for a decade but now you think you can run her life because you got some money in your pocket? Money you haven’t even spent a single pound on her—“ there was a quick muffled noise from the other side of the phone but Ghost was faster, “I’m disrespectful!? I wish I gave a shit about what you think of me or what I’m doin with your fuckin daughter. She’s with me for good reason.”

“—The next time you call you’d better have one foot in the grave or I’m gonna find you and make sure you do my fuckin self.” The blonde pressed the red button on the screen, a few more taps to block the man who, the blonde man had decided, wouldn’t be in your life.

After putting your phone in your lap, his hand immediately went to the back of your neck and letting out a deep breath, rubbing the baby hairs with his thumb. Soothing you. You saw Simon mouth move but you didn’t hear what came out of it. It was like your ears were shot just for a second, your heart beating loudly, you had wrapped yourself in a daze whenever you’d talk to your father and this had to be the first time someone not only yanked you out of it, but fully and undoubtedly protected you.

“Kid.” he barked, more profound.

Your big brown eyes snapped over to him, your brain finally catching up to what was happening in the moment.

“You’re okay, ‘s okay. I’ve got you, gonna take care ‘f you. Promise. You want that? Want me to take care of you, hm baby?” His voice was so soft, inviting, pulling you into whatever he’d had set for you in his mind.

How could you say no, when all you ever wanted was to be Simons?

“Yes sir.”

Famous last words.

Like you’d ignited a flame, his brown eyes flickered with mischief.

Ghost, the usual menace, rough man was being cloying with you.

Leaving gentle kisses all over as he made his was down to the heat in the middle of your legs. Big hands roaming the rest of your body as he slid your black, wet, underwear off, throwing your legs over his shoulders and giving a nice smooch to your cunt.

“So fuckin pretty baby, ‘s all for me?” His tongue slide up and down your vulva.

“Y-Yeah,” you said breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as Ghost lapped up every juice that was coming out of you.

The older man scuffed, slipping a finger inside your tight walls and slowly thrusting them. “ ‘yeah’? That’s all you gotta say? Don’t be stubborn with me doll, wanna be nice to you today.”

You felt a pinch to your thigh, a warning, “keep those pretty eyes on me swee’art, need you focused on me.”

Your head tilted itself to the side, nodding your head and biting your lip to contain your moan but it’s barely doing anything as you watch Simon slip another fat finger into you, pumping his fingers faster and finally going up to your clit, taking a little nibble of it and then talking it in his mouth.

“Fu- mmm- fuuuck- wait- Si- I- can I cum? Please? Can I?” You whimpered, peeking down at the brown eyes that were stuck on you. Ghost was smirking, almost enough to get a laugh out of him.

“Course baby, bein so good. Can cum as much as you want today.” His fingers curled just right at the perfect spot inside you and your walls flutter around his fingers. But he’s not stopping, course he’s not, the man has to get a good taste of you, get you cumming with his fingers, without his fingers, without sucking your clit— he sucking out every drop that leaves your cunt.

Ghost was taking his sweet time, as if you didn’t need him inside you desperately. You were aching for more after cumming a fourth time, bucking your hips only for Ghost to press down on them to keep you still.

He pulled his mouth away from you, face covered in your slick, “Jesus baby, cut it out, will you? Thought you wanted Daddy to take care of you?”

“D-do, I do. It’s just- just-“

“Don’t tell me you’re not used to it.” His ends of his lips turned up into a smirk, teasing, fingers rubbing your clit just enough to keep you wanting more yet slow enough to keep your attention only on him.

No. No you weren’t. He’d known that.

Simon usually manhandled you every which way and any position he wanted you in. Edging you as much as he wanted then giving it to you deep and leaving you breathless at every moment. And it’s not like you hated it, you loved every second of it. But this- this situation made your brain melt.

The older man just looooved that.

“Give me another, let me feel it.” His hands went to grope your tits, squeezing and pulling at them as he rubbed his face further into your pussy, completely devouring you whole. The blonde slid his long tongue back inside your hole, thrusting it just right. The man groaned as you pulsed around him, somehow getting sweeter as you fell apart.

