#give yourself permission to be whatever it is you want to be

[filmsbyun]

Crave || Choi Beomgyu

Craving the touch you hadn’t given all day, Beomgyu slipped a strawberry candy past your lips—hoping you'd start craving him instead.

Choi Beomgyu x afab!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ 1.4k

warning: suggestive, kissing, foodplay (?) passing of candies from mouth to mouth lol, dry humping, [probably missed some i'm sleep deprived]

i actually despise strawberry candies mannn :// Reblogging/feedbacks will be much appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

Beomgyu was an unpredictable man.

Even after years of being in this relationship, he still managed to surprise you—sometimes with his words, often with his thoughtfulness, and most times with the way he touched you like he hadn’t memorized you already. And honestly, you liked this part of him. The spontaneity. The refusal to ever let things settle into anything close to boring.

You placed the last piece of silverware on the table and stepped away, rubbing your palm with a napkin as you turned back toward the kitchen. The counter was cluttered with serving platters and utensils from the dinner preparations, and you focused on organizing them. Tonight was a dinner party you were hosting for your friends.

You were so focused on your work that you didn’t hear the soft padding of footsteps behind you, didn’t register his presence until two arms slipped around your waist from behind and pulled you back into a firm chest.

His mouth was on your shoulder before you could even say his name, warm and full and pressing into the curve of your skin. You felt him exhale, the sound brushing your ear as his nose nudged at the base of your neck.

“I couldn’t get you to myself the entire evening,” he muttered, voice muffled as he kissed along the junction between your neck and shoulder. “I missed you, love.”

There was a familiar pout to his tone, that same whine he sometimes used when you were too busy or distracted to focus on him. Beomgyu had always been clingy when it came to you. He never liked being in the same room and not being able to reach you. And you understood this part of him too—how much he craved time with you, how affection made him feel more than any word could.

But whatever thought was formulating earlier in your mind disappeared the moment his lips found the pulse point. He bit down softly before pressing a warm open-mouthed kiss like he meant to taste every inch of skin he could reach without you stopping him. Your head tilted back against his shoulder involuntarily, the movement giving him more access, and he took it without hesitation, his tongue darting out to trace a path up to your ear. His breath was warm, and the soft sounds he made sent a pulse through your entire frame.

Your fingers gripped the counter instinctively, grounding yourself against the marble’s chill, but the rest of you was melting fast.

“Gyu…” you whispered, voice caught between a sigh and a plea. You turned your head slightly, just enough to let him catch a glimpse of the mess he was making of you without even trying.

Beomgyu’s eyes were dark and heady, and it only fueled the fire that was building inside you. His hand wrapped around the side of your jaw, holding your face in place as his lips caught yours.  His teeth caught your bottom lip, and when you groaned, soft and muffled, his mind went completely blank except for one thought.

He wants to absolutely devour you.

With a silent curse, he grabbed your waist and spun you to face him as he backed you up against the counter. The marble was cold against your lower back, but it was the heat of his mouth that stole your breath. His lips crashed into yours with a force that knocked every coherent thought from your head. Your eyes flew open when his tongue pressed insistently between your lips, feeling him pushing something solid—a candy into your mouth, slick and sweet as it rolled over your tongue. The sharp taste of strawberry burst across your senses, catching you so off guard that you moaned into him.

“B-Beomgyu, please—” you gasped between breaths, barely able to form the words, but he didn’t let up. One of his hands slid behind your head, cradling it with surprising tenderness even as his kiss grew more intense.

The candy melted from the heat between you, a slow dissolve that mirrored the state inside your chest.

You could barely keep your balance with the way your knees buckled, and Beomgyu—sensing it without needing to look—gripped your hip with one hand and held you up with the sheer steadiness of his body against yours. The kiss turned messier as he sucked on your tongue, drawing a low moan from your throat that vibrated against his mouth.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to let you gulp down some air, and the smirk that lifted one corner of his lips looked downright devious.

In one swift movement, he hooked his arms beneath your thighs and lifted you onto the counter as though you weighed nothing, the force of his desire slipping through the cracks of his restraint. He stood between your legs, palms running along your thighs, guiding you closer to the edge until you were pressed against him. 

You wanted to warn him that the guests might be arriving any moment now, but you couldn't find the will nor the strength in you to tell him to stop.

“Missed you, so fucking much,” he murmured against your neck. The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine as his lips found the sensitive curve beneath your jaw, kissing, nipping, mouthing his way to every place he remembered made you lose your breath. He lingered there, listening to your reactions like they were a melody, pleased every time he found a new sound.

The room had faded around you both. You didn’t even notice when your back met the couch cushions. The lighting from the nearby lamp brushed your skin in soft pools of glow, casting the heat in your cheeks in dusky pinks and golds. Beomgyu hovered above you, one arm braced beside your head, his gaze fixed on you like he couldn’t afford to blink. His fingers dipped beneath your shirt at the waist, resting on your bare skin, his thumb tracing mindless patterns that sent goosebumps everywhere. 

Your chest rose and fell unevenly, your lips kiss-swollen and parted, still tasting the remains of strawberry on your tongue. Your mind, fogged and reeling, could only focus on the need curling deep inside your belly.

You wanted more—of his hands, his mouth, the way his touch unraveled every nerve in your body. You don't know how he even thought of the idea to kiss you with a candy, but it did the work and now that you got a taste of it, you simply didn't want to stop.

You reached for him, fingers bunching at the front of his shirt and tugging him down to you. “Please,” you whispered, voice rough and worn from all the breathless moans he’d pulled from you. “I need you.”

Beomgyu froze for a heartbeat, and then something snapped in him. His eyes darkened, the softness in them drowned by a far more visceral kind of want. He didn’t look away as he leaned in, breathing you in as he slid a hand under the small of your back to pull you even closer as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of space between you.

“I’ve got you,” he said lowly, his nose brushing against yours. “Let me take care of you.”

He positioned himself above you, one leg slipping between yours. He pushed forward with his hips, gently nudging your thighs apart until your legs wrapped around him instinctively. He fit there like a puzzle, the lines of his body molding to yours in perfect sync. Your breath hitched, chest brushing his with each inhale, your arms wound around his shoulders.

The slow rolls of his hips against your core sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you. The barrier of your clothes didn’t get in the way, rather the friction only heightened the need to chase the high for both of you. 

His lips hovered over yours, nearly touching—

—and then, the doorbell rang.

The sound sliced through the haze like ice water. 

No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

Beomgyu stopped mid-motion, his body taut above yours, caught between disbelief and raw, fraying restraint. You almost whimpered, chasing his mouth with yours, head lifting in desperate protest. But he drew back just slightly, and it felt like the world tilted the wrong way.

The sound you let out made him stare down at you, jaw clenched so tightly you could see the flicker of muscle near his ear, his chest heaving against yours. He took a deep breath, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. 

He dipped his head down again and took your hand instead, pressing a kiss to your fingers while a breathless laugh escaped his throat. 

“I promise you, I'm going to give you the best time of your life later tonight.”

Taglist; @dawngyu @1-800-jewon @xylatox @hoefororeo @i-like-to-read-at-4am @caratcakemoa @heesmiles @90steele

[revelboo]

I would give my (and Tarantulas) firstborn for a continuation of the aphrodisiac / ovi fic

Congrats, you’re making me actually think about how this could work and I’m not sure how I feel about that 🤣 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Bound Scenario Pt 2

Tarantulas x Reader

• Venting raggedly as you tremble, he’s reluctant to pull out. Worked so hard for this, taking advantage of this quirk of his organic alt mode, his frames ability to create protoforms, though none of the previous batches of eggs were viable. Without a spark, they’re just wasted materials and a strain on him to produce, dormant. Leaning over you, your pupils are still dilated when he cups your cheek and you lean into the contact. Unsure if his theory is correct, that if he sparks you while you’re full of his eggs, the spark will split. Get pulled into the forming protoforms while you keep them safe, carry them.

• Feeling almost drunk on arousal, aching for more even as you squirm at the uncomfortably full sensation of whatever he put inside you, you groan when he pulls out. And you push up onto your elbow, shuddering when something small and round slips out of you. Is that an egg? Hearing Tarantulas snarl when you try to touch it, catching your wrist and bending over you. Using his mouth and glossa to deliberately press it back inside you. Visor brightening as he brings his extra limbs forward, seeing webbing in his claws as he passes it to his mouth, mandibles pulling it in and then his mouth is on you, his glossa stroking deep, feeling that pressure as you grab at his helm. And feeling a faint, shivery sensation before his head lifts.

• Still crouching between your spread thighs, his head tips when you try to ask a question, the words muffled by the gag and he reaches out to remove it with an extra limb. “What did you just do to me?” You ask and he winces, wondering what part you’ll be angriest about. Laying eggs inside you or the copulatory plug of his webbing meant to keep them where he put them until he removes it to carefully frag you later. Or that he didn’t ask first.

• “I gave you young,” he says and your eyes narrow. “Our young.” Realizing it was an egg and your weird, alien husband laid eggs inside you. Alarmed and hoping he’s not the sort of bug that lays eggs in drugged prey and lets their kids eat their way out. And he’s shifting his plating to expose his spark as he cages you and snares you before you can ask. It’s not the first time you’ve spark bonded him, swimming in the mad, chaos of his broken mind, overwhelming you. So much hate and resentment and longing that you feel like you might lose yourself if you’re tangled in him too long. The ache of wanting a family and having that taken from him just when he thought he had everything, his creation twisted into something unrecognizable. Betrayed and trapped, his slow descent into madness needling at you. And claiming you, having a second chance. Loving you with an all consuming fixation and intensity, needing to be loved, desperate for belonging. Broken and reaching for you, needing you to fix him even though you’re not sure you can. And there’s a question there, a coaxing as his madness sinks in icy shivers into you until you relent just to make it stop. Feel a pull, a loss that echoes through you and you’re reaching even as you lose whatever he just took, feeling it slip right through you.

• Shuddering as his spike releases and pressurizes at the feel of the new spark splintering, he reluctantly severs the connection, shifting his plating. Knowing he needs to explain as he leans over you to free your bound wrists and slides his arms under you. Or he can just avoid your anger and envenomate you again. It’s tempting, but he vents knowing he won’t. “Didn’t occur to you to ask first?” You demand and his mandibles flex. ‘It did, but forgiveness is easier than permission,’ he admits and you reach to grab one of his mandibles and yank making him hiss. “Are your kids going to hatch in me and eat me alive?” Staring in horror that you’d think that, he shakes his head. You’re his, fully bonded to him. “You’re lucky I love you or I’d smack the shit out of you.” You love him?

