#it feels like they were high when they make it

[strnilolover]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ watching is better than joining

warnings : girls dry humping. girls making out. dirty talk. mentions of drinking. matt and chris watch their girl best friends. small mention of them getting off to watching them.

the girls had too much to drink. matt and chris knew that—having been trying to drag them out of this party for ages, and finally, finally, being able to after lots of convincing.

but when they got home, it wasn’t any better.

they were loud—giggling at everything each of them said, music playing off one of their phones. but matt and chris couldn’t just stop them, they wanted them to have fun still, as long as it was in the safety of the home.

it wasn’t long before they were a mess of tangled limbs and laughter on the living room rug, giggling as they passed a bottle of something sweet between them. lip gloss smudged, cheeks flushed, and their hair tousled—matt and chris stood near the kitchen archway, watching in silence.

the girls weren’t just drunk—they were drunk on each other now. one of them had climbed into the other’s lap, arms around her neck, whispering something low that made them both laugh harder. matt and chris both shifted where they stood, jaws tensing, eyes tracking every movement. Or something they shouldn’t be seeing.

Or both.

they weren’t expecting it at all—it happened quickly. a kiss. open-mouthed and messy, one girl giggling against the other’s lips before pulling her back in, fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt.

matt’s throat bobbed. “they’re—uh—definitely still having fun,” he murmured, but his voice cracked halfway through. he was so turned on, his cock beginning to stir in his sweats at the sight of them. chris didn’t answer. he was too busy watching the way one of them rolled her hips forward, slow and teasing. how one of them moaned, low and breathy, like she forgot they weren’t alone.

they were saying things too—things neither matt nor chris could hear clearly, but the tone was unmistakable. all drawled-out pet names and giggled curses.

And yet neither of them could look away at what was unfolding right in front of them. matt leaned his elbow against the counter, knuckles pressed to his mouth, eyes locked in—trying to resist the urge to reach down and palm his aching cock. chris crossed his arms, his breathing going uneven.

the girl in her lap had her head thrown back now, laughing at something whispered in her ear—but it was the way her hips were moving that had both matt and chris frozen. slow, grinding movements, her fingernails tracing teasing lines along bare thighs. their lipsticks smeared from too many kisses.

“god,” matt muttered under his breath, shifting in his stance. chris didn’t answer. he was locked in as well—eyes dark, breath shallow as he watched one of the girls tug the other’s hair back just enough to expose her neck, tongue dragging along the skin before sinking into another kiss.

one of them gasped into the other’s mouth, high-pitched and breathy. “you like that?” she teased. “mmhmm,” the other hummed, grinding harder, dragging her hands down to grip her hips. “keep going. feels so good.” she moaned.

matt and chris let out a quiet groan, low and strangled. matt and chris weren’t just watching—they were losing themselves in it. in the way the girls soft moans mixed with the bass of the music. in the little whimpers, the bitten lips, the flushed skin, and the way one girl looked up at the other like she needed her.

they were drunk, messy, wrapped up in each other—and it was turning them both on by watching them more than they wanted to admit. “I should stop them.” chris muttered—but that was a lie. he didn’t want to stop them. matt just huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “yeah? you gonna walk over there and tell them to stop dry humping while you’ve got a hard-on?”

chris didn’t respond again. he couldn’t. not when one of the girls had just let out a filthy moan, fingers digging into the other’s hips, their kiss turning hungry and hot and downright obscene.

they both were trying so hard to refrain from touching themselves, but it was growing harder with every passing second. with every sound those girls made, and every slurred word that came out of their mouths.

matt was the first to give in. “oh fuck it.” he muttered under his breath, his hand coming down to tug his cock free from the confines of his sweats. the tip was red and angry, already leaking so much from what he was seeing. he spat into his hand, bringing it down to slowly tug on his cock, moving his hand up and down.

chris followed not too far behind, giving into the ache of his own cock—tugging himself free as he continued to watch the girls in front of him.

they were both fucking screwed.

a/n : slowly cleaning out my drafts…enjoy this 🙂‍↕️ please be responsible with drinking y’all

[bjlipss]

— 12:37, family dinner .

nanami’s been adjusting his tie for the better part of ten minutes.

first in the mirror. then in his reflection in the microwave door. now he’s using his phone’s selfie camera like it personally offended him and he’s considering cutting ties.

“kento,” you say gently from the doorway, arms crossed, amusement in your voice, “if you keep strangling yourself like that, we’re going to have to call it a night before we even leave.”

he pauses. looks down at the neat, sharp knot he’s tied, and sighs. lowers the phone. but the way he smooths his palm down his front, tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves, tells you the tension hasn’t left his body. it’s coiled tight under his skin, humming low and constant.

“they’re not cruel,” he says after a beat, like he’s had this line rehearsed. “just… very particular.”

you hum. “you’ve mentioned.”

he doesn’t answer. just gives a humorless little breath through his nose, and turns to check the coat rack.

“and my mother’s the kind of woman who’ll tell you your shirt is lovely and also that it would look better in a different color, because ‘not everyone can wear that shade of navy, dear.’”

you walk slowly toward him. he’s doing that thing where he pretends not to watch you approach, but you can see the way his shoulders shift, just slightly, when you’re close.

“i like navy,” you say, reaching up to fix the tiniest wrinkle in his lapel.

he doesn’t laugh. just gives you a look—something wary and a little pained, like he’s caught between reason and instinct. you reach up, cup his cheek.

“kento,” you murmur. “are you embarrassed to bring me?”

his eyes fly open wider. “no. no, of course not.” he catches you around the waist like it’s involuntary. “that’s not what this is. it’s not about you.”

he pauses. swallows hard.

“they’re just a lot sometimes. and i don’t want them to make you uncomfortable. or say something that makes you feel… unwelcome.”

your voice softens. “and if they do?”

he frowns. like the very idea twists something in his chest.

you lean up, brush your lips against the corner of his mouth—barely a kiss. just warmth, just the weight of a promise.

“i’ll win them over,” you whisper, smiling. “just you watch.”

—

he watches you the entire train ride.

not like he’s trying to memorize you, not exactly. like he already has—but he’s checking over the lines again, like a man reading his favorite book for the thousandth time.

your hand rests on your lap, fingers curling lightly around his. you tap his pinky with yours once. he taps back twice.

when you point out a corgi in a baby stroller, laughing softly, he just stares at you. lets the sound settle under his ribs like sunlight.

he doesn’t speak. but when the train doors open, he shifts to stand in front of you, gently shielding your body from the push of the crowd.

always.

—

his mother opens the door wearing a floral silk blouse and that vague look women get when they’re already cataloging everything about you.

but the second you smile and say, “your earrings are beautiful,” her whole face lifts. the suspicion drains out of her eyes like she’s been holding her breath and just remembered how to breathe.

“oh, these?” she says, a little flustered. “my husband always said they were too flashy.”

you grin. “he was wrong.”

she laughs. actually laughs. “you’re trouble, aren’t you?”

you just shrug, all sweetness. “depends who you ask.”

you slip off your coat. compliment the smell of roasted soy and simmering ginger that’s wafting in from the kitchen. she practically beams.

nanami stands behind you like a shadow—silent, steady, his hand brushing yours. not grabbing. not clutching. just there. like a lifeline.

you glance at him. he doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are warm. when your fingers curl slightly, he hooks his pinky around yours without hesitation.

—

the table is long and cluttered with food, wine, delicate dishes stacked too high. cousins and uncles and an aunt with sharp eyes and louder opinions gather one by one.

there’s laughter. overlapping voices. the kind of comfortable chaos nanami never quite fits into, even though he grew up in it. but you—you slide in like you’ve always belonged there.

“so what do you do?” someone asks, and you explain your work clearly, simply, without the need to impress.

“oh, you’d love my friend yumi,” his aunt says suddenly, nodding. “you’d get along like a house on fire. she’s got the same sparkle.”

“sparkle?” you echo, laughing.

“you’ve got kind eyes,” she says matter-of-factly, like that explains everything.

across the table, nanami nearly chokes on his drink.

a cousin retells the time kento got stuck at the top of a rollercoaster when he was fifteen and didn’t speak to anyone for two hours afterward. you giggle into your hand. nanami sighs, dragging a palm down his face.

someone’s uncle asks if nanami’s finally going to settle down, and his aunt jokes, “if she’ll have him.”

you glance at nanami across the table, and he’s watching you again. quietly. like he’s never seen you more clearly.

he barely touches his food.

—

you’re halfway through a slice of orange chiffon cake—soft, airy, citrus-sweet—when his mother reaches out and gently touches your wrist.

“he seems lighter with you,” she says.

you blink. “sorry?”

“kento.” she folds her napkin neatly. “he’s always been so serious. since he was a boy. but tonight—he’s different. smiling more. more relaxed.”

she looks at you with a softness you didn’t expect. something grateful in the lines of her face.

“you’re good for him.”

you nod slowly. “he’s good for me too.”

—

the apartment is quiet when you get back. the click of the lock echoes in the stillness. you start to take off your shoes—

and then his hands are on you.

not rough. not rushed. just sure. like a man who’s been holding himself back all night and suddenly can’t anymore.

his lips find yours in the hallway, then again against the door, then again against your cheekbone like he’s making up for every minute he didn’t get to touch you. one hand cups your jaw. the other is splayed warm and wide across your back, keeping you steady as he kisses you like you’re air, like he needs you to breathe.

you let yourself melt into him. let your fingers twist in his collar, tug him closer.

he breaks only when your breath hitches. your lips part, dazed and pink, and you whisper, “kento…”

he rests his forehead against yours. exhales hard.

“you were incredible tonight,” he murmurs. “i knew you would be. i knew. but…”

his voice cracks a little. his hand moves to your waist.

“…i didn’t expect them to fall for you like that.”

your smile is slow. teasing. “jealous?”

he laughs softly. “grateful,” he says. “so fucking grateful.”

your fingers brush through the back of his hair. he leans into it.

“for what?” you whisper.

he looks at you like you’re everything.

“for you,” he says. “for saying yes to coming. for being exactly who you are. for fitting into a piece of my life i didn’t think would ever make sense.”

he presses a kiss to your temple, to your cheek, to the corner of your mouth.

then, quietly:

“i love you,” he breathes. “so much. i think i’ve been in love with you since the moment you told me off in that grocery store.”

you blink. “you mean the time you took the last basket and didn’t offer to share?”

“yes,” he says, unashamed. “you were so—” he kisses you again, “—angry,” another kiss, “—and beautiful.”

you laugh into his mouth, hands fisting in his shirt. “you’re ridiculous.”

“i know.” he presses his forehead to yours. “but i’m yours. if you’ll have me.”

you answer him without words. just kiss him again. kiss him like you already do. like you always will.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Eighteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, silverstone 2021, racing injuries, detailed description of a panic attack, angsty as heck

Notes — Uh....... welcome to the Silverstone chapter (im sorry)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Silverstone) 

In the days leading up to Silverstone, Lando filmed a video for Quadrant. Amelia sat just out of shot, watching the gameplay unfold with a grin that said, this is ridiculous, and I’m having the best time watching you all make fools of yourselves. When Lando stacked it and landed awkwardly on his arm, she was there in an instant, fussing over him.

A small portion of the clip made it into the final edit. Her on her knees, laughing, while Lando pouted dramatically, waving his arm around like it was much a more dramatic injury than just a scratch. It was lighthearted, sweet. 

Everyone went crazy for it. 

—

WhatsApp — 2021 F1 Groupchat

Lando N. Quick question. does anyone have any spare gloves?

Valtteri B. Like... racing gloves?

Lando N. Nah, just regular gloves. Leather, ideally.

George R. I’ve got some driving gloves in my car.

Pierre G. Of course you do.

George R. What’s that supposed to mean?

Pierre G. Nothing, nothing.

Lando N. Can you bring them to me? Amelia’s a bit icky about touch today, thought gloves might help. We’re heading to the track now and I couldn’t find any at my parents' place.

George R. Yeah, I’ll give them to Will.

Lando N. 👍

—

It wasn’t a stim. It wasn’t a meltdown.

It was just… discomfort.

She sighed in relief as Lando slid the brown leather gloves onto her hands. She swallowed, wiggling her fingers and letting the tension bleed from her shoulders.

The leather was soft and probably expensive, considering the gloves were George’s.

Lando squeezed her hands. “Better?”

She nodded, smiling. “They match my boots.” She held her gloved hands next to her knees, where her brown riding-style boots reached.

He snorted, laughing softly. “I don’t think George planned that, but I’m glad you feel fashionable, baby.”

Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Daniel wandered over, wiggling his eyebrows. “Excited for your home races, mate?” The question was aimed at Lando.

Amelia watched Lando, noticing how his face shifted; something complicated, something soft, but also guarded.

“Yeah. Just want to do well,” he shrugged, his smile a little too tight.

She frowned, instinctively leaning in. “You will.”

His smile flickered, uncertain. “I hope so.”

—

Max didn’t ask about the gloves. He just wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her into his driver’s room, ignoring her confused protests.

He slammed the door, sat on the cabin bed, and stared at her.

She hovered, uncertain, glancing at the door before looking back at him. “Um…”

“I want to tell her the truth,” he said, eventually.

She stared at him for a beat, trying to decode his words, and then, slowly, her eyes widened. “You— I thought you told her months ago! Are you serious?” She choked out.

Max winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I know I should’ve done it sooner, okay? But I— I didn’t want to spoil it…”

Her anger flared, a sick heat bubbling in her stomach. “I told you to tell her the truth. That I’d hate to be lied to like that. And you carried on?” She was trembling. “So…. What. She still has no idea? About you, about all of this?”

He lowered his gaze, shame written across his face.

Amelia took a deep breath, stepping back. “I can’t even look at you. How could you—” She choked, nauseous, thinking of the girl who had no idea she was about to be dragged into this mess. “Has she told you she loves you?”

He was silent.

She let out a pained sound, high-pitched and sharp. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Just… pass your thoughts on the car after practice to GP, yeah?”

Then she turned and walked out, her body coiled tight, her mind a storm.

—

She stormed through the garage, ignoring the stares from the engineers, and found Lando, her dad, and Daniel standing together.

Her dad spotted her first, eyes going wide. “Hey, honey. Everything okay?”

She shook her head. “I need to hit something.”

All three pairs of eyes turned to her.

Her dad sighed, glancing around. This wasn’t new. It had mostly happened during puberty. She’d always been hard to anger, but when it did happen, she needed an outlet.

“We’ve got some old tire blankets we can pile up. Should be soft enough.”

She nodded, her gaze distant.

He instructed a mechanic to start gathering the blankets in the back of the garage, away from the cameras and spectators.

Lando cupped her face, bending to meet her eyes. “You okay? What happened?”

“Max is an asshole,” she spat.

He blinked, shocked, before stepping back and nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go help with the tire blankets.” He hurried off.

She looked at Daniel.

He shrugged, making a face. “Max is an asshole sometimes, isn’t he?”

She nodded, jaw tight.

Then, out of sight of everyone, she took her frustration out on the tire blankets.

— 

Max won the sprint race, setting his brakes on fire on the grid in order to boost the temperature in his front tires and give him a better start. It was risky, but it paid off, and he won. That took precedence over the extra work he’d given the garage crew overnight.

Another haul of points in their fight against Lewis.

Amelia didn’t have it in her to celebrate. She forced a smile for GP, nodded at Christian, but stepped away from the pit wall and headed straight to the back of Max’s garage, where Jos was sitting.

“Did you know about her? His girlfriend?” Jos asked. “I assume you did.”

Amelia stared at a spot of engine oil on the wall. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to push for more, but she stood up and walked away before he could.

Lando finished P5. He fought with her childhood hero on track and came out ahead. For that, he deserved her attention.

— 

She found Mark Webber just before the F2 feature race, holding a folded white envelope. She passed it to him as discreetly as possible, careful of the cameras and prying eyes around them.

He took it, glanced at it, and raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “Let him open it when—if—things go wrong. It’s a good offer. The best he’ll get.” She’d made sure of that. She wasn’t about to let him slip through the cracks if Otmar did what she suspected he might do.

Mark studied her for a moment. “You made this happen?”

She nodded.

“Come on, kid,” he said, after a beat, gesturing ahead. “I’m sure Oscar would love a chat before he has to get in the car.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Do you think he’ll mind if I look at his steering set-up? I’m so curious—”

—

Lando drove them from the track to the hotel. She liked his car. All sleek, black lines and a polished interior that looked like something out of a magazine.

“Is this your dream car?” she asked, curiosity in her voice.

It was nearly ten, the sky darkening, and Lando had one hand on the steering wheel and the other casually draped over her inner thigh. She’d swapped out her team kit after the sprint for his favourite skirt, keeping it casual but elegant for the evening’s media events. Daniel had made him do a shoeey on the main stage. 

“No.” He shook his head, glancing at her with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why?” She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“I’ve always wanted a Jolly.”

She blinked, momentarily stunned. “A— A Fiat Jolly?”

He nodded, his grin widening.

She couldn’t help but smirk. “A Jolly? That’s your dream car?”

Lando shot her a mock glare from the corner of his eye. “Baby…”

“Sorry, sorry!” she laughed, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I just— I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shook his head, exasperated but still smiling, his eyes warm with amusement. “I’ll get one, baby, and I’ll force you to let me drive it everywhere.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll be able to match all of my outfits to it,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Lando rolled his eyes.

— 

Max and Pietra were waiting for them in the hotel lobby the next morning. Amelia squeezed Lando’s hand as they approached, giving him a fond glance before skipping over to Pietra, who greeted her with a bright smile and a glance of appreciation.

“That dress is gorgeous!” Pietra remarked, her eyes lighting up.

Amelia smiled, twirling a little. “Thanks. It’s my favourite. Oscar De La Renta. I can wear it on the pit wall as long as I throw on a team jacket.” As they walked through the lobby, Amelia leaned in, lowering her voice just enough so the guys wouldn’t overhear. “He won’t say it, but Lando thinks it’s a lucky dress. Pushed me into wearing it today.”

Pietra smiled knowingly.

“Baby!” Lando’s voice called from behind them.

Amelia turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”

“You got your iPad?” he asked, him and Max now caught up to them.

Amelia patted her bag, feeling the familiar weight. “Got it.”

“Good. Keep a close eye on it today, yeah? Group chat’s a bit tense at the moment.”

She frowned. “What’s my iPad got to do with your group chat?”

He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him. He kissed her. 

— 

Everyone could feel the tension between her and Max.

She sat in the strategy meeting, arms crossed, her focus locked on the data sheets in front of her. The only time she spoke was to correct a mistake or suggest a differential, her tone cool and efficient. Max, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, the weight of whatever was unspoken between them hanging heavy in the air.

When the meeting ended, she walked with GP to the garage, discussing overcorrection and heat cycles. 

She managed to avoid Max entirely. 

But just before the cars were due to leave the garages to line up on the grid, Jos found her. He was calm, but there was something demanding in his expression. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you,” he said quietly, eyes hard. “But I need you to put it aside and focus. This is an important race. He needs to win.”

Her response was a sharp nod, her jaw set. Without a word, she walked over to Max’s car. She leaned into the cockpit, eyes meeting his through the visor. The surprise in his eyes at the sight of her was fleeting; she knew he hadn’t expected it. She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“If you don’t tell her by next weekend,” she said, voice low but firm, “I’ll find her and tell her myself.” Then, before he could react, she kissed the cheek of his helmet. Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “Win it, broer.”

Straightening up, she glanced at the mechanics; her unspoken signal to let him go. She turned back to Jos, who watched her with quiet approval. He gave a small nod, and she walked away. 

— 

She rarely walked the grid while the cars were setting up, but something about this year pulled her there. She found Lando under his umbrella, shielded from the sun, sipping from his bottle.

His eyes lit up when he saw her. She kissed his cheek, adjusting his fireproofs. “Be safe, do well. Love you.”

He pulled her in for one last kiss before she moved on. She glanced at the cars, each a blur of metal and energy; smiled at the mechanics, and shared a quick squeeze with Fernando. Finally, she caught Max’s eye. He stared at her for a long moment, before offering a small smile.

“Ah, Amelia Brown!”

She spun around, coming face-to-face with Martin Brundle.

Well aware of the camera, she forced a smile through the nerves. “Hi! How are you?” she asked, deliberately avoiding the lens.

“Good, good! So, we saw you give Lando a good luck kiss. Think McLaren’s got a good shot at scoring double points again today?”

“I hope everyone does well today,” she replied, only a slight tremble in her voice, “but of course, I hope Max comes out on top.”

He laughed, somewhat distractedly, giving her a quick nod before leading the cameraman away.

She glanced back at Lando. He was watching her with a proud, warm smile.

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned, head down, walking off the grid toward the pit wall.

— 

GP settled beside her a few minutes later, handing her a comms clip. She gave it a cursive glance before she slid it into her ear and tugged her defenders on over the top.

“Makes it easier, huh?” he said through the comms, voice quiet and crackly, no need to shout through the defenders like usual.

She smiled. “You’re smart.”

“Coming from you?” He let out a long breath. “That’s the highest of compliments.”

She giggled softly, turning her focus to the screens in front of them.

Her stomach was already in knots, but that was nothing new; it always was during the formation lap. The calm before the storm. Her gaze bounced between Lando and Max, just as it always did, and not for the first time, she wished she had two sets of eyes.

They lined up on the grid. She chewed on her bottom lip, head tilted as she kept an eye on the tyre temps on Max’s car.

He hadn’t set them alight this time. Improvement.

Five lights. Four, three, two.

Lights out.

Max led from Lewis through the first corner. Her fingers fisted into the hem of her dress.

And then—

And then.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Max ahead. Lewis closing. A slipstream through Copse.

Contact.

Suddenly Amelia was on her feet, hand clamped over her mouth.

She sucked in a shaky breath, barely hearing the roar of shouting from the garage, the pit wall, the radios. Yelling. Chaos. Outrage.

GP spoke into his earpiece — calm, measured. “Max? Max, come on. Talk to me.”

Her stomach dropped. He kept repeating his name, firm but steady, and she heard every word. The comm was still in her ear.

Someone’s hands landed on her arms; steadying her, holding her upright. She didn’t look, didn’t need to. Everything else faded.

She begged silently. Prayed. She didn’t know who she was praying to… she didn’t care.

“Red flag!” someone shouted. Or maybe whispered. Everything was warped and sharp all at once.

She blinked. Jos appeared in front of her, speaking, his lips moved but she couldn’t hear him. Just the ringing.

And then—

“He’s moving! Max is getting out of the car!”

The breath punched out of her. Her lip wobbled. Her knees gave a little.

“Fuck,” she whispered, broken and small.

He pulled her into him, arms wrapped tight. Unshakable. Steady.

She sucked in a sharp breath against his shoulder.

— 

They showed her on the main feed.

A cutaway from Max’s crash, the Red Bull pit wall — GP calm and collected, Christian furious, and Amelia… utterly devastated.

She tore her eyes away from the monitor and stared at the floor. She was in the medical wing now, waiting.

51G’s.

A brutal shunt. Career-ending, for some.

Not for Max.

Him climbing out of the car unassisted had been a statement. A declaration. He was still in control. Still standing.

She looked up when Jos stepped out of the examination room. He gave her a nod, then gestured for her to go in.

She entered, and stopped cold.

Max sat on the bed, bruised but upright. Alive.

Her breath hitched. Tears welled instantly.

“Zusje,” he sighed.

She crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her arms around him. Not too tight, she didn’t want to hurt him, but close enough to feel his heart beating, his lungs working, the warmth of him. Real.

He stroked her head, let her cry it out.

When she finally pulled away, lip trembling, eyes darting, he asked, “What did you do?”

So she told him.

Panic in her voice, regret tangled in every word. She’d thought about it, imagined how she’d feel if it were Lando in that crash and no one had reached out. How small and useless and broken she’d feel.

Max’s eyes darkened.

“You called her?” he demanded, already reaching for her phone. “How did you even—”

“It’s too late,” she said quietly. “She’s already on her way.”

Max froze.

“I’m not sorry,” Amelia added, steady now. “If I were her, I’d want to know.”

— 

She barely made it to Lando before he climbed back into the car for the restart.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck. His arms wrapped tight around her, lifting her off the ground with the force of his hold. “I love you so much. Please be safe. Please, Lando.”

He pulled back just enough to make her meet his eyes, steady and sure. The eye-contact made her squirm, but it was important. “I’ll always come back to you, baby. Always.”

She let out a shaky breath, a small, high-pitched sound caught between panic and relief, and hugged him once more before his engineers pulled him away.

Pietra hesitated beside her, hands hovering, then dove forward, wrapping Amelia in a hug despite the warnings both Max and Lando had given her.

“You looked so scared,” she said gently, in Portuguese.

Amelia nodded. Didn’t pull away. Let herself be held. Over Pietra’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Max. He looked concerned, like he was ready to intervene, to pry them apart, but Amelia just sniffled and pressed her face into Pietra’s shoulder.

It was nice to have a friend. 

— 

“Amelia—”

She ducked her head, jaw tight, eyes hard, and turned on her heel without hesitation.

Her heart stuttered, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was angry… furious, really. He’d carried on, celebrated the win like he hadn’t just sent his rival spinning into a tyre wall. Accident or not, it didn’t sit right in her gut.

And maybe it wasn’t fair.

But Lewis had ignored her before, in Austria.

Now, it was her turn.

— 

@/verstappie11 seeing amelia so scared after the crash was scarier than the actual crash. like can somebody hold her please!!!!!!! i never thought i’d be so happy to see jos verstappen lmao

@/pitwallprincess no bc the way the broadcast CUT to Amelia literally holding back tears while GP is stone-faced and Christian is raging… a genuine greek tragedy 

@/helmetcamwhore wait why did Amelia look like she was about to sprint to max’s car herself 😭 give her a hug pls omg

@/softlandon4ever it’s the way Lando dropped everything to hug her before the restart… like. weeping. actual soulmates.

@/mercmafia She said “I hope Max comes out on top” on the GRID and then he COLLIDES with Lewis in lap 1??? nah idc what y’all say she’s the problem.

@/tifosislut69 Amelia Brown crying on live TV was not on my bingo card today. she looked DEVASTATED. get this woman a therapist now!

@/chequedflagged I get that she's emotional but Amelia being all cold to lewis post-race in the paddock was giving bad vibes… 

@/gp2engine not everyone’s fave stem girlie Amelia Brown walking past Lewis like he doesn’t exist post-race. SHE’S MAD MAD

@/papayapixels watching Amelia literally fold into Pietra’s arms while Lando’s pulled away by engineers… god this garage has SEEN things today

NEXT CHAPTER

[cupofteatoyou2]

Sex Is a Luxury Item

(+18)

The nursery door closes with a soft click that feels louder than it should. You both stand there for a full ten seconds, like you're trying to will the silence to hold. Then—very slowly—you back away.

“Did she…?” Alexia whispers.

You hold up a single triumphant finger. “Out. Cold.”

Alexia’s whole body visibly deflates with relief. “Praise. Be.”

You tiptoe down the hall like you’re sneaking out of a haunted house. Once you’re safely in the living room, she collapses onto the couch with a dramatic grunt.

“I’m never using the word ‘down’ again unless it’s followed by ‘to clown’ or ‘for real this time.’”

You laugh, slumping beside her. “I sang the ABCs, and I did that swaddle shuffle thing you made fun of.”

“I don’t make fun of it. I fear it.”

She reaches for your hand, twining your fingers. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles and it’s the softest touch you’ve felt all day.

It makes your chest ache a little.

“I missed this,” she says quietly. “Just being able to… sit with you.”

You glance over at her. Her hair’s a mess, hoodie slightly damp from some earlier baby-related incident, but the look in her eyes is calm. Warm. Need.

“I missed you,” you say softly.

“I missed your mouth,” she says, just as softly—except hers is a little more direct.

You smirk. “Oh, we’re skipping right to that?”

“It’s been weeks. I’m done playing it cool.”

You shift closer, legs touching, your hand sliding to her thigh. Her eyes darken. “Don’t tease.”

“You used to love that.”

“I used to have eight hours of sleep and an immune system.”

You giggle, then tilt your head and kiss her.

It starts slow. Gentle. Careful. You haven’t had space for this in so long, and you both know it. Her fingers slide under your shirt. Yours tangle in her hair. It builds like a fire you’re finally allowed to light.

You shift onto her lap, her arms circling your waist like she never wants to let go.

“I’ve wanted this,” she murmurs against your mouth. “God, I’ve needed this.”

You kiss her again, deeper, slower, letting her feel it.

And just when her hands start to slip under your hoodie—

click.

Rustle.

A small sound crackles from the baby monitor.

You both freeze.

Then a soft sigh.

“Don’t move,” Alexia whispers.

“Maybe she’s shifting in her sleep.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s sensing happiness and preparing to destroy it.”

You both stare at the monitor like it's a horror movie screen.

There’s another soft grunt.

And then—one, single, high-pitched cry.

Alexia slumps back onto the couch. “She’s awake.”

You blink, heart sinking. “We didn’t even get a boob out.”

“I didn’t even make it past second base.”

You press your forehead to her shoulder. “What do we do?”

She sighs. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’ve got her.”

“You did bedtime. I’ve got her.”

You squeeze her hand. “Together?”

She looks at you, eyes soft and tired. “Always.”

You both rise like soldiers going back to war. As you pad toward the nursery, Alexia reaches back and flicks off the light in the living room.

“Tomorrow,” she murmurs.

“Tomorrow,” you promise.

