#but just NOW thinking more about and going hey... wait.....

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Sixteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, DTS style chapter.

Notes — Bit shorter than usual but just a bit of a fun chapter inspired by a DTS episode. Covers Imola - Monaco, so CH17 will pick up in Azerbaijan <3

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Imola - Monaco)

The Netflix crew trailed behind Lando and Amelia as they walked through the Emilia Romagna paddock. Lando’s hand was tightly gripping Amelia’s, pulling her closer in a reassuring gesture. While Amelia didn’t outwardly show it, it was clear she was aware of the cameras following them. Her eyes flicked nervously to the side, but she kept walking, trying not to let the cameras get to her. The intensity of their presence made her skin crawl.

Lando noticed immediately. Without a word, he subtly shifted his body to shield her from the prying lenses. He moved just a little slower, positioning himself slightly in front of her, making it harder for the cameras to focus solely on her. His grip on her hand tightened.“You’re good, baby,” Lando said with an easy grin, his voice warm. “They’re not gonna bite.”

Amelia looked up at him, her eyes flicking nervously around, still not fully comfortable. She adjusted her MV33 jacket and shifted closer to him, thankful for the slight reprieve. But the fidgeting didn’t stop; she was still aware of the boom mic hovering just above them.

“I’m not sure they realise how loud they are,” she murmured, leaning closer to him, trying to make her voice as quiet as possible. “And I don’t like it when they’re so… close.”

Lando’s expression softened with understanding. He adjusted his body a little more to block the view of the cameras, holding her hand with a firm but gentle grip.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone low but calm. “It’s just for a few weeks, yeah? They’ll get bored of us eventually.”

Amelia let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing a little. She leaned her head against his shoulder for a brief moment, grateful for his presence.

They continued walking toward the Red Bull garage, the cameras following closely behind. As they neared the entrance, Lando noticed Max just inside, waiting for Amelia. He turned toward her with a reassuring smile.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet but steady, “Don’t worry about it, don’t even think about them. Just do your thing. I’ll find you later?”

Amelia nodded, her eyes softening with gratitude. She stepped toward Max’s garage, but not before she gave Lando one last look, a quiet, unspoken emotion passing through them. 

“Thanks,” she said quietly, looking up at him. “I mean it.”

Lando grinned and squeezed her hand one last time before letting go.

Amelia walked toward Max’s garage with more confidence now. Lando watched her go, his gaze protective but proud. He paused for a moment, watching her blend into the chaos of her team before turning toward the Netflix crew with a pointed look.

“Hey,” he said, his voice firm. “If she’s on her own, back off, yeah? Don’t make this harder on her than it already is.”

The crew exchanged glances but nodded in acknowledgment. 

— 

WILL BUXTON (interview, to camera):

“The start of the 2021 season? It was chaos. Red Bull had the car, no question. But what they didn’t have, straight away, was consistency. Bahrain was a late heartbreak. Imola was a redemption. Portugal? Wobbly. Spain, Monaco — each came with its own drama. But people stayed optimistic. There was still this… belief. In the team. In Max. In Checo. And in ‘Mini Newey.’”

He leans back slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s what they started calling her. Amelia Brown. Quiet in interviews, blunt on the radio, brutal in post-race debriefs. She wasn’t Red Bull’s secret weapon — she was Max Verstappen’s. And for a season this tight, with this much on the line… that made all the difference.”

Cut to a quick montage. Max stepping out of the RB16B in slow motion, Amelia scribbling notes, Jos Verstappen nodding through a strategy briefing, and Max’s garage lit up like a war room. 

“She wasn’t just part of Red Bull’s setup anymore — she was the setup. No more garage rotation. No more neutrality. In 2021, she belonged to Max.”

Will tilts his head slightly, that familiar knowing smirk playing at his lips.

“And yet — off-track? She’s dating McLaren’s Lando Norris. Publicly. That raised more than a few eyebrows. Word in the paddock was that Christian Horner wasn’t happy about that; at all.  And let’s be honest — in Formula 1, mixing personal and professional like that? It always comes with consequences.”

Then the screen fades to black as the episode title appears. 

Drive to Survive Season 4, Episode 4 — “Mini Newey”

— 

Amelia sits stiffly in the interview chair, legs crossed at the ankle, hands in her lap. She’s dressed in a white cotton sundress, and she’s clearly not thrilled to be there. Her eyes flick briefly to the boom mic overhead before settling back on the interviewer, her nose scrunched unhappily. 

The producer’s voice comes from off-camera, “Welcome to Drive To Survive, Amelia Brown.” 

She stared at him, unspeaking. 

He continued, “So. There’s been some talk about why you moved to working exclusively with Max. Can you tell us what exactly happened with Christian?”

“Oh. He tried to accuse me of leaking data to McLaren, which was completely unfounded, by the way.” She says it matter-of-factly, no emotion in her voice — just her usual blunt precision. “So I accepted Jos and Max’s offer to work directly for them instead. I don’t do well with unnecessary drama.” She pauses, eyes flicking off-camera again. “I joined the team to win Max his first championship, not to have my private life controlled.”

There's a beat of silence. The Netflix crew doesn’t dare push further.

— 

The camera rolls. Christian Horner sits back in the chair, arms loosely folded.

Off-camera, the producer asks casually, “can you talk us through Amelia Brown’s exit from Red Bull Racing?”

Christian doesn’t miss a beat. “No comment.” 

“Can you confirm or deny that you accused her of causing a data breach that never actually happened?” 

“Next question.” He leans forward slightly, his tone still frustrated. “I’m here to talk about the car. The team. Not… personal matters.”

Fade to black.

WILL BUXTON (voiceover): “In Formula One, silence says more than words ever could.”

— 

Five races in, and the cracks had started to show. 

Bahrain had stung. Max had driven like hell and lost by the smallest margin. Amelia spent two weeks dissecting that final corner, pulling telemetry apart like bones, looking for answers that didn’t exist. Imola had healed something — a win for Max, a podium for Lando. She’d smiled so hard it hurt her cheeks, captured on the broadcast camera. 

But then came Portugal. Spain. Monaco.

Each circuit another layer of exhaustion. One foot in the Verstappen camp, buried in setups and strategy and staring down telemetry sheets until her eyes blurred. The other foot in Lando’s world; post-race texts, hushed hotel room conversations, moments shared in cars and corridors.

It was thrilling. It was also hell.

She celebrated Max’s pole positions like they were her own. But she felt every one of Lando’s podiums like a spark in her ribs.

But the headlines were starting to shift. Whispers getting ever louder. 

“Does Max Verstappen have what it takes to win a world championship?”

Amelia already knew the answer. 

— 

It was late by the time she made it back to the hotel. Her MV33 jacket was soaked from the drizzle still hanging in the air, her shoulders tight from hours hunched over data.

Lando was already there. Feet up on the end of the bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. When she stepped inside, he looked up — and didn’t say a word.

He just opened his arms.

Amelia hesitated for only a second before slipping into the space between them. His hoodie smelled like sweat and rain and something that had become home. She didn’t speak either. Didn’t need to. Her hands found the hem of his shirt, her head tucked under his chin, and the world shrunk down to this. Just this.

A girl who built fast cars, and a boy who drove them like poetry.

— 

The Netflix crew hadn’t expected to be at an F2 race that day — but where Amelia Brown went, they followed.

It was the round at Barcelona. The paddock quieter, younger, more chaotic in a different way. Less polish. More edge.

Amelia stood near the pit wall, arms crossed, denim jacket layered over a dark blue dress. 

The crew kept their distance at first. But as the race unfolded, and as one car in particular started carving through the field like it knew more than the others, they drifted closer.

Oscar Piastri seemed to have Amelia Brown’s entire focus. 

Then she noticed the boom mic.

She stiffened, blinking once, jaw tightening as she took half a step back, tucking herself further behind a nearby barrier. One of the producers motioned for the camera to keep rolling — but they didn’t get far.

“Alright, mate. That’s close enough.”

Mark Webber had appeared at Amelia’s side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sunglasses on, arms folded, calm as anything. He gave the crew a polite smile that wasn’t really a smile.

“She’s here as a fan today. Let her watch the race, yeah?”

The producer started to argue, but Mark held up a hand. “Seriously. Fuck off.” 

Amelia said nothing. But her body relaxed, just barely, when he stayed beside her. Close enough to form a buffer. Far enough not to hover.

— 

TOTO WOLFF (cutaway interview):

“Amelia Brown is one of the most intelligent technical minds in the paddock. That’s not an opinion, that’s a fact. I tried to sign her — more than once.”

He leans back slightly in the chair, expression wry.

“Red Bull got her. And they let her slip through their fingers. All because she was dating a McLaren driver? Please. That’s not just petty — that’s bad business.”

He shakes his head once, almost laughing under his breath.

“Christian made it personal. I think he saw her relationship with Lando as a threat. Which, frankly, is ridiculous. She wasn’t leaking secrets, she was just smarter than most people in the room, including him. And that made him uncomfortable.”

Then, a pause — softer, thoughtful.

“But look where she is now. Integral to Max’s title fight. Calm under pressure. Trusted by Jos Verstappen. Loved by the grid. Christian lost her. Max didn’t.”

He offers the camera a subtle, knowing smirk.

“That’s going to cost them more than they realise.”

— 

LANDO NORRIS (cutaway interview):

Lando’s gaze is focused, but there’s a relaxed air about him — the kind of ease that comes when he’s comfortable talking, but not trying to impress.

“Amelia and I, we’ve been through a lot together. When we first met, she was just my boss’ daughter you know? I mean, she knew her stuff. I respected her immediately. She was just… different. She’s blunt, she’s honest. She doesn’t try to play games. And for someone like me, that’s refreshing.”

He smirks briefly, rolling his eyes at the memory.

“I can’t say I don’t get a bit of a kick out of the whole ‘rival’ thing, though. McLaren and Red Bull? Yeah, it’s all a bit… dramatic. But at the end of the day, we’re both just people, and we’re both trying to win. Doesn’t matter who you’re working for.”

Lando shifts in his seat, a slight seriousness to his expression now.

“What happened with Christian... that wasn’t about racing. It was personal. And she didn’t deserve that. Amelia’s one of the smartest people I know, but she’s also tough and loyal. For a while, it felt like people didn’t respect that.”

Lando leans back, considering his words, before giving a small shrug.

“Max has her now. Loves her like a brother. And that's good. She deserves that.”

His eyes soften, but his voice remains steady as he looks directly at the camera.

“Sure, in an ideal world, she'd be in papaya, running my garage. But for now, this is how it is. And I’ll always have her back. Whatever anyone says.”

— 

Amelia stands near the front, her eyes focused on the podium where Lando Norris stands, grinning ear to ear, his first-ever podium in Imola. His McLaren suit stands out against the sea of colours in the paddock, bright orange like a beacon of triumph.

Amelia’s face is a study in quiet pride. Her ear defenders are securely in place, muffling the deafening noise around her. It’s almost as if the world is softened, leaving just the moment between her and the two men who’ve come to mean everything to her.

Max flashes her a quick grin as he waves to the crowd. His calm, reserved demeanour contrasts with Lando’s excitement, but both drivers have made their mark today, and it’s a feeling she knows too well. She’s proud of both of them — two victories, two worlds, one goal.

— 

The Monaco Grand Prix podium ceremony is a blur of flashing lights and deafening cheers. Amelia spends it hidden behind telemetry screens in the far corner of Max’s garage, tucked away from the frenzy. 

Her ear defenders are snug, but even they can’t completely block out the pounding rhythm of the crowd. The screams, the shouting, the applause; it all collides in a wave of noise that she’s learned to tolerate but can sometimes just become too much. Her heart races, and despite her best efforts to keep it together, she can feel the anxiety creeping up her spine. It gets like this sometimes. Too many people, too much happening at once.

She clenches her hands into fists, the sensation grounding her, trying to focus on the singular moment unfolding in front of her. Max and Lando have made it to the podium. It’s a rare double and they take their spot under the sun of Monaco, framed by the trophies and the flashing cameras.

Max stands at the top, but Lando... Lando’s right there, too. He’s beaming, the joy written across his face as he waves to the crowd. 

She pulls her jacket tight around her shoulders, a self-soothing gesture that doesn’t seem to ease the storm inside her head. Pulls her golf ball out of her pocket, squeezes it, rubs it.

She watches, heart in her throat, as Lando raises his champagne bottle to the sky, his smile lighting up the whole scene. Max, too, is soaking in the moment, looking almost subdued by the joy, his trademark calm in full force.

She stays in the garage, invisible to the outside world, only able to watch from a distance. She’s thrilled for them. Thrilled, but on the verge of a meltdown. 

“Good job, Lando,” she whispers quietly to herself, voice barely audible over the racing pulse in her ears. “Good job, Max.”

—

The scene shifts, the camera zooming in on Amelia as she sits in front of the Netflix crew, a subtle discomfort in her posture. She takes a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jacket, before speaking up, her voice direct yet softer than usual.

"I’ve talked about it on Twitter, but never on video... but yeah, I’m autistic," she says, locking eyes with the camera. "I’ve loved F1 for years... but working in this sport? It’s harder than it looks, especially with all the noise and pressure. People don’t always get it, and it takes a lot out of me to keep up with everything happening around me."

She glances away for a moment, clearly gathering her thoughts. The producer, sensing the shift in energy, quickly interjects, "What’s your all-time favourite race?"

Amelia’s eyes brighten immediately, her voice gaining momentum. "2005 Japanese Grand Prix. Alonso’s win, Raikkonen’s drive was absolutely stunning. It was... perfect. The strategy, the drama, the weather; everything came together. Raikkonen flying through the rain? Insane. And Alonso? There’s a reason he’s my favourite, you know? And—"

As she dives deeper into her passionate breakdown of every single overtake, the camera shifts to the back of the room. Lando Norris is seated, hands folded in his lap, trying to keep a straight face. But as Amelia’s excitement grows, the corners of his mouth twitch before he bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking with genuine amusement.

The scene fades out, with Amelia’s animated voice still filling the space in the background. Lando’s fond smile lingers. 

— 

Will Buxton (cutaway interview):

"Even before it happened, I had full belief that Amelia Brown would win Max Verstappen his first championship," he says, his voice steady, almost prophetic. "She’s the key. The one thing Max has that no one else does. The way she sees the car, the way she works with Max; it's a bond that’s as strong as any I've ever seen in the history of motorsport."

He pauses for a moment, the air thick with anticipation. Then, a faint but knowing smile crosses his lips, as if he knows what’s coming next.

"But after that? Well... I can see her doing the exact same thing for the man she loves. Lando Norris, McLaren’s future, his own championship fight. Obviously I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think it’ll be long before we see Amelia Brown back where she started. Only this time — on her terms.” 

NEXT CHAPTER

[kanonakin]

LADS Men if they were in reverse tropes

I saw a tiktok with a whole list of book tropes but in reverse and I just had to assign it to them.

Pairings: Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Caleb, and Zayne x Reader (separate)

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉ ─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉ ─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉ ─┉

Sylus

Reverse trope: Accidentally kidnapped the mafia boss

The one time you decided to get out of your comfort zone and do something crazy, you somehow end up in your storage unit with the city’s most dangerous man tied up in a chair.

“Just so you know, I didn’t mean to do this.” You had an awkward smile plastered on your face which quickly faltered when you remembered that you had also blinded folded him.

“Hmm, are you planning on letting me go anytime soon or do you have something planned for me?”

Thoughts raced through your head as you stared at him. He had this almost unnoticeable smirk on his face, like he was enjoying this.

Xavier

Reverse trope: Too many beds

“This is ridiculous.”

You had been sent on a far away mission and had randomly ran into Xavier who heading to the same city. Deciding to tag along, you both headed to the place the hunter’s association had booked for you.

It’s a hostel… and there’s no one else there but you and Xavier.

Since having brought Xavier on a whim, you couldn’t tell if you were lucky or not getting a hostel with multiple beds instead of having to share one bed.

You called Jenna to see if there was some sort of mix-up. There was, but having only needed to stay one night you decided to go against having to move to a different place and just stayed in the Hostel.

Despite there being almost 20 different beds, Xavier decides to sleep at the bunk bed right above you.

“You really don’t want to go to a different bed? That spot over there has more moonlight.” You say pointing to the other area.

“I’m good here.”

Rafayel

Reverse Trope: Meet-Ugly

Your living room needed a cute little something, and you decided that something would be a big beautifully decorated fish tank. You hadn’t had a fish in years since your last one died, so getting a new pet was basically part of new transformation into adulthood.. and getting an apartment too, of course.

You found this cute little family owned local pet store nearby with a big collection of beautiful fish.

Unfortunately for you, you weren’t the only one looking for beautiful fish.

“Are you serious right now? You can’t claim dibs on a fish!”

“I just did, that Angelfish wants me to take him home!”

Arguing with some purple haired guy over the last Angelfish in the store wasn’t on your to-do list today.

Caleb

Reverse Trope: Unrequited Rivalry (you have a one sided rivalry against Caleb)

You worked so hard to be the best in the academy, yet within only a month of transferring a prodigy overtakes quickly makes his way to #2 place, right behind you.

He’s tried talking to you multiple times, “Hey, I was thinking we should work on our end of the year research project together, since we’re both the best.” But you would walk away every time.

He’s probably trying to sabotage your final scores so he push me down, that gotta be it, right?

Yet he keeps coming back to you every time there’s a project involving partners and you turn him down every time.

“You know you’re not gonna win by sabotaging me right?” You said finally confronting him.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re gonna stay in 2nd place because I’m gonna stay in 1st place for the rest of the time i’m at this school and no prodigy is gonna overtake me.”

Caleb had an annoyingly confused look on his face, “I’m rank 2 in the whole academy?”

What?? He didn’t even know? But he’s trying to take your place? Right?

Zayne

Reverse Trope: He’s hurt and you’re a doctor but not the right kind. (Opposite of savior romance trope)

It was a long day, you had just finished up your last client and you could not wait to get into a warm bath and comfy bed.

Of course something has to go wrong and throw your plans off. The universe hates you.

Which is why instead of at home, you’re sitting next to a man who’d just gotten hit by a car.

“Stop moving please, I think it’ll make your injuries worse.” You informed him.

But he noticed your name tag on your shirt with your Dr. status right beside your name, “Aren’t you a doctor, what do you mean you think?”

“I’m a clinical psychologist.”

“Oh great, that’ll help me a lot.”

Oh he’s one of those sarcastic ones.

[kxsagi]

got this idea cuz I was comparing sae and Rin to my friends who don't watch bllk loll

reader who's around the itoshi brothers a lot and accidentally mixes up their names at times and sometimes when she isn't looking at them or she's talking to them from another room she'll even mix up their voices 😭

lowk my dad does this w me and my siblings LMFAO

“𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢?”

a/n: i want to make out with sae

(art credits go to Jhong_Dai on X)

it’s not even your fault. really. they’re both monotone. they both sigh like the world annoys them. they both say your name like you just crashed their car. and sometimes, just sometimes, you’re not looking and they sound exactly the same. 

“rin, pass me the charger?” 

“i’m sae.” 