Previous

[ilysungho]

been thinking a lot about a fic with either taesan, myungjae or leehan where reader is in an established relationship with one of them and they haven't even spoken about sex or anything (mostly because either both are virgins or he's had a little bit of experience) since they've dated and it's been a few months since they've started dating, but they're kinda wanting to go further than just some little cute kisses (like maybe they wanna make out, or they give each other head)- and maybe he guides her? or they talk each other through it? talking each other through it would go INSANE

sorry kinda rambled there but are you picking up what I'm putting down (PLSPLSPLS)

a/n: i’ll just keep it general in this! not a fic but it got sorta long, i hope you like it <3 contains: dom!member x sub!reader, inexperienced!member x virgin!reader, nicknames, mutual masturbation, phone sex, praising, edging

a sleepless night of having your fingers in your panties leads you to do things you’ve never thought of before. your boyfriend is nothing if not a sweetheart as he wakes up at 4am to a phone call from you, his sleepy voice filled with concern as he asks you whether you’re alright and why you’re calling so late. he just doesn’t know how badly you need him at the moment, anything about him that would help you reach your fifth climax you’ve been holding in but unable to let go. instead of a proper sentence, the whimper of his name makes him shoot open his eyes, suddenly hyper aware of every sound coming out of his device. the way your breathing is just a mess all over the place as you’re trying your hardest not to moan, the faint sounds of your extremely wet folds as your fingers rub the hell out of them, the light whirring of the fan above you—everything before you croak out a “n-need you p-please,” in your sweet honey like voice.

it drives him over the edge as he hears you plead, asking you what you’re doing as you just blush behind your screen, not even sure why you’re hiding your face because it’s just a voice call. maybe it’s the fact that it’s so late at night, or maybe it’s because you asked, but your boyfriend is nothing short of cooperative as he asks what you need from him first. he himself frees his growing length as you tell him to just say anything, and he doesn’t know much about what you’re like and what you like in bed, so simple praises of you doing so well for him are easily at the top of the what-to-do list. and then next would be to encourage you to make more sounds, to let out whatever you’re holding in, because he wants to hear your pretty voice. as you open up your throat, he arches his back while rubbing up and down his shaft faster. he couldn’t help but think about the faces you’d be making as he pushes his entirety in you, wondering how tight your virgin cunt is. he’s not that experienced either, but he’ll happily take the lead because it’s you he’ll be taking care of.

you already feel close as he instructs you so sweetly, his voice alone getting you where you needed to go in the first place as you build on your past orgasms. but his grunts as you hear him through the phone make you want to be a good girlfriend and wait for him to cum before you do. you start telling him all your fantasies as you edge yourself, stopping your motions every time you feel like you’re about to cum. moans between your sentences telling him how you need him to fuck your hole, denying yourself the pleasure you needed before the phone call as you wait for him to get close, telling him how you wanna cum so so badly, whining so sweetly as you breath heavily every time you let your fingers stop. he’s so close too because of how you’re just… so hot right now as he imagines you splayed on your bed, naked and masturbating because of him.

“ngh doing so… s-so good princess. y-you can cum,” he says as he gets close, giving you permission. your fingers kept going this time, rubbing until the knot in your core exploded like never before. it’s the loudest you’ve moaned all night as you chant his name over and over again, still begging for more as you plead him to fuck you. on the other end, ropes of his hot white semen spill onto his hands as he groans simultaneously, cursing curtly as he hears you beg. he chuckles after, simply asking you whether you can take him as you shut up and moan as the answer, fingers still softly rubbing your clit as you come down from your high.

his soothing voice comes through after, a kiss before as he tells you to go to sleep. the authoritative yet gentle tone he held made you squirm thinking about what he’d be like in real life, wishing you could see him as soon as possible as you give a kiss back, a soft good night falling out of your lips as you close your eyes to fall deep asleep, him doing the same right after.

[melancholic-pigeon]

Alright, this is my last comment on the issue, for real this time.

@nerdykeppie is staffed by unprofessional, rude, cruel people who double down on their entitlement to be unprofessional, rude and cruel in public to their former customers.

You should know the sorts of people you're giving money to if you patronize them. The founder is liable to misread your words, lash out at you in anger over something he misunderstood, and generally behave like a tantruming child even if you go out of your way to be polite and give him the benefit of the doubt when he lashes out at you over his own poor reading comprehension.

I'm done getting into this. No, Spider is not ~required~ to be professional on his (public) personal blog which is closely tied to his business. I just think it's extremely stupid to double down on his "right" to be unprofessional on his public blog when he owns a business that is clearly tied to said public blog, because it reflects very poorly on both his personal character and his business. I think it is hilariously foolish and an extremely poor decision to openly advertise and defend your founder's unprofessionalism, which speaks of general lack of professionalism and poor judgment throughout the whole business, not just from Spider (though his lack of good judgment and public unprofessionalism is the most obvious).

So. Best of luck in the people involved resolving whatever problem in their lives that they're taking out on me, and beware interacting with them in any way because they will absolutely be rude as shit to you and then smear you in public and private for (/checks hand) apologizing for a miscommunication because you didn't mean what they incorrectly interpreted you to mean.

I can't fucking believe they still think they're in the right here and *I* am the one who needs to be ~asked not to contact them again~. You answered me THREE TIMES *after* I had blocked you because you cannot let go of the fact that you were wrong about a stupid fucking plastic pumpkin and the fact that I went OUT OF MY WAY to give you the benefit of the doubt.

(two of those three asks were frantic apologies because I genuinely felt terrible, and they were both met with meanness and scorn and snide insults about my communication failures.

Lol. Me. I'm the one who is failing to communicate and has poor reading comprehension because you misunderstood me and started lashing out like I personally strangled all of your pets for having the filthy nerve to apologize and try to clear it up.

Yeah. I'm the villain here. Sure, Jan.)

I'm done now, but enjoy having your unprofessional, cruel, immature nonsense publicly exposed. I stand by my actions (the ones I actually took in real life, not the fake pretend ones you made up because you misunderstood what I wrote) and I look forward to you experiencing the natural consequences of your own.

Don't give money to childish jerks.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

comparing yourself to others will kill you and the reason why is that even if it starts out innocently enough, as appreciation, as "oh, that's so good, that's so much better than me, i could never!" the "i could never" starts to stick and eventually you'll realize that the reason you could never isn't because you're not able to, but because you've told yourself for so long that "you could never" that you straight up aren't letting yourself improve.

appreciate others. learn from them. but never think "i could never." give yourself permission to make your art and put everything, and i mean everything, you have into it. you can. you will. just let yourself.

[karmaphone]

as a pagan who specifically wants their gravesite 'overtaken' by nature and decomposed to the best of the earth's ability it's somewhat disturbing to me to see people going around cleaning graves without asking anyone first

[dice-boy]

lmao just about posted a question about whether something we do/experience is okay before I realized I don't care

[howlettsdoll]

‘your girl’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ logan howlett x female reader

summary ;

short drabble of logan having a girlfriend who can barely go a day without his touch (yet he’s really not any better)

logan was a strong man. everyone knew that. they all saw his gruff exterior, the rough mutant who had been carrying blood on his hands for centuries, who was even deemed ‘unapproachable’ by some.

yet, those who did try to approach him, either ended up being pushed away or in his bed.

or… in the middle, somehow, and found a somewhat gentle, less rough side of logan: that wasn’t sexual yet also not necessarily mean.

you were in the middle for a while. especially when you met him for the first time — his first thoughts were lustful, greedy — depraved even — if you may — but something inside him stopped him from acting on these actions. maybe your age? you were a little younger than the other women he had been with, and also a little smaller. everyone was small to him, of course, the man was huge, but something about you … there was another side of him that just wanted to treat you gently, handle you with care.

and he had never felt that way about anyone before. well, barely anyone — only a few people had ever reached his heart that way.

he also sensed the same feeling from you, but yours was more… open. well, open is an understatement — you would always cling to the man, trying to grab his attention, asking his opinion on stupid things down to even your outfits sometimes. he found it a bit ridiculous, yet a deep part of him, a part he tried to hide, was tugged at everytime you were near him, at first innocently, like he was willing to have you drag him back to your room just to have him approve of every little outfit you were self conscious of yourself in, but then it got a little more heated: when he would be in the same room as you, even just casually in the kitchen, and you would come in — a scent wafting around you that he knew all too well, a scent only he could pick up on — of your body’s neediness.

and that only increased when you two finally got together.

when you two started dating, he thought you would maybe lay off on the neediness and clinginess; but it only got worse, that even after a night of having logan taking care of all your little problems, you were just as desperate the next day.

“logannn…” you would hum softly — approaching him as he sat on the couch, or the bed, or even when he was just trying to train. anywhere, you would approach him in that innocent little hum, that logan knew all too well by now. he knew, that whenever you skipped over to him like that, he would probably end up dropping whatever he was doing to take you back to whichever bathroom or private room was nearest, just to satisfy his girl.

or, there would be times where he really was tired and didn’t even have the energy for that, usually late at night after training all day or being out. you would come into your guys’ shared room, straddling his lap in an instant with that little hum of yours. he would huff and roll his eyes, his hands however coming to rest up on your hips anyways, enjoying the feeling of being able to squeeze them so easily in his huge hands. “sweetheart, ‘s late. come on, i’ll give you something in the mornin’… not now.” he would try to reason, only making you huff as well, shifting over to move onto his lap — grinding gently onto it already, letting him feel the wetness of your clit through your little sleep shorts and the rough fabric of his jeans. he knew it was pointless to argue with you, and he didn’t want to leave his sweet girl unsatisfied, so he would sigh, giving in with a nod of his head and a rough, verbal confirmation. “alright baby, go ahead..”

your heart would flutter at the granted permission, as well as your stomach as usually during nights like this you would start to grind your sweet, clothed little pussy against his thigh, shamelessly getting off to just the feeling of the strong muscle covered by his jeans nudging your clit with every movement of your hips: back and forth, back and forth — with logan’s hands eventually sliding up your shirt, looking at your already blissed expression, biting back your whimpers and moans the more you humped against his thigh — and as his rough hands played with your pretty tits, until you reached your peak.

or, maybe days where he had more energy. days when eventually he would end up getting worked up too. like when that simple thigh grinding could end up with him pulling you onto his lap instead and finish off by grinding on his bulge, or even riding him — and then there were also times when he would pull you into nearby bathrooms or empty rooms, pulling your skirt or dress up on those days you would dress up for him, and shamelessly lapping at your pussy like a starved man, like he needed this more than you did; the sweet taste of your arousal on his tongue making his dick desperately ache and twitch against his jeans. it drove you absolutely wild those days to see how much he craved you too, how he could barely go a day without getting you on him in someway, whether it be just holding you and kissing you innocently, to being buried into your sweet heat till you were a sobbing mess against him.

anything his needy girl wanted.

[oneofthosecrazycatladies]

This is your daily reminder that autocrats thrive on hopelessness. They thrive on fear. They win when the people become resigned and believe that fighting back is impossible.

Listen, there’s simply no denying that we are on the road to autocracy. But, believe it or not, we’re not there yet. (Yes, it’s true!) We can turn back!

But in order to do that, we have to believe we can.

There’s an Eleanor Roosevelt quote that gets repeated so often, it’s almost lost its meaning, but I still think it’s worth revisiting in a new light:

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

Don’t give them permission to make you feel lesser! That’s what they want! They want you to just roll over and accept their dominance!

Listen, I know this whole situation is so fucking exhausting. And wouldn’t it be so great if we didn’t have to fight so hard for our basic rights and freedoms? But these are the cards we’ve been dealt; we’re in this fight whether we like it or not.

So, do whatever you need to do to keep yourself sane. We’re in this fight, but we need to take it in shifts or else we’ll get burnt out and then they win.

Keep yourself sane. Find the moments of joy wherever you can. And remember that no one gets to make you feel lesser just because they want you to.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo sees you in lingerie for the first time. 

contains: f!reader, suggestive almost nsfw (they make out… maybe a bit steamy), 18+ just in case, reader is in lingerie, shy feelings!! gojo down bad!!

a/n: i hc that the first time gojo sees you in lingerie, it’s like seeing you walk down the aisle—he’s a bit sappy like that! i also think that he’d love seeing his lover in pink! idk! it’s just the vibes! (col reader would look cute in pink too i think hehe complements the personality!); takes place later on, around col #4 (wip)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace? <- you are here -> +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) + 04. these traces of love, they outline you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There are few things in life that have earned Gojo’s double take: 

A sign for a newly-opened gelato shop with ‘exclusive flavors for the first 30 customers!’ written in fine print; Megumi, back in middle school, being confessed to with a sweetly handcrafted box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day; a small cut, right at the tip of his nose from that time you sparred with him and he let you get too close (or so he says). 

