#her numbers are fucking obscene

[oltammefru]

I like Shu's character and visual design a lot but so much of her gameplay design is stupid in a way that I feel like bodes pretty poorly for the future of the game.

Here's her talent 2. It's really good and also kind of really stupid.

Specifically the "when there are 4 Sui Operators in the squad" part. It's kind of absurdly fucking good. +12% ATK is a lot and +1 SP / 4 seconds is also a lot, especially when it applies to all skills that require SP, and not just auto-recover ones. The fact that it only requires them to be on the squad and not necessarily deployed is stupidly good, you don't even have to deploy them to get a massive buff to everyone. Almost all the "give buffs just by being on the squad lineup" talent effects are relatively small in numerical effect and relatively conditional (often times only affecting a single class or faction) but this one provides an effect that is universally useful and has obscenely good numbers on it. And it requires you to have 4 specific limited ops from a faction for which there are currently only 5 playable units for! If you want to make use of this effect and currently don't have any of the Sui or you just recently started playing or any other reason, well, you better have 1200 pulls!

But wait! There's more bullshit.

(I don't really trust the EN AK wiki, but I do trust prts.wiki and they seem to corroborate this, although to be fair I am reading google translated text.)

They made it so the 3rd part of her talent 2 doesn't work if you borrow her from Support. That's right, even if you wanted to make use of her talent 2 3rd effect and have every other Sui in the game but you got unlucky on pulls and didn't want to spend 300 entire pulls for a single character, you can't! Fuck you!

[canon-adjacent]

Bruce goes from a skinny as a rail twink in med school with Harley, to a fucking massive leather daddy.

He pretends to be a bear for secret identity’s sake but they’re drawn like moths to a flame…

Y'all don't understand how much I want Harley to take Bruce on his first gay club experience. He's sheepish, unsure, playing with the strings of this corset she shoved him Into.

"So, bi or rainbow eyeshadow? Trans? Pan? Ace? Lesbian? Just trying to get the right thing here."

" Pink."

A snap of fingers, pleased, " Never thought I'd say this, but impeccable taste."

" You had a green mohawk and purple shorts last month."

" I was in a dark place. Now chop chop. We have a loooot of free drinks waiting for us."

Now just picture Bruce, sipping on a strawberry vodka cocktail, dressed in a nirvana crop top, matching shorts with fishnets beneath, all pretty on his stool.

He's info dumping about Gray Ghost lore to a bunch of leather daddies.

Harley's having a great night.

[sweetshuga]

That One Autumn Evening ✰ MS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

Hooking up at a mutual friend’s party.

Warnings! Smut!, strong language!, obscene descriptions, pet name (pretty), oral (f! receiving), fingering, p in v (unprotected), overstimulation, size kink (kinda), praise kink (kinda), etc.

wc. 1.4k

notes. English is not my first language! Prologue to Keep it on

The music blared throughout the house, drowning out your thoughts. A solo cup in your hand that you occasionally took a sip from—even though you knew you had one too many tonight. Most of your friends had already gone home, having excused themselves saying they had work or just weren’t up for a crazy hangover tomorrow.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about anything at the moment. You had just broken up with your boyfriend of 2 years, over an argument about the dress you were gonna wear to this exact party you stood in, gulping down drink after drink.

The pouring rain outside contrasted starkly to the liveliness in the house, but it matched your mood all too well. The stormy weather was almost blanked out by the darkness looming over due to the late hours, but the sound of pattering droplets of rain kept reminding you of the turmoil outside, and in you.

Well, you and your boyfriend started to have a strain in your relationship from the second year mark so it wasn’t really a surprise when he broke up with you tonight; it was inevitable. Everything you did seemed to make him either annoyed or somehow even pissed off, which was completely unreasonable since all you wanted was his attention.

"He’s a fucking scumbag, always was, only you saw him through rose-colored glass," your friend held your hand, slurring her words as she spoke. A bitter scoff left your lips before you chugged the rest of the mix of alcohols that you didn’t even recognise the names of. "I know, don’t remind me," you mumbled, trying to keep your words from slurring.

One of your friends suddenly clutched your arms, and with wide eyes she whispered, "holy fuck, there’s a crazy hot guy approaching us, you have to at least get his number, forget about that dumb ex of yours— just act flirty okay?" She slurred. "What?" You answered dumbly.

You looked back when you felt a tap on your shoulder, locking eyes with a blue eyed brunette with a charming smile. "Yes?" The guy chuckled, "you’re really pretty," he said bluntly, the alcohol in his system fueling his confidence.

You just stood there and blinked at him for a good minute before your intoxicated self acknowledged what he said, straightening up as a smirk made its way onto your lips. "You’re not bad looking yourself, and nice chain," you said pointing at your own collar, indicating to the silver chain – with a horse pendant – around his neck.

He laughed softly and looked down at his chain briefly before raking his gaze over your body appraisingly, leaning in as he whispered in your ear, "you up for a more quiet talk?" A smile curved up your lips and you nodded, telling your friends you’ll be back.

𓆩♡𓆪

The way up the second floor stairs and into a spare bedroom was a blur, followed by giggles and muffled sounds of clothes hitting the floor.

Your giggles turned into breathy sighs as he kissed your bare skin, trailing his lips down the valley between your tits and leaving a few wet kisses there before going lower. Humming in appreciation to your body as he licked a stripe down your pelvis, causing your breath to hitch.

Matt chuckled when he noticed you squirm under his attention, slowly parting your thighs with his hands, "you’re so pretty, m’gonna eat this pussy so good—so pretty," he murmured before diving down. Your eyes rolled back briefly the moment his tongue made contact with your throbbing clit, a breathy moan escaped through your parted lips.

"Mhm... so sensitive ain’t you, pretty?" he mumbled against your flesh, causing vibrations that made your hips buck against his face, a whine leaving your lips. "Fuck... feels so good—yeah, just like that, oh fu—ck," you moaned as he plunged two long digits into your spasming walls, curling them just right.

His fingers and mouth worked in tandem, making that knot in your lower abdomen tighter with each lick and stroke. Your moans grew louder as you squirmed against his face—only to be held down by his free hand, eliciting a sob of pleasure from you.

"Can’t—m’gonna, gonna—shit, shit, shit," you moaned loudly, your fingers clutching on his hair for dear life as a powerful orgasm washed over you. The intoxication of the alcohol in your system made it all the more intense as you struggled to come down from your high, and the way his tongue flicked over your oversensitized bud of nerves didn’t help one bit.

He sucked hard on your clit and started to pound his fingers into you, intentionally curling his fingers upwards. "Wait—shit, i’m gonna—oh fuck, fuck—" you moaned loudly, almost wailing as you squirted all over his face, the sensation bordering on too much.

Your body went limp on the bed, your breathing ragged as you tried to comprehend the earth-shattering orgasm you just had. Matt wiped his face with the back of his hand, rising up your body, nudging his painfully hard erection against your pelvis.

Despite your obvious sensitivity and almost overstimulating experience, you found yourself wrapping your legs around his torso, beckoning him closer—to which he gladly did.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, "shh—you were so good, so good fo’me... you think you can go a bit more, pretty?" he murmured against your lips. "Yeah... just slowly, please," you whispered, your voice dying on you due to overuse.

He whispered soft praises and sweet nothings in your ear as he slowly pushed inside you, keeping a steady but slow pace. "Just like that, keep those pretty eyes on me and just feel alright?" He whispered, his lips trailing along your jaw and down your neck—ending at your collarbone where he left hickeys.

He made sure to be gentle even in his intoxicated state, knowing you were as drunk as, if not more than, him. His pace was unhurried but the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix with each thrust, grinding his hips whenever he bottomed out, making you whimper.

"Shit, you’re so big," you moaned, unable to think of anything but the thick girth inside you. Your walls fluttered around him, and each time he pulled back he would let out a groan at the way your pussy seemed to suck him in.

"Fuck—you like how big I am?" He rasped, and all you could do was nod, muttering a soft "yes" to which he groaned aloud. "Fuu—ck that’s dangerous," he mumbled, closing his eyes to hold on to that last bit of control, but the damage was already done.

His pace quickened, his hands gripped your knees and pushed them up, almost folding you in half as he started to pound into you. The tip of his cock hitting your cervix with bruising force each time, making you clutch onto him and the bedspread, your eyes wide as you moaned loudly.

He groaned loudly before smashing his lips against yours, swallowing your desperate cries of pleasure. The sound of the bedframe slamming against the wall rivalled with the sound of his hips slamming against yours.

The bed creaked beneath you, and your moans grew louder when he suddenly changed his angle, hitting that spot that made you see sparks. Your eyes rolled back as the pleasure threatened to consume you whole.

You jolted awake, sitting upright as you took in your surroundings, clutching your head at the severe pounding in your head. "Fuck, shouldn’t have drank so much..." Your hoarse voice trailed off when you noticed your nakedness under the covers.

Your mouth gaped as you tried to make sense of anything at all, but the hangover was preventing you from thinking even the slightest bit.

A slight movement beside you caught you off guard, and your gaze travelling to the guy sleeping beside you. His back was facing you—full of red marks, undeniable scratch marks. A soft flush creeped up your face at the sight.

You tentatively reached over and gently shook his shoulder. "Hey..." You tried to say but your voice was too hoarse and quiet so you opted to just get out of there before he woke up, but not before you wrote a small note, leaving it on the pillow next to him.

𓆩♡𓆪

Matt woke up a bit later, turning around just to be met with—no one. His eyebrows furrowed, he was sure he had hooked up with someone, "did I have a wet dream or something?" He mumbled to himself. Sitting upright on the bed before his gaze landed on the note beside him.

His face broke into a huge grin as he read the note, a soft chuckle escaping through his lips. You had written your name and phone number on the note, and had marked it with your lipstick stain.

𓆩♡𓆪

wc. 1,475

Isa's notes. Yeah... I know I haven't been posting, but what can I say? School has started and I'm in grade 12 (senior year) sooo I have a lot of things to do at the moment:( Also, I made so many jump cuts just because I was too lazy to write it all 😃

xoxo 𓆩♡𓆪

Taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @queenshet @chrisstopherfilmed

© sweetshuga

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Exactly what it says on the tin. Established ghoap, bringing in fem!reader roommate. Poor writing. Reader has had any identifying features removed, but she owns a Ford Fiesta. Take that as you will. Just testing to see if there is interest in a lighthearted fun sexy fic like this. 🩶

*

“Remember. You’re desperate,” you muttered to yourself looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your tiny Ford Fiesta. The ink might as well still be fresh on the ad your roommate printed off for you (the perfect symbol of her guilt for moving back in with her boyfriend and forcing you to find a new apartment and new roommates in the first place).

The ad reads as thus: WANTED: ANY GENDER WELCOME to fill the second bedroom in a 2b/2ba 1290sq ft apartment. DOWNTOWN. In-building laundry. Utilities and rent split EVENLY amongst 3. NO FASCISTS, NO HOMOPHOBES.

It was the most promising ad you had seen after days of scouring the internet in your every spare moment (usually reserved for those moments when you were on break during shifts, feet and back aching, hating your life OR at the end of a long day when the post-sunset depression hit with all the force of a typhoon). Any two people who were against fascism and homophobia were alright in your book. As for the finer details—well. You were desperate. You were going to have to overlook any skeletons in their closets, as long as those skeletons weren’t literal.

I’m texting about the apartment downtown. Is this the right number?

Yeah, you’ve got it. Nice to text ya. You’re interested?

Very. Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss the details?

We don’t mind showing the apartment. Got a few others coming to see it as well. You cursed up a storm reading over that particular text, so much so that your roommate’s boyfriend knocked angrily on the thin walls separating your bedrooms. Scowling, you knocked back—a little too angry to be mistaken for conciliatory. You blamed that bastard for your troubles in the first place.

I’ll see it ASAP, if that’s okay.

Go-getter. How soon can you be here?

Which is how you found yourself in the parking lot of the building, hastily combing hairs back into place, hoping for some semblance of presentability. If only there was a way to hide the desperation in your eyes…

The apartment complex itself is everything you could have hoped for. It even has an indoor pool, which is a step up from the facilities offered at your own apartment. The rent is a little higher than what you were pulling at your old place, but you think you can manage it if you cut back on excess frivolities. And any joy. (Joy costs)

There’s a doorman even—an honest to god doorman! He instructs you on the way to the elevators, and you take them up to the top floor, feeling your ears pop from the change in altitude. By the time you’re standing in front of their door, your knees are knocking together, terrified of who you might be meeting. Even more terrified that they might not like you, that they might say no—

—and the door opens, shattering any expectation you have. The man standing there is undoubtedly, ungodly, unseemly, obscenely hot. His head nearly brushes the frame of the door, blond hair wild and mussed, like he’s just had the fuck of his life. He’s thick, too, muscles on muscles along his corded forearms, bared by the dark tee that stretches across his chest.

He is pale and dark eyed and frowning down at you so sternly that you are convinced you have knocked on the wrong door. God help you. It’s all an honest mistake—but then his gravelly, softly-accented voice says: “You’re here about the apartment?”

Your heart nearly stops. This is the person who owns the apartment? How could you be expected to live alongside this behemoth? Just as you are about to tuck tail and run, a hand grips the man’s shoulder and gently tugs him aside and another specimen—two of them! two!—appears. This one has his hair cropped in a Mohawk, his eyes a deep drown-worthy blue. A few inches shorter, he is just as impressive shape. He beams at you.

“Well!” he says, leaning on the door frame in a way that fetchingly shows off the cut muscles of his arm and chest. His voice is accented too, something rougher, different than the taller man’s. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Unless yer just a wee fascist.”

You blink. You had been thinking the very same. Your hackles rise on instinct, bristling in preemptive outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve had a type answering the ad,” the other man says dryly. “Johnny doesn’t mean nothing. Come in—if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

It crosses your mind that this is perhaps foolish: entering an apartment of strange men, regardless of how you had left the address with your roommate and specified a time to check in with her. But you’re desperate. So you slip in after them, Johnny making ample room for you to move past him in the doorway.

When you do, you smell his shower gel, something woodsy. You say a prayer that you aren’t drooling.

Your eyes roam over the open-concept apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, larger than you might have imagined. It is homier, too, for a place where two men live: there are pictures along the walls, potted plants in the corners and on the desk, and an easel overlooking the balcony in the corner, an oil half-rendering of the view outside.

It is tidy. It smells nice. It is owned by two of the hottest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“I want it,” you blurt out.

Johnny laughs. “Sure ya do. Let us show you everything and then we’ll talk.”

You barely manage to contain your impatience as they lead you room to room. The guest room is empty, except for some boxes that Johnny hastily promises can be moved. The closets have no skeletons (you check). You would have your own bathroom. The more you see, the more convinced you are that this would be an ideal apartment regardless of who was offering it to you, but the frequent banter between the two men (Johnny and Simon you find out) is so entertaining and inviting that it’s hard not to feel like they want you—to be their third. Roommate that is.

After every nook and cranny of the apartment has been seen, they seat themselves on the loveseat and you on the adjacent armchair, your fingers interlaced like a businesswoman about to make the deal of her lifetime.

“I still want the room,” you admit. Johnny smiles, an expression that you sense comes easily to his face. His smile falls a little when you continue: “I just have one question. Why the vacancy?”

Simon takes a measured breath. The silence grows thick as they share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only two who have known each other—who have been through things with each other—can. At length, he says: “We’re ex-military. Disabled.”

That explained the cane Johnny had been using to move around the apartment.

“The benefits were excellent until recently, when we saw a generous…cut to our monthly pay.”

You frown. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

Johnny gives a breathless little laugh. His hand comes down slowly to rest on Simon’s knee. You stare, unsure what you are seeing. “Well, it happens…when you get married.”

-

“That explains a lot,” your roommate says when you spill every little detail after driving home. By the time you arrive, her insufferable boyfriend is gone for the night (thank God) so it is just the two of you, like the good old days. “Namely why two men in a two bedroom apartment are looking for a roommate.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” you groan, palming at your eyes. “Am I homophobic?”

“No, just desperate and wishful,” she teases. She has no idea how accurate she is. It’s been years—literal years since you’ve been with anyone of substance. In the meantime, you’d been happy to settle for your fingers and your toys, but there was the occasional itch that only a cock could scratch in you. Figuratively. “This is a good thing though. The last thing you need is getting tangled up with your new roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Instead I’ll be in the middle of their marital bliss. Or lack of, depending on the day,” you suggest dryly. But you aren’t even sure how much you believe your own words. Simon and Johnny said they had been together for nearly ten years, and more than their words, you had seen them with your own eyes—the way they gravitated to each other, the way their eyes were never far from each other. The way they roasted each other so good-naturedly. They seemed like a couple who were past their seven year itch, who had grown older and comfortable with each other. They seemed like they had their shit together.

