#fucking back off to the other side of the world without giving him a chance to actually talk to you at all and resolve any of the emotions

[synthetickitsune]

Jeonghan (SVT) | Fight Club AU angst | 0.9k | gn!reader tw: cult mentions, injuries A/N: nobody perceive me

“This is bigger than us,” Jeonghan says, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

You recognize that look. It’s pretty new but you already cracked it. Not that it matters, it’s just a look that says to tread carefully or he’ll cut you off. You’re smarter than to think there’s any way to avoid that future - other than him coming back to his senses but that’s a possibility you don’t dare to hope for. Nothing you can do will change it. 

You can only hope that before he leaves, you’ll already get over him and be staying in this relationship just to make sure someone treats his wounds.

“It’s not about me or any of the guys,” he continues, licking his lips and looking into some metaphorical distance, “It’s about giving the world a hard reset.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you look back down and tighten the bandage over his wrist. When you’re satisfied with how it fits, you secure it and then do something unbelievably foolish. You take his hands in yours.

The bandage isn’t really clean but there was an attempt. Like everything in the mess that his place has become it’s covered in grime. At least you tried to only have the cleaner parts of it, the lower layers, touch the open cuts on his knuckles. That’s all you really can do.

You kiss the back of his fingers on each hand before leaning your forehead against his hands. Kneeling in front of him, it must look like a prayer. From the scraps you’ve noticed, the organization or whatever it is that he’s part of can’t be too far away from a cult. So you don’t think seeking help from the ethereal would be of any use.

“Look at you,” he coos but scoffs at the end, “You haven’t opened your eyes yet. This is our manifesto.”

And yet he doesn’t remove his hands from yours. He doesn’t do anything. Maybe this is the tragic tale everyone has to go through, the one disappointment everyone has to face - love never fixes anything.

You know you should leave. Run, more like. The sooner, the better - before there’s any chance pity will outweigh reason. Before Jeonghan’s too far gone and disappears and you won’t know whether he got himself killed or is just running around causing violent mayhem. Either way, before any of it shatters you. You don’t have anything here anyway, you stopped keeping things here once the mess got to a certain level, so no bags to pack. And yet something holds you hostage here.

Your lips find his bandaged knuckles. His skin still smells of disinfectant. You’ve grown used to it. It happens too often. You don’t yet have it in you to leave him to fend for himself even though you know he can. 

You feel like you’re in a trance. Maybe you’re a little fucked up from the desinfectant fumes. You kiss the backs of his hands, your thumbs stroking the sides, careful not to roll back the bandage, smoothing it down every time. Your lips linger. You wish you could feel his skin. Your heart starts racing.

Many things have changed about him since he found his calling in whatever trouble that thing is. You never experienced craving quite like this. He’s gotten rougher when you fuck. It’s hard to find a place without bruises or cuts on Jeonghan’s body, somewhere that’s not swelling as the body tries to heal. It’s animalistic and some primal instinct in you responds to it. Perhaps that’s why you really stay. Or maybe it’s because after, when you’re both drenched in sweat and breathless he pulls you close. Forehead against forehead, breathing each other’s oxygen, his eyes speak of devotion to you alone. 

Maybe there’s time to save him yet. Maybe love can change something this time.

Before you know it you’re pressing kisses against his wrists. You do it with all the tenderness in the world. It must hurt anyway but he doesn’t make a sound. You suppose he knows worse pain than that. Your fingers wrap around his forearms. There aren’t any words to describe the anxiety you feel when you don’t hold him that don’t sound like an understatement.

You press a gentle peck to each of the raised balls of his wrist joints. Sigh escapes you, shaky, traitorous.

Jeonghan smiles. You can see it behind your closed eyelids. It seems almost reverent when he bends his wrist to pat your hair. He strokes through it and you tilt your head to lean into his touch. You press another kiss to the inside of his wrist.

He opens his mouth but no words come out. You silently beg for him not to say anything. You close your eyes tighter to stop the burning sensation, stop the tears. Just please let him not say anything, you pray. 

And he doesn’t. So you kneel in front of him in silence and he sits on the edge of the bathtub without a word. The bloodied water is drying on the already stained surface but nobody cares. His hand is still petting your hair and you hold his other hand to your lips and spill kisses over the bruises hidden under the fabric.

You know he has to leave again when he bends down to kiss the top of your head. You don’t ask where he’s going or when he’s gonna be back.

You can only pray he’s going to return. 

You can only pray you won’t be here when he does.

[camgoloud]

he still has his tonsils. by the way if you even care

[cece693]

You're Just Jealous of Me

pairing: the salvatore brothers x male reader tags: reader knows he's manipulative and a slut, you just don't care tbh, Elena has an aneurysm from not being the main character, the brothers know they're getting played, you're just that hot/beautiful/perfect for them to give you up, Elena bashing, no incest

"I can't believe you." Elena exclaimed, her eyes growing misty as you were getting ready to head out with Damon on a date. It hadn't even been a week since they broke up (something about her needing stability or some other bullshit) and you didn't care. All that mattered was getting through yet another 'poor me' moment without killing her and making it seem like an accident.

Seriously, what did your sister expect? That Damon was going to stay single for the rest of his days until she made a fucking choice between him and Stefan? Perhaps some of her betrayal stemmed from the fact that Stefan had also rejected her ass and had made it clear he didn't feel anything for her anymore. So now poor Elena had no one while you played with both brothers.

And it wasn't even 'playing' per se if they knew about the whole situation. You could fuck any of them, and they'll be fine with it—a thing you made clear to them when this whole thing started. You liked both brothers, but having to choose just one was unfair—they both had traits that attracted you, and if you couldn't have both, then you'll settle for nothing. Like eager children they agreed. The arrangement was abnormal to others, but for you it worked—you dated both brothers, they still hated each other (entertaining fights arising from their competitiveness on who you liked more, who was 'rocking' your world, etc.) Simple really.

"Save the tears for the pillow, sister. I’m really not in the mood—nor will I ever be—to entertain your pity parties." Pulling on one of Damon’s leather jackets, you smirked. You were a sight to behold—not only would Damon be eager to rip the clothes off you, but half the population would, too.

It was fun stirring the pot, watching Damon bare his teeth at anyone who thought they stood a chance. Jealousy was his kryptonite, and while a part of you hated targeting one of his insecurities, you always reassured him in bed of your devotion, loyalty, and love.

Yes, because at the end of the day, you loved both Salvatore brothers. This wasn't just some passing fantasy, nor was it some revenge scheme against your sister (though you did love tormenting her with the fact that you were dating the two). You were willing to throw away your human life to become a vampire—to spend eternity by their side.

"Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to cause this!" Now there was the Elena you knew all too well—the one who constantly placed themselves as the victim, putting blame unto you because who could ever hate a girl who lost her parents?

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. “You really want to go there?” you snap, not bothering to hide the derision in your voice. “Fine. For starters, you’ve always made Jeremy and me feel like shit, and the few times you did act like a decent human being were just so you didn’t look like a total bitch.”

“That’s not true!” she protests, anger tightening her features.

“It is, Elena,” you spit back. “When our parents died, you didn’t do a damn thing to help us cope. You were so wrapped up in your own grief, your own fucking melodrama, that you never once checked on Jeremy or me—unless, of course, it was to nag us about how we were coping. When Jeremy started doing drugs, you freaked the fuck out. Not because you cared, but because you were afraid of how it might make you look. God forbid anyone sees that the 'perfect' Elena Gilbert can’t keep her family together or help her brother kick his drug habit.”

She flinches, but you weren't done. Oh, no. You were just beginning to go down the list of why you hated her ass. "Then, when I began to hook up with Damon, you acted like I was the cause of our parents death—no, that's on you because Elena couldn't help herself and got drunk, needing a ride home at midnight. Sleeping with Damon was like I'd personally betray you."

Her cheeks flush crimson. “Well, you did! You—”

“I did what, Elena?” You take a step forward, towering over her. “I moved on? Found something that might actually make me happy? Meanwhile, you’ve been stringing both Damon and Stefan along for God knows how long. You made your choice—you dumped Damon, tried getting back with Stefan, when he told you to fuck off, you tried going back to Damon and he said the same thing. So now you’re standing here, arms crossed, lip trembling, trying to put the blame on me because you lost your backup plan.”

Her lips press into a thin line, eyes brimming with tears. But you’ve seen this act before—she’ll blink prettily, glance away like a wounded animal, and wait for you to console her. Only this time, you won't.

“You are an asshole,” she hisses, eyes narrowed into slits. “He was mine first.”

That makes you laugh, a harsh sound echoing off the hallway walls. “Right...possessive much? People aren’t property, Elena. He’s not a damn handbag you lend out when it suits you. If Damon wants to be with me, that’s his call. And if I want to keep him, that’s mine.”

She trembles, either from anger or heartbreak—you can’t tell, and frankly, you don’t care. “Why would you do this?” she asks again, her voice cracking. “What have I ever done—”

You rolled your eyes so hard you got a slight headache. "Did you even listen to me? I have every reason to hate you, so does Jeremy and the rest of Mystic Falls. Those who continue to stand by you are either stupid or hope they'll get some attention from your desperate ass. I'm done. I’m done letting you guilt-trip me. I’m done tiptoeing around your precious feelings. I’m fucking over it, Elena.”

Just then, Damon appears in the doorway, that trademark smirk on his face. “Ready?” he asks, taking in the tension between you two. His gaze flicks to the tears glistening in her eyes before returning to you. “I’m guessing we’re skipping the family therapy session?”

“Therapy? More like the mandatory guilt trip, which I’ve politely declined.”

Elena’s voice wavers, “Damon, how can you just—”

He cuts her off with a raised hand, posture casual but his eyes dangerously dark. “Stop, Elena. What we had is over. You made that choice before, remember? I’m done letting you waltz in and out of my life whenever it’s convenient for you.” You can practically feel the hatred radiating off her in waves. She’s not used to being shut down, especially not by Damon, the semi-reformed bad boy who once hung on her every word. It must sting. Oh, well. Her loss.

“As much as I loved talking to you, sister, I do believe we're running late. Don't wait up and please, if you're going to continue crying, leave my room. Keep wallowing if you want. Hell, cry yourself a fucking river. Just don’t stain my carpet.” Without another glance at Elena, you brush past Damon, and he steps aside for you to lead. He follows, closing the door behind you both, leaving your sister alone in her silence.

You descend the porch steps and greet the night air with a sigh of relief, reveling in the silence that isn’t tainted by Elena’s incessant whining. Damon slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward his car parked beneath a streetlamp. His touch is warm, confident—like he’s proud of the chaos you’ve left behind.

“She’ll get over it,” he says, glancing at you with one of those trademark smirks that used to make Elena weak at the knees. Now, it just fuels your own sense of dark satisfaction.

“She’d better,” you mutter. “I’m not putting up with her drama anymore. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it alone. I’ve got better things to do.”

Damon’s grin widens. “That’s the spirit. So, where are we headed, anyway? We never actually nailed down the specifics.”

You shrug, placing an arm around his waist and snuggling closer to his side. “Anywhere but here. Got a craving for something stiff—drink or otherwise.” The innuendo doesn’t slip past him. His eyes flash with interest, and you can’t deny that thrill you get from watching Damon Salvatore light up over you instead of your sister.

“Sounds like the Grill for starters,” he suggests with a casual tilt of his head. “They might have a halfway decent bourbon I can drown myself in. As for the ‘otherwise,’ well…” He lets the sentence hang, the possibility of later events sparking arousal for the both of you.

You’re about to respond when you spot Stefan leaning against Damon's Camaro. Typical. Even without super-hearing, you know he’s probably caught every word you exchanged with Elena. Damned vampires. "What are you doing here?" Damon was the first who spoke, hand tightening over your body. As if he was a child preventing his favorite toy to be taken away from him.

"Nothing, really. I was just walking around the neighborhood and saw your car parked. But now that I see you're here with my boyfriend, I guess I have time to join you two at the grill."

"Our boyfriend."

You simply laugh at Stefan’s innocent tone, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. Just a few minutes ago, you were telling off Elena and storming out of the house. Now you’re pinned between two vampires—both of whom are technically yours, and you are theirs. Welcome to the wonderful, fucked-up world of Mystic Falls.

“‘Our’ boyfriend,” you echo, looking from Stefan to Damon. “Are you two seriously going to argue semantics right now? Pick a damn fight over who saw me first?” A scoff escapes you as you shrug off Damon’s possessive grip just enough to stand on your own. You’re not some chew toy they get to tug-of-war over.

Stefan cocks a brow, his expression cool but laced with a hint of smugness. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, his gaze flicking to Damon. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t excluded. Last time I checked, this was a joint arrangement.”

Damon’s jaw clenches. Clearly, he remembers crashing your date with Stefan last week—and how you’d had to smooth over the tension in ways that involved very little clothing and a lot of apologizing on his part. “We’re not excluding you, Saint Stefan. But we do have plans that don’t involve your pensive brooding.”

Stefan straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, so your plan is to get drunk at the Grill and then…whatever else…” He waves a hand dismissively, “doesn’t appeal to me?” He tilts his head in mock curiosity. “You sure about that?”

You snort. “Children, please. If you both really wanted to rip each other’s heads off, you’d have done it ages ago. Let’s just go. All this talk is making my head hurt.”

Damon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if Stefan starts preaching about morality or—God forbid—Elena, I’m leaving him to pay the tab.”

Stefan’s smirk grows. “I’d pick a better conversation starter than Elena, trust me.”

You give an unimpressed half-smile. “Don’t even mention her name. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t exist unless she’s blocking my path to a stiff drink.”

That shuts both of them up. They exchange a quick glance—some silent vampire communication or whatever—then Damon jerks his head toward the passenger door. “Shotgun’s yours,” he says to you, ever the gentleman when it comes to seating. To Stefan, he adds begrudgingly, “Guess you can squeeze into the back...or the trunk.”

Stefan’s lip twitches like he’s fighting off a retort, but he says nothing. Instead, he silently moves to the rear door. You can’t help but grin. It’s absurd that they both share you yet still bicker like five-year-olds over the smallest shit. But hey, maybe that’s part of the charm.

Once inside Damon’s Camaro, you sink into the leather seat, adjusting your legs as you feel Stefan’s presence behind you. The tension is thick—crackling with desire, frustration, and that constant competition. You kind of love it. Damon revs the engine, and the car peels away from the curb.

“Any chance we can make this a quick pit stop at the Grill?” you say, your gaze shifting between them. “I need something to eat, maybe a drink or two, but I’m not really in the mood to fraternize with the entire damn town.”

Damon flicks you a sidelong glance. “Someone’s impatient. Looking to skip straight to dessert, sweetheart?”

A grin tugs at your lips. “I’d just rather not get cornered by whichever idiot wants the latest gossip on Elena’s meltdown.”

Stefan leans forward, resting his forearms on the front seats. “We can be in and out in under thirty minutes. Grab some wings, maybe a bourbon—or three—and leave.” He lowers his voice suggestively. “After that, I wouldn’t mind some privacy.”

Damon makes a sound of reluctant agreement. “Deal. But don’t whine when you realize your tolerance is way lower than mine, Brother.”

Stefan just smirks. “Don’t worry about me, Damon. Worry about yourself.”

The quick banter settles into a charged silence as the lights of Mystic Falls blur by. The neon sign of the Grill soon comes into view, and Damon maneuvers into a parking spot with practiced ease.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mutter, pushing the car door open. “I’m not about to waste my entire night entertaining half-drunk townspeople.”

Stepping onto the sidewalk, you can already see a few familiar faces through the window—Caroline, Matt, maybe Tyler. You can’t be bothered to care. The only drama you want tonight is the kind that ends in moans, not tears. And if Elena hasn’t slithered over here yet, you might just get your way.

Damon slides an arm around your waist possessively again, and Stefan eyes the gesture with an annoyance that’s as old as time. You sigh inwardly. No matter how many times you remind them you belong to both, they still can’t help but try to stake their separate claims. Vampire pride, maybe.

As you head inside, the ambient chatter and smell of bar food envelop you. A few heads turn—this is Mystic Falls, after all, and you’re making a very public entrance with both Salvatores. Let them stare. Let them talk.

“Your usual table?” Damon asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you say. “Let’s just grab a seat and order. I’m fucking starving.”

The three of you slip into a booth. Damon slides in beside you, Stefan on the opposite side. A cute server looks mildly flustered as she hands out menus. You can see her eyes flick between Damon and Stefan, likely recalling the messy history each has with Elena. If she notices you’re with them in a more intimate sense, she doesn’t comment. Probably for the best.

“So,” Damon says, flipping open the menu, “bourbon and wings? Or do we want to start with something stronger?”

Stefan doesn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have what you’re having,” he says with a forced casualness, drumming his fingers on the table. He’s clearly aware eyes are on you three. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him—like he’s waiting for the next potential disaster.

You roll your eyes at the both of them. “Bourbon’s fine. Then if someone pisses me off, we can move on to whiskey shots until I forget this entire night.”

Damon flashes that trademark smirk. “You, pissed off? Shocking.”

Stefan snorts, finally cracking a faint smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage to avoid any drama.”

A short, barking laugh leaves you. “In this town? With the three of us in the same damn booth? Doubtful.”

But you push aside the building dread. Because at least you’re here on your terms, Elena’s sob story is miles away, and you have both Salvatores at your side—bickering, sure, but ultimately yours. And that realization, twisted as it might be, makes a satisfied grin curl your lips. With a raised brow, you signal the server for your order. Let the vultures talk, let Elena sulk. You’ve got bigger, better things to do tonight—and two vampires to do them with.

“Bring on the bourbon,” you say, leaning back. “I’ve got all fucking night.”

[palmersluvr]

MY QUEEN!!!! I am obsessed with your writing 😍😍 pls write friends with benefits/fuck buddy Luigi getting absolutely feral jealous that you went on a date but he feels insane because you guys are not exclusive so he has ‘no right’ to feel such a way but he’s just a hotheaded Italian man when it comes to you 😩😩😌🫦

fuckbuddy

summary: you go on a drive with your “fuckbuddy” luigi in his bmw, which ends with a pleasant surprise.

warnings: head (m!receiving) unprotected sex, semi public sex, breeding

notes: the start of this is a teeny tiny bit self indulgent lol

thee restaurant buzzes with low conversation and the clatter of silverware, but you’re barely engaged, nudging a piece of dry salmon across your plate with your fork.

the guy across from you… brad? chad? you’ve already forgotten his name, leans in with a kind of forced familiarity that makes your skin crawl. his presence is heavy, invasive, like he’s trying to fill more space than his body actually occupies.

the grin plastered across his face doesn’t soften anything. it only stretches too far, too tight, like he’s wearing it for effect. his cologne is sharp and overbearing, his eyes, glassy and unblinking, track your every movement with a precision that feels less like interest and more like calculation.

without warning, he veers into a monologue. his voice lowering, turning conspiratorial, as he starts talking about andrew tate. not casually. reverently.

“that guy’s a genius,” he says, grinning like he’s just named a personal hero. “he says what everyone else doesn’t have the guts to say. if you ask me, that’s real powerful. the world needs more men like him.”

you couldn’t fathom what was coming out of his mouth. what the fuck were you doing? you knew that agreeing to go out with this guy was a bad idea.

“you live by yourself?” he probes, the question dressed in a casual tone but heavy with an intrusive edge that sets your nerves on edge.

you end up dodging the question with a vague, “i get by.”

he doesn’t flinch, just gives a slow nod, his fingers tapping too near your side of the table. and the way he mimics your movements… tilting forward when you do, drinking when you drink, feels deliberate, almost stalker like.

suddenly the air between you feels thin, brittle. you force a tight smile, your mind already scanning for an excuse to leave.

you glance at your phone, then get an idea.

you open your text thread with luigi, your chest tightening at the sight of his name. for two months, you’ve been hooked on him, meeting up whenever one of you needs to blow off steam, fucking with reckless abandon wherever the mood strikes.

it started with a chance encounter at a bar, his gorgeous smile and teasing banter pulling you in, leading to you accompanying him on a drive in his bmw. eventually he pulled into a quiet, secluded spot by the beach, diving into the backseat where clothes were torn off in a rush, and he fucked you senseless for the first time.

since then, you’ve found each other again and again, always meeting up whenever you’re horny. you mostly do it somewhere at his place, or his car.

each encounter is a blur of sweat slicked skin, tangled limbs, and gasped curses, leaving you trembling in his arms, your body sated but your heart aching. you’re ashamed to admit that you’re fucking in love with him. but he’s never said it back, and it eats away at you night after night.

that’s why you’re here, enduring this dreadful date, listening to this weirdo go on and on, in a hopeless attempt to move on, to numb the sharp longing for a man who might not love you the way you love him.

your thumb hovers over luigi’s last text, a cheeky “miss me already?” from 3 days ago, and you fight the urge to reply, the candle’s faint glow doing nothing to ease the growing dread of this date or the deeper pain of trying to let go of the man who consumes your thoughts.

you hate feeling like a burden, you absolutely LOATHE the vulnerability of needing to ask for a favour… it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment, like you’re imposing on someone who might resent you for it. but the dude across the table is still staring, his vibe growing darker, and you can’t stay here any longer.

swallowing your pride, you type out a quick text to luigi. your finger lingers over the send button, a wave of self doubt hitting hard as you imagine him sighing at the inconvenience.

you hit send anyway, heart pounding, the candle’s dim light doing little to ease the dread of this date or the nagging fear that you’re asking too much of the man you can’t stop loving.

you: hey… can you come get me? im on a bad date

as soon as the message sends, a surge of regret engulfs you. why did you do that? you mentally berate yourself, your thoughts tumbling into a chaotic frenzy. what the fuck were you thinking? he’s probably busy, out with friends or having a rare night to himself for once, and here you are, thrusting your problems onto him like some needy, burdensome mess.

you picture him reading the text and rolling his eyes, judging you for being too weak to handle a creepy date on your own. what if he’s fed up with you? just because you’ve been having sex with him for two months doesn’t mean that he owes you anything. you should’ve sucked it up and ordered an uber home. anything but pulling luigi into your drama.

your thoughts churn with worst case scenarios: luigi ignoring your text completely, or worse, sending a cold, dismissive “no” that makes it clear you’re not his concern. you imagine him brushing you off, and you know what? you wouldn’t even blame him. why should he drop everything for you?

you stare at your phone, the screen still blank, your stomach knotting with the humiliating realization that you’ve just laid bare how much you need him, when he likely doesn’t give a shit about you like that at all. you’re just someone he hooks up with sometimes, that’s it.

suddenly, your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a new text from luigi.

luigi: a date??? wtf are you doing on a date???

your heart stumbles, a rush of shock and cautious hope surging through you as you stare at the words on your screen. his message is blunt, cutting through the fog of your spiraling thoughts, and your fingers shake as you grip the phone, caught between relief that he’s responded and dread that this could unravel. why didn’t you just order a fucking uber?

you hesitate, then type out a response, your thumbs unsteady.

you: it’s nothing serious, just dinner. why does it matter?

seconds later, your phone vibrates with his response.

luigi: cus it does. where you at anyway? bet whoever you’re with is some loser lol

the words hit like a playful jab, sharp and teasing, yet laced with something heavier. you glance at your date across the table, his voice now droning on about cryptocurrency, eyes glued to his drink mid rant.

a wry smile tugs at your lips. luigi’s not wrong. your fingers hover over the keyboard, then you type.

you: at amigos. and yeah, he is a loser, and that’s why i need you to come get me

you: happy now?

your phone dings twice, almost instantly, his reply lighting up the screen.

luigi: oh baby, i’m already grabbing my keys

luigi: i’ll come save you soon, better be ready for me

the messages drip with a flirty edge, a promise woven into the tease, and your stomach flips, a grin creeping onto your face as you steal another glance at your date, now staring at you.

you quickly muster an excuse. “i’m so sorry, my mom just texted me, my grandma’s in the hospital, i oughta go down there and be there with her.”

chad… or brad? stares at you, his unnervingly wide grin twisting into a sullen grimace, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. the glint in them dims, replaced by something colder, more petulant.