“… okay, but are you gonna pass it or not?” 

you don’t even flinch anymore. you just accept the wrong name like it’s your god-given right to be mildly incorrect 60% of the time. and it pisses off a particular itoshi. 

rin scowls. “do you not hear the difference?” 

“well yeah, i do now. you sound more like you're ready to fight someone, and sae sounds like he just woke up from a nap he didn't want to take.” 

“that’s literally just being awake.” 

but when you're not in the same room, that’s when things get dicey. 

once, you told sae from the kitchen, “rin, can you check the oven?” 

and sae, older brother sae, peeked inside and said, “yeah, it’s done.” 

and you thanked him like that was normal. it wasn’t until rin came home later that night and asked what you baked that it hit you. you stared at him. “wait… that wasn’t you earlier?” 

rin blinked. “i haven’t been home all day.” 

“… oh.” 

“… did you confuse us again.” 

“… maybe.” 

“… again?” 

you don’t even try to defend yourself anymore. “look, you guys have the same DNA or whatever, maybe my brain just can’t distinguish premium itoshi stock.” 

rin looks like he’s about to walk into traffic. sae, from the couch, just smirks without looking up from his phone. 

“it’s okay,” he says, “you’re not the first one to be confused. rin used to think he was me, too.” 

“i didn’t.” 

“you wore my uniform with my name tag for a week in middle school.” 

“it was black. they’re all black.” 

“you thought you were me.” 

sometimes you think you’re just being dramatic. but then they both walk into the room in black shirts, with the same resting judgmental face, the same little flick of hair falling across their forehead, and you have to mentally roll the dice. 

“sae?” 

“wrong.” 

“rin?” 

“still wrong.” 

“what? ... okay, but one of you has to answer.” 

"you could just turn around and look." 

“no. this is a test now.” 

the worst is when they use it against you. like today. one of them called from the hallway: “hey, can you come here for a sec?” 

you shout back, “who’s ‘you’?” 

“me.” 

“who’s me?!” 

“your favorite itoshi.” 

you freeze. because honestly? that doesn’t help at all. they both say that with the same exact sarcasm. 

rin walks in first, holding a water bottle. “did you come when i called or when sae called?” 

“wait, so you called me?” 

sae trails in a second later. “i didn’t say anything.” 

“then why did i hear–” 

they both smirk. they planned this. they planned this to gaslight you and it worked. 

“i hate you both,” you mumble. 

rin tosses you the bottle. “love you too.” 

sae ruffles your hair as he walks by. “learn our voices before you embarrass yourself in public.” 

you grumble something under your breath, and rin hears it. 

“what was that?” 

“… nothing, sae.” 

rin stares at you. “i will throw this bottle.” 

you grin. “do it, sae.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[butyoudidthis4what]

Something Else (Perfumer Part 2)

Jack Abbot x Bratty f!Reader

6.8k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CWs: NSFW, MDNI 18+, established relationship, dom!jack vibes, oral f receiving, mention of alcohol, biting, hickeys, manhandling, edging, stubble burn reference, spanking, unprotected PIV sex (birth control not discussed, but implied with the established relationship), age gap (reader 30ish, Jack mid/late 40s) but not mentioned, teasing, reader is a brat, like a really really big brat, no use of y/n or related, zero proofreading of any kind.

Summary: Continuation of Perfumer. Jack finally gets off shift and home to you. Bratty reader gets tamed.

AN: This feels like such an abrupt change of pace from No Man's Land which is where I have been living. It was just in my head and I needed to get it out. It's pretty much straight PWP which has historically been rare for me. I am quite nervous about posting this one because my smut writing feels so so so rusty and potentially not very great. So, I hope it's okay!

This is the look I picture him giving reader at the beginning!

Jack hears the quiet and slightly shuddery breath you take in at his words and can’t help but smirk. 

He likes this little game you guys play, likes when you’re a brat and he has to tame you and earn your submission. Likes when you start it subtly out in public.

Collins walks up to the opposite side of the desk around the same time you and Jack arrive. You share a brief moment of eye contact and then you scratch at your ear. You stop with Jack at the desk and stand close to him, close enough for your sides to touch. 

“Hey,” Collins calls your name to get your attention. You’ve become very close friends very fast. “I’m working with your man tonight, but I’m off tomorrow with some of the other girls and we were thinking of trying that new brunch place two blocks up once I’m off.” Jack’s head pops up and looks between you and Collins before settling back on you. “We figure somewhere between nine and eleven a.m. But McKay said she was happy to provide pregame mimosas at her place while you wait for me. She said she was fine with seven, good to stay on schedule.” 

 “That sounds so fun!” You nod at her, start walking over towards her, acutely aware of the way Jack tracks you as you do. “I’ve really been wanting to try that place! Probably makes the most sense for me to go over to McKay’s at seven if she’s going to be awake, just in case you actually get off on time for once.” 

Collins goes to speak again but Jack speaks first. “Don’t you already have plans?” 

You look back over at him confused. “No? Not unless I’m forgetting something.”

Subconsciously Jack moves his head towards you. “I think you are,” he nods. “Remember, we made plans.”

“Did we? When?” You go to say more but you’re interrupted by Collins laughter. “Heather!”

“I’m so sorry, the look on his face, I couldn’t help it!” She keeps laughing and it makes you laugh. 

“What?” Jack asks, clearly unamused. 

“We’re just screwing with you Jackie!” You giggle as you walk over to him. “We had a prearranged plan and signal to do this when I finally felt the time was right.” 

Jack blinks at you. “Did you now?” 

“Don’t pout.” You stick your lip out dramatically. “I have not forgotten our plans,” you assure him. You drop your voice for only the two of you to hear and run your hands over his chest, smoothing out his scrub top. “And I can assure you that I would never forget the kind of plans we have, nor would I ever take a rain check on them for some other offer.” 

“You’re a brat,” he replies lowly, an edge to his voice that makes another chill run up your spine. 

“You like it,” you whisper back to him before leaning up on your toes to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you, Heather!” You call out to her as she walks away and she just waves, still laughing to herself. “Have a great shift Dr. Abbot. Try not to have too much fun without me. Love you.” 

“Yeah, I love you too.” His eyes still track you as you walk backwards a little and wave at him before turning to walk out. “Hey,” he calls to you. You look back with your eyebrows raised in expectation. “Promises.”

You bite your lip and nod before turning again to leave.

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

You let yourself get some sleep while Jack works but make sure to set an alarm for 6:45 a.m. so that you can be up when he’s off. Or at least when he’s supposed to be off. Unsurprisingly, there’s no text from him at 7:00, but at 7:05 you get one. 

J – Probably going to be a few hours late.

You – No worries, me and my ankles will be here waiting patiently for your arrival home.

The next text comes at 10:07 a.m.

J – You up?

You – Of course. Just freshened up the ankles for you, loverboy.

You can practically see his eyes rolling from here, but you know he likes it. 

J – You will not like what will happen if you are not on the bed naked and waiting when I get home. 

You – That another promise, Jackie?

At that one you can just picture the way he clenched his jaw as he got in his car. You’re not surprised when you don’t get an answer. 

You do as he asks though. Kind of. 

You shut the bedroom door and strip, and then you put on what you think are one of the sexiest pairs of panties you own. 

You walk over to your shared bed and lay down, propping yourself up with a pillow just enough that you can make eye contact with anyone who walks through the door. 

You let your hand drift lower and lower until your fingers brush over your clit on top of the fabric. He hadn’t given you permission, hadn’t told you to even start getting yourself ready for him. You keep touching yourself, let your fingers rub circles over your clit, use the fabric rubbing against you as a new sensation, all the while thinking of what he’s going to do to you when he gets home. 

Your panties are noticeably wet by the time you hear the front door open, fingers sticky with your arousal despite having stayed on top of the fabric the whole time. 

Jack can feel himself starting to fill out again as he reads how you freshened up your ankles for him. You’ve pushed him today. But he needs it. He thrives on it, almost always, on taming you. On pushing you to the edge of your limits. On earning your submission.  

The drive is mercifully traffic free. He steps into your place, locks the door behind him and just drops his backpack on the floor. Doesn’t put it aside in its usual spot. Doesn’t hang his coat up on one of the hooks. Doesn’t call out for you. 

His coat lands wherever it finally falls off him as he stalks through the house towards your room. His shirt meets the same fate, landing not far from the bedroom door. He’s already fully hard by the time his hand hits the doorknob and pushes open your bedroom door. 

In retrospect he’s not sure why it wasn’t, but the sight of you on the bed, looking right at him, almost totally naked and rubbing your clit over your panties was not what he expected to see when he opened the door. He didn’t expect to hear your soft panting and the softest and most breathy moan of his name. Jack. He tries not to let you see how it gets to him, how you get to him but he knows you’ll see the clench of his jaw and flare of his nostrils. You’re a sight. The most beautiful and erotic one he’s ever seen. 

You bite your lip at him, fight to keep the smirk off your face, but don’t stop. After locking eyes with him for a moment you let your eyes move from his and trail all over his chest and abdomen and arms. And the now very prominent bulge in his scrub pants. He’s too handsome. He burns you sometimes you swear, just by standing there shirtless and silent with that stoic face of his and that jaw and those eyes that ever so slightly tell you just how affected he is. 

Wordlessly Jack steps further into the room and shuts the door before looking back at you. Silence like this always means something with him. Means he’s sexually frustrated and annoyed with you. Means he’s ready to tame. The way he cocks his head just slightly, though, is a silent challenge.  

“It’s funny, sweetheart. I don’t remember my text saying anything about you being allowed to touch yourself and distinctly remember it telling you to be naked on the bed.” His voice is too calm, too composed. He has too much control over himself, it drives you insane sometimes.

“Well,” you sigh softly, roll your hips a bit as you keep circling your clit, “the text didn’t say not to touch myself.” You take a second to let out a few more moans, another of his name, lick your lips. “And technically I’m not really touching myself. The fabric is touching me, there’s been no skin on skin, Jackie,” you smirk at him. 

Jack clenches his jaw and lets out a short hummed laugh. He doesn’t say anything though. He just takes his scrub pants off, tosses them in the corner and looks back at you in just his boxer briefs.  

He stalks closer to the bed, closer to you. “You think you’re real fuckin’ cute, don’t you?”

“Are you saying I’m not?” You pout just a little too cloyingly and he knows you’re still trying to fuck with him. 

“That’s not an answer.” A little jaw clench there. 

“Hmmm,” you hum, finally take your fingers away from yourself and up to your mouth, sucking them clean before releasing them. “Well it’s the only one you’re going to get.” 

“That so?” 

He can be so quick when he wants to be and before his question has fully hit you and you can start thinking of some bratty reply he’s leant over the center of the foot of the bed enough to grab your ankles and pull you down the bed. It’s so unexpected you yelp, but not in pain. He’s a doctor, he knows just where to grab to not pull too much on your hip or ankle. “Well that wasn’t a very bratty noise now, was it sweetheart?”

He pulls you by the hips now so that your ass is at the edge of the bed, rips your panties down and off you. Before you can wrap your legs around his waist he catches them, holds them up parallel to his body in front of him, but spread just enough for him to stand in between them. It gives him the perfect view of your pussy, glistening and on display for him. You see his eyes slip down to take you in before he drags them back to yours. He holds your eye contact as he moves his face towards one of your ankles and breaks your gaze just as the side of his face starts to brush your inner calf. 

Jack turns his face completely and you can see him hold his breath while he gives you just a little check in, a quick kiss to the inside of your ankle. And then he takes a deep breath through his nose. 

His head snaps back to look at you, pupils blown as wide as they can be, jaw clenched and rolling with the subtlest twitch under his eye for a second that only you would notice. His hands grip your legs tighter, tight enough to hurt just a little. Anyone else might think he was looking at you with controlled but raging anger. 

But you know that it’s a look of primal, possessive need, that Jack’s on fire for you, all searing skin and simmering blood and deep panting breaths. You know that his cock hurts as it strains against the fabric of his boxer briefs because he needs you so viscerally.

There’s another glance down at your pussy again as you hum saccharinely. His eyes snap back to yours. The slowest smirk pulls across your face as you hold his gaze, your eyes smoldering at him. For him. 

“Just thought you might like a little reminder of what’s yours, that’s all.”

Jack’s chest heaves just a little harder at your words and his eyes narrow slightly before pulling from yours and traveling down your body to take in you, all on display for him as he decides just what it is he wants to do with you.  

His cologne. 

His cologne is what you sprayed on your ankles. His cologne with just enough of a hint of your perfume coming through behind it so that it smells like you do after sex when he’s owned you, touched you so much and held you so close and fucked you so hard and so deep that the dewy sweat of your skin has evaporated much but not quite all of your perfume away and his cologne has stuck to you, marking you as his.

He’s still silent. Not brooding like he does sometimes. He’s just thinking. Just using the silence to toy with you and make you wait. Something about that makes you shiver. 

And Jack thinks he has you at that shiver. Keeps silent. Keeps looking at your body, especially your cunt. Keeps waiting for you to be the one to break and speak first. And you will be. 

But Jack thinks he has you and you saw it in a quick sweep of his eyes over your face at your shiver and you simply can’t have that. Not yet. 

“What’s wrong, Jackie?” You break the silence and give the smallest pout before your smirk comes back. “Pussy got your tongue?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, a slow smirk matching your own pulling up. He laughs a little. It’s a little more dangerous than if he hadn’t reacted because of how controlled it is, how it shows how much control he still has left. “Cute,” he nods at you as he caresses your ankles, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re cute when you’re a brat.” 

“I try-” You’re cut off by him suddenly bending your legs at the knee and pushing them towards you as he moves closer to the bed, drops to his knees on the carpet. He rests your feet on his shoulder, leaving your ankles right there for the fragrance to perfume the air. 

He takes in another long breath through his nose and you swear you can hear him growl before soft kisses are being placed up your inner thigh. Instead of moving inward though Jack kisses outward, along the inner line where your hip and thigh meet. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t spray anything here for me to find,” he murmurs against your skin as he kisses back towards where you’re desperate for him. 

“I considered it.” The words come out a little breathless as he gets closer and closer to your center. “But decided against it because then I would’ve had to listen to you bitch about not being able to smell me.”

Jack bites your inner thigh only a few inches away from your cunt and sucks, hard. Hard enough to leave imprints of his teeth, to suck a developing bruise into your skin. As he does so his stubble rubs lightly across your lips, breath hitching and hips twitching as you fight yourself to keep them down and not give him the satisfaction. 

He releases your thigh. “I don’t bitch,” he says nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly. As though he hasn’t noticed his face is an inch and a half away from your pussy. 

“Yes you-” You’re cut off with a gasp as Jack’s tongue licks up you cunt to clit. Your head falls back onto the pillow without a thought as the sensation of his tongue overwhelms you. 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he pulls away from you for just a second, “were you saying something?”

He renders you unable to answer by giving you another lick before using the tip of his tongue to trace lazy figure-eights around your clit. His tongue drops down again and he leans into you, sucks at as much of you as he can before going up to focus on your clit, taking it between his lips and sucking, but leaving just enough space to not get a complete seal so it doesn’t feel quite as good as it could. 

You whine softly about it because Jack’s eaten you out and sucked at your clit enough times for you to know how it normally feels, that he’s fucking insanely talented at it and that he never slips like this. So you know he’s doing it deliberately. 

He gives a little grunt against you to say fine, if you’re so unhappy with it he’ll go elsewhere, and the vibrations of it as he sucks and pulls away from your clit make your hips jolt. Jack’s hands immediately come up and hold your hips down, hands strong and warm and so big as he presses his fingertips down into your skin. 

Jack trails his tongue down, teasingly traces circles around your entrance as he basks in the little mewls you make for him. His cock throbs hard against the fabric of his boxer briefs and he gives the slightest groan about it. 

As quickly as his tongue dropped down to tease you it pushes inside of you and you moan, louder than you want to for him right now. Jack’s stubble rubs against your inner thighs as he tongue fucks you a few times and then pulls out, fingers squeezing your hips harder when you whine about it. 

His lips move back up to your clit and suck again, but this time the seal of them is tight around you, his tongue flicking little circles against you in his mouth. It steals your breath for a second as your back arches while your hips remain pinned to the bed by his hands. “Oh, Jack!” The moan is quiet, clearly slipping out of your lips unconsciously. Your hands fist the sheets hard before unclenching and starting to move down to his salt and pepper curls.

Jack isn’t looking at you, he has his eyes closed as he focuses on you and the little noises you’re making for him but that you’re trying to hide and how you taste and how you smell and how hot your pussy is on his skin, chin coated in you. But he doesn’t need to be looking to know your next move. 

He suddenly pulls his face from you. “Don’t even fucking try it or we’ll end this right here, right now and I’ll go fuck my fist in the shower.”

You freeze for a second and then pull your hands back up and twist at the sheets again, give him a huff. 

Jack takes the few seconds he’s pulled away from you to move his hands from your hips and push his boxer briefs down, freeing himself. He gives a little groan of relief when his hand wraps around him and tugs a few times. You’re already a little too fucked out to really notice.

He lets his hand stay there as he brings his face back to your cunt, starts licking and sucking again. He fucks his fist as he devours you whole, needs the relief even as a piece of him mourns the fact that it’s his hand and not your hand or your mouth or your cunt. 

Jack builds a pattern with his tongue, repeats it over and over as you writhe for him against the sheets, as you give him sweet little moan after moan until you’re finally moaning his name loudly. Pleasure courses through you and heat roils in your lower belly as your muscles contract tighter and tighter and Jack works you closer and closer. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant out “just like that Jack, just like that, fuck!”

And then he changes his pattern. You let out a vaguely frustrated sigh, but can’t stay true to it because the new pattern is just as good. You can feel him smirk against you at your sigh, move his face just a little so that his stubble scratches into you a little harder, starts to etch into your skin. 

Jack touches himself faster and faster as he licks and sucks at you, paying attention to how close he is and how close you are. The grunts and groans he pulls from himself send shivers through you and drive you that much closer to the edge. Your mind is so pleasure hazy you don’t even think to question why he’s making them. 

Once he gets himself right to the edge he slows down, is more absentminded with himself as he doubles down on you, pushes you right up to that same ledge with his tongue and mouth. He can feel your toes curl against him as you get a second away from the point of no return. 

You already know what’s going to happen but it doesn’t help, doesn’t make it easier to weather when he rips himself away from you. “No!” You cry it out for him despite yourself, despite wanting to appear unaffected. 

Jack laughs darkly. “You know only good girls get to cum, babygirl.”

You huff slightly, lay there panting with your eyes closed as you try and ride out your almost orgasm, hear Jack stand up. He lets one of your legs fall gently and holds the other up against his chest by your calf. So you wait for him. For whatever is next.  

You don’t expect the way he runs the palm of his hand through you though, the way he curls his fingers to drag up you in a way to collect as much of the arousal he’s pulled from you on his hand as possible. “Fuck, Jack!”

Your eyes fly open at you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him. The sight of him wrapping his slicked up palm and fingers around himself and starting to fuck his fist is unexpected but anything but unwelcome. 

