#the teeth will keep biting and the hands will keep holding

[girl-lostconnection]

Thinking about Alpha!John Price x Beta!Reader today.

John, who leans always a little too close, presses himself into you ever so slightly, murmurs “Johnathan for you, love” and noses at your neck, coaxing out the faint soft smell of yours. Perfect darling for him, blushing so deliciously, hissing when he allows himself too much. Keeping him in line.

John Price whose hands are somehow always on you, thick fingers hooking in the loops of your jeans and dragging your hips to his, broad chest of his pressing into your back when he whispers “got you, sweetheart”.

He kisses you behind the ear, always lingering just a little to savour the taste of yours that he manages to swallow being this close to your scent gland. Licking air and not yet your skin, because you keep pushing him away, keep glaring at him like he is a dumb beast too keen on the idea of eating a local bookshop owner instead of looking for royal offspring. As he should have.

Dumb beast who is not realising that he shouldn’t rub his scent into you, that lingering pinewood and cigars kill all your chances to get a proper date with someone.

John, who hums when you protest and gently bites your neck, just holding you between his teeth, your pulse pounding into his lips.

Why’d you need dates with some boys, love? Don’t you have him? Isn’t he the best there is to get?

John, who keeps coming back just to chat you up, always with excuse to touch you, worming his way into your life until you don’t even notice that his thumb has been stroking your wrist for the last 10 minutes of your conversation.

He comes back after every deployment and rubs himself on you, smiling when you hiss and wiggle out of his grip. Feisty first thing after so long apart. He knows, sweetheart, he missed you too.

John who comes back once and has to swallow back a low growl, sound starting in his chest, his teeth itching because you don’t smell like him and you don’t smell like you.

He circles you around before pressing himself into your back, bracketing you against the counter, his nose diving into the neck of yours, beast in his head snarling when he finds someone else’s hickey there.

Kept yourself busy, didn’t you, love?

He’s been gone for too long, his scent got too weak.

John admits, he should have come back sooner, should have pulled you under a long time ago.

But he liked your little game of push and pull, he enjoyed the tag so much that he forgot he isn’t the only one playing.

An oversight, not a good thing for a captain.

John who is still hazy with the blood from last deployment, urge to tear another throat out simmering right under the surface when he presses his hips to your ass, slotting against you like perfect puzzle.

If he knew you’d get impatient, he would have taken proper care of you, sweetheart.

But he won’t make the same mistake again.

John Price, who takes leave of absence so he can stop taking suppressants for the first time in years.

Rut of his pounding in the back of his head, spreading through him like an infection, dripping under his skin like poisonous honey.

Sticky sweet, molten with yearning, hungry for blood.

Hungry for you.

John Price who clicks his tongue at you to stay behind your counter, as he locks the doors behind him and lowers himself down. On his knees, nudging your stance to widen.

So he can pull your jeans down, tongue sliding between your thighs, big hands holding you open for him.

No need to thrash, love. He isn’t letting go now. He isn’t backing away either, not anymore.

His rut makes you hazy, his rut clouds your head and makes you slip, bracing your forearms on the wooden counter, his ‘good job, sweetheart’ dripping slick between your thighs.

John eats you out until his knees ache, until your hips roll into his mouth, until the sweet faint scent of yours blends in with his.

Your whole bloody shop is going to smell like you have a man, love. Like you have John.

There is a low dangerous rumble in his chest when you try to pull away, to stop him from eating you out into overstimulation. Because where do you think you are going, sweetheart? You need to be nice and slick to take all of him.

You need to be soft and pliant for John to feed the thick length of his cock to your greedy hole.

“Goin’ to fuck attitude out of ya, lovie.”, John breathes out, biting your ass until you whimper trying to get him off and until the indent of his teeth is a red mark on you. First out of many. “Any bloke in this bloody country would be able to tell you are taken. Anyone who takes a step inside will know I was here.”, he growls, grinding on the plush of your buttock.

Not going anywhere now, love. Never again.

John Price who clicks his tongue when you whimper about condoms, because that’s just silly, sweetheart, you won’t need any of it with him. How are you supposed to feel his knot if you won’t let it in?

That just won’t do.

John Price who bounces you in his lap, thick calloused fingers holding onto the meat of your hips, slamming you down and pulling you up, until the knot of his pops inside of your hole, plugging you in, binding you to him for the next half an hour.

John Price who holds you in full Nelson, arms under your knees, teeth grazing your ear when he bounces you on his knot, pulling just enough so you’d feel the stretch, so you’d start whimpering for him, so you’d scent become sweeter for him.

Naughty fucking thing, you like him being mean to you?

John who lets the rut take reigns, so he can press you into the counter, biting all over your shoulders, snarling “mine, always mine, only mine” when you can’t help but arch. Whether to pull away or to press into him, he’s not sure.

John who licks the scent gland of yours, teeth itching to sink in, dumb beast in his head pulling him to rut into you. And Lord, you are slick and warm and perfect, squeezing him like you never want to let go, milking him for all he’s worth.

Perfect mate.

He humps into you like a feral dog, heavy thick hips of his pressing into yours, not letting you close your legs. Not when he’s folding you into the mating press and sinking his teeth in the crook of your neck, popping the untouched and unmated gland there. Binding you together, blending himself into you, drinking you in so your sweetness is always in his scent from now on.

Won’t be anyone else, love. Not for him. Nor for you.

John Price who presses your face into his neck, rasps out “bite, sweetheart”, his knot popping back inside of your hole — your legs twitching above his shoulders. Sweet thing, he’s too much for you without much of a preparation. But it’s okay, he will be better next time.

He will take you somewhere soft and warm, he will feed you meat and fruit, letting you lick juices off his fingers, he will suck on your tender sensitive parts until you are crying.

You just gotta bite, lovie, just sink your teeth in his gland, will ya?

John Price who licks his lips when you nuzzle in the crook of his neck, your teeth grazing his gland, your jaw trembling. Rode you ragged, didn’t he, love?

It’s okay, John will help, just open wide, aye?

John murmurs, voice half a growl when he presses your head into his neck, when he closes your jaws down on his gland, shiver running down his spine, everything clicking in place.

This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be.

John who kisses your face pulling you out the crook of his neck — your eyes gone, pupils blown wide and jaw slack when he ruts into you again.

Just one more orgasm, sweetheart, just one more. He knows you can do it, you can be good for him.

You can give him his reward for being so patient, you can thank him for not tracking down your now irrelevant suitor and not presenting you bloke’s fingers as a courting gift.

You can thank him proper and you will, won’t ya, lovie?

Come on, one more time, he rasps in your ear, fingers prying your mouth open and stuffing it until you are drooling messily all over him. Pretty thing, see how easy it is? Just had to come to your Johnathan and he would have taken care of this greedy hole.

He would have made it better. And from now on he always will.

Till death do us part, sweetheart. If he has to say anything about it.

[anantaru]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ where his hands are — love and deepspace

synopsis. where his hands are while doing it

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, tit play, petnames used: sweetheart, baby, pretty, zayne loves your ass, doggy (prone bone), mating press, rough syx

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne + on your ass

as was anticipated, zayne needs you held wide and open for him, his palms sinking into the meat of your ass like he's terrified you'll stop taking him so fucking nicely— his grip truly punishing, spreading you apart until your hole flutters around the root of his cock, your skin flustered and shaking underneath his thumbs.

every single thrust was filth— a grind, with an even rougher drag? a push of his cock so thick and needy your mouth fell open yet no sound came out. not to mention that zayne's obsessed with the way your ass jiggles when he repeatedly slams it, the way you drip from the stretch of him was mouthwatering, leaking down on his balls in repeated warm, messy strings of your arousal.

he greedily spits on it now, watching it gleam for a moment before it vanishes into the wetness he's already made of you, his groan remained rasping, like he's unraveling just from the sight of your body swallowing it down like a good girl, like the mess itself was holy.

"sweetheart, you take it so well," he growls proudly, his voice wrecked with need, every word rasping against your skin akin to torn silk— his teeth skimming the shell of your ear, but not biting, no, just letting you feel the heat of his body bleed through you, the quiet madness clawing at the edges of his breath, "you feel this? all this mess? this ass was made for my hands, baby, made for me to fuck like this."

he presses you down so hard your hips bruise on the bed, one palm spreading you wide, properly holding you in place, the other slapping your ass with a slick, loud crack, then soothing over it like he's sorry for nothing— the man keeps you tilted, spine curved like a bow, so he could hit that spot again and again, until you sob and gush around him.

his thumb was dragging your jaw down until your mouth spills open, slack and senseless with drool dripping in slow, sticky threads from your lips to your chest, fuck, he's in so deep the curve of your spine aches instantly, but it still wasn't enough— go for it, come on, deeper, rougher, messier, all of you, fucked open and destroyed around his cock and his hands, all of you made for him to grab and destroy.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier + on your thighs

xavier spreads you wide like you're something precious and perverse, thighs pulled open with both hands, elbows locked to hold you still while he fucks into your pussy slow and brutal— his fingers squeezing hard enough to leave dents, thumbs grinding circles into the soft inner meat and dragging you open to watch your slick hole grip him tight as he stares in awe, like he's reading your soul straight through your velvety walls clenching down.

the pumping of his cock was steady, pushing back into you with every new rut hitting your spots, his eyes flicking up to your face every time you moan like he wants to memorize the desire in your expression.

"fuck, you're soaked— this tight little thing's crying for me," he whines, voice low and wild, "you like being held open like this, huh? you like how deep i can get when you're spread like a fucking feast?"

he bends your legs back more, more, until your muscles tremble and burn, until your knees were beside your ears and your belly taut and stretched and full of him, his cock hitting angles that made you see stars while he's watching the way you shudder and leak around him, thumbs digging into the hinge of your thighs like you're nothing but a hole to keep him warm and satiated.

xavier's grip flexes with every shove of cock, every gush of arousal spilling down between your ass and coating his lap, watching it slicken your folds even more before pushing in again with a low groan like he's losing his mind inside you.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel + on your tits

rafayel palms your breasts like they're holy objects, his fingers curled above their weight and kneading slow and calculated, like he's shaping clay as he groans every time you squeeze him, cock dragging through your soaked walls and still, his hands remained on your chest— massaging your tits, squeezing them too, adding a lil kiss, yeah? pulling at your nipples until you wince out. 

he drags his thumbs over them again, watching them stiffen under his touch, then leans down to bite and suck and spit warm and wet saliva across your skin until your whole chest was shining of his liquids.

the man pants, licking a trail up to your sternum, dragging hot and slow up the center of your chest, tongue catching every tremble like he's tracing a confession into your skin— wet and utterly depraved, "these tits bounce every time i push in, pretty, you feel how deep i am? all that mess leaking outta you, and i still want more."

he begins to fuck you upwards now, body curved within yours and thrusts angled so every movement drags the swollen head of his cock right along your sweet spot. your tits bounce every time he sinks in and rafayel moans into your skin, hands tightening like he could mold them into something even lewder as he rubs the wet peaks of your nipples with slick-covered fingers, then bites again, watching the way you jolt and cry in joy.

as obvious, he wanted you to feel him everywhere— his cock, his hands, his teeth, his tongue, what else? his warmth, yeah, as the bed creaks under you, repeatedly, slick smeared down your thighs and belly from how hard and deep he fucks you, and still— his hands never left your tits once, like they're his anchor to hold onto, like he's trying to memorize every shake and spill of them under his touch.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus + on your wrists

the moment you move, sylus's mind haywires with your wrists pinned hard to the mattress, his weight over you like a threat, his breath hot and uneven against your jaw as his grip was tight enough to ache, the kind of hold that bruised tomorrow and made your pulse throb beneath his fingers.

it's obvious he liked seeing your hands trapped within his own— adored knowing you cannot stop him, cannot push him away either, cannot beg for mercy without squirming, well, without him wanting to hear you beg at least trice.

"don't you move now," he spits, hips grinding deep until your eyes rolled back, "you feel that? you're clenching so tight, it's like you're trying to keep me there forever," as he fucks you like it's punishment— like worship carved out of violence? yeah, slamming into your slick, weeping heat until your walls fluttered and your stomach contracts from how much he burned through you.

your knuckles turned white with how tightly you curl your fingers into his biceps as his grip tightens, the wet sounds between your thighs getting louder and wetter, each roll of hips a disgusting punch of cock against your insides, yet you cannot do anything— cannot stop it, cannot run from it— just cry out his name beneath him as he fucks and fucks and tears you open, then lovingly holds your wrists like he's fixing himself to sanity.

sylus heaves like a wild animal in your ear and every time you jerk your hips upwards to wiggle against him, his fingers flex tighter, dragging your arms above your head, thrusts so cruel and searing like he doesn't know how to stop, even when you're all tears stricken, even when you break at last— he won't let you go, simply, he can't, not when your pussy was wrapped so sweet and swollen around him.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb + on your head

caleb doesn't let you look away, not once, with his hand pressed behind your own, squeezing your face into the pillows, fingers cradling your skull like he's kneeling before something divine, keeping you close so he could spill his moans directly into your mouth, the press of his palm tender yet firm, like he wanted to hold your whole brain together while he pounds you apart.

he kisses you like he's dying, like he needed your spit to live— tongue messy and slick, panting into your mouth with every thrust that rocks you up the bed as he kept whispering— candid n broken n filthy things between kisses, "you're so beautiful like this," his voice shatters, lust catching on the wreckage of pleasure as your walls seize tight around him, dragging a noise from his throat that sounds more like unravel than power, like he's being wrung dry from the inside out, "fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight, so good, don't let go— just let me feel you."

his hips jerk forward again as your back arches off the mattress from how deep it was, from how perfectly his cock pinches inside you like it's following a specific path carved just for him— at this, you could barely catch a breather, like caleb made flowers grow in your lungs and although they felt beautiful, otherworldly, you just couldn't breathe anymore.

his cock pulses with every repeated squeeze of your cunt around him as his thick cock shines where you're joined— slick gushing out every time he pushes in, guzzling it back when he snaps forward and still, his hand cups your head like a frail object, holding you steady as if your body could shatter from the sheer pleasure.

the man kept you close like you're his oxygen, his life, he moves like a man possessed with a rhythm doused in solace, like each thrust was an apology he didn't know how to voice out loud— his whines lost, eyes glassy and teeth clenched against the sob lodged in his chest.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[maskedbyghost]

You ask, I deliver:

The possessive reader AU, I know neither of them can stand the thought of their partner going to the dentist. Laying back, letting someone else know the interior of that mouth, fingers sliding over soft tissue and mapping out the points of those teeth? Possibly drawing blood that should rightfully be theirs? Someone sedate these two like they’re aggressive cats coming in for a cleaning at the vet.

shoutout to this absolute legend who sent me the idea because you unlocked something unholy in me. READ PART 1 HERE cw: smut, possessive/obsessive behavior, semi-public sex (in a car), unprotected sex..

You drive him to the appointment because he hates doing it alone. Still, honestly, the entire time you’re behind the wheel, you’re gripping it hard enough that you’re surprised it doesn’t just snap in half, because the only thing going through your head is the mental image of some stranger putting their hands in Simon’s mouth, tilting his head back, touching him in places that should be yours, places only you should ever be allowed to know, and the tiny noises he makes when he’s uncomfortable.

You swear to god if you think about it one second longer, you might actually commit a felony.

Simon looks over at you once when you stop at a red light, raises an eyebrow under his cap, and says, “You gonna calm down, sweetheart, or am I gonna have to sedate you this time?”

And you smile at him, all bright and sunny like the most normal girlfriend ever, except you know it’s not right, you can feel it pulling at your mouth wrong, too many teeth showing, a smile you have to force out of yourself before you start growling or crying or both.

Simon just shakes his head a little and mutters, “Terrifying,” under his breath like he thinks you can’t hear him.

At the office, you sit together in those shitty chairs, pretending you’re normal people, and you’re almost holding it together until the door opens and of course it’s a young woman, pretty, smiling, fresh little uniform and shiny name tag and all, and your stomach twists itself into a thousand angry knots because now you’re not just imagining some faceless stranger, you’re staring at the exact woman who’s about to put her hands in Simon’s mouth, who’s about to know the little sounds he makes when he flinches, who's gonna touch him, smell him, see him with his mask off, and you grip the chair so hard you think it might crack.

“Simon Riley?” she calls, all sweet and professional, and Simon stands up, but before he can even move, you grab his wrist like you’re going to drag him back down into the chair and refuse to let him go, and he just gives you this look, this calm, amused, patient look that makes you want to bite him right there in the waiting room.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, like he knows you’re two seconds from throwing yourself at the poor woman and clawing her eyes out, and he squeezes your hand once before he goes, and that’s the only thing that keeps you in your seat.

You sit there staring at the closed door, thinking about all the ways you could ruin this woman’s life if she smiles too much or laughs at one of his stupid little jokes or leans too close or touches him too long, because no one should get to touch him but you, no one should get to see how good he is when he’s soft and quiet and letting someone take care of him, and it’s yours, it’s all supposed to be yours, and god, you’re so far gone you don’t even want to be normal about it anymore.

By the time he comes back out, you’re already halfway to throwing a fit, but he just looks tired and a little dazed from the fluoride, and he’s rubbing his jaw like it’s sore, and that’s all it takes for the switch to flip in your brain, from violent to protective in half a second.

You drag him out into the parking lot without a word, shoving him into the passenger seat and climbing over him before he can even say anything, straddling his lap with your knees pressed into the seat on either side of his hips, grabbing his face in both hands like you’re checking him over for damage even though what you really want is to mark him, make him messy, make him smell like you so no one else ever gets any stupid ideas again.

“She touched you,” you whisper, half accusation, half devastation, pressing your forehead to his while breathing him in so hard it feels like you’re trying to pull the air out of his lungs.

“She wore gloves,” he says, voice low and careful like he’s talking to a crazy person, which, fair, because you are, and it’s not even enough, it’s not even close to enough, because he still let her, still let someone else close, still trusted someone else to take care of him when that’s your job.

You kiss him messy and hard, sliding your hands into his hair, tugging at it just to feel him grunt against your mouth, and then you’re rocking your hips against him, grinding down until you feel him start to stiffen underneath you, until you know he can’t even think straight anymore, and you pull back just enough to pant into his mouth, “Mine. All mine. No one else touches you. No one else gets to even look at you like that.”

Simon’s hands dig into your waist, trying to slow you down, trying to catch his breath, but you’re not having it.

You’re already unbuttoning his jeans with shaky hands, already sinking down onto him with a broken little gasp because you need it, need him inside you, need to erase the memory of someone else touching him, need to make him so messy and ruined that no one else would ever dare think he belonged to anyone but you.