“fine.” he mutters, his voice a low, gravelly grumble, dripping with annoyance as he leans back in his chair, arms crossing tightly over his chest. his jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might argue, but instead, he lets out a sharp huff, shoving his chair back with a loud, grating scrape against the polished wood floor.

the sound cuts through the restaurant’s soft hum, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. without another word, he rises, his broad frame looming briefly as he snatches his jacket from the back of the chair, the fabric rustling angrily. he storms toward the exit, his heavy footsteps thudding with purpose, the glass door swinging open with a jingle before slamming shut behind him.

through the restaurant’s large window, you watch him stride across the dimly lit parking lot, his silhouette sharp against the neon glow of the restaurant’s sign. he yanks open the driver’s side door of his black toyota, the motion jerky and aggressive, and slides inside. the engine roars to life, headlights flaring as he peels out, tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving a faint trail of burnt rubber as he speeds off into the night.

you’re left alone at the table, your heart still pounding from the tension of his presence, but a wave of relief washes over you, the candle’s faint flicker now feeling like a small beacon of calm in the wake of his departure.

you feel as though you’ve just dodged a MAJOR bullet.

taking a deep breath, you steady yourself and glance around the restaurant, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses grounding you. determined to wrap this up and get out, you catch the eye of a nearby waiter, a young guy with a polite smile, and gesture him over.

“could i get the bill please?” you ask, keeping your voice soft.

he nods and steps away, returning shortly with a glossy black folder containing the bill. you open it, a spark of frustration flaring as you remember chad…?….brad?…or is it actually tad??? promising over text before you even met up that he’d cover dinner, his cocky messages about “treating you right” and about how a woman should “never have to pay for dinner” now feeling like empty bravado now that he’s stormed off without a word.

with a quiet scoff, you slide your credit card into the folder, not bothering to check the total. paying for this disastrous date is a small price to be free of his creepy presence. after a swift transaction and a brief thank you to the waiter, you grab your purse, rise, and smooth your dress, threading through the packed tables toward the exit.

the glass door swings open effortlessly, and you step out, the crisp night air hitting your skin, a refreshing relief from the restaurant’s stifling atmosphere.

entering the parking lot, your eyes scan the dimly lit area, and your heart skips a beat when you spot it… luigi’s red BMW, its glossy paint gleaming under a streetlight, parked near the edge of the lot. the sight of it, bold and familiar, sends a rush of warmth through you, chasing away the last remnants of the date’s unease.

⊹˚✧₊‿︵ʚɞ︵‿₊✧˚⊹

he’s here. he actually came. you clutch your purse tighter, a small smile tugging at your lips as you start walking toward the car, the sound of your heels clicking against the concrete, mingling with the sound of the nearby passing traffic.

as you get closer, luigi’s gaze locks onto you through his windshield, his eyes raking over you with unapologetic hunger, tracing the way your dress molds to every curve of your body. your hips, your waist, your chest… before slowly climbing back to your face.

the stare is brazen, smoldering, and it ignites a tingling heat that blooms across your skin, defying the crisp bite of the night air. you reach the passenger side, fingers curling around the cool metal handle, and swing the door open, sliding into the leather seat that cradles you like a lover’s embrace. as you settle in, luigi lets out a slow, appreciative whistle, the sound low and deliberate.

his head tilts, tongue pressing firmly against the inside of his cheek in that cheeky, teasing gesture that screams confidence and flirtation, his dark eyes glinting with a wicked spark as he drinks you in up close.

“damn…” he drawls, voice rich and smooth as molten honey, each syllable laced with a weight that sends your pulse into a wild sprint.

a shy blush creeps up your cheeks, warm and betraying, as his words and that brazen look settle over you. you shift in the seat, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your face gives you away.

“what?” you reply, your voice light but tinged with a nervous laugh, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your purse as you meet his gaze.

luigi leans back, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, his eyes still roaming you with playful mischief. “this is the hottest i’ve ever seen you look,” he says, his tone teasing but warm, a grin tugging at his lips. “you went all out to go to dinner with that asshole? i’m the one who’s been fucking you for almost 2 months, and you’ve never dressed up this much for me.”

his words carry a mock pout, but the laughter in his voice and the way his eyes crinkle with amusement show he’s having fun with it, clearly relishing in how good you look tonight while still managing to tease you.

you tilt your head, a playful smirk curling your lips as you lean slightly toward him, your voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “well next time i’ll show up in my tightest, shortest dress.” you say, letting the words linger, your eyes locking with his, a spark of challenge in your gaze as you raise an eyebrow.

luigi’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with delight. “i wouldn’t complain.” he shoots back, his tone warm and flirtatious, the laughter still threading through his voice as he holds your gaze, the air between you charged with a familiar, electric pull.

before you can respond, he leans over the center console, closing the distance between you. his hand finds the side of your face, fingers brushing your cheek as he pulls you into a kiss. his lips are warm, firm, and hungry, moving against yours with a slow, deliberate intensity that makes your breath catch.

the kiss deepens quickly, his tongue slipping past your lips, teasing and exploring as it tangles with yours in a slick, heated dance. his stubble grazes your skin, a faint, delicious roughness, and the faint taste of mint from his gum lingers, mixing with the raw, masculine scent of him that fills your senses.

when he pulls back, his eyes linger on yours, a soft, knowing look passing between you. your lips tingle, still buzzing from the kiss, and a flutter of butterflies dances in your stomach, the intimacy of the moment leaving you both grounded and dizzy with want. you’re acutely aware of how much you’ve missed this, missed him, and the realization only deepens the ache of your feelings for him.

luigi settles back into his seat, a faint, satisfied smile playing on his lips. he turns the key in the ignition, the car’s engine purring to life with a low, throaty hum. with a quick glance over his shoulder, he shifts into gear and pulls out of the parking lot, the red car gliding smoothly away from the restaurant, the glow of its neon sign fading in the rearview mirror as you leave the disastrous date behind.

the city lights flash by in streaks of gold and white as he drives, the car navigating the road’s gentle curves with effortless grace. the low thrum of the engine and the rhythmic hum of tires on asphalt create a soothing bubble, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension of the restaurant. his left hand rests casually on the steering wheel, guiding the car with easy confidence, while his right hand drifts to your thigh, settling there with a warm, intentional weight.

his palm presses against the thin fabric of your dress, the heat of his skin radiating through, and his fingers splay slightly, the tips grazing the soft, sensitive skin just above your knee. the touch is both possessive and gentle, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles that send a quiet thrill through you, each small movement sparking a tingling warmth that pools in your core.

the faint roughness of his fingertips, calloused from work, contrasts with the smoothness of your thigh, anchoring you in the moment while stoking a slow burning desire. his grip tightens briefly as he rounds a corner, the subtle pressure sending a jolt of awareness through your body, and you catch the faintest quirk of his lips, as if he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having.

“so…” luigi says, his voice low and casual, though there’s a curious edge to it as he keeps his eyes on the road. “who was this guy you were having dinner with? some wannabe hotshot?”

his tone is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of something sharper beneath it, maybe jealousy, maybe just genuine interest. his hand stays on your thigh, thumb still circling, the touch grounding you even as his question pulls your mind back to the creep you’d rather forget. “i mean, you got all dressed up like that for him…” he adds, glancing at you briefly, his dark eyes flicking over your dress before returning to the road, a playful challenge in his expression.

the car cruises steadily, the city unfolding around you, but with his hand on you and his voice drawing you in, the world outside feels distant, the focus narrowing to the space between you.

you roll your eyes, a frustrated huff escaping as you slump back in the leather seat, the memory of the date reigniting your irritation. “ugh, don’t even, he was the fucking WORST,” you groan, crossing your arms, your voice dripping with exasperation. “some wannabe sigma crypto bro who wouldn’t shut up about “dominating the market” or whatever the fuck and how he’s, like, hacking the blockchain or whatever. kept bragging about his ‘gains’ and how he’s ‘not like other guys.’ oh, AND he left without paying, so i had to pay for dinner.”

you shake your head, annoyance flaring as you picture that asshole’s smug smirk and eerie gaze. luigi’s hand on your thigh is a grounding force, calming your rant, his thumb still drawing slow, tantalizing circles that spark a quiet heat beneath your aggravation.

a low chuckle from him breaks through your thoughts, the sound warm and amused. you whip your head toward him, one eyebrow arched, your voice a mix of teasing and irritation.

“are you giving me attitude?” you ask, half playful, half annoyed, fixing him with a look as you wait for an explanation.

luigi’s chuckle deepens, his eyes glinting with mischief as he keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other still resting on your thigh, his thumb tracing those slow, deliberate circles that keep a faint heat simmering under your skin.

“i just think it’s hilarious,” he says, his voice low and teasing, a playful edge to it as he glances at you briefly before focusing back on the road.

“you’re out here getting this phd from me, and yet you’re stuck at some fancy dinner with a wannabe crypto loser who probably couldn’t even find the clit with a map.” he laughs again, the sound rich and unapologetic, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it.

“like, come on, baby, you’re slumming it with that guy when you’ve got me on speed dial?” his tone is light, cocky but not cruel, and the way his fingers give your thigh a gentle squeeze underscores the playful possessiveness in his words.

the city lights streak by as the car cruises smoothly, and despite your lingering frustration from the date, his teasing and that warm, steady hand on you start to pull a reluctant smile to your lips.

your heart rate quickens at his words, a glimmer of hope flickering deep inside… does he care that you were out with someone else? could he actually be jealous? the thought sends a rush through you, your feelings for him, unspoken and hidden, surging with a quiet ache. but you shove it down, feigning nonchalance as you shift in the plush leather seat, tossing him a sidelong glance with a carefully crafted smirk.

“hey, i’ve got my own life,” you say, voice cool but laced with a playful edge, shrugging slightly. “we’re not exclusive, luigi. you made that clear from the jump, remember? no strings, just fun, that was the rule that we agreed on.”

your words are sharp enough to remind him of the boundaries he set when you first started fucking, but your casual tone masks the pang in your chest, the longing for him to want more. his hand stills on your thigh for a beat, the circling thumb pausing, and you catch a fleeting shift in his expression, maybe surprise, maybe something deeper, as he keeps his gaze on the road, while clenching his jaw.

luigi stays silent for a moment, the engine’s soft hum filling the void. then he speaks, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual playful edge, laced with a vulnerability that makes your breath falter.

“you know,” he begins, still staring straight ahead, “it gets to me, thinking about you with other guys. going out with them, fucking them, or even just… sitting through dinner with some asshole.” he falters, his grip on your thigh tightening just a bit, not possessive but almost instinctual, like he’s steadying himself.

“i’m the one who said no strings, keep it chill. but picturing you with someone else? it hurts way more than i thought it would.” his confession is soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s grappling with the weight of it, and the rawness in his tone sends your heart racing, that faint spark of hope you felt earlier flaring into something brighter.

he shifts gears, the car picking up speed as he guides it away from the city’s vibrant lights, taking the twisting roads toward the lake. the urban sprawl fades into darker, emptier streets, the scenery opening up as the road stretches toward the water’s edge.

his hand stays on your thigh, warm and steady, but his jaw remains taut, his gaze fixed on the road, hinting at an inner conflict. the city’s hum recedes, replaced by the distant whisper of the lake, and his words hang heavily in the air, leaving you caught between the thrill of his admission and the uncertainty of what it might mean for the two of you.

you shift slightly in your seat, his unexpected vulnerability stirring a mix of emotions, hope, nervousness, desire. the road stretches darker now, the city lights long gone, and curiosity nudges you to break the silence.

“where are we going?” you ask, your voice soft but tinged with playful curiosity, glancing at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the faint glow of the dashboard.

luigi’s lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, his eyes still on the road as he replies, “where do you think? we’re headed to our usual spot.” his voice is low, carrying a familiar teasing edge, but there’s a warmth beneath it that makes your pulse quicken, the implication of “our spot” sending a rush to your core.

he steers the car down a familiar narrow road, the pavement giving way to a gravel path that crunches under the tires. the lake comes into view, its surface shimmering faintly under the moonlight, framed by dense trees that create a secluded cocoon.

he pulls into the quiet clearing by the water’s edge, the same spot you’ve been to countless times before, where the world feels like it belongs only to the two of you. the car rolls to a stop, the engine’s hum fading as he cuts the ignition, leaving the soft lapping of the lake and the distant chirp of crickets to fill the silence.

he shifts in his seat, turning to face you, his eyes catching yours, moonlight highlighting the depth in his gaze.

“these last two months,” luigi begins, his voice softer now, laced with a raw honesty that makes your heart skip. “they’ve been the happiest of my life. no joke.”

he hesitates, his thumb now grazing your hand lightly, a rare nervous tic from him. “it’s not just the sex… although i will say, it’s been the best sex i’ve had in my life. it’s… you. hanging out, laughing, just… being together. it’s hit me different. and lately, i’ve been feeling like… i want more than just this no strings thing we’ve been doing.”

he continues. “you’re sweet, funny, kind, beautiful… the whole package. but i can’t keep doing this casual shit. it’s not right for you, and it’s tearing me up. i want us to be official. you and me, together, for real.”

⊹˚✧₊‿︵ʚɞ︵‿₊✧˚⊹

that does it for you.

you lean over the center console, your dress shifting slightly as you move, and your fingers find his belt, the cool metal buckle clicking softly as you deftly undo it. the sound is sharp in the quiet car, charged with intent. luigi’s eyes widen for a split second, a flicker of surprise giving way to a hungry understanding as he catches on.

he shifts in his seat, his hands moving quickly to help, tugging his trousers down with a rustle of fabric. the waistband slides past his hips, revealing the tight grey calvin kleins clinging to his thighs, the fabric stretched taut over his growing bulge, the outline of his cock already thick and prominent, straining against the cotton.

a faint sheen of precum darkens a small patch near the tip, betraying his arousal, and the sight sends a jolt of desire through you, your mouth watering, your core clenching with need. his thighs, muscular and dusted with dark hair, flex slightly as he adjusts, the air between you crackling with anticipation, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the quiet lapping of the lake outside.

you lean across the center console, your dress riding up slightly, and lock eyes with him, your voice low and commanding, dripping with need.

“underwear off. now.”

luigi’s eyes spark with surprise, then amusement, a deep, warm laugh spilling from him, the sound rich and filling the car. “you’re even hornier than usual,” he says, his tone laced with playful awe, a grin spreading across his face. “are you ovulating?”

his laugh is teasing, but the fire in his gaze matches yours, his pupils dilated as he reads the desire in your expression. he doesn’t hesitate long, already moving to comply, but first, he closes the distance between you.

his lips crash into yours, hot and insistent, the kiss immediately deep and consuming. his tongue slips past your lips, tangling with yours in a slick, fervent dance, carrying a hint of mint and his own unique taste. one hand cups your jaw, fingers steady yet gentle, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while his other hand fumbles with the waistband of his underwear.

the fabric shifts as he pulls them down, the tight cotton catching briefly on his erection before sliding past his hips, freeing his cock. it stands thick and heavy, the swollen tip glistening with precum, veins pulsing along the shaft, and though you’re lost in the kiss, the knowledge of his exposure sends a fresh wave of want through you.

his stubble scrapes your skin, a thrilling roughness, and his low groan vibrates against your lips as he slides the underwear off completely, leaving him bare from the waist down. the kiss grows messier, more desperate, teeth grazing, breaths mingling, his hand moving from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough.

the car feels smaller, the lake’s quiet whispers fading against the pounding of your heart and the intense, electric connection of his mouth on yours, his nakedness only amplifying the urgent heat between you.

you break the kiss abruptly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, dark and heavy with lust. without a word, you shift over the center console, your dress hiking up as you lean down, your breath hot against his skin. his cock stands rigid, the flushed tip slick with precum, and you pause for a moment, letting the anticipation build.

then, you press a slow, deliberate kiss to the sensitive head, your lips brushing the smooth, velvety skin, tasting the salty tang of his arousal. luigi lets out a surprised moan, a low sound that reverberates through the car, his hips twitching involuntarily at the sudden contact.

but you don’t stop there. your lips part, and you slowly take him into your mouth, inch by torturous inch. the thick, pulsing heat of his cock fills you, the weight of him heavy on your tongue as you slide down, feeling every ridge and vein against your lips.

then swollen head presses against the roof of your mouth, slick with precum, and you hollow your cheeks, creating a tight, wet suction as you begin to suck him off. your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing the sensitive slit, then flattens along the underside, tracing the throbbing vein as you take him deeper, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth.

the musky scent of him, mixed with the faint leather of the car, floods your senses, driving your desire higher. you move slowly at first, savoring the way he fills your mouth, the way his body responds, his thighs tensing, his hands gripping the edges of the seat.

another moan escapes him, louder this time, a ragged “fuck” slipping out as he watches you, his breath hitching in surprise and pleasure, the sound spurring you on as you work him with deliberate, hungry precision, the secluded lake outside forgotten in the haze of this moment.

luigi’s thighs tense under your touch, his muscles flexing as he shifts slightly in the driver’s seat, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. his hand finds your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentle but firm grip, not forcing but guiding, urging you closer. “my girl… my baby…” he moans, his voice low and ragged, dripping with pleasure as he watches you.

“so beautiful… making me feel so good.” his words are sweet, murmured nothings that spill out between moans, each one stoking the fire in your core. he gently pushes your head down, encouraging you to take him deeper, his touch careful but laced with need. the pressure sends a thrill through you, your throat relaxing to accommodate more of him, the stretch of your lips around his girth making your jaw ache in the best way.

you pick up the pace, your mouth gliding over his cock, wet and slick with your saliva and his precum. the head bumps the back of your throat with each downward motion, and you swallow around him, the tight constriction drawing a louder moan from him, a desperate “just like that, you’re sucking my cock so fucking good.”

your tongue flicks and swirls, lavishing attention on the sensitive underside before circling the tip again, sucking harder, the wet suction loud in the confined space of the car. his fingers tighten in your hair, not rough but possessive, his hips twitching upward slightly, chasing the heat of your mouth. “y’look like a fucking angel…” he groans, his voice breaking with pleasure, the sweet praise mingling with the raw edge of his moans.

his other hand grips the edge of the seat, knuckles whitening, as he fights to stay in control, but the way his cock throbs in your mouth, pulsing with every suck, tells you he’s unraveling. the moonlight filters through the windows, casting soft shadows across his tense frame, and the intimacy of the moment, his hand in your hair, his moaned affirmations, the lake’s quiet seclusion, heightens the electric connection, driving you to please him even more.

you let out a soft moan around his length, the vibration humming through him, your own arousal spiking as you feel him twitch in response. the sound is muffled but needy, your core aching at the thought of driving him wild, your dress riding up as you lean further over the center console. your jaw aches deliciously from his girth, but you don’t slow down, bobbing your head faster, taking him deeper until the tip brushes the back of your throat.

you swallow around him, the tight squeeze pulling another ragged moan from him, his fingers tightening in your hair as his hips buck slightly, chasing the heat of your mouth. “i-i’m getting close,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure.

but then, his hand shifts, releasing your hair to tap lightly on the top of your head, a gentle but urgent signal.

“stop.” he says, his voice hoarse, laced with a desperate edge. you pause, pulling back slowly, your lips glistening as you look up at him, his cock still hard and slick, twitching in the cool air. his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and he flashes a heated, almost predatory grin.

“get on my lap.” he rasps, his tone leaving no room for argument. “i wanna cum inside that pretty little cunt.”

the sheer bluntness of his words hits you like a shockwave, your body responding instantly, a rush of wetness soaking your panties as you nod, already moving to climb over the console, eager to give him exactly what he wants in the moonlit seclusion of your lakeside spot.

you move swiftly, climbing over the center console, your dress snagging briefly on the leather seat. you straddle his lap, knees framing his hips in the tight driver’s seat, moonlight flooding through the BMW’s windows, casting a silvery sheen over you both. your hands work fast, yanking up your dress, the fabric bunching at your waist to reveal the delicate black lace panties hugging your skin.

your fingers tug the material aside, exposing your pussy, slick, swollen, and dripping, the glistening folds catching the light, your clit throbbing with anticipation.

luigi’s gaze drops to your cunt, and a deep, primal groan escapes him, his cock jerking against his abdomen. “jesus fuck…” he mutters, hands clamping onto your hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he stares at your soaked, parted lips, your juices dripping down your inner thigh in a glistening trail.

