#the layering this time round was a mess so i apologize if it looks sloppy

[auspiciouscat]

"I'll tell you once more, before I get off the floor: Don't bring me down☆"

Look me in the eyes and tell me he doesn't blast ELO during black light bowling

[chiwhorei]

team spirit

pairing: k. sakusa x fem!reader x a. miya

genre: college!au, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.6k

warnings: threesome, semi-public sex, daddy kink, spitting, a spank, a tiny bit of choking, tit-fucking, degradation, a little coercion, curruption, gaslighting, voyeurism, a subtle age gap (freshman vs. senior in college), cum play, cum eating. nothing too crazy and everything is consensual- it’s just pretty dirty lmao

a/n: in a radical act of self care i have given up on kinktober as it was killing all love that i had for writing. i present to you a piece written solely because it made me h-word. thank you to the love of my life @hqbbg for beta reading, you have my soul and share my desire to be mask-man’s little bitch.

hymn: smells like teen spirit by: nirvana

“Didn’t I tell ya’, princess?” Atsumu’s voice is low and sharp against the shell of your ear as he brushes away a rogue strand of hair from where it fell from your high-pony. The action gentle, the tone unmistakingly galled. “I told ya to behave, but ya’ never want to listen to me.”

The grip he has on you is bruising, fingers nestled on your hips, large hands scrunching your pleated cheer skirt and exposing you to the almost empty locker room. Your boyfriend’s hard-on is distinct against his shorts, pressing against your bare cunt. Your hips buck desperately in his hold, but any fight is useless. There’s no way Atsumu will give you more than just minimal friction; only enough to make you dizzy and malleable in his capture.

Atsumu isn’t oblivious. He’s fully aware of how sweet you look every week, cheering on the sidelines of his games, donning his jersey number in a heart on the apple of your cheek. Having the prettiest little member of your college’s cheer squad in his bed every night never fails to fill him with an almost evil pride. Ever since the beginning of the season, your first year in college, Atsumu has been on you. The moment he first saw you, skin sheened with a layer of sweat and workout shorts riding up high enough to see the angelic curve of your ass cheeks, you were his. He totes a fine line, dancing between cockiness at his prize girlfriend when you’re hit on or ogled, and egregious rage.

Game-night started the same as any other: Astumu sneaking away before warm-ups to kabedon you against the wall when you walked out of the girls locker room. You always flush red-hot, no matter how many times he traps you, fiddling with the pom-poms in your hold. He grabs them from you, tossing them without care onto the ground to pull you tightly against his hard chest, your wrist pinned against the front of your uniform top in one of his hands. The rest of your squad walks by the two of you without much thought; the scene unfolding is rehearsed at this point. It seems like the whole student-body ignores the two of you.

“You act more like a horny teenager than a senior in college, Atsumu.” You puff your cheeks out and glare at him from the fringe of your perfectly curled eyelashes. The fake-blond towering above you snorts at your defiance.

“Well, you act more like an old prude than a freshman in college, princess.” His lips dip lower to fan over yours, “And my name ain’t Atsumu.”

Your knees feel weak trapped in his grip, his presence a strange mix of comfort and distress. You’re welcomed home into the den of a lion. You gulp down a painful air bubble trapped in your throat and mumble an apology.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

It seems to please the arrogant setter, earning you a chirpy laugh as he twirls a piece of your hair in his finger. You hate when Atsumu seems upset with you, so relief washes over you at the light gesture. He releases his hold on your wrists and pulls you into a sloppy kiss. You melt into the feeling of his lips, his hands rubbing up and down your arms lazily, causing your body to slack against him. Atsumu’s attention always renders you compliant (often against better judgement).

“I’ve gotta go, but make sure I hear ya’ cheering out there for me, sweetheart,” he says after letting go of your lips with one last nip. So begins the quick restoration of your uniform from where it was misplaced by setter fingers. After you’ve collected yourself under the watchful eye of your senior, you bend at the waist to pick up the stray poms and feel the swift union of Atsumu’s hand against your ass. You scoff at his childishness, even though you had expected it. Game nights are always the same.

