#i write one flash fic every day

[hashioki7]

Migraine

Listening to the rain hitting the roof, Laura lay down on the sofa. The rain, which had started around noon, showed no signs of stopping even as night fell. Despite it being spring, the air felt damp and cold, chilling her to the bone.

Rainy days always put her in a bad mood. Especially cold, rainy days like today.

On top of that, it had been chaotic at the clinic all day. Pets in critical condition kept being rushed in one after another, and by evening, when she was finally freed from assisting Dr. Johnson, her shoulders felt heavy, and her head throbbed as if being squeezed.

Resting her head on a cushion, she let out a weak sigh. Gently placing her hand on her temple, she felt her pulse throbbing beneath her fingers. It was definitely a migraine.

She had just taken medication for it. Moving around too much during a migraine could make her feel nauseous, so she needed to stay still. She knew she should go to bed and rest, but she didn't have the energy for that. Laura closed her eyes, resting her head on the cushion.

Feeling a gentle stroke on her forehead, Laura opened her eyes. Travis was peering down at her with a worried expression, still dressed in his sheriff's uniform.

"Are you okay?"

"My head is pounding. I think it's the change in atmospheric pressure… and the clinic was busy all day."

"Can you eat anything?"

"I don't really have an appetite right now…"

Travis's thick eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"You should rest here for a while."

"Thank you. And you should change out of your uniform, too."

After a hesitant sigh, Travis's footsteps receded. But not long after, he returned, carrying a blanket and a steaming mug.

"It's not good to let your body get cold."

Travis gently supported her back and lifted her up. Carefully spreading the blanket over her knees, he handed her the mug.

"I made hot milk for you. Even if you don't have an appetite, it's better to have something."

Travis looked at Laura with concern, still in his uniform. Laura couldn't help but smile. Her temples were still throbbing, and she felt queasy, but she didn't feel too bad.

"…Thank you, Travis."

"Is there anything else you need?"

"Well… then… can you sit next to me and hold my hand? And then kiss me. And, take me to bed after that."

Travis raised an eyebrow as if caught off guard, then blinked. But quickly smiling broadly, he sat down next to Laura, gently holding her hand.

"Yes, Ma'am."

[psychopomp-namine]

cheng weimin and shao yuanyuan abandoning cheng xiaoshi at the tender age of 8 years old gets even more fucked up when you think about how they know about the photo diving ability and that bahati is a school related to abilities

like okay listen. one of you has the ability to go back in time by clapping your hands while looking at a photo. presumably you know that abilities are passed on to children. they can activate at any time, perhaps during traumatic moments like with the twins. one of you went to teach at a school for superpowered kids so presumably you know how this works.

and you think you can just abandon a kid with unactivated powers?? leave him with trauma ripe for awakening abilities? what if it wasn't the bridon photo that triggered it huh? what if cheng xiaoshi, at the tender age of 8, cried so hard wondering about his parents and then he accidentally claps himself into a random photo (IN A PHOTO STUDIO! A SHOP ABOUT PHOTOS!! WHERE HE LIVES!!!) with no one to guide him? what if he gets stuck there??? as a kid???

like okay yeah lu guang discovered his ability at 7 years old but apparently someone was there to help him. and also his ability doesn't like, harm him physically. he's not possessing someone or anything. so we're all just lucky cheng xiaoshi never discovered his powers until he was an adult because like. if he discovered that as a kid, lonely as he was?? he'd be so fucked. oh my god. just thinking about it gets me heated like what the fuck cheng weimin. shao yuanyuan. what the fuck. what if your 8 year old kid with abandonment issues got stuck possessing some random person and he doesn't know what's happening. he doesn't know anything. his parents left him and he's not even himself anymore and he's not home and how does he fix this, how does he go back. the horror of it all.

[adrift-in-thyme]

How are you all out here writing chapters for every day of whumptober? Some of the prompts are so similar I'll be part of the way through a prompt fill and realise "oh, that actually fits this other day way better!" And then I have nothing for the prompt I'm meant to be working on 😭

They really are similar aren’t they?! I’ve done that multiple times. There are still some I’ve got plotted out for one day that I’m staring at going “hmm but it could fit this day’s prompts too…”

So far, I’m just pairing the fics up with whatever prompt they fit well enough that also is the closest to today’s date lol. Even if they would fit another day better I would rather have more time to work

[dilf-docs]

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much ����

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: prev | masterlist | next

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora / *i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

[sinfulspencer]

Flashed

Prompt: It’s too hot to wear clothes at home, so Reader walks around in her underwear. Spencer loses his train of thoughts at the sight.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+)

Warnings: light dom/sub dynamic (Dom!Spencer, Sub!Reader if you squint), dirty talking, hair pulling, light impact play, breeding kink, unprotected sex 

Words: 5.0k

A.N.: Horny Spencer. That’s it. Also, this is the first official Spencer Reid fic I have written since last year. It felt so good to write for him again. Written this with a prompt from the Summer Sunshine challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins. Thank you to @reidselle and @drgenius-reid for beta-reading this fic!

MASTERLIST. REQUEST GUIDELINES. TAGLIST FORM.

When Spencer asked you to move in with him at the end of the year, he was ready to face every challenge that life would throw at him. The first fights over laundry, the first fight over whoever almost set the house on fire, the first fights over the person that was supposed to remake the bed before going to work, the first fights over whoever left the TV on before going to bed… 

He was prepared for everything.

Spencer learned to cook (he wasn’t good at it, but he knew how to turn on the stove and boil some water, at least). He learned how to do laundry. He learned how to clean the floors without you falling on your own ass because he forgot to tell you that the ground was wet. 

But Spencer wasn’t ready for the summer. 

You moved in with him during the fall season, when it was still cold outside, and it was time to drink hot chocolate in front of the fireplace. You moved in with him when you were still wearing a winter jacket, leather boots and a scarf around your neck. You moved in when the wind was so cold that you could barely keep the window slightly opened in the bathroom after taking a shower to let the steam go out. 

Spencer wasn’t fucking ready for summer.

The hot weather was already taking a toll on his poor body and he hated it. Spencer despised the high temperatures because they made him sweat like a pig and he hated, more than anything, the feel of sweat under his armpits or behind his knees. 

Normally, before you moved in, Spencer would spend the whole time at home completely naked or wearing only underwear. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but it happened quite a lot. 

What was the problem, then?

Spencer used to walk around in his apartment in his underwear when he was alone, but you’re doing it while he’s in the house. He knew you paced around the house that way because you felt comfortable, but still. He was a stupid man, with hormones that rushed through his body like crazy.

You walked around your shared apartment with nothing on but a pair of panties that Spencer always wanted to rip off you and a stupid bra that made your breasts look even more delicious. 

And the sight had started to take a toll on Spencer for the worst. He was constantly horny, making it difficult for him to focus on simple tasks such as cleaning the whole apartment or doing laundry. 

He woke up one day and you already were parading yourself in your underwear, which made his morning wood even more difficult to take care of. He came home that same night and you were still in your underwear, which led him to forget he was supposed to grab some dinner with Luke because he ended up taking you against the bedroom door.

Spencer didn’t want you to wear clothes if you were too hot, but he also needed to learn how to keep his hands to himself whenever he saw an inch of your naked skin. He felt like a teenager, always eager to touch and ravish what belonged to him.

When Spencer tried to explain the situation to Luke, his colleague laughed right in his face. At first, Spencer was offended. 

‘Why are you complaining about seeing your girlfriend’s tits? You should be happy she feels comfortable around you.’

And Spencer was happy; he truly was. He was proud to know he made you feel good about yourself and allowed you to walk around the house almost naked, but he also felt like an idiot for getting a boner whenever he thought about coming home and knowing he’d find you dressed like that. 

Or better, undressed. 

That night, Spencer couldn’t wait to get home and tell you that he had a birthday party to attend next week. It was Penelope’s birthday and, as every year for the past ten, she had an entire day planned for her and her friends from work. There would be a huge pool party in a small agritourism she rented for the day, followed by a barbecue and a whole garden to explore. 

Spencer was excited to bring you there. 

You had been dating for over a year now and you couldn’t meet his co-workers and friends because you always had meetings to attend, or shifts that were incompatible with the nights the team hung out all together. 

“Y/N?” Spencer called out when he entered his apartment. 

The lights in the kitchen were on and he could hear you humming to a song blasting from the speakers. 

He dropped his bag on the floor and followed the sound of your voice, only to find you in nothing but your underwear. Again. You had your back turned and were swaying your hips to the rhythm of the music, making Spencer smile at the sight. Though the music was loud and almost hurt his ears, he was willing to tolerate the loud volume if it meant he could observe you in your element for hours on end. 

He was so enamoured with you even though you weren’t doing anything in particular. He fell harder for you everyday just watching you exist, breathe and live on your own.

But of course, the romantic thoughts in his head abruptly stopped when you felt his presence in the room and you screamed.

“Fuck! What the fuck, Spencer?!”

He didn’t want to laugh at your terrified expression, but a chuckle fell from his lips. 

“Did I scare you?”

You roll your eyes, dropping your apron on the counter. “No. I screamed because I was learning how to fry scream. Fuck yes, you scared me.”

Spencer walked to the other side of the kitchen counter and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight hug. You smelled like apples and he could see them in the corner of his eyes, all peeled up. 

“How was work? Did you get your stuff done?” you asked

Spencer nodded his head, kissing your temple without losing his grip on you. “Yes. I’m exhausted, though. I couldn’t wait to get home so I could relax and enjoy some time with you.”

You leaned forward, caressing his soft curls. “I bet you’re tired. You’ve been awake since five in the morning.”

As Spencer left the kitchen to get changed, he heard the music turning back on and he smiled. Your footsteps echoed in the room, and he smiled because he knew you were dancing to your favourite songs again. But still, there was a big problem that needed to be solved at that instant. 

You were still in your underwear and of course, he had noticed that. How couldn’t he? 

Spencer saw you for less than three minutes and yet, the bulge in his trousers made it difficult for him to think straight. He didn’t know how it was possible for you to turn him on that much, but you did and it was starting to make things harder for him.

If Spencer brought you to Penelope's birthday party, you were definitely going to wear a bikini. And a bikini is basically the same thing as your underwear… which meant one thing.

“Oh no.”

“Are you talking to me?”

Spencer turned around, attempting to cover the issue between his thighs with the jacket he brought to work that morning. 

“Uh, no love. No, I was just thinking about… something.”

“Care to share?” you asked with an innocent smile.

Spencer knew that smile was actually innocent; you had no ill intentions, but his brain was starting to play games with him. He was so turned on that Spencer thought every little microexpression on your face and every move you made were just actions to tease him and work him up. 

They were not. Or maybe they were.

“Sorry, uh… Yeah. Penelope invited me to her birthday party this Saturday.”

Your face enlightened at his words. “Oh! That’s so nice!”

“She asked me to bring you, too.” 

“I don’t like the tone you just used. If you don’t want to bring me, that’s…”

Spencer widened his eyes, realising that his words might’ve sounded rude. “No! I’m excited to let you meet all of my friends and co-workers, truly.”

“Then, what is it? I know there’s something that bothers you.”

You sat on the bed with your legs crossed, waiting for Spencer to continue but, he didn’t dare to move. If he placed his jacket on the bed, you would’ve noticed the painful tent in his trousers. If he didn’t move, you would’ve asked him why he wasn’t taking off his clothes and putting on more comfortable ones.

Too many thoughts were running wild through Spencer’s brain and it was difficult for him to gather them all, cast aside the naughty ones and focus on the more normal ones. 

It was tough not to stare at the curves of your breasts and how he could see the shadow of your nipples hidden behind the fabric of your bra. He has spent so many hours just licking and sucking your skin around your breasts, that he can still taste you on his tongue if he focuses hard enough. 

“Penelope has rented a whole place for all of us.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Sounds really nice. Is there a swimming pool involved? Is that why you’re worried?”

Spencer bit his bottom lip, forcing himself not to stare at the way your hair fell over your shoulders and covered the laces of your bra. A few days ago, he used his teeth to remove that same bra. It was a struggle not to think about that night, and he pathetically failed.

“I’m sure the place she rented is clean and…”

As you started to speak and comfort Spencer over his fear of germs, his mind wandered elsewhere. You moved to the centre of the bed to be closer to him and laid on it, with your arms behind your head and your body all stretched out. 

Your bra barely covered your full breasts and your thighs were much more visible, with all the little bruises still peppering your skin. The same bruises he caused two days before. The same bruises you begged him to create on. 

Spencer’s brain was starting to get even foggier. 

“Are you even listening to me, love?” 

You snapped your fingers in front of his face and Spencer dropped the jacket on the floor, quickly bending over to pick it up. Of course, he was listening to you, but he was just… thinking about something else while you were talking. 

“Hm.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Spencer turned away from you and looked down, frowning. His bulge was still there and getting more painful, but how in the world was he going to face you and ask you if you could help him out? He knew you would, in a heartbeat, but he felt miserable. 

How could he ask you to stop walking around his place in nothing but your underwear when he wanted to worship your body every hour of every day? How could he deny himself the sight of your stunning body? 

His eyes went straight to your breasts and of course, you noticed it. 

“Spencer!”

“Hm? What’s up?”

“My God.” - you started to say, sitting up on the bed - “You’re distracted! You can’t even finish a sentence or listen to me.”

Spencer hummed again, forcing his eyes to stay on your face. Unfortunately, they slipped down to your breasts once again - but that time, Spencer didn’t deny it. How could he? He had been so obvious since he arrived home, but you thought to yourself that maybe you were imagining things.

Or you were too horny, but you weren’t. He was. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“You’ve been staring at my breasts since you saw me in the kitchen.” you stated

Spencer sighed, turning his back on you again. “I’m sorry. They’re distracting.”

“Look at me, love.”

He lingered for a few seconds, covering his face with both hands. He didn’t want to turn around because he knew you would’ve teased him for hours on end, but it truly wasn’t his fault. It was his brain that tricked him into staring at your boobs and remembering all the things he did to you the night before and all the other days. 

It wasn’t his fault he had an eidetic memory and he could replay all your moments of intimacy together each time he wanted. How you looked when he kissed your neck, how you moaned when his tongue swirled around your nipples…

“You can look at them whenever you want, you know.” - you tapped his shoulder, kneeling behind him on the bed - “I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I?”

“That’s not the point, Y/N.” - Spencer replied, forcing himself to turn around - “You’re so distracting, I can barely think when you’re there… dressed up like that.”

You raised your brows. “Do you want me to change?”

“No!” - he exclaimed, before clearing his throat - “I mean… maybe. I don’t know, but I can’t keep getting hard because you’re half-naked.”

“What’s wrong with being attracted to me, love?” you asked with your arms crossed.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know, but it’s hard to be around you when all I think about is how I want to just…” - he took a deep breath before shaking his head - “I need to behave, I’m sorry.”

There was a moment of silence where you pondered over his words. He seemed so miserable and all because he was so attracted to you that he could barely think, that he could barely remember that he had other things to do other than you. 

That felt incredibly hot. 

Leaning forward, you placed a hand on his hip. “I want to hear what you’re thinking about right now.”

Spencer shook his head, covering your hand with his. “It’s too early.”

“It’s never too early to make love to your partner, Spencer.”

You were right, he knew that, but he also knew that if he kissed you and took you right there, he would’ve spent the whole night just trying to do it over and over until you were too tired to move or to keep your eyes open. 

Spencer sighed and looked down at you. “You drive me crazy.”

“And what’s the harm in that, love?” you asked innocently 

He moved his hands under your neck and forced you to look at him, gripping your chin with his fingertips. You went quiet, trying to decipher the expression on his face, though the tight grip was already a good hint of what he was thinking about.  

“No harm.”

“Exactly, so… What’s stopping you?”

Spencer knew nothing was stopping him from pressing your body onto the mattress and pounding into you. He had every right to do so because he knew you wanted it as much as he did, but still. There was an issue to fix and he refused to let his hormones get in the way, once again. 

But maybe just this time, Spencer thought.

You leaned your head against his palm, and closed your eyes when his fingers brushed over your cheek. He could look at you for hours, admiring how you basked in the sweetness of his touch that you found so comforting. 

“Nothing’s stopping me.”

You sighed, running your hands over his chest. “Good.”

Spencer unbuckled his belt and the metal clanking of it falling onto the floor brought an eager smile to your lips. Of course you smiled, because you were about to get exactly what you wanted since he came home. 

Little minx, Spencer thought. 

“You don’t need to hold back from what you truly desire, Spencer.” 

He drank up your words like they were the sweetest honey and he sighed. You were right; he didn’t need to stop himself from putting his hands over you if you wanted to be touched as well, but still.

“If you want to rip my underwear off me, you can do it.” - you muttered, slowly opening the buttons of his shirt - “If you want to fuck me like this, while I’m almost naked and you’re still dressed, you can do it.”

Spencer watched as your skilled fingers pushed his shirt off his shoulder and sighed, because there was nothing else he could do or say at that moment. You had him wrapped around your tiny finger and you knew it, which was why he loved you so much. You could’ve snapped your fingers and he would’ve dropped to his knees for you. 

“I just.. I just need to have you. At all times.”

“You can.” - you replied with no hesitation, only firmness in your voice - “I am here for your pleasure. Always.”

Spencer released a long sigh. “I know. I’m so lucky.”

Pushing his trousers down his legs to reveal his soft skin, you looked up at him with your lips turned into a wicked grin. You could see the emotions rapidly changing behind those eyes: lust, frustration, love, annoyance and desire. That was exactly what you wanted: you craved to drive Spencer crazy and you needed him to lose his mind over you. 

It made you feel powerful.

“You’re so pretty when you’re desperate for me.” you said 

Spencer leaned into your touch when you reached out for his face. “So are you, princess.”

But the tender moment was gone as fast it came, because there was no time to be nice to one another. Spencer wanted to wreck you and you wanted him to do as he pleased; you wanted the pleasure to consume him, and so it did.

Spencer kissed you for the first time since he came home and, of course, he had no time to be nice. His tongue pushed into your mouth without warning, but you let it as you laid down on the bed with the man on top of you. The kiss expressed all the frustration that had built within him ever since he came home and found you in the kitchen, wiggling your ass to the music and singing at the top of your lungs. 

His teeth dug into the soft flesh of your bottom lip and you whined, almost tasting blood on your tongue. 

“Let me be rough tonight.”

You grabbed him by the chin, staring right into those honey-coloured eyes. “Perhaps I was not clear with my words a moment ago, Spencer. I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

Spencer groaned at your words and pushed any rational thought out of his mind, allowing the frustration and profound desire felt for you to drive him. His pupils were blown wide with unbridled lust making you shiver, bringing the heat between your thighs where you so desperately wanted to be touched. 

Spencer kissed your mouth before moving down to your throat, attacking it with bites and gentle licks that made you whimper. 

“I’m going to ravish you tonight, my princess.” - Spencer whispered to your ear, running his hands all over your breasts - “And you’re going to take my cock like the good girl I know you are for me, yeah?”

“Yes. Yes, love.”

He moved his hands to your face, kissing the tip of your nose. “Hands and knees.”

You scrambled to turn around, struggling to move as his arms didn’t give you as much space as you needed. Spencer, ever so helpful, pulled your hips up when you managed to roll on your tummy. 

“Good girl, that’s it.”

You could feel his cock against your ass when he leaned forward to bite your shoulder and you moaned, closing your eyes. His nails dug into the soft flesh of your back, dragging your panties down your thighs before throwing them on the floor. 

Spencer’s mouth wandered down your neck, leaving a trace of kisses that started from your right shoulder and went down to your ass. He nibbled at the soft skin right below it before biting down, hard enough to draw blood. You yelped at the feeling, but didn’t complain as your hands scratched the blanket. 

Spencer pulled away for a second and traced the small wound with the tip of his index, earning a hiss from you. It hurt, but you wanted it to hurt - you promised you’d bleed for him, and bleed you did. 

“Good girl. So pretty for me.” - Spencer whispered, but you were more focused on the sound of a bottle of lube being opened - “I’m sorry, I’m so impatient to have you. I wish we could take this slow, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay, I know you’re desperate.” - you mumbled, moaning softly when his fingers breached your entrance - “It’s fucking cold.”

He chuckled at your reaction, smearing the lube all over your already wet slit. “Oops”

When you were ready, Spencer found no resistance as he slowly pushed the tip of his cock inside of you. He watched the way your walls welcomed him in and revelled in the sweetness of your whimpers and whines when you felt him. Spencer waited, watching you as you struggled to stay still for him. 

“Please, just… Get inside, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh? Wanna take it all at once, my princess?” - Spencer asked, running his left hand through your hair - “Are you desperate for my cock? Then, fucking have it.”

In one hard thrust, Spencer bottomed out inside of you and you fell on the bed with your face in the pillow. You trembled when you finally felt every inch of his cock inside of you and you thought you were ready to fall off the edge in less than a minute. 

You were desperate for him every single time you had the chance to make love to him.

“Take it, princess. You wanted it and now you have it.”

Spencer watched you as you arched your back, tightening your grip on the bed sheets. A chorus of curses and moans flows from your lips as you try to get back on your knees, but his thrusts are too quick and harsh to let you get in position. So, again, you fell down with your face in the pillow. 

The pleasure quickly expanded through your body as Spencer never slowed down the pace of his thrusts, basking in the gentle sounds of your moans. His right hand travelled down to reach your ass, and before you felt it, you heard it - there was a brief moment of silence, followed by a loud smack and then a deep heat diffusing over your skin. 

It had been so long since he spanked you, but with that position, you couldn’t blame him.

The sensation heightened the pleasure within you. 

“Oh, fuck!”

Spencer moved both his hands on each side of your head and leaned forward, keeping his thrusts quick and regular. You could feel his body tense each time you tried to push back into him, to fuck yourself onto his cock. 

You were already close, desperate to ride that delicious end. 

“Please, more.” - you cried out again - “Please, I’m close.”

“Don’t you dare.” - he bit your earlobe - “Don’t you fucking dare come on my cock now.”

You whined at his order, not sure how you would be able to hold it and be a good girl for him. It wasn’t easy to hold an orgasm, especially if Spencer never stopped fucking into you with all the energy he had in his body. You were so close, you were right there but Spencer stopped his movements - and suddenly, you felt a warm tear slip down your cheek.

A single tear of frustration. 

Spencer forced you on your back, pushing you onto the mattress before sliding his cock back inside of you. 

“I want to see your pretty face when you come, princess.” - Spencer whispered, lifting your right leg and wrapping it around his own waist - “I want you to look at me as you come undone on my cock.”

His pace is as rough as before and you felt more tears spill from your eyes. Your hands quickly went behind his neck as you rolled your hips, a pathetic attempt at fucking yourself back onto his cock to feel more and more. 

You couldn’t form a coherent sentence. The only word that fell from your lips was a strained ‘yes’ that echoed in the room, encouraging Spencer to go harder and faster, to tear you down piece by piece.

And he looked fucking stunning as he did so. 

His lean body, his muscles were tense, a single strand of hair falling over his forehead and his tongue poking out in concentration… You wanted to get those details tattooed on your brain, on your body, every-fucking-where. 

“Such a good girl for me, huh? My pretty princess.” - Spencer whispered, looking down at you - “Always welcoming me with nothing on, knowing how crazy that makes me.”

Your lips opened slightly, more whimpers flowing from them. 

“Do you know how difficult it is to get out of here and not remember all the times I’ve fucked you against the door?” he said, his voice rough.

You shook your head, not sure if you understood what he said. 

“Fuck, you make me so horny. I fucking love your body.” - he mumbled, pressing his forehead to yours - “I always think about it and then I see dressed like that… It’s like you’re always begging me to bend you over and fuck your pretty cunt.”

You’ve always loved his dirty mouth, but that day it felt deliciously perfect. His thrusts were rough and faltering, which meant he was close to his orgasm too - you almost forgot you were close, totally enamoured by him and the way he spoke about you.  

“My slutty princess.”

You nodded with a smile, drunk on your lust for him. “All yours to use and destroy.”

You felt the pleasure built up again right behind your belly button and you knew you were close again. Spencer must’ve noticed it because he kept his pace quick, never changing the angle because he felt you clench hard around him each time he bottomed out. Your thighs were shaking around his waist and he could feel your heartbeat quickening under his fingertips. 

“My good girl.” - he mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment - “I can feel you’re close. Do you want to come on my cock, princess?”

He didn’t need a verbal answer, because soon your cries of pleasure were enough. You widened your eyes and threw your head back onto the pillow, crying out his name over and over as your nails dug into his shoulders. He could feel his skin breaking under your nails but he didn’t care. 

Spencer was too enamoured with you to realise how painful your grip was. 

“That’s it, gorgeous. You did so well.” he rewarded you with a kiss on the lips 

You barely felt it, drunk on the pleasure that he fed you. Your whole body was shuddering as Spencer helped you ride out your orgasm, but the more he thrusted, the more pain you felt stabbing you. You didn’t complain, though. 

You wanted it, you needed it and so did he. 

“Does this pretty princess want my cum deep inside of her, hm?” Spencer asked

You weren’t sure he heard you, but you managed to choke out: “Yes. Please, please, fucking do it. Please.”

A few thrusts later, Spencer granted you your wish. His warmth flooded you from the inside as he watched the way his body become one with yours, shivering with pleasure. His right hand pressed down hard below your belly button and you winced, feeling his seed run deep if that was even possible. 

It felt so incredibly good you could almost come again. 

“Ah, that felt fucking perfect.”

You closed your arms around his neck and caged him against your body, so that he wouldn’t be able to run away. Not that he wanted to, of course, but. 

Spencer didn’t move for at least five good minutes, struggling to catch his own breath while you stared at the bedroom ceiling with a grin on your face. You were deeply satisfied with yourself and you were sure Spencer was content, as well - though the conversation between you wasn’t over. 

You knew that not putting on clothes would’ve distracted him and maybe that was exactly why you never put them on when he was around in your shared apartment. It was fun to see him struggling between staring at your breasts or at your thighs, or forgetting that he had to hang out with his colleagues because he was too busy burying his face in your cunt or fucking you against a window. 

It felt good to be desired, and it felt even better knowing that it was the only thing Spencer was able to think about when he was away from you. 

“You have to stop walking around our place naked.”

You put a hand on his chest, gently pushing him upward. Spencer was still lying between your legs, but he was staring at you. 

“Naked? I am always wearing my underwear.” you stated 

Spencer bumped the tip of his nose against yours. “Which is dangerously distracting, Y/N.”

“Oh, you’re using my name in a conversation.”

“I’m being serious, princess. I can’t get a boner whenever I’m near you.” - he explained, pressing a kiss on your jaw - “Believe me, I appreciate the sight but… My brain needs some rest. And so does my penis.”

“Okay, alright. I’ll do my best to keep my clothes on.” - I decided to give in - “After six weeks of pure hell, I think you deserve a break.”

Spencer kissed your cheek, before biting it softly. “I appreciate it, my princess.”

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t do it occasionally just to drive you crazy.” you warned him 

“Oh, I’m fine with that.” - he said, rolling off your body - “But give me a heads up before doing it, okay? I wouldn’t want to come home with Luke and find you in your underwear.”

“Well… it could be fun. Maybe he’d like to join…”

Spencer covered your mouth with his’ before you could finish your sentence, but the kiss was interrupted by your loud laugh echoing through the walls. 

“Alright, Luke will never see me like this.” - you gave him a peck on the lips, pushing him off you before he could spread your legs again - “This sight is for your eyes only.”

TAGLIST @blvebanisters @koukatsuki @moesdraft

BROKEN TAGS @alelaeljfj @donttrustlove

[theonottsbxtch]

BABY, BABY | MV1

an: max verstappen you are a four time world champion!!! here's a little fic to celebrate that. i started writing it while watching the race, then had to mourn the loss of the battle then went back to writing it and my back hurts because my posture is shit. anyway enjoy!!

wc: 3.3k

Max Verstappen lived for speed. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the thunderous applause of the crowd—this was his kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was already a legend, a three-time Formula One World Champion whose name was etched into the annals of the sport. And this season? It was shaping up to be another triumph. Four wins in the first five races, podium finishes for all of them, and whispers in the paddock that he was untouchable.

He had every reason to be confident. The car was a beast—precision-engineered, relentless in its power. His team was operating like clockwork, every pit stop a perfectly executed ballet. But above all, she was there. His fiancée. She didn’t need to speak to make her presence known; her calm, unwavering gaze from the paddock was like a talisman. He could feel her watching, believing in him, and it drove him forward.

After his most recent victory in Japan, he leaned against the garage wall, sweat still beading on his forehead. She approached him, her smile soft and private, meant just for him. The cameras flashed around them, capturing their moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re unstoppable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“For you? Always,” he replied, brushing a gloved hand over her cheek before he was whisked away to interviews.

Everything was perfect. The season was his to lose, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

Six races later, the Max Verstappen that stood on the grid in Barcelona was not the same man who had claimed victory in Japan. His car was still strong, and his team still flawless. But the man behind the wheel was... distracted.

The cracks had started to show at the Monaco Grand Prix. A clumsy lock-up during qualifying left him sixth on the grid. In Hungary, he was slow off the line and struggled to match the pace of the leaders, finishing fifth.

The press was quick to pounce.

“What’s happening to Verstappen?” the headlines screamed.

Max shrugged it off, his trademark confidence still on display. “It’s the car,” he said with a wry smile after Hungary. “We’re making adjustments. It’ll come good.”

It was a convenient excuse, one his team begrudgingly accepted because of who he was. But the truth was far more complex—and far more personal.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been at the last couple of races. At first, she’d said she wasn’t feeling well, and Max had brushed it off. But then the phone call came.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I want to tell you in person, but I don’t think I can travel.”

In that moment, his world shifted. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect her collided in his chest. The image of her radiant on their wedding day-to-be now came with another—her cradling a newborn, their newborn. And with that came a thousand anxieties he’d never anticipated.

At every moment since, his thoughts weren’t on the track but on her. Was she eating enough? Was she getting rest? What if something went wrong, and he wasn’t there?

But no one knew. Not his team, not the press, not even his closest rivals. To them, Max Verstappen was still the king of the circuit. He could never let them see otherwise.

It was lap 32 of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and Max was battling for third with Charles. The two cars screamed through the corners, inches apart, but Max hesitated. He felt it—his grip loosened, his focus wavered. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he could make the move stick.

Charles darted ahead, and Max watched as the gap widened. His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Max, you’re losing time in Sector 2. What’s going on?”

“Just the car,” he lied, jaw tight. “It’s sluggish through the corners.”

He crossed the finish line in fourth. As he stepped out of the car, he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The cameras were on him, the journalists waiting. But all he could think about was her.

He needed to call. To hear her voice. To know she was okay.

The season was far from over, but the battle raging within Max was one he’d never prepared for. And as he watched his championship hopes start to slip through his fingers, he knew one thing for certain: no race, no trophy, no accolade mattered more than the life he was about to build off the track.

The Belgian Grand Prix was a race Max Verstappen wanted to forget. He’d spent the entire weekend battling the car—or so he told anyone who asked. But deep down, he knew the problem wasn’t mechanical. The fault lay within himself, his mind a chaotic swirl of worry and love that refused to quiet, no matter how fast he drove.

When he was finally allowed to go back to the hotel, the first thing he wanted to do was go home. Not the sprawling apartment in Monaco that everyone assumed was his sanctuary, but the smaller, quieter house tucked away in the English countryside. The place where she was.

It was just after midnight when his car pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was dark except for the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room window. She always left it on for him. He slipped inside quietly, leaving his suitcase in the car.

She was asleep, of course. Seven months pregnant and glowing with a beauty that stole his breath even in her most unguarded moments. He found her curled on her side in their bed, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. Max dropped his coat on the chair and toed off his shoes before slipping into the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her, and then rested his head gently against her belly. The warmth of her skin, the faint, rhythmic thrum of her breathing, and the thought of the tiny life growing inside her—it was everything he needed to feel whole again.

“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “It’s me. I’m finally home.”

As if in response, there was a small kick against his cheek. Max grinned, a tear slipping down his face as he chuckled quietly.

“Already a fighter,” he murmured. “Just like your mum.”

Her hand came to rest in his hair, threading through the blonde strands. He startled slightly, realising she was awake, her sleepy smile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Always,” he replied, turning his head to kiss her palm. “How are you feeling? How’s our little champion?”

