#but it is Spinning in my brain nonetheless

[powderrblue]

okay so i'm seeing a couple different theories on hetch. but. what if he is both charlie's blood brother and gay for the founder. what if that actually worked

[z0mbiew00d]

Desertduo going from devoted to each other, to barely interacting, to disliking each other, to being allies, to only interacting a little but in the end having to part ways due to what the overlords of their lives demand is so insane actually

[ynbabe]

Cute situations w/ f1 drivers- ep2.

Asking the drivers if they 'wanna nap?'

Charles:

"Wanna nap?" You asked the man as soon as he stepped into his hotel room, tired and eyes red. You knew Ferrari wasn't some winter wonderland but you didn't know why Charles put up with it.

You had been close friends with the man, since before he'd started f3 too, you knew he bled Ferrari red but this wasn't bleeding this was suicide.

Nonetheless, you were there for him, every weekend, only today there wasn't much to do, he had just come back from some meetings. He looked at you and hummed, taking off team-issued merch and throwing himself on the bed beside you.

You turned on some sad Adele song and faded into sleep, holding the boy close to you, his head resting on the curve of your neck.

Carlos:

"Wanna nap?" You asked Carlos as you both walked into his drivers' room, it was early in the morning at the Las Vegas GP and just as the year before they had messed up the timings and the drivers had to wait till four-thirty in the morning to get on with the programme.

Knowing the both of you, you were sure if you hadn't extended the offer the both of you would have ended up doom-scrolling through Netflix looking for some show to watch fighting off sleep.

"What?" He asked, shocked at the offer for a second before raising his browns and winking at you, "You finally feel my charm didn't you?" he laughed as he climbed onto the small and rickety bed next to you. "Smooth operator strikes again," he praised himself, pulling you close to him, enveloping you in his arms as the big spoon.

You groaned and kicked his shin, making him complain, "Dude you're so fucking lame!" You made fun of the older man who only replied with terrorism (tickling you,) "S-top, stop, I'm sorry," you laughed, trying to escape the death grip he had on you, eventually getting him to stop.

He let you catch your breath as he set an alarm, before trapping you in his warm arms again, both drifting into a comfortable sleep.

Lando:

It was way past midnight but you couldn't sleep, unable to get yourself out of the party high, too drunk to rest your brain. Thankfully you weren't the only one.

There was a barrage of knocks on your hotel room, a slurred voice with a British accent begging to be let in. "Y/n/nnnnn, I can't sleep," he cried once in the room, stumbling over nothing as you both made your way to your bed.

You giggled as he fell, brushing his hands over the cold blanket. You joined him, crawling onto the bed slowly as the room around you spun. You laid on your back, clinging onto the bed for dear life.

Lando noticed and piled on top of you, making you raise a question brow. "So you don't fall off," he muttered, his face buried in your chest.

"Ohhhh, that makes sense," you said, understanding his thought process as the spinning slowed down. "We should nap," you said out loud, eyes shutting due to the comforting warm weight on top of you.

Lando hummed in return, wrapping his hands around your waist, as you pulled one hand up to his and another grabbing his curls for extra support.

Oscar:

There were two things everyone knew about Oscar, he hated waking up early and he loved sleeping. So when his trainer woke him up on a perfectly cosy yet cool Monday morning to exercise, he nearly wanted to kill the man, only stopping because that would take much more effort than simply going through with the workout.

Your apartment was closer to the gym than his, so he happily invited himself in to bitch and moan about his trainer and how that man must have hated him.

Rolling at your friend's antics, you pushed away your laptop, walking from the dining table to where he was sitting on your sofa.

"Wanna nap?" You had barely finished your question when you were pulled onto the Australian.

"I thought you'd never ask," he whispered, as he shuffled on the narrow sofa to get comfortable, you still on top of him, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face buried in his neck.

"Are you using me as a teddy bear?" You asked incredulously, trying to get up to no avail as the man's grip on you was far too strong.

"Yes, now let me sleep," he murmured, already half gone.

George:

George had a habit of pushing himself too far, ever since he was a child. When you guys had just newly become friends, the boy had spent hours trying to find out what exactly you liked and didn't, stalking your Instagram and your family's Facebook.

You had found it endearing but also concerning how he always wanted to be perfect. So when you walked into his house at midnight (you got a key made- there's a reason the both of you got along so well,) and found him staring unblinkingly at his laptop and a large mess of papers spread across the wooden coffee table.

"Dude, what is wrong with you," You whisper-yelled at the man making him jump, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Me? What is wrong with you?" He yelled, panting as you jumped over the back of the couch, sitting right next to him, ruffling through the papers much to his chagrin.

"Shut it, Georgie boy," you smirked at him using the nick name he hated. “What are you even doing, it’s so late?��� You asked looking at the taller man who started off in a rant about the car and everything he was doing wrong, making you slide down on the sofa till you head was resting on the backrest. You lifted your feet up to rest them on the coffee table, making George rush to move a stack of papers so they wouldn’t be under your feet.

Perfect. You grabbed the man’s shoulders and made his head rest on your lap.

“What on earth are you doing!” He yelled more than asked, trying to get up but you doubled down.

“George you need to sleep,” you deadpanned as he tried to make you let him go, knowing his pleas fell on deaf ears he gave up.

You raised your brow, “wanna nap?” You asked teasing the boy.

“Only for a few minutes,” he pressed, making himself comfortable, while you tangled your fingers in his hair, “maybe more then,” he sighed and let his eyes shut, slightly watering and finally fell asleep.

Lewis

Lewis had never been a friend to you, he was more like an annoying yet caring older brother or like a fun uncle of sorts. The man was fiercely protective of his friends, even those whom he saw in animosity.

But you were different, Lewis would steal your coffee, eat your food, and push you around but he'd also sneak you Red Bull (much to his disgust,) into his driver's room during late races, walk you to your hotel room after parties and get you souvenirs from races you couldn't be at. Similarly, you loved to annoy the man, stealing his expensive jackets, which looked hilarious due to the size difference, stealing his headphones and running away with them and most importantly coming to him with your problems day or night.

So no, Lewis wasn't surprised when you showed up to his driver's room in the middle of the day, even though Toto had revoked your pass for the day (for bullying George, but it was worth it,). He was ready to tease you but then he saw your eyes, red and tears flowing down your face.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" He immediately came up to you, giving you a once-over to see if you were injured. "Did someone say something, are you hurt?" He asked panicking at your silence. You simply wrapped your arms around the older man, hiding your face in his chest, quietly sobbing and sniffling.

He walked you both to the sofa in his room, seating you down, trying to wipe your tears, "Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked as you finally calmed down, using his arm as support to sit up.

You cleared your throat, "No, I just wanna nap," you hiccuped slightly.

"Okay," he leaned back so you could rest your head on his shoulder, giving you one of his airpods to relax, which you gladly accepted.

Lance & Fernando (they aren't always gonna be together but the situations... THE SITUATIONS WRITE THEMSELVES)

"Oh honey that’s not," Lance said pointing to your coloured hair (matching with Alex) and thats how the conversation had started and had ended in a cat fight.

“At least I’m not a nepo baby,” you yelled as you threw a basket of oranges at him, which he dodged, darn those f1 reflexes. The basket itself smacked him square in the face, leaving a red indent across his nose. He glared for a second before jumping over the table you were fighting across and pulled your hair. “Owww, you bitch”

You bit his hands in defence, to which he kicked your shin, screaming you launched yourself at him, crashing the both of you to the ground, “oh my god, okay, truce, truce,” he panted, pushing you off him.

“Just so you can catch your breath,” you retorted making him mock you. In reality, you were definitely much more tired than he was. You were struggling to catch your breath, your head killing you where he grabbed a large chunk of your hair.

You turned to look at him, resting your head on his stretched arm, he was massaging his nose, the bruise turning purple now, “well that was fun,” he turned to face you.

“Sooooo fun,” you rolled your eyes, “wanna nap? My heads killing me,” you are far him in accusation but he glared right back pointing to his swollen nose.

“Sure,” he shrugged, shifting closer to you and closing his eyes. You opened your mouth to make a joke but were interrupted, “there are like a million oranges on the floor right now, I’ll throw one at you,” you accepted defeat and fell into a comfortable sleep.

That’s how Fernando found the both of you, slightly scowling but fast asleep, he took a picture for blackmail’s sake and placed a blanket over the two of you.

PT-2 w/ Max, Logan, Alex, Daniel, Yuki, Pierre, Esteban, Zhou.

[libertyybellls]

KISS IT OFF ME !

pairing; finnick odair x f!dist4!reader

summary; finnick can’t take his eyes off of you in any crowd- but he can take care of you, what’s new?

contains; FLUFF, established relationship, finnick is still pining for reader, alcohol consumption- but positively i guess, reader is anxious in the beginning, objectification by the capitol as per usual.

a/n: i hope im not misunderstood but when i put specific photos or outfits/hairs in the headers of my works that is not directly what i am picturing the reader as! its more-so the hairstyle, or the outfit- or simply the aesthetic of the picture. not the race, hair nor body type. ur all cutie pies. ok anyways onto the fic kiss kiss.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“well would you look at that!” your stylist squeals in your ear, “from the moment you won your last games i have just been dying to design for you again and… here we are!” she ushers you to spin around.

she’d always been kind to you, perhaps less kind to your dignity- always wanting to flaunt you like a show pony- but nonetheless her support had always been there.

“it’s beautiful, thank you.” you smile small at her. so bittersweet, she was oh-so ecstatic to dress you up once more but to you- this meant less serenity to you. more agitation, more distress, more death.

it felt like a paradox, to be adorned in this sweet, innocent, baby pink before you’re sent away to a grim world once again- you’d already gone off on a tangent to finnick. you’d both sobbed solemnly about the cruelty of it all, how you would never be able to live in peace.

but finnick just wanted you both to have this one night, to indulge in the capitol before you were sent of to your deaths, obviously he would see the brighter side of thing- blabbering about plutarchs plan and how he only needs to protect you, katniss, and peeta until he can get you out of there.

sounds so very simple doesn’t it?

once you’d finished your interview you attended a party, a celebration for the third quarter quell. how ironic, what was there to celebrate?

you’d seen the food platters, the spiked drinks, and indulge you did.

your brain had been fuzzy by the time you’d escape the overbearing class of the capitol citizens, who wanted to know every detail of your life.

it was then- finnick had spotted you- so inebriated you’d genuinely laugh at something the woman next to you said.

feasibly being that she’d said something so pretentious you couldn’t help but tilt your head back in laughter. but nonetheless he admired.

he admired your dress, your smile, the way your eyes slightly disappeared when you laughed, the way your hair was laying down your back. he was simply under the spell of you.

it was then your eyes met his smitten ones, so love drunk- or possibly just drunk- that you’d excused yourself and made a beeline straight for him.

he’d encaptured you with warm arms, a leather corset-like article of clothing consumed his waist- followed by his white buttoned down that seemed to be unbuttoned.

you noticed the way his eyes consumed you- not like the others did. not like you were a piece of cake, not like you were something they had to have for the night, but someone who lit his chest alight.

“you look beautiful.” he murmurs into your hair, his hands around your waist.

“i hardly feel that way- im scared, i think.”

he shook his head, pulling you from his warm embrace much to your dismay. “don’t be. you’re with me right now.” finnicks plush lips lay atop your forehead now.

you laugh as he continues to peck your face, giggles leaving your lips.”so beautiful.”

it was only when you nearly toppled over your unnecessarily long pumps that he took not of your consumption.

“so head over heels it seems you’ve had a little to much to drink. what do you say i get you back to your room now? hm?” he straightens you back up. “run you a bath?”

you let out a muffled mm into his chest, your other hand placed on the side of his chest holding you steady. “love you s’much finn.”

it was his turn to laugh now, there was no mockery, no heinous act behind it, just you and finnick. “i know baby.”

-

[yeonzzzn]

can you make a foursome with yn heeseung jake and sunghoon pleeeeeeaaseee (yn is a girl) love ya

oh jeeezzzzzz my bias line 😮‍💨 I love where your brain is at fr fr.

The three of them literally would make your head spin and skin feel as if it were on fire with how they’d abuse all your holes but make it feel like heaven nonetheless.

Jake would be underneath you with his hands cupping your breasts squeezing them in motion with hips rolling his dick further inside your pussy completely bottomed out. his swollen lips tucked between his teeth, eyes closed shut and eyebrows furrowed. completely losing himself in your pussy.

Heeseung’s hands have found their place on your hips as he filled your ass completely. he rolled his hips in perfect rhythm with Jake’s, sending you moving forward with each aggressive push of his hips slapping against your ass. heeseung’s hand prints covered your ass from his slaps, turning him on even further by seeing his marks he left on you. his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin deep that you were sure you’d have bruises in the morning. sweat dripped down his face and onto his chest as he hung his head low watching his cock press in and out of your beautiful ass.

your mouth wrapped around Sunghoon’s cock, tongue perfectly licking up and down his shaft as he fucked into your mouth. his hands has your hair pulled into a makeshift ponytail and oh god he wasn’t gentle with his the way he’d pull your hair to the side as he shoved his cock further down your throat. losing his breath at the site of how well you take him fully in your mouth.

one hand rested on Jake’s shoulder while the other one helped you keep your balance on Sunghoon’s thigh. The four of you were a moaning mess. You’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had, your whole body way past the point of overstimulated, your legs feeling like jelly as you struggled to hold yourself up.

Sunghoon was the first of the boys to cum, his warm seed shooting to the back of your throat, pulling out of your mouth and telling you to swallow every drop. you did, and once you proved to him it was gone he attached his lips to yours, tasting the remaining of himself on your lips.

“Fuck, m’cuming soon,” Jake whined as your pussy clenched tighter around him and ass tighter around Heeseung, causing loud gasps from both boys. “me..me too, fuck,” Heeseung groaned, getting one last push before his load filled you up, his hot cum leaking down onto you and Jake. Heeseung dropped his body onto your back, his teeth sinking into the skin on your shoulder as he rode out his high.

Jake couldn’t last another second, letting out a loud, wet, pornographic moan as he spilled his seed into you, hips bucking every lost drop into you, hands squeezing your breast tighter as he painted your gummy walls white.

you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, detaching your lips from Sunghoon and clasping on Jake’s chest, now being sandwiched between him and Heeseung. but your rest was short lived, Heeseung and Jake pulled out of your holes, their hands lifting you up as the boys traded positions, your back being pressed against Sunghoon’s chest, Heeseung spreading your legs and Jake hovering over you.

you must of had the look of shock on your face, earning a chuckle from each of them. “You think we’re done?” Heeseung cooed, his long fingers shoving back into your cunt. “We are just getting started doll,” Sunghoon whispered in your ear, his fingers flicking your nipples. Jake left kisses on your forehead, working down to your lips, “Open that pretty mouth of yours, my cock is dying to hit the back of that throat.”

[beautifulpaprika]

Party Next Door; Jungkook

pairing: fem!reader x jungkook

warnings: smut, a cool massage

summary: Every Thursday is a struggle. The neighbor is constantly disturbing the peace with loud music. But Y/N has had enough and decides to go over there herself, but she sets herself up for failure when the owner turns out to be beautiful. Her hatred and annoyance towards him turns into a need.

word count: 4.7k

My head is a jumbled mess. I’ve tried headphones, my own speakers, going to the furthest corner of my room, but nothing can drown away the noise next door. Every Thursday night is a hassle to work. I’ve never met the party animal neighbor, but no matter how many times I call the police on them, they don’t seem to care. 

Music seeps into my living room, interrupting my work. It’s not exciting by any means, but I would like to finish it before midnight. 

I hear yelling from across the way. It’s the last straw before I decide that I’ll take care of it myself. 

The music is even louder in the hall, itching my brain and raising my irritation. I raise my fist and knock, no, bang on the door, trying my best to make it louder than the music and chatter. 

The attempt is a failed one when no one answers the door. I try once again. And one more time.

Nothing. 

A stomping up the stairs causes me to turn to a small group approaching me. The man at the front, who seems to be the leader, gives me a strange look before walking past me and opening the door. 

I watch them walk in. No knocking. No banging on the door. All I had to do was turn the knob.

“Thanks,” I yell at them, only to get no response. 

The frustration dwells for a moment before I go back to focusing on the main task. Finding the owner of this place and giving him a piece of this. My mind. Not my body. 

“Excuse-” the woman ignores me, walking into the living room and sitting next to others who seem to be enjoying a game of ‘Spin the Bottle’. “Can you tell me-” another man ignores me. This is a very welcoming group. 

“You look lost,” the voice is behind me now. A woman smiles at me, a drink in hand. 

“Is it obvious?” I ask her, my vocal chords rasping at how loud I have to be over the music. She simply shrugs as a response. “I’m looking for the person who owns the place,” I tell her.  She nods in understanding. 

“Jungkook? He’s out on the balcony, but I wouldn’t recommend disturbing him. He’s snippy,” she takes a sip of her drink, still making eye contact with me over the rim. It’s a bit intimidating, but I’m grateful for the information nonetheless. 

“Thanks!” I head to the balcony, the apartment has the same layout as mine. I peek out of the blinds blocking the party from the outside. A man lounges on his lawn chair, his legs spread out and a drink in his hand. His eyes are open and touching the sky. There’s hardly any light, the balcony sitting in an alleyway. I almost forgot that I was here on a mission - his beauty a distraction. Maybe the police didn’t want to say anything to him. 

I fling myself back to my cause, sliding the door open and stepping out. 

He doesn’t spare a single glance at me. 

“Are you the owner of this place?”

“Who’s asking?” he still does not look at me. 

“The neighbor,” my irritation rises at the lack of eye contact. 

“Yeah. I am. What about it?” he takes a loud sip of his drink, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again. 

“Your music's too loud. The people in this place are too loud,” I tell him. I figure laying it out now is better than beating around the bush. Especially when it comes to this guy. 

“Ignore it,” he says matter-of-fact. I’m not sure what I expected when I came over here, but the attitude catches me off guard. I scoff then look around. I’m not sure what I’m looking for - maybe some help? 

“I’ve tried. Several times,” my arms cross in an effort to show that I won’t let this slide no matter how much he avoids eye contact and suggests I ignore it. 

He closes his eyes, sighs, and finally his eyes glide down to meet mine. The stare stops my heart for a second. His eyes are intimidating, but there can be no mistake at what he’s looking at because his glance is hard and purposeful. 

“You’re the one who’s been calling the cops on me, aren’t you?” he asks. 