Alexia was moving like a woman possessed.

You watched her storm around the house with a candle in one hand, wine bottle in the other, and the baby monitor clenched between her teeth.

“What are you doing?” you asked from the couch, half-laughing, half-intrigued.

She spat the monitor onto a pillow and said, “Tonight, I’m reclaiming my title as your wife. Not just your co-parent. Your sexy, romantic, occasionally sleep-deprived wife.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be scared or impressed?”

“Both. I cleaned spit-up off my ear today. I deserve this.”

You tried not to laugh, but her eyes were wild with determination. She lit the candle dramatically and dimmed the lights.

“She’s fed, changed, burped, rocked, lullabied, and snuggled within an inch of her life. The monitor says she’s sleeping like a rock. We have—statistically—at least one hour.”

“And you used that hour to set the mood?”

“I used five minutes to set the mood. I plan to use the next fifty-five to ruin you.”

You flushed. “God, I missed you.”

She moved closer, cupping your face gently before kissing you, slow and warm. You melted into her, everything soft and familiar, her hands on your waist pulling you in.

“Tell me you want this too,” she whispered.

You grinned, leaning your forehead against hers. “Of course I do. But slow, okay? I just want to feel close to you again.”

Her lips curved. “Slow is my middle name.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Tonight it is.”

She tugged you down onto the couch, mouth finding yours again. Her hands moved carefully, like she remembered every part of you and needed to touch it all. Your shirt came off, hers followed. You gasped into her mouth, and her teeth scraped your bottom lip in that exact way that used to make your knees weak.

Her hand slid under your bra—

click.

You both froze.

Alexia’s eyes darted to the baby monitor. A tiny grunt. A rustle.

“Don’t you dare,” she muttered. “Do not wake up. I’m begging you.”

You pressed your ear to her chest, listening with her.

Another rustle. Then silence.

“She’s just shifting,” you said, exhaling.

Alexia didn’t move. “I’ve never wanted a mute button more in my life.”

You burst out laughing and pulled her back down. “Crisis averted.”

Your fingers went to the waistband of her joggers. Hers slid behind your back again—

And then—hiccup.

Sniffle.

You both slowly turned toward the monitor again.

“Maybe she’s just—”

WAHHHHHHHHH!

You both groaned in perfect sync.

Alexia flopped backward, dramatically throwing an arm over her face. “I love her so much, but she is truly the tiniest, cutest pussyblocker I’ve ever met.”

You were already pulling your shirt back on, laughing into the fabric. “We made her too powerful.”

“She’s weaponized her timing,” Alexia muttered, slipping on her hoodie. “We’re under siege.”

In seconds, you were back in the nursery. The baby blinked up at you both, looking thrilled to be awake again.

“I swear she’s doing this on purpose,” Alexia said as she rocked her. “She senses hormones like a shark smells blood.”

“Maybe she just misses us.”

“She sees me kiss your neck and goes, ‘That’s enough out of you. Stay away from my mommy’”

The baby yawned. Then sneezed directly in Alexia’s face.

You giggled so hard you nearly dropped the burp cloth.

“Still love her?” you teased.

Alexia wiped her cheek and said, “I’d take a thousand sneezes to the face if it means we eventually get to have sex again.”

Once the baby was back in the crib, snoring softly, you both tiptoed out like burglars escaping a crime scene.

Back in the living room, you didn’t even speak—you just pounced.

Alexia caught you, laughing breathlessly, and pulled you right back into her lap. Your lips locked, more eager this time, more desperate. Her hand slid down your thigh. Yours pushed up under her hoodie.

“I missed your skin,” she whispered against your jaw. “Missed the way you sound.”

“I’ll show you,” you murmured. “Just keep kissing me like that.”

Shirts peeled off again. Breathing got heavier. Her hand moved under your waistband—

BWAAAHHHHHHHH!

Both of you nearly screamed.

The monitor lit up again.

“She was asleep for eight minutes!”

“She sensed skin-to-skin contact!”

Alexia stood dramatically and pointed at the monitor. “You, young lady, are a menace to intimacy.”

You were crying with laughter as you stood. “She’s literally a baby, Lex.”

“A baby with an agenda.”

you both went in together again and took turns holding her. You whispered lullabies while Alexia made up dramatic Shakespearean monologues about interrupted foreplay.

“Sleep, my tiny villain. For tonight we are merely shadows of the lustful beings we once were.”

You were shaking with silent laughter.

Back to bed. Again.

This time, neither of you even pretended to go fast. You laid beside each other, fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together.

Alexia sighed. “I love her so much it physically hurts.”

“I know.”

“But if I don’t get to see you naked soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You grinned. “We’ll get there.”

“You think when she’s in college we’ll finally have sex again?”

“Oh, I think we’ll be nasty empty-nesters.”

She laughed and pulled you close, tucking your head into her shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”

“Even covered in milk stains?”

“Especially then.”

Your baby snored on the monitor. Peaceful. Temporarily.

You kissed Alexia one more time and whispered, “maybe Tomorrow?”

Alexia yawned. “I’m scheduling it like a dentist appointment.”

Alexia stood in the kitchen, barefoot, holding a baby spoon like it was a laser pointer in a corporate meeting. Her hoodie was stained with milk, her bun was half falling apart, and yet she radiated authority.

“We need a new strategy,” she said, pointing the spoon at you with conviction.

You shifted your baby on your hip and squinted at her. “Is this about sex or war? Because your vibe is giving NATO crisis response.”

“Sex is war,” she muttered dramatically. “And right now, we’re losing.” She gestured broadly to the chaos around you: toys scattered across the floor, a bib hanging from the lamp, a rogue pacifier floating in someone’s half-drunk tea. “We are being outmaneuvered by someone who can’t even hold her own head up yet.”

“She’s a baby,” you reminded her, kissing said baby on the head.

“She’s a tactical genius,” Alexia said, narrowing her eyes at the infant. “Every time we so much as touch lips, she makes a sound like she’s being exorcised. She waits. She listens. Then she strikes.”

You snorted. “We’re being pussyblocked by someone who thinks her own feet are a conspiracy.”

“Exactly!” Alexia snapped her fingers. “It’s a psychological game. She doesn’t even know she’s winning, and that’s what makes her so powerful.”

You bounced the baby gently. “Okay, war general. What’s your big plan?”

Alexia marched over to the fridge, yanked off a magnet, and slapped a Post-it to the surface like it was a classified briefing. In bold, scribbled handwriting, it read

OPERATION: SEXY SUBMARINE

You stared.

“Tonight,” Alexia began, pacing, “we follow a strict schedule. No detours. No distractions. No Netflix, no chatting about the laundry, no doomscrolling while she naps. We do everything early—feed her early, bathe her early, snuggle her into a sleepy little puddle of baby bliss. Then we put her down.”

She paused dramatically.

“And then, we retreat. Bedroom only. Lights off. Curtains drawn. Door closed. Silent mode. Like a stealth mission. No candles. No ambiance. Just pure, uninterrupted—” she made an expansive gesture “—reconnection.”

You bit your lip, amused. “What’s with the submarine part?”

“Because we’re going under the radar. No noise. No trace. Pure stealth.”

“And because it’s been so long, we’ll probably have to dive deep into foreplay before anyone remembers how anything works?”

Alexia’s face lit up. “Exactly. See? You get me.”

You kissed her cheek. “Alright, Captain Putellas. I’m in.”

That night, you prepared like Olympic athletes warming up for a relay.

Dinner was served 47 minutes ahead of schedule. Alexia made airplane noises while feeding mashed peas, which ended up mostly on her shirt, but you were both undeterred. Bath time included the new sparkly bubble soap and a rousing three-minute duet of “Let It Go.” Your daughter clapped for you both like you’d just taken a bow at a Broadway matinee.

Book time came next. You sat side-by-side in the rocking chair, your daughter balanced across both your laps. Alexia read The Very Hungry Caterpillar with the dramatic timing of a Shakespearean actor on a caffeine high. Then she followed up with Goodnight Moon in a soft whisper, pausing between each “goodnight” like it was a prayer.

The final lullaby was sung in hushed tones. Alexia cradled the baby like she was made of glass, her voice wrapping around the room like a blanket.

“She’s out,” you breathed, watching her chest rise and fall in rhythmic peace.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled. “You ready?”

You tiptoed like trained spies out of the nursery. Alexia carefully shut the door with the reverence of someone sealing a tomb.

Once inside your room, she didn’t waste time. Her hands slid around your waist as soon as the door clicked shut. “No talking,” she whispered. “You might jinx it.”

Your lips met hers, slow and deep. She pulled you to the bed, her hand warm against your lower back, your knees already going weak. Clothes started to come off—carefully, quietly. Her hoodie hit the floor. Your shirt followed. Her hands traced your ribs like she was relearning you from scratch.

“I missed this,” she breathed against your collarbone.

You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging gently. “I missed you.”

She leaned in, kissing along your throat, one hand sliding up your bare thigh—

THUMP.

You both froze.

Then:

sniffle.

hic.

whimper.

Alexia slowly looked over her shoulder. “No. No, she’s bluffing.”

“Lex…”

“She’s testing us.”

A louder whimper. Then a soft wail.

Alexia flopped onto her back and buried her face in a pillow. “This is a conspiracy. A full-scale operation against our libido.”

You sighed but couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up. “The Sexy Submarine has been compromised.”

“She’s too strong,” Alexia groaned into the pillow. “She’s outmaneuvered us again.”

You pulled on your shirt, patting her back. “Come on, soldier. We’ll regroup.”

“She doesn’t even like books,” Alexia muttered as she stood. “I read two stories. Two! With voices!”

In the nursery, your daughter greeted you with wide, innocent eyes.

Alexia lifted her gently, holding her close. “You are lucky I’m weak for cute things,” she whispered, nuzzling into her soft hair. “But seriously—do you have to wake up every time I try to get laid?”

You were laughing into your hand.

By the time she was back in her crib, you were both too tired for round two. You collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, limbs tangled together.

Alexia turned to you with the softest look in her eyes. “I love you,” she murmured. “Even if we never have sex again until she’s in preschool .”

“Preschool’s only few years away. We can make it.”

She groaned. “No. No we can’t.”

You reached for her hand. “We’ll find our way back. We’re just in the baby fog right now.”

Alexia smiled, eyes already drooping. “At least we’re in it together.”

You drifted off to the sound of your daughter snoring through the baby monitor.

The silence was golden. Sacred. A rare miracle.

Your daughter was finally asleep. For real this time—tiny limbs sprawled, cheeks flushed, pacifier bobbing softly with each breath. You and Alexia stood outside the nursery like two burglars about to flee a heist.

Alexia turned to you, eyes dark with purpose. “If she even makes a noise in the next hour, I swear to God—”

“Shhh,” you whispered, grabbing her hand and yanking her down the hallway like you were both escaping prison.

Back in the bedroom, the door clicked shut behind you, and Alexia’s lips were on yours before you even had a chance to breathe. Her hands slid under your shirt, warm, insistent, and you melted into her like it hadn’t been weeks of stop-starts and frustrated cuddles.

“God, I forgot how soft you are,” she whispered, mouth grazing your neck. “I feel like I’m kissing a memory.”

You laughed softly, tugging her shirt over her head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m starving for you.”

The kiss deepened—slow and messy, teeth and tongue, her fingers dragging down your sides until she was pushing you gently toward the bed. You went easily, smiling against her mouth, thighs parting instinctively as she climbed over you.

She kissed down your chest, taking her time, teasing. You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging just enough to make her hum against your skin.

“You’re being mean,” you whispered, breath catching as she took a nipple between her lips. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Alexia looked up at you, grinning wickedly. “I’ve had four weeks to plan this.”

Her kisses trailed lower. Lower. Her hands slid under your thighs, spreading you open slowly, reverently. You moaned as her breath hit your inner thigh.

Then she paused.

“Lex—”

“I’m savoring.”

“You’re torturing.”

She grinned and lowered her head.

And then—

Then—

Just as her tongue touched you—

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

It was immediate. Loud. Gutting.

The baby monitor crackled to life like a horror movie villain.

Alexia froze. Lips still pressed against you.

You whimpered. “No. No, no, no—”

She dropped her forehead to your thigh with an actual whimper. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, already mourning the orgasm you had almost tasted.

Alexia lifted her head, eyes wild. “She’s possessed. She’s got, like, a sixth sense.”

“She was dead asleep,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I felt her soul leave her body. What even—”

Another scream. A hiccup. The unmistakable sound of a pacifier hitting the crib floor.

Alexia let out a strangled growl, crawled up your body, and collapsed on top of you. “I’m going to cry.”

“She’s probably just—”

“I don’t care. I’m staying here. She can put herself back to sleep.”

You giggled, threading your fingers through her hair. “You want her to self-soothe at nine months?”

“I want to finish going down on my wife, is what I want.”

You were still breathless. Still throbbing. Still too turned on to laugh properly. But you laughed anyway. “Five more seconds and I would’ve blacked out.”

Alexia rolled off you with a dramatic sigh and reached for her hoodie. “I hate how much I love that baby.”

You smiled. “You don’t hate her.”

“No, I just think she’s doing this on purpose.”

“She’s nine months old.”

“She’s a genius-level saboteur with a personal vendetta against my sex life.”

You groaned as you slid your shirt back on. “You going or me?”

“I’ll go. I know the look in your eyes. If I let you walk in there all flushed and dripping, she’ll cry for another hour.”

You made a face. “Rude but fair.”

Alexia shuffled out, still muttering to herself.

You lay there, legs still parted, body aching, mind spinning. You could still feel her mouth on you. You could still tastewhat you almost had.

Through the monitor, you heard her gentle voice:

“Shhh… shhh… no más drama, cariño. Mamá is this close to having a breakdown.”

More hiccups. Some giggles. A thump.

You closed your eyes and moaned into your pillow.

Fifteen minutes later, Alexia returned looking like she’d been through battle.

“She kicked me in the boob and laughed about it.”

You sat up, arms open, and she dropped into them with a full-body sigh. “I want you so bad it’s physically painful.”

“She’s asleep again?”

“Temporarily. Probably until I touch you again. I think it’s her new defense mechanism.”

You kissed her temple. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Alexia looked at you. “If I don’t eat you alive tomorrow, I might die.”

You pulled her close. “I’ll let you. But we have to move faster. Get in, get off, get out.”

Alexia laughed softly. “Operation Quickie Reloaded?”

You nodded. “Or just Operation: Don’t Wake the Baby.”

She smiled. “Tomorrow. We win.”

You’ve never seen Alexia this unhinged.

She marched into the bedroom like she was about to defuse a bomb, except the bomb was your daughter’s cry and the stakes were your sex life.

“White noise?” she asked, holding up the machine like it was the Holy Grail.

“Set to rainforest,” you replied.

“Doors locked?”

“Deadbolt and chair wedged under the handle.”

“Monitor?” she asked.

You held it up. “Battery: full. Volume: high. Vibe: non-threatening.”

Alexia exhaled like she’d just completed a NASA launch checklist. “We’re not being pussyblocked tonight. Not by our own baby. Not by fate. Not by a squeaky floorboard. Nada.”

You grinned, already lying back on the bed in just her Barça tee and a pair of lacy panties she hadn’t seen since the third trimester. “God, you’re hot when you’re this paranoid.”

She climbed onto the bed, eyes dark and focused. “Do not speak her name.”

“The baby?”

“She has ears like a bat. And emotional radar.”

You laughed, pulling her in by the collar of her hoodie. “You’re acting like we’re about to commit a crime.”

“We are,” she said, voice low and sinful against your neck. “We’re gonna fuck. And we’re gonna finish.”

She kissed you like it was her last act on earth. Her hands skimmed up your thighs, under the tee, finding bare skin and making you jolt.

“Oh,” you gasped, “we’re skipping foreplay?”

Alexia pulled back, scandalized. “This is foreplay. This is tactical sensuality. I’ve been edging myself emotionally for weeks.”

You blinked. “You’ve been… emotionally edging?”

“I’ve imagined going down on you while rocking the baby back to sleep.”

You choked. “That’s hot and disturbing.”

“Motherhood’s weird like that.”

You pulled her back down, breathless with laughter and lust. “Okay, tactical sensuality. Show me what that means.”

Alexia sat back on her knees, peeled her hoodie and tank off in one smooth motion, and tossed them over her shoulder. “Step one: remove barriers.”

You raised a brow. “Physical or emotional?”

“Panties,” she replied, and yanked yours off like she had a vendetta.

You gasped. “Damn, mamá’s not playing tonight.”

She grinned and ducked down between your legs. “Shh. You’ll wake the boss.”

The second her mouth touched you, your legs jerked up in shock. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

She laughed against your skin. “God, I missed how sensitive you get.”

You whined. “You’re not allowed to be cocky about it when we’ve been dry for, like, nine months.”

“I’ve been tracking your ovulation by instinct alone.”

You were laughing and moaning now, torn between arousal and actual tears.

Alexia licked a long, slow stripe, and your hips bucked. “Fuck—Lex.”

“Yeah?” she said, smug as hell, holding your thighs down with both hands like you were her personal reward.

“I swear if you stop, I will file for sole custody.”

She looked up, mouth glistening, smirk savage. “Not even God’s interrupting us tonight.”

You grabbed the pillow beside you and threw it at her. “Shut up and keep going!”

She did.

She devoured you like a woman who’d waited far too long, who’d dreamed about this every time she’d rocked a crying baby at 3 AM, who’d looked at your bare shoulder while brushing her teeth and thought, soon.

And now?

Now was finally here.

No interruptions.

No cries.

No disaster.

Just Alexia between your thighs, moaning like your pleasure was oxygen.

You threw your head back, already dizzy, and whispered, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

A pause.

A beat.

A quiet.

You both froze.

Alexia slowly raised her head. “Was that—?”

“No,” you said firmly. “It was the white noise. Wind in the trees. Jungle frogs. Shut up. Keep going.”

She stared at you for one more second—then dove back in with a muttered, “For the love of all things holy.”

And this time? You knew it.

She wasn’t stopping for anything.

Your thighs were shaking, and your hands were tangled in Alexia’s hair like you were holding on for dear life. Her mouth moved with slow precision, her tongue relentless and so smug about it, you could practically feel the grin in the way she licked.

“You’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest rising fast under her tee.

Alexia hummed like that was exactly the plan. You felt it vibrate against your skin, and it sent a shock straight through your core. The kind of touch that made your whole body lock up before melting again, like your nerves couldn't decide if they wanted to tense or just give up entirely.

“I haven’t even started,” she murmured between strokes of her tongue. She looked up at you with her chin glistening and eyes filled with that cocky, dangerous glint—like she had something to prove, and your body was her proof.

She flicked her tongue again, just a bit firmer now, and you jolted, moaning her name as if it was the only word your mouth remembered how to form. “Lex… oh my god.”

“Still so sensitive,” she said, half awe, half victory. “And still mine.”

You groaned, one leg twitching at the knee, a helpless spasm you couldn’t even stop if you tried. She wrapped her arms around your thighs to hold you steady, fingers digging into your skin in the gentlest kind of possessive grip.

Her mouth found you again, unrelenting, licking slow and deep before switching to short, tight circles over your clit—soft, then harder, like she was playing a rhythm only she knew.

You squirmed, unable to stop it, and she moaned low at the way your hips moved. “Fuck. That’s it. Just like that.”

Her hands slid up and found your chest, warm palms cupping you like she missed this just as much as you did. She squeezed gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and your body practically convulsed.

“Lex—Lex, I’m gonna—”

She pulled back, just barely, mouth still wet, panting slightly. “You better. I’ve waited months for this. You think I’m gonna let you off easy?”

You whimpered and bucked your hips up toward her mouth, needy and too far gone to care. “Alexia—”

“Say it again.”

“Alexia.”

She grinned—pure sin. “Good girl.”

And then she sucked.

Your whole body arched off the bed. Your hands tightened in her hair and pulled, not even on purpose. It was just instinct at that point—desperate, overwhelmed, chasing release like it was life or death.

You were loud. Too loud. But you didn’t care. Not until you realized what you were risking.

“Shit—the baby—” you gasped, eyes flying open, chest heaving.

Alexia popped off you with a wicked look, then licked her lips like she’d just finished dessert. “She’s sleeping.”

You reached for the monitor blindly on the nightstand. “We can’t be loud—”

“She sleeps through the dog barking, thunder, and your snoring. She can handle a little moaning.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Bebé…” she smirked, already crawling back up between your legs, “I love you, but yes, you do. It’s cute. It’s like tiny dinosaur growls.”

You were about to argue—but her tongue was already back where you needed her most. And suddenly, snoring didn’t seem like the hill to die on.

You tried, for a full ten seconds, to stay quiet. You bit your lip. You pressed your hand over your mouth. You even turned your head into the pillow.

But when Alexia slid two fingers inside you and curled them just right, you squealed.

“Fuck.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth like it was going to do anything at that point.

Alexia chuckled, not stopping for a second. “So much for quiet time.”

You couldn’t answer. All you could do was breathe fast and try not to scream as she fucked you with her fingers and sucked your clit at the same time, the kind of multitasking only someone with pure chaos in their DNA could master.

She kept her pace slow and steady, dragging you toward the edge in the most excruciating way possible. Your thighs started trembling again, tighter this time, clenching around her head like your body was trying to trap her there.

And the worst part? She loved it.

You felt her moan into you. Felt her speed up. Felt the smugness in every move like she was daring you to come and wake the baby up. Like this was some fucked-up game.

And you were losing.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, Lex, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” she said, voice muffled. “Come on. I wanna feel it.”

Her hand was gripping your thigh, holding you open, and her mouth was pure destruction.

You broke.

The orgasm crashed over you like a wave that had been building for weeks—months, maybe. You shook, you cried out, you grabbed the sheets and her hair and anything you could reach, and your whole body convulsed as pleasure took over. Every nerve lit up and then gave out all at once.

You were panting, a wreck, your limbs limp and twitching.

Alexia finally pulled back, face flushed and shining, looking like she’d just finished a workout.

“Goddamn,” she said, breathing hard. “That was worth the wait.”

You didn’t have the strength to speak. You just blinked at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, brain full of static.

Alexia crawled up next to you, her arms sliding under your body, pulling you into her chest.

She kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think you broke something. Like… structurally.”

She laughed, full and loud, and you smacked her arm weakly. “Shh. She’s actually going to wake up if you don’t shut up.”

Alexia smirked against your skin. “Let her. I earned that orgasm.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathless. “You say that like you carried the baby for nine months.”

“I did carry the diaper bag for nine months. That counts.”

You swatted her again, and she caught your hand, kissing it sweetly.

“Tell me the truth,” she murmured. “Was it… okay? After everything?”

You blinked, turning your head to look at her. And for a second, all the teasing fell away. Her eyes were soft, warm, maybe even a little nervous.

You nodded slowly. “It was everything.”

Alexia’s face relaxed, and she leaned in to kiss you, this time sweet and lingering and full of everything unsaid.

“You’re everything,” she whispered.

And then—

crackle.

The baby monitor buzzed to life with a hiccup.

Both your heads whipped toward it like you’d heard a ghost.

Another hiccup. Then a whimper. Then silence.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at the monitor. “Don’t you dare.”

You held your breath.

Another soft sound. Then… nothing.

Alexia reached for the monitor, flipped it face-down, and muttered, “I swear, she’s got a sensor for sex.”

You laughed into the pillow.

“Next round?” Alexia whispered. “Face. My face. Ride it. I’ll even play with your boobs.”

You looked at her, amused and dazed. “You’re insatiable.”

“I’m starving.”

You rolled over, still dizzy from round one, and gave her a look. “Bathroom. Five minutes. Before she wakes up for real.”

Alexia perked up like a golden retriever. “You serious?”

You grinned. “You better bring the monitor.”

She was already out of bed, grabbing it with one hand and your wrist with the other. “Say less.”

The cold of the tile never stood a chance against the heat in your body.

You straddled Alexia’s face like you were born to be there, knees digging into the bathroom floor, one hand braced on the counter and the other fisting in her messy hair. She looked up at you with flushed cheeks, parted lips, and those dark, feral eyes like you were her next meal.

You barely had time to moan before she latched onto you—mouth open, tongue flat, licking one long, devastating stripe through your folds. Your whole body shuddered.

“Oh—fuck—Lex…” you gasped, already rolling your hips down against her mouth.

She groaned in satisfaction, hands gripping your thighs like she was anchoring herself. “That’s it. Use me, cariño.”

You did. Hips grinding down, thighs trembling around her head as she worked you over with slow, confident licks. She licked your clit with the kind of deliberate pressure that drove you insane—just enough to tease, just enough to ruin.

“You taste like heaven,” she muttered between strokes, voice muffled but smug. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

You let out a strangled moan, rocking harder. “Then shut up and eat.”

Alexia laughed, hot breath fanning over your core. “Bossy now, huh?”

But she obeyed, and when her lips sealed around your clit again, you almost lost it. She sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly, her grip on your thighs tightening to keep you in place. You were practically sitting on her face now, and the way she moaned underneath you told you she loved it.

Then her hand slid up your thigh—and before you could prepare yourself, she sank two fingers into you.

You gasped loud, the stretch sudden and perfect. “Lex—fuck—”

She didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. Just started pumping her fingers deep and fast, curling them at just the right angle to make you see stars.

“God,” she breathed against your clit, “you’re so fucking tight—clenching like you’re trying to suck me in.”

Your head dropped forward, forearms now braced against the sink, body shivering under the weight of her mouth and hand.

“More,” you whispered. “Give me more.”

She obeyed without a word—three fingers now, pushing in with a wet, obscene sound that had your entire body jerking. Your moans were loud, shameless, bouncing off tile walls.

“That’s it, baby,” she murmured. “Fuck—you’re taking me so well. Look at this pussy—dripping all over my hand.”

You whimpered, hips grinding, thighs starting to shake.

And then she started fucking you with her fingers, hard and deep, curling with every thrust. Her mouth stayed latched on your clit—tongue swirling, flicking, licking with relentless precision.

You were coming apart. Muscles locking, breath catching, fingers digging into the counter.

“You gonna come?” she rasped. “Gonna make a mess all over my face?”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

She moaned against you, her free hand slipping up to grope your boob, fingers rolling your nipple. “You’re everything, you know that?” she murmured. “My perfect girl. Let go for me.”

You choked on a cry, orgasm ripping through you like a wave—violent, pulsing, unstoppable. You came with your whole body, hips stuttering, thighs clamped tight around her head as her fingers drove deep and her mouth kept sucking.

Alexia groaned like she was the one coming, still moving inside you, still licking every aftershock from your body like she was addicted.

And then—just as your high started to ebb and you collapsed onto her chest, legs shaking, completely destroyed—

The baby monitor crackled.

“Waaaaawaaaa…”

You froze.

Alexia’s head dropped back onto the tile, and for a long beat… silence.

Then “Oh, come on!” she groaned, exasperated but laughing.

You buried your face in her shoulder, still panting. “Are you kidding me?”

“She waited,” Alexia said, wide-eyed and breathless. “She actually waited until you were done. That’s progress!”

You snorted into her neck. “She’s a pussyblocker with manners now.”

You both started laughing, tangled together on the bathroom floor, sticky, sore, and finally satisfied.

Alexia pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We made it, mommy.”

“Barely,mama” you whispered back, grinning.

Then the baby monitor made another soft sound—your daughter babbling like she knew exactly what she’d just interrupted.

Alexia groaned, rubbing her face. “We’re never gonna have sex again, are we?”

You kissed her, slow and sweet. “Not without a timer and industrial-grade earplugs.”

She smirked. “And maybe duct tape for the baby monitor.”

You laughed, standing slowly, legs wobbling.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s go check on our pussyblocking miracle.”

Alexia groaned again, getting to her feet. “At least we got few orgasm. I’m calling that a win.”

You smiled, taking her hand. “A very wet, very loud win.”

And together, you padded out of the bathroom—laughing, limping, and still very much in love.

[slutzforbueckers]

Paige x reader go ALL NIGHT. (Literally all night till like the fucking crack of dawn) It starts off with them taking honey packets as jokes but they realize that it hits them harder than they expected and they get rlly sensual qnd horny and it leads to the smut but like they do EVERYTHING in the book (this is actually filth and borderline insanity)

Ex: strap, oral, fingering,(both p&r receiving for all three), 69, scissoring, dirty talk- they go from bedroom, to kitchen, to counter, to living room, to the car, against the wall, to shower (it doesn’t have to be in this order)

all night long

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut smut smut smut

synopsis: you and paige take the viral honey packets—as a joke, of course— and you doubted its authenticity until you both couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

a/n: anon i love you.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

it started as a joke.

you and paige had went to the gas station on a late night snack run. paige had spotted them first, those little golden packets that had everyone in a chokehold. she had looked at you and you had looked at her, both sharing one thought. you grabbed two, quickly paid for your things and left.

now, you were siting in the driveway to your shared house. you sat with your back against the door, your leg pulled into the seat, watching paige watch you. you had taken the packets as soon as you got in the car from the gas station so that it would have kicked in by the time you got back home, and it did. honestly you were skeptical at first, thinking everyone had been exaggerating but you were starting to feel it.

"is it just me or..." you trailed off, shifting in your seat slightly. your body was starting to feel hot with need and paige looked extra good.

"nah, i feel it." she shook her head, her fingers curling into the fabric of her shorts. your eyes followed the movement, watching as the veins in her hand popped. the air was thick as you both waited for the other to make a move. it wasn't long before you did.