And now you. 

In something pink—

—that if he backtracks just a bit, steps one foot behind the other to glance again at the space left open by the bedroom door, and squints—

He’s certain, 200% sure. 

It’s lingerie. 

He blinks once, twice, rubs at his eyes even as his mind attempts to catch up to whatever it is–you–he just saw. This must be what wires feel when they short circuit. 

You know he’s home, right? You have to, you just told him to rinse the dishes after snacking.

And he was in the middle of doing that—walking across your apartment from couch to kitchen, stopping only to do a double take at the sight of pink in his periphery, at you, once he looked again, clearly. 

Or were you doing this on purpose? Did you want him to see you? 

He gulps, warmth spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck, lingering. 

There’s only one way to find out, really. 

He walks down the hallway leading to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light so as to not startle you.

If he’s being honest right now, his mind is full to the point of feeling empty—too many thoughts swirling around the fact that behind this very door, he’s about to find you in pink lingerie. 

And when he takes a deep breath, fingertips pushing on wood very slightly as he calls out, “Bab—“

“S’toru!” you squeal from the other side, panicked as you instantly push it back closed.

So you didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Sorry, give me a minute!” you call out, and he can hear your footsteps from the other side, frantically walking around for what he can assume is you looking for something to cover yourself with. 

But he doesn’t want that. 

Not when he already has the visual of you, pretty in what he suspects is pink lace.

Not when the way you said ‘S’toru’ sounded so much like ‘‘Toru’, your ‘‘Toru’, the way you usually say it pressed against bed sheets, under him, expression blissed out from—

Do you have any idea what that does to him? 

“Are you wearing lingerie?” 

You freeze. Gojo can tell from the other side of the door, and you think, damn it, because he isn’t supposed to know you bought a set, much less see you in it. Not yet. 

You could try to lie, but Gojo always sees through you, through every change in inflection, the way your eyebrow twitches before speaking. 

“Can I come in?” he asks softly, almost hesitantly. 

How can you possibly resist him when he speaks to you like this? Asking permission as if this space you live in isn’t as much his?

You sigh, flustered at being caught this way, “Can you close your eyes first?” 

He follows, laying one hand over his eyes for good measure before knocking on the door. You open it slowly, wood creaking as he steps inside. 

You feel a little naked right now despite how he isn’t even looking your way, opting to face the side opposite from where you’re standing. It’s on purpose, you know, he can tell where you are—Six Eyes and all. 

There’s a smile that he’s hiding, biting his lower lip to stop it from showing. His toes are wiggling from the excitement coursing through him.

You know Gojo will like you in anything; in fact, he’s made it very clear that he prefers you in nothing—but still. Your stomach feels queasy and you can’t get rid of how nervous you’re feeling. 

And you guess, it’s really just because this was meant to be a surprise for him—the design you’ve chosen, how it looks on your body, how it looks to him, especially. You’d ordered the lingerie set months in advance to leave a lot of time for returns, whether it turned out ill-fitting or just unflattering.

You didn’t expect him to catch a glimpse of it now, months before his birthday, before you were even ready. 

“I’m waiting…” he teases, voice sing-song in that way he usually does to annoy you. It always makes you smile though, and it’s an odd form of comforting with how it dulls your jitters right now, just a little bit.

“Okay, you can look.” 

As soon as he turns, you squeeze your eyes shut, hands on your sides as you fiddle with your fingernails. Seeing, knowing his reaction in real time is still nervewracking, regardless of every reassurance you tell yourself—because, what if this is the off-chance that you’re wrong, and he doesn’t like it? 

Or worse: what if he has to pretend he likes it?

You frown a bit—it doesn’t help at all that Gojo isn’t saying anything.

But—

How can he, when there are no words, no adjectives, no possible descriptions to articulate what he’s seeing—what he’s feeling?

If he didn’t die then, in every instance he’s brushed with death: by Toji’s hands, locked up inside that box, in that final moment with Sukuna, nearly halved—

He thinks he might have just died right now. 

Because this? You? In lingerie as pink as all he’s feeling—his cheeks, his nose, flushing down his neck, maybe even his chest if it were exposed. 

It’s heaven. 

You’re a sight. 

While Gojo has certainly seen you in much less, and done with you things much more than just stand with you like this, he’s never seen you in lingerie.

And you’re so pretty. Sexy. All his, he can’t believe it.   

He’s noticing all the little details on it–on you–its shade, almost salmon with a bit of baby pink; its material: sheer net as the base for everything—it’s practically see-through save for the delicate floral lace running across the bra cups and panty front.

The set itself is nice, sure, but he knows he only likes it this much because it’s on you. And he knows he’ll always like anything on you. 

The heat in his stomach is building, spreading, to the single part of him that—

“Is it that bad?” you scrunch your nose, eyes still closed. He looks at you confused, before he realizes: he hasn’t said anything.

He chuckles and you open your eyes, pouting. 

And God, he wishes you didn’t do that. That look on your face—what it does to him.

“I ordered it in advance for your birthday,” you start, pout deepening as you ramble on, “it was supposed to be a surprise, but if you don’t like it, I can still–” 

That’s enough. 

He can’t believe that you actually think he doesn’t like it. 

Gojo steps into your space, close enough to grab you by the waist as his other hand reaches up to slot itself in the area between your ear and your jawline, tilting your head up slightly as he leans in to kiss you. 

It’s rushed at first, almost desperate—hungry, the way he releases his breath only to take you in; your lips, soft in the way he knows them to be, his hand on your waist squeezing. Your fingertips trail to his cheek, almost cupping as his kisses turn deeper, more languid, lips moving against yours slowly, savoring. 

Gojo is a fast learner, and he shows it best in the way he kisses you, as if he’s memorized every way to build that familiar heat within you. You lay your other hand against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulls you closer. 

You bite his lip and suck, just a little bit, the way he likes it, and he moans, lowly, vibrations rippling through your mouth as he holds you steady. He’s hard already; you can feel it pressing against your lower belly. 

And you realize, as a small laugh tears itself away from you, how ridiculous it was for you to even worry. 

You break the kiss, leaning your forehead against his as you keep your noses touching. It’s impossible to tell how Gojo looks, but you have a hunch with how he’s breathing so heavily; the skies in his eyes must be darker, almost gray, turned on by desire—the same one settling deep in your stomach, aching, needy. 

“It’s perfect,” he whispers, lips grazing yours. He traces hearts by your shoulder, something born out of the many times you’ve lain in bed together, playing with the strap of your bra before pulling, a short snap! as he lets go. 

“You like it?” you whisper back, a lilt in your tone, teasing. Your fingers come up to trace his lips and he holds them in place, nipping. 

“Mhm,” he grins, smoothing his hand over the lace details on your bra, his thumb rubbing, “so pretty.” 

He leans in again, a small peck, before asking, “Does this mean I can get my gift now?” 

You laugh, hitting his chest, “It’s not your birthday yet!” 

“Yeah, but what is time anyway?” 

And you know, with the way he’s trailing kisses down your neck, licking and sucking—you’re going to have to find another thing to surprise him with on his birthday. 

.

Later that evening, with your head lying right on his chest, you remember. 

“Oh yeah, the set also came with one of those belt things. Garter, I think? But I wasn’t sure if you’d be into–” 

You’ve never seen Gojo get up from bed faster.

thank you notes: for that anon that asked about whether col reader wears lingerie! + @stellamancer @soumies @crysugu for validating me that pink is in fact col reader's colour ᰔ i also just luv u guys 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[bloomzone]

2025: #2 u are the main character of ur life

✒️.U.NEED.TO.GET.CRAZY.ABOUT.UR. LIFE .THIS is ur life. your story, your movie and You’re the main character of it . But here’s the problem—you’re sitting there, acting like you’re just an extra. Let me ask you something: when are you going to wake up? When are you going to stop living like someone else is writing your script? Because newsflash—nobody else cares as much about your story as YOU should.

N1 You’re Not Here to Be Average

Do you feel it? That spark inside you? The one that says you’re made for something bigger? Stop shoving it down. Stop telling yourself, 'I’m not special,' or, 'I’ll never be that person.' Because let me tell you something—you already ARE that person. The only difference between you and the version of you that you dream about? Action. Average is safe, but it’s boring. U NEED TO KNOW Being 'okay' is easy, but it’s unfulfilling. You weren’t put on this planet to blend in. You were born to stand out, to do something, to leave a mark. But first, you have to believe that. You have to take risks. You have to dare to be seen, to be heard, to be ALIVE.

N2 Get Obsessed with Yourself

This is the part where people get uncomfortable, but IDGASS . You need to fall in love with YOU. Not in a shallow, fake, selfie-obsessed way—but deeply, madly, passionately in love with the person you are becoming.Spend time with yourself. Take yourself out on dates. Sit in silence and listen to your thoughts. Who are you, really? What do you want? Not what society wants, not what your parents want, not what your friends think is cool—what do YOU want?Get crazy about discovering your passions. Throw yourself into books, art, music, whatever lights you up inside. Because the more you pour into yourself, the more unstoppable you become. You’re not just living life; you’re creating it. So why not make it something spectacular?

N3 Stop Waiting for Permission

Why are you waiting? Waiting for someone to tell you you’re good enough? Waiting for the 'right time'? BRO WTF Let me tell you something nobody is coming to give you permission. Nobody is going to hand you your dream life wrapped up in a bow. You have to go out there and TAKE IT.Stop looking for signs. Stop waiting for everything to feel perfect. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and sometimes it’s downright terrifying—but that’s the beauty of it. The magic happens when you stop overthinking and just DO. Take the leap, even if you don’t feel ready. Life isn’t about being ready—it’s about showing up, again and again, until you create the life you can’t stop dreaming about AND THIS IS DISCIPLINE

N4 Reclaim Your Power

Let’s get one thing straight: you are powerful. Not in a vague, 'manifestation vibes' kind of way, but in a real, tangible way. Every decision you make is a choice. Every habit you keep is a vote for the kind of person you want to be.But here’s the catch—every time you let someone else control your narrative, you give away a piece of that power. Every time you shrink yourself to fit someone else’s expectations, you lose a little more. Stop giving it away. Own your voice. Own your choices. Own your life.You are the architect of your story. So start building something worth remembering. And if people don’t like it? If they don’t 'get' you? Let them go. Your life is not a democracy it’s YOUR kingdom. Rule it unapologetically.

N5 Romanticize the Hell Out of Everything

Here’s the secret nobody tells you: life is as magical as you decide to make it. Stop waiting for the big moments—graduation, the 'dream job'...—to feel alive. Start finding beauty in the small, ordinary, quiet things.Make your morning coffee an event. Cook ur dinner by urself. Write love letters to urself. Turn sunsets into poetry. Life is happening right now, and if you keep rushing to the 'next thing,' you’re going to miss it.Romanticizing your life isn’t about pretending everything is perfect. It��s about choosing to see the magic, even in the mess. Because when you do that, life stops feeling like something you’re just surviving—and starts feeling like something worth celebrating.