“This could be, you know.” His voice is low, followed by a few low pants as he touches himself. “This should be you.” He lets his hand that’s holding your calf adjust your leg so that he can turn his head and breathe in through his nose at your upper ankle, let the smell of him owning you course through him. His head turns back and his eyes find yours. He stares at you with that same intensity from earlier but this time it’s glazed with an even heavier lust. “I should be in your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt,” he growls at you. “But am I?”

Though an obvious answer, it’s not a rhetorical question. He expects an answer. Expects you to acknowledge and think about how he’s not in your hand or your mouth or your cunt. You stare at him, can hear your heart beating in your ears, pussy growing wetter and mouth salivating at the thought. You just can’t help yourself though. 

“Well if you have to ask Jackie…” You give him a little shrug. 

“God, fuck!” Jack groans, voice strained as he aims his cock at you and comes all over your pussy and lower abdomen. He works himself through it, chest heaving, glistening with sweat and flushed as he slows his hand and releases himself. “You’re fucking pushing it,” he almost laughs, but it’s more an observation he happens to find entertaining. 

He stares at his cum that sticks so prettily to your skin and pussy, claiming you just for him as he lets himself come down from his orgasm. “You look so beautiful like his,” he murmurs lowly, voice huskier than normal. “Covered in me.”

Before you can say anything he looks away from you and grabs the panties you were wearing, uses them to clean you off and sits you up. It surprises you a little, that he’s so eager to wipe it away. But then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. 

He shows you again just how quick he can be, and you’re yelping again at the suddenness of finding yourself bent over his knees with his palm caressing one of your ass cheeks. There’s no build up. There doesn’t need to be. You know why you’re in this position. 

“Count.” It’s an order.

“Or what? You’ll spank me?”

He does, obviously. It’s a little harder than he had been planning the first one to be just because of the extra attitude, the smacking sound a little sharper. Another one to the other cheek follows swiftly. He can feel you squirm on him and hear the softest moan that just makes it through your lips into the air despite your otherwise lack of reaction. 

There’s a pause as he waits. Waits for you to say one. Two. 

“I distinctly remember telling you to count.” His voice is still so composed even with as low in pitch as it drops.

“I am!” You huff at him. He squeezes at one of your cheeks where his hand just came down. “I am!” You repeat, doing your best to sound indignant which is difficult given the position you find yourself in. “In my head.” You feel his entire body tense. “What? You just said count. Not count out loud.”

Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He’s quite certain he hears you giggle about it. There’s some part of him that’s a little proud of you for this little display. He shifts his legs a little, spreads them just a bit and runs his hand over your cheek and under you to pinch your clit. Not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make you jolt and let out another pretty little moan for him. You can feel him start to get hard again against your thigh. 

“Outloud.”

Another little giggle. 

“Sir, yes sir.” 

He’s good at spanking, you have to give him that. He gives you ten in total, five to each cheek. He doesn’t alternate every time, brings his hand down in quick succession sometimes and makes you wait torturously for it to come back down at others, varies the pressure and how hard he brings his hand down against you, where he brings it down. 

By the time he’s done tears sting at your eyes as your ass throbs, burning and sore and stinging in its own right. 

“Good girl.” It’s low, breathed out more than actually spoken as he leans you back up, but you’re still able to hear it. The part of your brain that wants to be a brat feels betrayed by the part that glows at his praise and approval and sends warm happiness flowing through you. 

“Center of the bed. On your stomach.” For once this morning you actually do as he asks, crawl your way to the center of the bed and lay on your stomach as he takes his prosthetic off and crawls up in between your legs. 

You rest your head on its side, look back at him as much as you can. His eyes run over your ass as his hands grab your hips and haul you up to your knees. You go to push yourself up on your hands or elbows but all too quickly his hand wraps around the back of your neck and pushes you back down wordlessly. 

With his other hand he gets himself lined up with you and pushes inside you slowly, cognizant that while he’s already edged you and gotten you nearly dripping for him, only his tongue has been inside you, no fingers to help prep you. You whimper but Jack knows you well enough to know that its not from physical pain but rather from how slowly he’s sliding into you. 

As he bottoms out Jack closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, a little shaky because fuck do you feel good and fuck has he been waiting to be buried inside you since you showed up at the Pitt. 

He pulls out of you slowly, lets you feel every ridge and vein of him before he snaps his hips hard to get himself back inside of you. 

“Ohh,” you moan out, “Jack, fuck.” He does it again, pulls out torturously slow and snaps back in. 

“You want more baby?” He says as saccharine and teasing as you’d spoken to him when he got home. He pulls out a little faster this time, moves his hand from your neck and uses both hands to help pull you back onto him so he can fuck you even harder. 

You immediately go to get up on your elbows again. “Stay down,” Jack warns, curling over you a little and using his hand to guide you back down. It changes the angle, makes him slide deeper inside of you which draws a moan from you and an erratic buck of his hips as he chases the feeling. 

“But I can’t see you like this,” you pout, breathing heavily. 

“Brats don’t get to see,” Jack grunts out, leans back up and returns both hands to your hips so that he can return to fucking you harder. 

You take in a couple of panted breaths, tilt your head at an awkward angle for a second to see a little more of him. You know he sees you do it. Somehow you manage to smile at him. 

“You’re cute when you’re all worked up.” You mirror his words from earlier back to him and manage the smallest smirk before turning your head back to a neutral position. 

Jack lets out a quick scoff. “You’re really fucking something else today.” Jack slides his hands up a little and pushes down, forcing your ass to come up higher for him, again letting him get deeper and hit harder with the added bonus of keeping your head on the mattress. He watches your hands curl in the sheets as he rails you.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. 

He snarks a laugh at how you don’t have to be given that instruction twice, hand sliding between your legs and rubbing erratically at your clit as your brain starts to get pleasure drunk off his cock.  

Neither of you speak for a bit, not real words. It’s just the sounds of your panting and the moans and groans you pull from each other and the slap of skin on skin. You’re the first to break.

“Oh god! Jack!” You mewl as the pleasure starts to overtake you. He can hear and feel how close you are.

“Stop touching yourself.” Another order. You falter on this one, like you knew he would. So he stops, removes your hand himself.

Another orgasm ebbs away from you. 

You whine but do your damndest to remain unaffected, to try not to show how desperate you’re getting. But your whine has just enough of a desperate edge to it to let Jack know he almost has you. 

“What was it you said again?” He starts rubbing your clit. “Oh yes, I remember. The anticipation and wait makes it better.” He gives another dark laugh as he starts fucking you again, just as hard and just as intense. 

“Oh fuck Jack!” You gasp out. He hadn’t given you much come down time and so you feel your orgasm cresting again quickly. 

“Close, baby?” He asks like he doesn’t already know by the feel of your cunt around him. 

You can only nod as the pleasure grows stronger and stronger, your breaths coming harder and harder as you moan nonsense to Jack. 

“Jack!” You draw his name out in a moaned whine. “Need to come. Need to.” Your speech is a little slurred now. 

“Brats don’t get to come.” It’s nearly mocking the way he says it. Cocky. Like he knows he has you now. Because he does. He knows how close you are. His pace doesn’t relent. He speaks through the panting breaths he takes. “And what are you sweetheart?” 

“A brat.” You look back up at him with watery eyes and a real pout this time, on the verge of tears of pleasure. “Please-

“You still think you’re real fuckin’ cute?” he pants, cutting you off. 

“No, I’m sorry, please Jack, Sir, I,” a few tears slide down your face. “I want to be good for you.” You’re so ready for it, so convinced he’s going to let you have it now. 

But Jack stops and pulls out of you and you let out a little sob as more tears fall.  

“Shh, shh, shh,” he shushes you softly as he flips you over so you’re on your back. “I’ve got you.”

He pushes back inside you, grabs your calves and throws one over his shoulder, takes his time with the other as he lets himself take in a deep breath through his nose at your inner ankle and lets out what sounds like a growl from the deep within his chest before settling it on him like the other. His fingers on one hand toy with your clit as he leans over you and grinds himself into you. With how worked up and sensitive you are and the sound he just made for you it’s all you need and he finally lets you have it. 

Your orgasm shatters you. You swear you lose hearing for a minute, lose the ability to breathe and that your vision goes white 

“There she is,” Jack drawls, “there’s my good girl.” He moves his hand and stills his hips, let his hands grope at your breasts, fingers gently teasing at your nipples. 

You pant hard as you try to reorient yourself, finally get your eyes back open and look up at Jack. 

“Jack,” your breathing starts to return to normal. “Please,” you breathe. 

He moves your legs off his shoulders and helps you wrap them around his waist, lowers himself down so that your chests touch. “Please gets you what you want, doesn’t it sweetheart?” He leans his head into your neck and starts kissing you there, soft teasing things. 

“Yes.” It’s just as breathless as your please and something about it drives Jack wild. You let one arm slip under his shoulder and bend up to cling to his back as much as you can, the other staying above his shoulder so that your hand can find his hair, let your fingers run through it.

Jack starts fucking you again, hard. He puts his whole body into it, arching his back and using his knees for leverage to help his thighs and hips drive into you over and over. He keeps kissing your neck, sucks at it, nibbles at the spots he knows are most sensitive. 

“Oh Jack!” You arch up into him. “Jack, Jack, Jack.” He feels too good, fucks you too good. It’s unreal. 

You hear him grunt low from deep in his chest and it makes you shiver, let out a whine. “I love the way you say my name when you’re like this. Fucked out and cock drunk.” 

Jack’s voice reveals he’s just as drunk on your pussy as you are his cock.

It rips through you out of seemingly nowhere at his words, your second orgasm, just as good as your first but deeper, more intense in the way it feels like your muscles contract so hard all your bones will snap before they release with a rush of pleasure that makes you arch into Jack again. 

His name slips off your tongue in a moaned prayer again. “Jack, Jack, Jack.”

“You sound so pretty when you come for me.” He kisses at your jaw, down your neck, sucks at your collarbone while he fucks you through it.

Jack moves his hand, slows his hips to give you a little bit of time to recover. You whimper through your tears of pleasure. He’s not chasing his own release. 

Because he’s not done with you yet.

He picks the pace of his hips back up and you moan for him, claw at his back and scalp. He knows it’s not going to take much to get you there a third time with how sensitive you are, right on the border of pleasurable and painful overstimulation.

“You’ve got one more in you for me, sweetheart, I know you do.”

You shake your head at him. “I can’t.” You sniffle and he leans in to kiss away your tears. You say that you can’t but you trust Jack to know your body more in this moment than you do, trust that he won’t push you too far, only right to your limit before bringing you back. “It’s too much Jack!” You keen as his fingers return to rub tight circles over your clit again.

“No babygirl,” Jack finally kisses you, licks into your mouth possessively and moans just as loud for you as you do for him, breaks the kiss but hovers his lips over yours so they brush against each other when he speaks, “it’s just enough.” 

Your orgasm crashes over you just as he finishes his sentence, white hot and searing. Your hands tug hard at his salt and pepper curls as you go soundless from how hard your coming, almost holding your breath as the pleasure completely takes over. Your ability to speak suddenly comes back and you let out the most erotic moan of Jack’s name that he’s ever heard.

Your cunt clenching around him, the sharp burst of pleasured pain from how hard you tug on his hair and that moan of his name are all Jack needs. He follows you, coming with a groan of your name that’s so choked and even more gravelly than his usual voice that you think for a second it might make you come again. He keeps moving his hips somehow, fucking himself through it to try and keep the feeling from ending.

“Fucking christ,” Jack groans as his hips still, propping himself up on his elbows and panting as he looks down at you. “You okay?” You’re smiling at him, eyes completely glazed over, but you nod. He knows that right now you are. It makes him smile back at you. He takes another couple of seconds to even his breathing out before kissing your cheeks and nose and forehead and chin and then your lips to bring you back down. “You. Are. So. Fucking. Perfect.” He punctuates each word with a kiss.  

You blink at him, eyes a bit clearer. So he asks again. “Hi beautiful,” he smiles down at you amusedly, “you okay?”

You come back to yourself a little more and that’s when the trembling starts as you reconnect your mind and body enough for the dump of hormones and adrenaline to hit you, your body struggling to figure out what to do with all the pleasure. “Ohhh,” you sigh out, voice a a bit shaky, “I am so much more than okay, Jack. I’m trying to figure out what layer of the fucking stratosphere you just sent me to and how I get back down,” you laugh softly. 

Jack returns the soft laugh. “Good. Water now?” You shake your head, not ready for it yet. He gives you another kiss that you return and then lowers himself on top of you. He knows his body weight and the skin on skin helps with the trembling and reorientation. You wrap your arms around him, let one hand play in his curls while the other rubs up and down his back absentmindedly. Jack feels when you stop trembling and relax.

“You did amazing sweetheart, I’m proud of you. That was a lot.” He leans back up for another kiss and you beam at him, glowing in the warmth of his body and praise. 

“Thank you,” you murmur against his lips. A beat passes. “I really got you twice there with the ankles, once at work and once with the cologne.” 

Jack snorts a laugh and buries his face in your chest. “You really are something else, you know that?” He peers up at you and the only thing you see is a man hopelessly in love with you and not afraid to show you. 

“I do.” You nod with a smirk, almost smug about it. “But I’m your something else.” You grin at him. 

Jack laughs. In a few moments he’ll ask you if you’re okay again, pull a pair of pajama pants on, put on his prosthetic and walk around shirtless to get you water without asking and probably a snack. He’ll ask if you want a bath or shower and when you say no this time he’ll rub some of the salve you have on your ass to help soothe where he spanked you. And then after his twelve plus a few hours shift followed by fucking you out of your mind he’ll ask if you’re okay if he grabs some sleep, as if you’d ever say no and won’t be half asleep yourself from the fucking he just gave you when he asks. But for now he just agrees with you. “You’re correct sweetheart,” he nods, “you’re my something else.”

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Hopefully it was okay?

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[flwrkid14]

hey, so for your “Love, in All its Impossible Forms” can you put Tim and Danny in a scenario where Danny has to either choose the world or Tim, and everyone and I mean everyone is telling Danny that he has to choose the world while Tim is staying quiet because he believes no he knows what Danny would choose. Danny, ever the hero would choose the world he so desperately fights to keep safe. Tim is okay with being the other option, he has only ever been the other option.

But what Tim doesn’t know is that Danny has never fought to keep the world safe. No, he fights to keep his loved ones safe, he fights so his family is safe, so Tim is safe.

Now that Tim is being threatened? Well Danny has never felt sentimental about this world, he’s sure Tim could adjust to a new world. After all, what’s the point in Danny being the ghost king if he can’t even do as he pleases?

And Tim? Tim would follow Danny no matter what he chooses, because that is love. Love isn’t conditional, not like how the batfam’s feel, not like how his parent’s felt.

(Take your time!)

anon, you saw into the softest and cruelest part of this story. the part where the world calls Danny a hero, demands he live up to the myth they made of him—and the part where Tim quietly prepares to be left behind.

because that’s what love is supposed to do, right? love chooses the world. love lets go.

but Danny’s never played by those rules. and this time… he doesn’t want to.

When the world begins to end, it’s quieter than anyone expects. No fire, no screaming sky—just cold calculations. A choice. A question with only one right answer.

Danny is called to the center of it. Not as a boy. Not even as a ghost. But as a king. As the King. The one being with enough power to fix it. To rewrite entropy itself if he just agrees to the terms.

All he has to do is choose the world. The millions of people who’ve never known his name, who would never thank him. The strangers who will live because of his sacrifice.

Or—

“Or,” they never say. Because there isn’t supposed to be an “or.”

But Danny feels it.

He feels it in the silence where Tim should be begging. He feels it in the way Tim stands just behind the gathered voices, distant, steady, waiting. Not asking for anything. Not even hoping.

Because Tim’s not the kind of person who gets chosen.

He’s always been the fallback, the extra, the strategic loss. Even in his own family. Even in love. And Danny—Danny is the kind of person who saves the world.

So Tim prepares himself to be left behind. Quietly. Without resentment. Because he understands. And he’s not surprised.

But Danny is.

Because Tim doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that the only reason Danny’s ever fought at all was to protect the people he loves. He’s never been sentimental about the world. He’s never even liked it all that much.

He fought to keep his family safe. His home. His people.

And now—

Danny looks at Tim. At the boy who never asks. Who loves so deeply and quietly he assumes that love means sacrifice. Who isn’t trying to make Danny choose. Because he already thinks he’s the thing that gets left behind.

And Danny can’t. He just can’t do it.

Because what’s the point of saving the world if it means losing the reason you were saving it in the first place?

What kind of king protects an empire and lets his heart die on the battlefield?

So Danny says no.

He turns to the council of ancients, to the army of heroes, to the crying civilians and the trembling ambassadors. And he chooses Tim.

And it’s not fair.

It’s not heroic.

It’s cruel in the way all real love is cruel—because it draws a line between “everyone” and “someone,” and then crosses it without apology.

The backlash is immediate. Gasps. Rage. Horror. They call him selfish. A monster. A failure.

And maybe he is.

But he looks at Tim, and for the first time in his life, he isn’t afraid of being selfish.

Tim stares back, disbelieving. He hadn’t prepared for this part. He hadn’t prepared to be wanted more than the world.

“I don’t understand,” he breathes.

And Danny says, “You don’t have to.”

Because Tim would follow Danny anywhere. To a world that will hate them both. To a universe where no one knows their names. To an entirely new timeline where there’s no pressure, no expectation, no family holding him back. And that's exactly what Danny asks him, to follow him to a future they make themselves. One the world may never forgive them for.

Tim nods.

And that’s love, too.

Not the conditional kind. Not the kind that’s earned or tested or weighed. But the impossible kind. The cruel, human kind.

The kind that lets the world burn because one person mattered more.

[cherryblossom-heart]

A/n: Ok besties, hear me out. One of my favorite non canon but with all the vibes and sexual tension type of couple is Karen Page and Frank Castle from Daredevil. So now it got me thinking…

FYI this is a little bit long

Hero!Satoru x Reader x Vigilante!Sukuna

Hero!Satoru who you meet after he rescues you. You suffered the terrible case of wrong place, wrong time, finding yourself being chased thought the streets of Tokyo by thugs working for one of the seven clans that own the city.

Hero!Satoru who, after you get cornered in a dead end alley, right as they are about to put a bullet in your head, suddenly pops up behind the man who almost shot you. The men were taken by surprise, it wasn't every day that you saw a man materialize out of thin air but the bandages over his eyes foolishly made them think they had nothing to worry about.

Hero!Satoru who laughs as shot after shot they miss him, taunting them every time. When one of the bullets lands next to you, making you shriek in fear, he quickly appears next to you, carrying you in his arms as he teleported with you to a safe place behind a dumpster. You threw up as soon as your feet touched the ground.

Hero!Satoru who finishes all six men in less than a minute, not even breaking a sweat.

Hero!Satoru who goes to you. You're shaking like a leaf having experienced almost death and certain murder for your intended killers for the first time in your life.