Did it make you terrible that you still wanted to be pinned between them like a bug in a science project?

“Then tell them no,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed. You see the guilt in her eyes, and it makes you just a little vindicated. Which makes you feel terrible. “You’ll find something. I promise. You could always stay with us until you do—“

“God no. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

You sigh. You nudge her with your foot. “Alright, out, I need to think.”

But it takes such little thought when Johnny (affectionately added to your phone) messages not ten minutes later.

I don’t want to rush ya, but another person asked to see the apartment. Should I show them?

No way, you text. That room is mine.

[alyrasturnz]

"fluff this" and "angst that"

fwb!matt x reader based on the song "false god" by t swift!!!!!!

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎FALSE GOD

❐ summary » y/n and matt maintain a facade of friendship while discreetly fucking in private. they satisfy their desires without the chain of commitment, though beneath the surface, they secretly yearn to be able to call each other their own. who could have foreseen that a seemingly innocent post on your instagram could burgeon into something far more profound?

❐ pairings » bsf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » literally smut , swearing , mentions of blood if you whip out a magnifying glass , pet names [ princess , every single variant of sweet ] , car sex

❐ a/n && w/c » the first smut fic i have ever written.. am i doing this right ? 😭 this took me 24 hours im not joking • 3.79k

matthew.sturniolo replied to your story: Look real pretty, sweet thing

matthew.sturniolo replied to your story: You busy?

he recognizes your presence from the scandalous story you've just shared on Instagram, but he remains indifferent. 

his nonchalance is but a facade, for he finds you utterly irresistible in that tiny dress—a garment he's taken off you so many times that the number eludes him, each instance a cherished fragment of his recollections.

he could’ve merely enclosed his hand around his own length, allowing his imagination to paint an obscene tapestry of her cunt enveloping his completely, but he understood that if he could just endure the wait a bit longer, he would soon be enveloped in the euphoric sensation of her skin against his own.

yet, he can vividly recall how it clings to your curves, the mesmerizing sway of your hips—a dance that intoxicates his senses, and the way it causes his arteries to swell with an almost unbearable intensity.

he felt the torrent of his blood vessels surge toward his cock, suffusing them with a fervent flush as the pre-cum seeped, a slow and insidious seepage that betrayed the hidden depths of any sort of purity he had left.

he could just see the swarm of lecherous admirers vying for your attention, plying you with drinks and undressing you with their eyes.

  yet, he is confident in the knowledge that none of them could ever satisfy you in the way he can.

thus, he presses the heel of his palm against the throbbing bulge in his pants, attempting to quell the surge of desire. his fingers tap restlessly at his phone screen, your salacious story flashing before his eyes once more, eliciting a low, ragged groan from deep within him.

matthew.sturniolo sent you a message : Need a ride? Gotta talk to you about something important, princess.

the immediacy with which you open that notification is almost reflexive. a testament to the alacrity with which you have always responded to him.

yet, it was uncharacteristic for him to adopt any semblance of earnestness with you. the tacit understanding between you both was unequivocal: he relished the company of a pretty girl to his heart’s content, unburdened by the exigencies of pressure or commitment, which was indubitably for the best, given matt sturniolo’s enigmatic nature.

“has something happened?” you inquired as matt allowed a breathier, almost sardonic chuckle to escape his lips while scanning over the message. he let it linger for a few more seconds, savoring the moment, fully cognizant of your tendencies and the intricate dance of anticipation that played between you both.

thus, he was already en route with an unquenchable pulsate in his cock as you sent your location a few moments later.

matthew.sturniolo sent you a message : See you soon, sweet girl

the impatience seeps through him like a relentless tide. 

matt becomes acutely aware of it, the realization dawning as he clutches the rhythmic tattoo of his slender fingers drumming against the wheel, each tap a testament to the silent storm brewing within. 

yet his impatience pales in comparison to his mounting annoyance, a sentiment vividly betrayed by the imprint of his throbbing cock, oozing against the fabric of his slacks when you finally step out from the dim, grimy doorway he has been fixated on with an intense glare for what feels like an eternity.

but you’re wide-eyed and so adorable when you notice the familiar vehicle, one you’ve seen the inside of a few too many times for it to be just casual now.

yet, your eyes, wide with innocent wonder, betray an endearing charm as they alight upon the familiar vehicle— one whose interior you have explored with such frequency that it has transcended the realm of casual familiarity

  he suddenly feels too hot under his clothes as he’s clears his throat, his eyes following your figure until you’re opening the passenger door with a smile that’s just as pretty as you always are.

there is no hesitation as you approach him, the radiant smile that unfurls across your features upon recognizing the chestnut-tressed man in the driver’s seat ignites a warm, effervescent sensation within his chest. 

a sudden, oppressive warmth engulfs his throat as he clears, his eyes unwaveringly following your graceful figure until you open the passenger door, your smile unfurling with a beauty that is as enchanting as ever.

your grasp of the world and his standing was but a fleeting shadow in the vast expanse of reality. you knew that he was a youtuber, yet your knowledge was limited to the whispered confessions he shared during those tender nights, your body resting against the rhythmic cadence of his heartbeat.

however, any trepidations that dared to creep into your thoughts were swiftly vanquished when matt, with a voice imbued by unwavering resolve, assured you that there was no cause for worry.

he would be your unwavering sentinel, shielding you from all harm.

as you finally settle into the car, he perceives the flicker of apprehension in your eyes, recognizing that you likely suspect he has called you here for a matter of grave importance.

"is everything alright? your message left me unnerved, matt,” you murmur, your voice a soft whisper that disrupts his obscure reverie, yet paradoxically seems to stoke the embers of his desire.

  he chooses to let the silence stretch, the tension palpable in the air as both of you take a breath, savoring the moment. the pause lingers, a deliberate tease, before he finally shifts the car into drive, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"oh? worried about me, sweet thing?" he replies, his voice a low, velvety murmur. his large palm comes to rest against your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. yet, despite his comforting touch, your eyes still brim with curiosity, silently questioning the abrupt end to your night. not that it mattered much; after all, your ride home was graced by the presence of someone as irresistibly handsome as matt.

or who could’ve been your ride home if he actually had any intention of taking you there. but just as quickly as the car starts, it stops again in a darkened alley, one you've both scoped out before. your 'driver' reclines his seat back, a silent invitation as he pats his lap expectantly, the shadows playing across his face in the dim light.

“matt-“ you huff, playfully rolling your eyes. yet, as you attempt to slide over the center console, you feign ignorance to the way the corners of matt’s lips widen into a knowing smile. "is this why you picked me up... seriously?" your voice carries a whiny edge, spoken through a pout that holds no real irritation. not when you feel the chestnut-haired man’s hands, warm and familiar, taking their usual place on your hips, guiding you effortlessly onto his own.

"hmm.. come on now, don’t try and pretend you weren’t teasing me. did ya’ miss my cock, ‘s that it?" matt drawls, his voice a low, mellifluous murmur that seems to permeate your very essence. 

as he leans forward, his lips graze along your jawline, sending electrifying shivers down your spine. a deep, guttural grunt escapes him at the first lascivious press of your pussy against his clothed cock, even through the fabric. 

his fingers twitch into your skin, a silent and fervent entreaty for more, each touch igniting an insatiable yearning.

"looked fuckin’ greedy for it in those pictures, princess." he’s such a tease, and he can feel the palpable effect his words have on you when your next exhale trembles against his neck. 

gooseflesh erupts along his ivory skin at the tantalizing proximity of your bodies, but it’s not enough for him; he yearns for you closer, a voracious need that demands fulfillment.

matt feels your fingers trace against the nape of his neck, eliciting an involuntary shudder from him. 

he deliberately exhales a prolonged breath against the shell of your ear, the warmth cascading over your skin. 

his lips then begin a tantalizing journey, pressing kisses along your cheeks and trailing them to the very corner of your lips, only to stop short, just to revel in the endearing whine you emit in response to his calculated tease.

"you can simply confess that you missed me..." you manage to tease back, though your breath catches in your throat when matt finally allows his lips to brush yours. slender fingers traverse the expanse of your skin until they grip your jaw, rendering you immobile as if ensuring you cannot close the distance until he decrees it.

his movements are excruciatingly deliberate, tantalizing, yet just close enough for you to discern the next low rumble of his words. "is that so?"

he doesn’t give you a moment to process his words, let alone respond, before his lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you like he’s been starved for this all night. 

his movements are urgent, a stark contrast to the playful nonchalance he usually wears like armor. when his tongue slips past your lips, dancing with your own, you feel the tension melt from his shoulders, a subtle shiver running through his hips.

the way your whimpers dance through the air leaves him feeling dazed, a lingering echo of the drink you had before he arrived still present. 

you hadn’t consumed enough to feel a buzz, but just enough for him to taste the cloying sweetness of the liquid on his tongue as he sucks on yours, groaning at how it momentarily satiates his sweet tooth, yet leaves his deeper craving for you unfulfilled.

the initial, delicate brush of your fingers against the waistband of his slacks elicits a deep, heavy exhale from him, as if he is releasing a breath he had unknowingly been holding, the sensation weaving a spell of ardor over him.

matt’s own fingers reluctantly abandon your skin to assist in tugging them down, a sigh escaping his lips at the first hint of sexual liberation. with a single, decisive tug, he pulls the constrictive fabric away, until his leaking cock rests against his abdomen.

he clicks his tongue in mild frustration when you pull away from him, lifting your dress up around your hips, the motion a tantalizing tease that leaves him yearning for your touch once more.

his abdomen tightens with a jolt of ecstasy, sending his mind spiraling into a fuzzy haze, where coherent thought dissolves into the intoxicating sensation of pure, unadulterated bliss when your hand wraps around the foundation of his cock, giving it sequence of deliberate, languorous pumps as matt groans, subdued and ragged before he’s sending you a grin which causes an involuntary constriction within your very core, as if your innermost being is ensnared by an invisible force. “knew you were fuckin’ hungry for it, sweet girl,”

one of your arms hooks around his shoulders, and it feels almost instinctual the way his arm snakes around your hips, drawing you nearer. his larger hand gently supplants yours as he positions his pulsating tip between your legs, and then his lips find yours once more, sealing the moment with a kiss that speaks volumes.

fuck, he takes solace in the knowledge that he alone is privy to this intimate vision of you, a privilege that fills him with a profound sense of contentment. matt believes that with the very first caress of his cock through your folds, it would render his mind a void, shrouded in a misty haze as he watches his cum effuse from your puffy cunt.

his cock twitches underneath you when he feels it prod at your flexing hole, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss when he finally begins to sink into you. he’d normally take his time prepping you for the stretch, but when your lips part to moan at the first saccharine squeeze around him, he thinks your pussy was made to fucking take him anyway.

his cock convulses underneath you when he feels it prod at your flexing hole, his eyes gradually flutter shut in a state of bliss as he finally succumbs to the embrace of your tight cunt. he would typically dedicate ample time to meticulously readying you for the stretch, yet, in the moment when your lips gently part to moan at the first saccharine squeeze around him, he thinks your pussy was made to fucking take him anyway.

“shit, wish they could see how fuckin’ pretty y’ look on my cock, princess.," he murmurs. by "they," he refers to the silent spectators who have glimpsed your story through matt's eyes. he shouldn't care, shouldn't dwell on it as much as he does, but oh, how it consumes him.

but now, you find yourself here, and now, it is he who conjures your moans and sighs, as his cock deeper into the warmth of your cunt. his eyes drift downward to observe the delicate manner in which your puffy folds unfurl for him and he thinks you’re fucking hypnotizing.

he allows his head to recline against the headrest, a sigh escaping his lips as he senses the moment your hips align perfectly with his, giving you a moment to acclimate to the stretch, all the while striving to maintain his composure and not succumb to its biting embrace.

but you are as eager as you are radiant, and matt feels as though he has ascended to heaven with the first genuine sensation of your body dancing against his, elevating your hips until only the tip of his cock is reposing in your warm flesh before your pussy descends once more into repose.

his eyes, once reminiscent of the ocean's azure depths, have now darkened, their hue transformed into a stormy, intense focus on the way your pretty tits jiggle with every saturated affinity of your hips with his

“it feels so fucking good, matt," you murmur through parted, pouty lips, your thoughts clouded with arousal for his sinful prowess. you lose yourself in the sensation of his proximity, and it's almost instinctual the way his fingers find their way to the nape of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that is as fervent as it is necessary.

matt kisses you as if you are the first drop of water on his parched tongue after a relentless drought, savoring every essence you offer and more, as his body moves in perfect harmony with yours.

“yeah? nobody treat this pretty pussy like i do, princess? i know what y’ need.” he grunts against your lips, his cheeks tinged with a rosy flush, and with the way he's holding you—desperation etched in the firmness of his grip against your skin—you'd think you might dissolve into the ether if he dared to let you go. “fuck— this pussy was made for me”

the muscles in matt’s sculpted physique quiver beneath you, trembling with a barely contained intensity when he grinds his hips up to meet yours, deliberately pulverizing his pelvis along your puffy clit until he’s swallowing those pretty sounds that only he likes to pull from you. the blunt head of his cock slides along every one of your sweet spots perfectly and it feels like he’s igniting every nerve ending in your body.

the rhythm he establishes is nothing short of remarkable, considering his imposing stature and the confined quarters of the car, but the way he fucks you is more than just that. it’s unrelenting but fervent, and the warmth that only he can ignite along your thighs makes you feel as though you’ve swallowed the very essence of the sun itself when he holds you closer, momentarily pulling away to gaze upon you once more.

“yes- ah! i, i need you.. matt, fuck.” you exhale a dreamy sigh, your cheeks flushing with a rosy hue as a whirlwind of emotions stirs within you. 

the flustered sensation courses through your veins, making your heart race and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind as your pussy squelches, drenched and disheveled as the sounds reverberate through the confines of the car, creating an intricate symphony that dances along the wall, yet, matt has transcended the point of concern regarding who might overhear. you resonate so pretty for him when he’s forcing his cock deeper into your slick cunt, his pelvis grinding against your clit while your nails delve profoundly into his back, discovering uncharted territories, and leaving crimson trails in their wake.

“oh yeah? ‘m i your one and only? this pussy all mine?” he emits a guttural groan, fully aware that such a request is beyond propriety, yet the mere contemplation of it propels him towards an inevitable climax. you, in turn, let out a soft, knowing giggle, for you both understand the undeniable truth in his words.

your rhythm falters, your body instinctively gravitating towards his, enveloping him in a way he has never experienced, leaving him utterly consumed by your presence.

he finds himself utterly powerless when you cast that enchanting, starry-eyed glance his way, causing his breath to catch and his composure to unravel.

yet, he is acutely aware of how close you are when that starry-eyed glance is accompanied by the languid roll of your hips and another needy constrict of your cunt around his cock, and, fuck, if you demanded his very soul at that moment, he wouldn’t hesitate to let you entwine it with your own.

for matt harbors a fervent desire to possess you entirely, wishing to render you unattainable for anyone else. he is avaricious, fully aware of his own nature, yet remains utterly indifferent to it. he yearns to claim every fragment of your being, cursing coarsely as he fucks into you eagerly. his hands nearly clenched into fists at your hips, as your moan, so sweet and melodic, resonated for him. “yesyesyes, matt- g-god.“

another groan emanates from his lungs in response to the insistent coaxing of your walls, the reverberation of his tone resonating deep within his chest, and you feel your body nearly succumb with each powerful thrust upward into you.

every thrust into you is propelled by the formidable strength of his physique and the unadulterated fervor of his desire for you, feeling matt ruthlessly slam his cock into your stretched cunt, as he draws you closer.

nuzzling into the crook of your neck, he murmurs half-drunken praises, each word dripping with fervor and cascading down your spine like liquid fire.

he lets out a deeper, more resonant grunt escape his lips this time, reverberating with a newfound intensity.

with another mindless throb of his cock, pulsating with a pure lewd, he lets his slender fingers weave a delicate path between your bodies, finally anchoring themselves with purpose between your thighs.

as he rolls your puffy clit in sticky circles, and if he wasn’t fucking you mindless you’d maybe be able to recognise the familiar signature against the puffy bud.

but he synchronizes the movements with the rhythmic oscillation of his hips, driving upwards into yours with a deliberate cadence, and instead your breath is skipping and he feels your pussy throb around him as he grits his teeth.

