#clean and sober dance

[thesmokinpossum]

renting an appartment above an empty parking lot was litteraly the smartest thing my clumsy substance abusing ass could ever do, thank you so much me from 2021 to me right now in 2023

[tobeholyistobeempty]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

find part two here.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

��tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. it’s quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t stripped mid-hallway. it’s just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.

“m’not that drunk,” you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. “i mean—i am, but not like…memory loss drunk. i’m still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.”

it’s only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.

“..and how insanely big your hands are,” you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. “like—biblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell y’that?”

and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth you’re beginning to feed.

“don’t.” he says, and it’s torn. “not now.”

he’s all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesn’t break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.

“y’ever choke a girl out with them?” you press, unfettered. “not like, unconscious, but like. in bed?”

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. ���d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” he hums, take a step or two toward the door. “fuckin hope you will.”

[myheartxmyman]

[rhaeverie]

was not, were not, is — ldh

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. friends to implied lovers, drunk confession wc. 1.5k summary. sober you would beat you up if she heard the bullshit spilling from your mouth; in which alcohol is both your best friend and your worst enemy warnings. excessive amount of fluff, reader’s drunk as hell, Donghyuck’s love language is acts of service  an. a little warm up writing before I start writing longer fics again—I REALLY like the drunk confession microtrope,,, this whole thing was either written at 5AM on my work breaks or 5AM bc my sleep schedule is fucked up,,, pls enjoy!

read part two!

You couldn’t give any less of a fuck that the bare soles of your feet were touching the cool pavement. 

In fact, you couldn’t give any less of a fuck about anything.

Mind hazy, still tipsy from the shots your cousin had shoved in your hands, you briefly recall Donghyuck telling you that your mom had requested to bring you home—something about staying back to help clean up the venue and something about crashing out?—who the hell cares. 

You let out a snort for no reason.

Maybe you should’ve brought extra shoes.

But again, you don’t care.

Donghyuck tails you, not too far behind. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, a smile playing lightly upon his lips as he watched you stumble under the lights of the venue. He knows he should be at your side in case you lose your balance, but it hadn’t even been five minutes since you declined his arm.

“You sure you don’t want to wear my shoes?” 

You stop in your tracks and look back at him. It’s only now that you notice how sweaty the man was, bangs stuck to his forehead from all the dancing. This could also explain why your feet were killing you, “What shoes would you wear?”

He holds up the pair of heels dangling from his fingers, “Yours.” 

You scoff and continue walking, “You in heels? Funny.”

And although your intentions were to offend Donghyuck, the smile on his face stays put, “Well, if it means you could walk comfortably, then I’d endure that pain and embarrassment.” 

You roll your eyes, using all the strength in your entire body to not physically react to Donghyuck’s choice of words, “Please never say that ever again.” 

“I’m serious,” he responds, “Also, I told you about bringing extra shoes.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes trail further down the walkway, noting down that the parking lot was inching closer and closer. He recalls from this morning that the parking lot was sprinkled with pebbles. He frowns, “Can you please just put my shoes on?” 

“I’m fine, Hyuck,” you groan, “I think that the car isn’t even far from here.” 

“You’re right but…” 

You hear him sigh out deeply before you hear his footsteps pick up in pace, the heels of his dress shoes clicking against the pavement. The alcohol pulls your eyes shut for just a moment, and when you finally gain control of them again, you find your best friend kneeling down in front of you, back turned towards you, “Get on.” 

“Hyuck, I said I was fine,” you attempt to walk around him, but the man somehow predicts which way you’re going and scoots right in front of you. 

“And I said to get on,” he orders gently, “Please.” 

The ‘please’ causes you to giggle and you find yourself staring at the back of his head, dwindling on a few possible answers. His hair looks soft, like something you’d want to reach out and touch. “Don’t wanna… risk you dropping me.”

If you weren’t completely insane for your best friend, you would’ve hopped onto his back no problem. Hell, with the alcohol you felt a little bit bolder than usual, but nothing could mistake that little kick in your heartbeat telling you that if you decided to take his offer, you’d probably melt the second you make contact with him. 

“I’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t,” Donghyuck threatens (was that even considered a threat?), “C’mon.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. But your actions completely contradict your words as you carefully secure yourself onto Donghyuck’s back, arms wrapping right around his neck. He follows in pursuit, hooking his arms right under your knees before he stands up. “You suck.” 

“See, it isn’t so bad,” he laughs, “I’m strong. I won’t drop you.”

Your brain’s telling you to mock him back, but your words falter because you’re hit by Donghyuck’s perfume. Fuck—of course he smells good. You can’t remember a time that he didn’t. 

It takes every ounce of your sobriety to not bury your face in Donghyuck’s hair. 

“I actually had fun,” Donghyuck begins, referring to the wedding, “Honestly, I was scared to meet your other relatives. You always talk about them and they sound scary. But I actually had fun.” 

“That’s good,” you reply quietly, almost dazed, “I’m glad you had fun.” 

Your head flops onto Donghyuck’s shoulder, hair falling in front of your face and tickling his ear. His car finally comes into view and Donghyuck wastes no time to swing the door open. 

“There you go, Princess,” Donghyuck jokes. He lowers you down gently, allowing you to plop into the passenger seat. Once he’s sure you’re seated, he turns around to face you, combing the mess of hair away from your face. “Comfy?” 

“What if I said no?” You giggle, head falling back against the headrest. 

Another sigh leaves Donghyuck’s lips and he pokes your side, “Then I’d do whatever it takes to make you comfy.” 

“Quit talking like that,” you groan.

He hums, “Like what?” 

The leather seat squeaks when you shift to face the other way, letting your eyes draw close. 

Fatigue was definitely catching up. 

I don’t know… you think, Just… like that. 

And although your mind struggles to piece letters together to word how you were feeling, your heart knows exactly what you were thinking about. 

Donghyuck shuts the door and his shadow crosses the light leaking through your eyelids. The driver’s door clicks open and then Donghyuck’s settling in the seat next to yours. 

“Well…” You hear his foot hit the brake before he taps at the button to start the car, “Did you have fun?” 

“Mmmm…” your lips form a pout, suddenly hit by the events of the wedding. You feel like you’re teetering between sobriety and intoxication, unsure whether or not you should be genuine, “Yo.” 

Donghyuck raises a brow and tilts his head at you, “Yo?” 

“Yes and no,” you clarify, almost as if he was supposed to know what you meant, “I had fun but didn’t.” 

Again, Donghyuck’s eyebrow jerks, “Whatever you say.” He’s unsure whether he should wait for you to settle before he pulls out of the parking spot. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” You whine. One of your eyelids draws open, just enough to peek out at him. 

He huffs, playing along, “…why?”

“I had fun because my cousin and her partner were cute and the dancing and the drinks, the games and everything…” You list, “But also, I didn’t have fun because all I could think about was the fact that I may never find the love they have.” 

Your best friend lets your words sink in, trying to make sense of it while stringing together the right words to say—ones that wouldn’t give it away. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you will find that love you want.” 

Then tears start leaking out of the corners of your eyes and Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to reach over to wipe them away. He can’t help but laugh, watching as you’ve finally reached your crying phase, simply meaning that you’d pass out next, “Why are you crying? I’m telling you the truth, you know.” 

You shrug sluggishly, “I don’t completely doubt you, Hyuckie.” Another tear slips out and you feel the pad of Donghyuck’s thumb swipe across your cheek. 

“Then why are you crying?” he frowns. 

“Well, what if…” you trail, “What if the love I want is with you?” You’re too far gone to even realize what you’ve just said, “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…” 

The pounding in Donghyuck’s ears almost drown out your voice. You’re speaking so quietly that he needs to lean in to hear you. 

Another tear—wipe.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding, if it wasn’t you I was waking up to, if the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…” 

Your eyes remain close and the more you speak, the more spaced out the words come out your mouth. Sober you would not believe what you were confessing to a sober Donghyuck.

“I want you to love me,” you finally confess, like saying it out loud validated all your feelings, “And everyday I feel like that’s too much to ask.” 

“We should talk about this another time, Y/N.” 

You groan at his response, almost as if you weren’t satisfied with his answer. But before he could get another word out, he watches as your head flops onto your own shoulder. 

“Of course,” Donghyuck chuckles to himself, shaking his head. He reaches over and pulls the lever to recline your chair, letting your head fall back comfortably, “There you go… comfy…” 

Donghyuck sits back in his seat and admires you for a moment, a delicate frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

He wishes you weren’t drunk and saying these words, afraid that when the alcohol wasn’t running through your body, that none of them would even mean anything to you. 

Because if the love you wanted was with him, he’d do anything—everything—to give it to you.

[mattsundaes]

DRIP.

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader — 18+, 1.5k, roommates to lovers, dry humping, spit kink, alcohol, fingering

"I would come so fast if a girl spit in my mouth."

Your eyes slide from what's currently happening in the movie that you're watching—exactly that, and it’s somehow not a porno by any means—to your roommate, who's seated beside you on the couch.

Kuroo's lips slot over the opening of his beer bottle, and you're momentarily distracted by the bobbing of his throat as he swallows, the flex of his biceps when he brings it back down to rest against his knee.

His eyes meet yours, and he grins, lopsided and shameless. A little buzzed. Wholly unapologetic.

It’s always like this between the two of you, this lack of a filter that fizzes like carbonation through your veins. This push and pull of toed lines and thinly veiled flirting.

It’s only a matter of time until it boils over.

Until one of you has to eat your words.

“I think you might have to pay extra for that,” you tease, tongue darting out between your teeth.

Kuroo drags a hand through his messy black hair, huffing out a laugh.

—

It’s a Friday night, and the bar is hot and packed.

You’re sitting in Kuroo’s lap (because there’s nowhere else to sit, because he grabbed you by a belt loop and tugged you there when you waved off the seat Akaashi offered you).

Bokuto sets down a new tray of shot glasses on the tabletop.

MSBY won their game earlier, and this is now the second, no third “toast” that’s graced the table full of players and friends. Except you’re a glass short this time, so Kuroo’s fingers come up empty.

He makes a soft grunt of discontent, chin hooked over your shoulder while you press your glass to your lips, the alcohol sliding into your mouth.

Later, you’ll blame it on the previous shots, whatever liquid courage inspires you to turn to Kuroo, one hand cupping his jaw. He stares up at you, lips turned downward in a confused pout.

Then you trace his bottom lip with your thumb.

You swipe it back a forth, slowly, before pressing down in the center.

And he gets it.

You’re not sure why or how he does, maybe he can just see the way you’ve yet to swallow.

Kuroo’s lips part, and his light grasp on your hip tightens just a fraction.

You tell yourself the way your drag your fingers through his hair and tug is just to position him better, to tease him, not because you think about carding them through his perpetually tousled locks all the time. Either way, Kuroo groans when you do it.

And then you lean in and spit the shot directly into his mouth.

Kuroo swallows, slowly, throat bobbing again in that wholly distracting way.

His lips are wet with the spillage, and he runs his tongue along them, rather than using the back of his hand to wipe them clean.

Your chest burns with the realization of how badly you want to kiss him, want to chase the taste of the drink that lingers past his lips, on his tongue.

Kuroo’s gaze is heavy when he looks at you, though the moment is quickly disrupted by Atsumu and Hinata’s raucous laughter at something entirely different going on at the other end of the table.

“Thanks.”

—

You’ve both sobered up by the time you get back to the apartment, and Kuroo collapses on his back horizontally across the couch, eyes falling closed.

“Make room. I need to do that, too, after all that dancing with Atsumu’s drunk ass,” you tell him, nudging his knee.

Kuroo grunts, but he doesn’t move.

Instead, gravity suddenly shifts on its axis without warning, and you find yourself plastered atop him. Something in your chest shudders at being pressed up against every inch of Kuroo’s warm body, a sensation only further exacerbated by the arms that snake around you to pull you closer still.

“‘m tired,” Kuroo mutters into your hair.

You feel like you should make a joke, pretend to complain. You should act like you don’t want to burrow impossibly deeper into his embrace.

But you’re tired, too.

And Kuroo’s comfortable.

(Comfortable and far closer than your bed, in the opinion of your sore feet, at least.)

When you rouse, you’re not sure how much time has passed, only that you’ve gone pliant in your sleep, your legs now spread to straddle Kuroo’s thighs.

Objectively, you knew Kuroo had a big dick. His friends make jokes about it often enough.

But the thought of it in theory is something entirely different than feeling its length slotted against the heat between your legs now.

He’s hard.

You inhale slowly, unable to ignore the steady, soft hum of pleasure at the way the seam of your denim shorts is situated directly atop it. You’re not even moving, but you can feel the pressure pulsing in your clit.

Then Kuroo shifts, ever so slightly, and you can’t hide your gasp at the feeling that alone drags out of you. Your body arches involuntarily.

“Stop moving,” Kuroo mumbles, and you become very aware of the way his fingertips have slipped just beneath the bottom of your tank top to rest against your bare lower back.

You shift your head to look at him, though it’s a mistake, really—his tired, half-lidded eyes have nearly been your undoing many a quiet, soft morning in your shared kitchen.

“You moved first,” you retort.

Kuroo huffs.

And you don’t think about how you’re running out of excuses for the decisions you’ve been making tonight when you look him dead in the eye and purposely roll your hips down against him.

“Fuck—“

Kuroo’s answering groan is immediate, a low, rough sound that sets every nerve ending in your body aflame. And your cunt aches with need, the tease of friction from your tight jean shorts not nearly enough right now.

So you do it again.

Kuroo’s hands quickly find a home curled around your hips, and he thrusts upward in a slow, firm push, one that has you seeing stars as he drags the length of hard cock directly down your cunt.

Your pussy spasms, your thin cotton panties doing nothing to shield your sensitive slit from the pressure of the seam of your shorts digging in. It feels so good, you could cry. Pleasure burns hot down your throat, dripping down each notch of your spine before it leaks out of your wet hole in a slick gush of arousal.

Kuroo fists a hand in the belt loops that rest above the curve of your ass, and you gasp at the way your shorts tighten further. Your cunt throbs as you dry hump his cock, your soaked panties sliding against your puffy, sticky folds.

“Kuroo,” you whimper, because it feels so fucking good, but you’re cock drunk enough to feel greedy now, to want more—

Logistically, you’re not sure how Kuroo gets a finger up your shorts from the back. They’re short enough that it’s a negligible path from the hem to your cunt if he goes up a leg and pushes the material aside, though it’s really a tight fit either way.

But Kuroo manages.

And it’s all you can do not to choke out a sob when he sinks a finger into your bare, dripping pussy, quickly adding another when you start to sloppily fuck yourself on the digits while you continue to hump his dick.

You don’t realize you’ve started drooling from the intense pleasure rapidly blossoming inside of you until Kuroo’s mouth is sliding against yours in a filthy, wet kiss while you tremble and shake and come all over his fingers.

And that’s when you remember—

You pull back from the kiss, pussy still spasming from the aftershocks of your climax as you continue to rock on Kuroo’s still-hard cock.

He stares up at you, unblinking, pupils blown wide.

And when you cup his chin again, Kuroo immediately parts his lips for you, and you feel the way his hips rock upward in anticipation.

When you spit in Kuroo’s mouth this time, there’s nothing quiet or understated about the way he moans as he swallows it down, the way he surges upward to kiss you hard while he desperately ruts against you.

The way you can feel his entire body react at once.

“Oh fuck—“ Kuroo roughly gasps into the kiss, and you can feel his cock pulse as his orgasm hits him, his body shuddering while he moans and floods his boxers with hot, sticky cum.

You collapse back on top of him, well aware of the mess between you but too exhausted to move.

Kuroo seems to feel the same, based on the way he idly strokes your back and presses a kiss to the top of your head in lieu of making any move to sit up. Head resting on his chest, you lift it slightly to look at him.

His eyes are closed, but you see his lips tilt upward in a grin. “Told you.”

[miajooz]

Bourbon & Butterflies

✮ Bartender!Ellie is a smoothhhh talker. Suggestive speaking, Alcohol use, Swearing.

WC ✮ 1.8k

The way you walked into that bar had heads turning and eyes riveted in your direction. You had the sort ambiance that was hypnotic in the way that felt like a buzz. Maybe it was the way you walked in those heels, or maybe it was the way you wore that dress like it was honored to be on your body. Either way—you could feel it, feel the way you shined.