"push your seat back."

paige didn't have to be told twice. she pushed her seat back as far as it would go and you climbed into her lap, crashing your lips into hers without a care in the world. her hands found your ass almost immediately, fingers pressing into your flesh like she couldn’t get enough—which, she couldn’t. the way you kissed was nothing short of filthy—tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing, hands roaming. your teeth grazed her bottom lip, sucking it into your mouth hard enough to make her moan.

"i want you," you breathed against her mouth, voice low and desperate. "right now, paige."

“take me. right here, right now.” she couldn’t hide her desperation, she couldn't deny you, not when she was already soaked in her boxers. your hands roamed up her hoodie as you moved down, lowering onto your knees in the drivers seat. it was a tight fit but you couldn't care less, you only had one goal in mind and that was tasting her.

you yanked her shorts and boxers down both in one swift motion your hands immediately spread her thighs and you couldn't help but moan looking at how wet she already was. you leaned in without hesitation, dragging your tongue flat through her folds, humming as her slick coated your tongue. paiges head fell back with a soft thud, a breathy whimper escaping her lips as her hips twitched.

her body was on fire, everything seemed ten times more intense, and she was loving every second of it. paige's hands found their way to your head, she looked down at you as she gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail. you wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking just enough to make her hips jerk up.

"holy shit—" she whined. the car was starting to get hot, the windows fogging up slightly. paige tugged your head closer, if that was even possible, her hips starting to grind into your mouth as she chased that high. you focused on her clit, flicking your tongue fast, then slow, then fast again, sucking it into your mouth with just the right amount of pressure.

one of your hands slid down to tease her entrance, fingers slick with her arousal as you circled around before pushing two inside her. the way she gasped made you clench around nothing.

“fuck, baby, i’m gonna—” she didn’t even finish the sentence before her thighs clamped around your head, back arching as she came hard on your mouth, crying out your name.

you didn’t stop until she was twitching and begging—literally begging—for you to slow down. you pulled back with a slick-covered smile, licking her off your lips like you were savoring dessert. paige slumped into the seat, her arm coming up to rest over her eyes, chest rising and falling heavily.

she let out a small moan as looked down at you, a fucked out expression on your face just from eating her out. "in the house. now."

you barely made it inside the front door before she was pushing you against the nearest wall, pressing her body flush against yours as she kissed you like she needed it to breath. your hand rested on the back of her head, fingers curled into her blonde hair.

paige pulled away so she could pull your shirt over your head, then dropped to her knees like a woman possessed. her fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and she yanked them down, your panties going with them. you stepped out of them blindly, chest heaving from the way she looked at you—lips swollen, pupils blown, jaw tight with need.

“you’re so fucking wet already,” she muttered as she lifted your leg and placed it over her shoulder, her eyes zeroing in on your glistening cunt. she dragged her fingers through your folds, spreading you open. “you got this wet just from making me cum?”

you whimpered, nodding your head and pressing yourself against the wall for support. “yes—yes, fuck i love it.”

her mouth was on you in a second— hot, relentless, like her entire purpose in life was to make you cum on her tongue. her tongue slid through your folds with slow, deliberate pressure before she zeroed in on your lit, sucking it into her mouth hard enough to make your thighs shake. you slapped a hand against the wall behind you, the other flying to her hair as your hips jerked forward, desperate to feel more.

"oh my god- fuck baby, you're so good at that, don't stop."

she moaned into you like you were her favorite meal, and in a way you were. her tongue flicked and swirled, lips locking around your clit as two fingers slid into you without earning, deep and fast. you cried out, eyes rolling back as she curled them just right, hitting that spot that made your whole body react, that made your head spin.

"god, you taste so fucking good." her words vibrated against you and your hips jerked forward, fingers tightening in her hair as you gushed around her fingers. the sound your cunt was making as she fucked you with her fingers was obscene, loud and filthy in a way that had your stomach tightening.

you couldn't think, couldn't breathe—all you could do was grind into her mouth, chasing her fingers with reckless abandon. your head fell back against the wall and your stomach tightened. paige ran her hands up your thighs, circling around your hips and grabbing your ass. her fingers pressed into your flesh as she pulled you against her mouth, flattening her tongue on your clit and shaking her head.

“you’re gonna make me cum, paige. don’t stop—yes yes yes—“ you voice went up an octave as you nearly screamed, your back arching off the wall as your thighs shook with the force of your orgasm. paige fucked you through it, moaning against your clit, still curling her fingers against that sweet spot.

“damn,” you exhaled shakily when paige pulled her fingers out, you looked down at her with low eyes. paige chuckled as she lowered your leg from her shoulder, pressing one last kiss to your clit before standing up. her mouth and chin were glistening and she pressed her forehead against yours, letting your rapid breaths mingle.

"didn't think it would really work but..." paige trailed off, her slick fingers grazing your hip. "i really wanna fuck you on every surface of this house."

"so do it." you whispered. paige didn't have to be told twice. her lips were on yours within the second, her hands grasping at your hips as she pulled you off the wall. you wrapped your arm around her neck and kissed her back harder, moaning into her mouth as she slipped her tongue past your lips.

paige walked you towards the living room, bumping into the side table which made you both laugh. paige pulled away so she could direct you to the couch without tripping over anything—you took the chance to litter kisses down her jaw. once you felt the back of your legs hit the cushions you twisted around and pushed her down.

“take your clothes off.” you demanded, reaching behind you to unhook your bra and letting it fall off your shoulders. paige quickly pulled her hoodie off, revealing her bare chest underneath, and pushed her shorts and boxers off in one swift motion. she laid back and you climbed on top, slotting your legs between hers so your cunt pressed against hers.

paige’s hands found your hips as she guided your movements, her lips parting. she couldn’t take her eyes away from where your bodies met, she was entranced. you rolled your hips just right, your clit catching hers perfectly.

“you feel that?” you whispered, your voice low and dark as your hips rolled forward again, dragging your pussy against hers with a sticky, obscene sound. “you’re so wet for me, paige. god.”

her head fell back with a moan, breathless and desperate. “f-fuck. that shit is insane, I—” she grabbed your hips tight, guiding your grind as her voice dropped into a groan. “you’re fucking dripping. keep going, baby. don’t stop.”

you didn’t, you couldn’t, not when it felt that good. you pressed your forehead to hers and started moving harder, faster, rocking your hips in a rhythm that had both of you panting. the slick heat of her cunt against yours, the tension building fast—your thighs were already shaking. paige hips jerked up to meet yours, the added pressure causing moan after moan to fall from your lips.

paiges hands fell to your ass and she began pulling you against her harder, her breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. the house was quiet, the only thing heard was the sound of your moans and the squelch of your cunts pressed against each other. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked down at her, watching each jab of pleasure shoot across her facial expressions.

pressing your lips against hers, you moaned into her mouth—a high pitched whine that had her slapping your ass. she could tell you were close, the way your hips stuttered and lost their rhythm being a tell sign.

"cum for me, pretty. let me feel it." she muttered against your lips, using her grip on your ass to pick up the slack. you dropped your head onto her shoulder, your breathing hot and heavy.

all you could do was moan, that knot in your stomach slowly starting to unravel. there wasn't a thought in your head, no other than how good she felt. the couch creaked from how hard you were grinding against each other, you wouldn't be surprised if by the end of the night you were searching for a new couch.

you didn't warn her that you were going to cum, there was no need, she could feel it coming. your clits dragged over each other, swollen and slick, wetness coating both of your thighs. you rolled your hips again, harder, and it was over. you kissed her, messy and care free, as your orgasm rocked through your body.

"paige," you mewled, tears welling in your eyes as she kept up the same hard pace. you could feel the pricks of overstimulation settling in your skin and somehow it still wasn't enough.

"i'm almost there—fuck, ma, keep going." her voice cracked and her grip on you tightened, trying to hold you there as her hips bucked up wildly. you kissed her again, moaning because you could feel yourself tumbling into another orgasm.

her back arched, thighs trembling, eyes shutting tight as she came with a loud groan, soaking your thighs as she clung to you. your whole body trembled as your cunt throbbed against hers, soaked and messy. you collapsed on top of her, both of you gasping, legs tangled, sweat-slicked skin sliding together.

“holy fuck,” you heaved.

neither of you spoke for a moment, just trying to catch your breath and come down. one of paiges hands traced lazy circles on your back, the other was tangled in your hair.

a minute passed and paige swallowed, voice hoarse as she finally broke the silence. “is it bad i still want more?”

you laughed, lifting yourself up and planting your hands on her chest.

“would it also be bad if i agreed?”

it was past 5 am now, and you and paige were still going.

your legs were wrapped around her waist, ankles locked behind her back to keep her in place. her hips moved at an impossible pace, hard and fast. your moans flowed straight from your mouth to her ears, the sound a beautiful melody she adored.

paige pressed wet, open-mouthed kissed to your neck down to your shoulder, each one leaving behind a faint sting—the kind that made your toes curl and your walls flutter around the strap she was fucking you with. her hands gripped your thighs tightly, pressing you open as she rocked her hips into yours like she was trying to live inside you.

"you take me so good," she groaned against your skin, her voice low, rough with need. "always so good for me."

you could barely speak—your throat was raw from moaning, begging, crying out her name again and again. every drag of the strap against your walls make your stomach clench and your legs twitch, you clung to her shoulders, nails digging into her back as you buried your face into her neck.

“paige—fuck, i-i can’t—” your hips jerked up to meet her thrusts, a broken sob tearing from your throat. she adjusted her angle, pulled back just enough to slam into you deeper, harder, the base of the strap grinding perfectly against her clit with every thrust. the sound of wet skin slapping filled the room, joined by the thud of the bed frame hitting the wall and the desperate sounds leaving your mouth.

“i’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “fuck, paige—I’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” she demanded, one hand flying up to press against your throat—not tight, just enough to make your breath hitch. “cum on my cock, baby. let me feel you.”

your back arched as you shattered beneath her, legs locked tight around her waist, eyes rolling back as you came hard, soaking her strap and your thighs all over again. you fell back against the pillows with a loud breath, feeling like the wind had just been knocked from your lungs. you felt paige move off of you and you opened your eyes, blinking up at her in a daze.

"wanna fuck you now." you muttered, sitting up and reaching for the the strap. paige handed over the harness and you fastened it around your hips. once you had it tightened to your fit, paige crawled into your lap, bitting her lip as she hovered over the strap. she wrapped her hand around the strap and cursed under her breath as she could feel your cum still dripping off the silicon.

you leaned back and watched as she slowly lowered herself onto the strap, small whimpers leaving her mouth as she felt the stretch. paige gasped as she bottomed out, her lips parting, hands flying to hold onto your shoulders for stability.

paige started to move, slowly at first, the strap slipping in and out with ease from how wet everything was. your hands found her hips, guiding her movements. her fingers tangled in your hair, her mouth brushing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck. you kissed her shoulder, then down to her collarbone, each press of your lips pulling another soft sound from her.

then, you started to lift your hips in time with hers, thrusting up as she came down—each one sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through her body.

"oh my—fuck, baby. feels so good." she moaned, her head falling onto your shoulder. you responded with a slow thrust upward, and she gasped, her back arching just enough for your hands to trace down her spine and squeeze her ass, guiding her pace. she started to move faster, grinding harder, her thighs flexing around you.

her orgasm was building fast, thanks to all the ones she had before, her body buzzed with overwhelming pleasure. the slick sound of the strap sliding into her filled the room, punctuated by the soft, broken cries she couldn’t hold back anymore. her nails dug into your back—not hard, but enough to ground herself.

you could tell she was close, evident in the way her moans increased, her pace faltering before picking back up faster and messier. she buried her face in your neck, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. “y/n,” she whimpered, voice high and trembling. “i’m—oh my god, i’m gonna—”

“i know, baby. let it go,” you whispered, your voice steady and low, right in her ear. you kept thrusting up into her, matching the roll of her hips. paige cried out, her whole body seizing up as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her. she held onto you like she might float away otherwise, her thighs shaking around your hips as she rode it out. you slowed your thrusts, just enough to keep her whimpering, keep her grounded while her orgasm surged, leaving her gasping against you.

paige lifted herself up, wincing at the feeling of emptiness, and fell onto the bed beside you. you looked over at her and laughed at how fucked out she looked, her hair was a mess, skin flushed red, her chest still rising and falling unevenly.

"bro," she groaned, turning her head to the side to hide her face from you. you got off the bed and started to remove the harness from your hips. the room was thick with the smell of sex and sweat.

you climbed back onto the bed and onto her lap, leaning down and pressing your lips to her jawline then to the spot right under her ear. "still want more, p."

paige hummed and turned her head towards you, her hands finding your ass. "really?"

"mhm, i love getting you off." you muttered against her skin, ghosting your lips over her cheek before settling on her lips. you kissed her. once. twice. "you're so pretty when you cum."

your words made paige groan, her eyes fluttering for a second. she tugged you up her body, your wet cunt sliding across her abs. "i want you to sit on my face. like right now."

you smiled against her lips and lifted yourself up, turning around and carefully moving back until you hovered over her face. paige didn't waste a second, her eyes landed on your pussy and she grabbed your waist, tugging you down until her tongue was flat against you. a soft gasp fell from your lips as she immediately went to work.

your hips grinder down against her mouth and then you were leaning forward, hands separating her thighs so you could taste her. the second your tongue found her clit she jerked under you, her thighs twitching as she drew her legs up and planted her feet on the bed.

at the same time, you felt her tongue flick against you, soft and hot, and you moaned, hips jolting forward instinctively. paige held you steady with both hands on your ass, guiding your hips against her mouth as she licked deeper, messier, somehow hungrier. you moaned into her, the vibrations making her whimper beneath you.

it was electric—somewhat a push and pull between your mouths, the slick, obscene rhythm that built faster each time your tongues stroked and circled and pressed. you rocked against her face with purpose now, matching every pulse of her mouth with a deeper lick of your own, determined to draw every sound out of her you could.

her hips were bucking now, trying to meet your tongue, and you held her steady, fingers digging into her thighs as you flattened your tongue against her, slow then fast then slow again—right until you felt her body start to tremble. she moaned against your pussy, long and guttural, and the sound of it dragged you closer to the edge too.

you felt her body tense beneath you, her thighs trembling, her breaths turning into helpless little whimpers as your tongue never relented. you knew she was close and you didn’t let up for a second. you circled her clit with slow, deliberate pressure, then sucked, and that was it. paige’s cry was muffled beneath you as she came hard, her entire body jolting beneath your mouth. you didn’t stop—kept licking her through it, feeling her hips jerk with every wave crashing over her.

her fingers dug into your ass, holding you in place as her moans vibrated directly against your clit—that alone had you spiraling. your thighs clenched around her head as you let out a strangled moan, hips grinding desperately down onto her mouth. she met you with everything she had—tongue flicking, licking, sucking until your vision blurred. you came with a loud, shaking gasp, your whole body shuddering above her, thighs locking around her head as your orgasm rolled through you in pulsing waves.

your hands gripped her legs for stability, and she kept going, gently this time, easing you down from the peak while you whimpered and panted above her. eventually, you slumped forward, your lips finding the inside of her thigh, pressing slow kisses into her skin as you both tried to breathe again. her hands rubbed soothing circles into the back of your thighs, her touch still tender, even after all that.

you lifted yourself off her with care, then collapsed beside her, your arm and leg draped across her. paiges eyes fluttered open, dazed but glowing. the room fell quiet except for your breathing, both of you tangled in each other. you laid there for a while, fingers tracing lazy shapes along paige’s waist, before you finally whispered, “i need water or i’m gonna die.”

paige let out a quiet laugh, her fingers gliding through your hair once more before she sat up. “go, before you die.”

you shoved her shoulder lightly at the sarcastic edge to her voice and slid off the bed. you picked up one of her t-shirts that laid messily on the floor and pulled it over your head. padding out of the bedroom, you made your way to the kitchen in the soft, low light, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. you grabbed a glass and filled it at the sink, leaning against the counter as you took a long sip.

you hummed in contentment as you took another sip, leaning against the counter. it was quiet until you heard the soft shuffle of feet approaching the kitchen. before you could turn, two arms were wrapping around your waist. paige was there, pressing her front against your back, hands trailing up your thighs and under your shirt.

“you look so good in my shirt,” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “too good.”

a shiver ran through your spine and you called her name with a small groan. “there’s no way that stuff is still working.”

“nah, das all you.” she whispered, her hand reaching up to move your hair aside so she could press kisses down the side of your neck. “i just need to feel you again. that okay, ma?”

you could only nod, hips already tilting back into her touch. she grinned against your skin and ran her hand up to your cunt. she slid two fingers between your folds, groaning when she felt just how soaked you still were. her fingers teased you for a second—gentle, slow—then she slipped them inside with practiced ease, curling just right.

your hand slammed against the counter for balance as your body arched into her. she kept one arm around your waist, holding you in place, as she thrust her fingers steadily—deep and slow, then faster as your moans grew louder. you set the glass of water down with a shaky hand and bent forward over the counter.

your thighs trembled as her pace picked up, the wet, lewd sounds filling the quiet kitchen. her other hand slid up to your breast beneath the shirt, fingers pinching your nipple lightly before rolling it between her fingers, pulling another moan from your throat. then she shifted, adjusting the angle—curling her fingers deeper, her palm dragging slightly over your clit as she moved. you nearly sobbed at the sensation, your knees weakening as her fingers brushed against that spot.

“shit, paige—right there,” you breathed, the words barely making it out before your body was overtaken by another wave of sensation. every little breath you let out—every twitch of your hips, every whimper—only spurred her on. paige kissed along your shoulder blade, trailing her mouth across the back of your neck, her breathing heavy and quick against your skin.

she ran her free hand over your hip, her fingers curling into your skin as she pulled your body back into hers. “let me hear you, baby. let go.”

you cried out—no control left as your orgasm crashed over you, your muscles tensing so hard your knees nearly buckled. paige didn’t stop, just fucked you through it, holding you steady with a hand on your hip. your hips jerked, oversensitive, and she finally slowed—fingers still inside, but easing the rhythm now, drawing out every last pulse until you collapsed forward against the counter, gasping for breath. she kissed the back of your head, then down your spine.

“i’ll meet you in the shower, yeah?”

a moment later, you followed her into the bathroom, steam already clouding in the air. the sound of running water filled the space, and paige stood beneath it, back arched slightly, eyes closed as the water poured over her. you stepped in behind her, the heat wrapping around you instantly.

your hands found her waist, and she let out a soft sigh, leaning back into you. you kissed the slope of her shoulder, trailing your mouth up her neck before whispering, “sit down.”

she dropped onto the built-in bench with no hesitation, legs spreading just enough to let you settle between them. her gaze met yours—half-lidded, already heavy with want. you kissed her thigh first, a gentle kiss before you pressed your lips to her swollen clit. you took your time—a teasing lick, a kiss. paige let out a quiet whimper when you blew on your clit, her hips shifting forward.

you flattened your tongue and licked a long, slow stripe through her folds, groaning against her as the taste of her spread across your tongue. paige gasped, hips twitching beneath your hands, her thighs tightening around your shoulders as you did it again, and again. your tongue circled her clit, then flicked softly, teasing just enough to make her whimper. you moaned into her, the vibrations making her twitch and gasp, her fingers finding your hair.

“fuck— baby, please…” she breathed, voice trembling as she pulled your head further into her cunt. you slipped two fingers inside her at the same time, curling upward slowly until her hips jumped. her walls clenched around you, wet and throbbing, and you fucked her with your fingers as your mouth kept working her clit.

she started falling apart fast, head tilted back against the tile, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. you felt it in her thighs, in the way her hand couldn’t stop trembling in your hair, in the sharp, desperate sounds leaving her lips.

“oh my god—don’t stop, don’t stop—” she cried out, her legs tightening around you, her whole body lifting off the seat as she chased it. you didn’t let up, fingers thrusting deep, your mouth locked around her clit until she broke with a cry, her entire body shuddering with the force of her orgasm. her hips bucked, back arching, voice whiny and ragged as she came hard on your tongue.

you moaned at the taste of her and pulled away from her cunt, a string of both her cum and your saliva keeping your lips connected to her pussy. you slowed your fingers to a stop and placed them in your mouth, holding her gaze the entire time. paige watched with low eyes as you cleaned her off your fingers, a low groan falling from her lips. she pulled you up and kissed you—hard.

“we’re so doing that again.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[rosierin]

heat of the moment | atsumu miya

synopsis; it started with a massage. she’d had a long day, he offered, and she didn’t think twice. but then his hands slip under her shirt, his hands slowed, and suddenly they’re somewhere they were never meant to be.

warning; very suggestive!!! mature content

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was dark when she stepped in—just the faint glow of the hallway lamp left on, humming gently against the silence. The scent of fresh linen and something faintly sweet lingered in the air, a comfort she didn’t know she’d been craving.

Her shoes hit the wall with a dull thud as she kicked them off with little ceremony, limbs dragging like she was wading through molasses. Her legs were heavy. Her spine ached like it’d forgotten how to hold her upright. And her shoulders—tight as wire, wound so high they nearly brushed her ears.

She didn’t sigh. She groaned. The kind that came from deep in her soul, coaxed out by too many hissing steam wands, clattering mugs, toddler meltdowns, and customers who still couldn’t grasp the concept of boiling water.

And of course, it had to be Free Drink Day.

More like Free Mental Breakdown Day.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but after the third oat latte incident of the day, she was ready to weep into the mop bucket.

Her bag dropped with a final, resentful thud. She muttered something obscene under her breath and shuffled toward the living room like the ghost of capitalism’s finest victim—burnt out, steamed dry, and foamed to death.

“Rough day?” came a familiar voice—low, lazy, and way too smug for someone who didn’t just spend eight hours on their feet dealing with entitled customers who kept insisting on speaking to her manager.

She didn’t look at him, just flopped face-first onto the couch with a grunt. “Don’t speak to me, Miya.”

Soft footsteps, then:

“‘Miya,’ huh?”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just sayin’. You only call me that when you’re feelin’ a certain way.”

“Yeah, when I'm tired, cranky, or borderline murderous."

He snorted. “You sure it ain’t somethin’ else?”

Her only reply was a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

Normally, she’d have some kind of quip locked and loaded—something dry, vaguely threatening, maybe even flirty if she was in the mood. And sometimes she did use his last name with that teasing edge, just to get a rise out of him.

But not tonight.

Tonight there was no smirk behind it. No playful undertone. No provocative lilt that made it sound like something else.

When she said Miya, she meant it. Plain and simple. No code. No joke. Just: leave me alone before I bite.

She was tired. Everything hurt. And she wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring or Atsumu’s usual theatrics—not even a little bit.

Not tonight.

Beside her, the floor creaked.

And then she felt it—his fingers, brushing the fabric of her hoodie aside, settling gently on her shoulder.

“Let me help.”

Her head lifted slightly and—ow. Even that took a great amount of effort. “What?”

“You're all wound up,” he murmured, thumbs circling slow against the knots in her back. “Let me fix it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but god… the way his hands were already working over her hoodie—firm, warm, grounding—it was hard to protest.

“Take this off,” he said, tapping her back.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. Everything?

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “The hoodie.”

“…Oh.”

Still grumbling, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, revealing the flimsy camisole beneath. She settled back onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the couch, breath leaving her in a long exhale.

Then his hands returned—bare, strong, and unfairly skilled.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She hated how good he was at this. How steady his palms felt against her skin. How his fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, but just enough to make her feel relaxed. Like he knew exactly where the tension lived—exactly where to press, where to drag his thumbs to unravel her piece by piece.

“You’ve done this before,” she muttered, face still buried in the couch.

“Mmhm.”

“Who?”

“Not important.”

That annoyed her more than it should’ve. But the way his hands pressed into her lower back, dragging down, circling, gripping—god, it was hard to stay mad when her brain was slowly turning to soup.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding left her in a soft sigh.

“You know,” he said casually, “there’s a dangerous amount of trust involved in lettin’ me touch ya like this.”

“Don’t ruin it,” she mumbled.

“M’not. Just sayin’. One minute I’m bein’ nice and helpful, the next…”

She didn't let him finish his sentence.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet.”

He laughed—quiet, smug—and kept going, kneading along the tight lines of her shoulders, down the dip of her spine, slow enough to make her toes curl.

The kind of slow that made her forget things. Like how tired she was. How annoyed she’d been walking through the door. How many hours she’d spent on her feet.

Each pass of his hands pulled her deeper into the couch, deeper into herself. Her thoughts blurred into a soft haze. And for a moment, it didn’t feel suggestive or flirty or like something to overthink.

It just felt good.

Safe. Easy. Blissful.

Until he shifted.

Straddled her hips.

The weight of him was gentle, careful—not overwhelming. But it still took her by surprise.

“Wh—what are you—?”

“Better angle,” he said, offhand. Like it was nothing.

Somehow, it wasn’t very convincing.

His hands returned, slipping beneath her shirt. The change in temperature made her shiver, but his palms were warm—gliding lazy, deliberate lines along the soft skin of her back. Steady. Measured. Too measured. Like he was focusing too hard on not making it something else.

“You’re tense here,” he murmured, thumbs pressing slow circles just beneath her shoulder blades.

That’s when she heard it. The dip in his voice—the subtle, sultry shift she’d learned to recognize. Rare, but unmistakable. The tone he only used when his thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. The kind that meant trouble.

(Y/n) tried not to react. Tried not to read into it—keep it casual. But her skin was too aware of his hands. Her breath, too shallow. Her thoughts, not nearly as neutral as she wanted them to be.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, noncommittal. A deflection. Weak, but it was all she had.

His thumbs slid lower.

“And here.”

His fingers fanned at her waist, dragging down her sides with a softness that didn’t feel so clinical anymore. It felt…curious. Attentive. Too much like a question.

Her breath caught. Not loud. Just a flicker—a stutter of air through parted lips. But he caught it. Of course he did.

He chuckled—low, quiet, maddeningly pleased.

“I can feel your heart racin’, y’know.”

She didn’t answer right away. It was difficult to when she was now hyperaware of every point of contact.

“I’m—tired,” she mumbled weakly. “...Not turned on.”

A pause.

Then—

“Liar.”

It wasn’t a tease. Not really. Barely a whisper, but it landed like a spark to dry leaves.

(Y/n) stiffened. Her brain scrambled for something—logic, protest, retreat—but her body had already gone still. Listening. Waiting.

Because suddenly, the room felt smaller.

The couch felt warmer.

The line between playful bickering and something dangerous blurring far too fast.

And Atsumu—still perched on her hips, hands firm and steady at her waist—felt like something more than a friend doing her a favour.

His hands never stopped moving in those slow, rhythmic circles. Not rushed. Not forceful. But no longer innocent, either.

And then—he moved.

Just a small shift of his hips. Barely there. But it was unmistakable.

Intentional.

She sucked in a breath. Her body tightened instinctively, unsure, unprepared—but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Atsumu exhaled—quiet, shaky, like he hadn’t meant to do it in the first place. Like her reaction had knocked something loose in him.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He rocked his hips again—slower this time. More tentative. Deeper. Lower.

Her lips parted.

She didn’t mean to make a sound, but it slipped out anyway—a soft little breath, something between a sigh and a gasp, too quiet for full embarrassment but loud enough that he heard it.

Felt it.

His hands tightened at her waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice frayed and mildly stunned. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna lose every bit of sense I’ve got left.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because somewhere between the first touch and now, her resistance had started to unravel. Not all at once. Just enough to let him in.

Her body betrayed her—arching, pliant, already so far gone.

Her eyes were shut tight, pulse hammering in her throat as he ground against her again—slow, controlled, like he was savouring every second of it.

“You feel that?” he murmured, hips moving just enough to make her thighs tense. “That’s what you do to me. You come home all tired and soft and whiny and y'expect me to behave?"

He leaned down, mouth at her neck, hot breath tickling her skin.

“All those little sounds you’re makin’. The way you're meltin' under my hands. You gotta know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Another roll of his hips—harder this time.

Her mouth opened.

A sound escaped her—quiet, shamefully honest. Just enough to make his breath catch this time.

He stilled.

Then groaned. “Jesus.”

Something cracked open after that.

He braced himself over her—slow and heavy—elbows caging her in, breath rasping as his hips ground down again, rougher now, less restrained. Over and over.

His mouth brushed her shoulder blade—hot and barely contained—and then he kissed her there. Once. Then again. Then a third time, slower now, lips dragging over her skin like he couldn’t help it.

(Y/n)’s eyes squeezed shut.

And that’s when it hit her—really hit her. The weight of his body. The heat of his skin. The way his hips pressed into hers like it was instinct, and the way her body arched into him like it had a will of its own.

Her mind screamed at her to push him off. To tell him to stop.

This was too much.

Too intense. Too close.

They didn’t do this.

This wasn’t banter. This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t some flirty game they’d forget by morning.

This was heat. This was need.

This was her—on her stomach, panting into the couch cushion—while Atsumu Miya kissed down her spine like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

She should’ve told him to stop.

But she didn’t. Couldn't. Not when her every nerve in her body was screaming for his touch.

“Atsumu,” she breathed.

His movements stuttered—just a fraction. One word. Just his name.

But fuck—did that turn him on.

He groaned softly into her skin, hips still locked against hers, grinding like he needed the friction. Like it physically hurt not to move.

“...What are you doing?” she managed, voice hoarse, thin with disbelief.

“Losin' it,” he whispered, like it wasn’t obvious.

His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair—then tugged. Lightly. Just enough to lift her face from the cushions, just enough to bare the sound that slipped out of her—something between a wince and a moan, sharp and breathy.