I don’t answer. Instead, I look out onto the city not wanting to expose myself for being a wet rag. Normally, it wouldn’t matter and I would have confessed, but I’m more out of place here, making it easier to be intimidated. He stands. His boots are like bombs as he steps in front of me. His face hovering over me.

“If the police didn’t work, what makes you think I would listen to you?” He whispers. I try not to focus on his breath smelling like a mix of mint and alcohol. It’s intoxicatingly good and annoying. 

“I thought,” I make sure to make direct eye contact, “that if you had a bit of empathy and compassion,” I put emphasis on ‘compassion’, “you might consider others who are around you.” 

He says nothing, only narrows his eyes. Those same eyes glide from my face, then slide down my body. Heat rushes from my head to my toes, reaching my core. 

“Are you gonna say something or keep looking at me like that?” I don’t know what possesses me to say it, but it makes him chuckle. “Some of us have work to do,” I continue. 

“I’m not turning down the music, do whatever you want with that,” he turns to sit back in his seat. My blood boils, but not from desire anymore. “I’d like to go back to my peace and quiet if you don’t mind,” he lounges back and his eyes close, facing the sky. 

Peace and quiet? With all this noise inside? Oh no, no, no.

I pull the extra red lawn chair to sit beside him, lounging back. 

“Does that look like the door to you?” he asks, his shoulders stiff now and his eyes wide open. I lean back taking in the chilly night air, adjusting myself to get comfortable. 

“We all want peace and quiet, sir. Even me,” I throw him a pointed look. “I don’t give you yours until you give me mine.”

“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t argue anymore, still not giving in. It’s a matter of who can last the longest now. 

***

My attempt fails as the next Thursday the music seeps right through the cracks of my apartment and into my ears. I breathe in, then out and pack my laptop. I sit with him on the balcony again until the music dies then return home. 

And the next Thursday, it happens again and I make my way over with my laptop once more.

It takes one minute for me to leave my apartment, step into his, and out onto the balcony. Jungkook is there in the same spot as last week and the week before. He glances at me then back up to the sky. 

“Me again!” I cheer. 

“Yay. . .” his voice is dead.

I take a seat in the same red chair I did before. 

“I brought some entertainment this time so I might last a bit longer,” I gesture to my laptop. “Hope you don’t mind.” He definitely minds. 

I put on a video of someone playing a horror game. I don’t know the person, I’ve never watched the person, or a horror game for that matter, but my hope is the noise will be enough to annoy him. 

He doesn’t say anything when it plays and his body language doesn’t change either. 

“So, how come your party is inside but you’re always out here?” I ask, filling some of the awkwardness. 

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“My question is more important to me,” I close the laptop and face him fully. I can’t place the emotion on his face when I do. It’s a mix of surprise and confusion. “I can only assume this,” I gesture to the party going on inside, “is not going to stop any time soon,” he grins at that, seemingly proud, “we might as well get to know each other a bit.”

“I preferred when you were watching your videos.”

“We can’t always get what we want. No matter how intimidating we might be,” I make sure to murmur the second part. The roll of his eyes tells me he heard it anyways. “Fess up. Why are you not in there?” I lean in to show my interest. It did strike me as strange the first time that the person throwing the party wasn't participating in it. 

He stays silent, the sound of a few cars and people yelling on the street taking his voice’s place. 

“Come on! Who am I gonna tell? Your sweet and kind friends in there?” he chuckles at that at least. 

“I don’t want to party,” he says, shrugging. His answer confuses me even more. 

“Are you sure?” I raise an eyebrow, “‘Cause the parade in your apartment says otherwise,” I laugh. 

“They’re background noise,” he looks off into the distance now. “The music, the talking, the games. It’s all background noise,” his head leans back, smiling when a group cheers inside. 

Background noise? My Thursday night is sacrificed every week for background noise? He doesn’t even enjoy the party? 

“But . . . you’re giving up your space. You know there are an infinite amount of videos online that actually allow you to have a noise similar to thi-”

“I don’t want the video,” he snaps. I blink at him. “It’s not the same,” he goes back to his normal tone. “It doesn’t fill the space. What’s the point of this big apartment if I’m the only one in it,” he looks back into the city and there’s a voice in my head telling me not to press further. This isn’t about background noises, I realize. This is about loneliness. 

“You could fill the space with someone else. Someone you care about and cares for you in return,” I suggest. He scoffs at that. 

I’ve chosen the wrong words. 

“Yeah? Simple as pie. “Find someone who cares for you.”” he mocks. “Give me a fucking break,” his hand lifts to chew on his nail. It’s a habit that I used to have. It brings back memories of all the feelings I used to have that resulted in me biting down. 

I get up, and grab his wrist away from his mouth. 

“That’s not healthy, you know?” I tell him. He’s frozen, stuck in the same position as before I pulled his hand away, then his eyes finally move to look up at mine.

Before I can say anything, I’m planted in his lap, my legs draped over his, his arms wrapped around my middle. My mouth opens ready to scream when I his nose grazes my neck, his breath brushing it and the top of my collarbone. I can’t say anything.  There’s words but they’re stuck in my throat unable to escape as an effect of the sensation I feel from his fingers grazing the skin under my shirt. 

“Maybe you should be the one to take care of me. You’re already telling me what to do,” his fingers move up to graze my cheek and push me to face him. His eyes are hooded when he looks up at me. It’s the perfect angle to kiss him.

Kiss him?

Kiss him?

I push myself up out of his lap, broken from the trance he put over me. 

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question, because no matter what the answer is, it can’t be reasonable. I scoop my laptop up making my way to the sliding door.

I step inside. I squeal when a body collides into mine, the sudden feeling of a cold drink spilling down the front of my shirt. 

“Woah! We got a spillage!” the man laughs. There’s heat rising to my brain, having the urge to take me thankfully safe laptop and break it over that empty dome sitting on his neck. “She’s feisty, too,” he purrs. My eyes narrow in an attempt to fend him off. “I haven’t seen you around here,” he leans in, grabbing me by the waist. 

“Buzz off,” I’m able to push him off due to his sloshed state. I’m able to evade him, but a body pushes past me. The same figure grabs the drunk man by the neck and drags him to the front door, chucking him out and down the stairs. I blink at Jungkook who seems more pissed now that he can’t even look at me. 

He retreats to the balcony without another glance at me.

***

This Thursday there is no music. No yelling. Only complete silence. This is what I have been wanting for weeks, yet keep opening my door a smidge to peek at someone who might pop up ready for a party. 

I even start to pace from the living room, to kitchen, to dining room, to kitchen, to dining room. I’m growing restless at the silence. Why now? Why is it quiet the week after he almost kissed me. It’s a scene I play over and over in my head. I’m trying to answer questions like why he would do it. Why is he radio silent afterward? Why am I obsessing over a man I met three weeks ago? 

My instinct pushes me to check outside of the door again, but before I reach for the doorknob a piece of paper slides under my door. I unfold it to look at the words scribbled on the lines:

I know there’s no music. 

But it breaks my heart that you haven’t come to visit. 

J

I scold my racing heart at the words.

But he’s inviting me this time- a funny way of putting it- but inviting me nonetheless. 

I  remind myself that this could not be anything romantic. Maybe he’s remorseful. If my mother could see me now pining over a man I’ve talked to twice.

But I can’t get that near kiss out of my head. I haven’t been touched in that manner since high school and the fact that it was unexpected adds to my anticipation.

My pajamas are exchanged for a skirt and a tank top. Nothing wrong with a bit of seduction.

I take the risk of humiliating myself and open the door to walk over to his apartment. When I swing the door open I’m surprised to find he’s already standing outside of his door.  His head whipping away, his throat clearing. 

“Were you . . .” I pause, “Did you have your ear on the door?” I tease. 

He avoids eye contact with me. “I was wondering what time you were going to come over,” he clears his throat again, his face transforming from panicked to stoic. 

“I-” 

“My apartment’s empty,” his voice is back to a calm tone. 

“I noticed,” I laugh. His lips pucker and he looks from my lips, to my eyes, to my lips, to my eyes. It makes me nervous. 

“Not that I wanted you to be there in the first place, but if you’re not busy, you could be my background noise.” 

I dwell on his invitation. 

“You don’t want me there? But,” I hold the note up, “this says I’ve broken your heart,” I point to the exact words. 

His eyes narrow on the lined paper, then he shakes his head.

“I don’t remember any of this,” he turns and walks back to his apartment before I get to defend myself. 

I follow him in, now fully able to look around his place without people in the way. The quiet is unsettling considering that each time I’ve walked into this apartment, I’ve mentally prepared myself and my ears for speaker breaking bass. 

The apartment feels as if no one lives here. There are no pictures or decorations that display any hobbies. I wonder how much time he spends here by himself. Most of it must be time spent cleaning after those Thursdays. 

He walks towards his living room and throws himself on the couch, his head on the armrest. I follow soon after and stand near the wall next to the couch waiting for him to instruct me to do something. 

His eyes open. 

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” I admit. “This is strange being here and not having hooligans yelling around us. 

He laughs. One would think he would be angry that I called his friends hooligans, but I know now those were not his friends. 

“Do what you would normally do,” he gestures to the coffee table. “Do work, watch horror videos. Do whatever you want. I just need a bit of noise,” he says nonchalantly, but all I’m hearing is “I like you as background noise more than the parties.” It could be my ego thinking that, regardless, my heart is racing. 

He follows my moves as I sit on the floor and place my laptop on the coffee table. He relaxes by throwing his head back again. 

***

I groan at the pains in my neck and shoulders. 

Jungkook sits up, tilting his head at me. 

“I should probably go.” It’s been about an hour and we’ve been exchanging a few words here and there.  It’s pleasant. What is not so pleasant is the horrible pain on my lower back from sitting on the floor. 

“If you want, I can massage your back there for you,” he offers. It catches me off guard. He pats the cushion, gesturing for me to come up with him. 

The words “No, thank you,” are on the tip of my tongue, but he offered so quickly, it makes me think he doesn’t want me to go. Again . . . ego. 

Instead, I rise up onto the couch, my back facing him. 

“Thank you, I guess,” I say, scolding myself for letting my voice waver. The thought of his hands on me is intoxicating. I can’t say I haven’t thought about them since the night he snuck one underneath my shirt. 

“I guess?” he chuckles, the sound right in my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine, awakening every nerve in my body. 

“Well, it’s strange -oh!” his thumbs dig into my lower back. The sensation is wonderful. It’s more than I could imagine. “You’re being very nice today compared to the snippy personality that shows itself,” he laughs at that too. 

“I can be nice if I want to,” his hand sneaks under my shirt again and I jolt at his warm skin rubbing mine. “I can be as nice as you want me to be,” his voice is low now. There’s an ache growing at my core. No. No! I am not getting horny over this man. This one man that I have barely had time to get to know. 

Those same, enticing hands glide up my sides, relaxing me into him. It doesn’t help that he smells like mint again with something stronger this time. It’s difficult not wanting to fall into him. 

“You can lean back,” he says, reading my mind. 

Reject him, Y/n. Reject him!

“Sure. It’s been a while since I relaxed. You know, work, work, work,” I joke trying to ease the tension, but instead it comes off awkward. He hums in acknowledgement - the vibrations from his chest massaging my shoulders leaning onto him now. 

This is paradise. I mean, there are big flashing red lights going off in my head, but I can’t deny that it also feels like I’m in the clouds - soaring high above the city and no one else can see me while I parade around giddy and relaxed at the same time.

His fingers still dig into my sides and when he massages into my lower back again, I involuntarily let out a moan. 

We both freeze. I look up at him, his face a few inches from mine. He’s looking straight ahead then finally moves his head to look at me. There’s a hood over his eyes. He blinks once, then twice. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You should stay tonight,” he interrupts. I can’t believe it’s possible to catch me off guard again after having done it a million times already, but I am. 

“Why should I do that?” I whisper. I already know the answer. Of course, I know the answer. But I want to hear it from his mouth. 

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes glide to my lips sending goosebumps to every inch of skin. 

But then he laughs and it sends me spiraling. His eyes move off of my face for a moment before coming back and into my eyes. 

“You know, last week,” his hands move again now gliding to my thighs, and I’m the one who breaks eye contact, “when that guy was putting his hands on you after I just had you in my lap,” his hands slide up and down, massaging the inside and outside of my thighs, “I couldn’t stand it,” his face lowers to my neck. 

“Jungkook,” I sigh.

“I was frustrated and pissed off. Not only because I just had you in my lap, but I was also frustrated that I couldn’t understand,” his nose traces a line from the bottom of my neck to my ear. “Why did I want you so badly?” I gasp when his hands push my thighs apart. “I was going to figure that out tonight - in the most innocent way possible. Then you come here in that fucking skirt,” I moan when his hand moves inside my skirt tracing patterns on the inside of my thighs and take a bit of pride that the outfit worked. 

“I wore it for you,” I admit. 

“God, don’t say that, Y/N,” his fingers finally land on my middle, sneaking underneath my underwear. “I’m already painfully hard,” he whispers, before slipping a finger inside of me. I moan out, my back arching and pushing my head into his shoulder. His lips are still hovering over my neck, but not quite touching it. 

I slide my hand up, around his neck, and into his soft hair. I push him closer to me and he gives me what I want. His kisses trail from my shoulder, pulling my tank top sleeve down, to my ear. 

His fingers move inside me for a couple more seconds before pulling them out. I take the opportunity to move from my position to turn and straddle him. I can feel how “painfully hard” he is when I settle my hips onto him, a small groan escaping when I do. 

“I need to be honest,” I tell him while locking my fingers behind his neck, “I haven’t done this in a while, so forgive me if I seem inexperienced,” he pulls me closer by my ass, causing some friction between us. 

He leans in, his lips centimeters from mine. I hold in my breath waiting for a kiss. 

“You don’t have to do anything but enjoy it,” he leans in, starting with a peck, then giving me a real kiss. His hands sneak under my tank top,  pulling it up. We break when he pulls it off of me. He rushes to unclasp my bra from behind me and pushes his hips into me when it finally comes off. 

My brain is melted at this point. He’s almost panting underneath me and I can feel his desperation. There’s a want and a need that I’ve never experienced and it makes this all the more exciting. 

“Your turn,” I whisper, tugging at his shirt then pulling it over his head. I’m not surprised when I uncover the chiseled chest and abs, but it does make me want him more (not that I knew it was possible). 

I flip the tables and put my lips on his neck. He sighs and puts his hands on my ass again, rocking me into him. I moan over the hickey I left and come back up to kiss him, but he has other plans. I squeal when he lifts me up walking towards the balcony and opening the door.

“Wait, wait!” I hold my hand out to stop him from going out there while carrying me - a half naked woman! “What are you doing?” I panic. 

“We’re finishing this on the place I started it,” he’s so nonchalant about it as if he isn’t suggesting something illegal. 

“Are you out of your mind? There are people out there,” I scold. He gives me a look. 

“It’s an alleyway, the only people who come through here are other people who want to have sex,” he explains, but I can’t help the paranoia settling in my stomach. It’s a bit exciting, I’ll admit, but I can’t say this is sensible. 

He must notice the worry on my face when he closes the door. 

“Alright, compromise,” he sets me down on the ground, and I’m worried I’ve disappointed him and he’s going to kick me out. Instead, he pulls his jeans down with his boxers, throwing both of them somewhere behind him. My eyes widen on his dick. What have I gotten myself into? 

“We won’t go on the balcony,” his hands grab the back of my thighs and I squeal when he lifts me again, wrapping my legs around him, the only barrier being my underwear, “we’ll stay right here,” he presses my back against the glass door, the cold making me arch my boobs into him. 

I’m ready to reject this idea as well, but I can’t get a word out when his mouth falls onto one of my nipples. 

“Jungkook, oh God,” I cry out when his ministrations continue as he grinds into me. 

“That skirt stays on,” he demands. I quickly nod. 

He pulls away from my chest, flipping my skirt up and pushing my underwear to the side. With a little effort, we adjust ourselves, his dick sliding into me. My head rests on the glass door as a groan leaves him. 

“I knew you’d feel amazing,” he sighs. I pull his face into my neck as he pushes into me. I slide up and down the glass door but I don’t mind how it feels. It’s not my focus. 

Nothing could have prepared me for what this feels like. I’ve fantasized over and over ever since he pulled me into his lap last week, but I never anticipated that it would be this delicious. 

“Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about this,” he whispers, catching me off guard. But it only takes one thrust to get my brain to malfunction again. 

The door and one of his arms supports me when his face pulls away from my neck but is replaced with his inked hand. A pathetic whine escapes when his fingers apply pressure to the sides of my neck.

“Jungkook, please,” I rasp. His breath is shaky when I clench around him, my release on the way.

“I’m almost there. But I want to come together, understand?” I nod my head. “On the count of three. . . three,” he whispers, thrusting in, “two,” thrust,”one,” our highs are synced, his hand applying more pressure as I come around him. 

Our breathing is synced as he pulls out of me and sets me on the ground. I can’t leave when his body leans onto mine, my back still pressed on the door. 

“Normally, the background noise doesn’t stop until later,” He breaths into my neck. “You might have to stay for a while longer to fulfill the background noise quota,” I laugh. His face comes up to meet mine, while massaging my sides and ass. “Stay the whole night this time,” he offers. 

“One condition.”

“Anything,” he whispers on my lips. A shiver rushes down every nerve. 

“No more parties,” I tell him. A smile paints his beautiful face. 

“No more,” he lifts me up again and carries me to his bedroom.

“You can’t just carry me everywhere!” I yell.

“You weren’t complaining earlier,” and he throws me on the bed- our night filled with getting to know each other and other noises filling the space.  

[wheeboo]

all yours | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which you get a bit too drunk on your special day. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. mentions of drinking alcohol and throwing up, reader has long enough hair to be pulled back, cursing, terms of endearment WORD COUNT. 1.4k

requested from anon: Hi hope all is well, just wanted to say Congrats on the milestone! You deserve it! And if it’s okay I would like to request #29 and #52 from prompt list 1 with Jeonghan thank you in advance if you do it. Congrats again to 2k you honestly deserve it :) - #29: "I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it." - #52: "Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

notes: thank u sm anon 😭🫶 ur so so sweet ily AAAA sending consensual smooches ur way 😚😚 also genuinely did not know what to title this lmfao

join the 2k celebration!

Okay, maybe you've had a bit too much to drink tonight.

It's your birthday anyway, so surely you have the right to go a little bit overboard on your special day... right?

"Ugh, I feel like shit," You mumble groggily, your body drifting and hitting the bathtub right next to you with a thud as the sounds of the toilet flushing bounce off the walls of the bathroom.