This is Your one life. Your one shot. So stop living like you have forever. Stop waiting, stop hiding, stop playing small. You are the main character of this story, and it’s time to act like it. Get crazy about your life. Get obsessed. Because when you do, everything changes.Now go out there and make something beautiful I'm proud of u 143

@bloomzone 📇

[bueckersworld]

LIKE I WOULD

SYNOPSIS: you confide in your best friend paige about your boyfriend leaving you unsatisfied, not expecting her to react so seriously. she offers to show you what it’s supposed to feel like—and she means it. one kiss turns into something deeper, something undeniable, and you fall apart under her touch like never before. in the quiet after, she confesses she’s loved you all along. and this time, you finally choose her.

WARNING(S): smut — mdni, cheating, territoriality, possessiveness, pussy eating (r!receiving), jealous!bsf!paige

WORD COUNT: 2.7k RECOMMENDED SONG: like i would — zayn. info. masterlist. taglist.

────୨ৎ────

you don’t notice the look paige gives you when you start talking about your boyfriend. not really. you never do.

you’re sitting on her couch, legs tucked under you, nursing a barely-cold drink while you go on about the night before. you’re not trying to brag or anything — it’s not even worth bragging about. still, you’re rambling. maybe because you’re trying to convince yourself it wasn’t that bad.

“he just, like… stopped halfway through,” you say with a soft laugh, more bitter than amused. “said he was tired. i don’t know. i think he thought i finished already.”

you don’t look up, but if you did, you’d see her jaw tighten. her hand flexes against her thigh. she doesn’t say anything at first, and when she does, it’s low. dangerous.

“that’s it?” her voice is calm, but clipped. “he didn’t even ask?”

you finally glance up. she’s staring at the floor like it personally offended her. you shrug. “it’s whatever. i don’t want to make it a big deal.”

but it is a big deal. you wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t.

paige shifts, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “you’re seriously okay with that?”

“i mean… it’s not like it’s always like that,” you lie. “he’s just… not that experienced, maybe.”

paige lets out a breathy laugh that’s anything but amused. “that’s not an excuse.”

you furrow your brows. “why are you so worked up about this?”

and that’s when she lifts her eyes to yours, and suddenly, the air changes.

her gaze is heavy. intent. you feel it all at once — her attention, her anger, her restraint, like she’s trying not to say something she’s been holding in too long.

“he doesn’t get it,” she says. “he doesn’t get you. he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

you blink. “paige—”

“i do.” her voice drops lower. steadier. “i know what you like. i’ve seen it. you try so hard to act like you’re fine with bare minimum, like it’s enough for you, but it’s not. you need someone who actually listens. who actually sees you.”

you stare at her, heart beginning to thump unevenly.

and then she says it, voice barely above a whisper:

“let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

your breath catches.

she’s not joking.

she’s not smiling. she’s not teasing. her tone is so serious it makes your stomach twist in knots. “he won’t love you like i would.” she mutters quietly.

“i—” you start, but the words die in your throat.

she leans in, slower now, cautious, but her eyes stay locked on yours. “i wouldn’t leave you guessing. i’d take my time. you’d never have to ask twice.”

the room is quiet, except for the buzz of your nerves and the thunder of your pulse.

and suddenly, so much makes sense.

the way she always sits next to you, even when your boyfriend’s around.

the way she gets snippy when you text him too long.

the way she looks at you like she’s memorizing every inch.

you’ve been blind. or maybe just too scared to see it.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s her.

but one second, you’re frozen, and the next, her mouth is on yours.

it’s slow at first — searching, warm, desperate in a way that doesn’t ask permission but still waits for your answer. and when you kiss her back, when your hand tangles in her hoodie and her fingers splay across your waist, it feels like breathing for the first time in weeks.

you shouldn’t be doing this.

but god, it feels so right.

she kisses you like she’s trying to erase every time you settled for less. her hands learn your body like it’s sacred, not a task. she doesn’t rush. doesn’t assume. she listens — every sigh, every hitch of your breath guiding her like a language only she speaks.

the couch cushions shift under you as she presses you back, not demanding, just wanting. and for once, you don’t want to pretend.

you want this.

you want her.

you’re completely lost in her — in the heat of her mouth, the way her tongue swirls against yours, slow and deep, like she’s trying to memorize your taste. her hands slide under your shirt with practiced ease, fingers splaying across your skin, mapping you like a place she’s always known.

she breaks the kiss only long enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. her lips find yours again before you can even catch your breath, hands roaming freely now — tracing every curve, every soft dip of your body, like she’s been dying to touch you this way.

when her mouth leaves yours, it only travels down — across your jaw, the edge of your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat down your neck. she makes quick work of your shorts, tugging them down with a soft grunt as her fingers skim along your thighs.

your breath hitches when she unclasps your bra with one hand, pulling the straps down your arms like it’s second nature, her mouth already chasing the new skin revealed. she kisses down your chest, slow and intentional, lips brushing your ribs and lower.

you shiver under her, and she feels it — smirks against your skin.

“just relax, baby,” she murmurs, voice like velvet, littering kisses across your stomach.

then she’s between your legs, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, her warm breath ghosting over the soaked fabric of your underwear. she looks up at you through her lashes, eyes dark and full of hunger, before slowly pulling them down your legs. they hit the floor with a soft flutter as she pushes your thighs apart, keeping you spread and open just for her.

your gasp breaks the silence when her tongue drags a slow, deliberate line up your center. her groan rumbles against you, sending a ripple of pleasure straight through your core.

“fuckin’ hell…” she mutters, diving back in like a woman starved, her tongue flicking over your clit with a moan that vibrates through your entire body.

your back arches instinctively, hips rolling toward her mouth, soft gasps and broken moans spilling from your lips.

“oh fuck… paige—”

your hand tangles in her hair, tugging her impossibly closer, and she lets you. she wants to be closer — wants to disappear inside the way you sound when it’s her making you feel this way.

“mm, i know, baby… i know,” she mumbles against your heat, voice thick with desire.

then her fingers — two, slow and sure — slip inside you, curling upward immediately, brushing that perfect spot that makes your eyes roll back. her mouth never stops, tongue stroking and circling your clit with dizzying precision.

“fuuuuck…” you cry out, head falling back, heels digging into the cushions as your hips buck into her hand.

she switches effortlessly between sucking and flicking her tongue, her fingers pumping steadily in and out of you, scissoring you open like she was made to do this.

“just like that… oh my god, paige, just like that—” you whimper, breathless praise tumbling out between moans.

she groans in response, her eyes dark and blown as she looks up at you, her lips slick and swollen as she pulls her mouth away just long enough to speak. her fingers never stop.

“only i can make you feel like this. not him.” her voice is low, rough. “say it.”

you’re too far gone, too strung out on the edge to answer. your mouth parts, but nothing coherent comes out.

she growls, her fingers curling just right. “say it, baby — tell me this pussy’s mine.”

“y-yeah… all yours,” you moan, back arched, eyes squeezed shut. “only f—only for you…”

“yeah?” she breathes, leaning up to kiss your neck, soft and reverent. “then come for me. prove it.”

and you do.

you fall apart for her — back arching, thighs trembling, her name breaking from your lips like a prayer.

you’ve never felt anything like it.

not with him.

not with anyone.

and she knows it.

because now you do too.

—

the aftermath is quiet.

you’re still tangled in her sheets, wrapped in the scent of her hoodie, her breath warm against your shoulder.

your mind spins.

you just cheated. you cheated on your boyfriend.

but the worst part?

you don’t regret it. not even a little.

you turn slightly, looking at her in the dim light. paige is watching you already. like she hasn’t looked away once.

“i didn’t mean for that to happen,” you whisper, but it’s a lie.

she knows it. you both do.

“yeah, you did,” she says softly. “you just didn’t think you were allowed to want it.”

you feel a lump form in your throat.

“he doesn’t touch you like i do,” she adds, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. “doesn’t look at you like this.”

you close your eyes. her words remind you of the song she played in the car the other night — he won’t love you like i would. you didn’t think anything of it at the time. now it feels like a confession you missed.

“you love me,” you say, not as a question.

paige doesn’t flinch. “yeah,” she says. “i do.”

the silence sits heavy.

and still, she doesn’t pull away.

“i’ve been trying to show you for months,” she adds. “but you kept running back to someone who doesn’t even know how lucky he is.”

you turn toward her fully, voice small. “why didn’t you ever say anything?”

her eyes flicker. “because i wanted it to be your choice. i didn’t want to be your rebound.”

you nod slowly. “he’s not my choice anymore.”

she watches you carefully. “are you sure?”

you reach for her hand, fingers lacing between hers.

“i’m sure.”

—

you break up with him two days later. it doesn’t even hurt.

what hurts is how long it took you.

what hurts is the look on paige’s face when you show up at her apartment that night, eyes tired, hands trembling.

she opens the door in another hoodie, this one a little oversized, sleeves pushed to her elbows. she stares at you, unreadable.

“you okay?”

you nod. “i ended it.”

she exhales, shoulders falling slightly. “you sure?”

you step inside without answering and close the door behind you.

“he never made me feel anything,” you say, voice quiet. “not like you.”

she doesn’t move.

“and that night… with you…” you pause. swallow. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

paige’s eyes darken, but she stays still. waiting.

you take a step forward. “i didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like.”

another step. she still doesn’t move.

“until you.”

her hand finds your waist again — same spot, like muscle memory. she pulls you in slow, letting the air burn between you.

“say it again,” she whispers.

you don’t hesitate.

“you make me feel everything.”

and this time, when her mouth meets yours, it’s not confusion or rebellion or recklessness.

it’s clarity.

it’s finally.

—

he wouldn’t love you like she would.

he never did.

but paige always has.

and now — you finally see it.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ smut smut smut, i was clenching my thighs writing this btw.. 😊

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold

[maskedbyghost]

you were being a brat, but Simon knew just how to handle you. smut, mdni, +18

You’re sprawled out on your bed, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at Simon. He stands by the door, arms folded, completely unmoved by your ranting.

You don’t even remember what set you off—something about him ignoring you earlier, or maybe it was the way he refused to admit you were right about something dumb. Either way, you’re heated, and he’s standing there like a statue, letting you run your mouth.

"Are you even listening to me?" you snap, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Simon tilts his head, unimpressed. "Mmhmm."

That pisses you off even more. "You’re such an ass—"

He moves before you can finish, climbing onto the bed like he’s got all the time in the world. His weight sinks into the mattress, and before you can scoot away, his hands are on your thighs, pushing them apart. You stiffen.

"Simon, I’m talking to you."

He doesn’t answer. He just hooks his fingers into your panties, drags them down your legs, and tosses them somewhere behind him. His gloved hands press against your thighs again, keeping them wide open. Then he looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time since you started mouthing off.

"I’m done talking to you," he murmurs, lowering himself between your legs. "Wanna talk to this sweet little cunt instead."

Your brain stutters. "Simon—"

He doesn’t wait for permission; he doesn’t give you the chance to keep arguing. His tongue is on you, slow, licking through your folds like he’s savoring every second. A gasp escapes you before you can bite it back, but that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is when he starts talking.

"Look at you," he mutters against your skin, his voice muffled, lips brushing over your clit. "Acting all tough, mouthing off, but you’re drippin’ for me."

Your face burns. "Shut up—"

"Not talkin’ to you, love." His grip tightens on your thighs as he moves lower, pressing a kiss right against your entrance. "M’ talkin’ to her."