You were in a group with your friends—probably the sexiest group to ever be seen in one place. Seriously, it was almost offensive the way you all complimented each other.

Though, you were oblivious to the attention you were receiving. your initial plan being to dance with your friends and drink. That wasn’t criminal, everybody was there for a good time. It was the kind of Friday where unwinding was all your fogged out brain could focus on. The kind of Friday you wanted to block out with the buzz of alcohol and a cigarette.

You were sober up until the moment your best friend abandoned you to go make out with some hot chick with a mullet, and eyes like a siren—but you couldn’t blame her. You watched her walk away, muttering to yourself in a way that was pure lesbian yearning. It looked so wrong to see such a gorgeous person as yourself all alone in the middle of the club.

Yeah, sobriety is not the way to go here.

With a sigh, you walked over to the bar and plopped down on the stool, trying your best to steer your attention away from the couple shamelessly making out next to you. You placed your hand on your cheek, waiting for the bartender.

You were glad your palm was keeping your jaw in place—otherwise it would’ve dropped to the damn floor.

The bartender had short, auburn hair, and the kind of freckles that made her look sun kissed in the sexiest way—a way you didn’t know was possible. Her green eyes told a story of their own, even if you couldn’t totally make them out from the club lights—you could feel them.

Her attire was nothing short of complimentary. She wore a white button down, the first two unbuttoned in an amorous way. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, giving you a sickeningly hot view of her tatted arm. It seemed to be a moth in front of leaves, maybe she was a nature kind of girl?

She held a cigarette in one hand, her juniper eyes looking you up and down appreciatively. She took a small puff, blowing the smoke off to the side before pushing herself off of the back counter.

And oh, did she eye you.

Her eyes were trained to the way your hair framed your face, the way your eyelashes made your eyes look like a fucking crime, the way your lips were parted in the perfect way. But how could she ignore the attire?

The dress that made your body look as if it should be photographed and put in a magazine for models and anybody else in the world to gawk at. The heels that made you slightly taller but so much more charming. And the jewelry that adorned your skin, so bright and shiny—as if you were competing with the disco ball.

You could feel it, you could see it. You lifted your head off your palm and offered her a sweet smile.

She nearly choked on the smoke she had already blown out. That was probably the cutest, most contagious smile she had ever seen.

She quickly recovered, putting one hand against the counter in front of her as she looked at you, eyebrow raised and tongue in her cheek.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” she questioned, her voice was raspy, but smooth in the way it spoke and affected you.

You simply smiled again, sitting up straighter. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit the pet name made you feel butterflies.

“Just a mimosa, please.” you request, trying your best not to not eye her in a way that was obvious.

She flashed you a smile, the kind of smirk that was lopsided but seemed so calculated.

“A mimosa, huh? Tryna match that citrusy fragrance you got going on?” she questioned, grabbing a clean glass off the side. “Not that I’m hating, of course. It suits you.”

You could already feel butterflies in your stomach, or maybe you were just so utterly charmed it was messing with you. You just laughed softly, your eyes darting between her toned hands and her unfairly gorgeous face. “Oh? And how would you know what suits me?”

She laughed at that, low and raspy. You couldn’t tell if she was paying more attention to the drink she was supposed to make or the customer who ordered it.

“Just a light assumption, pardon me. Thought you’d be charmed.” she said, her eyes going back down to the glass.

It was like she knew all the right things to say, this was all too much to handle. You needed that drink before you started acting like you were in heat.

“It would be hard not to be charmed, I’m glad you’re thinking about me.” you replied, smooth and calm. A stark contrast to the war your nervous system was going through.

She simply hummed in response, handing you your drink carefully. “For sure, baby.” she started—already dangerous. “Do you always order a mimosa?”

You laughed and cocked an eyebrow at her, taking a small sip out of your drink. You saw her eyes immediately snap towards them, and you became unfairly in love wot the way she bit her cheek.

“Why’re you asking? Does my order suit me too?” you asked curiously, trying to keep your demeanor calm and collected.

She shrugged, her free hand bringing her cigarette back up to her lips. She blew the smoke to the side again—not really wanting to lose sight of your gorgeous face.

“Something like that,” she started, clicking her tongue once, “You appreciate me thinking about you, yeah? Thought I’d take note of your favorite for the next time you come and see me.”

Damn. If you weren’t sitting your legs would’ve given out.

“For next time, you’re thoughtful. I’ll come see you again for sure—so you have some company.” you said, your hand shaking around your glass. “But yeah, this is what I usually order.” Unfortunately, she took notice to that and hummed, her eyes slightly narrowing at you.

“Is that right? Good to know.” she murmured, waving her cigarette around a bit as she spoke.

“Maybe I should get it tatted, you pick the spot.” she teased, finally bringing the cigarette up to her lips like it was a routine.

Your stomach tightened, a gasp lodged in your throat. The way she managed to smooth talk you so well was beyond you.

You laughed at her comment with an amused expression on your face, your fingers drumming against the glass. “That’s up to you, but there’s no need for that. Just remember the way you reacted when I smiled at you and ordered it.”

Now she was a bit speechless. Damn, you were good. She quickly recovered and eyed you up and down, practically fucking you with her eyes. the tension between you was palpable, everything else seemed to fade away.

“Yeah? I can think of a lot of other things I’d like to remember you showing me someday. ‘Could make you smile for different reasons.” she suggested, her voice low and sultry. The vulgarness behind her words made your stomach do flips.

Your eyes instinctively widened, fuck. You couldn’t look at her anymore, you reached for your lipgloss and looked away, using someone’s full glass of gin as a mirror—acting like you absolutely had to touch up your lipgloss. Then you managed to muster up the courage to look at her again.

“Already trying to start something when you don’t even know my name?” you asked, but there was no bite to your tone.

She laughed reaching to the side and taking a sip of a drink that looked as if it was refilled too many times. “How awful of me, I apologize. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You offered her a small smile, your lips hovering over your own drink, “Y/N, and you?”

She smiled and muttered her name under her breath, commenting on how it ‘suited’ you. “Ellie, my name is Ellie.” she said, and now you were thinking about how her name suited her.

You nodded, sipping your drink and keeping eye contact with her. The tension was almost heavy, you could feel it weighing down on your lungs.

“So, Ellie. What do you usually order?”

Ellie laughed, shaking her head and holding up her glass. “Using that against me? You’re clever.” she praised, letting you soak in the smirk on her face, “Bourbon, old fashioned.” she replied, her voice still hypnotic.

You nodded again, glad to be obtaining information besides the fact she was unfairly sexy and that her name was Ellie. Now you were both eyeing each other up, as if you were communicating in the sense or alcohol, smoke, and lust.

The silence didn’t last long, though the tension stayed.

“What’re you doing tonight, hun? Any plans worth staying for?” she asked, her tone suggestive.

Your heart stuttered inside your chest, a familiar enamored feeling overwriting anything prior. “No important plans, unless you’re trying to make some.” you replied, a subtle smirk on your face.

Ellie hummed in response, putting her cigarette out and leaning forwards. “Is that right? I can take you home if you want, baby.”

Fuck. That name felt so perfect coming off her lips when it was directed at you.

“You wanna take me home? Are you talking my house or yours?” you asked, your voice also suggestive. All you knew was that this woman was doing something to you, something you craved to feel and see more of.

Ellie’s smirk doubled in size, one eyebrow slightly more raised than the other. This was definitely going where she wanted it to. “Up to you, I’ll take you anywhere, sweetheart.” she said, her eyes not leaving you for even a fraction of a second.

“You know, a house, heaven, another planet.”

“A place in the back of your head your eyes haven’t mapped out yet. It’s up to you.”

Why did she keep going? You bit your cheek and looked at your drink, quickly tossing the rest into the back of your throat. Maybe you were trying to tame the blood in your body rushing south. You wiped a stray drop from your lips, trying to casually smile. “Your house works fine. Wanna take me to your car?”

Ellie smiled and stood up straight, eying you in a way that felt so right.

“A motorcycle okay with you?”

TAGSSS!! <3 @valeisaslut @haithone @eriiwaiii2 @usuck @hyperbabes

A/N - I’m still working on the smut i promised, but i had to get this idea out of my system. 💔

[heartsforkatsuki]

honeymoon. ｡°✩ s. todoroki

pov; shoto's first time

pairings; virgin!shoto x fem!reader

warnings; SMUUT!!!! p in v, drinking (sort of), creampie..?, also top!reader\

shoto todoroki was a traditional man, through and through.

his home decor? traditional, minimalist, clean lines, muted colors, with touches of old-fashioned elegance. the meals he cooked for you both? traditional too. hearty miso soups, perfectly grilled fish, and rice steamed just right, like something out of a recipe passed down through generations.

for as long as you’ve known him, that’s been his quiet motto: tradition. not because anyone forced it on him, but because it gave him structure, comfort, a sense of purpose in a world that often felt chaotic.

that, of course, translated into his sex life.

he’d always been clear with you. he wanted to wait until marriage. not out of shame, or fear, or pressure, but because he believed in making things meaningful. in doing things right. he believed the first time should be about more than just desire. it should be sacred.

he wanted it to be with someone he loved, someone he trusted, someone he planned to spend the rest of his life with. and now, after everything, the planning, the ceremony, the vows spoken under soft lights, it was the night after your wedding.

and finally, the moment he’d been waiting for had come.

shoto had been drunkenly kissing you all over in the cab ride home, soft, sloppy kisses planted on your jaw, down the side of your neck, and anywhere else he could reach as he held you close. he was practically in your lap, whispering declarations of love like they were secrets only you were allowed to hear.

“[name], i love you,” kiss “soooo, sooo” kiss “much,” he said, lips brushing clumsily against your skin between each word, breath warm and slightly sweet from the champagne. his eyes were glassy but bright, and his smile, small and unsteady, was one of the most genuine things you’d ever seen.

you, a little more sober than him, though not by much, just chuckled under your breath, hand resting lightly on his chest as you tried to gently push him back into his seat.

“shoto, baby, calm down a little,” you murmured, amused. “wait ‘til we’re home.”

he blinked at you, slow and dazed, before nodding seriously like you’d just given him the most important instruction of his life. still, he leaned his head against your shoulder, humming contentedly, fingers lacing with yours.

he might’ve seemed bold now, flushed and loose-limbed, drunk off love and a little too much champagne, but you knew him.

you knew that once the door shut behind you and the reality of what the night meant finally settled in, that confidence would soften into something much more vulnerable.

he wouldn’t crash. no, he’d get shy.

the weight of everything, the meaning, the intimacy, the moment he’d waited so long for, would hit him like a wave.

because for all his tradition, for all his quiet strength, shoto todoroki was still new to this kind of closeness. and now that he had you, fully, legally, undeniably, you knew he’d want to savor every second. even if he had to fight through his blush to do it.

now, you were both stumbling into the honeymoon suite, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with a soft finality that seemed to seal you both into your own little world. the buzz of the day still lingered in your veins, dizzying love, too much champagne, and the thrill of knowing you were finally, finally, married.

shoto was the first to move, wordlessly bending to toe off his polished dress shoes, one at a time, steadying himself with a hand against the wall. the moment felt surreal, seeing him here, in this space meant just for the two of you, looking so completely undone. his hair was slightly tousled from hours of dancing and being in the arms of everyone who wanted a hug or handshake. his tie had already been loosened in the car, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, revealing a sliver of collarbone and pale skin flushed with wine and warmth.

meanwhile, you leaned against the opposite wall, one arm stretched out to brace yourself as you carefully worked the tiny clasps on your heels. your dress shifted slightly with your movements, the fabric whispering against your legs. your fingers moved with practiced ease, though the haze of alcohol made everything feel just a little slower, a little softer.

your eyes flicked up toward shoto, and there he was, standing just a few feet away in the entryway, his shoes now discarded, his posture stiff despite the looseness of his attire.

he wasn’t looking at you, not directly. instead, he was staring down at his hands, twisting his wedding band slowly around his finger, his brows drawn together in quiet concentration. his shoulders rose and fell with a shallow breath. he was fidgeting, something you’d come to recognize as one of his tells. he wasn’t nervous about you, but about the moment, the weight of it. the intimacy.

you finally slipped your heels off and set them gently to the side, feeling the plush carpet under your feet as you made your way over to him, steps soft and unhurried.

when you reached him, you didn’t say anything at first. instead, you lifted your hand and slowly pressed your palm to his chest, fingers splaying out over the soft cotton of his shirt. your chrome french-tip manicure caught the low, golden light of the suite, tiny flickers dancing across his chest with each subtle movement of your fingers.

you rubbed slow, soothing circles there, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch.

his eyes finally lifted to meet yours, wide, warm, and filled with something that hovered between awe and vulnerability.

you gave him a small, reassuring smile. a silent promise that you were here. that you loved him. that this was yours, together.

“sho, you okay?” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, feeling the porcelain skin against your lips. you knew that as soon as you were alone, he'd get all shy and reserved, but you also knew how to coax him out of his shell. he nodded slightly, a small smile playing on his lips as he tipped his chin up, giving you better access to his neck. you took advantage, trailing kisses down his jawline and onto his neck, feeling his pulse quicken under your lips.

he let out a soft, contented sigh as your hands began to wander, unbuttoning his crisp white dress shirt with deliberate slowness. you could feel his heart racing as you untucked the shirt from his black dress pants, your fingers brushing against the warm skin of his abs, making him shiver in anticipation. you took your time, savoring the moment, knowing that he was completely yours.

he groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent shivers down your spine, when you found that particularly sensitive spot on his collarbone. he started to help you undress him, his movements eager but clumsy, adding to the intimacy of the moment. you watched with amusement and desire as he fumbled with his belt, missing a couple of beats in his haste. his breath hitched as he finally succeeded in undoing it, the sound of his zipper lowering filling the quiet room.

he looked up at you through mismatched, half-lidded eyes, a mix of vulnerability and desire shining in his gaze. you could see the trust he had in you, and it made your heart swell with love and want. you pulled him closer, your bodies pressing against each other as you continued to explore his neck and shoulders with your lips and tongue. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight, his body responding to yours in the most delicious way.

you could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the goosebumps that rose on his skin as you traced patterns on his back with your fingertips. he shuddered, his breath coming in short gasps as you continued your sensual assault, knowing that you had him completely under your spell. and you loved every minute of it.

he walked over to you, his steps deliberate and purposeful. you could feel the anticipation building as he reached for the zipper of your dress, his fingers gently grazing your side. you obliged, moving closer to him, giving him better access. he took hold of the zipper, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to slowly pull it down. the sound of the zipper descending was almost deafening in the quiet room, a symphony of anticipation and desire.

you could see the mix of nerves and excitement in his eyes as he took his time, savoring the moment. once the zipper was fully down, you stepped out of the short dress, feeling the cool air hit your skin. shoto, with a swift movement, threw the white silk dress somewhere across the room, not caring where it landed. his focus was solely on you.

since the dress had breast pads, you were left in just white, lace panties, your body barely concealed. shoto's gaze roamed over you, taking in every curve and line, his expression one of awe and wonder. you could see the appreciation in his eyes, the way his breath hitched as he drank you in. it made you feel powerful, desirable, and completely cherished.

you stood there, letting him look his fill, enjoying the way his eyes darkened with desire. you reached out, running a hand through his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to feel his body against yours. he came willingly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.

you could feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own. you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, seeing the raw emotion reflected there. you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, pouring all your feelings into it. he responded eagerly, his arms tightening around you as he kissed you back with equal fervor.

not even a minute later, you took his hand, leading him to the king-sized bed that dominated the room. the white sheets were adorned with rose petals, creating a romantic and inviting atmosphere. you could see the appreciation in his eyes as he took in the scene, a small smile playing on his lips. he lay down, his body relaxing into the soft mattress, his eyes never leaving yours.

you climbed over him, your body moving with a grace and confidence that came from knowing exactly what you wanted. you decided to take the lead, knowing your husband well enough to understand that this was what he desired. you straddled him, feeling his body respond to yours, his breath hitching as you positioned yourself above him.

you leaned down, your lips finding his jaw, trailing kisses down his neck, his collarbone, and his chest. you took your time, savoring every inch of his skin, memorizing the way his body reacted to your touch. you could feel his heart racing, his breath coming in short gasps as you explored him, your hands roaming over his chest and arms, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch.

you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, seeing the raw desire and love reflected there. you smiled, a slow, seductive smile, knowing that you had him completely under your spell. you slipped your panties off, the lace fabric sliding down your legs, leaving you completely exposed. you straddled him again, feeling his length press against you, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

you took a moment to appreciate the feeling of him beneath you, the way his body fit so perfectly with yours. you reached down, taking hold of his length, feeling him pulse in your hand. you guided him, running his tip up and down between your folds, teasing both of you, building the anticipation. you could feel his hips bucking slightly, his body begging for more, but you took your time, wanting to savor every moment, every sensation.

you leaned down, your breath hot on his ear as you whispered, "i love you," before kissing him deeply, pouring all your feelings into it. he responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight as he kissed you back with equal fervor. you could feel his body trembling with need, and you knew that he was completely yours.

once you pulled back, you took a moment to look into his eyes, seeing the mix of nervousness and excitement reflected there. you smiled reassuringly, wanting to put him at ease, knowing that this was a big moment for both of you. you reached down, taking hold of his length again, feeling him pulse in your hand, ready and eager.

you positioned him at your entrance, feeling the heat and wetness of you enveloping his tip. you took a deep breath, looking into his eyes as you began to slowly sink down onto him. it wasn’t your first time, but it was his, and he was, without a doubt, big. you could feel every inch of him as you took him in, the delicious burn of the stretch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

you went slowly, wanting to give him time to adjust, to feel every sensation as you enveloped him. he inhaled sharply through his teeth, hissing at the intense feeling of your wet, tight core surrounding him. his hands found your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as you continued to take him in, inch by inch.

you could see the pleasure and pain mix in his expression, his eyes fluttering closed as he focused on the sensations. once you were fully seated, you paused, giving him a moment to adjust, to breathe. you were impaled on him, feeling him fill you completely, stretching you in the most exquisite way.

he groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent shivers down your spine, a primal, raw sound of pleasure. you moaned softly in response, a sweet, soft sound that reflected the intense emotions and sensations coursing through you. you leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, wanting to share this intimate moment, this connection.

you could feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own, his body trembling slightly beneath you. you took a moment to just feel him, to appreciate the connection, the love, the desire that was building between you. you began to move, slowly at first, riding him with a purpose, wanting to bring him as much pleasure as he was bringing you.