The same round of cat and mouse, the same suffocating sexual tension and embarrassing public display.

The only anomaly tonight is the lecherous stare of your boyfriend's teammate on your folded body. A stare that shouldn’t belong to the curly haired man fixes onto you and the view of your tight pair of spandex has turned him into stone.

Pride is a cardinal sin, and so is lust.

“Do ya’ like what ya’ see, Omi? She’s a pretty little thing ain’t she?” Your eyes snap up to meet the gaze of the man in front of your disheveled form. Sakusa’s eyes are dark and cold; his expression reads indifference, but the hard cock in his shorts is clearly seen. He’s frozen in place a few feet in front of the bench you’re displayed on. Your crisp white sneakers are on either side of Atsumu’s built thighs, knees bent and held in place by the man under you. Your uniform top and bra have been pushed up unceremoniously, freeing your tits to bounce slightly with every squirm. Sakusa watches every jiggle of soft, supple skin in front of him. The tent in his boxers is becoming painful with every heave. Both hands are pressed stiffly to his sides, left hand clutching your white, cotton panties. The fabric is damp, sticking slightly against his fingers and making him cringe. Disgusting.

Atsumu’s hand wanders down to spread the puffy lips of your pussy, long middle finger proading against your tight hole. Atsumu growls at the feeling of your arousal, not wasting any time sticking a digit into you with practiced movements. You whimper at the intrusion, legs feeling weak and shaky from their strained position as Atsumu adds a second finger with ease. He always knows exactly how to work you over, rendering you at a loss for words with his prodding against the spongy anterior of your pussy.

“Y/n is always such a little mess on her daddy’s fingers.” His middle and pointer finger are pulled out with a resounding pop and his palm lands a harsh pat against your clit. “Do you like putting on a show for Sakusa-san? He seems to fancy ya’, doesn't he?” You’re asked a question but can only yelp in response as Atsumu’s fingers are shoved back into you, pumping with fervor.

The tall man in front of you is only partially familiar; aside from volleyball games and visiting your boyfriend at practice, you’ve only seen Sakusa at the occasional party or team dinner. He’s never seemed too keen on getting to know you before, but now he’s palming himself at the sight of your most intimate angles completely open for his viewing pleasure. Sakusa’s slightly flushed cheeks and boring stare causes your cunt to clench around Atsumu’s fingers. Ever the painfully observant man, neither the tightening muscles nor the reason behind it is lost on the blond.

“Ya’ like being watched, that’s why yer sloppy pussy’s extra wet tonight, huh?” You shake your head frantically, not wanting to admit that the heat rising in your stomach is due to your voyeur’s deep brown eyes. Atsumu is a prideful man, some would say too much so, a fact he’ll have to atone for later. One thing he isn’t? Greedy.

“Omi-omi~” The singing of the stupid nickname seems to snap Sakusa out of his stupor as he flicks his eyes to meet Atsumu’s. “Don’t be shy, c’mere.” Sakusa is still working long strokes over his confined cock, stepping forward to further invade your personal space. Atsumu’s chin rests against your shoulder, face amused and casual, disconnected from what his hands are holding.

All you can do is look up at the looming figure, black hair falling in front of his face and mouth set in a harsh line. You’re eye level with the bulge in his shorts now, so close you can almost feel the fabric against your lips. Every sense is overwhelmed, crowded in the abandoned locker room with your boyfriend working you open in front of his teammate. Sakusa reaches out and runs his finger over the uniform top that sits wrinkled up above your breasts. His calloused pad runs over the article in a moment of contemplation, before pinching your hardened nipple. A surprised yelp falls from your lips along with the already tumbling whines.