“so perfect, it’s practically screaming for me.” his voice drips with hunger, and before you can react, his hand darts forward, delivering a sharp, deliberate slap to your clit.

the sudden sting sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you squeal, your body jerking as you gasp, “luigi!” your voice is a mix of surprise and needy whining, your core throbbing at the unexpected sensation, wetness pooling even more.

he just laughs, low and heated, his eyes locked on yours. “sweet girl, cmon, give me a kiss.” he says, voice softer but thick with lust, drawing you in. you lean forward, lips colliding with his, the kiss instantly deep and messy, tongues tangling in a fervent, sloppy dance. his mouth is hot, tasting of mint. one hand presses against your back, pulling you closer, while the other grips your hip, guiding you as your slick pussy grazes his cock, the brief contact drawing moans from both of you into the kiss.

the weight of your emotions his admission, this moment… overwhelms you. you pull back from the kiss, chest heaving, and look into his eyes. “i love you.” you breathe, the words spilling out raw and unguarded, your voice shaky with the truth you’ve kept buried. your heart pounds, exposed, but the way his eyes soften, the way his breath catches, makes it feel right.

luigi lets out a deep, needy groan, his hands tightening on your hips like he’s anchoring himself. “shit,” he rasps, voice heavy with feeling. “turn around, i want your back against my chest.” his tone is a heated order, sending a shiver through you. you comply, shifting in his lap to face away, your dress still bunched at your waist, panties pulled aside, your dripping pussy exposed and practically calling out his name.

you lean back, your back molding to the hard planes of his chest, the heat of his skin seeping through his shirt, his cock pressing against your entrance, thick and throbbing. his hands slide to your hips, steadying you, his breath hot against your neck as the lake’s soft murmurs fade.

your dress stays hiked up around your waist, panties tugged aside, your soaked pussy bare. his cock nudges your entrance, thick and pulsing, the flushed tip grazing your wet lips, sending a tremor of need through you. the lake’s gentle murmurs outside fade into the background.

his lips brush your neck, hot and intentional, landing a slow, wet kiss on the delicate skin just beneath your ear. the touch is searing, his breath warm and tantalizing, and then his tongue darts out, tracing the sensitive spot with a deliberate, lingering lick. a soft moan spills from you, primal and unrestrained, your head tipping to offer him more as your body instinctively arches into him. the slick heat of his mouth sends shivers of pleasure cascading through you, your core tightening, your pussy juices dripping in a glossy trail down your inner thighs.

luigi’s mouth closes over the spot, sucking softly at first, then with more force, his teeth lightly scraping as he marks you. his hand moves from your hip to your pussy, fingers zeroing in on your engorged clit with effortless precision. he begins rubbing in tight, deliberate circles, his rough fingertips slick with your wetness, teasing the sensitive bud with maddening accuracy.

the dual assault is intoxicating, his lips and teeth working your neck, sucking hard to leave a dark, tender hickey, while his fingers stroke your clit with unrelenting focus.

your hips jerk against his hand, a louder moan tearing from your throat, the pleasure surging as his touch pushes you toward the brink. the hickey pulses with a faint sting, a bold claim that makes your heart pound, your pussy clenching under his fingers, each circle sending sharp waves of heat through your body.

“you’re fucking drenched,” he growls against your neck, voice hoarse and thick, rumbling against your skin as he licks the fresh hickey, easing the sensitive mark. “need to get you ready for my cock.”

his fingers pick up speed, pressing harder against your clit, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal blending with your breathless moans and the faint groan of the leather seat. your thighs quiver, splayed wide across his lap, your body sinking into his chest as he drives you wild, the combination of his sucking mouth and merciless fingers pulling you closer to the edge.

without warning, luigi’s hand leaves your clit, gripping your hip as he shifts beneath you. in one swift, ruthless motion, he thrusts upward, his cock plunging into your dripping cunt, bottoming out with a single, deep stroke. the sudden stretch is overwhelming, his thick shaft splits you open, filling you completely, the pulsing veins and swollen head dragging against your slick walls with a searing intensity.

you cry out, a sharp, “oh lu!” tearing from your lips, your body jolting against his chest as the pleasure-pain of his intrusion sends a shockwave through you. your pussy clenches around him, gripping his cock so firmly, every inch of him buried so deep you feel him pressing against your cervix, the fullness almost too much.

“so fucking tight…” he groans, his voice a low, guttural rasp against your ear, thick with lust. his hands clamp onto your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you in place, letting you adjust to the brutal stretch. “this pussy was made for me, yeah, hear me?” his words are filthy, possessive, and they ignite a fresh wave of arousal, your walls fluttering around his cock, slick and hot.

he doesn’t move yet, savoring the way you’re stretched around him, your juices coating his shaft, dripping down to his balls, pooling on the leather seat beneath you.

you whimper, your hands scrambling for purchase, one gripping his thigh, the other reaching back to clutch at his shirt. “baby… fuck, you’re so big…” you gasp, your voice trembling with need, your hips twitching instinctively, desperate for friction.

the fullness is dizzying, his cock throbbing inside you, every pulse sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. your clit aches, still sensitive from his fingers, and the hickey on your neck pulses with a faint sting, amplifying the sensory overload.

he snickers darkly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “you love it, don’t you? love how i fill you up.” he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup your breast through your dress, his thumb grazing your hardened nipple, making you moan again. slowly, he starts to move, pulling out just an inch before slamming back in, the wet, obscene squelch of your pussy taking him echoing in the car.

“fuck, listen to that… so wet… and all for me.” he growls, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he sets a deliberate, punishing pace, each thrust deep and hard, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting spots that make your vision blur.

you moan loudly, your head falling back against his shoulder, your body rocking with every thrust. “yes, yes, fuck luigi!” you cry, your voice breaking as he fucks you relentlessly, the car rocking slightly with the force of his movements. your pussy grips him tighter, the slick friction driving you wild, your arousal coating his cock, making each thrust smoother, deeper.

his hand on your hip guides you, lifting you slightly before pulling you down to meet his thrusts, the angle letting him hit your g spot with devastating precision. “don’t stop… please!” you beg, your nails digging into his thigh, the pleasure building so fast it’s almost unbearable.

“stop? no fucking way,” he groans, his lips finding your neck again, kissing the hickey he left before sucking on a new spot, his teeth grazing your skin. “gonna fuck you till you can’t think straight.” his other hand snakes back to your clit, fingers finding the swollen bud and rubbing in tight, fast circles, the added stimulation making you scream, your thighs trembling as you teeter on the edge.

your pussy milks him with every thrust, the wet, sloppy sounds of your bodies colliding filling the car, drowning out the lake’s whispers. his cock pulses inside you, thick and relentless, the head battering your deepest spots, and you feel the coil in your core tightening, ready to snap.

“baby… i’m so close,” you whimper, your voice ragged, your body shaking as he pounds into you, his fingers relentless on your clit, his lips sucking another dark mark onto your neck. the pleasure is overwhelming, a tidal wave threatening to crash, your love for him mixing with the raw physicality of the moment, making every sensation sharper, more intense.

“oh baby, let go for me,” he rasps, his voice strained, his thrusts growing harder, more erratic, his cock throbbing inside you as he chases his own release. “cum all over my cock… wanna feel that perfect cunt squeeze me.” his words push you over the edge, and with a final, desperate moan, your orgasm hits, your pussy clamping down on him, waves of pleasure crashing through you as you tremble in his lap, your juices gushing around his cock, soaking his thighs and the seat below.

but he doesn’t stop. his hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps fucking you, his cock slamming into your oversensitive pussy with relentless, punishing thrusts. each stroke drags against your spasming walls, his tip battering your g spot, sending jolts of overstimulation through your already trembling body.

you’re loud now, uncontrollably so, your moans turning into high pitched cries and gasps, each one spilling out louder than the last. “fuck, it’s too much!” you whimper, your voice breaking, your hands clutching at his thighs, nails scraping the flesh as you squirm in his lap.

“you sound so beautiful,” he groans, his voice low and ragged, his breath hot against your neck as he pounds into you, chasing his release. “wish i was recording right now… you’re gonna make me cum baby.” his hips snap up, the wet slap of his cock plunging into your drenched cunt echoing in the car, mixing with your desperate cries and his own guttural moans.

his thrusts are frantic now, his cock throbbing harder, the veins pulsing against your walls as he nears the edge. “fucking incredible,” he growls, one hand sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place as he fucks you deeper, the car rocking with the force of his movements.

your body shakes, oversensitive and overwhelmed, your pussy clenching involuntarily around him with every thrust, drawing out more slick, your thighs soaked and trembling. “luigi, please!” you cry, not even sure what you’re begging for, your voice hoarse, your head thrown back against his shoulder as you ride the razor’s edge of too much pleasure. the hickey on your neck throbs faintly, a reminder of his claim, and your clit pulses, untouched but aching from the intensity of his cock filling you so completely.

“gonna cum,” he moans, his voice breaking, his thrusts growing sloppy but no less forceful. “gonna fill that pretty pussy up… fuck, baby.” with a final, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing violently as he cums inside you. hot, thick spurts of his cum flood your pussy, coating your walls, the warmth spreading deep as he groans loudly, his hips jerking with each wave of his release.

you feel every pulse, every gush, the sensation pushing another overwhelmed whimper from your lips as your pussy clenches around him, drinking in every drop. his cum mixes with your juices, leaking out around his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the seat, a sticky, filthy mess that marks the intensity of the moment.

both of you are panting, your breaths ragged and uneven, filling the BMW’s confined space. luigi’s chest heaves against your back, his heart pounding so hard you can feel it through his shirt. his hands, still on your hips, soften their grip, his fingers brushing your skin gently as he catches his breath.

the air is thick with the scent of sex and leather, the lake’s quiet ripples outside barely audible over your shared gasps. slowly, he shifts beneath you, his softening cock still inside, and his voice breaks the silence, low and tender. “let me look at you.”he murmurs, his tone soft but insistent, carrying a warmth that makes your heart skip.

you nod, still dazed, and with his help, you carefully lift yourself off his lap, his cock slipping free with a wet sound, more of his cum and your slick dripping down your thighs. he guides you to turn around, your dress still bunched at your waist, panties askew, as you maneuver in the tight driver’s seat to face him.

your knees settle on either side of his hips again, your bodies close in the cramped space, the moonlight casting soft shadows across his face. his dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of adoration and intensity, and his hands move to cup your cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over your flushed skin.

luigi leans in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your forehead, the gesture so intimate it makes your chest ache. his lips linger there, warm and grounding, before he pulls you into a tight hug, your face nestling into the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go. the heat of his body, the steady thump of his heartbeat, grounds you, and you melt into him, your arms looping around his shoulders.

“i love you.” he says, his voice quiet but firm, the words vibrating against your skin, carrying a certainty that sends a wave of warmth through you. “i mean it, baby. i love you.”

your heart soars, the love you’ve held back for months now mirrored in his confession, and you press yourself closer, savoring the safety of his embrace. he pulls back just enough to look at you again, his hands still cradling your face, his eyes searching yours with a soft, unguarded affection.

“let’s go back to my place,” he says, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, his voice low and inviting. “wanna be with you tonight… just us.” the promise in his words, coupled with the lingering heat of your shared release and the quiet intimacy of the lake’s seclusion, makes the idea of being alone with him, in the comfort of his bed, feel like the perfect next step.

🎀…ONE MONTH LATER…. 🎀

lately, something’s been off. you’ve been exhausted, far beyond your usual tiredness, your body feeling heavy and sluggish even after a full night’s sleep. your appetite’s been unpredictable, some days ravenous, others repulsed by foods you used to love.

nausea creeps up at odd times, a queasy wave that hits you in the morning or when you smell coffee. and your emotions? they’re all over the place, swinging from joy to tears in moments, leaving you reeling. you’ve brushed it off as stress or maybe a bug, but a nagging thought has started to take root, one you haven’t dared voice aloud.

you’re standing in the small, fluorescent-lit bathroom at work, the door locked, your heart pounding so loud it drowns out the hum of the ventilation. sure enough, in your trembling hand is a plastic stick, its small window displaying two unmistakable pink lines. a positive pregnancy test.

soooo… do we keep the baby?

tags: @alleviatcd @luigisbambinaaa @diors002 @corrodeddeadlydoll @contrarianshitstan-blog @weegeewifey @mangionesdoll @mangobabygirl @luigisnumber1fan @fligniuz @number1yearner @soulsmangione @ohsorrythen @bbyelle12 @mangionebabymama @briarloves @mangionesdaisy @thm12 @purplebadd1e @kikigoogoogaga @daydreamingwithluigi

masterlist | previous work

[buckyalpine]

A thot. A smutty, slutty, scandalous thot. With Bodyguard Bucky. Possessiveness, size kink, breeding kink, all of it. Now, imagine being the sweet, quiet, beautiful wife of the esteemed John Walker, CEO of Walker Industries. You sit at his table, clapping with the proudest smile on your face as he accepts an award for another successful year. Your husband dedicates all his success to the beautiful woman who has supported him through all the ups and downs, who has been by his side through it all.

You.

You blow a shy kiss in his direction when the cameras pan over to you, giggling at the wink he throws back. The press will have a field day about the most envied couple in the world, so perfect and so in love. As the night nears its end, your husband gives your hand a squeeze from where he sits beside you, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"Going to have to stop by office darling, one our major investors just called" He kisses your cheek affectionately with an apologetic look on his face but the understanding smile you give him back lets him know you're not the least bit upset.

"Of course, I'll miss you" You reply and take a sip from your champagne, appearing oblivious to the glances that are thrown your way by the others as your husband leaves without you, his secretary following closely behind him.

All the hushed whispers.

Poor woman has no idea.

All the secrets.

Just a pretty thing on his arm, probably doesn't have a clue.

Doesn't have a clue her husband has been carrying on with his secretary late into the nights and all through out his business trips.

Such a shame she's none the wiser. Has no one thought to tell her? Pity she's genuinely so in love with him.

Truly such a shame, wasn't it?

Such a shame your husband had no idea your bodyguard fucked your brains out till he busted balls deep in side you every chance he got.

Bucky doesn't say a word as he leads you out of the venue, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, helping you into the car. As soon as he slipped in beside you, you rolled up the dark partition before slinking onto his lap and slamming your lips against his. Bucky groaned against your lips, his hands finding their way home to grope and spank your ass, guiding your hips to grind down on his erection straining against his black pants.

"Need me to take care of you, huh princess" He murmured against the shell of your ear before going back to lacing his tongue with yours causing a shiver to run down your spine, nipping his pouty lip and grasping onto the lapels of his blazer.

No time was wasted as you straightened yourself out upon entering your home, quickly dismissing the staff to leave for the night, giving you free reign to do as you pleased.

As soon as the house was empty, he tossed you over his shoulder, striding up the stairs and straight to the master bedroom. He dropped you onto your large bed, tearing your dress in half down the middle, letting the material fall away at your feet.

"Fuck this" He grabbed your left hand, tugging off the wedding band you wore for appearances and tossing it carelessly across the room. He took off the silver tog tags that hung around his neck, slipping them over your head and letting his name sit perfectly between your breasts, the sight making him feral.

"Didn't even bother with panties" Bucky licked his lips at the sight of your bare naked body, not even a tiny sliver of lace covering your modesty. "You knew, didn't you"

"Always" You purred, knowing damn well your husband would fuck off to bang his desperate little secretary, unknowingly also giving you the night of your life you so badly craved. You crawled to the middle of the bed, your legs spread while Bucky tossed his blazer and shirt off, his pants and brief's quick to follow.

"Lookit you baby, so naughty, fuckin' your bodyguard in the same bed your husband sleeps in"

You let out a needy whimper while he stayed at the edge of the bed enjoying the view, his hand coming down to wrap around his cock giving himself long, languid strokes.

"James, please" you pleaded with a pout but Bucky just smirked in return, hissing as he swiped his thumb over the wet slit of his cockhead.

"I know prinţesă, I know, let me look at how pretty you are" He cooed, joining you on the bed and slotting himself between your legs. You wrapped your arms around his thick shoulders while he let his cock slip between your folds, rolling his hips to hump against your bare cunt. "You're soaked angel, been waiting for this, hm?"

"Wanted you so bad, need you James" Your hips bucked up, chasing the feeling of his fat cock rubbing against you, his swollen cockhead bumping your clit every time he pushed forward. "No teasing, please, missed your cock so bad"

"Shhh, you have me baby, m'right here, yeah?" Bucky kissed away the tears that started to slip down your cheeks, your arousal smearing all over his balls. He guided his dripping cockhead to press against your clit making you cry out, circling his most sensitive parts against yours, "M'right here, feel that angel? Y'feel how wet m'getting for you baby, right on that pretty clit, such a good girl letting me jus' leak all over her slutty little pussy, fuck theres so much precum 'nd m'not even inside you yet"

You'd never felt more empty, clawing at Bucky's back, your pussy fluttering and clenching over the way his silky tip kept tracing circles around your throbbing, sensitive bud. He flicked his cockhead across your clit a few times before lining himself up with your entrance.

"S'fuckin' tight, sh-shit" Bucky moaned as he started to press into you, sliding all the way home in one swift motion. He stayed still, holding your body close to his while your legs wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his ass, begging for him to do something.

"Move Jamie, please, c'mon, fuck me damn it, I need you, I need- FUCCKK" Your words slurred into sobs as Bucky started to fuck you hard and fast, already too needy with having to get a night alone with you.

"Needed me huh angel? fuckin' needed you too, s'all I think about pretty girl, just me n' you, how-oh fuck- how are you so tight around my cock" Bucky rambled, bringing his knee up to get a deeper angle, his hands coming to lace with yours, pinning you against the mattress.

"Missed-fuck-missed you Jamie" You whimpered, your pussy squeezing and sucking his cock back in,

"My baby loves her fat cock, I know, know you're so empty when I can't fill you up sweet girl, you love your bodyguard's big dick don't you" The taunt in his voice only got you off more, your eyes rolling back as he continued to rail you. "You're pussy's choking me so tight, don't think I can hold back tonight princess, don't think I'll be able to pull out"

"Don't" you whispered and something in the air switched, the highly charged sexual tension replaced with something more desperate and needy as you clung onto each other reading closer and closer to your highs.

"Mmph, y'can't say that, gonna wet your bed with my cum prinţesă, you'd like that wouldn't you, my cum covering all your sheets, your pillows smelling like me, letting me fill you up till your belly gets all swollen"

Bucky's voice melted into a whine, his dominance faltering into something needier, quickly shoving the thought away because he knew there was no chance. It would never happen. You'd never be so careless for such an accident to happen.

"Want it Jamie, want it all with you, please, don't-fuck, oh God-don't pull out" Your glassy eyes wet with tears showed no signs of deception but it couldn't be. He searched your gaze and you could see the innocence in his face wishing this were real, the way his body moved with yours, wishing it was just you and him. "St-stopped taking birth control"

Bucky sobbed at your confession, fucking you harder, making the headboard slam against the wall with his powerful thrusts. His hips snapped , shoving his cock all the way into your pussy, his balls growing heavier at the thought of leaving a piece of him inside of your fertile womb.

"you're fuckin' mine, you hear me? Mine. Mine. Mine. Say it!" Bucky grunted, biting your neck making you scream, your back arching off the bed, pressing your chest further against his.

"M'yours, all yours, just' yours" You slurred out, eyes rolling back and your moans turning nearly silent as immense pleasure crept down your spine.

"Gonna put my baby in you, make you mine forever, fuck your husband, your gonna be the mother of my child, just you prinţesă, all you, ALL YOU" Bucky roared against your neck as he shot ropes of his cum deep in your pussy, giving you harsh, sloppy thrusts as he grew more sensitive. He wrapped his arms around your body with his face tucked into your neck, shuddering at the feeling of your soft hands caressing his back, running your fingers through his soft cropped locks.

You hardly noticed him carrying you over to his room down the hall, tucking you into the warm sheets, resting your head on his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"I love you" You murmured, smiling at the empty space on your ring finger and feeling the comforting coolness of his chain around your neck.

One day.

"I love you more, prinţesă" Bucky murmured, meaning every word as you both drifted off to sleep.

You couldn't wait to leave your husband.

a/n: This was meant to be way sluttier and less in the feels so might need to revisit this with a different version

[writeriguess]

Hey neema! Can I request Reader and Kirishima blatantly flirting with each other all the time, but neither of them doing anything about it because they're insecure and then Katsuki gets fed up with it and starts jokingly paying attention to Reader so Eijiro finally grows a pair

Red Riot, Green Light

Kirishima’s arm is solid under your fingers as you trace a lazy circle over his forearm, feeling the shift of muscle beneath his skin. His usual sleeves are rolled up, and honestly? It’s a tragedy that he doesn’t wear tank tops more often.

“You’ve been working out more,” you murmur, watching the way his bicep tenses when you drag your nails lightly over it.

Kirishima grins, flashing those sharp teeth of his. “Not really. Just maintenance. You know how it is.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I totally understand the struggle of keeping my perfectly sculpted muscles in check.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s a slight pink tinge creeping up his neck. “Hey, I can always train you, if you want.” He flexes his arm under your touch like a total show-off. “I promise to be gentle.”

Your eyebrows lift. “What if I don’t want you to be gentle?”

Kirishima coughs. Actually coughs. Like he just choked on air. You bite back a grin as he scrambles for a response, red climbing up to his ears.

Across the table, Katsuki groans, slamming his hands down loud enough to make both of you jump. “You two make me sick.”

You blink at him, confused, still lightly touching Kirishima’s arm. Your hand hovers there for a second before you lean back in your chair, giving Katsuki your full attention.

“Sick?” you echo, feigning offense. “We’re just talking.”

Kirishima nods quickly. “Yeah! Just talking.”

Katsuki levels the flattest, most unimpressed glare you’ve ever seen at the both of you. “You’re not just talking. You’re practically fucking flirting in Morse code at this point, and I’m done watching you idiots pussy out.”