“Both fine,” she reassured him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, shifting up to lie beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. His hand settled over hers on her belly, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten.

The days that followed were a gift—a rare stretch of time without races, press obligations, or the relentless demands of the championship fight. They spent their mornings in the garden, her feet propped up on his lap while he read aloud from the parenting books she’d stacked on the table. Afternoons were lazy, filled with naps, quiet conversations, and the occasional moment when he leaned down to kiss her belly and whisper to their unborn child.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, she turned to him with a thoughtful look.

“You should tell them,” she said softly.

“Tell who what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Your team. The press. Everyone.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. They’ll understand.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “I like it like this,” he said after a moment. “It’s ours. Just ours. I don’t want them to turn this into... headlines or speculation. I want to keep it safe.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You’re not just keeping it safe, love. You’re keeping it locked away. And it’s hurting you.”

He kissed her forehead, a slow, lingering gesture that spoke more than words could. “It’s not hurting me. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. When I’m out there, and it’s all chaos and noise, this is what I hold onto. You. Our little one. It’s my anchor.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned into him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “But for now, I want it to stay ours. Just a little longer.”

The break passed too quickly, as it always did, but for Max, it was enough. The air in Austin was electric. Max, back from the summer break and seemingly rejuvenated, had shown flashes of his old brilliance in the first half of the race. But a controversial move during a heated battle for second had earned him a twenty-second penalty. The disappointment was palpable.

In the press conference afterward, he faced a barrage of questions, his jaw tight as he fielded them with his usual composure. But his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the gnawing ache of being apart was beginning to wear on him.

The penalty stung less than the silence in his hotel room later that night. The upcoming triple-header—Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo—meant there’d be no chance to go home. Three weeks without her, without hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept beside him or feeling the flutter of their baby’s kicks beneath his hand. He stared at his phone for hours, tempted to call, but stopped himself. She needed rest. He could wait.

The race in São Paulo had just wrapped up. Max won, a result he should’ve been thrilled with, but all he could think about was getting back to England. The charter flight to London felt endless, the hours dragging as he stared out the window, replaying every voicemail she’d left him over the past week. Each one sounded more tired, more distant, and it made his chest tighten with unease.

When he finally arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. He dropped his bags in the hallway, calling out her name. No answer. He checked the bedroom, the nursery—they were empty. Panic began to rise as he pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge of exhaustion.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I’m home, and you’re not here.”

“I’m at my mum’s,” she replied.

“Why?” His voice dropped, laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched too long. And then, she said it.

“I had the baby.”

The words hit him like a jolt. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You what?” he whispered, as though saying it louder would make it less real.

“I had the baby,” she repeated, her tone gentle, but firm. “Two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“You had a job to do, Max,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Distract me?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “You’re my family. How could you think I wouldn’t drop everything to be there?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also know you. You’ve been carrying so much this season, and I didn’t want to add to it. You were halfway across the world, love. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that he would’ve found a way. But deep down, he understood. She was protecting him in her own way, just as he always tried to protect her.

“Is he... okay?” he asked finally, his voice softening.

“He’s perfect,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Healthy and beautiful. I wanted to surprise you when you got home, but we needed a bit of extra help, so I came here.”

“I’m coming now,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to her mother’s house felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled into the driveway, he barely remembered turning off the car before he was at the front door. Her mother greeted him with a warm smile and a quiet, “She’s upstairs.”

He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.

She was sitting on the bed, her hair tied back loosely, her face glowing with a tired kind of happiness. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was their son.

Max stepped inside slowly, his breath catching as he took in the sight. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Come meet him.”

He crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. She shifted the baby gently, placing him into Max’s waiting arms. For a moment, he could only stare.

Tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling slightly as the baby let out a soft sigh. His nose, his chin—so small, so perfect.

“What’s his name?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We agreed on Emilian,” she said, her eyes shining. “Emilian Lucian Verstappen.”

He looked up at her, his throat tight with emotion. “You gave him my name?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You’re his dad. And he’s going to know how much you love him, even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Max pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Both of you. More than anything.”

As Emilian stirred slightly in his arms, Max smiled. He’d missed the moment of his son’s birth, something he’d carry with him always. But here, holding his son for the first time, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

For two precious weeks, Max stayed home. It was just him, her, and Emilian. Those days blurred into a haze of quiet moments—feeding, changing, and rocking his son to sleep. He wasn’t just a racing legend at home; he was a father, learning the delicate art of swaddling and singing lullabies off-key at three in the morning.

His fiancée was radiant, even in her moments of exhaustion. Max found himself watching her more than ever, in awe of her strength. At night, they talked in whispers, Emilian nestled between them in a bassinet. For once, the championship felt like a distant dream.

But as the days passed, reality crept back in. The Las Vegas Grand Prix was the next race and the stakes couldn’t be higher. His rival, Lando Norris, was trailing him by just a decent amount of points, but if Max bottled it, it wouldn’t go well for his title. A strong finish could secure Max his fourth championship, but it would be a fight to the very last lap.

The night before his flight to Vegas, Max sat beside her on the couch, Emilian cradled in his arms. He had spent the entire day rehearsing his pitch, trying to strike the perfect balance of persuasion and sensitivity.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual, “Vegas is going to be a big deal. Probably the biggest race of my career.”

She glanced up from her tea, raising an eyebrow. “I thought every race was the biggest of your career.”

“This is different,” he said, grinning. “If I beat Lando by a certain amount of points, I get the title. My fourth title.”

Her smile softened. “I know. And you will. You always find a way.”

He hesitated, bouncing Emilian gently as the baby dozed. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. “Max—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cut in quickly, “and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. But the doctors said you’re fit to fly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please,” he said, his voice earnest. “I need you there. Both of you. It’s an important race. The biggest one maybe. And I want to share it with my family.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes, the motherly instinct to keep their baby safe and away from the chaos of the paddock. But then he reached for her hand.

“Win or lose, none of it matters without you. You and Emilian are everything to me. And if I do win... I want you there to celebrate. I want the world to see what really matters.”

After a long pause, she sighed, her resolve softening. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep us far away from the press circus until it’s over.”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “Deal.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a spectacle like no other. The bright lights, the roaring crowd, and the tension in the paddock made it a night to remember. Max felt his nerves hum as he stepped into the garage, but knowing she and Emilian were somewhere safe in the hospitality suite calmed him.

The race was brutal. Max fought tooth and nail, battling it out with Charles and Lewis in a chaotic, tire-shredding 50 laps. In the end, he crossed the line in fifth place.

For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough. But then Christian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Max Verstappen, you are a four-time world champion!”

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he punched the air, his voice shaking with emotion as he shouted his thanks into the radio. The garage erupted in cheers, but Max’s mind was already on her and Emilian.

As the celebrations began, he climbed out of the car, waving to the crowd before pulling off his helmet. He turned toward the pit lane and froze.

There she was, standing at the edge of the barriers, Emilian in her arms. They were both wearing ear defenders, her smile wide and proud. Emilian’s tiny shirt caught his eye, and his heart melted:

My daddy is a 4-time world champion.

He laughed, running over to them as the cameras swarmed. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a deep kiss. The crowd roared, and the cameras clicked furiously, but he didn’t care.

He looked down at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Carefully, Max took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your daddy did it.”

Emilian gurgled in response, and Max’s grin widened.

For the first time, the world saw Max Verstappen not just as a champion, but as a father. The images of him holding his son, his fiancée beside him, spread like wildfire. The press clamoured for details, but Max ignored them, too lost in the moment to care.

“This is your victory too,” he said to her, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile radiant. “We’re so proud of you.”

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers echoed around them, Max knew this was the pinnacle of his career—not the trophy, not the title, but the family he held in his arms.

the end.

[faebled-stories]

Symphony of Release

Kinkvember Day 27: Sex Dungeon

NingNing (Ning Yizhuo) Giselle (Uchinaga Aeri) Aespa X Male reader

25.1k words

AN: I know I keep saying, "This fic is my longest yet," but this time, I really mean it😅. This one is officially my longest, and my brain feels like total mush after putting it all together. There’s no way I’m writing this much in one day again. I know this is later than my normal post time but I hope you guys understand💖

It was nearing midnight when Minjeong stumbled through the front door of the apartment. The soft click of the lock echoed through the quiet room, startling Karina from where she sat curled on the couch. A tub of ice cream balanced precariously on her knees, its smooth surface beginning to melt around the edges. Giselle, cross-legged on the floor amid a sea of folded laundry, glanced up sharply, her hands pausing mid-motion as she folded a pair of socks. Across the room, Ningning stirred from the cocoon of her blanket on the recliner, her hand hovering over the remote as she paused the neon-lit drama flashing across the TV. One by one, their gazes shifted to Minjeong.

Minjeong froze, her silhouette framed by the faint glow of the hallway light. Her hair was a mess, clinging in damp strands to her flushed forehead, and her cheeks burned with the deep pink of exertion—or something else entirely. She had clearly tried to pull herself together: her oversized sweater was hastily tugged on, the hem uneven and bunched at her side, while her face shone with the telltale dampness of a rushed wash. And yet, beneath the soap-and-water effort, an unmistakable, musky undertone lingered in the air, faint but inescapable. It clung to her skin like a whisper of the night she was trying to forget—or avoid acknowledging.

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the strap of her bag, frozen like a deer caught in headlights under their collective stares.

“Um… hey,” she croaked, her voice cracking awkwardly. “I didn’t think you’d all still be… awake.”

Karina arched an eyebrow, her lips curling around the spoon in her hand with theatrical slowness. She withdrew it with a soft click, letting the ice cream linger on her tongue before speaking. “That’s all you’ve got? You look like you got caught in a windstorm… and something else.” She sniffed the air, her expression twisting with amused disbelief. “Oh my God. Are you serious right now?”

Minjeong’s face turned scarlet, her eyes darting anywhere but at her roommates. The silence grew louder, the ticking of the wall clock amplifying her discomfort. She took a small step toward her bedroom, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floorboards.

“I’m just… really tired. Long night,” she mumbled, clutching her bag like a shield.

“Uh-uh. No way,” Giselle interjected, rising to her feet in a single, fluid motion. She crossed her arms, her stance firm and unyielding as she fixed Minjeong with a sharp look. “We’re not letting this one slide. What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been sneaking out every other night, coming home late, and looking like… this.”

“Like what?” Minjeong snapped, her voice a touch too defensive to sell the indifference she was aiming for.

“Like someone who’s been thoroughly…” Ningning hesitated, her cheeks blooming pink as she struggled to find the words. “…Thoroughly.”

Karina exploded into laughter, doubling over as she nearly sent the tub of ice cream tumbling onto the floor. “Oh my God, Ning. Just say it! She looks like someone who got wrecked.”

“Stop!” Minjeong practically squeaked, her panic sharpening the edges of her voice. “It’s not—it’s not what you think.”

Karina leaned forward, her grin widening like a cat that had cornered its prey. “Oh, it’s exactly what I think. So, who is it? Secret boyfriend? Hookup? Don’t be shy. Spill!”

“It’s no one!” Minjeong blurted, clutching her bag tighter as if it could somehow ward off the interrogation. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Then where are you going?” Giselle asked, her skepticism practically vibrating in the air. “Because whatever you’re doing, you smell like…” She wrinkled her nose dramatically. “…like you’ve been doing something.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Minjeong muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she edged closer to her bedroom door. “It’s just… personal.”

Karina tilted her head, her playful grin taking on an edge of genuine curiosity. “Personal? Okay, now I really want to know. You can’t just say that and expect us to drop it.”

Ningning shifted under her blanket, her eyes darting between her friends. “I mean… we’re all thinking about it, right? Where she’d been going, coming back like this?”

Minjeong groaned, the sound low and drawn out, her head dropping slightly as if surrendering to an invisible weight. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” they chorused, their voices a mix of teasing and determination.

She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the inevitable. “Fine,” she muttered, her tone a mix of exasperation and resignation. “There’s this… place I’ve been going to.”

Karina leaned forward, her curiosity evident as she tilted her head. “What kind of place?”

Minjeong hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she finally replied. “It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t really have a name. It’s just… a space where people can explore things.”

“What kind of ‘things’?” Giselle asked, narrowing her eyes as suspicion flickered in her expression.

Minjeong’s cheeks flamed, her voice rushing out before she could stop herself. “Intimacy. It’s private. Safe. They have different rooms where you can try things, or watch, or… whatever.”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Only the faint hum of the paused TV broke the stillness.

“So… like a sex club?” Ningning finally asked, her tone carrying equal parts shock and intrigue.

“It’s not a club,” Minjeong snapped, defensive as her eyes darted between them. “It’s professional. It’s about curiosity and connection. It’s not some sketchy hookup scene.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, her tone thoughtful rather than critical. “How do you even know about this place?”

Minjeong sighed, brushing her damp bangs back from her forehead. “Yunjin told me about it. It’s run by the same people who own that other place—you know, the one with the glory hole.”

Ningning’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide as she stared at Minjeong. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious? That place Yunjin described? With the creepy wooden wall and the literal hole?”

“It’s not creepy!” Minjeong snapped, rolling her eyes. “It’s supposed to be like that—it’s the vibe. They keep it simple because it adds to the ambience or whatever.”

Karina nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Like, the mystery of it, right? That kind of makes sense.”

“Exactly,” Minjeong said, relieved at Karina’s understanding. “But this place is nothing like that. It’s completely different. It’s modern, sleek, and everything is super private and professional. It’s all about creating a safe space for people to explore.”

Giselle tilted her head, her skepticism softening slightly. “So, it’s more like… a curated experience?”

Minjeong nodded. “Yes, exactly. It’s not shady or anything. It’s designed for people who are curious and want to try new things in a safe way.”

Karina grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Honestly, that sounds kind of amazing. I can see why you’ve been sneaking out.”

“Thank you,” Minjeong muttered, her tone softening as she shot Karina a small look of gratitude. “At least someone gets it.”

Ningning still looked flustered, her face partially hidden in her hands. “I just… I can’t believe this is a thing. Like, you’re just casually going to places like this?”

Minjeong crossed her arms, her voice sharp with exasperation. “Yes, because it’s not some back-alley setup, okay? It’s intentional, it’s safe, and it’s… honestly kind of amazing.”

Karina smirked, giving Ningning a pointed look. “You’re acting like you don’t swipe right on every guy with a dog in his profile. At least Minjeong knows what she’s walking into.”

“Hey!” Ningning shot back, her face red as Karina and Giselle burst into laughter.

Minjeong sighed dramatically, heading toward her room. “I’m going to shower. Can we talk about literally anything else when I get back?”

Karina leaned back, her grin undiminished. “We’ll see. You know we’re going to have more questions.”

Minjeong didn’t reply, disappearing into her room and shutting the door firmly behind her. The faint sound of the shower starting echoed through the apartment, the steady stream of water the only noise in the tense stillness left behind.

The three left in the living room exchanged glances.

“I cannot believe this,” Ningning muttered, pulling her blanket tighter around herself as if warding off the thought. “She’s seriously sneaking off to places like that?”

“I don’t know,” Giselle said, her frown deepening. “It still sounds kind of sketchy. Who even runs something like that?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Karina quipped, her mischievous grin practically glowing. “Honestly, it sounds incredible. I bet she’s having the time of her life.”

“She looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards,” Ningning countered, shaking her head. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘fun’ to me.”

Karina shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe she’s just… exploring. Who knows? I, for one, think it sounds hot.”

When Minjeong finally emerged from her room, her hair damp and clinging to her cheeks in soft strands, she was dressed in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, her posture stiff with hesitation. She stopped short when she saw them still sitting there, their expressions practically crackling with anticipation. Their eyes glittered, waiting for her to speak as if the show was about to start.

“No,” she said immediately, raising a hand in protest. “I told you, I’m done talking about it.”

“Come on,” Karina said, leaning forward with an easy grin. “You can’t just drop something like that and leave us hanging. We need to know more.”

“Yeah,” Ningning added, though her tone was more cautious. “What do you even do there?”

Minjeong hesitated, her gaze falling to the floor as heat rushed to her face. Her hands balled into small fists at her sides, her discomfort obvious. “It’s… complicated,” she said softly, avoiding their eyes.

“Then explain it,” Karina said, her tone gentle but persistent.

Minjeong sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the doorframe and spoke slowly. “A while ago, I read this… book. It had a scene where the character…” She trailed off, her face turning bright red as her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “...she, um, she… squirted” she pressed her lips together, wishing the floor would swallow her whole. 

The room went silent, her words hanging in the air like a challenge. Ningning’s mouth dropped open, her disbelief written all over her face. Giselle blinked, momentarily stunned. Karina, however, looked delighted, her grin spreading wider.

“Wait,” Karina said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’ve been sneaking off to this place because you read a book about someone squirting, and you wanted to see if it was real?”

Minjeong’s face was practically glowing, and she stared hard at the floor, as if it might offer her salvation. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” she admitted reluctantly. “It just… wouldn’t leave my mind. And then the conversation got brought up, and Yunjin told me about that place. She said it’s run by the same people as that other one she mentioned, but this one is more…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Broad. Structured.”

“Oh, come on,” Ningning said, her skepticism practically radiating off her. “There’s no way people actually do that. It’s so fake.”

Karina rolled her eyes. “It’s not a conspiracy, Ning. I’m sure it can totally happen.”

“But how?” Giselle chimed in, narrowing her eyes as if trying to unravel a mystery. “It’s not like that’s a normal thing, right? Isn’t it just exaggerated in movies and… books?”

“It’s not exaggerated,” Minjeong said quietly, though her voice lacked its usual firmness. “It’s just… uncommon.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ningning muttered, shaking her head. “I still don’t buy it.”

Karina threw up her hands in exasperation. “You guys are such skeptics! Just because you haven’t experienced it doesn’t mean it’s fake.”

Minjeong groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

The room divided like a fault line, Karina on one side, practically bouncing with excitement, and Ningning and Giselle on the other, their skeptical expressions nearly identical. The debate escalated as they volleyed arguments back and forth, the room buzzing with contrasting opinions.

“It’s science!” Karina insisted, gesturing animatedly. “Do you even hear yourselves? Of course, it’s real. Minjeong literally just said it happened.”

“Science or not, it sounds… extreme,” Ningning said doubtfully, pulling her blanket tighter. “Like something you’d read about in a clickbait article.”

“Or fanfiction,” Giselle added under her breath, earning a sharp glare from Karina.

“All I’m saying is, it’s not impossible,” Karina said firmly, throwing an arm around Minjeong’s shoulders for support. “And honestly? I think it’s pretty amazing that she had the guts to find out.”

Minjeong groaned again, shrinking lower. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Not a chance,” Karina said, her grin unwavering. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all year.”

Karina leaned back with a sly smirk, her gaze flicking toward Minjeong. She leaned in ever so slightly, lowering her voice so the others couldn’t hear. Minjeong stiffened, her wide eyes darting to Karina as a faint blush crept up her cheeks. Karina’s playful, conspiratorial expression was enough to make Minjeong’s lips part in hesitant confusion.

Karina whispered something quietly, and Minjeong blinked, her expression shifting between embarrassment and reluctant amusement. She gave a tiny shake of her head, her lips pressing together as if to suppress a smile.

Karina sat back, triumphant, and clapped her hands together with deliberate force, snapping the others’ attention to her. “Okay,” she announced brightly, cutting through the tension. “You clearly don’t believe it, so here’s my suggestion.”

Giselle and Ningning turned to her warily, their skepticism etched in their faces. “What suggestion?” Giselle asked, her voice cautious.

Karina’s grin widened. “Why don’t you two go and find out for yourselves?”

Ningning blinked, her jaw dropping. “You’re joking.”

“I’m completely serious,” Karina said smoothly. “You keep saying it’s ridiculous, so why not settle it? Go. See what it’s actually like.”

“That’s insane,” Ningning said, her face turning red. “Why would we do that?”

“To prove a point,” Karina replied, shrugging. “Unless you’re scared.”

Ningning sputtered, clutching her blanket. “I’m not scared! I just— It’s ridiculous.”

Minjeong sighed, cutting through the argument with a calm voice. “It’s not about proving anything. The point is that it’s a safe space to explore. You don’t have to do anything. You can just… see. If it’s not for you, you leave. That’s it.”

Giselle narrowed her eyes. “So we just walk in and… magically get it?”

Minjeong shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe not. It’s not for everyone. But it’s not what you’re imagining either. It’s safer. Better.”

Ningning groaned, sinking deeper into her recliner. “This is ridiculous.”

Karina chuckled, her grin smug. “Just think about it. No pressure.”

The conversation fizzled into uneasy silence as Giselle and Ningning exchanged glances. Minjeong, feeling the weight of the room, mumbled, “I’m going to bed,” and disappeared into her room.

A while later, after Giselle and Ningning had retreated, Karina lingered before slipping into Minjeong’s room. Minjeong looked up from her bed, startled but not annoyed.

Karina grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “So? Did you actually… you know…”

Minjeong hesitated, her lips trembling before she gave the smallest, shyest nod.

Karina’s gasp was loud enough to echo off the walls. “No way! That’s insane. Was it—?”

“It was…” Minjeong trailed off, her voice barely audible. “It was intense.”

Karina clapped her hands together, looking like Christmas had come early. “You have to take me next time.”

Minjeong laughed, still red-faced, and nudged Karina toward the door. “Goodnight, Karina.”

As Karina left with a satisfied grin, Minjeong allowed herself to sink into her pillows, a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

-----

In the days that followed, the weight of that night’s conversation lingered in the apartment, an unspoken tension threading through their interactions. Minjeong remained quiet about the topic, going about her routines as usual, but every now and then, Ningning and Giselle would exchange glances, the question hanging in the air between them: Are we actually going to do this?

One evening, as all of them sat in the living room, the TV playing a show none of them were paying attention to, Ningning finally broke the silence.

“So…” she began, her voice hesitant but pointed. “About what unnie said the other night.”

Karina, sprawled out on the couch with her legs draped over the armrest, smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Giselle glanced up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. “I’m still not convinced,” she said, though her tone was less dismissive than it had been. “It just sounds… I don’t know, extreme.”

“Extreme?” Karina scoffed, sitting up and swinging her legs onto the floor. “Come on. It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to jump in headfirst. You could just… see it. Dip a toe in. Or don’t.”

Ningning fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. “Minjeong made it sound pretty safe,” she said, almost to herself. “And it’s not like we have to do anything, right? Just… check it out.”

Giselle narrowed her eyes. “You’re seriously considering this?”

“Well…” Ningning hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “Aren’t you? You’ve been quiet about it all week.”

Giselle huffed, crossing her arms. “I just don’t want to end up in some weird situation. What if it’s not what we’re expecting?”

“It’s not,” Minjeong’s voice cut through the room softly. She had been lingering in the doorway, unnoticed until now. Her expression was calm but serious, her eyes darting between them. “It’s nothing like what you’re imagining. I promise.”

Karina gestured toward Minjeong with a flourish. “See? She promises. And if it’s as safe as she says, what’s the harm in a little adventure?”

“I don’t know…” Giselle trailed off, her skepticism giving way to contemplation.

“You can leave anytime,” Minjeong said, stepping farther into the room. “If you feel uncomfortable, you just walk out. No one will stop you. No one will even ask why.”

“And we don’t have to… you know…” Ningning’s voice dropped as she gestured vaguely, her face burning red.

Minjeong shook her head. “Not unless you want to. You’re in control the whole time. And it’s not some creepy scene or anything. It’s professional. Respectful. Everyone’s there for their own reasons, and no one judges anyone else.”

Karina’s grin widened as she leaned back, crossing her arms. “Sounds like a glowing endorsement to me.”

Ningning chewed on her lip, her blanket now bunched in her lap. “It’s just… such a weird thing to do.”

“Exactly,” Giselle said, though her words lacked their usual edge. “It’s weird.”

“Weird doesn’t mean bad,” Minjeong said gently. “Sometimes it just means… different. And different can be good. You might surprise yourselves.”

The room fell silent, the faint hum of the TV filling the space as they considered her words. Ningning and Giselle exchanged a look, a flicker of unspoken understanding passing between them.

“Well,” Karina said, breaking the quiet, “I think you two should do it. Who knows? It might even be fun.”

“You’re not helping,” Giselle muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Minjeong hesitated, then gave a small, reassuring smile. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But if you’re even a little curious… it’s worth a try. Just to see.”

Ningning let out a long breath, pulling the blanket tighter. “I’ll think about it.”

Giselle nodded slowly. “Me too. But I’m not making any promises.”

“Fair enough,” Minjeong said, retreating back to her room with a faint smile.

Karina watched her go, then turned back to the others with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re totally doing it.”

“Shut up,” Ningning and Giselle said in unison, but their cheeks were pink, and neither of them outright denied it.

The idea hovered between them, tantalizing and unresolved, as they returned to their show, though none of them were paying much attention to it now.

-----

Eventually their curiosity got the better of them and they agreed to go. By the time they arrived at the place, nerves had transformed into a strange cocktail of anticipation and curiosity. The building was surprisingly polished—a tall, elegant brick structure with clean lines and minimalist signage that simply read “Welcome.” Its shaded, frosted windows gave an air of privacy without secrecy, inviting rather than intimidating. It felt like a space designed to intrigue and comfort rather than overwhelm.

Inside, the lobby was nothing like the dungeon-like image Ningning and Giselle had tentatively imagined. Instead, it resembled a boutique spa. Soft ambient music hummed faintly through hidden speakers, blending seamlessly with the subtle aroma of lavender and sandalwood. The lighting was warm and diffused, casting golden hues over sleek, modern furniture and tasteful artwork that adorned the walls.

Then they met you.

You stepped forward with a calm, professional demeanor, offering a gentle smile that immediately softened their stiff postures. “Welcome,” you said, your voice smooth and soothing, perfectly complementing the tranquil ambiance. “I’m here to answer any questions you have and to make sure you feel comfortable throughout. This experience is entirely at your pace.”

Your words rippled through them, easing the tension that had coiled in their shoulders during the car ride over. They nodded in acknowledgment, their breaths steadying as they followed you deeper into the space. The hallway, lined with soft, abstract art in muted tones, felt like a threshold—not just physically but emotionally. Each step seemed to take them closer to something they couldn’t yet name, a blend of the unfamiliar and the curious.

You led them into a softly lit room where the golden light spilled like honey across the walls, painted in warm, neutral tones. The scent of polished wood mingled with faint notes of cedar, grounding the space. It felt intimate but not confining, like a carefully crafted haven. In the center of the room sat a neatly arranged set of tools and equipment, minimal and unobtrusive, designed to invite exploration rather than demand it.

Pausing, you turned back to face them, ensuring they were present and focused. “Before we go any further,” you began, your voice steady and inviting, “let’s talk about safe words.”

Ningning and Giselle both stiffened slightly, their expressions flickering with nervousness. You noticed the hesitation in their eyes and offered an encouraging smile, your demeanor gentle yet confident.

“This is about giving you total control of the experience,” you explained. “We use safe words as a way to stop or ease up if you feel uncomfortable. If you say ‘yellow,’ we’ll slow down; if you say ‘red,’ everything stops immediately. Think of it like a pause button.”

Giselle furrowed her brow, absorbing the information. “So, ‘yellow’ if we want to take a break, and ‘red’ if we want to stop completely?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

“Exactly,” you said, meeting her gaze with calm confidence. “This is entirely your experience. At any point, you can say one word, and it stops—no questions asked.”

A visible wave of relief washed over Ningning as her shoulders dropped. She let out a small sigh, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Actually… that makes me feel a lot better. Just knowing that,” she admitted, glancing at Giselle.

Giselle gave her a faint nod in return, her posture relaxing slightly, though a trace of skepticism lingered in her eyes.

“Good,” you said, your tone soft with reassurance. “If you’re ready, we can begin.”

They exchanged a glance—a quick, silent moment of mutual reassurance—before turning back to you. Their nods were tentative but genuine, a signal of cautious readiness.

“I’ve prepared a regiment for the two of you,” you said, your voice steady and measured, watching their reactions carefully. “It’s designed to ease you into the experience, gradually introducing different sensations and emotions. However, this is flexible. I’ll be making adjustments based on your responses. This is about what feels right for you, so I’ll omit or add activities as we go.”

“Everything is planned out for us?” Ningning asked, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Not exactly,” you clarified with a soft smile. “I designed it with a structured flow in mind, but it’s not set in stone. Think of it as a guide, not a rulebook. We’ll adapt as needed. I’ll guide you step by step. However, there’s one recommendation: it’s best if you approach this blind.”

“Blind? Like, blindfolded?” Ningning asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

“Not necessarily,” you explained, your tone gentle but firm. “While blindfolding is an option, what I mean is that you won’t know what’s coming next. When you let go of anticipation, it sharpens your senses and helps you focus on the moment. It lets you experience each activity more fully without preconceived notions.”

Ningning’s lips parted slightly, her expression contemplative. “So, we’d just… let it happen?”

“Exactly,” you replied, your gaze steady. “It’s about letting go of control in a safe environment. You’ll focus entirely on how you feel in the moment rather than trying to predict what’s next.”

Giselle crossed her arms, her skepticism evident. “I don’t know… that sounds a little intense.”

“It is,” Ningning said with a soft laugh, glancing at her friend. “But maybe that’s the point? I mean, if we’re doing this, we might as well do it the right way.”

Giselle hesitated, her gaze flicking between you and Ningning before exhaling heavily. “And we can stop anytime, right?”

“Absolutely,” you assured her, your voice calm and reassuring.

Ningning and Giselle exchanged a quick glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Ningning gave a tentative nod, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “I think we should try.”

Giselle rolled her eyes softly, but the corners of her mouth betrayed a small, curious smile. “Fine. But if this gets weird, I’m out.”

“Fair enough,” you said with a warm smile, gesturing toward the center of the room, where everything had been carefully prepared for their arrival.

With practiced ease, you guided them into the softly lit room, the golden glow casting a warm, intimate light across the space. The earlier atmosphere of calm reassurance shifted as you closed the door behind them with a soft click. When you turned back, your entire demeanor had transformed—your expression now steady and commanding, your movements precise and deliberate. The quiet authority you carried filled the room, grounding them in the gravity of what was to come.

“Strip,” you instructed, your tone calm but unyielding, leaving no room for hesitation. “Everything but your panties.”

They froze for a moment, the weight of the command sinking in. Their gazes flicked to you, a sudden jolt of arousal coursing through them as they took in this new, commanding side of you. It was unexpected—this transformation in your demeanor—and it sent a shiver of anticipation down their spines.

Exchanging a brief glance, they seemed to silently agree on their next steps. Ningning’s fingers trembled slightly as she grasped the hem of her shirt, carefully sliding it off her shoulders. Her bra followed, the clasp unhooking with slow, deliberate movements as she revealed her flushed skin. Giselle followed suit, unbuttoning her blouse with steady hands before stepping out of her jeans in a single, fluid motion. Both of their breathing grew shallow, the cool air brushing against their heated skin.

They folded their garments neatly, setting them aside in a small pile, the rustling of fabric the only sound punctuating the charged silence of the room. Their movements were measured, deliberate, as though they were hyper-aware of your presence. Left in only their panties, the vulnerability of the moment wrapped around them like a second skin.

You observed them closely, your steady gaze unwavering, assessing their compliance with quiet intensity. A faint nod of approval softened the edges of your commanding presence. “Good,” you said simply, your tone neutral but firm. “Now, hands forward.”

Their hands rose instinctively, the slight tremor in Ningning’s fingers betraying her nerves. You stepped forward with measured precision, your every motion exuding calm confidence. Picking up a coil of soft, supple rope from the nearby table, you moved toward Ningning first.

You took her wrists gently in your hands, the warmth of your fingers steadying her as you began to work. Your movements were fluid and practiced, each loop of the rope snug but never tight. The fabric pressed softly against her skin, securing her without discomfort. The quiet rustling of the rope as it glided through your hands filled the space, mingling with the faint rhythm of her breathing.

Once finished, you turned to Giselle. She extended her hands wordlessly, her gaze flicking briefly to Ningning before returning to you. You repeated the process, wrapping the rope around her wrists with the same precision, the material gliding smoothly as you worked. Her posture remained composed, though the faintest flush of color crept up her neck as the knots settled into place.

Their hands now rested just above their heads, supported by the ropes. Their feet stayed grounded, but the gentle tension in their arms introduced a faint stretch that felt unfamiliar yet oddly empowering. They exchanged a quick glance, their shared curiosity reflected in the subtle flicker of their expressions.