You swear you’ll kill him. If you could think straight, if your legs weren’t shaking already, if he wasn’t so fucking good at this—

"She’s so much sweeter than you," he continues, dragging his tongue up your slit. "Doesn’t fight me like you do. She likes me, don’t you, sweetheart?" Another kiss, another slow, teasing lick that has your toes curling. "Bet she’ll be real good for me, won’t she? So soft, so warm—can tell she likes the attention. Not like you, all mouth and attitude. She’s good for me. She listens."

You make a frustrated noise, but it dissolves into a whimper when he flicks his tongue against your clit again.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." His breath is hot against you as he presses another kiss to your entrance, hands firm on your thighs to keep you still. "Y’spent all that time complainin’, but she was down here waitin’ for me. She knew better, didn’t she? Bet she’s been achin’ for me this whole time."

You hate how much it gets to you, how much his words make the heat in your belly coil tighter. But he’s not done.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, his tongue teasing your entrance. "Must be lonely, yeah? Bein’ attached to such a brat? No wonder she’s so needy." His voice is full of mock sympathy, lips brushing against you between every word. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Y’don’t have to be a pain in the ass like she is. You just have to be good for me."

You’re shaking now, fingers twisted in the sheets, your breath uneven as he keeps talking, keeps licking at you like he has all the time in the world.

"Bet you’ll let me do whatever I want to you, won’t you? Unlike her—she’s always runnin’ her mouth, always fightin’ me. But you’re soft, aren’t you? You just wanna be taken care of."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out his words, but the way he talks, the way he mouths at you between sentences, has your stomach twisting with need. You’re embarrassingly close, your body arching into him despite your frustration.

And then, just as you’re teetering on the edge, just as your body starts to tense, Simon pulls away.

"But bad girls don’t get to cum."

He sits back like he’s got all the time in the world, like he isn’t leaving you a mess between his hands. You can see the smirk in his eyes. Smug bastard.

Oh, fuck that.

You don’t even think—you move. You push him back, grab him by the collar and flip him onto the mattress before he can react. His back hits the bed, and for once, he doesn’t resist. He just watches, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt, as you swing a leg over him and settle right where he belongs.

You grip his wrists, pinning them down, and glare at him through your haze of frustration and arousal. "Finish what you started."

Simon huffs a laugh, his fingers flexing beneath yours. "Bossy little thing."

You grind down against his mouth. "Now."

And for once, Simon doesn’t argue.

But he doesn’t let you have it easy, either.

The second you settle over him, his hands move, big and rough as they grab onto your hips. He drags you forward, forcing you to grind against his mouth, and fuck—

The first swipe of his tongue makes your back arch, makes your hands clench around his wrists as you try to keep some kind of control. But he’s got none of your patience, none of your hesitation—he devours you like he’s been waiting for this, tongue flicking against your clit, sucking, then dragging down to fuck into you.

It’s overwhelming. Too much, too fast, and you try to lift your hips, to slow down, but Simon just growls, tightening his grip, forcing you to take every bit of his attention. He’s relentless, murmuring filth against your skin, still talking to you, but not to you.

"Knew you’d be sweet like this," he mutters, tongue flicking against your clit again, making you jolt. "Just needed to get you to shut up first."

Your nails dig into his wrists, but you’re trembling now, moans spilling out no matter how much you try to bite them back. You feel him smirk beneath you, feel the pleased rumble in his chest when you roll your hips against his mouth.

"That’s it," he praises, voice rough. "Finally got you listenin’. ‘Bout time you learned your place."

You can’t even find it in you to be mad. You’re too close, too wound up from the teasing, from the way he’s got you writhing on his tongue. You try to grind down harder, to get yourself there, but Simon pulls back, just enough to leave you gasping.

"Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" he murmurs, lips brushing against your thigh. "Y’gonna beg for it?"

You don’t want to. You really don’t. But you need it. "Please," you breathe, barely above a whisper.

Simon hums, pretending to consider, then licks into you again, groaning when your hips jolt. "That’s my girl."

And when he finally lets you have it, when he sucks your clit into his mouth and fucks you with his tongue until you break apart, he doesn’t stop until he’s sure you feel every last second of it.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah

[hxney-lemcn]

First Kiss — Housewardens x gn! reader

summary: your first kiss with your lover.

tw: none.

a/n: teehee. Its hard for me to pick what character I wanna daydream about. Also, can you tell who my fav is? *cough* Vil *cough*

wc: 2.1k (~250 each character)

Master List | Vicehousewardens | The Others

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

The warm sun gently warmed you both. A refreshing breeze softly caressed you, Riddle’s red hair swaying gently as he took a sip of his tea. You felt more than content as Riddle’s gray-blue eyes watched you intently as you rambled about whatever carried your fancy. It was a side of Riddle that few others saw, and you were grateful that he allowed you to, that he was willing to listen to whatever nonsense you spouted. The warmth in your heart burst as he nodded, giving his two cents about the book you spoke of. By the sevens did you want to just give him a little peck. You two were dating, so there was no harm in asking…right? Although the two of you had been dating for a bit, the question had caused him to fluster greatly. Cheeks a bright red, mouth gaping, chest heaving. You should’ve expected such a reaction, it took quite a bit for him to hold your hand without shutting down. To your surprise, he gave you his consent. Leaning over, you couldn’t help but find him absolutely adorable. Eyes closed expectantly, lips pursed, cheeks red. You closed the gap, leaving a chaste kiss against his lips before pulling away. When you pulled away he seemed to look both in awe and slight disappointment. 

“As my partner, you are allowed to show me your affection in such ways, I only ask you to keep it between us. Other’s do not need to witness such acts.”

❥ Leona Kingscholar

You were bored. Your phone could no longer hold your attention and you just wanted to do something different. Too bad you had a whole ass lion using you as his personal body pillow. You stared at the familiar ceiling of his room, contemplating on a possible way to sneak out. You loved Leona, really, you did…but your limbs were sore and you felt antsy. So, what better than poking the bear, err…lion. You found yourself brushing his hair with your hands, scratching his scalp every so often. When that no longer kept you entertained, you lightly scratched at the base of his ears. His ear twitched, but you continued with your ministrations, a smirk pulling at your lips as a deep rumble was pulled out of him. You only paused when one of his eyes glared at you. When you mentioned you were merely bored and your legs felt like needles were constantly pricking them he only rolled his eyes. Quicker than you could comprehend, he pinned you down below him with a slight huff. His green eyes stared at you for a few moments, as if he was seeking permission, and when you didn’t push him away or fight him, he leaned down, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss. He didn’t stop until you were breathless, a smug smirk filling his features.

“Is this what you wanted, herbivore? If you want to ruin my sleep then you’ll have to compensate me.”

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

You felt like you were going crazy. Azul would take you out on fancy dates, offering you discounts (is it really a discount if you were basically eating for free?) at the Mostro Lounge, and shower you in light forms of affection (kissing the back of your hand, guiding you with a hand on your back, gentlemanly shit), yet you haven’t kissed him? Preposterous! It was proving to be a difficult task, as even though you both had been dating for a while, Azul would shy away at any form of affection you showered him with. The good news was that he had become more receptive to it, the key was you both had to be completely alone and it could only be small gestures. A small squeeze of his hand, brushing back a stray hair, hell even giving him a compliment no longer caused him to run away. Sadly, you started to feel greedy, his pink lips always seemed to taunt you, an open invitation to lean over and place your own over his. But you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, you understood how kissing could be a big deal. There was one night, the dim lights highlighting Azul’s beautiful face as he watched you expectantly. He had you taste a new dish that he wanted to add to his menu and it just so happened to be your favorite food. As thanks, you asked him to come closer, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He did so hesitatingly, and felt himself burn up when you placed a kiss on his cheek. Then he felt like he was going to pass out as you pouted stating that you ‘missed’. Against his better judgment, he gave into your pleading, enchanting eyes, leaning in closer as you silently asked for permission. When your lips met his, he thought he was ascending to heaven.

“A-ahem, I-I’m glad to see that the d-dish was to your l-liking. I-if there’s anything else I could provide, p-please do not be afraid to ask.”

❥ Kalim Al-Asim

It's a wonder you two haven’t kissed yet. You felt so spoiled with how much care and affection Kalim showered you with. He never failed to warm you heart whether it be from his hugs, his solutions if anything ever concerned you, or even just his smile. He was a beaming ray of sunshine, and it kind of intimidated you. Contrary to popular belief, you felt shy under Kalim’s love. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the way your heart skipped a beat as he kissed your cheek or refused to let you go. Oh and not to mention the spoiling. You knew you'd never stop the prince from lavishing you with golden jewelry and gems you didn’t even want to guess how much they were worth. Honestly, it wasn’t good for your poor heart…or consciousness. So when Kalim noticed your slightly downtrodden expression at the new ring he slipped on your finger he worried. Was it not to your liking? Was the color wrong? Don’t worry! He’ll find you ten more rings that you’ll love! …why did you look even more scared at that suggestion? You deserved all this and more! Poor Kalim, he doesn’t know a world without it being at his fingertips, he can’t understand your concern. Your heart hurt at his frown, his sad eyes reminded you of a poor puppy that was kicked. With a sigh you relented, it did compliment you nicely. And so, hoping to right the wrong of making Kalim feel sad, you leaned over and gently pecked his lips. It was like nothing had occurred at all as he stared with sparkles in his eyes.

“Could we do that again? How about another? Just one more, pleeeeease~ Haha! I’m sorry, I just love you so much!”

❥ Vil Schoenheit

It wasn’t fair how pretty and charming your boyfriend was. You wouldn’t tell him this, but he could run you over and blame you for being in the way and you’d apologize. Yeah, you were a major simp, but you really tried to be normal about it. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you managed to bag him, something about how your stupidity was frustratingly charming…in which you showed him your B in potions but he simply rolled his eyes. Aparatenly that proved his point somehow. Anyways! It was one of those rare moments of peace, the two of you watching a movie that Vil had deemed a classic. As much as you tried to pay attention (you know how annoying it is when someone scrolls on their phone during a movie you love), you kept glancing at Vil to see his reactions. You weren’t being sneaky by any means, and he wasn’t sure if he should be happy you couldn’t take your eyes off of him or annoyed that you clearly missed the symbolism that was important to understanding the plot. Yet when you pointed out something even he missed…he was secretly proud. Perhaps you were a better multitasker than you seemed because he had watched that movie plenty of times and missed such a simple thing you pointed out on first view. His heart warmed as you pointed out more details that you liked, and others you didn’t completely understand, such a simple moment, yet one he would cherish. And now he was becoming the bad one, eyes straying to your lips while trying to listen to your rambling. He truly wanted your first kiss to be romantic, in a garden with fairy lights or over a fancy dinner, but perhaps this was just as, if not more so romantic. Gently lifting your head up, your words died on your tongue as Vil’s purple eyes stared at you so lovingly. As he inched his face closer to yours, he softly asked if he could kiss you, nearly sending your heart into cardiac arrest. As his soft lips met yours, you felt true bliss for the first time, and as he pulled away with a self assured smirk, cheeks a light pink, you questioned how you managed to achieve a dream like scenario. 

“It seems like you’re becoming a bad influence, dear. You want another? Perhaps I can oblige if you can actually focus on the next movie.” 