“does this feel okay, shoto?” you whispered low, your voice a husky whisper against his skin as you leaned down to kiss his neck. you looked up at him through your lashes, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and concern, wanting to ensure that he was enjoying this as much as you were. you began to move up and down a little faster, your body responding to his, the pleasure building with each movement.

he groaned in response, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. “yes, love..” he mumbled, his voice strained with pleasure. he looked down at you, his mismatched eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. he tipped his head back, shutting his eyes tightly as another groan escaped his lips, his body arching slightly off the bed as he succumbed to the sensations.

you noticed his hands were gripping the sheets tightly, his knuckles white with the effort, his body trembling with the restraint it was taking for him not to touch you. you smiled, a soft, encouraging smile, wanting to reassure him, to let him know that it was okay to let go, to explore your body as you were exploring his.

“baby, you know you can touch me, right?” you said, your voice a soft caress as you leaned down to kiss him gently on the lips. you took his face in your hands, caressing his cheek with your thumb, feeling the stubble prickle against your skin. “i want you to touch me, shoto. i want to feel your hands on me,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear.

he panted, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty. “ah.. you sure?” he asked, his voice breathless and hoarse with need. you could see the desire in his eyes, the way his body was responding to yours, and you knew that he wanted to touch you as much as you wanted him to.

you nodded, smiling surely, your eyes never leaving his. “i’m sure, shoto. i want this. i want you,” you said, your voice filled with conviction. you took his hands, placing them on your hips, feeling his touch send sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. you guided his hands, showing him how to move with you, how to touch you, how to explore your body as you explored his.

you began to move again, your body rocking against his, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he met your movements, his body responding to yours in the most delicious way. you could feel the pleasure building, the connection between you growing stronger with each touch, each kiss, each movement. and you knew that this was just the beginning of a night that neither of you would ever forget.

once he gained his confidence, his hands became more assured, more demanding as they guided your hips, helping you move up and down his length. you could feel the power in his touch, the way he took control, setting the pace that worked for him, for you, for both of you together. he moaned into your mouth as you kissed messily, your breaths mingling, your tongues dancing, your bodies moving in sync.

you could feel his length throbbing inside you, his body tensing as he got closer to his peak. his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you tightly against him. you whined into his mouth at the slight pain, but it felt good, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain that sent shivers down your spine. “fuck.. i'm sorry.. you,” he panted, his voice hoarse with need, his body trembling with the effort it was taking for him to hold back. “you feel so good, love.. oh m-” he moaned, his voice trailing off as he bounced you faster on his cock, his body taking over, chasing his release.

you could feel it building, the intensity of his movements, the way his body was tensing, the sounds he was making. “ouu.. i'm close..” he groaned low, his voice a guttural growl as he bit your lip, kissing you deeply, his body moving faster, harder, more urgently.

“can i-” he hissed, pulling back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours, his expression a mix of pleasure and desperation. “can i come inside? please, love?” he pleaded, his voice hoarse, his body trembling with the effort it was taking for him to hold back. you could see the desire in his eyes, the way his body was responding to yours, and you knew that he was close, so close to the edge.

“sho, yes.. of course.” you panted, your voice breathless, your body responding to his, your movements matching his urgency. you could feel his body tensing, his length throbbing inside you as he bucked his hips up, fucking you to the hilt as he grinded you down onto him, his body taking what it needed, chasing his release.

he moaned loud and pretty as he spilled into you, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he held you against him, his body grinding against yours as he rode out the waves of pleasure. you bit into his shoulder, your body responding to his, your orgasm crashing over you as you came together, your bodies moving in sync, your breaths mingling, your hearts pounding in unison.

you both hit your peak together, your loud pants and moans filling the quiet room, a symphony of pleasure and release. your bodies were slick with sweat, your skin flushed, your hearts racing as you came down from the high, your bodies still connected, still moving together, still one.

“god… [name] that was..” he spoke breathlessly, his voice hoarse, his body still trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm. you could feel his heart racing, his body shaking slightly as he held you, his hands rubbing your back gently, soothingly.

“amazing? i know.” you responded, chuckling low, your voice a soft, satisfied purr. you could feel his smile against your skin, his body relaxing slightly as he held you, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close.

“i love you.” he rubbed your back, his voice soft, his eyes filled with emotion. “so much.” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion, his body still trembling slightly with the aftermath of their lovemaking.

“i love you too, husband.” you responded, your voice soft, your eyes filled with tears of happiness. you kissed him gently, your lips lingering on his, your body melting into his, your hearts beating as one. in that moment, you were completely and utterly content, completely and utterly in love, completely and utterly one.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Skittle game- L.FX

Requested by anon. This is from my prompt list. It's my first time writing for Lix so please be gentle 🥺 will try to post one more prompt tonight

14. Skittle game (adult version)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: smut, fwb to lovers, contains a funny epilogue 

Alexa, play Señorita by Shawn Mendes & Camila Cabello

The party was over. There were left only empty bottles on the table and music humming low from a now forgotten playlist, and the room smelled like beer and detergent. You were the only one left with feet bare, sleeves pushed up, scraping crumbs off the counter while Felix watched you from the couch.

He was slouched deep into the couch, his shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin above his waistband. His eyes were heavy, but still watching you, “You don’t have to clean”,  he murmured, voice deep as usual, “You’re not my girlfriend”.

You glanced back, smirking, “Good thing. I’d be a terrible one”. 

Felix just grinned, “You’d ruin me if you were”. 

Your skin tingled with it but you’ve danced around this too many times to let it get to your head. You rolled your eyes and tossed the last napkin into the trash.

“Want me to do what instead of cleaning?”

 “Want you to sit your pretty ass down and play a game with me”, he said, holding up a nearly empty bag of Skittles.

You raised a brow, “Skittle game. Seriously?”

He shrugged, “C’mon. Adult version. One round.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to. Damn, you always want to when it comes to Felix. But because these nights had a habit of turning into something more— almost everytime.

Still, you walked over and sat beside him, thigh pressed to his,  “Fine. Let's do it”

He shook the bag, grinning like a devil, “Pick one, make a question”

You drew first.

Orange.

You popped it into your mouth, let it melt a little on your tongue, then glanced at him,“Smash or pass?”

Felix huffed, “That’s not funny. We’ve already smashed”

“Doesn’t mean you won't pass next time”

His eyes darkened, “I won't”

“Someone is confident tonight”

“I’m always confident”

He leaned in then, mouth inches from yours, like he was daring you to kiss him first. You didn’t, you just drew another Skittle.

Red.

You smiled, “Kiss me anywhere but the lips”

His grin faltered for a second, replaced by something slower, still teasingly enough.

“Anywhere, huh?”

You nodded once.

Felix shifted closer, fingers brushing your knee before sliding up, like he was testing your patience. Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to your neck, just below the ear, where you could feel your pulse racing.

“You smell so sweet”, he murmured, breath hot against your jaw, “Always do after we fuck”

Your stomach flipped. You looked at him, but he was already pushing the Skittle bag toward you.

Yellow.

“Confess something that would ruin our friendship”, you said,  “I mean…. the benefits of our friendship”

He didn’t even blink as he answered.

“I want you to be mine only”

The air between you gets heavy.

You shift in your seat, pressing your thighs together instinctively, “Felix… ”

“You said ‘confess’, I’m just being honest”

You grabbed the bag again, drawing another candy.

Green.

You lick your lips, “Touch me for five seconds. Anywhere”

He didn’t think twice. His hand slid between your legs,beneath your dress, fingers reaching the lace fabric of your panties, pressing just hard enough to make your breath shorten. He counted out loud, low, with a smirk on his face

“One… two… three…”

You were already squirming

“Four…”

His thumb circled your clit once.

“Five”

Then he pulled away like nothing happened, licking sugar off his knuckle.

You glared at him, “Asshole”

He laughed, eyes shining, “Don’t lie to yourself, you love it”

Then it was his turn.

Purple.

“Ask me something you wouldn’t if we were sober”, he said

You hesitated

“Did you ever come thinking about me before we started hooking up?”

His smirk faded. Felix shifted in his seat, “You mean when I tried to pretend I didn’t want you every time you walked in wearing those tiny little skirts of yours? Yeah, I did”

Your soul almost left your body.

He watched you for a beat longer, then picked the last Skittle from the bag.

Red. Again.

“No repeats”, you murmured

“Who said I’m repeating?”

He leaned forward. Fingers curling around the back of your neck and pulled you into his lap like it was instinct. Like it had always been this easy to ruin you.

His lips brushed your ear.

“This time, I’m kissing you here”, he whispered, mouth ghosting over your chest, just above your heart before taking your lips on his

You were already grinding against him, desperate and warm, too aware of how good he felt under you. Too used to this yet never tired.

Then you slid off his lap, sank to your knees between his legs like muscle memory.

“You won again”, you said, smugly.

Felix groaned when your fingers hooked on his waistband, his head dropping back.

“Fuck. You’re really gonna…?”

But the sentence died the moment your tongue touched him.

You’d done this before— too many times— but never like this. Never this intentional.

His hands gripped your hair, breath catching every time you swallowed around him, every time you hummed and let your tongue trace patterns he never knew he needed.

And when you glanced up at him with big eyes, mouth full, he choked on your name.

“This… fuck… this isn’t just a game anymore”

You pulled back just enough to murmur, “Did it ever feel like one?”

He stared at you. And you saw it, right there in his eyes— something wild. Something like a mix of desire with euphoria.

You took him deeper, and Felix could swear he wasn’t seeing just stars but a whole galaxy. You were there on your knees warm and wet and so into it, and all he could do was sit there with his head thrown back, fists clenched in your hair, making the kind of noises he swore he didn’t make.

“Fuck… angel, wait…”

You hummed around him,the  vibration making  him twitch in your mouth.

“Holy shit… don’t do that….”

You pulled off with a loud pop, blinking up at him, faking innocence, “Don’t do what?”

“That”, he panted, pointing at you like you’d committed a crime, “That… thing. With your tongue. Shit… I literally almost fell in love with you just now”

You paralysed

He paralysed too.

“You what?!”

Felix’s eyes went comically wide, “I… I didn’t mean… I meant like… figuratively, like…”

You raised a brow, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, still on your knees, “Felix”

“Okay, technically I am already in love with you”, he blurted, entire face turning red, “But I was gonna wait until like… after. Or during cuddling. Or maybe never? But then you started humming and I just… I panicked. My brain was like, ‘tell her right now or you’ll die’ ”

You stared at him, still holding his dick.

He stared back, mortified.

“…Can I finish first?”, you asked, poker faced

Felix wheezed, covering his face with both hands, “Please, God, yes. But like, just pretend I didn’t say anything yet”

You grinned, leaning back in, “Oh, I’m definitely gonna pretend”

Just like that, your mouth was back on him, and all Felix could do was grab a pillow, muffle a very real sob, and think ‘I love her so much it’s disgusting’.

The pressure built in him, every movement of your lips pushing him closer to the edge. His fingers tightened around the pillow, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps, but nothing prepared him for the moment when he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

He pulled you closer by the hair, urging you on as his body stiffened with the release, a broken gasp escaping him. A shudder ran through him as he came undone, the pleasure almost overwhelming in its intensity.

He fought to keep his eyes on you, watching the way you took him in, and the sight alone was enough to make his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the physical sensation.

Felix’s body trembled beneath you, a mix of pleasure and raw emotion flooding through him. "I can't stop…", he gasped, voice cracked and shaky, but the overwhelming sense of vulnerability felt too real to ignore.

When he was done cleaning himself, Felix pulled you to his lap. His hands were holding on your waist like he was afraid you’d run away. 

The air was thick with something neither of you felt before.

You rested your forehead against his, your breath still uneven from what everything just had happened, “You really said it mid blowjob, huh”

Felix groanned, “I panicked”

You laughed, but it faded fast. Because you felt what he meant. Not just the words but also the weight of them. Like he’d been carrying this for a while. And suddenly, you didn’t know what to think anymore.

It wasn’t just fuck buddies anymore. Not just games and teasing.

Your fingers trailed up the side of his neck, settling in his long blonde hair, “How long?”

He swallowed without looking at you, “Few weeks. Maybe longer. I kept trying to stop. Kept saying it was just sex”

“But it’s not”

He finally met your eyes,  “It hasn’t been for me in a while”

The silence that followed felt fragile.

“I don’t know what to do with that”, you whispered.

“I don’t either”, he admitted, “But I’d rather be honest and ruin it than lie and lose you anyway”

You blinked, chest aching, “Lix…”

He shook his head quickly, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t say it so you’d fix it. I just fell in love with you while watching you eat cereal in my shirt and talk shit about my taste in movies. I knew I was doomed”

You pressed your lips to his tenderly, a little sad.

It tasted like goodbye or maybe a beginning.

He kissed you back like he was memorizing the taste of your lips. Like if it was the last time.

When you pulled back, your nose brushed his. Then, you asked, “What do we do now?”

Felix exhaled, still holding you like he was scared you’d vanish. But then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your jaw, then to your cheek, then the tip of your nose.

And he said, “We stop pretending. And we figure it out”

“And if we mess it up?”

He smiled, genuine, “Then we try again. And again. As many times as it takes. I won’t let you go, Yn”

Your throat tightened. Your hands slid to his cheeks, and you kissed, deeply and passionate.

When you pulled back, you whispered, “Okay. Let’s do it. Together”

“Okay”, he nodded, smiling, “Us. For real this time”

You both enjoyed the comfortable silence for a moment. Still tangled up in each other but no longer hiding behind rules or teasing or the label of ‘just friends’.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

And real was enough for you. The both of you.

…

Epilogue:

You were brushing your teeth when Felix walked into the bathroom, hair a mess, sleepy eyes.

He blinked at you through the mirror, “…Are you using my toothbrush again?”

You glance over,mouth full of minty foam, “You already kissed me after I had your dick in my mouth. I think we’re past toothbrush boundaries”

He groaned, rubbing his face with both hands, “I hate how valid that is”

You spat, then wiped your mouth, and leaned against the counter, watching him lazily grab his own brush looking at it with disgust but strangely not actually feeling it

“I’m making cereal for breakfast”, you said, “The good kind. With cinnamon crunch rolls”

He grinned around the toothbrush, “You’re literally the love of my life”

You smiled at him and said, not being flirty this time, “Yeah, I know. You’re mine too”

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[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Under Neon Lights

bob floyd x fem!aviator!reader

call sign: Whiskey

The bass was already hitting before they even got out of the Uber.