“shit, gonna cum f’ me, sweet thing? no holding back on me now.” he hums, his words flowing with a polished ease despite the underlying current of need they carry, until your hips falter and you let your head fall forward, finding solace in the crook of his neck.

“i’m gonna— matt! fuck!” you emit a high-pitched squeal, while matt releases a deep, resonant groan. his hips press into yours, snug and tight, as the first milking compression of your walls ensnares him. he bites his lip, a futile attempt to restrain himself, panting against the dip of your shoulder as he coaxes and fucks you through the mind numbing orgasm only he can give to you. 

“that’s it, so good f’ me.. only me, yeah?” he rasps, and the praise cascades down your spine, causing your eyes to roll back. each stuttered bounce of your hips against his interrupts your needy, breathless chants of his name as a ring of gooey liquid forms around the base of his cock every time his hips draw back beneath you. 

“take me so well, don’cha? fuck, princess. pussy’s fuckin’ made for me.” your breathing becomes ragged, and Matt feels your body meld seamlessly into his. his jaw tightens as he hisses through clenched teeth, finally releasing his warmth deep within you.

his cock pulsates and congeals as he compresses at your hips, his brows crumbling while he curls over you, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, his hair sticking slightly as he loses himself in the fluttering pull of your body and your cunt.

he finally stills with the slight sting of overstimulation but you still feel warm where you’re chest is pressed tight against his, his fingers grazing along the length of your spine in the intimate silence that stretches after. but then you whimper and pull back to give him a look that makes his usual smirk curl his lips.

  “is this seriously why you picked me up, matt?” you hum, your voice lilting into a playful cadence, and he responds with a laugh—a more breathless resonance, as you emulate his tone impeccably. subsequently, he bestows upon you one of his most dashing smiles and places a moist, ticklish kiss upon your cheek, prompting a cascade of giggles from you.

“huh? nuh uh, angel. think we both agreed you were asking for it.” matt drawls back, his words still slightly slurred in the lingering aftermath of pleasure, yet the playful tone that always accompanies his speech remains discernible.

“yeah right.. did you really like the pictures that much?” you pose your question yet again, watching as he sends you an amused wink. he then deftly squeezes your cheeks together between his fingers, pressing a kiss against your lips as they jut out in response.

“hope you took some that’s just for me, yeah?” he teases, wiggling his brows but then you’re laughing and squirming back over to the passenger seat, and as much as he already misses the warm press of your skin against his, he still feels heat bloom in his chest when he catches you smiling anyway. 

“i feel gross now, i gotta go home and shower.” you mumble as you pull down your dress and matt follows as he tucks his cock back into his slacks. but he can’t help the way his large palm naturally reaches over to rest against your thigh, squeezing at the skin before he’s leaning across the center console to ghost his lips along your own. 

“oh? you thought you were getting off easy? nights still young, sweet thing.”

[minarisplaything]

Blackpink In Your Area (part three)

pairing: Kim Jisoo x M!Reader/M!OC, Rose x M!Reader/M!OC rating: Explicit wordcount: 4.6k notes: part three of the bpiya series. Rose/Chaeyoung/Rosie are all used interchangeably. this has been in the drafts forever so glad it actually got done lol. tags: doggy style, blackmail, oral sex

To say that things had changed after your rendezvous backstage would be an understatement.

You were still the luckiest person in the world, able to call Jennie Kim your girlfriend, but now the number of Kims you were involved with had doubled.

At first, you had assumed it would simply be a one-off. That from Jennie to Jisoo to yourself, you had all gotten carried away in the heat of the moment and let your primal urges get the best of you. On top of that, you didn't think it was something Jennie would want to do again, though the whole experience had shown you a new side of her that you weren't utterly opposed to.

Therefore, one could imagine your surprise when you returned home one evening to find Jennie and Jisoo waiting at your apartment for you.

As it would turn out, Jisoo was too shy to reach out to you on her own, or at least with you present, but she had been hoping that you could have another experience together. And contrary to your previous belief, Jennie approved of it. Encouraged it even, much to your surprise. Though when those two women were looking back at you, proposing a dynamic between the three of you, it was damn near impossible to find a complaint.

From that point on, it was like a new beginning for the three of you, but little did you know, your journey wasn't at its fairy tale ending just yet.

A loud, guttural moan echoed in the residence of South Korean superstars Blackpink. The source of the sound was none other than the visual of the group Kim Jisoo.   

During your first encounter backstage, she had been trying her best to muffle her sounds and minimize the risk of discovery. It didn't take long for you to realize that when that risk was removed Jisoo was quite the vocal lover. And in a completely different manner than her bandmate.  

Jennie was vulgar, expletive, and above all else a master at the art of talking dirty. Jisoo on the other hand was loud in the sense that you would know when she was enjoying herself. Moans, whimpers, gasps, pleas for more; what she lacked in vulgar vocabulary she more than made up for in all the sounds she made. 

As evidenced now as she cried out when you began to fuck her with a more rapid pace.  

She had started on her hands and knees but as the session progressed her posture steadily changed to the point where her head was now buried against the mattress; her ass poised in the air and ripe for the taking. It was the perfect position for you to pound into her, your cock spreading her open each time you re-entered her. 

Normally Jennie would be here with you but seeing as she had a scheduled photoshoot to attend and no one else was around you had decided to entertain yourselves. It had taken some trust building to get to this point, where you could be on your own or Jennie could be with her, and you didn't have to worry about anyone getting jealous. But now that you had there was no turning back.  

"You're so fucking tight" you grunted, sweat glistening off of both of your bodies, proof to how long you had been at it. "Are you close? Are you going to cum on my cock, Jisoo?" 

Needless to say, Jennie's vulgar habits had been rubbing off on you in recent weeks. 

She opened her mouth to respond but words failed her.  In the end it didn't matter as her body spoke for her. You felt the familiar sensation of her walls tightening around your length, her body trembling as her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave.  It was both a feeling and sight you didn't think you'd ever get tired of. 

It didn't take much longer after that for you to reach your own peak; hips rocking against hers and fingers digging into her waist. Obscenities left you as you leaned into her, emptying yourself into her womb. It may not have come with the filthy encouragement of your girlfriend, but it was no less satisfying. 

You had found that one of the handful of differences between Jennie and Jisoo was in the aftermath of sex. Jennie preferred to bask in the afterglow, more often than not leading to a second or even third round of action. Jisoo on the other hand was much more subdued. She preferred to unwind and partake in aftercare. Not surprising considering how rough she liked things to be during sex.  

"You know when Jennie finds out about this, she's going to demand we treat her" you commented as a slipped out of Jisoo, pressing a kiss to her back before falling onto the bed beside her.  

"Is that a bad thing?" she questioned, brow raised as she lowered herself onto the bed, turning her head to look over at you with the hint of a grin on her features.  

“Not exactly.” you couldn't help but chuckle because she was right. If anything, it just meant the night would be a busy one.  

Before you could continue the conversation any further, the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed throughout the house.

"Speak of the devil,” you remarked.

"She's finished early," Jisoo noted, slightly confused.

"Maybe her sixth sense was tingling," you joked.

While there was a grin on your face at the prospect of Jennie being home, Jisoo didn't share your same amusement. Instead her head rose slightly as curiosity and concern marred her features. It turned out that her instincts were right as a voice soon rang out.

"Unnie? Are you home?"

"Shi — "

The immediate reaction was nearly comical. You jumped out of bed, searching for your clothes as Jisoo scrambled as well. Though you hadn't had many interactions with Chaeyoung, better known as Rose, due to trying to keep things a secret, you had heard her voice enough times to recognize it as hers.

In the end, you only managed to gather your clothes in your arms before Jisoo shoved you into the closet. She herself had only managed to slip on a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. To any trained eye, the post-sex hair and aroma would be apparent, but there was no time to consider that as there was a knock on the door.

"Unnie?"

The question came before the door was opened, and a blonde head poked its way into her room. "Oh! I wasn't sure if you were home or not."

"Ah, y-yes. Yes, I'm here. I had an empty schedule today," Jisoo replied nervously, brushing sweat-ridden bangs from her forehead. "I, uh, I actually just got back from the gym."

Internally, you groaned. She didn't remain quite as composed as her counterpart would in this situation. You just hoped she'd be able to get rid of Rose soon, lest you be stuck in here all day. It was a hope that was slightly dashed as she opened the door further and allowed herself into the room. Before you could come up with any further complaints, however, your thoughts were quickly silenced by Rose coming into picture. You found yourself leaning forward to get a better view through the slants in the closet door.

She wore a black crop top complemented by form-fitting track pants. When she laid herself on the bed, you weren’t concerned with whether she would get a scent of sex that had recently stained the sheets but instead thinking how perfect her ass looked as it was unknowingly pointed in your direction. 

You became less interested in the idle conversation that she and Jisoo began to have and more lost in the fantasies that began to plague your mind. The things you would do to her if given the opportunity. How she'd scream your name as you drove her to orgasm. It was clear to you then that your greed knew no bounds. But despite your cock reacting to the thoughts running through your head, you knew they were just that, thoughts that would never come to fruition.

Fortunately, you had enough self-restraint not to begin jerking off right there in the closet, and after what seemed like a lifetime, Jisoo finally managed to get her to leave with the excuse that she needed to use the shower having been to the gym.

The door closed as she saw Rose off, and there was a pause before you heard footsteps walking towards the closet. Jisoo opened the closet and immediately looked at you with a bewildered expression.

"You're still naked?!"

"...Yes?" you answered sheepishly.

"Get dressed please! This might be your only chance to leave without running into her," Jisoo exclaimed.

Deciding this wasn't the time for jokes, you obeyed her request. Had you been with Jennie, the situation might have been different; you could imagine her coming up with some kind of plot. But Jisoo wasn't so bold. Not yet, at least.

"I'm going to go take a shower, so she doesn't get suspicious. Let yourself out quietly."

You nodded affirmatively, but not before sneaking a kiss that drew a slight smile from the Blackpink visual. With no further instruction, she pushed you on your way, heading down the opposite end of the hallway towards the bathroom. Now that you were seemingly out of the woods, you could reflect on the situation with a bit of amusement. It seemed with each meeting, Jisoo was getting more and more comfortable with her sexuality and your relationship. On top of that, you had gotten a peek at some eye candy when Chaeyoung came to visit her.

You were grateful that she hadn't caught you in the act, but there was no denying that the idea of going to town on that petite body was a tantalizing one. Unfortunately for you, you'd have to content yourself with your fantasies for now.

You slipped out of the house without further incident, unaware of the watchful gaze of a certain petite blonde.

Due to their busy schedules, it was a while before you were able to catch up with Jennie or Jisoo in person again. And while sexting and Facetimes were great, they could never compete with the physical thing.

So, when you finally did get an invitation from Jennie to come over, needless to say, you dropped everything to make yourself available for her. Maybe if you were lucky, you'd even be rewarded after a long wait with a threesome.

"Jennie? Jisoo?" you called out when you arrived at the house. In her message, she was clear that no one else would be around, so you didn't feel shy about making yourself known, especially if Lisa and Rose weren't around.

Instead of a response, though, you got silence. Was she waiting in the bedroom for you? Maybe with a special surprise.

"They're not here."

To say the voice that came from behind you made you jump out of your skin would be an understatement. You nearly jumped through the damn roof! You turned around, heart beating a million miles an hour, to see one of the two people you had been told wouldn't be there. Uh-oh.

Chaeyoung, or Rose or Rosie, depending on who you were, was standing on the other side of the living room, looking decidedly unsurprised and nonplussed about a strange man being in her home. In fact, if anything, she looked like she had been expecting you.

"Uh, hi. I can explain. I don't think we've met — "

"I know who you are," Rosie cut you off.

Oh, no.

With Jennie, you could often read her as being in control or mischievous. Jisoo was often meek and eager. But looking at Rosie, you didn't know what to think. Was she angry and about to out your whole relationship to the public? No, surely, she'd never do that to her bandmates. Maybe she was just going to ban you from ever seeing them again. Whatever the case, she seemed content to let you squirm, her arms crossed over her small chest.

"And I know what you've been doing. Did you really think Jisoo would be able to keep a secret like that?"

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You guessed it had been rather naïve to think that one of you wouldn't eventually slip up, and that Jisoo was the weakest link. Then again, you weren't exactly innocent with your impromptu encounters while other members were still in the house. You justified it by saying the risk made it that much more exciting, but this was the downside: when you got caught.

"If it makes you feel better, she didn't crack right away when I asked her if you two were fucking. But she has these certain tells when she's lying — they give her away every time" Rose explained. "She told me about you and Jennie which — wow I didn't even know that part." 

As she continued to talk, your immediate fear began to subside. It didn't seem like Rosie was here to expose you. In fact, the more she talked the less angry she seemed and more like she was criticizing your tactics. Which still left you questioning what exactly her goal was.  

Now that your mind wasn't racing, it also gave you a chance to look the idol over. She was wearing another one of her sports bras, and you could already feel a tingling in your loins just at the sight of it. This time instead of wearing track pants, she was wearing running shorts. The kind that came up right to her ass, in fact, you were pretty sure if she turned around you'd see some cheek. It was a lazy, around-the-house type of outfit and yet it showed off her body and slim waist perfectly.

Christ, every girl in this group was a killer.

Honestly, it made you wonder if the reason Jennie was often so willing to share was because she recognized how hot her own roommates were. When you had that first run-in with Jisoo, she had alluded to a past with her that piqued your interest.

You couldn't help but wonder if she had a similar history with Rose, but from the way she was rambling on, it didn't seem like it.

"Take off your pants."

"Uh, excuse me?"

Her sudden demand was enough to break you from your thoughts and look at her in utter confusion. Rosie, however, didn't share your confusion and was looking at you with an expectant gaze, one hand on her hip.

"Were you listening to anything I said? Take off your pants."

You were a little afraid to admit that you hadn't, in fact, been listening to anything she had said and were instead admiring her body the whole time. Rosie seemed like she wanted to be in control, and if you didn't listen, you couldn't help but feel like some sort of punishment was coming. "Alright, alright."

You followed her orders, taking off your pants as she instructed. It was somewhat surreal. Between Jisoo and even Jennie, who could be quite demanding when she got in the mood, you had never been ordered around in this way. And the fact that it was Rosie who was the one doing it was even more surreal. You never would have guessed. Maybe that was why you found yourself getting aroused despite her harsh words.

"Those too," Rosie gestured dismissively at the striped boxers you stood in.

You would have questioned if she was serious, but the expectant look on her face was all the answer you needed to make short work of your last piece of clothing. You couldn't remember the last time you were self-conscious while nude, and yet you were anxiously awaiting Rose's judgment as you stood before her.

"She wasn't lying..." Rose muttered under her breath.

Her voice had lost the commanding edge it had up to this point, almost sounding somewhat shocked.

"What was that?" you asked.

"W-what?" Rose blinked as if shaken from a trance. "N-nothing! Shut up! Or else!"

"Alright, alright, sorry! I was just asking."

You shifted your stance slightly, trying to get comfortable. It was a new sensation. Standing there, now fully nude, and under Rosie's scrutinizing gaze. It didn't help that she seemed particularly transfixed on your cock as she contemplated her words. Part of you was wondering if she had thought this all the way through. She certainly didn't take charge the way Jennie did, but in fear of her lashing out again, you kept any further questions to yourself.

"Here's what's going to happen," Rose started. Her voice still lacked a certain confidence, but you were curious where she was going with this. "You're going to get on your knees. If you can satisfy me, then I'll keep the secret you have with Jennie and Jisoo."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll tell everyone."

You swallowed hard at that threat. A part of you wanted to call her on her bluff. You still doubted she'd publicly tarnish her friend's careers. But there were other steps she could take just short of that. Still, there was another motivating factor that was stronger than Chaeyoung's threat: you wanted to succeed. You wanted to feel Chaeyoung’s thighs clenching around your head as she came. Most importantly, you wanted to show her that she didn’t have to be jealous of Jennie and Jisoo.

"Well, when you say it like that, it doesn't sound like I have much of a choice..." you said.

"You don't," she emphasized.

From the curt way she snapped a response, you could tell that Rose was regaining her previous composure and feeling more confident about her position. Good. That worked perfectly for your plan and would make her eventual downfall even sweeter. For now, you'd continue to play the role she expected of you.

"A-alright. Just, you promise not to tell anyone about any of this?" you questioned one last time.

