#the very minute i turn 18 you know where i'll be

[rememberthelaughtermp3]

stick n pokes are fun and all but i can't wait to be able to go to a proper tattoo parlour

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.

[nereidprinc3ss]

make me late

in which spencer finds a few minutes to spare with fem!reader in the morning

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence, sub reader, technically dubcon bc he doesn’t ask and she jokingly says stop but it’s not like that I promise, fingering (here we go again), 'slutty' is used to describe an action but not by spencer, spencer slaps r's ass one (1) time, (hot), mild overstimulation a/n: apparently need to post at least one fingering fic per week or i'll fucking die. very short and sweet but as always let me know if you like it, i have a crush on all of you!

You’re used to Spencer’s alarm going off early in the morning—typically you tune it out or sleep right through it. Today, however, it rouses you more than usual. You roll over, blinking your eyes open. 

“Sorry,” Spencer mutters, finally turning it off and leaning over to kiss your head. “Go back to sleep, angel.”

You wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him down again when he tries to get out of bed.

“Don’t go,” you beg into his shirt, slinging a leg over him. His hand slips under your (also his) shirt, rubbing the bare skin of your back.

“I have to. You know that.” 

“I just want you to stay for a little bit,” you insist. 

“No you don’t,” he drawls, voice still gravelly with sleep, “You want to make me late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say innocently, burying your face further into his shirt as if you could extinguish the heat in your cheeks. 

His hand drops from your back to reach under your thigh, pushing your underwear to the side. You gasp when his fingers make contact with your soaked core, involuntarily pressing your hips closer. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Stop it! That’s not fair!” You squeal, attempting to wriggle away once you regain your senses. But the bastard wraps his arm around your waist like a vice, forcing you to stay in place as he sinks a finger into you with no preamble. Instead of satisfying him with a vocal response, you keep your face hidden in the crook of his shoulder and remain obstinately silent. When he begins to slowly pump his finger, you’re forced to bite the fabric of his shirt to shut yourself up. 

“If you’re not enjoying yourself, I’ll stop,” he says plainly, but obviously he knows that’s the last thing you want. His ring finger joins the other and your mouth falls open, a tiny, choked breath against his skin. “Do you want me to stop?”

Don’t give in, you say to yourself. Wait. What are you not giving in to? Fuck, that feels good. You hum quietly—an excellent display of self-control considering the noises you’re actively holding back. 

“Are we already getting whiny?”

“‘m not whining,” you bite. 

“You’re always whining.” There’s nothing to do but prove him right when he begins massaging that spot inside you with a practiced stroke of his fingers—the one that makes you arch your back further and spread your legs a little wider—makes you oh-so compliant and all together, a bit slutty. But Spencer has told you that by definition, you’re not a slut if it’s just him who you lose all self-respect around. “My pretty girl feels so good, huh?”

You agree with a mindless mumble, forgetting that you were ever going to try and fight the pleasure. 

“It feels so good.”

“I can tell, baby. Listen to the mess you're making.”

Soft, wet sounds emanate from where you’re probably dripping around his fingers. A moan is muffled by his shoulder as your own fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt and sink into the flesh of his waist—though you doubt he minds. 

“Please don’t stop, please please please—" It’s quiet, almost demure as you plead. 

“You’re so sweet when you get like this,” Spencer coos. “I wish you were always so well-behaved.”

No, he doesn’t. Both of you know he loves fucking the attitude out of you, and at times, back into you. But you’re not in any place to correct him right now, as his fingers slip in and out of you so quickly, exactly where you want to be touched. 

“Oh, right—right there, that’s—oh, god,” you squeak. 

Your face is still nuzzled in his shirt, your voice is still so delicate and weak with sleep, rising in pitch with your pleasure until it breaks. 

“Right here? This is where you need it?”

“Yes,” you practically cry, “I’m gonna come, Spence—” your hips rock back and forth to meet each stroke of his fingers inside you, vision going white with with pleasure. 

“Yeah? My pretty girl is gonna come all over my fingers?”

“Mhm!” You speed up the motion of your hips. He chuckles, which might offend you if you were in your right mind, but it’s early, and you’re tired, and your soul is trying to untether itself from your body. 

“Let me feel it, baby. I wanna feel you coming, can you do that for me?”