His mouth found her shoulder again—open-mouthed this time, breath hot, tongue brushing slowly over her skin like he was trying to memorize the way she tasted.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he muttered, more to himself than her, like he was trying to convince his body to back off.

He didn’t.

And she didn’t stop him.

Her fingers dug into the cushion. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body burned in places she didn’t know could ache like this.

Every roll of his hips sent a shockwave through her spine, and every kiss on her skin made her forget why this was a bad idea in the first place.

She felt his breath by her ear.

Felt the restraint in the way his hand clenched at her waist, like he was holding himself together with threads.

And then his mouth was at her neck—warm, open, hungry—before his teeth sank in just enough to make her gasp.

He exhaled hard, barely catching himself as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, like he needed the anchor—like staying close was the only way to keep from falling apart completely.

“You’re lettin’ me,” he said hoarsely, disbelief threaded between his words. “You’re not tellin’ me to stop.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if she spoke, she’d confess something they couldn’t take back.

And maybe he knew that—because his hand slid from her hair, tracing along her cheek before curling around her jaw. Gentle, but firm. He tilted her face toward him, made her look at him.

And god, he looked ruined.

Eyes blown wide. Lips parted and pink. Expression completely wrecked.

And still, he moved.

Hard. Needy.

Her moan slipped out—quiet, involuntary, the kind that tore straight from her chest.

It was all he needed.

“Fuck, baby—” he breathed, voice shredded and barely holding together. His hips stuttered, movements turning messy, desperate—like he couldn’t slow down even if he tried.

His mouth found her skin again. Kissed whatever he could reach. Sloppy. Starved. Every kiss less precise than the last.

He was close.

Too close.

A deep, broken sound tore from his throat as his hand locked tighter at her waist—his other still cupping her jaw like he needed to see her. And for one breathless, blinding second, the world narrowed to this:

Heat.

Friction.

Sweat.

His hips snapped into hers, too drunk on her to stop. Like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

They were right at the edge of something they weren’t supposed to reach.

So close to—

CRASH.

A loud, metallic clang. Something hit the floor in the kitchen.

They both froze. (Y/n) almost whined.

A beat of stunned silence—

Then:

“For fuck's sake—My ramen!”

Suna’s voice cut through the moment like a slap.

A second later—

“YOU’RE CLEANIN’ THAT!”

Osamu’s voice, furious and far too loud.

Just like that, the spell shattered.

Atsumu collapsed onto her back with a guttural groan, his entire weight slumping down like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“…I’m gonna kill 'im.”

(Y/n) didn’t move. Just whimpered into the cushion. “...Why are they like this?"

He slid off her slowly, like he wasn’t sure how his limbs worked anymore. His breath was still uneven, his cheeks flushed. He flopped onto the floor beside the couch like he’d just fought for his life.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

A long, awful silence stretched between them.

Her heart still pounded in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

Then—

“…Three more seconds and I'd have bust.”

She blinked. Then let out a broken, exhausted snort. “Miya.”

He covered his face with both hands and dragged them down his face. “Don’t say my name like that right now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bonus:

The next morning...

The apartment smelled like eggs and impending doom.

(Y/n) sat stiffly at the dining table, fingers curled around her mug like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She hadn’t spoken more than four words since she entered the kitchen. Not because she was mad. Not because she was tired.

Because Atsumu was in the room.

Leaning against the counter.

Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Cheeks still flushed from whatever godless dreams he probably had last night. Arms crossed over his chest like they hadn't just been gripping her hips twelve hours ago while whispering pure filth and sin into her shoulder blades.

She took a long sip of coffee.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. Don’t clench your thighs.

“You’re bein’ real quiet this mornin’,” Osamu said, setting down a plate of toast in front of her.

She blinked. “Hmm? No, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all."

Suna, across the table, didn’t look up from his phone.

“Someone’s tense,” he muttered. “Again.”

Her soul left her body.

“I’m not tense,” she snapped a little too fast.

Atsumu made a small choking sound behind her. She didn’t turn around.

Osamu raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Did you two fight or somethin’?”

“No,” she said.

“No,” Atsumu echoed.

Osamu squinted. “Weird. Yer both lookin' a lil guilty."

Suna finally looked up, eyes slow and calculating. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Nah,” Atsumu added, voice a little too casual.

A long silence.

Suna’s eyes narrowed. “Y’know, the couch is looking kinda... dented this morning.”

(Y/n) stared at her mug. “Rin, please stop speaking.”

“And there was a hoodie on the floor. Yours, I think,” Suna added.

Osamu frowned. “Weren’t you wearin’ that last night?”

Suna turned fully in his seat. “Don’t tell me.” Seconds passed. Then—

“No way. Did you guys fu—”

Atsumu broke into the broadest grin.

(Y/n) turned bright red.

“NO!”

Osamu almost spit out his orange juice.

Suna's jaw actually went slack. “Holy shit.”

Osamu looked offended. “On the couch? Seriously?!”

Atsumu leaned forward, elbows on the counter, smirk straight out of a rated-R movie. “All I’m sayin’ is… ya leave a man alone with a pretty girl complainin’ about her back and—”

“It was JUST a massage!” (y/n) yelled, utterly mortified.

The room went silent.

Suna slowly pushed his plate away, crinkling his nose.

Osamu looked like he needed years worth of therapy. “I eat on that couch.”

"Okay," she blurted, pushing her chair back with the grace of a dying goose. "I’m going back to bed. None of you speak to me.”

“You didn’t finish your toast,” Suna called.

“You didn’t finish your massage, either,” Atsumu added.

(Y/n) stormed off, narrowly missing the doorframe on the way out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her door slammed shut.

Her body hit the mattress.

Her soul left her body.

She face-planted into her pillow with a strangled groan—the same noise people make when they think they’ve beaten a final boss, only for it to regenerate full health and announce a hidden phase two.

Her brain felt like the scrambled eggs she'd left behind.

Because it was replaying everything—every. single. second.

The massage.

The way his fingers dug into her back like he knew where she was most vulnerable.

The phantom warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin, like her body couldn’t quite let go of his touch. And the weight of him—solid, hot, heavy—still pressed against the back of her hips like muscle memory. Like her body remembered what her mind was trying to erase.

His mouth on her shoulders, her neck.

His voice—needy, breathless—almost desperate.

Her whole body flushed so violently she was surprised she hadn’t burst into flames on the spot.

What the hell was that?!

They didn’t do that. They never did that. Sure, Atsumu flirted—he flirted with everyone. She was used to it. Used to rolling her eyes and brushing it off, calling him insufferable while secretly liking the attention.

But this?

This was not harmless.

This was him, grinding into her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her body. This was her, moaning into a cushion like she was part of some kinky romance novel. This was—

“I should’ve pushed him off,” she muttered into the pillow.

But she didn’t.

She let it happen.

Worse—she wanted it to happen.

Oh my god.

The doorframe she almost walked into? Deserved.

The toast she didn’t eat? Deserved.

The ghost of his voice still echoing in her ears, haunting her?

Absolutely deserved.

She flopped onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered:

“What have I done."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Atsumu wasn’t proud of himself.

Okay, maybe a little. But also not really. Not when Suna was staring at him like he was one word away from committing a crime, and Osamu looked ready to throw up in the sink.

“You touched her where?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I already told ya,” he said, sinking deeper into the kitchen chair. “It was a massage. She was tired. I was bein’ helpful.”

“Helpful?” Osamu echoed, crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between offended and utterly gobsmacked. Probably both.

Atsumu winced. Yeah, maybe that hadn’t been the best word.

“What happened to runnin’ her a bath? Or—I dunno—cookin' her dinner like a normal person?”

Atsumu just shrugged.

Not defensively. Not exactly confident, either.

Just that lazy, noncommittal lift of his shoulders—the kind he pulled when he didn’t have a good answer and hoped no one would call him out for it. Sheepish. A little guilty. Mostly trying not to squirm under the look Osamu was giving him.

Suna, meanwhile, hadn’t blinked once. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re genuinely insane.”

Atsumu threw his arms up. “Whaaat? (Y/n) didn't seem to mind."

Osamu made a noise. Something resigned, possibly a little traumatised.

“Keep it to yourself,” Suna muttered, voice low, sharp.

“You asked!” Atsumu protested, slouching into the kitchen chair like he was halfway through a trial he was absolutely guilty of. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“But it did,” Osamu snapped, gesturing dramatically. “On the couch. Where I eat.”

That earned him a grimace. “Okay, ya don’t gotta say it like that.”

He slouched further. Rested his chin in one hand. “It wasn’t even a thing. She came home all cranky and— I dunno. I just wanted to make 'er feel better.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? At the time, it was innocent. Mostly. He hadn’t planned to grind on her like a man starved.

But then she'd moaned, and the rest was history.

“Right,” Suna said, and something in his voice made Atsumu look up.

The usual flat deadpan wasn’t there. Something sharper had taken its place.

“Are you sure she was okay with it?” Suna asked, meeting his eyes at last. “She didn’t look like she was in a good mood this morning.”

Atsumu blinked. His heart stumbled over itself.

“What? She’s probably just—embarrassed,” he said, a little too quickly. Then, bristling, “Are you sayin’ I did somethin’ she didn’t want?”

Suna didn’t back down. “No. I’m saying you didn't think." A beat passed. "'Least not with your head."

The kitchen got quiet. That kind of quiet that made Atsumu want to throw something just to fill it.

His nostrils flared. He straightened in his seat, bracing his hands on the table like he was ready to stand.

Suna just stared.

Unflinching.

Judging.

Calm and lethal as always.

And yeah, okay, maybe Atsumu hadn’t thought it through. Maybe he had gotten carried away. But he wasn’t some creep.

“She didn’t stop me,” he muttered, then immediately winced because wow, what a terrible sentence.

Osamu, to his credit, jumped in before the stare-down turned into an actual fight. “Alright, both of ya, enough.” He slapped a palm to Atsumu’s shoulder, forcing him back down when he’d started to rise. “I’m sure (y/n)’s fine. She probably is just embarrassed. But, 'Tsumu—” He gave his brother a look. “Make sure ya check in on 'er."

The tension thinned. Barely.

Atsumu slumped back into his chair.

But he never looked away, still locked in a silent death stare with Suna, waiting for someone to blink first.

Osamu rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.

But the words were already climbing up Atsumu's throat, too big to keep inside.

“…She moaned.”

Osamu’s fork hit his plate with a clink.

"Please," he groaned, covering his ears. “Spare me.”

“I’m not makin’ it up!” Atsumu insisted, leaning forward like this was somehow a defence. “I wasn’t even doin’ that much and she—" He cut himself off, then added in a desperate whisper, “She was movin’ with me, so she definitely—”

“Atsumu.” Suna’s voice was cold. Firm. “We get it.”

Atsumu’s mouth snapped shut. His ears burned. God, he sounded like a perv.

Osamu exhaled slowly, like his brain had just rebooted. Then, against all odds, he snorted. Covered his face, elbows braced on the table, but that stupid grin was peeking through his fingers.

“What is wrong with you guys?”

Atsumu stared at his cereal. Suddenly way too aware of how pathetic he must’ve looked, sitting here like a kicked puppy, talking about a moan like it was a Nobel Prize.

Still… his lips twitched.

“...What?” he said, trying for innocent. It came out boyish.

Osamu didn’t even look at him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, voice muffled and lowkey judgmental.

Suna shook his head and pulled out his phone. “You’re the horniest person I know."

Atsumu sighed.

Ran both hands through his hair.

And smirked.

Guilty as charged.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The kitchen was quiet.

Dim, too—lit only by the under-light above the stove, casting everything in a sleepy haze. It was late. Past midnight, maybe. She’d lost track of time after her shower, after the world stopped spinning quite so fast.

(Y/n) padded in with socked feet, her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck, water bottle loose in her grip. She wasn’t even thirsty. She’d just needed somewhere to be that wasn’t her room. Somewhere her thoughts wouldn’t chase her down and pin her to the bed like they’d been trying to do all evening.

The massage.

The weight of him.

The way her hips moved.

The sound she made.

God.

She opened the fridge just to cool her face against the blast of cold air. Stood there a moment longer than necessary, trying to freeze the memory out of her skin.

She stared at the contents without really seeing them.

If she was lucky, she could grab a drink and slink back upstairs before anyone—

The floor creaked behind her.

She knew that creak. Recognised the rhythm of those lazy footsteps.

Atsumu.

Of course.

She didn’t turn. Just shut the fridge, hugging the bottle to her chest like it could absorb the flush threatening to rise to her face.

“Hey.”

His voice was quieter than usual.

Not cocky, not teasing, but... soft.

Her heart stuttered.

She braced herself, then glanced up at him. “Hey, ‘Tsum.”

He looked like he’d come down for something too, but now he was just… standing there. In his sweatpants, hair mussed from his pillow, rubbing at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Her chest tightened. It was impossible to ignore it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Somethin’ like that.” He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Figured I’d grab somethin’ to drink. But…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck again, “…guess ya beat me to it.”

She gave a breath of a laugh, barely there. “Sorry. I was just... thinking.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He hummed, mulling over his next words, like he wasn’t sure if now was the best time to ask—but he did anyway.

“You okay?”

(Y/n) blinked.

The question was soft. Careful. And completely sincere.

It disarmed her more than it should have.

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Swallowed. “Mhmm. I'm okay.”

Atsumu nodded, but didn’t move. Didn’t turn back around like he meant to leave. Instead, he stepped a little closer, resting one hand against the counter, glancing down at her.

“How’s your back?” he asked, lips quirking slightly.

That earned a glare. She stood up, arms folding over her chest, suddenly too aware of how warm the kitchen was. "Very funny."

He almost smiled again—but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was dodging. That much was obvious.

And he hated that he almost let her.

“What? Too soon?” he offered, like the teasing might lighten things again.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Ya love it, really,” he shot back—without thinking, without blinking. It was one of those lines. One of his lines. Something he said all the time, to her, to anyone, usually with a smirk and no consequences.

It rolled off the tongue like second nature. Easy as breathing.

But this time… it landed different.

Because her face changed.

She looked down at her water bottle, fingers tightening around the cap. Her smile—if it could even be called that—faded. Not annoyed. Not offended. Just... gone.

And for the first time, Atsumu regretted saying it.

He felt the air shift. He took a breath.

“…Listen,” he said, more seriously now, his voice low and laced with hesitation. “About… y’know. The other night.”

She stiffened.

And he noticed.

“I shouldn’t have—uh, gotten so carried away,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to make things weird. I was just—”

“—It’s okay,” she cut in, too fast.

He blinked.

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine, 'Tsumu. Let’s just… pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”

His heart stuttered.

Pretend it didn’t happen?

He watched her closely. She was fiddling with the bottle cap now, like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her expression guarded. Tight.

She was embarrassed.

Not because he crossed a line—he was sure of that—but because she didn’t know what to do with what happened. Because she let it happen, and maybe, just maybe, she regretted it a little.

And that stung him a little.

“Really?” he asked, careful.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Like. It was a one-time thing. Heat of the moment. Whatever.” She waved a hand in the air vaguely. “Let’s just never bring it up again.”

A one-time thing?

He tilted his head, slowly. “…Never?”

She looked at him then. Briefly. But it was enough.

“Never,” she confirmed. Then, a little firmer: “Forget it ever happened.”

He paused.

“…Even the part where you—”

“Yes.” Her cheeks flared. “Especially that part.”

There was something so sharp and exasperated in her voice that he couldn’t help it—he pressed his lips together, biting back a laugh. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I think about it like… hourly.”

“I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright.” He looked at her a second longer than he should’ve, hands held up in surrender, then forced a grin. “Forgettin’ it. Totally gone. Brain wiped.”

He paused. Tilted his head.

Then, dryly: “…What were we talkin’ about again?”

She groaned, but her mouth twitched too. Just a little.

And he'd have been blind to miss it.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her shoulders finally relaxed. He wouldn’t push. Not tonight. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel it—didn’t want it.

He cared. More than she probably realised.

And if forgetting it made her feel safer, more in control… then fine.

He’d let her forget.

For now.

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

This is a great piece. Recommend the whole thing (for self-evident reasons) but I'm going to pull out the quotes that spoke to me most, as someone who--like many of you, I suspect--has a great deal of guilt around my non-reading:

In a great many iterations. If you were lauded for reading, put on a pedestal in front of your peership, it might be stress-inducing to return to work the muscles you know have atrophied. Are you still good or worthy of help if you cannot read voraciously, like you did as a child? If you were labeled a problem, difficult in class, slow… I bless and keep you.

Tie plenty of guilt, shame, and fear in the process of returning to reading in adulthood. Make them feel like it’s an innate talent— you have it or you don’t— rather than a skill you need to learn, hone, and practice.

As an adult, especially as an adult that has had Covid, I read and write every day because I have a brain that disintegrates this particular skill faster than many of my counterparts… Reading and writing are disciplines I have to choose to sharpen actively, because if I don’t read, then I won’t.

reading is still uncomfortable in certain seasons of life, especially seasons that require high screen time from me. I still have a week, two weeks go by without reading. I still pick up a book and blink and realize I’ve spent forty minutes on my phone. I read specifically because I notice how much my brain expands his capacity when I force him into the mode of expansion. Expansion is itchy! It’s uncomfortable!! Reading does not always feel good, just like going to the gym or doing your dishes or eat vegetables does not feel good (especially if you haven’t done it in a long time) and yet!! I sigh in relief when it’s been done. When reading defines my habits, I think noticeably easier.

"Absolutely no one comes to save us but us."

Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack [ID'd]

[sh4nksslvt]

Doctor Trafalgar, Love Expert?

Law gives terrible love advice to Penguin while clearly ignoring his own painfully obvious crush on you.

Law X gn! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, friends-to-lovers typeshi(?) law being timid

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 1.1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

If there was one thing Trafalgar Law wasn’t qualified to do, it was give romantic advice.

Sure, he was a brilliant surgeon, a pirate captain, and had a smirk that could make a nun sin, but when it came to feelings—specifically his own—he was a flaming shipwreck in a storm of emotional denial.

And yet, here he was, arms crossed, giving unsolicited love advice to Penguin like he was the therapist from a soap opera.

“Just tell her she’s inefficient,” Law said with a straight face. “It’s a compliment.”

Bepo blinked up at him. “...Captain, I don’t think calling Penguin’s crush inefficient is going to help his chances.”

“You asked for honesty,” Law muttered, flipping through his medical journal like it was more interesting than this disaster in progress. “Efficiency is attractive.”

“To you, maybe!”

You, meanwhile, were watching this entire trainwreck from the galley door with a cup of tea and the kind of secondhand embarrassment that deserved its own trauma counseling.

“Law,” you called. “Did you just say ‘inefficient’ as a flirting tactic?”

He didn’t even look up. “It’s a practical compliment.”

You snorted. “What’s next? ‘Your presence improves my survival odds by 6.4%’?”

“…Depending on the environment, that’s a generous estimate.”

You and Bepo shared a look. A look that screamed, Why is this our captain?

The whole thing had started that morning when Penguin had walked into the common area in a flurry of nerves and confessed, “I think I like someone.”

Law, who’d been reading while pretending not to be listening to music in one earbud (yes, he still used wired ones, don’t ask), barely lifted his gaze. “Then tell them.”

Penguin shuffled. “It’s not that easy.”

“It’s the truth.”

“And what if they don’t like me back?”

Law gave the emotional equivalent of a shrug. “Then adapt. Rejection is survivable.”

Penguin groaned from the couch. “Cap, you can’t treat love like it’s battle tactics.”

“It’s a high-risk operation involving fragile variables and potential bloodshed. Sounds pretty accurate.”

Shachi nodded. “Okay, that’s fair, but also incredibly bleak.”

And that’s when Law was voluntold by everyone that if he was going to act like he knew how love worked, he had to give actual advice.

Hence: Doctor Trafalgar, Love Expert?

“Okay,” you said, taking the empty seat beside him and plucking the journal from his hands. “If you’re so good at giving advice, help me out.”

Law narrowed his eyes. “With what?”

“I think someone likes me,” you said casually, leaning back like you weren’t about to stir up the most delicious chaos. “But I can’t tell if they’re just awkward or trying to be subtle.”

His jaw tightened. “Who is it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I need your expert opinion.”

Law closed the journal and set it down very deliberately.

Everyone in the room went very still. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi exchanged silent screams with their eyebrows.

“Well,” Law said coolly. “What are the signs?”

“Hmm,” you hummed. “They hover a lot. Make excuses to talk to me. Kind of avoid eye contact but also stare when they think I’m not looking.”

His eye twitched. “Stare?”

“Yeah. And once, they brought me extra rice even though I didn’t ask.”

Silence.

Law stood up. “That’s suspicious.”

“Oh?”

“Sounds like they’re trying too hard.”

“Ohhh?” you said, biting back a smile.

“They’re probably nervous. Emotionally constipated. Bad at expressing feelings.” He said all this like he wasn’t describing himself to an absurdly accurate degree. “Possibly repressed.”

“Should I confront them?”

“No,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“It might scare them away.”

“But if they like me…”

“Then wait for them to say something first.”

Bepo coughed. “So… basically just let them suffer in silence?”

“It builds character,” Law said.

You covered your mouth to hide your grin. “You’re such a romantic.”

Law’s ears turned pink. “Shut up.”

Later that day, Shachi cornered you near the engine room with a look of deep judgment.

“You’re torturing him.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

He pointed a wrench at you. “You know he likes you.”

“Do I?”

“You’ve been fake-flirting with a ghost for the last week just to get him to react!”

You smirked. “It’s good cardio.”

Shachi groaned. “He’s gonna combust. I saw him look up love confession rituals on his snail phone last night.”

Your eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes! And he accidentally joined a forum for single dads in North Blue.”

You wheezed. “He’s going through it.”

“So help him out!”

“…Fine.”

The opportunity came the next morning when you walked into the kitchen and found Law staring at a mug of coffee like it had personally betrayed him.

He didn’t look up when you entered, just mumbled, “Morning.”

“Morning,” you said, walking over. “Sleep okay?”

He made a grunt of vague disapproval.

You sat beside him. “Thinking about your crush?”

He choked on his coffee.

“I mean,” you said, oh-so-innocently. “That mystery person you gave advice about.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re very nosy.”

“You’re very obvious.”

He gave you a look. “I don’t have a crush.”

You tilted your head. “Are you sure? Because everyone on this ship seems to think you do.”

“Everyone on this ship is bored.”

“Bored enough to notice how you go quiet when I talk, how you walk into rooms I’m in and pretend it’s for unrelated reasons, or how you stare at my lips when I eat dessert?”

He went dead silent.

You leaned closer. “So. Doctor Trafalgar. Any prescriptions for yourself?”

“…Shut up,” he muttered, face flushed.

You blinked. “Wait. That was a confession.”

He got up.

You grabbed his wrist.

He froze.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly softer. “I like you too, dumbass.”

He blinked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a little red candy. “I was going to make you say it first, but you looked like you were about to diagnose yourself with heartbreak.”

He blinked again.

“…You like me?”

“God, yes. Even when you’re being a brick wall with nice tattoos.”

“…I have more than just tattoos,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Yeah, you’ve also got a charming inability to express affection. It’s cute.”

He shook his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re still holding my hand.”

Pause.

He looked down.

He was.

“…Tch.”

You laughed and tugged him back down. “Stay.”

“…Fine.”

Later, Penguin came in to find the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder, quietly sharing a plate of snacks.

“Captain?” Penguin said, tilting his head. “Did you take your own advice?”

Law didn’t look up. “No.”

You grinned. “He took mine.”

[hearts4hughes]

what abt a weirdo touching reader w/out her consent and rafe beating him up over it and reader js gets overwhelmed & hurt in the process of it but after it she just clings on to him cuz shes scared af!!🤭

more like this

you don’t notice him at first.

the crowd is thick. bodies pressed too close, sweat clinging to your skin, bass thumping so loud it rattles your ribs. lights strobe overhead, casting everything in blue, pink, and red like some warped dream. rafe had just slipped away, said he’d be back in five with water and something sweet. you’d nodded, barely listening, too high on the music and the moment.

you keep dancing.

your hair clings to your cheeks and your arms sway above your head. there’s a buzz beneath your skin, and you’re smiling, lost in it all, until—

a hand.

not rafe’s.

bigger, rougher, not careful.

it grabs your waist—low, too low—and pulls.

you freeze. your heart stutters.

you twist, shoving the hand away, blinking fast to make sense of the face in front of you. he’s older, grinning, not drunk but leering.

“relax,” he says, like it’s a joke. like you’re the crazy one. “you were begging for it, dancing like that, baby.”

your stomach twists. your mouth opens but your throat constricts. the pet names makes you nauseous. rafe never makes you feel that way.

“what the fuck did you just say?” the voice slices through the crowd like a whip. and there’s rafe, storming through the mass of people, water bottles dropped, eyes locked on the guy with a look that could burn a hole through steel. he grabs him by the shirt and yanks him back hard.

“you fucking touch her again,” rafe growls, voice low and venomous, “and i swear to god i’ll fucking ruin you.”

the guy tries to shove him off. but it’s over in a second. rafe lands a punch, then another. there’s shouting, hands trying to hold him back, but he doesn’t care.

you can’t breathe. your hands are shaking. your throat feels too tight. the lights spin and the music warps, everything sounding far away and wrong.

you flinch when someone grabs your arm, but it’s rafe. only rafe.

his knuckles are split, his chest rising too fast, but the second he sees you, everything in him softens. “hey. hey. it’s me. baby, i’m right here.”

you fall into him like instinct, and he catches you without hesitation, wrapping you up in his arms like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

you press your face into his chest, fingers curled in his shirt, whole body trembling. you can still hear your heart pounding in your ears. you can feel the burn of that man’s hand on your skin, even though it’s gone.

“you’re okay,” rafe whispers, over and over. “you’re safe. i’ve got you.”

and you believe him.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @13hischiers @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrxnette @xoxosblogsblog @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae

[krisanthimum]

Y'all know that thing where you try to think of an animal/bug encounter from it's perspective rather than your own?

Danny doesn't always remember what it's like to be human.

He's been half-alive for far to long for that, but he remembers that he was born as one!

So when he peeks into a human realm for a routine check in, he forgets how unnerving it is to be plucked from reality by a being thousands of times your size.

It's not that Danny's big! He just, forgets what form he's in sometimes. The Eldritch equivalent of standing on a chair to reach the top shelf and inspecting what you have before you step off. So when the starving, sick, malformed halfa he grabbed it take a closer look at started getting pissy (read, started shooting him and struggling in his hold), he knew he had to make this quick before he stressed the poor guy too much. Maybe he could give him some ecto for the road? At least until he could stop by and help him properly.

Meanwhile,

RedHood had been minding his own business, going through a case with the other Bats when a neon green portal opened under his feet. He fell, opening his eyes to find himself in a dimension made of Lazarus water, with swirling purple, black and white.

A being of pure Cosmos stared him down with black holes ringed in blue, cocking it's head as he stumbled to his feet. Jason was beyond alarmed to find himself standing in the middle of the beings hand, shooting before he could think better of it.

The being didn't react.

He was helpless as the being picked him up with two clawed fingers, turned him this way and that. The pits were terrified, his weapons did nothing and he was THIS CLOSE to shitting his pants from the eight or so different realities fracturing his mind every time he looked at the damn thing (Danny using a pen light to see his core better). Until all at once it was over, Red Hood feeling himself getting gently picked up by his jacket as he's lowered through another portal. He lands on his feet, guns and flattened bullets clattering to the floor.

He stands frozen in a fighting stance, almost like a cat that dropped from really high up. He scurries like one too when a giant finger nudges him forward, fleeing to the far side of the cave and blowing right past his family in the process. He watches, back pressed against the wall as the clawed digit made of literal galaxies retracts, the portal shutting quietly behind it.

The room is silent. At least until Spoiler spoke up.

"So what the FUCK?"

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🐏🌾🐰

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

🌾 If you have Jupiter at 19 (Libra) degree or Jupiter in the 7th house in the Natal chart, people that enter your life in form of a romantic partner, a friend, co-worker, business partner, you can get an opportunity through them, they bring you luck or because of them you can expand in your own individual life.

🐰 But the thing with this placement, there can also be some kind of "downside" to it. Because of that this placement often finds a romantic truly only when they are NOT looking or even when you are somewhat oblivious of partnerships. When you are actively looking, you find yourself unlucky, because with you it works the opposite way. You get more lucky, when you are not actively looking. You have to get more passive when searching for partnerships.

🐏 Saturn in the 4th house: can also be a cold home (quite literally, low heating at home), emotionally aloof or emotionally unstable parents (or just one of them, usually the mother, but it could also be the father) or a feeling that you have to play a role of a grownup at home, because of your parents. It can be that you had a very structured, disciplined childhood. You were probably taught that anger is "bad", so you repressed a lot of angry impulses. Or that early on you had to prove in your family circle that you are "worthy" of being loved. What you secretly crave is actually comfort, stability and safety, but you feel like the road to get there is full of obstacles and challenges at the moment. If you have this, you likely didn't "inherit" a peaceful home. But you have to build it yourself. You usually create that "real home" a bit later in life, but at that time is stable and calm. For example: if you grew up in dysfunctional family, you might create rules for your own home that there is peace and no yelling. Big thing with this placement is that when they learn with time that not everything is your responsibility, they are unstoppable, because they learn how to get a healthy feeling for naturally setting boudaries and limits in connections.