"Really?" Chaeyoung blinked at first, as if not expecting you to submit. She quickly recovered. "I mean, that depends on how well you perform."

"Okay..." You continued to play the role of someone who was defeated despite internally brimming with confidence. "So, where do you want to do this?"

"The living room."

"Out in the open?" Your voice held a surprised tone.

"Yes, out in the open. Right where one of your girlfriends might catch you," Rosie replied.

You didn't know for sure, but you could have sworn there was a hint of jealousy in her voice when she said that.

"Alright," you conceded, not putting up a fight again. "If that's what you want. Though you'll have to get out of those."

You gestured to the clothes she was still wearing. She still had on her sports bra and running shorts. And while you could still work with the sports bra, you'd have to get rid of those shorts to do what she wanted you to do. Pointing it out also made you acutely aware of your own nudity which you now realized must have been purely for her own curiosity or some kind of domination play by her.

Chaeyoung gave you an annoyed look, displeased that you had pointed out something she had forgotten. This time, though, she didn't chastise you, instead merely hooking her fingers into the waistband of the shorts and pulling them down her long legs. The reveal showed that she wasn't wearing any panties underneath. You smirked, wondering just how long she had planned for this moment to happen.

"What's that look for?" Chaeyoung snapped.

"Oh, nothing."

"You probably think this will be easy because you already seduced Jisoo and Jennie, don't you?" she taunted.

"Well, I haven’t heard any complaints so far. I think I’m more than capable," you admitted.

Your smug response seemed to work as intended. Chaeyoung’s pretty face scrunched up in irritation. Without further comment, Chaeyoung moved to the sofa, seating herself in it and reclining back. As she did so, she spread her legs, exposing her pussy to your sight for the first time. Your heart skipped a beat, cock instinctively stirring to life in response. The singer didn't have to tell you to get on your knees as you did so of your own volition, if only to get closer to paradise.

"You're already wet for me," you noted, almost in a trance.

"S-shut up!" Chaeyoung snapped again, a hint of embarrassment in her tone as her cheeks turned crimson. Still, she didn't deny it. Instead, she tried to regain her position of power in the situation, "I suggest you get to work if you want to finish before the others get back."

You briefly wondered if she had considered the outcome where you wanted Jennie and Jisoo to discover you. While she might be initially annoyed at Chaeyoung's antics of going behind her back, you could see Jennie ultimately finding joy in this new discovery. She might even take it upon herself to initiate her bandmate into your little relationship. Jisoo might be the only one who wouldn't want this to be discovered. Or at least, not her part in being the one to spill the beans to Rosie in the first place. That would undoubtedly earn her another punishment from Jennie.

Stowing that thought aside for the moment, you returned to the task at hand. You would have Chaeyoung spraying on your tongue, and then there would be a world of potential.

You leaned closer to her sex, swallowing a comment asking if she had shaved just for you. That was likely to rile her up even more than she already was. Instead, you ran your tongue along her outer folds. Her scent was strong, the taste of her juices already beginning to fill your senses. A moan left the blonde, one hand moving to press against the back of your head.

You continued to tease her, tongue tracing around her inner walls, occasionally prodding deeper inside of her. She let out a sharp gasp each time, her body arching. Her hips rolled towards you, seeking out more.

"S-stop teasing..." she groaned.

You grinned, "I'm just doing what you asked."

"D-Don't be a smartass!" Rosie snapped.

She pushed your head back into her crotch, and you returned to the task with an air of smugness. It was really too easy to rile her up. You sucked at her clit, intent on giving Chaeyoung your full attention now. If she wanted you to stop teasing, then you'd give her the best orgasm she'd ever experienced.

You felt her nails digging into your scalp, a moan leaving her. The hand pressing against your head pushed and pulled, her hips rocking in sync with the actions. She was moaning openly now, no attempt at hiding what was occurring. Given she was the one who wanted this to be in the living room, you shouldn't have been too surprised. Though you did wonder if Chaeyoung had an exhibitionist streak to her.

As you continued to eat her out, her hand moved under her top, squeezing her breast. "That's right. T-this is all you're good for. You're just h-here for us to use -- fuck -- use you as we want, you understand?"

"Mmhm," you moaned against her pussy, the vibrations making her gasp.

She didn't quite have the same amount of conviction that Jennie had when it came to such derogatory bedroom talk, but there was potential there. Besides, you were already horny enough to humor her without calling out the stutters she made.

You were starting to realize that there was a bit of an underlying fantasy at play here. Chaeyoung was enjoying the domination aspect of this, but there was another part that was playing in her mind. One you would have no qualms playing along with. Usually so sweet and friendly, she was finally getting to live out her sexual fantasies as her fingers gripped your head tightly.

"I-I guess I see why Jennie likes you so much now," Chaeyoung moaned. "With that kind of tongue... And Jisoo too. I bet y-you're just their obedient pet."

If only she knew the truth, you thought.

You didn't respond verbally but instead redoubled your efforts, your tongue working at her clit with a new vigor. Your fingers joined in the orchestra, slipping two digits inside of her to further push her towards that precipice. You could hear her breathing becoming shallower, the telltale signs that she was getting closer. Rosie seemed to realize it as well as you felt her fingers claw against your skull, almost trying to push your mouth off of her sex.

"N-no, wait, it's too soon," she moaned, despite her hips bucking into your mouth.

But it was too late. You had the advantage and you weren't going to let it go. Not until every muscle in her tight, lithe body went limp from a mind-numbing orgasm.

"Fuck," Chaeyoung stuttered, "fuck you. Cheating...bastard..."

You had never heard the singer be quite that vulgar before and took it as a small victory. You were just giving her what she wanted. It just so happened it had been more than what she could take and as her body shuddered she knew she was losing control of the situation.

As far as you were concerned, you had played this fair and square.

"Oh god!" she gasped, thighs locking around your head as her hips bucked, riding your face.

Her juices flooded your mouth as she rode out the wave of pleasure brought on by her orgasm. Her body quaked on the sofa, her nails digging into your skull as she held your hair tighter than before. Had you not been lapping at her juices, you might've savored the sight. You stayed locked in that position for several moments, letting her ride out the aftershocks. It was only when you felt her body go limp that you finally pulled your head back.

The look on your face was nothing short of shit-eating smugness. Who could blame you? The arrogant woman who had threatened to expose your relationship to the world sat utterly spent and dazed. Her thighs glistened with her release, her hand still shoved under her top lazily. Her head reclined against the cushions, a glazed over haze in her eyes as her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.

Looking at her like this, you couldn't help but feel proud and accomplished. Especially considering how haughty Rosie had been trying to act leading up to this.

"You know, if you needed an orgasm so bad, all you had to do was ask," you teased. "I'm sure Jennie would be willing to share."

Chaeyoung only nodded dumbly, unable to maintain her bristling act that she had before nor comment in agreement. Your cock was aching between your legs, and the idea of splitting her in two until she screamed your name was enticing. However, that would have to wait.

"You should probably get dressed before they come back. Unless you want them to find out," you teased her before moving to gather your own clothing, your mission seemingly accomplished.

What followed next played out almost as you imagined. Naturally, you didn't keep the rendezvous a secret, informing Jennie of what had taken place during a long bath. After a punishment which involved a few ropes and a vibrator, she gave her consent to have Chaeyoung join your relationship. Jisoo, notably, remained silent during the whole ordeal. You'd make sure to tease her later and get something out of it, knowing that she was the one who had spilled the beans.

For now, though, life was good.

"You know," you said, as you lay in bed, your head resting on Jennie's lap as Jisoo and Rosie slept soundly on either side of you, "It might get a little awkward the three of you being involved in this with one excluded."

Jennie hummed in response, her fingers stroking through your hair, "Maybe you're right. We might have to change that."

[sethsclearwater]

Hi, could you write something for seth x reader x paul where both wolves are in heat and r is loving it but so overstimulated

"there you go pretty girl," seth groaned as he dropped his head back, eyes closing as he came undone inside you, both of your breathing heavy as you rode out your orgasms.

you were sucking in heavy lungfuls of air as you slowly came back to your senses, only to see your other imprinter stepping over, "you want her?" seth asked breathlessly as he looked over his shoulder to paul who nodded, reaching down to pump at his hardened cock while seth pulled himself out of your overstimulated walls.

you let out a low whine, anxiously looking between the two boys who both just let out breathy laughs at you, "you're doing so good pretty girl," seth reassured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, "takin' such good care of us," he added as paul got in between your legs, only taking a moment to line the tip of his cock up with your puffy, red entrance before he was thrusting inside of you, eliciting groans from both you and paul.

"why don't i go make dinner, yea? want you to get some food in you after this so you can have a little break," seth suggested as paul began thrusting into you, setting a slow and steady pace because he knew how sensitive you were thanks to the countless number of times they'd fucked you in the days prior.

you nodded, letting out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding when paul interlaced one of your hands with his, offering your hand a reassuring squeeze as he continued thrusting in and out of your pussy, the lewd squelching sounds that came with each thrust serving as a reminder of just how many times the boys had cum in you the past few days.

seth leaned down to press one more kiss to your forehead before he was getting his sweatpants back on and heading into the kitchen to find something to make for dinner.

"you wanna cum or you want me to take it easy?" paul asked, picking up his thrusts a bit when he felt his own orgasm rapidly begin approaching.

"jus' came with seth," you responded with a soft giggle, voice raspy from all the moaning you'd been doing the past few days, "jus' wanna feel you," you added, already knowing your clit desperately needed a little break from both boys' relentless touches.

paul nodded, "i'll be quick then," he reassured, giving your hand another squeeze which had you smiling again, absolutely loving how thoughtful both of the boys were even during their ruts.

"take your time," you whispered, allowing your legs to fall open more to give paul better access to your pussy which he apparently loved, seeing as he began snapping his hips against yours in a ruthless fashion, not stopping until you felt the familiar warmth of his seed spilling into you.

his thrusts stuttered and slowed and you let out a happy sigh, giving paul's hand a gentle squeeze as he continued to fill you up with his release, "i don't deserve you," paul groaned as he slowly came back to his senses a few moments later, playfully thrusting his hips a bit further into yours just to hear the obscene sounds that came from your soaked cunt.

you let out a giggle at the action and paul smiled, slowly pulling his cock out of your walls so you could finally give your pussy a much-needed break from their rut, "why don't you lay down for a little bit, yea? you need some rest," paul suggested and you nodded, smiling as he helped you up the bed so you could rest your head on one of the pillows.

"i'll lay with you," paul reassured, coming to lay down next to you so he could spoon you, "you're doing such a good job," he added as he got the blanket pulled up and over the two of you to encourage you to get some rest.

you smiled, peeking over your shoulder to give him a quick kiss, "i'll wake you up once dinner is ready, okay? get some sleep," paul encouraged, wrapping one beefy arm around your figure to pull you close to him while you drifted off.

[fernandopiastri28]

tags: f2 alpine oscar x mark webber's daughter, all pics from pinterest

warnings: blood, partial self inflicted pain, bad father-daughter relationship, angst angst angst in this chapter + fluff at the end

Anyone but webber - Oscar Piastri

Rule 8: Don’t bleed for someone who never bandaged your wounds.

The next morning begins painfully with an eardrum-crushing ringtone blaring far too close to her head. Her whole body aches, her head fuzzy and vision splodgy as she opens her eyes to light bleeding through the curtains. Her phone buzzes itself off her bedside table, now vibrating against the floor—just out of reach when her arm hangs down the side off the bed. 

It forces her to try and wake up somewhat, properly get out of bed and answer whoever is ringing her at this obscene hour of the morning. She squints at the caller ID, reaching around aimlessly for her glasses simply because her contacts are too far away right now. 

Luckily for her though, Siri decides to read out and announce the message. 

Incoming call from Mark (Dad)

Oh. 

She rubs her face—maybe slightly too rough and nearly certain to leave weird dry-red marks, and swipes to answer the call. She puts her phone to her ear, finally finding her glasses to shove onto her face. “Hello?” Her voice is gravelly from sleep, barely a croak.

“Did I wake you?” Straight from the get go there is no sort of greeting, no apologiosing for waking her up at barely six in the morning, absolutely fuck all.

“Yeah.” She forces herself upright and coughs into her fist, clearly her throat. Someone, or maybe more, is talking right next to Mark about as loud as they possibly can. Every second word they say gets caught by Mark’s microphone, slipping in and out of their conversation. “Do you need something?”

She knows the answer to that already, Mark wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t.

Cutting across his staticky voice is the sound of papers being rustled, “Uh, yeah. I need you to go up to my office and grab the orange folder ontop of my printer, scan each page, and email them to me.” He pauses for a moment, a few actually. Part of her is hopeful for him to add a ‘Please’, or a ‘If you can’ onto the end, but that’s like expecting him to start speaking Russian.

It’s not gonna happen.

“Or do you need me to ask Oscar to come over and do it instead?”

Objectively, that’s much better than her getting a half assed attempt of him showing her any sense of manners. If he organises Oscar to come over to help with the folder situation, then if somehow he finds out that Oscar was here while he was away, they’ll have an excuse for it.

“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea.” She chews at the corner of her nails, standing up to start getting ready for her day, and date most importantly, even though she’s got hours until Oscar arrives. “I can text him, I think I have his number.”

Think, does—what’s the difference anyways?

“Great.” Luckily he doesn’t question why she would have his number, given that they have near to no sense of a relationship whatsoever beyond speaking a few words to eachother when she’s caught off guard that he just happens to be at her house. 

Well, Mark’s never been particularly observant or inquisitive when it comes to anything involving her. “Can you text him sometime soon? It’s quite urgent.” 

She places her phone on the edge of her bathroom sink, leaning over said sink to struggle with putting in her contacts, “Uh huh, yeah, will do.” Her voice is strained, her concentration far more on her morning routine then helping her dad with sending photos. “If that’s all, I’ve got to go get ready for today. Talk soon,” 

Just as she’s about to hang up, her dad manages to get in three words sideways, “Alright, love you.” 

She’s already pressed end call before those last two words properly set in. 

Love you.

She can’t remember the last time she heard that from him. It doesn’t sound right coming out of his mouth, said in his voice. Maybe it more so feels like it should be directed towards someone else—Oscar, obviously comes to mind first. Her two fingers feel heavy on her cracked phone screen, now lingering over the lower half of her lockscreen instead of the red cross during a call. 

The grim taste of bile flods her mouth, a tight clench in her stomach accompanying it. She can’t even hear two simple, ordinary words, that most kids hear from their parents multiple times a day without wanting to emptying her stomach of anything possibly left in it. 

Part of her struggles to even attempt to just accept those words and move on. Take them how they are and keep going on with her day. She can’t, no amount of convincing herself that her relationship with Mark just is how it is helps feel better. Love you—how dare he. How dare he unravel all of the work she’s put in over these past weeks, months even.

Years, if she’s honest.

She blinks her contacts in, the stupid saline solution momentarily blinding her before allowing her to see everything too clearly. She immediately considers taking them out again and tossing them in the bin, forcing herself into a word where everything is just slightly blurry—-where colours bleed into eachother, forms mould into unrecognisable shapes, and absolutely nothing makes sense.

Her father makes no sense anyways, maybe it would feel more normal if everything was that confusing. 

She swallows down the bile rising in her throat, pressing the back of her hand to her lips as if that’ll stop the queasiness from spilling out. She grabs her toothbrush, slightly too aggressively that it sends the ceramic cup it rests in flying to the floor, smashing as it collides with the porcelain. 

“Fuck,” Tears of frustration pour down her cheeks as she kneels down, scooping up the pieces. She holds the sharp and jagged edged pieces tightly in her hands. She hates this feeling of a lack of control over her feelings, when she can’t hold it all in and just be brave. 

 It’s stupid—she knows it’s stupid—but there’s no escaping the feeling that Mark’s words weren’t really meant for her. He’s never been the type to throw around affection, atleast not when it’s directed toward her. She can’t remember a compliment he’s given her, a time he’s told her he’s proud of her, when he’s shown a genuine interest in her or anything she’s doing. She sees Oscar get all of that and more though, he gets every bit of affection from her dad that she’s spend her whole life chasing.

At first, she thought he was just closed off. Her mum left the house one day and never returned. As far as she knew, her mother never looked back, not for her or for her dad. At that point in time, she was too young to fully comprehend what had really happened. She was three at the time, and had always been a ‘daddy’s girl’ more than she’d ever been so connected to her mother.