A breathy keen rushes from your throat as your orgasm begins to suck you out to sea like a riptide, flooding your lungs and blood and everything with so much easy pleasure you’re barely awake and you don’t care one bit. 

“Uh-huh, good girl,” Spencer murmurs, not letting up with his fingers as you fall through your orgasm. Another choked moan takes you by surprise when his free hand falls with a heavy clap to your ass, before rubbing the stinging flesh. “Let go a little bit longer, baby, I’m right here.”

You’re barely breathing, still seeing stars as he continues to fuck you leisurely with his fingers, more out of pure affection than anything else. Eventually he slips them out, teasing gently over your clit as your stomach tenses. But you let him keep going. You’ll do anything to keep him in bed for a few minutes longer. To that end, you gather enough breath to speak. 

“Can you please fuck me?” 

He hums pityingly, moving his hand from between your legs to lovingly soothe the tender skin he’d slapped just a moment ago. 

“You know I can’t, baby. I shouldn’t have even done this. I really have to get a move on.”

“But you did do this,” you say, eager to point out the fallacies in his argument, “which means you could also have sex with me and we could be really fast and you could just take less time getting ready for work.”

Your chin is now resting on his shoulder as you look up at him with wide, imploring eyes, and he leans down to kiss your nose. 

“The answer is going to stay no, sweet thing. I don’t care how much you beg.”

He’s already gently sliding you off of him and getting out of bed as you pout. A few moments pass, and you can’t think of a good retort as he moves about the room, gathering a towel for his shower and digging through the dresser. 

“You’re mean.”

“Aw, poor baby. You only got to come once. Nobody has ever had a harder life than you.” Spencer dodges the pillow you throw and laughs, coming back to lean over the bed as you glower at him. “I’m sorry I woke you up. If you can’t fall back asleep in the time it takes me to shower, I’ll make you fancy coffee.”

“Fine.”

“And I’ll be extra nice to you when I get home.” He kisses your head and then your lips, and then disappears into the bathroom. 

In a completely predictable turn of events, you’re dead to the world by the time he gets out of the shower. He makes you the fancy coffee anyway, leaving it in a thermos on your nightstand. 

He’s late to work. He can't pretend to be sorry.

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[s-brant]

Three’s Company

When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.

-

The room is stiflingly hot.

There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.

Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.

They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.

"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."

They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.

When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.

Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."

To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.

"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."

She smiled.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."

Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."

The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.

As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.

He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.

The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.

"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."

"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."

Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.

She chuckles.

"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"

Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."

This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.

"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"

Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.

The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.

He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.

When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.

With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.

The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.

Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.

Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.

Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.

They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.

"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."

Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.

After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them. 

She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.

With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.

Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.

Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"

The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.

"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"

Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...

Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.

He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.

Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.

She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.

"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."

To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.

Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"

The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.

In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.

That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.

While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.

One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her. 

He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."

Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.

Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.

Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.

She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.

Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.

Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."

To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.

Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.

When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.

"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."

Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.

The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.

So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.

Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now. 

When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.

The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.

They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...

Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.

"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.

It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.

She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"

The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could. 

Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.

If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.

Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.

She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.

Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.

He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"

Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.

"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."

They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.

Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.

"Only a little?"

She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.

It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.

Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

"Too much clothes."

But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.

Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.

To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.

It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.

She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"

Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.

To their surprise, it's Art who answers first. 

Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.

"On my lap."

Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.

Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.

"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."

And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.

The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.

Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.

"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.

There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.

Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.

Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.

She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."

"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."

If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.

"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."

With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.

Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.

She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.

As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.

Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.

"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.

Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.

Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

"If it's too much, you have to tell us."

Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.

One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.

She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.

Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."

The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.

One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.

As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.

And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.

Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes. 

"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"

The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.

With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"

Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.

Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.

He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"

A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.

He asks again, "Is that what you want?"

Her response is immediate.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"

To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.

The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.

To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.

Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."

Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.

Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.

She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.

It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.

Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.

It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.

The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if don't mind sharing me."

His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.

"I don't mind one bit."

-

Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!

[silentcryracha]

1k special love week: 1. Bang chan

Pairing: bang chan x reader

Context: part one of eight for my Special Love Week in celebration of 1k followers (🤍). Drabble based on 3 prompts which are 'loves when + kink + sex position'.