The sensation of the ropes—their softness, their firm yet yielding hold—seemed to heighten everything around them. The golden light wrapped the room in warmth, while the rhythmic creak of the ropes created a cocoon of quiet intimacy. What had once been a heavy sense of anticipation now felt lighter, suspended in a moment of carefully crafted care.

“Good girls,” you said softly, your voice carrying a subtle warmth beneath its grounded authority. Moving deliberately, you adjusted the ropes, your presence steady and unwavering. The care in your actions was unmistakable, but so was the quiet dominance that now defined your movements. You exuded control—not forceful, but unshakable—creating a dynamic that made them feel held and guided.

With a faint smile, you stepped back to let them adjust to the position. “Let’s start with something simple,” you said, your voice low but firm, with just enough softness to ease their remaining nerves. You turned toward a nearby table, retrieving a soft flogger, its supple material catching the golden light as you lifted it.

The rhythmic sound of your footsteps across the floor filled the space, a quiet punctuation to the moment. Ningning took a deep breath, her senses finely tuned to the subtle movements around her. Her gaze followed you with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, while Giselle briefly closed her eyes, grounding herself in the present and letting her focus shift to her body’s awareness.

“Ready?” you asked, your voice steady and unyielding, carrying no pressure but a quiet expectation.

They nodded, their breathing steadier now, though their bodies remained taut with anticipation. You stepped closer to Ningning first, letting the soft flogger trail lightly over her bare shoulder. The faint whisper of its strands brushing against her skin sent a shiver coursing down her spine, heightening her awareness of every inch of her body. Her chest rose and fell with measured breaths, her senses narrowing to the point of contact.

Then came the first light tap. The strands of the flogger landed on her upper back with a delicate precision, the sting blooming across her skin in a wave of warmth. Ningning inhaled sharply, the unexpected sensation startling her at first, her lips parting as her eyes widened. The sting faded quickly, leaving behind a faint, tingling heat that lingered, coaxing her body into a heightened state of sensitivity.

As the rhythm of the strokes continued, deliberate and evenly spaced, her initial tension began to dissolve. Each strike brought a sharper awareness, a paradoxical mixture of control and surrender that her mind couldn’t quite process but her body responded to instinctively. The faint pull of the ropes binding her wrists heightened the sensation, keeping her grounded as her thoughts gave way to raw feeling. Her breathing deepened, the warmth in her skin now merging with an unfamiliar but undeniable arousal. The sting that had surprised her at first now contributed to a growing ache of need, as though her body was awakening to a language it had never spoken before.

Gradually, the intensity increased. The strokes came harder, the flogger landing with more force, pushing her just a little further with each hit. Ningning’s moans deepened, her body reacting to the pain in ways that surprised even her. The sting turned into a fiery pulse, dancing across her skin in a way that threatened to overwhelm her but never quite crossed the line. Her head tilted back, her lips parting to release a soft whimper that mixed pain and pleasure into a single, intoxicating sound. The ache lingered longer now, the heat radiating from her back blending with the throbbing arousal pooling low in her body.

You moved with deliberate care, watching for any flicker of discomfort in her expression. But Ningning’s soft exhales, the subtle arch of her back, and the way her hips shifted told you she was riding the edge of the sensation, her body adapting as she yielded to the rhythm of the flogger.

Satisfied, you turned to Giselle, allowing the flogger’s supple strands to brush teasingly across her skin. The faint touch made her flinch slightly, a gasp escaping her lips as her body stiffened reflexively. You delivered the first light stroke to her back, the flogger landing with a muted crack. The sting rippled through her, sharp and immediate, forcing her breath to hitch. For a moment, her body froze, her mind processing the unfamiliar sensation.

But as the heat spread, the sharpness softened into something richer, more profound—a warmth that coursed through her muscles and heightened her awareness of her own body. Her breaths began to slow, her posture shifting as she allowed herself to accept the rhythm. Each subsequent stroke seemed to draw her deeper into the moment, her mind quieting as the sensation became less foreign and more intoxicating. The feeling of being bound, her wrists held securely above her head, amplified her surrender. The ropes didn’t restrain her—they anchored her, giving her the freedom to let go.

The strokes on Giselle intensified gradually as well, the flogger landing with increasing force. Her body jerked with each hit, the sharp sting leaving behind a trail of tingling heat that both burned and soothed. The line between too much and just enough blurred, her body trembling as the sensations layered atop each other. A flush crept up her neck, her chest heaving as she adjusted to the rhythm. Each strike sent a pulse of arousal coursing through her, the pain tipping into pleasure with a sweet inevitability.

The pain built steadily, each strike pushing them closer to their limits without crossing the threshold. It hovered at the brink, testing their endurance while drawing out their arousal. Ningning’s soft moans became more urgent, her body shivering as she leaned into the rhythm, her mind overwhelmed but unwilling to stop. Giselle’s breathing hitched with every strike, her head falling forward as she let out a series of trembling gasps, her body fighting the tension that teetered on the edge of overwhelming.

When you finally stepped back, both women were trembling. Their flushed skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and their breathing synced in shallow, uneven gasps. The throbbing ache in their backs mirrored the pulsing arousal coursing through their bodies. Their eyes met, wide and glassy, the pain and pleasure written in their expressions—a silent acknowledgment that this was unlike anything they had imagined. It was raw, immersive, and undeniably arousing.

“You’re doing well,” you said softly, your tone carrying a note of approval that resonated in the quiet space. Their gazes shifted back to you, their expressions now open, filled with curiosity and something deeper, more vulnerable.

You paused, giving them time to absorb the sensations fully before speaking again. “Alright,” you said, your voice calm and measured, “I’m going to add another element.”

Ningning and Giselle both nodded, their interest fully captured now. Their cheeks were still flushed from the sensations they’d already experienced, their breaths shallow as they prepared for what was next. The soft sound of the ropes faintly creaking above them served as a quiet reminder of their bound state, amplifying their awareness of every movement.

From your collection, you retrieved a pair of intricately designed clamps, their polished metal gleaming in the light. They were delicate but purposeful, adjustable to provide just enough pressure to transform ordinary touch into something extraordinary. You held the clamps with quiet authority, their intricate design a contrast to the intensity they promised.

Starting with Ningning, you reached forward, your fingers grazing the curve of her breast with deliberate slowness. Her breath hitched as your touch lingered, her skin hypersensitive under your hand. With practiced ease, you secured the first clamp to her nipple. The initial sensation was sharp, a sudden sting that drew a gasp from her parted lips. “Ahh…” Her back arched slightly, the pull of the rope above her making the reaction even more pronounced.

The sting lingered, a constant ache that quickly shifted into a hum of sensation, heightening her awareness of her body. A soft moan escaped her as you secured the second clamp, the dual points of pressure creating a symphony of sensations. The ache was persistent, demanding her focus, but the way it blended with the warmth of arousal in her core made her chest rise and fall with quickened breaths. Beneath her, the heat of her excitement began to bloom, the dampness at the apex of her thighs growing as her body responded.

You turned to Giselle, your hands just as steady and deliberate. Her eyes fluttered closed as your fingers ghosted over her skin, teasing her sensitive flesh before carefully placing the first clamp. “Mmm…” she moaned softly, her body stiffening momentarily at the sting as the metal gripped her. A low, trembling exhale followed as the sensation settled, morphing from sharpness into a dull, throbbing ache that sent warmth radiating outward. The second clamp followed with equal care, eliciting a soft, shaky moan from her lips. “Oh…” Giselle’s breathing deepened, her chest rising as she adjusted to the rhythmic pulse of sensation.

Bound above, their hands unable to lower, both Ningning and Giselle were acutely aware of every shift and movement. The clamps weren’t merely a source of sensation; they were a constant presence, a persistent reminder of their vulnerability. And yet, that vulnerability seemed to amplify their arousal, each breath bringing them closer to surrendering fully to the moment.

you retrieved two floggers, their supple strands swaying lightly as you held them in each hand. The leather glinted faintly in the light, promising a mix of sensation that would push them further. Their eyes flickered to the tools, their bodies tensing in anticipation as you stepped closer.

You began with Ningning and Giselle simultaneously, the strands of the floggers trailing across their skin in teasing strokes. The featherlight contact danced along their shoulders, arms, and backs, coaxing shivers that made their breath hitch. The anticipation of the impact alone sent a thrill through them, their muscles tightening instinctively.

The first strikes landed, one on each of them, perfectly timed. The strands of the floggers kissed their skin with a satisfying crack, sending ripples of sensation through their bodies. Ningning gasped sharply, her hips jerking slightly against the tension of the ropes. Giselle let out a soft cry, her body stiffening momentarily before yielding to the sting. The impact wasn’t overwhelming—just enough to awaken their senses and pull them into the moment.

You continued, your movements measured and deliberate as the floggers alternated between soft trails and precise strikes. The synchronized rhythm created a symphony of sensation that reverberated through their bodies. Each strike was perfectly timed to ensure neither was left waiting too long, the alternating snaps of leather keeping their senses sharp and their arousal building.

Ningning’s head tilted back, her lips parting as the flogger’s strands brushed over the curve of her lower back, followed by a precise strike just beneath her shoulder blades. The sting blended with a spreading warmth, her breathing growing shallower as the sensations layered. Each strike heightened the ache in her chest, the clamps on her nipples pulling slightly with every flinch, amplifying the experience. “Oh… oh…” she whimpered, her voice trembling as the sensations pushed her closer to her limits.

Giselle, on the other hand, squirmed against the bonds, her moans low and breathy as the flogger struck her thighs with a sharp crack. The impact sent a shiver up her spine, the ache settling into a dull throb that pulsed through her sensitive skin. Her nipples, adorned with the clamps, tugged faintly with every motion, the combination of pain and arousal sending her reeling. “Ahh…” she gasped, her hips shifting as her body sought release from the growing tension.

Switching to a synchronized rhythm, you struck their thighs in tandem, the floggers landing with a sharp snap that made them cry out simultaneously. The matching reactions sent a thrill through the room, their voices blending in a harmony of raw sensation. The sight of them together, bound and trembling, with the faint sheen of sweat glistening on their skin, was mesmerizing.

The strikes grew slightly firmer, the intensity increasing as you alternated between their backs, shoulders, and thighs. Each impact pulled a deeper reaction from them, their cries becoming louder, their bodies arching against the ropes as the pain crept closer to the brink of too much—but never crossing the line. Their flushed cheeks and trembling thighs betrayed the arousal simmering beneath the surface, the pain merging seamlessly with pleasure.

“Breathe,” you instructed, your voice steady and grounding. The reminder was enough to steady their erratic breaths, their chests rising and falling as they adjusted to the rhythm. The floggers snapped against their skin again, and this time, Ningning’s hips bucked involuntarily, a soft moan spilling from her lips as her arousal became undeniable. The dampness soaking her panties left no question of her response, the heat pooling at her core almost unbearable.

Giselle, too, was unraveling under the dual sensations. Her body trembled with every strike, her breaths shallow and uneven as the clamps tugged with each movement. “Please…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the word dripping with need. Her thighs quivered, the evidence of her arousal glistening faintly between her legs.

The room was alive with the sounds of their moans, the rhythmic crack of the floggers, and the faint creak of the ropes above them. The atmosphere was charged, every sound and motion amplifying the intimacy of the moment. Their bodies were painted with faint red marks from the floggers, the lingering sting merging with the ache of the clamps to push them further into surrender.

You paused briefly, letting the floggers rest against your sides as you stepped closer. Your hands brushed over their trembling forms, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the intensity of the flogging. “You’re both incredible,” you murmured, your voice soft but commanding.

Positioned between them, your hands moved with deliberate care, teasing the soft line where their thighs met their centers. The proximity alone sent shivers through their bodies, the charged tension in the air palpable. Ningning’s hips shifted instinctively, a soft, breathy moan escaping her lips as your fingers hovered maddeningly close to her entrance. The barest brush of your touch against her slick panties drew a sharp gasp, her body arching as though every nerve had been primed for this moment. “Please…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need, the dampness soaking through the fabric leaving no question of her arousal.

On Giselle’s side, your fingers mirrored the same featherlight touch, barely skimming the delicate skin beneath the damp fabric at her core. Her breath hitched audibly, her bound wrists tugging gently at the ropes as if seeking some anchor amidst the overwhelming sensations. “Mmm… oh…” she moaned, her thighs trembling as her body leaned subtly toward you, desperate for more contact. The clamps adorning her nipples heightened every subtle motion, the tug of the chain combining pain and pleasure in a way that made her hips press eagerly against your teasing fingers.

You alternated between them with meticulous precision, your touch gentle yet deliberate. A teasing stroke here, a fleeting graze there—just enough to push them closer to the edge without offering the satisfaction their bodies so clearly craved. Ningning’s moans grew louder, her hips lifting in small, involuntary movements as if drawn by invisible strings. Her core glistened beneath the thin layer of her panties, soaking through the delicate fabric, the evidence of her surrender shining in the golden light. “Ahh… I can’t…” she gasped, her voice shaking, the ache in her body now unbearable yet exquisite.

Giselle was lost in the rhythm of your touch, her thighs quivering as her moans softened into low, fervent whispers. “Mmm… please,” she murmured, her lips parting as she gave in completely. Her body rocked subtly, her movements bolder with each stroke, while the clamps on her nipples pulsed in time with the ache radiating through her. Her voice, breathy and trembling, added to the tension that thickened the air. “More…”

Between them, you worked like a conductor orchestrating a symphony, their bodies the instruments responding perfectly to your touch. The wet sounds of their arousal, the quiet clink of the chain between the clamps, and the soft moans that spilled from their lips blended into a harmony of pleasure and need. Every shift of your fingers and every intentional pause amplified their yearning, drawing them closer to the precipice with every touch.”

Ningning’s response was a choked moan, her body trembling as her slickness overflowed, soaking the thin fabric of her panties until it clung to her. Giselle whimpered in unison, her thighs trembling as her own need reached a fever pitch. Their breaths became erratic, their gazes hazy and unfocused, their arousal undeniable as they teetered on the edge of release.

Just as the crescendo seemed inevitable, you slowed your movements, teasingly lightening your touch until your fingers hovered maddeningly close to their centers without fully making contact. Ningning let out a desperate whimper, her hips lifting instinctively toward your touch, only for you to withdraw entirely. “Ahh… please,” she moaned, her voice trembling with need.

Giselle echoed her plea, her lips parting as a low, drawn-out whine spilled from her throat. “Don’t stop… please,” she murmured, her voice thick with desperation as her thighs quivered against the restraint of her own arousal.

With a small, deliberate pause, you slipped your fingers to their soaked panties, pressing lightly against the fabric to collect the wetness that pooled there. Both of them gasped, the sudden pressure sending a jolt of sensation through their bodies. “You’re dripping,” you said softly, your voice a mixture of approval and tease.

Holding your fingers up to Ningning first, you pressed them lightly to her lips. “Taste yourself,” you commanded gently. Her eyes widened slightly, her breath catching, but she obeyed, her lips parting to take your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue flicked against them tentatively at first, her eyes fluttering shut as the intimate taste of her own arousal spread across her palate. A soft moan escaped her throat as she sucked lightly, her cheeks flushing deeper.

Turning to Giselle, you offered her the same. “Your turn.” Without hesitation, her lips wrapped around your fingers, her tongue tracing deliberately against them as her moan resonated low and deep, her lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks. The shared intimacy of tasting themselves lingered in the air, their gazes flicking to each other, a mirrored hunger reflected in their expressions.

Their breathing grew shallow as you moved behind them, the tension in the room thickening. Their bound hands, secured above their heads, stretched their bodies taut, their exposed curves highlighted by the glow of the golden light. The vulnerability of their position sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through them, their soaked panties clinging to their flushed, sensitive skin.

You placed a hand on Ningning’s lower back, the heat of her skin radiating against your palm. “Good girl,” you murmured softly before raising your hand and delivering a sharp smack to her ass. The sound echoed through the room, her gasp sharp and startled as her body jolted forward. The sting lingered, blooming into a warmth that sent a shudder through her.

Without hesitation, you turned to Giselle, delivering the same measured strike to her. Her response was different—lower, more guttural—as her bound wrists shifted slightly, and her legs trembled beneath her. “Mmm…” she moaned, her voice thick with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

You alternated between them, your strikes deliberate, each impact eliciting a sharp gasp or moan. Their backs arched further with each touch, their bodies instinctively lifting to meet your hand. The heat radiating from their reddened skin blended seamlessly with the growing slickness soaking through their panties.

Once their breathing became ragged and their moans deepened, you let your hands drift lower, teasing the edges of the damp fabric covering their centers. Both women froze for a moment, their bodies trembling in anticipation as you pressed lightly against the soaked cloth. The heat from their folds was undeniable, and your teasing touch only heightened their arousal.

With a swift, deliberate motion, you brought your palm up against Ningning’s throbbing area, the spank sharp even through the damp barrier of her panties. She cried out instantly, her voice raw and breathless. “Ahhh—oh!” Her hips bucked forward, her thighs trembling as the mix of sting and pleasure shot through her body.

Giselle barely had time to react before your other hand landed on hers in a similar motion. Her moan was deeper, her legs quaking as she pressed her hips against the table. “Mmm… oh my God!” she gasped, the vibration of her voice carrying through the room.

Sliding your hands under their thighs, you brought your palms up, the strikes landing directly on their folds. Their voices rose in unison, desperate and raw. “Please…” Ningning whimpered, her body quaking as another spank drew a muffled scream. Giselle’s voice followed, her cries breathless and broken as she teetered on the edge of release.

“You feel it, don’t you?” you murmured, your voice low and commanding, leaning close enough for your breath to tickle their ears. “The way your bodies crave this, the way you’ve surrendered completely.”

They nodded helplessly, their voices lost in the symphony of gasps and moans that filled the room. The smell of their arousal mingled with the warmth radiating from their skin, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. Their panties clung to their slick folds, glistening in the light as their trembling bodies sought release. Every strike sent ripples of sensation through them, pushing them closer and closer to the precipice, their cries growing louder and more desperate with each passing second.

Suddenly, you untied the ropes that bound their hands above their heads, granting them a fleeting moment of respite. Their arms fell limply, their muscles trembling from the strain and the lingering arousal coursing through them. They flexed their fingers instinctively, a faint tingling running through their limbs as they adjusted to the sudden freedom.

“Take off your panties,” you commanded, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the haze of the moment. “And give them to me.”

The instruction left no room for hesitation. Ningning’s trembling hands moved first, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and sliding them down her thighs. The damp fabric clung slightly before coming free, revealing her reddened lips. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade as she held the soaked garment in her hand, the wetness undeniable against her skin.

Giselle mirrored her, peeling the damp fabric from her heated core with slow, deliberate movements. The cool air brushing against her sensitive skin made her inhale sharply, her eyes flicking briefly to Ningning before focusing on you. She held her panties between her fingers, feeling the slick weight of her arousal before hesitantly extending them toward you.

You accepted them with steady hands, your expression unreadable but commanding. “Feel them,” you instructed, holding the garments back toward them briefly. “Understand just how deeply your bodies have responded.”

Ningning’s fingers brushed over the damp fabric, her eyes widening slightly as she pressed her lips together, trying to contain her reaction. “Oh my god…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her cheeks glowing as she comprehended just how soaked they were.

Giselle’s response was quieter, her thumb grazing the wetness as a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. “That’s… a lot,” she murmured, her breath hitching as the realization settled over her.

The moment was fleeting. Without a word, you folded their panties neatly, the damp fabric a testament to their arousal. With deliberate care, you slid them into your pockets, before stepping forward, your presence grounding them as their breathing quickened.

“Hands behind your backs,” you said, your voice smooth and unyielding, and they obeyed immediately. Their arms moved into position, trembling slightly as you secured their wrists once more with soft, silken ropes. Each loop was precise, snug without being harsh, holding them firmly yet comfortably.

“I want you both to sit tight for a moment. I’ll be right back,” you instructed, your tone firm yet reassuring. With a nod, you turned and left the room, your quiet footsteps fading into the adjacent chamber.

Left to their own devices, Ningning and Giselle’s minds raced with curiosity, their bodies still alight with the sensations you’d left them to process. Giselle, her chest still heaving, turned toward Ningning with a faint, knowing smile. “That was… so good,” she whispered, her voice tinged with excited apprehension.

Ningning let out a breathy laugh, her cheeks glowing as she leaned slightly forward. “I can’t believe how wet I am right now,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with awe and vulnerability. A shiver ran through her as she shifted slightly, the slickness between her thighs a constant reminder of her arousal.

Before Giselle could respond, the sound of your footsteps returning drew their attention. You stepped back into the room, your presence commanding yet calm, your arms cradling two sleek, identical machines that hummed faintly with potential. The golden light of the room glinted off their polished surfaces, casting a warm glow that seemed to heighten the anticipation.

Giselle’s eyes widened in recognition as her gaze fell on the devices—two Sybians, infamous for their unrelenting intensity. Though she had never personally experienced one, the stories she’d heard were enough to send a shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat. Beside her, Ningning regarded the machines with a blend of curiosity and confusion, her innocence apparent in the whispered query, “Wait… what are those?”

Leaning closer, Giselle whispered, her voice tinged with both apprehension and excitement, “They’re… well, let’s just say they’re intense.”

You positioned the Sybians carefully, facing each other, the low hum of their engines vibrating faintly in the quiet room. The promise of what lay ahead hung thick in the air, a heady mix of arousal and nervous anticipation. Your movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial, as you arranged the scene, ensuring every detail was perfect. Ningning and Giselle watched, their bound hands resting behind them, their breathing shallow as they tried to steady themselves for what was to come.

With meticulous care, you guided them toward the Sybians, their knees trembling slightly as they straddled the velvety surface of the devices. The upholstery was soft against their thighs, a tactile contrast to the power that lay just beneath the surface. The slight height of the machines forced them into a position that was equal parts vulnerable and intimate, their bodies cradled by the contours designed to meet their most sensitive areas.

As they settled into place, the machines hummed to life, their low vibrations spreading through the room. Ningning gasped softly as the first subtle tremor reached her, her hips shifting instinctively in response. The sensation was like a gentle pulse, resonating deep within her core and coaxing her body into heightened awareness. Her lips parted as a soft, breathy moan escaped her. “Oh…” The sound carried a note of surprise, her innocence melting into tentative exploration.

Giselle, more prepared for the experience, exhaled a slow, shaky breath as the low purr of the Sybian spread through her. The vibration was pervasive, sinking into her muscles and radiating outward, like a wave of warmth that seemed to unwind her body from the inside out. Her head tilted back slightly, her bound wrists pulling faintly against the ropes as she surrendered to the initial sensations. “God…” she murmured, her voice low and tinged with both awe and arousal.

The machines were still on their lowest setting, their vibrations soft but insistent, like a whisper coaxing their bodies to respond. The hum resonated through their folds, teasing their most sensitive nerves without overwhelming them. It was a careful prelude, a tender invitation to let go. Ningning’s hips began to shift involuntarily, seeking more pressure, the dampness between her thighs betraying how deeply her body was responding. “It’s… so much,” she whispered, her voice trembling with both nerves and arousal.

You watched closely, your eyes flicking between Ningning and Giselle, gauging their reactions. Their breaths were shallow, their bodies quivering with the lingering intensity of the Sybians’ vibrations. It was clear they were teetering on the edge, their flushed cheeks and parted lips betraying their heightened states of arousal. Satisfied that they were ready for the next step, you moved with deliberate precision, reaching for the chain that would transform their experience into something even more profound.

With a smooth motion, you adjusted the clamps already adorning their sensitive nipples, the faint creak of the metal audible in the quiet room. Ningning whimpered softly at the renewed pressure, her body tensing briefly before relaxing into the sensation. Giselle’s lips parted in a shaky exhale, her chest rising and falling as she adjusted to the small adjustment.

Then, with deliberate care, you connected the clamps—first attaching Ningning’s right nipple to Giselle’s left, and then repeating the action on the opposite side. The fine silver chain between them gleamed under the warm light, a delicate but unmistakable bridge that tethered their bodies and sensations together. The effect was immediate and electric. The slightest movement from one caused the chain to tug on the other, creating a feedback loop of stimulation that neither could escape.

Ningning gasped as the chain shifted with Giselle’s movement, the pull on her nipple sending a fresh wave of sensation rippling through her. “Ahh…” she moaned softly, her hips trembling against the Sybian beneath her. The cool metal of the chain warmed quickly against their flushed skin, its presence a constant, tangible reminder of their connection.

Giselle inhaled sharply as the chain tugged her in response, her own gasp echoing Ningning’s. The clamps’ unyielding grip amplified every shudder and twitch, their sensitive peaks now bound in a dance of give and take. “Oh… god…” she murmured, her voice low and breathy, her body swaying slightly as the sensations intertwined.

“Now, the only rule here is to sit still,” you commanded softly, your voice steady yet firm. The authority in your tone sent a shiver through them, grounding them even as their bodies threatened to spiral into the overwhelming sensations. “If you move too much, you’ll only make it more intense for each other.”

The Sybians hummed beneath them, their vibrations deepening as you turned the controls slightly. The shift was subtle at first, a gentle increase that teased their already overstimulated bodies. Ningning let out a broken moan, her thighs clenching instinctively against the velvety surface of the device. The vibrations seemed to seep into her very core, spreading like wildfire through her body. “Oh my god…” she gasped, her voice trembling as the sensations climbed higher.

Giselle’s reaction was no less immediate. Her lips parted in a low, guttural moan, her bound hands pulling slightly against the ropes as the Sybian’s pulsations grew more insistent. Each small movement from Ningning sent the chain between them tugging at her clamps, adding a sharp, delicious edge to the vibrations that rippled through her body. “Mmm… it’s so much,” she managed to whisper, her voice thick with need.

The clamps acted as a bridge between them, magnifying every tremor and shudder. A twitch from one sent a wave of sensation to the other, binding them in an intimate, inescapable loop of shared pleasure. Ningning’s moans grew louder as she struggled to keep still, the vibrations and the relentless pull of the chain driving her closer to the edge. “Ahh… I can’t… it’s too much…” she whimpered, her voice a mix of desperation and exhilaration.

Giselle, no longer able to hold back, let out a trembling cry as the chain tugged at her again, her body arching against the device. “Oh… oh god… please…” she gasped, the rhythmic pulsations of the Sybian combining with the clamps’ steady pressure to push her closer to surrender.

Ningning’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling as her body quivered beneath the mounting waves of pleasure. The air around her was thick, carrying the faint, musky scent of arousal mingled with the warmth of their shared exertion. Her thighs trembled against the velvety surface of the Sybian, the vibrations resonating deep within her, coaxing her closer to the edge with every relentless pulse. The clamps connecting her to Giselle tugged lightly with each subtle movement, a sharp yet tantalizing sting that tethered her pleasure to her partner’s.

Her breaths turned ragged, a series of shallow gasps punctuated by moans that grew louder as her climax approached. The sting of the clamps, now warmed by her flushed skin, was a constant reminder of her vulnerability and connection. Each breath carried a faint sweetness, the room’s ambient scent laced with the unmistakable notes of sweat and arousal that hung heavily in the air. It was intoxicating, enveloping her senses as she surrendered to the rising tide of sensation.

Giselle, seated opposite her, was equally enraptured. She watched Ningning with wide, glassy eyes, her own body responding to every tremor that traveled through the chain between them. The faint jingle of the silver links with every motion sent shocks of stimulation to her oversensitive peaks. The sight of Ningning on the brink—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, her moans rising in pitch—only pushed Giselle closer to her own edge. The sharp, metallic tang of the clamps against her skin mixed with the faint musk in the air, creating a sensory symphony that heightened the intimacy of their shared experience.

Ningning’s body tensed, her muscles tightening as the vibrations reached a crescendo, the pleasure building to a point where she could no longer contain it. Her hips bucked instinctively, the Sybian beneath her humming relentlessly against her swollen lips. The sensation was maddening, a sweet torment that stole her breath. The tug of the clamps against her nipples sent shockwaves that echoed through her chest, amplifying every pulse of the machine beneath her.

Finally, with a choked cry, Ningning tumbled over the edge. Her climax erupted in a cascade of pure, unbridled ecstasy, the pleasure radiating outward in waves that seemed to reach every nerve ending in her body. Her back arched sharply, her bound hands pulling against the ropes as she cried out, her voice raw and guttural. The room echoed with her cries, the sound rich with the depth of her release. A sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, the heat of her orgasm suffusing her body with an electric warmth.

But her climax triggered an unexpected reaction. As she convulsed in pleasure, her body shifted slightly, pulling against the chain that bound her to Giselle. The sudden tug on the clamps sent a searing sting through Giselle’s sensitive peaks, forcing a sharp intake of breath. “Ahh—!” The pain, brief and sharp, acted as a spark, igniting the overwhelming pleasure already coursing through her. The sudden shift from the sharp edge of sensation to the deep pulse of pleasure tipped her over the brink.

Giselle’s climax hit her like a bolt of lightning, her body convulsing as the pleasure surged through her like an unstoppable current. Her thighs clenched against the Sybian, her toes curling as waves of ecstasy consumed her. “Oh… oh my god!” she cried, her voice breaking into gasps as her muscles tightened and released in rhythm with the machine’s relentless vibrations. Her bound wrists strained slightly against the ropes as her body arched, her head tilting back as she surrendered fully to the storm of sensation.

The chain between them continued to shift, transferring the echoes of their climaxes back and forth. Each shudder from one sent a tremor to the other, keeping the intensity alive, binding them in an intimate dance of shared release. The air was thick with their moans and cries, the scent of sweat and arousal mingling with the faint metallic tang of the clamps and the warmth of their bodies.

As the waves of their orgasms ebbed, both women collapsed against the Sybians, their bodies trembling from the aftershocks. Their breaths came in short, uneven gasps, their flushed skin glowing in the golden light of the room. Ningning’s head lolled forward, her damp hair clinging to her forehead as she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I… I can’t believe that…” she murmured, her voice trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction.

Giselle let out a weak chuckle in response, her body still tingling as she struggled to catch her breath. “That was… oh my god…” she whispered, her words trailing off into a soft sigh.

You approached with a quiet calm, your hands steady as you began to remove the clamps. Ningning flinched slightly as the pressure released, a gasp escaping her lips as the blood rushed back to the nubs. Giselle let out a low whimper as her clamps were removed, the absence of the sting leaving behind a bittersweet ache. The chain clinked softly as you set it aside, the delicate links gleaming under the light.

The room was silent for a moment, save for their heavy breathing. The faint scent of sweat and musk lingered in the air, a reminder of the intensity they had just shared. Slowly, you helped them off the Sybians, their legs shaky as they stood on unsteady feet. Their gazes met briefly, and in that moment, they shared a wordless connection—one of trust, vulnerability, and the profound bond forged through their shared journey.

The air is heavy with the scent of perfume mingled with the musky, unmistakable aroma of arousal, amplifying the intimacy of the moment. Your voice broke the silence, steady and inviting. “This entire evening began because there were questions. Uncertainties. I think it’s time we find some unforgettable answers.”

With a gesture, you beckoned them to follow. They obeyed, their movements tentative but eager as they stepped into the next space, their trust in you palpable.

The room they entered was a world unto itself, bathed in a soft, golden light that seemed to cast everything in a sensual glow. Shadows played along the walls, which were adorned with subtle, tasteful art hinting at themes of connection and exploration. The centerpiece of the room was the table—an object both functional and artful. It was designed with purpose, offering support and exposure in equal measure. Its smooth, cool surface gleamed under the light, and the padded leg rests positioned on either side made its intent unmistakable.

The air was cooler here, brushing against their bare skin as you gestured for them to move toward the table. The change in temperature heightened their awareness of every inch of their exposed bodies.

With their hands still securely tied behind their backs, you stepped closer, offering calm guidance. “Let me help you,” you murmured, your voice steady but soft. You lifted Ningning first, your hands firm but gentle as you supported her waist and carried her toward the edge of the table. She let out a soft gasp as her thighs brushed the cool surface. With care, you guided her legs into the padded rests on either side of the table. The gentle pressure of the rests spread her legs deliberately, leaving her fully exposed while providing enough support to keep her stable. Her bound hands rested against her lower back, the ropes pressing lightly into her skin as she adjusted to the vulnerable pose. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her arousal evident in the faint tremble of her body.