So when her mum left, she was too young to even feel too sad about it. Mark on the other hand lost his girlfriend, the mother of his child. He was only 24 when she was born, and he was at the very beginning of his F1 career. When her mum left, he became her sole care taker, and there was no way he’d be able to take care of a toddler full time at tha point when he had to be travelling most weekends to go racing.

As a result, she spent the majority of her childhood living with friends and family of her dad, knowing her father solely from interviews on the tv screen and the few times he could manage to come back and visit. Her earliest memories of him are distant, fragmented—moments snatched in between races or fleeting phone calls filled with too much static and not enough warmth. 

It was everything to her nonetheless. She never had an overwhelming interest in cartoons or any type of kids shows, more often opting for rewatching the same 3 minute interview over and over, wrapped up in a princess blanket on the couch trying to reach out for him. 

Even when he came home, he was different then he was in the home videos she’d watch from years before she could properly understand what was ever going on. She just knew that unlike in those grainy homevideos of their family of three—there were no bedtime stories, no trips to the park, no beach trips. Just a man who showed up, exhausted, distracted, and buried in paperwork or phone calls. 

That’s not to say he was always switched off. When he would return home after a flight into Australia, if it was night, he would come into her room and tuck her in, leave her with a kiss on the forehead, regardless if she was asleep or not. Sometimes, she would intentionally stay up all night when she knew he’d be back in a few hours, just to be awake and see him for those brief few seconds he’d come into her room for.

Each time he’d be home for was fleeting and not even on the cusp of enough time. Before she could even begin to feel like her dad was home again, he’d leave again and she’d find herself back at someone else’s house, some other relative’s care. 

It was the only life she’d ever known, to be fair, and she knew of nothing other than it. She loved her dad, she loved watching him go racing. She loved talking about her dad in show and tell when she’d bring in an old helmet of his or a trophy. He was her greatest pride and joy, all she could ever dream to be.

Once she was old enough to understand why her dad was so distant unlike all the other dads of her friends at school, she formed a belief—a belief that as soon as he retired from F1, he’d be her dad again. A father first, a racecar driver second. 

At twelve years old, she finally got her wish. He announced his retirement from formula one to the world in 2013, and she found out at the same time as the rest of the world did. He came straight home to Australia the night of the Brazilian Grand Prix—the final race of his career—-and despite it being past one am when she heard the front door open and shut, she was still awake.

Her door opened and so did her eyes—-only very slightly though, maintaining a squint so it looked like she was aalseep. She didn’t want to get in trouble for staying up hours past her bedtime. She waited for the kiss, for him to tuck the corners of her sheets so tight into her bedframe that she’d have to use all the force of her arms to squirm out of, for him to whisper goodnight to her—-but it never came.

He just stood in her doorframe, his figure outlined by the dim hallway light behind him. He waited for about a minute at most, not making a noise except for the slight hum of his breathing, then he shut the door, leaving her room back in complete darkness. 

That signalled the end of her dad, and the beginning of Mark. 

And even eight years on, she still feels cold when she thinks about that night. She thinks about trying to tuck herself in as tightly as he always did, but not managing to make it stay, and she remembers pressing the mouth of her favoueite teddy bear to her forehead—a brown bear wearing a blue racesuit, fittingly called Dad—to mimic her return night kiss.

She also remembers crying until the sun came back up, and going downstairs in the following morning to see the door of her dad’s office shut and locked, basically flaunting a ‘do not disturb under any circumstances’ sign. She knew better to go against that, knew that even though she was a kid who just wanted to see her dad—-she knew to be a rule listener, rules were more important then want. 

Those barriers never broke down, only putting more distance between them. She’d waited for the end of 2013 like it was going to be the year her world would forever change. She imagined retirement would bring them closer together, mend any strange drift that him racing around the world would’ve caused. She pictured breakfast together—plates of freshly made pancakes, stacked tall, sopping with maple syrup, and oozing melted chocolate—going on bike rides as the sun warms up the horizon, singing along to radio in the car ride to school, trips to the beach when the weather was warm enough and the waves were strong enough to surf.

Instead, she made pancakes out of a bottled mix—almost always burnt or undercooked. She taught herself to ride a bike, far later than other kids, embarrassingly. She’d clean up her cuts when she’d fall off her training-wheel-less bike, wincing at the burn of antiseptic out of the medicine cabinet. She’d hum along to whatever songs she had saved on her iPhone 4 on the walk to school, and once she was confident enough in her ability, while she bike ride to school. 

There weren’t any beach near enough for her to get to by herself at the age of twelve without an adult bringing her, so she decided she would buy a beach house once she was old enough and spend near to every day either swimming, surfing, or making sand castles.

The first time she can remember him sitting down to talk to her, or at least saying something of actual substance beyond something meaningless and tossed out without a second thought, was him sitting down across from her at the dinner table, and immediately saying he would be racing in WEC the following year. 

She didn’t know what WEC was, she didn’t really care to know anyways. She knew it meant he was going to be gone again, just when she thought she had him back for good this time around. 

“Okay.” She’d looked down at her plate, piled with sausages and roast vegetables, both getting cold from how long she’d been waiting for him to join her for dinner. 

Neither of them said anything more that night, and she didn’t wait for him to give her a hug goodnight—he didn’t deserve it, just like he’d decided she didn’t deserve to be tucked in anymore.

Even then, it wasn’t until years later when she’d found out that he’d actually signed the contract with Porsche in Endurance racing all the way back in june that she truly ever let herself feel the pain of the betrayal that night. He was never retiring, never actually coming back for her—he would always love racing more than he’d ever love his own daughter.

She still feels like that little kid, crying in her bed back in 2013 over not getting a kiss. This time, it’s over getting a ‘love you’. Two opposite sides of a coin—a kid not getting the same display of affection they do, and a nineteen year old getting once when she hasn’t in years. Even though she’d felt so betrayed and alienated even back then, she’d never stopped trying to gain his approval. She was always convinced that maybe if she just tried hard enough, if she could do everything right, if she was perfect, then he’d notice her. He’d finally see her, finally be proud. 

She thought that after so many years, she would’ve outgrown it—left behind that little girl who just waited for the day her favourite person in the world felt the same about her.

“Fuck!” It’s the only word that’s managed to leave her mouth since she ended the call. It’s the only word that can begin to come close to how she’s feeling, but even then, it hardly does. She wants to scream, to throw the rest of the broken pieces across the room and watch them shatter even further. Instead, her hands clench tighter, her skin punctured by the rough corners of ceramic. 

Blood trickles down her palms, mixing with the tears that have long dripped down onto the smashed glass. Oscar would think she’s pathetic of he saw her right now, at least she wishes he would. In reality, she knows that Oscar would clean up the mess of the broken cup and then gently sit her down on the edge of her bed instead of having her crouched over in her bathroom. He’d clean up the bloody tears and the cuts—bandaging her hands up so gently. He’d hold her close, wipe away her tears while he says all the right things to make her feel even just the slightest bit better.

She wishes Oscar could just stop being so perfect for a second, wishes he could have a single flaw that she could pick on and belittle him for, make her dad see that Oscar isn’t as amazing as he seems to be.

But he is, and so she can’t even blame her dad for picking Oscar over her—she would too.  

The thought of Oscar is what gets her off the floor in the end. She deposits of the shattered cup and washes her hand clean, still wincing like she did on all those failed attempts of riding a bike. She brushes her teeth, she dries her hands off so the bandages will stay on, and she gets dressed for the day. Her hands shake slightly while she does her makeup, and her bottom lip quivers as she spreads a layer of lipgloss across it. 

But she holds it together. Two words aren’t worth crying over. She’s not that little girl anymore. She’s her own person, she’s more then just Mark’s daughter. She has her own life, her own world that’s separate from her father—sort of. She has Oscar who she loves, regardless of his involvement in racing. She has dreams to travel the world, to get that beach house, to swim every day. She has plans to go to university next year and to finally get out of the house that’s caused her so much heartbreak. 

She can’t grow in the same environment that once destroyed her.

The time on her phone hits 8:50, and she looks her reflection in the eyes. She’s not a little girl. She’s not that little girl. She’s never going to be that little girl again. Until she forces a smile, and it’s the same one she’s had her whole life. 

When the doorbell rings, she takes one last look at herself in the mirror, dragging her fingers through her hair one last time, making sure it lays over her shoulders nicely. Even though the girl staring back at her is completely shattered inside, her exterior is near perfection—her foundation covers the redness of her face, any lingering tears look just like the areas where she applied highlighter, her bitten and swollen lips just look plump with the addition of lipgloss. The bandages on her hands are neat and completely hide the cuts.

If she just keeps herself together a little longer, maybe no one will notice any cracks beneath her surface.

With a deep breath, she heads downstairs and to the front door. After a few moments of gathering up the strength to face someone in her current state—even when its her boyfriend who she loves more than anything—she opens the door. Oscar stands there, a white t-shirt and pair of pale blue jeans. His hair is awfully messy, clearly having had nothing done to it whatsoever. His eyes light up when he sees her, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Hi, Osc”

“Hey, baby,” Her face cracks into a smile at the nickname, some of the awful tension finally loosening up. Luckily for her, he doesn’t seem to notice the way her hands are trembling or how glossy and red her eyes are—he’s as normal and warm as he always is.

“Breakfast?” He gestures outside, stepping aside for her. She gives him a small nod, stuffing her phone into the pocket of her darker wash jeans. “Hey, we matched,” He grins at her, getting a giggle out of her. He looks accomplished by that, just getting a small laugh out of his girlfriend. 

She hopes Oscar never feels at all like she feels right now, how she’s felt her whole life. Oscar deserves a life of pure and complete happiness, she believes that genuinely. “We did indeed,” She slips her fingers into intertwine with his. He shuts the door behind her, guiding her towards a cafe he’d found online that’s only a ten minute walk away. 

On the walk to the café, Oscar shoots off on a story from back in Monza about one of the team’s mechanics spilling a coffee on his race suit—an iced coffee luckily. Oscar right by her side paired with the bright sun, a pleasantly warm current temperature and the promise of croissants and doughnuts, she finds it hard to even be upset anymore.

They get a table for two outside, enough in the shade that there’s no painful glare as they try to look at eachother. The service is quick, their table quickly covered with a hot chocolate, a caramel latte, and far too many pastries and baked goods for only two people. Regardless, they dig in straight away, trading drinks and food every so often.

Time flies past them, their drinks grow cold and more food arrives to their table. She tears off a bit of a cinnamon roll and pops it into her mouth just as Oscar starts to talk. “I was thinking,” Oscar says. “Maybe we could drive down to the beach this weekend. Weather forecast is good, waves shouldn’t be too bad.”

The beach—the final, unfulfilled dream from the checklist. Back at twelve, she could manage to everything on her own that she wanted to do with her dad instead. She learned how to make pancakes, even if they were far from perfect. She rode bikes, though it took longer than it should have and resulted in a few too many grazed palms and scabbed knees. She sang along to the radio, filled the silence on her solitary walks instead of in the car. 

But the beach was always out of reach. She had no way to get there on her own, so she would just rely on the impossible hope that her dad would finally look up from his busy life and take her there, just like she’d always imagined they would every weekend. 

It’s not that she’s never been to a beach, of course. There were trips with friends or school excursions, moments that almost scratched the itch, but never quite hit the mark. The dream she had as a kid wasn’t just about the location—it was about being seen, being cared for, about sharing that simple and tender joy with someone who mattered. There was a kind of magic in the way she pictured it back then, in her childish daydreams: her and her dad running toward the water, splashing through the surf, him laughing in a way he never did at home.

The ‘someone’ who matters didn’t matter whether that was with her dad or just on her own. All she knew was that it couldn’t be someone else, either the two of them, or just her.

But with Oscar, everything is different. She doesn’t know how to put it into words, how to describe that Oscar isn’t like any other guy, how he’s just about the most importnant thing in the world to her.

Even the fact that without even knowing the weight behind it, he just offered that to her. Casually. Without hesitation. Without her needing to ask, or worse, beg. He doesn’t make it a whole big thing, doesn’t put her in the position of feeling guilty for wanting something simple, something that for once isn’t a compromise. 

“Yeah,” she smiles wide, nodding excitedly. Her voice is still soft though, probably incredibly adoring. “The beach sounds great.” Oscar smiles, content that he came up with an idea that she’s so taken with. To him, it’s no big deal, it’s just the beach. But to her, it is. It’s huge, it’s the final piece of her jigsaw. 

She can already imagine it so vividly—the two of them driving down the coast, windows down with the salty breeze whipping through her hair. She can feel the sun hot on her skin, hear the soft rush of the waves as they crash against the shore, can smell the heavy salt of the sea. 

It’s going to be the best weekend of her life, even better than she imagined it would be back when she was twelve.

y/n.webber

liked by lilymhe, zhouguanyu and 2,879 others

y/n.webber best kinda pick me up

user32 where's the top from?

-> y/n.webber na-kd!!

-> user32 thank u omg!

user17 those pastries omggg

-> y/n.webber they were literally to die for, so good 😙🤌

user21 i need a hair tut frrr

y/n.priv (private account)

liked by l.sarge, osc.priv, and 1 other

y/n.priv seen better days

l.sarge oscar cambailsm

-> osc.priv what word is that

-> l.sarge eating your own kind

-> geo.6arge3 pastry on pastry crime

-> l.sarge ????? who r u

-> l.sarge omg its george sorry im a big fan lol

bsf/n love u baby <3 take care of yourself :(

-> y/n.priv miss u sm </3

osc.priv ❤️🥰

last chapter, next chapter

oooofff, rough chapter. honestly, motivation has been nonexistent recently but honestly, writing this chapter felt so easy and enjoyable, it that makes any sense 🥲

anyways, fun beach times in the next chapter + more oscar centric, i promiseeee:)

taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party, @forza-charles, @sltwins, @sweetwh0re, @lucktales, @ellen3101, @nxlx96, @notantou, @cloud-55, @wisestarfishbouquet, @zupercoolgirl

[herejusttosufferalong]

RIPPED FROM DISCORD - NO CHANGE

I don't think Nic and Luke have talked, seriously, since JF in NYC. I think there may have been a few check ins but nothing of note.

I think she was caught off guard by papgate and was PISSED, not just about the pics and the fallout, but about Luke's total lack of accountability in the situation.

He nor his team did much of anything while he was facing an obscene amount of backlash from the fan base.

They simply ignored the elephant in the room.

We first saw Nic's irritation with the passive aggressive post four days after the release and then ending with the SATC TT.

We know she helped his ass out with the Brazil pic to post after the JF interview. I think she said goodbye there.

She did more to help him than he was willing to do for himself or anyone else.

Things calmed down with Paris but then the games picked right back up in LA, it's the only way children know how to entertain themselves.

Nic was silently watching all of this while hanging out with JD.

July was a MESS all around because not only do you have the GQ event and Italy but then you have DM so far up Nic's ass she is covered in shit.

Luke and Nic never seemed further apart.

Biggest evidence for this was the July 16 post, a post marking their 5 year journey and Mr. bare minimum comes through with "Wowwww 🙏🏻"

She never liked the comment btw, can't blame her though.

Papgate 2.0 happens, sus AF.

A week or so later we get shade post about the paps from Nic disguised as a BDAY post for CW. I

It is between that post on Aug 10 and the Col/Pen post on Aug 22 where I believe Nic and Luke started talking again. What all was said, who fucking knows but must not have been good enough. Because we get the PAL post, clearly friendzoning Luke with an even more damning grid caption, "I thought I already shared this but I hadn't so here you go now it's all yours!"

There is a lot to unpack from that. This is clearly a photo taken 18 months prior and she had no relevant reason to post it. I think she was going through and clearing shit out. It's the "...here ya go now it's all yours!" that struck me odd. I know some have speculated that she was just referring to the photo. I believe she was referring to the man.

And I think she was talking to her number one fan. Who up until that point had been pretty quiet outside of her Aug 18th post, "Uncanny Valley of the Dolls."

Whatever Luke and Nic talked about, I think she gave him some things to think about. That coupled with the fact that something is/has been afoot with JD so she may not have been in a place of full availability for Luke, he decided to return to the mess he made.

I think the festival pics and the fact that Jake tagged along to Malta might be causing Luke to really start to think.

It ain't a great look when a 24 yr old man comes in, looking like he has his shit more together than you.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

For your ask game: I wish you would write a fic where Michael Gavey gets taught how to eat pussy and his glasses fog up and he humps the bed until he cums!

Because I’m a slut, I also wish you would write a fic where he has to recite pi digits while he gets a blowjob and he cries!

-🍍

In the spirit of maybe I will write a little tidbit, I'll give you a little tidbit of the second one...