It thumped through the pavement, up their legs, like a second heartbeat under the streetlights. The whole squad piled out of the SUV, laughter spilling into the night. It was hot, humid, coastal air clinging to their skin, the kind that stuck to your clothes in all the right (and wrong) places.

Phoenix was the first out, pulling the door open with a grin. “If anyone leaves sober, I’m disowning you.”

Fanboy climbed out after her with a snort. “If I go missing, check the DJ booth.”

Payback pointed at him. “No, check the bar. That’s where your heart lives.”

Then came Bob—tall, quiet, awkward as hell in his fitted navy button-down and clean jeans, adjusting his glasses and scanning the building like he was about to walk into a mission briefing.

And then there was you—Whiskey—last one out.

You swung your legs out slow, like you knew every single person was already watching. Hair down. Lip gloss shimmering. Tight black dress that hugged your hips and stopped mid-thigh. Heels loud on the concrete as you stepped forward, eyes gleaming under the city lights.

Bob looked up at the sound of your heels and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Cyclone had approved a rare Friday night leave for all of you after a brutal round of training simulations, and you’d picked the club—a slightly off-the-radar, neon-lit spot downtown with just enough grime to feel cool and just enough glitter to feel dangerous.

The bouncer looked you all over—first with suspicion, then with a grin.

“Y’all Navy?” he asked, cocking his head.

Hangman clapped a hand to Bob’s shoulder and smirked. “You could say that.”

The velvet rope dropped.

Inside, the club pulsed—dim lights flickering pink, purple, gold. The bar to the left glowed like a spaceship, rows of bottles catching light as the bartenders moved like magicians. The dance floor was packed, hips grinding, drinks spilling, music vibrating through every surface. A full sensual hum of bass and breath and heat.

Phoenix whistled low. “Okay, okay. She doesn’t look like much outside, but she’s a whole mood in here.”

“Right?” you smirked, tugging her hand. “Come on. First round’s on me.”

Hangman muttered under his breath, “If this ends in a conga line, I’m out.”

The crew split naturally—Fanboy and Payback made a beeline for the bar to order drinks with way too much liquor and way too little class. Phoenix leaned into you, the two of you laughing as you started naming songs you wanted to hear. Your hips were already swaying before you made it to the bar. Music was your oxygen tonight.

Bob hovered by the edge of the group, a quiet current in a storm, eyes locked on you—how easily you moved, how alive you looked under colored lights, like you belonged in a music video or a fever dream.

“Whatcha drinkin’, Whiskey?” Phoenix yelled over the bass.

“Tequila and trouble,” you shot back with a wink.

Bob nearly choked on his own breath.

You turned toward him, as if you’d felt his eyes on you, and smiled softly. “You gonna stand there all night, Floyd, or are you gonna come get corrupted?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

“I—I’m coming,” he stammered.

Hangman barked a laugh. “Not yet, I hope.”

You tossed your head back laughing. “Down, cowboy.”

Everyone grabbed drinks, shots, cocktails, beers. Toasts clinked. Someone shouted something about “to bad decisions” and Fanboy tried to start a chant that flopped so hard you all had to pretend it never happened.

Then—the DJ shifted tracks.

You knew it within five seconds.

You shrieked, “PHOENIX—IT’S PINK PONY CLUB!”

“Oh shit!” Phoenix screamed, slamming her shot glass down.

And like that, you were gone. Glasses abandoned, drinks forgotten, you both grabbed each other’s hands and hit the dance floor. You were singing every word at full volume, twirling under the strobes, laughing so hard you nearly fell.

Phoenix shouted to Hangman as she danced past, “Try to keep up, Texas!”

“Not with you two!” he shouted back. “You’ve got main character syndrome!”

Back at the table, Bob watched it all unfold like a man possessed.

You in that dress. You lit up. You singing every line to a glitter-pop anthem like you wrote it yourself. You locking eyes with him mid-chorus, tongue poking out between your teeth, daring him without a word.

He took a long sip of his drink and thought, Heaven help me.

You were just getting started.

———

The lights dimmed just a little deeper.

The beat slowed down.

That soft, sensual guitar riff slid through the speakers like honey. The kind of sound that curled low in your spine and made you sway before you even realized you were moving. And when Romeo Santos whispered the first line, you turned around slowly like you already knew the next chapter of your night had just arrived.

Hangman clocked it instantly. “Oh no.”

You grinned, stalking toward him with the dangerous confidence of a woman who knew what she was doing.

“Oh yes,” you purred.

“Whiskey,” he warned. “I don’t know how to dance to this. This is like… forbidden fruit music.”

“Then consider this your crash course,” you said, grabbing him by the hand. “C’mon, cowboy. I’ll lead.”

“You always do,” he muttered under his breath.

You dragged him onto the dance floor just as Usher’s verse slid in, and he stood there stiffly for a second like he was preparing for a goddamn duel.

“Relax,” you said, stepping in close—closer than close. Your palm landed gently on his shoulder, guiding him. “It’s just three steps. And hips. Always the hips.”

“I have hips,” he said, sounding personally offended.

“Prove it.”

You swayed.

He followed, stiff as a board, and you burst into laughter. “Oh my God, you move like a tax form.”

“Ma’am, this is harassment.”

“This is bachata,” you said, “and you’re doing it with me, so shut up and move your hips.”

Slowly, painfully, he started to get it. You led with subtle, practiced rhythm, rolling your hips just enough to make it dangerous. The beat was slow, romantic, every movement a suggestion instead of a shout. Your hands moved—up his arm, across his shoulder, back down again, always in time with the music.

And then you flipped it—your back to him, his hand on your hip.

He audibly swallowed.

“This feels illegal,” he whispered into your ear.

“Only if you’re doing it right,” you murmured, rocking your hips back into him.

Hangman froze. Fully froze.

You laughed and reached back to grab his hand. “Don’t lock up on me, Texas. Move with me.”

By the time the chorus hit, he’d stopped thinking. You had him—completely in your rhythm, moving like his bones belonged to you. A hand on your hip, the other brushing your arm, breath hot at your neck. He kept messing up the steps, but you didn’t care. He was trying. And he was sweating.

You leaned in and whispered, “You’re a little heavy on the lead, Lieutenant.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not used to dancing like this.”

“No one is. That’s why it works.”

And God, it worked.

By the time the song faded out, Hangman looked like he’d just run a marathon. His hair was sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wide. You turned around slowly, chest to chest, face inches from his, and grinned.

“Well?”

Hangman didn’t answer right away.

He just staggered off the dance floor, shoulders loose, lips parted, breathing like he needed a defibrillator. He got halfway back to the table where Bob, Payback, and Fanboy were watching with drinks in hand before he turned back and said—

“What the fuck? I’m never dancing bachata again. It was too much.”

Fanboy spit beer.

Payback howled.

Bob? Bob looked like he was experiencing a medical event.

Because the whole time Hangman had been struggling through that dance, Bob had been picturing himself in his place—your hips, your hands, your laugh, all pressed against someone else. And now that image was seared into his skull.

And the worst part? You looked even hotter walking off that dance floor, flushed and smiling, dress clinging to every curve like it had something to say.

Bob downed half his drink and prayed.

Hangman had barely recovered from his bachata-induced near-death experience when the speakers shifted again—this time, snapping into a sharp, punchy beat that practically demanded a comeback.

Phoenix grinned.

You turned to her like you were psychic.

“Oh hell yes,” you both said at the same time.

“New Rules.”

“I’ll get us shots,” Payback offered quickly, fully aware of what was about to happen.

Fanboy was already screaming. “OH THEY’RE ABOUT TO GET STUPID WITH IT—SOMEBODY GET A CAMERA.”

You didn’t even look back. You and Phoenix locked eyes, nodded like it was a military maneuver, and hit the floor hard—boots stomping, hips snapping, hair flying. It wasn’t sexy the way Promise had been. This was commanding. Sharp. Confident. Bitchy in the best way.

You knew every lyric.

So did she.

And together? Y’all were untouchable.

“I got new rules, I count ‘em—

One, don’t pick up the phone—”

You pointed at each other like backup dancers in formation. Phoenix spun, hair whipping around her shoulders as she mouthed every word. You dropped into a low shimmy, one hand dragging slowly down your body like a slow clap for your own damn self. The people around you started cheering.

Even the DJ hyped it.

Bob watched with his jaw slack, eyes laser-focused on you like you were some kind of divine punishment sent from heaven to wreck his life in real time.

Because God help him, when you danced like this—with that much joy, that much power, like the entire damn club was your personal runway—he couldn’t even breathe.

Fanboy leaned over. “She’s doing that on purpose.”

“I know,” Bob said quietly.

“She’s killing you.”

“I know.”

Payback slid in next to him. “This is like watching someone flirt by stepping on your throat.”

“I KNOW.”

You grabbed Phoenix’s hand and spun her under your arm like y’all were in a music video, then bumped hips dramatically as you shouted the chorus together—

“I gotta tell them to myself—

DON’T GET UNDER HIM!!”

You were laughing, singing, stomping, alive, and it was contagious. A group of girls joined you on the floor. Even a couple of guys followed your lead. It was a damn movement. You and Phoenix were at the center of it—two fighter pilots fully locked into your off-duty, out-of-uniform, hot girl night out energy.

The song ended in chaos.

Screaming. Clapping. One random girl hugged you and Phoenix like y’all had just saved her from her ex.

You stumbled back to the table, glowing and breathless, and collapsed onto the seat next to Bob.

“You good?” you asked, winking.

He didn’t answer at first. Just blinked slowly like someone rebooting after a blackout.

“…Fine.”

Your smirk turned dangerous.

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

He was going to combust.

But before he could answer, the DJ clicked something low and filthy into the speakers.

The lights in the club shifted.

Dimmed low.

Tinted red.

Velvet and sin.

And then—

“You make it look like it’s magic…”

You froze mid-laugh.

Phoenix clutched your forearm with a gasp. “Oh my god.”

You looked at her.

She looked at you.

Fanboy looked between you both and whispered, “Uh oh.”

“Cause I see nobody, nobody but you…”

Phoenix started shaking your arm. “Please.”

“No.”

“Please, I’m begging.”

You were already smiling. “Phoenix—”

“Whiskey,” she said in full government tone. “Give me this.”

Bob’s mouth was dry.

Payback was suddenly on the edge of his seat. “Wait, wait, wait, is this happening—”

Phoenix stood and shouted, hands cupped around her mouth:

“ONE SOLO. THAT’S ALL I’M ASKING.”

People nearby turned. The group of girls who danced with you earlier screamed like they’d been waiting for this exact moment their whole lives.

You sipped your drink with faux innocence and turned toward Bob, voice sweet:

“You mind?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Phoenix wants a show.”

Bob opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Swallowed hard.

Phoenix shoved your drink out of your hand and dragged you to your feet before you could change your mind.

“You’re a menace,” you hissed at her as she pulled you to the middle of the floor.

“And you’re the main character,” she said proudly. “Go ruin someone’s life.”

“Girl you’re perfect… you’re always worth it…”

You started slow.

Hips swaying, back turned to the table. Hands sliding down the curves of your body like you were setting a fire only you could survive. You danced like honey off the comb—sweet, sensual, dangerous if taken too fast.

Bob was not breathing.

You turned your head just enough to catch him watching.

Frozen. Blushing. Swallowing hard.

“You earned it…”

Your hands lifted above your head. Eyes half-lidded, a little smile playing at your lips. You moved like the song had seeped under your skin—like temptation given form. Your fingers traced a lazy line down your neck, chest, hips. Every movement deliberate. Languid. Intimate.

The room around you blurred.

It wasn’t about the crowd.

It was about him.

And he knew it.

“On that lonely night…”

You turned toward him fully. Walked.

The crowd parted instinctively. Even Phoenix stepped back like she knew something sacred was about to go down.

Bob’s eyes widened as you sauntered closer.

You stopped right in front of him.

Bent just enough to whisper in his ear—

“I like when you look at me like that.”

He made a quiet, strangled sound that did things to your spine.

You pulled back, smirking.

Straightened.

Walked away before you could see his soul leave his body.

Phoenix screamed, “WHISKEY!!” and collapsed into the booth like she’d been tackled.

Payback stood up and fanned himself with a napkin.

Fanboy fell off the couch.

Bob hadn’t blinked in two full minutes.

You slid back into your seat like nothing happened.

Picked up your drink.

Took a sip.

Bob still hadn’t moved.

You leaned toward him and purred, “You doing okay, Lieutenant?”

His hand gripped the edge of the table like he was trying not to levitate.

“…Fine.”

———

The DJ fades into the next track — Neighbors Know My Name — and the booth erupts.

Phoenix throws her head back laughing. “Oh hell yes!” she yells, pounding the table like a judge handing down a sentence. “WHISKEY, PERFORMANCE. NOW.”

Fanboy nearly chokes on his drink. “This is not a drill—this is the horny Hunger Games!”

You stand without a word, just smirking, already moving toward Bob with purpose.

He’s stiff in the booth, hands gripping the edge like he’s bracing for impact.

You straddle him.

Dead silence at the table. Payback whispers, “He’s not surviving this.”

The first lyric hits:

“Soon as we get started making love, goin’ hard I hear a…

(Knock knock) knock knock, knock on the wall.”

Your hips roll against him, slow and controlled, dragging your hands up his chest like you’re carving your name into him.

Bob’s head drops back, a sharp exhale punching out of him.

“And as soon as I go deep, gettin’ it in then again

There goes the (knock knock) knock knock, knock on the wall.”

You mouth the words right in his ear, breath hot, your fingers threading through his hair while your hips grind a slow, relentless rhythm against him.

Bob groans — loud.

The table reacts like a sports bar watching a Hail Mary pass.

Fanboy stands and shouts, “REF! I’M CALLING A TIMEOUT! SHE’S KILLING HIM!”

Phoenix is doubled over, pounding the table again. “SHE’S LITERALLY ENDING HIS BLOODLINE.”

“Bet the neighbors know my name, They be stressin’ while we sexin’”

You whisper the line, and Bob shudders.

You lean back, still on him, your hands on your thighs now, chest heaving as you move to the music like you were born for this exact moment.

“Girl the love we make, gone keep banging on the wall”

Phoenix throws a fry at Fanboy. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

“I CAN’T,” Fanboy yells. “I THINK I SAW HEAVEN.”

Bob grabs your waist now — tightly — and for a second, his lips almost crash into yours.

But you pull back, teasing, smirking. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

The table groans in sync.

Payback: “Okay but like… I’m a little in love with her too now.”

———

You hear the beat first — a deep dembow, hips-first kind of rhythm — and immediately your whole posture changes. The sway in your walk turns hypnotic. You’re not teasing anymore.

You’re showing off now.

Fanboy sees your face and literally gasps. “Oh no. Oh no. I know that look. That’s a heritage unlock.”

Payback holds up a napkin like a white flag. “I surrender. I can’t handle what’s coming.”

Phoenix leans back like she’s watching the climax of a telenovela. “Y’all. Watch this.”

You turn to Bob, lifting a single brow. “Can you keep up?”

He swallows. “I can try.”

You pull him to his feet like he’s being summoned by a goddess. The music crashes in fully — the percussion pounding, the lyrics fast, raw, spicy. You don’t just dance to this.

You embody it.

You roll your hips, fast and tight, your hands sliding along your waist as you move like you were born in the music. Bob’s behind you now — both of you dancing together, the heat between your bodies blazing.

The lyrics fly:

“Tú me pones mal, baby, con ese cuerpo criminal…”

You drop it low. He stutters. You throw your arm back and wrap it around his neck, winding your hips against him.

Bob’s jaw is clenched, knuckles white on your waist.

Fanboy is straight-up praying at the table. “Santa María, Madre de Dios—”

Phoenix smacks him. “SHUT UP AND LET HER COOK.”

You spin in Bob’s arms and let the beat take you — chest to chest, lips inches apart, and then…

You mouth the next lyric right at his lips, eyes dark, heat dripping from every syllable:

“Tú y yo no somos santos… pero eso es lo que me encanta.”

The tension’s nuclear now. His hands are everywhere — waist, hips, back — like he doesn’t know where to touch first, but he knows he can’t stop.