He kept touching all over you, the curve your breasts, the peak of your nipples, the dips in your hips and thighs— ever so softly. As if he was revisiting a map he’d known like the back of his hand, making sure he knew every nook and cranny of you, the cause of every twitch, shake, and moan, the reason slick kept flowing down onto his tongue.

Why?

Well a good Daddy just had to know his baby well, shouldn’t he?

You should’ve known, there was no way Simon would ever be nice and go easy on you the whole time he was fucking you. But you were being silly, fantasizing about him slipping inside you and being gentle.

Your mistake for thinking a man so large in size, so brutal with words, with the biggest and fattest dick you’ve ever seen in your life would ever treat your poor pussy kindly :(. You always looked so perfect when he had you crying, so easy to bully, Ghost just couldn’t help himself.

“Si- Simon!” You yelped out, as he finally bottomed out inside your pink walls that were gonna chop his manhood off. He’d had you stuck in an inescapable full nelson, legs spread wide open and beefy arms hooked under knees, forcing your head down to look at the disappearing act of the century happening with his cock and your cunt.

“Look at the fuckin mess you’re makin kiddo, gonna get my thighs wet at this rate.” Ghost was plopping you up and down, up and down on his length, the loud sloshing sound of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.

“No- Si- aangh- it’s too much!” And it’s not like you could even push any of him away, as he thrusted up into you, making sure you took every single inch imaginable.

“Such a fuckin liar baby. What a fuckin liar you are, ‘nd you don’t think I’ve fuckin noticed that you won’t call me how you’re supposed to? Huh? Didn’t teach you to lie like that, did I?”

You’d internally cursed, slapping at his hand for some relief but your mouth only letting out moans. Yes, you were avoiding calling him ‘daddy,’ even though you’d call him that casually, it felt so off today after your falling out with your father. It made your head spin, because it wasn’t just a nickname anymore.

You were craving the missing hole you’ve been ignoring this whole time, to be filled with the man fucking you like a slut in his big arms.

“Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I princess? Promised you I’d be reaalll good to ya but— shit, your squeezing the life outta me— can’t be nice if you don’t treat your own daddy proper, can I?” You moaned at his words, shaking your head because this man was gonna make you go insane, tonight. Pushing you past the point of no return, and no, he wouldn’t let go of your hand while he’d did it.

He’d hold your hand and jump with you.

“Come on, call me how you’re ‘posed to kid.” He grunted in you ear, sucking on your earlobe, “Call the only man you’ll ever need, the man who’s fuckin your pretty pussy right, know you want to. Come on.”

He was egging on that delusion that sat, triple boxed up and in the farthest corner of your mind of your mind. Teasing, taunting you, probing at the thought that you swore you locked away that one time it slipped out of you mid conversation months ago.

But Simon remembered. In fact, he’d just needed the ‘okay’ from your plump lips because he longed to hear you call him that oh so sweet yet oh so sinful name once more. He wanted to be your number one. The man you relied on, someone that would never leave you like your father did. Better than your father, better than any one of those little boys you’d fool around with in the past. Damn it, and it was making you wetter.

“Paaa! You feel so good pa!” You mewled, throwing your head back on his shoulder in pleasure.

You felt that maniacal grin form on Ghosts lips on your shoulder, leaving a kiss on your neck— he was proud of you. It tickled something in his brain, scratched the exact spot where his own daddy issues lay. He wasn’t new to hearing a sex partner call him daddy during sex, maybe he exuded that energy— it was in his blood, Ghost didn’t know. But you just kept pushing the line, accidentally calling him that magic word when he’d praise you. And it stuck. You’d call him daddy like it was second nature. Looking up at him with those pretty brown eyes, obediently listening to whatever he had to say. That’s what all the fucking clingy shit was about, the needy, desperation of it all.

Wanting a father figure from a hell raiser— it was arranged. You were a good girl. Ghosts good little girl.

“Therrre you go princess, atta girl! Doin so good for me, cum on your daddy’s dick. Show me how good you are baby, milk me dry.”