3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197

The numbers are clear in Michael's mind as though they are photographed. He can recite each of them without hesitation, so when his girlfriend had challenged him, stating she could make him forget them, he had scoffed, stating that that was absurd. He is a genius, a mathematical prodigy, it's an impossibility that he would forget.

He hadn't anticipated her dropping to her knees, and tugging his belt open, her eyes sparkling wickedly as she'd gazed up at him, pulling him free of his boxers.

"Go on then."

He had managed easily enough at first, breath hitching, swallowing thickly as she'd stroked him to life. He had gotten as far as two before she had pressed closer, kitten licking the tip of him, making his balls tighten and his mind fog for just a moment.

"S--six," he'd gasped, placing a hand against the wall to brace himself, as his chest rose and fell erratically.

The last few minutes have been torturous, her movements have now grown sloppy, his hips lurching forward each time he feels himself hit the back of her throat. There's a tingling at the base of his spine, he can feel the urge to come growing stronger and he can't remember which of the nines within the sequence he's said already. The obscene slurp of her mouth upon him pushes the numbers from his mind as though they're mist. When did she render them as something no longer tangible to him?

"I--I...um...did I say nine?" He stammers.

She pulls off of him, an impish grin upon her pretty features. "Dunno," she utters with an easy shrug, before enveloping him in the warmth of her mouth once more.

Fuck. This is humiliating.

He can feel his skin growing heated, tears of frustration gathering in the corners of his eyes. "T--two...?" He offers. He sounds pathetic, whiny, he knows he does.

She pulls off once more, looking up at him, eyes big and lips pouted in faux sympathy. "Aw, can't you remember? Stupid."

Stupid.

There is something about the word, how degrading it is, coupled with the swirl of her tongue and saliva as she wraps her lips around him again that utterly does him in. He grasps the back of her head, tangling his fingers into the softness of her hair, bucking his hips as his vision turns white with a heated explosion of pleasure, feeling himself twitch and pulsate as he releases against her tongue, and a strangled, broken groan is forced from his lungs.

Watching through slightly fogged up glasses, her throat bobs as she swallows, and he no longer cares that he doesn't remember the numbers. Christ, he doesn't even remember his own name.

[redvexillum]

Here me out. Vox working on wiring some new monitors and getting tangled in the wires. His lovely little assistant finds her boss stuck, wires pulling his shirt a bit up and... well... Vox is pissy becasue he's being seen stuck but he needs help. And the more he tries to wiggle out of the wires, the tighter they get and oh my, does he like that?

🦊- just a random fox passing through, nothing to see here. Def Not Kit.

Dearest Kit or Def Not Kit, I've been going feral over Vox x Reader and I have no one to blame but you for making me fall deeper in love with the flat screen TV-head demon. Your request has been living rent free in my head since the day I saw your devilish prompt sitting sexily in my inbox. Kit or Def Not Kit. Do you see my request list on my front page? Do you see how long it is? I say this with utmost love and respect for you, but damn you for making me possessed and open my word document at 1 in the morning as the story gets longer and longer. XOXO, RedVexi 💋

SUMMARY: Your boss is a class-A hole, and you had envisioned tormenting him for all the overtime he was forcing you to work. Truly, he was ensuring that your time in Hell was...Hell. Perhaps it was you burning out, but you had a very vivid, steamy dream of your boss.

...At least, you were pretty sure it was a dream.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, assistant!reader, dom/sub undertone, sub!Vox, dom!reader, hating your boss to confused h*rny, reader has vivid s*xual imagination, reader is extremely sleep deprived and is so done with Vox's shenanigans, Vox is sort-of a jerk, fluff if you squint

At first, the letters on your document seemed to shift ever so slightly, causing you to misread some of the words. You squinted, trying to focus on each letter, but it was no use. The words began to dance and twist, performing their own chaotic ballet at an infuriatingly quick tempo. Your head spun, the floor beneath you tilted slightly at an angle, and a sharp pain pierced behind your eyes.  

“Ah, fuck,” you muttered, pressing your hand against the middle of your throbbing forehead in a futile attempt to alleviate the discomfort. You took a deep, fortifying breath and reached for your energy drink, downing the sickly sweet liquid that had become your elixir of life. You had lost count after the tenth can, and the end of your workload seemed to grow every time you checked your to-do list.  

Everyone else had long since left the office, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence of mandatory overtime, working under the relentless demands of the most unreasonable, Hell-worthy, boss.  

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on you, the muscles in your back and neck ached, and your mind screamed for a moment of reprieve. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glare on the endless sea of paperwork before you. Each page mocked your efforts, sadistically laughing at you to try to make sense of the cryptic mess of letters and numbers that the previous assistant had left behind.  

As you took another swig of the energy drink, the taste no longer registered, your tongue felt tingly yet numb. It was just a means to an end, a way to keep pushing forward despite the shroud of fatigue threatening to take away your sight.  

“Just a few more hours,” you whispered to yourself, a mantra of survival in the face of exhaustion. The words offered no comfort, but they were all you had now. Taking another deep breath, you picked up one of the many documents littered across your desk. One look and a wave of frustration crashed into you. What was the previous assistant even trying to achieve? 

Nothing made sense.  

Groaning, you leaned back in your chair, letting your head fall back as you squeezed your eyes shut. How many days had it been since you’d had a full night’s sleep? You’d thought being a personal assistant to the CEO of VoxTek – an Overlord of Hell – would pave your path with literal gold.  

Instead, you were wading through a relentless tide of paperwork, guzzling obscene amounts of energy drinks, and simmering in a pit of sexual frustration. Seriously, when was the last time you got laid? Every single one of your partners had left you, fed up with being forever second to your work.  

This morning, your girlfriend – ah, ex-girlfriend now – had screamed at you to choose between her and your job. Before you could respond, your Vwatch buzzed, reminding you it was time to pick up your boss’ dry cleaning.  

With an apologetic smile, you gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pleaded to postpone the conversation until after work. The last thing you heard before you closed the door was her muttering: “Go fuck yourself.” 

And…fuck yourself indeed because the moment you sat at your desk to slog through another hellish day of ungodly work hours, your phone vibrated with her text message. Her final text message telling you that she was leaving you.  

Sighing deeply, the weight of her words pressed down on you. It was a reminder that you were sacrificing everything for your job once again.  

Slowly, you opened your eyes, the fluorescent lights blinded you temporarily. You had died like this – overworked to death for a massive corporation when you were alive. Was this truly your fate, to repeat your human life in Hell?  

Could you find happiness even in this damned place? 

Your shoulders jolted up, and you scrambled to sit upright as you heard the loud crackle of electricity echoing inside the empty room. The demon responsible for your lack of sleep and failing relationships boldly strolled through your office the moment he materialized out from the security camera.  

The prick, a.k.a. your boss.  

“There you are!” Your boss, with all the glory of a cheap flat-screen TV for a head, loomed over you. With a click of his tongue, he narrowed his red digital eyes. “I asked you to bring me the reports thirty seconds ago!” he pointed at your Vwatch, the manacle chaining you to the company, to him.  

You felt your left eye twitch once, twice.  

Thirty fucking seconds.  

Was this for real? Was he seriously pissed off because you didn’t run to his fucking safety hazard of an office within thirty seconds?  

The rage simmered beneath your exhaustion, a boiling, whistling kettle ready to blow its top. The audacity of this bitch-ass baby, to demand so much for so little recognition. Every muscle in your body begged for rest, for a break from the relentless grind that had followed you from the mortal world to damnation.  

Lord, you hated him. Never mind that he could have picked up the fucking report himself.  He literally had the power to teleport anywhere in the building through the security cameras, which were everywhere.  

A sudden, intrusive thought barged its way through your mind. This was your moment. Your moment to finally release the manacle that had been wrapped around your right wrist for the past nine and a half years. A moment to throw this cheaply made watch at his equally tacky flat-screened face.  

Your left fingers twitched, but you remained still, sitting in the chair with your head bowed.  

Were you being too rash?  

Yes. You were.  

You weren’t thinking clearly, overworked and burnt out as you were. 

You couldn't quit even if you wanted to...at least not right now.

The muscles in your eyes continued to twitch as your ears slowly honed in on the sound of Vox throwing a bitch-fit, comparing you to his last assistant, who was “so” much better. He made sure to stress the word “so,” emphasizing your supposed lack of drive, productivity, and quality of work.  

You weren’t really listening to his words. His voice melded seamlessly with the whirring of the computer fans, a droning background noise to your mounting frustration. Each of his cutting remarks sliced through the restraint that held your volatile anger at bay.  

Vox could leave now that he had his report, but he chose to belittle you instead. Your gaze flickered to your wrist, to the cursed device that had dictated the course of your life. You were sure that if you threw this watch at his face, the look of shock glitching across the screen would be quite hilarious.  

“Are you even listening?” he snapped, his voice pulling you back from the haze of your addicting, intrusive thoughts.  

Your eyes flicked back up, meeting the static-filled screen that served as his face. “Yes, sir,” you lied, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.  

“God, I’m surrounded by imbeciles, you and Val–” Vox continued to rant out into the vast empty office that only housed the two of you.  

Couldn’t he see that everyone else had already left? Couldn’t he appreciate that you were still working after hours every single day for almost a fucking decade just to meet his unreasonable expectations? 

Jaws clenching, you continued to hold back your frustration and ire by the skin of your teeth. Couldn’t he just let you catch a single break? For fuck’s sake, you had just gone through a breakup because, once again, you had chosen work – chosen him – instead of your girlfriend, instead of your happiness.  

The desire to pull on his gaudy red bow tie tight, making sure he felt the constriction around his throat, was overwhelming. You imagined pushing him onto your desk, straddling him. You would make sure to crinkle all his precious reports for good measure too.  

Your gaze landed on the way the light reflected off the flat screen of his face. You would smack him, open-handed, just like you used to do with your grandpa’s old television when it fritzed out.  

You remembered your grandpa’s words: You only need one good smack to get it working right again, dear.  

Maybe all Vox needed was that one good smack to be fucking humble for once. Then your eyes dropped to the front of his pants. He was such a massive dick, probably compensating for the size of his package.  

How you wanted to strangle his limp, tiny dick, to see him helpless and subdued. Maybe you could wrap his dick with the goddamn cables you always tripped over whenever you visit his office.  

A smirk lifted your lips as you envisioned the scene. Vox, strung up by his pathetic, limp dick, his eyes wide with fear and humiliation. He would cry and whine, begging you to stop, but you wouldn’t. After all, this had been a long time coming, a deserved retribution for all the bullshit and verbal abuse he had hurled your way.  

“— and don’t get me started on the fact that you look like a hot mess! Don’t you know that VoxTek has an image to uphold–” 

You imagined forcing him to fold over your desk. You’d make him take his cock into his mouth, the humiliating act of self-servitude making him gag. With one hand, you’d grip the edge of his head, shoving his face down further, and with the other, you’d ram a thick, fat dildo into his tight, unused ass.  

His pathetic whimpers would be muffled by the growing hardness in his mouth, a pitiful noise that only drove your desire to dominate him completely.  

You’d thrust into him relentlessly, the dildo filling him over and over. The tight ring of his ass would pucker up, trying to grip the dildo, to keep it shoved up all the way in his ass. Each thrust would be a punishment, a reminder of every insult and degrading comment he had thrown at you.  

“All I’m saying is, I expect better from you–” 

You would fuck him hard and fast with the toy, spurred on by his moans he would desperately want to hold back.  

Vox let out a sardonic laugh. “Then again, maybe that’s asking too much, expecting something incredibly simple from you–” 

You would thrust into him, again.  

��You had one job, and you can’t even–” 

Again.  

“Are you even trying–” 

And again, until you forced him to swallow his own pathetic release. The thought was intoxicating, having Vox submit completely to you. You could see it vividly: his face contorting with a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure. His eyes would squeeze shut, trying to stop the tears forming in his eyes. 

“Sorry, sir,” you blurted out, feeling the heat creeping up to your cheeks and below your gut. Holy shit, were you seriously just thinking of all that? Were you fantasizing about… 

Your boss. 

Your fucking boss.

Shit.  

You were more exhausted than you thought. Clearly, you were horny, tired, and caffeinated to the point of insanity to even entertain the idea of touching your fucking boss.  

Fuck, you desperately needed rest.  

Vox paused, his eyes widened giving you a glimpse of a myriad of emotions you couldn't recognize except one: vulnerability. But that didn't make sense because you meant so little to him – he gave two shits about you.

Before you could scrutinize further, he cleared his throat drawing you away from your circling thoughts. “Yes, well, I expect you to get the reports for the new project organized before tomorrow morning.” 

This time, it was your turn for your eyes to widen. “B-but, sir, th-that's going to take me all night!” You couldn’t stop the whine from spilling out.

His expression remained impassive, the flat screen of his face reflecting your frustration and fatigue back at you. “And?” he said, his tone cold and merciless. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” 

The weight of his words doused your initial flare of anger and was now replaced with perpetual exhaustion. Your body screamed for rest, for a break from this endless cycle of work. But as you looked at Vox, you knew there was no escape, at least not tonight.  

You would push through, as you always did, because, like an idiot you had signed a contract with him to work for Voxtek for the next ten years. You couldn't afford to break that contract, as it would be an automatic forfeiture of your soul.

Curling your fingers into a tight fists, you repeated the same words that acted as your only saving grace for the past two years. You counted down the time before you could finally be freed.

Six more months.

Six more months of working under your shitty boss until you could quit and never look back.

The thought of freedom was a fragile hope, barely enough to sustain you through the grinding monotony and constant humiliation. The tension in your body slowly eased as your fists unfurled, letting your hands hang limply by your sides.

Swallowing the bitter taste of frustration, you forced yourself to nod. "Yes, sir, I'll get it–"

Vox walked away before you could finish your sentence, disappearing with a flash of electricity through his security camera.  

Sighing, you looked at the pile of papers haphazardly covering your desk. The faint hum of the overhead lights and the whirring of computer fans were your only companions. You rubbed your temples, feeling the tension in your head intensify.  

You picked up a stack of papers, and your eyes caught sight of your cell phone peeking out from the mound of documents.  

It looked like you had another long night ahead of you.  

Not that it mattered.  

You had no one to come home to anyway.  

NEXT ->

💠 MASTERLIST 💠 © Fanart of Vox by@glitterypeachy

[kyumiscafe]

|| tw slightly Pervy neighbour Satoru + he has a big fat crush on his cute neighbour, panty stealing, taking a picture? It's faintly mentioned. Attempt at dirty talking (first post!!)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that ran into his new next door neighbour one day and was instantly fascinated by how adorable they looked in that oversized house shirt and skimpy shorts. So cute:((

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that started to forget buying stuff like sugar and salt so he could ask his pretty next-door neighbour for some♡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo getting more clingy and friendly with each day that passes

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo going out of his way to help his sweet girl next door, you need help fixing something? He got you pretty girl, carrying stuff around have you seen his muscles? Yup, just please smile at him and praise him again it makes his heart flutter♡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that's over the moon when he finally gets her phone number <3 it means they like him too right?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that slipped a photo of his sweet neighbour bending over to get him some rice, surely they won't mind?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo getting increasingly more frustrated with his one night stands because they're just not his favourite girl next door :(

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that swears he's not a pervert! And yet stole a pair of panties from their basket the last time he was over

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that fists his cock every using the now ruined panties groaning his neighbours name as he spills all over his hand... they'd look so cute with his cum all over their face... ah shit he's hard again

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that finally gets his chance, they're both a little tipsy and watching a movie, the mood is just right— before he gets the courage to do anything she's all over him and Satoru feels like he must be in heaven as those soft lips touched him

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that gets too exited when they finally kiss so it's messy, sloppy, a make-out session filled with sheer desperation and lust, the movie long forgotten as his cute next door neighbour sat on his lap grinding against his aching boner. It's a struggle for him not to cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neighbour Gojo that finally has his wish, face buried between her soft thighs, groaning and slurping, the sounds are .obscene, it's a mess, he loves it— Satoru knows what he wishes his last meal would be. "Messy fuckin' girl with a sloppy fuckin' cunt" he chuckled at the wet sounds her poor pussy makes under his relentless assault on her flesh "Hear that? She's speakin' to me so prettily, princess..." heaven indeed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Boyfriend Gojo that simply refused to sleep elsewhere starting that night, he wants to sleep with his head laying on his pretty baby's chest, it feels warm, it feels like home— like he belongs there.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

[syluscore]

I'm a Loser, Baby

~loser, creep, disgusting, vile! König x fem! Reader~

Word count: 1103

Content warnings: harassment, cyber-bullying (digs at reader's personality, appearance, dead loved ones, and telling her to kill herself), stalking, nonconsensual touching(while sleeping), gross stuff (involving a toothbrush, silverware, and menstrual blood), male masturbation, fantasies about period sex, defiling corpse mention

!!!!!!STRICTLY 18+ BLOG! MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!