Jeonghan just crosses his arms together, leaning against the doorway with a sly smirk to his face. His eyes peer over your flushed face, slightly tousled hair and overall cute, disheveled appearance. You huff a breath as your gaze meets his, and a small, almost dreamy smile of your own forms on your face despite knowing how absurd you look right now.

"How do I look?" You ask, drawing your words out drunkenly.

"Honestly?" Jeonghan starts, and you lift a brow in anticipation. "You look ravishingly awful."

The words that leave his mouth has your face twisting in confusion, your brain hardly processing whatever the hell he just said (you'll take it as a compliment nonetheless, thanks to your cloudy mind).

However, Jeonghan just chuckles, fully stepping his way into the bathroom and towards where you are plopped down on the tile floor. He carefully sits himself down on the rim of the bathtub, expression softening right away with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth on your face from the alcohol to his fingers.

You lean into his touch instinctively, closing your eyes for a few seconds. "My body is going to hate me in the morning."

Jeonghan retracts his hand slightly, but not before his fingertips lingers your cheek, sending a jolt through your already-buzzing body and causing your eyes to flutter open. You can feel the heat creeping back up your neck, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"Hmm, not if I take care of you real well, yeah?" he muses teasingly, and you could only groan in response, feeling the alcohol earlier make your head spin once more. But a tiny, sober part of you registers the warmth in his gaze.

That is, until you can start to feel something bubble up your throat, and before you can react, your stomach lurches, and you're scrambling for the toilet just in time to expel the contents of your stomach. You heave and retch, feeling utterly miserable as Jeonghan helps by pulling back your hair and rubbing your back soothingly.

As the wave of nausea passes, your hand releases its hold on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat. You lean back once more, nearly toppling over before Jeonghan's hands catch you by the shoulders, helping to straighten up your posture. You let out a sluggish sigh.

"Well, maybe you're not wrong about your body hating you," he says jokingly, then squeezes your shoulders right after as if reassure you. "I would not want to be the receiving end of all... that."

You roll your eyes in playful annoyance and yank his grip off you, his laughter ringing in your ears. "I... Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

A feigned gasp leaves Jeonghan as he dramatically clutches his chest. But the inebriated glare you throw his way doesn't seem to faze him in the slightest. You catch the way his face quickly dissolves into his horribly distinguishable shit-eating grin.

"Ah, you figured out my secret, my dearest," he responds with an exaggerated flair, cupping your face gently with his hand. "You getting wasted made you more perceptive than I thought."

You swat at him weakly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."

"Only for you." He cheesily presses a kiss to the top of your head. "How are you feeling? Can you stand up?"

"Mmmh... help me?" You laggardly open your arms up to him, a pout forming at your mouth.

Your eyes are too heavy to catch the way Jeonghan is gazing at you so adoringly right now. He takes your outstretched arms and helps to hoist you up to your feet. For a moment, you're eye-to-eye, your head spinning slightly from the sudden movement and the world tilting a little as you stand.

Jeonghan secures a hand at your lower back as he carefully leads you out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom, catching a glimpse to the remains of the party from earlier scattered about the room. Balloons hang lazily at the ceiling, confetti laying across the floor𑁋you can deal with it in the morning.

"You're a hot mess," he comments teasingly, though there's a fondness in his tone as he guides you to the bed.

You flop down onto the mattress with a groan, the softness of the pillows cushioning against your throbbing head. Jeonghan disappears for a minute to retrieve a bottle of pills from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen, placing it on your bedside table before sitting down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush hair away from your forehead.

You crack open an eye to look at him, feeling yourself trying so hard to not fall asleep on the spot.

"Do... you think they know?"

Jeonghan looks back down at you. "Who?"

"Every... Everyone who came today, uh..." You mutter, motioning the air with your hand. "I didn't... do anything weird out there, right? We haven't really told anyone about us yet..."

Jeonghan purses his lips together, eyelids fluttering as if he's trying to remember the events of the party. He crosses his arms together, and you should probably know from the smirk appearing at his face that𑁋

"Hm, like, weird as in when you tried to kiss me earlier after you sang karaoke? Or𑁋"

"Are you being serious right now?!" There's a long, drawn out unintelligible sound that you whine as you bury your face into the pillow, the cool fabric soothing against your flushed cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm so stupid..."

"My love, I still don't entirely understand why we have to hide it," Jeonghan says gently, his fingers trailing lightly along your arm. "Your affection is pretty obvious, you know."

You snort at that, but you can't really deny it anyway since yeah, you are pretty affectionate with him. And it isn't that you don't want people to know. The thought of people knowing is completely fine, but it's really just that your friends can be absolute nutcases sometimes, and you really don't want to be at the teasing end of the stick right now when all you want is a bit of privacy, at least in the beginning.

"I just... I want you all to myself, you know?" You ramble drowsily, words still slightly slurred. "Just wanna... um, keep this between us for now. N-Not that I'm ashamed or anything, I just... want this to be ours."

Jeonghan lets his eyes take you in for a few moments, a soft look gracing over his features. He glances down at the way his hand seems to seems to instinctively find yours, your fingers intertwining loosely. Frankly, he’s already yours𑁋been yours from the moment the thought of you started to become a frequent visitor to his head.

"Of course," he assures lightly, not taking his eyes off you even while adjusting the pillows so you're in a more comfortable position. "Get some sleep now, okay?"

"M'kay," You utter out, feeling the weight of the bed lift when Jeonghan stands up. Yet as a thought crosses your mind, you call out to him, "Jeonghan?"

He pauses, turning back to look at you with gentle eyes.

"I... I do love you, you know," You confess slowly, almost hesitantly, like that small flicker of sobriety had finally peeked through the haze of alcohol. "Even if I'm shit at showing it."

Jeonghan feels his heart racing in his chest, and the heat flaring at the tips of his ears. On the surface, it's normally hard to detect such reactions to whatever loving, cheesy, romantic stuff you've said to him (since usually, he'd rather tease you into the grave instead). But on the inside, his heart is practically doing cartwheels, somersaults, and backflips all at once𑁋he would quite literally do anything for you.

"Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?" he remarks playfully.

You only shrug loosely, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. "I might... maybe. But, uh, at least you know, right?"

His lips just curl up lovingly. Even if you don’t remember it, those three words would be the first things he would say every morning anyway.

"I love you too, angel," he says against the skin of your temple. "Happy birthday."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi

[superblysubpar]

modern!steve harrington x you

712 words

warnings: this is a small follow up to "We Got Love" , it's not necessary to read that fic first, but I think you'll enjoy it more if you do | We'll revisit these two again on October 31st, so don't hate me too much | alcohol mentions

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the blurb!

Yeah, so now he’s really fucked.

Your lips smack together, rubbing the ruby red over them in the mirror. They quirk up on the ends when you spot him over your shoulder.

“Hey Goose.”

His hands land on your hips, a little less precise than normal, though in their rightful place nonetheless. His thumb swipes over bare skin, just above where a pilot’s flight suit is knotted around your waist, midriff exposed under a white t-shirt you’ve cropped. His aviators are pushed up on to the top of your head.

Steve’s lips skim behind your ear, a whispered “Maverick,” slipped out of them and pressed to your sparkling skin that smells like his soap.

He’s so deeply, utterly, tremendously, fucked.

Your hum turns into a sigh that mixes with a giggle when his arms wrap around you tighter, resting over your stomach and drawing you back against him as his mouth delves lower to the collar of your shirt.

“Steve-” you scold around a yelp of surprise when he rolls his hips against your ass, the movement making you fall forward and needing to brace yourself on the bathroom sink, your drink in the other hand sloshing dangerously close to your white top.

He thinks long and hard about his next words, probably too hard for something so easy and simple. His hand engulfs your shoulder and gently pushes until you’re spinning to face him. His fingers drag down the chain of the fake dog tags and pull you closer as you blink up at him with wide bambi eyes and pursed red lips.

He’s about to do something so dumb. He knows it.

“Say my name again?” He whispers as his other hand reaches up to cup your jaw.

A thumb brushes over your cheek so tender, so delicately, like you’re about to disintegrate right from under his touch if he holds you too fiercely. Steve’s hair is wild, like he’s run his hands through it a million times in the two minutes you were apart, his eyes equally so. Lost in a billion different thoughts and clouded with liquid courage infused lust.

Your cup lifts between your chests, your finger running over the rim as you tilt your head and blink longer than you need to, fluttering your lashes as you whisper:

“Steve.”

It’s fun to watch your boyfriend melt in front of you from something so simple. Fun to let the butterflies in your stomach take the reigns and lean into the feeling for once instead of letting your brain wonder if it’s all too much too fast. Fun to let your eyes track his swallow when you kiss his thumb that brushed over your lips as you said his name.

Your cup is still crushed between your chests that heave in equal anticipation as you continue to speak softly against the pad of his thumb, “That what you wanted baby? Just came in here to hear me say your name?”

“Like when you call me baby,” Steve mumbles, staring at your nose that scrunches when you smile.

“Yeah?”

It’s not his fault, not when you look at him like that. Like he’s the greatest thing to ever walk on this earth, like you’ve got little hearts that match his in your eyes. It can’t be his fault when he knows how you feel, or well, he thinks he knows, because you said it in your sleep a few weeks ago and he’s just not sure how to tell you he feels the same way. Not his fault when you’re in matching Halloween costumes like idiots in love, touching him all night, leaving lipstick on his cheek so everyone knows he’s taken. That he’s yours.

‘Cause christ, is he yours. He’s so yours.

The words are so stuck on his tongue, weighed down by too much tequila and slightly soured by the orange he chased it with. His movements are clumsy, his heart is beating so god damn fast-

Red punch splashes against a white top.

The word shit slips from your mouth, but a different words rings in his ears as the room gets a little hazy.

Bullshit.

He’s bullshit.

Love is bullshit.

Steve Harrington’s love is bullshit, and why did he ever think this could be different?

[ddodol]

past life — l.sh

drabble ⭑.ᐟ synopsis ⭑.ᐟ drunken nights where you can't help but overthink. word count ⭑.ᐟ 0.7k+

a/n; no smut today, just an advanced birthday drabble for sohee (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

they say that one's moles are where your past lover used to kiss you a lot. looking at sohee, you couldn't help but feel jealous.

were you part of his past life? did his past lover kiss his cheeks a lot? did sohee love being kissed? did they tell them how much they loved him whenever they kissed the same spots over and over again? these were the same thoughts that plagued your mind on drunken nights.

"i love you, sohee," you murmured, lips never leaving his right cheek as you went on to kiss all four of his moles on that side.

"y/n, your lipstick will rub on me." sohee's voice echoed in your ears, pouting childishly when he held your face with his hands. he giggles, staring at you fondly.

"something on your mind?"

you stared at him, head spinning from the alcohol you had earlier. you wanted to tell him but you didn't know where to start. yet, sohee was patient. he patted your head while he waited for you to say anything, a soft smile playing on his lips. you kept looking down at the mole under his left eye, your thumb subconsciously reaching out to rub it.

sohee leaned into your hand, purring softly. he closed his eyes for a brief second before opening them, staring back into your dazed eyes. he smiled, finding your drunken state adorable.

"let's get you back inside, hm? it's starting to feel chilly, isn't it?" sohee spoke softly, taking your hand in his to try and share some of his body warmth with you.

it was cold out, the winter breeze finally making its way to where you were, leaving you shivering even with thick clothes on. nonetheless, you refused to budge, a small pout on your lips as you stared at his face.

sohee held you close, puckering his lips and kissing your cheek the same way you do. you felt ticklish, squirming out of his arms but he held you in place. "sohee," you whined, prompting him to chuckle softly against your flushed skin.

"you do that all the time, why can't i?" he asked teasingly, pulling away to look at you.

"i don't do it to tease you. i wanted to... overwrite the marks your past lover made on you."

sohee stared at you in horror, thoughts clearly running through his brain. "d-did she tell you that? oh my god, is she still harassing you, baby?"

you giggled, shaking your head. he let out a huge sigh, shoulders relaxing at the sound of your laugh. "i meant from your past life," you spoke softly, tracing over his moles on the right side of his cheek. "i want to be the one that loves you the most in this life."

it was a childish sentiment but sohee doesn't laugh at you, instead, he smiled so widely that his cheeks had turned round. sohee leaned in to press a soft kiss on your lips, tasting the alcohol you drank by yourself earlier before he came to pick you up. he pulled away, a pretty smile adorning his features once more.

"you're the one standing in front of me, y/n. you're the one that makes me feel loved and you're the one that i love," sohee spoke breathily, putting emphasis on you. as cute as he thought it was, he didn't want you to keep worrying about these nonexistent lovers that he has no recollection of. more importantly, sohee wasn't one to believe in past lives anyway.

sohee traced your features with his thumb, "you know, babe," he trailed off, hand now travelling lower. "i do the same to you," he admitted, a shy smile on his face, "i kiss the moles on your body a lot whenever you're laying down in bed, or whenever we're intimate."

"so if your past lover did that a lot too, that makes me a bit jealous." you blinked, laughing at the serious expression on his face. his expression softened after a while, relieved to see you smiling. "if you're jealous, then so am i. but if you think of me the same way i think of only you, then that'll make me the happiest guy on earth, y/n."

you nod, nuzzling your face against the crook of his neck. "i want to be the one that makes you the happiest in this life, sohee," you mumbled against his skin.

"i know," he whispered, letting out a contented sigh, "you already do, love. you already do."

[bloodcasket]

“ BLOOD BOIL ”

PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW! (Death Island Jill), age gap relationship (not as specified as my previous fic), female described reader, dominant Jill Valentine, submissive reader, manhandling, rough intimacy, mentioned use of strap-on toy, words used to describe toy such as “dick” - etc, hair tugging (ive tried my best not to specify hair texture), pinch of degrading, concept of power-play dynamic, jealousy & argumentative situations, use of “gaslighting”. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!

WORD COUNT: 6.4K+

DESCRIPTION: Jill’s jealousy is like spitting fire, just from one simple glance of a man speaking to you. Perhaps she’ll use her words against you. Force you on your knees to make you understand.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sigh. Not my best work, but here we are my friends. I acknowledge this is lackluster, but I missed writing for Jill, and so I at least want to do something for her. My apologizes! I will edit later if there are any mistakes. And hopefully, my brain will be ready to write again.

You’re invested thoroughly, thumbs bending into the hardened wheel, and your pink tongue wiggling in place, caught between your two front teeth, canines gnawing down amongst the moist muscle, all whilst you remain burrowed into a blanket of concentration.

So close, and nearly there. The banner sign is spread wide just up ahead, the crimson finish line taunting you, and the wheels of the vehicle skidded against the road, engine humming as the speed heightens. The countdown is in white bolded numbers in the upper right corner of the screen, approaching the last few seconds, there’s only a few more feet left-

That is, until an all-too-familiar ringing soon began to vibrate beside you. Perhaps it’s been the fourth time that she’s answered a phone call today. You couldn’t exactly give an explicit or precise answer, you had lost count a few hours back. Nonetheless, it drew your attention away all the same, hands loosening against your wheel.

“Gotta answer this, just give me a sec.”

A gruff response is heard from your right, and you watch from your peripheral vision as the other woman sits up from the false car seat. She trudges along the neon star-patterned carpet, her calloused thumb tapping with haste against the brightened screen of her phone as she sauntered over to the exit door. Clearly leaving no chance of objection from your side, too quick on her feet to even spare you a mere glance.

The car seat rumbles from below, the vibrations resembling a mini earthquake just against the flesh of your thighs, signaling your loss. Your softened eyes peer upwards and flicker toward the games’ screen. “Last place” taunts you in a pixelated format, the letters spinning around in repetitive loops. You had lost, and now the game was finished. The taste of triumph now blemished and dulled. An abhorrent sink of your heart weighs down in your rib cage, strong enough to plummet into your stomach.

You’re almost beginning to question whether this was all worth it or not. The plans, the date, the broken promises she always manages to cultivate off the tip of her tongue. You hadn’t forgotten the way the older woman’s rough hands circled your waist earlier this morning, pulling you close. Velvety lips tracing your cheekbone; leaving chaste kisses in its wake.

All about you, today. That’s what the middle-aged brunette had ensured. But ruined plans were practically habitual when it came to such a relationship with a woman of her degree. Ensnared in her work. Drowned in stacks of reports and hour long meetings. Body battered and aching by the time she’s finished training. It’s always “saving civilization” and “eradicating bioterrorism” first— and, of course — you came second. The way she has been so adamant on abandoning you today makes that point even more crystal clear, with each individual call she’s making, more words exchanged about sudden work relations rather than her own girlfriend on a well planned date.

It takes all your willpower not to let it dilute your mirthful attitude. With a shrug of your purse’s strap over the arch of your shoulder, and the shimmying of your hips out of the vibrating car seat, you begin to stand. Make your way over to a different game across the expanse of the arcade room. The area is dimly lit, save for the intensely hued lights flashing from each individual game screen.

Whilst you stay immersed by mashing blue and red buttons inside, a grin over your youthful features, Jill Valentine is much on the contrary. She’s stood outside, a scowl cast over her pink lips as she speaks with her colleague about information she could, quite literally, give two shits less about. Her boot is kicked up against the wall of the building, an expression of irritation clouding over her already-hardened features, wrinkles of age twisted around the flesh of her waterline, smile lines curling downward against her frown.

“Tomorrow, alright? I’m busy today. No more calls, got it?”

She warns, swallowing down the hiss that nearly pounces out from between her lips. She wants to say something worse than that. Maybe even a good, ‘go fuck yourself and stop calling my number’ sounds more appealing, but she diverges from actually saying that venomous remark. Doesn’t stop her from muttering a few curses under her breath once she’s hung up the phone, though.

There’s two sides of the story here, but at the end of the day, both of you are unsatisfied with how today's events are being twisted. The older woman is aggravated that she's being interrupted from her time with you. The younger, you, becoming rather solemn over the fact that your girlfriend is constantly being taken away.

The short-haired brunette rubs a palm across the stretch of her forehead, long fingertips and wide knuckles bumping up against her pale skin, and she breathes in before exhaling a hefty amount of air.

“Alright”, she shrugs, saying this more to herself in reassurance than anything else, mentally preparing herself for that look of despair in your pretty eyes that she’ll soon be faced with. God, she felt terrible.

She shoved her phone back into the small pocket of her jeans and pivoted on the heel of her shoes, hand grasping for the door handle. She brought herself back inside the arcade. She almost smiles at the sight of you. All excited and giddy, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. ‘Like a kid in a candy shop’, she’s chuckling to herself, boots shuffling along the soft trim of the patterned carpet.