You shook your head, belligerent sobs escaping you. You couldn’t believe you’d just call him that, of all things. And you tried to retract it, whining your way through your orgasm that left you trembling, Simon himself filling your tight cunt with every bit cum that sat in his balls.

“I- I- hicc- I didn’t mean to call you- hicc- I’m sorry.” You blabbered out, how sweet. How cute, you were trying to collect yourself. He pulled out of you with a roll of his eyes, flipping you onto your stomach, rubbing the tip against your hole that was leaking with the both of your cum. What a miraculous sight.

“No, baby you did. Don’t worry that pretty little head,” he cooed, slipping his dick back inside you, groaning at the feel of you. “pa’s got you.”

“Come on doll, wanna hear you,” He rocked his hips into you, the room filling with the smack, smack, smack, smacking of his balls hitting your wet pussy, ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.

Your brain was turning to mush, drool forming and dripping down the sheets of the bed. The only thing you were able to think of was daddy, daddy, daddy, pa, pa, pa. How good your pa was drilling into you like a maniac.

Simon’s hand wrapped around your curly hair, dragging you up to your knees as he continued to ram into you, “This allll my sweet little girl needed? Your pa to take care of you like a good daddy should. Fuck, that bastard couldn’t treat you right could he? Show you how a man’s supposed to treat you, huh?”

“Noooo sir- nghhh.” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Tha’s right princess, don’t worry though— I love you. Your pa loves you soooo. fuckin. much baby. No one’s gonna love you more than me.”

Those words alone is what set off your next orgasm, he was talking crazy, actually. And you loved every second of it, back arching even more so as you pulsated around his throbbing cock. He was still thrusting into you chasing his own orgasm, a string of curses leaving his mouth as you felt the tip of him spasm. He made you so full of him, you’d felt so warm all over.

“Shit, such a good girl for me, gonna take such good care of you from now. What do ya say?” He took you in his arms, laying you on top of him. You could feel his heart beating, chest heaving. Both of your skin sticky with sweat.

“Thank you pa.” You wrapped your arms him.

“Oh princess,” Ghost smiled, pressing his lips against yours, cupping your face with one hand and caressing it with his thumb, “you’re so welcome.”

a/n: it’s three people who are gonna read all this, me being one of them. If you liked it leave me a message or comment. If you hated it, idk. I’m just a big dadbf!simon enthusiast.

most recent masterlist.

[kashverse]

how would babykuna fend off a man getting too friendly with mamakuna?👹

life, in all its wonder, occasionally presents moments no one asks for—like unsolicited masculinity at the grocery store.

there you were, simply trying to decide between two brands of pasta, when a voice intruded upon your peaceful existence. "you know," said a man who smelled suspiciously of overpriced cologne and misplaced confidence, "most people don’t realize there’s a huge difference between keto and gluten-free."

ah. one of those men.

you turned, already bracing yourself. "oh. uh, yeah."

"it’s actually fascinating," he continued, leaning way too close to your personal space. "keto is all about low-carb intake, while gluten-free is more about avoiding wheat proteins. a lot of people think they’re the same, but i make it a point to educate whenever i can."

babykuna, sitting proudly in the shopping cart, had been silently observing this disaster unfold. her tiny hands gripped the metal frame, her little brows furrowed in utter disdain.

this...this was unacceptable. mama was under attack. and until papa arrived, she had to be the hero. she sucked in a dramatic breath and let out a long, exaggerated "eeewwwwww."

the man blinked. "uh—"

babykuna wrinkled her nose like she had just smelled something truly foul. "mamaaaa, he stiiiiiiiinks."

you cleared your throat, trying (and failing) to suppress your amusement. "baby, that's not—"

"yes, it is," she cut in, now pointing at the man like he was an exhibit at a zoo. "he smells like...like..." she thought for a second, then gasped. "yucky cheese!"

the man visibly bristled. "i—uh, i don’t think that’s—"

"yucky, stinky cheese," she confirmed, nodding sagely. then, just to make things worse, she waved a tiny hand in front of her nose, scrunching her face in an oscar-worthy performance of disgust.

you sighed, switching to polite rejection mode. "listen, i really appreciate the...um, food science lesson, but I’m just here to shop with my daughter—"

"papa’s coming," babykuna cut in, her tone warning.

and oh, how those words sent a ripple of cosmic dread into the universe.

because just as the man opened his mouth to press whatever point he thought he had, a shadow loomed over the scene.

sukuna.

tall. broad. wearing his usual look of mild menace. he took one glance at the situation—his wife looking vaguely annoyed, his daughter puffed up like an offended cat, some random guy standing too close—and placed a single hand on the cart.