“Wha—?!” Kirishima’s entire face goes red. “We’re not—”

“You are.”

“We aren’t—”

“You are,” Katsuki snaps, pointing a finger at him. “And it’s pathetic.”

Kirishima looks at you, eyes wide and pleading, as if you’ll back him up, but you’re more entertained than anything else. “I mean,” you say, giving a slow, dramatic shrug. “I think we’re pretty charming, actually.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. That’s the problem.” Then, his smirk turns sharp. “Maybe I should do something about it.”

Something in the air shifts.

Kirishima straightens in his seat, looking suddenly alert. You narrow your eyes, sensing trouble.

Katsuki tilts his head slightly toward you, a lazy grin stretching across his face. “Since he’s not gonna do anything about it, maybe I should.”

Then, he winks.

You blink. The world tilts for a second.

“Wait—” Kirishima starts, voice suddenly rougher.

Katsuki ignores him, sliding his chair closer to yours with an easy confidence that makes your stomach flip. He braces an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm as he gives you a slow once-over.

“So, sweetheart,” he drawls, in a tone you’re pretty sure no one has ever heard from him before. “What’s it gonna take to make you mine?”

Your entire system blue screens. Kirishima visibly jolts like he just got electrocuted.

“I—” you start, unsure whether to play along or explode from sheer what the fuck energy.

Katsuki doesn’t give you the chance. He reaches over, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and grins when Kirishima clenches his jaw hard enough to make a noise.

“Oi, Red,” he says without looking away from you. “You had your chance. You gonna step up or let me have ‘em?”

Silence.

Thick. Charged.

And then—

“No.”

One word, but Kirishima’s voice is rough, certain.

You barely have time to process it before he’s shoving his chair back, standing up so fast it nearly tips over.

He’s close—inches from your face, the heat of him radiating off in waves. His pupils are blown wide, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His entire body practically vibrates with restrained energy, as if he’s one second away from—

Katsuki smirks, pushing himself up to leave. “About damn time.”

You barely register him leaving because Kirishima is still right there, gaze locked onto yours, expression something fierce and unshakable.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice low.

Your breath hitches. “Eijiro—”

He leans in, so close his lips nearly brush yours. “Tell me I can kiss you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. You barely get the word out before his mouth is on yours, and suddenly, neither of you are insecure anymore.

[bimbowshmimbow]

part 2 neighbor!joel x reader

part one

mdni. 18+ only. minors, do not interact. neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is mid-20s, Joel is late 30s/early 40s), pining, tension you can taste, slow burn that turns fast, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it irl), possessive!joel, dirty talk, light praise, rough but tender sex, Joel being dangerously soft after wrecking you, feelings absolutely involved. you’re so down bad for Joel it’s almost tragic

His hand cradled your face, thumb stroking over your jaw as he coaxed your mouth open, deepening the kiss.

You felt dizzy, clinging to the soft cotton of his shirt, the hard wall of his chest under your palms grounding you.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” Joel muttered against your lips, voice wrecked, like he hated himself for how badly he wanted you.

He kissed you again, harder this time — like he was trying to erase all the years he hadn’t had you, all the moments you’d brushed past each other and pretended not to feel it.

You gasped when his free hand found your hip, fingers curling into the thin material of your shorts.

The fabric strained as he gripped you, thumb stroking over the soft skin just beneath the hem.

“You come over here lookin’ like this,” he rasped, kissing a line down your jaw to the sensitive spot just under your ear, making you shiver. “In those tiny little shorts, all wide-eyed and sweet… thinkin’ I wouldn’t notice?”

Your only answer was a soft whimper, hips tilting toward him instinctively.

Joel chuckled — low and dark — before sliding his hand up under your t-shirt, dragging his calloused fingers over the bare skin of your waist, your ribs.

He groaned when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice strained. “Tryin’ to kill me.”

You whimpered again, nails digging into his shoulders.

Without warning, Joel lifted you — effortlessly — and set you down on the kitchen counter.

The cool granite bit into your thighs, but you barely noticed, too busy drinking in the way Joel’s eyes dragged over your body, hungry and possessive.

He tugged your shirt up slowly, giving you a chance to stop him. When you didn’t — when you raised your arms instead — he peeled it off and let it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Joel just stood there for a second, breathing hard, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with something like awe. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

You reached for him, whining a little when he didn’t move fast enough, and that finally broke him.

Joel surged forward, kissing you like he wanted to climb inside your skin.

His big hands framed your thighs, spreading them wider so he could step between them, the hard line of his cock pressing against your core through the fabric of your shorts.

You rolled your hips instinctively, seeking friction, and Joel hissed through his teeth.

“Patience, baby,” he grunted, reaching between you to pop the button on your shorts. “Gotta take my time with you.”

He tugged them down your legs — slow, almost reverent — leaving you bare and wanting.

Joel dropped to his knees without a second thought, hooking your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“You ever been eaten out proper, sweetheart?” he rasped, hot breath fanning over your dripping center. “‘Cause I ain’t lettin’ you walk outta here without knowin’ what it feels like.”

Before you could answer — before you could even breathe — Joel licked a broad, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, making you cry out.

You clutched at his hair, hips bucking instinctively as he devoured you, tongue working you open with filthy, practiced precision.

He moaned against you, like the taste of you was his favorite thing in the goddamn world.

You were close embarrassingly fast, thighs trembling, your breath hitching in broken little gasps.

Joel pulled back just enough to look up at you, beard soaked, pupils blown wide.

“Come for me, darlin’,” he rasped, voice gravelly. “Wanna feel you fall apart.”

It only took a few more strokes of his tongue before you were coming, back arching off the counter, whimpering his name like a prayer.

Joel didn’t let up — kept licking you through it, drinking down every last drop until you were trembling.

When he finally stood, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest heaving.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream,” he muttered, pulling you into a messy, desperate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You fumbled for his belt, clumsy and eager, and Joel let you — shoving his jeans down just enough to free himself.

You gasped at the sight of him — thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip.

Joel grunted when you wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, teasing him the way he had teased you.

“Enough,” he growled, voice rough. “Need to be inside you, baby. Now.”

He lined himself up, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he rasped, voice strained.

“Please, Joel,” you gasped. “Need you.”

He pushed in slow, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open.

You clung to him, nails digging into his back, gasping at the delicious burn.

“Goddamn,” Joel grunted when he bottomed out, forehead pressing to yours. “Tightest little thing I ever felt.”

He gave you a second to adjust before pulling out almost all the way and slamming back in — hard enough to make you cry out.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, setting a brutal rhythm. “Take me… just like that.”

Each thrust sent you higher and higher, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the kitchen.

Joel bent his head to suck a mark into your neck, groaning when you tightened around him.

“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, voice broken. “Gonna stuff you so full of me, you won’t think about anyone else.”

“Only you,” you whimpered. “Always you.”

Joel groaned — a deep, wrecked sound — and fucked you even harder, chasing both of your releases.

You came first, shattering around him with a loud, keening cry.

Joel followed a few thrusts later, spilling deep inside you with a ragged moan of your name, hips jerking helplessly.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment, breathing hard, forehead still pressed to yours.

“You okay, baby?” he muttered after a minute, voice rough with tenderness.

You nodded, too blissed-out to speak, and Joel smiled — soft and sweet — before pulling you into a gentle kiss.

“Next time,” he whispered against your lips, “we do it in a bed.”

You laughed breathlessly, clinging to him.

“I’m holdin’ you to that,” you whispered back.

eeee I love them, please let me know what you think! ~bow

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, mention of Sirus' family but no talk of abuse, some talk of traumatic injury

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Sirius hates the cold. It makes him look ill, his nose always runs, and he does not have a head made for hats. 

The walk to the rink yesterday was bad, with the chill and the early hour and the dark mood that seemed to permeate him like it infused his very blood, but you made it better by being yourself. He suspects you might have even been going out of your way to be sweeter than usual, given that you knew it was the anniversary of the day Sirius ran away from his family’s home. You’d tried to cheer him up. Still, yesterday was bad.

Today is worse. 

You’re silent as you stalk down the sidewalk, one boy on either side of you. You said hello to both him and Remus as you stepped out the door of your apartment, and then that was it. If it were Sirius it might make sense, but you always have an unnatural amount of energy in the mornings. Obviously you’re not speaking to him. And Sirius is still upset about the addition of the death spiral to your routine, so he’s not speaking to Remus. And Remus is hardly one to spark up conversation during an uncomfortable silence, so that just makes the three of you a very sullen, very silent procession to your early fucking morning practice. 

Except when you arrive, the rink is already bustling. You take one step inside before going back out the door, forcing both boys back outside with you.

“What the fuck?” Remus tries to peer inside. For once, Sirius agrees with him. “Who’s taken our slot?”

“I don’t know,” you say, but you’re still standing in front of the door like you’re barring their entry. “I’m going to go find out. You guys stay here.” 

“Why?” Sirius asks.

Even when you look at him you’re not really looking at him, your eyes distant. If you’re trying to make him feel like shit, it’s working. “Because I don’t need either of you going in there to bite someone’s head off. I’ve got it.” 

With that, you slip inside, not giving either of them a chance to argue. Sirius supposes he could go after you anyway, but you seem like you’d bite his head off, and he’s hurting enough from the cold without that extra ailment to contend with. He pulls out a cigarette instead. 

“You really shouldn’t do that,” Remus hums, but when Sirius looks over the other boy is lighting up too, a cig dangling from the corner of his mouth. When he sees Sirius struggling with his lighter, his fingers frozen and clumsy, he rolls his eyes and steps closer. 

Sirius goes still as Remus cups a hand around his cigarette, lithe fingers an inch from his mouth. The lighter rasps once, and the warmth next to Sirius’ face is a welcome sensation. When Remus steps away Sirius straightens his shoulders, expression carefully impassive as he inhales. He doesn’t thank him. 

“She’ll have your ass for doing it, too,” he says. 

Remus lifts a brow, blowing smoke out one corner of his mouth. “Why? I don’t need my lungs for anything.” 

Sirius shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. She thinks she should be in charge of the whole world.” 

A soft chuckle. Remus looks out to where the sun will rise in a few hours, the sky still a sweet blue. “Maybe she should be.” 

Sirius can’t help a little smile at that. He takes comfort only in knowing Remus doesn’t see. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” 

They lapse into a brief silence, easier and more contented than Sirius would have thought possible between the two of them. It breaks only when you come bustling back out the doors. 

“Okay, so apparently—” You stop, looking between them both. “Guys. Seriously?” 

“What?” Remus asks, but Sirius knows better, dropping his cigarette and stamping it out. 

Your gaze flicks over him, almost approving but still a far cry from friendly. He swears your mouth wants to smile at him, only you’re not letting it. 

“Those are so bad for you,” you tell Remus. 

He levels you with a dry look, the brave bastard. “What does it matter? I’m not an athlete.” 

You wince but don’t back down. “Athletes aren’t the only ones with reason to live past fifty.” You give him a hard look. It takes a while, but eventually Remus relents, dropping his cigarette as Sirius had. You nod, crouching to pick up both dog-ends and taking them to a bin. “Each one shortens your life by eleven minutes, you know.” 

Remus meets Sirius’ eyes, incredulous. “She comes prepared with statistics?” he asks in a hushed voice. 

Sirius nods. “Told you so.” 

You brush your hands off on your pants. “Okay. Anyway, hockey practice got moved up.” 

“You’re joking,” says Remus. 

“Nope. And, someone else got wind of it before us, because the slot they had at nine has already been filled. We can’t practice today.” 

Sirius shakes his head. “Bullshit. Why did hockey get moved?” 

You shrug, hugging your middle so your hands can burrow under your arms for warmth. “Management said they didn’t know, only that someone on the team asked for a different slot just for today. Seems like they were sweet-talked into it.” 

Your eyes meet Sirius’ for half a second, and he takes out his phone, frigid thumbs anger-typing away. 

“So that’s it then?” Remus asks. He looks like he’d really like his cigarette back. “We’ve just woken up before dawn and we’re not going to practice?” 

You sigh. “Seems that way. We can come back during open skate, but you know how that is.” 

Sirius scowls, and Remus’ expression twinges with distaste. “Yeah,” says Remus, “let’s wait until tomorrow.” 

You all break where you usually do, though hours ahead of schedule, Remus going off towards his place and Sirius walking you in the direction of yours. 

“Fancy a coffee?” he asks you, voice intentionally light. 

It has the expected effect. You bristle at his easy tone, keeping your eyes ahead. “No, thanks.” 

“Fair enough.” Sirius would really like something to warm his hands, but he suspects he needs to pick his battles with you today. “Fancy telling me when we’re going to be friends again?” 

You blow out a harsh breath. It crystalizes in front of you, and you walk right through. “Don’t be daft. We’re always friends. It’s because I’m your friend that I’m so pissed off with you.” 

He nods slowly. “I don’t follow.” 

You shake your head, anger quickening your pace so that Sirius is nearly jogging to keep up with you. “Why can’t you ever stay out of your own way?” you ask him. “I know yesterday was hard for you, but you can’t be an asshole to everyone just because you’re having a bad day.” 

“Hey now, that’s not fair.” Sirius knows joking probably isn’t the best tactic with you right now, but he can’t help himself. “I wasn’t an asshole to you, was I?” 

“That’s what I mean!” You stop so hard he nearly plows into you, but you don’t so much as flinch at the possibility. Your stare is fierce. “You can’t keep trying to scare him off. It’s not going to work, and we need him. Can’t you see how much better he’s made us already? I know you didn’t want a coach, but Remus is good for us. So you can stop being so difficult.” 

“I am not being difficult,” says Sirius, though he often is. You stick your tongue in your cheek, annoyed, and he fights the urge to take your face in his hands. He hates having you cross with him, but at least you’re talking. “And you don’t know what we would be like if he weren’t here. We might’ve been fine.” 

You sigh, looking suddenly tired. And so, so disappointed. “That’s not the point anyways. You know what you said to him yesterday was wrong.” 

Sirius feels a dull stab in his gut. He knows. He does. He knew it the second it came flying out of his mouth, and he has no idea why Remus doesn’t seem as livid with him as you are. Remus, with his even voice and his exasperated, knowing looks and that stern little wrinkle between his brows, who seems able to wind Sirius up better than anyone else. A match to his short fuse. 

“How would you feel?” you ask. Some of the anger has fallen away from your voice, leaving it soft and sad. “What if we went to competition in a few weeks, and you injured yourself so that you knew you could never skate again. And then someone used it to mock you.” 

“He’s risking us doing that,” Sirius says, stubbornly, though he can hear the plea in his own voice, “by asking us to change the routine.” 

“He’s trying to help us,” you reply firmly. But your shoulders droop, and you sigh. “I know you feel bad about it. I’m done being mad at you now. It’s exhausting.” 

Sirius feels too hollowed out to revel much in the victory, but your arm linking through his does help some. “Some could say that was my plan all along,” he jokes weakly. 

You make a halfhearted attempt at a chuckle. “Good thing I know better. If your hands are in danger of falling off, you could stop at mine, make yourself a coffee.” 

“When I asked you for coffee five minutes ago you said no.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t done punishing you yet.” 

[darlingdaisyfarm]

haii! i hope that you're feeling the bestest today :D cause that's how i feel when i read ur fics ! your style really resonates with me bc you articulate my feelings about stan & ford like no other writer can. plus your dedication to building up scenes and ending them with a great payoff :}

speaking of, how do you think the grunks would give their partner hickies? or receiving them? >.< i'd die to read a fic or drabble of your take on it, but you dont have to make it, ofc! enjoy the rest of your dayyyy ❤️‍🩹

⋆.˚ how Stan & Ford give (and react to) hickeys .ᐟ

a/n: HII and OMG thank you so much!!! anon, you are a gift to this world, that's so sweet from ur side <333 you have blessed me today especially the fact that you like my writing style ahgghhgg :'))) i hope it's ok that i made some parts nsfw here tho especially with Ford sorry i just really loved that idea and i wanted to write smth intimate with kisses & marking for a while

tags: nsfw (for Ford's part), suggestive, lots of kissing, hickeys

STANLEY / YOU RECEIVING

Stan’s logic is simple. you can’t just walk away without leaving a mark on someone you care about. otherwise, who’s even gonna know that this person belongs to you?

he’s always been a greedy man. greedy for money, for booze, for a good card game. but lately, he’s started realizing that none of that compares to the greed he feels for you

it’s the same every evening now, because every day, Stan and you spend time together. and every day, Stan hates one thing. dropping you off at home. you’re already about to leave his car, stretching sleepily in the passenger seat, yawning loudly and mumbling about how tired you are.

car radio crackles softly with the evening news, but that doesn’t matter anymore. at least, not to Stan.

“c'mon, don't just leave like that, baby.” in the quiet summer air, his rough voice sounds especially low. you smirk, but you don’t even get the chance to say anything before his heavy hand lands on your thigh. “come on, sugar, just one little kiss.”

his breath brushes your cheek, and that’s all it takes for you to give in. your lips meet in a soft touch, but only for a second. because Stanley Pines doesn’t kiss soft or gentle.

he leans in deeper, firmer, catches your breath and pulls you in greedily. his dry lips are insistent, rough, but hot, warm, too impatient. his tongue slides past your lips, finds yours, demands more, demands you meet him with the same hunger. you sink into the kiss like into warm bathwater, the one you’d planned to take after this long day, you drown in this man who holds you like he's never letting go.

suddenly, he grabs you and before you know it, you’re on his lap, wrapping legs wrap around him. Stan grins, keeping you exactly where he loves you best. right in his hands. the car seat creaks under your weight, but neither of you care.

“you taste so good, fuck, i don’t wanna let you go.” his tongue teases yours again, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you. his hands are fully on your body now, squeezing, pulling you tighter against him. “sweetheart, don’t go home. stay with me.”

oh, here we go again, you think. you love when he starts begging you to stay.

you smile into the kiss, biting his bottom lip gently, making him groan, and Stan grips your thighs tighter in response.

“i don’t wanna let you go.”

you try to pull back, placing your hands against his chest, but he only grips you harder, pressing you down against him until you nearly gasp. “Stan—“

“no, listen,” he bites your lip but doesn’t pull away as he speaks right against your mouth, slipping into a whisper. “stay with me. move in with me, baby.”

“but i’ll be back soon, Stan.”

“not soon enough.” he catches your lips again, but this time, it’s deeper and desperate. it’s hard to breathe and your head spins, but you don’t want him to stop, because fuck, nobody kisses like Stan does. his lips trail downward, leaving hot kisses against your neck, tongue sliding slowly over that one sensitive spot, and you feel your tired body melt.

“you could stay, you know?”

you smile again but don’t say anything.

and Stan can’t stand the silence so he bites your neck, kisses over the mark his teeth leave behind, then finds your lips again.

“tell me you’ll stay with me, baby,”

you stroke his cheek, tracing your thumb over his lower lip, then pull him in again.

“i will. someday. probably.”

Stan growls and kisses you senseless again until your head spins, until it really feels like you’ll stay with him forever.

he doesn’t want to be alone.

he doesn’t want to end up in an empty shack again, where the walls still echo your laughter and the pillow still holds the warmth of your body.

he doesn’t want to fall asleep by himself, knowing you’re not there.

he doesn’t want to smoke at night alone without you by his side.

he wants you.

every night. every day. Stan wants you beside him, wants you waking up in his bed, wants to watch you before he falls asleep, wants to kiss you every morning without letting you leave his arms.

his teeth sink into your skin as he sucks your flesh between his lips until you’re gripping his shoulders. the hot, wet sensation leaves you gasping and breathless until he finally pulls back to admire his work.

a dark mark blooms on your skin, his mark. Stan smirks, running his fingers over the bruise, then looks at you all proud of himself.

“now everyone will know ya belong to me.”

you chuckle.

“dummy, they already know.”

he laughs, kissing you again. and if he didn’t have to let you go, he never would

YOU GIVING:

Stan stands slouched, as always. leaning against the counter, one hand gripping a can of soda, the other pressing his phone to his ear, muttering something, clearly irritated and not particularly attentive. you hear him sigh, stretching out his words with lazy annoyance.

“whaddya mean a whole damn bus?”

oh, looks like your lovely grumpy man isn’t in the mood today. normally, a whole bus packed with walking wallets would make his whole day.

Stan rolls his eyes, taking a long swig of his soda, obviously trying not to lose it because of a dumb person talking to him. youre beside him, leaning against his shoulder, tracing your fingers over his arm, but he just presses his lips together a little tighter.

his attention isn’t on you.

unacceptable.

at first, you just brush your lips against his cheek. a light kiss that’s barely even there. Stan doesn’t even flinch, just waves you off slightly with his hand, signaling you to quit distracting him.

you hum

fine then

you kiss him again, this time closer to his ear

“mhm?”

Stan doesn’t even turn.

he thinks he can ignore you. how cute. guess it’s time to step up your game.

you lean in a little more, trailing your lips toward his neck, first just barely ghosting over his skin, inhaling the sharp scent of his favourite cigars.

and then you latch onto his neck. deep. maybe too deep.

“the hell?”

he nearly chokes on his soda. no, seriously. he full-on sputters, gasps sharply, coughs, and you hear his caller immediately start asking

“mr. Pines? hello? you alright, sir?”

no. he is not alright. he is losing his goddamn mind.

“shit, hold on.”

he tries to say something, but you don’t let him, sucking harder, teasing him just a little with your tongue, and you feel his whole body tenses.

“sweetheart, baby, c’mon,”

Stan exhales roughly, but he doesn’t pull away. in fact, his fingers suddenly tangle in your hair, gripping the back of your head, forcing you even closer.

“mr. Pines? are you still there?”

Stan instantly hangs up. fuck the tourist crowds, fuck the tours, fuck the money, he already has a treasure right in front of him, demanding his attention.

you hear the dull thud of his phone hitting the counter, and a second later, Stan is already gripping your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“you tryna kill me, sweetie?”

his brows furrowed, lips parted. you see his chest rise and fall in quick breaths as he licks his lips nervously.