❥ Idia Shroud

Where do I begin? You had been with Idia for nearly a year. You both were on the shy side, getting used to such intimate touches slowly. You can successfully say that you can now hug Idia without him freaking out. In fact, he seemed to seek out your affection, albeit in a backwards way. He’d act like he hated any form of affection and then proceed to stare daggers at you like he was trying to telepathically ask you to play with his hair. True cat behavior. You showed him the joy of affection and now you had to pay the crime (you did so happily). Idia was laying on your chest playing on his handheld console, you were mindlessly playing with his hair and your eyes kept drifting from your phone to your boyfriend. He was so pretty, you never understood how he thought otherwise. From his fiery blue hair, his yellow determined eyes, to his blue tinted lips. He may be a loser otaku, but that just happened to be your type. Your hand trailed from his bright hair to his pale face, gently caressing his cheeks. He looked over at you, his cheeks turning a light pink, no matter how much love you showered him with he would never get used to the way you made his heart want to rip itself out of his chest. And…oh sevens, were you staring at his lips? Just what was going on in that mind of yours? Did…did you just ask to kiss him?! Hair burning pink and hiding his face in your neck, he felt like his brain was melting. He’s dreamt of kissing you, how soft your lips may be, the flavor of your chapstick…but actually doing it?! Was your intimacy meter high enough? His charm stats are rock bottom, would he even kiss you right? Wait! H-he didn’t say no! Please kiss him… Oh, that’s a lot better than when he practiced kissing his body pillow. Great, you’ve got him hooked all over again.

“C-could we do that…again…I-I n-need to grind to get my charm s-stats up.”

❥ Malleus Draconia

For Vil you were the simp, well now the turns have tabled. Malleus is straight up courting you, letting you progress the relationship as you’d like. You’re only comfortable with holding hands? That’s alright, he is more than happy to oblige your requests. You enjoy being hugged? Be prepared for dragon hugs, you can’t escape. He would never push you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. Honestly, he was expecting your first kiss to be at the altar of your wedding…yeah he’s a bit of a traditionalist. So don’t expect him to make the first move, he’s content with any and all affection you're willing to give. And poor you, you constantly found yourself with cute aggression when you’re with your boyfriend. He was just so cute! You wanted to squish his cheeks and squeeze him as tightly as possible (he wouldn’t mind, it's not like you could hurt him). You found yourself once again with a wave of cute aggression as Malleus pouted at the phone he currently held. You were teaching him how to use it and it was a bit harder than you realized. I mean even your mom got the concepts quicker than him…but you suppose your mom wasn’t a century year old fae. The feeling became so strong you couldn’t stop yourself from smushing his cheeks, causing his bright green eyes to stare at you in surprise that quickly turned into fondness. Letting your instincts fully take over, you brought his face closer, pressing your lips together. You had tried to pull away, but Malleus followed you, taking over and kissing you possessively. He wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

“I apologize, child of man. I can’t seem to hold myself back when it comes to you.”

[spiicii]

the og bloodline  / bloodline property (part one)

jey uso / jimmy uso / roman reigns / solo sikoa x fem!reader  word count → 4k summary → you belong to the bloodline, in every sense of the word. and your job is to serve. links → masterlist / bloodline property (part two) tags → multiple partners, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, hair-pulling, praise kink, daddy kink, possessive behavior, hickies, dom/sub dynamics, vaginal sex, creampie, begging, light choking, crying, overstimulation

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” Jey groaned in your ear, his hands braced on either side of your head as he continued to thrust into you. You opened your legs wider to provide more access, allowing him to grind deeper, the tip of his cock now kissing your cervix. 

Jey always started with you first. He was so good at getting you open and relaxed, so much sweeter in comparison to his brothers. He was always gentle, pressing chaste kisses against your cheek as he made sure you felt good. With Jey, it wasn’t just sex. He wanted to make you happy. Wanted you to enjoy it. 

“You gon’ hurry the fuck up or what?” You heard Jimmy snap, always impatient. 

Jey threw an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Chill out, uce. We ain’t in a rush.”

Jimmy let out a huff, pacing the length of the room in frustration. “You takin’ too fuckin’ long. She needs a real man to show her what’s up.”

Jey curled his lip, a scathing remark on his tongue, before Roman’s booming voice interrupted them. “You'll get your turn soon enough.”

You couldn’t see him, not as Jey kept you caged between his arms, impaled on his cock, but Roman's next words left no room for argument. “Enough with the bickering." 

The twins obeyed, though you could still see the annoyance on Jey’s face as he looked back down at you. 

“Just ignore him, babygirl,” he whispered, peppering your neck with soft kisses. “You know I ain’t gon’ leave you hangin’. You know I always give you whatchu want.”

He always did. 

You felt his hand reach down between the two of you, his long fingers finding that small, sensitive bud with ease. You felt sparks shoot down your spine at his touch, your legs falling open further just so you could feel more. 

He chuckled against your skin, picking up the pace of both his hips and his fingers, pushing you closer and closer to your release. 

He leaned up and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft, his kiss gentle as he continued to fuck into you, his fingers playing so perfectly with your clit that you found yourself writhing against him. 

You threw your head back and searched for Roman, your mouth open as soft moans fell from your lips. 

“Please, Daddy,” you begged, your thighs beginning to shake. “Please, can I come?” 

The Tribal Chief was the only one who could grant you permission and you were pleased when you heard him off to the side, out of your line of vision, say, “You can come, pretty girl.”

The orgasm was perfect. It always was with Jey. Pleasure unfurled from your core as you sank deeper into the mattress, your muscles relaxing as the tension released. Jey wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering against yours. 

“Gonna fill you up, babygirl,” he gasped in your ear and that was the only warning you got before you felt him paint your walls white, warmth spreading inside of you at the feeling. He let out a contented sigh, continuing to press sweet kisses into your skin. 

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, placing another kiss against your lips. You offered him a lazy smile, your eyes still glazed over from the pleasure he’d given you. 

“Alright, alright, come on, uce. Move it.” Jimmy was already at your side, shoving at Jey in an effort to get him off of you. 

Jey scowled, but he slowly pulled out of you, your body shivering from the feeling of emptiness. 

“Will you chill out for two fucking seconds? Jesus, you act like you ain’t ever gon’ get a turn.” 

“I been waitin’ all day. And I ain’t got time to sit here while you doin’…whatever that was.”

“Man, if you don’t-”

“Enough.” Roman’s voice quickly shut them up. He was used to this. The twins almost always bickered when they fucked you together. It was just their way. They were too competitive. And a little too possessive for someone they were meant to share. 

Jey threw you a cheeky wink before finally climbing off of you, Jimmy already tangling his fingers into your hair and pulling you up to meet him. 

“Been waitin’ to fuck this pretty pussy all day, little girl,” he growled, quickly hauling you to your feet. Jey preferred to fuck you in missionary, his face close to yours so he could kiss you and watch your eyes cross in pleasure. Jimmy, on the other hand, almost always fucked you from behind, holding you out on display for the entire world to see. He enjoyed grabbing you by the hair, your tits bouncing as he pounded into you from the back. 

As he manhandled you into position, you met Roman’s gaze. He was sitting in the chair near the door, watching you with hooded eyes as Jimmy shoved you forward onto the bed, his hands gripping your hips brutally as he lined up behind you. 

The Tribal Chief was generous and usually let his cousins go first on nights like this. He wasn’t hurried, knowing that you’d be begging for his cock by the end of it anyways. You may be Bloodline property, but Roman was the chief. You belonged to him. 

Jimmy pushed into you, his cock thicker than Jey’s, causing your back to arch at the feeling. He let out a chuckle, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “So fucking tight,” he hissed, beginning to pump in and out of you. “You sure you fucked her, Jey?” 

“Fuck off, man.” 

You glanced over and saw that Jey was standing near Solo, both of them watching as Jimmy pounded into you from behind. Solo was always difficult to read, his eyes dark as he stared at you. Had it been a few months ago, you wouldn’t have known what he was thinking. Now you knew that the distinctive twinkle in his eye was lust, the barest, imperceptible tick of a jaw the only sign of his impatience. 

He’d have a turn after Jimmy. That was how things usually went. If the Bloodline was anything, it was traditional. All four men were creatures of habit, which is perhaps why it hadn’t taken long for you to learn their routine, easily falling into their lifestyle. It had been difficult at first, managing all of their varying personalities, their different schedules, but you had learned. 

Now as Jimmy continued to drill into you from the back, the tug on your hair bordering on painful, you were reminded of the very first lesson you had learned with them: you belonged to the Bloodline, in every sense of the word. They had claimed you. Owned you. Body and soul. 

Jimmy shifted the angle of his hips, and you felt stars explode across your vision as he hit your g-spot with devastating accuracy, your knees almost buckling from how good it felt.

Jimmy pulled tighter on your hair and your mouth fell open, soft moans spilling from your parted lips. You heard Jimmy chuckle, his other hand gripping your hip so hard you knew it would bruise. 

“What a good slut,” he snarled, his pace relentless as he bullied you towards your next orgasm. “You gonna come on this dick?” 

You tried to nod but his grip on your hair made it impossible. Jimmy growled, smacking your ass for good measure as he kept up the brutal pace. The roughness of his thrusts combined with his incessant abuse against your g-spot had you spiraling towards orgasm. Again. 

“Please, Daddy,” you begged, meeting the Tribal Chief’s gaze as Jimmy pulled on your hair so hard again tears sprung into your eyes. “Please, can I come?”

Roman’s eyes were dark, his face unreadable as he replied. “Come again, sweetheart.” 

You felt the tension inside you snap, Jimmy wringing the orgasm from your body with each sharp thrust of his hips. Your walls contracted around him, causing him to groan. 

“That’s right, little girl. Imma finish right here inside you. Right where I belong. Fuck!” 

Jimmy yanked at your hair so hard that you were forced to stand, his hands now wrapping around your neck as he pulled you back against his chest. His grip tightened and you felt him release inside you, a new warmth spreading between your legs as he finished. 

The world was still for a moment, your ears ringing like a jet had just flown by, until Jimmy finally relaxed, slowly loosening his fingers from the tight grip he’d kept on your neck. 

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He slowly pulled out of you, and you whimpered, feeling some of his come leak out and trickle down your leg. Jimmy chuckled, pressing another kiss into your hair. This was the only time he was sweet like his twin, the post-orgasmic bliss making him tender and soft. You melted in his arms, allowing him to lay you softly back on the bed. He gently pushed you back against a pillow, his hands warm against your heated skin. “You always so good for me, pretty girl.” 

You leaned into his touch and Jimmy smiled, brushing a few stray hairs from your face. He soon moved away, another hand now on your face, this one much bigger. 

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” The Tribal Chief’s voice was low in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as his breath fanned across your neck. “Need your Daddy to take care of you?” 

You let out a low whine, already reaching out for him, despite the gooey feeling in your arms. You heard Roman let out a chuckle, sitting up against the headboard and pulling you into his lap. You went easily, allowing his strong arms to wrap around you and bring you closer, your legs falling on either side of his hips to straddle him. 

You realized now that things were not following their usual order. Usually, it was Solo who went next, leaving hickies and marks across your neck and chest as he fucked into you. You turned around instinctively to look for him, your brow furrowed in worry. 

“Aw, you worried about Solo, babygirl?” Roman’s tone was patronizing, roughly grabbing your chin to look back at him. “Don’t want him to feel left out?” 

You whimpered as he kept a tight grip on your chin, his eyes blazing with intensity as he looked up at you. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, releasing your chin to cup your cheek. “Solo will get his turn. I just couldn’t wait any longer. You looked too perfect tonight. I just couldn’t help myself…” 

He ran his hands across your body, admiring the way you reacted to his touch, your hips already rolling forward to meet the erection that was nudging against your inner thigh. He allowed you to take what you wanted, sinking onto his cock with ease, your toes curling at the full feeling inside of you. 