Distracted by your new company, Atsumu’s cock releasing from his shorts goes unnoticed. With the dark, inky stare keeping you hostage, you only realize his fingers are being replaced when the hardened tip is pressing into you. A pathetic squeal rips through your throat at the breach. No matter how many times Atsumu stretches you out on his fat cock, it burns every time.

“I think ya’ should help Sakusa-san out, princess.” Another few inches disappear, your shaky balance is corrected with one of Atsumu’s hands wrapping around your neck, “Since it’s yer dirty little body that’s got ‘em all hard.”

The intonation wracks you with guilt, looking up at Sakusa with bleary, begging eyes. You’re not sure what exactly you’re begging for.

There’s no restraint left in Sakusa, having used most of it up when your panties were ripped off and tossed to him with a cheeky wink from his setter. He shoves said garment into his pocket before pushing his shorts and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free. Your eyes roll slightly at the sight in front of you, impressive in length and pleasantly veiny. Right under his head, you see two freckles, noting they almost mimic the ones right above his eyebrow.

Atsumu’s cock is snugly inside you, buried to the hilt, and you're pulled back into his broad chest by the grip on your throat. Sakusa holds himself at the base, stroking upwards and swirling his thumb against the precum collecting at his tip. He leans over you, slapping his head against your tits experimentally. The reaction Sakusa gets seems to be the one he was seeking, as your whispered cries thump to the same beat of his length against your skin.

“Such a nasty girl. You always look so sweet and innocent cheering for us. Does he fuck you like this after every game?” Sakusa has found his voice, regarding you coolly. Tears prick at your eyes, any retort caught behind your teeth as you stare back dumbly.

“Answer ‘em princess,” Atsumu lifts you up slightly to slam you back down onto his heavy cock; the sound is squelching in the stale air around you, “tell ‘em how you cream on Daddy’s cock after everyone leaves.”

“I- please, I-” You’re cut off by your own mewl when a string of saliva breaches Sakusa’s lips and falls towards your chest, watching as it ascends onto the valley between your tits. As it rolls down your sweat-sheened skin, the black-haired man rubs his weeping cock down the map his spit makes. Your brain is fuzzy at the attention of both men, warming your boyfriend's cock as his teammate grinds himself on your naked chest.

Sakusa grabs your wrists, causing your thighs to wobble weakly from their squatted position, and presses your palms to hold your breasts against his shaft. The pressure has Sakusa’s head falling back as soft, warm skin welcoming his shallow thrusts.

“Such a complaint little pet you have, Miya.” His hand brushes against your cheek and trails downwards to find purchase on your chin. “Dirty little girl,” his voice coos you, “Open wide.”

Your mouth falls at his order, fussing weakly at the nickname. Another sharp putt meets your ears and his warm spit hits the fattest plane of your tongue. Tears escape at the sides of your eyes with the overwhelming presence. Atsumu begins a slow assault on your aching pussy, removing the hand on your throat to pull your hips against his lap. The rhythm is a salacious duet with the cock nestled between your tits and has you clenching even tighter.

“Ya’ better not swallow Omi’s spit until I say so, princess. Keep that wicked tongue out for him to paint.” You do as you're told, as always, tongue lolled out with a pant. At your passivity, Atsumu rewards you with tight circles to your throbbing clit. His cheek presses against your own, peering over to watch his friend’s cock against your chest with wonder. Such a distinct beauty is found in the ruined body on top of him. As much as Atsumu appreciates the sweet, loving moments that he shares with you, the sight of your precious body bent to his will makes his dick twitch acutely. It’s sick how much he enjoys seeing how far he can push you-

“I’m going to cum on your girlfriend's sweet face, Miya. Christ, it’s disgusting how much she seems to want it.”

However, your enjoyment in your own depravity and humiliation is much more sickening.