Almost.

But seeing another form pressed up against your side sours something deep inside her. Large hands guiding yours to certain buttons on the machine, hip brushing up against hip, boisterous laughs echoing in the air, all whilst the cartoonish music and spirited sound effects synthesize in the background.

The woman can feel the pumping organ within her chest palpitate, it’s warm and uneasy, a maelstrom of heat broiling at the pit of her stomach and seeping into the pores of her skin. Her flesh is set aflame, fists clenched, and her jaw tensing; her teeth grit inside her mouth, white canines squeaking and clashing against each other in a slow grind.

Jealousy is the easiest way to describe the scorching sensation. Seeing what’s rightfully hers — melt under the presence of another?

‘I left her alone for one goddamn second.’

Jill Valentine scowls as she feels her blood singe. ‘The hell does he think he is? What gives him the right to just fuckin’ walk right up and get into my girlfriends personal space?’

She tries to be bitter, tries to find a reason for her unreasonable irritation. Beaming brightly, the apples of your cheeks uplifted and shimmering, round eyes focused on some stupid fighting game that resembles Mortal Kombat. Jubilant and content, obsidian pupils dilated. This beautiful display, and yet, it wasn’t for her to indulge in, was it? It’s as if a hand had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.

Her ego has deflated, and like a dejected child, she glumly sits herself down close nearby, slumped in her seat as she watches you chatter with the male stranger.

Her phone vibrates. Another message. She ignores it purposefully, thoroughly imprisoned into the wreck of her own insecure psychology.

The evening has improved, for the most part. At least, it’s more appealing for your half rather than the middle-aged woman. The two of you eat at a nice restaurant just downtown, settled into your seats at a wooden table, a view of the lively city; just outside the wide casement windows beside you, a serenic display.

Not even a nice meal can save the grimacing brunette's mood. Not when you’re rambling on and on about the new combos and tricks that you’ve learned today, or about how much you’ve improved on a specific fighting style game. It only seems to tamper with Jill the more she’s listening to you.

You speak with tones of exultation and glee, fascinated and bewildered from the mere fact that something you once were intimidated by is now mastered by a smash of your finger against a button. So many clashing statements of ‘he taught me this,’ and ‘he taught me that’ had been eagerly pronounced amongst the opening of your lips and the click of your wet tongue.

Jill tightened her hold against her cutlery, her fork scraping along the edge of her porcelain plate. Watching your facialized jocundity does nothing but dampen the warmth she once envisioned for today.

“Yeah”, she hums in response, nodding her head, her discouragement concealed by a pleased facade, “I’m glad you had fun, baby.”

Veins bulge, and her body heats up. She can feel her blood grow scalding hot once more, that air of vexation and covetousness swirling around her head and mixing her brain into mush.

The car ride home is no different. Her skin has grown white around the bulbs of her knuckles, hands gripping firmly on the steering wheel. It’s a silent drive, unpleasant. Even more-so when the two of you return to the comfort of your shared apartment.

That’s when everything unwinds. Now away from the curious eyes of the public, finally concealed underneath the roof of your own home. You make an attempt to speak again, but are silenced immediately.

The middle-aged woman kicks the door closed with the heel of her boot, sending it slamming behind her, the lock on the knob jittering as it connects into place. You had acknowledged that perhaps she was upset, but to this length of such physical force? She was damn mere seconds from breaking the door. You really couldn’t read her as well as you always thought.

You had winced, crumbling into yourself at the sudden act of outrage. Shoulders hunched up so far that you felt them brush up against the outer shell of your earlobe. You cowered and trembled, bones threatening to just melt into jelly, and shrink away into a meek puddle of nothingness. An image of a mouse, so small and fragile, standing in the shadow of a warlike fiend.

“Can’t shut your goddamn mouth for one second, can you?”

The seasoned agent scowls, her jaw tightening up and falling stiff. When in a moment of anger and fury, rationality seems so far from the field of vision, and right now? The blue-eyed older woman was blinded. Jaded from her own sense of possession and childish jealousy.

“Do you think I really give a shit about how much fun you had with some stranger? I leave you for one second-”, her pink lips are pruned and falling agape as she spits out words of poison, eyes widened and nearly bulging from her sockets, “one fucking second, and you’re letting some dickhead breathe down your ass? His hands all on you?”

Evocation crosses her, a vision of the man in the arcade. His eyes descend upon you just behind the gleam of his rimmed glasses, lanky fingers drawing against your wrist. Staying firm and still, his body just adjacent from yours. Both faces painted in frames of magenta and indigo, pearly whites showcased from behind the curve of his thin lips; admiring every crevice and curve of your physique and womanly structure.

That’s all that it took for the older woman. She gave it time to marinate in her past memory, but the inner ache had failed to dissipate. Her blood boiled.

“You-”

An immediate expression of confusion unveils, drawing over your quivering features. You’re intimidated by her sudden hostility, the tailbone of your spine colliding against the marble surface of the kitchen counter in a cowardice attempt to escape the situation.

“You looked fine earlier- you said it was alright- I just-”, you’re trembling over each word, you’re beginning to ramble, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset? I didn’t mean to do anything wrong- me and him were just playing together, it wasn’t anything like that. I didn’t even know him, Jill.”

The brunette's lips curl into a cruel, and nearly incredulous smirk at your response, her head shaking whilst she draws her hand out in a physical gesture of her own exasperation. Her face, creased with age and experience, now flushed crimson. She looked crazed.

“Oh, save the bullshit. You liked it, I saw you. Talked about how much fun you had with him all day. Should have just gone home with him.”

“You should have told me!-”

You pipe out, voice drawn out squeaky and timid, your words drowned by the booming shouts she’s hissing out, seething as she dares not face away from you. Determined to win this argument.

Having the audacity to convince you that you’re in the wrong here. As if your innocence and sweetness toward passersby meant that you were unfaithful rather than enjoying simple pleasures. Your one interaction with a man deemed nothing but cheating, and all because he versed you in a mortal kombat game.

“Oh, what? I’m supposed to tell you not to go out and fucking flirt with other people?”

Jill has never acted like this before. Had always bathed you, her beautiful and prized girl, in dollops of sugary sweet words and reassurances. She’s the older woman here. Shouldn’t she be more understanding? But so stuck in her old-fashioned ways, brain clearly riddled with arrogance and self-righteousness.

An argument had never been formulated, emotions never stirred. Maybe a few huffed words were exchanged over which groceries to buy, or what dinner to eat — but such verbal abuse was nonexistent. Had never happened in your “tranquil” relationship. Except for now, that is.

So much effort, all for the middle-aged woman’s tender facade to be burnt down into smithereens, and her jealousy is like spitting fire, making your eyes well up with liquified warmth. You harshly remind her of her mistakes prior. Your planned date with her, the arrangements and proposed ideas. All for her to be entwined in her cellular device, making calls and sending out texts for the whole day.

“What about earlier? When you ignored me, and were glued to your phone all day? Clearly your job is more important than me.”

The waterworks threaten to spill over the dam that is rightfully your rounded eyes, glistening tears mounting in transparent pearls along your rows of onyx shaded lashes. Something in Jill’s face twists at the sight, her stomach churning. Realization, but it’s blurred away quickly.

“You couldn’t care less about me, could you? You promised me— promised you’d spoil me today and give me your undivided attention. I guess I don’t matter?”

You swallow mid-sentence, heart thumping against the structure of your rib cage. Each word of yours is so weak and broken, resembling a sickly and puny hiccup. Your trembling palms are grasping for the counter behind you, nails clutching for the cool surface. You were tired of the accusations. Exhausted from being denied her love and affection, and instead being faced with taunts and insults. You deserved better than this.

“I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me. Because he gave me a better time? Because he didn’t toss me aside for hours and avoid me? Break promises?”

The way you bit back was unexpected, but the moment you let it sink it, regret soon molds over.

The air surrounding the two of you is thick and heated, so sweltering that it threatens the capability of breathing. Your words had struck Jill deeply, aiding the maddened concoction that bubbles in the blackened abyss of her belly. The acidity rising up the tube of her esophagus, bile trapped inside her throat.

“I’m done with this conversation, Jill. You’re just- you’re not being fair. I’m not going to argue with you over this.”

And when you turn to face away from her? Daring to flee, even in such a time like this — strict actions soon come after the exchange of harsh words.

Jill crosses the room, a large hand stretching to reach you. Her calloused hand circles around your wrist, clutching you firmly and with much purpose, thumb dipping toward the head of your ulna bone. She pulls you in a sharp and precise yank, not caring about how she manhandles you, even after the exaggerated yelp that is pushed from your plush lips.

The rough pads of her fingertips dip into your smooth flesh, her blunt and trimmed nails digging crescents along the velvety surface, forcing you to succumb to her forced authority. So many years she’s spent using those fingers to wield weapons and train in combat, now abusing their force of power by bending you into a cage of submission.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

Another tug, and your shoulder blades collide against her chest, your figure taut and almost held in a paralyzed state, not daring to move an inch. Nor a bare centimeter. Your face grows pallid, knees wobbling beneath you and nearly failing to stay balanced.

“Don’t ever walk away from me when I’m talking. Do you understand me? You listen when I speak to you.”

Moist heat fans over the stretch of your nape, and your neck hairs curl up in response. Goosebumps prickling up along your arms and legs the moment you are subjected to the humidity of her breath blowing out along your ear, her robust anatomy pressing rigidly against your own limbs.

You can hear the clack of spit draw atop her gums, echoing along the press of her tongue whenever she’s vocal. Her voice is gruff and deep, yet feminine and rich all the same. Drawing out sentences of dominance and command that make strange waves of heat lap at your tummy, pooling in the center of your cotton panties. You mistake the sudden dampness for a burst of anxiety.

“Do you have any idea…”

She pauses, as if holding back from lashing out on you entirely. She’s being cruel. Scowling as she stands behind you. Her breasts flush along your back, and her firm hands trapping you down. Making sure you don’t run away this time. Not that you’d even contemplate it.

“Do you have any idea how I felt? How I feel? The shit I do? I’ve got a job. Risk my life every fucking day. I’ve been in this mess probably longer than you’ve been alive, you know that?”

A gulp resounds from your mouth, tastebuds along your wriggling pink muscle now wrought with parchedness, lacking any formulation of moisture. Valentine continues after taking a sharp breath, each syllable she pronounces is rough and gnarled.

“So I can buy you stupid shit, like a ticket to the arcade. So you can sit around, and let some shithead drool over your head. And now you’re blaming me? Because I had some calls to make? Because you couldn’t be patient for a split second?”

Her calloused digits release the grasp along your wrist, now shooting upward to thread through the roots of your hair, curling into the locks and giving a firm tug. Controlling the position of power so tortuously. She pulls so hard that a squeak is forcedly erupted from you, stars swimming in your vision.

“And the funniest thing?”, she grimaced, still scowling beside your ear, “you haven’t apologized once. You didn’t even try.”

She yanks along the strands as if your tresses are some sort of personalized leash, nails scraping along the slope of your scalp, bringing you so far back that the arch of your throat is craned downward. The crown of your head pushed into her pronounced collarbone, doe-like eyes peering up at the older woman.

“Do I have to teach you how to apologize now, too? Have no goddamn manners for your age. Always want everything.”

Warmth floods your tummy once more. Something runs slick along the square of your gusset. You feel it whenever you wobble and shake, the sensation of stickiness webs elongated strands across the bridge of your puffy labia. It’s not your self-proclaimed anxiety. It’s your undeniable arousal.

“I’m sorry”, you sputter out a hoarse response, your supposed apology that the older woman demanded. She doesn’t seem to let up though, but of course she wouldn’t. Jill Valentine has never been the type to easily succumb — or sugarcoat, either. And with the current events? Consider her praise and sugary sweetness gone for tonight.

“You’re sorry”, she grunts out mockingly, condemnation swirling in the depths of her obsidian pupils. “I’m sure you are.”

With your hair still firmly gripped between her fingers, she presses her hips into the softness of your rear, propelling you forward with a quick shove.

You stumble on your clumsy feet the moment she ushers you into the kitchen, steps unpurposefully misplaced, and soon enough — your right cheek is smushed along the crisp white marble countertop. You find yourself bent over the kitchen’s island, memories of dicing vegetables along cutting boards, and preparing supper for your lover have been eradicated. Replaced by an image of sheer wanton destruction.

It’s filthy the way you writhe along the hardened surface, thighs spread apart and separated by Jill’s intruding knee. She wedges her toned leg in-between, the warmth of her kneecap placing cruel pressure against that specific swell that hides inside your undergarments. You have to bite back the urge to grind your hips downward; the temptation is so intense that it makes your brain fog.

“If you’re so sorry, you know what you did wrong, I take it?”

Both of her slim and scarred hands abandon your hair and slide down the bend of your spine, digits rolling up your pretty little skirt in each palm, crumpling the cotton material into an irrelevant lump of creased fabric. Jill shrugs the hem of the garment to the top of your hips until it’s shriveled and stiff, baring your back-end to her hungry eyes.

“So”, she begins to speak, the trace of her hands along the suppleness of your right cheek was nice and simple, her voice devoid of any real emotion, “tell me

what you’re apologizing for.” She cups the soft flesh, her fingers dipping into your ass as if it were dough. “And what you did wrong.”

What you did wrong? The hilarity of it all was tremendous.

You can’t find the words to speak, no reasonable way to reply to her command. You nearly huff from the audacity, but your words grow choked up, and your voice is drained due to the spreading ache that suddenly engulfs your rear. She’s spanked you, quick and sharp, the edge of her calloused palm dragging against your soft flesh like a whip, the texture like dry sandpaper as it strikes you.

A cry bursts from your lips, a wail so pitiable that Jill can’t help but chuckle with dastardly amusement. Any other moment, and she would have soothingly brushed her fingers against the crimson welt that shapes into your ass, offering cherishing caresses in replacement of a verbal apology. But In her current belief? Your lack of response challenges her patience, nearly ready to land a firm hit against your flesh for a second time.

“I’m- I’m sorry for talking back-”, words tumble out in a clustered mess, your speech impaired due to the throbbing ache that courses up along your hip. You grit your teeth once the same treatment spreads to the surface of your adjacent hip, Jill’s hardened blows lashing along the unmarred skin, leaving no patch of muscle unattended.

“And for speaking to him-”, three spanks she’s planted, and yet you’re already a quivering mess, shrunken and beaten against the solid countertop. There’s no doubt in hell that she’s not being easy with you, and the experience behind her proficient hits proves that.

“Jesus Christ.”

The older woman mumbles out, and the way she hisses under her breath is akin to something of judgment and surprise. A blunt nail curls into the hem of your underwear, tugs it, and stretches the flimsy and sheer fabric upward.

It’s only then that you realize what she’s scrutinizing. Especially after you feel the drag of her thumb dipping toward your clit, rubbing slow circles against the cloth in a devilish tease. Your teeth clash and bump against each other, a pathetic whine almost escaping, and all due to the older woman’s perverted touch.

“Your panties,” a boisterous laugh bellows from the pits of her stomach, and you flush with embarrassment as you understand what she means, “you’re soaked.”

Lo and behold, you indeed were “soaked” (as Jill had quoted). A patch of wetness soils the gusset of your undergarments, arousal seeping past the threads of fabric, darkening the material that’s clung against the swell of your cunt. To make matters worse, you’re bare and vulnerable, right in front of the older woman’s eyes. She won’t live that down, you just know it. Not until the day you die.

A grunt resounds in the kitchen, her form separating from yours to stand upright, lengthy fingers lazily threading over the zipper of her pants, tugging it downward, hearing the sound rip its way loose.

“So goddamn mad at you right now”, she mumbles under her breath, glowering at your crumpled figure. “Can’t fucking believe you. First, you’re arguing with me — and now this?”, the scowling brunette's fingers finish plopping open the last few buttons of the jeans she’s wearing, navy blue boxers snug underneath. Her pants slither down the hardened muscle of her thighs, undressing herself with impatience.

“Get to the room. Now”, she demands of you, and with that mere order, nothing else needs to be said. There’s no need to delay the inevitable. “And take off that skirt, while you’re at it.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, each thrum of the frenzied and wild organ so heavy that you feel the weight of it sink into the depths of your body. With every singular step, you risk stumbling against the wooden floor; your shoes barely touch the ground as you practically race and scramble just to reach the bedroom door. Like a delicate flower, you are — carried by the gusts of wind that are Jill's oppressive instructions.

With clammy palms and trembling fingers, you grasp for the steel knob and swing the door open, wasting no second to wobble forward and seat yourself off the edge of the mattress.

Metal collides and clinks together in warning, telling you she’s coming. Undoing her shirt, and wrapping the belt around her hand. The processed leather screeching and creasing underneath the grind of the older woman’s digits. She follows your shadow in leisurely strides, turning the corner with measured composure and a solemn expression. As if she hadn’t already planned on how she was going to fuck you dumb.

It only makes the thickened heat between your thighs dribble further into its cotton bed, as each crisp and rough stomp of her boots along the solid floorboards makes you warm with want. Eager. Anticipating. Thighs grind together once you manage to slither your heels off, toes curling into the carpeted material below the bed.

And when you finish unzipping the top of your skirt, allowing the fabric to lower from the dip of your waist, and pool around your ankles — a figure of dominance and control stands in the doorway, the hall devoured by darkness.

Over the course of time, love and intimacy came in their own, individual ways. Between the two of you, that is.

The middle-aged woman found herself to be consistently busy, her nose always pointed and buried into the stack of reports she needed to finish, wrists tight and strained from how long she’s spent scrawling notes amongst the white sheets of torment.

Sex wasn’t as common. Lovemaking being quick and rushed, soft words spoken, honeyed kisses exchanged between bated breaths and velvety lips that speak words of encouragement and devotion.

Nights spent wasting away by the creaking wood of Jill’s office desk. The one she has propped away in some messy room of the apartment. Cork-boards filled with maps and pinpoints, a few pictures of you propped up in irrelevant areas. Atop the cabinet — framed photos of your beaming face furnished along the white walls. She’s got you everywhere, along with her crumpled balls of paper that are strewn around the floor, obvious that she grew too tired or lazy to throw them into the trash bin. She loves you so much that it’s sick.

The brunette finds herself arching her spine into the back of her rolling chair, bony fingers threading through your tresses, curling into it as she grunts. Her head is thrown back as she huffs out sequences of sultry content, your tongue laving bundles of spit over her clit, dipping near her entrance and tasting the drip of her cunt, humming as you feel the press of her fingertips along your skull.