You’re a whole storm in a black dress.

And he’s drowning beautifully.

———

The lights dim just slightly. A familiar guitar riff slides into the speakers.

The gasps are immediate.

The beginning of “Ella y Yo” echoes through the club.

Phoenix goes, “No—NO. Don’t even think about it.”

You and Fanboy rise in sync from your chairs like you’ve rehearsed this for Broadway.

Whiskey’s jaw is tight, eyes narrowed.

Fanboy’s shaking his head, already pacing in a circle like he’s about to defend himself in court.

The squad? Losing it. Payback has tears forming already.

WHISKEY (storming forward, intense):

“Y te repito, lucha por amor…”

FANBOY (pointing a finger, defensive):

“No me aconsejes en tu posición.”

WHISKEY (mocking):

“Quizás su marido no mande en su corazón.”

FANBOY (louder now):

“No sabes quién es víctima en esta confusión!”

WHISKEY (arms flung wide, voice breaking):

“¡No seas tan tonto, lucha por amor!”

FANBOY (pacing in a full circle):

“No, no me aconsejes en tu posición.”

WHISKEY:

“Quizás ese tipo no mande en su corazón.”

FANBOY (stepping in close):

“Tú no sabes quién es víctima en esta confusión.”

You both pause.

The beat swells.

And then—

⸻

FANBOY (quiet, almost regretful):

“Amigo pido perdón, yo nunca te fallé…”

He grips an imaginary rosary as he continues:

“Me traicionaron las ganas de volverla a ver…”

WHISKEY is glaring, pacing behind him like a betrayed lover.

FANBOY (emotional):

“Y aunque todavía no puedo creer… lo que este amargo encuentro me hizo comprender…”

He turns to you with raw pain in his voice:

“Pues tú también llegaste a ese lugar…”

“Donde tantas veces yo la fui a buscar…”

Phoenix screams, “OH MY GODDDD!”

FANBOY (fully yelling now):

“Y aunque no es fácil lo que voy a hacer…”

“Admitiré que salí con tu mujer.”

⸻

WHISKEY (eyes wide):

“…¿QUÉ?!”

TOGETHER:

“Salí con tu mujer!

Salí con tu mujer!

Salí con tu mujer!”

The dance floor erupts. People are clapping, hooting, and a couple of strangers even join the dramatics like it’s a flash mob.

WHISKEY (gritted teeth, biting out every word):

“Que te perdone Dios, yo no lo voy a hacer…”

“Los perdí a los dos y a la misma vez…”

She spins, grabbing a beer bottle off the table like it’s a fake Oscar trophy.

“Ya veo que todo era mentira cuando ella me decía…”

“Que se iba pa’ Puerto Rico a vacaciones con su amiga…”

Fanboy winces.

Payback is curled in a ball, laughing.

“Me mintió, tú y ella en una cama, allá en Bayamón…”

“Quizás en Isla Verde o Carolina, ¡cuántos hoteles ensució!”

WHISKEY (pointing directly in Fanboy’s face):

“TÚ TAMBIÉN. LOS ODIO A LOS DOS!”

⸻

FANBOY (suddenly soft):

“(No me entiendes…)”

He clutches his chest.

“Que yo, soy quien más sufro con todo esto…”

“Me mata el dolor…”

“Fue una traición…”

“Perdí un amigo por la tentación…”

“…Perdón.”

He lowers his eyes and breathes the last word like a dagger:

“…Adiós.”

⸻

Silence.

Phoenix chokes on her drink.

The table is dead quiet.

The lights pulse purple, pink, and gold. The air’s thick with sweat, laughter, and the scent of overpriced tequila. Phones are still out, people still hollering from the last performance—“¡Eso fue una novela, carajo!”

But the DJ—cheeky bastard that he is—knows exactly what to do next.

The club falls silent for half a beat.

Then:

🎶 “Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…” 🎶

The first strum of Romeo Santos’ “Propuesta Indecente” slides over the speakers like silk.

Whiskey gasps. Fanboy’s already backing up, laughing.

“No. Nooo. We just got out of a scandal—”

Too late. She grabs his wrist and drags him back to the floor, hips already rolling with the beat, that devilish grin on her lips.

WHISKEY (singing, seductive, almost whispering):

“Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…”

“Si te robo un besito, a ver, ¿te enojas conmigo?”

Fanboy groans—playfully tortured. “You’re going to get me killed.”

FANBOY (singing, overly dramatic):

“¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche…”

“Que se empañen los vidrios y la regla es que goces?”

Their hips are already locked. Whiskey’s hands slide slowly up Fanboy’s chest. She spins, her back to him again, grinding low—

WHISKEY (teasing, turning her head over her shoulder):

“Si te falto el respeto y luego culpo al alcohol…”

“Si levanto tu falda, ¿me darías el derecho…”

FANBOY:

“…A medir tu sensatez?”

“Poner en juego tu cuerpo…”

“Si te parece prudente…”

BOTH (in sync, sultry as hell):

“Esta propuesta indecente…”

Phoenix SCREAMS and nearly knocks over her drink. Payback falls out of his seat. Even Bob chokes, eyes locked on Whiskey as her body moves like the music is built into her bones.

🎶 “Permíteme apreciar tu desnudez… (take it off)”

“Relájate…”

“Que este Martini calmará tu timidez…” (don’t be shy) 🎶

Whiskey whispers the words as she drapes herself over Fanboy, her hands slipping into his hair. He plays along, leaning into it—committed to the bit like a true drama kid.

WHISKEY (in his ear, breath hot):

“Y una aventura es más divertida…”

“Si huele a peligro…”

FANBOY (responding, grinning wide):

“Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…”

“Si te robo un besito, a ver, ¿te enojas conmigo?”

WHISKEY (face inches from his):

“¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche?”

“Que se empañen los vidrios y la regla es que goces…”

They sway. They grind. They turn the dance floor into satin sin. People are filming. Couples are making out in the shadows. The vibe is unholy and unstoppable.

🎶 “I’m back…”

“It feels good to be king…”

“Gostoso…”

“Hey…”

“Listen, I know what you like…” 🎶

Fanboy raises a brow. “This you?”

WHISKEY (mock-serious, with a wink):

“How ‘bout if you and I, me and you—bailamos bachata…”

She pulls him into another spin, now dragging the front of his shirt toward her.

WHISKEY (singing):

“¿Terminamo’ en la cama?”

(She grins, mouthing: “que rico.”)

FANBOY:

“How ‘bout if you and I, me and you…”

“¿Bailamos bachata?”

She lets him spin her out, then drags herself back into him, hips never stopping.

BOTH (loud, laughing, drenched in sweat):

“¿Terminamos en la cama?”

And they do it again. And again. And again. Until the whole club is either chanting along or begging them to get a room.

———

The bass drops like a body in the dark.

Whiskey turns slowly on her heel, drink in hand.  the second she hears the track change—

She grins.

🎶 “Come and ride on me like the waves…”

Bob looks up from the table. She’s already walking toward him.

🎶 “I flip the pages ’cause I wrote the book on the way…”

“Whiskey,” he starts—warning? prayer? plea?—but she’s climbing right into his lap before he can finish the word.

One knee on each side. Body flush against his. Hands resting on his shoulders like she owns the air around him.

🎶 “How to sex you up, sex you up…”

She rolls her hips once, slow enough to be dangerous. His hands fly to her waist like instinct.

🎶 “We can do it like I’m on the stage, we’ll have an audience…”

He’s not breathing.

She mouths it against his ear—

“Baby, I’ll show you the way that I sex you up…”

He groans so softly it’s almost a whimper.

She leans in, soft and close enough to kiss—but doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers, “I’m not done with you yet.”

🎶 “Baby, just stay comfortable / I want you as you are…”

Bob swallows hard. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

🎶 “Let’s not get emotional / Let’s be who we are…”

She smiles sweetly. “Then don’t.”

🎶 “Keep your eyes closed ’til I roll through…”

Her hips roll again—lazy, slow, torturous.

🎶 “Somebody splittin’ your knees / Don’t worry, that’s me…”

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback—they’re all frozen, pretending to drink or talk, pretending not to watch a public meltdown happen in real time.

Bob’s flushed. Breathing hard. Wholly undone.

🎶 “Baby, you ain’t gotta tell me what you want…”

———

The song winds down—

Usher’s last moaned lyric disappearing into the thud of the next beat. Bob looks wrecked. Flushed. Eyes heavy. Still gripping the edge of his seat like it’s the only thing tethering him to the floor.

Whiskey leans in one last time, her nose brushing his jaw, lips warm with tequila and trouble.

“Be right back,” she hums.

And just like that, she’s sliding off his lap—slowly, cruelly, like she knows exactly what kind of hell she’s leaving him in—and saunters off toward the bar.

Phoenix exhales hard. Fanboy whispers, “She did all that on a remix. God help us if the DJ ever plays ‘Wicked Games.’”

Bob’s hands are still in his lap. Fists clenched. He watches Whiskey disappear into the crowd, hips swaying with the same rhythm she used to ruin him.

He stands up.

The bartender is wiping down the counter when Whiskey slides into the empty space. She taps twice on the counter. “One more of whatever that cherry cinnamon thing was—”

“Whiskey.”

She turns.

Bob’s behind her. Eyes still dark, voice rougher than she’s ever heard it. He steps close—too close. One arm on the bar next to her, the other on her waist like he can’t stop himself anymore.

“Uh… you kinda need to stop,” Bob says, voice a little breathless, like he’s trying to keep it together but failing.

Whiskey blinks, surprised. “Wait. Did I just embarrass you?”

He scrambles for words, cheeks burning hotter. “Yeah. Kind of. But… not exactly the way you’d expect.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Whiskey says softly, the teasing edge melting away as guilt colors her tone. She bites her lip, suddenly aware of the heat radiating between them.

Then, almost without thinking, Bob reaches out, capturing her hand and sliding it down—right to where his body tells a very different story than his shy words.

Whiskey freezes, wide-eyed. Her breath catches, heart skipping. “Oh. OH!” she says, voice hushed but daring. “Well… do you want to go home and fix that?”

Bob’s eyes darken with something playful and a little dangerous. “Nope,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “I think I wanna suffer a little more.”

Whiskey grins, the kind of wicked smile that promises trouble. “Kinky,” she purrs.

The bar noise melts away around them. For a moment, it’s just the two of them—caught between fire and ice, and neither willing to back down.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

💬 reddit

← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

I found out my (22F) sneaky link (25M) is a cult leader. Am I enabling him if we keep hooking up?

First-time poster here. I’ll try to keep this brief. A few months ago, I was going through a rough patch. I’d just moved to the city from a tiny countryside town—a major life change. Sure, it came with perks: a good job, a decent apartment, and better nightlife. But I felt… disconnected. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the gnawing loneliness. The more I tried to adapt, the more isolated I felt.

I’ve always been a model citizen—quiet, diligent, never stepping out of line. But in the city, my days dragged, my nights felt darker, and I was slipping into depression. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but everything around me seemed coated in this heavy, negative energy.

That’s when I started frequenting a local bar. It was small, dimly lit, and blissfully cheap. The kind of place where people drank alone to nurse their sorrows. I guess I fit right in.

The bartender knew my order. The regulars were predictable: the middle-aged lady with crimped hair, the clean-cut businessman with tired eyes. I even started to find comfort in the routine. Until he walked in.

It was a random Wednesday at 5 PM. He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly except for two loose strands framing his sharp, bronze-toned face. Dressed in a plain black sweatsuit, he looked effortlessly suave, even with a grim expression. Our eyes met, for a moment, his stern demeanor softened, replaced by something that felt like intrigue. Without hesitation, he made his way over, settling beside me like it had been his plan all along. He ordered whiskey—straight—and downed it in one smooth gulp.

“You didn’t even flinch,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. “Impressive—or concerning.”

He smirked, devilish and confident. “You don’t even know.”

That was the start. We chatted. Or rather, we danced around anything personal, just sharing vague feelings and flirting between drinks. He had this magnetic sorrow about him, like we were kindred spirits.

The night carried on, the drinks kept coming, and somehow, he kept getting closer. Our knees bumped beneath the booth. He was attractive in that quiet, alluring way—charming. That distant look in his eyes, as though he’d seen too much too soon, only added to his appeal.

I think we both needed a distraction. I laughed at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest. His dark eyes lingered, and when I fumbled with my glass, he reached over, swiping his thumb across my lips.

What came next was a blur: heated kisses stolen in a dingy bar bathroom, his coarse hands gripping my waist and sliding to the back of my neck. The kiss was messy, whiskey burning on his tongue as it slid against mine. We stumbled back to my apartment in a haze, barely making it inside.

The second the door swung shut, he had me off my feet. My lock hung unlatched as he threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking my head lightly against the headboard. His hands were everywhere—rough and deliberate. My blouse fell open, my slacks tangled around my ankles as he pushed me face-down on the mattress. I heard the shuffle of his sweats coming off, the warmth of his spit trailing down my skin.

He’s big. I struggled to take him, fluttering and gasping as he pressed inside. His hand yanked my head back, forcing me to look. Between the bunched fabric of his sweatshirt held in his teeth and the tense, toned muscles of his abdomen, the sight was utterly debauched. The sounds—slick, lewd—filled the room. By the end, my sheets were damp, my chest marked with his teeth and hands, and I had my first noise complaint from my neighbors.

I thought that would be it. A one-time thing.

But then, the next Wednesday, he was at the bar again.

Now sober, I finally got a good look at him—and somehow, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His sharp features softened by the loose claw clip holding back his hair.

Our dynamic stayed the same: casual conversation, teasing touches, and nights that left me trembling. He was addictive. Every time, his grip was firm, possessive—his habit of squeezing my throat just as my climax approached pushed me to the edge. It had me teetering between bliss and unconsciousness, choking out strangled moans as he drove into me, relentless. It felt like a punishment. It felt like everything I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

If I were to indulge myself, I’d admit I liked him best when sobriety started creeping back into him. He had this way of reading my body like a map, tracing every nerve and exploiting it until I was trembling, breathless, undone. Sometimes, as he finished—his hair spilling over my face like a curtain—I’d let the lines blur. I’d tell him how good he was, how deeply I felt him, how pretty he looked. And for a fleeting moment, he’d soften, his rhythm slowing, kissing me with an almost tender deliberation.

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

“Want to see you. Be here at 11. Side door, past the gate.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I showed up. His house was bigger than I’d expected—too luxurious for someone his age. On the way to his room, I passed a door slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpsed pink walls and a boy band poster. My stomach dropped. Was he married? Did he have kids?

I confronted him immediately. Sitting nervously on his bed, sandwiched between his toned thighs, I listened as he explained. He’d been raising his two orphaned cousins for years. His voice softened as he talked about them—their favorite shows, their quirks, their hobbies. I’d never seen him like this before. The care and pride he showed for them stood in stark contrast to the man I knew intimately.

That night was different. When I came, hard and breathless, his lips brushed mine, our eyes locked, fingers intertwined beside my head. For the first time, I thought I was starting to understand him.

But everything changed soon after.

At work, I passed a bulletin board I usually ignored. For some reason, that day I stopped. A flyer caught my eye—his face stared back at me.

In the photo, he was dressed in a golden kasaya draped over black yukata robes, his serene smile paired with an outstretched arm in a regal, inviting pose. The caption called him a “Buddhist priest” and a “divine leader” of some obscure spiritual group.

Confused, I Googled it. Turns out, it wasn’t just a spiritual group. It was a full-blown cult. The photos showed worshippers kneeling before him, their faces aglow with reverence, calling him a godlike figure.

I couldn’t resist. That evening, I went to the event listed on the flyer, held at a local temple. I slipped into a seat in the back, close to the door. Watching him lead the ritual felt surreal. There he was—calm, composed, draped in robes—like he hadn’t had me screaming into my pillow just days ago.

Then, I saw him lay his hands on a sobbing woman kneeling at his feet. Her cries turned into praises as she clung to him, trembling. It was… chilling.

I barely had a chance to settle in before I felt the need to leave. I thought about ending things right then and there—but I hesitated. Now I’m torn. On one hand, he’s the best I’ve ever had—dominant, attentive, and downright divine in bed. On the other hand… he’s a cult leader.