“you just— you just gave me a fuckin’ hickey while i was on the damn phone.”

he stares at you, completely dumbfounded. but not even a minute goes by as you see the slow curl of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“god, you’re a naughty little thing, huh.” before you can even think of a response, his mouth is on yours.

it's more like an attack than a kiss honestly. Stan’s huge hands grab at your waist, yanking you against him, while his tongue immediately slides into your mouth, and you drown in this, tasting your man, soda, cigarette smoke. he kisses you like he’s starving, insistent, until your toes curl from the intensity.

“that was mean,” he licks your lips before diving back in. “real fuckin’ mean.”

you smile into the kiss, letting your hands wander over his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense under his clothes.

“didn’t hear you complain.”

“oh, i ain’t complainin’, sweetheart. just sayin’ now you’re in trouble.” you don’t even get the chance to reply, because he’s kissing you again

STANFORD / YOU GIVING

Ford Pines has one very dangerous trait, he endures. he endures when you look at him too closely, endures when you accidentally run your hand over his chest, endures when you bite your lip teasingly.

he endures until he’s on the edge. and today, it looks like you’ve pushed him right to it.

from the feeling of you sitting on his lap, Ford trembles beneath you. he’s sprawled in the chair, legs spread wide and awkward, as if trying to somehow hide what’s going on in his pants.

and it definitely doesn’t help that you’re leaning closer, pressing your thighs against him, cupping his face in your hands while his mouth is slightly open, while he, poor thing, is trying to keep up with you but just can’t. he’s pathetic, so pathetic that he can’t even kiss you back. his lips just part under yours, his tongue only follows your lead. such a good boy. so submissive, obedient. Ford can’t give, he can only receive for now

and you take full advantage of that.

“mmmh, wait,” his voice betrays him, trembling, but you don’t give him a chance to finish. your lips greedily cover his, kissing him demandingly. you press closer, catching that shaky breath when your tongue slides inside his mouth.

your fingers tangle in his hair, teasingly scratching his skin with your nails, feeling how he shudders. poor, poor Fordsy. his hands weakly clench on your back, trying to hold onto you, but even that he fails at.

but the worst thing is that hes already at his limit. this pressure, this hunger, your weight on him, your breath, your voice, your desire, all directed at him, is more than enough.

“you like this, huh?” your voice seeps straight into his already non-functioning brain. and he shivers when your lips trail down to his neck. “you like when i treat you like this. when i use you.”

Ford wants to beg to you to slow down, because his pants are so tight that just a little more and. . . fuck, he doesn’t want to cum like this. a scientist who fought for his life in other dimensions for thirty years shouldn’t cum from just kissing. but instead, he just whimpers, because your body rocks against him in gentle movements, just a little, just a bit of friction, but for Ford, it’s enough.

he won’t last.

“wait, darling, wait,” his fingers clutch at your clothes, and he literally whines when you catch his sensitive skin with your lips, finding that sweet spot and latching on, tormenting him.

and Ford can’t fight his own body, so with a long, drawn-out moan, he cums. he fucking cums in his pants just from a hickey.

his thighs twitch, and his limp body involuntarily presses into you. he literally surrenders to you, spilling right into his clothes.

and at first, he doesn’t even understand how it happened. Ford thinks this is fucking humiliating, a goddamn disgrace. he didn’t even need you to touch him, you were just on him, just breathing on his neck, and that was enough to make him cum like some desperate teenager. Ford lets out a pitiful whine, feeling the wetness slowly seep through the fabric as the stickiness clings to his skin down here.

and in turn, you feel it too, how it’s gotten warmer between you.

he’s ashamed. so fucking ashamed. but you only laugh.

“awwwh, Ford, you really are pathetic, huh?” you say it so affectionately, kissing his cheek as he turns away in shame. his cheeks and ears are flushed red, breath still heavy. six fingered hands, which had just been holding onto you, now hang limply at his sides.

Ford agrees with you. he knows you're right

YOU RECEIVING

this man is not okay.

he endured. endured for a long time. bit his fingers, looked away, pretended he had strong moral principles. pretended your jokes didn't get to him, your touches, the way you fix your hair, the way your lips are just a little wet after drinking from his flask.

but his patience ran out. and he was the first to snap.

Ford grabbed your wrist when you laughed again, saying something about his indecisiveness. he yanked you toward him and you didn’t expect it, so you stumbled, but didn’t fall, because his hands were already holding you.

your back hit the trunk of a tree, and you almost gasped, because the ground beneath your feet was damp, too slick, the morning rain had made the forest's ground soft, muddy, sticky. Ford’s boots sank into the soil, and you accidentally stepped on his foot so hard that you could hear the wet squelch of his soaked pants.

“oh, sorry,” you exhaled, trying to pull away, but he didn’t even let you say another word.

Ford wasn’t mad. he just didn’t give a fuck that’s why he leaned in and kissed you deeply, immediately, no words needed.

and that made you lean back a little. the damp spring air in your lungs instantly turned hot, sending waves of fluttering butterflies straight to your stomach.

Ford always kept himself in check. always tried to be rational, serious, careful. but now, with your lips finally pressed together and his body finally flush against yours, he didn’t want to hold back anymore

“mmh, Ford,” you pull away just slightly, trying to catch your breath, but he grabs your waist instantly

“you're not going anywhere,” he murmurs against your lips, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“yep, not if you hold me like this.”

he's gentle, but greedy and you're pliant, but still sharp.

“we’re alone, finally, we’re alone, sweetheart,” he breathes into your lips. six fingers press into your back trying to pull you even closer. “no one can see us. no one can stop me.” you try to squeeze your legs together from the sweetness pooling low in your stomach, but Ford has his knee right between them.

“Ford. . .”

“say my name again.”

six-fingered hands glide down your sides, and his lips are already moving lower, grazing your chin and your neck. you don’t even notice when your fingers bury themselves in his hair, when they run through damp, graying strands. you stroke him like he’s your obedient little pet and he groans at that.

“Forddd, mhmm,”

“you drive me insane," his lips find the spot just behind your ear

“really?” you tease again. “and here i thought we came here for anomalies.”

Ford almost growls. “we did.” his tongue drags over your skin. “and i found one.”

then happens something you never expected from your always shy and nerdy man. your eyes widen when you feel him gently tug at your skin. the first mark is left right by your collarbone. second is lower, near your shoulder and third is somewhere behind your ear, where you’re especially sensitive.

you shudder. “mh, Ford, wow, you really—“

“you wanted to tease me,” his voice is muffled, but you can feel his smirk against your skin. “now, my love, suffer the consequences.”

he holds you so tight you almost forget where you are. the forest, the mud, the interrupted anomaly hunt, none of it matters anymore

[angelicqsa]

.ೃ࿐ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 | 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗆𝗒 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 3, 𝖡𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖯𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖡𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗆𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 | 𝖥𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌𝗌𝗌!

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

“ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ”, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀɪᴅ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴀꜱ, ɪᴛ ꜰᴇʟᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ.” – ᴅᴀᴠɪᴅ ʟᴇᴠɪᴛʜᴀɴ

────────────˚🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆────────────

Being with bellamy was everything to me. You two were a perfect picture couple, ever since yall met; on the dropship the first day the 100 came down, you and Bellamy had chemistry. Despite you not liking his 'whatever the hell we want' motto you decide to give him a chance, and to let him in your heart. Since then its been nothing but pure bliss and a strong feeling of content. He'd always hold you and whisper sweet nothings and treat you like someone. And for once in your life you felt like you was important to someone, and you felt like you had meaning in life which is something you had never felt before. But now, its as if a summertime sadness has hit.

When Pike and Bellamy had been having these hush conversations he started acting a little off and the soft love touches were soon replaced with intense stares. It was as if a switch had flipped in him, a battle with dark vs light and the dark took over the light inside him. He walks out of the bathroom into your shared room and you ask, "Is everything okay Bellamy? You're acting a little off. You can talk to me you know?" You whisper as he climbs into bed and just stares at me as if i said nothing.

With a gruff sound he responds in a monotone way, "I'm fine. Just some stuff with Pike and Kane." he turns his back towards me before you could even respond he turns off his lamp on his side of the bed. Feeling disappointment wash through me, you turn off my lamp and let out a sigh then turn your back on him and lay there, with him consuming your last thoughts for the night.

That was about a week ago and since then, Pike has became the chancellor with Bellamy's help, Bellamy keeps distancing himself farther and farther away from you it's a contrast to how just a few weeks ago you two were a perfect couple, laughing together, secretly running off, fixing the cars together and just overall enjoying each others company. Everything has changed.

You finish up my work in the library, fixing books and collecting books that were once borrowed. You walk to the bar spotting Jasper, "Hey Jasper. How you holdin' up?" You ask curiously as you pull up a seat next to him. you were secretly hoping he wouldn't blame me for Maya's death for the 15th time in the past month which of course you felt somewhat guilty about, but you're aware that it wasn't you who killed her, and the ones responsible held an immense amount of guilt, not only for her, but for all the victims.

"Hey.." Jasper says drunkenly, while nodding off. He had bags under his eyes as if he never sleeps, which could be possibles considering the grief he was feeling. His grief and his drinking go hand in hand, everytime you see Jasper he's either drunk or on his way to being drunk. It was sad seeing your friend destroy himself.

"How are you tod-" You quickly get cut off to Lincoln being dragged out of medical by one of Pike's goons while angrily cursing at them in Trigedasleng.

"What the fuck is going on!?" You rush over to the scene while looking at Lincoln getting dragged away and you spot Bellamy standing next to Pike without a care in the world that Lincoln; one of his friends, was getting dragged out.

You rush over to Bellamy, anger quickly filling my veins you grab his wrist and mutter to Pike "Can you excuse us for a moment?" you don't even give him a chance to respond before dragging Bellamy to our room.

He looks confused when you first started dragging him, "Hey! what's wrong!" You ignore him.

He tries again and says, "Why are you angrily dragging me like i did something wrong?" Again. Silence.

He sighs angrily and says, "Now you're ignoring me!?" You simply roll your eyes, still angry and stay silent.

"Im so confused! What did i do!?"

The last sentence was shouted as soon as you hit the door and you soon as you shut the door the anger in you swells, the anger that has been continuously increasing these past few weeks that you ultimately end up ejecting at Bellamy with full force.

"Are you fucking serious right now Bellamy!? 'What did i do', 'What did i do wrong?' You fucking know what you did wrong!," Bellamy looks at you in surprise at the burst of anger you just threw at him and tries to interject,

"Is this about Lincoln? I really coul-" You hold your hand up as a sign for him to stop talking and also yell,

"Im not fucking finished talking Bellamy! Im gonna talk and you're gonna fucking listen! I've been feeling like shit for these past few weeks! You've been cold towards me. You've been putting Pike and your loyalty before your loyalty to your friends whos been with you when we were dropped on this planet to die! I-.. I don't know who you are anymore Bellamy, it truly hurts to say that." You feel a pool form in your eyes as you explode, your emotions feel all over the place and you can almost see how this is gonna end. And the 'end' that formed in your mind wasn't a happy ending.

Bellamy looks at you, his eyes soft, opposite to the rough and intense eyes you'd been getting these past few weeks. Bellamy opens his mouth then quickly closes it processing what you had said.

He whispers, scared that an increase of volume might get his heart broken. "Im sorry, i- i didnt mean to make you feel like that. I had no idea you felt like that."

The tears fall down your face as if youre a window on a rainy day, you look down deep in thought and prepare for the answer you might get for this next question. "Do you love me anymore Bellamy?" You say as your voice cracks. You're too afraid to look at his expression, but suddenly you feel his fingers on your chin forcing you to look up at him. He looks broken, he also had tears in his eyes.

"You think i don't love you...? How- How could you think that? I live my life for you. Anywhere you go i go. You've became a big part of my life and showed me what being truly loved is like. I love you always and forever, and i promise ill do everything to make you feel the love i feel for you." He says while crying in guilt for making her ever feel that way. How could he make her feel like that? This girl is the love of his life. The person he wanted to spend all his years with and build a family with.

"I love you Bellamy. So so much." you smile while connecting my forehead with his. "We'll get through this together." you kiss him passionately, all the anger already gone and replaced with love and happiness. See this is the boy you fell in love with.

You two passionately kiss and the kiss progressively gets deeper and more needy. He back away first, breathlessly he says, "Can i show you how much i love you? Baby let me worship you."

You nod your head and kiss him again before he picks you up and you yelp in surprise. "Maybe a warning next time" You giggle as he places you on the bed and starts to move his hands around your body making sure to touch everywhere.

Your body tingles as you feel his hands all over you. He towers over you and kisses you slowly before moving to your neck and making sweet love spots.

'Mmm Bell..' You mutter as he licks and sucks, those mutters eventually turn into moans.

"You gotta keep it down baby. Can you do that for me?" He asks as he pauses from sucking your neck. You nod and he proceeds.

You feel the warmth on your neck suddenly disappear and then you feel your pants being slid off slowly and look down to see Bellamy making eye contact while playing with your panties.

"You're so gorgeous.. how'd i get so lucky?" He says. He then rises up and removes your shirt, exposing your bra. He ends up taking that off and looking at your boobs as if he's seen a million dollars. He starts sucking on one of your nipples while kneading the other one in his hand. You whimper at the blissful sensations while making eye contact with him which just increases the nectar coming out your pussy.

He kisses the nipple he had just been sucking on and moves on to the next one making you bite your lip in pleasure whining at the good sensation.

He then moves to the valley of your breast and starts making open mouthed kisses down to the part where your panties were. He mumbles "These shouldnt be on" and rips them off.

"Hey! i liked those!" You say gasping as you feel the air on your vagina.

"Theres plenty more baby." He says while looking at you with a smirk. He then licks a long strip from your clit down to my entrance. "You're getting my fingers and my tongue today ok baby?" He says while breathing hard out his nose. You love how he still was somewhat dominant even when its supposed to be soft and him worshipping your body you still love the sense of dominance he brings.

"Yes baby thats ok." You whimper out while looking at him with anticipation. He attacks your clit first, circling your clit slowly before sucking which he repeats for a minute. He then places open mouthed kisses on your vagina as he did when he was working on your chest.

You moan at the sensations feeling it deep inside your core almost close to coming. But you didn't want to come that quick and have the night be over with already. You arch your back into his tongue while he licks and suck as if you vagina was a lollipop. You felt close and felt pure bliss ignoring the words he had once muttered earlier 'you gotta keep it down baby' well being cautious of your volume was long gone as soon as his tongue made contact with your clit.

He sucks on your clit which brings you closer to the edge. "F-fuck Bell.. im-im close!" You struggle to say, lost in the sensations and tingles your body was feeling. One last lick did the trick for you and you cum all over his tongue. He smirks and groans as he feels your hot cum. He swallows it before coming back up to kiss you, and when you kiss him you taste yourself all over his lips and tongue.

"Your moans sound amazing, i want more out of you.." He says softly before going back down and sticking a finger inside of you making you moan loudly as you arch your back with your lips parted and your eyes magically shut as he pumps in and out of you. You moan loudly calling out his name as if he was a god.

And that was how you night ended. Feeling worshiped and cared about by the man you love most. But everyone else the next day had heard you being worshiped and you calling our Bellamy's name. An embarrassment but with a good outcome.

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙙𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 🤍

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐яєqυєѕт!

─────────⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐪𝐬𝐚𝜗𝜚˚⋆─────────

[bachiras-toaster]

jealousy and it’s consequences : ̗̀➛

BSD MEN x gn!reader

cw: smut, manipulation, obsessiveness, possessiveness, they’re all a little toxic (except atsushi), giving head (ranpo), receiving head (poe), riding (Atsushi), masturbation

synopsis. how bsd men deal with their jealousy after seeing you with their rival.

characters: dazai, chuuya, ranpo, poe, atushi, akutagawa

DAZAI, seeing you with Chuuya

He sees you with Chuuya? He dares you to hang out with him more. He's serious! Go wild. Hold hands, kiss him— Do it all right in front of Dazai. If you have the nerve to do all of those things in the first place, then surely you wouldn't be opposed to not doing it behind his back? If you're going to so obviously make him jealous, do it to his face.

He will take it out on the both of you-- You more-so than Chuuya. Dazai would probably give Chuuya a quiet and humorous warning, telling him that he could only give him so many more second chances before him hanging out with you really started to tick him off. As for you, he's gonna make sure he has you all to himself from there on out. It's clear that you purposefully making him jealous must be the result of him not giving you enough attention. Well, don't worry, because now he is completely focussed on you. He'll make sure that another person won't even do so much as look at you- Even if it means constantly having you at his side in the agency, cornering you and separating you from your coworkers.

The thing is, he'll act really nice about it, telling you how it's just because he wants you all to himself! He can't stand the thought of you around other people, and seeing you hang out with Chuuya just made him realise that. You're the light of his life, believe him. He can't have other people trying to take that away from him.

When it comes to the sex afterwards too, he gets even more needy. He's a lot more touchy with you, desperate to mark and grab any bit of skin that he can. He's whining and crying to you while he leaves his seventh hickey on your collarbone, his saliva pulling from your skin to his lip as he complains about how he feels so lost without you. Do you prefer Chuuya? Be honest with him. If you really loved him more, you'd let him leave more hickeys on you and you wouldn't try to conceal them the next day. You hated seeing how he teared up while doing so, it just meant you couldn't help but softly pat his head and sigh, treating him as if he were a sick puppy.

CHUUYA, seeing you with Dazai

He'd make his annoyance super obvious from the get-go. He probably wouldn't outright say he's jealous, but he'd heavily imply it. Whenever you come back to work, telling him that you had a fun day out with Dazai, you could swear you'd see Chuuya's eye twitch uncontrollably for a second or two. You'd constantly hear those remarks saying "What's so great about Dazai anyway?" or "How funny can he even really be?" Soon, those remarks tumble into off-handed insults, such as "Dazai doesn't have the mental capacity to take care of someone." He would never blame you for hanging out with him, it will always somehow be Dazai's fault. Dazai must have coaxed you and tricked you into hanging out with him!

His solution would simply be spending more time with you. But, instead of closing you off from the world, he shows you off instead. Insists on going out on dates, PDA in public, walking past the detective agency holding hands in the hopes that Dazai would see it through the window and take the hint... You know, the basic stuff.

But when he's fucking you, the jealousy really shines through that man's eyes. He has you pinned down as he thrusted deeper into you, forcing you to choke out his name as a flurry of moans escaped your lips. Are you still thinking about Dazai right now, or have you finally come to your senses? He's so relentlessly rough with you when he's jealous, so you better pray that that jealousy is mild and not angry, because your legs would have a field day. He'd keep going at it until he was satisfied, ensuring that only his name could linger on your tongue- Only then would he accept that you're only his.

RANPO, seeing you with Poe

Questions the hell out of you. Like, you've been spending a lot of time with Poe recently, haven't you? There's a sort of blunt curiosity to him and he just can't help but swarm you with these queries. "Did you hang out with Poe today?" "I heard you and Poe went to the park." "Yeah, I was busy earlier, but I'm glad you found someone else to hang out with. It was Poe, right?"

He would victimise himself a lot, really dramatising the situation. He'll ask you if you really love him or if you think he's actually worth hanging around. If not that, he'd constantly try and convince you why you should hang out with him instead. If he sees that you're about to leave the agency to go to and meet Poe, he'd immediately stop you. Suddenly, it looks like the perfect day to go for a stroll around the park with Ranpo, don't you think? Or go to the movies? Maybe a nice library? You can even choose the place! Just don't choose Poe over him, he will cry when you're not looking.

Giving him head is the only possible solution to convince him that you wouldn't leave him for somebody else. Having you tucked sweetly between his legs as he leaned back in his office chair, his hand gently stroking the back of your neck- He really deserves this after going through the stress of thinking that you and Poe had something going on. He's an arrogant man, but he can't help but worry, you know? But since you can put aside some time in your schedule just for him, then he supposed that he shouldn't be too concerned.

POE, seeing you with Ranpo

He isn't very surprised at the idea that you could choose Ranpo over him, because of course! Anyone would. It's Ranpo, right? The smartest man alive- Who wouldn't choose Ranpo over Poe? If destroys is self-esteem and his self-worth seeing you and his rival get along so well and so easily. He is very aware of the fact that Ranpo is very intelligent, but would he have the brains to take you away from him? Is he that cruel of a person?

He tries everything to win you over from that man. Even if you don't realise it, doing so much as interact with Poe's rival is enough for him to spiral and to cause him to believe that you must already be considering ditching him. What is it that you want? Gifts? He can deliver that to you in truckloads. Do you want a relaxing holiday? He'll write up a cute story for you, no problem. Poe would kiss the ground that you walked on if it meant that you chose him over Ranpo. He would try everything in his power to remove that man out of the picture, but we all know that there isn't a novel complex enough to trap the Ranpo Edogawa.

So now Poe's tucked between your thighs, working his tongue at your senses as begging that you stay with him. The head is good, right? Tell him that it's good. Tell him he's doing a good job. You need to ensure him that you could never leave him for someone else, otherwise he'll keep whining about it against your skin. He'll continuously ask you if you like how he makes you feel so he can ensure that he can keep doing the right things. He's a listener. If he finds out what you like, he'll use it to his complete advantage.

ATSUSHI, seeing you with Akutagawa

Perhaps the least toxic one when it comes to dealing with jealousy. He doesn't blame you, he only blames himself. You know he gets super self conscious, right? There's no doubt that you're only hanging out with Akutagawa because he hasn't been treating you well enough. At first, he would confide in his friends, like Kyouka or Kunikida. Kyouka would threaten to hurt you, but he would frantically beg her not to put you in harm’s way; and Kunikida would tell him that he shouldn't be jealous, and that you're allowed to have other friends. But he simply can't help it.

It would lead him to pour his entire heart into taking care of you. He needs you to know that he loves you completely, and that you're the only one for him. Gifts, dates, compliments, praise, he'll provide it all for you. If you still choose Akutagawa after all of that, he'll accept it, but he hopes you'll choose him in the end.

So now you need to ride him, tilting his chin up so you could stare down at his pretty little face. He'd whine and cuddle you as you bounced up and down on his lap, blushing profusely as he mutters how much he loves you. He'll give everything to you, everything you want. He'll treat you right. He doesn't want to be jealous, he just wants to be yours.