"hey, babe," he said casually, eyes fixed on the man like a wolf sizing up its next meal. "who’s this?"

the man, suddenly realizing the error of his ways, took a sharp step back. "oh, i was just—uh—talking about—"

"stinky cheese," babykuna supplied, nodding solemnly. sukuna smirked. "oh yeah?" he turned to you. "you makin’ friends?"

"not particularly," you deadpanned.

the man fumbled. "i—uh, actually, i just remembered I have to—uh—go get, um, kale. yeah. kale." and just like that, he disappeared down the aisle, never to be seen again. babykuna sighed, relieved. "phew. he almost touched mama with his stink."

sukuna chuckled, ruffling her hair. "good lookin’ out, kid."

and with that, the three of you continued your shopping trip, the crisis of stinky cheese man officially averted.

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Some no pressure tags: @yawping-poets-society @rywritess @make-much-of-time idk I can’t think of any mutuals off the top of my head that I didn’t see above already, so like anyone I’m forgetting, very fond of you I promise I’m just having a lapse of memory rn, of course feel free to join in, open tags

I feel like making one of those uquiz and picrew chains with these random ones I found sooo

Take this quiz and find out what instrument you are and thennnn

make a lil guy with this picrew :))))

(As a viola player I’m VERY offended. So offended, offended beyond belief. But hey kitty :)) )

@ilivebyshipping @glassesgirlies @lusxnei6

[randomshyperson]

The Pinning Problem - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: There are several ways to resolve the rivalry between the Avengers that does not involve fighting. Or, the one where Wanda Maximoff likes to be pinned down by her not-so-secret crush, and somehow this becomes the whole team's problem.

words: 2.944k | warnings: a lot of sexual tension, kissing, hints of rivals to lovers, this is a crack fic - nothing here can be taken seriously, another alternative solution for civil war that’s better than what they did, nothing explicit but hints of sub!wanda.

A/N-. I found this on my draft, had to translate, and I have no idea what was the inspiration or writing process but I thought it was so funny, so here it is. The name is actually quite self-explanatory.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

In Wanda's defense, a sequence of events led to this unsustainable situation.

It probably started a year ago, when she had mind-tricked the team of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and felt confident enough to try it on someone who was notoriously known for being invulnerable. It was the first time Wanda had been pinned against a wall by another person, and it was the most inopportune situation possible for any feelings other than anger and fear, so of course Wanda had never been so aroused. Things didn’t get any better after that, and in her interactions with you in the Avenger routine a while later, she would probably describe you as having some obscure desire to pin her against things.

In training, against the mat.

In the kitchen, against the counter or the fridge, with bad excuses to reach things or just because you wanted to see her blush or traumatize any team member present.

And one notable time, one that haunted her in wet dreams for weeks, against the door of the motel room you were staying in for one of the countless stakeout missions in search of clues about the Winter Soldier.

Wanda was never so grateful for a shared bathroom as the day she saw you in just a towel, hair and wet muscles exposed.

“Damn, wrong door.” You said with an innocent tone, but it didn’t seem like you had made any mistakes, the little smile giving away your true intentions.

Wanda, who had just emptied the bathroom for the next in line for the shower, clutched the towel to her body tighter, a nervous giggle escaping her.

She's never felt as powerful as she does now, using all her mental and spiritual control not to rip off those towels and grab you with the entire team to witness.

“Did you save some hot water for me, witchy?” You teased with your hand on the doorframe, too close for Wanda to breathe properly. She had to blink her concentration back, her brain barely able to focus on anything other than your inviting lips.