You ride him fast and desperate, muttering broken things against his skin, promises and threats and prayers all tangled together — "you're mine, mine, only mine, gonna mark you up so bad no one'll even think about touching you again, gonna make you come so hard you forget everyone else’s name but mine"

And Simon’s already so wrecked, clinging to you, groaning into your neck, hips stuttering helplessly, and when you bite down on his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise through his hoodie, he spills inside you with a sound so rough and desperate it’s almost a sob.

You don't let up, grinding on him slow and filthy, kissing his throat, his jaw, whispering, "mine, mine, always mine," over and over again until you feel him throb inside you one more time, a second, broken little aftershock you didn’t even know was possible.

And when you finally pull back and look at him, red-faced, breathing hard, pupils blown wide, he just smiles that stupid, wrecked little smile he only ever gives you, and you know you don’t have to say anything else.

Because the way he looks at you — like he belongs to you, like he wants to belong to you — is all the proof you’ll ever need.

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

fuck me i love them

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate

[returnofeternity]

hear me out, tattoo artist nat getting freaky when a new customer comes in and wants to get her first tattoo on her lowerback or like on her cleavage (plus, if possible the dear customer looks too innocent to get a tattoo?)

you searched for only the best (and cheapest, you're on a bit of a budget here...) tattoo shops in the city. the name that kept popping up on almost every search was natalie scatorccio from 2525 tattoos.

she had the best reviews by far. barely any negative ones, and if they were low, they always ended with how nice she was and how she gave them a discount if they disliked the end result.

so you booked her. talked to her a bit on the phone and explained what it was that you were going for, and soon enough, you were walking through the front doors of the shop, nervous as fuck, and looking for the most "natalie" looking person in here.

you shuffle up to the front where some guy is. "hi, i have an appointment with natalie at 2."

after giving him your name blah, blah, blah, you follow him to the back where he tells you to sit and get comfortable while he fetches "nat."

you sit nervously on the black tattoo bed, looking around at all the picture frames and tat supplies as you try to calm your racing mind. you're intimidated. this place might be too cool for you.

just as you reach over to inspect a stencil on the table, a dark-haired girl walks in, making you jump back in embarrassment.

she chuckles at you and you flush, especially after getting a good look at her. gosh, she's handsome and gorgeous at the same time.

"you're my 2 o'clock?" she asks skeptically while placing down some ink. "the cleavage tat?"

"yeah..." you mumble, gulping hard as she walks around you to set up. her perfume makes you dizzy. "why, did you have someone else scheduled?"

"no, you just don't seem the type. too innocent looking." she smiles and bites her lip, snapping the black gloves on her hand. "i like it."

· · 𖦹 · ·

thinking about nat touching your body after telling you to scoot up on the bed just so she can feel you... nat who says "good girl" when you scoot to where she wants you.

nat who helps you out of your shirt and undoes your bra for you, nat who accidentally brushes her gloved hand against your nipple as she places it to the side.

nat who tells you that it's perfectly fine if your nipples get hard and not to get embarrassed.

nat who's in for a long ride when you whimper the second she starts inking you up... she loves it. but you need to relax so she can do it without fucking it up. she's whispering for you to take deep breaths while her thumb is rubbing your hips, just as affected as you are because as she looks down at you, face flushed and lip trapped beneath your teeth, you look so innocent.

nat who has to hold onto your breast as she does the tattoo. nat who jokes about how hard your nipple is while she subtly gropes it.

nat who notices how you're trying to rub your thighs together.

nat who has to stop what she's doing to hold your chest down because you keep arching your back the closer she gets to your nipple 😵‍💫 you knew it would be somewhat ticklish plus painful getting this type of tattoo, but you didn't know it would turn you on so much... you feel so pathetic.

nat who asks if you want her to apply numbing cream... you agree because you think you might die of embarrassment if you let out another whine disguised as a cough. it happens again when she rubs it on your nipples :(

nat who gives you her number after she's done, telling you to text/call her if you need something like advice for aftercare. thinking of her face when you send pictures of your chest, asking if bleeding is normal. she has to touch herself to it...

nat who is very excited when you book another tattoo appointment with her :)

[wendichester]

I've been reading your stuff all day, and I LOVE it omg

Could you maybe write something where reader is a hunter who works with Sam and Dean from time to time but they don't know each other that well and one day when they come back from a hunt she kind of hurries off because she doesn't want them to know that she can't afford a motel room. But either Dean or Sam finds out that she's been sleeping in her car to save her money for meals etc.

Thank you in advance <3

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ four wheels and an empty stomach,

summary. hunters life really doesn't pay off. you've been sleeping in your car and definitely not eating enough. but tonight, this will be different.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. angst

wordcount. 504

notes / warnings. reader experiencing hunger and homelessness. emotional vulnerability. exhaustion. depravation. // i hope you're all safe 🩷

It’s raining by the time you finish cleaning up the hunt. Not a heavy, stormy rain—just that sad, needling kind that soaks into your clothes and makes everything feel a little heavier.

You pull the zipper of your jacket up to your chin and throw a quick wave at Sam and Dean, who are still arguing about where to get burgers.

“I’m gonna head out,” you say, trying to sound casual. “Catch you guys next time.”

Dean’s half-turned toward you, distracted. Sam’s digging through his pockets for the Impala keys. Neither of them really notices when you slip away into the parking lot.

Good. You don’t want them to.

Your car’s parked under a flickering streetlight—ancient, rusty, and barely hanging on like you. You unlock the door as quietly as you can, toss your duffel in the backseat, and climb into the driver's side.

You crank the heater even though you know it’ll drain the battery by morning. Small price to pay to not freeze your ass off.

You curl up on the front seat, hoodie pulled over your head, and close your eyes.

Tomorrow, maybe you’ll have enough cash for a real bed. Maybe not. You’re getting good at pretending the ache in your ribs is anything but hunger.

You’re almost asleep when you hear it.

A sharp knock on the window.

You jolt upright, heart hammering, breath fogging up the glass.

Dean Winchester stands there, rain dripping off the brim of his jacket, frowning like he’s just been punched in the gut.

You scramble to unlock the door, embarrassment burning hot under your skin.

“Dean, I—I was just—” you stammer, no good lie ready.

He doesn’t let you finish.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and rough, almost broken. “You sleepin’ in your car?”

You grit your teeth, furious at yourself for getting caught. You don’t need pity. You’ve survived worse. You don’t need—

Dean crouches beside the car, rain soaking into his jeans, hands resting gently on the frame like he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?” he asks, so soft it guts you.

You stare down at your hands. “Didn’t wanna be a charity case.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s biting back a hundred things he wants to say.

Finally, he just holds out a hand.

“C’mon,” he says. “We got two beds. You’re not sleepin’ out here. Not while we’re around.”

You hesitate, shame coiling hot and thick in your gut.

Dean’s smile is crooked, a little sad.

“Not charity, sweetheart. Family.”

And somehow, that word hits harder than anything else.

You take his hand.

Dean tugs you out of the car like you weigh nothing, tucks you under his arm like you belong there, like you always have. His jacket is warm around your shoulders, and when you glance up at him, he just squeezes you closer without a word.

The rain keeps falling.

But for the first time in a long time, you’re not alone in it.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[yelhsaa-a]

You don’t even have to ask—he’s already trembling above you, cock buried deep in your soaked cunt, and it’s clear he’s holding on by a thread. Caleb has wanted you—obsessed over you—for years. The kind of wanting that eats a man alive, that festers in quiet moments and keeps him hard in the middle of the night with your name on his lips.

And now? He’s inside you, and it’s everything. It’s too much.

You feel the way his hands clutch at your waist, bruising tight, like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t ground himself. He’s rutting into you with messy, frantic thrusts—no rhythm, no grace, just need. Desperation. Lust that’s been caged too long, finally tearing free.

His face is buried in your neck, teeth grazing skin like he might lose control and bite down hard. You feel his breath stuttering against you, hot and shaky. He lets out a groan, deep and raw, but then—fuck—you hear it.

A choked sob.

You almost don’t believe it until you feel the wetness, the hot tears sliding down your throat.

“Caleb?” you murmur, half-mocked, half-concerned, but he doesn’t answer—just keeps fucking you like he’s trying to carve the shape of you into his memory. Like he needs to feel you from the inside out.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, voice barely audible, “fuck—I’m so sorry—it’s just so good—I can’t—fuck.”

“God, you’re pathetic,” you whisper, nails dragging down his back. “Crying like a bitch just ‘cause this pussy’s better than your fantasies?”

That breaks him. He lets out another sob, this one louder, almost a wail. His thrusts grow erratic, cock twitching deep inside you, and you know he’s right on the edge.

“You’ve thought about this for years, haven’t you? Jerking off to the idea of me, hoping one day I’d let you inside.”

He nods frantically, whimpering against your neck. “Every night. Thought about you every fucking night—shit—wanted this so bad—”

“Then fucking take it,” you growl. “Come for me. Fill me up like you’ve always dreamed of, you needy fucking mess.”

That’s all it takes.

He cries out—a wrecked, strangled sound—as he spills inside you, cock jerking with every pulse. His whole body shudders, muscles taut as his climax wrings him out completely. The sobs don’t stop; they just get softer, more broken, as he keeps pumping into you even after he’s emptied himself, like he’s scared to stop. Scared it’ll all disappear.

You wrap your legs around him, lock him there. Let him come down while his tears soak your skin.

Minutes pass before he pulls back enough to look at you. His face is ruined—red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath. You wipe the wetness from his cheeks with a smirk.

“You good now, crybaby?”

He nods slowly, sniffling, then glances down at your cum-dripping pussy like he’s ready to worship it all over again.

“Can I go again?” he asks, voice hoarse, almost reverent.

You grab him by the throat, pulling him down into another kiss.

“Fucking try.”

[prettyfilmz]

SWEET LIKE CANDY 6 • JEY USO

author's note: i'm baaaaaaack! I am so so sorry for the long awaited update, school truly put me through the ringer these past few weeks but thankfully everything is starting to settle down which means more frequent updates!!! part 6 honestly also took so long because I am high key a perfectionist and keep on finding things to add and revise but trust me when I say you are in for a delicious treat. thank you so much for all of your love and support and happy reading my loves☺️💗

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise dupree aka candy)

tags: 18+ (MDNI) angst, tears, talks of past predatory behaviors, grooming, financial abuse, small bit of violence in the beginning, crashout jey uso™, cherise needs a hug and jey is willing to give her that and more, "I love you", unprotected sex (be smart people!), pussy eating, fingering, praise, love bites, lots of kissing and touching, daddy kink (although very minimal), multiple orgasms, multiple positions, dirty talk, body worship, squirting, creampie, hand holding, aftercare, pet names (baby girl, mama, pretty girl, baby), fluffy aftercare, bubble baths, massages, pillow talk, jey is really taking care of our girl in this one.

word count: 10.6k words

read part one here!

read part two here!

read part three here!

read part four here!

read part five here!

soundtrack playlist

Cherise’s breath hitched.

Her eyes were locked on Jey’s hands. Big, bruised, still clenched tightly around Tremaine’s collar. The man lay crumpled on the gym floor, face swollen, nose bleeding, one eye already purple and nearly shut.

She barely registered Jimmy holding Jey back, the tense lines in his shoulders, the warning in his voice. All she could focus on was Jey’s chest rising and falling, the way his jaw clenched, teeth bared, eyes dark and wild with rage.

She’d seen Jey angry before. Seen him in the ring, all aggression and snarling confidence. Like a lion staking its claim. But this? This was different.

And the craziest part?

It shouldn’t have made her feel this way, shouldn’t have sent heat curling low in her belly, shouldn’t have made her pulse flutter the way it did. But seeing Jey…her Jey…furious, defending her honor like this, looking every bit of the protector she needed?

Fuck.

Something warm and thrilling shivered down her spine, heat blooming in her cheeks.

“Joshua,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost pleading.

Jey’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice. His eyeswild and dark just seconds before softened immediately, flickering with recognition and something else. Something vulnerable.

“Cherise,” he breathed, voice raw.

Her hands shook, fingers instinctively reaching out, brushing his cheek, coaxing his eyes away from Tremaine’s battered, bleeding body and back to her.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice gentler now. “C’mon, baby. Let him go. He ain’t worth it.”

Jey’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering between her and Tremaine. But her touch, soft and warm against his cheek, seemed to anchor him, seemed to pull him back from the brink. His fingers flexed once, twice, before he finally released his grip with a low, frustrated snarl.

Tremaine crumpled to the floor with a pained groan, curling in on himself.

Jey’s hands were still shaking, his breath coming out in ragged pants. But he didn’t move. Didn’t look away from her. Just stared, eyes dark and tormented, chest heaving, like he was terrified she might vanish if he blinked.

“Come on,” Cherise whispered, threading her fingers through his, tugging him gently back. “We need to talk.”

Jey hesitated, gaze darting between her and Tremaine’s crumpled body. But when she squeezed his hand, soft and sure, he exhaled, shoulders slumping. His fingers tightened around hers, warm and rough and unsteady.

Jimmy and Trinity stood beside one another, with raised brows, glancing between two with a look that screamed “I told you so.”

But Jey just shook his head, muttering something low and dark under his breath before letting Cherise pull him towards the door.

♡

The drive back to her apartment was quiet.

Not the sharp, suffocating silence from before but something softer, laden with unspoken words and stolen glances. Cherise’s fingers twisted in the sleeves of Jey’s hoodie, the one she’d swiped weeks ago, still smelling faintly like him.

Jey’s knuckles were raw and bruised, gripping the steering wheel in a tight vice. His bottom lip busted from one of Tremaine’s desperate swings, split on one side, a smear of crimson painting the curve of his mouth.

But he didn’t seem to notice or care. Didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but every few minutes, they flickered to her—quick, worried, aching.

Cherise’s chest tightened.

She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hadn’t meant for Jey to get involved, to see the ugliest, most broken parts of her past. Hadn’t meant for him to bleed for her.

But God, the way he’d fought without hesitation, without mercy just because someone had dared to hurt her?

That did something dangerous to her heart.

She exhaled shakily, staring at her hands. “You’re bleeding,” she mumbled, voice small.

Jey’s eyes flicked to her, brows furrowing. “Ain’t nothin’, mama,” he muttered, but his voice was softer now, less rough around the edges.

Cherise bit her lip, fingers twisting tighter in the sleeves of his hoodie. “Let me take care of it,” she whispered.

Jey hesitated, jaw flexing. But then he exhaled, shoulders sagging.

“…Aight, baby girl.”

♡

Jey didn’t want to sit down.

In fact, he seemed more interested in pacing laps around her living room, shoulders bunched tight with restless energy, every few seconds running a hand over his face and scowling at the floor like it had personally wronged him.

Cherise watched him from the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, with a look of concern. Her eyes flickered to his busted lip, the bruise darkening on his cheek, and guilt twisted sharp in her stomach.

“You’re gonna reopen it if you keep doing that,” she muttered quietly, her voice soft.

Jey paused mid-step, turning to look at her, brows furrowing. “Huh?”

She gestured to his mouth, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “You keep licking it. You’re gonna make it worse.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it, then huffed, scowl deepening. “Ain’t nothin’. I’m fine.”

Cherise rolled her eyes. “Sit down.”

“Cherise.”

“Joshua.”

Jey’s jaw clenched. But then he sighed, grumbling under his breath, and finally, finally, dropped onto the couch beside her, knees spread, arms folded over his chest.

She bit back a smile, scooting a little closer, fingers twitching nervously in her lap. “Lemme see.”

“I said I’m fine, baby,” he muttered, though the way his eyes flickered to her lips said otherwise.

“Stop bein’ stubborn,” she huffed, cupping his jaw and turning his face gently towards her.

He froze, eyes going wide, breath hitching. And for a second, just a split second, his eyes dipped to her mouth, and Cherise’s pulse skipped.

Focus.

She leaned in, her thumb brushing carefully over his split lip, brow furrowing at the way he winced. “You’re not fine, dumbass,” she muttered softly. “This is gonna need peroxide.”

Jey snorted. “I had worse.”

“Don’t care,” she mumbled, rising to grab her first aid kit. “Sit still.”

Jey didn’t move when she walked back in.

Didn’t speak.

Just sat there, elbows on his thighs, jaw tight as his fingers laced together, bouncing anxiously. His entire body was still humming with leftover adrenaline. He could feel it in the twitch of his fists, the tightness in his chest, the ringing silence left in Tremaine’s wake.

And Cherise?

Cherise looked like she was about to cry again.

Not like earlier. Not like at the gym, when she’d rushed into the room like a woman possessed, like she was scared of what he might do. This was different. Softer. Quieter. Like something inside her had finally cracked open, and she didn’t know how to hold the pieces together anymore.

She knelt between his knees, first aid kit in her lap, and let her fingers brush gently under his chin.

“C’mere.”

Jey blinked down at her. “I said I’m—”

“If you say you’re fine one more time, Joshua…” Her voice was low, shaky, but laced with that same fire he always adored. “I swear to God, I will slap the lip off your face myself.”

He smirked. “Damn. You nursin’ me or threatenin’ me?”

“Both.”

“Soundin’ real toxic, mama.”

She rolled her eyes, but the tiniest curve tugged at her mouth. “You seem to like it though.”

“Mhmm.” His voice was low, but his eyes never left hers. “I do.”

Cherise swallowed hard and turned her attention to his lip. The cut was small but deep, split open just on the right side, already swelling. A small bruise was blooming along his cheekbone, and there was dried blood at the corner of his mouth.

She hated it.

Hated knowing it was her fault he was like this.

“This gon’ sting,” she whispered.

“I’m good.”

“You always say that,” she muttered, dabbing the antiseptic on a cotton pad.

And when it touched the fragile skin, he flinched just a little.

Her brows drew together. “See?”

Jey grunted, his shoulders twitching. “Aight, you was right. That shit burn.”

“Mm. That’s what you get,” she murmured, her voice smaller now. “Stupid.”

Jey huffed a quiet laugh, watching her. His gaze flickered over her face, her lashes, the crease in her brows, the tension in her jaw. Her lips were tight, pressed together like she was holding something in. Like she was trying not to cry.

“You okay, mama?” he asked quietly.

Cherise didn’t answer.

She just kept cleaning, her fingers gentle, careful, brushing beneath his jaw, her eyes focused on anything but him.

Jey reached up, stilling her hand. “Cherise.”

She swallowed hard.

He used her name. Not Candy. Not some nickname of endearment. Just…her. And it hit something deep in her chest, something raw and old and broken.

“I’m okay,” she said quietly, dabbing the cotton against the busted corner of his lip once more.

He winced, but didn’t move.

“Lyin’,” he muttered.

She let out a soft breath. “Yeah. Kinda.”

He didn’t push. Just let her tend to him in silence, his hands resting on her thighs for balance, fingers splayed wide, warm and grounding.

"You really went after him," she whispered after a beat, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "You didn’t even hesitate."

Jey’s jaw clenched. “I told you. I ain’t lettin’ nobody play wit’ you like that.”