AKUTAGAWA, seeing you with Atsushi

What could that stupid weretiger have that he doesn't? He's threatened to kill Atushi enough times now, so seeing you interact with him doesn't help his bloodlust and the desire to knock his lights out- in fact, it's just a greater motivation.

And his jealousy is so obvious in the way he threatens you too, grabbing you by the collar and telling you he wouldn't hesitate to have the Port Mafia toss you on the side of the street if you continue conversing with the enemy. You need to make a decision: The Port Mafia or the Armed Detective Agency- Akutagawa or Atsushi? The decision is clear, right? He knows that you wouldn’t dare choose the weretiger over him and you were simply doing this in order to get a rise out of him. He knew all too well.

So now, instead of giving you all of the attention you could dream for, he ignores you. He turns away and isolates you until you’re practically begging for his attention once again. It was just a joke, you just wanted a little bit more love— That’s what you would tell him, but it would never be enough to undo the anger in his heart.

There is no jealousy sex that comes afterwards, it’s just plain voyeurism. While he works on something to do with another one of the Port Mafia’s upcoming attacks, he’d tell you to touch yourself while he plans this and if you’re good by the end of it, he’ll finish the job. But now that just leaves you in another seat on the other side of the room, your legs spread open as you tried to stimulate yourself at the sight of him working. Of course, Akutagawa had no intention of actually touching you to serve as punishment-but you weren’t aware of that, leaving you whining and biting down on your lip as you prayed he would look at you for just a second. Even through your masturbation, he still chose not to look you in the eye, which you found was even more agitating than him not touching you instead.

[hbyrde36]

Runner

Steddie | Mature | WC: 3004 | Angst w/ a happy ending | AO3

“When I got to the shore I tried calling you guys but, uh,” Eddie paused where he crouched under the protective canopy of Skull Rock, taking a long greedy gulp from the canteen Dustin had tossed him as he stared up at their group. Even now he seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid Steve’s gaze as much as possible, a detail Steve couldn’t help but notice.

“My walkie was busted, man. Drenched. So, uh, I did the thing that I do now apparently…” Eddie went on, wiping at the water dripping off his chin with the sleeve of his leather jacket, his mouth twisting into a wide, wry smile. “I ran.”

Despite the words being spat with anger and self-deprecating venom, Eddie’s dimples were on full display, a sight Steve hadn’t had directed at him in months. Seeing it now, like this, only made his heart ache. 

Eddie wasn’t a runner, was the thing. 

Steve knew that. Anyone with eyes knew that. Eddie would gleefully stare down a guy twice his size, go toe to toe with the meanest assholes Hawkins High had to offer without hesitation to keep his people safe. And sure, sometimes Eddie got his ass beat, but he hadn’t cultivated that freak reputation for nothing. These days, more often than not, bullies and their minions stood down when Eddie’s hackles rose.

“Do you know what time this was? The attack?” Nancy asked, business first as usual. As if she couldn't see the poor guy was on the verge of losing it, or probably she just didn’t care. It was all about the task at hand. 

“Yeah, no, I… I know exactly what time it was.” Still wearing that same unnerving smile, Eddie began to unbuckle the watch on his wrist, tossing it at her. “My walkie wasn’t the only thing that got soaked.”

Nancy peered at the watch’s face, reading it off. “9:27.”

“Same time our flashlight went kablooey,” Robin said.

“Which means what exactly?” Steve asked, a hint of an attitude he couldn’t quite shut down before it came out of his mouth. He knew they were pressed for time to figure all this shit out, they were always under the gun when the Upside Down was involved, but he couldn’t help being annoyed about it. Couldn’t the world just stop for five fucking minutes to give them a chance to breathe a regroup? To give Eddie some time to process this mess he’d accidentally fallen into?

As Nancy and Robin continued to brainstorm, and Dustin paced around talking to himself and doing god-knew-what, Eddie took the opportunity to slink away. Either not realizing Steve still had his eye on him, or not thinking he’d follow, Eddie rose, stalking off under the alcove of the giant rock formation and out the other side.

With a pit in his gut Steve did move to follow, the idea of letting Eddie out of his sight now that they’d found him again filling him with panic. Of course, that was also the moment Dustin decided to pay attention to something except that stupid compass of his again, and quickly bounded to Steve’s side.

“I got it, Henderson,” Steve said, dropping a hand on Dustin’s shoulder to stop him in his tracks. “You stay here and put that brain to use or something.”

Dustin gave him a confused glare, and rightly so, Steve supposed. As far as he and everyone else was concerned he’d barely known Eddie before now, beyond the fact that they’d walked the same school halls for four years. Not even Robin had any idea that he and Eddie had a history.

A brief history that hadn’t ended well, because no, Eddie wasn’t a runner.

But it turned out that Steve… Steve was.

He found Eddie only a few yards away, off the trail and deep in the trees like he’d been searching for shadows to hide in, back turned, head bowed, and an almost imperceptible shake to his shoulders.

“Eddie?” Steve called out, softly.

Eddie stiffened at the sound of Steve’s voice, back straightening as he replied. “Leave me alone, man.” He sounded so small, exhausted, and totally unlike himself.

Steve wished he could say something to comfort him, tell him they’d figure this out, that it would be alright. But it would be a hopeful lie at best, and besides, he was probably the last person Eddie would want to take comfort from anyway.

“Come on, Ed—”

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Eddie hissed as he turned around, rubbing roughly at his face.

“I can’t,” was all Steve could say at first. He hadn’t thought through what it would be like seeing Eddie on his own, with no buffer from the group and nothing to distract him from getting lost in the draw of his presence and those dark fathomless eyes.

Eddie sneered, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I-I mean… I-I just don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone right now,” Steve stuttered out. “For any of us to be alone.”

Eddie scoffed. “Like you care.”

Steve took an involuntary step closer, his hands itching to reach out and brush the hair back from Eddie's face, to feel the stubbled skin of Eddie’s cheek under his palm. It took all his strength to hold back.

“I guess I deserved that,” he said through a puff of air.

He deserved that and more.

It’d all started last summer. A few days after the battle at Starcourt when Steve was desperate for a little pain management, something more effective than the measly Tylenol his parents kept in the medicine cabinet. On a whim he’d ventured over to Forest Hills, recalling rumors that Hawkins High’s own resident drug dealer, Eddie Munson, might sell something stronger than skunk weed if you asked nicely and could pay.

Steve was only hoping for a few prescription painkillers; what he got instead was dragged bodily inside by a boy he’d never shared more than two words with, sat down on a comfortable if well-worn couch, and given a bag of frozen peas for his still sore and swollen eye.

After a wordless once-over of the rest of him, Eddie had ducked out of the room, returning with a tube of some sort of cream and a frown so deep it made his forehead wrinkle.

“For the rope burn,” Eddie’d said in explanation as he carefully rubbed the stuff into the raw skin of Steve’s wrists and a few friction burns on his legs.

“It’s, uh, it’s not what it looks like,” Steve had said, dumbly.

Eddie leveled him with a flat look. “So you’re not a sub?” 

“Sub?” Steve asked, crinkling his brow.

“Submissive? You know, dom, sub?”

Steve still had no idea what Eddie was on about, but the other boy clearly wasn’t buying it.

Eddie shook his head, unimpressed. “You don’t have to play cute, Harrington, I won’t tell anyone you were up to some freaky shit. I mean… who would believe me anyway?”

Freaky shit…?

Oh.

Finally, it clicked.

Somehow Eddie had gotten the entirely wrong idea about the nature of his wounds, and not being able to tell him the actual truth, he really had no choice but to let Eddie keep on thinking he’d been dabbling in bondage with an overeager date who apparently, ‘didn’t understand the concept of aftercare.’

“I’m not an expert in this shit or anything,” Eddie was quick to explain. “But I've read some magazines, and taking care of your sub after seems to be, like, the most important part of the whole thing.”

Steve swallowed hard, trying not to think about why Eddie had been perusing bondage mags, and what other reading material he kept stashed under his mattress.

“Good to know.”

He’d spent the rest of that night sinking into the comfort of Eddie’s couch and company, talking, getting to know Eddie, letting himself be known in turn, the whole while puffing on a shared joint until Steve was so high that he’d lost his filter completely. From one moment to the next he went from talking about his very public fight and subsequent break up with Nancy the year before, to telling Eddie how pretty he was, how he wondered what Eddie’s hair would feel like wound up in his fingers, and the next thing he knew he was straddling Eddies lap with his tongue down his throat, gaining an entirely new perspective and appreciation for dry humping.

The weeks that followed were somewhat of a blur. 

In his daytime hours Steve refused to think about what he was doing, unable and unwilling to come to terms with what it all meant—about himself, about his sexuality, about what he wanted out of life. But in the night, he always found his way to Forest Hills. 

What had started on the couch eventually made its way into Eddie’s bedroom. Steamy make out sessions led to frantic desperate handjobs, handjobs led to the most incredible head of Steve’s life—both given and taken—and when Eddie asked Steve to fuck him for the first time it was like the gates to heaven had flung themselves wide open. Before long Steve found he was living for those few hours where he gave himself over to it, to Eddie.

It was inevitable that the fragile bubble Steve had built would burst. He thought for a while it would be Robin, bugging him relentlessly for why he’d been too busy to hang out with her lately. In the end though, it was his own idiocy at fault. He should have known it was only a matter of time before he wanted more with Eddie than just casually hooking up.

And at the first sign of more, when the vision he had for the future began to shift and change, the children he’d dreamed of having one day vanishing before his eyes, he realized how different it would all be if he gave in to this. How difficult.

He panicked.

Shut down—shut it down.

With no word of goodbye or explanation he stopped showing up at the trailer, refused to answer Eddie’s calls, and did his best to pretend that Eddie had never existed once the calls stopped entirely.

It hadn’t worked.

Because Steve and his traitorous heart had fallen in love with a guy who’d probably only given him the time of day because it was convenient. Even if Eddie had at one point harbored the same feelings for him, by the time Steve came to any sort of terms with his sexuality, he was sure it was too late to go back and make it right. 

More than once he thought about trying anyway. Showing up at the trailer unannounced like he had all those months ago to see if Eddie would let him in or slam the door in his face. But then the kids had started high school, and Dustin came bursting into Family Video so excited and fresh off his first day of freshman year to tell Steve all about his cool new friend Eddie who ran the D&D club. 

Again, Steve had let himself be spooked, and regretted it every day since.

“Don’t worry about it, pretty boy,” the Eddie standing in front of him said, shaking Steve from his thoughts of the past. 

“So we fucked. So what?” Eddie went on with a flippant shrug. “It was nothing. You had your fun experimenting and then went back to your real life. You weren’t the first, probably won’t be the last. Not that any of it matters now.”

“It matters to me,” Steve said, matter-of-factly, hoping Eddie would believe him but knowing with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t.

“Right,” Eddie snorted. “Since when?”

“Since always.”

“Oh please,” Eddie spat, eyes rolling in dramatic fashion. “Give me a fucking break with the good guy bullshit, I aint buying. You don’t have to lie to me just because we’re stuck in this nightmare together.”

“I’m not lying, Eddie, I–I…” Despite the months he’d spent imagining what he’d say to Eddie if he ever got the chance, Steve hesitated, choking on his words

“That’s what I thought.” Eddie gave a single nod, a barely audible sigh escaping his lips as he tried to push his way past Steve and back to the path.

“Could you just fucking stop for a minute!” Steve grabbed for Eddie before he could get completely out of reach, fingers circling his bony wrist and holding on for dear life. His mind was overwhelmed with the irrational fear that if he let Eddie walk away now, he’d never get another chance to fix this. 

Eddie shot him a glare, but surprisingly didn’t try to pull his arm away. 

“I know I don’t deserve it, but please let me explain,” Steve pleaded.

“I’m all ears, your highness.”

Steve's stomach turned sour at the reference to his old nickname. Eddie knew he hated it, that he hated so much of what and who he used to be, but he couldn’t exactly blame Eddie for wanting to hurt him too. And as much as he despised this tension between them, there was also a twisted part of him that hoped that if Eddie was this mad at him for disappearing from his life, maybe that meant he had cared for Steve too. Maybe it meant… he could care again. 

“It wasn’t nothing,” Steve whispered, his thumb rubbing small circles into Eddie's skin where he was still holding on. “Not to me.”

“What?” Eddie breathed, staring down at the spot of contact.

“You said it was nothing. And I guess at first it was but…” Steve started and stopped, raking his free hand through his hair as he struggled to find the words. “When I showed up at your place that first night, all I was looking for was a little relief. I didn’t expect…” he trailed off, getting stuck again but he was determined to force this out now matter how painful it was to admit. 

“I didn’t expect to fall for you.”

Eddie’s head snapped up at that, but his mouth remained closed, set into a tight line as he watched the bob of Steve's throat.

“I wasn’t ready to deal with it, any of it. The feelings I had for you, the fact that I was—am, whatever that makes me. I freaked out and I ran away and I’m so sorry. I should have talked to you about it, and instead I tried to bury my head in the sand. But I couldn't even do that right.”

Eddie was still dead silent, his gaze searching Steve’s face for a long beat before he finally spoke. “What are you saying?”

Before Steve could reply, Robin’s voice rang out from somewhere close behind them. “Steve? What are you guys doing out here?” 

He resisted the urge to pull away, but looked back over his shoulder to see her standing near, eyes a little wide and confused.

“We, um, we gotta go. Little Einstein figured out how to find a gate and we think there’s one nearby,” She said, and quickly turned back the way she came. 

Steve could have kissed her for not addressing what she’d surely seen, though he knew he’d have to deal with her and about a million questions later, which was fine. They were long overdue for this particular conversation anyway. 

“Can we finish this later?” Steve asked, quietly when she was out of earshot, giving Eddie’s arm a gentle squeeze before finally letting go.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied, a little rasp to his voice, and looking almost as shell shocked as he had when they found him in the boathouse. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve wasn’t naive enough to think he’d fixed anything, not completely, but as they headed down the path to find others, walking side-by-side, it felt like they’d made a good start.

Steve should have seen it coming. 

Wasn’t it the first rule of horror movies or something? Don’t promise someone you’ll talk to them later, and expect them to make it out alive. 

Of course, Eddie did make it out alive, thankfully, if not quite in one piece. He’d carry some gnarly battle scars for the rest of his life, but the important bits would heal in time, and if Eddie allowed it, Steve would dedicate his life to making sure Eddie knew those scars of his only made him more beautiful. Proof that he cared so much for Dustin, and for the world, that he’d been willing to put it all on the line. 

He just needed Eddie to wake up first.

Two days in the hospital came and went with no signs of change. The doctors all said they didn’t know why Eddie was still asleep, they were sure he’d wake up soon but with every passing hour Steve grew more and more afraid, his heart climbing into his throat whenever there was so much as a flutter of Eddie’s long dark lashes.

Steve refused to leave his side. Once he was cleaned up, bandaged, and medically cleared himself, he’d taken his place at Eddie’s bedside. An unmoving sentry, determined to be there holding Eddie’s hand the moment he opened his eyes. After an evening of false alarms, It was the middle of the night, on the cusp of day three when it finally happened.

“Steve?” Eddie mumbled in the quiet hush of the room as he finally came-to, nose wrinkling under the weight of the oxygen tubes when he tried to turn his head. “What are…” he paused, hacking a dry cough, voice rough with disuse. “What are you doing here?”

Steve raised Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against the back of it. before carefully setting it down on the bed so he could grab the cup at his side, the one he filled with new water every day, offering Eddie the straw and a smile.

“I’m not running away this time, baby.”

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[solar-wing]

⚣ Submission 🗣️

⚣🗣️ A/N → Something I couldn't get out of my head after I saw this TikTok. You can't tell me this wouldn't be Jason in this situation. WARNINGS: none

⚣🗣️ Summary → Imagine being in a relationship with Jason Todd where you know Jason could easily beat you in a fight but it never stops you from talking shit as if you’ll fuck him up, and he just lets you…

⚣🗣️ Words → 851

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🗣️

It’s not something Jason admits he finds amusing and adorable about you, but the fact that he lets you do it without any real pushback is telling enough. Because imagine, this towering and colossal-sized man, definitely over 6 feet and huge mass with the muscles to show and is a trained fighter (no matter how informal), getting beaten in a fight between him and his shorter and/or smaller boyfriend.

And it’s not to say you could never beat him in a fight, oh no! Your Jaybirdie would never want you to believe he doubts your capability and skills like that. Actually, he’d very much like and would encourage you to be able to learn how to take him down. It would help with his anxiety and fear of you being out in the world without him there to protect you, feeling more at ease knowing you could defend yourself if need be.

He’s definitely planning to make that a reality, because if you two are going to continue to be in a relationship, Jason needs to know that you can protect yourself without him there. It’s something you both talked about and he made it clear when you first got into a serious relationship about him and his family’s side careers.

But, until then, Jason will happily and silently enjoy the trash-talking and play fights with you. It just gives him more of an excuse to have your body rubbing against his, the perv…

It always starts small and silly.

Whether you’re just feeling playful or want attention, it doesn’t matter. You and Jason will be cuddling on the couch or the bed and engaging in your usual harmless domestic banter. Or he’ll be minding his own business cooking, reading, or going over cases and reports, and you’ll just come up and start messing with him.

Messing up his hair, poking him in his face, slapping his butt, and shoving against his body. Despite popular belief, Jason has a somewhat good level of patience and will endure it, but then you start talking shit.

“Oh, was that important? Looks like you’ll need to start over,” You’ll say after purposely jerking his hand while he was writing notes down on a mission report.

“Oops, looks like you dropped something. You’re so freaking clumsy,” said with a jeering tone after knocking the book Jason was reading out of his hands.

“Aww, is the little baby getting upset? Don’t cry baby, it’ll be okay,” You’ll respond in the most insulting baby voice knowing how much Jason despises it and usually ends up being his last straw.

The vigilante will give a soft shove and a warning look to you and that’s all you need. You’ll start taunting him even more and pushing yourself against him, grabbing at his wrists and arms as he holds you back.

“You feeling tough all of sudden? Am I going to have to mess you up like last time?”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The next moment, Jason’s patience has officially run out and now, the two of you are rolling around on the bed, couch, and floor trying to pin the other. Well, you’re trying to pin him.

Jason’s just holding you off with ease and letting you slip out of his grabs now and then, letting you think you’ve got a chance. Of course, that leads to more shit-talking.

“Man, what kind of criminals are you fighting? You’re no match for me.”

Of course, as things will go when it comes to wrestling between two males, it eventually gets a little out of hand. You’ll shove Jason too hard, accidentally land a hit on his face or nether region, or you’ll even purposefully try to cheat to which your boyfriend responds by immediately putting you in a submission.

Never anything too rough or painful, just enough to immobilize you until you calm down and stop fighting back. But, even the non-painful ones are a bit much for you since you’re not used to fighting like Jason is, so you’ll typically give in within a few seconds, especially when he puts a little pressure on you and jerks you a bit as payback for all the trash talk.

It doesn’t stop you though, since as soon as you’re both done and back to whatever you were doing, you’ll continue to talk shit at your boyfriend like you had him in submission.

“Hopefully you learned your lesson.”

“We can clearly see who the big guy is in this relationship now. Don’t worry little man, maybe you’ll win again next time.”

“Light work. Maybe we should get you some classes small fry.”

And so much more trash-talking and playful jabs until the next round. But, Jason doesn’t mind. As long as he’s the one getting to put you in a submission at the end, he’ll let you trash-talk him all day, every day.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[ponderingmoonlight]

Darlin', can I be your favorite?

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: In a world full of death and tortue, wouldn't it be the easiest to seduce a man who is able to protect you at any cost? Ryomen Sukuna definetely is exactly that. Now, the seduction part...

Warnings: no really deep plot, just some teasing and a little bit of spice here and there, language, reader trying to seduce Sukuna with literally everything lol

Inspired by the song "favorite" by Isabel LaRosa

Your mission was clear since the first time you saw him in action, felt how strong he is: Get Sukuna to fucking adore you.

It might sound ridiculous to the untrained ear. Sukuna, the king of curses, the most frightful creature walking on this planet? To even consider you’d be able to warm his heart is worth a laughter. You know exactly how all the others would react when they hear your wild plan to seduce him, to get him to catch feelings for only you.

But what better defense than having the king of curses by your side? This fucking world is nothing but a battlefield and as a jujutsu sorcerer, you’re in the middle of it. Day in day out you risk your life in order to safe others. And even though it might sound tempting to simply haunt after Gojo Satoru, it’s not the same.

No, you want Ryomen Sukuna and no one else.

Your heels click against the floor as you make your way through Shibuya’s train station, Sukuna’s fingers lying in your purse comfortably. What better way to catch a glimpse into his heart than giving him back those? Well, to be exact you don’t have a set plan apart from getting him to like you. After all, love can’t be forced, right?

Well, that skin tight dress paired with those high heels you chose for today might do that, though.

“Now, where are you Yuji?”, you mumble to yourself, eyes darting around the worn-down area.

There is no doubt in the fact that a fight occurred here not long ago. The air still smells like blood and sweat, the wall is still hot from an enormous impact. But who? Was it Yuji? You follow a trail of blood with your hips swinging from side to side. You just need to find him, need to seduce the king of curses. This is your best chance to not croak in this shitty job.

Your heels stop in their tracks.

A tuft of pink hair rests against the entrance of the rest room, so minor that you almost missed it.

Almost.

You walk towards the beat-up boy while casually inspecting him. He’s definitely alive, but barely. Yuji’s whole face is covered in multiple cuts and bruises. Who on earth did he fight against? And where is that other person? No, it’s not your responsibility to think about that right now. With a swift motion you open your purse and reveal those oh so deadly fingers.

“Now be a good boy and swallow”, you purr.

Your hand grabs his neck and yanks his head upwards while you carefully feed Yuji Sukuna’s fingers. Please, let this work. You are tired to the brim of running away, of fighting curse after curse each and every day. How about a peaceful life with Sukuna by your side? Fuck Jujutsu High, fuck Satoru Gojo. You don’t want to die before you were even able to live properly.

“Get your hands off me, human.”