🌾 Oh you have Jupiter in the 7th house? And your romantic partner doesn't uplift you intellectually, emotionally, financially and spiritually? This relationship ain't it. But still beware of blind faith in relationships or having too high expectations for a connection that is not even committed yet. You can expect fair play, open-mindedness and fairness in connection too early on and you end up disappointed. Also beware of blindly following your partner's dreams instead of your own.

🐰 Aries Saturn people often supported their parents emotionally and materially/financially early in life.

🐏 If you are on the Virgo North Node/Pisces South Node axis, it's interesting, because you were probably born with the feeling of wanting to help others. But throughout life, you get to understand that you have to give that help with a system, on a schedule and with order. That's why you can't just mindlessly help people around you. Also, stop thinking "everything that could be", instead start setting and choosing "what will be".

🌾 With Jupiter in the 7th house you can be prone to attract educators, teachers, counsellors, lawyers.

🐰 Gemini/Virgo MC get promoted only then when they stop jumping from a career to career, from one work field to another. You get a promotion or see progress when you are long enough in your work field to actually specialise in it.

🐏 With Virgo North Node the key is NOT to serve others, but to create something concrete that serves others. You have to accept responsibility (not run away from it, Pisces South Node) and make that responsibility into something useful, either in your work field, in society or even art.

🌾 Also, Pisces South Node people keep searching for their "purpose", when in reality, for them is not searching for it, but instead "creating your own purpose" in life. When others just dream about their goals, you are building up those dream goals.

🐰 People, who have both Pisces and Aries over the 4th house, usually grew up in a home where emotions took over or were not expressed clearly (Pisces), yet there was a feeling of fighting for yourself (Aries). You felt you yourself can create safety. In adulthood, instead of chaos at home, you recognize your need for peace and order.

🐏 I noticed Virgo Midheavens excelling in fields of therapy, counseling, oganization, coaching, nutrition, psychology or analytics.

🌾 For Virgo North Nodes it's crucial to have a schedule, your rituals, excellent sleeping and eating schedule.

🐰 If you have Part of Fortune in the 1st house the only real gift you can give others, is your body, your presence and your energy.

🐏 Sagittarius Part of Fortune means you are a natural motivator and you feel the happiest when you are in movement or learning. You have a gift for seeing the bigger picture.

🌾 Gemini Part of Fortune means that you have very precise and excellent intuition for timing of your words, ideas and information.

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

[luvnoirs]

WICKED GAMES

paring: paige x black fem!reader synopsis: after being drafted number one pick, paige is under pressure to prove herself and save a failing relationship. then, she sees you. warning(s): fingering (r!receiving), spit play, cunnilingus (r!receiving) and (p!receiving), face riding, overstimulation, squirting word count: 4.4k

a/n: i started writing this after i watched sinners if you couldn’t tell

PART ONE | PART TWO

paige didn't touch you again for the rest of the ride. it felt like she was actually trying to drive you insane.

your thighs were still squeezed together when she pulled into a private garage that was tucked underneath a high-rise apartment. she rolled her window down to tap a key fob against a sensor, and smoothly driving through once the gate opened for her. she parked near the elevator and turned off the engine.

she seemed calm. patient.

like she didn't just have you on the brink of an orgasm with just two fingers.

your head was spinning as you thought back to just exactly how you ended up in this situation tonight. when you first found her looking at you like you were the only woman in the room, to her following you to the bar and undressing you with just her eyes alone. you blinked, watching as she got out and circled around to your door, opening it.

everything was quiet, surprisingly. just your heels echoing sharply against the pavement as you stepped out and followed behind the blonde to the elevator. it wasn't until you stepped inside that it hit you. it was the first time tonight that you guys were truly alone. no other people. no music. no crowd.

just you and her.

she leaned against the elevator wall on the opposite side as it ascended. your eyes dragged over her slowly, her lips, the chain that decorated her neck, her tight crop top that exposed her abs, her veiny hands that were clasped together in front of her.

you wondered how her lips would feel—pressed to yours, dragging down your neck, buried between your thighs. how that cold gold chain would feel pressed against your cheek, against your chest. how her abs would tense beneath your tongue. how three of her fingers would feel inside of you instead of two.

you looked back up to find her watching you.

she wasn't smiling. didn't have that stupid smirk on her face. it was like you were back in the club with her in the next section over, yet this time the tension was stronger.

you wanted her. badly.

you took a step towards her, and another. you didn't stop until you were inches away, close enough to wrap your arms around her neck.

she let out a breath. "once these doors open, ain't no going back."

"shut up and kiss me."

the elevator door dinged.

her hand gripped your jaw, much firmer this time, and pulled your mouth to hers like it was magnetic.

nothing was gentle.

your lips crashed against hers in a messy kiss. she pressed into you, hips flush, hands instantly dragging down your sides like she couldn’t figure out what part of you she wanted to grab first.

your head was spinning. you barely registered anything, only that she was already walking you backwards, still kissing you like she was starving. her grip stayed tight, one hand wrapped around your waist, the other grabbing a fistful of your ass as she walked you out of the elevator like she owned your body now.

you stumbled, nearly losing your balance on your heels, but her grip on you didn’t loosen.

“i got you,” she mumbled against your lips, her teeth dragging your bottom lip before biting down, hard enough to make you shiver.

you weren’t even sure where you were anymore— somewhere between the entrance and losing your mind— but your back hit a cold wall, your hands clinging around paige’s neck like she was the only thing keeping you upright.

all you could do was moan breathlessly against her lips. the same hot ache from the car crept back up in the pit of your stomach, but worse now. ten times as needy.

her tongue slipped past your lips, licking into you slowly. your hands dragged down the length of her arms until they found the collar of her jacket. you tugged impatiently, needing less between you.

without missing a beat, paige shrugged it off without breaking the kiss.

your palms landed flat on her stomach, pressing against smooth, firm skin, your fingers splaying over her abs. her body tensed beneath your touch.

you slightly pulled back, panting, lips swollen, a burn in your lungs from the lack of oxygen. a thin string of spit hung between your mouths, stretching then snapping as you licked your lips.

paige looked wrecked in the prettiest way.

her blue eyes low. lips wet. chest rising slow.

“i’ve been thinking about this since the bar,” she whispered against your lips, dragging her hand under the cup of your ass, squeezing hard. “how badly you wanted me to fuck you but still tried to play it cute.”

you let out a breath that caught halfway.

“i did n—"

“don’t lie to me,” she cut in, her hand cupping your pussy through your panties, palm pressing hard. “you’re still dripping, mama.”

she was right.

your knees buckled slightly, a quiet gasp escaping your throat before you could catch it.

you knew she could feel it. the shake in your thighs, the way your breath hitched, the way your hips rolled forward into her touch.

she leaned forward, her mouth brushing against the shell of your ear.

“you feel that shit?” she whispered, pressing her palm firmer against your center, her thumb sliding in slow, deliberate circles over the soaked fabric.

you whimpered in response. your hand clutched her bicep for balance, nails digging into her skin, your other hand balling into the fabric of her shirt. her tongue licked over your ear lobe, warm and soft.

“i could make you cum just like this,” she murmured, using her knee to spread your legs even further. “right here. up against this wall. panties still on. my fingers rubbing on this pretty pussy.”

your head tipped back against the wall with a soft thud, breath stuttering as her teeth grazed your earlobe, not hard enough for discomfort but enough to send another wave of pleasure between your legs.

you groaned, hand sliding up to her face to grip her jaw, thumb brushing the edge of her bottom lip. you pulled her back in front of you, eyes locked.

“paige, i need your mouth,” you pleaded as her thumb still rubbed dangerously slow.

her lips parted slightly, tongue swiping across the bottom one like she could still taste you from earlier.

“where?” she asked, like she wanted to hear you say it just to break you down with it.

you huffed, jaw clenched. “don’t be a fucking dick.”

paige bit back a grin, the corner of her mouth twitching, but she didn’t argue.

instead she slipped both hands under your dress, palms dragging up your thighs until her fingers hooked the thin string of your thong.

she tugged it down slowly, watching the fabric peel off your skin like a reward she earned. you didn’t breathe until she dropped to her knees in front of you.

“this what you want?” she murmured, staring up at you, eyes locked as your panties pooled at your ankles.

she helped you step out, even reached to slide your heels off your feet, tossing them to the side like it was nothing.

"i think you want this more than me." you said, voice still shaky, but clear.

she just stayed there— on her knees, her hands sliding up your bare calves, thumbs brushing along the backs of your thighs. her eyes never left yours.

"you might be right," paige said as her hand gripped your thigh and hiked your leg over her shoulder, fingers bunching the fabric of your dress high on your hips. her mouth was just inches away, her breath hot against your skin. "you want me to prove it?"

she didn’t wait for your answer— just pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.

then another, closer to your cunt. soft and teasing, grazing her teeth against your skin.

your hands dove into her hair, fingers tangled in the bun at the back of her head as you tugged hard, trying to pull her mouth where it mattered.

“fuck me,” you gritted your teeth, “or on my life i’m leaving and slashing your tires on the way out.”

paige’s eyes flicked up, filled with half-amusement and half-lust.

“so dramatic,” she murmured, lips brushing your inner thigh again. “you coulda just said please.”

but she complied.

without another word, she gripped your ass with both hands, pulled your hips closer to her face, and devoured you. she used her tongue, dragging it through your folds deliberately slow, then flattened it against your clit.

"fuck!" you cried out, loudly.

your back arched against the wall, hands gripping her head, pulling her deeper. she groaned into your pussy, deep and guttural, sending vibrations through your core as her tongue circled your clit with filthy precision.

then she sucked.

your knees buckled. you nearly collapsed on her, leg shaking around her shoulder, hips jerking into her mouth like your body was acting on instinct alone. she held you still. moving one hand around your thigh, the other pressing against your stomach to keep you from running.

"you taste so good, baby," she rasped against your pussy.

you barely had time to breathe before her lips were back on you, latching onto your clit. the one hand that she had on your thigh traveled down between your legs. she used two fingers to spread apart your folds, running her tongue from your hole to your clitoral hood, lapping up all the juices you gushed out for her.

she slowed her pace just a bit, tracing every crevice with her tongue before returning back to your swollen clit. she alternated between flicking her tongue and licking over your bud, shaking her head slightly, making you dig your fingers even further into her hair, pushing her face deeper.

"oh my god, paige-" you gasped, the rest of your words getting caught in a high pitched moan.

maybe it was the overwhelming tension that had been building between you two all night, or the fact that she had been edging you for the past twenty minutes, but you swear nothing has ever felt this good.

you didn’t know how your legs were still holding you up. your knees were jelly. your thighs were twitching. your head kept falling back against the wall, unable to stay still.

you haven't even known her for half a day, yet she's fucking you like she's known you for years. her fingers curled inside you at a rhythmic pace, hitting your spot so precisely. over and over again.

your back arches off the wall, riding her face, hard and messy. your hand flew to your chest, tugging your dress down without a second thought. your breasts spilled free into the cool air, nipples already hard. you grabbed at one, squeezing, rolling your fingers over it until you moaned again, louder this time.

"don't stop," you were barely coherent. each word and moan that came from your mouth was closer and closer to sounding like a sob.

paige hummed again against your cunt. her lips created a tight suction around your puffy clit, using her tongue to flick erratically.

and just like that, your body jerks.

the pressure that had been coiled in your gut snapped, exploding out in waves that knocked the breath out of you. literally.

you couldn't think. couldn't breathe.

you felt like you were being held hostage to your own pleasure. you couldn't do anything but wildly buck your hips into her face as she continued lapping up everything you had her before it even had time to leak. your mouth was open— no sound, just gasps of air— cheeks hot and wet from the tears that slipped from your eyes.

finally feeling your arm again, you muster up as much energy as you could to push at her shoulder. paige pulled back breathlessly, lips and chin drenched in your juices. her hair was messy, most of her bun undone from the grip you had on it.

your legs were trembling, and paige— sensing that you were struggling— stood up to her feet to hold onto you. she caressed your face with her other hand, bringing you in for a quick kiss.

when she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours. "you okay?"

you nodded, still dazed from your orgasm. your hand reached for her chain, looping a finger under it to pull her back in. your lips met hers again, hungrier this time. you sucked on her bottom lip, moaning softly into her mouth, then kissed your way down to her chin, licking your own slick from her skin like you were claiming it back.

paige moaned, gripping your sides tighter. "shit..."

"bed," you muttered against her jawline, breath hot against her skin. "now."

paige didn't hesitate. her hands grabbed onto the back of your thighs and lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapped around her waist, leaving messy open mouthed kisses at her neck as she maneuvered through her apartment. you bit down, sucking hard enough to bruise.

"you're killing me," paige said, her voice strained and needy.

"good," you whispered, rolling your hips against her bare stomach.

paige pushed open a door with her foot and crossed the threshold, tossing you onto her bed. you bounced once, dress hiked around your hips, tits fully out and glistening in the soft light from your body oil. you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching her with parted lips.

she reached forward, tugging at the hem of your dress until it reached your hips. you lifted yourself up, helping her completely pull it off of you.

she then grabbed the ends of her shirt and pulled it over her head, revealing a fitted black sports bra that hugged her just enough to make you throb all over again. she let it drop to the floor behind her, eyes still locked on yours as she started to crawl over the bed.

but you stopped her, foot planted against her abdomen.

she froze and arched an eyebrow at you, curious, breath catching just slightly.

you didn’t say anything right away, dragging your foot slowly down her torso, tracing every muscle, until your toes found the zipper of her shorts and rested there.

"these too."

paige's mouth curled into the faintest smirk, "yes, ma'am."

she pulled back to undo the zipper on her shorts slowly, hooking her thumbs into the waistband before dragging them down her legs. her boxers were black, snug against her thighs. she was lean, defined in all the right places. the rough kisses you left on her neck were already forming into hickeys. you felt your mouth water at the sight of her in front of you.

"i wanna taste you."

you rose up to sit on your knees, eyes never leaving hers. paige stayed standing, watching you with a heat in her gaze that made your pulse spike.

“i won’t stop you,” she murmured, her fingers slipped into your hair, gentle but possessive, dragging her nails lightly along your scalp as if guiding you without force.

your hands slid up the side of her thighs, letting your nails drag against her skin, before they curled around the waistband of her briefs.

you tugged them down slowly, watching the way her body responded. you could see her hips jerk forward, just once, small but noticeable.

they slipped halfway down her thighs with ease, revealing her slick, glistening cunt already dripping for you.

your hands gripped her thighs for stability as you got closer, lips inches away from her. "i should make your ass beg."

“yeah fucking right,” she fired back, letting out a shaky laugh.

"what?" you pulled back slightly, dragging your lips upward to lick up her thigh, along her pelvis bone. "you had so much to say about this mouth... now you don't want it?"

"i do want it."

you could see her patience thinning, but you didn't care. she was stubborn, but so were you. she didn't get to toy with you all night and not get a taste of her own medicine.

your thumb brushed over her clit just barely and she tensed again. you kissed back down her thighs. "beg."

for a second, she didn’t move.

her jaw clenched, eyes closing briefly. but you stayed there, still quietly placing kisses on her skin, waiting for her next move.

then she finally spoke.

“please, baby,” paige rasped, opening her eyes to meet yours. "i need your mouth— fuck, i need it.”

you let her feel your smile against her skin. within seconds, you leaned in, kissing her clit once. then again, longer, deeper, lips sucking around it with purpose. you felt her fingers tighten in your hair as she let her head fall back with a soft moan. you licked between her folds, tongue flattening to push deep and taste everything she had waiting for you.

“shit—" paige choked out, tugging you back suddenly, her breath shallow. "lay on your back. now.”

you moved quick, eyes hungry as you laid flat against her sheets, mouth still wet with the taste of her. paige climbed over you, the mattress dipping beneath her weight, and positioned herself above your face, her pussy just inches from your mouth.

“this okay?” she asked, voice quieter now.

you didn’t answer with words.

your tongue met her center again, licking up her slit before you sucked her clit into your mouth with a moan. paige groaned, deep from her throat. her thighs tensed beside your head, her fingers finding your hair again, tighter now.

“oh shit…”

she rolled her hips once, careful and experimental, then again, rougher, grinding down into your face like she needed it.

you held yourself still with your tongue flat out as she rode your face, watching her through your eyelashes. her eyes were closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with her lips parted. her moans were quieter, but raw and vulnerable. you clenched your own thighs together at the sight.

you flicked your tongue up at just the right angle, hitting her clit mid-grind, earning another praise from her.

"just like that."

you could feel her starting to shake above you, her wetness coating your chin, dripping down your jaw. she continued rhythmic strokes that got messier with every pass. you didn’t move even as your jaw began to ache. you kept your tongue out, let her use you as she pleased, hands resting on her thighs as she rode your mouth harder.

paige tugged at your hair tighter, making you moan against her. you pressed your tongue even further into her, feeling her hips stutter.

“oh—” she gasps, moments before she reaches her orgasm. a heavy groan escapes her and her entire body shudders, her thighs clenching tight around your head.

paige didn’t say a word for a moment.

just hovered there, breathless, trying to collect herself. it wasn't long before she removed herself off of you to sit in the empty space next to you, back rested against her headboard.

you sat up slowly. paige was watching you—head tilted back slightly, eyes hooded and dark.

“come here."

you crawled toward her, and as soon as you were within reach, her hands found your waist, dragging you forward until you were straddling her lap.

her eyes dropped, trailing down your chest, over your pierced navel, past the mess she’d made between your thighs, and back up like she was trying to memorize you all over again.

your tongue slid across your bottom lip, licking away the taste she left on your face.

she didn’t look away.

“wanna taste it?” you asked.

paige nodded slowly before you reached out, cupping her chin between your fingers. her lips parted easily for you.

you leaned forward, mouth hovering just above hers, letting a mix of your saliva and her juices fall into her mouth. it dripped slow, stretched, then broke against her tongue.

she chased after your lips hungrily, like she needed more of you. her hands found the curve of your ass and gripped firmly, thumbs digging into the flesh before she let one cheek go and landed a sharp slap that echoed through the room. you gasped, body jolting, but the sting only made you want her more.

"turn around," paige ordered, murmuring against your lips.

you hesitated, confused, but could feel the delicious anticipation curling in your stomach. still, you let her guide you, limbs pliant under her touch.

your back was now pressed flush to her front.

her arms wrapped around your thighs, yanking them up, spreading them wide until your wet cunt was fully exposed on display for both of you.

“look at that pussy,” paige whispered against your ear. “so fucking pretty.”

your head dropped back into the crook of her neck, lips parted, chest heaving. she kept one arm locked under your left thigh while her leg held your right leg in place, holding them up and apart so you wouldn't be able to close them. her other hand slid up your front, warm and delicate, until it found your breasts.

she cupped them softly at first, then squeezed. her thumbs brushed over your nipples, rolling them between her fingers until you whined from how sensitive you still were.

"paige..." you half-whined, half-pleaded, feeling yourself clench around air desperately.

her hand left your breast, holding two fingers up to your mouth. "suck."

and you did.

your lips wrapped around her fingers, warm and wet, tongue swirling around them as you kept her gaze.

paige’s eyes darkened, her breath hitched just slightly as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking her fingers deeper. when she finally pulled them free, they left your lips with a slick pop.

you didn’t even have time to blink. her hand was already between your thighs, and those same soaked fingers slipped into you to the hilt without warning.

your walls clenched around her immediately, a broken gasp ripping out of your throat.

at first, she moved slow, making your stomach tighten and your hips lift off the bed. she let you sit in it, let you feel every inch of her fingers dragging against your walls. until she shifted. her pace snapped faster, rougher, fucking into you without mercy.

your back arched hard, hands scrambled up her arms, gripping her flexed biceps so tight your nails dug into her skin. you let out a soft cry, voice cracking as her name fell from lips.

her hand slid off your thigh, moving up to your throat— wrapping around it, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. "so wet for me. bet you’d let me keep you like this all night.”

"yes," you mewled softly, nodding your head repeatedly against her as your legs shook.

her thumb pressed against the side of your throat, feeling your pulse hammering against her skin.

“yeah?” she taunted, grinding her fingers deeper into you. “you’d let me fuck you stupid, baby? keep you creaming on my hand ‘til you can't take it?"

“i—” you gasped, a ragged moan ripping out of your mouth as she curled her fingers against your spot. “oh, fuck—”

your legs fell even wider, hips rolling down into her hand.

“…i can take it,” you panted, words slurring.

she kept fucking into you, her strokes rough, anything but gentle. you could feel her breath against your ear, speaking to you— but it was all gibberish to you. she kept her pace the same, grinding her palm against your clit with every thrust, making your vision blur and your whole body shake against her.

"yes, yes, yes," you cried, your nails dug into her arms, chasing the orgasm she was dragging out of you. half the words coming from your mouth didn't even make sense anymore.

“that’s it,” she muttered against your ear, breathing you in. she used one of the fingers that sprawled over your throat to turn your head back towards her, claiming your mouth with a messy kiss.

you whimpered into her mouth, fingers tangling in the back of her neck, yanking her impossibly closer like you needed her more than you needed to breathe.

maybe you did.

the heat in your gut was back, hotter, heavier, burning low and brutal.

you pulled back from her kiss, panting against her lips, your chest heaving against hers.

your teeth caught your bottom lip, biting down hard as another sharp pulse rolled through you, your toes curling tight into the sheets.

"oh my god— i'm cumming—" you somehow managed to cry out in between moans.

your body locked up, thighs snapping tight around her hand as fucked you through another orgasm. her hand slipped from your throat to yank your thighs back open, locking her arm underneath your leg.

"take it, baby," she said, against your lips, eyes locked on you.

you gasped sharply, head dropping forward. paige didn’t slow, her fingers fucked into you ruthlessly, letting you ruin her sheets, soaking them underneath your spasming body.

another orgasm tore through you, violent and raw. gushes of your arousal squirting through her fingers and dripped down your ass, soaking her wrist. you sobbed against her arm, whole body trembling uncontrollably from the sheer overstimulation.

“fuck,” paige groaned as she kept going. she retracted her fingers from inside of you, rubbing sharp, quick circles against your clit.

she coaxed you through it, forcing more from you, dragging every last drop out until you were whimpering broken sounds into her skin.

“mm, there you go,” she murmured, half praising, half growling, feeling you shudder beneath her. “so fuckin' perfect.”

your legs twitched helplessly as her movements eventually came to a halt. your body immediately slumped back against her chest, feeling boneless and utterly fucked out. your chest rose and fell in quick bursts, trying to catch your breath.

"breathe, mama."

paige shifted behind you carefully, easing you off her lap and onto the mattress, laying you down gently beside her. her hands lingering a second longer than necessary, like she didn't want the night to end.

"how you feelin'?" her fingers skimmed lazily over your stomach, light, barely there.

your chest rose and fell in sharp, shaky breaths, skin burning everywhere she touched you. paige leaned over, brushing curls from your forehead with the back of her knuckles.

"good," you whispered, voice hoarse. "i think..."

paige smirked, "you tapping out?"

"fuck, no," you let out a breathless laugh, "i'm just... recuperating."

"good," she leaned down, pressing a light kiss to your lips. "cause we still got all night."

[strawb3rryhachi]

“When did you get so sensitive here, Sy?” You purr, embracing him from behind, slowly releasing the clamps so they bite down gingerly on his nipples. His head lolls back, back pressed firmly against the chair he was sat in, crimson eyes locking with yours in sweet, sweet pleasure.

“Kitten— ah— more. Please.” He begs, though it’s comes out as a breathy whine as hands struggle against the flimsy restraints. He knows it’d take less of an effort to break out of them than it does to keep a lid on his self control. Your scent is in the air driving him mad, and that sadistic little glint in your eye makes his cock twitch with glee.

“More what, my love?” You coo, caressing his face softly, fingers dancing on his lips teasingly, “No use in being shy now.”

His jaw goes slack, eyes still boring into yours like a well trained dog as your digits slip past his parted lips, fish hooking the inside of his cheek to open that perfect mouth ever wider.

Tsk-ing at him for his lack of response, too enamored with the way your brow furrows, that hateful little look in your eye when he disobeys as you tug on the chains, the clamps pulling his nipples intoxicatingly taut. Mewling, tears of pleasure beading at the corners of his eyes.

You were like a beautiful little reflection, a relentless conqueror in your own right. Both of you feeding into the others ever growing greed and depravity. An ever evolving cycle of exchanging power.

“Be a good little pet and I’ll give you a reward.” You smile, your eyes wild and alight with a burning fervor to watch the big, bad man in front of you crumble by your hand.

“Touch me more. Please.” It’s hoarse and desperate, the image of you dominating him alone is enough to leave him spurting hot thick cum into his briefs most nights, actually seeing it without cumming on the spot is an intense act of self control.

You hum a small sound of approval, “Show me your tongue, pretty.” You gush, hearts practically forming in your eyes while you watch it loll out, drool cascading off the pointy tip and dripping down his chest.

And he should probably feel more embarrassed, shouldn’t enjoy being called feminine little nicknames as much as he does.

But, he can’t help the precum spilling from the tip of his blushing pink head as you cradle his jaw so mean and rough, craning his neck so his cheek is pressed flush against your plush breasts, nipples all but poking out of the top of your bra. Spitting into his maw so deviously, letting it pour slowly between you and into his eager mouth.

He can’t help the desperate little ‘thank you’s’ falling out of his mouth, especially not when you’re reaching down and finally touching his cock. He’s whimpering, the sweet, minty taste of you burning down his throat as your thumb plugs up his weeping tip.

“Would you like some for your cock as well, honey?” Your breathy whisper on the shell of his ear sends electric shocks down his spine. He’s bucking his hips so hungrily against your touch, only to put more pressure on that all too sensitive tip.

He’s nodding, mouth open but no sound escaping. You consider being cruel, making him use his words or threatening to leave him high and dry for the rest of the night.

It was a very attractive consideration. He’d probably end up rutting against you in bed just to feel some sort of relief, and another cycle of punishment would inevitably begin again.

But, you decided he’d been quite the good boy, he deserved a little grace. For now.

So you did as he so clearly needed, spitting aggressively on his achy head, the sensation making his balls squeeze.

You sauntered to his side, bending down so your clothed pussy was inches away from his face. Your sickly sweet scent invading his senses so meanly. You slowly untied his restraints, freeing both of his hands in minutes instead of seconds.

He looks up at you, eyes wide in anticipation of your next order, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“On your knees, baby.” You lilt, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before stepping back. And he’s always been an exceedingly good listener so, like a good pup, he drops to his knees, dick slapping against heavily his stomach as his shins touch the cool marble.

“Let me see you cum, my love.” You smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of blood rushing glee as you watch his face drop, knowing he thought you’d be the one making him reach a mind melting orgasm. He whimpers, one hand gripping his shaft while the other wraps around his balls, unmoving.

You tut at him, “And to think I was going to let you eat my pussy.” You tease, pulling your panties to the side, displaying that pretty pink clit he so desperately wants to lick at as you use your other hand to spread your lips.

His hand squeezes involuntarily around his shaft, a deranged smile spreading across his beautiful features. “ ‘M ready to be your perch, kitten.”

And god, was the man beautiful. His eyes looking at you so lovingly as he pulled insatiably at his throbbing cock, your saliva squelching and bubbling through the gaps in his fingers, dripping down and coating his balls as he tugged and tugged at them.

“So good f’me, Sy.” You gush, standing on your tip toes to sit your puffy folds on his face, sinking down before gripping his silver locks, making him focus. “No cumming before me now.”

That wouldn’t prove to be too hard, he makes quick work of pulling your clit between his lips, suckling and nibbling on the bundle of nerves, eyes fluttering as they so desperately wanted to close in unadulterated pleasure.

“You taste so good, sweetie. So perfect.” He mewls, palm pulsing as he tries to replicate the last time he felt your plush walls milking and stretching around his cock.

You can’t help but praise him and belittle him, little breaths of “You look so pretty down there.” and “The big, bad leader of Onychinus is such a slut.” between giggles and held back moans.

His head is dizzying as he drinks in your nectar, your sweet slick pooling around the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin as he struggles to collect it all in his crazed devouring. He’s bucking his slutty hips into his hand, releasing his balls to add another hand to his needy, long shaft. Crying fucked out sounds of pleasure into your pussy that serve as another stimulant.

And it’s then you decide to punish him no more. His brow furrowing as he chases and denies his own orgasm. He looked so perfect like this. A man of poise and status reduced to nothing but a begging, achy mess at your beck and call.

He sobbed as you pulled your drooling cunt from him, a stringy mix of slick and saliva the only thing tethering you, but just like a good dog, he continues his assault on his cock.

“No, please. ‘M sorry. I’ll do it better.” He pleads, hungry and yearning for the taste of you. Sometimes you wonder how you could’ve become so twisted as to enjoy this sight, but those thoughts don’t stick around for long.

Not as your pulling your panties the rest of the way off and stuffing them in his mouth. Watching his eyes cross and roll back as you, his one and only angel, his savior, come down to his level, swatting his hands away from his cock and gripping them in your own.

And he thinks this is the end for him, that this was the last reward you were going to bestow upon him. But he’s seeing stars as you hover over him, sliding the precum dribbling from his tip against your cock hungry cunt. All he can do is let out pathetic little cries with a smile.

Your head rolls back, a throaty moan escaping from you as you sink down onto him, taking every girthy inch in one go, needy hole stretching so deliciously around him.

“Oh Sy, I’ve been teasing you so long I forgot how good your cock feels.” You croon, fingers interlocking at the back of his neck. The praise isn’t helping the knot in his stomach that’s struggling to keep from snapping, trying to be oh so good for his precious kitten.