Next, you turned to Giselle, offering the same care and precision. Her flushed cheeks deepened in color as you approached, her gaze flicking briefly to Ningning before meeting yours. Without protest, she allowed you to lift her, her body pliant under your hands as you settled her beside Ningning. You guided her legs into the rests, positioning her with equal care. The deliberate spread of her thighs mirrored Ningning’s, the padded supports keeping her comfortably stable despite the exposure. The ropes binding her wrists brushed against her back, grounding her in the moment as her breathing quickened. A soft shiver passed through her as she adjusted to the position, the coolness of the table contrasting sharply with the heat blooming across her body.

The leg rests left them both completely open, their flushed folds glistening in the soft light with evidence of their earlier arousal. Their slightly reclined positions and bound wrists emphasized their vulnerability, making them acutely aware of their own exposure. The design of the table kept them secure yet unrestricted, every detail thoughtfully crafted to heighten their sensitivity.

Their gazes met across the table, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and curiosity, with undeniable arousal flickering in their eyes. The leg rests not only positioned them perfectly but also ensured they could see one another clearly—every curve, every trembling breath, every glisten of their shared vulnerability. This perspective forced them to confront not only their own openness but also the beauty of the other, creating a charged intimacy that crackled between them.

“Good,” you said softly, stepping back to take in the sight before you. Their spread legs, the sheen of sweat on their skin, and the soft flush painting their cheeks created a stunning tableau. “You’re both perfect like this.”

The praise sent visible shivers through their bodies, their breathing deepening as they settled into the moment. The tension in the room was palpable, each subtle movement and soft exhale amplifying the anticipation that enveloped them. The deliberate positioning, the careful exposure, and the warmth of your voice wrapped around them, leaving them completely immersed in the present.

From a nearby table, you reached for two butt plugs, their sleek surfaces already glistening with a generous coating of lubricant. The subtle gleam of the objects caught the soft light, drawing their attention. Your gaze flickered over both women as you held the plugs in your hands, your movements deliberate and calculated.

Starting with Giselle, you stepped beside her. Her bound hands rested behind her lower back, her body tense with anticipation. “Relax,” you murmured, your voice calm and soothing. Your hand rested firmly on the curve of her hip, grounding her as you brought the tip of the plug to her back entrance. The coolness of the metal met her warm, flushed skin, and she inhaled sharply, her body stiffening momentarily before yielding.

Her tight ring fluttered under the gentle pressure, the initial resistance giving way as you eased the plug inside with slow, deliberate movements. The sensation was unfamiliar but not unwelcome—a mix of stretch and fullness that sent a shiver through her. Giselle’s breathing quickened, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted. The weight of the plug settled deeply within her, the sensation of being filled creating a pulse of heat that spread to her core.

From her position, Ningning watched intently, her wide eyes fixed on the sight of the plug slipping into Giselle’s body. The intimacy of the moment left Ningning trembling, her lips parting as her own arousal deepened. A soft whimper escaped her, her thighs quivering as she anticipated her turn.

Giselle exhaled shakily as the plug settled fully into place, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson and her thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice rich with approval. The tension in her shoulders eased, her body relaxing as she adjusted to the sensation. A soft moan escaped her lips, the fullness bringing a strange but exhilarating pleasure.

Turning your attention to Ningning, you moved beside her. Unlike Giselle, her body tensed visibly as you brought the plug to her entrance. Her tight ring quivered under the cool touch of the metal, her breaths quick and uneven. “Breathe,” you instructed gently, your free hand stroking the small of her back in soothing circles. “Relax. Let your body accept it.”

Ningning whimpered softly, her body resisting at first, but she focused on your voice, her breaths coming in slower, measured waves. With patient care, you applied gentle, consistent pressure, coaxing her to open for you. “That’s it,” you murmured, your tone low and encouraging. “You’re doing so well.”

Finally, with a soft, wet sound, the plug slipped inside, settling into place with a quick plop. Ningning gasped sharply, her body jerking slightly as she adjusted to the intrusion. The sensation was intense—a stretching, filling heat that left her trembling. Her head tilted forward, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. As she focused on her breathing, the tension in her muscles softened, and the unfamiliar weight of the plug began to sink in, igniting a low, persistent heat deep within her.

From across the table, Giselle’s gaze met Ningning’s, her lips parting in a small, knowing smile. The shared vulnerability in their expressions created an unspoken bond, their arousal deepening as they took in the sight of one another.

As their eyes lingered on each other, the plugs within them seemed to pulse in response to the visual stimulation. Ningning’s lips trembled as the subtle throb of fullness radiated through her, amplifying the heat already pooling between her thighs. Giselle’s cheeks flushed darker as her breathing quickened, the sensation of the plug sending shivers up her spine at the sight of Ningning’s wet folds and trembling thighs. Their bodies reacted in tandem, the intimacy of their shared position heightening the sensations coursing through them.

“Perfect,” you said, stepping back to admire the tableau before you. The sight of their flushed bodies, the plugs nestled snugly within them, and the glistening evidence of their arousal was nothing short of mesmerizing.

Your hands moved with purpose, brushing lightly along their inner thighs. The contrast of your warm skin against their cool flesh drew gasps from both of them, their hips shifting instinctively at the sensation. Ningning’s thighs quivered as she felt her wetness slick against her skin, while Giselle bit her lower lip to stifle a moan, her body trembling under your touch.

“Trust me to take you where you’ve never been before,” you said, your tone calm but firm, your presence a steady anchor in the storm of sensations flooding their bodies.

They nodded in unison, their gazes flicking briefly to the other’s exposed, flushed sex before returning to you. The sight of one another—the swollen, glistening evidence of their shared arousal and the plugs nestled intimately within—intensified their responses. Ningning’s lips parted, her breathing quick and shallow, as her hips lifted slightly, her arousal pooling beneath her. Giselle’s legs trembled visibly, her hands twitching faintly in their bindings as she struggled to maintain her position. The unspoken connection between them bound them tighter than any rope, their shared vulnerability becoming an electric force in the room.

You stood like a shadow of command, donned in sleek black gloves that seemed to absorb the dim light rather than reflect it. Every movement was deliberate, precise, as if you were an enigmatic conductor preparing to orchestrate a symphony of sensations. 

The room, bathed in a soft, ambient glow, felt alive with anticipation. The air was thick, a heady mix of warmth and the faint, musky scent of arousal that clung to the participants like a second skin. Every breath was heavier, every sound amplified, from the soft creak of the table to the slight rustle of fabric. Giselle and Ningning knelt in vulnerable expectation, their flushed faces glistening faintly in the subdued light, their eyes locked on you with a mixture of trepidation and eager surrender.

With the gloves flexing against your fingers, you moved closer, your gaze sharp and intent. “We’re raising the stakes,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding, sending a ripple of tension through the room. They watched, their lips parting as their breathing quickened, aware that the next moments would challenge their boundaries further.

The new clamps gleamed faintly in your hand, they’re longer, more elaborate designs promising a deeper sensation. You approached Ningning first, your gloved hand brushing over the soft, flushed curve of her breast as she let out a shaky breath. The room seemed to hold its breath as you secured the first clamp, the cool metal biting lightly into her sensitive peak. A soft gasp escaped her lips, the sting sharp but intoxicating, her body responding with a subtle shiver as the clamp tightened.

Giselle was next, her body tensing momentarily before she exhaled slowly, her chest rising toward your touch as you affixed the clamp to her. The device closed over her nipple with a firm click, its grip sending a wave of warmth radiating from the point of contact. Her lips parted as a low moan slipped out, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as she adjusted to the sensation.

But the clamps alone weren’t your final act. With calculated precision, you introduced a weight suspended delicately between them, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the soft light. The fine rope connecting the clamps grew taut as the weight hung in balance, a silent promise of the delicate interplay between pleasure and pain. The shift in pressure elicited a duet of gasps from the two women, their bodies adjusting instinctively to the new, heavier sensation.

You weren’t finished. From your pocket, you produced two pairs of panties—the same ones they had given you earlier, now slightly crumpled but still heavy with the dampness of their earlier passion. The delicate fabric, saturated with their arousal, carried a potent, lingering scent that filled the air as you held them up. The sight alone made both women’s eyes widen, their breaths hitching as they recognized their most intimate garments.

Instead of returning the panties to their respective owners, you swapped them. Ningning’s panties, still soaked, were brought to Giselle’s lips. The soft fabric brushed against her mouth, the dampness transferring a hint of warmth to her flushed skin. Giselle opened obediently, her tongue grazing the material as she accepted it, her lips closing tightly around the fabric. A muffled moan escaped her, her cheeks darkening as the heady taste of Ningning’s arousal filled her senses.

Next, Giselle’s panties were turned toward Ningning. The sight made Ningning’s lips tremble, her gaze darting toward Giselle briefly before parting her mouth. The damp fabric slipped inside, brushing against her tongue and flooding her senses with the musky essence of her partner. A soft whimper escaped her, muffled by the gag as her thighs quivered against the table. The mingling sensations of taste, texture, and the intimate act itself sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her body, leaving her breathless.

But you weren’t done. With calculated precision, you retrieved a fine rope and tied it securely to the weight that hung between their clamps. The other end of the rope was looped through the panties now acting as their gags, the tension creating a delicate balance. The setup ensured that the weight’s position depended entirely on their ability to keep the fabric held firmly in place with their mouths.

“Hold it,” you instructed, your voice calm but firm, commanding their full attention. “If you let go, the clamps will pull free. The choice is yours.”

The weight of your words sank in immediately. Their glossy eyes darted to the rope, then to each other, wide with a mixture of trepidation and arousal. A silent understanding passed between them, their bodies tensing as they adjusted to this new layer of challenge. Both nodded, their muffled breaths quickening as they accepted the stakes.

Ningning was the first to react, her thighs trembling as she tried to maintain her composure. The subtle pull of the weight tugged at her sensitive nipples, the clamps intensifying every small motion. Each jolt of sensation sent ripples of pleasure and sharp stings coursing through her, her muffled whimpers growing louder as she fought to steady herself. The fabric in her mouth teased her tongue, the lingering taste of Giselle’s arousal adding an almost surreal intimacy to her predicament.

Giselle fared no better, though she held herself with a fraction more control. She bit down firmly on the soft, damp fabric of Ningning’s panties, her lips tightening as the weight swayed faintly between them. Every movement created a delicate tension that sent sharp, electrifying pulses through her clamps. The stinging pleasure spread across her chest and down to her core, each shift adding to the heat pooling between her thighs. Her muffled moans were low and throaty, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as her body fought to adapt to the exquisite torment.

The air in the room grew thicker, heavy with the mingling scents of their arousal and the faint metallic tang of the clamps. The ambient lighting cast golden shadows on their trembling forms, highlighting every quiver, every subtle motion. Their glistening folds, slick with evidence of their arousal, shone under the warm light, small beads of moisture trailing down their inner thighs.

You stepped back slightly, your hands folded behind your back, watching with quiet satisfaction as the weight swayed gently between them. Every tremor in their bodies, every muffled moan, sent ripples of shared sensation through the taut rope, binding them together in a fragile but electric equilibrium. The rope connecting their mouths to the clamps created a symphony of tension—each motion resonating through their bodies, amplifying the moment.

“Beautiful,” you said softly, your tone filled with calm approval.

They responded with muffled moans, the vibrations resonating through the soaked fabric of their gags. Ningning’s hips shifted slightly, her thighs trembling as her arousal continued to build, pooling beneath her. A bead of moisture slipped down her inner thigh, drawing a low, muffled whimper from her lips. Giselle’s chest heaved as she focused on steadying her breath, her body shivering with each pull of the clamps, her muffled cries blending harmoniously with Ningning’s.

With the stage perfectly set, you turned your attention to the vibrators resting in your gloved hands. The sleek, smooth surfaces glinted faintly in the ambient light as your fingers moved over them with a deliberate precision, each motion infused with purpose. For a moment, there was a hush, a reverent stillness, as you prepared for the next act of this intimate composition.

You stepped closer, the faint hum of the weight’s sway and the soft rustle of rope filling the room. Giselle and Ningning’s flushed bodies trembled in anticipation, their gags muffling their shallow breaths as their glossy eyes darted between you and the objects in your hands. Their legs spread wider, their glistening folds exposed to the cool air, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from their cores.

With exquisite care, you placed the vibrators on the outer lips of their eager sexes, the cold touch of the devices drawing gasps from both women. Ningning shuddered visibly, her thighs quivering as the initial contact sent ripples of sensation through her. Giselle’s hips twitched slightly, her muffled whimper vibrating through the fabric in her mouth. The vibrators rested there like poised instruments, their presence a tantalizing promise.

Then, with a flick of your fingers, you brought the devices to life. The vibrators hummed softly at first, their song blending seamlessly with the tension-charged air. The sound resonated not just in the room but seemed to echo deep within the women’s cores, a prelude to the symphony you were carefully crafting.

The first waves of vibration were subtle but insistent, coaxing their bodies into movement. Ningning arched slightly, a muffled cry escaping her as the gentle pulsing teased her sensitive lips. Giselle exhaled sharply through her gag, her chest heaving as she adjusted to the sensations coursing through her. Their reactions were immediate, their hips shifting involuntarily as the vibrators’ rhythm built slowly.

With deft adjustments, you increased the intensity. The hum deepened, growing richer and more resonant, filling the space with its intoxicating song. The vibrations now pulsed in steady waves, syncing with the rhythm of the girls’ trembling bodies. Their breaths became shallow, the rise and fall of their chests mirroring the unrelenting tempo of the devices. Giselle’s moans grew louder, muffled yet urgent, as her hips pressed closer to the source of her pleasure. Ningning’s hands gripped the edges of the table, her knuckles white as her body strained against the ropes and clamps that bound her.

Your gaze never wavered, every detail of their responses etched into your awareness. You adjusted the settings with the precision of a seasoned conductor, attuned to the smallest shifts in their cries, the slightest quiver of their thighs. The vibrators pulsed harder, their relentless rhythm sending jolts of pleasure through their already overstimulated bodies. The once-quiet room now echoed with the melody of their muffled cries and the low, persistent hum of the devices, the sound forming an uninhibited symphony of desire.

The crescendo built steadily, the tension between them palpable. Their flushed folds glistened with arousal, the vibrations drawing out a slick warmth that heightened the intensity of every sensation. The scent of their musk filled the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the clamps and the subtle perfume lingering in the room. The heady aroma wrapped around them, amplifying the connection between mind and body.

As the devices continued their tireless pressure, you introduced a new layer to the symphony. Your gloved hands began a slow, deliberate journey along the insides of their thighs. The cool material of the gloves brushed against their overheated skin, the contrast sending shivers rippling through them. Ningning whimpered, her gag stifling the sound as her legs quaked under your touch. Giselle’s hips jerked involuntarily, her body seeking the pressure she so desperately needed.

Your fingertips danced along their sensitive skin, tracing the delicate curves of their inner thighs. Each caress was maddeningly gentle, a featherlight tease that left them yearning for more. The touch wasn’t enough to satisfy—it was a whisper of contact that promised release but kept it tantalizingly out of reach. The fine rope connecting their gags to the weight pulled taut with every movement, adding an extra layer of tension to their predicament.

Giselle’s hips twitched again, her body betraying her need for more. Her thighs clenched briefly, only to relax as the vibrations overwhelmed her once again. Ningning moaned softly around her gag, the sound vibrating through the fabric as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering closed. Her fingers curled tighter against the table, her entire body stretched taut with unfulfilled desire.

Then, with a swift, decisive motion, your gloved fingers plunged into the molten heat of each woman, their slick arousal enveloping you as their bodies reacted immediately to the sudden intrusion. Giselle let out a shocked, muffled gasp, her back arching against the tension of the clamps. Ningning followed with a deeper, guttural moan, her hips jerking as her walls clenched tightly around your fingers.

“Ahhh… mmmph!” Giselle whimpered, her voice muffled by the fabric in her mouth, her thighs trembling as she adjusted to the dual onslaught of your fingers and the relentless hum of the vibrators.

“Mmm… ohhh,” Ningning cried, the panties in her mouth softening her desperate moans. Her body trembled violently, the tension in her thighs visible as she tried to hold steady against the overwhelming sensations.

Your hands worked with calculated precision, thrusting and curling in perfect harmony with the relentless rhythm of the vibrators. Every movement was deliberate, each touch aimed at stoking the fires within them. The wet, rhythmic sound of your thrusts mingled with their muffled cries and the hum of the vibrators, creating an erotic symphony that filled the room.

The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a heady musk mingled with the faint metallic tang of the clamps. Each breath was heavier, laden with anticipation and desire. The clamps tugged faintly with every motion, the delicate chains swaying and adding a constant sting that heightened their already overstimulated senses.

“Look at each other,” you whispered, your tone low but commanding, cutting through the haze of their ragged breathing. “See the ecstasy on your faces. This is real, and it’s happening to both of you.”

Their gazes lifted, hesitant and hazy with arousal, before locking onto one another. Giselle’s flushed cheeks and glazed eyes mirrored the same overwhelmed passion radiating from Ningning. In that shared moment, they saw themselves reflected in the other—the trembling thighs, the arch of their backs, the unrestrained pleasure in their moans.

“Mmm… Unnie…” Ningning whimpered, her voice muffled but still carrying the raw intensity of her feelings.

Giselle’s own muffled response came as her lips pressed tighter around the fabric, her eyes locking onto Ningning’s. “Mmm… you look… so good…” she moaned, her hips shifting as your fingers curled again, finding the spot that made her tremble uncontrollably.

The sight of each other—flushed, vulnerable, and writhing in synchronized bliss—heightened their arousal to dizzying heights. Their muffled cries grew louder, mingling as they surrendered completely to the sensations.

Your fingers moved with an intuitive rhythm, delving into their cores with the precision of an artist sculpting a masterpiece. The pads of your fingers grazed over their most sensitive spots, curling to press against hidden nerves that made their bodies jerk and spasm. When your thumb brushed over Ningning’s swollen nub, her body jolted, her muffled cry vibrating through her gag.

“Ahhh—ohhh!” she whimpered, her thighs trembling as the dual sensations pushed her closer to the edge. Her walls clenched tightly around your fingers, the slick heat enveloping you in a way that made each motion fluid and electrifying.

Giselle wasn’t far behind. The relentless thrusting and curling of your fingers sent waves of ecstasy radiating through her. “Mmmph… don’t stop!” she moaned, her voice vibrating against the fabric. Her body arched, her hips bucking involuntarily as she chased the release that was tantalizingly close.

The clamps tugged with every movement, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the relentless pleasure coursing through their bodies. The vibrators pulsed harder, their rhythm unrelenting, and the room was alive with the symphony of muffled moans, gasps, and the slick sounds of your fingers working them toward their breaking points.

Their gazes remained locked, the intensity of their connection building with every shared moan and cry. They weren’t just watching each other—they were mirroring, feeling the same overwhelming sensations, tethered not just by the clamps and chains but by the raw intimacy of their shared experience.

“Don’t look away,” you murmured, your voice both commanding and soothing. “Stay with each other. Feel this together.”

Their cries grew more desperate, their bodies trembling violently as the crescendo neared. Each thrust of your fingers, each pulse of the vibrators, brought them closer to the inevitable. The moment hung in the air, electric and heavy, as their bodies teetered on the edge of release. The symphony of their pleasure filled the room, their connection deepening as they surrendered to the shared ecstasy.

Giselle, her once porcelain skin now glowing with vivid hues of arousal, was the first to succumb. The vibrator pressed firmly against her wet sex relentlessly, the rhythm an unyielding assault that synced perfectly with the precise thrusts and curls of your gloved fingers. Each calculated movement was designed to draw her closer to the edge, her body reacting with a raw, uncontrollable urgency. Her thighs trembled visibly, muscles quivering with the effort to hold still as her hips instinctively sought more pressure, more friction. The soft, relentless buzz of the vibrator sent deep, reverberating pulses through her core, unraveling her composure thread by thread.

Her breathing was uneven, sharp gasps escaping her parted lips as the waves of sensation coursed through her. Her chest heaved, the rise and fall of her breaths drawing attention to the beads of sweat trailing down her flushed skin. Each shiver, each arch of her back, was a testament to the unrelenting pleasure building within her.

Across from her, Ningning moaned softly against the gag between her lips, her muffled cries carrying an edge of desperation. The relentless rhythm of the vibrator pressed against her own slick folds mirrored Giselle’s torment, while your fingers worked her just as masterfully. Yet, even as her body writhed and arched under your touch, her gaze was fixed on Giselle. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from her partner’s unraveling—the way Giselle’s thighs quivered, her hips bucked, and her flushed cheeks glistened in the dim light.

The sight sent a jolt of shock and anticipation coursing through Ningning, heightening her own arousal. She whimpered against the gag, her muffled voice a mixture of awe and need as she watched Giselle’s mounting climax unfold. The connection between them—the shared vulnerability, the mirrored sensations—made every moment more intense, every touch and vibration more profound.

Giselle’s moans grew louder, sharper, her hips rocking desperately as she teetered on the brink. Her breaths turned shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as every muscle in her core pulled taut. The vibrator’s relentless hum dug deeper into her, and the precise thrusts of your fingers coaxed her closer and closer to release. Her body trembled violently, the tension building to an unbearable peak, so unbearable that…

She screamed.

It was raw, primal, and utterly unrestrained. The sound tore through the room like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile equilibrium and reverberating off the walls. The force of Giselle’s scream was so visceral, so forceful, that it dislodged the gag from her lips. The damp fabric fell away, dragging the taut rope with it.

The weight plummeted instantly, yanking the clamps from their places in one brutal, unrelenting motion. The sharp metallic clatter of the clamps hitting the table punctuated the moment, a harsh counterpoint to Giselle’s piercing cry. Her head snapped back, her body arching violently as the pain hit—a fiery, stinging jolt that lanced through her sensitive peaks.

The sudden movement caused the plug nestled inside her to shift, pressing deeper against her inner walls. The fullness was maddening, its weight tugging slightly with each convulsion of her body, adding a new layer of sensation that bordered on overwhelming. The plug pulsed with her every breath, each subtle motion an exquisite mix of pleasure and pressure that amplified the storm raging through her body.

Across from her, Ningning’s muffled cry of surprise transformed into a full-throated scream as the clamps tore from her nipples. The sudden, searing pain ripped through her chest, sending her body into a spasmodic convulsion. Her eyes flew wide, tears pooling at the corners as the shock merged seamlessly with the relentless pleasure from the vibrator and your skilled fingers. The plug nestled deep within her shifted with her movements, its girth pressing insistently against her sensitive inner walls. The sensation was inescapable—filling her completely, intensifying the uncontrollable quaking of her thighs.

Ningning’s body trembled as the sensation of fullness took hold, her muscles contracting around the plug as her hips bucked instinctively. Each motion sent it pressing against new nerve endings, the lubed surface gliding effortlessly but unrelentingly with every shift. Her breath hitched, a mix of sharp whimpers and guttural moans spilling from her lips as the combination of the vibrator, your touch, and the unyielding presence of the plug became too much.

The room was alive with their screams, their voices colliding and amplifying in the charged air. The sharp, fiery pain of the clamps’ removal didn’t detract from the pleasure—it magnified it, adding an edge that sent their senses into overdrive. Their trembling thighs pressed against the relentless buzz of the vibrators, their hips bucking uncontrollably as the sensations overwhelmed them. The plugs, nestled deep inside, provided a constant reminder of their complete surrender, amplifying every vibration, every contraction, every spasm of their bodies.

Their bodies convulsed violently, each arch and shudder a testament to the overwhelming collision of pain and pleasure. Their swollen, oversensitized peaks throbbed with every heartbeat, the absence of the clamps leaving their nerves exposed and ablaze. The plugs moved subtly with their contractions, nudging against sensitive spots that sent new waves of sensation coursing through them, adding depth to their uncontrollable responses.

The symphony of their cries filled the room, a raw and primal testament to the depth of their shared experience. Their voices echoed, weaving together into a cacophony of desperation and release, each sound layering onto the next. Their shared screams became the crescendo, building to the inevitable climax that would consume them both.

And then it happened.

You felt it first in the way their bodies tensed—a subtle tightening of their cores, an instinctive reaction as their climaxes surged forward like an unstoppable tide. The plugs inside them seemed to magnify the tension, each subtle movement adding to their unraveling. Their walls pulsed around your fingers and the unyielding plugs, gripping tightly in a telltale rhythm that signaled their impending eruption. Recognizing the moment, you withdrew your hands with deliberate speed, ensuring nothing obstructed the force of their release.

The dam within them burst, and from their cores erupted a torrent of liquid ecstasy. They squirted—streams of warm, clear fluid arcing through the air, an undeniable declaration of their release. The sight was mesmerizing, a luminous display of their bodies’ raw, unfiltered response. Each spurt carried the weight of their shared passion, the vulnerability of the moment laid bare in every glistening arc.

The liquid splashed against their trembling bodies, the warm essence coating their exposed, flushed sexes. The heat of their release mingled with the lingering vibrations of the devices, amplifying the intensity of their sensations. Ningning let out a choked gasp, her moan raw and unrestrained as her thighs quivered violently. The plug inside her seemed to amplify the sensation, pressing firmly as her body convulsed, each spasm sending it moving just enough to heighten her ecstasy.

Their streams weren’t contained to their bodies alone. The arcing jets crossed the space between them, spraying each other’s thighs and stomachs in a chaotic, sensual cascade. Ningning’s release splattered against Giselle’s trembling skin, streaking her flushed chest and dripping down her abdomen in warm rivulets. Giselle’s own torrent painted Ningning’s heaving stomach and thighs, droplets clinging to her glistening skin before sliding away in teasing trails.

The sheer force of their release left the table beneath them soaked, glistening with the evidence of their climaxes. Each surge seemed more powerful than the last, their bodies responding with an intensity that even you hadn’t fully anticipated. For a moment, you found yourself taken aback, a faint flicker of surprise passing through your otherwise composed demeanor as the sheer volume of their shared ecstasy unfolded before you.

The sprays didn’t stop at their bodies. Streams arced further than expected, warm droplets landing on the floor, the surrounding table, and even your arms as you steadied yourself near them. Some of their essence reached their faces, warm, saline splashes landing on lips and cheeks. Giselle’s tongue darted out instinctively, catching a droplet of Ningning’s release and tasting the faintly salty intimacy of their shared moment. Ningning, wide-eyed and trembling, whimpered as she felt the same—her tongue brushing against her lips and meeting the unmistakable flavor of Giselle’s climax. It wasn’t just a connection; it was a visceral, undeniable bond that transcended words.

Their bodies quivered uncontrollably, each wave of pleasure rolling through them in relentless succession. Giselle’s thighs quaked as her hips bucked against the relentless echoes of her climax, her hands gripping the edges of the table as though to anchor herself. Ningning, her cheeks streaked with her own release and Giselle’s, let out a soft, broken moan, her body trembling as the final spasms left her utterly spent.

The cries they let out echoed through the room, raw and primal, the acoustics amplifying every gasp and moan into a symphony of passion. The unrestrained music of their climaxes filled every corner, a harmony of desperation and release that seemed to resonate beyond the walls. Each sound, each trembling shudder wove together into a tapestry of sensory overload, a shared expression of the overwhelming pleasure that consumed them.

Even as their streams began to wane, smaller bursts continued to spatter against their already soaked skin. Ningning’s thighs were slick with her own release, her essence mingling with Giselle’s in a chaotic, intoxicating display of vulnerability and pleasure. Giselle’s chest heaved as she took in shuddering breaths, her flushed skin shimmering in the golden light as trails of liquid traced down her stomach and thighs.

Finally, the torrents subsided, leaving their glistening bodies sprawled and trembling. The table beneath them was slick, the evidence of their shared climaxes pooling in small rivulets that dripped to the floor. The air hung heavy with the heady, musky perfume of their arousal, the scent a tangible reminder of the intimacy they had just shared.

The stillness of the room was broken only by the sound of their shallow breaths. Giselle and Ningning lay limp, their flushed bodies trembling faintly as they came down from the intensity of their shared release. The faint sheen of sweat and evidence of their climax clung to their skin, a vivid testament to the raw passion they had just experienced.

You stepped closer, your movements deliberate and soothing, your presence grounding them in the aftermath of what had just transpired. Slowly, you reached down to Giselle first, your hand brushing lightly over her lower back as you murmured, “Breathe and relax.” Carefully, you began to ease the plug from her, the gentle but firm motion drawing a soft gasp from her lips as her tight ring fluttered around the intrusion. As the plug slipped free with a quiet pop, a small dribble escaped her slick folds, trailing down her trembling thighs. Giselle shivered at the sensation as she adjusted to the absence.

You took a moment, letting her breathe as you moved to her bound wrists. “You’ve done so well,” you said softly, untying the ropes with practiced care. As her arms were freed, she let out a small sigh of relief, her muscles trembling from the strain but grateful for the release. Her hands rested limply on her lap for a moment before she slowly began to flex her fingers, her expression a mix of exhaustion and contentment.

Turning to Ningning, you repeated the process, your hand resting reassuringly on her hip. “Easy,” you said gently, your voice a calming balm. Ningning’s body tensed slightly at first, her breaths uneven, but with your steady guidance, the plug slid free. A soft, wet sound accompanied its removal, and a glistening bead of arousal followed, slipping down to pool beneath her. She let out a shaky whimper, her cheeks burning with renewed embarrassment as she tried to steady herself.

You placed the plug aside before reaching for the ropes binding her hands. “Relax, Ningning,” you murmured, your fingers deftly working to undo the knots. Her hands fell free, her wrists showing faint marks from the ropes, though there was no discomfort in her expression—only a quiet, lingering warmth. She flexed her fingers tentatively, her gaze flicking toward yours with a dazed but grateful look.

For a moment, you let them rest, their bodies too spent to move. You crouched beside them, brushing damp strands of hair from their flushed faces, your touch gentle and grounding. Giselle tilted her head into your hand slightly, her eyes fluttering closed as if savoring the brief comfort. Ningning blinked up at you, her expression dazed but filled with quiet gratitude, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t yet find the words.

“Well done,” you murmured softly, your tone a mix of praise and reassurance. The weight of the moment lingered, heavy with intimacy and trust, as you let them bask in the quiet aftermath.

Finally, after a few beats of stillness, you straightened and offered your hands to each of them. “Come on,” you said, your voice steady but warm. “Let’s get you up.”

Giselle and Ningning each took your hand, their fingers weakly gripping yours as you helped them sit upright. Both winced slightly, the overstimulation evident in the soft, breathy gasps that escaped their lips. When they swung their legs over the edge of the table, they faltered, their knees wobbling beneath them as they tried to stand. You supported them gently, your hands steadying their arms as they leaned against you for balance, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of their shared experience.

“Whoa…” Ningning muttered, clutching your arm for balance. Giselle let out a shaky laugh as she leaned into you for support, her body still trembling. “I don’t think I can walk straight for a week,” she said, her voice light but still breathless.

“Take your time,” you assured them, your hands steadying their arms as they slowly found their footing. Once they were upright, you stepped back, giving them a moment to adjust.

“Thank you,” Giselle said, her voice soft but sincere, her cheeks flushed not just from exertion but from a lingering sense of awe. Ningning nodded in agreement, her lips curving into a faint, grateful smile as she echoed, “Yeah… thank you.”

Ningning turned her head slightly, her half-lidded eyes catching Giselle’s. A faint, breathless laugh escaped her lips. “That… was incredible,” she murmured, her voice shaky but filled with awe. Giselle, still catching her breath, managed a soft smile, her cheeks deepening in color as she nodded in agreement. Words seemed insufficient, the intensity of the moment lingering between them, heavy and unspoken.

You stepped forward, your movements deliberate but calming, your voice soft yet firm. “You’ve both done wonderfully,” you said, your tone carrying an unmistakable note of pride. “It’s over now. You’ve experienced all you came for.”

The words hung in the air, settling over them like the final note of a beautiful symphony. For a moment, both women seemed to process the finality, their breaths still uneven, their flushed faces reflecting a mixture of contentment and loss. An emptiness where the intensity had burned now lingered in its place, raw and unfamiliar. They exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them, before Ningning spoke, her voice hesitant but filled with newfound boldness.

“I don’t want it to be over,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing deeper as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “I don’t even know how to describe how I feel right now, but I want… more.”