He’s obsessed with you and you never really pay attention to him. At first, you were intrigued by the giant masked man, but he’s so awkward and says the most unsettling things that you’re completely put off.  And it irritates the shit out of him.

It’s his personal mission to knock you down a few pegs. He starts anonymously bullying and harassing you. So many mean messages from random numbers and throwaway emails. You block every single one, but he always has more at the ready and makes more as needed. Apps such as TextNow have made this so much easier for him.

Fucking stupid. Useless woman. No one wants you around.

Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.

No wonder you have no friends. Bet your family hates you too. 

Your laugh makes me gag and your teeth are disgusting. Cover your mouth, tramp.

I hope you hate yourself everyday, and if you ever forget, I’ll always be here to remind you. 

Ever thought of just killing yourself? Doing the world a fucking favor.

Your body is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen. Seen whales built better than you.

If you blew your face off, you’d be a lot more attractive. 

If you hung yourself in front of everyone, they’d just watch. Wouldn’t even try to save you. Worthless.

Personality is about as good as unseasoned chicken. Waste of space.

You ever stared at your side profile? Obviously not since you haven’t killed yourself yet.

He finds people online to send you messages and even call you too. All he has to do is send a little money their way and your contact info, they do all the rest. 

He watches the light slowly fade from your eyes as the messages get more and more elaborate. People online can get really creative. When you change your number and make a second email, he chuckles to himself and immediately forwards them along. 

You’re in your head a lot more now. Not paying attention much to everyone around you, fucking up in training which only makes you feel worse. Gives him extra time to go through your things and watch you in your oblivious state.

You don’t notice the little chew marks on your toothbrush. Him sneaking into your bathroom at least twice a week to suck on the object while he jerks himself off into your skin. You set your dirty spoon in the sink and the second you’re gone, he’s sucking and licking on that too. Groaning knowing your saliva is inside of him.

It continues to escalate until he finds himself going through your things. All of your things. He rummages through your trash casually. Your bathroom trash isn’t safe from his dirty hands either. 

Your monthly cycle is his favorite. He’s always enjoyed the sight of blood and yours makes him fucking feral. He keeps himself from outright touching or tasting the blood, but when he finds a pair of blood stained panties that you couldn’t be bothered with trying to clean or keeping for another cycle, he loses his mind.

It’s probably one of his favorite keepsakes of all time. Using the piece of fabric as a fidget toy of sorts. Whenever he’s alone in his room, he has them in his hands just rubbing them between his large fingers. Jerking himself off with the blood stained fabric numerous times. Always wondering what it’d feel like to fuck you while you’re bleeding–how much blood would coat your thighs and his cock.

In a locked drawer in his own room, he has almost a shrine dedicated to you. Little things he’s stolen from you and so many pictures of you. All taken when you’re unaware of them. An obscene amount of them from when you’re sleeping. Of him touching you when you’re sleeping. Of his cock touching your face and hands when you’re sleeping.

One day he’s leaned back in a kitchen chair, arms crossed over his chest while he thinks of what to do to torment you next, when you walk in eyes bloodshot. Like you’d just been crying. Which you had been thanks to a really nice message getting under your skin. One about defiling your dead relative’s corpse because it’d be more desirable than you. 

König stares at you, not moving a muscle or making a sound. You avoid eye contact as you aimlessly stare in the fridge.

He finally speaks up. “Okay. What’s wrong?” You try to brush it off, telling him it’s nothing, but he keeps pressing. And soon tears are falling from your eyes again and it has his cock hardening in his pants. 

You spill your guts. The harassment. The constant texts and emails. The bullying. The threats. The thing about your loved ones corpse. And König silently listens until your sobs finally stop. 

“You know, I know some people who can deal with this sort of thing. Could make a couple calls and make this disappear.” He fails to mention it’s because he’d call off his specialized force of internet dickheads. 

“Oh,” you speak quietly. “You don’t have to do that. Just feeling sensitive today. I’m sure I’ll feel fine again tomorrow.” Right. Your period should be here within a couple of days. PMS will do that to you–it always does. Best time to pay his people a little extra to be extra mean and consistent. 

“No. I insist. You’re being harassed and that is unacceptable.”

Your eyes soften, your lip continuing to tremble as you finally meet his eyes. “You’d–why would you do that for me? You’re willing to do that for me?”

König just barely nods his head. “Of course.”

You let out a sigh and wipe your tears, smiling widely at him. It has him completely rethinking his motives. You’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen when smiling up at him like that. 

Before he can process it, you’re wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and nuzzling your face against his chest. “Thank you, König!” You say happily, having full faith in him that he’ll accomplish this for you. 

That’s when you feel it. His fully hard cock. Pressing into you. Not a weapon, not a phone. His erection. You slowly take a few steps back from him, a look of disgust on your face. You stare at him for a fat minute before turning on your heels, storming out of the room. But not before yelling, “Pig!”

König does a full 180. Goes from smirking under his mask, to rage filled eyes. Have it your way. His efforts will now double in fucking with you. Self-righteous little bitch. 

~masterlist~

consider supporting me on ko-fi

[urhoneycombwitch]

plan b

___

foreword: thank you to this anon, this was just the right amount of sitcom Spider-man pointing meme-ery that I needed. wrote this with husky!neighbor!Eddie since I thiiiink I’ve established that version of him is modern so hopefully this aligns with my made-up canon. lol.

wc: 1.9k

cw: weight mention (in the context of finding meds, no numbers used), embarrassment on R’s end of kink discussion, frenemies vibes between R and Eddie (they get under each other’s skin but in a hot way <3), Eddie is soft-domming in public, no actual smut but still +18 mdni

DISCLAIMER: Plan B can really fuck your shit up and shouldn’t necessarily be used when introducing new kinks. Please do your research and consult w/ a medical professional before using. Putting the fiction in fic with this one.

_____

Christ, there are too many options.

Your vision is swimming in the Family Planning aisle, fluorescent overheads of the CVS taking up residence in your left temple.

You press your fingertips against the spot, massaging gently as you pull different brands of boxes from the shelf to inspect the instructions.

This one says take within twenty-four hours, that might be- oh, shit, there’s a weight cap. Dammit. And this one’s… twice the price? For fucking why?

Frustrated, you shove the expensive thing back in place. The words on the blue label next in line catches your eye- Pre-Seed Fertility Lubricant- and you snap your hand away, as if scorched. Nope. Opposite of what you need. Christ. Pre-Seed?!

It’s almost giggle-worthy. You take out your phone, glancing up and down the aisle; the store is empty this late at night, just an older woman behind the front registers who had greeted you earlier with bored corporate formality, eyes fixed on her magazine.

Picture of Pre-Seed, taken. Check that one off the list. The only person who you’d want to share a laugh over text about this with is the one person who does not need to know why you’re in the goddamn Family Planning aisle at ten PM. On a Thursday.

At least, not yet. You lock your phone, pocketing it before zeroing in on the purple and green-themed Plan B that boasts One Tablet, One Step.

Although it’s pricier than some of the other morning-after pills, it’s the only one that you feel fully confident about buying. You give the box a little toss, feeling the next-to-nothing weight of it in your palm. Fifty bucks for a tiny pill, one that you may not even end up using- but you’ll be goddamned if you’re caught unprepared.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Your blood flashes cold, then hot, as you realize who the voice belongs to- attention focused elsewhere, you didn’t hear Eddie sidling up the aisle until now.

He’s leaning into his arm on the nearest shelf, grinning wolfishly at his own joke, chocolate eyes lit up at having found you here. He looks obscene- biceps and chest bulging at the stretched fabric of his t-shirt, hair unspooling dark curls from a low bun, black ink tattoos rippling over his bare forearms and peeking out from beneath his collar.

Honestly, you don’t know why he wasn’t stopped at the door by the woman on night shift. He’s bordering public indecency with those fitted Levi’s alone.

Fortunately the shock of hearing Eddie’s low voice is not enough to send the Plan B in your hand flying- too late to reshelve it without him seeing, you cling to it tighter, plastic creaking under your grip as you pray to every god ever that he doesn’t notice.

“Oh! Hey. Hi. Haha, very funny.” Well, that was smooth, but at least you said something comprehensible. “What’re you doing here?”

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, using his free arm to reach for a pack of condoms near your head- “Late night shopping. Stocking up for the weekend. Can’t seem to keep these around, seeing as I’m being fucked out of house and home.”

”Well… apartment,” you correct, heart leaping at the smile lines that jump around Eddie’s eyes. This is good, maybe you can just keep him talking and find a second to shove the Plan B into a random spot or perhaps launch it into the sun-

Nope, too late. Mid-crinkle, Eddie’s eyes drop to the package in your hand, and you watch his face drop as he processes multiple trains of thought at once.

“Oh, shit. Is that… did we…?”

There’s a pinch between his dark brows, likely running through the last few weeks of your hookups (which have all been protected) and trying to do the mental math; you shake your head, trying to stammer through the flush of embarrassment that’s overtaking your system.

“No, it’s not- not from us. Not from you. I mean…” you trail off, shifting uncomfortably from one sneaker to the other as words hit a jam in your throat.

Eddie’s in a full frown now, pushing off the shelf, standing to his full height, confusion and hurt seeping into his expression, voice quiet and pitched deep- “Is it from someone else?”

“Oh my god.” This was a nightmare, right? You’d like to wake up now. “No, no, not from anyone else. It’s-”

A sharp exhale, a shake of your head, and the words loosen all at once- “I was gonna get it for us, for me, for this weekend, if you wanted to give me a reason to use it.”

Eddie goes as still as you’ve ever seen him before, fingers stopped in their usual constant tapping, blinking at the box in your hands.

His face smooths.

Then he smiles.

Your stomach flips.

Eddie slides the condoms back into the wrong spot, not bothering to look as he leans in close enough for you to smell the spice of his cologne as he says in a sex-dipped timbre: “Well if you wanted me to fill you up with my cum, why didn’t you just say so?”

A horrified, awkward squawk escapes before you can bite it back; your head whips down the aisle to make sure no one else was within earshot of his dirty mouth as you blindly shove the Plan B away, deep into a shelf. “Oh my god. Jesus christ.”

”Eddie is just fine,” he responds mildly, the cool demeanor to your rapidly heating one as his grin simmers wicked between dimpled cheeks.

“Forget it,” you start, shaking your head and making to brush past, embarrassment flooding in hot, “Just forget-”

Eddie catches you by the elbow, effectively locking you in place with a single move, but he’s not looking at you; with his free hand, he snaps up the slightly crumpled box and scans the words.

“Y’think one will be enough?”

The flood subsides, gives you pause enough to stutter out, “W-what?”

Eddie’s fingers flex on your arm. He turns the box over in his big hand, rings glinting. “We’d better get two. Just in case.”

Your skin feels the impression of his palm even after he lets go, like a Polaroid in rapid reverse as he grabs a second box, warmth fading fast from your skin. “I don’t think- I mean, that’s not how they work, I should probably find a more permanent sol-”

“Just for the weekend.” His eyes are back on you now, self-satisfied smirk giving way to something darker, more intense. “Yeah?”

A shiver casts goosebumps down the length of your body. He’s goddamn toying with you, in the middle of a fucking CVS. Despite your flare of irritation, you nod, voice nearly a croak as you echo, “Yeah.”

The grin lights up his face again. “Good girl.”

Eddie doesn’t give you time to react to this (verbally, anyways- your cunt is most certainly responding to the praise despite your best efforts to remain unaffected), using one large hand to hold both boxes and another to press at the small of your back, leading you down the aisle.

Truthfully, you’re grateful for the help (regardless of his dominance-based tendencies that don’t usually get you this easy); based on the ringing in your ears, you’re doubtful of your own ability to navigate the maze of aisles.

Eddie walks you both to the front register, and you watch as if outside of your own body while the cashier scans the barcodes and Eddie swipes his card.

He pockets the receipt, slides a finger through the handles of the plastic bag, and holds it out between your bodies. Right in front of the goddamn cashier.

”For you.”

This brings you back to yourself, a bit, mortification giving way to annoyance (a much more useful emotion in this scenario), and you snatch it to your chest. It’s your turn to grab Eddie’s elbow, half-dragging him towards the exit.

“Come again soon,” the cashier calls, still in monotone.

So close. You’re less than a yard away from the sliding glass doors that would have swallowed Eddie’s reply- but as it stands, he gets in one last cheerful wave, an award-winning, dimple-charmed smile to match his bright response.

“She will!”

Damn him. You give a final tug and you’re both out in the parking lot, glass doors closing automatically with a whoosh behind you, cool night air kissing at your cheeks.

”Seriously?” You’re mature enough to recognize that your anger is misplaced, adrenaline-fueled, but that doesn’t stop you from whirling on Eddie, giving his shoulder a sharp shove that (unfortunately, tantalizingly) doesn’t move him an inch. “I can never return to this fucking store. Thanks for that.”

Eddie really doesn’t help his case, grin turned shit-eating as he rustles through his various pockets for his pack of cigarettes- “Careful, sweetheart- you know how hot and bothered I get when you’re mad.”

”Unbelievable.” You turn on a swift heel, slipping the bag loops up your arm to dig for your keys. “You just got me blacklisted from our local drugstore and you don’t even care.”

There’s the snick of a lighter behind you, while your car a few spaces down chirrups and blinks in response to the furious press of your fob’s unlock button.

Eddie chuckles, sardonic and unsympathetic. “Too bad this is the only CVS in the whole world. I think you’ll live, princess.”

Ignoring this, you stomp towards your car, petulant, bag rustling; the door is half-open when Eddie calls, “So, are you coming over tonight, or what?”

“Obviously!”

The door slams with more force than you intend, sound ricocheting across the lot.

From the respite of your tinted windows, you watch as a streetlamp-haloed Eddie takes a drag from a cigarette, smoke drifting thick around a hazy visage of the hottest man alive. (Maybe you’re a touch biased. But your opinion is based on personal accounts, so fuck the naysayers.)

He tips his head back to look at the stars, pale column of throat illuminated- with a flush of realization, you scoff. He’s putting on a show for you.

Two can play, you think, driving your seatbelt into place with a click. But first I’m gonna have to make a stop at home. Namely for new undies.

[ohcaptains]

as long as it takes.

pairing. abby anderson x female! reader

synopsis. Abby’s generous with her love. She gives, and seldom takes. It’s why she takes her time with you. Why she slowly works you over, dragging you to your eventual release as if she has all the time in the world. Though this time, it’s taking far too long.

an. based off of this request. pls like, reblog and comment. i appreciate it endlessly<3

warnings. 18+. minors dni with this fic & my blog. abby manhandles you (hand on jaw -- not choking), references to anxiety and stress, crying, assplay?...assplay (blink and you’ll miss it) fingering...squirting...

You’re all too aware of the clock on Abby’s bedside table.

The ticking fuels your anxiety, and you glare at the bright red numbers, seeing that it’s been about half an hour. Abby usually got you there in just under ten.

Her record was three. Two and a half, if you minus the time it took to get your pants off.

Fuck. Okay. Ignore the clock. Just focus on Abby.

You huff, turning away from the box and sliding your palm into Abby’s loose mousy blonde hair. She hums, tightening her grip on your spread thighs. 

The echo of the sound makes your belly flutter, and your breathing hitches when she swirls her tongue around your clit again, hitting the edge of the nerve.

Okay, yeah, this is good. Abby is good. Good doesn’t even cover it. She’d had a lot of practice – had you strewn out on her bed like this too many times to count.

She flattens her tongue and swipes it through your folds, broad and unafraid, and the spit from her mouth dribbles down your thighs, pooling onto the sheets.

It was slow and sloppy yet tinged with a desperate edge – just how you liked it. So why was it taking so long? The pleasure is there, but it’s distant, hidden behind the swirl of thoughts that are blocking you from reaching your high.

Abby hasn’t complained once.

Realistically, you know she wouldn’t. Or if she did, it would be in jest, but all you can think about is that maybe Abby wants to stop. Maybe, Abby wants to just get this over with. But she wouldn’t be going this slow if she wanted to…what if she’s just tired? Guilt washes over you, thick and unwavering. You frown at her ceiling, whimpering in frustration more than desire.