You’re mean too, wholly unfair. Cruel really. Holding him in place so he has to look into your pretty eyes as you tell him how good he is, how you wanted to break him in front of a crowd of people, show everyone who the Boss truly was, a good boy who sucks on panties while you fuck him. The way you tighten your walls around him purposefully in rhythm with every slide down on his cock, was damning him to eternal punishment.

His fingers were creating dents in the floor as he did everything he could to hold himself back, your ass slapping so furiously against his thighs, his balls covered in your cream and slick. He was babbling muffled, incoherent plea’s. Back and forth between begging you to let him cum and sobbing for you to slow down so he didn’t.

His length is prodding so perfectly against that spongey spot inside you, your mind going blank as you gush your release all over him. Like a dam that had broke, pooling on the floor underneath you, beading down his toned abdomen.

A switch inside him flips, the sounds of his pussy drunk moans reverberating in the space between you as he finally cums, his hips lifting to reach as deep inside you as he can, painting every inch of your insides white. His cock is pulsing, his orgasm almost painful as every nerve of his body is being lit on fire. He’s panting, whining, pathetic as his head lolls forward to rest on your shoulder. A myriad of ‘thank you’s falling from his lips.

You find pleasure in the feeling of it gushing out of you, absentmindedly pushing it out to make way for his still hard cock as he’s fucking up into you, that primal part of his brain overtaking him.

You rudely pop off him, letting the remaining mix of arousal pool on that patch of silver on his pelvic bone while he’s still twitching and groaning. You make your way toward the shower, but not before looking over your shoulder to give him one last tease.

“Next time, be prepared for my fingers.”

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

hi pookies posting earlier than i was planning hehe(: this one is a lot longer than my previous ones <3 i hope u enjoy my little freaks. HACHI LOVES U FOREVAAAA

xoxo

Hachi

[velarisdusk]

This Tempest, Ours

Rhysand x Reader

summary: On a rare night alone in the House of Wind, the worst storm in decades strikes. It wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t make you so uneasy. Luckily, the House isn’t as empty as you thought. word count: 11.7k content: [ explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), piv, explicit language, there's only one sleeping bag, y/n is scared of storms, very briefly insinuated tamlin x reader, daemati-use, wet dreams, lovemaking for the most part but we get rough for a sec ] author's note: we’re gonna assume mental shields stay up during sleep…. yeah... ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ midnight essence infused with a veil of dreammist & a dash of blaze enhanced with lover's knot & starlight crystals stirred thank you anon for the request!!!! i'm finding i really enjoy writing friends to lovers this is so sweet :") anyway i hope you like this one!! <33

The cold in the Winter Court didn’t seep into your bones—it gnawed at them. Gnawed like it had teeth and purpose and the unrelenting patience of a predator that knew you’d wear down eventually.

You’d stopped pretending to sleep an hour ago, after the lantern blew out. The wind outside the tent moaned like a creature in mourning, threading through the seams and catching in the corners of the thin canvas until it felt like the whole thing might lift and carry you off with it. You pressed deeper into the bundled cloak beneath you, trying not to shiver too obviously. You failed.

You were wrapped in more layers than you could count—thermal base, thick wool, a coat heavy enough to double as a blanket—but it still wasn’t enough. Even Rhys, normally indifferent to climate or discomfort, had resorted to cloaks and furs, the sharp line of his jaw the only part of him visible from beneath the hood pulled low. 

Behind you, Rhysand exhaled, sharp and irritated. “You’re shaking so hard I can feel it through the ground.”

You didn’t open your eyes. “You always this broody when you’re forced to keep all that power on a leash?”

A beat. Then—“Keep talking and I’ll show you how not broody I can be.”

You snorted, cracking open one eye. “That doesn’t even mean anything.”

“I’m cold. I’m tired. I haven’t let my magic out at all in twelve days. Give me a break.”

You finally rolled over to face him, the dim moonlight filtering through the tent’s fabric casting his features in pale blue and silver. There was a tension around his mouth, in the fine line between his brows. He hadn’t looked truly relaxed since your boots first crunched through the snow at the border. 

The artifact—known only in whispers as the amulet of Larethine—was said to suppress magic so completely that even a High Lord’s power would snuff out like a candle. Rumored to have vanished after the war centuries ago, it resurfaced in scattered reports. They all pointed to the same abandoned temple buried somewhere in the Winter Court’s northern edge, where the snowfall was so constant it blanketed even sound. Rhysand intended to retrieve it quietly—before word spread and the wrong hands reached it first. So here you were. Nearly two weeks with no magic, no contact, no help. Just the two of you, and a map worn soft at the creases.

Rhysand’s power coiled beneath his skin like a thing alive, begging to be freed. But Kallias’ wards draped over the court like a net of ice, intricate and merciless. The second he even brushed the world with a tendril of it, you’d be caught.

You hadn’t expected it to wear on him like this. 

“Your pack,” he said after a pause. “Still soaked?”

You winced, remembering the misstep near the creek a few days ago, then nodded. He shifted. “Come here.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your pack, and everything in it—including your sleeping bag—is useless. It won’t dry in this weather. Either we share mine or I watch you freeze to death. I vote the former.”

You hesitated, the silence between you swelling into something tight and uncertain. But then another gust of wind screamed past the tent, and pride gave way to practicality. 

“Fine.”

You crawled across the narrow space and slipped into the sleeping bag beside him. It was cramped—painfully so—and the moment you settled, his body pressed to yours, impossibly warm. You turned onto your side instinctively, back to his chest. You could feel every breath he took, feel the slow thump of his heart against your spine, the barest hint of muscle shifting when his hand curved around your middle, settling just beneath the edge of your ribs, his palm held steady against you.

Behind you, something rustled, and then the faint brush of membrane—Rhys shifting, one wing sliding from the sleeping bag in a slow stretch over you. 

“Don’t you dare,” you whispered. “That thing freezes and falls off, we’re really fucked.”

He snorted quietly. “It has excellent circulation, thanks.”

“Put it away.”

Another rustle of fabric as he tucked the wing back inside.

“Warmer now?” he said dryly. 

“Mm.”

The silence this time wasn’t uncomfortable. You listened to the wind, to the soft crinkle of fabric with each small movement, to the quiet hum of his presence behind you. It was startling, how much space he took up without speaking, how much lighter the silence felt now that he was pressed against you. 

His breath stirred at the hair at your nape. You tensed, then forced yourself to relax again, inching away a fraction. He followed. 

“Rhys.”

“What.”

“You’re breathing on my neck.”

A pause. Then, shamelessly: “It’s where your neck is.”

You huffed, and he chuckled—a rare sound lately. Low and warm, it rolled through your back where your bodies touched, and you had to fight not to smile. 

After a long moment, his voice came again, quieter. 

“We’ll find it tomorrow.”

You gave a small nod, felt more than seen.

He shifted behind you, the subtle movement bringing his chest closer to your back, breath skimming your hair. “Then we get out. We go home.”

You let out a quiet breath, just enough to fog the air in front of you.

“You always this optimistic at night?”

He hummed low in his throat. “Maybe you bring it out in me.”

That pulled a small, tired smile from you.

“Must be the frostbite. You’re delirious.”

His fingers flexed slightly where they rested at your waist.

“Mm. That, or the cold makes me honest.”

Something in your chest ached—not sharp, but deep. You didn’t answer. Just let the silence settle soft around you.

Sleep found you curled into his warmth, his hand resting at your waist, his breath a gentle rhythm against your skin. And in the morning, with the air sharp in your lungs and the scent of pine still clinging to the chill, that warmth lingered over your skin.

The cold in the Winter Court hadn’t gone with the morning light. You’d found Larethine two days after that—tucked beneath the roots of an ancient ice-locked tree, a whisper of power veined through crystal. The mission had ended days later in a quiet exhale, a long journey home trailing behind it. It had been nearly three weeks since then. Long enough for bruises to fade, for muscle to stop aching.

Still, the cold seemed to have burrowed itself into your bones, the bite of it still there, even in the warmth of your bed in the City of Starlight. 

You woke to the sound of wind clawing at the windows. A storm, full and furious, had settled over Velaris—the kind that turned the Sidra restless and made even the stars hide. Thunder cracked a beat later, loud enough to shake the walls.

Your heart was already racing, breath shallow and tight, at odds with the warmth wrapped around you. You lay there a moment, still and listening, the storm rattling through your bones like it had teeth again. They’d always scraped at your nerves, left them humming like struck strings. 

The covers were a tangled mess around your hips, shoved down in sleep. Your T-shirt had ridden up high, bunched beneath your ribs, and when you looked down, you caught a glimpse of bare stomach, underwear, the slope of one thigh kicked over the sheets. You shifted, tugged the hem back down, fingers moving slow and clumsy like they weren’t entirely yours.

You remembered bits and pieces of the dream, not that it’d been much different from the others you’d had since that night. Tonight, he hadn’t been content just to hold you. His hands wandered. His mouth dragged slowly over your skin, coaxing sounds you’d never let slip in daylight. You woke slick between your thighs, the ache lodged deep and stubborn. 

Another crash of thunder rolled across the rooftops. You pushed the blankets off and swung your legs over the side of the bed. The house was magicked to stay warm; your skin was slick with sweat, and still, you felt chilled. 

You didn’t think about it. Didn’t bother with pants or slippers. Just padded into the hall in your T-shirt—soft, worn thin, hem brushing mid-thigh and swaying with every step.

The storm pressed against the glass. The quiet inside felt louder for it.

You moved through it automatically, headed for the kitchen. The house was still, shadows long and familiar, but your mind had already drifted somewhere else—somewhere colder.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about that night. Maybe you’d tried to. Maybe you’d told yourself it hadn’t meant anything. But your body remembered. Before your thoughts could catch up, your body remembered—his warmth at your back, the weight of his hand at your waist, the breath at your neck.

That same tension had curled beneath your skin now. You hadn’t realized you missed it until it came back.

The air had gone heavy the moment he touched you, and you hadn’t breathed properly since. You hated how your body still reacted—like it didn’t care what your mind had decided. Like it knew better.

Maybe it did.

You reached the stairs and took them without thought, one hand trailing the banister. The house didn’t creak beneath you. Even your own footsteps felt hesitant, like they didn’t want to disturb the memory.

You’d spent weeks pretending it hadn’t changed anything. That you were still the same. That he was.

You stepped into the kitchen without turning on the faelights. The storm outside pressed at the windows, a steady beat of rain—or maybe snow—smeared against the glass in streaks. Slush, probably.

You moved on instinct, pulled the kettle from its place, filled it from the tap. The cool weight of it settled in your hands, grounding—but not enough.

You set it on the stove and twisted the knob, a faint click giving way to the low hum of magic-warmed coils. Still, your thoughts refused to quiet.

You’d been telling yourself you hadn’t wanted it. That it had just happened. But you remembered leaning into him. You remembered the way your body had reacted—eager, instinctual, like you’d been waiting for it. 

You reached for a mug without looking, fingers curling around the ceramic absently. It was warm from the cupboard’s enchantment, but your skin still felt cold.

You exhaled slowly and leaned your hip against the counter, staring at nothing.

And while the kettle began to warm, your thoughts slipped—quiet and treacherous—back to the tent. But your mind didn’t pull up the truth of that night. Not the soft hush of breath, the shared warmth, the way you’d both kept to yourselves despite how closely you lay. What you remembered instead—what you felt—was the dream you’d had in his arms. The one you hadn’t dared to admit to anyone. 

You remembered the weight of his hand curling around your hip—broad, sure fingers splaying possessively across your skin like he’d always known exactly where to touch you. His thumb pressing just beneath your navel, slow little circles that made your breath catch. His chest, solid and hot, flush against your spine. Each inhale of his drawing your body tighter to his, like he wanted to fit you perfectly between every breath. Like he couldn’t stand the space between you.

And gods, you’d imagined how he’d move. He’d start slow, savoring it. Savoring you, every thrust controlled. He’d want to melt into you, to lose himself in every slick, shivering inch. And the press of him felt so real in your mind that your thighs pressed together without you meaning to.

The slow, deliberate roll of his hips against you, grinding in the dark with maddening restraint. Like he wanted to drag it out. Like he wanted to feel it, not just fuck. 

But it wasn’t like you didn’t have dreams about that, too.

Like the one you’d just awoken from.

Where he wasn’t slow at all. Where he’d pushed you against the window, dragged your panties down with a growl, and dropped to his knees. He devoured you like a male starved. Like he needed it to breathe.

His tongue was relentless, slick and firm, fucking you with slow, torturous precision until your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the cries threatening to tear from your throat. 

And just when your body began to shake, just when you thought you’d collapse—he was rising, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and sinking into you with one long, ruinous thrust that stole every breath from your lungs.

His voice rasped against your ear, all filth and hunger, whispering what he’d do next, what you’d beg for, how good you look, all wet and wanting and his. Every stroke dragged need from you like a confession, torn from your throat in gasps, in whimpers. Every thrust was a claim, a promise, a demand. You shattered on his cock like you’d been made for it—again, and again, and again—until your body blurred at the edges and all you could feel was him.

And then—your name. A low murmur against your throat, reverent and rough at once, like it scraped its way out of him. Like it meant something. Like saying it against your skin was the only prayer he knew.

Almost a whisper. Almost a plea.

Almost—

Lightning split the sky—and thunder followed like a war drum, slamming through the silence hard enough to rattle the windows. 

You flinched, heart in your throat, the mug slipping and knocking against the counter. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin as the thunder faded, but it wasn’t the cold tiles beneath your feet that made your hands shake.

Wasn’t the storm making your chest rise and fall just so.

It was the echo of your name, murmured into your neck.

The ache in your body for something that had never even happened—

But felt, somehow, like it had.

Your breath came fast and shallow, heat rushing to your cheeks in a flush you couldn’t chase away.

Your heart was still hammering when—

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

You jumped. The kettle screamed—when had it even started? The mug nearly slipped again, and you cursed under your breath, scrambling to keep hold of it. 

A flush of panic surged alongside the remnants of arousal—

Glamour. Now.

Your scent vanished in an instant.

You rushed to take the kettle off the burner.

Shields—already up, and you triple-checked them. Reinforced them out of instinct, out of panic. Just in case.

Rhysand stood in the doorway, framed by the faint flicker of lightning beyond the windows. 

Shirtless, his chest bare and skin golden in the dim light from the hall. Pajama pants slung low on his hips. Hair mussed, like he’d just gotten out of bed—like he’d just been dreaming too.

Your stomach flipped.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him—not after what you’d been thinking, not with your skin still warm from it. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I didn’t realize it was whistling—gods, I’ll—”

“You didn’t,” he said, voice low and even. “It was the storm. You’re fine.”

But something in his tone—the careful way he said it—made it feel like  he was only trying to spare you.

You glanced down at the mug in your hand like it might save you. “Right. Okay. Still. Sorry.”

He didn’t move at first. Just watched you, eyes unreadable in the dark. 

Then, quietly: “Storm wake you too?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Thought tea might help.”

A flicker of a smile touched his mouth—barely there. “You always brew it with wide eyes and shaking hands?” he asked as he stepped closer, brushing your fingers when he took the mug from your grasp. 

You huffed a soft laugh. “Only when the thunder sounds like it’s about to rip the sky open.”

That earned a quiet breath of amusement from him as he slid an arm around your shoulders. Solid. Familiar. Like it belonged there. 

“You know it’s mostly just noise, right?” he murmured. Rhys topped off the water in your mug, grabbed two teabags from the tin, and dropped them into the mug. His arm remained looped around your shoulders, holding you close as he covered the cup with a saucer to let it steep. “Sounds a lot worse than it is.”

You nodded, but your thoughts felt foggy and slow. Maybe it was the storm, or the hour, or the way he still hadn’t let go. The way his arm fit around you so naturally, as if it belonged there. As if it had never left since that night. 

You shouldn’t read into it. It’s just comfort. Just instinct. 

But you can’t stop noticing the warmth of him, steady and close. Can’t stop thinking about how easily he’s always known how to settle you—how natural it feels to lean into him like this.

Your lips press together, and you try not to think about how that same warmth once curled around you in a tent, or what it felt like to wake up in his arms.

His arm shifted, sliding from your shoulders to the small of your back, hand warm and steady as it pressed there. “C’mon,” he said softly, guiding you away from the counter and toward the little breakfast table near the window. He handed you your mug on the way, his fingers brushing yours again. 

You moved without thinking, still wrapped in that dazed hush the storm had settled over everything. You sank into the chair without a word, and with a quiet flick of his fingers, the table filled. A crystal bowl of sugar cubes appeared near your elbow, followed by a small pitcher of warm milk, and even a tiny plate of shortbread cookies that hadn’t been there before. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, the words quiet and full. Rhysand only nodded, moving back to the kettle to make his own.

After some time, you removed the saucer and took a careful sip—still too hot—before setting the mug down. Instead, you watched the steam curling lazily upward, trying not to let your gaze wander to where he stood by the counter. The stretch of muscle across his back. The ink winding over golden skin. The slow flex of his wings as he moved. 

Then, lightly, “Cassian tried to give Azriel a haircut today.”

Your brows lifted. “He didn’t.”

Rhysand’s mouth curved faintly, though the only indication of his humor from where you sat was the soft shake of his shoulders. “He did. Said he could ‘blend the ends’ better than the hairdressers at the Riverfront salon.” He turned slightly toward you, the kettle behind him just starting to bubble.  

You snort. “That’s because Cassian thinks ‘blending’ means cutting in a straight line.”

“Exactly,” Rhys said dryly, just as your fingers reached out—without looking—toward the honey jar at the far end of the counter.

His own hand twitched, summoning it with a flick of magic, smooth as breathing.

“He nearly took a chunk out of one of his wings,” he added, the jar gliding toward you in the same breath.

You caught it mid-air and spooned in a little honey, not missing a beat. “Azriel let him?”

“He didn’t know,” Rhys replied, pouring his own mug. He added the tea bags, covered it with a saucer, and took the seat across from you. “He thought Cassian was just trimming his own hair. Came back from the bath and Cassian had scissors and that look in his eyes.”

You stirred slowly, keeping your eyes on the swirl of tea. “I’m shocked he survived.” Whether you meant Cassian or Azriel didn’t matter; the sentiment applied to both. 

“Mor told him if he even looked at her hair with a pair of scissors in his hands, she’d skin him.”

You smiled faintly. “Wise.”

Rhys’ lip twitched a little. “I thought so.”

The silence that followed was the kind that didn’t need filling. You let it stretch, let it settle into your bones like warmth. Outside, the thunder seemed to soften, like it, too, was growing tired. 

After some time, Rhys lifted his mug, nose wrinkling slightly as he brought it to his lips. 

“Lavender?” he asked, skepticism coloring the word. 

You glanced up at him over the rim of your own cup. “It’s calming.”

He took a sip anyway, then made a quiet sound like he was trying not to grimace.

 “It tastes like wet flowers.”

You gave him a look. “You’re still drinking it.”

“Out of solidarity.” He gave a theatrical sigh, settling the mug down like it had personally offended him. “Suffering beside you. As always.”

That pulled a soft laugh from you—small, but genuine, slipping out before you could catch it. The first moment of true ease you’d felt since you’d woken up. Rhysand didn’t say anything, just watched you with that quiet attention he wore too well, the corners of his mouth tilting upward like it pleased him to see it. 

You let the silence stretch. “I didn’t know you were staying the night,” you said, still not quite looking at him.

“Didn’t mean to, ” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Had a few things to check in on here. Then the storm hit, and…” He shrugged one shoulder, casual, but not careless. “Didn’t want you riding it out alone.”

The stupid little flip your stomach did was entirely unhelpful. You took a slow sip of tea to ignore it. 

The quiet settled again, a little softer now. Gentler. 

Then Rhys’ voice came, quiet and rough at the edges.

“You always pace around in shirts that short when you’ve got the place to yourself?”

You spluttered mid-sip, barely managing to swallow without choking. Then shot him a withering glare over the rim of your mug.

He was smirking now, the picture of smug innocence. “It’s cute,” he added. “Cozy. Terrifying, really.”

“Keep talking and I’ll convince the House to trap you in the bathroom with no toilet paper.”

“You won’t,” he said confidently, that lazy grin still tugging at his mouth. “You’re too tired. And besides—” he leans in just slightly, your eyes flicking up to meet his despite yourself—“you’d miss me if I left.”

You flinched as a particularly loud boom of thunder cracked. The windows trembled in their panes, wind howling against the glass. The faelights dimmed briefly, a flicker like the storm had drawn a breath too deep. 

“You should lie down,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re wired.” His eyes flicked to the goosebumps on your arms. “And freezing. Come on.” He rose, tea still in hand. “I’ll stay with you. We’ll wait it out together.”

You hesitated. “... You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” The words were light, but not careless. “At least let me for a bit. You can talk at me until the storm passes.”

And the way he said it—casual, easy, like it cost him nothing to offer his presence—undid you more than it should have. 

You didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip, hoping the warmth would quiet your pulse. 

He let his words sit for a beat before offering, with a spark of levity, “I’ll stay on my side. Promise.”

“You don’t have a side.” 

“I’ll make one.”

You narrowed your eyes as you considered him, gaze trailing from the smug tilt of his mouth to the glint in his eyes. “Fine. But no funny business.”

“Define funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You stood slowly, cradling your mug between your hands, and padded after him down the dim hallway. Neither of you said anything for a few moments, and you liked that—liked the hush between your footfalls, the faint creak of old wood beneath your steps, the way Rhys kept his pace just a half step ahead of yours. 

Then, without looking back, he said, “You’ve got more mugs than sense.”

You glanced at him, deadpan. “They’re seasonal.”

He lifted his, inspecting the faded gold lettering. “‘I survived Calanmai in the Spring Court.’ It’s nearly Solstice.”

You took a long sip. “Year-round commemoration felt appropriate.”

He snorted. “You weren’t even in the Spring Court for Calanmai. We were in the Day Court dealing with that trade dispute, remember?”

“Sure, not this year.”

You turned your mug just as he glanced back, hiding the side that read “I Got Picked at Calanmai and All I Got Was This Mug.”

You shrugged. “You don’t know me.”

He stopped outside your door, wings tucking in as he leaned casually against the frame. You opened it without a word and stepped inside, flipping on the lamp. The room glowed in warm golds and shadows, the storm pressing faintly at the windows.

Rhysand followed a beat later, hands wrapped around his mug, gaze roaming the space like he hadn’t already seen it a hundred times before.

You crossed to the dresser and started absently clearing up—folding the sweater draped over the chair, tucking a pair of socks into a drawer, shoving a bra beneath a pillow like it hadn’t been lying out all day.

“Please,” Rhys said behind you, voice drier than your tea. “As if it’s the first time I’ve seen one of those.”

You tossed him a flat look over your shoulder. “They’re not for your viewing pleasure.”

“Everything’s for my viewing pleasure,” he muttered, already halfway to the bed, mug thunking down on the nightstand like a punctuation mark. 

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the dresser, reaching for a lacy little number you hadn’t realized was still out—only for Rhys to beat you to it, no doubt winnowing the last few feet just for theatrics.

He held it up delicately between two fingers, eyebrows lifting in mock reverence. “Really, (y/n)? This barely qualifies as a scrap. Is it for… special occasions? Or just Tuesdays?”

You snatched it from his hand, cheeks warming. “Stop being a pig.”

His grin was wicked. “Oink.”

You glared at him, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “You’re insufferable.”

Rhys just shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Your hospitality says otherwise.” He moved to climb onto the bed like he’d done a hundred times before. You gave him a long, unimpressed look, then turned to grab your tea. 

By the time you turned back, he was already against the headboard, wings gone, legs stretched out. He looked perfectly at home—too at home.

You slid in beside him with a muttered, “Don’t spill anything.”

“I never do,” he said, tugging the blankets up from where they’d bunched at the foot of the bed, covering you both.

You didn’t dignify that with a response, just curled your fingers around your tea and let the warmth soak in. The bed creaked quietly as you shifted against the pillows. His thigh brushed yours.

Thunder grumbled far off, less urgent now. You let yourself breathe.

Then, casually, Rhysand said, “Still humming, by the way.”

You blinked at him.

“When you stirred your tea earlier,” he clarified, turning his head toward you. “Didn’t even notice, did you?”

“I don’t do that.”

“Hum while you stir your drink? You do it all the time,” he said, flopping his arm behind his head. “Drives Amren insane.”

You let out a small, startled laugh. “Now I’m just sad I don’t hum louder.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said, raising his mug in mock toast. “Rattle whatever functions as her soul.”

You clinked your cup against his without thinking. “She’d gut you if she heard you.”

“Please,” he said. “She’s wanted to gut me for centuries.”

You smiled into your tea, warmth pooling in your chest that had nothing to do with the drink. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—just full. Full of steam and thunder and the fact that Rhys was here, warm beside you, his presence taking up more space than it had any right to.

He sank deeper into the pillows, stretching out like he belonged to the space and it belonged to him. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, distant but not vacant. And you let yourself look. The lines of his face were softened in the low light, made golden and shadowed by turns. He looked older like this. Not aged—just… full of time. The kind of tired that sat behind the eyes, ancient and endless and quiet. 

And yet he was warm beside you. Solid. Here. 

“You always do that,” you said after a moment, surprising even yourself.

His gaze slid toward you, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer. “Do what?”

“Go quiet. Like you’ve left the room without getting up.”

A faint hum, low and noncommittal as he turned back to the ceiling. “Sometimes I do.”

It wasn’t a deflection. Just a truth handed to you gently. 

You ran your thumb around the rim of your mug. “Where’d you go just now?”

A pause. Not long enough to mean avoidance, just… thought.

“Nowhere.” A pause. “Here.”

His eyes didn’t leave the ceiling, but something in his jaw eased. 

You didn’t look away. Couldn’t. 

Then Rhys moved, and your shoulders were almost touching. He huffed a quiet laugh. “Y’know, I used to imagine this.”

You blinked, the sudden shift catching you off guard. “Imagine what?”

He didn’t seem to notice your disorientation, eyes still fixed ahead. “This—sitting here, quiet like this. You. Me. Tea.”

You stared at him for a second. 

“Tea, huh?” you managed, still trying to catch up.

He grinned faintly. “Always figured it’d be chamomile.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “Let me guess. In your daydreams, I served you tea in a silken robe and draped myself over your lap like some lovesick devotee.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, finally turning toward you with a glint in his eye. “You were wearing mismatched socks and humming off-key. The usual.”

That startled a laugh out of you, too loud for how late it was. “So you’ve always had terrible taste.”

His brow pulled just slightly, not in confusion but… disappointment? “I like to call it refined,” he said after a breath.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks again, so you did what you did best: sipped and looked away. Beyond the window, wind and water still tangled in the dark—but the violence of it no longer touched you. 

“You know,” Rhys said after a pause, his voice dipping low again, “if we’re pointing fingers, you’ve been the quiet one.”

That violet gaze stayed fixed on you. You’d been on the receiving end of it before—in briefings, in battle, across a crowded room. But never like this. Never steady enough to knock the air right out of your lungs. 

You didn’t answer. 

He shifted again. “Won’t even look at me. What’s that about?”

You didn’t look up. Kept your eyes on the tea gone cold between your hands. There were a dozen reasons you could’ve given. Because the moment felt too full. Because it was easier not to see his face when you answered. Because his voice in your space, his body next to yours, felt like opening a book you weren’t ready to finish. 

Instead, you said nothing. 

Rhys didn’t push, he let the moment stretch.

You tilted your head back, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like it might hold a map for what to say next. But what came out wasn’t planned. Just something that had lived on the tip of your tongue for far longer than you were comfortable with. 

“Do you remember that night in the Winter Court?” you asked softly. “When we were in the tent?”

His reply was instant. “We were in the tent a lot of nights, you might have to be a bit more specific.”

You gave him a sideways look. “The night with the storm. When the fire kept going out.”

Realization flickered across his face. “Ah,” he said, voice quieting.

You hadn’t meant to bring it up. Not really. But something about tonight—about the tea and the thunder and the way he looked lounging on your bed like he belonged…

You two had never talked about that night. Never talked about the way his arms wrapped around you like instinct. Never talked about how it felt too natural, too easy, how the silence between you only ever felt like comfort and understanding. But now, with the storm as this strange cocoon around you…

You didn’t know what you’d expected him to say. But now that the words were out there, you couldn’t take them back.

You nodded, fingers tightening slightly around your mug. “I couldn't feel my toes. Thought I might lose them honestly.”

“You were shaking,” Rhys said, a quiet chuckle buried beneath the words.

You looked over at him, the corner of your mouth lifting. “You didn’t seem to mind holding me.”

Rhys tilted his head, his smile softer now. “I didn’t.”

Time slowed, dense with everything you weren’t saying. The storm pressed against the windows. His thigh brushed yours.

Then, quietly—like he was still deciding whether or not to say it—

“I thought about kissing you.”

You looked at him, heartbeat racing.

“You were freezing,” he added quickly, almost like a defense. “I kept thinking if I kissed you, it might stop your teeth from chattering.”

You huffed a breath, setting the mug down on your nightstand. “That is not how body heat works.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes warm. “But it was a nice excuse.”

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t teasing anymore. Not really.

“I didn’t sleep much that night,” you said.

Rhysand looked at you. Really looked at you. “Neither did I.”

You swallowed. The storm murmured against the windows like it remembered too.