If I keep seeing him, am I complicit in whatever shady things his group does? Or am I overthinking it—can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

( ↑  734  ↓ ) ( 🗨️ 1K ) ( ୨୧ ) ( ↳ Share )

⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

This is the wildest shit I've read all day. My prayers go out to you, OP—but your hookup might be answering them LOL. Fr though, the cult stuff sounds creepy. Not worth it. ↑  1.5K  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

OP, message me privately. Did he ever mention old regrets, breakups, or friends? Plz answer. T-T ↑  425  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

Delete his number. You should’ve ceased all contact a long time ago. ↑  344  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

He sounds hot. See it through. Gatekeep, Gaslight, Girlboss. ↑  109  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

[quinnophile]

forgive me father, for I have sinned (teaser)

this fic has not yet been posted!

pairing. remmick x fem!reader

synopsis. in a coastal town riddled with grief and quiet unrest, Remmick, a shipwright with a haunted past, unexpectedly finds solace in the presence of a young woman suffocating under the weight of her father's iron grip - you. What begins as flirtation in flickering candlelight grows into something deeper; stolen moments at the docks, shared songs, and the burning desire to escape a life neither of them chose.

warnings. human + vampire Remmick, pwp, angst, pining, sacrilegious acts, hierophilia, indecent acts within the Lord's house, parental abuse, religious trauma, irish historical accuracy, virgin!reader, monster fucking smut (oral- f receiving, fingering, possible praise, possessiveness, biting, blood play?, dirty talk, dubcon, piv, inexperienced, ). this is set before and during the events of the film!

word count. 10k. + ( predicted )

author's note. this fic is in no way meant to sympathise with Remmick's character in the film. Ya girl is just horny for some Irish vampire. Other than that, I hope you will enjoy my first shot at smut!

there is no smut in this teaser, but plenty to come. these are just a few different selected scenes <3

The voice drifted out like smoke through a cracked window. He could see her now - no, you - half-shadowed in the soft lampglow outside the door, dancing between tables and grinning at the locals as you sang like you owned the very walls around you.

The pub throbbed with the sound of it; boots stomping in time, hands clapping, the chorus echoing back at you from drunk and sober mouths alike. Your voice had a rasp like old whiskey, but it soared, pure and strange and beautiful, like something holy in the middle of all that sin.

“Remmick?” Eoin nudged him. “You alright?”

He didn’t answer.

You bumped your shoulder lightly against his. “So? Any other tunes hiding in that haunted soul of yours?”

He gave a sly smirk. “You mean aside from the ones I hum while sobbing over gravestones and broken dreams?”

You gasped dramatically. “Christ alive, play something cheerful before I throw myself into the Liffey.”

With a chuckle, he struck a chord - a brighter one this time - and began to play a lively reel. His fingers danced along the strings, strumming a rhythm that skipped across the stones like sunlight on water.

You stood without warning, arms thrown wide, and began to twirl, barefoot now, having kicked your boots off without him noticing. Your laughter rang out like wind chimes as you spun around him, skirt flaring with every step.

Remmick watched, spellbound. Still playing, yes, but barely keeping time as you danced around him like the world didn’t hurt, like there were no bruises or pasts or sorrow or fathers.

“Oh, the summer time is coming,” you sang, your voice soaring again, this time more joyful. Less haunting. “And the trees are sweetly bloomin’…”

He joined in, picking up the melody, and the two of you sang into the wind; laughing between verses, forgetting the hour, the pain, the things unsaid.

For a little while, it was just joy, raw, and beautiful. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this happy. 

Then came the Sunday.

Rain clung to the air in a damp, stubborn mist, and the chapel smelled of old stone and wet wool. You were seated in the second pew, your hands folded in practiced piety, but your heart - as always - felt elsewhere.

Your father stood at the pulpit, stern and stony, preaching fire and forgiveness in equal measure. His voice echoed under the vaulted ceiling as he led the congregation in the “Our Father,” eyes closed, cadence sharp.

You exhaled and joined in, lips moving from memory. The words tasted strange in your mouth. Too clean.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

And then, warmth.

A presence slid into the pew beside you, unannounced and wholly impossible. A voice joined yours, a beat behind, low and lilting and full of mischief.

“…Hallowed be thy name…”

You opened one eye.

Remmick.

[moonlightwritingf1]

More Than a Ride Home | LN4

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N and Lando share a close New Year's Eve, leading to a deeper connection and the realization of their feelings.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐ word count ━━━━━━━ 3.1k

The low hum of music played in the background as laughter echoed throughout Max and Pietra's apartment. The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing, champagne bottles popping and conversations flowing freely. Y/N stood near the edge of the room, a glass of red wine in her hand and a soft smile on her lips as she listened to Pietra animatedly retelling a story.

Lando’s eyes had been on her all night. He was sitting on the couch with Max, seemingly engaged in conversation, but his gaze drifted to Y/N every chance he got. She looked stunning tonight, her figure hugged by a sleek black dress that fell just above her knees. Her cheeks were flushed—either from the wine or the warmth of the room—and she seemed relaxed, a contrast to the guarded demeanor she often carried.

Max, noticing his friend’s distraction, chuckled and nudged Lando’s arm. “You know, if you stare any harder, you might just set her on fire.”

Lando smirked, not even bothering to deny it. “I can’t help it. She’s…different tonight. Happy. She deserves to always look that happy.”

Max rolled his eyes. “You’ve got it bad, mate.''

“Don’t I know it,” Lando muttered, taking another sip of his soda. He didn’t drink, not even on celebratory occasions like tonight, but he didn’t mind. Y/N was on her second—no, third—glass of wine, and the sight of her relaxed and giggling was worth staying sober for.

As the night wore on, guests began to trickle out, offering hugs and cheers of “Happy New Year!” before disappearing into the cold London night. By the time the clock struck three, only a handful of people remained, including Y/N, who was now leaning against the kitchen counter with Pietra, laughing uncontrollably at something Max had said.

“She’s drunk,” Max observed with a grin, leaning closer to Lando. “Might want to keep an eye on her before she starts dancing on the furniture.”

Lando chuckled. “Drunk Y/N is harmless. A little giggly, maybe, but harmless.”

“She’s also single,” Max teased. “Perfect opportunity for you to make your move.”

“Not like that,” Lando said firmly. “I’m not taking advantage of her being drunk.”

Max raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I was kidding. But seriously, she’s staying here late, and she’ll need a ride home. Pietra’s already giving me that ‘we need to clean up’ look, so…”

Lando nodded. “I’ve got her. Don’t worry.”

--

The laughter and hum of conversation were starting to fade in the background as the party began to wind down. Lando couldn’t help but notice Y/N standing by the balcony door, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the city lights outside. She held a nearly empty glass of red wine in her hand, and her cheeks were flushed—either from the alcohol or the warmth of the crowded apartment. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Y/N,” he called softly as he approached her, his voice low enough to ensure it wouldn’t startle her.

She turned to him, her movements slightly slower than usual. Her face lit up when she saw him, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “Lando! Hi!” she said, her voice higher-pitched than usual, her excitement exaggerated by the alcohol coursing through her veins.

He chuckled, the corners of his mouth pulling into a soft smile. “Hi,” he replied, reaching out to gently take the glass from her hand. “I think you’ve had enough of this.”

Her lips formed a pout, exaggerated and playful. “Oh, come on, I was just starting to have fun.”

“You’re plenty fun without another glass of wine,” he teased, his tone warm and teasing but firm enough to convey that he wasn’t going to let her argue. “But it’s late, and I think you need to get home.”

She blinked at him, her brows furrowing slightly as if she were processing his words through a fog. “Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Then, almost immediately, her expression shifted, and a cheeky grin spread across her face as she stepped closer to him. “Are you my knight in shining armor? Here to rescue me from…uh…Pietra’s couch?”

Lando laughed, the sound deep and genuine. His heart skipped a beat at how unfiltered and carefree she was when tipsy, a side of her he rarely got to see. “If you want to put it that way, sure. Come on, I’ll drive you.”

“Okay!” she said, practically chirping the word as she turned to grab her purse from the counter. In her eagerness, she stumbled slightly, and Lando was quick to catch her, his hands steadying her by the waist.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“Yup!” she replied, looking up at him with a bright smile. She didn’t seem fazed by the stumble or his hands on her, though Lando was acutely aware of the warmth of her skin under his palms.

He shook his head with a small laugh, more at himself than her. “Let’s get you home, princess.”

Getting her down to his car was an adventure in itself. She insisted on saying goodbye to everyone—twice—and even tried to convince Pietra to give her another glass of wine, which Lando quickly intercepted.

“You are absolutely done for the night,” he said, guiding her gently toward the door.

“I’m not even that drunk!” she argued, though her giggles and slightly wobbly steps betrayed her.

Lando raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Right. Not drunk at all.”

When they finally made it outside, the crisp London air hit her, and she let out a dramatic gasp. “It’s so cold!”

“You should’ve brought a jacket,” Lando said, slipping off his own and draping it over her shoulders before she could protest.

She looked up at him, her expression momentarily soft and almost shy. “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling the jacket tighter around her.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice quiet but sincere.

He opened the car door for her, and she slid in with a content sigh, the warmth of his jacket and the cozy car contrasting with the chill outside.

The city lights passed by in a blur as Lando drove through the quiet streets, his focus split between the road and the woman in his passenger seat. Y/N had her head tilted back against the headrest, a dreamy smile on her lips.

“Why don’t you drink?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Lando glanced at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “Just never liked the idea of it,” he said with a shrug. “I like being in control, especially when I’m out with people I care about.”

Her smile widened, and she turned to face him fully, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So you’re a control freak?”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Not exactly. I just like knowing I can take care of people if something happens. Like tonight, for example.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening. “That’s…nice. You’re nice.”

“Don’t let that get around,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood despite the warmth spreading through his chest at her words.

“Why not?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine confusion.

He grinned. “Because then everyone will want me to drive them home after parties.”

She burst out laughing, the sound uninhibited and infectious. “Fair point. But still, you’re nice.”

As they reached a red light, Y/N suddenly leaned over, her face closer to his than it had been all night. Lando froze, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice caught between amusement and panic.

“Your hair,” she said, her voice soft with fascination. She reached out to touch the curls at the nape of his neck, her fingers light as a feather. “It’s so soft.”

Lando’s breath caught, his heart racing as her fingers brushed against his skin. “Y/N,” he said, his voice strained.

“What?” she asked, her tone innocent, though there was a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You’re going to make me crash the car,” he said, his voice half-joking but entirely serious.

She pulled back with a giggle, leaning against the window instead. “Sorry. Your hair’s just really nice.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shaking his head with a small smile. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

When they finally pulled up in front of her apartment building, Lando parked the car and turned to her. She was staring out the window, her expression suddenly contemplative.

“Hey,” he said softly, drawing her attention back to him. “We’re here.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking as if coming out of a trance. Then she smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride, knight in shining armor.”

“Anytime, princess,” he replied, his tone light but his heart heavy with the thought of leaving her.

He got out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. She stepped out, her legs a little unsteady, and he reached out instinctively to steady her.

“You really don’t have to do all this, you know,” she said, her voice quieter than it had been all night.

“Yes, I do,” he replied simply.

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something she couldn’t quite name. After a moment, she nodded, letting him guide her to the building’s entrance.

At the door, she fumbled with her keys at the door, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. Lando watched with a mix of amusement and concern, eventually taking the keys from her gently.

“Here, let me,” he said, unlocking the door with ease.

“Show-off,” she muttered, though there was no malice in her tone.

He chuckled, holding the door open for her. “After you.”

She stepped inside, kicking off her heels and sighing in relief. “Finally. My feet are killing me.”

“That’s what you get for wearing shoes that are more for show than comfort,” Lando teased, following her into the apartment.

“Don’t mock my fashion choices,” she shot back, her tone playful as she dropped her purse onto the couch.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his eyes sparkling with humor.

For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of the night settling over them. Y/N looked at him, her expression soft and unguarded in a way that made his chest ache.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?” he asked, his voice just as soft.

“For taking care of me. For always taking care of me.”

He smiled, his heart swelling at her words. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I want to take care of you, Y/N.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, suddenly shy. “You’re really good at it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers as he spoke. “And I’d do it every day if you let me.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide and searching. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them, the unspoken tension hanging thick in the air.

But then she yawned, breaking the moment.

“Alright,” Lando said with a small laugh, his voice tinged with both relief and disappointment. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Lando guided Y/N through her apartment toward the bedroom, her feet dragging slightly with each step. She swayed unsteadily, and he kept a firm hand on her lower back, steering her gently.

“I’m fine, you know,” she mumbled, her words slurring slightly. “Perfectly fine. Could’ve done this…all by myself.”

He glanced down at her with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Sure you could, but you didn’t have to. That’s what I’m here for.”

She made a soft sound of protest but didn’t pull away, leaning into him as they reached her bedroom door.

The room was cozy, with soft, warm lighting and a bed adorned with mismatched pillows and a plush duvet. Lando couldn’t help but notice little details that felt so uniquely her: a stack of books on the nightstand, an open notebook with scrawled handwriting, and a candle flickering faintly on the dresser.

She plopped down on the edge of the bed with a dramatic sigh, her head tilted up to look at him. A lazy, lopsided smile spread across her face.

“You’re nice,” she said suddenly, her voice soft and full of sincerity.

He froze mid-step, her words catching him off guard. “What?”

“You’re nice,” she repeated, her tone quieter this time but no less heartfelt. “You take care of me. You don’t have to, but you do.”

His chest tightened at the way she looked at him, her gaze unguarded and vulnerable in a way he rarely saw. “Of course I do,” he said, crouching in front of her so their eyes were level. “Because I care about you, Y/N.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she looked like she was going to say something. Her hand lifted faintly, as if to reach for him, but then she blinked, her expression growing hazy. A wide yawn escaped her, breaking the tension in the air.

Lando let out a quiet laugh, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Alright, bedtime,” he said softly.

He gently nudged her backward until she was lying on the bed, her head sinking into the pillows. She grumbled under her breath but didn’t resist as he pulled the blanket over her, tucking it snugly around her shoulders.

“There,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “All set.”

As he straightened up, preparing to leave, her voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Stay.”

He turned back, surprised by the quiet plea. “What?”

“Stay with me,” she murmured, her voice drowsy but insistent. Her eyes, though half-closed, held a glimmer of vulnerability that he couldn’t ignore.

“Y/N, I don’t think—”

“Please,” she whispered, the word barely audible but enough to make his heart ache.

For a moment, he hesitated. Every rational part of him told him he should leave, that staying might blur lines he’d been carefully respecting. But then he looked at her, her face soft and unguarded, and he couldn’t bring himself to deny her.

He sighed, giving in. “Alright,” he said quietly, kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket.

As he climbed into the bed beside her, the mattress dipped under his weight. She immediately shifted closer, curling into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her head rested on his chest, her arm draping across his torso as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

Lando lay stiffly for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He was hyper-aware of every place they touched, the warmth of her body against his sending sparks through him. Slowly, cautiously, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of her steady breathing.

“Goodnight, Lando,” she mumbled, already half-asleep.

As the minutes passed, her breathing grew deeper and more even, signaling that she’d fallen asleep. Lando remained awake, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite contain.

He couldn’t help but marvel at the quiet intimacy of the moment. Holding her like this felt both thrilling and terrifying, as if he were standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite define.

Her small movements as she slept—shifting closer, her fingers curling slightly against his chest—made his heart ache with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was more to himself than her. “You have no idea, do you? No idea how much I care about you.”

She stirred slightly, her face burrowing into the fabric of his shirt. He froze, thinking he might have woken her, but she merely sighed contentedly before settling again.

--

The soft glow of early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the room. Y/N stirred first, her eyes fluttering open as the remnants of sleep clung to her.

She blinked a few times, her mind sluggish as she took in her surroundings. It wasn’t until she felt the steady rise and fall of Lando’s chest beneath her cheek that realization hit her like a jolt.

Her eyes widened, and she froze, her heart hammering in her chest. Memories of the night before came rushing back in fragments—the party, the wine, Lando tucking her into bed. And then…oh god.

She slowly tilted her head back, her gaze landing on Lando’s face. His eyes were still closed, his features relaxed in peaceful slumber. She took a moment to study him, her heart squeezing at how soft he looked in the morning light.

But then he stirred, his brows furrowing slightly as he woke. His eyes opened slowly, meeting hers almost instantly.

“Morning,” he said, his voice husky with sleep and a teasing smile already forming on his lips.