Atsumu’s pace picks up, skin slapping against your sore pussy with new resolve. He wants to see you break into pieces right on the locker room bench. Your vision is spotting at the pressure on your clit, mixing with the dulled sting of being split open on the blond setter's thick cock. All you can do is produce a garbled squeal from around your dangling tongue. Sakusa pulls his cock from your chest, pumping his hand feverishly against the soft skin. The sight is almost unbelievable: a man who barely allows his teammates a high-five has your hair wrapped around his other fist. Your head is yanked back, eyes entrapped by Sakusa’s. Atsumu’s fingers are unrelenting against the bundle of nerves that now feels more like a ticking time-bomb.

“C’mon princess, don’t hold back on us. I wanna see ya’ cum right in front of Omi. Show’em how much team spirit ya’ got.” Atsumu’s teeth bite down onto your neck, angling his tip to press against that deepest spot inside of you. The fraying cord in your stomach is pulled taught, snapping at the feeling of Sakusa’s hot cum against your face, thick spurts landing on your cheer uniform and splattering against your already marred tongue.

Your own orgasm tears through you, burning deeply through every vein in your body. It’s sinful how your body reacts to the messy splotching of a stranger's cum against you, thrown head-first into release at the ministrations of the men on either side of you. Your tight rings of muscles pulsate around Atsumu’s cock, coaxing his own orgasm out to meet your silky insides. There’s nothing better in the world, Atsumu thinks to himself, than fucking his hot cum into your sweet, submissive body.

As the pair of volleyball players steady their own breathing, another menacing laugh escapes your boyfriend’s mouth. He peers over the mess in front of him, strings of cum drawing random patterns against your chest and cheeks. He turns your face towards him and smiles, finding that you did exactly as he asked. Your mouth wide, tongue still stuck out and awaiting further instruction. Such a perfect girl you are, letting Atsumu’s most debased fantasies play out on your innocent little body. Your job is to motivate his team after all, and there’s no better way to boost comradery after a win than to celebrate the best way he knows how.

“Team spirit, huh?” Sakusa tucks himself back into his shorts, leaning in to swipe his cum against your lips as a parting gift. You watch him with glassy eyes and suck on the digit when pressed against your tongue.

“That’s for sure.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[1kook]

commercial break ; ONE

a netflix & chill drabble  this follows directly after disney+ and bust !

summary; Maybe Jungkook wasn’t always as cool and composed as you initially believed. But that’s okay, because you love him all the same. warnings; none unless u count yn bullying him as one miscellaneous; yn is regina george thats it word count; 1.3k

notes; u guys may be like “u feed us so well!” wrong i obsessively post bc I'm never satisfied with my work, like in d&b i really disliked the lack of resolution so here i am writing one the day after god bless lmk what u think xxxx

Because Jungkook is Jungkook and cannot go three minutes without profusely professing his feelings to you, the apology gets old real quick.

“I’m sorry, y’know,” he says in the middle of dinner, idly picking at his plate. It’s Chinese tonight, sprawled across the kitchen counter that overlooks your living room. The Bee Movie is playing on TV, a movie you hadn’t seen in years yet still managed to put a smile on your face. But you know what wasn’t putting a smile on your face? Jungkook ruining this movie experience with his fourth apology of the night.

You nod through a mouthful of rice, eyes zeroed in on the screen. “Uh huh,” you hum, foot idly bumping against the leg of your chair every few seconds. “That’s great, honey.”

He sighs. “I’m being serious,” he stresses. “I think, maybe you should like…” a long pause you use to shovel more food into your mouth while the bees on screen go to human court. It was a wild ride. Were they on crack when they pitched this idea? You would have been. “Punch me in the face or something,” he offers after a moment.

You quirk a brow in his direction, finally abandoning the film on screen in favor of turning to face him. “You want me to use you as a punching bag to help you get over your hurt feelings that you developed from being an asshole to me.” Jungkook nods. You shrug. “Okay.”