Another night you’ve searched for her, desperate and deprived and begging on your knees. Another night she orgasms, groaning and gasping as she spasms against the lap of your tongue. It repeats like a record, over and over. Until the next day she goes back to work, and refuses to make time with you all over again.

It’s different today. Where everything tumbled down the rabbit-hole.

The sight of her now is so rare, you’re sure you’ll never forget such an image. Obsidian shaded silicone protruding from her pelvis, tilting toward the ceiling as if it’s some striking weapon, foreseeing a prophecy of impending doom. A toy she purchased months before, buried in the past. Clearly forgotten about, and never used — unfortunately kept tucked away into the bottom of her wardrobe. Sleek and shiny. Brand new, and ready for a good breaking in. Tonight’s the night, you suppose.

Her almond shaped eyes bore into yours, rich-colored cerulean swirling around dilated pupils, speaking words without volume. She’s as enchanting as she is daunting, threads of syrupy strands curling down the stretch of her sharpened cheekbones, hair falling as she keeps her gaze on you. The portrait is so beautiful and provocative, you’d never wish this memory to diminish.

“Open your mouth.”

Jill drawls, low and raspy as she waits with her palms laying flat on her hips. Glancing down at your feeble figure which kneels before her, staying balanced whilst you clamp your hands against her thighs.

Poor thing you are, so cautious and wary when your mouth opens, your jawbone taut and rigid, feeling like weighted stone as your quivering lips press forward.

You’re new to this, inexperienced to the bulbous head that is welcomed into the accommodated warmth of your mouth. The plastic has no taste, just the scent of its artificial realness drifting past your nose hairs and swirling around the dizziness in your head.

You clamp tighter around her thighs, swallowing waterfalls of anxious drool down the well of your esophagus, your timid tongue curling up and hiding beside the security of your tonsils. Too nervous to thoroughly take her in.

Like an infant against a pacifier, suckling the tip further into the wetness of your gums, keeping your eyes closed all-the-while the rubber like-plastic protruded from your right cheek. Terrified to be face-to-face with her snarling and haughty judgment.

“You think that’s good enough?”

A calloused hand soothes across the hairs of your nape, laid to curl and rest there as she draws you near. A reminder that she’s in charge. The hardened press of her thumb into your neck confirms that.

“Stick your fucking tongue out. Blow me like a big girl, yeah?”, her tongue runs over her enamel and she sucks, swallowing dryly against the glistening whites of her teeth. “Do it how I want”, and so you try.

With you kneeling, bare and naked, tits hanging below you, and your cunt squeezing around thin air between your legs — you comply. Your cheeks hollow out as you take half of the length into your waiting mouth, plopping the heavy silicone amongst your writhing tongue, allowing the pink muscle to curl around the mushroom-shaped tip. With the rough and warm hand guiding you, you bob your head to a steady rhythm, spit and gargles conjoined.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just keep quiet and put that pretty mouth to good use.”

Slick draws cold over the flesh of your lower lips, arousal potent and thick like molasses as it drips between each pulsating fold. A piteous mewl reverberated in your throat, sweet eyes flitting up to catch Jill’s gaze, and she swears to the heavens she could come from that innocent look alone. The salty tears brimming along the corners of your waterline, mere seconds from spilling — the flush of your skin. You take her so well, you always do. It almost makes her want to croon, and to apologize for being so filled with contempt.

That’s not to be easily given, though. Especially not with the way you gag when the rubberized cock dips past your tonsils and tickles along the slimy walls of your throat, reflexes causing you to choke. You're quick to gain composure, though, too cock-drunk to allow the show to end. You’re back to bobbing your head, nails digging crescents into Jill’s thighs as you clamp tighter and tighter.

You want this. It’s a fact that aids in inflating Jill’s ego.

The bedroom mirror captures the image just across from the both of you, and the older nearly groans at the vision. Watching your pebbled nipples fatten and swell within the reflective glass, breasts swinging as you brought your mouth down with every push. Imitating the way Jill ruts her hips carelessly into your mouth, matching your rhythm. Jesus, it was a sight.

A hand fists into your hair, halting your desperate movements and dragging your mouth off her spit-lathered dick. A sheen of drool pearls along the plastic veins that wrap around the black shaft, glimmering and glistening under the wax and wane of the yellowed lighting. Leaving with an obnoxious pop — you gasp for breath after the separation, spittle soiling your pretty face and coating your lower chin in patches of saliva — all in which had gushed out when you were too busy blowing Jill’s length.

“That’s enough”, the brunette says, respiring heavily, “lay on the bed.” The harness strapped to her hips rattles, the toned muscles in her abdomen rippling with every sharp inhale she takes. She directs you with the point of her chin. “On your back, legs up.”

Spots of black speckle your vision for a second, your sight blurred from the liquid pooling in your eyes, and pearls of sweat lining in columns within the pores of your forehead. It’s hard to almost process what she says, but you understand after a moment of catching your breath, your palms separating from her thighs.

Your knees wobble once you physically begin to stand on your feet, and you internally chastise yourself for not being quicker and more precise. You totter over a couple of feet, crawling atop the silky sheets without much complaint, and she’s in your peripheral, right behind you.

The comfort of the bedsheets surround you, cushioning your form and laying you like a princess amongst her throne. It’s necessary, of course, due to the older woman’s authoritative press of her hand into your chest, sinking your naked body further into the comforter. Might as well get snug before your brain is fried from sex, which leaves you as nothing but a pile of sizzled, meaty mush.

“Atta girl”, Jill coos with a salacious glint in her eyes, her hips meeting the backs of your thighs the moment she grasps onto your legs and keeps you held upright.

She slants her head to the side, brunette strands falling astray as she examines your pussy, calloused hands kept firm around your ankles. A few seconds of examination, and then a shit-eating grin becomes pronounced over her features. Thoroughly complacent after acknowledging that you’ve grown so wet that she doesn’t even need to prepare you.

“Don’t even move an inch”, she warns, “Just like that.” A hand slithering down from your ankle to her pelvis, taking a moment to stroke her silicone dick for a moment, a palm wrapped firmly around the thickened shaft; making haste to rub the head up against your cunt. She lubricates herself in your juices by rocking her hips to a steady rhythm, the toy dipping back and forth beneath the cushion of your lower lips, watching the moisture disperse. A generous coat of your sloppy spit and arousal scillinates over the deeply shaded rubber.

A whine escapes your lips, head thrown back as she teasingly stimulates your clit just from the gentle prod of her cock slotted up against your pussy, and you sob, hands clamping down on the sheets with desperation. The friction is delicious and brutish equally.

But nothing in this universe compares to the euphoria of when she fills you. Guiding the toy with one hand, watching the girth fill you with ease. It’s a tight fit, your cunt swallows her up within mere seconds, squelching cervix walls wrapping around her length. As if never wanting to let go, mirthful at her forceful entry. You’ve never felt so stretched before, it’s almost indescribable how big Jill Valentine is.

“Jill….”, you cry, but it’s with bliss rather than pain. The sound of your high-pitched squeaks are enough to make her rasp out a moan, scarred hands pressing your legs up to your chest, basking in the submissive portrait you’ve painted. The brunette feels her own heat build up beneath the restriction of her strap harness, salivating whilst she watches your adorable little bud grow erect. No longer thinking about the guy from earlier, now, are you? Neither is she.

The older woman drives her dick further within you, in and out, in and out — all with a precise rock of her hips, her muscles relaxed. Beads of salty sweat slip down in rivulets, the lines of liquid traveling past her neck and in between the supple dip of her cleavage. Consumed by the ample swell of her tits hiding beneath the gray fabric of her sports bra.

She fucks you until you orgasm too many times to count — and what else is there to do? With you, so weak and whorish beneath her, always bent from her instruction. She’ll continue until you’ve learned your place.

[widowbitessting]

Flower Petals on the Floor

Word Count: 996

Rating: General with fluffy scenes. SFW!

Summary: All you wanted to do was surprise the Trio! at work. But the stupid security guard is set on ruining your plan.

Dom!Natasha Romanoff, Dom!Wanda Maximoff, Dom!Carol Danvers x Sub!Reader

(I swear I'm not an idiot. I got asks and I lost them. Can I find them? No. I remember it being along the lines of 'a security guard not letting Baby past' so nonnie I am sorry for losing your ask. Just label me stupid I guess. Again, it’s not the best thing I’ve written but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless)

xoxo

It was supposed to be a surprise. 

A midweek visit as your classes were called off. 

You’d even bought a small bouquet of flowers for each of them. 

But would the stupid security man let you in?

No.

No matter what you tried to say, he just wasn’t having it. 

“Listen! They know who I am, just let me up!” 

“No. Your name isn’t on the list, meaning you can’t come in.” He tells you. “Now go and bug someone else.” 

You glower at him, officially irriated. 

“I am not bugging - how many times do I have to tell you? I’m their girlfriend!” 

“That’s what they all say. I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

“Listen boogers for brains, I don’t know who pissed in your coffee this morning; but I’m here to surprise my girlfriends ‘cos they’re stressed out of their minds and you’re sort of ruining it!”

“Heard it all before, love. Now beat it.” 

He shoves you and you stumble back. 

“Hey!” 

“Get out of my building, doll face.” 

“Who are you -” 

“I will personally remove you if I have to. Leave.” 

He tries to shove you again but you manage to scurry back.

You glare at him.

“Fine. Fine. I’m going. There’s no need to push me. God.” 

You stomp out of the reception area and back out the pristine glass doors, where the horrible weather is waiting to soak you. 

“Fucking stupid…butt face.” 

You stop as the door swings shut behind you and pull your phone out of your pocket; texting the Trio.

Y/N (13:14): Hypothetically…if I was trying to get into your building…what would I need to do?

Carol (13:14): Well hello to you too, cutie. 

Carol (13:14):  We’d have to put you on the OK list; get you a Visitor ID sorted and so on. Why?

You groan. 

Why is nothing ever simple?

Y/N (13:15): No reason

Wanda (13:15): Are you downstairs, baby?

Y/N (13:16): Maybe…? I’m outside…

Natasha (13:15): Go back inside love, we’ll be there in a minute❤️

You quickly do as you’re told, rushing back into the warmth of the building. 

Only, you’re met with the same security man as before. 

He’s glaring at you. 

“Listen love, if you wanted to be handcuffed this badly, all you had to do was ask.” 

“What?”

He throws your flowers to the ground and spins you around so fast that you don’t even have the time to make a sarcastic comment. 

The cold bite of his handcuffs snag at your skin. 

“Listen -” 

“No, you listen to me, I’ve had enough of your shit. You’re in detainment until the cops get here, is that understood?”

“Cops? But wait -” 

“Save it.” 

This has to be the most mortifying ordeal of your life. 

Everyone in the open reception space is looking at you and you really don’t know what to do. 

And to make it worse, your left shoe keeps squeaking.

“I can’t - I can’t go to jail!” 

“Should have thought of that sooner, love.” 

He moves you so easily that you make the mental note to start going to the gym. 

Dragging you towards the turnstiles. 

He scans his ID and pushes you through.

Taking you towards the back door when - 

“Greg, any reason you’ve got our girlfriend by the wrists?” Natasha’s voice has you both stopping and you just want to sob in relief. 

She glares at the man holding you, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh thank god.” You mutter. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of our job.” Carol adds. 

“Told you I wasn’t lying.” You glare back at him.

“I was just -” 

“Being disrespectful to someone who we care about.” Natasha buts in. “Forget being professional, you were being downright rude. Uncuff her. Right now.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry ma’am.” 

He lets you go and you quickly move to stand closer to your women; Wanda’s hand quickly finds your waist and holds you close. 

“Do you do this to all the visitors that aren’t on the all clear?” Carol asks, putting her hands into her pant pockets. 

If things hadn’t been so disastrous, you’d have found it incredibly hot. 

…Maybe you still do…

“I - no. I…” 

“Go on. We’re waiting.” Wanda snaps. 

“I was told to make sure no one got in if they’re not on the all clear.”

“And how do we ensure people do get on the all clear?” Natasha asks, as if she’s speaking to a 1 year old, 

“Having one of the reception team buzz up to Kate…”

“And did you do that?” Wanda asks.

“No…”

“Why not?” Says Carol. 

“…she…she was testing my patience!”

“And the reasonable thing to do was handcuff our girlfriend and cause a scene?”

“I was handling it accordingly.”

“He hurt my arms.” You pout and nestle into Wanda, hiding your smile. 

“I think we should have a little chat, Greg, don’t you think? Bring in the Head of Security too?”

The man visibly pales.

“I think that sounds wonderful.” Natasha adds on. “You’re dismissed. We’ll contact you later when we’re ready.” 

And just like that, he’s gone. Practically vanishing in thin air.

“Are you okay, my love?” Carol asks, looking you over and inspecting your wrists. She clocks the red marks where the handcuffs were too tight. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” Natasha growls, pulling you in for a tight hug. “My poor girl.”

“We’re gonna put you on the clearance list and get you an ID sorted.” Wanda says. “So you can come straight up next time.”

“Okay.” You pout. “I brought you flowers but he…” You point to the flowers littered on the floor. 

“Aw, baby girl.” Natasha sighs. “We appreciate the gesture. C’mon. Wanna come see where we work?”

You nod. 

Natasha takes your hand and leads you to the elevators. 

They open almost as soon as you get there and the four of you walk inside. 

Carol presses their floor and you grin up at her. 

Until she asks:

“Baby girl. Where’s your coat?”

[fairlyang]

i neeeeeed more loser!katie my mind is actually rotting and it’s because of her

I loved loser!katie so bad and wanted to write a part 2 since I wrote it in december- leave it to me to dust off an old ass draft😭😭 im so sorry for the long ass wait anon

Loser II 🏹

w/c: 2.5K

pairing: loser!katebishop x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. masturbation, fingering, she is knocked tf out, or so you think, she wakes up, secretly watches you, voyeurism, such a perv, getting caught, 2 pervs (freaky ass frogs!!), mutual masturbation, finger sucking

part one | kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

what indeed did change were your thoughts towards kate. Not in a bad way at all but hearing her moan out your name while doing something so intimate just had your brain thinking a bit.

you had always thought she was an incredibly attractive girl but for her to think of you that way seemed almost insane, out of nowhere.

until you started remembering her attitude towards you lately and it clicked.

she liked you too.

you never thought what started off to be a small little crush on your roommate, now close friend, would be reciprocated back.

so of course you had to calm your growing nerves after what you just heard by masturbating as well.

surely it solves all problems.

you had already taken your dress off and put on one of her shirts she once let you borrow that you never returned and she never asked for back.

she was too nice to ask you to give it back but also she’d give you anything you wanted with the snap of a finger.

she secretly loved how pretty and cute you looked when wearing it but too bad she got shitfaced and had a body shaking orgasm that she immediately fell asleep and won’t get to see it.

since she was luckily, a heavy sleeper, you also figured why the fuck not.

so as you spread your legs wide and ran a hand up and down your thighs, the back of your mind couldn’t help but wish, pray, that she would wake up just to see you masturbating in her shirt.

she’d probably lose her shit and there was nothing more you’d love to witness than that but those loud snores that left her mouth were a dead giveaway that that would not be happening.

nonetheless you figured you’d make yourself cum because just the thought of how she was pleasing herself was getting to be too much for you already.

you still couldn’t believe she reciprocated those same feelings back and were in complete shock but the alcohol in your system was working overtime to forget about feelings for a second.

you began by rubbing your clit in slow circles over your panties but to tease yourself a bit. you quickly felt your arousal seep through the light fabric and you realized how it took nearly nothing for your body to respond.

you then decided to just go for it over waiting. and who had time to edge?

with your left hand you move your panties to the side then with your right hand going down to feel your wetness with just one finger.

it only took one dip for your finger to be soaked so you just move two fingers to your entrance then slide them in with ease.

you bit your lip, grabbing your body pillow and pulling it as close as possible to your body as you slowly moved your fingers out then back in. You spread your legs wide and start to fuck yourself but being mindful of how loud your wetness could be.

even though Kate is dead asleep right now, you didn’t want to take any chances.

though deep down you really wanted her to wake up.

so you took your chances anyway and started off by letting out quiet moans at first to see if her sleeping body would react.

she didn’t.

you turned your head to the right to see her sleeping peacefully and your eyes stayed on her bulging biceps that were tightly hugging her body pillow.

your eyes rolled back as you fucked yourself faster just imagining her on top of you, arms above your head. there was just something about her muscles that made your head spin.

especially when you had the luck of her asking you to go to one of her archery tournaments and you were so out of it just paying attention to those damn arms over her skills.

it was the one and only day she didn’t wear her purple archery jacket and instead had on a black tank top because she had gotten there late (as per usual).

you could tell she was just working out only based off how absolutely sweaty she looked. Her baby hairs were glued her to forehead and her ponytail low over her usual one that would be in the middle.

the tank top fit her so good that once she started you weren’t even looking at her shooting the damn arrow, just focused on how the bra she was wearing made her tits pop and how chiseled her collarbones were as she shot it.

she looked so fucking good that day you may as well have been drooling all over the floor with your friends teasing you about it when she made a bullseye that you didn’t even get to see.

since then you’ve had somewhat of a crush on her, always trying to refrain from flirting because you didn’t want to make her uncomfortable but after what you witnessed, things for sure would change for the good.

now you were the one that was so desperate and pretending she was the one finger fucking you. you started going deeper, imagining that’s how she would do it.

you didn’t know how the hell you were going to bring this up in the morning without sounding like an absolute pervert and maybe if she caught you now it’d be easier to explain.

but her loud snores being the only sound in the room crushed those dreams.

you looked at her again, staring at her lips and wondering how they’d feel on yours. looking down at her hands and subconsciously letting out a moan, she only shifted.

then she let out a muffled moan and you stopped. your eyes grew wide and you felt like dying of embarrassment.

but that was it. she didn’t move.

that’s when she stirred in her sleep and you watched carefully, for any signs that she'd wake up. luckily that was all she did and you were in the clear, for now.

you started pumping your fingers inside you again and that’s when kate’s brain decided to form an all too realistic wet dream. you were moaning her name.

these usually took over her dreams at night but this one felt so real. her consciousness waring off and she heard actual moans in her eyes.

she kept her eyes closed and laid still as she listened carefully. she could hear you trying to be quiet, something she was used to but this was different.

that’s when she heard the noises coming between your legs and it sent a shiver down her spine. she felt her heartbeat in her chest and she was so conflicted on what to do.

there was no fucking way she was gonna be able to sleep knowing you’re masturbating with her in the room and no way she was going to pass up this opportunity to hear you.

maybe it was the slight voyeur in her or maybe it was just her taking advantage of the fact that this is her only chance but she had hear you.

meanwhile you closed your eyes and turned your head to the left as you bucked your hips up while fucking yourself. you gripped your pillow, trying hard to keep quiet but the thought of kate being between your thighs was so strong and you were losing control.

you let more moans slip from your lips, some just of pleasure and others of her name because you felt like being bold.

as soon as kate heard her name leave your mouth she nearly screamed in happiness. but she kept her mouth shut because otherwise her cover would be blown and she had to hear everything.

she decided to open her left eye slowly because she was greedy and wanted to see you. the light of the bedside table lamp was all the light in the room and after her eye got use to it, she was able to see you.

gripping a pillow for dear life while you finger yourself but her eye focused on something else first.

you were wearing her shirt.

you were wearing her shirt.

her other eye shot open and she bit her lip to keep quiet because she was on the verge of absolutely losing it.

your eyes were closed shut and you were letting out occasional moans without a doubt thinking she’s still fast asleep.

once kate heard her name again, her right hand snaked down to her boxers, slipping it inside where she was met with a pool of arousal. not at all surprising since she came hard and now with this sight, of course she was going to be even more soaked.

she quickly slipped two fingers inside and tried to match your pace just from how your body was moving with the pillow. she grabbed onto her pillow as tightly as she could, mostly praying it’ll cover the noises of her wet pussy because she didn’t want to risk you hearing her.

luckily the pillow did cover the noises that came from her end of the room but not much from yours — which was good news in her books.

she was still clearly able to hear how wet you were and it was making her lose her mind. not only was this somehow not a fucking dream and you really were moaning her name but she was watching you fuck yourself while doing it.

she’s not sure what she did to deserve this, her wettest dreams coming true but lord was she grateful for it.

maybe you making out with that girl meant absolutely nothing.

maybe there was a chance that you liked her back.