Giselle nodded, her voice low but steady. “You’ve given us something unforgettable. We want to thank you—properly. Not just with words.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly, though your expression remained composed. A flicker of reluctance passed over your face before you replied, your voice calm but softer, tinged with sincerity. “That’s not necessary,” you said. “This was always about you—your experience, your journey. There’s no need to thank me.”

The two women didn’t falter, their gazes locked on yours with earnest determination. Ningning leaned forward slightly, her voice trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement. “We want it,” she said, the quiet intensity of her words ringing out. Giselle echoed her sentiment with a soft, “Please,” her lips parting slightly as her eyes gleamed with certainty.

You studied them for a moment, your expression thoughtful. Then, giving a slight nod, your demeanor shifted from instructor to something warmer, more inviting. “If it’s something you truly want…” you began, your voice deepening with an edge of authority that sent a shiver through them, “then it’s a possibility.”

Their faces brightened with anticipation, their flushed cheeks deepening as they exchanged a quick glance. With a steady breath, you gestured toward the door. “Follow me.”

You extended a hand, and they took it eagerly, their legs still trembling as they stood. You led them through another doorway, the atmosphere shifting subtly as the space opened into a luxurious room. The centerpiece was a large, inviting bed draped in soft, elegant linens. The lighting was warm and intimate, the scent of fresh linen mingling with the lingering musk of their arousal.

They exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them, before their attention turned fully to you. With a mix of boldness and reverence, their hands moved toward you, beginning the process of undressing you. Ningning’s fingers were the first to find the buttons of your shirt, her movements slow and deliberate as she worked her way downward, her gaze flickering upward to meet yours. Giselle followed suit, her hands trailing lightly across your shoulders as she slid the fabric away, leaving your chest bare.

The room seemed to hold its breath as their hands continued, working in unison to undo your belt and ease your pants down with careful precision. They paused briefly, their eyes traveling over your now-exposed form, and a shared breath escaped them, a soft sound of awe and anticipation.

Wordlessly, you guided them forward, stepping out of the last remnants of your clothing and moving to the bed. You settle onto your back with deliberate ease, the soft linens cool against your heated skin. Their eyes followed you closely, the intensity in their gazes growing as they climbed onto the bed, each taking a position on either side of your legs.

They hesitated for just a moment, their eyes meeting once again in silent understanding before turning back to you. The air between the three of you was thick with anticipation, the intimacy of the moment stretching taut as they prepared to continue.

The room seemed to hum with the charged energy between the three of you. Giselle moved first, her confidence shining as she leaned forward, her lips parting. Warm breath ghosted over your tip before her tongue flicked out, her first touch tentative but deliberate. She began with slow, exploratory movements, her lips pressing softly as her tongue traced deliberate paths. Her hands rested firmly on your thighs, steadying herself as her rhythm built.

Ningning watched closely, her wide eyes fixed on Giselle’s movements, her breath catching as she took it all in. After a moment, she joined in, her hesitation evident in her softer, more delicate approach. Her lips brushed lightly against your member, a tentative kiss that quickly deepened as her tongue followed, her confidence growing with every touch. Her hands mirrored Giselle’s, settling on your other thigh as she sought to match her partner’s rhythm.

The contrast between them was intoxicating—Giselle’s firm, deliberate strokes complemented by Ningning’s softer, more exploratory touch. Their lips and tongues alternated, each adding their own unique intensity to the experience. Sometimes their movements overlapped, their tongues brushing against one another as they worked in tandem. The accidental contact of their lips, faint and fleeting, sent a ripple of warmth through all three of you, heightening the intimacy of the moment.

As their synchronization improved, their rhythm became seamless. Giselle’s confident strokes guided Ningning’s more delicate approach, and together they created a dynamic harmony. Their lips sometimes pressed against one another as they adjusted their positions, their shared focus blurring the lines between their individual efforts. The wet, rhythmic sounds of their tongues and lips filled the room, punctuated by their soft, muffled moans.

You placed a hand on each of their heads, your fingers threading gently through their hair, guiding them closer as they worked. The warmth of their mouths enveloped you, their tongues gliding and flicking with growing intensity. “You girls are amazing,” you murmured, your voice thick with approval. The praise spurred them on, their movements growing more deliberate as they leaned into the moment.

Giselle glanced up briefly, her gaze meeting yours with a glint of pride before she redoubled her efforts. Her lips pressed firmly, her tongue moving with deliberate precision as she explored every inch of your shaft. Each stroke was confident, her focus unwavering as she worked with practiced grace. Ningning, inspired by Giselle’s lead, grew bolder in her own movements. Her lips and tongue mirrored Giselle’s rhythm at first, but after a brief pause, she shifted her focus.

With a soft hum of approval, Ningning trailed lower, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your base before moving to your balls. Her tongue darted out tentatively at first, tracing slow, delicate circles that sent a subtle shiver through your body. Encouraged by the reaction, she grew bolder, her lips wrapping around one side as her tongue continued its exploration. The warmth and softness of her mouth contrasted perfectly with the firmer, more focused pressure of Giselle’s movements above.

The dynamic between them shifted into something even more enthralling. Giselle maintained her focus on the shaft, her tongue gliding over the cock with deliberate care, alternating between firm strokes and teasing flicks that left your body humming with sensation. Meanwhile, Ningning lavished attention on your balls, her lips and tongue moving in gentle, rhythmic motions. The combination of their efforts created an intoxicating duality—the firm, deliberate touch above and the soft, warm caress below.

Occasionally, their coordination brought them close enough that their lips brushed faintly against one another, a fleeting contact that only deepened the intimacy of the moment. The gentle friction of their mouths meeting, even briefly, sent a spark of warmth radiating through you, adding another layer of connection to their synchronized devotion.

Your hands remained on their heads, fingers threading gently through their hair as their efforts intensified. Giselle’s moans vibrated against your shaft, each stroke of her tongue more deliberate and precise as she sensed the growing tension in your body. Below, Ningning’s quieter, reverent whimpers continued as her mouth explored your sensitive base. Her tongue traced languid circles, her lips warm and soft as they enveloped one side and then the other, her gentle rhythm a perfect counterpoint to Giselle’s focused attention.

Their coordination was seamless, a perfect harmony of passion and purpose. Giselle’s lips tightened, her pace quickening slightly, while Ningning pressed more firmly against you, her hands gripping your thighs for balance. The wet sounds of their tongues, the heat of their mouths, and the occasional gentle friction when their lips brushed against one another created an intoxicating symphony of sensations. Each flick of their tongues, each press of their lips, sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

The intensity grew, your muscles tightening as you felt yourself approach the edge. “I’m close,” you murmured, your voice thick with the weight of the moment. The words hung in the air, a signal that spurred them both into action.

Giselle slowed her pace slightly, pulling back just enough to meet Ningning’s gaze. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and understanding as she reached down, her fingers brushing Ningning’s cheek. With a gentle but deliberate touch, she guided Ningning upward, encouraging her to take the lead.

Ningning hesitated for only a heartbeat before following Giselle’s lead, her lips parting as she moved to take your release. Giselle’s hand lingered on Ningning’s jaw for a moment, a silent gesture of encouragement, before she settled back slightly, her lips brushing against Ningning’s cheek as they passed.

As Ningning wrapped her soft lips fully around you, Giselle shifted her focus lower, her movements deliberate and exploratory. Her lips pressed against the sensitive skin at the base of your length, trailing lower, her hot breath ghosting over your skin. Slowly, she descended further, her tongue darting out to taste and tease the delicate area. Her exploration didn’t stop there—her lips found the sensitive ring of muscle below, and she paused for only a moment before pressing her tongue against it.

The first touch of Giselle’s tongue was tentative, a light flick that sent a shiver rippling up your spine. Your body tensed reflexively at the unexpected sensation, and a sudden, involuntary twitch coursed through you, pressing deeper into Ningning’s mouth. She gasped softly around your cock, her lips stretching slightly as her eyes widened in surprise. The movement only seemed to spur her on, her tongue stroking with renewed determination as she adjusted to the change.

The sensation of Giselle’s tongue was electrifying, her warm, wet strokes contrasting sharply with the cool air of the room. As she grew bolder, her tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles around your entrance, teasing the sensitive nerve endings there. Each lap was firm and exploratory, her lips sealing softly against your skin as she alternated between gentle strokes and firmer presses. Her low, muffled hums of satisfaction reverberated through you, intensifying the already overwhelming sensations.

Above, Ningning’s mouth enveloped you with unrelenting heat. Her tongue moved with purpose, circling and stroking with a rhythm that deepened the connection between her and the act itself. Her soft moans vibrated against your length, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Her hands rested lightly on your thighs, her fingers clenching slightly with every twitch and thrust, her arousal mirrored in her every action.

The dual sensations were almost too much to bear. The wet heat of Ningning’s mouth surrounding you, paired with the rhythmic lapping of Giselle’s tongue at your most sensitive entrance, sent shockwaves of pleasure cascading through your body. Every nerve felt alive, ignited by their synchronized efforts. Your hips instinctively rocked forward, driven by the intensity of the pleasure building within you. The contrast between Ningning’s focused, deliberate rhythm and Giselle’s teasing, exploratory movements created a synergy that pushed you to the brink.

The throaty hum of Giselle’s muffled moans as she worked only heightened the experience, the vibrations reverberating through your core. At the same time, Ningning’s lips slid down your cock with an almost reverent focus, her tongue pressing firmly and swirling along the underside in perfect harmony. The combined sensations left you entirely at their mercy, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as the overwhelming pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo.

“Oh, fuck… I’m cumming!” The words tore from your throat, raw and unrestrained, as your body stiffened in response to the tidal wave of pleasure surging through you. Your hips bucked reflexively, driving deeper into Ningning’s warm, wet mouth, while Giselle’s tongue pressed harder against your sensitive entrance, intensifying every nerve-ending’s response.

Loud, guttural grunts and moans escaped you in quick succession, each sound a testament to the sheer intensity of your release. Your voice reverberated through the room, blending with the wet, rhythmic sounds of Ningning’s mouth and Giselle’s deliberate movements. The primal force of your climax left you momentarily unguarded, your vocalizations echoing with abandon.

When the release came, it was powerful and unrestrained. A moan escaped Ningning as the warmth of your climax surged into her mouth. She froze momentarily, her eyes fluttering open with a startled glint before they softened again, her lips tightening instinctively to hold the full weight of your release. The heat filled her mouth, thick and overwhelming, her body trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. She didn’t swallow—her cheeks puffed slightly as she held it, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Below, Giselle continued her slow, purposeful movements, her tongue still teasing and lapping as if savoring every reaction she drew from you. The lingering sensations were amplified by the combination of Ningning’s focused efforts above and Giselle’s meticulous attention below. The two of them worked in perfect harmony, each touch and movement adding to the unrelenting tide of pleasure that left you utterly undone.

As Ningning began to pull back, a small thread of your release slipped past her lips, streaking down her chin in a glistening trail. Giselle, quick to act, leaned forward with a tender tilt of Ningning’s chin. Her lips captured Ningning’s in a deep, sensual kiss, the act as intimate as it was deliberate. Their tongues met immediately, intertwining in a slow, exploratory dance as Giselle shared in the taste of you.

The kiss deepened, their movements unhurried yet passionate, each of them savoring the shared essence between them. Their lips glistened, the faint, wet sound of their tongues mingling filling the air as the room seemed to hold its breath. Giselle’s hand slid gently to the back of Ningning’s neck, holding her close as they exchanged every drop of your release, the warmth and saltiness a tangible reminder of their connection to you and to each other.

When they finally parted, a faint string of saliva and release still connected their lips, breaking only when they exchanged a final, gentle flick of their tongues. Their eyes met, a mixture of satisfaction and unspoken understanding passing between them. A subtle flush deepened their cheeks, and with a silent agreement, they each tilted their heads back slightly and swallowed half, the deliberate action slow and sensual.

The soft sound of their throats working in unison punctuated the quiet of the room, a shared act that carried both reverence and intimacy. When they turned their attention back to you, their gazes held a newfound confidence, their breaths uneven but steady as they smiled—content and radiant, their connection with you and with each other now etched into the memory of this profound moment. Their glistening lips, flushed skin, and languid postures spoke volumes, a testament to the depth of the shared experience and the bond it had forged between the three of you.

As the moment of stillness settled, Giselle’s gaze lingered on you, a spark of playful determination flickering in her eyes. Without breaking the charged silence, she moved with deliberate grace, shifting her position. Rising to her knees, she swung a leg over your chest, her movements fluid and confident, until she was poised above your face. The intoxicating scent of her arousal filled your senses as she slowly lowered herself toward you.

Simultaneously, Ningning moved with equal intent, positioning herself at your hips. Her hands guided your cock into place with a mix of precision and eagerness, the warmth of her touch electrifying. As she slid you inside her, a low, throaty moan escaped her lips, her head tilting back as her body adjusted to the fullness. The tight, wet heat of her walls enveloped you completely, her hips rocking experimentally as she found her rhythm.

Your mouth met Giselle’s waiting heat with deliberate intensity, your tongue darting out to taste her. She gasped softly, her thighs trembling as she pressed herself against you, her hands gripping the headboard for balance. Each flick of your tongue sent ripples of pleasure through her, her moans cascading down to mingle with the sounds of Ningning’s gasps and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin as she rode you. Giselle’s movements grew bolder, her hips grinding against your mouth, the wetness of her arousal coating your lips and tongue as you worked to bring her higher.

Ningning, meanwhile, moved with increasing fervor, her hips undulating as she took your cock deeper with each thrust. The sensation of fullness sent shivers up her spine, her moans growing louder as she adjusted to the rhythm of your movements. Her hands rested on your chest for support, her nails digging lightly into your skin as the sensation built within her.

The room was alive with the sounds of pleasure—Giselle’s breathy cries as your tongue found her most sensitive spots, Ningning’s desperate moans as she rode you, and the wet, rhythmic sounds of their shared arousal. The heat between the three of you was palpable, an all-encompassing intimacy that left no part of the moment untouched.

Their gazes met across the expanse of your body, each watching the other with unrestrained arousal. Giselle’s lips parted, her flushed cheeks deepening as she locked eyes with Ningning, who mirrored her expression with wide-eyed awe. The sight of each other’s pleasure only seemed to spur them on, their moans becoming more urgent, their movements more synchronized.

Giselle’s hips pressed harder against your face, her thighs quivering as she chased her climax. “Oh… yes,” she murmured breathlessly, her voice trembling as your tongue continued its relentless work. Above you, her chest heaved, her hands gripping the headboard tighter as her body began to tremble.

Below, Ningning’s rhythm grew erratic, her movements desperate as she leaned forward, her forehead brushing lightly against Giselle’s arm as her own release neared. The connection between them—the shared sounds, the exchanged glances, the mirrored vulnerability—heightened the intensity for all three of you.

Your hips met Ningning’s movements with deliberate thrusts, driving her wild with each upward motion. Simultaneously, your tongue flicked and pressed against Giselle’s most sensitive spots, her cries growing louder as she tilted her head back, completely lost in the moment. The three of you moved in perfect sync, an unspoken harmony that left the room bathed in the raw, unfiltered sound of shared passion.

Giselle’s cries grew louder, her hips grinding more insistently against your mouth as her body quivered. Each flick of your tongue sent electric shivers coursing through her, her arousal pooling and dripping down onto your lips and chin. Above, her thighs trembled with the strain of holding herself upright, her fingers gripping the headboard so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Oh—yes! Just like that!” she gasped, her voice breaking as she teetered on the edge.

Ningning was lost in her own spiral of pleasure, her hips rolling in erratic, desperate movements as she took your cock deeper with every thrust. The wet, rhythmic slap of your bodies echoed through the room, mingling with her breathy moans. Her hands pressed into your chest, her nails dragging lightly against your skin as she leaned forward, her forehead brushing against Giselle’s arm. Her voice was shaky but insistent, punctuated by gasps. “I can’t… I’m so close!” she whimpered, her slick heat clenching tightly around you.

As your tongue worked relentlessly against Giselle, your hands moved instinctively, your body attuned to their needs. Blindly, one hand slid down Ningning’s trembling body, your fingertips brushing against the swollen nub at her center. The instant contact made her gasp sharply, her hips bucking as your fingers began to circle her clit with deliberate pressure. The soft, slick heat beneath your hand pulsed with need, and her cries grew louder as the added stimulation pushed her closer to the brink.

Simultaneously, your other hand snaked upward, your fingers finding Giselle’s own sensitive nub above you. Your touch was firm but controlled, matching the rhythm of your tongue as it flicked and pressed against her. Her thighs trembled violently as her moans turned into incoherent cries, her body reacting to the dual assault of your mouth and fingers. “Oh my God—yes!” she cried out, her voice trembling with desperation as her pleasure soared.

The connection between them heightened the intensity, their gazes locking in an unspoken challenge as they each fought to hold on, to chase their climaxes together. Giselle’s flushed face was streaked with sweat, her hair sticking to her temples as she rocked against your mouth. Ningning, her lips parted and eyes heavy-lidded, couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at Giselle, the sight of her friend’s pleasure fueling her own.

Your fingers moved in perfect sync with your other actions—pressing, circling, and teasing their most sensitive spots with unwavering precision. The added stimulation sent their bodies into overdrive, the tension in the room reaching a fever pitch. Ningning’s thighs quivered uncontrollably, her moans turning into frantic cries, while Giselle’s grip on the headboard tightened further as her hips bucked wildly against your face.

“Unnie—look at me,” Ningning gasped, her voice breaking with urgency. Giselle’s head tilted downward, her glazed eyes meeting Ningning’s as they shared a moment of raw connection. Seeing the desperation mirrored in each other’s faces was the final push they needed.

Giselle’s climax struck first, her body jerking violently as she let out a scream that echoed through the room. Her thighs clamped around your head as her hips bucked, her release flooding over your tongue in warm, powerful surges. She gasped and moaned, the cries spilling out of her uncontrollably as she gave in to the overwhelming pleasure.

Moments later, Ningning followed. Her walls clenched around you, tight and insistent, as her climax erupted. Her body convulsed, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries. “Oh, God—yes, yes!” she screamed, her hips jerking wildly as her release poured over you. The warmth and tightness of her pulsating core became the tipping point, the overwhelming pleasure building to an uncontrollable crescendo.

Your hips bucked instinctively, your movements deep and deliberate as the pressure within you surged forward. With a guttural moan, your release came, spilling deep inside Ningning as her walls fluttered and pulsed around you, her body seeming to draw every last drop from you. The sensation sent waves of electricity through your body, your climax prolonged by the sheer intensity of the moment.

The force of your release triggered a reflexive sound, a deep, raw moan that reverberated through the room. Giselle, still trembling in the aftershocks of her climax, felt the vibrations through her connection to you. The sound seemed to ripple through her, igniting an unexpected wave of pleasure that caused her to cry out once more, her body arching as an aftershock tore through her already sensitive nerves.

Ningning gasped at the sensation of your warmth inside her as her trembling walls milked you for every drop, her body convulsing as her cries turned into soft whimpers., her head tilting back as her hips rocked involuntarily, drawing out every ounce of the shared moment. Her breathing was ragged, her body trembling as her climax merged seamlessly with yours, leaving her utterly spent.

And then, like a pleasurable déjà vu, their bodies, already trembling from the force of their orgasms, arched simultaneously as a second wave overtook them. Streams of warm, clear liquid erupted from their cores, their squirting an undeniable affirmation that the first time wasn’t a fluke. Giselle’s release showered over your face, mingling with the wetness already there, while Ningning’s sprayed against your hips and thighs, the force splashing onto Giselle’s legs as well.

The air hung heavy with the scent of arousal and sweat, the room drenched in the evidence of your shared passion. Giselle finally collapsed forward, her body spent as she leaned heavily against the headboard, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Ningning followed suit, sinking against your chest, her trembling hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

The three of you remained entwined, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of your slowing breaths. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their flushed faces radiant as they exchanged a tired but satisfied smile. It wasn’t just the act itself but the undeniable bond you had forged that left an indelible mark on all three of you.

As the final tremors subsided and the intensity of the moment gave way to stillness, Giselle was the first to move. Her breathing still labored, she carefully shifted off your face, her legs unsteady but strong enough to carry her. Her flushed skin glistened in the warm light, her chest rising and falling as she ran a hand through her damp hair, trying to steady herself. A satisfied smile played on her lips, but her movements were measured, deliberate—a sharp contrast to the state of her companion.

Ningning, however, was visibly more affected. Her body quivered as she slowly lifted herself from your hips, her thighs trembling uncontrollably with every movement. She sank onto the bed beside you, dazed and breathless, her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes a testament to the intensity she had endured. Her hands trembled as she tried to adjust her posture, her body too overwhelmed to fully cooperate.

Giselle noticed immediately, her smile softening as she leaned closer to Ningning, her hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her friend’s face. “Hey, you okay?” Giselle murmured, her tone gentle but filled with concern. She wrapped an arm around Ningning’s shoulders, pulling her close in an attempt to soothe her. Ningning nodded faintly, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, she rested her head against Giselle’s shoulder, her body still trembling slightly as she leaned into the comfort.

You moved with quiet care, sitting up and reaching out to rest a hand on each of them. Your voice was low and calming as you addressed them both. “You did beautifully,” you said softly, your hands offering a grounding presence. “You’re both incredible.”

Giselle gave a small, grateful smile, her hand rubbing soothing circles against Ningning’s back as she glanced at you. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady despite the lingering exhaustion. “I don’t think we’ll ever forget this.”

Ningning’s eyes fluttered open, and after a moment, she echoed Giselle’s words with a faint, breathy whisper. “Thank you.” Her voice was trembling, but there was no mistaking the sincerity behind it. Her gaze drifted to you, still dazed but filled with gratitude.

As the minutes passed, the remnants of their aftershocks began to fade, leaving them both calmer and more composed. They moved slowly, helping each other sit upright as they prepared to dress. Their movements were tender and unhurried, an unspoken bond evident in the way Giselle steadied Ningning, offering a guiding hand whenever her balance wavered.

Once they were dressed, they turned to you one last time. Giselle, still steady and confident, spoke first. “Thank you again—for everything. This was… more than we could have imagined.” Her expression was filled with warmth, and she nodded firmly, as if solidifying the memory.

Ningning, though still leaning slightly against Giselle for support, managed a soft smile. Her nod came slower, her dazed eyes meeting yours briefly before her gaze drifted downward, her exhaustion still evident. “Thank you,” she repeated, her voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

You returned their smiles, your tone professional but warm. “You were both wonderful to work with. I hope you’ll consider coming back in the future. It’s been an absolute pleasure guiding you through this experience.”

Giselle nodded eagerly, her smile widening. “Absolutely,” she said, her enthusiasm clear. Ningning followed with a slower, smaller nod, her lingering haze making her response quieter but no less heartfelt.

You glanced toward the facilities with a small apologetic shrug. “Unfortunately, the shower is unavailable tonight. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Giselle waved the comment off with a laugh, her arm tightening around Ningning’s waist as they leaned into each other. “It’s okay,” she said lightly. “I think we’re good.”

Ningning hummed softly in agreement, her head resting against Giselle’s shoulder as they made their way toward the exit. Their steps were slow, their bodies leaning heavily on one another for support, but there was no mistaking the contentment in their shared posture. As they passed through the doorway, arm in arm, their laughter and whispered words faded into the distance, leaving behind an air of fulfilled intimacy and a bond that would linger long after the night ended.

The cool night air embraced them as they stepped outside, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of the room they had just left. The crisp breeze kissed their flushed skin, sending a shiver through their bodies that brought a hint of grounding. Yet, despite the coolness of the air, the warmth of what had just transpired lingered, leaving their minds spinning.

Ningning clung to Giselle’s arm as they walked, her steps unsteady and her legs trembling beneath her. Her face was still flushed, her breath uneven, and her eyes dazed as if she were trying to process what had happened. Giselle, steadier but no less affected, kept an arm wrapped securely around Ningning’s waist, her own body swaying slightly with each step as they leaned on one another for support.

“I…” Ningning’s voice came out soft and trembling, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I can’t believe we actually… squirted.” She blinked slowly, her wide eyes darting to Giselle, her words trailing off into the cool night air. “Not just once—but twice.” Her cheeks flushed even deeper as she said it, the disbelief thick in her tone. “For real. That actually happened.”

Giselle let out a breathy laugh, her lips curving into a dreamy smile. “Me neither,” she admitted, shaking her head as if to clear it. Her voice softened, her gaze distant as her words slowed. “That… that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Hands down.” She glanced at Ningning, her smile widening as a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “I don’t even know how to describe it—it was just… perfect.”

Ningning nodded, though her movements were sluggish, her body still trembling faintly. “Same,” she whispered, her voice hurried but tinged with awe. “I didn’t even know my body could… do that.” She let out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping Giselle’s sleeve for balance. 

They both laughed, the sound light and filled with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. Giselle tightened her arm around Ningning, steadying her as their legs wobbled slightly beneath them. The intimacy of what they had shared was palpable, creating a bond that felt unshakable, as if the experience had fused something deeper between them. Words felt almost unnecessary; the shared memory spoke volumes.

As they strolled down the dimly lit street, their earlier laughter began to fade, replaced by a contemplative silence. The golden glow of the streetlights bathed the path ahead, casting long, swaying shadows that moved in rhythm with their steps. Giselle crossed her arms tightly against her chest, bracing herself against the crisp night air seeping through her clothes. Despite the chill, her expression remained soft, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Beside her, Ningning adjusted her jacket with slow, fumbling hands, her flushed cheeks and unfocused gaze revealing her preoccupation. Flashes of the evening seemed to replay behind her eyes, each memory drawing her further into her own quiet reflection.

When they reached the corner of their block, their synchronized footsteps faltered. They both froze, their gazes snapping to the opposite side of the street. Emerging from the shadows under the muted glow of the next streetlight were two familiar figures: Karina and Yunjin.

Instinctively, Giselle and Ningning moved closer to the edge of the sidewalk, their eyes locked onto the pair. Karina and Yunjin’s presence felt almost surreal. The two moved in unison, their steps light and easy, their laughter floating softly into the quiet night. Yunjin leaned into Karina’s side, her arm looped loosely around her, her expression radiating a confident ease. Karina’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile as Yunjin whispered something that made her chuckle softly, their connection palpable even from a distance.

The direction of their path, however, was unmistakable. They were headed toward the same discreet entrance Giselle and Ningning had only just left. The heavy door loomed in the distance, barely noticeable to anyone unfamiliar, yet its significance was impossible to ignore.

Frozen in place, Giselle and Ningning exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance, their unspoken thoughts mirrored in each other’s faces. They stood in silence, their breathing shallow, as Karina and Yunjin slipped through the door. The soft click of it closing behind them echoed in the stillness, as though punctuating a realization neither of them wanted to put into words.

No words were necessary. In that shared glance between them, everything was understood: the disbelief, the reluctant acceptance, and the strange comfort of knowing their personal experience wasn’t as unique as they had thought. Whatever had drawn them there clearly extended beyond their own curiosity—a thread of something universal, intimate, and quietly thrilling.

Without speaking, they turned and resumed their walk, their steps slower now, their pace deliberate as the surreal encounter lingered between them. The air seemed heavier, their thoughts weaving unspoken questions and answers into the night.

The faint sound of their laughter returned after a while, but it was softer, tinged with awe and a touch of disbelief. They moved in step with each other, letting the moment settle as they headed home, the night leaving its quiet mark on their still-racing minds.

-----

When they arrived back at the apartment, the faint glow from the living room spilled into the hallway. Giselle hesitated at the door, her fingers trembling slightly as she unlocked it. Ningning shifted beside her, her legs wobbly and her cheeks still flushed, mirroring Giselle’s expression. They exchanged a glance—nervous, uncertain, and still overwhelmed—before stepping inside.

Minjeong was lounging on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and a tub of ice cream balanced on one knee. At the sound of the door, she looked up casually, her expression neutral for a moment before a slow, knowing smile crept across her face. She set the ice cream aside, tilting her head as her gaze swept over Giselle and Ningning.

Their clothes were rumpled, unevenly tucked, and their hair was a mess, clinging to their damp foreheads. A faint sheen of sweat still glimmered on their flushed skin, paired with the heavy, unmistakable scent of musk and arousal clinging to them. It was all the confirmation Minjeong needed.

“Well, well,” she said, leaning back into the couch and crossing her arms. “Look who’s back.”

Giselle froze, her eyes darting anywhere but at Minjeong’s smug expression as she clumsily shrugged off her jacket. Ningning fidgeted beside her, wringing the hem of her shirt with trembling hands, her blush deepening by the second. The air between them felt heavy, suffused with the weight of shared secrets.

Minjeong’s smirk widened, her tone playful but dripping with amusement. “So,” she began, letting the word hang tantalizingly in the air, “do you believe me now?”

The question hit like a challenge, undeniable and loaded. Ningning blinked rapidly, her flush spreading all the way to her ears as she stammered, “I… uh… what?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

Minjeong raised her eyebrows, clearly savoring every second of their discomfort. “The squirting thing,” she said with a casual shrug. “Do you believe me now, or should I assume you two just fell into a puddle on the way home?”

Giselle groaned loudly, slapping her hands over her face. “Oh my God,” she muttered through her fingers. “We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, but we are,” Minjeong replied smoothly, sitting up straighter as she gestured at them. “Look at yourselves. I’m pretty sure half the apartment can smell exactly where you’ve been.” She waved a hand in front of her nose with mock drama. “Seriously, go take a shower before you stink up the place.”

Ningning let out a breathy, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck as if she could physically brush off the embarrassment. “Fine, okay,” she admitted, her voice tinged with defeat. “You were right.”

Minjeong leaned back, her smug expression only growing. “Damn, I love being right.” She grabbed her spoon again, pointing it between them for emphasis. “And for the record, you two look way worse than I ever did. Way worse.”

Giselle opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but one glance at Ningning’s equally disheveled state made her snap it shut with a resigned groan. “Okay, fine,” she muttered. “We get it.”

“So?” Minjeong continued, her voice light but probing. She looked back and forth between them, her amusement palpable.

Giselle and Ningning exchanged a look, their faces still burning from the intensity of Minjeong’s scrutiny. Finally, Giselle sighed heavily, her tone a mix of exasperation and reluctant awe. “It was… insane.”

“Amazing,” Ningning added softly, her voice almost reverent. “But absolutely insane.”

Minjeong chuckled, digging her spoon into the ice cream as she watched them shuffle awkwardly toward the hallway. “Thought so,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Now go before you stink up the place.”

Giselle rolled her eyes, dragging Ningning along. “We’re going,” she grumbled over her shoulder. “And stop being so smug.”

The bathroom door clicked shut, and Minjeong leaned back against the couch, her smirk softening into a faint grin. “Told them,” she muttered to herself, taking another bite of ice cream as her eyes glinted with satisfaction.

-----

After their showers, Giselle and Ningning returned to the living room, collapsing onto the couch beside Minjeong. The TV murmured softly in the background as they all sat in comfortable silence, Giselle and Ningning still recovering from their experience. Minjeong barely glanced up from her mug of tea that she had replaced the ice-cream with, her smirk faint but ever-present.

A couple hours passed quietly, the three of them lounging in the warm, cozy space, the tension of the evening fading into the background.

Then the front door creaked open.

They all turned to look. Karina stepped inside, and the sight of her left them speechless. She looked utterly ravaged, as though every ounce of energy had been drained from her in the most unrestrained way. Her heels dangled limply from one hand, the straps swinging with her unsteady steps as her bare feet padded softly on the floor. Her mascara was streaked down her flushed cheeks, evidence of tears shed not from pain but from overwhelming sensation. Her lips were swollen, parted as she panted softly, her chest rising and falling in deep, labored breaths that made her shirt cling to her damp skin.

Her shirt was disheveled, one sleeve slipping halfway off her shoulder and exposing the curve of her flushed skin. The fabric bunched awkwardly around her midsection, twisted as though it had been yanked and tugged in the heat of the moment. The absence of a bra was glaringly obvious; her hardened nipples pressed against the thin material, betraying her sensitivity and the cool air that kissed her overheated body.