Her hand stilled. “You coulda got arrested, Joshua. You could’ve—he could press charges.”

“Let him,” he said, voice sharp. “Let that bitch press somethin’. He won’t walk straight for a month. I’ll take that case proud.”

Cherise gave him a look, half stern, half…helplessly soft. Because under all that fire, all that fury, was something real. Something hers.

"You didn’t have to do all that."

“Yes I did.” His voice dropped lower. “You ain’t see your face, Cherise. When you saw him. The way you froze up. The way you damn near disappeared on me in real time.”

She looked down.

“Baby,” he murmured, grasped her free hand. “What did he do to you?”

Her breath hitched.

“I ain’t askin’ to poke around in your pain,” he said gently. “I’m askin’ ‘cause I want you to let me hold some of it.”

Cherise’s throat closed.

She looked up at him, really looked, and saw nothing but sincerity. Kindness. Patience.

And love, maybe.

Even if he hadn’t said it yet.

Her hand trembled in his. “He…he made me hate myself.”

Jey’s gaze didn’t waver. “Tell me, mama.”

Her hands dropped to her lap.

She sat back, still on her knees between his legs, and stared at the floor for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I was eighteen,” she said quietly. “Young. Dumb. Thought I knew everything. And Tremaine…he was older. Charming. Said all the right things.”

Jey’s fingers tightened slightly on her thigh, but he said nothing.

“He used to buy me things. Clothes, food, let me crash at his place when I didn’t wanna go home. Told me he believed in me. That he wanted to help me get into nursing school after I graduated college. That I was special.”

Her voice cracked.

“But I wasn’t special. Not to him. I was just moldable.”

Jey’s jaw clenched. She saw it from the corner of her eye.

“He’s the one who put the idea of dancing in my head,” she said. “Told me it was empowering. Told me it would help me pay for school, give me control over my own life and I trusted him.”

Jey brushed his thumb along her thigh, slow, reassuring.

“But it was never really mine. He chose the name. Candy.” Her lip curled, disgusted.

Jey lifted a brow. “Why that?”

“I used to keep candy in my purse.” She glanced up, her eyes glassy but dry. “When I was little. I’d have very bad anxiety. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe. So my dad used to buy me these lil’ peppermints. Said if I started panickin’, I should take one. Focus on the taste. Let it ground me.” She paused, her voice hitching. “It was stupid, but it helped.”

Jey nodded and let her continue.

“After he died, I started keepin’ ‘em with me everywhere. Even now, I still got some in my bag.” Her voice cracked. “It made me feel safe, I guess. Like…like I could control somethin’. Like maybe I wouldn’t spiral if I had somethin’ sweet on my tongue.”

Her voice hardened a little as she let herself finally unpack the baggage she held onto for years. “I told him about the candies one night—dumb, I know—and next thing I know, I show up to the club for my first shift and he’s like, ‘Yo, Candy. That’s your name now.’” Her mouth twisted. “Candy sounded like temptation. Like somethin’ you ain’t supposed to have. Somethin’ sweet you suck on. His words, not mine.”

Jey’s jaw ticked.

Cherise looked down at her hands. “I hated it. Hated how easy it was to let him talk me into everything. ‘You got a pretty face, baby. That’s money right there.’ ‘You don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t wanna do.’ ‘It’s just dancin’, Cherise. You ain’t fuckin’ nobody.’” Her voice turned bitter. “But it was never just dancin’. Not to him.”

Jey leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on his knees, his hands coming to rest gently on her thighs.

“He made you feel like you didn’t have a choice,” Jey said softly. His voice low and sure, as his fingers stayed wrapped around her thighs like he was trying to keep her grounded. To keep her here.

Cherise nodded slowly, her throat tight. “He ain’t just made me feel like it… He took my choices. Like they were his to begin with.”

She paused, her nails digging gently into her palms. “He used to do this thing where he called me by my name when I did somethin’ he didn’t like, and Candy when I was what he needed me to be.”

Her lips twisted.

“After a while, I stopped even hearing Cherise. Felt like…she ain’t even exist no more. Like she died the day my mom did.”

Jey’s expression looked pained at the sentence.

Cherise scoffed to herself. “Yeah. That’s what he said too. Said Cherise was too soft and scared. Said Candy was the one who knew how to survive.”

Jey’s jaw flexed tightly. Almost as if he has the urge to run out and hunt the bastard down for round two.

“And the worst part is?” she said, her voice cracking. “I started believing him. I started separating the two in my head like I had to kill off the soft part of me just to make it out. Like my mother didn’t die bringing me into this world, so I could fuckin’ live in it.”

Her vision blurred again, her breathing shallow.

“And then that party…” Her voice was a whisper now, barely there. “That was when I realized I was just a prop to him.”

Jey leaned forward, his hands sliding gently up her thighs, grasping onto one of her hands, waiting patiently.

“He invited me out like we was goin’ somewhere fancy—told me to wear somethin’ cute, somethin’ tight. Like it was a lil’ dinner date. Said he wanted to treat me for being good.”

Jey’s expression darkened.

“I showed up lookin’ nice. Real nice. Hair pressed and curled, heels on, this red dress I bought with the tips I hid from him.” She laughed bitterly. “And I walk in with him to this suite in Buckhead… and it’s a fuckin’ bachelor party.”

She paused.

“My name was already on the damn flyer.”

Jey blinked. “Flyer?”

“They printed flyers, Jey. My face. My stage name. ‘Special guest: Candy.’ And he never told me. Never asked. Just… threw me to the wolves. Gave me a g-string and a bottle of liquor and told me to make him look good.”

Her throat bobbed. She could barely speak now.

“I ain’t never felt that small in my life,” she whispered. “They was shoutin’, laughin’, throwin’ money before I even touched the pole. One of his boys grabbed me…like full on grabbed me and Tremaine just stood there. Watchin’. Smilin’ like he was bein’ turned on by me being uncomfortable.”

Cherise didn’t notice the way her voice cracked. The way her face crumpled. The way the first tear slipped down her cheek until it landed right on his thigh. “And when I decided to leave him for good, He ran off with all of my money. Every dollar I was savin’ for school. He claimed I ‘owed’ him. That it was his severance package or some dumb shit.”

“I’m twenty eight and I’m still trying to pull my eighteen year old self out of that room. And I never got to tell my story. People just assumed I was fast. That I liked it. But I was groomed, Jey. I was a kid.”

The last word broke something inside her.

And maybe it was the way he stayed so still.

Maybe it was the way his hand didn’t leave hers, or the way his thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and soft.

He rested his forehead against hers, his hands gripping her thighs.

“I’m sorry, Cherise” he whispered, voice raw. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and this time, she didn’t hide them. She didn’t pull away when Jey leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then the wet corner of her eye.

“I didn’t let Candy die though,” she whispered. “I remade her.”

She looked up then, her eyes red rimmed but defiant.

“I made her mine.”

“I picked my own outfits. My own music. I stopped dancin’ for money and started dancin’ for control. I started sayin’ no. I made my own schedule. I got selective with my dances, who I gave my energy to. Candy became someone I chose to be. Not someone I had to be to survive.”

Her voice thickened. “You remember that night when we met? And I picked you for VIP?”

Jey nodded slowly.

“I picked you,” she whispered. “Because I saw something soft in your eyes. Not just hunger. You didn’t look at me like I was somethin’ to consume. You looked at me like I was worth bein’ seen.”

“And when I saw you again after all that time,” she murmured, “I thought maybe… just maybe, I could let someone in. Let you in. But then Tremaine showed up.”

Jey’s expression shifted to something dark and protective. “He was at your apartment?”

“He came to my door, Jey,” she whispered. “Three weeks ago. That’s why I pushed you away.”

Jey’s face turned cold, but he didn’t interrupt. He just kept his hand on her skin, like he was holding her safely…grounding her.

“I wanted to believe you were different,” she choked out. “But when he said all that shit…about you just wantin’ what I could give you? It just…it felt too real. Like maybe I was stupid for thinkin’ this could be more.”

“Nah,” Jey said sharply, his voice low and certain. “Never.”

Cherise blinked. “But why?”

Jey pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.

“You really think I’m that kinda dude?”

Cherise shook her head quickly. “No. I don’t. Not really. I just…I didn’t think someone like you could want someone like me.”

Jey face fell. His voice dropped, low and thick.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you’re Jey Uso,” she exclaimed. “You’re world tours. You’re stadium lights. You’re championships. And I’m just someone tryin’ to piece her life back together.”

“You not just anything,” he said, his voice a growl. “You are everything. You hear me?”

Cherise blinked almost as if she couldn’t believe what she is hearing.

“I saw you,” he murmured. “From the jump. And you ain’t never had to pick between Candy and Cherise for me. I want all of it, baby girl. Every version of you. The one who smiles soft, and the one who bites back.”

She inhaled shakily, her fingers tightening around his.

“I ain’t just tryna see you naked in the club,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lips, careful of the bruise. “I’m tryna see you in the morning light. In scrubs. With your books all laid out on that little ass coffee table I organized.”

Cherise let out a breathy laugh through the tears, covering her face. “You really did organize my shit…”

“I did.” He smirked gently. “Color-coded and everything which..you welcome.”

She giggled into her hands, her voice watery and broken and warm.

“You paid my tuition,” she whispered, finally letting the words out.

Jey’s smile faltered. He sat back a little, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes still on hers.

“I did.”

“Why?”

He was quiet for a second, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Because you deserve it,” he said simply.“It shouldn’t take a miracle or working yourself to death for you to get what you need. You was already fightin’ for it on your own and I just wanted to make it a little easier.”

Cherise’s throat closed. “That’s a lot of money, Jey.”

“I know.”

“You ain’t even tell me.”

“Didn’t want to. It wasn’t about credit, mama. It was about you.” His voice dropped. “All I wanted was to see you win and succeed.”

Her lip trembled, and she reached for him before she could stop herself, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in the crook of his neck. He caught her instantly, arms strong around her back, his hands cradling her like she was something precious.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so so sorry, Jey.”

“Nah,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. “You ain’t gotta apologize for protectin’ your peace.”

“I thought I had to do it all alone.”

“You don’t.” His voice was thick, trembling at the edges. “Not no more.”

Cherise sniffled, pulling back just enough to look at him and her eyes dropped to his arm, the butterfly inked on the inside of his bicep.

Her breath caught.

“You put that in the note.”

“I did,” he murmured, eyes on hers. “I knew you’d know it was me.”

Her fingers reached out, tracing the soft lines of the tattoo, her touch feather-light. “Why the butterfly?”

His lips curled.

“Because they survive shit they ain’t supposed to,” he said softly. “They start out as somethin’ small and ugly and stuck, but when it’s time? They grow wings and fly.”

Cherise couldn’t breathe.

Jey leaned in slowly, brushing his forehead to hers, their noses grazing. “You my butterfly, baby.”

Her breath hitched. “Jey…”

“Yes, baby?” he responds, lips ghosting over hers.

“…Please stay.” she whispers against his lips.

Jey didn’t hesitate to capture her lips with his own.

♡

The bedroom was dim.

Quiet.

Soft shadows stretched across the walls, the room smelling faintly like vanilla and her body butter. Cherise’s curls were tied up high, but a few strands had fallen loose around her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, her full lips parted slightly as she watched him from the foot of the bed.

Jey’s eyes raked over her slowly.

From the delicate slope of her shoulders to the curve of her waist under the hoodie, to the thick thighs visible just beneath the hem, bare and gleaming from where she’d been curled against him earlier.

His voice came out low. Rough.

“You sure, mama? We don’t have to-”

She cut him off with a nod. One, slow but sure. “I’m sure. I’m done runnin’.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, lifting a hand to trace the line of her jaw with his thumb. Her skin was warm beneath his touch, eyes fluttering as his palm slid to cup her cheek.

“Aight,” he murmured, dipping his head.

“I’ma take my time then.”

The kiss wasn’t urgent.

It was deep. Slow. All tongue and teeth and soft moans slipping between them as Cherise melted against him.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space between their bodies. Just heat and tension and years of wanted to be loved the right way finally unraveling at the seams.

Jey growled low when her hips brushed his, his hands sliding up under the hoodie, palms dragging over soft, bare skin.

“You got nothin’ on under here?” he murmured against her mouth.

“Maybe.”

“Girl…”

His hands roamed higher until they found the curve of her waist, thumbs brushing the sides of her ribs. His breath hitched when he felt the under curve of her breasts which were bare, soft, and warm.

Cherise smirked against his lips. “Listen…I was comfy before I ran out to stop you from killing that man.”

“Seems like you tryna kill me tonight,” Jey muttered, kissing her harder.

She let out a breathless laugh that turned into a gasp as he slid the hoodie up over her head, lifting her arms and dragging it free in one smooth motion.

Then he froze.

Jey’s gaze raked over her bare chest like a man starving.

God, she was beautiful.

Rich brown skin soft and glowing in the lamplight. Full breasts, heavy, topped with deep brown nipples already stiff from anticipation. The soft curve of her belly, the stretch of her waist, the plush of her thighs.

He took a step back just to look.

“You gon’ make me say it again,” he muttered, licking his lips. “Damn, mama.”

Cherise flushed, but didn’t cover herself. Not this time.

Not with the way he was lookin’ at her.

Not when she could see admiration in his eyes.

“I’m nothin’ special,” she whispered.

Jey’s head snapped up.

He stepped forward, slid his arms around her waist, and lifted her onto the edge of the bed like she weighed nothing.

Then he knelt between her thighs and looked up at her with that same focused intensity he gave the first night they met.

“Lemme tell you somethin’,” he said, voice low. “You everything, baby girl. I ain’t never wanted nobody like I want you. You sittin’ up here actin’ like you regular, and I’m out here ready to go to war over you girl.”

Cherise let out a soft laugh but it caught in her throat when his mouth pressed to her chest.

Jey kissed her breast first, soft and slow. His tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it until it hardened, then he sucked it between his lips, deep and slow, like he wanted to taste every inch.

Cherise gasped, her hand flying to the back of his head.

“J-Joshua…”

“Mmm,” he hummed, switching sides, letting his teeth graze the peak before sucking it again.

The pressure, the heat, the devotion in the way he kissed her made her whole body tighten. Her thighs shifted, hips rolling forward just slightly as he mouthed and licked over the swells of her chest like she was dessert.

“You taste so good, baby,” he murmured, dragging his tongue down her sternum. “So fuckin’ soft. Got me losin’ my mind.”

Cherise whimpered as he laid her back slowly on the mattress, climbing up to hover over her.

His shirt was still on so she tugged it.

“You always got somethin’ to pull off me,” he teased, stripping it in one smooth motion.

And when his shirt dropped to the floor, God, she could have sworn her mouth watered.

The tattoos, the muscle, the sheer weight of him above her. The way the butterfly curled just inside his bicep.

He caught her staring.

“You still thinkin’ ‘bout that note?”

She nodded.

“I ain’t write that just to be cute,” he said softly. “I wrote it ‘cause it’s real. You really do deserve all this. You deserve me takin’ my time wit’ you. You deserve to be held right.”

He dipped his head, lips brushing her jaw.

“Kissed right.”

Down her neck.

“Tasted right.”

His tongue traced her collarbone, slow, teasing.

“Loved right.”

Cherise’s body arched as he pressed his lips lower.

Jey’s mouth dragged down the soft slope of her belly, his hands spreading wide over the plush of her thighs, his palms so big they made her look even softer beneath him.

Cherise trembled.

The cool air kissed over her damp skin, every inch of her buzzing from the slow trail of his kisses. She could feel his breath ghosting over the waistband of her panties . The delicate lace in deep red, damp in the center from how long she’d been aching for him.

Jey’s fingers slid under the waistband, and he looked up at her. Controlled. Focused. Dangerous.

“You want this off, baby?” he murmured, voice low and full of promise.

Cherise nodded, but he didn’t move.

“Use them words, pretty girl.”

Her breath caught. “Yes. Please.”

“Mmm.” Jey’s smirk deepened, and he tugged the lace down her thighs slow, like he was unwrapping a gift he’d waited too long to open.

And when he saw her?

Spread open, glistening, already soaked for him?

His mouth dropped open like he’d just seen God.

“Shit, mama…” he groaned, dragging two fingers slowly along her folds, collecting the slick there, then rubbing small, gentle circles over her clit. “You already this wet for me?”

Cherise whimpered, hips twitching.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

Jey chuckled darkly, leaning in, his lips brushing over her inner thigh. “Say less.”

Then he lowered his mouth to her.

The first stroke of his tongue was slow and deep. Cherise gasped, her thighs flexing instinctively around his head, but Jey didn’t stop. He just gripped her hips tighter, holding her in place as he devoured her.

Long, lazy licks through her velvety folds, flicks of his tongue over her clit, then back down again, teasing her open, tasting her like it was his purpose of living .

“F-fuck…” she moaned, her head tipping back against the pillows.

He was relentless. Every flick of his tongue was intentional. Every moan he pulled from her was earned.

And he loved every second of it.

“Mm,” Jey hummed against her, his voice low and muffled in her heat. “You know how sweet this pussy is, baby? Been dreamin’ about this taste.”

He sucked her clit between his lips, slow and deep.

Cherise cried out, her hips bucking, her fingers flying down to twist in his hair.

Her thighs were trembling now, soft brown skin quivering as pleasure coiled low and hot in her belly.

Jey kept going, flattening his tongue and dragging it up from her dripping entrance to her clit again and again until her whole body was trembling.

Then two thick, long fingers slid inside her at once, curling just right against her walls, stroking her open.

Her back arched off the bed.

“J-Jey!”

“That’s it, mama,” he whispered, his breath hot against her core. “Lemme hear you.”

He fucked her slow with his fingers, his tongue working in tandem. The rhythm deliberate, intoxicating, like he was building her up slow just to watch her fall apart.

Her breath stuttered, chest heaving, her nipples tight and peaked, her curls sticking to her temples.

She was soaked.

The obscene sound of his fingers pumping into her echoed in the room, mixing with her breathy moans, and it made his cock throb in his sweats.

“Oh my God,” she whimpered, her thighs squeezing around his head.

“You close, baby?” he murmured, his lips gliding over her clit. “You gon’ cum for me?”

She nodded helplessly.

But again, he made her say it.

“Tell me.”

“I’m—I’m gonna—” her voice broke into a moan as his tongue circled her clit again. “I’m gonna cum—please don’t stop—”

That was all he needed.

He sucked her clit harder, thrust his fingers deeper and her whole body snapped.

Her back arched, thighs trembling, mouth falling open in a silent cry as the orgasm crashed over her in hot, pulsing waves.

“Fuckfuckfuck—J-Jey, oh my God—”

Her body convulsed around his fingers, soaking his hand, the wet sounds of her release enough to make his eyes roll back in his head.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, licking her through it, slow and greedy. “That’s it, baby. Lemme taste all of it.”