“Hm, I can’t say I have it.”

You lick your lips, a smile threatening to escape as Wanda's eyes followed the movement. "No problem, I need a cold shower anyway." That's what you said, using much more of her personal space than you needed to exit the room.

And for the next few weeks, Wanda could only remember that feeling, her fingers tucked deep inside her pants as she bit her lip to keep from whimpering your name to the ceiling.

The fight between Steve and Tony escalated into a catastrophe shortly after that, and Wanda had a little time to focus on other things.

That is until Clint picked her up at the Tower, and informed her that he had two stops to make. Ant-Man was the easy part, he was loud and energetic and kept Clint busy with excited questions about his life as an Avenger.

You were the proof of the gods.

With a leather jacket you got as a gift from Natasha hiding a band t-shirt that in Wanda's opinion, made you look like the most attractive person she had ever laid eyes on, you threw your backpack on the bench and squeezed in next to her.

You didn't have to press your lips to her cheek, but you did it anyway, as if you and Wanda were great friends, and you had missed her a lot in the last few weeks you hadn't seen each other with all the team's drama.

“What’s up, witchy?” It was so casual that Wanda almost believed that you two had a real relationship and not a history of arguments, teasing and staring challenges.

Clint didn't pay a second thought to the matter, he was stressed with everything that was happening to the team, and he was pleased that you were joining the fight, especially on his side. Having a demigoddess should mean an easy victory, and hopefully, without much fighting.

Staying under wraps in Europe until it was time to meet Steve at the appointed point was a minefield. Four people sharing a van, two of whom were hormonal teenagers, with some sort of battle going on over who would give in first could easily be one of the reasons Clint Barton wanted to stay retired.

Three hours into the ride, and Wanda let out another sigh from the backseat, and he had enough.

“I swear to god I’m going to make you walk all the way there.” The hawk warned, stealing a glance in the rearview mirror, quick enough for him to see you move your hand away from Wanda’s thigh. He snorted in disbelief. “That’s so inappropriate. And disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic, Clint.” You immediately retort, but the Avenger shook his head, chuckling reluctantly.

“I’ll tell your cousin what kind of things you do while other people are around you, young lady.” He threatened but you shrugged, an easy laugh escaping you.

“Good luck trying to slut-shame me to the god of fertility.” Your bratty response made Wanda and Scott hide a giggle.

Clint huffed in irritation. “What the hell, that’s not what I’m doing!” He defended himself, offended. “I just don’t want to be there while you make out with your girlfriend.”

You shrug. “Sounds like homophobia to me, man.”

Clint shakes his head indignantly, and tries to look at Scott for some support but the other just shrugs, with an expression that he agrees with your words. The Archer lets out a humorless laugh, and announces that he will stop for food at the next gas station he drives by.

When the stop finally happened, almost an hour later, Clint and Scott practically fled the car.

Wanda thinks she should have at least changed seats.

“Can I ask you something?” She ventured as the noise of the older Avengers talking grew more distant, as they were going to buy food at the convenience store. You hum in agreement, and Wanda swallows hard because she feels your gaze on her. “How did Barton convince you to join the fight?”

The question takes you by surprise. You change seats, and Wanda almost regrets it, but you do it just to look at her and it's more disconcerting than before.

“Why wouldn’t I join? I’m an Avenger too.” Apparently, you wanted to see her reaction. Sometimes, Wanda forgot that not everyone could read minds. Especially you, who, although you could resist any of her magic tricks, didn’t have the same abilities to do them on other people.

“I know, I meant…” She thought for a moment about the right words. “I just got the impression that Thor advised you to stay a little distant from things like that. He himself doesn’t seem to be around much for this kinda of… human and bureaucratic stuff.”

You click your tongue. “I’m human, Wanda. Half, but still.”

“I know!” she snaps back, her cheeks hot. “I just meant—”

“I know what you mean, I’m messing with you.” You cut her off with a giggle, gesturing slightly. “I’m flattered, you know? That you think I’m so strong and amazing, so superior to all of this.” You make an exaggeratedly theatrical expression, and Wanda laughs with an eye roll.