Warnings: 18+ only, very minimum buildup, it's 99% smut, one shot, see prompts, fingering (f receiving), intercourse p in v, non protected (but they're married), talk of cum & its consequences (breeding kink hello?), pet names (baby, my love) , a couple uses of the word daddy

Word count: 2.4k

Prompts: Bang Chan loves when you get needy + Dom/sub & Breeding Kink + missionary (+variations)

ps: There could be grammar errors. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy! ♡︎

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Chan loves it when you're needy. Anytime, really. It may be sexual but it also can not be. Being needed is a love language to him. He loves to help, to be the person you go to when you need something. May be something silly like moving a piece of furniture (strenght kink hello?), something more serious like an advice.

Of course he's into it because he cares about you and he loves you, but let's be honest here, it also does feed his ego in some way. That especially comes into play when this neediness is paired with horniness. Then it's over, for both you and him.

You know he likes to be more dominant most of the times, but even then, at the end of the day, it's really you who has him wrapped around your finger.

"Channie are you busy?" you ask, maybe even with a slightly exaggerated whiny voice.

He turns his head a bit to look at you from his seat at the living room table where he'd been working on his laptop for hours.

"Kind of, why baby?" he answered back, promptly welcoming you with one arm as you walked up to him.

"I was wondering if you could give me a massage?" he smirked , squeezing the flesh of your waist sightly.

"Just out of the blue?"

"Actually I think I strained by back a bit from cleaning today" you chuckled, but his smiled dropped so fast it was almost comical. A mixture of worry and annoyance taking its place.

"Did you move the couch by yourself again?" he scolded, standing up and quickly closing the laptop's screen simultaneously. "You hurt yourself last time too. I told you to call me if you needed help"

His tone was becoming a bit intimidating, but you knew he just wanted to help, and especially for you not to get hurt.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, putting your doe eyes on to try and sweet talk yourself out of it.

"I didn't 'hurt' myself! I just got tired, alright? It happens" you shrugged, but you could tell he wasn't happy.

"It happens but if you did as i told you and asked me for help, it wouldn't have" he responded, then added "Now go lay down, I'm gonna get some aloe."

That's when dom/sub dynamic jumps out. When Chan gets annoyed, fake or to play, you automatically obey. It would be a lie to say that you didn't know where this whole situation was gonna go the second you started it.

"Yes" you tried your best to suppress a smile as you walked in your shared bedroom, turning on the warm colored night light.

Then you laid on the bed on your belly, arms hugging the pillow on which your head rested.

A couple of minutes later Chan walked in the room. You didn't quite see him, as your face was turned the opposite way, but you felt him climbing on the bed, straddling your legs.

"Take the sweater off, or it's gonna get sticky" he says. You get up enough to comply, placing it on your breasts, then laying back down.

"Warm it up a bit, please" you asked softly, knowing that the aloe was going to be super cool against your warm skin. It was the chilly autumn season, after all.

"Yeah" he reassured. You heard the sound of the bottle popping open and close, then being discarded to the side.

"I'll try my best" he spoke again, rubbing his palms together to warm up the gel, "But you didn't listen and hurt yourself, so you gotta handle a bit of cold. It'll feel better." His tone was pretty neutral, but the scolding was clear.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Do you want the massage or not?" He stopped his movements. You sighed.

"Sorry"

"That's more like it" it was subtle, but you knew him well enough to know he had a stupid smirk on his face. Unfortunately, you were so down bad, that it turned you on even more.

Suddenly his hands touched the skin of your shoulder blades, making you gasp a bit.

"Are they too cold, still?"

"No, it's good. I was just surprised" you chuckled. At that point he started the actual massage, skillfully using his thumbs and other fingers to put pressure.

"Relax, alright? Just tell me if it hurts" you nodded at the best of your abilities due to your position, without replying.

Chan kept working, starting from your upper back, then going back and forth between places. You were in fact so relaxed, your eyelids were almost falling shut. Until he got to your shoulders, which got you instantly back to earth, hissing.

"Tough spot?" He asked. You hummed in agreement, making the pressure of his fingers slightly less forceful but still going.

"I can tell" he paused, "How about here?" he moved his thumbs up, at the nape of your neck.

"Mmh, yes. Feels really good" you answered, feeling almost floaty. So much that you involuntarily started sighing softly.

"Does my baby feel better?" His buttery voice, just a tad bit condescending, sparked something in your stomach.

"Uh uh" he chuckled, now using his palms to caress you, all up and down your back, waist, sides.