“fuck katie- just like that-“ you whimpered and bit your lip afterwards but the damage was already done.

kate was struggling to keep quiet so bad, her body began to shake and her cheeks were getting red. she was struggling so badly, she accidentally let out a moan and it was game over.

what little dignity she had was gone and you’d probably ask to be switched roommates. her head was going a hundred miles an hour through all the possible outcomes that would occur that she didn’t even realize that you did not stop.

as soon as you heard her, your eyes shot open and you turned to look at her. she was spacing off, thinking it was the end of the world but was technically still looking at you so you were looking at her pretty face while she was in an identical position as you.

you didn’t stop fingering yourself and just looked over at kate, who had her own hands down her boxers. what a fucking view.

you cleared your throat and she snapped out of it, now looking into your eyes with anxiety filling her body. you have her a small smile and joked, “seems we both have confessions to make huh?”

kate looked at you in shock, not believing where you were going with this because it still felt like she was in a wet dream.

“that doesn’t mean we’ve gotta stop though…” you murmur and pump your fingers deeper, “i’m almost close.”

“fuck- is this really happening?” kate mutters, mostly to herself but you just chuckle and nod.

“mhm. i mean we both did drink a bit but no way we’d be having the same dream right?” you tease and she nods.

“well i uh.. um- fuck this is hard.” she stammered and gulps.

“how about we focus on one thing then worry about the rest after?” you suggest and she quickly nods.

you grab your pillow and set it aside because there was no reason to hide anything. kate followed your lead and did the same.

she then was able to see how you’ve been fucking yourself and didn’t stop. her mouth was watering and she wanted to go to your bed so bad to take care of you but fought against it.

she matched your pace once again and instantly let out some moans making you moan too. her eyes went back up to your face just to meet your eyes already looking at her. her face burned even more and you gave her a wide grin.

“didn’t think of you to be so much of a perv katie..” you teased making her scoff.

“you’re wearing my shirt!” she called back and you shrugged.

“it’s my shirt now.” you say and giggle.

“but i also got here right as you were finishing… might’ve heard a familiar name come out of your mouth…” you say breathlessly, feeling your arousal drip down just thinking about it again.

kate’s face was burning red, she was so embarrassed but then realized, “so you heard me? and what decided to go to town too?”

you kept quiet, lightly biting your lip while kate chuckled and smirked, “whose the perv now?”

“technically you still beat me.” you mutter and kate waves you off, “no shot.”

“you were just watching me play with myself…” you murmur and she laughs, “fine! we’re both pervs, are you happy?!” she jokingly exclaims and you just grin, nodding.

“good because i can’t believe this-“ she says and is cut off by a moan.

you whimpered and buck your hips up in desperation, kate’s eyes roll to the back of her head as she hears your sweet noises, “you sound s-so good-“

then kate moans and you were going back and forth just moaning for each other and hearing intently to the other’s moans.

your panties were beyond soaked now and your legs start shaking as you feel your orgasm about to hit you. the eye contact with kate was so intense, her blue eyes bored into yours as her body was also warning her of her incoming orgasm.

you went as fast as you could, chasing after your impending orgasm when you could hear kate doing the exact same and you just looked into her eyes while you both are hit with hard hitting orgasms.

you both let out loud mewls and whimpers, riding out your highs as you look at each other in adoration and hazy eyes. you slowed down and attempted to calm your breathing down but your heart was pounding.

kate quickly went to the rescue as she slipped her fingers out slowly then pulled her hand back from her boxers before quickly getting out of her bed and hopping onto yours.

you moved over making space for her as you slipped your fingers out with a plop. she nearly moaned but kept it inside.

you lazily bring your fingers up to her mouth, looking at her expectantly and kate obediently opens her mouth as you slip them inside her mouth. she sucks every drop of your sweet juices, savoring everything you had to give her — while looking directly into your eyes as well.

you pull them out with a loud plop and you grin. that’s when kate brought her fingers up to your mouth and you quickly opened your mouth and even grabbed onto her wrist. you took her fingers all the way down to her knuckles and this time she did moan because the sight was beyond better than any sex dream she’s had.

you push her wrist away after savoring every drop of her, and immediately realizing you’re gonna need to taste properly tomorrow. but for now you settled into her arms, making yourself comfortable against her chest as you listen to her heart beat louder than yours.

[harfanfare]

Hey! I really love your "how to win the heart of." Can you do one for Vil? If not that's totally fine I'm just curious.

How to win the heart of Vil Schoenheit?

Be a fan.

You like to think that the oldest memory you can recall is how you became Vil’s fan.

Until then, the recitals your school took you on were boring. Only in fifth grade, the teachers realise that, hm, maybe ancient plays might be a bit too much for those little brains, and in a spark of determination to change something, your class was taken to watch a staged version of a fairy tale, played by youngsters for youngsters.

The memory of Vil, the villain of the story, entering the scene is much more vivid. Even as a child, he was inarguably elegant and strikingly beautiful, it left you agape and your curious heart beating loudly in your chest.

“It’s better than having a completely fictional crush,” your classmate said after you confessed how much endeared you were by Vil and his acting. You listened as you typed a password to a newly-created Magicam account, solely for following him there. “There is a chance that you and him will be together.”

“A big chance?”

“Uh, like this?” She tries to show how big your chance is with her fingers. She wants to leave a gap between her fingers, but ultimately, they touch, and she puts her hands down. “I mean, we are almost the same age, so maybe you can go to the same high school as him? In a very long future…”

“I am not delusional…”

Nonetheless, the thought did make you hope.

After you reached the age of sixteen, the invitation came. For a whole year — since you saw Vil’s post on his new college choice — you’ve been pondering whether you’ve possessed enough magic talent to get into Night Raven College, the school of chosen. In good dreams, the Magic Mirror deemed your soul to be solely fit for Pomefiore. In nightmares, you were doomed to… well, any other dorm, if you were a student at NRC at all.

And maybe dreams really come true because the future you’ve anticipating has turned into a reality.

“Alright, is everyone from Pomefiore here?” Your heart stops when you hear that wonderful voice, this time not from your phone nor from 100 meters away from the speakers. You turn around, and there he is, Vil Schoenheit in all his glory stands and guides the students to the hall of mirrors. He looks like a portrait, and even if you saw his face thousands of times, the glint in his eyes redeems you speechless. “Congratulations, everyone. We will hold the welcoming introductions at our dorm. Follow me!”

Yes, Vil Schoenheit is your idol. And in the first seconds of meeting him, you were ready to follow him to the end of the world.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Get rejected. Have your heart broken.

“I apologize,” Vil says slowly, and you notice how his voice is a little monotonous. Just a bit, as if he had repeated these words countless times like the lines before a recital. “And while I wholeheartedly appreciate your feelings, [Name], I want to focus on my studies and career. It’s a bad time for me to think about dating. Nonetheless, thank you for being brave and sincere enough to tell me all of this.”

You nod. The pain in your chest gives you goosebumps. It makes your head spin so fast your legs feel unstable as if there is some shift in gravity. You bow with curtsy because every Pomefiore student should be able to do so elegantly even on a space station. “Thank you for listening to my confession.”

“Of course,” he says and looks down at the letter he got from you. It’s neat, somehow cute with how carefully his name is written on it. He holds it gently so as to not crinkle the delicate paper. “I will read the contents tonight.”

“Thank you. No need to write a response,” you force a little chuckle and excuse yourself. You will be overthinking how could you say something like that after you get over your stupid letter and even dumber confession.

Vil doesn’t say anything as you walk a little too fast to keep the step elegant. He sighs at this view and mindfully tucks your letter amid the pages of the book. Now’s the time for history class. He shouldn’t get distracted—

—and soon enough, you’re out of his mind.

That is until he reads your letter.

It's a beautifully crafted confession, put into elegant lettering and a pale pink envelope. It's sealed with red wax in the shape of a perfect heart; if you haven't used magic, it must've taken several evenings to get the precision you wanted.

You’re his fan. He knows it even if you hadn’t pointed it out; the well-tailored sentences betrayed your utter attention on him in the last several years. You’re his fan, but you don’t cheapen yourself. He is the idol you admire and love, but you don’t degrade yourself to a servant or a worshiper. And that is, unexpectedly, uncommon.

The letter is—also—a challenge to yourself. “If you were to reciprocate those feelings, I will prove myself worthy to stand by your side,” it reads.

He likes that letter. Once he finishes it, he skims over the text one last time and puts it between many other letters he has gotten. Between them, another envelope seems unremarkable, yet the words there…

Unforgotten.

He sighs. Maybe he will pay more attention to you from now on.

‏‏‎ ‎

3. Don’t remember all the etiquette rules.

“You wrote in your letter that I've inspired you to learn. Go on, then. Show me how motivated you are.”

So, now Vil bullies you over your letter.

He can’t be satisfied with your scarce etiquette knowledge—he wouldn’t be content if it was decent, as it would be a dishonour to Pomefiore—but amusement crinkles in his eyes at your utter confusion over the numerous forks, knives, spoons and glasses. They’ve been spread out in several rows and columns varying from the oyster forks to champagne flute.

You hesitate. Maybe you could point out which one is the butter knife or sugar spoon, but you never cared enough to discover which fickle knife is a fish knife. Should you be looking for the one with grooves or an extremely thin one? Would it hurt to use a normal knife to eat the salmon?

Oftentimes you’re thankful there is no awkward silence between you and Vil after your confession, but you can’t shake off the impression he’s been harder on you.

“On second thought, maybe I wasn't motivated enough to learn all the names of cutlery,” you say, not daring to try your luck in labelling each piece.

To your surprise, Vil smiles and uses a teasing tone that leaves you stunned and wide-eyed. “Is that so?”

You take a breath and huff, lowering your eyes. “Yes. The power of—,” unrequired, you bite your tongue on that bitter word, “—love ends here.”

Vil cracks another delighted smile. You start suspecting that someone drugged him with a smiling potion, as you should have received a severe scolding by now. You don’t have anything against the change, so the mention of Vil’s (relative) laid-backness goes unmentioned.

“I will have you seated next to me on tomorrow's dinner, so don't even think of slacking off,” he says, putting a hand on your lower back and gently pushing you towards the next table where the heavy textbooks look so very uninviting. “I won't have any student under my wing not know the basic etiquette. Especially if it’s my fan.”

‏‏‎ ‎

4. Have opinions and the courage to voice them.

Because standing for your own makes you flourish in your own colours and not blend into the monotony of the mainstream. Seek truth, good, and beauty and you will bestow the brilliance upon yourself.

‏‏‎

5. Try to have a healthy lifestyle.

You’ve never imagined Vil barging into your room with a tray of food. Why would he? But here you are, sitting in front of an aesthetically pleasing breakfast, mouth-watering pancakes with cream and a bit of honey, and the deep green shake in question that suits the colour palette but probably tastes awfully, like all good stuff packed with vitamins.

“You should never starve yourself if you want to live healthy.”

It’s hard to swallow anything as your dorm leader glares at you, but Vil refuses to leave you before he sees you eating the stuff he brought. You wondered if he prepared the breakfast himself. Probably not.

“No? I thought that keeping a diet is good.”

“If you are dieting you eat,” Vil hisses and sinks a little more into the couch. He brings a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as if he suddenly got struck with a headache. “Oh, heavens. What am I going to do with you?”

“Maybe—”

“Quiet,” it apparently was a rhetorical question. Maybe Vil would be mad at any answer from you as he considers you a fool. He waits until you take another bite of the pancake. “A dinner break will be in two hours, and I expect you to be there.”

“I think I will still be full by that time,” you admit, glancing at a pancake and a half. “These pancakes are savoury but so very filling.”

“Savor them as much as you like,” Vil says somewhat proudly. …Maybe he did make those pancakes? No. He wouldn’t bother this much. The satisfied note in his voice makes you ponder nonetheless. “But you have no excuse for yourself not to sit with us on the meals. Also—”

His gaze grows unexpectedly impish as his eye catches something.

“I will reeducate you on the topic of a healthy lifestyle,” he glances at the bowl of bland lettuce you prepared for yourself. He smiles, either in amusement or light pity. “It should have a little more… spice.”

‏‏‎ ‎

6. Take an interest in high culture.

“It feels like the hellish lessons of Heartslabyul…”

“The Queens’ 810 rules?” Vil’s smile is lopsided and his eyes render into a knowing look once they meet your gaze. “They are nothing compared to a number of customs in etiquette.”

You take a turn. The classes for today might have ended, but if hearing all that useful stuff meant you would walk with Vil back to Pomefiore, you could bear another few minutes of a lecture. You know that everything he tells you about, he already mastered. He wouldn’t teach you anything half-heartily.

“The etiquette of speaking, the dress code, the knowledge of dinner manners (well, you’ve mastered some part of it already, with the cutlery lessons), the control of body language, the indication of voice, the honorifics, the art of writing letters and emails… You don’t want me to list all of the things I expect from you?”

You would like to, because Vil’s voice is beautiful, but the student part of you takes over control and shakes your head. Just like Riddle, who has a reputation for demanding impossible care and inquiring rules, your dorm leader is not much better — maybe even worse, because while Heartslabyul has to oblige the absurd in chosen hours or circumstances, you are on your toes in every moment.

“So much to master in just four years in the NRC…”

“It’s a lot,” Vil says, and he’s the only person you would doubt if he speaks the truth in that matter. Especially if through your walk his strides seemed perfectly calculated and hand gestures finely planned. “But if you put a mind and heart into it, you will learn all of this in no time.”

You hum. It’s hard to think of having any more motivation than from where you were a zealous Vil fan.

You ask (ponder) and he delivers.

“Actually, I have an offer: if you’ll learn it all in ahead of time, I will teach you a dating etiquette.”

…

What?

“…Dating etiquette?!” You shriek so loudly, that several students turn their heads. You cover your mouth as if it would do something, and ignoring Vil’s delighted gaze, and lower your voice to a whisper. “There is such a thing?”

“Of course. Who should invite who on the first date and where, what gifts can you give and what can you accept, and how to behave with your loved one, like,” he pauses a little, and you almost know he bites the sides of his cheeks to contain himself from smiling, “How to kiss someone in particular situations.”

You want to die. How else should you react? How can he tease you so much when he rejects you? (Not like you were expecting much at the time, yet…)

“There is no kissing etiquette. You tease me…”

“Just a little,” Vil laughs, and you slowly relax. “But take my proposal seriously. If I can give you another motivation to engage in your studies, then I will by all means do so.”

‏‏‎ ‎

7. Get an access to his private Magicam account.

“Do you have Magicam? If you want to, you can add me.”

Vil asks the question. He should have chastised you for mindlessly scrolling through social media because you can probably put your mind and hands to better use. The casual tone surprises you, but the inquiry gets you defensive as if it questioned you being Vil’s fan.

“I’ve already been following you for years,” you declare and pull up your phone.

Before you get to his profile, Vil sighs.

“Not the promotional account,” he says. “Mine.”

You frown. Many times you’ve seen Vil posting the photos on the “promotional account” with his personal thoughts. Maybe because you've been blinded by the elegance and harmony of every post, the idea that he would operate the Magicam profile solely for business purposes has never occurred to you.

“You have another account?” You ask, flabbergasted.

Vil rolls his eyes at the surprise in your tone and sits next to you. Your phone beeps as you get a notification about a new user following you. In a heartbeat, you follow the account back. You almost gape at the pictures there; they are beautiful, elegant, and all in Vil’s manner, but he looks like… a common student. Not ethereally, not otherworldly, but still enchantingly.

“It’s a private profile, so I ask you for discretion. I would like to keep this one for my close friends and family,” Vil says, and you hastily nod, your heartbeat sounding like a drumbeat in your ears. Having access to his personal account felt… personal, ironically.

I would like to keep this one for my close friends — he said that, didn’t he? Does he consider you a close friend?

That’s more than you ever imagined.

And yet you dare to dream for more.

You pull your phone close to your chest. “I feel honoured.”

Vil smiles at the statement. “Of course. As you should.”

‏‏‎ ‎

8. Let yourself be pampered.

“Don’t move,” Vil asks for impossible because you want to bolt as he leans to you once again and only the glare he staggers you with as you push away the urge to close your eyes. You hope the foundation is thick enough to cover a blush that creeps on your face. “You will ruin my work.”

You give up and glance down, earning another heavy sigh from your superior.

“Maybe I should finish the eye makeup myself?” You offer. “I am unused to anyone doing my makeup, so it’s hard not to flinch.”

Your good intentions get ruined as the question aggravates Vil even more because he frowns at you. Staying put and keeping quiet about that whole ordeal would seem like a lovely idea, you question whether your heart could manage another hour in this setup.

“Don’t be absurd,” he says. “We need to handle your sensitivity to the touch or you will struggle in the future if you decide to be a model.”