Her neck was scattered with marks—dark, blooming hickeys and faint, precise bites painting a vivid, unspoken story from just beneath her jawline to the delicate curve of her collarbone. Among them, faint but undeniable, was the ghostly imprint of a hand—its shape outlined in a faint redness across her throat, a testament to moments of raw, restrained intensity. The marks deepened in color toward her shoulders, a testament to the passion and force of the encounter. Her hair was a wild mess, tousled and damp with sweat, clinging in strands to her forehead and neck. A few stray locks stuck to her temple, framing her flushed face like a halo gone astray.

Her skirt, barely hanging on, was wrinkled and skewed, riding up on one side to reveal the faint imprint of fingers along her thighs where she'd been gripped firmly. The fabric clung to her hips as though it, too, had been caught in the chaos. A thin sheen of sweat coated her glistening skin, catching the light and accentuating the sharp curve of her hip bones and the subtle tremble of her legs as she took another step.

Karina’s lips twitched into a lazy, self-satisfied smile as she leaned lightly against the doorframe. Her eyes, half-lidded and glossy, carried the unmistakable glow of someone thoroughly and unapologetically satisfied. Despite her thoroughly wrecked appearance, she exuded confidence, her posture unbothered even as her body showed every sign of having been pushed to its absolute limit.

Minjeong, still leaning comfortably against the couch cushions, raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she took in the sight. “You good?”

Karina let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through her tangled hair, her voice husky and dripping with contentment. “Never better,” she replied, not even trying to straighten her clothes or clean herself up.

Karina’s lazy smile widened as her gaze flicked over to Giselle and Ningning, both of whom froze under her gaze. Tilting her head slightly, she drawled, “What happened to just experiencing, huh? All I could taste was the two of you the entire time I was with him.”

Giselle’s mouth opened, but only a strangled sound escaped. “I-I… we… it wasn’t—” Her hands flailed slightly before she dropped her head into her hands, groaning in embarrassment.

Ningning wasn’t any better, her face turning an impossibly deeper shade of red as she stammered, “It’s not… we didn’t mean to—ah, oh my God.”

Minjeong, sitting cross-legged on the couch, looked back and forth between them, her brow furrowing. “Wait… what? Taste what? What’s going on?”

Giselle and Ningning didn’t answer, too busy sinking into the couch cushions, their faces buried in their hands as they tried to suppress their embarrassment. Karina, clearly pleased with the chaos she’d left behind, simply chuckled and disappeared down the hallway, her door clicking shut behind her.

Minjeong blinked at the scene, utterly baffled. “Am I missing something?”

No one answered. The silence, filled with mortified tension, hung in the air as Ningning and Giselle continued to avoid Minjeong’s questioning gaze, their faces buried in their hands.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning as realization began to dawn. “You know, I’d ask again, but I think I already have my answer,” she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

Ningning stammered, “I-It’s not like that!” but her words dissolved into incoherent mumbling as she slumped further into the couch. Beside her, Giselle shook her head rapidly, muttering something incomprehensible, her face still hidden in her hands.

Minjeong chuckled, leaning back with a satisfied grin as she grabbed her tea. “Right. Not like that. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Her casual tone only seemed to make things worse. Ningning shot Giselle a desperate look, silently begging her to do something, but Giselle merely groaned louder, sinking even deeper into the cushions as if trying to vanish.

The apartment settled into uneasy quiet, the faint sound of the TV providing a backdrop to the heavy tension. Minjeong took a sip of her tea, her expression smug as she glanced at the other two. The warmth in the room was palpable—tinged with shared embarrassment, reluctant amusement, and an unspoken agreement that this would not come up again.

At least, not anytime soon.

[plutotheplum]

Take a Chance with Me

zayne x fem!reader

summary: zayne gets called into work, so you bring him dinner.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, established relationship, smut, fluff, handjob, oral sex, p in v, office sex

wc: 4.4k

a/n: based on one of zayne's text messages! he's so domestic boyfriend core. this is basically just some soft, fluffy smut before i write a dawnbreaker angst fic :3

also on ao3!

Akso Hospital is quieter at night than it is in the day.

You’d been expecting the bustle of nurses and doctors when Zayne had texted you saying he’d been called in on short notice, preparing yourself for some sort of emergency. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that was the case, most likely a pressing surgery that had come up for Zayne.

Sometimes, you wished he’d take more days off. It was a little selfish to want to be wrapped up in Zayne’s arms all the time, but you couldn’t help yourself, the comfort and warmth his body provided was like no other. It was what you had been doing earlier that night, cozied up next to him on the couch, with a fluffy blanket pulled up over you both as he’d spoken to you about one of his past surgeries.

Zayne’s voice had a certain lull to it, the low murmur of his voice making your eyes droop until you’d curled up into his chest, face pressed into his neck and fallen asleep before the takeout you had ordered even arrived. 

Jenna’s missions had kept you on your toes for the entire week, your body exhausted and dazed under the constant stress of fighting Wanderers. Zayne gave you the solace of being able to unwind, although your boyfriend was as stern as ever, he was everything you needed. 

That was until you’d woken up and realized he was gone. Zayne had made sure you were tucked in, a pillow placed under your head comfortably, and your hair brushed away from your face. You’d been disappointed, but the moment you were awake, you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried.

It’s why you’re here now, the takeout bag clutched in hand with a couple of paper plates and forks stuffed inside, as you wait patiently for the elevator to drop you off at Zayne’s floor of the hospital.

And of course, I can’t wait to see the person delivering it.

Zayne’s text flashes through your mind, and your grip on the bag of takeout tightens. It wasn’t fair how a simple line of text could make your heart race and your mind swirl with emotion, a sense of yearning taking root within you. 

You spy Yvonne sitting at the front desk and you give her a small wave before approaching her.

“Hi,” Yvonne greets, smiling up at you, “here to see Doctor Zayne?”

You nod in response, holding up the bag of takeout. “He got called in before we could have dinner, so I figured I’d just bring it to him.”

“That’s nice,” Yvonne says, her fingers tapping against the keyboard, “Doctor Zayne finished up his surgery about an hour ago. He’s probably resting in his office.”

“Thank you, Yvonne,” you chirp, giving her smile and another wave before making your way towards Zayne’s office.

It’s tucked away into the corner, his name engraved on the plaque that sits adhered to the surface of the door. The door’s unlocked, but you’re not surprised, he probably left it open for you. Turning the handle, you poke your head in to find Zayne’s head resting on his outstretched arm against his desk.

His eyes are closed, so you step in quietly, trying not to rustle the bag of takeout too much and let the door lock behind you with a quiet click. Zayne remains motionless and you tiptoe towards him, setting the bag down beside his desk. He looks peaceful like this, his lashes kissing his cheeks, face relaxed as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

You’re not quite sure what you did to deserve someone like him. Zayne is sickeningly gentle and even more sickeningly patient with you. He treats you like you’re precious because to him, you are. You’re more precious to him than any award he could be given, more precious to him than the highest praise he could receive from any senior doctor in Linkon and beyond. You’re the only thing that truly matters to him.

Zayne’s devotion runs deep. It soothes your frayed nerves, and has lodged itself inside of you deep within your viscera. Sometimes, you think about clawing out the protocore-embedded heart in your chest and handing it to him. Zayne would take care of it, you’re sure, as he does now. 

He stirs for a moment and you still, slowing your breathing so as to not wake him. Your hand reaches out, brushing his hair out of his eyes, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek. Zayne’s nightmares had gotten less frequent recently and you were thankful for it. He needed the rest. You lean in a little closer, unable to help yourself, letting your lips brush across his cheek in a fleeting kiss.

The hand on your wrist startles you for a moment before you realize Zayne is awake, his head lifting lazily and his eyes blinking open blearily.

“You came,” he murmurs, voice laced with sleep.

“I said I would,” you say softly, cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb over it. Zayne leans into your touch, letting out a heavy sigh as though some impossible burden were lifted off of his shoulders. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and let him nuzzle into your palm, his lips kissing the inside of your wrist.

Breaking through the relaxed atmosphere, your stomach growls and you flush, cheeks heating up. Zayne lets out a low laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you onto his lap.

“You should’ve eaten,” Zayne says, brushing his hand over your hair.

“I wanted to eat with you,” you mumble, pouting petulantly.

He hums, reaching for the bag of takeout, taking out the plates and forks along with the food. It’s impossible to stop yourself from nosing into his cheek, lips pressing soft kisses along his jaw and across the expanse of his cheek.

“I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few hours since I last saw you,” he muses, tilting his head up to meet your eyes.

“So? I still missed you,” you reply, arms tightening around his neck.

A smile tugs at his lips, a knowing look in his eyes. He presses the fork of food up to your lips and you open your mouth obediently, letting him feed you. Zayne rubs his hand up and down your back from time to time, his lips pressing against your cheek with every bite he feeds you.

You curl into him when he finishes feeding you, letting your face find its way back home into the crook of his neck, carved out just for you. Zayne tightens his arm around your waist, thumb stroking over the curve of your hip every now and then as he eats.

“I love you,” Zayne says quietly, the fork settling against the plastic takeout container.

“I love you too,” you say, trying to press yourself closer into the heat of his body.

It frustrates you, not being able to be as close to him as you want. The sense of it not being enough, despite being flush against him, gnaws at you. Zayne knows this of course, can see the little downward pull of your lips whenever you get like this and try to meld your body against his as though you’re trying to burrow through his clothes and into him. He’d let you, if it was possible, keep you safe behind the curve of his ribs and close to his heart.

He slides his hand into your hair, cupping the back of your head to tilt it upwards. You smile up at him fondly, eyes fluttering shut when he brushes the tip of his nose against yours.

“I love you,” Zayne repeats, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I love you t-”

Your voice is muffled when he slots his lips over yours, drawing you into a slow kiss. It’s sweet, the way he presses his lips to yours in a tentative question as though asking for permission even though he knows you’ll give it to him. Your head tilts, your hand sliding into the softness of his hair, nails scraping against his scalp gently. Zayne shivers and leans into you further, his hand squeezing at your waist.

Longing unfurls in your gut, the slow, syrupy sweetness of his kiss sinking through your flesh and encasing your soul in a warm embrace. You’re shifting on his lap, moving your body so that you straddle him, knees bracketing his hips. Zayne chases after you when you break away, not letting you leave him for long, guiding you into another kiss.

His hands have begun to drift, smoothing up over the skin of your thighs, squeezing at the flesh before sliding under to grab at your ass. You smile against his lips, fingers splaying across his throat before dragging down to hook into the knot of his tie. You tug downwards, loosening his tie from around his neck. 

“We can’t,” he whispers, glancing towards the door.

“I locked it,” you murmur, kissing him softly, “please, Zayne?” Your fingers go further, beginning to unbutton his shirt all the way. “I need you.”

Zayne stares up at you and sees the neediness in your expression, the haze that comes over your face whenever you ask him for his cock. He finds that he can never deny you.

“Okay,” Zayne says quietly, squeezing your arm, “okay, sweetheart.”

You palm him through his trousers, feel him beginning to grow in the confines of his pants. Zayne tries to bite back the noises you elicit from him, but it’s impossible when you look at him like that, your eyes all starry and cheeks flushed. 

“You’re always taking care of me,” you whisper, palming his bulge a little more firmly, “let me take care of you now, Zayne.”

Zayne lets out a shaky breath and you smile, pecking his lips gently. Pulling his belt buckle free, you undo the button to his trousers, dragging the zip down to see his boxers. There’s a dark spot on the fabric and the sight has you licking your lips, grasping his half-hard cock through his boxers.

He lets out a strangled groan, his head falling back against his chair, hips bucking up to chase more of your touch.

“You’re teasing me,” Zayne grits out, his knuckles white with how tightly he’s gripping the armrests of his chair.

“‘m making you feel good,” you correct. 

Your hand pulls his boxers down, and his cock slaps against his abdomen, thick and tip flushed prettily. Zayne’s fully hardened now, the tips of his ears reddening as you wrap your hand around his cock.

“Fuck-” he pants, running his hand through his hair, “d-don’t stop.”

“Not going to,” you whisper, hand tightening around his cock.

Zayne groans again, his thighs falling open a little more. Your other hand cups his heavy balls, massaging them gently, lips finding his again as his pre-cum wets your hand. He kisses you desperately, hips bucking up into your hand. Zayne pushes at the straps of your dress impatiently, pulling it down along with your bra to find your breasts.

“So pretty,” Zayne murmurs, hand splaying across your back to make you arch into him.

He mouths across your collarbone, all the way to your sternum before drifting down to try and stuff the entirety of your breast into his mouth. A breathless laugh leaves you, thumb swiping over the sensitive tip of his cock. Zayne’s thighs jump, his grip on you tightening, tongue alternating between flicking over your nipple and swiping over the whole of your areola.

Spit drips from his mouth, a thin strand connecting his glistening lips to your hardened nipple. You catch it with your thumb, feeding it to him, letting him suck your thumb into his mouth. He moans around it and you whine, cunt clenching at the feeling of his warm mouth over your skin. It has you feeling debauched, your own mouth opening to let a glob of spit drip down and onto his cock. Zayne’s cock twitches and he presses himself against you, his face tucking into the crook of your neck as he pants.

“Sweetheart,” he grunts, his cock fucking into your hand, “you feel so good.”

You mewl in agreement, hand slipping into his hair again. Zayne lets out a low whine, his eyes fluttering shut as he curls his own hand around yours, tightening your grip. You move your hand faster, swipe your thumb over his fat, leaking tip more frequently and tug at his hair to tilt his head and kiss him.

“You’re throbbing,” you whisper, lips brushing over his with every word.

“You tend to have that effect on me,” he replies hoarsely.

His cock throbs almost on cue, another glob of pre-cum spilling down the side of his length. You squeeze your hand tighter, dragging it upwards to see more pre-cum spilling out of him the tighter you squeeze. Zayne sounds utterly gone, mouthing at your chest to distract himself, lips wrapping around your other breast this time. 

He stares up at you, amber-green eyes shining in the light as his mouth stays enveloped around the fat of your breast. You bite your lip, giving him a dazed smile and lowering your head to nudge your nose against his. Zayne forgets about your breast, tilts his head up to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me, Zayne,” you whisper sweetly, kissing the tip of his nose, “wanna see you cum.”

Zayne moans unabashedly, his heart fluttering at your words. His hips buck up one last time before he cums, squeezing at your sides roughly as his forehead falls against your shoulder. Hot, thick cum smears across your hands and you hum happily, giving his cock one last teasing pump. Zayne shudders at the sensation, grunting softly as he catches your wrist to stop you from playing with his sensitive cock.

“You made a mess, Doctor Zayne.”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. You stay perched on his lap, watching as his cock softens. Zayne takes your hand before you can lick his cum off of your palm, his handkerchief swiping over your sullied palm and fingers, cleaning your skin.

Zayne kisses you again, squishes your cheeks to make your lips pucker out for a moment and smiles at the sight. You frown when he moves you off of him only to realize that he’s standing up as well, pushing your shoulders gently to make you sit down on his chair.

He sinks to his knees and you bite your lip, body taut with anticipation. Zayne pulls your socks off, his thumbs pressing into the arch of your right foot. You sigh at the sensation, eyes slipping shut.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, placing a reverent kiss to your ankle.

Your heart lurches, lips trembling as he caresses your calf. Zayne kisses up the length of your leg, up your shin and past your knee, his fingers squeezing at your flesh. He drags his lips across your inner thigh, landing soft kisses to your skin. His scarred hands graze over your panties, knuckles pressing against your swollen clit for a moment before he kisses your panty-clad pussy. 

Zayne repeats the same sequence of actions for your other leg as though he were worshiping you. A part of you wants to cry at his display of affection. There’s a lump in your throat with how nicely he’s treating you, but you swallow it down, losing yourself in the fond gaze he gives you.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper, fingers running through his hair.

“I’m not,” he replies, kissing your pussy again, “I just love you.”

You swallow harshly and Zayne smiles, his fingers pulling down your panties. He thumbs apart your folds and lets out a shuddering breath when he realizes how wet you are. 

“All for me,” he murmurs, watching the clench of your pussy around nothing, “you’re all mine.”

You whine in agreement, back arching as he licks over your cunt. Zayne kisses your clit and buries his face into your pussy, licking and sucking without abandon. You can barely stay on the chair with how much you’re squirming and writhing under his mouth. Zayne winds his arms around your thighs and holds you in place, his mouth making lewd noises as he makes out with your pussy until your cries grow louder.

You hope his office is soundproof, but when Zayne sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth, you lose any sense of where you are, letting out pitchy, shuddering gasps as your feet press up onto your toes, digging into his back. 

“Zayne!” you cry, tugging at his hair roughly. He groans into your pussy, enjoying the sting of pain across his scalp. He buries his face deeper, kissing and licking until your pussy is puffy and slick is pouring out of you uncontrollably. “N-nghhh- no, Zayne. You- you have to fuck me!”

“Okay,” he rasps, pulling back when you tug at his hair, “up, my love, get up.” He taps your thighs and you stand up on shaky legs, pulling him closer by his tie to kiss him.

Zayne kisses you as you paw at his broad shoulders, pushing his shirt off to grasp at his muscled arms and back. He squeezes your waist, kneads the fat at your hips before he’s spinning you and bending you over his desk.

Your dress is flipped up, a squeak escaping your lips when he brings his hand down, slapping your ass. A giggle makes its way out of you and you rise up on the tips of your toes, wiggling your hips and ass for him playfully.

Zayne groans at the sight and slaps your ass again. His fingers spread apart your asscheeks, his eyes feasting on the sight of your glistening, puffy pussy again. You cry out when you feel him shove his face back into your pussy, licking over you messily and without abandon until you reach back and push at his head weakly.

You let your hips sway back and Zayne grasps his cock, pressing it against your greedy cunt. He curses as your pussy sucks him in, his hand balling up the fabric of your dress into one hand, keeping you spread as he watches you take his cock, inch after inch.

You let out a strangled gasp, the air being punched out of your lungs as he fills you up. Zayne is big and thick, his cock splitting you open, forcing your pussy to take him, carving the shape of his length inside of you. Your nails dig into his desk and neither of you seem to care as a few patient files slip off of the edge of the desk, the paper fluttering to the ground.

“Always so tight,” he hisses out, his hand curling over your hip, “such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

Your head falls against the wood of his desk, teeth sinking into your knuckles as you try to muffle your noises. Zayne notices and lets out a tsk, his arm reaching for yours and bringing it behind your back.

“None of that,” Zayne chastises, “I want to hear you, my love.”

He does hear you when he presses your lower back down, his hips thrusting forward. You cry out, moaning and mewling as his cock sinks into you repeatedly. Zayne drapes himself over your back, kissing up your spine and landing a soft kiss to your shoulder, hips humping into your ass. The squelch of your cunt should be embarrassing, but it happens whenever Zayne fucks you now, you get so horribly wet whenever you see his cock and he touches you.

You turn your head back to kiss him and Zayne groans into your mouth, licking into your mouth before he’s moving back to fuck you properly. Your knees would buckle if you weren’t bent over the desk. His name plate inches closer to the edge of the desk with every thrust Zayne delivers to your pussy.

Zayne pants and grunts; you look back to find his face flushed, his eyes closed and brows drawn together tightly. He looks handsome, face twisted with pleasure and want; unadulterated passion.

“Zayne- o-oh yes-” you whimper when he pins you down, his hands grasping your hips roughly.

He ups his pace, the desk rattling, his belongings hitting the floor. Each snap of his hips leaves you reeling and you’re sure you’re seeing stars in the darkness of your closed eyes. 

“Good girl,” he groans, unable to stop himself from landing another slap to your ass, “my good girl- fuck- I love you so, so much, sweetheart.”

You’re practically sobbing, walls clenching around his cock so tightly that he’s cupping your jaw and drawing you up so that your back is flush against his chest. Zayne bends his knees and fucks up into you. Your nails scrape against his arm, head falling against his shoulder as his hand slips down to rub your clit.

“Take it,” Zayne whispers, nipping your earlobe, “take it, baby.”

His calloused fingers on your clit too much and your body is seizing up, the coil of pleasure inside of you snapping until you moan loudly, his hand slapping over your mouth when the beginnings of a squeal make its way out of you with how oversensitive you are. 

Your body shudders as you cum, and you try to push his hand away from his clit but he sinks his teeth into your shoulder in warning, rubbing tight circles until he cums, his low grunts filling your ear as his hips slow into a stuttering mess. Zayne bends you over the desk again, shuffles forward until his hips are flush against your ass, balls pressed against your clit, his cock stuffed inside your pussy snugly.

“I love you,” you whine, feeling his hot cum fill you up.

“I- I shit-” Zayne gasps, thrusting his hips forward a few more times as he feels your walls clenching around him tightly, milking every drop of thick cum from him, “Hah- I l-love you too,” he stammers, slumping over you.

You mewl under his weight, his softening cock slipping out of you. Zayne’s cum mixed with your arousal drips down your thighs, smearing against your skin. He lifts himself up after a few moments of panting, using his desk for support. You turn around, rising up on shaky legs and even shakier toes to cup his cheeks and kiss him.

Zayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. He deepens the kiss, lowers his head for you so that you can sink down flat onto your feet again. Your tongue tangles with his, hands stroking over his hair soothingly as you give yourself to him, body and soul.

You can feel his smile against your lips, the drag of his lips across your cheek and the side of your head to press several kisses to your forehead.

“I hope your office is soundproof, Doctor Zayne,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and letting your chin rest on his chest.

“I hope so too,” Zayne says, flushing lightly.

You laugh, kissing the underside of his jaw. You help him pull his shirt on again, buttoning up the front of it and tighten his tie again. Zayne wipes the insides of your thighs with a few tissues, discarding them in the bin beside his desk, helping pull up your panties over your hips.

He fixes the straps of your dress, fingers brushing over your shoulders gently and the place where his teeth had sunk into you.

“Take the day off tomorrow,” you say to him as you help gather the patient files that had fallen off of his desk.

“You know I can’t,” he sighs, shaking his head.

You pout, widening your eyes and batting your eyelashes up at him in an attempt to give him the most pleading look you can muster.

“Please?” you say, sidling up to him again, “you’re overworked, Zayne. Take the day off, hm? We can relax together.”

Zayne stares down at you, his lips pursing for a moment. It never takes much convincing. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he feels compelled to listen.

“You’re a terrible influence, sweetheart.”

You smile up at him giddily, wrapping your arms around his neck. “‘m just taking care of my lovely, handsome, perfect boyfriend.”

“Fattening up my ego, huh?” Zayne asks, dipping his head to steal a kiss from you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your voice softens slightly. “I- I do mean those things, Zayne.”

Zayne falters at the hint of vulnerability in your voice. He can see that you’re shy about it with the way your eyes dart away from his, you always have been whenever confessing your more heart-felt feelings. 

“If you insist,” he says quietly, trapping your chin between his fingers to bring your eyes to meet his again. “But I think you’re the perfect one.”

You flush at his compliment, swatting his chest. He laughs, grabbing your fist to press a firm kiss to your knuckles. Zayne’s laugh fades when he stares at your hand, his brows furrowing for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your own brows furrowing as you stare at your bare hand. There’s nothing on it, nothing of concern anyways.

“Ah,” Zayne clears his throat, giving you a smile, “it’s nothing.”

It’s strange. He can’t help but think your left hand looks oddly bereft in the light. 

Zayne thinks a ring would fix the problem. 

He dips his head, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips as he takes your hand, leading you out of his office, letting Yvonne know that he wouldn’t be available tomorrow.

Zayne drives you home, despite your insistence that you could drive instead, his head shaking sternly as he’d ushered you into the passenger’s side. You’re curled up in bed with him, blankets pulled up over both you, the heat cocooning you in. 

“Despite your Evol, you’re so warm,” you mumble drowsily, face pressed into his chest.

“That may be because of the blankets,” Zayne says, amused.

You scoff, but you don’t have it in you to come up with some witty remark, instead letting him play with your hair.

“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow,” you slur, body relaxing further when he scratches your scalp gently.

“I want to spend the morning in bed with you,” he whispers, watching as your eyelids slip shut.

It’s only half the truth. Zayne does want to spend the morning in bed with you, but he also wants something… more.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

You’re asleep when he whispers the words, his lips brushing your forehead.

It doesn’t matter. 

You’ll hear them properly when he gets down on one knee.

[hashioki7]

Their nightmare

Travis woke up to the cries coming from beside him.

"Laura!"

"Don't come near me!"

Trembling with fear, Laura tossed the sheets aside and flailed her arms and legs aimlessly with vacant eyes.

"It's okay, Laura! It's me! Everything's fine!"

Wrapping his arms around her thrashing form, he repeated those words in her ear over and over again.

"There are no more werewolves here. It's all over. There's nothing to attack you or blame you anymore. Everything's okay, it's all okay."

The hands that had been wildly striking out suddenly stopped. Her breathing, which had been as intense as a storm, gradually became regular, and her chest, which had been tumultuous, began to calm like gentle waves.

"Are you feeling calmer now?"

"…Sorry, Travis."

Wrapped in the sheets, Laura turned around in his arms, shyly smiled, and then looked down.

"You had another nightmare, didn't you?"

She silently nodded. Travis gently embraced her trembling form, holding her hand tightly from behind.

"Don't worry, I'm here."

"Thank you…"

With each shaky breath she took, Travis hugged Laura's body tighter and tighter.

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

"…Travis?"

Laura woke up to the groans coming from beside her.

She couldn't see Travis's face as he lay facing away from her. Only his white shoulder, peeking out from the sheet, seemed to be trembling slightly, at least that's how it appeared to Laura.

"Travis?"

She asked again. There was no response. She heard the sound of sighs being squeezed out, as if sobbing softly.

"You're having another nightmare."

Once again, She didn't expect a response. It was just like always.

The moonlight filtering through the curtain cast a glow on his back, making it seem like he was crying. No, he might actually be crying, Laura thought.

"It's okay, Travis."

She wrapped her arms around his sturdy neck and hugged him gently from behind.

"I'm here for you. It's okay, so relax."

As she whispered gently in his ear, she ran her hand through his straight, black hair. His labored breaths gradually calmed, turning into peaceful snores.

"Good boy."

With that final whisper, she placed a soft kiss on his neck, being careful not to make a sound. Feeling the gentle rhythm of his back against her chest as she held him close, Laura softly closed her eyes.

[dramaticals]

through the wringer

pairing: theodore nott x ravenclaw reader

summary: theo tries to get your attention by spoiling you with gifts. you pretend not to notice the shift just to mess with him. childhood friends to lovers. / requested by @the-empty-refrigerator.

word count: 1,117

author’s note: i've also posted this on ao3 but as a theo x hermione fic, and so if you're interested in reading that instead: click here. reblogs / comments are always appreciated.

"What's this?" You ask, blinking in confusion at the box of your favourite sweets in his hands.

Theo places the box in front of you before settling into his usual spot at the Ravenclaw table. Your housemates have now made a conscious effort to leave room for him, considering he had no qualms about squeezing his way in to sit beside you. It's as if he didn't have his own assigned table.

"I thought you Ravenclaws could read."

"You're a twat."

"And here I was, doing something nice for you." Theo sighs. Always the flair for the dramatics. "It's Valentine's Day."

You eye him suspiciously before finally accepting the sweets and his reasoning. For as long as you've known him (and you've known him long enough that you couldn't even remember not knowing him), the two of you have never exchanged anything on Valentine's Day.

"Right, well, thanks." You say, offering him a nudge of your shoulder. His cheeks were pink. "I suppose I could share since I didn't get you anything."

Theo looks at you expectantly before he gives you a slow nod. His facial expression is unreadable, but something flashes in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher. "How generous."

"I got you this."

You look up from your parchment, settling your quill down carefully to not spill ink. The library was nearly empty at this hour, and Madam Pince was an hour and a half away from kicking you out.

"Another present?"

"Are you complaining that I'm spoiling you?"

"I don't reckon a fresh box of the cheapest quills warrants you tossing the word spoiling around."

"It's not my fault these happen to be your favourite to write with."

"Hmm, touché." You sound, accepting the pack of quills. "Will that be all?"

Theo blinks, his eyes darting between his gift and you. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. Nothing comes out.

You shake your head and begin to pack your things away. You bite back a smile as Theo, ever the conversationalist, is clearly at a loss for words. "Come on, Nott. Walk me back to my common room."

"It seems Theodore's quite fond of you." Luna points out as soon as Theo leaves you with another present. This time, it was a locket charmed to hold as many tiny pictures as you liked. Being quite the sentimental person, this gift was thoughtful and just proved to you that Theo knew you—not that it needed to be proven.

"I know." You say, touching the locket he had secured around your neck. There's only one photo in it currently; a picture of you and Theo, laughing as you attempted to swipe frosting across his nose.

"You seem fond of him."

You nod and smile lightly. "I am."

"He doesn't know."

You shake your head. After Theo secured the locket around you, you questioned what the occasion was, and Theo shrugged, claiming he was just messing around with a spell. He couldn't hold your gaze, and his tells when lying were practically screaming in your face. Theo excused himself quickly when you gave him a very friendly side-hug in thanks, teasingly claiming just how good of a friend he was to you.

"I refuse to tell him until he can be a big boy and use his words."

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Theo asks, cutting through the welcomed silence as the two of you sit near the Black Lake.

"Mhm," you sound noncommittally. "As I do every time we're permitted to go."

"Right," Theo nods. He's fiddling with a loose string on the blanket the two of you are sitting on. "Wanna go with me?"

Your brows lift slightly, and your eyes flicker to his. "Don't I always?"

"I mean, yes."

"Okay," you say slowly. You pause long enough for him to interject. When he doesn't, you sigh and shake your head. "So I'll meet you at our usual meeting spot."

"Okay."

"I can pay for myself, Theo."

Theo shakes his head, making quite a scene of pulling out a few sickles and galleons (the price of two butterbeers and a slice of apple pie did not warrant the number of galleons he placed on the table).

"I'm well aware." Theo says, waving off your attempt at tossing in the amount for your share. "But I'm paying for it."

"Then the next one's on me."

"That's not how this works."

"This?"

"Yes."

"What's 'this' then?"

Theo's jaw clenches, and he exhales a breath. "You know what this is."

You did.

After he met you in front of the Ravenclaw common room instead of your usual meeting spot, purchased a book you were eyeing at Tomes and Scrolls, opened all the doors for you, and pulled out your chair for you at the Three Broomsticks (and then sat beside you rather than in front of you), you had a strong inkling of what this day was. But Theo never explicitly asked you or said anything that would allude to being interested romantically, and so you continued the charade. You played dumb.

Your brows furrow, and you blink in convincing bewilderment. "Do I?"

Theo releases a small groan, his hands covering his eyes in defeat. "Gods, you're impossible."

"I'm confused."

"I like you!" Theo blurts, bringing his hands down so he can meet your gaze. His eyes burn with frustration and longing. His cheeks are red, and he's bouncing his left leg as if he'd just heard he needed to face three boggarts at once. "I've been trying to tell you this whole time. The sweets, the quills, the necklace, the book. I even took you out on this bloody date. How do you not know already?"

It took everything in your power not to crack as he finally voiced his feelings. As you watch him take bated breaths, you can't help but erupt into a fit of laughter.

"Merlin," you giggle, wiping the tears from the corner of your eye. "It took you long enough, you bloody goof."

Theo flushes, and you can't tell if he's red because he's embarrassed and confused or if it's because he's seconds away from breathing himself into hyperventilation. You don't let him get to that point (being the gracious and not at all cruel person that you are), as you grab Theo by his collar and pull him in for a kiss.

Theo tastes of butterscotch and syrup, and his lips are soft and hesitant until they're not. He comes to, his hand moving to cup your jaw as he kisses you back.

You pull away from him, beaming at his shell-shocked and pleased expression. "I've known. I just wanted to hear you say it."

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. it is committed by an original character. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy’s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on his side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you’re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vise.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

next >

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[ki2rins]

⟢ lowkey - nsr

pairings: badboy! riki x fem! reader || fluff, crack || wc: 5k

synopsis: news flash! nishimura riki is finally mature enough to acknowledge his feelings for you and he wants to let you know! but what would he do? A. try to feed you? B. walk you home? C. many more. or D. all of the above? warnings: hes not really a badboy...just more of a get into fights/suspensions boy, loosely based / integrated from the anime - my little monster, highschool! au, petnames, playful banter, teasing, confident ni-ki, shy reader, swearing, - lmk if i missed out anything! playlist: lowkey - niki, moonstruck - enhypen, your eyes only - enhypen, is this love - XG rin's yap: gawddd first try at writing an actual fic, big thanks to bby who sent in the ask, ily smm <3 do let me know what yall think about it!