Hero!Satoru who extends his hand to you but you recoil in instinct, not sure of who you should trust now. Sure, this stranger just saved your life but the crack one of the men’s leg did once Satoru bent it at an unnatural angle would surely haunt your dreams.

Hero!Satoru who looks at you and something warms in him. Maybe it was the way you looked like a cornered puppy, your eyes big and wide in fear, or perhaps it's the way your lip quiver with the threat of tears. Or maybe it was because, even though you were terrified you were still brave, your eyes carrying such fierceness he had only seen in his fellow heroes.

Hero!Satoru who lifted his hands in the air, trying to show he was no warm to you. He crouched in front of you, taking out a small tissue he always carried in his back pocket for emergencies. With a swift movement he wiped a couple of small droplets of blood that had stained your face. He's relived you didn't back away.

Hero!Satoru who offers you the tissue, in case you want to clean yourself further more. You take it, hesitantly snatching out of his hand.

Hero!Satoru who breaks the silence.

"Hey, I'm Sator–y," he coughs up the last letter as he chastised himself for his slip up. Fuck, he wasn't supposed to use his real name.

"Satory?" You asked clearly confused.

"Yep, Satory." He lifts up his hand to you. "That's my hero name."

"That's your hero name?" The edge of sass in your voice almost made him laugh.

Hero!Satoru who, after an improvised explanation on why his hero name is Satory, asks for your name. You don't give it to him right away, but as you pondered your options you decided that having a super hero as an acquaintance is not a bad idea.

Hero!Satoru who smiles brightly at your name, each syllable engraining themselves in his memory.

Hero!Satoru who helps you standing up, his pull easily bringing you on your feet maybe a little too hard making you crash against his chest, his arm circling your waist.

Hero!Satoru who feels how a little bit of warmth in his cheeks as he feels you pull apart and he thanks the universe for helping him choose to wear bandages to cover his eyes or else you would've seen his panic in them.

Hero!Satoru who is now a little too nervous, almost darting out as he mumbled a silly apology and excuse of having to keep fighting crime.

Hero!Satoru who gets stopped by your hand in his arm, your touch sending shivers down his spine. He looks at you, unable to say anything as he stared at your fingers wrapping around his biceps.

"Wait, where are you going? What am I supposed to do now? These guys still know who I am, they're going to kill me. Help me, please."

Hero!Satoru who sighs, not because he was annoyed at your pleas, but because he knew you didn't even had to beg that much. He was still going to help you.

Hero!Satoru who takes you to his home and reveals his true identity. Satoru Gojo, playboy, millionaire and an occasional pro bono lawyer with striking blue eyes they were impossible to resist. He tells you the name he uses in his little rendezvous "The strongest.". His cheeks turn pink when you burst laughing.

"I'm sorry. God, aren't you cocky?" You ask in disbelief.

"Only because I'm right." He winks at you.

Hero!Satoru who offers you a place to stay as he figures out a way to get you out of danger. But instead of taking his help you argue with him. You want to expose them, the big corporation that worked under the Yakuza, the politicians what were in the mobs payroll.

Hero!Satoru who, after several hours of arguing with you, finally lets you help. You will be an informant for the police and Satoru would be your lawyer, one of his many pro bono cases. He would talk to his friend Detective!Kento, the one cop in the whole city he trusted one hundred percent.

Hero!Satoru who ends up liking your company, his penthouse not as lonely and dark. He likes getting home to someone smiling for him, he likes the smell of the food you offer to cook as "payment" for saving your life in more than one way. He likes the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the way your shampoo smells, it's scent now lingering in one of his pillows in his room.

Hero!Satoru who can't help fall in love with you as you face everything ahead with trembling limbs and tears pooling in your eyes yet you never yield, not even when you get framed for a murder you didn't commit, taking away part of your credibility as a witness. If the police wouldn't hear you then the papers would, and you'll bring every proof you could with you.

Hero!Satoru who enlists Lawyer!Suguru's help, his best friend aware of his shanenigans and the only person in the world he would trust his life with and therefore yours too. Both of them use every trick in the book until the finally get to set you free.

Hero!Satoru who holds you tight the night you get you get released, your innocence finally proven. That's the first night Satoru kisses you. Slowly, passionately, lovingly.

Hero!Satoru who, for the first time in a long time, is happy and content as he has you in his arms, his nose dipping in the crook of your neck.

Hero!Satoru who gives you tells you about the group of thugs he just beat up, hoping that one of them might have some intel he could use against Kenjaku, the man that behind every every string but he had planned to interrogate them but the cops showed up a little too early.

Hero!Satoru who isn't too sure to let you go interrogate one of those thugs at the hospital they were at, especially now that he had another tip of a big showdown where Kenjaku would be at, it was one in a million chance. But a small little please and the fierceness of your eyes and he rolled his eyes and agreed to let you go, as if he could stop you once you had made your mind.

Hero!Satoru who get's to the location, eagerness but mostly anger coursing through his veins as he is waiting to finally see the man who had made your life hell.

Hero!Satoru who notices too late that it was a trap, a trap meant to keep him occupied, distracted. Men after men came, dragging the fight longer than it should. When Kenjaku is nowhere to be seen he hold one of them men by his collar, screaming at him to give him answers.

"The boss... he sends his regards to the little bitch you're protecting."

Hero!Satoru who thinks he's too late as he calls your phone, each call going to voicemail.

Hero!Satoru who, for the first time in his life, feels completely and utterly hopeless.

You had reached the hospital room where one of the men Satoru had fought was recovering in. A broken nose, ribs and arm had rendered him incapacitated, his face almost deformed from the punches he had taken.

He had woken up in fear, scared of the "Blind demon." coming back for him. You had tried to call him down, telling him he better told you everything he knew or you would call this so called "Demon."

It didin't take long for him to spill the secrets he kept, giving you more and more ammunition for the expose you were working on. After over thirty minutes of recording, the sound of screaming interrupted your interview.

Gunshots could be heard everywhere, along with the screams of people who had gotten in the cross fire. You knew they were here for him, and the middle level criminal knew it too. You grabbed him, pulling him alongside you as you tried to make your way out of the hospital.

You had reached the hallway that reached the exit door, so close you could almost feel safety at the tip of your hands. Unfortunately, the criminal you were trying to keep alive had taken a stop, his lungs not cooperating with him after such a run.

You kept pulling on him, telling him to push through the lack of air. He began standing up straight, finally continuing giving a couple of steps in your direction when a shot was heard. A bullet carving his way from the back of his head to his forhead.

You ran, your legs and your lungs burning as you reach for a random room to try to keep yourself safe in. Unfortunately crystal walls are nothing against bullets.

Now cornered against a wall you hear your phone ringing, Satorus ringtone playing through the silent room you and your future killer are in. He looks at you, nothing but disdain in his face. He lifts his gun, aiming straight for your face.

"Kenjaku sends his rega–"

The man fell to the floor, now with a hole where his eye used to be.

Vigilante!Sukuna who looks at you and you remind him of a scared little puppy, trembling like a leaf as you began processing whatever the hell had just happened.

Vigilante!Sukuna whose red eyes scan you, analyzing whether or not you are a threat. It takes him less than a second to asses you're not, not with fear written so clearly over your face.

Vigilante!Sukuna who is surprised when you quickly pick up the gun his victim had, aiming it right at his chest.

Vigilante!Sukuna who sees as you take in his appearance. Red eyes, pink hair and a shit ton of tattoos adorning his body and face along with the big muscles you could see against his black long sleeved shirt he's wearing and the bullet proof vest. The man was built like a tank.

Vigilante!Sukuna who aims his gun back at you, thinking you might give up and just plead and beg for your life. Instead he is surprised by your stance, sure you were trembling but there wasn't a doubt in his mind you would shoot him dead if he tried anything.

"I'm not here for you." He says, plainly.

You don'y say anything, just waiting for him to do the first move. He tries to move forward to you but you aim the gun now to his face as he lifts his hands in the air.

Vigilante!Sukuna who thinks he's dead and he can't help but be disappointed as he sees your finger pulling the trigger. Taken out by a scared little girl, what an embarasing fate.

Vigilante!Sukuna who hears the bullet passing next to him, followed by a thud behind him. He turns around to see one of Kenjakus men in the floor, a bullet in his shoulder.

Vigilante!Sukuna who can't describe what he's feeling but as he sees the fire behind your eyes, he thinks there's more about you that you let on.

[dexxtrosee]

In the middle of the night

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

TW: mentions of canon violent mass event, panic attack.

He doesn’t talk to you about it.

Days pass and pass, and then they turn into weeks. More patients come, more patients die, more patients live. Jake doesn’t talk to him, Leah's parents invite him to the funeral. Still, he doesn’t tell you about any of it, aside from shaking his head when you ask when Jake's coming over again. It was on the news, he's not stupid enough to think you have no clue about what he went through, you just don't know how bad it was.

You don’t know any of it from his own mouth, and still, it bothers him when you don’t seem even slightly surprised every time he wakes you up with his nightmares and his crying. You just let him hide his face on your neck, let him clutch your body against his while the sobs wreck him. You push his hair back, kiss his forehead, wait until he's calm enough to manhandle him back to lying down. He falls asleep to your fingers tracing the lines of his face more often than not.

One particularly bad night, he manages to wake himself up in silence, petrified. You don’t seem to notice at first, breath soft and slow, still sleeping. He can’t move, can’t make a single sound. His chest feels tight, his head is drowning in screams and sobs and people telling him he's not good enough.

The bed feels too soft, his shirt is choking him. Why couldn't he save them? Why is he even fucking trying? Fuck, he can't breathe. Adamson died on his watch, he made him suffer through a horrible, long death because he couldn't let go. And everyone had to watch him do it again with Leah, cling to an impossible task while docens of people needed him and she was already fucking dead. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck-

"Robby. Hey, Robby, look at me. Open your eyes love, come on."

Your voice makes him jump. He realizes for the first time he's hyperventilating now, squeezing his eyes shut.

God, he feels pathetic for putting you through this again and again. You're gonna end up leaving him, he's sure. He's too much and too little at the same time, more baggage than man. He can’t keep doing this to you, he can't, he can't he can't-

"Robby, open your eyes."

He feels you grab his arms and pull him into a sitting position. His entire body breaks into shivers, his heart trying its best to burst out of his chest.

"Robby, open your eyes."

When he finally does, he doesn’t like the concern plastered over your features. He pushes you away slightly, bending to the side.

"I-I think I'm gonna be sick."

You don’t seem to listen to him, instead jumping over the blankets until you're kneeling by his side. You push his head back with the heel of your hand, and he closes his eyes again. He doesn’t think he can handle your worry right now.

A balloon stretches inside his throat. His hands fly to clutch at his neck, but your hand grips them both and pushes them down until they're pressed against his legs. You're seeing right through him, right into all the things he's tried hiding from you ever since he met you.

He doesn’t want it to reach you.

"Robby, I think my lip is bleeding. Can you take a look at it?"

Your question freezes him on the spot. Did he accidentally hit you? Oh fuck, fuck-

"I bit my lip too hard earlier today, I was sewing up my green sweater and got lost in my head. It's the one you gave me, remember? The knitted one."

Robby frowns, squeezing your hand tighter. The green one? The one he got in Philly after your third date?

"The one you say feels too rough unles you're wearing it."

Ah, Robby remembers that one. It felt itchy, he asked about it when he gave it to you and you put it on right there. Then you had shaken your head and smiled, telling him it was softer on the inside.

"Open your eyes, babe."

Slowly, he does. You're bent in front of him, and there's a small speck of blood close to the edge of your mouth.

He raises his hand, cleaning it up with shaky fingers. It doesn’t really help, just spreads it over your lower lip and paints it a faint red. It makes him chuckle, but the sound resembles an animal in agony.

Out of nowhere, he feels something cold and metallic press against his neck. He gasps, unintentionally pulling you closer.

You let him. You shuffle closer until you're kneeling between his legs, and he wraps his arms around you. His face is wet, his entire body feels weak, made of paper.

"Where did you even get that sweater from? You may need to buy me a new one if I can’t save this one."

It was a local, old shop. The owner was an older man, running the store on his own, if he had to guess. Full of old furniture, the kind that lasts generations.

"I-I can try and h-help you mend it."

Your chest shakes slightly against his, laughing. He buries his head on your shoulder. "Sure you can, doc."

Minutes pass. Your hand tangles inside his hair, the other caressing his back up and down. Your warmth seeps into his clothes, his body, relaxing it until he feels he can barely stay upright.

You kiss his cheek, his temble, his shoulder. He can’t really help it when he bursts into tears.

"Take a deep breath, it’s okay. I'm right here."

His sobs rock the entire bed. He wishes he could hug you close enough to merge his soul with yours.

"It's okay love, you can let it out."

In the middle of the night, with the other half of his soul wrapped around his, he finally does.

[leriexoxo]

A Bumpy Ride

PART ONE

“Rough ride, hold on tight, yeah this train never sleeps”

Pairing: Chan x Fem Reader

Tags: smut, exhibition, semi-public sex, fingering, riding, car sex, risky sex, unprotected sex (be smart), breeding, tit play, friends to fbuddies

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: You got invited to go camping with the members of straykids after their promotions, everyone’s excited about the road trip in the mountains but with all the luggages of over 10 people piled up in three cars, there wasnt any room for you- well except on Chans laps, for the entire 2 hour bumpy ride and lets just say, You did NOT dress up with this outcome in mind. The road plus your clothes or lack-thereof puts you both in a sticky situation

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

next

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

The sound of laughter echoed from the driveway as the members of Stray Kids bustled around, finishing the last-minute packing for the long-awaited road trip to the campsite. Every inch of the three cars was packed to the brim with luggage, snacks, and camping gear, the trunks barely able to close, and even the backseats cramped with duffel bags and coolers. It was supposed to be a weekend away—a break from their hectic schedules, and maybe the first chance to truly relax in what felt like forever.

But, as the boys loaded into the first two cars, you stood on the edge of the driveway, eyes widening in confusion.

“Wait, where’s my seat?” you asked, glancing around. “There’s no space in the back of either car!”

Jisung poked his head out of the first car. “Uh… yeah, we didn’t quite plan for your bags, and, well, there’s no more room.”

Hyunjin, standing beside him, gave you a sheepish look. “Looks like you’re gonna have to hitch a ride in the trunk.”

“No way,” you groaned. “I’m not sitting in the trunk for two hours.”

Chan was already walking toward you, amusement in his eyes. “Hey, if you want to make it to the campsite, I can carry you. We’ll squeeze you on my lap for the ride.”

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Would you rather be left behind?” Chan smirked, raising an eyebrow, as the other boys chuckled, giving you no choice but to agree.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you shrugged, “Fine, but you owe me big time for this.”

“Deal,” Chan said, already opening the back door of the third car. You slid in after him, your face flushed with embarrassment and excitement at the same time. The moment the door closed, the smell of his cologne surrounded you, his body heat radiating as you awkwardly settled onto his lap, your knees pressing against his thighs.

As the car began to roll out of the driveway, you couldn’t help but wonder how the next two hours would go. With your body pressed against his in such close quarters, you already knew this ride was about to be more intense than you had anticipated.

—

The car jolted again, tires thudding hard against another bump in the dirt road. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were airborne for half a second, and then gravity pulled you right back down—right onto Chan’s lap.

“Fuck—” he muttered under his breath, his arms tightening around your waist like a seatbelt.

“I told you I could sit on the floor,” you huffed, adjusting your grip on the headrest in front of you. Not that it helped. The moment you settled, another jolt sent you sliding again, your thigh catching between his legs.

He let out a strained breath through his nose. “Yeah, and then you’d crack your head open on the cooler.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, but all you caught was the flush creeping up his neck, the way his jaw clenched as you shifted again. His hands were splayed wide at your hips now, thumbs dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

The stack of luggage separating the rest of the car felt like a wall of denial at this point—just you and Chan back here, locked in your own little pressure cooker.

“I didn’t think the road would be this bad,” you muttered, trying to lift yourself up a little, as if giving him space would help.

It didn’t. The next bump had you bouncing straight back down, and this time you felt it—hard. Solid. Pressed right beneath you.

Chan’s breath hitched audibly.

You froze. “Was that—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, voice low, jaw clenched tight. “Don’t move.”

You didn’t move. But your breathing changed—deeper, shallower, uneven.

Neither of you spoke.

Chan’s hands were still on your hips, firm, fingers twitching like they were debating a very stupid decision. His voice came again, low and rough near your ear.

“I’m serious. Don’t move.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

Another bump. Smaller this time, but it still rocked you just enough. Your body shifted instinctively, trying to find balance—and there it was again. Hard and growing.

“Fuck, y/n…” he hissed under his breath. You felt the heat in your face instantly.

“I—Chan, I didn’t—”

He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a second. “I know you didn’t. But you’re not making this easy.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t realize sitting on you would be this… distracting.”

He chuckled dryly, but it sounded strained, barely holding back. “Yeah well… your shorts aren’t doing a very good job of hiding anything. And I can feel everything.”

You clenched your thighs instinctively. He felt everything?

“I’m wearing thongs,” you muttered, voice barely a whisper.

His fingers dug into your hips. Just a bit. “Yeah. I noticed.”

The road jolted again, and you bounced once more—this time straight back with your ass grinding down just enough to make him curse through gritted teeth.

You froze, then slowly turned your head, eyes catching his. His gaze was dark, intense, and hungry.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna fuck around and embarrass myself,” he murmured.

Your heart was pounding now, heat pooling low in your belly. “Maybe I don’t want you to hold back.”

His breath caught.

For a second, the only sound in the car was the rattle of loose camping gear and the hum of tires over uneven ground.

Then his grip on you changed—firmer, more possessive. “Say that again.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I want to fuck around and embarrass yourself?”

That was it.

Chan’s mouth was at your neck a second later, hot breath dragging over your skin. He didn’t kiss you—yet—but his hands were sliding up under the hem of your tank, palms rough and warm as they grazed the bare skin of your waist.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby girl,” he murmured. “You keep grinding like that and I’m not just gonna sit here and behave.”

Another bump. Another grind. This time you didn’t try to stop it.

“We’ve got two hours,” you whispered. “Make them worth it.”

The next time the car rocked, you felt it—all of it. His cock, thick and hard, trapped beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. And with how your own had bunched up so high from all the jostling, your skin was nearly bare against him. Nothing but your thin thong and the soft cotton of his shorts in between.

Your breath hitched. He groaned. Loud.

The bass from the radio swallowed it whole.

“You feel that?” he muttered near your ear, voice dark and ragged. “Feel what you’re doing to me?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

Another dip in the road—thud—and your body rocked again, thighs spread just a little wider by the movement, ass grinding down like it had a mission. You weren’t even trying to tease him now; the road was doing it for you.

But Chan was suffering. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“Your shorts…” he rasped. “They’re so—fuck, baby, they’re riding up so high I can see your ass.”

You whimpered, heat spiraling through you.

“I can feel everything,” he growled, pressing his hips up just slightly. That movement alone made your body shudder. “Your thong… you’re so soft, and the way you’re moving on me—”

Another bump. This one dragged you back along his lap before slamming you forward again—your bare ass grinding across the full length of his cock like a sin you couldn’t take back.