“Oh, shut up.” She retorts, and manages to make you smile too. The lightness of the interaction changes the second after this dialogue ends. You look at her in a different way, more intense and vulnerable, and Wanda swallows hard. She feels like she wants to say a million things at once, but it’s you who speaks first.

“You’re right though, I wasn’t going to get involved.” You say, your typical confidence failing for the first time since Wanda met you. “Diplomatic immunity and Asgardian royalty perks or something like that.” You joke with a weak laugh, but something about the way you’re saying it makes it impossible for Wanda to laugh, let alone breathe properly. “Clint only had to use two magic words to get me on the team.”

She swallows hard, her stomach flipping. “What words?”

You smile at the corner of your mouth, not meeting her eyes for a moment. And then you sigh deeply, and look at her. “Wanda Maximoff.”

The breath that escapes her is shaky and faltering, and you hold her gaze until she gathers her courage. You wait patiently for Wanda to approach, and you don't move at any of her hesitations, until she sighs and grabs the collar of your blouse, pulling you in with determination. Despite the urgency, the first kiss is not rushed. You let her get used to the feeling first, and pull away before Wanda has a chance to protest.

But when you dive back in the next second, you take control. Your hand cups her jaw and your mouth is hungrily against hers, teeth and tongue, devouring every whimper of need she gives you. You’re not immune to Maximoff’s charms either.” You gasp at Wanda’s taste, brow furrowed as if you’re physically unable to pull away.

But you have to, because Clint and Scott can't make a purchase longer than eight damn minutes.

The veterans climb into the car, and the archer turns to the back of the van to deliver the food and catches a glimpse of your disheveled appearances and uneven breathing and grunts of disbelief.

“For the love of god, I don’t even want to know. And don’t you dare touch my stuff!” He says, throwing the snacks into your laps as you and Wanda struggle to hide your giggles.

-&-

The plan was to sneak out, but Stark closed the airport. Steve's order was for everyone to put on their suits and follow him, but Wanda ended up trapped between the closed door of the van and your body.

“Everything okay, girls?” Captain America asked uncertainly, and without moving away, you forced a smile at Steve.

“Sure, Cap. I’ll just wish Wanda a good fight. We’ll catch up with you for a grand entrance, I promise.” It’s practically a warning that you’re going to do this regardless of Steve’s permission, so he clears his throat and waves for the team to follow him ahead.

The Avengers have barely finished walking away - she can still hear Clint complaining that the two of you haven't let go of each other when you lean your face down and kiss her.

She doesn't know what she expected, but she certainly doesn't feel prepared for this kind of kiss. Sloppy and charged with lust, just a few hours after she experienced the sensation of having your lips for the first time.

Your firm hands on her waist and the extra support of the van are the only things keeping her upright. Her wobbly legs gave out at the first bite of her lip, three kisses ago.

Between one gasp and another, and this because neither of you wants to let go, Wanda tries to remind you of what they are doing in Germany.

“We have to go. The others. The fight.” Each word comes between one kiss and another, and she’s not even trying to open her eyes, because you drag your mouth down her jaw and start pressing your lips to her neck with enough intention to make her arch her body towards you and forget the world around her.

Though you look equally affected, you manage to break the caresses with a husky chuckle. “Who the hell came up with the idea of adding a damn corset to your uniform, Wanda?”

The question makes her bite her lip, especially since she catches the way your gaze is fixed on her collarbone.

“I chose it myself. Don’t you like it?” She teases with false innocence, baiting you by puffing out her chest in your direction.

Your fingers reach up and pull at the limit of what the corset's laces will hold without opening, the gesture being suggestive enough for Wanda to tremble.

“I loved it, that’s the problem.” You murmur, evidently aroused, your mouth marking her skin again. “How do they expect me to fight with you looking like that around me. All I can think about is undressing you…” A soft bite on your lobe, and Wanda moans directly into your ear. “God, I could fuck you right here.”

“There’s no time.” She pants back, but your grip tightens a little and Wanda is sure that if you try to take her clothes off in the middle of this parking lot, she’ll help you.

“We can make time.”