“Wait, really?” he says, face paling as you roll your shoulder around. “You’re gonna hit me? Like for real?” You raise your brows, as if that’s obviously what you’re going to do.

“Well, you asked for it,” you respond, giving your wrist one final flick before rearing it back. His eyes flutter shut tightly, pouty lips pursed together in a thin line. Your fist comes barreling, ripping through the air in an insane, Fortune 500-like speed, and then—

“No,” Jungkook groans, touching the spot where you lightly flicked his forehead. His bangs saved him from most of the impact, but even without it, it was barely more than a teasing poke of your finger against his skin. “You need to like, beat me up.”

You snort, turning your attention back to the screen. “You know, you’re beginning to sound a lot like me these days, Jungkookie,” you point out, fork scraping across the plate. Jungkook sighs, dropping his head onto the countertop in defeat. “Very childish.”

He lightly bangs his head across the faux marble, a strained whimper filling the air and ruining The Bee Movie. “Which is why you need to hit me or something, I don’t know. Make me pay for how horrible I was to you the other day.”

“I’m not gonna hit you,” you say, “because that would mean the next time you get mad at me, you’d hit me.”

“I would never!” he exclaims, eyes wide and round. Gone was the perfectly put together Jungkook, in was this sloppy mess of emotions. “Besides,” he says softly, cheeks a warm rosy color as he goes back to picking at his food, “you’d never wrong me like I did you.”

You hum, toying with the fork in your mouth. “Really,” you murmur, dropping the fork back on the table. You place your chin in your palm, lazily watching the movie now that you’ve missed a pivotal scene because Jungkook wanted you to beat him up. “I used your toothbrush the other day,” you mention.

Silence.

“You what?” he squawks indignantly. You glance at him from your peripherals. There’s an obvious expression of disgust on his features, eyes flickering from side to side as he digests this information. “Babe—that’s, that’s actually really…” He can’t even finish his sentence, mouth opening and closing as he finally seems to process the fact your mouth germs were on his beloved toothbrush.

“Yup,” you add. “Hope you don’t mind,” you babble on, “well, I mean, you really shouldn’t.” You glance at him, the mean streak in you crooning loudly in your ear the more and more uncomfortable he grows. “Considering you’re always spitting in my mouth.”

As wild as you and Jungkook liked to get in bed, what happened in bed mostly stayed in bed. It sounds gross to say it aloud, but he really has just been casually spitting in your mouth for the past few months. He was a dirty boy, and that fact makes him squirm.

“No, that’s different,” he frowns, obviously distraught by the valid point you bring to the table. “My toothbrush is my toothbrush.”

“I know,” you agree, nudging his foot teasingly. “Should I tell you about all the other mean stuff I do to your things that I never say sorry for?” He turns those frantic eyes on you.

“You’re lying,” he says, though there’s a question embedded within. You tilt your head to the side, as if to say, am I?.

When he doesn’t say anything more, you jump into a full novel recapture of every mean thing you’ve done and why. “And one time I was so pissed off that you finished my strawberry shampoo that I went to your house and drained the water from that stupid cactus’s pot. You know, the one Namjoon gave you?” Jungkook’s mouth opens and closes. “Why do you think it died so fast? I killed it.”

Before he can reprimand you for purposefully orchestrating the murder of his favorite senpai’s potted cactus, you’re intercepting him with yet another tale. “And another time, I was so sick of you polishing your awards all day that I went in and sprinkled a layer of adhesive pixie dust on them from the craft store, and I know it still bothers you to this day.”

“Jeez,” he sighs after a good ten parables. “It sounds like I piss you off a lot more than I think I do.”

You pat his shoulder gently, scraping the remnants of his meal into the trash can. “Yeah, but the difference is,” you say, finding your place beside him again. You don’t climb into your chair, just hover beside him until he’s begrudgingly wrapping his arms around your waist. There’s a cute pout on him, face squished against your boobs. “I routinely let out all my raging hatred against you instead of bottling it up.”