“Good girl,” he praised, running his hands along your sides, his face now close to yours as he pressed sweet kisses against your jaw. “You like sitting in Daddy’s lap?” 

You nodded, reaching out to touch the beautifully sculpted muscles of his chest as you began to move your hips, never taking your eyes off his. 

The Tribal Chief was smirking at you, his large hands encircling your torso. “Such an eager slut, aren’t you, baby? Already been fucked twice and you still want more?” 

You rolled your hips again in answer to his question, the feeling of him inside you erasing all thoughts from your brain, bliss overtaking your body. He always made you feel like this, his cock so thick and long that it completely filled you up, hitting that perfect spot inside of you with every thrust, no matter the angle. You could have sworn your insides had morphed to fit him perfectly and he seemed to agree. 

“Just like you were made for me. Such a good girl for your Tribal Chief.” 

Your eyes fluttered at his praise, rolling your head back as he pressed wet kisses to your exposed neck, teeth nipping at the pulse point beneath your jaw. You felt yourself clench around him and he laughed, reaching around to grab a handful of your ass as you began to grind on top of him. 

“You gonna ride me, pretty girl?” Roman’s voice was a low growl, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “Gonna take what you want from me?” 

“Yes, please,” you moaned, grinding further down so your clit could make contact with his skin. “Please, Daddy. I want you so bad.” 

He laughed, the sound rumbling through the large expanse of his chest. “‘Atta girl,” he praised, allowing you to control the pace. “Take what you want. I’m all yours, sweetheart.” 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

You lifted your hips and sank down again, gratified to hear the Tribal Chief make a pleased sound beneath you. You don’t often get him to ride him like this. He’s normally grabbing you and taking what he wants, almost always manhandling you to show off his incredible strength. Seeing him laid beneath you, his arm slung lazily behind his head as he watched you bounce up and down was rare. And you wanted to enjoy it. 

You planted your hands against his tattooed chest, attempting to gain more leverage to lift yourself higher, moaning at the feeling of his dick splitting you open as you straddled him. You picked up the pace, the feeling of him inside you sending tendrils of pleasure shooting across your body. 

“That’s it,” Roman encouraged, using his free hand to keep you steady above him, his touch keeping you grounded. “Don’t hurt yourself now. I’m not going anywhere, pretty girl.” 

You obeyed, slowing your movements, but only a little. You rocked up and down, throwing your head back in pleasure. He made you feel so good. You weren’t sure how it was possible to feel this good, your skin tingling all over, soft pants falling from your open mouth as you rode him. 

“Greedy thing, ain’t she, uce?” You heard Jimmy’s voice somewhere behind you, but you could hardly focus on it, tension beginning to coil inside you for a third time as you took what the Tribal Chief offered you. 

Roman chuckled at his words, watching you with amusement as you bounced on his dick in desperation, chasing your own pleasure. 

“So greedy she needs four men to take care of her, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

You nodded at his words though you were having difficulty hearing him, your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Roman growled and pulled you closer, no longer lounging against the headboard as he wrapped his arms around you. This angle pushed him deeper inside and you gasped, stars exploding across your vision. 

He began moving his own hips, thrusting up into you with easy strength, one of his hands tangling in your hair. He was impossibly deep now, and you felt your pussy spasm at the feeling. 

“I know I let you fuck my cousins,” he growled in your ear, your pussy clamping down on him as he thrust into you harder. “But who do you really belong to? Who owns you, pretty girl?” 

You were barely moving on your own now, Roman now fully taking control and shoving his cock deeper and deeper into you until you felt like you might pass out. Still, you somehow found the words he wanted to hear. “You, Daddy. I belong to you.” 

The grip on your hair tightened and you felt his cock twitch inside of you. He was close. And so were you. 

“Please,” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, can I come, Daddy? Please?” 

“Come, pretty girl. Come on your Daddy’s dick.” 

This orgasm was brutal, your thighs shaking in pleasure beneath Roman’s large hands. You felt yourself gush around his massive length, triggering his own finish. You heard him let out a groan, his grip on you tightening as he came. 

He pumped a few more times into you, just to ensure that you took every last drop of his seed, before finally holding you still, his breath warm against your neck. 

“Good girl,” he praised, releasing the grip on your hair and allowing your head to fall against his shoulder. “Such a good slut. You did so well.” 

Your limbs felt heavy, your body now sensitive after three orgasms so close together. You shivered as Roman pulled out of you, more come dribbling out of your leaking cunt onto the bed below. Your breath was shaky, your muscles trembling from exertion. 

“Come get her, Solo. She’s ready for you.” 

You could barely register the Tribal Chief’s words, suddenly feeling your body being lifted off of him and into someone else’s arms. Solo’s arms. You immediately relaxed, nuzzling against his neck, body limp as he carried you. 

He set you down gently against the mattress, propping you up against a pillow before climbing on top of you without much preamble. You opened your eyes to look up at him, feeling butterflies in your stomach as you met his intense gaze. His dark eyes were fiery, his jaw clenched as he looked down at you. His gold chain dangled in front you, glinting in the bedroom light.

“Solo,” you breathed, his name easy on your lips. He hardly ever spoke to you, but you had learned that he appreciated it when you spoke to him, even if he didn’t always show it. You reached up and placed a hand against his cheek, offering him a smile. 

“She looks so fucked out, uce,” you heard one of the twins say. “Think you can get her to come again? She might be done.” 

Solo’s eyes narrowed, the only sign that he was annoyed at his brother’s words. You knew that he didn’t mind fucking you like this, your body soft and pliable beneath his large hands, so easy for him to manhandle into any position he wants.

When he pressed his thick cock into you, you felt your eyes roll back into your head, the feeling bordering the fine line between pain and pleasure. 

He was thicker than all of them and you usually had to take at least one of his brothers first just to prepare yourself. Even now you’d taken three dicks, and you still weren’t prepared for the burn as he stretched you out, small puffs of air escaping from your parted lips. 

Solo let out a low groan as he gave you another inch, his mouth already latching onto your neck as he suckled a bruise against your skin. He loved marking you up, more possessive than either of his brothers. He wanted the whole world to know that you were his, more than happy to mottle your neck and chest with bruises. He finally bottomed out and you let out a whimper at the feeling, the burn at being stretched by his massive girth positively delicious. But he didn’t move. You met his gaze and saw that he was looking at you, almost expectantly. He wanted to hear it. Wanted to know that you needed him. 

“Please, Solo,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “I need it. I need you. Please.” 

His eyes darkened and before you fully realized it, he was pulling out and ramming back in, the thrust sending tendrils of pleasure up your spine as his thick cock massaged your walls. You couldn’t help the embarrassing whine that escaped your throat, overstimulation prickling at your exhausted muscles. 

Solo continued to grind into you, his lips attaching themselves to your neck again, another bruise blossoming beneath his mouth. Solo had always been good at keeping you right on the edge between pain and pleasure, whether it was his massive cock splitting you open or his lips suckling a bruise beneath your jaw. It always left you head spinning, the feeling so euphoric that you almost feel like you’re floating. 

His teeth grazed the delicate skin against your windpipe, and you moaned again, wrapping your legs around his waist just to pull him closer to you. 

“Need you so bad, Solo,” you pleaded, looking back up at him in desperation. “Please, I can’t…I can’t-”

Another one of his thrusts had you whining, pleasure licking across your tired limbs like wildfire. Your nails dug into his shoulder as you pulled him close, the sound of his name leaving your lips spurring him on as he continued to drill into you.

Solo leaned down and you felt his lips ghost across the shell of your ear. “You want me, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice so low that only you could hear. You let out a gasp as he dragged across your g-spot, his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

“I want you so bad,” you whimpered, pressing small kisses against his neck. “Please, I need you. Give it to me, please. Please…”

You couldn’t speak anymore. Not as his hips snapped against yours, tension growing in your abdomen at the feel of him inside you. He reached around and grabbed one of your thighs, pushing it forward to allow better access to your puffy cunt. A strangled moan escaped your lips, and you felt like he was splitting you in half, your g-spot so abused by now that you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. 

You opened your mouth, trying to form the words on your lips, but you couldn’t. Your head felt empty, Solo’s cock pistoning in and out of you with such force that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk again for days. 

“Daddy,” you managed to whisper, your eyes glazing over as Solo grunted, raising up your other leg to push you into a full mating press. A strangled scream ripped from your throat and tears sprung into your eyes. You were completely helpless beneath him now, pinned to the bed beneath his massive weight, his cock feeling like it was sawing you in half. 

The tension inside you was coiling again, but you still couldn’t find the words to ask for permission, your head feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton. There was only one word you could think of. 

“Daddy.” 

You repeated his name like a mantra, your body no longer your own as Solo drilled into you, your legs next to your ears. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” 

You heard the Tribal Chief’s voice and almost wept at the sound. 

“Daddy, please.” You still couldn’t find the words, your eyes unable to focus on anything except Solo’s dark eyes, dangerously close to the edge of your fourth orgasm. 

“Use your words, princess. What do you need?” The Tribal Chief’s voice was soft, and you felt your entire body tense. 

“I can’t…” You gasped, Solo’s face blurring as tears began to fall. “Please…I can’t…” 

“Yes, you can.” Roman’s voice was firmer now, and you knew it would displease him if you came without permission. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.” 

Solo’s hand found your clit and you screamed again, though this time you used your words. “Please, can I come? Please, please, please.” 

“Come, slut.” 

Your vision went white. The pleasure was so intense that your entire body shook, walls spasming helplessly around Solo’s massive cock. You wanted to move, but you were still pinned to the bed, your feet still by your ears as Solo held you down. You were vaguely aware of the sounds you were making, alternating between high-pitched whines and fucked-out whimpers. You might have been embarrassed if it didn’t feel so fucking good. 

“So fuckin’ pretty when you come,” Solo grunted in your ear, finally spilling into you as he chased his own pleasure, coating your insides with his seed. 

You weren’t sure what happened after that. Your vision was blurry with tears, your throat hoarse from your screams. You felt Solo finally release you, leaning up and allowing your legs to fall back onto the bed. You felt his come trickle from your abused hole, all mixed together from the multiple loads you’d taken from his brothers and cousin. 

You felt someone’s lip on your forehead, pressing a tender kiss to your fevered brow. “Such a good girl.” he murmured, his tone soft. “You serve my bloodline so well.” 

_____

next part: bloodline property (part two)

[satellite-evans]

scary

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: A pregnancy scare forces you and Lando to confront what you want—and what you’re ready for. Relief doesn't bring peace, and his unexpected reaction changes everything.

Word count: 2.6k+

Warnings: angst, pregnancy scare, swearing

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It started small. A flutter of unease in your stomach when you realized the calendar was off. One day, then two. You brushed it off at first—an innocent oversight, nothing more. But by the time it reached five, your thoughts had already unraveled into a thousand tangled threads, each one darker than the last.

You tried to rationalize it. Travel had thrown off your routine. The stress at work had been building. Maybe it was the new supplements you’d impulsively ordered online after reading some influencer’s glowing review. You repeated those explanations like a prayer, hoping that if you said them enough, they’d become true. But each morning you woke up still waiting, the excuses felt flimsier. Fragile things that couldn’t withstand the weight of what you feared.