He didn’t stop until she was squirming, gasping, her body too sensitive to handle the way he worshipped her.

He pressed one last kiss to her clit before pulling back, his mouth and beard shining with her slick.

She blinked up at him, breathless and fucked-out, chest heaving.

Jey smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Still think I came back for the pussy?” he rasped.

Cherise could barely speak.

She blinked at him, her chest heaving, curls wild, sweat beading down the curve of her temple. Her skin glowed warm and flushed, her legs still trembling from the orgasm he pulled from her with nothing but that sinful mouth.

And her heart?

Thudding wild in her chest.

He leaned over her slowly, his body caging hers in, and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

Her lashes fluttered.

“You good, baby girl?”

She nodded, dazed.

“You sure?”

“Don’t be smug,” she whispered, cheeks flushed.

He grinned.

“I ain’t smug, mama,” he murmured, voice dipping low as he kissed the corner of her mouth, soft and delicate. “I’m in awe.”

Her breath caught.

Because he wasn’t teasing. His voice was thick with sincerity, his eyes warm, lips brushing hers like she was made of glass.

His hands stayed on her the whole time palming her hips, tracing the curve of her ass, gripping her thighs possessively like he couldn’t believe she was real.

She reached for him, hooked her fingers in the waistband of his sweats and whispered, “Take ‘em off,” earning a groan low in his throat.

“Damn, baby. You bossy..”

She smiled, pulling them down slowly, revealing his thick length. Brown, heavy, veined and already leaking at the tip.

“Jey…”

“Yeah?” he rasped, watching her hand wrap around him.

Her thumb slid over the head, collecting the precum, and his breath caught.

“You gon’ let me have a taste?”

He bit his lip. “Eventually.”

“Eventually?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, baby.” He pulled her hand away gently, flipping her onto her back. “But I gotta be inside you first.”

He lowered himself again, his chest pressed to hers, and slid his hand between her thighs.

Fingers brushed her soaked folds, then guided himself to her entrance.

“You ready, baby?”

She nodded, trembling.

Jey’s mouth brushed her ear.

“Use them words, baby girl.”

“I’m ready,” she breathed.

Jey filled her slow and deep.

The thick head of his dick stretched her open inch by inch, his hips pressing forward with a groan that shook her bones. “Mmmf—fuck, baby girl…”

Cherise’s mouth fell open, her back arching as her fingers scrambled for purchase on his shoulders.

Every nerve in her body lit up.

She’d taken him before but not like this.

Not with this heat in the air. Not with all that tension and desperation simmering beneath the surface. Not after crying in his arms, after spilling her deepest wounds, only for him to look her dead in the eye like she was the most precious thing he ever touched.

And now he was inside her.

Thick. Heavy. Warm.

“Fffffuuuuuck,” she gasped, fingers clawing at his inked back.

Jey chuckled low and dark, his forehead pressed to hers. He pulled back just enough to slam back in, the force making her tits bounce, a sharp moan ripping from her throat.

“Shhh, I got you, baby,” he whispered against her neck, voice low and breathless. “Relax f’me. Just like that. You takin’ me so good.”

He pushed deeper, his hips rolling forward until he was seated all the way in, his heavy length stretching her in that perfect, dizzying way.

Cherise whimpered.

His grip tightened on her hips, holding her in place while he set a rhythm. Every stroke dragged along her walls, thick and slow, the head of his dick tapping her g-spot just right, again and again.

Her thighs clenched around his waist, trying to ground herself. “Oh my god…”

“Yeah,” Jey groaned, holding still for a moment, his forehead pressed to hers. “Feel that, mama? That’s me in this sweet lil’ pussy.”

She whimpered, trying to respond but he caught her mouth in a hot, sloppy kiss, stealing whatever comeback she had on the tip of her tongue.

Tongues colliding and teeth lightly scraping against each other.

She sucked on his bottom lip, then moaned into his mouth as he drove into her again, this time harder, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

Jey’s chain swung lightly across her chest, catching on her nipple, cold metal teasing her sensitive skin with every pump.

“You hear that?” he panted, cock grinding deep. “That’s you, baby. That’s how fuckin’ wet you are for me.”

Cherise’s legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, trying to pull him deeper, tighter. The stretch was so good, so nasty she could feel the pressure building again, that tight knot coiling low in her belly.

“I missed you,” she moaned, nails dragging down his back.

“I know you did,” Jey rasped, biting her throat. “You act tough, but this pussy been missin’ me.”

His teeth grazed the sweet spot under her jaw, and he sucked hard. A deep, dark bruise bloomed against her neck, and Cherise loved it.

She moaned louder, her hips rolling to meet his strokes, her curls sticking to her face as she lost herself in the rhythm.

“You like that, huh?” he growled, sucking another hickey into her chest. “Like when I mark you up?”

She nodded furiously, breath catching.

“Mmm, fuck, baby…” His lips found her collarbone, dragging hot kisses across it. “Look at you. All that sass and you still foldin’ on me.”

Her hand slapped weakly at his chest. “Shut up…”

He chuckled against her skin. “Say you love it.”

Cherise whimpered, her head buried in his shoulder.

“Say it, baby girl,” he murmured, nipping at her jaw. “Say you love when I fuck you like this.”

She cried out when he rolled his hips hard, hitting that spot inside her that made her legs shake.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, fuck—I-I love it, Jey, I—oooh my god…”

“That’s my girl.” He bit down gently on her throat, leaving a warm, stinging mark behind. “This pussy mine now, huh?”

“Y-yeah..fuck..yes!”

“Yeah it’s mine?”

“It’s yours,” she moaned, back arching, nails digging into his biceps. “God, Jey—fuck!”

He grinned, satisfied.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoed soft and rhythmic through the apartment—his hips grinding into hers in long, deep strokes, dragging moans from her throat she didn’t even know she could make.

Jey kissed her everywhere.

The slope of her nose.

Her cheeks.

Her shoulder.

Her breasts.

He sucked a nipple into his mouth and groaned, tongue circling it slow before giving it a gentle bite.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” he muttered between kisses. “Don’t ever let nobody tell you different.”

Cherise whimpered, hands threading through his curls.

“I mean that shit,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “You hear me?”

She nodded, dazed.

But that wasn’t enough.

“Say it.”

She swallowed hard. “I hear you.”

“Say you believe it.”

“I…” Her throat tightened. “I’m trying.”

He kissed her. Deep. Long.

His tongue slid slow into her mouth, curling against hers as he poured everything he couldn’t say into that kiss. His care, his hunger, his love even if he hadn’t said the word yet.

And when he pulled back?

Her eyes were wet again.

But not from pain.

“I got you, baby girl,” he whispered against her lips. “You ain’t gotta try alone no more. You got me.”

Her heart cracked open.

And this time, when she pulled him back down, the kiss was different.

Desperate. Needy.

Full of emotion neither of them could hide anymore.

He pulled out slow—too slow—and before she could whine, he flipped her effortlessly onto her stomach.

Cherise gasped, bracing herself on her elbows as he dragged her hips up into the air.

“Arch that back for me,” he grunted, slapping her ass hard.

Smack.

She cried out, eyes fluttering.

“That’s it baby, arch it,” he instructed, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her head down while her ass stayed high.

“There you go.”

He slid the tip of his dick through her slick folds, teasing her, tapping against her clit before lining back up. He slid back into her with ease, the new angle hitting different. She screamed silently into the pillow, her fists balling up the sheets as he fucked into her.

Cherise was a mess.

Face down, ass up, hair wild, drool smudging the pillow.

The squelch of wetness and slapping skin was nasty. So nasty she should’ve been embarrassed. But the way he was fucking her? She couldn’t be embarrassed.

He grabbed a handful of her ass and spread her open, watching himself disappear inside her over and over, his dick shiny and soaked in her arousal with a creamy ring around the base.

“Daaamn,” he groaned. “You see this shit, baby?”

She whimpered into the pillow.

Jey chuckled darkly, dragging her hips back into each thrust, deeper, making her thighs quake.

“You ain’t tappin’ out yet, are you?”

“Nuh uh,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Please..don’t fuckin’ stop.”

He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

He pulled out and flipped her again, this time onto her side. One leg thrown over his shoulder, his hips angled deep, his arm was slung under her neck, holding her close, his other hand working slow, tight circles over her slick, swollen clit. He slid back into her slow, thick and heavy, her walls clenching around him like they missed him even after only seconds apart.

Cherise was a fucking mess.

Breathless, squirming, moaning, her pretty brown skin slick with sweat, her curls a halo of chaos around her flushed face as her hand clutched his forearm, nails biting into his inked skin as she buried her face in the pillow, lips swollen, thighs trembling.

“Ohh my God, Jey…”

He groaned into her neck, biting down gently, kissing the red mark after. “You feel me, baby?”

“Mhm…uh-huh…” she whimpered, voice all breath and heat. “So f-fuckin’ deep…”

Jey dragged his tongue up the column of her throat, fingers never stopping their rhythm, his hips grinding slow, deep strokes that made her cry out with every roll.

"Yeah…that’s it, mama," he murmured, voice low, thick with hunger. "Keep sayin’ it. Let me hear how good this shit feel.”

“I—It feels s-so good,” Cherise whimpered, throwing her head back against the pillow. “Fuck, Jey…”

“You gon’ cum again for me, baby girl?” he rasped, his teeth brushing her earlobe. “You close?”

She nodded desperately, her thighs shaking, her pussy clenching around him, already so sensitive from the last few orgasms he pulled from her.

Jey couldn’t breathe.

Not with Cherise beneath him like this.

Flushed, needy, soft, her thigh wrapped around his waist, her fingers locked tight around his wrist like she was holding on for dear life.

His girl.

His everything.

She was soaking for him. Warm and slick, her pussy pulsing around his dick, her body trembling with every slow roll of his hips. Every deep, steady stroke had her gasping, whining, whimpering like he was inside her soul.

And he gave it to her.

All of him.

Every inch. Every kiss. Every breath.

His forehead pressed to hers, hips grinding deep, their bodies slick with sweat and heat.

She reached up, brushing the curls from his face, her fingers trailing over the scruff lining his jaw.

And then…she said it.

“I love you, Jey.”

Jey froze.

The words didn’t just hit, they detonated.

And she meant it.

He saw it in her eyes.

Big and brown, glistening with tears and bliss, her lips swollen, trembling, her voice wrecked. But there was no fear there. No hesitation. Just her, raw and open beneath him, handing over her heart like she already knew he’d never break it.

His hands flexed on her thighs. His throat worked around the lump suddenly forming there.

“What you just say, baby?” His voice was low and fragile.

Cherise blinked up at him, chest heaving, her voice shaky but solid.

“I love you, Jey,” she whispered again. “I love you.”

Jey’s whole chest caved.

And the he kissed her. Hard. Slow and deep, tongue tangled with hers, his fingers tangled in her curls as his heart practically embedded itself into hers.

"You love me, huh?" he rasped, forehead resting against hers.

She nodded, brushing her nose against his, breath catching.

“Say it again.”

He rolled his hips into her, slow, filthy, every stroke dragging over that sweet spot that made her legs shake.

“I love you,” she moaned, her nails digging into his back.

Jey groaned, lips brushing hers, his heart slamming behind his ribs. “Mmm, yeah, you do.”

He kissed her again.

But this time his hands moved.

Slid up her arms, smooth and commanding, until he caught both wrists and pinned them above her head.

“Say it one more time, mama,” he growled. “Let me hear that shit while I’m deep in this pussy.”

“F-fuck—” she gasped as his hips snapped forward again. “I—I love you, Jey!”

Jey lost it.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, driving into her harder, deeper, the bed creaking beneath them like it couldn’t take much more.

He wasn’t rough. Not in the slightest. He worshipped her.

He touched her like she was holy, kissed her like he was praying, and fucked her like she was the only woman in the universe.

His hands explored every inch of her skin—dark, warm, golden brown under the soft lamp light, kissed with stretch marks and curves that ruined him. His mouth found the swell of her breasts, dragging his tongue over her nipple before sucking slow, deep, making her arch with a ragged cry.

“J-Jey…” She whined.

He switched sides, licking up a bead of sweat trailing down her cleavage before dragging his tongue over her other nipple, sucking until it was swollen, shiny, his hand kneading the other with slow, greedy palms.

“You feel that, baby?” he whispered, mouth dragging to her neck, where he licked and kissed his way up to the soft spot beneath her ear. He found her hands again, laced their fingers together and held them above her head, pressing them back into the pillows.

“Y-yeah,” she sobbed, breathless.

“Mmm, nah, say it real sweet for me. Tell Daddy what you feelin’.”

“I—I feel you, Jey,” she choked. “I feel you everywhere.”

“Yeah, you do,” he growled. “All in this lil’ pussy, stretchin’ you out, takin’ you so deep. You love that shit, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” she gasped.

“Uh-huh?” he teased, kissing down her jaw, his fingers still tangled with hers, their hands crushed into the pillows above her head.

“Y-yeah,” she whimpered.

His lips brushed behind her ear, breath hot and filthy. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she breathed, voice shaking. Jey groaned, voice low and cracked, eyes wild with lust.

“You so fuckin’ good to me, baby girl,” he whispered, moving their locked hands so he could kiss the inside of her wrist. “So sweet. So perfect. Love this lil’ body. Love this lil’ pussy. I fuckin’ love you, baby.”

Cherise broke.

She shattered in his arms.

Her mouth dropped open in a breathless cry, her thighs shaking violently as her orgasm rolled through her in thick, blinding waves. Her walls clamped down around his dick, milking him, sucking him in deeper, and Jey almost blacked out from how tight she got.

“Fuck,” He cursed low and thick, trying to hold on, trying to breathe through the way her pussy was gripping his dick.

But there was no holding back. Not when she looked at him like that. Not when she told him she loved him.

His pace stuttered, his grip tightening,,“F-fuck, baby,” he groaned, his body jerking as he spilled hot ropes spilled her, deep, thick, and heavy.

Cherise held him tight, arms sliding around his back, pulling him close while he buried his face in her neck, whispering her name like a prayer.

And when it was over, when the aftershocks of their orgasms began to fade and his breath evened out, they stayed tangled up in each other. Jey brushed his thumb down her thigh, then traced slow circles over her wrist where he still held her hand.

His other hand slid across her belly, feeling the faint twitch of aftershocks still rippling through her.

Jey didn’t move right away.

He stayed wrapped around her, holding her like she might float away if he let go, their bodies tangled in damp sheets, hearts still hammering slow and heavy against each other’s chests.

Cherise blinked up at the ceiling, still dazed, her body thrumming from the aftershocks of everything they just did. Her skin was sticky with sweat and slick, her thighs trembling from how hard she’d come. She should’ve felt wrecked. But instead? she just felt…whole.

Jey pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against the curve of her neck, his beard tickling her cheek. Cherise’s eyes fell on him, a slow, tired smile pulling at her lips.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice soft and sweet all at once.

Jey grinned, lazy and lopsided, dimples deep. "Hey, pretty girl."

For a moment, neither of them moved, just…looking.

Taking it in.

Breathing it in.

Then Jey chuckled low in his throat and pressed a kiss to her temple. "C'mon, mama. Let’s get you cleaned up. I done wore you out."

Cherise smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth tugging up. “Mmhmm.”

Jey kissed her forehead, then slowly, carefully, rolled off her, leaving a trail of kisses down her arm. She whimpered quietly at the loss of his warmth, but when she peeked at him through her lashes, he was already standing beside the bed, tugging his boxers back on and stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing deliciously in the soft light.

Cherise whined softly but let him pull her up into a sitting position.

Her whole body ached in that delicious, used way. Her thighs sore, her core throbbing, her neck and breasts marked with love bites she already knew she was gonna have to cover up for clinicals.

Worth it.

Jey bent down, sliding his arms under her body, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Cherise yelped, smacking his chest lightly. “Boy! I can walk!” Jey just smirked, his gold chain glinting against his chest. “I’on wanna hear that shit. You my girl. I’m carryin’ you.”

Cherise melted.

No point arguing when he said it like that.

She tucked her face into his neck, breathing in the mix of his sweat, his cologne, and something distinctly him. It wrapped around her like a safety blanket.

Jey carried her down the short hall to the bathroom, nudging the door open with his foot.

He set her down gently on the edge of the tub, giving her a quick peck on the lips before crouching down to run the water.

The faucet squeaked a little as he twisted the knobs, steam quickly filling the room. He fiddled with the temperature, letting it get nice and warm but not too hot, just the way she liked it.

“You want bubbles, mama?” he teased, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

Cherise gave him a sleepy, sassy look. “I always want bubbles.”

He chuckled and grabbed the fancy vanilla and honey-scented bubble bath she kept on the counter next to her body scrubs. Poured a generous amount under the running water until the tub filled with thick, fluffy foam. He also dropped in one of her bath bombs, the glittery pink one she never used unless she really needed a self care day.

She watched him in silence, something soft and full tugging at her heart as he moved. Shirtless, sweat still glistening on his brown skin, tattoos flexing over muscle and bone. But it was the care in his movements that did it. The way he tested the water again, adjusted it for her. The way he reached for her towel, fluffed it, and set it near the edge of the tub like he’d always belonged here.

While it filled, Cherise grabbed her phone from the counter and flipped on a playlist. Snoh Aalegra’s voice filled the room, sultry and smooth, fitting the intimacy that bloomed between the two.

Jey turned back to her, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her face, his thumb lingering along her jawline.

“Get in, pretty girl,” he said, voice all soft gravel.

Cherise smiled shyly and climbed into the tub, sinking into the warm water with a content sigh. It lapped up her shoulders, bubbles clinging to her brown skin, and instantly started easing the aches deep in her muscles.

Jey watched her, eyes hungry and tender all at once, like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“Damn, you look good even sittin’ in bubbles,” he muttered, stripping off his boxers and stepping in behind her.

Cherise giggled, wiggling back against his chest once he settled, his legs bracketing her hips, his arms wrapping around her middle.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, utterly boneless.

They soaked in silence for a few minutes, the water sloshing gently as Jey shifted to press slow, lazy kisses to her damp shoulder, her temple, her cheek.

Then Jey reached for a loofah, soaping it up with slow, deliberate hands. "Let me take care of you, baby," he murmured.

He washed her slowly, starting with her back, dragging the warm cloth in slow circles over her soft skin, pausing to kiss the nape of her neck every now and then. Then her arms, lifting them gently, his big hands squeezing and massaging as he cleaned.

When he got to her chest, he hesitated.

"You trust me?" he murmured low against her ear.

Cherise nodded, breath hitching.

"Good," he said, so soft it made her eyes sting. "Gon’ take my time with you, baby."

He cupped her breasts reverently, sliding the cloth over her nipples, washing them slow and tender, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone between strokes.

Cherise whimpered, her body arching into his hands.