“I am not—”

“Stop.”

“I—”

“Silence. Be quiet, potato,” he presses his finger to your lips to seal them shut. You feel something sticky, and as his finger traces your lips, you realize it’s the lip gloss, and it’s a very good-smelling one like a strawberry; you didn’t expect something so sweet-tasting to be in Vil’s liked products. “You are under my care now. It also brings me satisfaction to see my skills used on someone.”

“Vil—”

“Shut up,” it’s hard to get offended at him, as he uses such a gentle tone. He takes a good look at your lips and as he glances up at you, probably to see if the colours of the whole makeup are consistent, your mouth goes dry. “Before I tell you to do so, don’t speak. You will mess up with the lip gloss and it’s… difficult to apply one on you.”

What? It’s difficult to apply the lipgloss on you?

Alright**,** you nod, pondering if the lip makeup is really that difficult. Do you have an unusual shape of lips (it’s probably not that?), or is this balm so hard to spread? You sit still, as Vil moves closer to you.

Yeah, except for the touch you need a way to ignore the beating of your heart.

‏‏‎ ‎

9. Move on from your heartbreak.

“Would you like to go out with me today?”

A kind smile convinced you to agree, although you barely recognize the name of the boy standing in front of you. His voice was hopeful, and you were reminded of the time you bore the same expectant expression.

You had no heart to let it fall, not right now, not so quickly, so you paint a delighted smile over your face. “Thank you. I would love to.”

…

You should’ve done this a long time ago.

For the sake of your friendship with Vil, you decide to stop hoping that the man of your dreams might change his mind after getting to know you better. He found a friend in you, and you would hate to disappoint him with your longing for him.

So, you should distract yourself from him and fall in love with someone else.

Today’s date will be a perfect opportunity.

You dress quite stylishly, not enough to steal all the attention, but enough to impress your date. You put more effort into the makeup this evening and spend some time picking the most fitting jewellery. The perfume you picked is subtle but alluring and chic, an excellent concoction, but you could’ve expected nothing less from Vil’s recommendation.

…It feels kind of wrong to use everything he taught you to prepare for a date, but you would’ve used this knowledge one day either way, no? It’s not like he is your first… and last love.

“I heard a boy from Scarabia have confessed to you,” the familiar voice you love but don’t want to hear like now spooks you. Vil leans on your door frame, and you wonder how much he has stayed here.

“I just agreed on a date,” you say, standing up and adjusting the folds of your outfit. You look him in the eye. “How do I look?”

Vil snorts, and his lips stretch into a mean, devilish smile. “Are you expecting an approving comment from me?”

Asking the fashion icon to rate your outfit might’ve been a wrong move. You shake your head.

“Nevermind. He’ll have to deal with however I am if he doesn’t want me to be late,” after glancing the last time into the mirror and receiving a smile from your reflection, you pick up your phone. “Well then. I shall get going.”

Vil is still, as if he hasn’t been blocking the exit or as if he wanted to keep you here. You would have loved for him to stop you here. It’s hard to stop the disappointment from flooding over your composure when Vil moves away.

“Alright. Your look is satisfactory so that Scarabia boy better be grateful for being able to go out with you,” he says something ambiguous again, and you feel bad for your date who will have to deal with such a lovesick fool as you. “Enjoy your date.”

The pang of pain pierces your heart. You smile slowly and leave the room.

The heartbreak better goes away as soon as possible, or you’ll go crazy if the thought of dating anyone else hurts that much.

‏‏‎ ‎

10. Look kissable.

“You’re late.”

Maybe you are, but you haven’t been expecting Vil waiting for you. He sits on a sofa, a book is in his hand and the tea that was served in front of him looks cold. You can guess he’s been sitting here for a while.

“How did it go?”

“It went well, I think,” you say. The date went well. Yet, you couldn’t have enjoyed it. The throbbing pain in your heart strained each of your smiles, and it surged when the Scarabian student started to be flirty. You felt as if you were cheating. “He is a kind guy. He has some hobbies and is quite charismatic, so… He’s alright.”

Vil hums. “Will you settle on ‘alright’?”

You stare at him wide-eyed, but he doesn’t look bothered at all. He didn’t lift his gaze from his book, and his tone was nonchalant, so he almost seemed not interested. He was. He is because Vil never asks the question to whose answers he doesn’t want to hear.

“Pardon?”

He spares you a glance.

“I thought your resolution was stronger. What happened to the person who confessed to me and was so willing to determine their worth to me?”

“Are you jealous?”

“I am furious,” he lifts from the sofa, the book forgotten. The air around suddenly grows warmer, and the shiver you didn’t mind that much runs down your spine. Vil’s strides are slower than usual, creating an imposing image of himself before he stands just before you. “If you want to set the bar so low, go on. But let me give you a taste of ambition.”

He twists his head so his eyes meet directly yours. He doesn’t touch you — not yet — but you can feel a warm breath on your cheek, and the scent of his light perfume envelops you. You have the urge to move away and cling to him at the same time. They balance, and you stay still.

A taste…

Vil puts a hand on your cheek. The gesture is much softer and more benevolent than when he was putting makeup on you. His eyes lock with yours, your heart stops, and then they drop to your lips. He moves a thumb over them.

And he kisses you.

In your dreams, you had him kiss your hand, the top of your head. The corner of your mouth. In your boldest wishes, you wanted him to kiss you like that, so lovingly, with so much care. It makes you want to push away for more air, but it makes you worry Vil will disappear if you break the kiss, as all the dreams shatter upon the morning.

He moves away, not breathless, yet not unaffected either. His cheeks burn slowly into a red shade, and his eyes look somehow glassy. “I told you, I will give you just a taste.”

How disappointing.

Before you can say something, he pushes a letter between your fingers. Its envelope matches the one you gave him several months ago. “Read it. I want an answer by midnight.”

The big clock on the wall shows you have over three hours. So much time, and you already know the answer. “You will wait this long?”

“I am giving you a chance and hope,” he says with a subtle smile. The blush on his face makes him more beautiful than you’ve ever seen him. “It’s my duty of your idol to do so.”

[beelmons]

BAU men salsa dancing headcanons

Rossi is surprisingly good at it, although his movements are more on the stiff side. He does mostly the basic steps, like an uncle dancing at a wedding. He will spin you once or twice and even pull one of those leaning endings just as a show off.

Hotch is stiff, like, spaghetti before boiling stiff. The first time he dances, it's an awkward mess, although he grasped the steps pretty quickly. The second time, he is just as stiff but with more technique, he probably took a salsa class on the side. Basic steps only, playfully spins you off beat just so he can hug you, has a blast because he sees you have a blast.

Morgan is good, mad good. He will know how to spin you, cha cha cha, drop it and reverse it. He was probably forced to learn when Garcia was too shy to go to a class by herself, and surprise, surprise, he was excellent at it. If you are not careful, he might be even better than you. Can take it slow and simple if that's the mood, he is just happy to shake his but a bit.

Spencer knows the origins, raise, and fall of salsa dancing. He knows the names of all the steps by heart, and even the speed at which his body should move. Little problem? It just doesn't. He stumbles and steps on feet time and again, he won't look up from looking at his feet as he recites what the movements are supposed to look like. When he finally relaxes, he can sort of do it well, it's awkward and very basic, it's more you taking the lead, spinning him, and moving his arms, but it's nonetheless fun. He also has a last although he ended up breathless.

Luke is effortless, my man is latino, so you know he was peer pressured into learning growing up. He sings while he dances and will always take the lead. He prefers the simple, more casual steps, though if he gets lost in the music, he will begin to show off. He definitely smiles the entire time like a good performer, and will even do the 'two at a time' steps if any of the girls join you om the dance floor.

Matt is similar to Rossi, he got some of the steps down, but won't go as far as doing over complicated spins. He is elegant and less stiff, since he is tall, like, very tall, it looks a bit clumsy, but he always enjoys himself when he is dancing. He will, however, get tired pretty quickly, even when he is used to all types of cardio, the dancing just takes too much brain effort.

[agi-ppangx]

stranger (hwang hyunjin x gn!reader)

angst, hurt without comfort, break up, reader is in shambles

an: that's definitely not my best work so im really sorry for any mistakes >< nonetheless i hope you'll enjoy it, bc in my head the idea was pretty cool :3 also, the paragraphs written in italic are the memories, i dont know if i made it clear enough😭

“yn, don’t make it even harder,” hyunjin whispered as he glanced at your face. you must’ve looked truly pathetic - the tears were making their way down your red, puffy face and you were sobbing loudly. you couldn’t believe what had just happened - did he really break up with you or was it just a bad dream?

“hyune- baby, please, i-” you stuttered, gasping for air in between sobs.

“i’ve made my decision. goodbye, yn.” with that he closed the door, leaving you on the floor of your apartment. your vision was blurry and you were too weak to even get up. that day you fell asleep on the floor by the entrance, foolishly hoping that hyunjin would come back to you.

you recalled the memory, stepping out of the shower. it was the first time in a week when you decided to take care of yourself after hyunjin broke up with you. it’d been a hard week, but you couldn’t remember much anyway. the only thing you knew was the pain in your chest as if your heart was ripped from your body.

you didn’t bother to put on any clothes or to brush your damp hair since you headed straight to bed. you dropped your tired, achy body on the messy beddings and you shivered. it’d been raining for the past few days and you wondered if the sun had peeked into your bedroom through the curtains and told the clouds to match your mood so you wouldn’t feel lonely. you curled yourself into a ball, placing your hands on your shoulders as the raindrops pattered softly on your window. tap, tap, tap, the rhythm of the rain made your finger move faintly against your shoulder and suddenly the memories flooded your brain.

you felt someone tapping your shoulder and you yelped, blushing instantly as you realised you made too much noise in the library.

“sorry! sorry, i just-” the boy started hesitantly, whisper-yelling the apology. “are going to use that book?” he pointed to the textbook you were holding firmly in your hands. you nodded.

“oh, okay, sorry for bothering you!” he said with a frown and started walking away.

“wait! you can join me if also need it,” you suggested with a shy smile and he stopped in his tracks, turning around to you with a grin.

your hand wandered down your body, stopping at the waist. you squeezed it once, just like hyunjin used to do. a few tears made their way down your face.

“we passed!” hyunjin exclaimed as he ran to you with a piece of paper in his hand. you grinned at him as he stopped right in front of you, proudly showing you his score.

“congrats, hyune! are you going to-” you started but never finished as he suddenly grabbed your waist and picked you up, spinning you around, and you giggled. when he put you down he still firmly held your waist with one hand, squeezing it.

“let’s go and eat something, hm? my treat,” he said and you just smiled, letting him lead the way.

you squeezed your eyes, loud sobs now leaving your body as you remembered how happy you two used to be together. the rain outside intensified, turning into a downpour, and it made you feel even worse. “stop crying” you thought. “show the sun you’re okay so the clouds won’t have to suffer anymore.”

you moved your hand to wipe your wet cheek, but you just rested it there, suddenly remembering how hyunjin used to cradle your face.

“look, i can hold the whole world in my hands,” he whispered, looking you deeply in the eyes as his hands held your cheeks. you blushed and playfully hit him in the arm.

“stop being cheesy,” you whined, dropping your eyes because hyunjin’s gaze was too piercing for you. he giggled at your words and kissed your forehead.

“i just really love you, you know?” he then said and you hid your red face in the crook of his neck, breathing his cologne and relaxing completely as his arms protected you from the outside world. in that moment you felt complete.

a long wail left your body. it hurt, it hurt so much you thought you weren’t going to make it. what was left for you anyway? there was no one who could hug you after a long day, no one who could wait for you with warm dinner, no one who loved you.

you brought your hand to your hair, desperately trying to comb through them as hyunjin used to whenever you felt too overwhelmed. you grazed your nails on your scalp, imitating his movements, but it only increased the pain. you didn’t know how to treat yourself anymore - you gave all of you to hyunjin and as he left he took your heart with him, leaving you with the void that nothing and no one could ever fill again.

you wrapped your arms around your body again, squeezing yourself as hard as you could, but you soon realised only hyunjin could embrace you tightly enough for all the broken parts of you to fall back into place. with the day he left you you became a stranger to yourself.

taglist !

@lynlyndoll @iyenbread @flooo71 @skz-streamer @inniescandy-01 @hannahhbahng @prettymiye0n @ggsez31 @laylasbunbunny @like-a-diamondinthesky @axel-skz @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @l3visbby @skzhoes

[gretavanlace]

Valtava

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, pain during sex (this is handled gently and lovingly) language, dirty talk, etc.

Everyone thank our dear @jake-kiszkas-smirk for the scene where his head is resting on her stomach. I’ll say no more to avoid spoiling it, but it’s delicious and it was her idea that she so kindly left in my hands. Thank you, you filthy genius, you. I love you madly. Also, I no longer remember who to credit for this pic of Josh, it’s been in my camera roll so long. But I couldn’t not use it for this…that’s dangerously close to sacrilege.

“This scene right here,” Josh speaks over Ray Liotta’s musings, one arm stretched across the back of his couch, the other bent to stroke his thumb along your jawline, absently “This is where Scorsese really stretches his wings. Here we are, watching the heinous discovery of murder after murder while Layla, a song about love and lust, lulls us. We feel both safe and shaky.”

His fingers now wind through your hair, relaxed and warm, with your head in his lap. “I think it serves as a reminder that even ugly can dip its toe into the waters of beautiful, if you squint hard enough.”

He pauses and talks over his own stream of thoughts, “Well, most ugly things, anyway. Someone saw these murders as a necessary evil. Something to ensure the world they had built for themselves, for their families, stayed clean. Someone went home and slept a little easier knowing there was one less heart beating out there ready to turn state's witness on them.”

You nod and hope for him to keep going. The way his mind works fascinates you, as does the unique lilt of his tone, and the excitement that sharpens his gaze when he is ruminating on something that really spins the wheel for the hamster in his brain.

Catering to your unspoken wish, he carries on, “And maybe even the victims were in on the method to the madness, y’know? They chose the life they chose, they understood how quickly loyalty and love can shape- shift into survival and self preservation. Layla helps the audience understand. It marries the beauty and the bloodshed for the people in the seats.” he shakes his head in wonder. “It’s fucking genius.”

“Thought your brother was the big Marty fan?” You ask, studying the perfect cupid's bow of his lips from below.

“Jake?” His eyes are on the screen, but his focus is on you. “Tarantino. I dig the use of his nickname, though. Marty. It makes it seem as if you have him over for dinner regularly.”

“Maybe I do.” You tease.

You earn a smile, but still not his gaze. “And what do you serve?”

Adopting a tone of nonchalance, you shrug, “Usually, we make love until dawn and then share cold spaghettiOs right out of the can.”

“Ah,” He nods seriously, “the opulence. It’s all very grand.”

A comfortable silence wraps itself around you both until you have a thought that pokes to be shared.

“Do you suppose Scorsese might have chosen Layla because of the double-edged sword it also happens to be as a piece? Since Clapton wrote it about his best friend's wife?” You feel a blush heat your cheeks, and immediately wish you hadn’t contributed. He knows so much about film and you know so little.

True to Joshua-form, however, he hushes your unease effortlessly. “Shit! I’d never even considered that. The beauty for Clapton was the ugly for Harrison. God, I’m so in love with the way your mind sees everything that’s invisible to mine.”

I’m so in love with…

He means the ideas in your head, the quiet corners of your thoughts, but it quickens your heart and nudges the butterflies in your stomach to life, nonetheless.

So, you pull yourself up, a thigh nestled on either side of his waist in the blink of a breath.

“Hi.” You long for the timid smile dancing shyly on your lips to morph into something sultry. Something sexy. Something that might flicker the darkened flame, that hides down deep in his belly, to life.”

“Hi.” He grins back, allowing you to wiggle around until you’re comfy in his lap. “If Goodfellas is boring you, I stand zero chance of keeping you entertained, baby love.”

Your fingers worry over the beads looped around his neck and then twist into the soft pink linen of his shirt, finally coming to rest at the button fastened nearest to his throat. Your eyes travel over him, hungry to soak him in. To tuck this image of Josh, so quietly content with you perched above him, away in your heart…a pretty picture to revisit when he inevitably becomes a memory.

What is he thinking? That question seems to occupy your mind more often than any other. He is an enigma. A mystery parading as wide open sunshine.

Intrusive thoughts, cruel and unrelenting, silently bully you. You’ve become quite adept at ignoring them over the years, opting for at least some semblance of normalcy in your quest for a happy, healthy life. Whatever that means.

But these thoughts in particular are cloaked in far too much truth…too many signs pointing to the worst being the obvious…to be easily disregarded.

You want to say these things to him. If only to bask in the assurance you might catch in his reply. But to risk the absence of said reassurance, is a feat too great.

Instead, you begin a tentative roll of your hips as you lean in close to meet his pillowy lips with your own. He tastes of mint, and the IPA he has been nursing, and Josh.

Like always, he indulges the kiss, but stills your hips, and you long to vanish into thin air, leaving nothing more than a coiling wisp of smoke in your wake. The rejection comes with a throbbing ache in your chest. Is your heart truly breaking? Now you’ll be forced to offer it to him in pieces.

And he isn’t the only one to indulge in old habits, because, also like always, you crawl into the safe embrace of humor. “You’re right, Joshua…you’re boring me. Back to the brilliant mind of Marty, my beloved.”

You slide off of him and stretch back out on the couch, focusing on the screen to hide your tear glossed eyes as he gets comfortable behind you.

“Scorsese, you bastard,” he shakes his fist in mock indignation, “how dare you steal the affections of my woman?”

A forced laugh comes out sounding a little too close to a sob. You play it off as best you can. Nothin’ to see here.

Alas, he catches it. And, of course, he won’t leave it alone, though you certainly ask him too.

“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?” He turns you toward him, hovering over you as you lie on your back and long to melt away. “Talk to me.”

“I just— I mean,” death seems of great comfort. “Is it me? Do you not… are you not… am I not pretty enough? Or sexy enough? Or… I don’t know,”

A frown of deep concern furrows his brow as his palms move to cup your face, “What? Are you not…Jesus, baby, of course you are. Fuck, if anything you’re too much. Too pretty, too sweet, too smart, too sexy.”

Your words come quiet and small, quivering with painful vulnerability “Then why?” You close your eyes, and thankfully, he allows you to hide this way.

Exactly what you knew would happen, happens. He lies without lying. “Why, what?” He sounds of feigned confusion. He knows what you mean.

Throat now constricted and pulsing with a wringing pain, you close your eyes tighter, unwilling to bear witness to whatever lie will follow his last. “Why don’t you want me?”