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nishimura riki or ni-ki was too boisterous. too boisterous for your calm, simple minded nature. he was noisy, you were quiet. he was sporty, you were not. he had a reputation that followed him wherever he went, while you preferred to stay low and blend into the background. yet, despite these stark differences, he always seemed to gravitate towards you. shocking you by leaving random candies on your desk, doodles on your notebook and even occasionally gives you a smile or two whenever your eyes meet. you thought to yourself, countless times even, on the reasons why ni-ki would shower you with these subtle affections. little do you know that the man, the myth himself, has a major crush on you. ni-ki took note of every simple detail about you. from how you’ll do your hair - a simple ponytail on mondays to thursdays and a small tidy bun on fridays since there was gym class. he also noticed how you’ll forget to have your lunch when you are caught up on annotating your textbook, and today was the day he spoke up about it.

ni-ki’s footsteps echoed through the classroom as the door swung open. his usual confident stride was back after his suspension, as if nothing has changed, though the whispers around him had already started. he flashed his signature smirk to the few people who dared make contact, his reputation clearly preceding him. most of the students avoided him, but not you. you didnt really have time to keep your head into these dramas, and you certainly didnt understand why everyone cared so much about his return. yet, for some reason, there he was, standing at the entrance of your usual seat. “you mind if i sit here?” ni-ki asked, his voice laced with a lazy confidence, like it wasnt even a question.

you blinked, trying not to show the hesitation in your eyes. the desk next to yours was the only one left open. you nodded, but the words caught in your throat as he slid into the seat without waiting for your approval. 

his eyes briefly scanned the open space on your desk - notes, pens, textbooks and the untouched lunch you had packed earlier. 

“you busy?” ni-ki asked, as if making small talk with you was his second nature. his tone was nonchalant, like he was speaking to someone he had known for years, even though you had barely exchanged a couple of sentences before. 

you glanced at him, then back at your notebook. “kind of.”  ni-ki hummed, playing with the contents in your pencil case. “kind of? looks more like youre drowning in notes.”

you sighed, placing your pen down. “its lunch period, if youre not here to study, why are you sitting here and bothering me? shouldnt you be in the cafeteria or something?” he leaned forward slightly, elbow propped on the desk, resting his chin on his fist. “but you havent eaten.” ni-ki said lazily. his eyes stared at your lunch then back at you. “how do you-” “you do this a lot, get too caught up in work, forget the time then boom - lunch period passes and your lunch gets forgotten.” your mind went blank upon hearing the words that just escaped from ni-ki’s mouth. he described that usual routine so perfectly that for a second you wondered - do doppelgangers exist in this world? you were so lost in your thoughts that you didnt realised until you heard the presence beside you speak up again.

 “eat.” ni-ki said as he nudged your lunchbox towards you. 

you hesitated, scanning his face for any sign of teasing, but he looked…oddly serious. it was strange, having someone notice such a small habit of yours, much less some like ni-ki. at that moment, you found yourself staring at him - from his jaw to the countless moles on his face, to his lazy-looking eyes and the stray strands of hair resting on his nose. damn. he look…good. 

“do you want me to feed you or something?” you blinked as you register his words. what in the world was he saying now? “come on yn, lunch period is ending in 10 minutes. chop chop.” ni-ki said as he took your lunchbox, opening it and passing you the sandwich you prepared for yourself earlier this morning, bringing it up to your lips. 

“i-i can eat it myself.” you snatched the sandwich away and turned the opposite reaction. taking a bite as you feel blood rushing up to your cheeks. 

upon seeing you shying away from him, ni-ki leaned back on his chair, arms crossed and a knowing smirk growing on his face. he admired the sight in front of him and it killed him to not take this chance to tease you even more, and what he says next really drove you insane. 

“good girl” 

then you choked.  ➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

you were so caught up in your thoughts that you barely noticed the bell ringing, signaling the end of class. as you packed your thing into your bag, your mind drifted back to earlier - specifically, the moment when ni-ki pointed out that habit of yours. 

“but you havent eaten” 

“do you want me to feed you or something?” 

“good girl” 

your cheeks warmed again at the thought of his words. he was right, as much as it embarrassed you. it wasnt the first time you had forgotten to eat, but hearing him call you out on it felt different somehow - like there was a tinge of affection wrapped up in those sweet words. 

as you were wrapping up your thoughts, you attempted to slip out of your seat, but you froze when ni-ki’s voice reached your ears. 

“ready to go?” 

you turned your head, confused. “ready to go where?” 

his smirk remained as he gave you a nonchalant shrug. “home.” and that was how you suddenly found yourself walking side by side with ni-ki. 

you cant lie, you dont have many friends. you chose to be part of a small, quiet circle that only hung out every once in awhile, mostly just to study or to catch up. your day to day was simple and predictable - go to school, proceed home, study then lastly, sleep. and so, it repeats again and again. 

is he doing all these out of pity? is he…looking down on me? 

it was unplanned, uncalled for even. you cant help but wonder if his actions covered up for any malicious intentions. but here you were, leaving the classroom and walking down the hallway, your footsteps in sync despite the silence hanging between you as you both made your way out of school. you glanced up at him, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. 

“so, whats your deal?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. 

ni-ki raised an eyebrow, glancing at you sideways. “my deal? you have been avoiding me.” 

you stopped walking for a brief second. “i havent been-”

“yeah, you have.” he cut in smoothly. “you have been acting different lately, quieter. you dont usually keep to yourself. 

fuck. why is he noticing every single thing? 

but you could feel your heart skip a beat at his words. was it that obvious? you tried to brush it off, but his presence was so overwhelming, it was hard to hide anything. you forced a casual shrug. “its nothing.” 

ni-ki raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “uh huh. sure. you have been way too quiet. no more random laughter with friends in class. not raising hands to answer questions anymore. you are usually…not this distant.” 

you tried to think of a response but found yourself coming up short. was he always this perceptive? or were you just that readable? 

“what about you?” putting up a more defensive front after being called out. “you dont exactly make it easy for people to talk to you.” 

he just gave you a lazy grin. “i dont need people to talk to me. i have got everything i need.”

you blinked, unsure how to respond to that. his self-confidence, or maybe arrogance, was something that always threw you off. it was like he know he had the power to make anyone talk, but didnt care enough to do so. 

“so, whats the plan after school?” ni-ki asked, his voice casual again, like the conversation had never left that easy, confident tone. 

“im going to study.” you said quickly, almost instinctively, though your thoughts were drifting to the last few hours of class. 

“of course you are. you always study, but you need a break.” he said as he turned, walking backwards now, his gaze never leaving you. “maybe i’ll join you someday, keep you company while youre at it. who knows, maybe i could even tutor you.” 

your heart did a strange flip at his words, but you tried not to show it. “yeah, right. you spend more time being suspended than actually being at school, and you think you can tutor me?” 

he shrugged, as if the idea didnt faze him at all. “well if you never try, you’ll never know.” he shot you a wink. “the invitation is always up, you could just give me a ring or drop me a text whenever.” 

you hummed, trying to stay calm while still processing the casual ‘invitation’ ni-ki had offered to you. you wanted to snap something back, but the air between you was thick with something you didnt quite understand. was this the way he usually operated? you couldnt tell if he was serious or if he was just messing with you.

the walk home continued in silence, but your thoughts were racing. ni-ki was… unpredictable, and that made you nervous in a way you werent used to.

➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

and so, the weekend came along and not once did you leave ni-ki’s mind. 

it wasnt like he didnt have other things to do. he had a routine - friends, his usual chaos - but somehow his thoughts kept drifting back to you. the way you blushed when he teased you about your lunch, the way you avoided meeting his gaze and the strange tension between you both that had been hanging ever since that walk home. 

he didnt get it. you were different from the usual crowd he interacted with. quiet, reserved. he was used to people talking around him, trying to get his attention, but you…you didnt try at all. 

maybe thats what made you so interesting. and alluring. 

he found himself staring at his phone more than usual, waiting for a message from you. he had dropped the invitation, and part of him thought you had just ignored it. but another part of him wonder if maybe, just maybe you would reach out. 

his fingers hovered over the keys, typing and deleting messages, not sure how to play this out. he wasnt used to feeling like this, like there was something worth waiting for. 

with a frustrated breath, he tapped out a quick message, keeping it casual, trying to convince himself. 

okay, you got this. just send the message. easy-peasy, no pressure. 

he stared at the screen for a moment longer, then, with a sigh, he sent it. 

ni-ki hey, its ni-ki just thought i'll remind you the offer is still open ;)

ni-ki stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, waiting for a reply. his thumb hovered over the phone, already anticipating the silent rejection or the awkward radio silence that might follow. you see, ni-ki is a boy who dreams big, but he does not know how to achieve his dreams. he is not sure on the ways to approach or even to impress you. he is just placing his bets on the weird and awkward gestures he does to catch your attention, and something about his gut told him this time - that it he has a shot. 

still, he tried not to get this hopes up too much. 

the minutes dragged on, and his eyes flicked back to his phone again and again, even though he knew it was ridiculous. 

finally, the screen lit up. his heart skipped a beat. 

it was a reply. 

yn thanks for the reminder i'll think abt it

his lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. it wasnt exactly a ‘yes’, but it wasnt a ‘no’ either. but he was determined to make you say ‘yes’. 

ni-ki well if ure gonna think abt it u might as well take me up on the offer

he hit send, then tossed the phone to the side, trying to distract himself with anything else. but as always, his mind drifted back to you. was he coming off too strong? was he annoying you?

a ping sounded, and he instantly grabbed his phone.

yn youre serious about this huh?

ni-ki smirked, tapping a finger to his chin like he was trying to play it cool. he then replied quickly.

ni-ki i mean it wasnt a joke in the first place besides im pretty sure i could teach u a thing or two

yn im not so sure abt that im fine studying on my own

he grinned, sensing an opportunity.

ni-ki i know u'll say that but we both know ure not the greatest at keeping up w anyth and everyth remember what happened during that lunch period? classic example of u getting lost in your work dont think i didnt notice

there was a long pause, and ni-ki started to think he might have pushed it too far. but then, his phone buzzed again.

yn youre really observant huh? you sound very much like a stalker but abt ur offer im not sure abt it im not yk the best study buddy

ni-ki laughed to himself before replying almost instantly.

ni-ki ure prob right but thats why u need me and yk me irl so i cant be deemed as a stalker :) plus i promise i wont bite unless u want me to

ni-ki cringed at the last part but he didnt want to delete it. thinking to let you decide how to comprehend that.

yn :l fine i'll give it a shot but dont expect me to enjoy it

ni-ki's grin widened. he had won this round.

ni-ki deal see? that wasnt so hard

yn whatever i'll see u tmr then mr tutor

he laughed before typing out his last reply.

ni-ki cant wait to see u tmr promise it'll be fun :)

once done, he leaned back against his bed, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. he wasnt sure what he had been expecting, but the fact that you agreed made it feel like progress. it wasnt much, but for ni-ki, it was a step forward and a win, is a win.

➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

you found yourself in the strangest places at the oddest times.

and here you are, standing outside ni-ki’s doorstep on a bright and sunny, sunday afternoon.

honestly you didnt expected yourself to agree to his offer at all, but something about his persistent messages and the way he would playfully pushed you to study with him had gotten to you. so here you were - standing in front of a you never thought you would be near, at a time you definitely never saw coming, door.

you took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, wincing at how loud it sounded against the silence of the street. your thoughts were scattered, your mind racing through the worst-case scenarios. what if he gave you the wrong address? what if hes not home? you swallowed hard, trying to shake off the wave of nervousness crashing over you. 

just then, the door opened with a soft creek, there he was - ni-ki, standing in the doorway, donning just a simple tank top with sweats, greeting you with that familiar cocky smile on his face. 

“hey” he said, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. “you actually showed up.”

you couldnt tell if his smirk was a teasing one or was he genuinely impressed at the fact that you were standing right infront of his doorstep. either way, it did little to calm your nerves. 

“well” you cleared your throat. “i said i would, didnt i?” 

he grinned wider, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’ll believe it when i see it.” 

you rolled your eyes, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “so uh. where are we studying?” you asked, doing your best to sound casual. 

he stepped aside, gesturing you to come in. “follow me. i have a study spot all set up.” 

as you entered, the tension in your chest started to ease slightly. it was just studying right, right? you could handle this. but still, you couldnt shake the feeling that something had shifted between the two of you ever since that walk home. 

the study session wasnt anything out of the ordinary - at least, thats what you tried to tell yourself. you and ni-ki were seated side by side, books scattered across the desk, his room quiet except for the occasional rustling of papers and the soft tapping of your pens. 

you tried to focus on your notes, but it wasnt easy when he kept glancing at you. his gaze was so intense, and it made your stomach do these weird flips you couldnt explain. every time you looked to your side, he’ll be looking at you with that half-smirk of his. 

“need help with that equation?” ni-ki asked casually, leaning over to look at your paper, your shoulders making contact, making you tensed. 

“i-i got it.” you stuttered, quickly writing down the the answer and shifting your body aside, slightly tucking yourself inwards.

he chuckled softly, clearly amused by your reaction. “relax cutie, im just making sure youre not stressing too much.”

your heart beat faster at his words, especially by the petname he just called you. it wasnt the first time he had said something to put you at ease, but somehow it felt different today. you couldnt help but notice how gentle his tone was, how patient he was with you. 

there was a brief silence before you felt him brush his fingers against your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his touch was light, but it sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. 

“youre too close.” you muttered, trying to distract yourself by scribbling down more notes, but it was hard when his hand lingered in the air, still so close. 

ni-ki didnt seem to mind the tension. instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. “youre cute when youre flustered, you know that?” 

you tried not to blush, but the heat creeping up your neck was unavoidable. “stop messing around.” 

“im not messing around.” he replied softly, his voice suddenly more serious. he leaned towards you, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze softening. “you know, i have been thinking about something.”

your eyes met his, and for a second, it felt like the whole world stopped. you felt nervous, your chest thumped in anticipation. you didnt know what he was about to say, but something told you it was important. 

“wh-what?” you asked, barely above a whisper. 

he hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“i like you. a lot. like, more than just a study buddy. im not sure if you could tell, but i have been trying to get closer to you and i was praying all my gestures wouldnt shoo you away instead.” 

your breath caught in your throat. you had not expect this moment, your heart raced, and you could feel the color rising in your cheeks, “ni-ki…” 

he reached out, his thumb brushing the back of your hand gently. “i know this might sound sudden, but i like the way you are. quiet, thoughtful. you dont make a big deal out of anything. and…i think youre a lot more than you give yourself credit for.” 

there was an awkward pause, and you werent sure what to say. you had been so focused on the fact that he was always the cool, aloof guy, that you had not noticed how serious he had been about this whole thing. 

you did reciprocate his feelings back, but there was just one thing that was stopping you from doing so - his reputation. he was the headstrong boy who gets into fights and treats the world as his playground. you, on the other hand, were just an average girl exploring life one step at the time. both of you were polar opposites, and that scared you. 

people had warned you about him before - teachers who sighed at the look of his bruised and battered sight, classmates who gossiped about his flights, the way he always seemed to get himself into troubles and brush it off like it was nothing. ‘he doesnt care about anything’ they said. ‘hes just looking for fun.’ but sitting here now, with the way he was looking at you, speaking so softly, so genuinely…you werent sure if that was true anymore. 

before you could summarised your thoughts, ni-ki broke the silence, his voice playful again but with that soft edge of sincerity. “dont worry. im not expecting anything, not from you anyway. but i thought you should know.”

those four words that he slipped in hurt you in ways you couldnt explain. you wanted to admit your feelings for him but the fear still stays. however, something inside of you just wanted to give it a shot, not caring if you would get hurt in the process. life is full of growth anyways right?

“ni-ki” you said, still unsure of how to phrase your words. 

he hummed, leaning close to you. “yeah?” 

“im scared, but i want to try…wanna make this work. make this work with…you.”

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you and ni-ki did not settle on any label of your current in-between-friendship-situationship-relationship-state. instead, you both agreed to take this one step at the time, keeping things lowkey.

so when he texted you on a saturday night with a simple “wanna go out?”, you werent sure if he meant a date or just another random meet-up. but then again, did it matter? 

the waves crashed gently against the shore as the two of you walked side by side, your footsteps sinking into the sand. the beach was quiet, save for the distant laughter of a few night strollers and the occasional rustling of the breeze. it wasnt planned, wasnt fancy - just the two of you, sneakers in hand, the salty air clinging to your skin. 

“didnt think you would actually show up.” ni-ki mused, kicking a stray shell along the sand. his tone was light, but you caught a small smile tugging at his lips. 

you scoffed, hugging your arms. “you do realise you texted me at, like, ten, right?” 

“yeah, but youre here anyways.” he nudged you with his elbow. “you just cant resist me huh?” 

you rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat at the way he said it - so effortlessly, so naturally, like this thing between you had always been there. 

the night stretched on as you walked, exchanging quiet conversation and playful remarks, but beneath it all, there was something else - something unspoken, lingering between your words - until ni-ki finally brought it up. 

“you still scared?” he stopped to face you, his voice soft and you could tell he was serious, no teasing, no laughter. he didnt elaborate, but you knew exactly what he meant. 

you hesitated, staring out at the dark horizon, “a little.” 

ni-ki hummed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “good. means you actually care.” 

he said it so simply, yet it made your chest tighten. you glanced at him, searching his face, and for once, he wasnt smirking. and in that moment you could tell -  the facade was gone, he wasnt ni-ki but riki, just a boy looking at you like you were the only person on the stretch of sand. 

you both now settled to sit on the sand, hearing the waves clash against each other as you both kept quiet. you studied his face once again, ni-ki hugged his knees, toes playing with the sand, the usual smirk on his face replaced with a faint frown. you could tell that he was distracted and for the first time, you felt his confidence falter and it was worrying you. his eyes didnt hold their playful spark, they were distant, thoughtful. you couldnt but ask. 

“is everything okay?” your voice was soft, careful, unsure if you were stepping into something you shoudnt. 

ni-ki looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, he sighed. “you ever wonder if people only see what they want to see?”

“what do you mean?” you blinked, processing his words, unsure of the hidden meaning behind his question. 

he ran a hand through his hair, letting out another frustrated sigh. “i mean…im this ‘bad boy’ that everyone perceives me to be. i get into fights, i skip classes, i dont care about anything or anyone. people see that, and they think the know who i am. hell, even i have convinced myself that its easier to just be this…persona. its just easier to let people think im this heartless guy than to show them that…im more than that.” 

his words tugged at your heartstrings. you knew the troubles, but you never understood it, not until this moment. the playful, cocky ni-ki you knew, that chased you, was suddenly nowhere to be found. instead, you saw someone who was burdened by an image that never felt like it fit. 

“youre not heartless.” you said, your voice steady but filled with sincerity. without thinking, you reached out and gently placed your hand on his, the warmth of your touch grounding him in the quiet stillness of the night. “you never were.” 

ni-ki looked down at your hand, gaze softening. “you dont get it. you dont know what its like to always be the guy everyone expects to mess up. i even made you second-guess this whole situation didnt i?” he turned to face you, eyes locked on yours. 

you tried to search for the usual playful spark in his eyes, but it was gone. there was only vulnerability. he was no longer the confident, untouchable ni-ki, but just a boy who had learned to hide behind walls. his gaze searched yours, and for a moment, you felt the wright of his insecurities pressing down on you. 

you couldnt help but feel guilty. you couldnt help but blame the world for putting so much on his shoulders. for making him self-doubt himself, for making you doubt him. 

“you dont have to be that guy for anyone.” you said, your voice soft but firm. “youre more than what people think. i see you. the real you.” 

ni-ki looked at you, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but didnt know how. his usual confidence seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by a quiet, raw sincerity that made your heart ache for him. 

but to ni-ki, that was all he needed to hear from you, that was all he wanted from you. 

acceptance. 

ni-ki remained still for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours, as if searching for a hint of insecurity in your words. when he found none, a flicker of something softer passed through his expression. the tightness in his shoulders eased, but he still didnt smile - not in the way he usually did. 

instead, he simple nodded, his voice barely across a whisper. “i guess…i have been waiting for someone to see me like that.” 

the words were simple, but they carried a weight that you werent sure you were reading for. it was as if, for the first time, ni-ki was letting down the walls he had carefully built around himself, trusting you to catch him if he fell. 

you didnt hesitate, you reached out, gently brushing your fingers against his cheek. “i see you, riki. just you. no one else.” 

his eyes softened, the guarded look that had been there moments ago replaced with something much more vulnerable. the usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found, but there was something more meaningful in its place - a raw, unspoken gratitude. 

slowly, ni-ki leaned forward, his breath warm against your face as he closed the distance between you. it wasnt fast, and it wasnt rushed. it was a quiet, tender movement, as though he was giving you the choice, the space to decide. 

and for once, you didnt need time to think. you leaned into him, the kiss gentle at first, as if both of you were testing the waters - treading carefully. but as the kiss deepened, the walls between you both seemed to crumble further, and in that moment, you realised that despite everything - the doubts, the insecurities, the fear - you werent as different as you thought. you were both just two people trying to figure things out, finding solace in each other’s presence. 

the world around you faded. the waves, the sand, the night - it all disappeared as ni-ki’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, as if he, too, had been waiting for something to finally feel real. 

when the kiss ended, you both lingered in the stillness for a moment, breathing in the night air. ni-ki pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a playful spark finally flickering back to life in his eyes. 

“so…are we, like…boyfriend and girlfriend now?” he asked, his voice light but with a hopeful smile. 

you blinked, surprised by the directness, but then you smiled, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “youre asking me?” 

ni-ki raised an eyebrow, teasing. “well, im pretty sure i have earned it.” 

you rolled your eyes but couldnt stop yourself from smiling, the warmth between you undeniable. “i guess so.” 

he grinned and pulled you closer, the playful glint in his eyes still there, but there was something more sincere behind it now, “good, because im not going anyhwere.” 

you leaned into him again, realising that whatever this was between you, it was real. no labels, no expectations - just the two of you, finally figuring things out together.

© ki2rins 2025, please do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[skywalkerslvt]

Leon Fucking You In A Sketchy Alleyway

❥Pairing: Leon Kennedy x F!Reader

❥Summary: Leon and reader get horny while he teaches her how to play pool, so he fucks her in a sketchy alleyway.

❥CW: 18+, smut, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, sorta praise kink? 2.2k words

❥a/n: another very rushed and not proofread fic lol! Was half asleep when I finished writing it so I hope it's not too hard to follow. Enjoy <3 pics are from pinterest

The day had been long and exhausting. You and Leon had spent hours on patrol, dealing with the usual chaos that the city seemed to attract. As partners on the police force, you and Leon had grown accustomed to each other's company, you developed a rhythm that made every situation–stressful or not–so easy. You guys were inseparable, best friends even, and you worked well together. 

After clocking out, a few of your coworkers suggested heading to a nearby bar to unwind. It was a dingy, dimly lit place, frequented by off duty cops and regulars looking for a cheap drink. You and Leon had exchanged a glance and shrugged–why not? 

The bar was slightly crowded, the stale air smelling of cheap beer and cigarettes. You found a table with your coworkers and ordered a round of drinks. The chatter was lively, everyone sharing stories from the day and laughing at old jokes. 

A few drinks later, you found yourself tipsy and alone at your table, your coworkers mingling around the bar. One of them was having a game of pool with Leon. You had decided to stay at the table and watch the game while nursing your drink. 

Leon stood at the pool table, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he lined up his shot. He leaned over, his body a perfect blend of tension and relaxation. God, he looked good. The two of you had developed a close bond over the years. You trusted him with your life, and he trusted you with his. Your friendship was solid, built on shared experiences and mutual respect. Over time, your friendship had grown into something deeper–an unspoken bond that nothing else could compare to. You found yourself drawn to him in ways that went beyond mere friendship, your heart racing whenever he flashed that boyish smile or offered a comforting word. It was more than just professional respect that you two shared; it was magnetic attraction that was getting harder and harder for the two of you to ignore. 

It wasn't until Leon had walked over and stood in front of you, that you realized the game was over. You had been so lost in your thoughts, staring at him, that you hadn't noticed. 

“Ever played?” he asked with a boyish grin, nodding to the pool table. 

You shook your head, taking a sip of your drink. “Nope. Never learned how. I've always wanted to try, though.” 

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. “Want me to teach you? It's not too hard.”

You hesitated, feeling a flutter of nervousness. “Sure, why not? But be warned, I'm a fast learner.” 

Leon laughed as you stood up, grabbing a couple of cue sticks. “We'll see about that. Come on.”

As you walked over to the pool table, the noisy sounds of the bar faded into the background, your only focus being Leon as he handed you a cue stick and explained the rules of the game. His hands occasionally brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip and stance. 

“First, you need to get your stance right,” he said, positioning himself behind you. As he pressed his chest to your back, he began guiding your arms with his hands. “Like this.”

You could feel his breath ghost on your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. You hummed in affirmation, trying to focus on the game. 

“Now, aim for the ball,” he continued, voice low and steady. “And don’t forget to keep your eyes on the cue ball.”

You took a shot, but missed the ball completely. Leon chuckled lightly behind you. “That’s alright, it takes practice. Here, let me help you get the hang of it.”

He pressed himself even closer behind you and placed a hand on your upper back, pushing you forward until you were bent over the table. Heat rose to your cheeks as you felt him put his arms around you, his much larger hands enveloping your own as he corrected your grip once again and guided your hands into the correct position. His crotch was barely grazing your ass, but that was all it took to turn you on. You inhaled sharply at the compromising position you two were in, feeling heat begin to pool between your thighs. 

Leon noticed your sudden intake of breath, and leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, most likely from the few drinks he had. “Now, watch how I do it,” he said while guiding your hands.

With his guidance, you took another shot, this time hitting the ball. It rolled slowly, hitting another ball, but didn’t make any pockets. “I guess I’m not as fast a learner as I thought,” you said with a shaky exhale. 

Leon chuckled, the sound sending butterflies throughout your stomach. “You’re doing great. Just need a bit of practice. He moved his hands to your waist, his presence a comforting weight behind your back. 

"Want to try again?" he asked, his voice softer now, more intimate. You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He positioned your hands again, his touch lingering longer than necessary. The atmosphere around you grew thick with unspoken tension, each brush of his fingers against yours sending sparks through your veins.

As you lined up for another shot, Leon's hand slid from your back to your waist, his fingers pressing into your hip. "Just like that," he whispered, his breath warm against your neck. You could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, his closeness intoxicating.

You took the shot, and this time, the ball sank into a pocket. You couldn't help but grin, turning your head slightly to look at him. "I did it," you said, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and triumph.

Leon smiled back, eyes locking onto yours.“Atta girl! Let's try it one more time.”

As you took the shot, you felt Leon's body press even closer against yours, his crotch pressed firmly against your ass now, and you could feel his half hard cock through his jeans. His breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. As you took your shot, you experimentally pushed your hips back, slightly grinding your ass against his crotch. 

Leon's grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought to control his own desire. You could feel the tension in his body, the barely contained need radiating from him in waves.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, his voice strained with restraint. "You're a natural."

You turned to look at him, the intensity in his eyes leaving you breathless. "Thanks," you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper.

Leon opened his mouth to say something, but abruptly closed it in hesitation. “Do you…Do you wanna get out of here?” He asked. 

You caught the hesitation in Leon's voice, sensing there was something more behind his question. Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched his eyes for any sign of what he was really asking.

His gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, a silent invitation hanging in the air. Without a word, you nodded, your own desire mirrored in his intense gaze.

In a heartbeat, Leon took your hand, leading you through the crowded bar towards the exit. The world around you faded into a blur as anticipation coursed through your veins.

The night air was cool on your flushed skin. Leon led you to the dark alleyway beside the bar, abruptly pushing you flush against the rough brick wall, and before you could even register the slight pain, his lips were on yours in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. His hands roamed your body, moving up from your hips to your breasts where he groped you roughly. 

Your hands grabbed his now fully hard cock through the fabric of his jeans, causing him to let out a strangled moan into your mouth. You fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, the urgency in your movements mirroring his own need for you. Leon's ragged breaths mingled with your own as you finally succeeded, the sound of his heavy breaths filling the air as you pushed his jeans down his hips.

His hands had moved down to your thighs now, reaching up your skirt as he ran his finger along the wetness of your panties.

“Fuck…already so wet f’me,” he teased as he slid your soaked panties to the side, gathering your slick on his fingers as he pushed a finger inside of you while circling your clit with his thumb.

You whined as you began pumping his hard cock, precum staining your hand. “Leon…need you inside of me, now.”

“Fuck–I know, baby, I know. Just be a good girl and take my fingers for now. Then you can go dumb on my cock, yeah?”

You moaned and nodded, bucking your hips into his hand to gain more friction on your clit. 

With a wicked grin, Leon complied, his finger delving deeper inside you, curling and stroking in all the right places as you whimpered and squirmed against him. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, the sensation building with every thrust of his hand.

You clung to him desperately, your need for release growing with each passing second. Leon's touch was electrifying, his fingers expertly navigating your slick folds as you teetered on the edge of ecstasy.

Right when you were about to cum, Leon removed his fingers, bringing them up to his lips and tasting your slick. He grabbed your thigh, holding it up around his hip as he guided his thick tip to your entrance, pushing in slowly. 

You keened at how his thick cock stretched the walls of your cunt. You've never had a cock this big, and he was filling you so good. You clenched around him as he gave you a second to adjust, causing him to let out a low groan. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Leon rolled his hips into yours as he leaned in and began sucking marks onto your neck. His cock was angled just right and was brushing against that gummy spot that had you seeing stars. 

You began meeting his thrusts, urging him to take you deeper and faster. Leon’s breath was hot against your ear as he moaned dirty praises, igniting a fire deep within you. 

As his thrusts became sloppier, signalling his quickly approaching release, Leon began working his fingers on your clit, pushing you further to the edge. 

The alleyway echoed with the rhythmic slapping of Leon's hips against your own, mingled with your shared moans that filled the air.

With one final, deep thrust, he hit your g-spot perfectly, sending you over the edge. Your chest heaved as you let out a strangled cry, your walls clenching tightly around his cock. A wave of ecstasy washed over you, your cunt gushing around him in a release that left you trembling. 

The sensation of your velvety walls tightening around him was all Leon needed. His grip on your hips tightened, and with a guttural moan, he buried himself deep inside you. You felt his cock twitch as he spilled his hot cum, filling you completely. His body shuddered against yours, both of you lost in the overwhelming pleasure of the moment.

As the intensity of your orgasms subsided, Leon remained close, his breath warm against your neck. He gently pulled out, and you could feel your combined releases trickling down your thighs. He steadied you, his hands now soft and tender on your waist. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, but laced with concern. 

You nodded, a dopey smile playing on your lips. “More than okay,” you replied, leaning your forehead against his. 

Leon chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “We should probably get back before the others start wondering where we are,” he said, but he made no move to pull away from you. 

“Yeah, we probably should,” you replied reluctantly, moving to adjust your clothes.

Before you could move to leave, Leon caught your wrist, pulling you back for one more kiss. It was slow and tender, unlike the kiss you shared in the heat of the moment. “This…this wasn't just a one-time thing, right?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. 

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for him. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

With a final shared glance and a knowing smile, you both made your way back into the bar. The noise and lights greeted you, a stark contrast to the intimate darkness of the alleyway. As you rejoined your coworkers, the atmosphere was lively, with no one seeming to have noticed your absence.

Leon slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. "Let's grab another drink," he suggested, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You nodded, your heart still racing from the intensity of your time together. As you sipped your drinks and mingled with your friends, the connection between you and Leon felt stronger than ever, the weight of your shared secret hanging between you.

[backtothefanfiction]

Hiii!!! Absolutely love your Joaquin fics rn!! Could you write a Joaquin x fem!reader, who has captain marvels powers? Or atleast very similar. Maybe it takes places during the celestial fight during new world order, and maybe also the aftermath?

No Strings Attached | Joaquin Torres x Avenger!reader

Summary; you had an agreement, a simple arrangement, but feelings are always inevitable in these things

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warning: Smut! 18+ Only! PinV, oral (female receiving), a little dirty talk

A/N: So I’m doing the double today. How very efficient of me. Also I recall a wish for the shower scene I wrote the other day to have turned into something spicy so I figured I’d deliver under this ask. Enjoy.