She scrambled back, her cheeks burning as she realized just how close they’d been. “Lando! What—why—”

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking entirely too smug for her liking. “Good to see you too.”

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I—”

“Invited me to stay?” he finished for her, his tone light and playful. “Yeah, you did. Practically begged me, actually.”

“I did not beg!” she protested, her voice muffled by her hands.

“Oh, but you did,” he teased, his grin widening. “It was adorable.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, shooting him a playful glare. “So insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am,” he said, gesturing to the bed with a wink. “Right where you want me.”

Despite her embarrassment, a small smile tugged at her lips. She dropped her hands with a sigh, shaking her head. “Thank you for…staying,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice quieter now, the teasing replaced with something more genuine.

For a moment, the air between them was thick with unspoken words, the weight of the night’s intimacy lingering. Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as Lando’s gaze softened, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice low and steady, “you mean more to me than you realize.”

Her breath caught, her chest tightening as the sincerity in his words hit her like a wave. She opened her mouth to respond, but the vulnerability in his eyes made her hesitate.

Instead, she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his hand. “I think I’m starting to realize,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hometime heat

After a brutal mission nearly claims your life, the simmering tension between you and Task Force 141 finally ignites.

Tags: poly141, Ghost x Soap x Gaz x Price x Reader, NSFW, smut, hurt/comfort, praise kink, rough sex, soft doms, gentle domination, possessiveness, oral sex (f. receiving), marking/biting, breathplay (light), voyeurism (implied), sensory overload, group sex, emotional intimacy during sex, overstimulation, slow undressing/teasing, aftercare

word count- 1505 words

The air in the safehouse was thick. Not with smoke, not with dust or blood, but with something heavier—something that had built up in silence, over glances and half-spoken words during long, brutal weeks on mission. You could taste it.

Soap dropped his gear with a groan, flopping down on the old couch like a man twice his age. "Christ, I think my spine detached somewhere in Russia."

"Could be worse," Gaz muttered, tossing his vest into a corner. He looked at you briefly before looking away, jaw tight. "Could’ve left in a body bag."

You winced. The mission had been bad. Worse than most. Close calls stacked like dominoes, and you had nearly been the one that didn't make it out. Ghost had pulled you out of a collapsed building with blood in his eyes. He hadn’t said anything then. Just looked at you like he was barely holding it together.

Now, standing in the middle of the safehouse living room, you felt bare. Raw. Like the skin of something peeled too far back. Ghost was still geared up, standing against the wall like a shadow, eyes fixed on you.

Price stood nearby, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Always calm, always in control. But even he looked tired. There were deep lines under his eyes. His shirt was half unbuttoned, and he hadn’t bothered to clean the blood off his knuckles.

The silence was a wound. A waiting breath. And then Gaz broke it.

"You scared the hell out of us."

You turned to him, startled. "What?"

He stood there, bare arms crossed over his chest, still damp from the shower. "Back in Moscow. We thought you were buried under that rubble. Ghost nearly lost it."

"Didn’t," Ghost muttered from the wall. "Didn’t lose it."

Soap sat up, expression sober now. "We all did. You—you’ve got no idea, lass."

You swallowed hard. Your eyes flicked from one to the next, the full weight of their attention on you. The flirtation from before the mission felt like a memory now. Something soft and golden behind a pane of glass. But it had never stopped, had it? Not really.

Ghost had stood closer than he needed to. Soap had always had a hand on your shoulder. Gaz, quiet and steady, had always made sure you got the last of the rations, the best cover, the softer bedroll. And Price—Price looked at you like he already knew you were his.

"I’m fine now," you whispered.

"But you weren’t," Price said.

You flinched. His voice was deep, rasping. Truthful. Final.

The air changed again. Ghost stepped forward, finally, and you could see the tremble in his fingers. Not fear—rage, or restraint, or something he hadn’t named yet. He reached out slowly, gloved fingers brushing your jaw.

"You’re here," he said quietly. "But I see you every time I close my eyes. Still under that rubble. Still bleeding. Still calling for us."

You closed your eyes. His fingers slid up to your temple, his palm to your cheek. Gentle, reverent.

Soap exhaled loudly. "Fuck it. I’m done pretending. We’ve been dancing around this long enough."

He stood and crossed the room, boots heavy against the old wood. He didn’t touch you. Not yet. He just stood close, close enough to smell the soap on his skin, the faint burn of whiskey from earlier. "I can’t do another mission watchin’ you flirt with death. Not without knowing you’re ours."

"Ours?" you echoed, voice small.

Gaz came to your side, his hand sliding into yours like it belonged there. "Yeah. Ours. We’ve all wanted you. All of us. We just never said it out loud."

Price stepped forward last. When his hand came down on your lower back, you shivered.

"If you’ll have us," he said, his voice low and steady. "It’s yours. Everything."

The dam broke.

You reached for Soap first, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, dragging him into a kiss that seared. He tasted like need. His hands clutched at your waist, pulling you against him until you could feel every breath.

Ghost growled—low and rough—and you were suddenly pulled back against his chest. His mask brushed your shoulder as his hands claimed your hips.

"My turn."

You gasped when he bit your neck, just hard enough to leave a mark. Behind him, Gaz and Price watched, eyes dark with heat.

Soap stepped back to let them in. Price took your chin in his hand and tilted your head.

"You sure about this, love? We can stop now. No going back after this."

You looked at each of them. Four men who’d bled for you, burned for you, and now wanted to love you like they’d never be able to again. There was only one answer.

"I’m sure. I want all of you."

Gaz moved first, guiding you toward the bedroom, Ghost still wrapped around your back like armor. Inside, the bed was too small, but no one cared.

They touched you like you were a miracle.

Soap’s mouth was fire, trailing kisses down your stomach. His hands pinned your hips as his tongue flicked teasingly between your thighs, drawing out a breathless moan. His name slipped past your lips like a prayer.

Ghost was behind you, holding you up, chest to your back, his hands roaming under your shirt. He kissed the shell of your ear before pulling the fabric over your head, baring you to the cool air and the heat of his gaze. His voice was low. "You’re beautiful."

Gaz kneeled beside Soap, hands stroking your thighs, murmuring soft encouragement. Then his tongue joined Soap’s—licking, sucking, drawing you into a slow frenzy. You cried out, fingers gripping the sheets, hips rolling toward their mouths.

Price stood above you, stroking your hair, his voice like velvet. "Let them take care of you. Just feel, sweetheart."

When the first orgasm hit, it tore through you like lightning—your back arched, eyes rolled back, your voice raw from the cry you let out. They didn’t stop.

Ghost replaced Soap, lifting you with ease and lowering you onto his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist. He was already hard, cock pressing against your entrance as he guided you down slowly, inch by aching inch. You clenched around him, nails digging into his shoulders.

He groaned, deep and guttural. "Fuck... been dreaming about this."

You rocked your hips, and he thrust up to meet you, slow and steady. Each stroke felt like it carved his name into your soul. Soap pressed kisses along your spine, then reached around to toy with your clit, smirking against your skin.

"Look at you, takin’ him so well. So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart."

Gaz slipped between your lips again, this time his cock filling your mouth while his fingers cradled your cheek. He was careful, reverent. "Tap me if it’s too much, love."

You moaned around him, the sensation of fullness overwhelming. Tears welled in your eyes—not from pain, but pleasure so sharp it bordered on unbearable.

Price was last. He knelt behind Ghost, kissing your lower back, then moving between your thighs to stroke where you were joined. "She’s ready."

Ghost pulled out, helping guide you onto your back. Price took his place, his fingers tracing every inch of your soaked heat before pressing into you. Then, slowly, he entered—thick and warm, stretching you until you gasped.

He moved slow, savoring it, hands braced on either side of your head. He kissed your forehead, your lips, your neck.

"That’s it, sweetheart. Let me in."

The others surrounded you. Ghost cradled your head against his chest. Soap licked and kissed at your nipples, biting gently until your back arched. Gaz held your hand, fingers interlaced.

When Price brought you over again, it was stars—flashes behind your eyes, your body clenching around him, gasping out his name.

They took you one after another, never rushed, never cruel. Just men in awe, worshipping you like the only thing that mattered. You lost count of how many times you came—on fingers, tongues, cocks.

The final time was all four of them with you. Price held you in his lap, cock buried deep as Ghost thrust into your mouth. Soap and Gaz each had a hand on your breasts, mouths trailing fire along your shoulders.

You were wrecked, body trembling, sweat-slicked and glowing. When you came one last time, they followed—Ghost growling as he spilled down your throat, Price moaning low in your ear as he filled you.

You collapsed in a pile of limbs, heart pounding.

They cleaned you gently. Whispered praise. Held you like something precious.

Ghost was the first to fall asleep, still curled against your back.

Soap draped over your legs, humming softly.

Gaz stroked your hair.

Price sat at the head of the bed, watching it all like he couldn’t believe it.

"We’re home now," you whispered.

Price looked at you, something raw in his eyes.

"Yeah. We are."

And this time, none of you had to sleep alone.

[klipkillakai]

|pt3|

you laugh when your bestie mia tells you about her vacation in florida, she’s currently telling you about her sneaky links and showing you pictures as you do her nails, you’ve been doing your own nails for years and you’ve extended to doing your friends too.. you softly tap the acrylic onto her nail shaping it neatly—

“ugh i wanna go on a vacation” you say as you start filing her nails.. “you could’ve went with me i asked” she says in a sing song voice slightly teasing you, you roll your eyes “you know how my parents are stop playing” she laughs and nods..

your phone vibrates and you hear a ding cutting your music off for a second and you look down at your phone and see it’s a text from connie, you immediately feel warmth all over your body and try your hardest to fight back a smile..

“unt unt girl you gotta tell me about him now” laughing you say “it’s not much to tell yet, we’re just hanging out you know?” mia gives you a knowing look “mhm” and goes back to humming to the sza song playing through your room

a while later your taking pictures of her nails, “girl hold your hand straight” you laugh.. “i’m trying shit, i drank too much coffee” you giggle and finally get pictures to your satisfaction and sigh leaning back in your chair.. then you start to clean up

“so there’s this house party tonight down the block you trynna go?” you look up “i don’t know, you know ion really go to parties like that” mia groans “please y/n i don’t wanna go by myself and we don’t have to stay long” you think about it… “ugh fine” you say and she yells “period!” you start thinking about what your gonna wear and how your gonna do your hair “so imma leave, the party starts at 6 and i’m gonna go get ready and imma pick you up then okay?” you wipe down the table “okay bet” she comes over and gives you a quick hug before leaving—

“life is better on saturn” you sing while you put highlighter on the tip of your nose while looking in the mirror, you hear a ding and mia texts you she’s outside so you quickly get up looking at your outfit, mid rise jeans and a cropped white halter top, something slight something comfortable, you slip on black kitten heels you thrifted and you put on all your jewelry, rings, necklaces, bracelets, and switching out some of the earrings on your stack..

you drench your body in perfume because that’s the only way to do it and you grab your purse, quickly grabbing your lip gloss and liner before running out the door—

connie looks down at his phone for the 100th time today, waiting for you to text him back, he takes another hit from his blunt, and ignores when his friends try to talk to him about something cause now.. you stressin him out a little bit.. you haven’t gotten to the point in your relationship where your sharing locations so he has no idea where you are or what your doing.. he sends you another text

“wya mama?”

he waits 10 mins and still no response, he sits up a bit and rubs a hand down his face “this fucking girl man” he whispers and gets up, mumbling to his friends he has to go..

you unknowingly forgot to text him back and your in your own little world as your at the party, you dance with mia grinding against each other and singing tipsily towards each other giggling, it’s hot and sweaty and it truly feels like a movie, the beatbox your drinking is running through your veins and pumping false confidence and sensuality, it hinders your common sense a bit so you allow that one guy to touch up on you a little bit, you let him hold your waist as he moves behind you—

you and mia slip away from the dancing a bit going to find more drinks, you lean in the counter giggling with mia watching her pour a bunch of different liquors in two cups for you both and you feel your phone buzz and realize your getting a call, not only that but you’ve gotten several texts, you pick up

“h-hello?” you stutter a bit and giggle

“y/n? where you been i’ve been texting you all day”

you realize it’s connie and you slightly sober up

“im sorry ive been out all d-day, i didn’t see the texts”

connie slightly clenches his jaw as he sits in his car and tries to calm himself down, “where you at now?”

“im at a party with mia” you giggle softly

“who tf is-” connie starts his car and speeds down the road.. “where’s the party at”

“ummmm” you hum trying to think about it but your drunk mind won’t let you, “i’m gonna just send you my location” you do so and connie looks at it realizing it one of his buddies house and makes a turn and heads there.. “i’m on my wa- he’s about to say but is cut off when you abruptly hang up” he almost throws his phone but calms himself down—

you accidentally hang up as you get handed another drink and you go back to the dance floor, they start playing vybez kartel and you get it lit asf, you and mia start whining and twerking on each other.. mia records you as you unbutton your pants allowing the ass to move a bit more and you twerk on her “baby, baby mi a plead” you sing in unison and you both are laughing and having a good ass time..

the guy from before comes over and you let him hold you waist as you whine—

connie walks into the party hearing “one man” loudly playing one the speakers, he sees a sea of people dancing, laughing, chatting, drinking and smoking, he daps up a few people as we walks through the crowd looking for you..

he walks throughout the house and he finally sees you, and when he does he looses his fucking mind, he sees some random guy behind you holding your waist, as you whine on him, he sees that pretty ass smile on your face, your eyes slightly glossy and low how they usually are when you smoke together and not a care in the world..

he almost blacks out and quickly walks to you, yanking the guy off and pulling out a gun, and pressing it to the guys head and he says quietly “back the fuck up” you look at the gun and you slightly gasp in shock

“connie?” you ask, softly tugging him back.. connie looks back at you and gives you a look you never want to see from him again “imma deal with you in a second” he says low enough for only you two to hear and goes back to the guy currently trying to act hard infront of the crowd of people, connie cocks the gun and presses it harder against his head “do sumn i dare you..”

he threatens and the guy starts backing off..

connie stares him down until he walks away and he slowly turns back at you and you sober up a bit

“im sor- connie cuts you off and grabs your hand and drags you outside, you try to talk but connie doesn’t respond, he gets to his car and opens the door for you letting you get inside and slamming your door..

you start feeling a nervous flutter in your lower belly and watch as he rounds the car and gets in, starting the car and pulling off without saying a word

“connie” you say softly trying to get his attention but his hand just grips the wheel and he speeds up, you softly try to touch his chin and he grabs your hand and pulls it down..

“talk to me” you whisper, looking up at him and rubbing his arm.. still no response.. you sigh and sit back down looking out the window slightly biting your lip, as you sit there you get an idea.. definitely influenced by the alcohol and weed running through your veins..

you look over at him and you softly start to rub his chest, you lean a bit closer and press small kisses to his shoulder, “talk to me” you whisper again, you start to drag your hand down his chest to his lap and you rub his thigh.. biting your lip you slide you hand over to his bulge and start to palm it and you lean towards his ear “please talk to me papa” you say in the sweetest voice you can muster.. you watch as his eyes quickly flicker over to yours and you slightly smile knowing you almost got him..

you take off your seatbelt, trusting he won’t crash and you undo his belt and unbutton his jeans, you reach down and pull his dick out, he’s so hard and the tip is a painful red and you watch as a singular bead of precum rolls down his tip, you look up at him and he’s watching you with a dazed lustful look, but you also see anger behind them at that makes you feel a multitude of things..

you look back down and press a small kiss to the tip, and you hear a slow release of air come from his mouth, almost like a slow hiss, relying on books you’ve read and videos you watched you do the best you can, softly spitting on his dick and wrapping your mouth around his tip, using your hand with your freshly done acrylics to handle the rest..

connie feels like he’s going insane, he’s angry with you you, but at the same time he needs you so desperately, he quickly pulls into a parking lot so he can focus on what you doing, connie parks and slightly puts his seat back allowing you to have more room, he pushes your braids always from your eyes so he can see them while he looks down at you—

you hollow your cheeks and start to bob your head connie’s eyes nearly roll back and he holds your har up guiding you.. you move faster, taking it deeper while looking up at him for reassurance..