For a moment, your heart skips a beat. Just one look into his red gleaming eyes and suddenly so matured face is enough for you to realize that this isn’t Yuji anymore. No, the person you are sitting on with your hand wrapped around his neck is none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

Finally.

“Oh, you’re awake. That went smoother than I thought”, you reply with a cheeky grin, not moving an inch away from him like he told you to.

“Who the hell are you, brat?”

He has definitely seen you before, you are a jujutsu sorcerer without any doubt. But why are so damn close, why does your hand wrap so delicately around his neck? Your dark eyes rest on his face unpromising, lashes hanging into your orbs seductively. What’s that supposed to be?

“My name’s whatever you make it. But how about wife?”

Sukuna isn’t able to move, let alone speak. Did you really introduce yourself to the king of curses like that? He shouldn’t waste any time, wring your neck the way you deserve it, dissolve you into tiny pieces. Who the hell do you think you are to speak to him like that? You, a puny woman? Not even the fact that you reunited him with a few of his missing fingers is enough to spare your life.

But why…Why does he still sit there like he did before, allowing your hand to rest against his neck? Why is he unable to give you a sharp answer like he always does?

“I am the king of curses”, is the only thing he’s able to press out.

“And I’ll be your girl. Deal?”

He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, eyes scanning your features up and down. You do have a pretty decent face for a human, your delicate eyes keeping him trapped. That confidence dripping from each and every pore of yours, the way your body is so near that he’s able to hear your blood circulate…

“What the hell are you talking about, stupid girl? If I wanted to, I could kill you without even flinching. Now get off me and run for your life.”

When Sukuna finally regained his threatening voice again, he expected your heart to shiver, your body to stumble backwards until you run away. But instead, you move even closer and dare to sit on top of him, gleaming eyes now staring him into the ground while your naked thighs rub against his pants.

“But you didn’t. Think I must be your favorite.”

The fact that he didn’t kill you right on the spot when you disobeyed his order is enough proof that your plan is actually working. Yes, you managed to confuse the king of curses, to arouse his interest. Now the only thing that’s left is seducing him.

“You are annoying as hell. Now get off me, I have some work to do”, he barks back at you.

His hand grabs your wrist roughly and removes your grip around his neck. But instead of simply throwing you off him, he holds your arm in place while keeping only inches of distance.

Oh, his lips are so close that you are literally able to taste them. Just one movement, one innocent flinching of your hips above his and the gap between you both is closed.

“Are you trying to seduce me, dumb girl?”, he breathes out.

He does it so well, keeping himself cool and composed while his mind races back and forth with your intoxicating smell penetrating his nose. In his long life, there was never a woman who actually tried to seduce him. After all, he’s the king of curses, so strong because of the fact that he never felt love or affection for anyone in all those years. He’s heartless, cold, a menace. Why would a woman ever get the idea of showing him affection? He came here to kill, to destroy this fucking city and make that brat suffer.

But now there’s you.

And apparently you couldn’t care less about the fact that he’s the king of curses.

“Actually, I am”, you purr, your free hand beginning to draw small circles onto his chest.

“Why would you do something so fucking stupid?”

“I mean, you’re the strongest, right?”

He has to blink a few times, the way you look at him as if he’s the dumb one catching him completely off guard.

“I’m the king of curses”, he reminds you all over again.

“And with being your favorite, you take me places-“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, he interrupts you roughly.

You roll your eyes in sheer annoyance, nails now digging into his chest.

“Make me your wife so I don’t die”, you finally blurt out.

Is this the reason behind your questionable action? He could have killed you right on the spot and just one look into your gleaming orbs tells him that you know that all too well. And still, you risked your life for him to protect yours. Were you really so sure you’d be able to seduce the king of curses with a lousy dress and some high heels?

“Why would I do that?”

Enough playing. He should behead you right on the spot before torturing you for the time you wasted. You aren’t even worthy to breathe the same air as him, let alone being this close to his body.

But…Why isn’t he able to simply throw you off, then? Why is he even questioning what you’re up to, replaying your words over and over in his mind?

“Because I’ll let you taste-“

Your mouth is so close to his ear that your hot breath caresses his skin while the filthiest thoughts leave you with ease. His eyes grow wider and wider with each passing second, disgusted but at the same time…

“Enough”, he hisses through gritted teeth while grabbing your shoulders roughly.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Aren’t you at least a little invested? I have a lot to offer”, you reply, ignoring his last question elegantly.

The war inside his head makes him forget that he’s actually out on a mission for a moment. You…you are so different from all those other jujutsu sorcerers, risked your puny life so that he eventually watches over you. How ridiculously brave, how fucking stupid. But still, when your gleaming eyes rest on his face like that, that oh so cheeky grin plastered on your face you make him wonder. A wife, his favorite?

Before he’s able to think straight again, a wave of freezing mist darts towards you at neck-breaking speed. His heart skips a beat, eyes darting towards Uraume who fixates you with hate dripping from every poor of her warped face.

You won’t be fast enough. No jujutsu sorcerer except for Gojo Satoru himself is able to escape Uraume’s powers when surprised. If he doesn’t react, you’ll die. But isn’t that what he wants, that you finally vanish into thin air and leave him alone? You, the girl who just claimed him as her husband only because she doesn’t want to die.

“No.”

His body moves on its own. All of the sudden he finds himself standing in front of you, his hand deflecting Uraume’s Frost Calm with ease.

“Don’t you dare to hurt her, Uraume.”

You can’t believe it, breath getting stuck in your throat. He really did save you. Even though all you did was purring at him, trying to convince him with sugary words, Ryomen Sukuna stood up for you and defended you against one of his. Out of instinct, you push your wobbly legs off the ground, excitement filling you to the brim. With that oh so cheeky smile, you wrap your arm around his and eye the person in front of you up and down innocently.

“But she…she is a human being, Master. She’s a weakling, one of your enemies”, Uraume breathes out.

“Who allowed you to speak to your Master like that? Get out of my sight and do what you were taught to.”

You watch in awe as the person standing in front of you crumbles, their hateful gaze almost piercing through you like a knife until their gone as fast as they came.

“So, I really am your favorite, huh?”, you hum.

“Shut up brat, I’m the only one who can kill you. Now get going, I have a lot of work to do.”

Tags:

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@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

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@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy

[conelluwrites]

Rotted Out With Flies

Soldier 005 x F!Reader x Soldier 007

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: Reader is a soldier not a player (the world isn't ready for a fic like that /j), spitroasting, creampie, forced swallowing, one instance of degradation (slut, whore), reader is number 009, reader doesn't finish lol

Other: I love these freaks I fear... I gave them names (Lee Jong-il for 005 and Park Chi-won for 007) and some standard personalities. Because this is my first time writing for what are basically OCs at this point, their personalities may change if I write for them again. Not posted on Ao3 cause I couldnt find a good relationship tag for it ahah... Back to requests <3!!

Keep to herself, don’t even glance at anyone else, do her job and do it well, and go home afterwards.  That’s what she did, every day in her damn jumpsuit felt like a year- but who is she to complain?  She was offered the job, she took it, end of story.  So what the fuck did she do to draw in their attention?  She can feel the stares of numbers 005 and 007 on her, can feel their hands ‘accidentally’ brushing by her hips and waist, can practically feel their breath when they lean in to whisper disgusting, vile things to her.  And the worst part is that she doesn’t quite hate the attention.  Sure when it started it made her recoil, but now it gives her something to look forward to in the lull between games.  And don’t get her wrong, she still doesn’t do anything to draw in their attention, but she’s began to touch them back, to whisper back, to- to- to

“Hey.”  She jumps slightly when she hears the voice of 007 behind her, his hand rubbing the small of her back.  She doesn't give an immediate response, instead she continues walking.  “Don’t be so cold.”

“She’s just playin’ hard to get.”  The voice of 005 enters her other ear, she can hear the smirk as he talks and enters her personal space so that she’s more or less forced on the path they choose for her.  “Ain’t you, such a cute lil thing…”

She doesn’t put up any hint of resistance as they lead her away, but she stays quiet.

Thye lead her through the hallways, up and down stairs, and then finally they reach a small room.  It reeks of putrid, rancid blood.

“Such a good thing, comin’ here without even fighting.” 007 praises, moving to stand in front of her.  He lets out an audible breath, clearly excited at the chance to be alone- er… mostly alone with 009.  He slips her hood off, tsking when she grips his wrist.  “Don’t try to fight back now, not when we’re so close to the prize.”  They stare at each other before her hand loosens and falls back to her side as 005 rubs soothing circles on her back.  He tugs her mask off, then tugs at the balaclava until he exposes her hair and face.

A whistle leaves both of the soldiers, a low laugh escaping 005 as she leans in to rest his chin on her shoulder.  “Pretty thing, all ours.”

“Names.  I need them.”  She says, trying to sound more in control than she actually is.  Her voice wavers only slightly.  “I’m not going further without them.”

Her voice makes them both laugh, slightly distorted by the masks they’re forced to wear.  She’s just such a sweet thing.  For a moment they just stare at her before looking at each other and shrugging.  They shouldn’t give out their names, but they also shouldn’t have her down here and definitely shouldn’t be thinking of wrecking her body.

“Lee Jong-il.” 005 says, nodding his head over to 007. “Tell her your name, man, it’ll make things easier for us all.”

“I’m Park Chi-won.” 007 responds before patting her face condescendingly.  He leans down until she has no choice but to focus her eyes on his through his mask.  “And yours?  C’mon now, don’t leave us hanging, number 009.”

She shares her name, shrinking away only slightly from Chi-won’s overwhelming presence.  Her attempts amuse him greatly, keeping his hand on her face.  The latex of his gloved thumb rubs against her cheek in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant.  “Masks off.  You see me, it’s only fair if I see you.”

They both pause their gentle motions, the air thickening with tension before Chi-won sighs heavily and pulls his hand away.  He hesitates before pulling his hood down, removing his mask, and tugging his balaclava down.  Jong-il follows afterwards, tossing his mask aside and then immediately nuzzling his nose right below her ear.  He slides the hand from her back to her abdomen, pulling her close to his chest. He’s more than content in the moment until Chi-won speaks up, rolling his eyes at the display, “No time for that, we gotta work fast.  Maybe the girl will let us take her out after the games.”

“‘The girl’.” She scoffs.  But she goes ignored as Jong-il reluctantly pulls away from her.

“Number 007- Chi-won- is right, we got things we need to get done here.  See, you’ve let us touch up on you, let us whisper those filthy, rotten things to you, and you’ve never done shit to stop us.  You want this, don’t you?”

“Of course she does, dude.  She’s probably a loose slut out there.”

Jong-il snaps his gaze to Chi-won giving him a quiet warning.  As much as he wants to degrade the woman, he knows he can’t immediately go around calling her a whore. “As I was saying…  We brought you down here for some fun, baby girl.  You’ll get something out of it too, we aren’t that selfish.”

She rolls her eyes.  Of fucking course.  She wasn’t stupid, far from it, so she saw this coming from a mile away especially when their whispered filth got more pointed and explicit.  “Yeah, whatever.  Let’s just be quick.”

Both the soldiers enjoy her response, caging her in as they touch, grope, and rub her sides before one of them unzips her jumpsuit to touch her more directly.  The latex of their gloves skips around her skin as they both rub her nipples until they harden into sensitive peaks.  Jong-il buries his face in her neck, biting at the tugged down balaclava while Chi-won keeps his gaze on her face.  One of Chi-won’s hands slides over the expanse of her stomach and down to her panties.  He can feel the heat of her cunt even through his glove.  It’s the sign he was looking for.

“Hands and knees, now.”  Chi-won says sharply, stepping away and tapping on Jong-il’s arm to get his attention.  “It won’t be comfortable but, eh, who gives a fuck.   Doubt either of us will last long.”

She whines at the loss of contact, barely registering the fact that the two soldiers are unzipping and freeing their cocks.  She strips her own pink jumpsuit off and allows it to crumble on the floor.  She’s immediately cold, but she can/t bring herself to care too much as her knees make contact with the hard, uncomfortable ground.  She looks up at the pair, pulling back slightly as they both stroke themselves to her sweet body and exposing position.  Jong-il nods to Chi-won and gets behind the woman, groaning softly as he spreads her to see her glistening folds.  She’s so wet just from a few touches.

“She good, man?” Chi-won asks, grunting as he stares down at her cute face.

“More than good.”

“Let’s get started then.”

Jong-il grunts as he notches his cock at her entrance, his hips itching to snap forward to bury his cock in her tight heat.  Chi-won, on the other hand, just tilts her chin up and turns her head from side to side while stroking himself.  He could cum just from the way she lolls her tongue out while Jong-il does shallow thrusts- just enough to push his sensitive head into her sweet cunt.

“Want my cock, huh?  You want to suck me off?”  Chi-won asks, smirking when she nods and looks up at him with those damn pretty eyes.  He taps her chin and laughs when she opens her mouth.  He doesn’t waste time, holding onto his cock until his head rests on her tongue and then he curls his fingers up into her hair.  His eyes roll back as he shallowly thrusts his hips, fucking her face in small strokes.  He looks at Jong-il and nods, giving him the go ahead to fuck her cunt.

He lets out a low groan when he bottoms out.  He holds himself there, his cock pulsing inside her gummy walls.  She makes a soft noise around Chi-won’s cock, vibrating his sensitive flesh.  It makes his hips stutter before he starts to fuck her face with deeper thrusts, ignoring the way she recoils from the intrusion before she relaxes once more.  Jong-il starts to move, barely pulling away from her heat before burying himself to the hilt again and again.

The room becomes a mess of noises- squelches, gorans, grunts, and moans fill the empty, dead space.  They get more and more desperate, louder and louder until it’s almost deafening as the trio loses themselves.

“Fuck, dude, I’m about to cum this pussy full.” Jong-il strains out, his cock eagerly throbbing deep within her.

“I’m about to fill her throat up.” Chi-won says, warning the woman between them.

She doesn’t have time to push Chi-won away or attempt to move away from Jong-il as she feels a familiar warmth flood her cunt.  The groan from Jong-il makes her tremble, she’s so close that it’s annoying but she doesn’t trust herself to not lose balance to rub her clit.  She whimpers around Chi-won’s dick as Jong-il keeps pumping his hips until he’s spent.  He pulls out, his gloved hand spreading her folds to watch his seed leak from her used pussy.

It doesn’t take long for Chi-won to follow, grunting and holding her head still as he fucks her face shallowly until she feels his bitter, salty cum pulse into her mouth.  She whines around him, earning her a grin as he looks down at her.  His lips are slightly parted as he breathes out, trying to stay quiet for the first time during the entire ordeal.  When he pulls out, he immediately covers her mouth and holds her nose closed.  “Swallow.”  He demands simply, nodding as he watches her throat move to swallow down his cum.

Jong-il is already redressed fully, his mask in place as he taps his foot impatiently.  Chi-won joins his side when he trusts himself to move away fully from the girl who’s coughing and sputtering.  “We gotta get going, man.  Hurry up.”

The woman hastily tugs on her jumpsuit, trying to ignore the way her pussy leaks seed into her panties as she stands on shaky legs.  She has to hold onto the pair of soldiers or she fears she’ll fall.  She walks between Jong-il and Chi-won.  “Maybe next time we can take you in a hotel room rather than this dingy shit, eh?” Chi-won offers, “know you didn’t come, baby girl.  We’ll make up for it later.”

[snowseasonmademe]

Especially on camera

word count: 6,125

warning ‼️: smut

pairing: wiliam saliba x black female reader

summary: wilo had a hard day and he couldn’t miss this opportunity to release his stress

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

@kjlovesbigwilo

note: sorry this took kind of long. i got carried away but on the bright side its long and very entertaining ;) as always, enjoy and tell me what you think.

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

Wilo had a hard day.

The game against PSG had stripped the spirit from his body in the cruel way only football can—slowly, then all at once. The locker room was too quiet afterward, filled with heads hung low and the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, just numb. He sat toward the back of the team bus, slouched in his seat, headphones on but no music playing. His fingers toyed absently with the edge of his jersey. Defeat clung to him like sweat. It wasn’t just the loss—it was knowing that the season’s hopes had come undone with it. That it was over.

“Maybe next year” he muttered under his breath, not believing it.

But then—buzz. His phone lit up in his palm. He glanced down, expecting some team update or sponsor message, but instead his heart caught fire at your name.

11:56 PM

you – katrina needs you

Katrina.

His lips quirked despite the weight in his chest. That name—your name for her, your little inside joke—hit him like a memory in full surround. You’d dubbed your pussy “Katrina” after that first night together, when he’d made you come so hard and so fast, you’d nearly cried. “She’s dangerous” you’d said between giggles, sweat-slicked and high off the release. “Natural disaster levels.” he said back

He hadn’t forgotten. Couldn’t.

The name stuck. Not just because it was funny—but because it was true. You were the storm, and he? He drowned in you willingly every time.

He stared at the message, thumb hovering. His whole body tensed. He wanted you, badly—but sometimes, you liked to play. Tease him. Make him jump through hoops before you let him taste what you both knew belonged to him. Tonight though, he wasn’t in the mood for riddles. He didn’t want to earn it—he needed to lose himself in you. Quiet the ache in his chest, the buzzing in his head. You were the only one who could silence everything.

He tapped out a reply anyway.

12:00 AM

wilo – tell her no games.

A minute later:

12:02 AM

you – she said why would she play games when you know she has needs and you’re the only one who can please them.

His throat went dry.

His dick twitched under his sweats.

It wasn’t just about sex. It never was.

The way you texted him, matched his heat with yours, said what you said without hesitation—it wasn’t just lust. It was alignment. Shared hunger. He needed to feel that again, even if only for tonight.

And time was never on your side. Your tour schedule, his travel demands, the constant cameras, the necessary secrecy. You lived in fragments, stolen moments behind closed doors. When you had the chance to see each other—really see—you took it. Because the rest of the world didn’t give you much.

He couldn’t miss this. Not tonight.

12:12 AM

wilo – will be there in one hour. send me location.

12:14 AM

you – don’t be late. we’re waiting.

You tossed your phone onto your chest and let a smirk rise to your lips, body already pulsing with anticipation.

A soft laugh escaped you as you pressed your thighs together, trying to trap the ache that was growing between them. He had that effect on you—Wilo didn’t just fuck you. He touched something deeper. And when he was gone, you swore your body remembered him.

Your girls used to joke:

“Y’all don’t be fuckin’, y’all be screwin’.”

And they had proof. That one time they walked in on you two mid-session—they never recovered. The sounds, the sweat, the headboard slamming, the cries that echoed down the hall. Wilo moaning loud, your voice breaking like you were being murdered. They still brought it up with raised eyebrows and fake concern.

“I don’t know how your pelvis is still intact” one of them had said last week.

You didn’t care. You liked it that way.

You wanted to scream. To feel him inside you so deep it changed your anatomy. You wanted to shake and cry and forget your own name. You wanted to feel that stretch in your lower stomach where his tip pushed so deep, it felt like pressure on your soul.

You were lost in those thoughts, fingertips tracing the hem of your shorts, when your phone buzzed again. His ringtone.

You answered instantly.

“Y/N,” he said. His voice was a low growl, dipped in that thick, beautiful accent that made your stomach flip.

“Mmm?” you hummed, coy and soft.

“I’m trying to hurry but there’s traffic. Don’t touch yourself. I will do it. Just wait. I be there in a few minutes.”

A sharp breath escaped you. Your fingers froze.

“I’ll wait,” you whispered. “I love fucking you too much to do it myself.”

He audibly exhaled, like he’d just been punched in the chest.

“I will crash if you talk like this chérie,” he said tightly, voice shaking with need.

You giggled, teasing but not. “Oh we can’t have that. You have to eat me first, then you can crash your car.”

He laughed, really laughed—and it lightened the air between you. The tension, though, still pulsed underneath like a drumbeat.

“Okay. I will see you soon” he said, and hung up quickly—before you could tempt him into veering off the road entirely.

As soon as Wilo hung up the phone, you tossed it onto the couch and headed straight to your room. You moved with purpose—slow, sultry, almost ritualistic. Tonight wasn’t about trying too hard or dressing up for show. This wasn’t new. Even with how rare your meetups had become, there was something sacred in the routine. Familiar. Intimate. Raw. You knew what he wanted. You knew what you wanted. That was all that mattered.

You slipped into something barely-there: a loose black sleep shirt and matching shorts, the kind that clung only where they wanted to but swayed easy with every step. No panties. No bra. You weren’t in the mood for clothes to get in the way. Tonight was about access, about urgency. You considered shaving for a second—not out of shame, but habit. The hair between your thighs had grown out just a little, but honestly? This wasn’t a night for vanity. He didn’t care. You could show up with a full, wild bush and he’d still bury himself in you like he was starving. He wanted in. He always did.

You walked back out to the foyer, checking each blind to make sure the world couldn’t peek in. Privacy was survival in your world. Your fingers tugged the last blind into place—and that’s when you heard the knock. Three firm thuds. You froze. Your heart paused. Then—an excited grin spread across your face. You gave yourself a quick, silent twerk of celebration—pure instinct, pure joy—before smoothing your shirt and gliding to the door.

When you opened it, there he was.

Big. Broad. Towering. His presence filled the doorway before he even crossed it. He radiated this primal confidence—the kind that came from knowing he was wanted, needed. Big dick energy if you will. His gaze landed on you like he already knew what was waiting for him, and his whole body was humming with intent. His hands were clenched, jaw tight, like he was trying to hold himself back out of respect. But the fire was right there—behind his eyes, in the heat radiating off his skin. This wasn’t just desire. This was need.

He knew he’d satisfy you. Knew that once he got his hands on you, there’d be no doubt. Because your pleasure was his pleasure. Watching you unravel, hearing you moan, feeling you clench around him—that was what got him off the most. He didn’t just enjoy your reactions; he craved them. Needed them. And you? You weren’t afraid of that hunger. You leaned into it.

But he also knew that pain made you sing. The right kind, at the right time. The sharp slap to your ass while he drilled into you from behind. His hand yanking your hair back while you cried out his name, bent over the kitchen counter. You didn’t want gentle all the time. You wanted that fine line between too much and just enough—where it almost hurts, but it feels so fucking good that you beg for more. You wanted him to ruin you lovingly, to bruise you where only you and he would know. And Wilo? He lived for that balance. He took pride in it.