“…I had a dream,” you admitted, voice barely above the hush of rain.

His brows lifted, but he didn’t speak. Just waited.

You hesitated. “Not the kind I should’ve had with you so close.”

A beat passed. And then he said, softly, “No?”

You shook your head once.

Rhys’s voice dipped, amused but careful. “Was I at least impressive in it?”

That pulled a short laugh from your chest—breathless, a little flustered. “You were… very convincing.”

His smile turned lazy. “Convincing, or irresistible?”

You huffed. “Don’t push it.”

“Never. I ease,” he said with a smirk like sin, sipping from his mug. “That’s how you get what you want.”

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse was a steady thrum beneath your skin. You could feel the heat of him beside you, the weight of everything that hadn’t been said over the years pressing in like gravity.

“I kept waking up,” you murmured. “Because I thought… if I moved too much, you’d pull away.”

He was very still. “I wouldn’t have.”

You looked over at him, heart skipping. He was watching you with that unreadable expression—the one that always made you feel like he knew more than he let on.

Then, almost too casually, he added, “For the record… you did move. Quite a bit, actually.”

Your heart stopped. 

No, surely not—

You would’ve remembered that. You definitely would’ve remembered that. Right?

You blinked. “I did not.”

His grin was maddening. “Mmm. Rolled right into me. Twice.”

Heat rushed to your face, ears, down your spine.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, then opened it just to whisper, “You’re lying.”

He looked far too entertained.

“Twice,” he repeated, like he was doing you a favor.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Kill me.”

“I did consider it,” he said with a faint smile, “but you were clinging to me. It felt cruel.”

“Cauldron boil me,” you muttered.

“I thought you were doing it on purpose,” he went on, tone far too innocent. “Torturing me in my sleep.”

Your face remained planted in the palms of your hands, groaning. “I’m never speaking again.”

“That seems dramatic,” he said, clearly delighted.

“I hate you.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m leaving.”

“This is your room,” Rhys said, not missing a beat.

You peeked at him through your fingers. “And you just let me?”

Rhys gave a one-shouldered shrug, eyes twinkling. “Well, what was I going to do? Shove you away?”

You sputtered. “Most people would’ve!”

His expression didn’t change, but something about the air shifted—like even the storm outside had quieted to hear what he might say.

“I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to stop you.”

Your breath caught.

You looked at him, expecting the usual grin, some teasing remark—but there was none. Just quiet.

“You never… You never said anything,” you murmured. You weren’t talking about that night anymore—you both knew it. 

Rhys hummed, low in his throat. “Didn’t want to spook you. Or tempt fate.”

This was about all of it. The looks, the silences, the way he’d never pulled away. The way he always felt just out of reach, like he was waiting for you to be sure. Like he’d been sure all along. But so had you—only you hadn’t known he was. You’d stayed just out of reach, too, waiting for a sign that never came.

You gave a breathless sort of laugh. “You think that would’ve tempted fate?”

He arched a brow. “Wouldn’t it have?”

Your silence said enough.

He let it hang there for a beat, then—without looking at you—reached for his mug again. Took a slow sip like he wasn’t aware of the tightrope he was walking. Like this wasn’t everything.

And when he set it down again, he spoke like it was nothing. “Whatever it was you dreamed… you certainly made it hard to stay asleep.”

Your fingers curled in your lap.

He still wasn’t looking at you, but his voice was velvet. “You were restless. Kept shifting. Making these soft little sounds, kept saying—”

You made a strangled noise. “Rhys.”

That made him glance over—his smirk unfairly smug. “Yeah, like that. A bit breathier though.” 

You smacked his arm without thinking—more flustered than actually annoyed.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Just saying. Must’ve been quite the night.”

Your pulse thudded hard against your ribs. You should’ve told him to shut up. Should’ve changed the subject.

Instead, you said, quiet and steady, “You can see it, if you want.”

That wiped the grin off his face. He sat up, and his eyes found yours again, sharp and glittering.

“…Can I?”

You hesitated. Because the air between you felt different now, like the quiet after a confession, when the world waits to see what you’ll do with it.

You pushed the blankets off and sat up, mirroring him. Legs folded beneath you. Hands braced in your lap. You weren’t touching, but it felt like you were, every inch between you a live wire. Close. Closer than before. 

You met his gaze and slowly, steadily, exhaled and let go.

Not all the way. Just enough. A slow unspooling at the edge of your mind—like a thread tugged loose.

It wasn’t dramatic. No crashing walls. No shuddering gasp.

Just a tilt. A lean. A flicker of trust in the quiet.

Like cracking a door open—not wide, just enough for someone to slip through if they wanted it badly enough.

And he felt it. You knew the moment he did. Not by any shift in his expression, but by the way his presence responded—quiet and immediate, the brush of his mind ghosting along the threshold of yours. Not a push or a pry, just a gentle touch, like a fingertip at your temple, tracing the edges of your mind’s adamant, as if to say, I’m here. It’s only me. Don’t be afraid.

When he did come in, it was careful. Gentle. Not a push, not a pry—just a brush of thought, like a thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He moved through you with reverence, with restraint. Not like he was looking for something, but like he was waiting for you to offer it.

The pressure in your chest built. Not from fear—but from how intimate it was.

You felt the weight of him in your mind. The shape of him. Familiar and foreign all at once. Rhys, your friend. Rhys, the shoulder you’d leaned on more times than you could count. Now quiet in your head, holding still, holding back—waiting.

So you let him see.

The memory rose, and it bloomed slowly, like a flower opening to sunlight.

Your skin slick with sweat, flushed and bare. Blankets kicked down around your hips. Rhys between your thighs—his mouth everywhere at once. On your throat, your breasts, the inside of your knee. His voice low and rasping, coaxing, worshipping. You arched into him, hands fisted in his hair, dragging him closer, closer.

Soft sounds slipping from your lips. His name. Over and over, like a prayer.

The pace of his thoughts shifted.

You felt it—felt him—react, felt the pulse of heat that wasn’t yours.

But still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He only watched as the memory played out, as you trembled beneath the ghost of his mouth in your dream. As your back arched for him. As your dream-self gasped his name like it meant everything.

You could feel his focus on every detail, like he was memorizing it all.

The way you sounded. The way you looked. The way you wanted him.

Rhys.

You whispered it in your mind—his name soft and aching.

Rhys.

The dark curled tighter inside you, shadows licking through your veins like smoke—hungry and unrelenting.

Taking. Taking. Taking.

Your hips shifted. Your breath hitched.

Rhys.

His breath stuttered in response—wherever he was.

And then, in the quiet of your room, you heard it.

A groan.

Low. Wrecked.

Rhys.

Your eyes snapped open.

Only—you weren’t in your room anymore.

The air was sharp and cold. You could smell pine, damp earth, that faint mineral tang of snow on the wind. Canvas fluttered quietly overhead. The lantern cast that same golden pool of light. You heard the storm beyond the trees, muffled and distant. And beneath you—sleeping bag. Mat. The slight ache in your shoulders from a long day of hiking.

It was perfect.

Too perfect.

You blinked—and felt it all at once: the soft cotton of your shirt clinging to your skin. The same T-shirt you’d fallen asleep in earlier tonight. The same thin underwear beneath it. Your legs were bare. Cold.

And he was there.

Rhys, kneeling over you—close. Real. One of his thighs braced on either side of your hips, careful not to press down. His hands planted on the floor beside your shoulders. Caging you in without meaning to. Pajama pants slung low on his hips. Chest bare. Hair mussed. 

No sign of the coats you had that night. No gloves or boots or scarves to fight off the cold. Just skin.

Warm. Alive. Here.

Your fingers dug tight into the sleeping bag beneath you. “What are you doing, Rhys?”

He tilted his head. “You tell me. It’s your dream.”

The words landed low in your belly.

Because it was—your memory, your dream, your body already humming with the way the figment of him had touched it before. 

He was watching your mouth when you spoke again. “This isn’t how it happened.”

And gods, you could see it—where his hands had already touched this version of the night. Where the boundaries had softened, blurred. The cold clung to your skin still, but this was a watered-down echo of what you’d felt that night. Especially with the heat of him radiating so close, like he was the only warmth left in the world. The wind outside faded. All you could hear was the rhythm of your own pulse.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours. “No. But it could’ve.”

You swallowed. “You didn’t have to quiet the storm.”

He blinked, like the thought had genuinely never occurred to him. “I’ve been doing it all night,” he said simply. “Well, since the kitchen. Bit by bit, so you’d think it was fading on its own.”

Your heart stuttered. “Rhys.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “What? You think I couldn’t feel how tense you were?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, the words quieter now. “I didn’t… I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Oh?” His brows rose slightly, magic shifting like the tide. “Should I stop then?”

And then, with no more than a flicker of thought, he did.

Sound returned all at once. Wind shrieking against your bedroom windows. Rain pounding the glass in sheets. Distant thunder rolling deep and endless across the city.

Your body locked up. Breath caught in your throat.

And just as fast as it came, it was gone again.

Silence fell. Not the true silence of the storm easing, but the quiet Rhys had crafted for you—thick, warm, and distant, like a memory.

You didn’t say anything right away.

Because part of you wanted to laugh. Not at him—but at yourself. At the sheer madness of lying half-dressed in your own memory, with your best friend hovering over you—inside the dream you’d had about him. Seeing it. Breathing it in. Touching the edges of everything you’d refused to say out loud. 

Your voice came quieter this time. “We’re not just looking anymore,” not really a question, but you needed confirmation. 

A pause.

“No,” he said—low and sure, gaze locked to yours like it was a tether. Like he needed the confirmation too.

You stared at each other. That same heat coiling in your gut, the same ache building where his hands hadn’t touched you yet.

You shifted slightly, barely a brush of your knee against his.

That was all it took.

He leaned in—slow, careful. Like giving you a chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

His mouth brushed yours once. Barely. A whisper of contact, soft and almost uncertain.

But your breath caught, and your hands moved on their own—reaching, pulling him closer, until that uncertainty dissolved and his mouth claimed yours fully.

It was deeper this time. Hotter.

Not hungry. Not desperate.

Just inevitable.

Like he’d always meant to kiss you, and some part of you had always meant to let him.

While one hand held him up, the other found your hip, steady and sure, but not insistent. Just… there. A grounding point. A question.

You answered it without words—just a shift of your weight forward, the press of your chest against his, your fingers sliding up to rest lightly at his jaw.

He groaned low in his throat. Almost inaudible, like he didn’t mean for it to slip out.

Your kiss deepened, slow and molten. His tongue brushed yours, deliberate, and you let him in. Let him have that part of you.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, just his fingers at first. Testing. Savoring. The warmth of your stomach. The shape of your waist.

His touch wasn’t greedy. It was careful. Almost reverent.

“You’ve thought about this,” you murmured, breath catching as he dragged his knuckles along your ribs.

His lips ghosted down your jaw. “So have you.”

You didn’t deny it. How could you, when the lines between dream and memory were already blurring around you? When your body was already arching into his, betraying every want you’d ever buried?

You didn’t have to say it. Not when he could feel it in every breath you took.

He kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize how you tasted. How you responded. The way your breath hitched when he rolled his hips just barely against yours.

Still clothed. Still not quite there. But the heat between you was unmistakable. Heavy. Radiating.

You whispered his name against his lips, barely audible.

His mouth stilled against your skin. “Say it again.”

You did. Quieter. Closer to a prayer than a plea.

Rhys pulled back just enough to look at you—really look.

There was no smirk this time. No mask of arrogance. Just that same dark, endless gaze, lit now with something deeper. Something older.

“You’re sure?”

Not a tease. Not a dare.

Just a question. One last door he wouldn’t walk through unless you opened it.

You met his gaze and gave him the only answer that mattered—leaning in, mouth brushing his in a kiss that was softer than before. Not desperate. Not urgent.

 Just honest.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, curling there, grounding yourself in him. In this moment.

And Rhys melted into it, bearing his weight on his forearm now, the hand beneath your shirt sliding up again—flat palm, slow drag. Like he was rediscovering a familiar map, one he hadn’t realized he’d memorized until now.

Every breath you took pressed your chest against his. Every motion of your hips fed the fire you were both barely keeping contained.

But it wasn’t just heat burning between you.

It was years. Of glances held too long. Of arguments that meant more than they should’ve. Of moments like this, only imagined.

Rhysand pulled back, far enough to drink you in—eyes roaming, slow and deliberate, like he meant to memorize the sight. The flush on your cheeks. The part in your lips. The want you didn’t bother hiding. “What were you thinking about in the kitchen?”

You blinked. “Nothing.”

He arched a brow. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, too quickly. “I just—I couldn’t sleep.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Funny. Because I was sleeping. And then I wasn’t.”

He shifted above you, and his hand drifted. Down your stomach. Past the pushed-up hem of your shirt. “It wasn’t the storm that woke me,” he murmured, and that hand kept going, slow and steady. “It was your scent.”

You gasped as his palm cupped you over your underwear—broad and warm and possessive. The heel of it pressed just right and he knew it. “Rhys—”

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t soften. 

“I wanted so badly to know what you were dreaming about,” he said, voice dipped in velvet and ruin, rich with heat. His fingers curled just slightly, a teasing drag along the soaked fabric. “I could smell it. Clear across the house.”

He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear now. “I could smell you,” he said, voice dragging slow, like he wanted the words to settle in your blood. “Warm and ready. Like sugar melting off skin. Like salt and heat.”

His breath skimmed your ear. “I wanted to fall to my knees right then and taste every drop of it.”

He inhaled at the curve of your neck, sharply, greedily, hungrily. Like he could drink in the want from your skin. “It hit me like a fucking punch to the gut.”

Your thighs twitched. He smiled.

“You were so wet, weren’t you?” His thumb moved now, tracing slow, idle circles over the damp cotton. “Dripping onto the sheets, dreaming of something. I couldn’t stop thinking.”

You, on the other hand, simply couldn’t think. You could barely breathe.

“Thoughts of you…” he murmured, dragging the words across your skin. “Spread out across my sheets. Still dreaming. Still wet. I imagined you there on my bed, mouth parted, thighs sticky with it. Maybe you were dreaming of me fucking you slow—dragging it out. Or maybe rough—hands on your hips, face pressed into the pillow.”

His hand stilled. Breath shallow.

“I wanted to touch myself to it,” he said, voice torn. “To that scent—your need hanging in the air like perfume. To the image of you in bed… It drove me fucking mad,” he whispered. “The thought of you, wet and whimpering in your sleep. I almost fisted my cock right there, just to take the edge off.”

A pause, thick with restraint.

“But it felt like… a line I couldn’t cross. Like taking something that wasn’t mine to have yet.”

His head dropped slightly, forehead brushing yours.

“So I just lay there. Thinking. Burning. Telling myself to sleep—Rhysand, ignore it. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t think about her fingers between her thighs, don’t think about her mouth open, whispering your name into the night—

Just sleep.”

A beat. A slow, shaky inhale. 

“But I couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop needing you. And right when I couldn’t fucking take it anymore—right when I gave in and was reaching for myself—”

“Rhys,” you breathed. 

“It vanished. I thought maybe I’d imagined it. So I got up, went to get some cold water.” He kissed the curve of your jaw. “Tried to walk it off.”

Another slow press of his thumb. Another spike of pleasure.

“And then,” he went on, gaze sharpening like a blade, “I got close to the kitchen. Heard you moving around.”

His smile turned feral. 

“And there it was again.”

You made a soft, involuntary sound—embarrassed and wrecked all at once. 

Rhys purred against your neck, all smoke and satisfaction. “That scent. Cauldron, it’s maddening. Didn’t even touch yourself, did you?”

You shook your head, barely.

He groaned—deep and low and filthy. “Fuck, don’t even have to touch yourself to flood the whole fucking house with it.”

His fingers dragged along the soaked fabric again, deliberate and slow. “All of it between your thighs, and you just… stood there. Thinking about it. Letting it drip down like you didn’t care who smelled it.”

You thought you were alone.

Cassian was in Illyria, Azriel was in Vallahan. 

Rhysand hadn’t said a word before you’d gone to bed. Hadn’t made himself known, hadn’t so much as sent a thought your way. 

He had to know you thought you were the only one home. 

You never would have left your room like that if—

“You wanted me to find you like that?” he whispered. “Is that it? Standing there in your little shirt, soaking yourself, pretending you couldn’t sleep while your body screamed for me?”

Your hips jerked. His hand didn’t budge.

“Rhys,” you tried, broken and breathless.

But he was far from done.

“Maybe,” he mused, voice going molten, “you wanted me to walk in and bend you over the counter. Pull these—” he snapped the waistband of your underwear—“to the side and taste that sweet, sleepy mess you made between your legs. The one that begged me to wake you up with my mouth.”

You let out a ragged breath—half sob, half moan.

“Tell me what you were thinking about in the kitchen,” he said again, lower now, darker. “And this time, don’t lie.”

You swallowed. “I wasn’t—”

His fingers slid beneath the cotton. Skin on skin. Heat on heat.

You gasped, hips twitching, breath gone.

“Try again,” he growled, mouth at your throat. “Or I’ll keep my fingers here all night and won’t let you come. Not until you tell me.”

Your legs trembled. “It was you,” you admitted, voice wrecked. “It was always you.”

He groaned like the words were a reward, his fingers finally moving with purpose, circling, stroking.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now tell me what I was doing.”

You bit your lip.

His fingers stilled instantly. 

“You—” your voice cracked, and you dragged in a shuddering breath. “You had me against the window.”

He hummed in approval, fingers pushing in just a little, just enough to make you gasp. “Which one?”

“The big one. Upstairs. In your room.”

“Of course,” he murmured, darkly pleased. “You like the one with the view.”

You nodded helplessly.

“And what was I doing to you?” he prompted, thumb brushing maddening circles again. “Tell me exactly.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you obeyed. “You came up behind me. Wrapped your hand around my throat. Pressed me against the glass.”

Before the words even finished leaving your mouth, Rhys shifted—free hand sliding up, fingers curling gently but firmly around your throat, thumb pressing into the soft spot beneath your jaw.

You gasped.

“Like this?” he asked, voice all sin and silk.

You nodded, throat moving against his grip. “Yes.”

His hand between your thighs moved diligently, slick sounds soft and obscene. “Keep going.”

“You pushed my legs apart. Made me look out at the city. Said you wanted everyone to see how pretty I looked for you.”

He groaned—low and wrecked. “Of course I did.”

And then he moved—sliding down your body, pressing kisses to your stomach, your hip, the crease of your thigh. He peeled your underwear off your legs with lazy reverence, and when he looked up at you from between your legs, his eyes glinted like a god about to claim what was his.

“Did I touch you like this in your dream? With my tongue?” he asked softly, like he didn’t already know the answer.

You moaned, thighs twitching. “You didn’t stop.”

He grinned—dark, delighted—and then he didn’t stop, either.

His mouth was on you in a heartbeat—hot, open-mouthed kisses to your swollen cunt, tongue dragging through your folds, firm and slow. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you open, helpless, right where he wanted you.

And gods, he was good.

He licked into you like he was trying to taste the dream itself, moaning against your cunt like you were the one unraveling him. When his tongue flicked your clit—once, twice, then again—your hips bucked and he groaned, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you still.

“Gods, I knew you’d taste good,” he murmured to himself, voice hoarse. “Did I make you come like this?”

You whimpered. “Twice.”

His mouth sealed around your clit again, tongue flicking faster now, more pressure, more hunger. Your hands scrabbled at the blankets, his hair, anything to hold onto as the pleasure surged, sharp and sudden and far too much—

And then you broke. Legs shaking, breath gone, climax crashing through you with dizzying force. He held you through it, tongue still moving lazily, drawing every last tremor from your body.

You didn’t even have time to recover before he was moving—rising over you again, mouth glistening, eyes wild with want.

His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing along your cheek as he leaned down, kissed you slow and deep. Let you taste yourself on his tongue. Let you feel how much he needed this.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, voice low. “Tell me what I did next.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and already aching again. “You—” your voice faltered. “You didn’t even let me catch my breath. You just… slid inside me.”

A groan rumbled in his chest, and he shoved his pants down with the kind of urgency that made your pulse stutter. reached down, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds with maddening patience.

“Like this?”

He guided the head of his cock through your folds, slick and aching. You nodded, breath catching.

“No teasing,” you whispered. 

His jaw clenched, and then—

He pushed into you with one long, slow thrust, the stretch of him making your eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck,” he breathed, head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel—.”

He started to move, hips rolling deep and steady, slower than the rhythm you’d imagined in sleep. He thrust like he couldn’t get enough.

Gentler. Like he wanted to savor it. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

His hand slid down your side, settling at your waist, grounding you as his body rocked into yours with patient, aching care. Each thrust was deliberate, every motion a silent promise. And when he looked down at you—eyes dark and open, lips parted with quiet reverence—you felt like the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, voice low, rough with restraint.

You nodded, breath hitching. “Better than I could’ve ever dreamed.”

That pulled a soft smile from him. He dipped down to kiss you again, slow and lingering, his hips still moving with that unhurried rhythm that had your toes curling. He wasn’t fucking you—he was making love to you. Deep and warm and full of something that felt dangerously close to adoration.

Then his fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, a silent question. You shifted beneath him, lifting your arms to help, and he peeled it off you with reverent care, tossing it aside without taking his eyes off you.

His lips brushed yours again, breath warm and trembling. “You feel so good,” he murmured, like the words had to be pulled from somewhere deep. His gaze drifted down your body, hungry and awestruck all at once. “And you look…” His breath hitched. “You look so fucking beautiful.”

One hand slid up, fingers splaying over your ribs before cupping your breast—slow, purposeful. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and your back arched instinctively, a soft sound catching in your throat. 

“There you go,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your skin. “That’s it. Just let yourself feel it.”

He groaned, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone, then lower. “Been thinking about this,” he rasped, tongue flicking over the peak before he took it into his mouth. “Dreaming of this.”

And his hips never stopped moving.

The pace stayed slow—for a moment longer. Long enough to draw another gasp from your throat, long enough for your fingers to tighten against his back. But you felt it—how his control began to fray. How the roll of his hips deepened, a little harder now, a little faster.

“You still with me?” he breathed, lifting his head just enough to see you nod absently. “That’s my girl… Let me take care of you.”

He drew back and pushed in hard, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs. Then again. And again. Still tender—but no longer soft. Not when he buried himself inside you like he couldn’t stand the thought of being apart.

You clung to him as the pace built, sweat slicking your skin, breath mixing in the charged air between your mouths. He kissed you like he needed it, like he needed you, all of you, while he fucked you deeper, rougher, until every thrust had your eyes rolling back.

You turned your head, breath catching as his mouth dragged along your jaw. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good,” you whispered, the words trembling out of you.

He groaned in response, hips stuttering just slightly.

“Every time you push in,” you went on, voice low and wrecked, “gods, it’s so deep.”

His hand slipped beneath your thigh, hitching it higher, opening you more. “You’re perfect,” he growled. “Fucking perfect.”

Your fingers curled around his nape, tugging him down until your lips brushed his ear. “You don’t have to hold back,” you breathed. “I can take it.”

His hips slowed. 

You didn’t stop. “I want to take it,” you whispered, and then added, a little bolder, “Want to feel all of it. All of you.”

A low, broken sound escaped him. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do.” Your gaze met his—open, hungry. “I want you, Rhys.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

Then his grip tightened—hands sliding under your thighs, pressing them up, hooking your legs over his shoulders, folding you open. The new angle had you gasping as he sank in, slow at first, then all at once—deep and overwhelming.

He held you there, panting above you, pupils blown wide.

“This is what you wanted,” he said, and he started to move—hard, fast, relentless, like a dam breaking, like he’d been holding back for years and couldn’t anymore. “So take it. Don’t close your eyes, look at me… There’s my girl. There you go.”

You couldn’t even think, couldn’t breathe as he talked you through it. You could only feel as he fucked you into the blankets with single-minded, devastating purpose.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in as he drove into you again and again, every thrust punching a sound from your throat—breathy, desperate, wrecked. You couldn’t even meet his gaze anymore, too overwhelmed by the sheer stretch of him, the heat of him, the way your body clenched around him like it never wanted to let him go.

“Look at me,” he growled, hips snapping forward.

You tried. Gods, you tried. Your lashes fluttered as your eyes met his—wild and dark and hungry.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Keep those eyes on me while I fuck you.”

You whimpered, head falling back, thighs trembling in his hold. “Rhys—”

“I know,” he panted, pace unrelenting. “I know, baby. I feel it too.”

His hand slid up your side, fingers splayed across your ribs before brushing the swell of your breast. He cupped it gently at first—then squeezed, thumb circling your nipple until you cried out.

“You’re doing so well, fuck—taking me so deep. Can you feel how tight you are around me? Gods, you’re perfect like this,” he said, voice cracking. “Under me. Around me. Fuck—mine.”

You were close—so close it ached, a coil drawn tight in your belly, ready to explode.

“I can’t—” you gasped. “I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he urged, voice nearly breaking. “Come for me. I want to feel it.”

And with one more brutal thrust—deep, punishing, perfect—you shattered around him—body locking up, mouth open in a silent cry as pleasure surged through you like lightning. But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t slow down.

Rhys kept fucking you through it, relentless, determined, dragging every last wave of that climax out of you with deep, punishing thrusts. His grip on your thighs was bruising, the way he held you open, kept you wide and helpless beneath him, like he needed to watch the way you came undone.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “So fucking beautiful when you come.”

Your hands clawed at the blankets, your mind white-hot and unraveling. Every thrust hit something electric inside you, your body too sensitive, too raw, and yet—you wanted it. Needed more.

“Too much,” you whispered, the words barely a breath.

“No, baby,” he growled, dragging his cock out slow—then slamming back in so hard your vision blurred. “You can take it. You’re gonna give me another.”

Your mouth dropped open in a moan, back arching as he angled his hips just right—grinding deep, relentless, right against that spot that made you sob.

“I can’t—” you tried again, voice breaking, but your body told a different story. Your hips rolled to meet him, thighs quaking where he held them, cunt pulsing so hard around him it was all he could do not to lose it.

“Yes you can,” he hissed, sweat slicking his chest. “You’re already close. I can feel you—so tight, so wet. Fuck, you’re milking me.”

You couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. The pressure built again with terrifying speed, your body strung so tight it felt like you might snap in half.

Then his thumb found your clit—circling, pressing, teasing just enough— just enough—

You screamed. Loud and wrecked and his, as a second orgasm slammed into you, fiercer than the first, crashing over you like a storm. Your whole body locked up, legs shaking violently in his grip, and all you could do was feel—like you were flying apart in a thousand pieces, pleasure white-hot and endless. Your vision went white. A cry tore from your throat as your body clenched down around him, pulsing with wave after wave of raw, blinding pleasure. He cursed, his rhythm faltering, then slamming back in with a groan as he chased his own end.

“Gods,” he choked. “You feel—fuck—fuck—”

And then he was coming, hips pressed flush to yours, buried as deep as he could go, filling you with every last pulse of him.

He didn’t stop touching you, even then—his movements gentler now, grounding, soothing, his hands sliding down your legs, your hips, up to cradle your face as he pressed his forehead to yours, both of you panting, trembling, lost.

You were still trembling when he finally eased out of you, slow and careful, like he hated to leave the warmth of your body. You hissed at the sudden emptiness, your legs twitching with the aftershocks.

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “I’ve got you.”

You barely registered him moving—just the rustle of fabric, the shift of air. Then something warm and damp pressed between your thighs, and you jolted.

“Relax,” he said, voice lower now, rasping with the remnants of his own ruin. “Just cleaning you up.”

Your head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded. “Where the hell did you even get that?”

Rhys gave a soft huff—almost a laugh—as he wrung out the cloth and dabbed between your legs with unhurried care. “I always come prepared.”

You groaned. “That better not be from your pocket.”

He smirked. “Don’t worry. It was clean. Can’t say the same for you.”

You swatted at his shoulder, too weak to land anything meaningful. He caught your wrist easily, brought it to his lips, kissed your knuckles. Then, quieter, more serious: “You okay?”

You met his gaze, and for a second, it felt like the world narrowed to just that—his eyes, searching yours, all that fire banked into something steadier. Warmer.

“I’m good,” you whispered. “Better than good.”

He nodded, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “Didn’t mean to wreck you like that.”

“Liar,” you muttered, which earned another soft grin.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice dipping as he smoothed the cloth over your skin one last time, “I did—but I wasn’t planning on it going that far.”

You let out a breathless laugh, instinctively crossing your arms over your chest as the chill started to creep back in around the edges of your bliss.

“Rhys,” you said dryly, “as much as I’m enjoying the ambiance out here, I’d really prefer not to freeze to death with your come dripping out of me.”

He huffed a soft laugh—but a blink later, the cold vanished. The ground beneath you softened, gave way to your plush mattress. Dim, golden light from your lamp spilled over you both. The scent of lavender and sex filled the space. 

Rhysand shifted closer, his arm curling low around your waist. The weight of his touch, the steadiness, was enough to drown out the storm still raging beyond the window. 

You tucked your head beneath his chin, let his warmth settle into your skin.

“Next time,” you mumbled, eyes already heavy, “you conjure us a fire first.”

His chest shook with a quiet laugh. “Next time,” he promised, voice like velvet and shadows, “I’ll give you anything you want.”

[count-on-mi]

Mommy's little boy (Momo)

Momo has a mature female body that makes me mouth-watering, her big round breasts, firm buttocks and plump thighs all make my heart flutter.