Lando was in Monaco. Or maybe Milan. You couldn’t even keep track anymore—his life was a carousel of cities, photo ops, and flights. All you saw were time-stamped glimpses of it through his Instagram stories: sunlit terraces, grid walks, that easy grin he wore like armor. He looked happy. Effortless. Untouchable. And you? You lay curled in bed, covers drawn up to your chin, one hand over your stomach as if that could stop whatever might be happening inside you. As if stillness could keep the world from shifting beneath your feet.

You watched the ceiling, silent and still, imagining the moment everything would change. The click of a test, the blur of a second line. You didn’t even know yet—and still, it felt like the before was already slipping away.

When your phone lit up with his name, your heart jumped. FaceTime. You let it ring out, watching the screen dim and fall silent. Later, you told yourself it was because your phone was on silent. Not because the thought of seeing his face, carefree and thousands of miles away, made something inside you ache. Not because you didn’t know how to pretend. Not because you were afraid of what he might see in your eyes.

You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow, and let the silence grow between you—thick, heavy, and full of things unsaid.

He came home two days later.

You heard the key turn in the lock—faint, metallic, unmistakable. A sound you’d heard a hundred times, yet tonight it caught in your chest like a breath you forgot to finish taking. Your hand hovered over the simmering pot, wooden spoon motionless. The smell of tomatoes and garlic clung to the air, thick and comforting in the way familiar things are, even when the world feels unfamiliar.

There was a pause, a beat of silence, and then the clatter—his duffel bag dropping to the floor in the hallway. The rustle of his jacket being shrugged off. Then his voice, soft but tired, like a question he wasn’t sure how to ask.

“Babe?”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. The sauce had long since finished cooking, but you stood there anyway, stirring it out of habit more than need. The gentle bubbling was the only sound in the kitchen, a small thing that somehow grounded you as the rest of your body threatened to unravel.

You felt him before you saw him—his arms sliding around your waist, warm and familiar, like muscle memory. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, breath brushing your skin in slow, even puffs.

“Smells good,” he murmured. “Missed you.”

Your grip on the spoon tightened, knuckles paling. The words didn’t slide off you the way they normally did. You wanted to melt into his touch, but instead you stood stiff, held together only by tension and the thin thread of resolve you’d been spinning for days.

“I’m late,” you said, voice quieter than you intended.

His arms paused, still circling you but suddenly motionless. “Late?”

You turned in his hold, slowly, as if movement itself might shatter something fragile between you. Your eyes met his, searching, steady. You wanted to gauge his reaction before you even said it aloud. Wanted to see if he already knew what you were about to say.

“My period. It’s two weeks late.”

There was a flicker—barely there—a flick of his eyes, a brief flash of something unreadable. Then silence.

“Do you think...” he began, but didn’t finish.

“I don’t know,” you interrupted. “I haven’t taken a test.”

He nodded, once, then again slower. “Then we should get one.”

You watched him, waiting. For the quick deflection. For the easy, dismissive smile. For the usual “It’s probably nothing” or “Don’t stress.” The scripted lines. The predictable reactions. But none of them came.

Just quiet acceptance.

He didn’t let go. Didn’t flinch or step back. His hands stayed on your waist, his thumbs brushing small circles against your sides, as if he were grounding himself—or maybe you.

And that scared you more than anything else.

Because if he’d panicked, you could’ve been the calm one. If he’d brushed it off, you could’ve gotten angry and made it real. But this—this stillness, this softness—felt like walking into the unknown without armor. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing the wind isn’t strong enough to stop you from falling.

The silence stretched between you, not awkward, but thick with everything you were both too afraid to name. He didn’t ask you why you hadn’t told him sooner. Didn’t ask why your eyes were a little red, or why the apartment was unusually spotless, or why the sauce had been simmering too long.

Maybe he knew. Maybe he’d spent those long flights imagining this moment too.

“Okay,” he said finally, gently. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is.”

You nodded, but didn’t speak. Just leaned into him, resting your forehead against his chest, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe that figuring it out was possible.

The pharmacy felt like a vacuum. The moment you stepped inside, the world seemed to shrink down to its most clinical elements: the hum of fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead like anxious thoughts, the sterile gleam of polished tile beneath your shoes, the soft beep of scanners at the front register. The air was cold, dry, scented faintly with antiseptic and something sugary from the candy aisle nearby.

But none of it touched you. You and Lando moved through it like shadows—quiet, contained, orbiting something unspeakable.

You walked together in silence, your footsteps falling slightly out of sync. No one looked at you, but it felt like everyone could see you. As if your thoughts were painted across your forehead in bold, pulsing letters: Possible pregnancy. Complete emotional freefall.

The feminine care aisle was tucked away near the back, as if it, too, wanted to offer you privacy. But the moment you turned the corner and stepped into that row, the weight of it all dropped onto your shoulders like lead. Rows upon rows of pastel-colored boxes stared back at you—some blue, some pink, all impossibly cheery for what they contained. Promises of early detection, digital readouts, results in minutes. Neat packaging for a moment that could tear your life in two.

You stopped in front of them, unsure of how to breathe. Your fingers hovered just above a sleek white box with soft blue lettering. It was the same brand you remembered from years ago—long before Lando, before now—when the test had come back negative and you had cried with relief you didn’t quite understand.

But today your hand refused to close around it.

“I can’t,” you murmured, so softly it barely left your lips.

Lando stood beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence like a shield, like a question. He didn’t ask you to explain. Didn’t try to coax or reassure. He didn’t fill the silence the way some people might have, didn’t try to fix the fear curling tight inside your chest.

Instead, he stepped forward.

Without a word, he reached out, selected a box—one with a digital readout, something simple, something clear—and took it from the shelf. His fingers curled tightly around it, like it was something precious, or dangerous. Maybe both.

He didn’t hand it to you.

Instead, he turned, and with a quiet, steady presence, walked with you back through the store. Past the vitamins and painkillers, past the racks of magazines with bright headlines and glossy smiles, past a mother holding a toddler on her hip. You wondered, in a moment of cruel irony, if that might be you in nine months.

The cashier didn’t say much. Just scanned the test, gave a quick glance between the two of you, and slid it into a small paper bag. Lando paid, slipping his card back into his wallet like this was just another errand. But you could see it in his shoulders—the way they sat straighter than usual, the way his hand tightened around the bag as he took it.

Outside, the cold hit you immediately—sharp, bracing, real. The kind of cold that made your lungs ache and your eyes sting. It was early evening, and the sun was already sinking, painting the street in dusky gold and icy blue.

Still silent, Lando held the bag in one hand, his other brushing lightly against yours as you walked side by side again.

And though no words passed between you, you felt the shift. The gravity of what you were carrying now belonged to both of you.

Back at the apartment, the silence stretched like a rubber band pulled to its limit, taut and trembling, threatening to snap.

You didn’t speak as you slipped the pharmacy bag onto the bathroom counter. Your fingers trembled as you tore the box open, the cardboard giving way with a soft rip that still felt too loud. The plastic wrapper crinkled between your hands, resisting you in that final, deliberate moment before you peeled it open.

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs—steady, loud, almost punishing. Each beat seemed to echo inside your chest, a countdown in its own right.

You sat down on the edge of the tub, the test clutched tight in your palm. It was just plastic, light as nothing, and yet it felt like holding a live wire. You did what you had to do, movements mechanical, almost detached. Then you set the test carefully on the edge of the sink, not daring to look at it too long, afraid that your gaze alone might make the result appear faster.

Five minutes.

You left the bathroom like it might explode, like the test might detonate if you lingered in the same room with it.

In the bedroom, Lando was already sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed slightly. His leg was bouncing—rapid, nervous energy pulsing through him, trying to escape. You knew that bounce. You’d seen it before on race days, just before he stepped into the car. It was the tell of someone pretending to be calm while their insides were chaos.

“Five minutes,” you said quietly, standing in the doorway like a ghost.

He nodded, but didn’t speak. The test was now on the nightstand, facedown. Its tiny, plastic frame looked almost laughable against the gravity of what it represented. You stared at it like it might catch fire, like it could scream your future out loud if you so much as blinked.

“I didn’t plan for this,” you said. “I don’t want it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with guilt and truth.

He didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence wrap itself around the statement, as if trying to decide whether to accept it or challenge it.

“I don’t know if I do either,” he finally said, voice low. “But I didn’t feel scared when you told me. That surprised me.”

You turned toward him, arms crossed, more to hold yourself together than anything else.

“You’re not the one who’d have to carry it.”

His jaw tightened. A flicker of pain passed through his eyes, but he nodded slowly. “I know. I’m not trying to make this about me.”

And to his credit, he wasn’t. But the space between you still felt like a chasm neither of you knew how to cross.

Then your phone buzzed—a sharp, vibrating alarm that shattered the silence.

Five minutes.

You didn’t move right away. Just stared at your phone, as if the sound itself could delay the inevitable. Then, slowly, your hand reached for the test. Your fingers were shaking. You turned it over.

One line.

Negative.

Relief hit you like a wave, hard and fast. You exhaled sharply, all the tension collapsing out of your body at once. Your shoulders slumped. Your knees wobbled.

“It’s negative,” you said, almost to yourself.

Lando leaned in slightly to look, nodding again, but his expression didn’t match yours. His face didn’t soften with relief. Instead, his brow furrowed, a subtle crease forming between his eyes. There was something there—something unreadable, but not indifferent.

You looked at him. “What?”

He blinked, looked away. “Nothing. It’s good. That’s good.”

“Lando.”

He hesitated, then finally spoke, his voice almost gentle: “I just… when I thought it might be real, I didn’t hate the idea. That surprised me.”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

He looked at the floor. “Yeah.”

You could feel the anger rising, sharp and hot. “You’re gone most of the year,” you snapped. “You think a baby is a good idea right now?”

“I didn’t say it was a good idea,” he shot back, more defensive now. “I said I didn’t hate it. I thought... maybe I could be okay with it.”

“You thought you could be okay with it?” Your voice climbed, emotions catching in your throat. “Are you even listening to yourself? I’ve been here, spiraling, scared out of my mind. And you’re out there picturing baby names?”

His expression darkened. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me the bad guy for feeling something.”

You stood up, pacing now, needing distance. “I’m not making you the bad guy. I’m trying to explain that this—us having a kid—isn’t something I can even comprehend right now. We’re barely managing this.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he said suddenly, standing too. His voice was louder now, sharper. “You keep acting like I’m never here, like I wouldn’t show up if it mattered.”

You rounded on him. “Would you? Would you show up at 2 a.m. when I’m vomiting from morning sickness? Would you cancel a race if something went wrong?”

He flinched like you’d struck him. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is you being disappointed that I’m not pregnant.”

He looked at you then—really looked. And something in his expression shifted. Like he was seeing you with new eyes. Or maybe realizing just how far apart you’d already drifted.

“I just thought...” he said, voice quiet again. “It might have meant we were growing into something.”

Your chest tightened. It hurt to breathe. “It doesn’t take a pregnancy to prove we’re real, Lando. If you needed that to feel grounded in us, then maybe we’re already too far apart.”

His mouth opened like he might argue. But then he swallowed, hard. His eyes dropped to the floor. After a beat, he stepped toward the nightstand and picked up his keys.

“I need some air.”

You didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. The words were there, but they wouldn’t come.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And the silence he left behind was deafening. Louder than the shouting. Louder than the truth.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the test still in your hand. One line. Clear. Definitive.

Not pregnant. Not anything.

And yet, somehow, it still felt like something had shattered—quietly, invisibly, in that way only hearts know how to break.