But your whispered phrase carries a meaning she can’t ignore. She struggles to push her arousal away and manages to retort a hoarse “What?”

Your hands reach inside the suit's jacket, and move downward. Wanda gasps as she feels them on her ass, squeezing the flesh and forcing your hips together. The sensation is so delirious that she almost forgets she asked a question.

“We can kill time if we let the boys fight alone.” Your voice combined with all the attraction she’s kept secret for so long is like a siren song taking her mind to places far removed from Avengers intrigue, and more like beds or mats. Or anywhere you can press her, including this car. “Romanoff knows how to take care of herself, and the others wouldn’t even notice.”

“Yes, they would.” She retorts with a soft laugh before pulling your mouth back to hers. Kissing her again wakes something in you. Your hands go frantic, tugging and squeezing, and Wanda finds herself pressed completely against the iron door with one of your legs between hers. The softest press of your knee against her core makes Wanda gasp in a whimper.

You break the kiss to rest your forehead against hers. “You sound so beautiful when you make those sounds.” But she needs to put more distance between you, because she won’t be able to stop if she doesn’t do it now.

“We can’t.” She insists, one hand on your stomach to gently push you away. “Not now. And not here.” She sighs at the dark look in your eyes. “We gave you our word that we would help.”

For a moment, it looks like you’re going to ignore it, your lips brushing together, teasing away whatever sanity she has left. But then, you kiss her cheek and pull away, and Wanda would have slid down to the floor if it weren’t for van’s support.

“Okay, I’ll help.” You declare with a determination that makes Wanda swallow hard.

She barely has time to work on her appearance and has to rush to catch up with you, sprinting towards the team.

You missed the grand entrance - Things were about to start, and you interrupted a spider-clad teenager with an energy pulse that threw him away and kept him pinned to the ground.

“Sorry guys, I’m really busy today.” You announced. Everyone looked at you in shock, Tony seemed genuinely surprised to see you pick a team, and Steve seemed worried that you had changed your mind. When you started fighting with everyone, things got even more serious.

But Wanda didn't even have time to think about what it all meant; she realized that you weren't hurting them. You were bringing them together, to face them all at once.

Vision was probably the only one there who could do any damage due to the Infinity Stone, so she needed to keep him under control.

And with Spider-Boy safe and immobilized just like Vision, you screamed to the heavens.

“Heimdall, let’s take my friends for a ride!”

The Avengers only had time to widen their eyes. The transport was almost immediate.

Wanda closed her eyes, as shocked as the others, but the trip was actually smooth. While half the team was still fighting on the rainbow that led to Asgard, you held her by the waist, and the landing was calm and coordinated.

Steve was the first to approach you, as furiously as everyone else. “What do you think you’re doing? Send us back right now! We have to-”

“Sorry, I’m on vacation.” You cut him off, shrugging. Your hand is clasped in Wanda’s, who’s standing behind you.

The team all stands around, angry and surprised. Steve gives an incredulous laugh, but Tony actually laughs.

“Wow, that’s impressive, Rogers. Seriously, this time you outdid yourself in the worst decisions you could make. You didn’t think about what could happen when you called her to fight, she has the maturity of a ten-year-old!”

“Wow, and you can talk about maturity, can’t you Tony?”

You rolled your eyes, leaving them behind, cursing each other. Natasha was trying to stop King T'Challa from attacking Bucky, but none of them had a way out of here. Rhodes took off his armor helmet and was commenting on how huge Asgard was with Sam, while Clint tried to get a cell phone signal to warn Laura that he would most definitely be late. You think Ant-Man was trying to take pictures, but you got distracted by Wanda on the way through the Bifrost.

“Are we just going to leave them?” She asked, glancing at the irritated team.

You shrug. “Yeah, Heimdall will keep an eye on them. And when they calm down, the palace awaits. And you will see my royal chamber now.”

Wanda purrs, her cheeks flushed. “You’re getting pretty confident.” She teases, making you smile.

“I’m just inviting you to a late-night fondue.” You joke, and it’s Wanda’s turn to chuckle before pressing her lips against yours.