Chan groaned. Louder this time, but the music masked it again. The beat thrummed through the car like a countdown to your unraveling.

“I can’t take this,” he hissed. “You keep moving like that and I’m gonna fuckin’—”

“Then do something,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

His fingers trembled on your waist. He dragged them lower, just a little—pads brushing over the waistband of your shorts, thumbs dipping beneath, teasing the edges of your thong.

“You’re not gonna stop me?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed.

His hand slipped down, just one. Slowly. Carefully. Until his fingertips grazed between your thighs—where the fabric was soaked.

“Shit.” He exhaled, voice cracked. “You’re dripping.”

You clenched around nothing, thighs tightening.

“You want me to keep going?” he asked, voice filthy-soft.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer. You just arched your hips back—grinding into his palm, into the thickness straining beneath you.

His fingers pushed your thong to the side. Bare skin met bare skin. Heat met heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting back a groan as his finger traced the crease where your inner thigh met your heat.

You wanted to say something—but then he did it.

One arm curled tightly around your waist. The other moved fast. In a swift, practiced motion, he lifted your hips just barely—just enough—and shoved one leg of his own shorts up, freeing himself.

You didn’t even have time to react.

He was bare. Thick. Hot. His cock rested heavy and flushed against his stomach for a beat before he guided it—down. Right where you’d just been sitting.

Then he slowly lowered you back onto him.

You gasped.

There was no warning. No barrier. Just the thin strip of your soaked thong and his bare length pressing directly beneath you—so warm, so hard, the tip catching against the curve of your ass, dragging sinfully along your folds with the slightest motion.

“Holy shit,” Chan choked out, one hand clutching your hip, the other gripping the seat beside him. “You feel that?”

You nodded wordlessly, mouth parted, hips frozen.

“Don’t move,” he groaned. “Just—fuck, don’t move.”

But then the car hit another rut.

You dropped onto him with a jolt, your body sliding back and forth over his cock. No fabric. No friction buffer. Just sinful, desperate rubs with every bounce of the wheels.

Chan growled, low and guttural.

“Fucking hell, baby girl, you’re gonna make me lose it.”

Your hands gripped the back of the headrest in front of you, legs trembling as each bump dragged you across him again—tip gliding between your folds, shaft grinding against the soaked thong and swollen skin. It was torture. Hot, slow, overwhelming torture.

“I can feel your slit every time,” he rasped against your neck. “You’re soaked, baby. Your pussy’s just rubbing all over my cock like you want me to slide right in—”

You whimpered. The music thumped around you. No one could hear. No one knew. But you were unraveling—both of you were.

Two hours of this? There was no way you’d survive.

The next bump sent another long, dragging rub down the length of his cock—and this time, you didn’t even pretend it was an accident.

You shifted your hips, tilted just slightly forward, and then rolled them back—slow and deliberate.

Chan let out a strangled, broken sound behind you. “Baby girl… don’t do that.”

You did it again.

His hands flew to your hips like magnets, gripping tight—but he didn’t stop you. He couldn’t. Not when your soaked thong was leaving a hot, sticky trail with every slide along his shaft.

“I thought you said not to move,” you whispered, leaning back into his chest like you hadn’t just destroyed every ounce of his control.

“I did,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck. “And now look what you’ve done.”

You rolled your hips again, slow and sensual—smearing yourself along his cock, soaking him with your arousal. The movement pressed your bare ass tighter against his lower stomach, letting you feel just how wet you were making him.

He hissed, head dropping back against the seat. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. I can feel it all over me.”

You shivered at the sound of his voice—low, desperate.

“I want your hands,” you said quietly.

His eyes snapped open, dark and wild. “Where?”

You guided one hand up beneath your tank top. His palm was rough, fingers wide as they skimmed the soft skin just beneath your chest. You arched into his touch, and he groaned again, fingertips brushing the underside of your breasts.

“No bra?” he rasped, voice cracking.

“Too hot,” you whispered, and then ground against him again, dragging your soaked core along his length.

His other hand slipped down, fingers trailing over the curve of your thigh, then back up under the edge of your bunched-up shorts—cupping your ass. Skin on skin.

He groaned like a man starving.

“I could come just from this,” he muttered, lips ghosting your shoulder. “Just from the way you’re grinding on me. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You kept moving—slow, calculated circles of your hips, soaking his cock in your slick, never letting him push inside. Not yet.

“Touch me more,” you breathed, and his hands obeyed instantly.

One slid up higher under your tank, finally palming your breast, thumb flicking gently over the nipple until you gasped. The other massaged your ass, squeezing and pulling, guiding your grind like he was trying to memorize the way your body felt on top of him.

The road kept jerking you, bump after bump, each one adding to the torture.

He was soaked now—shaft glistening with your arousal, tip slick and nudging against your entrance every now and then, tempting fate.

“You don’t want me to put it in?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Not even a little?”

“I want your fingers first,” you said. “I want you to feel what you’re doing to me.”

Chan swore under his breath. You felt his hand dip lower, slide between your thighs—and then two fingers, warm and strong, brushed over your slit.

You were dripping.

“Holy shit, baby…” His breath caught. “You’re soaking through the seat.”

And then he slid one finger along your folds, slow and reverent. Just barely teasing. Just enough to make you lose your mind.

You moaned softly, head tilting back, and his lips caught your neck. “You gonna let me play with you back here, princess? Gonna let me see how wet you get before I fuck you stupid?”

You didn’t answer. You just kept grinding—slow and sinful—while his fingers slipped beneath your thong and finally, finally, sank inside.

His fingers were deep inside you now—slow, torturous. He worked you with careful precision, like he was studying every little shiver your body gave, every breath you took. Your hips ground down harder, desperate for more, but he just pulled back, not letting you feel the deep, punishing stroke you needed.

You were soaked. So fucking soaked it was obscene. The sounds of your wetness mixed with the sound of the car’s engine humming beneath you, but all you could focus on was him—his fingers buried inside, curling against you just enough to make you ache for more.

“God, baby…” Chan muttered, his voice strained, low and ragged. “You’re so tight, I can barely move inside you. Just a little… fuck, just a little bit more—”

You whined as his thumb brushed your clit, the sensation so damn good that you nearly bucked right off his lap.

“Chan…” you whimpered, voice breathless, “please…”

He didn’t answer. He just moved faster, fingers sinking deeper, thrusting in and out of you in a slow rhythm that matched the uneven speed of the car. Every bump seemed to push you closer to the edge, making you grip his arm tighter, your body trembling as you ground yourself against him again, dragging your soaked thong along his hard cock with every movement.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he groaned in your ear, his lips brushing your skin as he leaned in, his free hand massaging your breast again, squeezing the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “All this wetness… all this for me? For just my fingers, baby girl?”

Your eyes closed, head tipping back as you lost yourself in the sensation. The way his fingers moved, the way his thumb circled your clit, the way he was slowly unraveling you from the inside out. You couldn’t stop grinding against him, the friction driving you crazy.

“More,” you whispered, needing it. “Please, more.”

But Chan’s pace stayed maddeningly slow, deliberately pulling away just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t giving you what you wanted—not yet.

“You want more?” he teased, voice thick with desire. “Tell me how bad you want it. Beg for it.”

You moaned, grinding harder against his hand, your hips moving as if they had a mind of their own now. “Chan, please. Please… don’t stop, I need more.”

A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he added a second finger. The stretch burned, but it was delicious—perfect—and you gasped in response.

“There we go,” he murmured, his fingers working in and out of you in a steady rhythm. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. Let me feel how wet you are for me.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. You bucked your hips, fucking yourself against his hand, your body pushing harder into him, desperate for that sweet release that was slowly building. You were so close—so close you could taste it.

His fingers moved faster, deeper. His thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit, and that was all it took. The sensation built higher, tighter, until you exploded, hips jerking violently as you came on his fingers, your body trembling with every aftershock.

Chan groaned, voice low and guttural. “Fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come on my fingers.”

But you weren’t done yet.

You stayed there, breathless, shuddering in his arms, your body still writhing from the intensity of the orgasm. You could feel his cock, hard and aching beneath you, and you needed it. You wanted to feel him—more than anything.

But the road kept shaking, throwing you in and out of his lap, teasing you further.

“Please, Chan,” you whimpered, fingers gripping his wrist, pulling his hand away just enough to feel the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds. “Please… let me ride you. I need you.”

His eyes darkened, breath ragged. “You’re gonna kill me, baby girl, but yeah… yeah, let’s make it happen.”

One hand slid between your thighs. Found the edge of your thong. Tugged it aside.

“Chan—” “I need you.”

And then—he was there.

Hot, thick, and bare, pressing against your entrance. You tried to shift forward but his arm wrapped tight around your waist and dragged you back, slow and steady, until he was buried inside you.

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. You could feel every inch of him, the stretch delicious, dizzying. He was deep—too deep for a position like this—but you were soaked and desperate and clenching around him like he belonged there.

His breath stuttered behind you. “Jesus—you’re so fucking warm.”

You nodded, dazed, forehead against the window as you tried to keep quiet. The van hit another bump. You rocked forward, then back—impaling yourself even deeper. He groaned through clenched teeth.

“Keep doing that,” he whispered. “Fuck, ride me. Just like that. Slow.”

Your hips obeyed before your brain caught up. Rocking in tiny, aching rolls, grinding down on him with each jolt of the van. Every breath was ragged, every movement a gamble.

And right on the other side of those boxes?

Hyunjin hummed along with the music.

Still completely unaware that you were fucking yourself on his leader.

Slow, careful, desperate.

Chan’s cock was buried inside you, pulsing with every clench of your walls. His hands were locked around your waist, trying to hold you still, failing miserably. Every bump of the road pushed you deeper, every sway of the van had your breath catching.

He was too hot. Too hard. And you were soaking him—your thighs slick, his jeans drenched at the crotch where your arousal was leaking down his length.

“This is so fucked,” you whispered, barely audible over the hum of the tires and the loud music from the radio. “We’re gonna get caught—”

“No one’s watching,” he growled into your ear, voice thick with lust. “They don’t even know. You’re doing so good, baby. Just keep going.”

You whimpered. Baby.

He’d never called you that before this car ride. Never held you like this, whispered filth into your skin with his cock so deep inside you that your toes curled. You were always part of the gang, like one of the boys.

The box next to you shifted again. For a split second, you thought Hyunjin had moved—your heart stopped, but he didn’t stir. Still slumped with headphones in, face turned toward the window.

“Ride me slower,” Chan whispered, lips brushing the back of your neck. “Nice and quiet. Can’t let them hear how wet you are, right?”

You nodded frantically, already lifting your hips with agonizing slowness before dropping back down—just a little. Just enough to make him shudder.

“Oh my God,” he groaned softly, teeth grazing your shoulder. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

You were trembling. Your thighs, your stomach, your voice—it was all unraveling. The tightness in your belly coiled sharper every time he bottomed out inside you, the base of him grinding against your slick folds, your clit catching against the rough fabric of his jeans.

You wanted more.

You wanted everything.

“Touch me,” you whispered. “Please—Chan—”

His hand slid between your thighs so fast it made your breath catch. Two fingers on your clit, slow circles, slick with your own arousal. You bucked in his lap, nearly gasped—but his hand clamped over your mouth just in time.

“Shhh, baby. I know. I know it’s too much.”

His other hand curled tighter around your waist, guiding you now—fucking you onto him with every soft thrust. You were close. So close.

“You gonna cum for me?” he murmured, filthy and sweet. “On my cock like this, while everyone’s right here? You want that?”

You nodded, eyes wide, thighs trembling. You couldn’t speak—not with his hand over your mouth, not with his cock dragging against that spot inside you that made everything go hazy.

“That’s it,” he whispered, desperate now. “Be good and cum for me. Let me feel it—fuck—please.”

Your vision blurred. The tension snapped. You came with a silent scream, clenching so hard around him that his breath hitched and his hips stuttered.

“Fuuuck—” he groaned, voice ragged. “I’m gonna—shit, I can’t hold it—”

He thrusted up once, twice—and then he was spilling inside you. Hot, thick, filling you to the brim while his head dropped against your shoulder and his entire body went taut.

You both froze. Still joined. Still breathing hard. Still soaking.

Silence.

Then—

“…Yo, you guys alive back there?” Jisung called from the front. “You’ve been quiet as hell.”

You panicked, heart in your throat—but Chan didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah,” he called back, perfectly calm. “She fell asleep on me.”

You choked out a laugh against his palm, breathless, still trembling.

“Cutest little angel,” he added, loud enough for everyone to hear, while he was still buried deep inside you and your ruined panties were sticking to your thigh.

You were going straight to hell. But at least Chan was going with you.

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

Authors note: so i’m back with more Channir filth 😂 you know the drill guys, engage! Also this comes with a part 2 so lets get atleast 150 notes before i upload the second part!

Thanks for following guys! I cant believe we’re already over 450 in less than two months! 😭❤️ please continue to drop your likes and reblog, for motivation!

[moondustbaby]

Come Home

Blue collar!Rafe x SAHM/Wife!Reader Angst to Fluff

a/n: based on this request 💌!

Summary: Feeling overwhelmed and alone, You finally open up to Rafe about how much his long hours have been weighing on you and the family. It turns into a quiet, vulnerable moment that reminds them both where home really is.

⸻

The slam of the dishwasher door was louder than it needed to be. You didn’t mean to do it. Not really. But the pressure had been building—slow and quiet, like a kettle you forgot about on the stove.

You could hear Mia fussing in the living room, Jace calling for a snack he’d already had, and your phone lit up on the counter again.

Rafe: Running late, baby. Still on site. Be home soon.

You didn’t even respond.

You were tired—so tired. And it wasn’t just your body. It was the ache in your chest, the mental gymnastics of keeping everything running when Rafe barely made it home before the kids went to bed anymore. You weren’t mad at him for working. You knew he did it for the family. But lately, it felt like he was building houses for strangers and leaving yours crumbling in his absence.

By the time Rafe walked through the door—boots heavy, shirt stained, eyes tired—you had Mia on your hip and Jace clinging to your leg.

“Hey,” he said, soft, cautious, like he already knew. “Long day. Traffic was—”

“Don’t,” you said quickly, setting Mia down with a too-sharp breath. “Just—don’t do the traffic excuse. Not tonight.”

He blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tried not to cry. God, you hated crying during fights. “It means I’m here all day with two kids who need everything from me. It means I haven’t showered in two days, the laundry’s overflowing, and Jace threw up on the couch this morning. It means I’m drowning and you keep telling me ‘soon.’”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “I’m working, baby. I don’t have a choice.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “There’s always a choice. You just don’t want to disappoint your crew, or your clients—but me? I’ll wait. I always wait.”

His voice was quiet, but firm. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is doing this by myself.” The words fell like lead. “I miss my husband.”

That’s when you saw it—his expression falter, just slightly. The exhaustion cracked open and the guilt came pouring through.

He stepped forward, slow. “You think I don’t miss you? That I don’t wish I could be here more? Baby, I wake up at five, come home past seven, and think about you all day long. I walk in this house and I don’t even get to kiss you before you hand me one of the kids and tell me dinner’s cold.”

Your lip trembled.

He sighed. “I’m trying to give us everything.”

“I don’t want everything,” you whispered. “I just want you.”

Silence.

Rafe’s face softened in an instant. Like all the fight left him in one breath. He reached out, pulled you into his arms like it physically hurt to be apart from you for another second.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I didn’t see how bad it got. I should’ve been here.”

You let yourself cry against his chest. He held you tighter.

“I don’t need you to fix it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I just need you to see me. To want to be here.”

“I do want to be here,” he promised, pulling back just enough to cup your face. “With you. With them. I’ll start saying no to jobs, I swear it. You’re my wife. My home. Nothing comes before that.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, like he meant every single word.

And later—after dinner was warmed up, after Jace was tucked into bed and Mia finally stopped fighting sleep—you lay tangled up together on the couch. His hand resting on your thigh, your head tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t go in early tomorrow,” you murmured.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Might stay in bed all morning. With my girl.”

You smiled through your tiredness. “You mean it?”

He nodded, brushing your hair back. “From now on, you don’t have to ask me to come home. I’ll already be on my way.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this broke my heart and then put it back together writing this lol 🥲 but also this is definitely the reality of their relationship especially when the kids are young and they’re still trying to navigate how to do things as a family and as a married couple with two littles.

♥️ lani

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Mastserlist

[spicy30]

A Giant Woman

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Siren!Tall!Reader

Rating: 18+

Not proofread

Tags: @pastelivy16, @zomqiez

Warnings: Self pleasure

“Invincible saves an Angel.” The title is shown on his phone. A photo of you in his arms, hugging him tightly, your wings covering his face, and only the back of your head visible. Though if he zooms in enough until the picture is grainy, he can see the grip he has on you. The fat of your thighs prominent against his tight grip.

He bit the side of his cheek before throwing his phone to the side. 

He just confessed to Eve for goodness sake! He CANNOT be thinking about another woman right now. (Even if all he can think about is the swell of your breasts pushing against his face.)

A slight throb goes through his brain. Mark winces, grabbing the back of his head, though the pain felt deeper. Though just as quickly as it came, it left. He gave a short sigh, grabbing his phone again and swiping out of the news page (but never closing the page) shoving his phone into the pocket of his pants. He swung his backpack over one shoulder walking out of his dorm making his way to class. 

Mid-way, his hands grew clammy. He felt sticky. It was hot and humid, but he had checked the weather. It’s 70˚ right now. There is a slight pressure on his abdomen. He clears his throat. Maybe he has to go to the bathroom. (He knows better.) 

Finally he takes out his phone, and automatically his thumb presses on the search engine on his phone and that news photo comes up once more. This time he can feel the rush of blood traveling to his cock.

What. The. Fuck.

He pulled his shirt down hoping it’ll magically elongate and cover his growing boner.

Just wonderful.

He looked down to the picture and suddenly a phantom feeling was felt in his arm. Your thighs tight in his arms. Then it was on the right side of his face. As if he could feel your tits against his face.

This is starting to hurt.

Mark quickly scrolled past the picture. Unfortunately for him, another picture from another angle was shown. One from right under the both of you. His hands once again felt clammy, they wanted to zoom in, but Mark knows if he does, he’s not going to class.

No, he won’t zoom in. He will not try to look to see if he can see anything from the angle that looks right under you as you’re only wearing skimpy underwear. No he won’t look for it.

He has a girlfriend. He’s with Eve now. Balling his hand into a fist he closed out the page. Ignoring the want to search up the page again. Walked up the stairs to the building where his class was being held. Opening the door he took a seat in the back of the grand lecture hall. He had ten minutes to spare. Normally he’d go on his phone, but right now that didn’t seem like the best idea. 

He kept his backpack on his lap as he took out a notebook and a pencil. It was hot in this class. Uncapping his water bottle, he took a large swing from it. The water was cool. It felt nice as he went down his throat. The coolness spread through his body. He wiped his mouth before the drop of water could slide down his chin.

He grabbed the pencil hitting against the notebook, then his leg started bouncing. Mark couldn’t stop moving. Why couldn’t he stop moving?