"Relax, baby,” he whispered, kissing her shoulder. "Just takin’ care of what’s mine."

She melted into him, letting him soap every inch of her—down her thighs, over her knees, between her toes, laughing when he tickled her and groaning when he got too close to her pussy without meaning to.

"Mm-mm," she said, catching his wrist. "We tryin’ to get clean, she’s closed for business.”

Jey chuckled low, licking at the shell of her ear. "You sure, baby? ‘Cause one lil’ moan and I’ma forget what mission we on."

She laughed, leaning back against him fully, feeling his heart beat steady against her back.

“She is closed for business, Joshua," she teased.

He pressed another kiss to her shoulder. "Whatever you say, pretty girl."

He ran his hands over her arms, slow and soothing, tracing the curves he already knew by heart.

“You so beautiful, baby,” he whispered against her skin. “I swear to God.”

Cherise blushed, biting her lip.

Her hand reached up to rest over his, their fingers intertwining lazily beneath the bubbles.

They sat like that, breathing each other in, for what felt like forever.

The music changed ushering in Jodeci. Jey chuckled low in her ear, his chest rumbling against her back. “Ayy, this my shit.”

Cherise laughed softly. “You so old, Jey.”

“Nah, you just a baby, mama. I’m cultured.”

She snorted. “Cultured, my ass.”

He squeezed her gently around the waist, his teeth grazing her shoulder playfully. “Watch your mouth, lil' girl.”

Cherise giggled, wriggling against him, sending ripples across the bath.

“Mmm, you so wild,” he murmured, smiling into her skin. “I love it.”

Her heart skipped.

Even now, even post-orgasm, post-vulnerability, post-everything…he said it so easy.

I love it.

Like loving her was easy and natural.

She turned slightly, enough to see his face, wet hair clinging to his forehead, bubbles sticking to the tribal tattoos on his chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what, baby girl?”

“For…caring. For not running. For still being here. Even when I gave you every reason to.”

Jey’s eyes softened, his hand coming up to cradle her jaw gently, thumb brushing across her cheek.

He kissed the curve of her shoulder. “You ain’t never gotta thank me for that.”

Her voice dipped softer. “I was scared you wouldn’t wanna deal with all of it.”

“Baby girl,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Ain’t nothin’ you could tell me that would make me walk away. That ain’t how I’m built. Especially not when it’s you.”

Cherise turned slightly in his arms, enough to meet his eyes.

He reached up and brushed her damp curls off her cheek, then tucked a finger under her chin.

“You mine,” he said quietly. “And I don’t mean that in no possessive, weird-ass way. I mean…I choose you. Every version. The soft one, the stubborn one, the hurt one, the healing one. All of you.”

Her chest squeezed.

God, she was so stupid for pushing him away.

Cherise shifted, turning fully in his lap now, straddling his hips in the warm water, bubbles sliding between them.

Jey blinked up at her, his hands instinctively settling on her hips.

“Damn, mama…” he murmured, low and admiring, his gaze sweeping over her. “You tryna start somethin’ now?”

Cherise smiled, shy but sure.

“Nah,” she whispered, brushing her nose against his. “Just…wanna be close to you that’s all.”

Jey groaned softly, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You already are, baby girl. I’m right here.” He tapped her chest, over her heart. “Right here.”

Cherise kissed him.

Soft and slow. Not rushed or desperate. Just themselves.

Jey kissed her back like he had all the time in the world with his hands stroking up and down her back, keeping her close, making her feel wanted, loved, safe.

The bath water sloshed gently around them, bubbles clinging to their bodies, the music playing low in the background.

♡

The bath lingered longer than it should’ve. Neither of them wanted to move. But eventually, the water cooled, and Jey stood first, pulling her up with him and wrapping her in the big white towel he’d grabbed earlier. His hands lingering as he dried her off slowly, like he didn’t want to let go.

He dried himself next, putting on a fresh pair of boxers as Cherise helped him apply some of her unscented body oil on his body. He glanced around at the chaos in the bedroom from the hall—disarayed pillows, wrinkled and damp sheets, the twisted comforter hanging halfway off the bed. “Go sit down, baby. I got the sheets.”

“You sure?” she asked, holding the towel to her chest.

Jey nodded, grabbing her comforter with one hand and pulling the fitted sheet off with the other. “You think I’mma let you lay on sweaty ass sheets after I done wore you out?”

Cherise snorted, watching him tug the corners tight and smooth the fabric out like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Okay, Mr. Domestic,” she teased, walking past him to grab her body butter from the dresser.

He looked over his shoulder at her, grinning. “Ain’t no way I'm lettin’ my girl sleep in no nasty ass bed. You deserve better than that, mama.”

She doesn’t know how many times she has swooned over something he has said to her already but she guesses this is her 80th time.

Once the sheets were fresh and the pillows were fluffed, Jey patted the mattress.

“Lay down, pretty girl.”

She raised a brow. “For what?”

He took the jar of her body butter from her hands. “’Cause I ain’t done pampering you yet.”

She smiled shyly but obeyed, lying on her stomach on the fresh sheets he’d thrown over the bed.

Jey straddled her thighs, his hands warm and firm as he opened her favorite body butter—the mango-shea one she obsessed over—and scooped out a generous handful.

"You smell so damn good,” he muttered, smoothing it over her back.

Cherise giggled, sighing as his strong hands started kneading into her shoulders.

He found knots she didn’t even know she had, thumbs digging deep into the tension beneath her skin, coaxing it out slow and patient.

“You tense, baby,” he murmured, his thumbs digging into the tight knots along her shoulders.

“Been a rough few weeks,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“I know.” His voice softened. “We gon’ fix that.”

He rubbed slow, deep circles into her shoulders until she was practically purring beneath his hands.

"Mmm, damn, baby," she moaned into the pillow. “I could fall asleep just like this.”

He chuckled, low and pleased. "Jus' tryna make sure you ain’t wakin’ up stiff tomorrow."

He worked his way down—back, the dip of her spine, the swell of her ass—kneading and rubbing and kissing every spot that made her whimper.

"You spoilin’ me," she mumbled sleepily.

"I’m supposed to, baby girl," he murmured, kissing between her shoulder blades. “It’s what you deserve.”

Then, gentle as ever, he flipped her onto her back and started on her front. Collarbones, breasts, arms, even her belly, rubbing the butter into every soft, beautiful inch of her.

When he finally finished, Cherise was boneless and glowing, her skin glistening in the low light, the scent of vanilla and sugar wrapping around her like a blanket.

He wiped his hands clean and pulled her up gently, helping her into one of her bed shirts and a fresh pair of cotton panties.

Then he tugged on his grey sweats and slid into bed beside her, pulling her back against his chest like she was the softest, most precious thing he’d ever touched.

They lay like that for a while, limbs tangled, skin still warm and glowing.

Then Jey mumbled into her curls, “You think I ain’t notice you wearin’ my hoodie earlier, girl?”

Cherise froze, then turned her head slowly. “…What hoodie?”

He bit back a grin. “The one you definitely snatched from me after that first night. I saw it behind your back when I was leaving.”

She groaned, hiding her face in the pillow. “I knew it.”

Jey kissed the back of her head, smirking. “It was cute. Had me feelin’ like I had a girlfriend.”

“Do you?”

“Damn right I do.”

Cherise could feel her cheeks flush against her pillow, she couldn’t even compute a smart remark to say back in her head so she just remained silent but snuggled closer to him.

"Baby girl?"

"Hmm?"

"You free Friday?"

Cherise tilted her head back to look at him. "Why?"

He smiled, slow and sweet. "I’m takin’ you out."

Cherise blinked up at him, heart skipping a few beats. “You serious?”

"I’m serious, Cher," he said, his voice turning a little more earnest. "I wanna do this right wit’ you. You get dressed up, I’ll pull up in a suit lookin’ fly as hell, and I’mma spoil you like you deserve.”

Her heart twisted in the best way.

"You sure you ready for all this?" she teased, lifting a brow. "I’m kinda of a lot." Jey grinned. "I’m ready for all that and then some," He kissed her slow, sweet. "You ain't never gotta doubt it again, pretty girl."

Cherise buried her face in his chest, hiding her stupid, wide-ass smile. "I’d like that," she mumbled. Jey chuckled, squeezing her tighter. "Mmmhmm. Knew you would."

They laid there tangled up, drifting off to sleep the city lights blinking softly outside her window, their future wide open before them.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

Cherise believed it.

Maybe she could have something good.

Maybe she already did and just didn’t know at first.

taglist:@bebesobrielo @zillasvilla @harmshake @amandairene88 @pr0tost4r @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @4milly @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @bloodlinesbabe93 @punksyeet @xbriexx @li-da-savage @partypoison00 @theusotwinzcom @fearlesschimera @luvrsluxe @kiki1704 @chasssssworld @a6mberr @empressdede @clubsoft @ctinadiva @acknowledge-reigns @queeny23 @ariiaellbtheedonn @luuvprincess @brianochka @jeyssidepiece @christinabae @uceyliyahh @sharmelasworld @thevenussapphic @key05marie @trentybenty @usomads @outthering @cinnycinnamon @southernpree @tribalchief2112 @Justazzi @star017 @lilucey @levissslutt @hoisucool @xoxo-lailai @princess-eighteen

if you'd like to be a part of my taglist, sign up here to be the first to see my newest drops! 🫧

[kysstar]

RIDE & FALL | CHOI JONGHO

pairing : : choi jongho x fem!reader

synopsis : : biker!jongho headcanons

genre : : established relationship

warnings : : starting off soft, will get suggestive(almost nsfw?) in the end.

sfw !

biker jongho who always makes sure your helmet is strapped perfectly before he even thinks about starting the engine

biker jongho who has a special jacket just for you that matches his, insists you wear it every ride

biker jongho who taps your knee twice when it’s safe for you to loosen your hold around his waist

biker jongho who keeps a small photo of you tucked inside his wallet, right next to his bike license

biker jongho who grumbles about it, but secretly loves when you decorate his bike key with little charms

biker jongho who kisses your forehead every time you take your helmet off, no matter who’s around

biker jongho who leans back against his bike after a long ride and pulls you into his lap like you’re the most natural thing in the world

biker jongho who gets flustered when you wear his leather jacket and nothing else around the house

biker jongho who insists you sit in his lap while he works on the bike, letting you hand him tools just so you feel involved

biker jongho who plans scenic rides just because he knows you like taking sunset pictures together

biker jongho who buys you your own pair of riding gloves and brags about how “his girl looks better than him on the bike”

biker jongho who always rides slower when you’re tired so you can lean against his back and rest

biker jongho who makes it a thing to grab two hot chocolates after night rides instead of coffee because he knows you’ll sleep easier

biker jongho who lowkey wants you to sit in front sometimes so he can wrap his arms around you and guide your hands on the handlebars

biker jongho who texts you cute “made it safe” messages with little hearts whenever you can’t ride together

biker jongho who gets all shy when you brag about him to friends, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling “it’s not a big deal”

biker jongho who slow dances with you next to the bike under the stars when you're too wired to sleep after night rides

biker jongho who refuses to let anyone else teach you bike maintenance because “if you’re learning, you’re learning from me”

biker jongho who sneaks kisses at red lights when he’s sure no one else is looking, even if you pretend to scold him after

biker jongho who looks at you like you’re his whole world every time you climb on behind him and wrap your arms around his waist

nsfw !

biker jongho who parks deep in the woods or empty lots just so he can bend you over the bike without worrying about getting caught

biker jongho who wears fingerless gloves that somehow make it impossible for you to think straight when he’s touching you

biker jongho who tugs you by your belt loops the second you’re off the bike, pinning you against it like he can’t wait

biker jongho who bites your neck lightly through your jacket collar just to hear you gasp and squirm

biker jongho who grabs a fistful of your hair to tilt your head back when he kisses you, deep and messy like he can’t get enough

biker jongho who mutters how you’re his favorite view on and off the bike, especially when you're panting his name

biker jongho who bites down on his leather glove and pulls it off with his teeth, all while keeping his gaze locked on you

biker jongho who makes you watch yourself in the bike’s chrome, praising how filthy and beautiful you look for him

biker jongho who pins your wrists above your head against the leather seat, his mouth hot and heavy against your pulse as he grinds into you

biker jongho who drags his leather jacket across your bare skin when you're stripped down, loving the contrast of cold against your heat

biker jongho who fists your hair lightly when you drop to your knees for him in the dark, rough voice telling you how perfect you are

biker jongho who bites the shell of your ear when you’re trying to act innocent, telling you how pretty you sound when you beg

biker jongho who kisses you slow and deep until you’re clinging to his jacket, hips grinding against yours like he can’t get close enough

biker jongho who shoves his jacket under your hips like a makeshift bed when he lays you out across the grass

biker jongho who kisses you slow and deep after everything, telling you he’s never letting you go anywhere without him again

© kysstar

[dragoneyelashart]

SPIN THE BOTTLE

authors note: i'm so tired it's like crazy, anyways short fic! warnings: smut, slight exhibitionism, cheating (kinda) “okay, it’s y/n’s turn to spin!” a voice calls out excitedly, the sound of eager laughter echoing in your ears. you glance around the circle of your friends, a sheepish blush creeping up your neck, your heart suddenly thudding in your chest. with trembling hands, you slowly reach for the green bottle placed at the center of the circle, its smooth surface cool to the touch. 

a chorus of “whoo’s” and “cheer’s” fills the air, their energy only amplifying the nerves twisting in your stomach. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and with a single motion, you push the bottle, sending it spinning with surprising skill. your eyes never leave it, watching as it picks up speed, whirling around the circle. the room starts to quiet as everyone waits in anticipation. 

the bottle begins to slow, its rotation gradually coming to a halt. you find your gaze drifting, first over the faces of your friends, each one filled with eager curiosity. but then, your eyes lock onto two people—your boyfriend, sitting across from you with an expectant smile, and billie, the girl who’s been a constant presence in your heart, the one you’ve silently adored for as long as you can remember.

a wave of heat rushes to your face, and you bite your lip to quell the anxious fluttering in your chest. the room holds its breath as the bottle slows to a near stop, and your heart leaps into your throat. it’s coming down to the wire. will it land on him? or her?

the bottle finally jerks to a stop, pointing directly at billie.

“okay, wet dream much?” your friend whispers in your ear, their voice teasing, though it only seems to amplify the growing pit of anxiety deep in your stomach. you try to stifle a nervous giggle, but it only makes the situation feel even more surreal. every ounce of your body feels both electrified and paralyzed at once, the eyes of your friends heavy on you, filled with excitement and judgment.

billie’s gaze shifts toward you, a mischievous glint in her eye, and for a brief moment, you swear the world goes still. her lips curl into a playful, almost teasing smile, and you can feel the heat of your own cheeks burning as you try to focus on anything but her. she seems to relish the tension, her presence suddenly consuming all the air in the room.

“okay i dare billie to make y/n cum in less than 5 minutes” shock is plastered on your face, your boyfriend hadn’t even been able to make you cum in 5 minutes, how would billie do it?

your friends erupt into laughter and playful catcalls, but it only makes you feel more exposed, more vulnerable. your breath hitches, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. this wasn’t just a silly game anymore. no, this was a moment you’d dreamed of—and now that it’s real, it feels like you might drown in it.

“don’t keep us waiting!” another friend yells as you walk to the room, their words dragging you back to reality. but all you can do is stare at billie, the intensity in her eyes pulling you in, your thoughts scrambling for some sense of control, but none coming.

“you look so nervous baby, promise i don’t bite,” you whimper slightly, too quiet for  billie to hear but it lingers. billie start’s a stop watch on her phone, just as proof for their friend’s waiting outside. billie pushes you down on the bed, running her hands down your body. 

“fuck baby, d’you know how long i’ve waited for this” billie groans, you hips buck at her words.

“please bil, don’t tease, need you so bad” a loud whine escapes you. the both of you grabbing at each other’s clothes, forcing yourselves to be even closer to each other. billie kisses you softly at first, but turns rough, her teeth clashing with yours and softly bites down on your bottom lip. her fingers trail down to your panties ripping them off in one swift motion, before rubbing your clit fast. you back arches off the bed after the sudden feeling of pleasure. 

“so pretty, y’know that mama, makes mommy go crazy” you moan out loud, billie pushes two fingers into you while you babble incoherently about how good she’s making you feel. she fucks them into you quick, at a pace you’ve never felt before. they felt so deep, yet so empty when she’d take them out. whimpers and moans fall quick out of your mouth, “yesyesyes, mommy so good, fuck” 

“come on baby, cum for me, make a mess on mommy’s fingers” with that you fall over the edge. 

2 mins 20 seconds…

“think we can get in a second round?” 

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @eloiseluvsbillie @bxllxebxtch @ifnot-foryou @giannaeilish @giannaeilish2 @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann

send me an ask, or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[pangolin-404]

Finished suturing kit last night (It broke me) and just saw the "She's careful with her teeth" art. Tell me EVERYTHING abt Sam x Hellen 👀👀❤️

you've caught me at the perfect time (doodling them)

I'm still getting a solid grasp on their relationship (both platonic and romantic) but so far:

Hellen is extremely blunt about many things, but not cruel. Sam appreciates this. It's kind of unclear how much of a toll the Visitor took on her mind, or if she was just like that. Did she kill anyone pre-Visitor? Sam's not sure.

Hellen likes Sam's kindness and general demeanor. He's endearing, honest, and extraordinarily patient with all he has to deal with. Strangely collected and soft, even in such an environment.

generally strong mutual respect for each other's skills and tenacity

Sam tends to shoulder a lot of responsibility, which Hellen normally allows. She sees that he's got a good head on his shoulders and doesn't intend to get in the way of the latest plan he's zeroed in on (besides, she's got nothing better to do). But when Sam steps back from the front, he gives the reins to Hellen.

Both Sam and Hellen like doing things for people to show they care. Sometimes they get in each other's way about this. Sometimes it works out (Sam cooks, Hellen does the dishes after).

They try to get into each other's interests. Hellen will lean over the back of the couch to watch Sam play games with Joel (or whoever he's with that session), but wouldn't have any interest in playing herself. Likewise, he'll listen to Hellen talk about plants, and the garden she maintained pre-Visitor. She rarely talks about herself, so it's nice when she opens up a bit. Maybe, eventually, she admits she wants to return to it when everything's over, even if the plants get weird.

the day Sam digs up a gardening game is a beautiful day of bonding

Sam is afraid of, or unsettled by, Hellen's face for some time, but he's seen enough horrors to not react to it. She knows it scares him. Neither of them could put a finger on exactly when Sam stopped being afraid. Over time, and depending on who else lives with Sam, Hellen grows more comfortable leaving the mask off in the apartment.