Some of the Avengers complain in the background but none of you are paying attention to them anymore.

[ventique18]

My new favorite theory is that grandma Maleficia grabbed the opportunity to weaken Malleus on purpose. Because it was the perfect opportunity to give him back a semblance of a proper life, and to buy him some more time to form his own identity before once again being forced to choose between his heritage and his own path.

Maleficia herself is a victim of the throne. Given she never brainwashed Malleus into thinking he should become king asap, I'd like to believe she doesn't actually want him to become king in their current political climate. I kind of feel she's already resigned herself to be queen until the day she rots to dust, if it means her grandson gets to enjoy being alive for as long as possible. Maybe that was also what she wanted for Maleanor.

Maybe she even wanted to disown Malleus so he wouldn't be tied down by responsibilities anymore. But there was no way she could do that. There's no way their kingdom wouldn't put up a fight and let go of a Draconia. Until the golden opportunity of Book 7 arose. And she grabbed it, because when else could her grandson be deemed unfit to become king than when he, a creature of power, was regarded as weak?

Basically, she did her best to be the best mother she could be without compromising her duty as queen. She may have lost herself throughout all her centuries of suffering, but a Draconia is never capable of not loving the people they deem precious.

[beebfreeb]

[artkaninchenbau]

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus:

[xpurplepiex]

wave with his critters

[minervakarsh]

Much better than could be

A picture I drew of GLaDOS from Portal

Many things

Quite

Taken

Quickly and painlessly

Eating buckwheat right now

Only in PE class

Every day

Can’t remember (

My boyfriend

Nope

One person who my whole hate is directed on. They ruined my life, and even if they hadn’t, I’d still hate them

Mainly my brief childhood friendships

Used to

Calm but kinda anxious because I’m a little late

Not yet

Yeah( quite irrationally, but alas

If I won’t get into a Marty McFly situation then yeah

I don’t know what “snogged” means, sorry

Just have fun ^~^

No kids

No piercings

English, Literature, Russian

Motherfucker you already asked me this

Pretty much nothing

I’ve rejected quite a few guys, but I can’t say anything about whether it broke their hearts

No and I hope I never will

Not to my knowledge, he might’ve been hiding his tears though

The passage of time

Turns out, quite a few people ;~;

Purple! All shades of it

A little bit from when a guy from my school pretended to be a girl online to prey on me

Can’t remember (

My classmates, but they didn’t notice

I fear that yes

To forget I guess

Definitely not

Sixteen

Yeah)))

(Where’s 41-50????)

Watermelon

Nnnope!

Put on my relaxing game music playlist, played it from Still Alive onward

NO!!!

I can be

Too many to count

Kinda do

Sunny and warm and bright blue skies!

Only if it’s winter!

I do but no children

Only if it’s my boyfriend, otherwise it’s icky

Too many things to count!!!

To Minerva, probably. But I like my birth name

Hell nah, I’m kissing him a hundred times if I can

(Okay it says sex not gender, so my best friend who is a trans guy can’t count…)

I actually suspected that he once HAD a crush on me, but I didn’t do anything and I won’t

Yeah, because I’m always my complete self around people

My mom’s boyfriend

Probably my teacher, and that wasn’t intentional

I think people can be perfect for each other but I don’t think it’s fate or soul bond or anything

All my friends and some of my family

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[eydilily]

would you bite the hand that feeds you?

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[hotcinnamonsunset]

🎣lure me in, baby!

[sunderwight]

Bingyuan where Luo Bingge, after many fruitless attempts, finally manages to find a world where:

-The Nice Shizun (who he now knows to be Shen Yuan) is there

-Hasn't died from anything yet

-Doesn't already have a Luo Binghe

-Isn't seriously entangled with anyone else either

Enter 52 year old twice divorced silver fox Shen Yuan, who has only just recently come to terms with his homosexuality (after two marriages have imploded over various factors pertaining to it), and is fending off helpful advice from his sweet & encouraging teenage daughter (who is convinced her dad needs someone to look after him before she heads off to college).

[shepscapades]

Contrary to popular belief etho and bdubs are not divorced and in this essay I will