He inhaled sharply when his phone buzzed. The buzz was close to his to his now softening dick. He pulled it out seeing a text message from Eve. 

‘Hey can we talk after your class today?’ Mark’s eyes scanned the text message. He hadn’t talked to her yesterday. He…wait. Actually, he can’t remember anything after he killed the alien who threw him into the building. 

What did he do yesterday? He can’t remember. He can’t remember how he got home. His brows furrowed as he texted back ‘sure. I end class at 1:50.’

Reflexively his hand went to a social media app. An edit of him popped up. A small smirk formed as he liked and opened the comments, though quickly closed them shaking his head. 

He scrolled past it after liking it. Then there was another edit of him, though this one was with Eve. A ship edit. Those were common, though now he was with her. Now he doesn’t feel so guilty liking the video.

Another scroll, this time a video of a woman picking out tomatoes doing that thing most women he knew did. Feeling the fruit or vegetable seeing if it’s good or not. His mom does it a lot. He still doesn’t know how it works. The text read: “POV: Your offer is taken into consideration”

Her boyfriend offers tomatoes, she rejects them, having him make a face. Mark smiles a bit, until the final one is accepted. 

Mark smiles again before scrolling. The next video was some audio and with text that read: “Only divas know what I saw.” He rolled his eyes and scrolled past it. 

Mark continued to scroll, his mind being numbed by the videos allowing time to pass until his professor finally arrived. Turning off his phone the lecture began. Half-way through the lecture once he understood the concept he went ahead in the problems assigned. Once finished, he took out his phone once more, connecting his headphone and opening a social media app once more. After a few scrolls he came across a video he had never gotten before. 

It was a slideshow. “Old Gen.” There were pictures of women. All pictures look to have been taken before the 2000s or at the very least before the 2010s. He swiped and once more a throb was felt in his head. 

“New Gen.” There were four pictures, each of different women but his eyes looked towards yours. You were in a white dress. It was a tight one. Outlined your figure. The picture had been taken mid-walk. Hair was slicked back and your face was neutral. 

His hands felt clammy again.

Quickly, he scrolled past it ignoring the slight headache coming on. 

He scrolled absentmindedly trying to ignore the feeling of wanting to scroll back up and look at your photo. He felt his pants grow tighter by the minute.

He scrolled once more looking up making sure he wasn’t going to be left behind. A song was playing. It was one of those audios he usually got edited to. Though when he looked down his mouth went dry. The first clip was one of you posing on the end of a runway with a sultry smile. The next clip was of another woman posing on another runway. Side by side with each other, more clips played. One of you pointing as you walk the runway in lingerie, the next of a clip zoomed into your lower-half showing off the design work. (He could feel the strain on his paints and soon his cock developed a heartbeat of its own.)

More and more clips of you wearing exposing clothing flashed on his screen then followed by more clips of women they showed beside you. 

He scrolled past it ignoring the pain that was starting to grow between his thighs.

“She refused to enter the courtroom because the outfit she was given to wear was not up to her standards. The angry judge told her: this is unacceptable and inappropriate. This is not a fashion show.” The audio sounded in his headphones as more clips played of you with the text reading ‘The model who conquered the world in under a year.’ 

He took in a shaky breath refreshing his feed. 

A new station sharing the story of Eve’s latest save showed on his screen. There on his screen was Eve helping children before flying off. 

He quickly scrolled. Mark just can’t right now. Here he is, hard in the middle of lecture over a woman he just met and not his girlfriend. 

He scrolled one more time.

“Oh god.” Mark mumbled. 

The text read: “When the cameraman couldn’t take his eyes off her.” A video played of you once again in lingerie, this time red. The bra highlighted the roundness of your tits nicely and when you turned the mini skirt you wore gave him a nice view of your ass and how the fat of it moved as you walked away. 

Yeah. He wasn’t making it through this lecture. Quickly Mark stood up and walked out of the lecture, the audio still playing as he sped walked out the building trying to rush back to his dorm. He was damn near flying up the stairs to his dorm. 

Finally inside he shut the door. It rang loudly and he flinched. He closed it too hard. Hopefully it wasn’t broken.

He sighed laying on his bed taking off his pants relieving the pressure, if only a bit. He simply lay on the bed trying to psych himself out of pleasuring himself to a woman who was definitely NOT his girlfriend. 

But it hurt. And his head was starting to hurt more. His hand brushed his cock before he ripped away. 

“No.” he told himself firmly before taking off his shirt. He laid on his bed with just his boxers on. He doesn’t know how long he laid on his bed simply looking at his ceiling. He brought his mind to Eve and despite the headache, the throb between his legs lessened. (Which is weird, because shouldn’t it be the other way around?....Mark doesn’t think too much into it.)

He closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths. A nap should help. Eve wouldn’t be here for another hour anyways. Yeah…a nap should help. Take his mind off of you and soothe his headache. Mark shut his eyes, starting to count ignoring the pressure on his abdomen.

Bright eyes looked at him. Eyes that drew him in. Eyes he couldn’t look away. Then he looked down and saw pretty skin that shined in such a way that cannot be human. The hue shining beautifully in the sun. Breasts being pushing creating a round shape. Long nimble fingers pulling his hair and tracing his cheek. 

Then a wet tongue licked the side of his face. It was warm and it felt good. Nails trailed lightly over his torso. Then his abs were licked. God!

Mark gasped, waking himself up. He groaned before his hand went to cup his aching cock, squeezing it ever so slightly giving him a moment of pleasure. He looked over to the clock. 

1:45

He can finish quickly, right?

His mind is foggy. Sliding down his boxers he squeezed his tip forcing his pre to come out. He spread it over his cock as lubricant. He gave a deep sigh before he began to stroke himself. The clip of your breasts being pushed up by the bra flashed through his mind. He squeezed his dick tighter, groaning. He squeezed it too tight. (Should serve him right. Thinking of you instead of his girlfriend who would be here within five minutes.)

He imagined what your tits would feel like against his cock. They were big, or at least they looked big. You’d have enough to squeeze his cock with, right? 

Yeah, you would. He continued to stroke himself, though he imagined your hands. Hands he felt against his neck when you held onto him. Surely they’d be softer than his. 

The coil within him began to tighten. 

Mark shuddered, head tipping back against his pillows. His eyebrows scrunched together, eyes half-lidded and allowing the pleasure to seek through his veins.

Mark squeezed the head of his cock once more, finding that sweet spot under his tip as he imagined the way your eyes would look up to him in wonder as you smiled at him, playing with his cock, watching it come alive. Pumped and angry all because of you. Because of your eyes, because of your lips, because of your tits, because of your ass.

All because of you he was like this.

You had him like this when it should be you. After all, he saved you. Not the other way around.  

Mark shut his eyes mindlessly keeping the rapid movement of stroking his length, roughly so. 

Fuck it felt good.

What would it feel like to shove himself inside your mouth? Did you know how to give bowjobs? Would it graze your pearly white teeth or did you have experience?

Mark groaned again, squeezing himself too hard at the thought. Were you a virgin? Would he be the one to pop your cherry or had someone else done it already? What face would you make? A face of pain probably. He’d kiss you to make it better. In the end, it doesn’t matter, as long as he can shove himself inside of you, make you a part of him. No, it doesn’t matter.

Maybe he wouldn’t fuck you as Mark. He’d probably have a better chance a fucking you as Ivincible. Have you call him by his superhero name, never knowing it was him. Keep you separate from his normal life.

Jerking his hips into his hands, more images of you flashed. He grabbed the sheets tightly. Imagining it was instead your ass. The fatty part nearest to your cunt. His hips stuttered as his jaw fell open. White hot spurts of cum splattered over his stomach which kept flexing trying to fuck his hand for as long he could. 

Mark stayed still, the fog in his brain clearing as he grimaced at his thoughts and his actions. Looking over to the clock it read 1:50.

”Shit.” Mark got up pouring some water on a towel before he started to clean himself. His legs were slightly unstable but quickly he put on his clothes before going to go sit at his desk deciding it’s safer to open a comic book than his phone, lest another edit of yours is shown. 

…

“Mark, I only have an hour for lunch. Why are we here?” Eve hung onto his arm looking around at the sights of the city. “Not that I mind, but y’know it’s a little far.”

Mark only gave an awkward smile as he looked around. He doesn’t know why he chose this place. Maybe it has to do with the pain deep in his head when Eve got too close to kissing him so he suggested going out to dinner.

The guilt is eating him alive.

But something is calling him. Calling him to this city. 

Milan, Italy.

“I thought it would be nice.” Just a gut feeling. Eve pulled him to a small store selling gelato. As they both ordered and of course Mark paid, they continued to walk around the city. It was crowded. Fashion week was nearing. (How does he know that? He doesn’t know. Maybe that fashion program he has running in the background all the time is getting to him.)

Finally after walking around for twenty minutes Eve spotted a restaurant that satisfied her. He hopes it’s not a tourist trap. Those are expensive. Again Mark was taken by Eve by his arm to the restaurant. It was on a busy street. 

His head hurts.

A lot of people are waking up. Mark can’t really see any of them. He sees some faces only for them to be forgotten the next. He looked down to Eve who was smiling at him. He returned the smile. In a sea of people. Mark only sees Eve.

His head hurts.

However, in a sea of people he can only hear a single laugh and it’s not Eve’s. That same feeling as before. As if it’s being whispered in his ear. The laugh is soft. It’s pretty. It’s perfect.

As Eve turns back to the hostess, Mark’s head jerks away and he insteads looks through the sea of people. He can’t see anyone. 

Then Eve takes him by the hand once more as they’re led to a table outside by the hostess. Mark looks once more into the crowd of people and his breath hitches. 

A giant woman.

You are tall. Really tall. At least a foot taller than everyone else around you. A god walking amongst men. Everyone is looking at you. Not just him.

There’s also a man walking behind you. A man just as tall as you, well actually he’s a bit shorter. (Is he though?—Yes he is. Mark has decided so.) He’s carrying bags and you’re not. You’re walking, slowly and sensually. 

(His headache has been forgotten.)

You’re looking ahead, never paying heed to people who stare in awe. Not even him and it’s bothering him just a little bit.

He doesn’t even know he’s near you. He doesn’t hear Eve’s confused call of his name. All he knows is that he’s right behind you and you just dropped something. He quickly went to pick it up. His hand twitched as he held your ID. Your name and picture on there. How is it that you even look good in your ID picture? He always looks stupid in those.

But not yours. You have sultry eyes that even in a photo like this look wondrous. You look breathtaking in this photo.

“Excuse me. You dropped this.” You turn around and god. You are ethereal. Were you always this tall? His face is literally at the height of your tits. (And they look really good. They’re shiny, as if they belong in the sun.) 

Forcing himself to look up at you, he finds his heart is pounding. It almost hurts. Oh no, is he gonna have a heart attack? He hopes not. That’d be embarrassing.

You're looking down on him. Your head is tilted slightly. Not a hair out of place. Your eyes are catching the sun as if the sun itself cannot bear to be away from you. Your eyelashes are long, and you almost look like a doll.

“Did I?” And there was that accent again. Fuck it sounded good. Too good. 

He feels hot again.

He wonders if you know it’s him. If you know he’s the one that saved you. By the way you’re looking at him, it almost feels like you know him better than he knows himself. 

Would you know how to make him feel good too?

How would you react if you knew it was him? Maybe you’d kiss him as thank you. (A guy can only wish.)

“Uh yeah, here you go.” He hands over your ID and he feels your long nails trace his skin as you take back your ID. Wonder what they'd feel like elsewhere.

No! He has a girl… “Thank you.” Mark swears he’s dreaming. There’s no way you’re leaning in. Is he hallucinating? Yeah, just hallucinating.

Until he feels your glossed lips press against his cheek. His eyes are wide and his heartbeat is in places where it doesn’t belong. Namely, his dick, but they don’t belong in his ears either.

“Oh! Sorry,—”

“No it’s alright.” He breathes out. Maybe he should’ve let you finish. If he had, you would’ve been able to tell him you wore a lip stain and it stained his cheek. But all Mark is focused on is the way you saunter away.

Never does he hear Eve yelling his name until she’s standing right infront of him and not looking happy.

“What’s that on your cheek?”

Note: I need feedback bc the only reason this fic is in existence is bc I need to practice writing my smut. Anything I can improve on? PLS CHAT! HELP ME! Also, if you want inspiration for those edits, just look up literally any model edit and you’ll find one 🙏

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To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑ (Click icon)

[urcoolgf]

bf¡drew’s reaction to you posting him to ‘dandelion’ by ariana grande

¡ sexual/suggestive content !

drew had been out of town working on a new film, and it had left you… needy—to say the least. he had only been gone a few days, but your body’s desperation made it seem like months.

you were proud of him for getting to be apart of another big project that he was super passionate about, but you missed him. your body missed him. it wasn’t helping that you were ovulating…

you scrolled mindlessly through your photos, admiring all the photos of your boyfriend, hoping it would give you some kind of satisfaction. but, nothing.

you came across a specific photo that embarrassingly made your thighs clench. it was drew during a game night you had recently with some friends; his stance, the way his jeans fit, the keychain hanging from his belt loop, how his chest was puffed, and his shirt fit him just a little too tight in the most perfect way.

you don’t know what came over you—a sort of impulse? you clicked off the app, going straight to instagram, and creating a new story.

—

drew had just finished his last scene of the day—happy that he could finally call his girlfriend, but before he could, he saw an absurd amount of mention notifications from instagram.

thousands of people talking about some ‘story’ his girlfriend posted?

he quickly navigated to her profile, clicking onto her story. a devious smirk spread across his face as the lyrics appeared on his screen.

i got (got) what you need (you need)

i’m thinking you should plant this seed

i get this sounds unserious

but, baby boy, this is serious

he stared at the picture for a moment, totally unaware that you had even taken it. he pictured you, at home alone, with your hand between your thighs, all needy for him. the thought alone made his pants tighten.

he wasted no time calling you.

—

you were chasing your own pleasure, fingers working yourself open on the couch, but it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t him. suddenly, your phone lit up, and your beautiful boyfriend’s contact picture presented itself. your hand escaped your panties, accepting the call with an unnecessary urgency.

“hey, baby!,” you answered, not bothering to hide your enthusiasm. you fell back against the couch, sprawled out like a dramatic housewife—which is exactly who you felt like right now.

“you postin’ me, pretty?,” it was obviously a rhetorical question. he had already seen it. his smirk could be heard through the phone, and there was no use trying to deny it.

“maybe…,” you drew it out, curling a strand of your hair between your fingers. you tugged your lip between your teeth, waiting for his response.

“so fuckin’ lucky i’m not there right now, pretty girl,” his low laugh broke up the sentence, like he was in a mixed state of disbelief and amazement.

“i don’t feel very lucky,” you pouted. your dramatic, sad tone was evident in your soft words. your thighs involuntarily clenched together, trying to hide your heat—even if just from yourself. you could basically feel him inside you just from memory. it wasn’t enough.

“no? well… when i get back you’re gonna feel like the luckiest girl in the world. promise you that. i’ll plant as many damn seeds as you want—over ‘n over again if you ask me to,” his words were dirty, but his voice sounded so sweet, like he would walk across the country to get back to you right now if that was the only way home.

he didn’t even give you time to respond before continuing, “you’re gonna be so full you’re not even gonna remember what bein’ empty feels like, baby,” you could hear his cocky smirk tugging at his lips again, and it made your heart flutter, and your core clench.

“mm sounds good to me,” and he hated the way your voice alone made him hard, that low, sultry hum that made his head spin. why did he ever leave the house? no more movie deals outside of walking distance.

“‘nd don’t bother tryin’ to use your fingers, pretty girl. we both know it won’t satisfy you. you wait for me to get home… and i promise the next time i leave, you’ll have our baby on your hip to keep you occupied.”

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© 𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐅. est. 2025

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[midnighthazee]

Thoughts on a HyunjinxChangbinxReader threesome with DP while the rest of the members watch?? Yes? No?

UMMMMM WOW ISSUES...ummm yeah sure! Let's do that... (I want that 👀)

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex (let's be smart y'all), pet names, praise kink, somno, dacryphilia, rough sex, voyeurism, anal, double p, creampies (couldn't help myself), marking... i think that's it...

Word Count: 1992 words

You were currently passed out in Changbin’s bed, the clock next to it reading 12:38pm. You were so tired from getting up early and dancing all day. As a choreographer, you were always dancing and you loved it, but today was more hectic than usual. You had two classes with children, which always drains you physically and mentally, and then your normal three sessions. 

So when you got home, you showered immediately and then decided on Changbin’s room since it was closest to the bathroom. You climbed into his soft sheets and curled up with his pillow. You were out cold within five minutes.

Unbeknownst to you, the boys arrived home about an hour later, also tired and ready for bed. 

“Where’s y/n? Anybody here from her?” Seungmin asked, looking around the living room of their shared dorm.

“No. I texted her, but she’s not responding.” Felix pouted.

“She’s usually here.” Seungmin gestured to the couch.

You were notorious for being found asleep on the couch in an attempt to wait up for them each night. But tonight…the couch was empty.

The boys went to their rooms to drop off their stuff. Changbin opened his door, pleasantly surprised by your presence. He dropped his stuff carefully and left, closing the door quietly.

“She’s knocked out in my room.” Changbin told a few of them as he walked by their rooms.

“Why your bed?” Hyunjin asked, almost annoyed.

“Yah….my bed is the most comfortable.” Changbin argued.

“Chan has the most comfortable bed actually…” Felix interrupted.

“Is that why you’re always in it?” Minho asks with a smirk and pointed look.

Felix blushed. 

Changbin went back to his room, the boys following. He quietly opened his door and went over to your sleeping figure. Hyunjin, standing next to him, reached over and peeled the covers back. Changbin was quick to grab his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna see her.” Hyunjin said, continuing to remove the comforter from your body.

You were wearing a nightgown - one Jisung had bought for you - and it was showing just a sliver of what Minho says is your best asset. One of your legs was hiked up, making your ass stick out as if beckoning to them.

Changbin and Hyunjin were growing hard in their pants, itching to touch your sleeping form. Hyunjin grazed his fingers over the swell of your ass and dipped in between your legs.

“Hyung..let her sleep,” Jeongin pleaded in a whisper.

Hyunjin pulled back, looking at his fingers that were coated in some of your wetness. He looked over to Changbin who, at the sight, was ready to cum in his pants.

“She must be dreaming about us.” Hyunjin smirked.

Changbin began removing his clothes, startling everyone lurking in the room.

“What are you doing?” Jisung asked.

“I’m so fucking hard right now…I need her.” Changbin whispers. “She told us we could use her if we ever needed to.”

“But she looks so cute like this.” Felix nearly whines.

Changbin moves onto his bed, legs in between yours as he slides his tip up and down your folds. Once it was coated, he hiked your leg a smidge more and began to push inside. 

The boys wanted to give him privacy, but at the same time they couldn’t look away. And Changbin clearly didn’t care if he didn’t kick them out beforehand. Chan came in when he found everyone else in Changbin’s room.