“Yeah,” he agrees sadly. “I guess so.”

Before you can let him off believing this much is fine, you intervene once more. “And also I never purposefully pick out everything you’re insecure about.”

“I didn’t know,” he cries, all traces of that suave gentlemen you love so much gone. But it’s okay, because in his place was this vulnerable puppy looking at you with the eyes of every rescue pop in those dramatic commercials on tv. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t always as cool and composed as you initially believed. But that’s okay, because you love him all the same.

“Well, now you do,” you reprimand, giving his nose a playful pinch that almost makes him sneeze. “And I think it’s only fair I get a turn.”

He pushes away from his hiding spot in your boobs with a frown. “So you won’t physically attack me, but you will verbally attack me.”

“Yes,” you respond without missing a beat. “Because you’re easy to bully and it’s probably because of the fact you didn’t have many friends in high school, which essentially made you the class loner, thus an easy target. Explains why Namjoon had to set you up on a date with someone as amazing and outgoing as me, otherwise you would have died forever alone because of your inability to talk to women and the fact you have an awfully picky personality that can be overwhelming at times. So thank me once in a while, yeah?” you smile.

Jungkook blinks. “I think I might cry,” he admits.

You cup his cheeks in your hands, puckering his lips obnoxiously for you to smooch. “Baby, you’re dating a retired Regina George. Y’gotta tighten up a bit,” you tease, relish in the tiny smile he tries to hide after your kisses.

“So is this going to be like a thing now?” he asks as you tug him over to the couch, where The Bee Movie is still playing loud and clear. He plops down and you follow, snuggling into his side. “Because I don’t think I can ever do that again. Hurting your feelings hurts my feelings.”

You snort, taking in his smell and his warmth beside you. Jungkook sinks into the cushions, pulling you close into his chest until the soft beats of his heart echo in your ears. “No— unless you want it to be?”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[egoludes]

silver.

note: honestly, something gratuitous inspired by a post by @honeymndes and the edit from @dylshoney. nipple piercings, a little sub!shawn, a little dry humping — let’s get wild, people! wc: 2k.

You've been patient.

Six weeks, five days, and a couple dozen hours of watching, waiting, wanting.

The piercings had come out of nowhere ---- a surprise like the ones before them, only these studs peek out through a taut white tee and you shudder the first time you feel them. Soon, it’s all you can think about: silver against a canvas of rose and tan; the way his already sensitive nipples now seem to call for attention permanently; and the shift in his expression when something gets too close and the sting makes him wince and stir all at once.

You want them as soon as he shows you; but you’ve resigned, almost dutifully, to waiting until they heal.

Relief comes on a day you’d nearly forgotten about them. Too much in your head and too little time, you’re working in the living room while Shawn rests in bed, and you get so wrapped up, you don’t notice him near until he calls.

"Honey?”

You look up from what you’ve sworn is the last email to find him close, standing between you and the couch behind him. He’s in a t-shirt and dark shorts, curls molded by his fingers, and you can tell he’s just out of the shower. What you can’t work out is the way he’s watching you. You recognize it, of course — know that part in his lips and dark in his eyes better than anyone — but you can’t pinpoint what caused it when he’s just come in. That is, until he continues. “They’re, um, better now... the piercings.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck, as sheepish as you’ve ever seen him, and when you don’t react as fast as he’d like (too shocked? too elated? both?), he goes pink, color spreading from ear to cheek as he adds: “So, if you want to touch them…?”

The words trail off into him clearing his throat ( a tick so sweet and so him, you almost coo ); but you don’t need to hear any more to know where this is headed. Immediately, your full attention is his, and your mouth’s dry with need because, god, have you wanted this. You’d told him so the first time he showed them to you, longing potent from that first glimpse, and you’re giddy to find that he’s not only remembered — he’s been waiting, too. “Yeah..? Really?"