You didn’t have the time or focus for a relationship and neither did Joaquin. You didn’t even live in the same state. But both working with Avengers on Avengers level missions, you often ran into each other and ended up working with one another every few months or so. And on the occasions when that did happen, you both had found a great way to let off a little bit of steam post mission.

The second he found out his latest mission was going to be in your neck of the woods he couldn’t wait. It took all of his concentration to stay focused on the mission at hand and not on finally getting his dick wet later.

He was chasing down the bogey when your voice came through his comms. “Yo Torres, want an assist?”

He shook his head as he smiled to himself. Although it had been his mission, being in your city meant it was only a matter of time before you got involved. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.” he said as he looked to his right and you pulled alongside him. Where he needed a whole suit and fancy gear to fly, you had cosmic powers that literally blasted you through the air like a rocket.

“What can I say? I was busy,” you threw back.

“Doing what?” he asked.

“Cancelling my plans for the evening,” you smiled at him with a knowing wink.

“Falcon, we’ve got two more missiles incoming,” a controlled male voice cut through the comm link to you both.

“I’ll get these two,” you said, indicating to the ones you were both currently chasing, “you get the other two.”

“Alright.” he agreed before he began to bank left and turn back toward the direction of the other two missiles.

Chasing down missiles was routine for you at this point. You angled your head forward, your arms pushing back to your sides as you put on another burst of speed to catch up to the missile on the right, coming up beneath it. You quickly began to guide it towards the direction of its companion and the two collided in mid air in a firey blast.

“How you doing back there feathers?” You asked through the comms, coming to a stop and hovering mid air as you sought out the flash of green against the blue sky that would indicate where he was.

“They’re splitting off.” he grunted down the comms as he tried to fight with one of the missiles, willing it to change course and drop down into the sea.

“I’m on it.” you said, spotting the stray missile in the distance. You raced for it but realised you weren’t going to make it in time. Instead you stopped and put all your effort into pushing a photon blast towards it, hoping to detonate it before it got too close to the ground. Your body jerked backwards with the force and you waited with baited breath for it to make contact.

3…2…1! Your arm came up to shield your face as you were knocked backwards by the blast but you quickly caught yourself again.

“Is that all of them?” you asked?

There was a pause before the other male voice from before came through the comms to tell you both that Cap had got things back under control on the ground and you could both stand down.

“Just another day at the office, huh?” you said to Joaquin as he came up alongside you again.

“Yeah, just another day at the office.” he agreed.

“At least I don’t have to do the paperwork on this one.” you taunted before you shot him a small salute and began to divert your course and head back home.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was nearly 9pm by the time he arrived. You’d been able to eat, tidy up, shower and even catch a couple episodes of the latest tv show you were binging. The second you opened the door to your appartment and let him in, he was on you.

“Is it weird if I say I missed you,” he panted between kisses and you pulled him inside and he kicked the door closed behind him.

“You mean your dick missed me,” you joked as you ripped the open checked button down off of his shoulders and he quickly slipped his arms out of it, not wanting to waste any time.

“Yeah, that too,” he said as his mouth tried to keep up with you as you guided him down the hallway to the open kitchen living room. “Dios mio eres hemosa,” he muttered to himself as you reached to pull your T-shirt up over your head and threw it across the room.

“Look you want to keep talking or do you want to fuck me? Your call Torres.” you panted as you tried to keep things moving along.

He quickly lifted his white T-shirt off over his head and exposed his golden skin to you.

“Someone’s been working out,” you commented as you took in his abs.

“Now who’s talking,” he grinned as he quickly closed the gap between you again, his hands threading into the hair behind your heads as he smashed his lips back into yours.

You couldn't help but moan against his lips as you felt him push his body up against you, his dick already growing hard and pushing against the zipper of his jeans. You both almost tripped over the arm of the sofa as you blindly tried to move back towards your bedroom, your hands completely lost as they frantically moved across one another’s skin.

“Uhg, fuck this,” he groaned, lifting you by the back of your thighs and slamming your back down into the couch cushions, his fingers scrambling to pull down your sweats and underwear before he dived headfirst between your legs.

You immediately began to whimper as his tongue carded through your folds, flicking hungrily at your sensitive clit. Your fingers tangled into his hair encouragingly as you tipped your head back, your eyes closing as you focused only on the feeling of his tongue against your cunt.

“Oh Joaquin, fuck,” you panted as you felt your muscles already beginning to tingle and grow tight.

He hummed happily into your pussy as he ate you out, your praise and whimpers like music to his ears as you squirmed beneath him. He was leaning over the arm of the chair to be at the right angle and he reached to undo the button and zipper on his jeans to alleviate some of the pressure from his erection, shifting his junk in his pants before he moved that hand back up towards your entrance. His slid two fingers inside you with ease, the tips of them curling in a come hither motion that had you practically writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

“Come on baby, just let go. Vamos bebe, dámelo.” he said huskily and you practically screamed as your climax took over you, soaking his fingers and tongue.

“Ahí está. Esa es mi chica.” His words always made you delirious. Always left you in a haze. And for just a little time you could imagine and play pretend. For those couple hours you were with him, you were his girl. And he was yours.

You quickly pushed him back off you so you could slam your mouth against his again, your tongue lapping your juices from his lips.

“God, you’re a fucking dream,” he praised and once again his words went straight to your head.

“Where do you want to do it? Here, or in the bedroom?” you asked him.

“How about here, then in the bedroom. Then in the shower, on the kitchen counter,” he listed off as your lips began to mark a hungry trail down the side of his neck, your hand moving to palm at his length as he fought to rid himself of his jeans.

“Sounds like a plan,” you panted, wanting to make the most of the limited time you had together, “How long do we have?”

“My flight leaves at 8am.” he said.

“Then, I guess we best get moving then,” you encouraged him.

“You still on the-“

“Yep,” you quickly responded, desperate to finally feel him inside you again after months of just playing with yourself and your magic wand.

“And you haven’t?”

“Nope.” You replied just as quickly. He always asked the same questions just to check in on the off chance anything had changed, but there was no one else other than Joaquin. That’s why you had started sleeping with him in the first place. No strings. No complications. Just really good sex. “What about you? Have you?”

“No.” he quickly said, but there was a flash of something in his eyes that said there was more to that answer than he really wanted you to know. “Okay, enough talking,” he panted as he grabbed your legs and pulled you closer to the end of the sofa, tilting you up at just the right angle and lining himself up, before teasing his way inside. You both let out a deep moan as he began to fill you up, your mouth hanging open as his brow furrowed in concentration, not wanting to blow his load before he had even begun.

You were always so wet for him. So warm and welcoming. Fucking you felt like coming home and that scared Joaquin. No strings, that was what you both agreed, but he knew he was failing. Knew every time he saw you, every time you hooked up, he grew a little more attached to you. He’d wake the next morning and struggle to leave. He’d lay awake after a long day back home, just wondering what you were doing. If you thought of him in the same way. Sometimes he even thought about just buying a plane ticket and showing up on your door. Not even to have sex, but just watch tv and cuddle up on your sofa. To hear you laugh. To be with you when you wanted to cry.

“Oh shit,” he grunted as he continued to thrust into you, the realisation hitting him as his eyes locked onto yours, He was completely and utterly in love with you and he knew all it would take would be one more orgasm together and he would be completely and utterly yours.

You saw how the look on his face changed. You knew exactly what it meant too. “Say it,” you said to him as his eyes moved from your face to where your two bodies met, willing himself to make it less personal again. If he just focussed on that angle he could pretend he was watching porn. Detach himself from the act just long enough to get through this.

“Say it,” you demanded, but he shook his head. “Joaquin!” you said firmly, forcing him to look into your eyes again. “Say it,” you said again more softly and that’s when he saw it. The same feeling reflected in your eyes.

“I love you,” he said.

“Fuck,” you squeaked as he hit that sensitive spot inside you just right, “I love you too,” you panted, finally allowing yourself to admit to yourself and him what you’d known for a while now. “I love you too.” You breathed.

He practically growled in hunger at your words, his hips picking up pace as he became desperate to make you cum again. His girl. His only one. His thumb reached to rub circles over your clit. He knew he couldn’t last much longer, especially with the way you were looking at him and he needed you to finish with him. “Vamos baby,” he began to encourage his words husky, “necesito que te corras para mí.”

Your body began to tense under his ministration, your muscles bearing down in anticipation. You could see the concentration on his face, the effort to not blow his load just yet. Not before he had made you cum one more time this round.

You moved your fingers down to circle your clit, replacing his own fingers to speed the process along just that little bit quicker. “That’s it baby, so beautiful. That’s my girl,” he encouraged until you were able to let go.

Your orgasm hit you like a truck, your fingers reaching to grip tightly onto his biceps and ground you as he continued to pump himself into your sensitive cunt once, twice, three times more until he stilled, his chest heaving as his body fell forward. His arms just about caught him, propping himself up before he collapsed on you completely as he filled you up.

You sighed as you breathed heavily and tried to regulate yourself. “Uhhhgg, so much for no strings attached.” you finally said when you didn’t feel like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest anymore.

“Yeah,” he chuckled and agreed, his head turning so he could look you in the eyes once again. “So much for no strings attached.” he repeated, before you both began to laugh.

[starkwlkr]

girl, so confusing | f1

an: this is SADLY the last part :( don’t worry, i do plan on writing more fics for the f1 dilf!! here’s your long awaited reveal on the baby daddy lol made this one extra long for y’all <3 enjoy!!

part 1 part 2

faceclaim gisele bündchen

liked by ynstyle, goss1pformulas and others

f1gossiproom could mark webber be the father? recently former red bull and williams drivers, mark and y/n have been spending time together. the pair were spotted having dinner several times and a source confirmed that webber attended y/n’s daughter’s recital! they were once again spotted out in australia spending time in bondi beach with y/n’s daughter (not pictured to protect her privacy) they were soon joined by friends and webber’s family. a source, who wishes to remain anonymous, saw them and said y/n’s daughter, gemma, and mark were bonding as if they were dad and daughter 👀 he even calls her ‘gem’ and ‘gemmy’! what do you think? is mark webber the real father? we certainly think so!

formulaho3 how about just leave them alone?

roscoesno1fan mark looks like a total dilf in that pic so yes

oscarspastry what if the real father is the friends we made along the way?

webberxvettel i need to know the truth before i die

hamiltonsmerecedes not f1 twitter trying to cancel y/n for getting with their faves 😭

lnwhores i stand by my cancelled wife

myhonestbitchface and when y/n reveals that sebastian is the bd then what 🤨 i feel it in my gut 👀 that german bitch is the bd

blackwidowswife bitch you’re just hungry

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THE PADDOCK SESSIONS has posted a new YouTube video!

Italics = voiceover by y/n

“Hello!” Y/n’s daughter, Gemma, opened the door to Dan. She knew that he was going to film an interview with her mother about her racing career. She watched as Dan’s camera man waved to her. She assumed they had already started filming.

“Gemma hates and loves when I’m away. She stays with her grandparents when I have to leave or if her dad is not busy then they’ll be together. I think she loves it because her dad lets her have ice cream before bed. I’m more of a strict parent between me and him.”

Photos of little Gemma appear on screen. The young girl was picture with her mother on her first birthday, then with Mark and family members then Sebastian and Jenson.

Dan entered Y/n’s London home with Gemma by his side. He spotted Y/n making tea. “Got here just in time.” He laughed as he joined the former driver in the kitchen.

“I hope the flight here wasn’t too bad.” Y/n passed a mug over to Dan.

“Slept my way through it,” before Dan could take a sip from his tea, he noticed the mug that he was given. It had ‘best dad ever’ sloppily written in paint. “Cute.” He held the mug up and smiled.

“Yeah, Gemma made it for her dad last year for Father’s Day.” Y/n smiled proudly at her daughter’s creation.

That’s when Gemma joined the conversation. “But I couldn’t give it to him on actual Father’s Day! He was away racing and couldn’t be here so I had to give it to him later.” She explained.

After the pair finished their tea, they walked together to Y/n’s small garden. There she had a little seating area where the rest of the interview would take place.

“Lovely garden.” Dan commented.

“Thank you, although I won’t take all the credit. Sebastian comes to help, Gemma kind of bosses him around telling him where each flower looks best.” Y/n laughed, setting her mug on the glass table.

“Dad loves the flowers I picked out for the garden.” Gemma pointed out as she joined them outside. As Dan started the interview, Gemma kept playing outside with her toys.

More images of a young Y/n flashed on screen. She was driving for Williams at the time, they were her first ever team.

“Williams was my first home. They were nice to me, but they put so much pressure on me to perform, like every race had to be perfect. And when it wasn’t, you could feel the disappointment, like a weight hanging in the air. I’d go back to my hotel room at night, and it was just me and the silence.”

The video showed a clip of young Y/n in the Williams garage getting ready for her debut race. She noticed the camera then smiled and waved. The video then cuts to from a happy, full of life Y/n to a gloomy, quiet Y/n sitting alone in her garage.

“I didn’t have friends in the paddock back then. Everyone was focused on their own thing, and the people around me—the trainers, the engineers—they all kept their distance. One of my trainers actually told me, ‘I’m not here to be your friend; I’m here to work.’ And that’s when I realized I was completely on my own."

Y/n then looked over her shoulder and saw Gemma using a teddy bear that her father had bought the girl for her birthday last year in Germany. The former driver smiled at the memory of her little family spending a special day together.

Back to the interview, Y/n then talked to Dan about her divorce. It was a dark time for her. She had been young when she said ‘I Do’ to a man she thought was the love of her life. At the time of her marriage, her husband was six years older. She was nineteen at the time, about to turn twenty.

Several headlines from the day her marriage was announced appeared on screen.

“Barely an Adult, Already a Wife: Y/N Marries Six Years Her Senior”

“Y/N’s Whirlwind Marriage: Chasing Love, Not Podiums?”

“Teenage Racer’s Rush to the Altar: Desperate for Love or Just Immature?”

“Is Y/N Looking for Validation in All the Wrong Places?”

“‘She’ll Marry Anyone’: Critics Slam Y/N’s Hasty Decision at Just 19”

"They painted me as some kind of desperate girl who couldn’t handle being alone. The truth was, I was 19, scared, and in love—or at least I thought I was. But that didn’t matter to them. They just wanted to sell papers."

Dan then spoke. “What led to the divorce?”

Y/n sighed deeply. Only a few people knew the real reason. “It’s . . . a complicated thing to talk about. I mean, when you’re nineteen and in love, or what you think is love, you don’t always see the red flags. At the time, I thought I’d found someone who believed in me, who would support me no matter what. But as time went on, I realized that wasn’t the case."

A picture of Y/n getting ready by herself on her wedding day appears on screen. Her family were not present as her husband at the time wanted it to be only them. She smiled brightly at the camera as her photo was taken. The image fades then clips of Y/n racing in the early 2000s play.

“He wanted a family. Kids, a house, the whole thing. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but he wanted it then, right when my career was just beginning. He gave me an ultimatum—racing or him."

Dan lightly gasped at her words. “Oh . . .”

“I chose racing. How could I not? It was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d dreamed of. But he didn’t take it well. He made me feel like I was selfish, like I was throwing away a chance at a ‘real’ life."

Several more images of Y/n and her then husband flash on screen. There’s no photos of him attending races, mostly because he thought racing was dumb and didn’t like loud crowds.

“He didn’t trust me. Whenever I was away at races, he’d insist I call him every single day, sometimes multiple times. If I missed a call because I was in a meeting or debrief, he’d accuse me of . . . things. Things that weren’t true. I couldn’t even have a normal conversation with my trainer or my team principal without worrying about how he’d react."

"There were times I wanted to visit my family, to go home and just breathe. But he’d make me feel so guilty for even thinking about it, like I was abandoning him. So I stopped trying."

The screen cuts back to Y/N on the sofa. Her hands are clasped tightly now, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of emotion.

“And then the divorce was final and for a moment I was happy until he went to the media spreading all sorts of lies.” Y/n added.

Several more magazine headlines appear on screen.

“The Truth About Y/N: Ex-Husband Reveals Why Their Marriage Failed”

“‘She Wanted the World to Love Her, Not Me’: Y/N’s Ex Speaks Out”

“‘All She Cared About Was Fame’: Y/N’s Ex-Husband Speaks Out About Their Divorce”

Then the screen cuts to clips of Y/n’s ex husband being interviewed about their marriage.

“I sacrificed so much to support her career, but she couldn’t give me the one thing I wanted: a family. She was too busy chasing the cameras and the glory.”

“It was rough. Instead of being asked about racing, I was asked about my failed marriage.” Y/n recalled all the times during interviews when her ex-husband’s name was mentioned. “I just wanted to go home a cry, but I had a job to do. But of course the attention I was getting got me fired.”

“How were you told you were no longe driving for Williams?” Dan asked.

“Would you believe it if I said it was a ten second phone call from Claire Williams?” Y/n laughed. “Claire and I were never enemies. A few days after I got her call, she had dinner in my house and explained to me that she didn’t want to be the one to call me, but she was pressured to. Apparently the Williams team thought it was best for her to tell me in a phone call because they thought it would be ‘easier’ if the news came from her, since she’s a woman. They thought it would hurt less coming from her. Can you believe that?"

Dan noticed how Y/n laughed at the mention of the famous ten second phone call.

“It was definitely ridiculous of them. But they didn’t understand how humiliating it was either way. But Claire . . . I could tell she hated it. She ended the call so quickly because she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want me to be dropped from the team."

A photo showed of Claire Williams talking to Y/n before a race. At the time, Y/n didn’t know it, but Claire was her only friend.

“I don’t blame her for how it happened. She was caught in the middle of a decision that wasn’t hers to make. And honestly, her coming to my house afterward to explain—that meant something. It didn’t fix anything, but it showed she cared." Y/n finished drinking her tea then resumed speaking. “That ten-second call changed everything for me. But at least I know it wasn’t Claire’s choice. It was just . . . Williams being Williams."

“After everything that happened with Williams, you had every reason to step away from the sport. But instead, you joined McLaren. Looking back now, would you say that was the decision that changed everything for the better?" Dan questioned. He watched as her face softened. She truly adored her time with mclaren.

Y/n nodded. “Joining McLaren felt like a fresh start, like a second chance to prove what I was capable of. At Williams, I was just surviving. But at McLaren, I got to thrive."

Clips of Y/n during her time with the mclaren team played. Her smile was genuine and she looked happier than ever.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep racing. I didn’t know if I could trust another team. But McLaren . . . they believed in me in a way no one else had."

"It wasn’t just about the racing, though. McLaren gave me a second chance, not just at my career, but at myself. It reminded me why I fell in love with this sport in the first place."

“And then came those three idiots.” Y/n laughed when she remembered becoming friends with Mark, Jenson and Sebastian. Her cheeks tinting slightly, but her smile stays steady.

“But with that friendship came negative comments. I remember reading articles calling you horrible names just for having friendships with them.” Dan commented.

“Those negative comments still come my way even after many years,” Y/n added. “I stayed away from social media for that same reason until recently.”

“But with sharing your life on social media also came questions about your daughters life as well.”

Y/n knew it was something that was going to come up in the interview. Dan didn’t want to ask, but Y/n wanted to share. Gemma’s father and her had discussed it before and they both agreed to the interview.

“Yeah, the whole ‘who’s the father?’ thing has taken over every social media app i have. I can’t avoid it, especially when people constantly message me about it.” Y/n spoke. “Jenson thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Jenson?” Dan questioned.

“Yeah, he sent me a meme about it comparing us to Mamma Mia. I sent it to Sebastian and he sent it to Mark.”

The remainder of the interview, Y/n talked about her family she shared with the man who endlessly supported through everything. Every time she talked about him, she smiled brightly. It was clear that she loved him and their daughter more than anything.

As the video came to an end, Gemma was seen running towards someone who was out of frame. “Dad’s home!” Gemma jumped into his arms and hugged him.

“I thought you were flying in next week.” Y/n stood up to hug him.

“I come here to surprise you and Gem and this is how I’m treated?” He placed a kiss on Y/n’s temple, still holding onto Gemma. “Sorry, I definitely interrupted you two, haven’t I?”

“It’s alright, Jenson. We were just wrapping things up.”

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f1gossip after finally revealing the identity of her daughter’s father, y/n and her daughter gemma were seen together in a beach in california 👀 jenson button also lives in california so we’re thinking the button family is spending some time together.

vettelsbees GIRL SEB WAS SPOTTED AT LAX

hamiltonsmercedes AND MARK

nicorosbergisadiva WHAT IS GOING ONNNN

landonorris hey i know her

ferraridepressionclub ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HEREEE

webbertears what do you know you gremlin

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“Can I have money for ice cream?” Gemma ran up to her parents, Mark and Sebastian. The former drivers were all enjoying the sunshine of California, an idea that came from Gemma. She had been the one to call Mark and Sebastian to join her and her parents. They agreed even if they cancelled their plans with friends. They would literally do anything for the young girl.

Without hesitation, all the men took out their wallets and took out money for the girl. Their actions caused both Gemma and Y/n to laugh.

“Okay, thank you.” She gladly took the money from each of them.

“I’ll go with you, Gemmy,” Mark said as he got up from his spot and took Gemma’s hand in his. Together they walked to the ice cream stand.

“Has Claire called you?” Sebastian wondered. Ever since the interview was posted, the Williams team had posted several posts of Y/n when she was driving for them. They were finally acknowledging her wins and podiums. And of course they received some criticism from fans.

“She messaged me letting me know she watched the interview. She’s happy I did it.” Y/n replied.

“We all are. You should’ve done the interview years ago.” Jenson said.

Y/n only nodded and turned her attention to Mark and Gemma. The girl had always been close to both the German and Australian drivers, how couldn’t she when they had been in her mothers life and now they were in hers.

“Gemma asked if she could go to a race, but she wants you all to be there.” Y/n spoke up. Gemma desperately wanted the three men to join her. Y/n knew they would all say yes immediately.

“Did she say which one?” Sebastian asked.

“She said she wants to go to each of your home races.” Y/n grinned as Jenson immediately said he was in. Sebastian laughed then nodded. Of course they would join Gemma, the girl had them all wrapped around her finger.

“And will you be attending too?” Jenson winked at her. “We could do a repeat of what happened after Australia.”

“Funny, I was about to suggest the same thing but it happened in Canada.” Sebastian teased.

“Well weren’t you a busy woman.” Jenson smirked. “And Mark?”

Y/n kept quiet, innocently sipping her lemonade. After setting her drink down, the former drivers waited for her answer. “If you must know . . . We were in Vegas.”

Jenson groaned. “I was thinking Monaco.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, baby.”

[vettelsvee]

Hello! I hope this is the correct way to request..., can you write a lewis story for prompt 28? It can be something like, reader is a new wag and there is some online hate, and lewis comforts them. It's completely fine if you don't wanna do this story, Thank you!! 💞

DON'T LET THEM SAY THAT. YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL | Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x Actress!Reader

SUMMARY: Lewis and you decided to make your relationship public in Maranello before 2025 Formula 1 season starts. However, love from fans isn't there as you expected ↳ REQUESTED: Part of VEE'S F1 PROMPTS LIST (VOL. I)! Feel free to request anything you want <3 Hope you liked it anon! 💖

WORD COUNT: 2043

WARNINGS: Age gap (reader is on her early 20s and Lewis is 40), fans acting like crazy, hate towards Y/N

VEE'S NOTES: I received this prompt on the inbox today and I don't know how I wrote, corrected, translated and corrected once again it today. Also, first ever Ferrari!Lewis fic I'm so emotional right now. Not really happy with the result since like Y/N in this fic, I have many intrusive thoughts about my writing and I didn't have the best of the weekends, but hope you enjoy it anyways! Remember that I appreciate your comments, feedback, as well as reblogs, thank you so much! :)

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The whirlwind of emotions you’ve experienced since your relationship with Lewis Hamilton became public has been unimaginable... and that’s putting it lightly.  

Although you were somewhat used to the spotlight thanks to your rising career as an actress, flashes from cameras, crowds shouting for you to turn around so they could get a picture, and the occasional fan asking for a photo or autograph, the world of Formula 1 was completely new to you.  

You couldn’t deny that you were unhappy with how drastically your life had changed. The man who had just joined Scuderia Ferrari had become everything you had ever imagined in a partner. kind, undeniably caring, and, most importantly, empathetic enough to understand how overwhelming this sudden rise in fame was for you.  

Lewis had noticed how down you’d been ever since he decided to post those photos of you both in Maranello. You had both agreed to go together so he could test one of those legendary red cars for the first time, fully aware that people would inevitably start talking. That day, you decided to make your relationship public after keeping it a secret for about six months, agreeing that it was best to do so before the 2025 season began.  

Despite it all, despite how much you had started closing yourself off in the following weeks, Lewis remained by your side, making you feel like the most important person in the world. But it was becoming increasingly difficult for him, especially when all you did was act like everything was fine on the outside while you were slowly destroying yourself inside.  

The nightmare began with small comments on the photo Lewis had uploaded to Instagram, just you, posing timidly in front of the Ferrari while he held you around the waist, smiling like never before. At first, the comments didn’t seem like a big deal, with people just wanting to know more about your relationship or if it was serious. But soon, the messages started pouring in, insults and threats far worse than you had ever imagined, many of them coming from underage girls. Eventually, you had to disable comments on every single one of your photos, no matter how old they were.

However, what truly became a living nightmare for you were the Twitter threads and, especially, the accounts dedicated exclusively to Formula 1 wags. They were relentless, tearing you apart, analyzing your every move as if dating one of the 20 drivers on the grid was equivalent to committing first-degree murder.

“She’s just looking for fame now that her acting career is taking off.”

“She doesn’t deserve someone like Lewis.”

“She’s too young for him.”

“And let’s not even talk about how ugly she is… have you seen her?”

You sighed, throwing your phone onto the couch with such force that it ended up crashing onto the floor. But you didn’t even bother to check if it was broken. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t read any more comments, wouldn’t even open your Instagram account, yet you couldn’t resist. After all, you were human, and the weight of it all was becoming too much to bear, even more than you were willing to admit to Lewis, to whom you hadn’t fully opened up yet.

The hotel room in Tokyo, where you and Lewis had decided to stay for one of your last vacations before the season began, fell into complete silence. The only sound that filled the space was your muffled sobs.

“And who even is she? Nobody knows her.”

“Lewis deserves someone better, that’s for sure.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away.

You couldn’t understand it. It felt so unfair... Why were you being treated this way just for loving someone? Why did people throw venomous words at you without even knowing you, without even trying to? Did being a fan of Lewis automatically mean they had to hate you?

You tried to relax, to break free from the spiral of thoughts that only led you to overthink, but it was impossible. Once your mind started down that path, the only thing it knew how to do was tear you apart from the inside.

As you tried to steady your breathing and quickly wiped away your tears, a knock echoed at the door.

You pulled yourself together as fast as you could, forcing a smile while glancing at your reflection in the mirror. You swore to yourself that you’d do everything possible to pretend that everything was fine, that you were fine.

But the moment you opened the door and saw Lewis, drenched in sweat from his gym session and pulling out his earbuds, you immediately turned around and rushed into the nearest room, the bathroom, locking yourself inside to keep him from seeing you like this.

“Come on, Y/N...”

Lewis knew you too well by now. No matter how hard you tried to convince him otherwise, he could see right through you, he knew you were struggling, and struggling pretty badly.

He didn’t do anything at first. He didn’t know what to do. He was afraid that whatever he said or did might only make things worse, might make you shut down even more. Instead, he rested his forehead against the closed door, feeling defeated, thinking of ways to make you feel worthy enough to stop torturing yourself over what strangers were saying online, people who knew nothing about your relationship and even less about you.

Eventually, you decided to come out. Lewis saw you, completely defeated, and he cursed himself for letting things get to this point. What had he done wrong to make you feel this way? God, you were just a girl in your early twenties who had recently made the leap to Hollywood stardom after moving to Los Angeles at sixteen, waiting tables in a run-down bar, and facing countless failed auditions until you finally landed the role that changed everything.

“Hey, love,” Lewis spoke as gently as possible, his eyes scanning your red-rimmed ones and your tangled hair. “What’s wrong?”

He knew exactly what was wrong, but he wanted you to be the one to speak, to let it all out.

You took a deep breath and pointed at your phone, still lying on the floor. A nervous knot tightened in your stomach, and your hands began to fidget anxiously. As if on cue, tears started streaming down your face once more.

“I just… I don’t understand why they have to be like this. What did I do to deserve this? Am I not good enough? Not pretty enough for you?”

Lewis sighed. He had known from the beginning that not everyone would accept your relationship, but the amount of hate you were facing was beyond excessive. He was exhausted by the senseless comments and social media accounts created solely to spew hate at you. And even more, he was tired of becoming tabloid fodder, followed everywhere by paparazzi eager to capture any moment they could.

Seeing you like this hurt him in ways he couldn’t even describe, and it made him feel miserable.

“Hey, Y/N… look at me.”

Despite speaking to you firmly and holding your hand, gently rubbing your skin with his thumb to calm you down, you didn’t respond. Lewis then cupped your chin delicately, forcing you to look at him.

“I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, and I also know that with how stubborn you are, you probably won’t listen to me, but don’t let what they say about you bother you,” he wanted to say, but all he really cared about was you. “What matters is that I love you, okay?”

“But... why does it have to affect me? Why did I used to not care about anything, and now I care so much about the opinion of strangers?” you asked, hesitantly, biting your lip in an attempt to relax.

Lewis moved even closer to you, wrapping his arms around you. He hated seeing you like this, especially when before all of this started, you were a light in his life, and it was him who used to lean on you when race weekends got overwhelming.

“Because you’re human, babe,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you tighter. “Even though we sometimes say the opposite, we all care about what others think of us, especially when all they want to do is bring us down.”

“But... what if they’re right? What if I’m not what you deserve?”

“Do I need to remind you again that they’re wrong?” Lewis said, pulling you slightly away so your gazes met. “You need to remember how much you mean to me, but more than that, you need to remember who you are and all that you’re worth. That’s all that matters.”

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, once again crying quietly to avoid him seeing you like this.

“I’m ugly, Lew. Really ugly,” you confessed without lifting your head. “I don’t even know how you love me, or how you agreed to be with me after all those months we spent talking and hanging out as friends, or…”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t let them say that. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, and you’ve always been, alright? Anyone who says otherwise needs to get their eyes checked.”

You laughed, and Lewis felt that as a small victory.

You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. For the first time in a long while, you pushed aside the intrusive thoughts, the destructive comments you saw daily on social media, and allowed yourself the luxury of, for just a moment, trying to stop torturing yourself and accepting that there were things you couldn’t change.

Lewis’s words, while brief and somewhat familiar to you, brought a peace you hadn’t felt in days. You did your best to let the tension in your shoulders melt away, slowly separating from him and moving your arms bit by bit.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lew,” you whispered, once again wrapping your arms around his waist, wishing you could never let go of him.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Lewis chuckled, planting kisses on your forehead. “I’m never going to leave you, and I hope you’ll never leave me either.”

Neither of you said anything more. Your bodies remained close, exchanging shy kisses, making promises that everything would get better as you both talked about the changes you’d face in 2025. That was enough for you both to know things were going to be okay.

You both understood that the big, risky changes you were taking, especially your relationship, were going to be difficult, just like what was happening with you and the wave of hate you were receiving. But once you stopped giving it too much importance, or rather, no importance at all, no one would stop you as the newest couple in Formula 1.

“Hey, listen to me, please... I’ve been thinking about something.”

Lewis’s words caught your attention as you were starting to drift off to sleep in bed. You straightened up, your hand still intertwined with his.

“How about we take a walk, and you can get to know the city a bit?” he suggested. “You know… we could go eat out, hit up an arcade, or maybe…”

“Can you get me a stuffed animal from one of those weird claw machines?!” you interrupted him, excited, which made Lewis burst out laughing.

“Of course, I can get you a stuffed animal, or buy you all the ones you want.”

You smiled, and as Lewis went to the bathroom for a shower, you began to prepare for the day. That moment was exactly when you realized you needed to trust yourself more and, specially, just as Lewis valued you. Because if there was one thing you’d learned from him in the short time you’d been together, it was that, no matter what you did, you’d always be the envy of others, so you just needed to remind yourself that you didn’t need to feel worse for living the life you’d always dreamed of and, moreover, you worked hard to have.