“Hey…don’t wake her…” Chan insisted.

“I’ll be gentle…” Changbin says.

Your brows furrow, a whine escaping you. You shift slightly, but still remain asleep. Chan runs his fingers through his hair - he knows you are not going to be able to sleep through it. It’s only a matter of time before you wake.

Changbin bottoms out with a heavy sigh. He leans down and kisses the top of your shoulder. You were beginning to stir, the stretch of his thick cock waking you. He slides out just to the tip slowly, before pushing in once more. He starts to move at an even tempo.

Your brows still furrowed, sleepy moans being heard from you. You slowly blink your eyes open, taking in the room. As you do, you see a few of the boys watching you, rubbing their crotches. You were suddenly aware that someone was fucking you, And it was between three of them based on the stretch alone. 

You moaned louder, trying to blink away the sleep as you relish in the feeling. God he felt so good, stretching you. 

“Sorry baby. I couldn’t resist.” Changbin whispers in your ear.

You smirk, hiding your face in the pillow.

“Don’t hide from us, princess.” It was Hyunjin on your left.

You look over to him, seeing him naked as he squatted next to the bed. You whine, wanting him too - wanting all of them honestly. But you always took turns, giving everyone undivided attention. You hadn’t had two at once yet..but wow had you wanted it.

“Jinnie..” you whine.

From that tone alone, he knows exactly what you want. He stands up, stepping closer and offering himself. You adjust your position and then take him fully in your mouth. His head falls back, moans leaving his mouth as he feels your warmth around his cock.

Changbin has picked up the tempo, rock hard at the sight of you taking Hyunjin so well. The rest of the boys were also turned on, their cocks hard in their pants. Felix, Jisung, and Jeongin however were stroking themselves as they watched - their cocks in their hands shamelessly.

You could feel your orgasm approaching already and were clenching around Changbin.

“Binnie…” you whine between sucking and licking Hyunjin’s tip.

“I know, sweetheart. Cum for me.” Binnie says.

His words were your undoing. You came, pussy throbbing around him as he rode out your high. Hyunjin was holding your hair in a ponytail as his cock was stuffed down your throat. He didn’t move, just held you there.

Finally he released you, Changbin slowing his rhythm as you gasped for air. 

“Good girl, princess.” Hyunjin says, squatting in front of you. “You gonna let me claim your ass today?”

You whine in response, biting your lip.

“Words, baby…” Changbin says with a harsh thrust.

“Ahh..yes. Please Jinnie.”

Hyunjin smashes his lips on yours before standing. Changbin lays down beside you and you turn so that Hyunjin is behind you, Changbin in front. You begin sucking Changbin, tasting yourself and his salty precum. You loved the taste - unable to get enough. You took him all, bobbing your head on his length.

Hyunjin was prodding your hole with his tongue, licking up some of your juices and groaning. Then he coated a finger before poking at your tight hole. You tried to relax, allowing him to penetrate.

He pushed his finger in and you dropped your head onto Changbin’s thigh, moaning. It was different but felt so undeniably good. He pushed in and out, his thumb pushing on your clit. You moaned louder wanting more. You pushed your hips back against his finger and he smirked. 

Removing his finger, he stood and slipped his cock into your wet pussy. You moaned, taking Changbin’s cock back into your mouth. Hyunjin thrusted a bit, relishing in the feel of your gummy walls. Then he pulled out and lined up with your ass. He began pushing in, making you squirm.

“Relax for me, princess.” Hyunjin rubs your lower back, making your arch more.

He continues to push in, slipping inside and bottoming out with a grunt. You were bobbing on Changbin’s length, eyes watering.

“Aww is it too much for you, sweetheart?” Changbin coos.

You don’t say anything as Hyunjin leans forward. His body was flush with yours as he moved in and out slowly. It was too much but felt too good - like you couldn’t get enough.

“Making you feel so good, yeah?” Changbin asks with a tilt of his head.

You whine in response and Hyunjin moves faster.

“Ahhh…” you cry out, leaning up.

You squeeze your eyes shut as Hyunjin kisses your neck. He bites, sucking hard to leave a mark - his favorite thing. He loves using your skin as his own canvas to mark as he sees fit. He left a few more marks before you began quivering beneath him. 

He held on tight as you came, peppering the side of your face with kisses.  You could feel the sweat on his forehead as he did. Once you came down from the high, he carefully slipped out, earning a whine from you. Tears pricked your eyes, a few sliding down your cheeks.

Changbin wiped them away before pulling you onto his lap. He sunk you down onto his thick shaft and you threw your head back. You bounced, Hyunjin leaning forward, taking one of your nipples in his mouth as his hand teased the other. God you loved being used like this.

Your hand instinctively went to fist his hair, but the new buzzcut left you massaging his scalp instead. You moaned, feeling yourself ready to snap again. Hyunjin pulls away and positions himself behind you.

“You ready for me, princess?” Hyunjin whispers.

You lean down onto Changbin as Hyunjin teases your tight hole once more. He lines himself up and begins to push in.

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s gonna feel so good.” Changbin says, grazing his fingers up and down your sides. 

“It’s too much..” you say.

But Hyunjin keeps pushing in. He gets his head in and slides, stretching you. Once he bottoms out, he stops to let you adjust. You felt so stuffed…but it felt so good. 

They began moving, thrusting into you at alternating tandems. 

“Ahh..fuck…oh-oh my god…” you fists the sheets as you let them use you.

“Fuck!” you hear from behind you. Pretty sure it was Jisung.

“Couldn’t hold out, Ji?” Changbin smirks.

“Ahhh…shit…” Felix follows suit, also cumming by his own hand.

By now everyone was jerking off to the sight of the three of you. The thought alone turned you on more, making you clench. But you were too lost in the pleasure to bother looking over. 

“Oh, yes…” Hyunjin moans.

“I’m close…” Binnie says, groaning as he thrusts up into you. “Fuck, y/n.”

It wasn’t fast since you were so tight around them but you could feel every vein in their cocks with every drag along your walls.

“Me too…” Hyunjin pants, his sweat dripping onto your back.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” Changbin pins your arms behind your back.

“Yeah..like being our little toy? Fill you up with all our cum?” Hyunjin thrusts as hard and fast as he can.

With a grunt, Changbin jerks, his cock twitching inside you. You can feel the globs of cum filling you up. You moan loudly, clenching around them and milking Changbin dry.

“Damn baby…fuck.” He says, laying back and panting.

Hyunjin didn’t slow his tempo as he chased his own release. And when you clenched around him, it was his undoing. 

“Shit..ahhh” Hyunjin grips your hips with bruising strength as he fills your ass with his cum. “Y/n….that’s my girl.” 

He leans forward, kissing and nipping at your back. You can feel his sweat but you don’t care - you actually find it so hot. His body finally relaxes, his cock stops twitching, and he falls onto you. 

“Come here, kitten.” Minho says, walking over to the bed.

Hyunjin reluctantly slips out, making you whimper. 

You lay on your back and stick your tongue out as the remaining boys circle you to chase their own release. While Hyunjin marks your inner thighs, chest, and neck, the boys cum all over your face.

Felix comes over, kissing your messy lips. “Such a good girl, angel.”

“The perfect toy.” Seungmin says with a little slap to your clit.

You yelp in response, groaning as you get up to take another shower.

Thanks for the request @its-the-solar-system I hope you enjoyed it!!

TAGLIST: @butterflydemons @readr1221 @thecutiepieme @sillygoosegoose @kaleigh-2002 @stvrrylove @iknow-uknow-leeknow @estella-novella @staytinyluv @galaxy4489 @motheraiya55 @gaby105-skz @thatgirlangelb @hxnnielk @bookswillfindyouaway @ihttinniee @writeuntilthebitterend

[five-rivers]

Tuck's Labyrinth

[Phic Phight Phill Phor @mistythefifth!]

Tucker was a lot of things.  A genius.  A first-rate bachelor.  A carnivore.   A snack.  A geek.  Unbelievably handsome.  An Esperantist.  God’s gift to women (and men of good taste).  A gamer.  Cool beyond cool.  A hacker.  Eminently eligible.  A ghost hunter.  Drop-dead gorgeous.  A hobbyist archer.  A magnet for Cupid’s arrows.  The reincarnation of an ancient and possibly evil pharaoh.  Bootylicious. The best friend of the personification of memento mori and also Danny Fenton.  And, most importantly, too fine.  

He was not, however, in any way equipped to deal with this.  

“It's so obvious,” said Wes.  “If you'd just open your eyes–”

“You're the one who needs to open his eyes.  Or at least get checked for colorblindness.”

“Do you hear yourself?  If even you think it's reasonable to mix up Fenton and Phantom just by swapping colors–”

“Uh, one, it isn't, and, two, I was talking about coming to school wearing… that.”

Paulina pointed a manicured fingernail in the direction of Wes's clothing, which was, in her defense, a particularly eye-searing combination of flannel plaid jacket, striped t-shirt, novelty camouflage pants, and bright orange boots.  Even Tucker didn't dress like that.  Regularly.  Wes hunched in on himself.  

“It's laundry day,” he said. 

“Your mama's washing your shoes too, huh?”

“Shut up,” said Wes.  “I don't need to take this from a necrophiliac.”

“You–!”

Tucker couldn't take much more of this.  “You guys do know that there's an actual evil ghost in here somewhere?  You know, the one who turned the school into a maze and trapped us in it?”

“I don't know what you're worried about,” said Wes, “Fenton's not going to leave you here.”

Paulina scoffed.  “Fenton's hiding in a closet somewhere. Mi amor, Phantom, on the other hand, will beat up that nasty ghost and sweep me off my feet at any moment.  You can thank me now.”

Tucker loved Danny like a brother, but these guys had way too much faith in a guy who'd once lost a fight with a grocery bag.  (Long story.)

“That's great,” said Tucker.  “But may I remind you: giant maze.”

Wes rolled his eyes.  “Mazes are easy.  You just have to make all right turns.  You can stop the performance already.”

“My what?”

“You know, hyping up your lying friend.  Being a ghost doesn't make him cool.”

“Nothing could make any of you cool,” said Paulina, “but Mr. Delusional is right.  Mazes are easy.”

“You're calling me delusional, when you're–?!”

“Okay, okay,” said Tucker.  “So, three things.  One, the right hand turns thing is only good for getting out of a maze, not for finding people in it.  Two, it only works if you start with a wall that connects with the outside.  And, most importantly, for it to work, you have to actually be doing it.”

Tucker was definitely channeling Danny, or maybe Sam, but there was such a thing as being too laid back.

“Well, we're not stopping you,” said Paulina, examining her fingernails.  “Go run off and do whatever.  I'll tell Phantom when he comes to rescue me.  Probably.”

“Hey, wait, no, Fenton's coming for him–”

Yeah, Tucker wished he could leave.  But these two had no ghost fighting experience, would throw themselves at a ghost if they thought it would get Danny's attention, and would throw themselves at each other if Tucker wasn’t here.  Heck, they were doing it with him here. 

Sam probably would have left, which meant that he was channeling Danny.  

This was terrible.  How did Danny do this?

“Look,” said Tucker, interrupting the argument.  “Even if you think that we’re going to be rescued, we don’t know when and we don’t know if there are other ghosts around who could attack us.  We need some kind of a plan.”  

Paulina and Wes stared at him.  

“Other than just waiting to be rescued,” clarified Tucker.  He waved at the ‘room’ around them.  “We aren’t even somewhere we can barricade, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a drinking fountain or a bathroom anywhere.”  They were, in fact, in a fairly featureless stretch of hallway, complete with lockers, slightly-cracked linoleum, and buzzing fluorescent lights.  The locker numbers were non-sequential and had three more digits than the highest-numbered real lockers at the school.  

“I never go to the bathroom at school,” said Wes.  “That’s where they get you.”

“Dude,” said Tucker.  “Like, how?  Do you not drink or what?”

“I don’t drink at school.  If I did, I’d have to use the bathroom.”

“No wonder you’re so crazy,” said Paulina.  “I’d say that you should just go to the bathroom with your friends, like a normal person, but you don’t have any of those.”

“I do too!”

“Yeah?  Who?” asked Paulina.  

Tucker listened, too.  And took out his PDA.  This would be good data for his all-school relationship map.  

(Hey, it was an important multi-function tool.  How was he supposed to know who to ask out without it?  Or who to blackmail with what if someone more credible than Wes Weston found out Danny’s secret?)

“I’m not going to tell you.  You’ll just say that they aren’t real.”

Ooh.  That was just sad.  Tucker put his PDA away.

“Well, now I am,” said Paulina.  

There was a sudden, startling chime from the PA system.  Tucker looked around, trying to find the speaker.  

“Hi, so, first off, don’t panic,” said Danny’s voice.  

That… was maybe not the best way for Danny to start.  Jeez.  

“Oh!  Oh!  It’s Phantom!” said Paulina, bouncing distractingly.  

“It’s Fenton,” said Wes, “and it’s about time.”

“And, secondly, no, I haven’t found the office.  I’m possessing the PA system.  And, no, I can’t hear you, unless you find one of the PA buttons and–”

There were a series of beeps, followed by shouting, followed by a screech of feedback.  

“--ough of that!” said Danny, getting control of the system again.  “So, if you can get to a button, I can hear you, but I can’t teleport you out, so that’s kind of pointless.  Unless you’re being attacked or something.  Which could be happening.  This guy named himself Daedalmouse, which sort of implies the existence of a Mousotaur, and I’ve been fighting a lot of ghost rats trying to find him.  I’m pretty sure that finding him and beating him up will undo the whole labyrinth thing, but I don’t know how long it will take – yes, I know about the right hand wall trick, but that only works for getting out of mazes that are, you know, following the laws of physics, and not finding crazy ghosts that aren’t following the laws of physics.  I’ll try to check in by possessing the speakers every couple of hours, but in the meantime, hang tight, find places with water, all that survivalist stuff.  If you find a way out, go for it, but no Icarus stuff.  Icarus,” mumbled Danny, sounding distracted.  “Icarus.  Icar-mouse?”  The PDA system chimed again, and then fell silent.  

Except for everyone mashing the buttons, but that was just unintelligible noise and didn’t count.  

“The ghost is named Deadmau5?” asked Paulina.  “What a rip off.”

“He said Daedalmouse.  Like Daedalus?  From Greek mythology?  Ringing any bells?” asked Wes.  

“Whatever,” said Paulina.  “I bet you don’t even know who Deadmau5 is.”

Tucker breathed in slowly through his nose.  “Let’s at least find one of the call buttons so that we can, you know, call for help?  Hello?  Wes?  Paulina?”  Tucker sighed and adjusted his glasses.  “Or so that we can call Phantom when he gets on next?”

“Please, like you need the announcement system to call your best frie–”

“Yes, and then once Phantom knows where I am, he will come and rescue me,” said Paulina, skipping down the hallway.  

“Sure,” said Tucker.  He started walking.  He didn’t want Paulina to get too far ahead.  “Are you coming, Wes?”

“You could just call him,” said Wes.  “On your phone.”

As a point of fact, Tucker had already tried that.  It didn’t work.  “I don’t have Phantom’s number, Wes.”

“I hate you so much.  All of you.”

“I know, Wes.”   

.

“Oh!  Look at that!” said Paulina, pointing around the corner.  

Tucker ran forward - well, jogged, they’d been walking for a while, vainly searching for a classroom door - thinking she’d seen a ghost.  She hadn’t.  

They all looked at the vending machine, hungrily. 

Paulina ran forward and punched in a number on the vending machine keypad, then stopped and turned back to Tucker and Wes.

“Do, like, either of you have any money?”

“Aren’t you rich or something?” asked Wes.  

“Which is how you know I’ll pay you back,” said Paulina.  She flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “I can’t believe that the one time I leave my purse in my locker during school, this happens.”

“Is it still school property if it’s in a nightmare ghost maze?” asked Tucker, because there was jerky in there, and his ultra-predator instincts needed fuel, darn it.  “We can always say the ghost broke it.”

“Okay, but, like, how?” asked Paulina.  “I’m not breaking my nails on this thing.”

“Just move,” said Tucker, pulling out his PDA and nudging Paulina to the side.  He probably had some dongle or other that would connect to the vending machine.  Not this one…  Not that one…  There, he could slide that into the card reader and then just run the program.  He hadn’t tested this before, so he had no idea if it would–

Tucker didn’t have Danny’s ghost sense, but after over a year of ghost hunting, he’d picked up a few things.  Like when a ghost was about to cream him.  Unfortunately, he still didn’t have much of a skill set when it came to what to do when he noticed a ghost was about to cream him.  He looked over his shoulder.  

Yep.  That was a giant ghost rat, all right.  

He dropped his PDA, then threw himself to the floor as the rat jumped straight at his head.  It hit the vending machine, sending it crashing to the floor.  Paulina screamed and ducked around the corner.  Wes stared, frozen.  

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled out his lipstick laser.  He spun the top and started firing.  The rat yelped.  He loved this thing so much.

But giant ghost rats had thicker skin than the typical animal ghost, because it jumped on Tucker, knocking the laser out of his hands.  He and the rat rolled around, wrestling.  

Man, all this scene needed was some fire, and then it’d be straight out of that one mov–

Paulina came screaming back around the corner, carrying a large cork board over her head.  It was covered in motivational posters with slogans like ‘If someone tells you that you cannot become immortal, they are liars,’ ‘Doesn’t it make sense that a lot of witch hunts are witch hunts because it’s your birthday?’ and ‘If we all work together we can make the north pole collapse under its own weight.’  

She slammed the board down on the rat’s head and it sort of staggered off Tucker, twitching.  It was a good thing it was too stupid to go intangible.  Paulina had used enough force that Tucker would have some broken ribs if the rat was smart.  

But the rat’s disorientation was momentary.  It turned back to Paulina and Tucker, teeth bared.  Which was when Wes started shooting the rat with the lipstick laser.  The rat yelped and twisted to face him, levitating up into the air, which in turn gave Tucker enough time to roll to his feet and activate his wrist ray.  

He didn’t like the wrist rays as much as the lipstick laser, they were harder for him to aim, but at this range, that hardly mattered.  After being hit a few dozen times, the rat ran away, squeaking.  

“Thanks,” said Tucker.  “That was–  Thanks.  Can I have that back?”

Wes, pale faced, handed the lipstick laser back to Tucker like it was a loaded gun…  Which wasn’t exactly inaccurate…  

“That was so gross,” said Paulina, holding her hands out in front of her as if they were contaminated.  Tucker didn’t know what her problem was, she hadn’t even touched the rat.  

“Yeah,” agreed Wes, who hadn’t even been near the rat, breathlessly.  He was getting some of his color back, though, so that was good.  Tucker never knew what to do when people passed out.  Unless those people were Danny, in which case what to do usually involved evacuation, ghost first aid, and deciding how many days to tell Danny he’d been out for when he woke up.  

“Could’ve been worse,” said Tucker.  “Luckily, you had me.  Tucker Foley, too fine.”

Paulina and Wes stared at him, lips starting to curl.  Tough crowd.  

How did Danny do this?