He nods, the heat in your gaze making him swallow thick because of course, he’s been waiting too. Of course, he’s thought about this — too much, even, in the stillness of your bedroom when you’re out at work, or with friends, or on your own just because. When he’s tugging at his cock with one hand and teasing his nipples with the other, fingers and fist working, working, working until your name leaves him in rapture. The thought sends blood rushing downward and he takes a half-step closer. “Yeah... don’t hurt as much as they did. I tried it out.”

He tried it out.

Your knees nearly buckle at that — the image of him exploring this on his own is far too raw. “You did, huh?"

He only nods, quick and eager as if to urge the conversation along. He’s never felt like this, this desperate, this hungry — but after six weeks, five days, and a couple dozen hours, Shawn’s built up enough anticipation to make a mess. He reaches with fingers nearly trembling. “Please come here?”

He doesn’t need to ask twice.

You’re against him in an instant, a tangle of limbs, and lust, and messy, messy mouths as you claw to get close. He tastes like spearmint gum, a cloying sweet that’s a hint excessive and a lot ironic, what with where this is headed. Yet, something about it makes you want more, and your fingers twist at the back of his shirt until your knuckles strain.

The kiss is too sloppy to be long, air slipping fast when you’re both too needy to pull away first. And when your faces do break, Shawn’s got his eyes closed, breathing heavy past swollen lips, and you take advantage of the pause to watch your prize. His nipples are visibly hard with not even a hint of direct touch and you can pick out two balls beside either one through the fabric — your mouth practically waters. “Shawn,” you start in a tone he knows well, all gravel and authority in just one syllable, “want you to look at me, hm? Wanna see you...want you to see this.”

He tries for you — that’s for sure. You can see the flutter in his eyelashes yourself, subtle but present. But, his arousal’s grown so thick, it’s intoxicating, and Shawn’s too far gone to listen the first time you ask. When you give him a nudge by way of hips square against his, though, he lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a grunt, and his eyes open slow despite his dizzy head. “There we go — that’s my baby.” The praise is enough. Enough that he purrs, enough that he swoons, enough that he settles large hands on your hips to make sure he doesn’t lose himself again.

Then, your hand is in motion, shifting from his back to a spot over his right nipple, and he’s ready to fall in all over again. Only, that’s all you give him. Tension rising, breaths quickening, you stay stock still, thumb close enough for him to feel heat through his shirt and nothing more.

It doesn’t satisfy him, not even a little, and in a moment of weakness ( or perhaps pure nerve ), Shawn arches to meet you.

Any other time, you might scold him; might tease him slow and steady until he’s crying apologies and whimpering for forgiveness. But, tonight, you’re full of mercy — too preoccupied with getting what you both want to worry about discipline. So, forward the glutton in you goes and the moment he moves up, your thumb comes down and like a string wound too tight for comfort, everything snaps beneath your touch.

Shawn moans, loud and strangled, into your living room and you curse at how easily he’s coming undone. It pushes you into a prompt rhythm, small, tight circles over the nub that stay gentle enough to avoid hurting him, but deliberate enough to drive him wild.

He does his best to keep steady, but the sensation is too much from the start. The lust makes him murky, makes you feel too far away, and he tips into you, hands moving until his arms are wound around you and he can fit his mouth against the base of your throat. You have enough room to keep his nipple rolling under your finger, an uptick in your speed making him shake — but it doesn’t take long before that just isn't enough.

You want to get your mouth on him.

“Sit, babe,” you pant, turning to finish your command against his jaw, “and take off your shirt.”

It takes a second — a tight breath, a dazed step back — but once he’s in motion, Shawn obeys in a hurry, almost tripping with how fast he goes. And when his shirt is forgotten at his feet and he’s perched, legs spread, on the couch, you settle to drink it all in.