A tear breaches the dam you had hoped was impenetrable. You loathe and curse it.

“Hey, shhh…don’t do that. Don’t cry.” He brushes the tear away and then kisses over the path it took.

“Don’t cry?” You snap. A twinge of regret flares to life within you. You’ve never spoken to him unkindly, and could it be that there’s no going back? Perhaps this is it; the end of the road you’ve been heading inevitably for.

To your great surprise, he laughs. You crack an eyelid open to find it sincere. “So, she’s capable of something other than sugar, spice, and everything nice, after all.”

His hand smooths down your chest - can he feel the violent rattle of your heart as it thrums and beats out of control?

When at last he speaks, there is an edge to his tone you’ve never heard before. It warms you clear through to your curling toes “You think I don’t want you?”

You shrug, all pink cheeks and complete ineloquence.

���Well,” he soothes, drawing gentle patterns upon your temple and forehead, “you should know, that is far from the case.”

But, rather than take the moment further, as he so easily could, as you so desperately want him to, he sinks into an innocent position - resting his cheek on your stomach as you struggle to keep it from rising and falling too rapidly, his eyes, once more, on the screen.

The film drones on; mafia murders and cocaine swirling down flushed toilets. Betrayal and 20/20 hindsight…

…and on you watch, on the surface - in reality, you can think of nothing else other than the weight of his head on your stomach.

There is a dull ache there, inside you, gripping at every nerve ending all at once. He knows what you want, and he very obviously doesn’t want the same thing. He doesn’t want you.

He speaks first, and there’s too much truth in it. He knows you too well. “I need you to stop that.”

“Stop what?” You stupidly offer a tiny shrug, but for what? He isn’t even looking at you.

“Your walls, I can feel you stacking bricks. Stop, or I’ll take a wrecking ball to them.” he pets over your forearm comfortingly. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, Miley,” you toss the joke out like a life preserver for yourself. “Just don’t start licking sledgehammers and we’ll be alright.”

He gives you the softest laugh. It more closely resembles a sigh, “Is it only sledgehammers that you are opposed to me licking?”

Oh.

When he coolly pushes your shirt up and begins dragging his lips, licked slick and warm, around your belly button, you think you might burst into tiny, burning, longing, pieces. God, how you want him.

“You like that, baby love?” He speaks the words melodically into the room like a lullaby, hushed as a priest absolving you of your sins in a darkened confessional.

A whiny hum is all you seem capable of, but it doesn’t look like it matters much to him.

“Yeah?” He’s teasing now, and you think it might kill you. Your hips begin a barely perceptible rock in response. “Can I touch you, sweetheart? Do you want that?”

“Josh, please,” his name is less than a whisper. It’s a plea gasped into the dark, dancing with the flickering glow of the tv as it blinks and changes like lightning.

The warmth of his hand between them causes your thighs to twitch and tremble, but he hovers just above making actual contact. “God, look at you. How could you ever doubt how much I want you? So pretty. Can I touch you here, baby? My pretty, pretty girl.”

With a soft moan, you lift your hips, pressing into his palm. He doesn’t push for words, your body has given him all the consent he needs, and the want in your eyes reiterates.

His mouth is wandering your soft, flushed, stomach as he slides your pants away, gentle and sure, the tip of his tongue bridging the distance between his kisses.

Your hands weave down into his wild curls, comforted by the way they wrap themselves into your touch, spiraling around your fingers as you tug at them and tenderly scratch over his scalp. A particularly sweet drag brings a shiver to life on his shoulders. He groans in appreciation and runs away with another piece of your heart.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmur, surprised and grateful, when at last, he sinks a single finger into your warmth.

Should you at least have the decency to feel shy about the sound it makes? About the way you must be soaking his skin? Perhaps. But you don’t, and judging by the curse he secrets into the still of the night, there isn’t any reason to.

“Does that feel good?” He isn’t taunting you, it’s a genuine question, but there is a hint of a teasing tone there as well, peeking out from around the edges of his words and you think it might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“So good.” You’re whining and writhing beneath him, tiny pouty huffs of breath tumbling off your lips over and over…but you don’t care about that either.

His finger slips out and you mourn it pitifully, until it swirls around your swollen clit, tearing a shaking cry out of your chest. And then, there it is again, filling you as his thumb begins a slick trail of tight circles just right.

“You want more?” Oh god…the way he sounds, the way you feel. He’s setting you further and further on fire with his gentle, decadent, prodding. With his breathy, gingerly obscene questions. Flames - scorching and crackling - lick up inside you. Incinerating as they consume.

“More?” He asks again, rasping the word, wantonly urging you on.

“Yes!” You nod frantically, spreading your legs further. You want him, need him, so badly…coveting the very breath in his lungs for its privilege of being inside him in a way you’ll never know. You long to trickle down into his pores and vanish.

A second finger - they feel longer than they have ever looked - joins the first and then begins a perfect, guiding, curl.

Tucking into that perfect place inside you, he fucks the pads of his fingers against it ever so carefully. Gently spinning your head in every direction.

He rests against your belly as the muscles inside churn and flex beneath his ear, watching intently as his hand fucks away at you. He wonders what it might be like to stretch you to almost breaking. How it would feel to push another finger inside, and then another, and another. When would you tell him to stop? Three? Four? Could you take that burning stretch? Would you relish it and ask for more? Fuck, he hopes so.

But you feel so tight around him…just two fingers full and you’re squeezing like you’ll never let go. He worries, and the pounding pulse of neglect that aches rhythmically in his cock, reminds him that he worries rightly so.

He has always believed you to be the most beautiful thing his eyes have ever had the pleasure of landing upon, but he’s never seen you like this - spread open, soaked and puffy with want. With need…for him. It doesn’t seem possible.

The way you move…fluidly, like ripples chasing over the surface of a placid lake, urging him along with your body. Your gorgeous cunt sucking his fingers in. A goddess, a beckoning siren, an angel…he can’t look away.

Can’t until he hears it, until he feels it, how close you are. Wild, frothing, horses couldn’t keep him from the gift of watching your face as you fall apart. An army of men wouldn’t stand a chance. He wants this moment with you, and he will have it. He wants to make you cum, and he wants to watch your eyes go blurry with it, and so watch he will.

“C’mon, baby…” he goes breathless when his face tilts up to meet yours. You are flushed and panting, lips parted. The soft pink of your tongue just barely visible, blushing like saltwater taffy in your mouth and he wants to lick against it, wants to taste you.

The smallest blips of a sound he can’t describe chase each other out of that beautiful mouth he wants to kiss so badly. Tiny uh’s that shift into gasps of desperation. You’re right there, and he wants it more than you do.

With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he eases his chin into the softness just below your navel, creating a delicious pressure, and crooks his finger so perfectly, pressing and stroking until it feels like you’re floating and the only thing holding you in place is him.

It is celestial. He is every constellation and you are the astronomer, feet held to the ground by gravity, eye pressed against a telescopic lens hopefully, frantic for a glimpse of his wonder.

There is only Josh.

“Almost there, pretty girl,” he nods, gaze glossed with lust and something that looks like love. “You gonna give it to me?”

You are. You’re going to give it to him. You couldn’t stop it now if you tried. Fluttering walls trap him inside you as his stare fixes, unmoving and heated, with yours.

“That’s it, baby love, that’s it.” He urges you on, leads you deeper and deeper, those long, warm, perfect, fingers working you like he’s been there a thousand times before. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m right here, just breathe for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to realize your lungs are burning for a breath you’ve been unknowingly denying them - and with that hissing, hungry, gasp for air, you explode under him.

He watches, mezmorized, as your eyes roll back, teeth clenched like some ethereal, feral creature. It bursts out of you, clear and shimmering, like liquid diamonds, but you don’t know it yet, he can tell…you’re too far gone, and he fucking loves it. He fucking loves you.

He has said it aloud. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much. I love you.

But that’s the thing that he doesn’t know yet because he’s also too far gone.

You’re quiet, gentle. Sweet, whining whimpers floating out of you as you vibrate and spill.

On your end, you hear the confession of how deeply his feelings run, but you don’t register…it will settle in later and you’ll weep for not saying it back. Though you don’t need to, he knows.

Once you’ve settled, he pushes up until you are eye to eye, lapping your release off his fingers. You’re sweet enough to lick off a whisk like cake batter, and he tells you so…but you can focus on nothing but the shining glint of you that he wears so well.

Shocked by the sheer amount, you blush hard and hot. Burning brighter still when it drips from his hand and lands on your lip. In an act you don’t seem aware of, you lick it away like a raindrop. The very sight of it, the somehow still innocent depravity, weakens him until he is forced to swallow a whine.

“Had I known what I was missing,” he grins lazily, “I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”

The confusion sends you crashing back to reality.

“But why stop yourself at all?” Your eyes are so wide and clear. It makes him want to gather you up and keep you safe.

Once more, it crosses his mind that you’re an angel. He wonders where your wings have gone.

“Because, I—“ he falters, shaking his head as if he might rattle his thoughts into place. Finally, he opts to show, not tell, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel him.

And feel him, you do, but only for a moment. He’s so hard you’re cozy from the heat of it through the sweats he was lounging in when you arrived.

You’ve noticed. Of course you have. You’ve stolen a glance or two when he wasn’t looking. How could you not? You’d just always thought, and not to be crass, you’d always just assumed he was a shower, rather than a grower.

Now you aren’t so certain. He felt massive during the short amount of time he was rocking into you.

“You’re thinking very hard, baby love.” He smiles down at you. “Are those thoughts in my favor, or…?”

He trails off and awaits your answer with that Josh-like patience. Rather than speaking, you curl your hands around the waistband of his pants and then cast your eyes up, in silent question.

Nodding the go ahead, he continues watching you closely…studying your reaction as you tug him free.

“Oh, fuck,” the expletive sighs out of you as the tip of his cock - leaking, angry and swollen - slaps up, well above his belly button, with a solid thump.

He’s big. So big. Long and thick, beautifully shaped. Blushing pink at the head, and visibly pulsing under your awestruck scrutiny. You absently wonder how he isn’t light-headed for the amount of blood it must require to bring him to such full attention.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He explains softly, finally letting you in on the secret of why he’s been so skittish, “And I didn’t want to…”

His confession loses traction as he watches your mouth rather than meeting your gaze.

Your palms reach for him, cupping his angelic face with as much gentleness as the renewed desire racing through your veins will allow. “You didn’t want to what?”

While he searches for the words, you curl your thighs around him and pull him in, moaning out his name like a mantra when you feel him against you, skin to skin.

“God damn, baby…” he rocks his hips closer to yours and then remembers what he’s doing. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You tease, trying to lighten the heavy load of his anxiety.

“I know.” His mouth meets yours, searching out a slow, needful kiss. “But I kept imagining hurting you, and you being too sweet to say so. I’m still imagining it.”

Your tongue licks into his mouth as you wrap your fist around him. “Look at you, Josh,” you smile shyly through a kiss that is anything but shy. “My fingers don’t even touch.”

“Grew up under some power lines.” He teases, relaxing as he pecks along your jaw.

“I want you inside me.” You sound despondent, and feel just as forlorn, the look in his eye warns you may have a fight on your hands.

“Pretty girl,” he tucks himself away and begins kissing a slow, serpentine trail down your body after he flutters your shirt, indicating he wants it off. “I could barely get two fingers in your sweet little pussy. Why don’t you just let me kiss it? Don’t you want to cum on my tongue, hmm? Won’t that feel nice?”

Such filth is a captivating development, and one you like very much…but, you stop him all the same. Grabbing him by the hair with enough force to tilt his head back, pulling his mouth away from your straining nipple, you issue a demand you intend to make sure he fulfills, “I said, inside, Joshua.”

He raises an eyebrow and suppresses a grin of dirty glee. “Joshua?”

Ignoring him, you watch as he licks the pad of his thumb and then arch away from the cushion when he begins a steady, swirling journey over your clit with it. “Gonna make you cum first, love. Again and again. I’m gonna baby this gorgeous cunt until my name is the only word you want in your mouth…and then I want you to fill my mouth.”

“Jesus, Josh…” you’ve never wanted anything more, but you can hardly force the words out to convey just how fucking agreeable you are.

“You want that?” He flicks over you faster and faster, indulging in your pouty, needy cries, praying they never end. “You want to cum in my mouth? Feed me something sweet?”

~

“Easy, baby love,” he coos, whispering to you like you’re a tiny, broken bird, fallen from the nest and afraid. “You’ve got to relax a little more for me.”

“Yeah…” you nod, staring up at him as if he painted your entire world into existence. And maybe he did.

No longer able to count the number of orgasms he’s gifted you with, you feel like liquid silk. Or clay in his palm, happy to be molded to his liking.

“Yeah?” He drops a kiss onto your forehead and pushes in just a hint further, eyes darting up when you hiss with discomfort.

You offer a smile for him to continue and he returns it gently, but the way he’s fighting for breath betrays him. He wants you badly, he’s going slowly mad with the need to bury into your body to the hilt.

His fingertips skate a ticklish trail down the curve of your waist and then grip into your thigh, spreading you open a bit wider.

Both bare now completely to each other for the first time, you’ve given yourself over right there on the couch. The room is silent, save for hushed words and choked breaths twisting languidly through the air, the movie long since over.

He’d wanted to carry you off to the bedroom, but you refused.

You want him here. You want him now.

Palm cradling the back of your head, he brings you forward until your mouth is sucking at his shoulder. “Just like that, sweetheart. Good girl.” His praise flips your stomach. A violent somersault of carnal need. “You just suck and bite all you want. I’m gonna take care of you. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding urgently against him, you’re far too interested in the marks you're leaving against his overheated skin.

“Words for me, okay?” He coaxes so gently it makes your chest ache.

“You’re going to take care of me.” You mumble through a long lick along his collarbone.

Without reply, he slides in deeper, yet still not much more than the tip rests inside you.

A shocked cry escapes you before you can stifle it and his face snaps up, searching your own for tells of pain that he doesn’t have to look all that closely for. “Baby,” the pet name sings out of him, a soft crooning apology. “Let’s stop, I…”

“No, please!’ The frantic want bubbling up inside you colors your voice and surprises you both, but he masks it well.

“Hush, love. No one’s stopping yet.” he soothes, massaging your hip carefully. Just wisps of touch, but you relax beneath it like a sleepy babe cradled up snug and safe.

You’re not fond of that ‘yet’ he tacked on to the end of his promise.

“Deeper.” Your hips lift, forcing his hand while you gulp down another sound of discomfort.

“Don’t.” His grip is suddenly digging into your waist, no longer careful, but swift and insistent instead. “Let me take my time. Let me be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He’s right, and you tell him as much as he begins a slow, stuttering journey. Starting and stopping as you writhe with impatience and uncomfortability in his capable hands.

Reaching up, he guides your fingers down until they brush over your sensitive clit. “You take care of this for me, okay, baby? Help me make this easier for my pretty girl…I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

“Please, Josh…” you sound a mess, and who gives a damn? “Please!”

You’re right, it’s time. He knows it better than you do. He can wait no more. There isn’t far to go anyway.

Suddenly, with one firm thrust, he drives in all the way to the base, shuddering as you coil around him like a hot, wet, fist. Squeezing harder and tighter and fuck….

“So fucking tight.” He is trembling, fighting the urge to let go already. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go. Pussy so pretty and soft. Like the sweetest thing all dressed in pink. Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?”

Your eyes drift closed, breathing through the last remnants of the biting sting. You’re so full, it feels so good. So right. So completely perfect, you cannot begin to fathom how you’ve lived all these years without him inside you.

“Say it.” He sounds like an angel clawing his way closer and closer to something he can’t survive without any longer.

“What?”

“Tell me you’re gorgeous.” He’s fucking you faster now…and it stings, but it hurts so good you want to feel the burn forever. “Say you’re my beautiful girl. Come on, I wanna know that you know.”

“I—“ your face flares as pink as the cunt he’s currently locked inside

“That’s it, baby love…” he coaxes, pumping into you with long, torturous strokes. “C’mon,”

A little less tentative now - he effortlessly makes you believe - the words finally come “I’m gorgeous.”

He smiles so wide his nose crinkles as he nods and dips his lips to meet your own. “Fuck yes you are. My pretty girl. You’re doing so well, look at you. Just taking and taking and taking me.”

Pulling you up and away from the pillow gently, he guides your line of sight to the sinful image of him gliding in and out of you. His cock, glistening and covered in your unbridled desire - it catches the light and steals your heart. Is it possible to be in love with a cock? Or are you just in love with the man who wields it?

Both. Most definitely, both.

“Look, baby, look…” a quivering huff escapes him. “It’s like coming home. Being inside you is like coming fucking home.”

“Harder,” you beg, winded and lost. He feels so good inside you. Stretched further than you ever thought possible around him, you clench and twist a fist into the throw pillow beneath you until your fingernails threaten to rip it open.

“Just…fuck,” his pretty face buries itself in the crook of your neck with a whimper as he falters. “Just a little.”

The room is hazy and blurred, filled with sounds neither of you can seem to quiet. Each moan and breath filling your head up until you feel feverish. Every groan and gasp pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Your bodies meet in a sweat glazed dance that causes your teeth to grit together - biting down hard to suppress a scream that he might confuse with pain.

He tucks his own teeth into your throat deeply, growling out a melodic sound that sets you on fire, when the salt of your skin hits his tongue.

A shaky, “I’m gonna cum, baby love…where, baby, where?” Pants out of him with a desperate urgency the moment he releases your skin from his bite.

“Inside…” you plead, clawing at his waist as your thighs lock him in close. “Cum inside me…c’mon. Please,”

“Pretty girl begging for my cum. Begging me to ruin this beautiful little cunt…” he sounds as if he’s talking to himself, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real.

“Ruin it, baby,” your palms drift up his back, slow and steady…urging him along gently. “Ruin me.”

A sound so exquisitely angelic rumbles up out of his chest. Deep and primal, but somehow gentle and submissive, like he wants to fall at your feet in veneration of something holy and ancient.

He falls against you, pulling you as close as he can get you, and then draws the scent of your hair in only to feel that much closer. Rocking into you as he slowly comes down and finds himself.

Gathering you in his arms, he lifts you away from the disheveled couch, ignoring you when you protest weakly that you can walk.

A bath is drawn and laced with plain epsom salt to soothe your throbbing muscles. He slips into the steaming water behind you, cradling you as he drags a washcloth over your skin.

Quiet verses of a song you’ve never heard are whispered in your ear as you drift into a light slumber without worry, confident that he will keep your head safe above water.

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