Tucker shrugged, discarding the thought, and walked over to the vending machine.  He rescued his PDA - the reinforcement upgrades were really paying off! - kicked the machine to shake off some of the broken glass, and reached in to pull out a packet of jerky.  It had his name on it.  Metaphorically speaking.  

“Are you really going to eat that?” asked Wes.  “That thing was all over you.”

“Well, yeah,” said Tucker, peeling open the packet.  “But it was dead, so…”

“It could have the plague,” said Wes.

“Then I’m already dead,” said Tucker.  “Since it was all over me and all.  Ooh, this type has cheese in it.”  He took a bite and the walls shimmered.  The next thing Tucker knew, he was standing on the front lawn of the school, along with the rest of the student body.

“We’re out?” asked Wes.  

“Phantom saved us,” said Paulina, clasping her hands together, her previous disgust forgotten.  “I knew he would.  Next time, I’ll have to give him a hero’s reward.  Fate is so cruel, to keep us apart.”

Wes scoffed.  “He literally sits two rows behind you in almost every class you have.”

Tucker took a deep breath, anticipating the argument, then turned and walked away.  They were out of the maze.  It wasn’t his problem anymore.  He could enjoy his jerky.  

High overhead, Tucker heard Danny scream.  “It was about the ‘mice’ finding the cheese in your stupid maze?  Why the heck are you Ancient Greek themed if you’re just a mad scientist?!”

[iri-desky]

Doof: "You see Perry The Platypus, about a few weeks ago I entered The Tumblr Sexyman Showdown. It's a contest for only the sexiest of men-- now now, Perry the Platypus, before you roll your eyes at me, it's not the conventional kind of sexy, no, no! It's the pathetic, the silly, the unconventional! Only for the acquired tastes. Like me~!! So I joined in, and you wouldn't believe it! I plowed through the competition! Bracket after bracket, I dominated the votes. That is, until the final round... when I was put up against Stanley Pines of someplace called 'Gravity Falls'-- for some reason, even though he claimed to come from a place called Gravity Falls and I come from the Tri-State Area, the competition listed me to come from someplace called 'Phineas and Ferb', and I have no idea where that is or who those people are--I was kicked to the curb! He won by a landslide! Well, not literally though, that's a metaphor--that's how Bill Cipher won against Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians, and I KNOW that place doesn't exist--b-but anyway, Stanley won and I only got second. And it doesn't make any sense! Sure, Stanley is similar to what the true Sexyman is, but he's not the greatest! For one thing, he's not that pathetic--jeez, if anyone is the most pathetic here, it's me! He's not that tragic-backstory-able, or anything, he--and worse yet, he's HOT! I mean, he's not that much of an acquired taste! Sure, he's older, but that's it!! Clearly, the people are biased! Which is why I made...THIS!"

Doof: "BEHOLD! THE UNHANDSOME-INATOR!!!!"

Doof: "With this, I can make anyone ugly--so ugly that their ugliness is JUUUST too ugly to be a Tumblr Sexyman! But too handsome to be truly ugly...and I can also tweak it to make myself just a little more handsome, hehe! With this, I will make the ENTIRE TRI-STATE AREA Sexyman ugly, and shoot myself so I will be the most acquired-taste-handsome out of all of them, winning the love of all of the TRI-STATE AREA, AND ENACTING MY REVENGE AGAINST THE TUMBLR SEXYMAN CONTEST!!!"

Doof: "--Or wait, come to think of it, this isn't really revenge, I mean, the contest's over and it won't come back until next year so this scheme prooobably should've been postponed until then... not to mention this inator isn't exactly that tweaked, it's a rushed job and has some...ahaha...side effects...unless I CRANK UP THE RANGE OF THE INATOR!"

Doof: "Yes, Perry The Platypus, I will become the most tumblr-sexyman handsome by proxy in all of the tri-state area AND GRAVITY FALLS, OREGON!!!"

| Meanwhile In Gravity Falls |

*Stan, reading the paper, suddenly looks up.*

Stan: "Something just happened."

*beat*

Stan: "...Eh. Who cares. Worse has happened in this town. It's probably the heebie jeebies from that German guy from a couple days ago, eugh."

Stan: "Worth it for the prize money, though. I'm still the sexiest man on all of Tumblr! Ahaha!"

*beat*

Stan, still grinning: "...whatever that is."

*A beat. Then the door to the Mystery Shack slams open. It's Ford.*

Ford: "Stanley! I'm back!"

Stanley: "Hey, sixer. Back from another one of your little adventures?"

Ford: "I suppose you could call it that! Ever been to the tri-state area? There are hundreds of anomalies there! Did you know that all the platypuses are teal there?"

Stanley: "Yeah, yeah...well, make sure to tell me later. I'm reading the paper."

Ford: "Well, don't get too absorbed. We're going to Italy tomorrow, remember? We're visiting the Vatican! Lots of great things to explore there! We might even see the pope!"

[gold-onthe-inside]

shape of you

who? spencer reid (s8/9) x blake!reader summary: when a terrible, horrible, no good day leaves you less that satisfied with your body t-minus 20 minutes before dinner with your boyfriend's friends and colleagues, it's up to spencer to cheer him up. content warnings: implied body dysmorphia/insecurities, weight and body type is ambiguous, spencer being the best boyfriend ever word count: 1.3k author's note: written by request for spring-fest. read more blake!reader here. divider courtesy of @/ saradika-graphics

It’s just one of those days where everything feels wrong, hyperaware of everything that doesn’t go to plan. Woke up an hour before you were supposed to, then having an unsatisfying extra hour of sleep where everything felt too warm. Burnt your tongue on coffee so you spend the rest of the day not really tasting anything, constantly aware of the abnormal numbness on the tip of your tongue. Bumped into a glass door twice during rounds, in front of your colleagues, juniors, and patients. And that was all before noon.

Your terrible mood carried to the end of the day, having tried three different dresses, wholly unsatisfied with all of them, and desperately going for the jumpsuit instead. But as you zip up the back, it doesn’t look right either. It feels like it’s hanging off of you rather than fitting you, and suddenly you can’t tell if it’s all in your head or if you really just look like a strangely shaped blob. You let out a sigh, considering giving up on the whole thing when your phone trilled on the counter beside the bathroom sink, a silly picture of Spencer with the cheesiest smile flashing on the screen and you picked up.

“Hey, so I might be like, 5 minutes late.” He never used ‘like’ as a filler word until he met you, mostly because he was too precise to need approximates or guesses, but precise is not a word you could use to describe the Metro system. “The train just randomly stopped past Union Station.” You could hear the fatigue in his voice, and slightly petulant frustration.

“It’s okay, take your time,” you replied, staring at yourself in the mirror. “It’s not like I’m getting ready anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked and you could hear the confusion in his voice, and he heard the puff of breath that came from your lips.

“Nothing, just… Today’s just been a bad day,” you said lamely, moving to the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Oh,” Spencer said, his voice suddenly small. “You could’ve told me, I would have had Rossi reschedule.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, flopping back onto your mattress. “It’s not every day you take down a whole trafficking ring.”

“They wouldn’t have minded,” Spencer replied, picking at the belt of his satchel. “Everyone’s exhausted. It’s just that noone’s about to turn down a free dinner.”

“Cheapskates,” you replied with a small giggle.

“Hey, not all of us get paid like you do,” he retorted, knowing you were probably rolling your eyes at him.

“What did you think you’d get paid working for the U.S. Government?” you scoffed.

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, someone has to work for the government, and if I wasn’t, then we would never have met.”

“So you’re saying our meeting trumps being able to pay for your own meal?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Pretty much. And then you wouldn’t be able to tell me about your no-good, terrible, horrible day.”

“It really isn’t that big a deal,” you said with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. “Just one of those days that confirms the existence of general adaptation syndrome.”

“Exhaustion phase, huh?” he asked and you smiled faintly, loving how he just understood you.

“Pretty much,” you murmured. “How far away are you?”

“Heading out of the station right now. Give me 3 minutes and 12 seconds. 9 if I don’t have to wait for traffic.”

“Look both ways before crossing,” you reminded him tiredly.

“That was one time,” he protested and you chuckled. “And in my defense, you’re very distracting.”

“You’re lucky that Subaru didn’t deck you,” you replied, smiling as you gently swung your feet. “Would’ve folded you up like a deck chair.”

“Aren’t girlfriends supposed to be nice?”

“Not this one,” and he can hear the cheek in your voice.

“Think I’m starting to miss the honeymoon period,” he said, and you can hear the jangle of his keys, the slightest loss of focus on your conversation, and you went and unlocked your front door for him before returning to the bedroom.

“Aren’t those meant to last like… a year at least?” you asked.

“Six months to 2 years, actually,” he answered. “In some cases, up to 2 and a half. Did you know honeymoons come from the tradition of marriage by capture? The groom would steal the bride and go into hiding so she wouldn’t be taken from him, and the intention was that she would be pregnant by the month’s end.”

“Well, that’s all kinds of wrong,” you murmured, staring at yourself in the mirror, and you can hear the door swing open so you hang up. “In here!” Your call is half-hearted, hand running over your stomach, willing it flatter.

“Do you think it’s okay if I just stick to a clean dress shirt?” he was asking, heading towards your voice, oblivious to the chaos in your head, only to find that you’d set out a suit for him. “You think of everything, don’t you?” he huffed with a smile, moving to hug you from behind and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Figured you wouldn’t have time to pick one up,” you replied, your smile too faint for him to be convinced you were okay. His arms tightened around you.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft and you rested your head against his chest.

“It just… I tried like… three different outfits and nothing fits right,” you murmured and he frowned.

“You look the same as you always do,” he said, running his hand comfortingly over your stomach, where your hand had rested, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Insanely pretty and out of my league.” The all-too-familiar huff escaped your nose and his brow furrowed again.

“Hey, none of that,” he countered, tugging your back against his chest. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, gently kissing the crook of your neck, hair brushing your jaw, as he scraped his teeth against soft skin. “It doesn’t even matter what you wear, you know that? You could be coming home after a 12 hour shift, exhausted and sweaty and still look completely beautiful to me.”

He rested his chin against your temple, still hugging you. “And we can do whatever you want. We can eat takeout and ice cream in our pyjamas and watch your favourite movie. Or, we can finish getting ready and go spend time with people who care about a lot more than how you look.” He pressed another warm kiss to your temple. “Or you can keep trying on dresses and I’ll tell you how beautiful you look in all of them.”

You can’t help but grin at him, turning your head to kiss him properly, as he deserved. Long and sweet, pouring all your love into it. “You’re the best boyfriend, you know that?” you murmured, looking up at him, all adoring.

“I like being reminded,” he said simply, shrugging. “So, what do you want to do?”

You took a deep breath, looking at the pile of dresses on the corner of the bed. “I want you to pick one,” you said eventually, tucking hair out of your eyes, then watching with a smile as Spencer critically analysed each one before settling on a mauve bodycon dress, holding it up to you. Of course, he’d pick his favourite colour on you.

15 minutes later, you’re both horrendously late, Spencer behind the wheel of your car, using every moment of standstill traffic to look at you, caught between wanting to making a U-turn to take you straight home and wanting to show you off, even if it was just the team he was showing off to. He ended up choosing the latter, and all criticisms of tardiness were forgotten as the team warmly welcoming you, an extremely giddy Penelope gushing over how pretty you looked, JJ and Derek already making fun of Spencer’s possessive grip over your waist. All in all, it was a night spent well, Spencer’s adoring gaze more than making up for your terrible, horrible, no-good day.

comments and reblogs appreciated <3

[dramagodesss]

ten : halloween night

playin' the players

a/n: there's text inbetween images + pls imagine jj is by y/n's side on topper's story— enjoy! (specially winscam fans...)

the night's been crazy.

and lets admit it, you're drunk. pretty damn drunk.

so drunk that, somehow, you've ended up dancing. the kind of dancing that’s just movement and tequila and bass so loud it vibrates your bones. your angel costume’s hanging on by pure intention at this point — glitter on your collarbone, skirt bunched up, wings half-detached.

you’re giggling, flushed, already several shots deep.

jj’s right there — cowboy hat tilted, belt buckle catching the light, hands grazing your waist like he’s daring himself to touch more.

“you always dance like this, or just when you’re trying to kill me?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear.

you toss your head back with a laugh, cheeks burning. “you gonna whine about it or keep up, cowboy?”

he smirks, pulling you in, and the two of you are moving — close, messy, way too flirty. you let your head fall back, arms looping around his neck, and he spins you right into him. chest to chest. thighs brushing.

but then—

you feel it. like static. like heat from across the room.

you look up.

rafe.

leaning against the wall in that devil costume, horns perched perfectly in that tousled blond hair. red silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched tight.

and he’s watching you.

not the crowd. not the party. not the girl talking to him with her hand on his bicep.

just you.

his eyes dark, unreadable, trailing over the way jj’s hand slips just a little lower on your back. over the way you laugh, loose and tipsy. over the sway of your hips and the way jj’s mouth gets dangerously close to your neck.

and you don’t look away.

you meet his stare.

and smile. sweet. wicked. drunk on attention and fire.

jj leans down again, mumbling something about getting another drink, but you barely hear him — not when rafe finally pushes off the wall, brushing off the girl beside him without a word.

and starts walking straight toward you.

you’re in the middle now. cowboy at your side. devil on the approach.

heart pounding.

but at some point you need to go to the bathroom, and thats when john b and pope catch you near the staircase.

john b looks like he just committed tax fraud. pope’s sweating like he’s about to deliver a ted talk. you? you’re sipping tequila punch out of a red solo cup with a loose smile on your lips.

“hey—hey, y/n,” john b starts, voice a little too serious for a party this loud. “can we, uh… talk to you for a second?”

you blink slowly, like the request’s in slow motion. “you are talking to me. congrats.”

pope forces a nervous laugh. “privately. please.”

you raise a brow but let them tug you toward the hallway by the coat closet. the music dulls just enough for serious vibes to settle in.

john b takes a deep breath. “okay, so this might sound bad. like—really bad. but we think you should know…”

pope finishes for him, quick and hushed, “jj and rafe made a bet.”

you blink again.

“a bet?” you echo, tilting your head.

“about you,” pope says. “whoever got to sleep with you first would get the lake house for spring break.”

there’s a pause. a long one.

and then—you giggle. a soft, drunk, dangerous sound.

“oh my god. that’s what you’re all panicked about?”

they both stare at you like you just admitted to murder.

“you’re… not mad?” john b asks slowly.

you smile, bright and wicked. “babe. i already knew.”

they blink. once. twice.

“wait—since when?” pope demands.

you shrug, casual as hell. “since the first night. when yall were talking about it in the kitchen— you guys really suck at whispering, by the way.”

john b groans, dragging a hand down his face. “shit.”

you grin wider. “i figured if they wanted to play a game… i’d just play it better.”

with that, you take a long sip from your cup, adjust your crooked halo, and toss your hair back like you’re on a runway. then you turn, sauntering back toward the music.

over your shoulder, you throw them a wink. “appreciate the concern though. y’all are cute.”

later that night, you’re on the floor in the middle of a half-circle of frat couches, glitter stuck to your collarbones, costume wings long gone. there’s a bottle of tequila spinning on the floor like it’s about to choose your fate.

cleo’s lounging with a smirk, cheeks flushed and eyes sharp. “truth or dare, t/n?”

you squint at her through mascara-heavy lashes, sipping whatever’s left in your solo cup. “dare. obviously.”

cleo’s grin goes nuclear. “take a body shot. from rafe.”

you blink. your heart hiccups.

the group lets out a collective “oooohhh” like a sitcom laugh track. someone hoots. someone else drops their drink.

you shoot cleo a look. “you’re evil.”

“and yet you love me.” she winks, then gestures behind you. “come on, devil boy’s waiting.”

you turn.

rafe’s already leaning back on his elbows, smug as hell in that stupid red button-down left mostly unbuttoned, horns perched in his hair like he was born with them. he raises a brow, waiting for your reaction. expecting you to back down.

you crawl over, straddling his hips with a giggle you try to bite back. your hands settle on his chest. you can feel him tense—just a little—beneath you.

“you good?” you murmur, voice low.

he nods, pupils blown wide. “i’m great.”

someone hands you the lime and salt. someone else tops off the tequila in a little shot glass.

cleo pipes up, “don’t forget the rules! salt, shot, lime—in that order!”

you glance at rafe. “may i, your magesty?”

he smirks, lips twitching. “go ahead, angel”

you lick a line across his collarbone before your brain catches up with your body. you sprinkle the salt. he shivers. so do you.

cheers erupt around you.

then—shot glass in hand—you lean down, lips brushing just over his chest as you lick the salt, toss back the tequila, and press the lime between your lips before leaning in, teeth gently pushing it past his.

it’s not a kiss. not really. but it’s close enough to feel like one.

and rafe? he doesn’t move. doesn’t blink. just stares at you like you’ve rewritten the rules of gravity.

you pull back, lips wet, eyes sparkling.

“so close and so far at the same time” you murmur sweetly, only for him to hear, climbing off him and sinking back into the circle.

jj is very, very quiet across the room. he downs the rest of his drink in one go.

cleo cackles like she just won the lottery. “your turn, t/n. spin the bottle.”

you smirk, fingers already reaching.

a while later, after the game has ended, a hand closes around your wrist.

warm. confident. familiar.

you turn, blinking up — it’s rafe.

his eyes are dark under the red glow of devil horns, pupils blown wide, jaw tight like he’s holding back something dangerous.

“come here,” he mutters, voice low, brushing just under the music. “need you for a sec.”

you blink. “i was gonna—”

“trust me,” he says, already tugging you up, weaving you past sweaty bodies and sticky floors until you’re pressed into the shadowy side hallway near the laundry room.

a door swings open.

a coat closet.

he nudges you in, follows, and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

you’re squished between rows of jackets and the hard press of his chest, your back against the wall. the music is muffled now, like the whole world got dipped underwater. it smells like old cologne and cedar and him.

“rafe—?”

“you look,” he breathes, voice ragged, “fucking dangerous in that outfit.”

his eyes trail over your costume — the shimmer on your skin, the curve of your mouth, the way your skirt rides up just slightly. he lets out a quiet groan and presses his forehead to yours.

“been trying to be chill all night,” he murmurs. “but you? dancing? those shots? that fucking body shot?”

you smile, slow and wicked. “jealous?”

his laugh is more like a growl. “starving.”

and then he kisses you.

hot. messy. all tongue and teeth and low groans against your mouth. his hands bracket your hips like he needs to anchor himself, like if he doesn’t touch you harder he’ll combust.

you gasp into him and he takes it as invitation — mouths slanting deeper, heat rolling off him in waves. his hands are under your thighs before you register the lift, and suddenly you’re perched on top of a pile of folded towels, legs wrapped around his waist, breaths tangled like smoke.

“you drive me crazy,” he mutters, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your shoulder.

“good,” you whisper, tugging at his shirt collar. “drive better when you’re desperate.”

he laughs, a sound low and wrecked, before catching your mouth again — and this time, it’s slower. deeper. like he’s trying to remember the shape of you with his lips.

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