They're each, in their own ways, unused to human contact. Sam was extremely lonely pre-Visitor, and Hellen's whole perception of herself and her relation to others shifted when she looked outside (she views herself as objectively frightening and something unpleasant to look at; she doesn't want to scare everyone on sight <- I'm still tentative on that take but she's got SOMETHING going on). tldr they're awkward about each other and holding hands

Even during the apocalypse, time to take things slow is rare. They're always either in the trenches or recovering from a fight or stressful encounter. Hardly enough time to be with each other, or even the other people in the apartment, in a peaceful way. Always other things and other people (mainly the kids) to worry about. Not quite such a thing as domesticity, out there.

If Monty and Xaria have kicked Sam out of his own room, he occasionally sleeps against or on top of Hellen while she keeps watch.

even though Hellen is careful, she does end up accidentally biting Sam while kissing him at least once she's bitten him on purpose too

the goofy rabbit drawing kinda gives away part of what I think the rest of hellen looks like. but yeah that, just to a far greater extent. all cuts across her flesh opening into teeth and sometimes eyes. she doesn't have a lot of sensation or control over those mouths but she gets kissed there too because why not, she deserves it :)

Fifteen days wasn't enough for them to know each other as well as they would've liked.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

i hc that Marc has a biting kink. I just wanted to put that out. Marc is the kind of guy to suck first, pull back for split second- CHOMP

I am politely screaming!

(I blended this ask with another one, which I hope is okay!)

Late

Marc Spector x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: Sleepy sex, p in v sex, biting, love bites, pet names, cream pie, pussy smacking (but softly), Marc being a bit drunk on pleasure, not beta read, like really, really not beta read, I'm sorry, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 823

You gasp, arching your back as Marc pushes into you lazily from behind. His chest is warm against your back, his legs intertwined with yours and caught up in the bedding. 

You’d been about to fall asleep when he’d come back home. He’d tried to get into bed quietly, so as not to disturb you. But you’d wriggled back, pressing your ass against his crotch and muttering ‘I missed yous’.

One of his arms is squeezing your hip, urging you to rock and roll against him however you want, matching your pace as he languidly thrusts inside, rubbing your walls perfectly with the head of his cock. 

His other hand is wrapped under your neck so he can palm your jaw, pushing your head to the side so he can lick into your mouth and mutter nonsense against your lips. 

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps and moans, maveling in how your pussy squeezes and pulses, pulls him deeper inside. He pants, groaning, “You’re so warm and wet, god.” He shivers, bucking a little harder and whining when you flutter around him. 

He can’t help himself as he mouths at your neck, sucking and licking at your skin as he just lets himself sink back into the sensation, lets his mind slip into a buzzing quiet as his body’s craving for pleasure takes over. 

“Marc,” You whine his name, wriggling as you push back to get the best angle. He growls a reply, his eyelids fluttering closed as he sinks his teeth into your neck and sucks hard. 

You moan, shivering in his arms as he bites, littering your skin with bruises. 

His chest rumbles against your back as his grip on your hip tightens, his teeth pressing ever so slightly firmer. 

You gasp his name again, rocking back harder as you chase your pleasure, needing to feel him stretch the deepest part of you. 

He mutters your name between bites and snaps of his teeth, suddenly rolling onto his back and pulling you with him like you weighed nothing. No matter how many times you bear witness to his superhuman strength, it still surprises you. 

Marc keeps you pressed against his back, rocking up into your heat as he moves from one side of your neck to the other to feast. He bends his knees, forcing them between your legs and spreading them wide as he fucks up into you, moaning as his cock bullies in and out. 

“Marc,” you writhe, reaching back for him and he growls again, grabbing hold of your arms and holding them to your chest as he plants his feet and moves faster. 

He pierces the very heart of you, spearing so deep you think you can see stars. Your thighs shake as you’re stretched over the thick base of him, pleasure bubbling and building in your stomach. 

He moans in your ear, his breath hot. “Fuck, fuck,” he mutters between nips at your skin. “Letting me fuck you like his,” he whines. “Letting me get so deep. You’re so good to me.” He swallows, spreading his legs wider so you're pulled tight as a drum. “You’re gonna make me come.” He kisses your pulse point, darting out his tongue to lick your skin and groaning when you shiver. 

He rolls his hips, thrusting up harder, faster, making the bed creak under his strain. He snakes his free hand down your stomach, and for one glorious second you think he’s going to rub your clit. But instead, he spreads his fingers out on either side of it, keeping his palm pressed against your lower belly. 

You gasp. “Marc, please.” 

He moans a response. 

“Please!”

“How much do you want it?” He groans, his eyes dark and hazy. 

“So much, please, please!”

He nips at your shoulder, rolling his hips in an almost hypnotic fashion. “So much, so desperate, you’ll take anything?” 

“Yes!”

“Fuck.” He swallows, the pressure at the base of his spine almost erupting. Without thinking he raises his fingers from your skin and then lightly smacks them down onto your clit. 

You jolt, moaning loudly. 

“Fuck.” He does it again rapidly, smacking with just enough pressure to send a thrill up your spine as he presses. 

You cry out, clenching around him and Marc screams. He comes hard, pulsing and spurting deep inside you as he fills you, whining your name the whole time. 

Quickly, he presses his fingers down, rolling and rubbing your clit in the rapid circles he knows will push you over the edge after him. 

You gasp, tensing and convulsing as you come on his cock and against his fingers. Pleasure floods your veins, whitening out your vision and liquifying your muscles. You moan loudly as he drags your orgasm out, pulling you thin as his thrusts become lazy and sated. 

He can’t help but buck up a few more times, groaning at the thought of pushing his come deeper inside of you. 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @lonelyisamyw-0love @romanarose  

@steven-grants-world  @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine  @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87

 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @hammerhead96  @mylittledelulucorner

@queerly-anxious  @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp  @eternallyvenus @lounilu 

@pigeonmama @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @sub-aro @faretheeoscar

 @queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard @ominoose @ierofrnkk

@have-you-seen-my-sanity @missdictatorme @musicalnacho @buckyssugarchick @lemonzestinmydrink

@sonotpractical @junggoku @julesonrecord

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

🖤 Mirrorball

Character: Choi San (ATEEZ) × Reader (f!reader)

Rating: 🔥 Explicit / NSFW (18+)

Word count: ~1,500+ (if you want me to expand!)

Summary: When Choi San offers to teach you a dance at his studio after hours, you think you’ll be able to handle a little tension. You’re wrong. One teasing touch, one misstep — and all that built-up heat explodes into something rough, filthy, and completely uncontrollable against the mirrors.

warnings:

🔥 Rough, intense sex

🪞 Mirror sex (against the mirror)

🩸 Manhandling / Dominant San

💬 Dirty talk (possessive, slight degradation like "good girl")

💦 Unprotected sex (fantasy only)

🛑 Semi-public setting (dance studio, could get caught)

The bass was low, thrumming through the floor, the walls, your chest.

You were out of breath, sweaty, laughing as San came up behind you, his hands slipping to your hips to correct your stance. "No, baby," he murmured against your ear, voice a low growl that made your skin prickle. "Not like that."

His fingers tightened — almost rough — dragging your hips back against his thighs. You felt him, hot and hard, even through the thin sweatpants he wore.

Your body locked up for a second. So did his.

Silence stretched, heavy, charged.

"You did that on purpose, didn’t you," San muttered darkly against your neck, teeth grazing your skin.

You tried to act innocent — tried to giggle — but he saw right through you.

He spun you around so fast you gasped, your back hitting the mirror with a dull thud. His eyes were black, wild, chest heaving with the effort of keeping control.

Or losing it.

"You think it’s funny?" he said, his hand sliding between your legs, cupping you through your shorts — rough, no patience. "Wearing these little things around me?"

You whimpered, your body bucking into his hand, but he just shoved your thighs open wider with a knee, pinning you there, completely at his mercy.

"I should fuck you right here," he growled, grinding against you, his hardness unmistakable. "Let the whole damn building hear you."

Your shorts were yanked down in one rough tug, panties next, and before you could even catch your breath, he was on his knees — hot mouth, hot tongue — devouring you with a hunger that made you sob against the mirror, fingers scrabbling for something, anything, to hold onto.

San wasn’t gentle.

He licked you messily, fingers digging bruises into your hips, dragging sounds out of you you didn’t even know you could make. When you started to thrash, when you begged him for more, for anything—

He stood up.

Turned you around.

Bent you over the mirror.

And slammed into you with one savage thrust.

You screamed — high, broken — your hands slipping against the glass as he fucked you mercilessly, every snap of his hips pushing you higher, harder, until you were a crying, trembling mess in his arms.

"You wanted this," he growled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks. "You fucking asked for it."

You couldn’t even answer.

Couldn’t even think.

Only feel — the roughness of his grip, the brutal snap of his hips, the way he owned you completely.

Owned your body.

Owned your soul.

And when you finally came, screaming his name so loud it echoed off the studio walls, San just laughed — low, dark, and wrecked.

"Good girl," he whispered, pulling you back against him, not stopping even as your legs gave out.

"Now," he said, breathless, filthy, his voice a promise against your skin — "we’re really gonna practice."

[redpulsive]

Sylus ᓚᘏᗢ | 18+ MDNI

Your needy caracal butler wants to keep serving you after your mission to locate Snowy Owl’s hideout!

A short after-the-fact X reader fic that takes place after Sylus’ Goodcat Code 5☆ memory!

Content Warnings: female reader, reader receives oral

•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•

•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•

After successfully tracking Snowy Owl in the yacht that housed her, you and Sylus are boating back to Linkon. But something is weighing on Sylus’ mind, an itch that causes him to turn off the engine of the speedboat. His actions earning him a confused glance from you while the two of you are now idle in the middle of the ocean. “…I have a suggestion.” He cuts the silence and turns to you, walking over to where you’re seated. “Since we still have some time before the dawn arrives.” Sylus takes a knee in front of you as he continues, crossing his arm over his chest like he did during your Snowy Owl rehersal. “You did hire me, kitten. It’s only fair to get your money’s worth. With me still being your caracal butler and all, how would you like me to satisfy you before we head back to Linkon, hmm?” He leans in a bit closer to you and smirks, his tail snaking around your ankle and flicking against your skin. While you’re a little wary of this sudden display of pent up feline neediness, you can’t help but want to see where he’s going with this. You gently rub his head, your fingers tracing up one of his fuzzy caracal ears as he sits on both of his knees and lowers his head to your thighs. Sylus lets out a relaxed sigh as he smushes his cheek against the skin exposed by your hiked up dress. You ask him what his deal is as you lightly brush his cheek with your knuckles, which causes him to chuckle and place a hot kiss against your thigh. “My lady, it’s hard for me to hold back when you’re not giving me any orders… or are you letting me serve you in whatever way I see fit?” You perk up and slowly take your hand back as he slides his white gloved hand underneath your thigh, lifting your leg up and planting a kiss against your knee this time. He then spreads both of your legs open as his tail slips from your ankle, now flickering eagerly behind him. “Because I think you should let your butler worship you after all of your hard work tonight. Do you agree with that, my lady?” You bite your lip at the thought while he rests his hands on your inner thighs, kneading them while patiently waiting for your response. Something about his physical and emotional display of eagerness sends a sense of warmth straight to your core, causing you to let out a huff as you place your hand on Sylus’ head again. You give him your consent, and with that he immediately gets to work.

Sylus pushes more of your dress up your body, leaving you in only your underwear as he presses his lips against the top of your belly. You let out a sigh at the gesture, and he responds with a satisfied hum. “You like that, my lady?” He moves his head down and plants another kiss against your abdomen, his fingers casually sliding up your hips to the waistband of your underwear. “I could kiss every inch of your beautiful body.” He slowly hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls them down your thighs. Your breath hitches as the night air blows against your exposed cunt, Sylus licks his lips at the sight. He then kisses your hip, trailing his lips down as you eagerly wait for him to use his tongue on you. “Don’t forget that I’m your butler, kitten. You have the right to boss me around.” You clutch his head as he drags his tongue along your inner thigh, catching that same spot in between his teeth and wrapping his lips around it. You let out a soft whine as he gives you a wet hickey there, so teasingly close to your eager cunt. You can’t help but call out his name as he doesn’t stop, causing him to chuckle and pull his head back. “Command me, my lady. What is it that you desire?” He knows, he’s just being an ass. But something switches in Sylus’ brain as you finally admit that you want him to eat you out, especially after you teasing throw a “be a good kitty” into your request. It’s as if you had casted a spell on him, his desire to please you now skyrocketing as if it’s his only purpose in life. You’re taken aback by a sudden insistence in his actions, wasting no time as he hoists your legs up to rest on his shoulders. He’s let’s out a shaky huff as your delectable flesh is inches from his face. “As you wish, my lady. I’ll be a good kitty just for you, just this once…”

You watch him as he takes initiative, his mouth now engulfed by your cunt as his tongue drags through your folds. You huff out a moan and grip his hair while he purrs and laps up your essence, drinking you in after every languid lick against your entrance. His hands grip your thighs as you pull on his hair, his ears flicking in bliss at the sensation. With his mouth buried in your flesh, his nose is rubbing right up against your clit, inhaling your scent through heavy breaths. You bite your lip as your body aches for more tongue contact, and you use your grip on his hair to pull him closer towards you. He groans as you take him away from his original feast, his eyes flickering back up to meet yours while his tongue immediately places itself onto your bundle of nerves. Your thighs clench around his head as his tongue relentlessly flicks and swirls against your clit with fervor. You try to make him give you a break by pressing his head down, but this only causes him wrap his lips around your overstimulated bud. He suckles against it, not letting up for even a second while you shudder and whine from the never ending waves of pleasure rolling through you. You cry out his name and close your eyes as you feel your climax building up, he hums out a moan at the sound of you nearing your release. Soon enough your climax washes over you and he finally slows down his ministrations. He rides out your cum with some mercy licks, cleaning the mess he made of you with his tongue as you let go of his head, your body twitching and shaking through recuperation.

As you slowly relax, Sylus pulls back and speaks up for the first time since he had started fulfilling your request, causing you to snap out of your high and look at him. “Are you satisfied now, my lady?” He gently puts your legs back down and rubs soothing circles against the side of your thigh. You smile and nod, giving him a soft pet as a reward for his service. “Good.” he states through a purr, his ears flicking and tail swishing with content. “You’re fun to please, I could get used to seeing just how pretty you look when I’m between your thighs.” You blush and give one of his ears a gentle tug, causing him to laugh while he helps you put your underwear back on. “Easy, kitten… I may be your caracal butler for a short while, but don’t forget that I’m a wild cat. My instincts might take over if you’re not careful.” He coos and stands back up after you poke his cheek, checking the time on the pocket watch that adorns his suit before turning the boats engine back on. “We better get back to Meow’s Cafe before they decide to keep me as a cat-man forever.” He looks back at you, tilting his head as he sees the smirk growing on your face. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

≽/ᐠ - ˕ -マ≼₊˚⊹♡⊹˚₊≽(•⩊ •マ≼

[ghoulishhx]

hehehehe my brain is full of thoughts now

imagine the first time subby!frank lets a whimper or a beg out he would lowkey be sooo mortified until he saw how much it turned you on and then (with some convincing) he would just melt and become a whiny mess (especially if you were like choking him or playing with his hair/tugging it)

(ps i was wondering if i could be 💥 anon? at the rate ive been spamming your inbox recently i figured i should have an emoji or something hehehe ilsym byeeee)

OH MY GOD YES. he would SO struggle with letting himself go like that and when he does he just breaks out of him, he can't hold it back anymore.

maybe you're riding him, edging him with your movements, changing the pace of which you're bouncing sporadically. and at this point he's just a fucking MESS. eyes rolling to the back of his head, sweat coating his brow as he bites his lip, groaning between gritted teeth. after changing your speed from fast to teasingly slow he can't hold back anymore and whimpers. the sensation of his orgasm being denied once more opens the floodgates, and the noise was addicting, instantly sending shockwaves of heat throughout your body. you're shocked, halting your movements altogether and raising your eyebrows at him as he averts your gaze and laughs awkwardly, clearing his throat.

"what was that, frankie?"

"huh? oh.. yeah nothin' babydoll, just felt really good s'all.." he tries to play it cool but he can't help but notice how hard your cunt throbs around him as you bite your lip, gazing at him with nothing but adoration.

"mhm.. sounded like a whimper to me baby.. am I making you feel that good, huh?" you begin grinding your hips into him again, eliciting grunts and curse words from his lips as he grips your hips bruisingly, aiding your movements.

"shit baby.. y'dunno what ya do to me.. fuck.." he can't help but whine now, fully allowing the most sinful noises to escape his lips now, your evident arousal just from his words allowing him to let go completely.

"sound so good for me Frank.. my good fuckin' boy, lemme hear you baby, just like that." you're unable to keep on edging him now, chasing your orgasm as his noises spur you on, wrapping a delicate hand around his throat as you use him for your own pleasure. "cum for me baby, fill me up, you've earned it."

he can't help but thrust his hips inside of you now, need and desire taking over him with your permission. within seconds he's spilling himself inside of you, cock twitching as he drains every last drop from his balls into your soaked core. your orgasm is perfectly timed with his own, both throbbing, moaning messes as you milk each other dry. you never knew how much you needed Frank's whimpering, how hot he would sound. such a delicious juxtaposition compared to his regular, tough and rugged exterior.

"so fuckin' obsessed with ya sweetheart, no one has ever made me feel as good as you do." he praises, chest heaving as he catches his breath. you feel a great sense of triumph, knowing your boyfriend was completely at ease with you to be so vulnerable for you.

NEED. THAT.

(also 💥 is all yours ml, I love every single one of your requests because I feel like we are the same person. switch reader is me, she's US)

feel free to send me more :3 mwah ily!!!

[psformybss]

The Best Kind of Surprise

series masterlist

warnings: fluff, pregnancy mention, established relationship, emotional moment, soft domesticity

════════════════

The late afternoon sun spilled through the windows, painting the hardwood floors in soft gold. She moved quietly through the living room, barefoot, with Teddy padding along behind her. His tail thumped against the furniture as she knelt down to tie the little bandana around his neck, smoothing it carefully so the words were clear.

Big Brother.

Her heart thudded, a little faster than normal. She hadn’t told Drew yet. Hadn’t said the words out loud because part of her wanted to savor this secret just a little longer. The knowing. The tiny, quiet bloom of it.

The front door creaked open, and she straightened up quickly, tucking her hands into the sleeves of the hoodie she’d stolen from Drew’s side of the closet.

“Teddy, hey buddy,” Drew’s voice drifted in, easy and warm. She heard the soft clatter of keys in the dish, the thud of his boots being kicked off.

And then he was there, rounding the corner, dropping into a crouch to greet Teddy like he always did. His hand paused halfway to the dog’s head when he noticed the bandana.

“Big Brother?” he read out loud, brow furrowing for a second.

She watched the realization bloom across his face. First confusion, then a slow, dawning light that softened every line.

He looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep the smile from breaking too fast. “I’m serious.”

For a beat, he just stared at her, like he was trying to memorize the moment. Then he was moving across the room, gathering her up with strong arms and spinning her once, laughing under his breath.

She clung to him, laughing too, heart thudding in a way that felt completely different now. Lighter. Certain.

When he set her back on her feet, he didn’t let go. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks like he needed to make sure she was real.

“You’re really pregnant,” he said, softer now.

“I’m really pregnant,” she whispered back, a laugh catching in her throat.

He kissed her then, slow and steady, the kind of kiss that anchored her to the floor even while she still felt a little like floating. She melted into it, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, holding him close.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing a little harder than the moment really called for.

His hand slipped down to her stomach, settling there carefully, reverently. She covered it with her own, and for a moment they just stood like that, everything unspoken filling the space between them.

Teddy barked at their feet, tail wagging like he knew something exciting was happening and didn’t want to be left out. Drew laughed and crouched down to ruffle his ears, tugging the bandana playfully.

“You’re gonna be the best big brother, bud,” he said.

She knelt down beside them, curling into Drew’s side as he automatically wrapped an arm around her. Teddy sprawled against both of them, his head in her lap.

She tilted her head to look at Drew. He was already looking at her.

“We’re really doing this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, the kind of smile that was all teeth and tenderness. “Yeah, we are.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, heart full in a way that didn’t feel overwhelming, just right.

“I love you,” she murmured.

He kissed her temple, his voice quiet in her hair. “Love you more.”

They stayed like that, tangled together on the living room floor, the late sun slipping lower in the sky, the future wide open in front of them.

And for once, neither of them felt the need to rush toward it. They had everything they needed right here.

════════════════

taglist: @maybankslover

[jeonslvz]

♡2: Pierced n Hard

A/N: i don’t know, I really dont know. BUT gaw DAMN, DoM jk makes me Aghhhhuhh. I PUT EVERYTHING INTO THIS….. You’ll be gripping the desk, watever is near you with this one for sure. I AM speechless, i had to be possesed by the pericing. WTF is this. Enjoy becuase, its feet curling for sure!

WC: 7.7k ( Stream seven - Jungkook! )

Warnings: read here, for mature audiences.

LAST I NEXT

The low hum of the TV mixes with the soft clinking of chopsticks against dishes. You’re sitting next to him on the couch, legs tucked under you, his oversized black tee falling loosely over your body, the fabric brushing against your thighs every time you shift.

Jungkook sits with his plate balanced in his lap, one arm casually draped over the back of the couch, his body angled toward you just enough to keep you close. His eyes flicker to you between bites, taking in the way you’re curled up next to him. Not quite touching, but always close. Always there.

His gaze lingers on the curve of your collarbone, your soft skin visible above the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t look away when he sees you shift uncomfortably. Doesn’t say anything at first.

You glance at him, a little nervous. A tiny bit of heat still building from the way he touched you earlier—how his fingers lingered on your skin, how he made you aware of every breath you took. His quiet control, even in the smallest of moments, makes you restless.

“Baby, you’re fidgeting.” He says casually, eyes still focused on his food. His voice is low, steady, like he’s just telling you to calm down.

You swallow, nodding without saying anything. It’s a simple order. Simple and easy.

But then, without looking up, he lets his foot gently nudge against the back of your thigh, the pressure soft but deliberate. You suck in a breath, glancing up at him to see his expression still calm. Unbothered.

“You can’t sit still,” he murmurs, almost to himself. But you know it’s for you, the way his eyes flicker to your leg, the small shift in his posture.

“Wanna fix that?”

His hand slides down to rest casually on your knee, thumb brushing lightly over your skin in slow, rhythmic strokes as if he’s deciding if he wants to keep you squirming or make you sit still for the next few minutes.

He takes another bite of food, still completely casual about it. Like he’s just checking in on the food. But his thumb keeps moving, the circles getting slower. He’s watching you now, waiting for a reaction.

“Feels good when I touch you like this, doesn’t it?” His voice is low again, almost teasing, but it’s clear he’s testing. He wants to see how long you’ll hold out, how long you’ll stay still for him.

You can’t help but lean into his touch slightly, your body responding without thinking.

“You’ve been good so far,” he adds, still chewing, eyes on you now.

“Not a single complaint.”

He doesn’t need to say anything more.

The quiet, the playfulness, the way he makes you feel small and yet invisible at the same time—all without ever asking for it, all without saying a single word. It’s enough.

Jungkook simply lets you stew in the silence of it all as he finishes his food, and you wait for the next small shift in him, for the next test, the next playful order—because with him, you know there’s always a next.

His plate’s almost empty, your bowl long abandoned as you shifted closer during those lazy strokes on your knee. You’re pliant now, barely blinking as his hand moves a little higher, brushing under the hem of the oversized tee you’re wearing.

Then—he pauses.

Fingers stop. Body stills. A flicker in his expression.

“Come on,” he says, voice back to that cool register.

“Let’s brush our teeth before you forget again.”

You blink up at him, dazed, blinking as if the moment before didn’t just crack you open. He stands, taking his plate in one hand, not offering an explanation. Just waiting.

You whine. Just a little. A soft protest slips from your lips as you stay seated, legs tightening around themselves in a quiet tantrum. Your lips pout, eyes narrowing.

He doesn’t react much. Just smirks faintly as he watches you for a beat longer than necessary.

The oversized shirt rides up just enough as you shift on the couch, revealing the black lace he picked out in that tucked-away boutique in Tokyo—delicate, barely-there, with that tiny satin bow at the front he made the shopgirl wrap up like a gift.

He bites down on his lip, eyes darkening just a bit. Not from frustration—just hunger withheld. He likes you bratty. But not undisciplined.

“Up,” he says simply, letting the word hang there, then turns without waiting for a response.

You drag your feet with the full intention of getting under his skin. A little stomp to your steps, a soft huff. You know what you’re doing—he does too. And he doesn’t stop you. He lets you trail behind, lets your whines echo down the hall, because you still follow him. Obedience dressed up in attitude.

He doesn’t say a word as you both step into the bathroom.

There, under the soft light, you squint at your reflection while he squeezes toothpaste onto both brushes, casual and domestic like this is all normal. You make a show of dragging your feet again, leaning on the sink, mumbling something incoherent. Whiny. Needy. Purposefully slow.

“You done?” he asks flatly after a few beats, turning to rinse.

You roll your eyes and brush your teeth without answering, pouting around the toothbrush, giving him one last huff as he leaves the bathroom.

Back on the couch, you’re quicker now. Settling into the corner cushion, curled back up where he left you like that’s where you belong. But when he starts collecting the dishes and moving toward the sink, your pout gets real.

You whine again—longer this time. Like you’ve just been abandoned.

“Baby,” you drag it out, head falling against the cushion as your knees tuck in. “I thought we were done.”

He doesn’t even look over at first. Just runs the water. Lets you squirm in the quiet.

“You said romcom,” you complain, your voice soft and full of that sugary tone you know gets under his skin. “You’re supposed to sit with me.”

He glances over his shoulder, water running, sleeves rolled up. Calm as ever.

“I will,” he says, voice even. “When you stop whining and start waiting.”

He turns back to the sink, and you chew your lip. His back is all muscle and ink and control, and you hate how much you want to press your body against it just to make him turn around again.

But you wait. Because you know the moment he sits back down, those hands will be back on your skin—and you’ll be right where you want to be.

He returns with the quiet weight of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing—dishes done, light off in the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder. You’re curled up in the corner of the couch, knees to chest, still in his black tee and those delicate lace panties that shouldn’t be legal for lounging.

He settles beside you again like nothing happened.

But you don’t let it go.

“You can’t just do that,” you whine, turning your body to face him, dramatic pout fully engaged. “What if I made a mess of myself after the shower?”

You tilt your hips just enough for the shirt to ride up again, lace glinting under the dim TV light. It’s bait. You know it. He knows it.

He gives you a slow blink. Then an eye roll. Not annoyed—amused.

“You’ll be more of a mess,” he says, voice low and casual, “if you listen.”

His arm slinks around your waist, pulling you into him without another word. Your face presses into his chest, warm cotton and the faint scent of that clean body wash still clinging to him. His hand smooths over your back, under the shirt, warm and claiming without having to say a thing.

“You done pouting?” he murmurs into your hair.

You nod, barely.

“Good,” he adds, hand drifting lower, fingers tracing lazy circles at the hem of your panties. “Then I’ll finish what you started after the movie.”

And you don’t argue. You just melt into him, the low rumble of his voice sinking under your skin, already throbbing again at the promise in his touch.

The opening credits roll.

You try to pay attention. Really, you do. But his hand stays there—settled just under the curve of your ass, warm and heavy like he owns your comfort. He doesn’t move it. Doesn’t need to. The weight alone is enough to remind you that he could if he wanted to.

You shift a little, pretending to get cozy. He doesn’t react, just gives you a small squeeze like he knows exactly what you’re doing. Of course he does.

“I’m trying to focus,” you whisper, trying not to sound as breathless as you are.

“So focus,” he says, not even looking at you. The smirk in his voice is louder than anything.

The movie plays—some cheesy scene where the couple meets again at a party—and you want to scream because all you can think about is the pressure between your legs, the phantom memory of his fingers, his mouth, the unfinished promise sitting thick in your body like static.

You rub your thighs together just slightly, trying to ease it. His thumb brushes lazily along the lace waistband. Not low enough. Not enough at all.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. Your voice gets lost in the heat creeping up your spine.

He turns his head finally, eyes on your face.

“Baby,” he says, soft but so damn knowing. “You’re not squirming through this whole movie, are you?”

You bite your lip. Don’t respond.

His tongue slides against the inside of his cheek as he watches you struggle. One hand still on your hip. Still not helping.

Then he leans in just enough for his breath to brush your ear.

“I told you—after the movie.”

And just like that, he leans back again. Like he didn’t just light a fire under your skin.

You curl tighter into his side, thighs pressed, heart hammering. He doesn’t touch you again.

But the wait might ruin you more than anything else ever could.

The movie moves on, but you’re not watching anymore. Not really. Every second is stretched tight, every little movement amplified.

Jungkook stays exactly how he is: calm, casual, one arm around you like he’s just relaxing. But you feel the tension in him. The way his fingers occasionally twitch against your waist, like he’s restraining himself. Like he knows what he’s doing to you by doing absolutely nothing at all.

You’re soaked. And he hasn’t even looked at you.

You shift again, this time slower, more deliberate—like maybe you’re adjusting, but really, you’re trying to press your heat into his thigh. You barely brush him, and he stills. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t scold.

But you feel the shift in his body.

He clicks his tongue. Still watching the screen.

“You never learn, do you?”

You try to look innocent, lips parting like maybe you’ll play dumb, but he just gives you a side glance that shuts you up instantly.

“Back against the cushion, hands on your lap.”

You obey without thinking. Quiet, needy compliance. Your body’s practically humming.

He waits until you settle—chest tight, panties clinging to you like they’re mocking you—before he finally drags his fingers down the inside of your thigh. Just once. Featherlight. The type of touch that makes your whole body tense up and ache for more.

But that’s all you get.

“You do better when you listen,” he says quietly, like he’s reading the weather.

You nod, biting your lip.

“And you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

You nod again, slower this time. You don’t trust your voice.

He leans in, kissing your temple, then turning back to the screen like this is all just normal. Like you’re not dripping through lace. Like he hasn’t put your body on pause just because he can.

You try. God, you try. But your body’s hot and pulsing, and every time he shifts beside you, you clench down around nothing, dizzy with need. The air feels thick, your panties soaked through, thighs glued shut just to keep from making a mess on his couch.

He doesn’t touch you again.

So you move slow, casual—like maybe you’re adjusting the pillow in your lap, tucking it under you, trying to sit straighter. But really, you settle your hips over it and grind once. Just once.

You bite down hard on your lip. Eyes still on the screen.

Nothing from him.

So you do it again. Slower. A small, desperate roll of your hips—barely a movement. Just enough to press where it hurts.

His hand flexes on the couch cushion.

You freeze.

Then—like maybe it was a fluke—you try a third time. Just a little drag, the tiniest whimper escaping your throat before you can swallow it down.

His hand shoots out, fast.

He grabs your wrist. Not hard, just firm. Controlled. His jaw’s tight, eyes still locked on the screen, voice low enough to make your spine curl.

“I said wait.”

You look at him, wide-eyed. Breath hitched. That quiet, pleading look you always give him when you’re right on the edge of too much.

He finally turns his head.

And whatever patience he had snaps.

He shoves the pillow aside with one hand and pulls you across his lap with the other—quick, rough, final. Your body folds into him like instinct, thighs falling open as he lifts the oversized tee just enough to see the soaked lace, clinging and transparent.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters under his breath. “Look at you.”

His fingers trail up your inner thigh, slow and punishing.

“Grinding like a desperate little thing. Couldn’t even wait for the credits, huh?”

You shake your head, breath shuddering as he hooks a finger in the band and snaps it lightly against your hip.

He lets out a sharp exhale, almost a laugh—but there’s no humor in it. Just heat. Pure, wild heat.

“Movie’s over,” he says, pressing two fingers against your slick slit through the lace. “So now I start.”

And this time, he doesn’t stop.

“ Such a slut baby doll.”

It’s the first thing out of his mouth when his fingers find the soaked fabric again. The word lands like a slap—sharp, low, and satisfied. You twitch, eyes fluttering shut, and he grins.

“Couldn’t sit still for one fucking movie. Had to hump a pillow like a needy little slut.”

His fingers press harder, still over the lace. Not moving, just letting you feel the weight of his hand, his attention.

“Bet you were dripping the whole time. Weren’t you? Sitting next to me, all wet and dumb, grinding like I wouldn’t fuck’n notice.”

Your breath catches. You try to speak, to explain or defend yourself, but nothing comes out except a whimper. His palm cups you tighter.

“Don’t play shy now.” He leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek, voice suddenly colder. “Sluts don’t get to act innocent.”

He finally slips one finger beneath the lace, dragging it through your folds with maddening slowness. Your whole body shudders.

“Filthy,” he mutters, sucking the wetness off his finger, eyes on yours the entire time. “This is what you wanted, huh? Not the movie. Not cuddles. Just your cunt stuffed and used.”

You nod helplessly, thighs instinctively trying to close around nothing.

He spreads them wider.

“Say it,” he demands, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me what you wanted.”

“I—I just wanted you,” you whisper.

His hand pauses, grip tightening just slightly on your thigh.

“Try again.”

You swallow hard, eyes glassy. “I wanted… your fingers. Your cock. I just—needed something.”

He chuckles darkly, finally sliding a finger inside you. Your head tips back with a breathy moan.

“You wanted to be a slut. That’s what you mean.” He starts pumping slowly, deliberately. “You want to feel full. Used. Stretched. Like a good little hole.”

You nod fast, unable to do anything else, your hips already rocking down to meet his hand.

He curls his finger, then adds another.

“Sluts like you shouldn’t wear panties,” he says, tone like he’s talking about the weather. “Should just stay ready. Always wet. Always open. That’s what you’re made for.”

Your nails dig into his arm, your moans coming quicker now.

He kisses your jaw, your temple—tender spots that almost feel like a lie.

Then: “Gonna fuck the brat right out of you tonight.”

He pulls his fingers out, sticky and soaked, and watches you pant and writhe, the lace now clinging obscenely between your thighs.

“Now get on your knees, doll. And don’t rush me again.”

You sink to your knees like your bones were made to do it.

He doesn’t even move at first—just watches you from above, legs spread slightly on the couch, one hand on the backrest, the other lazily rubbing the slick from his fingers onto his thigh.

His chest rises slow. Bare, inked, gleaming faintly in the warm apartment light. You trail your eyes over him—the cut lines of his abs, the glint of his nipple piercings, the sharp jut of his collarbone where his chain rests.

You lean in without a word and kiss just under it. Soft, lingering. Then lower—pressing your lips to the curve of his pec, the wet trail of your tongue dragging down over one piercing. His stomach tightens.

“You want to taste me that bad, huh?” he murmurs, half amusement, half heat.

You nod, licking over the dip between his abs, nose brushing the trail of ink that coils down his side.

His hand lands on the back of your head. Not forcing, just there. Waiting.

You drag your mouth over his stomach again, then lower—kissing over the waistband of his shorts, mouthing at the bulge underneath. His cock’s heavy, thick even through the fabric, and you can feel the shape of the piercing already. You whine softly.

“Slut,” he says again, a little darker this time. “Look at you. Licking me like it’s your last meal.”

You mouth him again through the fabric, tongue pressing flat as you look up at him—eyes wide, lips parted.

He lets out a slow exhale and lifts his hips just enough to shove his shorts down. His cock slaps against his stomach—hard, heavy, pierced through the underside with a barbell that gleams under the soft light.

Your breath stutters.

“Don’t stare,” he smirks. “Use that pretty mouth.”

You lean in immediately, tongue dragging along the shaft—slow, reverent, tracing around the frenulum piercing with care like it’s sacred. You lick under the head, circle it, then flatten your tongue against the bar, giving the whole thing a long, filthy suck.

“Fuck.” His hips jerk, and his fingers curl tighter in your hair. “You love that thing too much.”

You hum around him, sinking down inch by inch, jaw going slack as he stretches your lips wide.

His groan hits your ears like fire.

“Good girl,” he grits out. “There you go. Take it all.”

You do—your throat twitching as he slides deeper, your eyes watering but never breaking from his. His hand holds your head still, not rough, but firm enough to keep you there.

“You know how to worship a cock, don’t you?” he mutters, breath ragged. “S’what sluts like you are made for.”

You moan around him, throat fluttering, drool spilling down your chin.

He watches all of it. Watches you fall apart just from giving, your thighs pressed tight, your hands gripping his knees for balance, like you’re nothing without his cock in your mouth.

And then, just as your eyes start to flutter shut—

“Enough,” he says, pulling you off slowly, a soft pop echoing in the air as he slips free.

You’re panting. Drooling. Face flushed and lips swollen.

He leans down, grips your jaw, and kisses you. Not rough—just full, slow, tongue slipping into your mouth to taste himself.

Then he breaks it off.

“Turn around,” he orders. “On your hands and knees. Right here.”

You don’t hesitate.

You slowly shift, positioning yourself on all fours, your back arched just enough to give him a perfect view of your ass. You feel his gaze on you, heavy and possessive, like a fire licking at your skin.

“Look at you,” he breathes, his voice dark, almost purring with approval. “A nice ass, perfect for my hands.”

His words aren’t a request—they’re a command, a statement, and something else entirely. You swallow hard, your body responding to the sound of his voice, to the heat in his tone.