“ugh fuck” connie groans “just like that”

“don’t think i forgot about what you was doing mama, had me stressed all day.. ignoring me nd shi”

you feel connie tug your braids lifting your head up and you look at him, he stares downs at you and grabs your face with his hand and he licks and bites his lip as if he’s holding himself back from something, you watch as he slowly grabs his gun from the armrest and picks it up looking at if before slowly rubbing it on your lips and then slowly raising it to the side of your temple…

this sends a slice of terror down your back, you freeze and look up at connie, your eyes getting teary and blurry.. but.. deep down.. you feel that slow wave of heat pooling in your belly, the slow trickle of your slick filling your panties, and that soft throb.. and that’s what scares you the most.. you like this..

“i don’t ever wanna see you on another guy like that you hear me?”

“i swear to god y/n i will kill that motherfucker and then imma be on yo ass after”

he leans down closer to you “nod if you understand”

you slowly nod, a tear rolls down your cheek and your drunk mind struggles to process the influx of emotions your feelings right now..

he puts the gun down and leans back softly grabbing the base of his dick and squeezing it, jerking it softly before tapping it against your lips.. “open” he whispers and you do… you take his dick in your mouth, sitting up a bit and going as deep as you can, you gag softly and connie groans quietly “there you go” he whispers and you start to bob your head up and down..

you start to drool and let it get sloppy and nasty, you use both of your hands to jerk the base as you bob your head and connie’s eyes roll back and he holds a hand over his face “fuuuuck” he whispers and you respond with soft gags and soft little moans..

you slide your mouth off with a “pop!” and you start to kiss his balls heavy with cum as you look up at him.. “who taught you this” he almost whimpers and looks slightly jealous.. “m-my first time” you say as you drag your lips up and down his length..

“stop fucking playing” he groans absolutely not believing you.. “m’not lying papa” and you take him back in your mouth gagging softly and taking it as deep you can go.. at this point your mascara is rolling down your cheeks and your eyes are teary and red, but connie thinks this is the prettiest he’s ever seen you and he knows that makes him a sick bastard but he doesn’t care..

“your gonna make me-” he quickly pulls your head away as he felt he was about to cum, “shit baby hollon we going back to my place”… you softly whine and he nods “i know baby i know” you sit up and get back in your seat and connie tucks himself back in before quickly pulling out the parking lot and speeding back home..

he pulls into the parking garage and he hops out and so do you, you softly slip of your heels and you walk on your tippy toes to the elevator, connie notices and quickly picks you up bridal style and you let out a sharp gasp and immediately you feel a bit insecure..

“put me down m’too heavy” you try to slip out of his hold..

connie looks down at you and softly smacks his teeth, “stop moving ma, i gotchu” you feel flustered and look away and you nervously chew on your lip and you quietly ride the elevator with him, it dings and he carries you to the door and taps his fob on the door and walks inside, he carrie’s you down the hall and too his room and he drops you on his bed..

he stands at the foot of his bed and stares down at you and you stare back, the tension in the room getting denser and denser, he smiles softly and pulls his phone out and soon after you hear music playing, through speaks all throughout his apartment.. he reaches behind him and pulls off his shirt, your soon met with all his tattoos you love and his gold chain dangling from his neck, you lie on your back slightly sitting up on your elbows and you watch him..

he grabs your legs and pulls you towards him and leans down and traps you between his arms, and softly drags his nose down your neck and presses soft kisses down the path “you want this?” he whispers, and you slowly wrap your legs around his waist “it’s my first time” you whisper back, realizing how intimate the situation has gotten “do you want me to be your first?” he asks looking at you hoping you’ll say yes..

you stare up at him nodding softly.. “words mama” he whispers tenderly as his lips hover over yours, “yes..i would love for you to be my first” and connie smiles the brightest smile you’ve seen from him and that makes your heart palpate.. you both are heading towards dangerous territory and you both don’t give one fuck..

he captures your lips in a deep.. passionate kiss, you both letting out the pent up emotions you’ve both been holding in, his rage and passion.. and his care and worry.. your fear and obsession.. and your love and care..

he pulls away from your lips and slowly moves down, he’s looking up at you.. head between your plush thighs and he softly kisses them.. you get flustered and shy feeling insecure but connie absolutely could not care less, he kisses and bites your thighs likes his last meal on earth, he presses a soft kiss to your waist and drags he knuckles softly down the slit of your panties where he can see your slick pooling, you twitch and let out soft whimpers and that’s music to his ears..

he presses a kiss to your clothed clit before pulling your panties down, watching a string of your wetness still attached to it and his dick throbs against his belt and he lets out and audible groan..

he spreads your thighs and spreads your lips with his fingers before dragging his tongue down your slit then up to your clit, you mouth drops and you let out a moan, you quickly reach down and grab his hair feeling your toes curl, your heart beats a bit faster and he grips your thighs and holds them down before he sucks and flicks he tongue over your clit, completely ravishing you.. he tongues moves quickly and with purpose he sucks, bites, spits in tandem, knowing exactly how to get you where he wants you, he watches your tight hole clench and leak out clear slick and it drives him crazy..

he slaps your pussy and you look at him and moan “you like that?” “hm?” he slaps it again and you let out a quiet sob.. loving the stinging pain “again please” you whine, and he does it again.. over and over until your sobbing.. he goes back to licking and sucking.. until your loose enough for him to slide one finger inside..your back arches and your eyes roll back “im gonna cum” you whimper out and you do.. you toes curl and your ears ring and a flash of white blurs your vison for a second..

connie watches the whole thing and nearly cums in his pants, the face you make the feeling of your clenching around his fingers drives him insane, you slowly come down from your high and connie sits up pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and stands up walking across the room and opening a drawer grabbing a box of condoms and walking back..

you look up at him “i want to feel you” you whisper and his eye snap towards you “you don’t want me to wear one?” “no” you say.. almost sounding like a plead.. “you comfortable taking plan b?” he asks wanting to do what you think is best..

“i don’t mind.. i just wanna feel you” that sends a ping in his heart and he nods and smiles softly, he climbs back on the bed and hovers between your legs, he leans forward kissing you and rubbing your cheek with his thumb.. “tell me if you need me to stop.. slow down.. anything aii?” “want you to enjoy this too” you smile and nod “i will” you whisper..

he leans back grabbing your legs and pulling them next to his waist, he grabs the base of his dick and softly rubs it up and down your slit and back and forth over your clit, you feel pangs of pleasure blooming all over you body, everywhere starting to become super sensitive and hot, and when he starts to push his dick inside, you bite back a scream.. your eyes water and connie keeps looking up at you.. his heart slightly breaking knowing your in pain but he keeps pushing inside.. he knows he’s big and he knows he gonna have to pace himself with you..

“you doing so good for me mama” he coos as he rubs your thigh, pushing the rest of himself inside and letting out a sigh.. “your gonna fucking kill me” he whispers to himself and leans forwards and starts slow and deep thrusts.. rolling his hips into you..

your mouth slightly agape, you feel dazed and you feel like the deepest itch has been scratched, connie feels your pussy throb and pulsate around his dick and he tucks his face in your neck letting out small whimpers.. a whispering all sorts of colorful language.

he starts picking up his pace, now pounding into you, the rhythmic sound of skin slapping together fills the room almost drowning out the music, “that feel good?” he coos “yea?” and you nod “so so good” you stutter out the best you can.. he can tell your almost fucked out and he’s barely started yet, poor thing he thinks to himself.. he pushes your thighs back so far that they reach your ears and slightly burn, and he pounds into you, at an abnormal pace,

“fuck fuck fuck” he spits out as he pounds into.. his body covered in sweat and his brows furrowed.. all you can do is moan and take it, it’s a complete sensory overload and you don’t know what to do, you reach for him and he leans down and whispers all sorts of nasty shit in your ear..

“fucking gonna take all this nut yea?”

“want me to fill you up? nasty bitch”

“taking this dick so good for me”

“all you needed was some dick mama, cs now your being the good girl i know you are”

every sentence makes your clench and tighten around him and you both get closer and closer to cumming..

all of sudden connie pulls out and flips you over, quickly slapping your ass “arch yo back f’me” he says and you do your best, raising your ass and curing your back and laying your pretty head on the bed softly reaching down and rubbing your clit to alleviate the pain coming from your sore hole..

connie slide himself back into you, holding your waist and pounding into you, your mouth drops and connie moans and kneads your ass, he pounds into you from behind, bullying his thick dick into you from behind as he looses his mind, muttering all sorts of incoherent shit, just trying to express in his equally fucked out mind how fucking good it feels..

you just a babbling mess “that feels so g-good”…

“pa i cant- shit~ you whimper out not knowing what to do or say, it feels so wet and full and good, you feel connie kissing your back and grabbing your ass and all you know is that you don’t want it to stop, you feel you belly feel full and warm and you know your about to cum soon and so is he, he picks up the pace and he bites his lip so hard he tastes blood and he feels you tighten so much around his dick he cums..

“FUCK” he spits out, while you whimper a soft “shit” and you cum together, juices and fluids mixing together making it even more sloppy that it already is, he’s still slowly pounding into you and you put your hand against his belly “s’to sensitive” you whimper out, and he twitches and slowly stops.. he pulls out off you and you shiver, your thighs shaking and you plop down on the bed, immediately feeling exhaustion taking over you..

connie kisses down your back and uses all his strength to get up and grab a towel for you, he softly wipes between your thighs and uses the same to wipe his dick, he pull off the crop top you both didn’t bother to take off and grabs one of his shirts and pulls it over you, he slips his boxers back on and plops on the bed next to you, he pulls you on his chest and softly rubs your back..

he softly rubs your cheek and he feels such a strong emotion take over him that he barely recognizes anymore, and he doesn’t want to admit to himself what it is, so he softly kisses your forehead and closes his eyes, falling asleep with you..

|a/n|

y’all writing smut is absolutely NOT for the weak, that’s why this release took so long cause i have to spend so long visualizing what i want them to actually be doing 😭 but i hope y’all like it fr.. and thanks girl for lil gun idea you ate fr 🩷

[tag-list]

@fairygodbaby

@jun1p3rlol

@ebonydumbslut

@burpzz

@rawr29184

@thegirlyouworryabout

@rnvsxo

@thesmutconnoisseur

@undevidedattentionsblog

@magalimachete

@christinabae

@justazee

lmk if i forgot anyone and i’ll tag you 🩷

[mpregnerd]

🏛️ “After the Party” — A Brotherhood-Born Drama

The frat house still reeked of stale beer, sweat, and something that could only be described as "cheap tequila and bad decisions." Red solo cups dotted every surface like the aftermath of a plastic blizzard, and Liam — the youngest pledge and most visibly pregnant — groaned as he bent to pick one up.

His shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat from both effort and something more primal. The contractions were coming faster now.

"Ugh—shit," Liam hissed, dropping the cup and grabbing the edge of the table for support. His belly, round and full, pressed between his knees as another wave hit him like a linebacker. A deep, guttural sound escaped his throat — equal parts pain, fear, and... something else.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs.

“Bro, you okay?” said Trey, the chapter VP, sliding in sock-footed across a puddle of spilled beer. His eyes widened. “Oh hell no— You’re having the baby now?!”

Liam nodded through gritted teeth. “I was just trying to clean up the living room, I didn’t think—ahhhnn—this would happen today!”

From the hallway, Marcus called out, “He needs water—get him water!” He rushed in, shirtless and panicked, dropping to his knees beside Liam. His hands hovered nervously before finally gripping Liam’s shoulders with unexpected tenderness. “You’re okay, we’ve got you.”

“No we don’t,” barked Josh, the only sober brother last night and therefore the newly elected voice of reason. “Someone call an ambulance!”

“I’m calling, I’m calling!” shouted Darren, already fumbling with his phone, pacing barefoot across the wreckage of party night.

The light above flickered. Harsh shadows danced across their faces like a low-budget indie film — but nothing about this felt fake. Liam crouched lower to the ground, another contraction taking over. His skin was flushed, lips parted, and his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Guys,” he panted. “I think my water just broke... on the Coors carpet.”

“Bro…” Trey whispered reverently. “That’s, like, the most frat birth ever.”

Liam couldn’t even roll his eyes. He was too busy groaning through another contraction.

Marcus crouched closer, his hand resting protectively on the underside of Liam’s belly. “Hey,” he murmured, voice barely above the noise of the TV still playing reruns in the background. “You’re doing incredible. Seriously. You’re like… the strongest guy I know.”

Liam looked up at him, dazed, sweat running down his temples. “You better name this baby after me.”

“You’re the one having it, dude. We’re naming him whatever you want.”

Josh returned, clutching a stack of towels, clearly stolen from the guest bathroom. “Towels down. Floor’s too gross for a miracle.”

Liam collapsed to his knees with their help, clutching Trey’s forearm in a death grip. "I can't believe I'm giving birth... in front of all of you... in a frat house."

Marcus smirked through the panic. “Hey. We said no pledge left behind, remember?”

[h0nology]

back to strangers

ellie williams x reader

part two of back to friends!

warnings: angst, unresolved tension, jealousy, a little possessiveness, no happy ending…yet

you hadn’t spoken in a month.

not since that night.

not since ‘we’re just friends’ cracked something in you that hadn’t healed since the last time someone made you feel disposable.

you stopped texting ellie. stopped answering her calls. you left her on read, then started muting her altogether.

and it drove her crazy.

she watched your stories. every single one.

she liked posts she normally wouldn’t. ones where you looked too good. ones where your caption said nothing but your eyes said everything.

you made sure of it.

the party was already loud when you got there—music spilling into the hallway, bodies pressed together in half-drunk rhythms. it was someone’s birthday. mutual friend. people you knew. people she knew. it wasn’t avoidable. you were going to see her tonight.

but you didn’t look at her. not once.

ellie noticed that first.

you said hi to everyone but her. hugged people around her. laughed too loud, danced too close to the speakers. she leaned against the wall, beer in hand, pretending she wasn’t looking at you every ten seconds.

you danced with a guy first. tall. broad. it was harmless.

but then it was her—the girl with the buzzcut and heavy rings and black tank top that fit a little too tight. she leaned into you like she already knew the kind of hurt you were carrying.

you danced slow, letting your hips press against hers, her hand sliding under your shirt, resting on the soft curve of your stomach like she owned it.

ellie saw.

she saw the way your mouth parted. the way your eyes fluttered closed. the way you looked like you were trying to forget her.

and it worked.

because she was fucking spiraling.

when the lights came up, people started clearing out. the buzzcut girl kissed your cheek before leaving. you smiled like it didn’t mean anything.

ellie watched from the kitchen, hands braced on the counter like she needed it to stay standing.

you stayed behind to help clean. quiet now. sobered up. wiping down counters, throwing away cups. your friend thanked you, said goodnight, disappeared upstairs.

and then it was just you.

and ellie.

she stepped in from the hallway, arms crossed, voice already sharp.

“you stopped texting me. stopped answering my calls. ignored me all night—what the fuck is that about?”

you didn’t turn around. just shrugged.

“you said we’re just friends.”

she scoffed behind you.

“bullshit.”

you finally turned and met her eyes. she looked wrecked. red around the eyes. jaw clenched. that same hoodie she wore the night she made you believe she meant it.

“you don’t get to be mad,” you said.

“you drew the line. i just followed it.”

“then why the fuck did it feel like more?”

her voice cracked. she hated that it cracked.

you stared at her.

“because the moment we started fucking, the friendship got real complicated.”

“you think i don’t know that?” she snapped. “you think i haven’t been losing my goddamn mind every day since you left?”

you swallowed hard, arms tight around yourself.

“then why did you say it? why’d you say we’re just friends like you didn’t mean every fucking kiss?”

silence.

then ellie stepped closer.

voice quieter now. breaking in all the places you hadn’t seen before.

“i’ve never been good at wanting things out loud. but i never stopped wanting you.”

she looked at you like it hurt for her to even say this, “you made me feel real. and i pushed it away. because i didn’t know how to hold it without breaking it like everything else i break.”

your breath caught. because there it was. finally. all of it. but instead of relief, it made you ache.

“so what now?” you whispered. “you wanted me. you broke me. now you’re sorry?”

ellie didn’t have an answer. just looked at you like you were already slipping through her fingers again.

and maybe you were.

because you shook your head, stepped back, and said the only thing you could.

“i’m tired of bleeding just to feel close to you.”

and with that you walked out before she could stop you.

and all ellie did was let you go.

again.

🏷️ @adoreasellie @elliezlils11utt @incog-nizo