Snap out of it, you tell yourself, breathing deeply and closing your eyes.

You try and block out everything but Abby – focus on the sensation of her nose pushing into your clit, her tongue darting over your puffy hole. She circles her tongue around your clit again, stroking long and slow, and you stutter her name, hips bucking up an inch.

Your thighs push at her hands, desperate to clench around her head, but she tenses her muscular arms, keeping your legs spread open. You whimper, trying to fidget, and Abby hums a laugh at you.

“That’s it, baby,” she mumbles, her voice deep and coated in desire, “take it.”

Your fingers tighten in her hair, your body going taut as Abby sucks at your clit, and the familiar wave of pleasure finds you. “Please – fuck,” you moan, tone high pitch and desperate. You turn your head to the side, back arching, trying to grind against her mouth.

“Just – “you choke, clenching tight, “Rightthererightthererightthere,” you whisper all at once, the rush threatening to spill, and you briefly think, finally.

Fucking finally.

It’s been about 45 minutes now, nearly took an hour. There’s a part of you that feels bad. A part of you that wants to shy away and apologise because It’s obscene. It’s embarrassing, really, it’s never happened before, and it’s – it’s gone. It’s gone.

“No,” you whisper. “Fuck,” you curse, shaking your head, trying to get it back. Trying to focus, but your brain has sabotaged your body once again, your high fluttering away from you.

“Shit,” you huff, loosening your fingers in your girlfriend’s hair.

Abby looks up in understanding. She places a kiss on the inside of your thigh. Her comforting voice finds you. “Just gimmie a minute, and I’ll try again.”

She sits back, and the warm light of her bedroom illuminates the slick that’s coating her chin and cheeks. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and rolls her neck and jaw. The ache between your thighs slowly begins to fade, even as you take in her disheveled state.

Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, kinky from her signature braid and a little frizzy from your wandering fingers. There’s a pink flush to her freckled cheeks, and her lips are swollen and wet. She licks them. At some point in the last 45 minutes, she’d taken her shirt off, and is now topless. She mindlessly rubs her chest, smoothing her fingers over the top of her breasts.

You lazily look up at her, naked from the waist down. The top half is covered with Abby’s loose-fitting tank, and the wide arm holes don’t leave much to the imagination.

“’ ’m sorry, Abs,” you sigh, “It’s not happening.”

But your girlfriend ignores you, too busy reaching her arms up and stretching her thick muscles out. She drops her arms and holds onto the dips of her neck, rolling her head around. The position lets you see the wide bulge of her muscles, covered in freckles and a light sheen of sweat.

“It takes as long as it takes,” she says nonchalantly. The bed dips as she drops between your legs again, “just gimmie another minute, and I’ll get us there.”

She goes to shove her arms under your thighs again, but you cringe away from her, shaking your head.

“It’s been ages already. I’m just…in my head.” She laughs, “Well get out of it.”

She’s joking, but it makes a lump form in your throat.

You look down at her, your pretty, desperate girlfriend, so eager to make you come that she’s willing to spend nearly hours trying to get you there. You try and swallow the lump down, but it won’t budge, and you let out a shaky breath, trying to stop the tears threatening to spill.

Abby hears the change in your breathing and looks up.

“Babe?” “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you splutter, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m being silly.” “Oh, sweetheart.”

She says the endearment so softly, that all of your bottled-up feelings come rushing back at once, and you hiccup a sob. You reach up and cover your face with your hands, tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You’ve been so stressed recently, anxious about a month-long upcoming supply run that you’d helped plan. Abby was leading the charge. Everyone was putting so much trust in you, and it was incredibly overwhelming. No wonder your brain was pulling you every which way.

“Ugh,” you groan, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna cry, I’m just –” you sniffle, and Abby tugs your hands away, holding them in her large palms. Her inner brows are slanted, concern marring her features.

“It’s okay,” Abby tries to soothe, knowing the source of your stress. Usually, her words would bring you comfort. But this time, there’s too much to soothe. “It’s not,” you sob, and Abby sighs. “I know, but stressing about it isn’t going to help.”

Annoyance floods through you, “I know that!” you huff.

The force of your near shout echoes throughout the room, and Abby flinches, jaw tensing.

Your eyes go wide at her sudden clip demeanour. “’ ’m sorry,” you quickly whisper, lip wobbling. Another tear slides down your cheek, and you furiously wipe it away, “’ ’m sorry,” you say again, voice breaking. Abby’s features slowly soften as you apologise for the third time, “’ ’m sorry for being loud, m’ just frustrated.”

“I know,” she coos. The corners of her lips lower. “I know baby, come here.” She tugs your hands forward, pulling them around her neck, and you reach into her, cuddling into her large frame as she twists, laying back on your shared bed. Her wide hands come up under your shirt, rubbing your back, coaxing you to relax your entire weight into her. You nuzzle the side of her head.

“’ ’m sorry,” you sniff, and she kisses the side of your head. “I’m trying really hard to concentrate and it just…slips away from me.” “These things happen, baby,” she whispers, “We Just gotta stop the distractions.”

Abby continues rubbing your back.

Her wide palm drags up the expanse of your back, calloused fingers from years of training rough, but soothing. Her loose hair smells of her vanilla shampoo still, with a hint of smoke and rainwater from being caught out in the woods when it poured earlier.

Her hand continues its languid rhythm, and you nuzzle deeper into her neck, sighing in contentment.

You feel yourself slowly drifting off, losing all sense of reality, until you blearily come to as her hand trails lower, fingertips smoothing over your ass. You don’t think much of it, until she takes a handful and tugs, hitching your crotch up, grinding it against her sweatpants.

“Abby,” you whisper, sound muffled by her neck.

She hums in response, massaging your ass in her wide palm. It’s sort of comforting, but you sense she’s not doing it in that regard, especially as she grips tight, revealing your damp folds to the cool air. You whisper her name again, and she smirks when she hears your sharp inhale.

Abby continues playing with you.

Not really touching but touching all the same. At some point, your fingers move, and you flatten your hand on her chest, just below her shoulder. “Abs,” you voice. She pushes her mouth against the side of your head, “mm?” she sounds. “’ s’not gonna work,” you whisper, already doubting yourself.

Abby tuts, “Not if you keep on thinking like that,” she taps your thigh, “leg up.”

With a huff, you go to move, but Abby gets impatient and tugs it up anyway, pressing your knee into the mattress by her waist. The position leaves you exposed, and anyone walking in right now would see Abby Anderson’s hand trailing over your ass, fingers dangerously close to your damp folds.

She slides the width of her heavy hand between your cheeks, the ball of her palm pushing there, and you jolt, sighing into her neck.

Abby’s fingers move further, pressing against your pussy, and your slick makes her fingers slip, forcing them between your damp folds. Your nerves short circuit. Heat floods between your thighs once again, and you stutter, “F-Fuck, Abby.”

“Mm,” she hums again, cradling your shoulders with her spare arm.

She takes your hair, speaking against the side of your head. The words are muffled, but you make out, still so wet, baby, as she drags her long fingers through your used pussy, fingers sliding over your swollen hole.

You mewl into her neck, clawing at her shoulder.

She doesn’t ask how you want it.

In fact, she’s so lazy with it, so lethargic and slow, that it’s as if it’s not happening at all.

There’s no real big scene, and no real direction to her movement, either.

She just plays with you, sliding her thick fingers through your folds, back and forth, the ball of her palm dragging over your asshole, and fuck, it’s so openly dirty that you have to hide.

Have to push your face into her neck and moan, trying to conceal how good it feels. Abby doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tease you like she usually does.

At some point, she stuffs her thick fingers against your clit and drags, and you gasp her name, grinding back into her hand. It swells beneath her fingers, but she doesn’t pay it that much attention. It’s as if she’d touched it by accident, didn’t really mean to, because she moves away, instead choosing to push her cupped fingers against your entrance – not inside, just across – and you feel your slick coat her, feel it spread over abs.

You go quiet. No noise, just the stutter of your breath against her neck.

Again, Abby doesn’t say anything. No teasing. No, like that? No, ask nicely and I’ll fuck you with them.

The frustration is still there, but it’s directed at her.

Pressure builds behind your clit, and you want more. Want it quicker than this, so you push back. Try and match her rhythm by rolling your hips. If you catch her fingers at just the right angle, she’ll push against your clit, you’re sure of it.

You imagine yourself spread open on top of her, grinding your cunt back into her hand, the ball of her palm pressing between your ass cheeks, and you’re embarrassed again.

This time, at how much you want it.

Wanna come, wanna come, you whisper into her neck, rolling your hips up. Your clit drags against her abs, and you clutch her shoulder. “Wanna come, please,” you whine pathetically, pussy clenching around nothing.

She’s got you whining and begging, and she’s said fuck all.

Abby’s managed to subdue you, with her quiet, yet commanding aura. She’s got you laying on her, not griping you all that tightly -- you could move if you wanted to, and yet, it’s as if you can’t.

She’s letting you use her.

Her fingers accidentally hit your clit again and your eyes roll back, mouth opening, and you moan into her neck, grinding faster, pussy dragging against the thick of her fingers, moving, fingers scratching into her shoulders, and you’re whimpering her name, a constant drabble, Abby, Abby, Abby, you go, and you’ve soaked her chest, so wet that you’re slipping over her fingers, rutting, drooling her name, saying, please, please please fuck fuck fuck – it’s there, and --

She senses you slip. Senses you lose it, the whimpers suddenly annoyed and irritated. Abby slides a hand under your chin, and knocks it up, clasping her fingers over your cheeks. She makes you face her, forehead pressing against yours, blue eyes wide and intense.

“Come back to me,” she orders.

Her voice catches your attention, loud and commanding in the silent room.

You clutch her broad shoulders, there, you’re there, until your belly bottoms out, and you’re pouting. “Abby,” you sigh, frustrated, eyes closing, and she shakes her head, “No, don’t look away.”

She’s close enough that your noses touch.

“Look at me,” she commands, and you do. How could you not? A warm, comforting rush consumes you. Abby’s everywhere. She’s there. Right there. Eyes bore a hole into your soul as she whispers, “Keep your eyes on me.”

And you keep your eyes on her as she pushes two fingers inside of you, stuffing you, and you hear how wet you are. You gasp at the sudden pressure. The angle gives her easy access to the spongy part inside of you that makes you go docile. She curls her fingers and presses against it. Your eyes roll back, pussy squelching around her thick fingers.

“’ m’ my god, Abby,” you moan, suddenly drunk on her. The clutch she’s got on your chin loosens a little, but she still keeps your forehead pressed against her, fingers pressed tight in your cunt. “That feels so fucking good,” you sob, clenching down. The pressure pushes up at the back of your clit, too. You hold the hand she’s got on your jaw, swallowing, and trying to settle your quickened breathing. Abby bumps your nose with hers.

“Look at me, baby.”

She whispers it, voice strained. Blearily, you blink down at her. Her blue eyes look fucked out – alive.

“No one here but me. No thoughts but me, okay?” she asks, but it’s not a question. She does ask one, though, cocks her head to the side, teasing glimmer in her eyes as she whispers, “What’s my name?”

Her fingers slide out of your pussy, then plunge back inside. You moan, slick pouring over her digits. Abby tightens her grip on your chin, “name.” “Ab-Abby.”

She smiles, proud of you. “’ s’right baby, you keep thinking that.” She drags her mouth to your forehead, kissing quickly, before pressing a messy, wet one to your lips, mumbling, “Keep thinking about me,” then she drags her fingers out of your cunt again, pushing them in and up as she mutters, “Keep thinking about me while I do my fucking job.”

Her words make you sob.

Nearly say thank you, then you can’t say anything at all, as she fucks her fingers into you. You grind your clit into her abs, delirious from the pleasure. The tension coils again – was never far away -- swirling in your belly and pooling in your lower back.

Abby doesn’t let you run from it. Doesn’t let you drift. Her hand continues to be locked around your jaw, and the pressure is constant, reassuring, keeping you tethered to her.

She speeds up, and you chase her fingers, letting out a drawn-out moan. The ball of her palm presses into your ass again, and you clench tight, losing composure.

“Fuck,” you sob, eyes rolling back. Your nails drag over her shoulders, and you let out a pitiful sob as you whimper, “’ 'm gonna come Abs,”

As if on cue, she drops your chin, and lets you press your face into her neck.

She drags the free hand between your bodies, stuffing her hand against your clit while the other fucks up into you. The sudden pressure there makes you see stars, and you choke out her name as your body moves, grinding your clit into her hand.

Your legs are shaking, your heart thumping against your chest, and your orgasm is so close, that suddenly, you’re frightened it’ll slip away again.

“Abby— “you sob again, her name a shaky cry into her neck. You clutch the side of her throat, grinding into her hand. “Please,” you gasp, “please it’s so close, please.”

“Shh,” she whispers into the shell of your ear. “Take it like a good girl.”

All at once, it hits you, blindsides you – grabs and pulls you under.

You go tight. Body locks up -- clenches tight around Abby’s fingers, and she lets out a depraved moan of her own, coaxing you through it.

That’s my girl, that’s my pretty girl, she whispers, tone strained and taut. Her words knock you over the edge, and you sob her name, pussy convulsing, gushing over her hand.

“’m’mygod my god, Abby, so good – so fuckin,” you whimper, riding out your orgasm against her chest and hand.

Your pussy soaks her, wet enough that you hear her fucking her fingers up and out, walls fluttering around her thick fingers as she drags your orgasm out of you. Your legs shake, fingers clench tight around her shoulders as it goes and goes and goes, nerves shot, and you yelp as the sensitivity suddenly hits.

You shove a hand between you to grab Abby’s wrist, trembling, and Abby stops, wet fingers lax in your grip.

The room fills with your laboured breathing. Abby’s chest pushes in and out, the adrenaline leaking from her body as you breathe deep into her neck. Your heart begins to slow, the ache between your thighs slowly dispelling, and it’s then that you whisper, “fucking finally,” into her neck.

Abby laughs. You pull back to see her smiling face, and she’s flushed red, sweat beading over her hairline. “You – “she starts, breathless. She leans back into the pillows, rubbing her forehead. “that was really fucking hot.”

You beam from it, sitting up straighter. Lazily, you glance between the pair of you, and her abs are slick from you, the crotch on her sweatpants damp, too.

“You see how easy that was?” she jokes, grabbing your attention. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffing. “You gotta clean me up, baby,” she sighs, rolling her neck, “I can’t move my arms.”

ao3. more abby. ko-fi. 

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

“The amount of times this man jacked off to the thought of you before you were even together is way more than he'll ever admit to.”

^

Ok… hear me out… I saw you headcannons him to also be into semi-public sex… do you think he’d find any arousal in like the risk of being caught?

Cause i’ve had this horrid, maybe even devilish idea at what would happen if the reader, at this stage prior to them dating, walked in on him masterbating to them? or maybe just hearing him do it beyond his door and then knocking?

Oh anon, you just unlocked a little secret kink of mine...

Imagine you're walking down the hall where Lucifer's room is located, and all of a sudden you hear some odd sounds emanating from his room. You tentatively walk over and press your ear to his door. It sounds like a lot of heavy breathing. But then...you hear your name. What? How did he know I was here? you think. You open the door quietly, a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. But what you see from the small crack in the door stops you dead in your tracks.

Lucifer, the great ruler of Hell, was propped up against the obscene amount of pillows on his bed with his pants pooled at his ankles and dick in his hand. His eyes were shut, he didn't see you catch him in this extremely vulnerable state. Then it clicked in your head...he was masturbating...to you. Everything in your brain was telling you to shut that door and get out of there as fast as you could. But your body refused to react, you remained motionless. You were completely entranced by the scene before you. You watched as Lucifer stroked his cock, mumbling a number of curse words with your name leaving his lips more times than you could count.

You couldn't believe this. Lucifer felt this way about you? How? Why? It was really beyond your comprehension. You felt heat pool in your stomach at the sight of him becoming undone at the mere thought of you. The tiniest bit of you wanted to push open that door and give him what he really desired. But before you even begin to think about acting on your carnal instincts, you watched Lucifer's hips thrust up as he came all over his hand. His breathing was labored, you watched him throw his arm over his eyes, almost in shame. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" you heard him ask. "Why am I doing this?! Stop being a coward and just tell her how you feel!"

A small gasp left your lips. Fuck. Lucifer's head shot up immediately, his panicked eyes fixating on the door. You didn't even close it behind you as you took off sprinting down the hall, praying to anyone who could hear you that he didn't see you.