He steps closer, the air between you thickening with every slow, deliberate movement. His fingers trail up your spine, making your back arch even more, and you gasp as his hands press down gently on your hips, guiding you even lower.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “the way that ass moves, the way you sit pretty for me, like a slut just begging to be fucked… it’s everything.”

You squirm beneath his touch, hips jerking in need, but he’s patient. Too patient. His hands slide to the back of your thighs, pulling your legs a bit wider as he takes in the way you’ve positioned yourself, the way your body is just begging for him to touch, to give you what you crave.

“Baby, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mutters under his breath. “So fucking perfect, just waiting to be used.”

His hand trails down over your ass, fingers spreading your cheeks apart, and you gasp at the feeling of being so open, exposed to him. Every part of you is aching now, pulsing with need as you feel his fingers slide slowly over your slickness, coating himself with the wetness that you can’t hide.

“Don’t move, baby.” His voice is a warning, but you can’t help it—you can’t stop the way your body shakes, trembling from the tension between you. His hands press harder on your hips, pinning you down just as you feel him shift behind you.

“You want this, don’t you?” His voice is almost playful, teasing the edges of your desire. He drags his fingers through your slickness again, making sure you can feel every inch of him.

And then—finally—he pushes in, just the tip, enough to make you gasp. But he doesn’t go any further yet, making you ache, desperate for him to move deeper.

“Such a slut,” he whispers, just before he slides his cock inside you, slowly, painfully slow. “A big ass for me to fuck. You’re perfect like this.”

You feel the stretch, the slow drag of him inside you, and your breath catches as he fills you just enough to make you ache for more.

“You take it so well,” he murmurs, thrusting slowly at first, just to tease, letting you feel every inch, letting you grind down against him as you try to push him deeper.

He grips your hips tighter, controlling your movements as he starts to fuck into you with more force. The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the room, but it’s the way his words slip out—so casually, so possessively—that has your body trembling.

“Yeah, you like it when I use you like this, don’t you?” he growls, his hips snapping into you. “Big ass, tight pussy, all for me.”

You moan as he picks up the pace, the tension building with every thrust. His hand goes to your hair, tugging your head back just enough to hear the sweet sounds of your breathless gasps, your cries.

“You’re mine,” he growls under his breath, his hips slapping harder against your ass, “I’ll make sure you remember that.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, his fingers gripping your hair tighter as he looks down at you, his gaze cold but with a flicker of something more intense behind his eyes. He smirks, a teasing glint in his eyes as he watches you squirm, feeling the way your body reacts to each thrust.

“You’re making that sound like you’re not enjoying it,” he says, voice low and almost mocking, his tone sending a shiver down your spine. His hands move from your hair to the back of your neck, pressing down just enough to remind you who’s in control. “But I know better, don’t I?”

The pressure builds as he pushes deeper, his movements steady, calculated. His pace quickens, a cruel rhythm that makes your body tense and ache with need. You whimper again, this time louder, more desperate for something—anything—to push you over the edge.

He laughs softly, a dark, possessive sound. “You want more, don’t you?” He knows it, senses the shift in your energy, the way you’re teetering on the edge, desperate for his approval, his touch. “Say it. Tell me what you want.”

His words hang in the air, thick with expectation, as he waits for you to react—knowing that whatever you say will only feed his dominance, make the connection between you even more intense.

You’re on your knees, the floor cold beneath you, but the heat between your legs burns hotter with every movement. Jungkook’s grip tightens in your hair, pulling you back as he watches you with that calculating look. His thrusts are relentless, sending waves of pleasure mixed with discomfort through your body, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

You whine softly, the sensation overwhelming, but it’s not enough. You need more. You want more.

He halts for a split second, just enough to catch his breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “What is it, hm?” His voice is low, almost amused, as though he’s enjoying your struggle. “You need something?”

The words are barely a whisper, escaping your lips before you can stop them. “More…” The word is desperate, raw, your voice cracking as you look up at him, eyes wide with need.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in just slightly to press his lips to the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of your skin. His hands shift, one moving from your hair to your throat, his fingers grazing your pulse, feeling how fast it’s beating.

He begins again, this time with more force, his thrusts deeper, harder, his control over you absolute. The pressure is piercing, his cock hitting all the right spots, making you gasp for air as the pleasure and pain blur into one. He watches you closely, studying every reaction, every subtle shift in your body.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Jungkook’s movements slow just for a moment, drawing out the tension between you. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and intense, as his cock shifts deep inside you. There’s a slight change in the rhythm, and he leans down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers.

“You feel that, don’t you?” His voice is thick with authority, the words almost a taunt. He pulls back slightly, then pushes forward again, dragging the piercing at the tip of his cock against the sensitive spot inside you. The sensation makes you gasp, a shiver of pleasure running down your spine. “You love that, don’t you? The way it hits just right… how it pierces you.”

He presses his hips harder into yours, making sure you feel the sharp edge of his piercing drag with every thrust, the sensation sending a jolt through your body. “You can’t get enough of it, can you? Tell me.”

Each thrust becomes a steady rhythm, the metal at the tip of his cock working its magic on you, filling you in a way that’s both intoxicating and overwhelming. His grip on your hair tightens again as he forces your head back, his gaze cold yet filled with an unspoken desire, waiting for you to admit what he already knows.

You whine at the sensation, the sharpness of the piercing against your sensitive spots pushing you to the edge. Jungkook’s grip loosens from your hair, his hands shifting down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he guides your movements. He watches you closely, his eyes flicking from your face to where your bodies meet, captivated by the way your body reacts to him.

His pace picks up, faster and harder, his thrusts deep and relentless, each one making you cry out in a mixture of pleasure and frustration. He leans forward slightly, his chest brushing against your back, and murmurs praise, his voice low and gravelly, filled with satisfaction as he feels the way you tighten around him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes never leaving the way your body moves with his. “Look at you. You’re perfect like this.”

The sound of his voice and the feel of his hands on your hips push you closer to the edge, each thrust building the tension higher. Jungkook’s breath quickens as he presses you into the rhythm, his eyes flicking back down between your legs as he praises you again, his words spurring you on further.

Jungkook’s voice is thick with satisfaction as he presses you further into the moment, his hands gripping your hips harder, controlling your movements. He watches intently, eyes narrowing as he feels the way you respond to him, your body tightening around him with every thrust.

“Such a good doll for me,” he murmurs, the words dripping with approval, his gaze dark and focused. The sound of his voice sends a wave of heat through you, amplifying the need that’s already building inside.

He continues, the rhythm relentless, feeling the way your body reacts to every movement, your moans becoming more frantic, the tension between you both tightening. His eyes flicker with pride as he watches you, his praise laced with something deeper, a reminder of how much he’s shaping this moment.

Jungkook’s pace never falters, but there’s a noticeable shift in his demeanor as he feels the wetness building, the slickness of your body responding to him in a way that makes his grip on your hips tighten. His smirk deepens, eyes tracing the way you melt under him, the tension in your body giving him the satisfaction he’s been waiting for.

“Baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of teasing and admiration, his breath hot against your ear. “So early, why?” His hands press harder into your hips, pulling you back against him as his thrusts grow more purposeful, as if to prove he’s not the one responsible for your escalating need.

You can feel yourself starting to unravel, your body trembling as you approach your high, but it’s as though his words are a trigger. You melt into him, your body slackening under his touch, losing yourself in the sensation of it all—like you couldn’t help but respond this way, as if he wasn’t the one pushing you there.

The teasing from earlier in the movie, the way he had subtly worked you up, had clearly been enough to send you over the edge. Your body betrays you, every part of you longing for more, even as you try to hold it together. Jungkook watches it all with that smug, knowing expression, his movements controlled yet driving you toward the inevitable.

“Can’t even hold on,” he observes, his voice mocking in its sweetness, knowing full well he’s the cause of your unraveling.

Jungkook watches you closely, that smirk still playing on his lips as he feels you on the edge. With one quick movement, he brings his hand down sharply against your ass, the sound of the smack filling the room. It’s not harsh, but it’s enough to make you gasp, the sting a perfect contrast to the overwhelming pleasure building inside you.

He doesn’t wait for you to recover. His hands grip your hips tighter, pulling you back into him as he thrusts deeper, a rougher edge to his movements now, each one hitting you with more force. The depth sends a jolt through you, a sharp wave of sensation that pushes you even closer to the edge. His pace grows quicker, more erratic, as if he’s chasing that same release you’re desperately teetering on.

“Still holding on?” he breathes out, the teasing tone slipping into something darker, more commanding. He wants to see you lose it completely, to watch the way your body reacts to him, to how helpless you become under his touch. His hand slides back to your hips, pulling you back against him with each thrust, digging deeper, knowing exactly how to push you further.

Jungkook’s breath hitches, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips as he slows his pace, dragging his cock deeper into you with each thrust, making you feel every inch. His grip on your hips tightens, forcing you to stay still, even as your body trembles beneath him.

“Fuck, you’d look so pretty with a plug,” he says, the words slipping from his mouth in that teasing, almost dark tone that sends a shiver down your spine. He watches your reaction, taking pleasure in how the comment makes you squirm, even as he pulls back and then slams back in, his thrusts deep, controlled, each one punctuating his words.

His movements are slow, deliberate, designed to make you feel every bit of him. The contrast between his teasing words and the depth of his thrusts has you melting into him, your body unable to escape the wave of sensation. Your breath catches, the tension building higher, the anticipation thick in the air as Jungkook watches you carefully, enjoying how you respond to each slow, deep thrust.

Jungkook’s laugh is low, dark, and filled with satisfaction as he watches you struggle under his control. His pace remains steady, slow, but with a deep, punishing force behind each thrust that makes your body tense and tremble. His grip on your hips tightens, and he leans down, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Punishing yourself for not waiting, huh?” His words are teasing, but there’s something darker underneath. He feels your body react, each inch of you quivering as you try to hold on, but the pleasure is too overwhelming. “Love when you do that,” he continues, voice thick with desire. “Makes me feel even better.”

You feel the heat of his words wash over you, spiraling you down into something deeper. His tone, the way he knows exactly how to manipulate you, makes it harder and harder to keep your composure. Your body betrays you, the sensation too much to bear as the pressure inside builds, and Jungkook grunts, sensing your unraveling.

“Give in,” he demands, his voice commanding, pushing you closer to the edge. “Let go. I know you want to.”

The combination of his words and the slow, deliberate thrusts causes everything inside you to snap. Your body trembles, everything tightening as you finally let go, your orgasm crashing through you, flooding your senses with a rush of heat and relief.

As you spiral, Jungkook picks up the pace, his final thrusts hard and deep, driving you through the aftershocks of your release, enjoying the way your body surrenders completely to him. The sound of his breath, the force of his movements, and the way your body reacts to him pushes you both over the edge in the final, intense moments.

Jungkook pulls out with a soft grunt, his breath heavy as he slowly lowers himself onto the couch, his legs spread wide, still feeling the aftershocks of the moment. He leans back, running a hand through his hair, his eyes dark but amused, as he watches you.

You turn around, your body still trembling from the intensity, and look up at him with pleading eyes. There’s a desperate hunger in them, a silent request for more, for something to fill the empty space left behind after everything that just happened.

He smirks, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of amusement and satisfaction, as if he’s savoring the moment, enjoying the way you’re looking at him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, his eyes flicking from your face to the way you kneel before him, your body still trembling, still craving something from him.

“You look like you need something,” he finally says, his voice low and teasing, his lips curling into a smirk. He pats his lap once, a silent invitation, a reminder that you’re still at his mercy, that your need is something he’s in control of. “Come here.”

His tone is commanding, but there’s a softness in it, an unspoken promise of more, as if he’s giving you the chance to come to him, to take what you need.

Jungkook’s voice is smooth, laced with that familiar dominance as he watches you. His eyes flicker down to your lips, a dark glint of satisfaction there as he speaks.

“Use that pretty mouth to make me cum,” he commands, his words laced with the knowledge that you’ll obey. He leans back further on the couch, his legs spread wider, waiting, as if this is just the next step in the rhythm he’s set between you both. The teasing edge to his voice is unmistakable, but there’s also something softer in the way he looks at you, his eyes filled with approval, waiting for you to make the move.

He doesn’t need to say more. His gaze is enough, his unspoken command already settled between the two of you.

Jungkook watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your every movement as you lean in closer. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air, his breath steady but deep as he waits for you to fulfill his command.

You focus entirely on him, your eyes locked with his as you position yourself just the way he wants. Your lips part, and you take him into your mouth with a slow, deliberate motion, your attention centered around the piercing, feeling its presence as it presses against your tongue. You move carefully, drawing your focus to the sensation, making sure to feel every inch of him, every movement of his body under your touch.

The soft pressure of the piercing against the top of your tongue makes your pulse quicken, the feeling of it filling your senses as you continue, each motion sending a ripple of pleasure through him. Jungkook lets out a low, approving hum, his hands resting lightly on your head, guiding you but never forcing you. His gaze darkens as he watches you, his control over the moment absolute, reveling in the way you’re responding to him.

“You know exactly how to please me,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with satisfaction as you continue, the rhythm building between you both.

Jungkook’s voice is smooth and commanding as he watches you, his eyes filled with that knowing intensity.

“All the way around, get below too,” he instructs, his words slow and deliberate. “Tease them, feel how full they are.” He gives a subtle tug on your hair, guiding you, before he moves your head off of him gently.

You feel the heat of his hands on your head, steady but firm, as he positions you just how he wants. He watches your every move closely, his gaze lingering with anticipation as he waits for you to follow his direction, to touch and tease in exactly the way he desires.

The sensation of his hands on you, the teasing in his words, and the feeling of his cock just inches away, makes the air thick with tension, both of you fully immersed in the moment.

Your mouth lowers to each ball sack and you slightly, tug them with your mouth. Jungkook groaning in pleasure as you add more pressure to them.

Jungkook tilts his head back, his eyes closing for a brief moment as a low sigh escapes his lips. The movement shifts his posture, making his chest rise and fall as he feels the intensity of the moment. His fingers still grip your head, guiding you with an ease that comes from knowing exactly what he wants, while his breath becomes deeper, more erratic.

He remains relaxed but focused, feeling your every movement as you follow his commands. The tension in the air grows thicker, and you can sense how much he enjoys the power he holds in this moment—how the rhythm of his breaths mirrors the increasing urgency of the moment. His head tilts back further, his jaw tightening as he exhales, completely immersed in the sensation of your touch.

Jungkook’s grip tightens in your hair, and with a slight, controlled motion, he guides your lips back up, repositioning you with practiced ease. His gaze never leaves you as he places you back near the piercing, his breath shallow as he lets out a quiet groan of approval.

“Right there,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire, his hands steady as he keeps you in place, allowing you to focus on the sensation. He feels every movement, every brush of your lips, and his body responds, the tension building with each second.

The piercing presses against your lips, and you feel its weight, the way it changes the sensation as you continue to move along him. Jungkook tilts his head back again, lost in the feeling of your mouth around him, watching with satisfaction as you follow his every command.

Jungkook’s body tenses, his breath catching as the pressure builds within him. With a low, strained grunt, he suddenly pushes you down, guiding your movements with urgency as he reaches his high. His grip in your hair is firm, a final command for you to take all of him as he’s on the edge, his control slipping just for a moment in the intensity of his release.

“Take it, I’m gonna cum” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice rough and commanding as his body jerks with the force of his climax. His hands press you further down, ensuring you feel every last pulse, the tension in his muscles evident as he finishes ropes of white shooting out his tip into your throat.

“Fuck that’s it baby”

He exhales sharply, his chest heaving as he slowly releases his grip, allowing you to pull back. The air is thick with the aftermath, his body still trembling slightly as he watches you carefully, eyes filled with a satisfied hunger.

Jungkook watches you closely, his eyes flickering with a sharp intensity as he feels the subtle movement—the way your throat constricts and swallows, the delicate gulp. He feels it, the sensation making his chest tighten with a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness.

A low, approving hum escapes him, his hand resting gently on your head, his fingers brushing through your hair as he observes the way you respond to him. “Good girl,” he murmurs softly, his voice hoarse but filled with that familiar hunger.

He doesn’t break eye contact, savoring the moment and the way your body reacts to him, every subtle movement speaking volumes. The silence between you both is thick, filled with the raw connection of that shared moment.

You’re both lying next to each other now, with you nestled against his chest, your body still slightly trembling from the intensity. His arm is wrapped loosely around you, holding you close but not too tightly. There’s a calmness in the space between you, a peace that settles in the wake of everything that’s just transpired.

Jungkook’s breathing is steady now, and his hand gently strokes your hair, the rough edges of his fingers feeling tender against your skin. His eyes, once sharp with focus and control, are now relaxed, softened as he looks down at you.

“You’re okay,” he says quietly, his voice a little rougher than usual but full of that unspoken tenderness. It’s not something he often says, but it’s clear in his tone that he means it. It’s more than just reassurance—it’s a reminder that, despite his coldness and teasing, there’s a layer of care and affection that he’s showing in this quiet moment.

You feel his warmth, his body against yours, and the subtle pressure of his arm around you. He’s not rushing anything, letting the stillness wash over you both. The closeness feels different now, more like a silent agreement between you two, an understanding without words.

His gaze stays soft, studying your face, as if making sure you’re really okay, as if the act of being close to him in this way means something more. Maybe it’s not the same as his usual teasing or commanding, but there’s something more intimate in this moment of calm after the storm.

“You’re mine, remember that,” he murmurs, his tone still firm but now with a protective edge. The words come naturally, but there’s less of a demand in them now and more of a promise.

He pulls you in a little closer, letting the silence stretch on, both of you simply being in the moment—no games, no teasing. Just two people sharing something that, even if unspoken, feels real.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a faint, amused smile as he feels your giggles against his chest. His hand continues to idly stroke your hair, a gentle contrast to the teasing tone in his voice.

“You like it that much?” he asks, his words quiet but carrying that familiar, confident edge. His fingers graze over your shoulder, the touch both soothing and possessive in its own way. He knows you’re satisfied, but he can’t help but ask, just to see you squirm a little under his gaze, to hear it from you.

You nod again, the satisfaction clear in your voice as you let out a soft laugh. “So good, so good. Very hot too,” you repeat, your tone playful but with an undertone of hunger—your body still feeling the effects of everything, still wanting more.

The way you speak, so innocent yet loaded with desire, makes something shift in his expression. He leans down, just enough so his lips brush lightly against the top of your head, the warm weight of him settling on you. “You like the heat, don’t you?” he mutters lowly, his breath warm against your skin. “Tells me a lot about you, baby.”

He’s not asking for confirmation now—he already knows. The way you’re so eager, so willing, only feeds into his need to keep you close, to have you just where he wants you. That satisfaction, that hunger, it’s everything he needs to see right now. He smirks as he watches you, knowing exactly the effect he has on you.

“Good girl,” he says softly, his hand slipping down your back in a slow, deliberate motion as he continues to hold you close.