If you've ever seen him like this before, you don't remember it. And you imagine you would, with how pretty he looks, eyes wide-blown and body tight with his arousal. His chest is flushed in large splotches, an obvious desperation in the way it risesdipsrisesdipsriseadips. All of that falls to the wayside, though, when your gaze find his nipples. You’ve seen the piercings a number of times already — in showers, in bed, in quick glimpses when he changes — but this is something else. Your pupils dilate as if on prey and you can feel yourself throb at the promise of metal against your tongue. In one fell swoop, desire and need twist inside you, take you with such fervor you don’t realize you’ve moved to straddle him until you’re already there.

The friction makes Shawn hiss, low between his teeth, and you don't skip a beat. One long drag of your hips turns into two, three, five, until you’re rocking over him continuously, fully clothed but no less affected. His fingers find a perch on your rounded hips, digging in tight to ground himself. It isn’t much defense, though - not when you latch onto one nipple with your mouth and the other with your fingers, rolling it between pointer and middle.

“F-fuck— oh fuck—“ You feel a hand scramble for your nape, the press of his palm heady against the hot skin. The greed makes you calculated, a flick of your tongue here and pinch of your fingers there to get more out of him. And Shawn is happy to oblige, noises turning obscene between your hand, mouth, and hips. It's so much, too much ---- and exactly what he needs. It unravels the pent-up yearning that's built up since the needle's first prick, layer by layer with enough force to leave him dazed. He doubts you can feel the wet spot spreading in his shorts, but he knows you don't need to. He's straining obviously against them, cock twitching every time you grind down, and though this has only just started, he’s getting close enough to taste it.

He looks to you to anchor him, dipping forward until he finds skin. Tongue and teeth work the slope of your shoulder anywhere your tank's left it bare, and the taste of you ---- all salt and sweet ---- makes Shawn moan deep in his chest. Very bad idea, he realizes, because now, he's thinking about how good you taste elsewhere. How pliant you can get when he bites, and how goddamn beautiful you look after you’ve let him mark you up. And it certainly doesn't help that his haphazard kisses make you work him more frantically, teeth closing around his piercing in a curious tug. The sound it gets out of him is pure sin, something guttural you've never heard before; and it's all you can do, not to give it right back. You take a breath to steady before you tug again, harder this time, and revel in the way he trembles against you.

“B-baby,” he whimpers, breath snaking down the valley between your breasts when he stills near your throat. "I'm gonna-- I n-need --"

You already know what he wants, can read climax in the tension knitting his shoulders. It’s come faster than you’re used to, certainly, but there’s no part of you that blames him — not when you’re dripping so much, it’s a wonder it hasn’t painted your thighs. So, your response is as gracious as it is greedy: another roll of your tongue, bounce of your hips, and a slow, winding twist of his piercing that makes his vision go hot-white. “Go on then,” you coo, no need to hold back this time, “—cum for me.”

It’s all Shawn needs to let go.

Head tossed back and toes curled, he keeps you flush as orgasm rocks him. He’d been behaved up to now, forcing his hips down to let you set the pace. But, when his head’s all clouded and resolve's shot to shit, they jerk up, fast and needy, until he’s completely spent.

On the other side of his peak, a few long moments later, he's more calm, peaceful even; the grip on your hips loosening in favor of strokes up your spine that flatten his fingers against you. He uses the touch to pull you closer somehow and, with a hum that's nothing short of content, Shawn bends forward to resettle against your shoulder.

“Good?” You ask with fingers teasing at his sweat-damp curls.

“So good,” he breathes around a blissed out smile, face turning to set his gaze back on yours. “You’re always so good.”

"Hm....am I now?" There's warmth in your face at that, innocent and glowing as you kiss him something tender. When you pull back, though, your expression's turned devious, shadows in your eyes and lips pulled back in a grin. The sight of it makes Shawn gulp and twitch beneath you, anticipation building all over again. And when your voice comes in a suggestive purr, he could almost moan out loud: “Why don't we see what else we can do with these, then?”