“Can I come in?” he asked, towering over you like a shadow you never wanted to outrun.

You turned, walking deeper into your apartment as you tossed over your shoulder, “You’re not gonna bite me, are you?”

“If you want, I will” he said, stepping in and closing the door behind him. His arms slid around your waist with ease, his chest pressing into your back, his hips firm against your ass. That heat—his heat—wrapped around you, soothing and maddening all at once. The scent of his cologne mixed with the natural musk of a long day. You inhaled it like oxygen and tilted your head back onto his shoulder.

He moved your hair to the side, his lips brushing against the soft skin behind your ear, trailing down your neck, your jaw. His hands roamed your body slowly, reverently.

“I was late,” he murmured into your ear, his voice low, thick with desire. “I make up for it now.”

You barely noticed that he was walking you until your back met the wall. His hips ground into you, pressing his hardness against your ass. You whimpered, hips arching back to meet him, eager to feel more. You rocked against him, creating friction that made you both exhale.

“Fuck me, Wilo. Right now” you whispered, cheek resting against the wall, your voice breathy and begging.

“I will, chérie,” he murmured, turning you around. “Let me make up for being late.”

But as he spun you, his strength underestimated the moment—your head bumped the wall. “Ahhh, shit,” you hissed, clutching the back of your skull.

“Oh—I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry,” he said immediately, kissing your cheeks with urgency, his eyes wide and soft with guilt.

“I can’t fuck if I have a concussion, William,” you said through a wince, voice dry.

“Is okay. I’m doing the fucking” he replied with a half-laugh, brushing kisses down your face and neck, trying to soothe your annoyance. You rolled your eyes, but let it slide. You were too hungry for him to care.

He sank to his knees, his palms running down your sides. He hooked one of your legs up over his shoulder with ease, positioning you perfectly against the wall. His hands were firm, grounding you there. Your fingers tangled into his curls, bracing yourself.

His lips ghosted over your inner thigh—open-mouthed, wet, messy. He knew you liked it filthy, liked to feel it all. You gasped when he groaned into your skin, tongue tracing slow patterns that only teased what you knew was coming.

He licked up the inside of your thigh, pausing to admire you. The loose shirt you wore barely covered anything. There was nothing between you and him but the humid air.

He looked up at you, eyes low, voice thick. “My Katrina… so good for me” he whispered, lips grazing your folds. His breath made your knees weak.

Then, he devoured you.

There was no slow build-up. He latched onto your clit like he’d been waiting his whole life to taste you again. His tongue moved with confidence—pressure perfect, rhythm locked in from memory. You cried out, head falling back against the wall.

Your grip on his hair tightened, legs trembling already. He wasn’t eating you out. He was feasting. Like you were the last meal he’d ever have, and he was determined to make it count.

When he slipped his middle finger inside you, you nearly lost it. You were already dripping—soaking. He moved inside you with purpose, curving up, stroking that spot he knew would have you unraveling.

“Fuck—Wilo” you gasped.

He didn’t stop. He hummed against your clit, the vibration making your hips buck. When he felt you twitch, he pushed another finger inside and started pumping harder, tongue relentless.

You were undone.

You cried out, thighs spasming as your orgasm tore through you like lightning. Your free leg gave out, but before you could fall, he hooked it up too. Now he was holding you—both legs over his shoulders—as he continued devouring every drop of your release. His tongue never wavered. His arms locked you in place. He wanted all of it. Needed all of it.

He didn’t stop until he was sure you were empty—and even then, he gave you one last, slow lick, like he was savoring you. Your hands slipped from his hair, your whole body trembling.

And when he finally looked up at you, his lips and chin glistening, his eyes were glazed with lust—but also pride. He looked like a man who’d just worshipped at the altar of your body.

Because for Wilo, making you cum wasn’t just about satisfaction—it was about power. Connection. It was about giving you exactly what you needed… and being the only one who could.

He let go of your legs one at a time—slowly, carefully, like you were something sacred and fragile. His hands gripped your thighs gently, lowering them as if he didn’t trust gravity to treat you the way he did. Your body was trembling, spent, soaked. You clung to his shoulders as he rose to his full height, your head resting briefly on his chest like you needed help staying grounded.

Your eyes were glazed, unfocused, wandering off into the blissful haze of your orgasm. Everything was warm and distant, like you were still floating in the pleasure he’d given you. You barely noticed the wetness seeping through your shorts—your own cum dripping down your inner thighs, clinging to your skin, staining the fabric. You’d soaked yourself for him. You didn’t care. You wanted to stay in this fog.

“Are you here bébé?” he asked, voice low, mouth close to yours.

You could smell yourself on his breath. Tangy, raw, earthy. That alone made your thighs clench again, made your lips part in instinct. He’d eaten you like a man possessed—and now the proof of that was on his tongue, in his beard, and in the air between you.

You wanted to taste it too.

So you kissed him.

Messy. Sloppy. Greedy. There was no finesse to it—just heat. Your lips collided, opened, moved with a hunger neither of you could control. His hands slipped down to your ass and gripped. Not soft, not gentle—hard, like he needed to mark you, to claim you again. You moaned into his mouth, tongue tangling with his as you tasted yourself, as you shared yourself with him. That primal mess of saliva, breath, and sex between your lips made your head spin.

You could feel his dick pressing into your stomach—hard, hot, throbbing. The length of it rested against you like a promise. You knew it was ready. Ready to stretch you, drag against your walls, fill you until the only thing you could do was take it. It twitched against your skin like it was aching to be inside you. You wanted that too.

You pulled away and looked up at him. His pupils were blown—huge and black, swallowing the brown of his irises. His lips were slick, swollen, parted. His whole body was tight with restraint, like he was hanging on by the thinnest thread. He needed you now.

Just like you needed him.

“Go to my bedroom and wait for me there,” you said, smirking against his lips. “I have to get something real quick, okay?”

He nodded once. Then he leaned in, breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “I will have no clothes when you come back.”

He pulled back to look at you, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed like he was daring you to take too long. His control was hanging by a thread. You giggled, pecked his lips one more time, and turned away.

You could hear the way he rushed off to your room. Could practically feel his urgency in the way his feet hit the floor, quick and heavy. It made your stomach flutter.

You walked calmly to the back closet of your apartment—the one that held your real secret. You reached up onto the highest shelf and pulled down the camera. Your camera. His camera. The camera.

The one he bought for the two of you in Milan—the trip that was supposed to be innocent, but ended up changing everything. The one that had seen you in every angle, every position, every orgasm. The one you used to satisfy yourself when he wasn’t around. When your fingers weren’t enough and only the sight of him fucking you open could make you cum.

You clutched it to your chest and, just before walking back, decided to strip. You needed to match his energy. His greed. His need. You took off your shirt, your shorts, everything—your skin already tingling from the thought of his hands back on it. You walked slowly to the bedroom, completely bare.

And there he was.

Laid out across your bed like he belonged there. Hands behind his head like a king, relaxed—but his dick was anything but calm. It was angry, needy, pointing straight up toward the ceiling. Higher than Travis Scott. The tip was flushed, red and leaking. The veins stood out, thick and pulsing, running down the length like maps toward your ruin. You licked your lips.

His dick was made for you. To fill you. To drag against every nerve ending inside you. To make you scream, cry, beg. To make you come back to life again and again.

“Finally you come back. Thought you left me,” he said, voice low and teasing as you closed the door behind you.

“No,” you purred, holding the camera up in your hand. “I was just looking for our friend.”

You saw the recognition flash across his face immediately. The memory. The hunger. The camera was a symbol—of all the dirty, beautiful, wild things you’d done together. His eyes darkened.

“Let’s record again,” you said.

“Are you asking?” he asked, sitting up and scooting toward the edge of the bed.

“Do I really have to ask? I know you want to.”

You straddled him slowly, one knee on either side of his hips, your heat hovering just over his length. His dick twitched between you, hungry for your body.

“I do,” he said, reaching for the camera. “Lemme see.”

He turned it on and pointed it toward your face. “Hi, camera,” he said, grinning.

You turned your head, shy at first, laughing softly.

“Non,” he said, voice stern. “Don’t be shy. You want this. Say hi to camera.”

You turned back, smiled wide, and said, “Hi, camera,” with a soft giggle. But he wasn’t here for giggles. He wanted a performance. He needed it. You always performed for him—and tonight, he was ready to devour the show.

He propped the camera on a pillow at the end corner of the bed, angling it perfectly. You both knew what was coming. He leaned back against the headboard, spreading his legs just a bit.

“Crawl to me, bébé.”

You obeyed immediately. Crawling slowly, deliberately. Your ass swayed with every movement, hips rolling with intent. You knew the camera had a perfect view—and you wanted to watch it back later, when he wasn’t around. You wanted to relive every second.

You crawled between his legs and positioned yourself close to his dick. No hands this time. Just your mouth. You licked long, slow stripes from base to tip, letting your tongue explore him. He groaned deep in his throat.

His hand gripped your hair—not to force, but to guide. You were in control. He was just the canvas.

With your back arched and your ass high, you moved your mouth over him, lips wrapping around the tip, tongue swirling. You moaned softly—just enough to let him feel the vibration. He threw his head back.

This was more than pleasure—it was release. For both of you.

You added your hands, twisting as you sucked. You didn’t want him to cum yet—not until he was buried inside you—but you needed to taste him. Just a little. Just enough to satisfy that hunger you’d been nursing for weeks.

Your eyes locked with his as you sucked harder, your mouth stretching around him. You wanted him to see it. To feel how much you wanted him. He was right there.

“Stop, stop. Let me fuck you now,” he said suddenly, voice rough but tender.

You popped off him and sat up, waiting.

He leaned forward, moving behind you with a grace that was almost terrifying. He turned you so that your body was stretched across the bed—your profile in full view of the camera. He pressed your back down until your ass was high in the air—his favorite angle. You were open. Exposed. Busted wide just for him.

His. His ass. His pussy.

He grabbed the camera and aimed it right where his hips hovered behind you.

“Look at thiz,” he said in that thick, hungry accent. “So sexy.”

He jiggled your ass with one hand, and you caught the hint—so you started to twerk back on him. Just enough to make him groan.

“Mmmhm… there you go bébé,” he whispered, utterly satisfied.

You glanced over your shoulder and smiled at him—mischievous, filthy, and completely gone.

Then he took his dick and ran the tip up and down your slit. Teasing. Spreading your slick across your folds and over your clit.

“So wet… Katrina miss me, hm?”

“She said she doesn’t wanna be empty anymore,” you said, voice thick with lust, eyes locked with his. “I think you should help her out Wilo.”

He grinned, cocky and crazed with lust.

Then—finally—he pushed in.

Only the tip.

And it was already perfect.

“Yessssss… ughhhh,” you sighed, pure relief leaking from every syllable as your head dropped.

“Ughhhh,” he groaned low and deep behind you, voice rich and full of satisfaction. The camera sat in full view, capturing every inch as his swollen, flushed tip slowly disappeared inside your soaked pussy, his other hand wrapped tightly around your hips like he was steadying himself just to survive the feel of you.

You were already clenching—around him, around the sheets, around the wild heat spreading through your limbs. You didn’t know how many times you were going to cum tonight. You just knew it would be too much. Maybe not enough. Either way, you needed it. You craved every drop of what this night had to offer.

He started slow. Shallow strokes. Just the tip. In and out. In and out. You could hear how wet you were, the obscene sound of your arousal echoing off the walls. You moaned without thinking, your swollen walls tightening with each pass of his head over your most sensitive spots.

“You said no games Wilo,” you huffed, breath hitching as you turned your head back to look at him, brows furrowed.

He locked eyes with you. “You’re right bébé,” he said—then with zero warning, he pushed all the way in.

You screamed, “Ahhhhhh—fuck!” as your hands clawed at the sheets, back arching uncontrollably. Your face buried into the mattress like it could soften the impact of how deep he was.

Wilo set the camera down, knowing this wasn’t going to be a one-hand moment. He needed both. Both to handle you. To control this. To lose himself.

He grabbed your head, angling it toward the camera so it could see the wrecked expression on your face. And then—he started to really fuck you.

Long, heavy strokes. Thick. Intentional. Every thrust sank into you like he wanted to leave a permanent mark. His hips slapped against your ass, his balls landing with perfect rhythm. The sound alone had your eyes rolling back.

“Oh—” he moaned, deep and heady, “you feel so fucking good. So good.” His head dropped back.

You could feel it. Another orgasm creeping up like fire licking your spine. He didn’t stop. His hand lifted in the air and came down hard on your ass.

The slap stung—but in the best way.

“Again baby,” you begged, pushing your hips back onto him, needing more.

He smacked it again. Harder this time.

You moaned like a prayer. Like a promise. It hurt—but god, it felt so fucking good.

You looked right into the camera. But it wasn’t close enough. It needed to see this. Needed to catch it all. So you reached beside you and grabbed it, angling it perfectly beneath where his thick dick was disappearing inside you.

“So nasty for me bébé,” he said with a smirk, completely turned on by your boldness. This was what he loved—when you let go, when you stopped pretending and just gave in to the chaos between you.

His grip tightened around your hips. He started slamming into you, faster, harder, your pussy stretched and soaked, your moans almost turning into sobs.

This was the screwin’ your friends joked about.

The headboard knocked against the wall.

Your whole body jolted forward with every powerful thrust.

“Fuck—Wilo—oh my God, don’t stop, I’m gonna cum!” you cried out.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He kept going, unrelenting, and just like that, you came around him with a scream.

“Ughhh—oh yesssss!” you shouted.

The camera captured it all. Your pussy spasming violently, gripping him like a vice. Slick and creamy, your release clung to the base of his dick.

Your arms gave out, and your knees buckled as you collapsed flat on your stomach, panting and dazed.

Wilo slowly pulled out and grabbed the camera, angling it downward to show his wet, glistening dick.

“Made a mess all over me,” he said, voice thick, pride swelling behind every word. Then he spread your cheeks, exposing your glistening, dripping entrance.

“And look at this… I love fucking this pussy,” he whispered. His tone made your spine tremble.

He placed the camera on your nightstand, carefully adjusting it so it captured both of you fully. He wasn’t planning to pick it up again until he was watching his cum leak out of you.

Wilo laid down beside you and whispered, “Sit here” gesturing toward his face.

You didn’t think you had the strength left in you—but you moved anyway. Straddled his hips and scooted forward, inch by inch until your wet core hovered above his mouth.

He didn’t wait. His arms locked around your thighs, and he pulled you down.

You hissed at the sharp sting of his mouth on your oversensitive clit. He sucked it in like he missed it. Like he needed it.

His big brown eyes stared up at you—soft, unblinking, almost innocent—while his tongue worked filthily between your folds.

You started grinding. Slow, needy. His nose bumped your clit as his tongue dove deeper. You gasped.

“Oh fuck, William, I’m gonna cum again. Please…”

You didn’t know why you begged. You never had to. He always gave you everything.

He hummed against your clit, the vibration forcing your hips to rock harder. You were close again. So close. And then—

Something shifted. Sharp. Sudden.

Before you could process it, clear liquid burst from between your thighs and into his open mouth.

You screamed.

Your body shook with the force of it, legs trembling, thighs clamping around his face.

“Oh my God, oh my God—fuck!” you wailed.

He never looked away. Even with his face soaked, even as your eyes clamped shut from the force of it all, his gaze was locked on you.

He was hypnotized—by the way your chest bounced, by the pleasure shaking your entire frame.

When your body finally stilled, you tried to slide back down his chest. Shaky, dazed, breathless.

“Katrina almost got me that time” he laughed, his voice ragged.

You couldn’t even speak. He didn’t mind.

He just pulled you in and kissed you—messy, wet, raw—just like how you kissed him after he ate you the first time.

His face glistened with your release. His neck, his beard, his lips.

You loved how he smelled with you on him.

If you could bottle it and make him wear it, you would.

He laid between your legs like he belonged there—because he did. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, legs hooked over his hips as if your body refused to let him go. He kissed you slow, deep, until your lungs forgot how to work without his breath in them. His hands mapped you like he was rediscovering you—gripping your thighs, palming your waist, squeezing your breasts. When he slid one of your legs higher, propping it up just right so the camera on the nightstand could catch every second of him stretching you open, you shivered. You knew what he was doing. He wanted a memory—full view of the way your pussy welcomed him in.

“I’m happy I came,” he whispered, pressing kisses over your cheeks, your jaw, the soft skin under your eye. “Missed you.”

Your heart tugged in your chest. The sincerity in his voice hit different when it was between strokes and moans.

“I missed you too, William,” you replied honestly, voice small but sure. You pulled him in again, and just like that, he sank inside you.

The stretch was immediate. The burn and the fullness took your breath away. You moaned into his mouth, arms clenching around his shoulders. Your nails scraped lightly down his back as he began to thrust—deep, not soft, not slow. He wasn’t being careful now. He was fucking you. Giving you the ache you craved. The bed creaked violently beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall in a stuttering rhythm. The side table trembled, a glass toppling over and hitting the floor with a dull thud, ignored. The pillows fell off the bed completely. None of it mattered. You were consumed.

He grunted into your ear, hot breath brushing your neck. “Don’t pull it out. You better fucking leave it in.”

Your back arched at that. “Wilo—fuck, please—” you whimpered, and that only made him go harder.

This was the rhythm your body begged for when he was gone. The kind of pace that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. Just rough enough to leave you sore, but never enough to make you want it to stop. Your pussy pulsed around him with every thrust. You couldn’t think, couldn’t form words—just moan and scream, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

“Can you hear it?” he growled into your ear. “How wet you are for me chérie.”

You could. It was obscene. The slick, messy squelch of your bodies meeting, again and again. It sounded like your pussy was trying to pull him deeper. Like it didn’t want to let him go either. It sounded like fresh mac and cheese. Like soggy cereal. Like heaven.

You were soaked. The kind of soaked that made the sheets damp beneath you. The kind of soaked that had your thighs and his glistening. The kind of soaked that meant your laundry would be a whole different battle tomorrow.

Then he hit a spot—one he hadn’t touched before tonight—and your eyes snapped open. That was it. That was the trigger. A tidal wave of pleasure surged through your belly, and your mouth fell open in a silent scream.

“Oh—fuck! Wilo!” you cried out as your orgasm slammed into you, unstoppable. And just like that, he followed.

“Bébé,” he groaned against your neck, voice strained as his hips stuttered.

You both came, bodies jerking in unison, sweat mixing with cum, breath catching like you’d both run a marathon. He filled you up completely, spilling deep inside you with long, guttural moans, hips twitching as your pussy milked every drop from him. You swore you could feel him throb as he emptied himself.

He laid there a while, just breathing. Listening to your soft gasps. One of your legs still hung limply over his shoulder, trembling with the aftershocks. He lowered it gently and pressed soft kisses all over your face, still whispering your name like a prayer.

“You alright? How you feel?” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from your face.

“I’m good,” you nodded with a slow smile. “I’m good Wilo.”

He sat up, slowly pulling out of you with a deep breath. He grabbed the camera quickly, eager to capture what he knew would be his favorite part. He pointed it down between your legs just as his thick, warm cum began to spill out of you. It dripped over your folds, creamy and heavy, a glistening reminder of how much you took from him. He dipped two fingers inside you, gathering a bit of the mess and dragging it back out slowly, then raised the camera to your flushed, glowing face.

“Open” he said lowly.

You looked right into his eyes as you opened your mouth, and he slid those fingers between your lips. You sucked them clean without breaking eye contact, moaning softly as you did.

He groaned. “Mmm.”

Then he leaned in to kiss you again—wet, messy, unhurried. His face and neck were still slick with your scent. You could smell yourself on him, and you loved it. If you could bottle that scent and make him wear it every day, you would.

Still holding the camera steady, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Bye,” with a cheeky little wave and soft giggle.

You laughed too, flushed and breathless as the screen faded to black.

He tossed the camera somewhere on the bed, not caring where it landed. All he wanted was you in his arms. He pulled you close, cradling your back to his chest, his chin resting gently on your shoulder as his breath tickled your neck.

“Thanks for letting me come over” he murmured, his voice quieter now, gentler. The rough edge of lust was gone, replaced by something softer. “I really need this.”

You let out a little hum, barely able to speak through the haze of exhaustion. “I needed you too… missed you a lot,” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly, lips heavy with sleep.

He smiled against your skin, rubbing slow circles into your stomach. “I’ll see you more now. Season’s over. I can come to you, we can keep doing this… if you like.”

You loved that he said it like that. No pressure. No awkward questions. No trying to make it something it wasn’t. He got it. He always got it. This wasn’t about love or promises—it was about the space you two created when you were together. Fucking. Laughing. Touching. Talking sometimes. Just two people doing what felt good with no expectations. And you loved that.

“Mhmm,” you replied, smiling faintly. “I want that. I wanna do this with you. More.”

He kissed the back of your shoulder in response. You both lay there in silence for a while, your breathing syncing up. The heat of his body behind you, the soft weight of his arm across your waist, the occasional brush of his lips against your back—it was perfect.

Eventually, he stirred, voice low so he wouldn’t disturb the comfort you’d settled into. “I will clean up and shower. Have to go back before coach finds out I’m not there. I will be in big trouble.”

You nodded sleepily, barely opening your eyes.

He slipped out of bed and padded softly to the bathroom. You heard the water run, the sound of drawers opening. A few minutes later, he returned with warm clothes for himself and a handful of wet wipes for you. He moved gently, cleaning between your thighs with such care it almost made you emotional. Like you weren’t just someone he fucked. Like you were someone he wanted to care for.

After he wiped you clean, he scooped you up into his arms without a word and carried you to the couch. He knew you loved sleeping here sometimes, wrapped up in your favorite fluffy blanket with the soft light from the kitchen glowing nearby. He laid you down, covered you carefully, then stroked your head with a tenderness that made your heart ache a little.

“Rest,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

And you did. You drifted off right there on the couch, warm, clean, and satisfied. Not just from the sex—but from the feeling of being understood. Held. Wanted, in the way that mattered to you.