As soon as I saw Momo, my young rod became hard as a rock. When I got home, I couldn't help but masturbate to Momo's body many times to quench my thirst.

During my youth, Momo became the object of my most obsessive masturbation. Her physical charms were like an aphrodisiac that I couldn't resist. I knew every detail of her body by heart, and I could even visualize her naked body according to my fantasies.

Her pink labia and the tips of her breasts must be very colorful, there must be a place of ecstasy between her legs, and the aroma of her whole body is enough to make people go crazy for her ... These thoughts often make my blood boil and keep me up at night.

My infatuation with Momo is growing, but it's getting deeper and deeper. Whenever Heechul calls and invites me to his house, I will be there as soon as possible.

Today I came to Momo's house again, but unfortunately, Heechul happened to be out of town and Momo was the only one home.

“It's a shame, but since you're here, why don't you stay for dinner?” Momo warmly invited me.

I was delighted, this was just what I wanted. It would be my dream to have dinner alone with Momo. "Really? That would be great! Thank you for the invitation." I said hurriedly, unable to hide my joy.

Momo took me to the dining table and started to make dinner. She was wearing loose loungewear, and her breasts stood up high, with two pink protrusions peeking out. I looked at her breasts greedily, my eyes lingering on those two pink spots.

The table was filled with colorful and delicious food, but I didn't know what to eat, all I could think of was how to get Momo into my arms to kiss and lick her.

After dinner, Momo offered to clean the kitchen, and I volunteered to help with the dishes. We stood at the sink, Momo bending over the faucet to rinse the dishes, her soft loungewear clinging to her body, emphasizing the curves of her figure.

I couldn't help but breathe heavily, and the part in my pants was stirring. If I could push Momo down in front of the kitchen cabinet right now, spread her legs and penetrate her hard… Just imagining that image made me so excited that I could hardly contain myself.

I couldn't hold back any longer, so I hurriedly washed the dishes and ran straight to the restroom with the excuse. The moment I closed the door, I couldn't wait to free my lower body.

At a glance, the laundry basket contained Momo's freshly removed clothes, the most prominent of which was the black lace bra and panties that she had worn. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hardly breathe, this was the treasure I had been longing for!

Carefully picking up Momo's underwear, I pressed my nose close and inhaled the rich fragrance. Oh my god, is this the smell of Momo's private parts? Such a strong scent, it made me feel like I was melting inside.

Then I turned to Momo's bra and rubbed one of the thin pieces of fabric over the tip of my nose. I could still feel Momo's soft and creamy skin through the thin material, and I was so turned on that my soul was trembling.

Back to the black panties that I craved the most, imprinted with traces of Momo's bodily fluids, emitted a faintly fishy-sweet scent. I hooked my finger onto the small piece of fabric and licked it gently on my tongue, the flavor made my rod swell to the extreme, bouncing up and down uncontrollably.

After tasting Momo's lingerie, I began to frantically stroke my swollen cock. With my right hand, I stroked the root of my dick, and with my left hand, I cupped and stroked the sensitive crown of my dick. Momo's naked body was all I could think about, and I was fantasizing about her riding on top of me.

"Momo... I want to penetrate... I want to fuck you... I'm going to penetrate your pussy with my cock..." I murmured, as if that would satisfy my desire.

Momo's pussy must have been hot and wet, wrapped tightly around my cock. She'd keep wiggling her ass to satisfy me, and she'd even let out a tantalizing gasp, asking me to fuck her even harder. This sight brought me closer and closer to orgasm, and my movements became faster and harder.

Finally, after a series of intense strokes, I shot my thick semen onto Momo's panties, the sticky white cum instantly soaked through the black fabric, glistening lustfully in the light. I was so immersed in this intense sexual pleasure that I almost lost consciousness ...... Until Momo's voice came from outside the door. “What are you doing in there, why don't you come out for so long?”

Hearing Momo calling me from outside, I realized how bold and unhinged my behavior was. I hurriedly grabbed the black panties that were covered with my turbidity and tried to put them back into the laundry basket. But my action was too big and Momo heard the sound of clothes rubbing together and she opened the door to check the situation.

She opened the door to see what was going on. I was at a loss for words, throwing Momo's panties back into the hamper in a frenzy, fearing that she might notice something strange. “Why are you taking so long to wash your hands?"

I was trying to find an excuse, "Nothing... My stomach just not feeling so well. Auntie Momo, what do you want to see me about?"

"It's raining outside, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the rain stops before you can go home, right? Do you want to stay over?" Momo said with concern.

Anticipation rose in my heart, but I was worried that Momo would find out what was going on. I could only pretend to be embarrassed, and declined, "But that's not a good idea... What if it disturbs your rest?"

"It's okay, my husband is away on a business trip anyway and Heechul just texted me he is not coming back today, so I'm the only one at home. Don't worry, you can stay and sleep here." Momo smiled and patted me on the shoulder, signaling me not to worry anymore.

Now I was really relieved, Momo said that I should stay and sleep here, does that mean that I will have the whole night to be alone with her? My mind was already thinking about what I would do to her on the bed.

Momo insisted that I stay the night, and I was happy to do so, though I put on a grudging face. After we cleaned up the house together, Momo suggested that we go to the couch and watch some TV to relax.

“Yeah, I was just about to come over and talk to you.” I said as I followed Momo into the living room and sat down next to her.

Momo was only wearing a flimsy loungewear, the two snowy peaks in front of her chest were slightly undulating with her breathing, and the shape of her pink nipples could be seen vaguely. I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts, and my mind began to fantasize about those erotic scenes again.

Momo noticed my gaze and a hint of embarrassment flashed across her face, but she quickly adjusted and continued to chat with me as if nothing had happened. Even so, I was so captured by the seductive scent of her body that I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying.

My attention was focused on Momo's bouncing peaks, and I wanted to reach out and knead them, to feel their softness and elasticity; or to kiss them, to suck the red spots into my mouth. I was on the verge of losing my mind, and I couldn't hold back the urge to jump on Momo and kiss and caress her.

Luckily Momo didn't notice my perverted thoughts, we just chatted casually while I just admired her charming and sexy body. Soon I realized that I was already hard and had to adjust my sitting position frequently to try to hide it. The feeling of repression was just too much.

Momo and I chatted on the sofa for a long time before she finally got up and suggested going back to her room to rest. This was the moment I was waiting for. I nodded my head in agreement, eager to find a place to continue my "activities".

“Then I'll go back to the bedroom and take a shower first, you can organize your things and get ready for bed.” Momo said as she walked towards the stairs, her plump hips swaying from side to side as she walked, it was extremely seductive.

As I watched Momo's silhouette disappear on the second floor, I immediately ran to the kitchen and took out Momo's freshly washed underwear, intending to go to the restroom to give vent to my desire once more. However, just as I was about to take action, Momo's voice called out to me from downstairs:

"Wait a minute! Which room are you going to sleep in? Do you want to sleep with Auntie Momo?"

I didn't react at first and asked, "Isn't you sleeping by yourself? Why do you want me to share the room with you?"

“Haha, because there might be thunder at night, Auntie Momo is afraid of the dark and thunder, so I want you to stay with Auntie Momo and chat with me.” Momo said with a smile.

My brain stopped running for a few seconds. Oh my god! That's an invitation to go to her room and do whatever she wants! My heart started to pound, and I blushed. But on the surface, I had to put on a difficult face and say no: "It's... It's not good, is it? "

"No, you can sleep with Auntie Momo at ease." Momo said as she walked over to me and took my hand, and without a second thought, she took me to her bedroom .......

Momo pulled me into her bedroom, the room was filled with a faint aroma of lavender, and the quilt on the bed had already been lifted up to a corner waiting for me to fall asleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing how to look, on the one hand, I was overjoyed to be able to spend the night with Momo, but on the other hand, I was nervous that I would be discovered.

Momo seems to see my hesitation, smiled and comforted me: "Do not be too formal, just like usual at home. I'm going to take a shower and change my clothes first."

After she said that, she turned around and left the bedroom, leaving behind a room full of scents that made me think about it. After about twenty minutes, Momo came in, wrapped in a pink silk robe. This robe was much more revealing than the two pieces of loungewear she wore before - the V-neck of the upper body was almost open to the waist, exposing a large area of smooth and tender skin, Momo's pair of rounded and full peaks were also outlined in a particularly attractive way; while the lower half of the body's high-cut was directly to the root of the thighs, and as long as the slightest movement could be seen inside the panties and the snow-white legs. The lower half of the body was even high-cut directly to the base of the thighs, and if she moved a little, I could see the underwear inside and the snow-white curves of the legs.

Seeing Momo dressed like this, my lower body immediately reacted physiologically and quickly became engorged with blood and stood up. I hurriedly turned my back to Momo, trying to cover up the embarrassment. But just sniffing the fragrance of Momo's body and imagining her half-naked body, my rod was already so excited that it hurts. I can't control my strong desire to possess her.

Momo seemed to notice the abnormality in my body and laughed softly, "What's wrong with you? Are you not feeling well?"

I was so shocked that I almost jumped up. It turned out to be Momo who walked behind me, gently wrapped her hands around my waist, and pressed a pair of plump and elastic breasts tightly against my back.

"Aunt Momo, why are you...? I'm fine, I'm just a bit hot..." I was stunned by the sudden embrace, and for a moment I didn't know what to say.

"Really? But you look so flushed." Momo's voice was soft and sweet as she breathed in my ear, her flirtatious tone making my heart pound.

I felt Momo's body getting closer and closer, and those two soft and elastic objects were rubbing my back gently with her breath, stimulating my whole body to be tingling. I couldn't help but let out a low gasp, and my rod became even harder.

"Aunt Momo, I... I didn't mean that... I, I just..." I didn't know how to explain the current situation, so I had to stammer.

"It's okay, I just want to know if you don't mind Auntie Momo holding you to sleep? You look like comfortable~" Momo deliberately slowed down her speech and smiled warmly. One of her hands was still rubbing my abdomen, occasionally skimming over my crotch, causing me to shiver.

This demon! This is clearly deliberately provoking me, to see if I can lose control so easily.  I couldn't help but grit my teeth, but I didn't dare to show it, for fear of being found out what I was really up to. I could only maintain a calm expression, trying to resist the urge to grab and rub Momo's breasts.

I gradually could not restrain my inner impulses, slowly turned around to face Momo, hands also smoothly surrounded her slender waist, Momo sensed my change, then increased the force to hold me tightly into the embrace.

Her breasts were pressed against my body through the thin fabric, undulating and rubbing against me as she breathed. The feeling was so erotic that my heart rate shot up and my body temperature rose. I looked down at Momo, only a few centimeters between us, and the sound of each other's breathing was clearly audible. Momo's black hair fell on my shoulders, and the fire burning in the bottom of her eyes seemed to be about to set me on fire as well.

My sanity is gradually collapsing, the fire of desire inside my body is burning. I stretched my neck and tentatively put my lips on Momo's, feeling the heat of her lips and the seduction of her slightly open lips. Surprisingly, Momo didn't stop me but instead cooperated by probing her soft tongue into my mouth and entwining it fiercely with mine.

"Mmm... Aunt Momo..."

“Don't talk...” Momo gasped and stopped my next words, deepening the kiss. Her arms wrapped around me a little tighter, and my whole body was locked around her as if she was trying to devour me. We are letting each other's juices flow in exchange.

Our tongues were intertwined like two greedy vipers, twisting and biting each other. I greedily sucked the sweet juices from Momo's mouth, wanting to swallow them whole. We kissed louder and louder, saliva spilling out of the corners of our mouths and wetting the messy marks on our faces. My body was trembling with passion, and my penis was throbbing with excitement as it was pressed against her soft belly.

Momo suddenly let go of my lips and looked up at me. Then she leaned down and kissed me again while her long fingers peeled off her thin robe. I saw two pink and rounded buds suddenly exposed in the air, they were like two cherry blossoms in full bloom, delicately colored. I couldn't help but move forward and took a bite of one of the stamen-like buds, sucking greedily.

“Ah...” Momo let out a delicate sigh, and then twisted her waist, so that her lower body and my erect penis rubbed more closely together. At the same time, she crossed her legs on both sides of me, preventing me from escaping her control. I felt that my desire was about to be aroused to the limit by her, and my penis involuntarily twitched a few times, and a hot stream of water dripped out along the column ......

"Aunt Momo... I, I can't help it..." I murmured in her ear, but Momo just accelerated the swaying of her body, leaving me to struggle underneath her.

After hearing my words, Momo did change her position. She gently pushed me away from her and lay down on her side, and I followed suit, crouching on one side of her shoulders and neck. As I continued to lick the red cherry that was already covered in saliva, I watched her start to undo my pants. Soon, my pants were off, and my hot cock popped out, Momo's hand wrapped around it and stroked it up and down.

“Hiss...” I couldn't help but suck in a breath, it was too good. Her technique was skillful and gentle, from time to time, she used her fingertips to gently scrape across the coronary groove, giving me a tingling and unbearable stimulation. Soon there was a stream of cloudy white mucus overflowing from the tips, and when she saw it, she was even more excited, she increased her speed and vigorously stroked it.

I couldn't stand this extreme pleasure and hurriedly grabbed her wrist to stop. However, this action made her even more excited, and she even held my palm and clasped her fingers together, not giving me a chance to get out of her control. I had no choice but to let her set fire to all parts of my sensitive body, feeling like I was about to lose control and surrender at any moment.

Just as I was on the verge of collapse, Momo suddenly let go of my hand, raised one of her thighs across my belly, and then held my sinewy member, letting it fall into her body little by little.

I was already on the verge of orgasm, and with the hot, wet squeeze of Momo's pussy, I finally reached my peak the moment she entered. I gripped the bed sheet tightly and ejaculated stream after stream of thick cum against her depths.

"Uhh... Ah... Why did you cum so fast..." Momo lets out a sigh of satisfaction, but also in a slightly surprised tone. She slowly withdrew from me, looking at my glans hung with freshly gushed goo and what seemed to be more ready seed.

“You're still a virgin, aren't you?” Momo asked. I froze for a moment, not knowing how to answer. Her expression became very complicated, like she was a little distressed but with a hint of amusement." I knew it... You just did that with my underwear in the bathroom... What a perverted child... "

She paused, a feminine smile on her face, "My husband hasn't touched me in a long time either... It's a good idea to grab a young boy like you to take care of my needs," she said, crawling back underneath me, swallowing my parting in one bite, and starting a new round of teasing.

"Whoo.... ...Aunt Momo... Wait..." I was surprised by her sudden attack, and I almost lost my sanity, "What do you mean by that...? What do you mean..."

Before I could get an answer to my question, Momo had already used her extraordinary lip and tongue skills again. Her flexible and soft tongue licked around my erection, and occasionally she went deeper into my mouth and kissed the mouth of the bell. I could only feel the urges in my lower body getting stronger and stronger, and soon I was back in the groove.

"Auntie Momo... I want you..." I eagerly begged for pleasure, and Momo willingly lay down on the bed, spreading her legs, presenting her wet and pink petals in front of my eyes.

My breath caught in my throat, and my reasoning collapsed as I gripped my pestle and mortar tightly in both hands and leaned in towards Momo's private parts. The head of my cock rubbed against her swollen, sensitive clitoris, eliciting convulsions and low gasps.

"But... I don't have a condom..." I knew I should have pulled back before it was too late, but my body's desire had already won out over my reasoning.

"It's okay... You can cum in... Auntie Momo won't get pregnant here...I am safe today." Momo called out softly, cupping my face in her hands and staring at me with longing eyes. I couldn't resist this invitation, and slowly inserted my rod into Momo's already muddy pussy...

"Ah... ...Aunt Momo... I'm cumming..." I gritted my teeth and pushed in deeply, only to feel the warmth and tightness inside, wrapping my shaft layer by layer. Momo's whole body was trembling, and her mouth also let out a joyful and delicate chant.

“Uh...” I hummed out softly, Aunt Momo's pussy wasn't as tight as it should have been, but the abundance of water made me feel incredibly warm and melted. I couldn't help but speed up my pumping, and with each stroke I could clearly feel the head of my tortoise tracing the folds of her body, bringing unspeakable tingling and pleasure.

"So big... So hard... You're so powerful for such a small boy... It's even bigger than my husband's..." Momo gasped softly, her hips twisting to meet my thrusts. Her words made me feel a tinge of pride and made the connection between our war even tighter. I grabbed Momo's slim waist and thrust harder, Momo let out intermittent, soft moans that were like an aphrodisiac in my ears.

I moved my hands to Momo's long thighs, spreading them even wider, and then leaned down and pressed Momo's torso. The sensation of our skin sent shivers down my spine, and at the same time I rammed into Momo's deepest parts with increased force. The sound of clashing flesh was especially loud in the quiet night, Momo was gradually captured by my attack, her eyes were misty as she intertwined her fingers with mine.

My lips were roaming on one side of Momo's breasts, greedily savoring the light milky scent she gave off. Momo, on the other hand, always turned her head sideways and let out a heavy breathing sound, my double attack seemed to bring her great pleasure. The sheet under my crotch was already wet with Momo's continuous flow of nectar, and my rod would always be wrapped in a ripple of tidal waves as it traveled through it.

"Hmm... Y/N... Faster... Mmmm..." Momo couldn't stop urging me on, while her legs were wide open to meet my more intense thrusts. Her breasts are also bouncing up and down under my violent movements, and the two red cherries are rolling on my chest, bringing some tingling." Got it..." I sped up the frequency of my thrusts and felt Momo's body jerk at one point, a few short gasps following. She seemed to be a little disoriented by the top of my movements, frowning and biting her lower lip, even her toes curled up tightly.

I quickly stopped my movements and looked at Momo with concern, fearing that I might hurt her, but she quickly shook her head, a satisfied look on her face, "No... Y/N... You go on... Auntie Momo likes it..." As she said that, Momo opened her arms and took me into her arms, letting me lie between her breasts as if I were a child. Encouraged, I immediately went into another round of attack, filling the room with the sounds of pounding flesh and my proud Momo's moans. ......

Just as I increased my thrusts, Momo's expression suddenly became painful. Immediately afterward, her lower body clamped and a warm stream of water gushed out from the depths, drowning my entire penis in it. I immediately raised my body and pulled out my penis, and at the same time, a transparent jet of water shot out from Momo's honey pot, not only wetting my lower body, but even landing a few drops on my body." This... Is this... An orgasm...?" I watched in confusion as this happened, only to feel Auntie Momo's lower body spewing nectar like an open faucet. Momo's body didn't relax until more than ten seconds later, and her two soft breasts were swaying slightly with her trembling breath. Momo's cheeks were flushed, and she looked like she was enjoying the extreme pleasure she had just experienced.

After a while, Momo slowly stood up, pressed me down on the bed, and then gently stroked my already swollen part a few times. She then lowered herself to the ground, opened her red lips and swallowed the entire shaft, Momo's face was extremely charming, like an obsessed woman trying to please her lover. As the warm, moist walls of her mouth rubbed against the penis, there was a watery sound, and a stream of clear mucus overflowed from the tip of the penis, connecting it to Momo's red lips. Moving from my pussy to Momo's mouth, two very different sensations intertwined, causing me approaching orgasm, and I had to grit my teeth and restrain myself." Auntie Momo... I'm going to..." I mumbled, and Momo took hold of my cock, then left my wet tip and leaned in for a deep kiss. We were like a couple in love, kissing each other like crazy.

At this time Momo held my penis and rubbed it outside her petals a few times, then slowly sank down until the whole rod disappeared all the way into her tight private parts.

"Good... So big..." Another praise escaped from her mouth, Momo's walls seemed to have become even tighter due to the intense orgasm she had just had, almost completely wrapping up my penis without leaving a single gap.

"Me too... It's very comfortable, Auntie Momo..." Momo's face was still flushed. Then she started to push her waist, moving her lower body back and forth on my cock. My rod was stirring back and forth inside her hot and wet honey tunnel, rubbing against her sensitive inner walls.

Momo shook her long hair in delight, the sensation of being filled with a cock was too good to be true. I could not help but get even more excited as I looked at her happy face from my supine position. It was unbelievable to be able to fuck such a gorgeous wife and have her voluntarily gallivanting on top of me. I grabbed Momo's huge peaks with both hands and kneaded them, her gasps became more and more ragged, and her private tunnel was tightening without her realizing it. A kind of magical attraction was constantly reaching my penis from inside her body.

After about five minutes of this position, Momo suddenly lay on top of me, her long legs changed to a kneeling position, and she tightly wrapped them around my waist.

Momo then pressed her red lips onto mine, her soft and slippery tongue sliding in and out of my mouth. At the same time, she began to thrust vigorously, each time pressing the center of her womb hard against my cock.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud and clear, Momo had no intention of slowing down at all, like a pile driver she was thrusting fiercely in and out, and my prick gradually developed a tingling sensation.

"Auntie Momo... I'm about to cum..." I couldn't help but beg for mercy, but Momo didn't budge, instead she sped up the frequency. Each heavy drop brought a sharp shock of pleasure to my penis, bringing me to the brink of an explosion.

"Auntie Momo... ...Auntie Momo... I want to...!" After a few minutes of rapid strokes, I finally reached the ultimate moment when my penis exploded with thick essence. At the same time, Momo's womb bites down on my tip, pouring down warm cum. Momo locked me in the deepest part of the canal, the hot liquid instantly filled the entire canal, the sensitive walls of the flesh felt an unprecedented burning pleasure . Momo was panting on top of me, her huge breasts squeezing my chest and trembling, and the only sound left in the room was the breathing of the two of us.

Momo stood up, straightened her appearance and left the room slowly. She went in the direction of the restroom and didn't come back for a long time. I got tired of waiting, so I rolled out of bed and went to the restroom to look for her. The lights in the hall were dim, and only the bathroom light was on. I cautiously walked over.

I saw Momo standing in front of the mirror with her head down washing her face. I followed her figure and noticed that Momo's private part between her legs was slightly red and swollen, with some white mucus coming out of it.

I think that should be the marks left by me before, I smiled in understanding. Momo was shocked and looked up at me through the mirror.

"Y/N? Do you want to go to the toilet too?" Momo asked. "Yes... I want to go to the...' toilet'." As I said that, I had already taken hold of my dick and slowly pushed it into Momo's vagina.

"Hmm... So quick... Again... Mmm..." Through the reflection of the mirror, I could see Momo's blush quickly creeping up on her cheeks again, and her pair of full breasts trembled slightly as she breathed.

I gripped Momo's hips with both hands and moved them forward and backward in time with Momo's rhythm, and Momo immediately lifted her ass up to make it easier for me to pump.

The sound of my body hitting Momo’s became louder and louder. The sight of my cock entering Momo's pussy was too exciting, plus the love juices that Momo's lower body was constantly secreting made my cock become slippery and shiny.

"Y/N... Hmm... Auntie Momo still has to work tomorrow... Uh..." Momo spoke intermittently, and from the mirror, I could see that her expression was already immersed in lust, making it difficult for her to extricate herself, her eyes were streaming, her cheeks were crimson, and her ample breasts were undulating restlessly. All of this was firmly controlled by my penis.

“I'll pick up the pace then, Auntie Momo...” As I said that, I sank my fingers deep into Momo’s ass cheeks and began to thrust with all my might. There was a lot of intense “popping” sounds, and a few of them even reached the womb opening, causing Momo to gasp a few times. Accompanied by the “plopping” sound of water, there are constantly spilling out from the place of coitus  " No... I can't make that sound again..." Momo hurriedly covered her mouth, desperately trying to restrain the winks that were spilling out from her throat.

The standing doggy position brought a very different feeling from the previous position, while looking at Momo's desperate expression in the mirror and her breasts swaying back and forth, at the same time, feeling my cock expanding a bit more. "Uhh... Ah... It's too deep... Y/N..." Momo's body trembled a few times, she knew that I had broken through the cervix and entered the deepest part, she couldn't help but gasp out. In the mirror, she seemed to see the same sight, and more ecstasy and longing welled up under her eyes. "Mmm... Y/N's cock is too powerful... Auntie Momo can't stand it anymore..." Momo twisted her waist impatiently, trying to get more pleasure. But my fingers had already clamped down on her waistline, preventing any possibility of escape. Momo's belly bulged slightly, as if she was harboring a tiny life. I couldn't help but increase my pressure, each stroke was a powerful one, pushing the head of the turtle to its deepest point, Momo's mind was almost on the verge of losing control, her nails were embedded in her palms, tears were coming out of her eyes, but she couldn't stop her mouth from letting out petulant whimpers and gasps.

As my cock moved in and out of Momo's vagina, a stream of tingling electricity gradually accumulated in my mind. I pinched Momo's waist and used all my strength to send my penis to the deepest part. “Aunt Momo!” After a roar, my tips burst into the uterus, countless hot white cum shot into Momo's most private place. Momo's body lightly trembled for a moment, then gasped violently.

After about a minute, I reluctantly withdrew my cock. After three good sex sessions, Momo's lower body had already been filled with my essence, so even at this point I couldn't stop ejaculating, and a large amount of milky white color still flowed out from Momo's open pussy, I rubbed my rod on Momo's ass a few times to clean up the remaining cum on my tips.

Momo was lying on her stomach by the sink, her legs trembling, her rounded buttocks high in the air, a picture that rekindled the desire in my body. My penis, which had not yet softened, immediately rose up again and was ready to go.

“Aunt Momo, I want you again...” Without waiting for Momo's response, I leaned over and fell on top of her, wrapping my hands around her armpits and kneading the soft flesh of her breasts. At the same time, my rod once again broke through the door and pounded into Momo's body. "Hmm... Not so fast... We should take a break... Ah..." Momo tried to protest, but her words were soon replaced by a series of gasps. I accelerated the speed of my thrusts, going deeper and deeper, soon pushing Momo's sanity into a bottomless abyss.

Since that day, Momo and I have been in an instant relationship. Whenever I came to my best friend's house after school, we would always have sex in the bathroom, then step out of the shower together, smile at each other, kiss and hug, and then go into the bedroom and close the door to continue our “workout”. I believe that even the closest friends could never have imagined that one day his best friend would be with their mom, right? After all, who could have imagined such a scene - a young handsome high school student kneeling in front of his best friend's mother, licking her stamen; or this mature and colorful middle-aged woman sitting on her son's best friend's lap, writhing her voluptuous body

[universefcb]

Peace sealed with paws

Pairing: Max verstappen X fem!reader

Summary: You have a big fight, and he sees how much he hurt you and made you sad. But to make amends, he gives you a dog as a gift.

Warning: Mention of Reader, fluff.

Author's note: My first imagine with pilots 🥰

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

Silence was the worst punishment of all. Max knew that. And that night, as he paced the living room of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend, the weight of her silence made his chest tighten more than any defeat on the track.

The argument had started for a small reason, like most big fights. A misinterpreted comment, an impatient look after a tiring day, and soon they were both on opposite sides of the same bed, like strangers. The problem was that he had crossed the line. He had said too many harsh words, with too much impatient a tone. And the worst part? He had seen in her eyes the exact moment when something inside her had broken.

She cried silently—she didn't scream, she didn't fight back. She just kept quiet, as if she had given up fighting. And that destroyed Max inside.

Two days passed. Two long days in which she avoided contact, answered in monosyllables, and left the room when he entered. Max tried to reach out. He tried to apologize. But the words sounded hollow compared to the damage he had caused.

So he decided to do it differently.

---

It was Saturday morning when she woke to a strange sound coming from the hallway. A high-pitched, clumsy bark, like a toy had come to life. Frowning, she got out of bed in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, her hair still messy from sleep.

When he opened the bedroom door, he found Max sitting on the floor in the hallway, and on his lap, a little ball of white fur that could barely keep its paws on the floor.

“Hi,” he said, with a shy smile and his eyes fixed on her, as if waiting for a verdict.

She frowned in surprise, and her first reaction was to duck down too, letting the little puppy come towards her with uncoordinated steps and its tail wagging furiously.

“Max…?” she murmured, picking up the puppy. He licked her cheek as if he knew she needed to break the sadness there.

“I know it doesn’t erase what I said. I know I hurt you, and seeing you like that…” he swallowed. “It was the worst feeling I’ve ever had. You didn’t deserve that, not a single second of it.”

She looked at him. Her eyes were still streaked with the last tears, but now there was a different shine. A sign that she was listening to him. Really.

“I love you,” he continued. “And if you’ll let me, I want to prove it to you every day. This puppy… well, he doesn’t have a name yet. I thought you’d better pick one.”

She bit her lower lip, fighting back tears. “You bought a dog… to make amends?”

“Completely,” he said, unabashed. “Appealing to cuteness was my last resort.”

She gave a weak chuckle, and it was like a breath of fresh air for him.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispered, petting the pup. “But you still owe me at least twenty back rubs and a decent dinner.”

Max smiled, approaching carefully. “Deal. And a hundred more kisses a day. Just in case.”

She laughed finally and let him hug her. The puppy barked in the middle of the hug, squeezed between them.

“We have a new member, then,” she said, looking at the puppy.

“Yes,” Max replied. “And if it’s up to me, it’s the first of many good times. No more stupid fights, okay?”

She nodded, still nestled into his chest.

“So help me choose a name?”

“Sure,” she replied, looking at the little ball of fur that was now sleeping on the rug. “But I can tell you right now that if it’s a male, I’m going to name him Button. In honor of Jenson.”

Max faked a grimace. “Only if the next one is named Verstappen.”

“We’ll see,” she said, smiling. “It depends on how well you do.”

“On the track?” he asked.

She gave a mischievous smile. “In everything.”

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