"Good. 'Cause the gel is completely dry." And despite that, his movements didn't stop. They just changed the intention.

He lightly traced the tip of his fingers around, giving your goosebumps and sometimes eliciting a small giggle because of tickling.

"Are you sleepy?" He asked sweetly. You shook your head no, looking back at him. He was smiling, but his gaze sharpened as he looked at your face.

"Yes, you are" he teased. You tried to hide a cheeky smile, shaking your head again. You were just trying to be childish, shaking your whole body along with your head.

But your cute butt shaking like that right in front of his eyes and dangerously close to his crotch, kind of sealed the deal. He looked down, then back up at you.

Then, suddenly, slap!

You yelped in surprise as both of his hands came down to slap your ass. He laughed.

"No? Show me, then." He challenged. You didn't need to be told twice.

You managed to roll over on your back, with him still hovering over you. His eyes immediately went to your bare tits, but you didn't let him enjoy the view as you pulled him down towards you by his hoodie.

You started kissing, quite passionately right from the get go. But as much as Chan liked to make out, he wanted to get comfortable.

So he paused, taking off his hoodie quickly, as well as his tracksuit pants and boxers, all in one go. In the meantime, you also discarded your sweater, then taking off your own pants and panties.

When finally you were both naked, you immediately went back to kissing. Chan wrapped one arm around your torso, pulling you towards him, as he worked to get the sheets over you two.

You gave him a questioning look at first, not immediately understanding what he was doing.

"You got goosebumps all over" he explained, also getting between your legs.

"Thank you baby" you mumbled, kissing him again sweetly.

You spent several minutes humping each other and making out, with a little biting and sucking, both probably more tired than you cared to admit.

You properly started to lose it when Chan grabbed himself and slid the head of dick around your drenched pussy, including your sensitive clit.

"C-channie please" your finger pads pressed into his shoulders hard as you whined.

"Please, what?" He replied, voice low, eyes glassy and fixated on yours. Lips plump and slightly agape.

A few strands of his hair had started to get damp and stick to his forehead from the head of your bodies, the adrenaline, and probably also because of the heavy duvet.

He looked so fucking good, enough to make you go stupid.

"Please get inside me" you chocked out, "I need it so bad, please baby" desperation dripping from your words.

"Where does my baby need me? Here?" Two of his fingers slid right in your pussy, no resistance whatsoever by how completely wet you were all over.

You whined a bit, trying to get him closer with your arms.

"N-not enough" you sobbed, "I need your cock, please baby, please"

"Since my love asks so nicely..." He leaned down, placing his plush lips on yours in a sweet kiss, distracting you from the moment in which he actually did enter you.

You both sighed and moaned, in ecstasy. You both liked to get freaky, even a bit rough. But missionary, and all its variations to be honest, were your favorites.

In that position he was dominant, in charge of the work. And you were laying there, needy and desperate, like he wanted you. Not to mention the easy accessibility to your tits, waist, legs, ass.

But let's be real, the actual reason why you both loved that position so much it's because it's intense. Romantic, passionate, creates a close connection, and you have each other's faces right there to kiss. What's better than that?

Maybe the fact that he can go deep...like really deep. Especially when he gets into it and puts your legs over his shoulders, or just keeps them spread at his sides.

Not to mention...that the position itself adds greatly to Chan's whole (and obvious) breeding kink. Just the thought of him spilling his seed inside you, and possibly keeping it there as long as possible, just gets him gone.

Chan was keeping his hands on the side of your face as he went back and forth, inside you, at a fast and rough pace.

His mouth alternated in between giving you kisses and spurring you on with his dirty talk.

"How do you feel, my love?" He panted, "Does your Channie's cock make you feel good?" His voice was so erotic and full of tease, it drove you crazy.

"Mmh- y-yes...'so good daddy" you were so out of it you barely realized the word that slipped from your lips. It wasn't the first time, but it wasn't usual.

He chuckled faintly, still going hard on your abused pussy. He leaned down again, starting to kiss and lick the side of your neck, near your ear.

"Your daddy, uh?" He teased, whispering, "That's right. Daddy 'll take care of you"

All that teasing was getting your even more flushed and lightheaded than you already were, your pussy clenching in involuntarily agreement. Chan groaned at that, chuckling wickedly because he knew what he was doing.

"I..." You whined.

"Ssh, I know, it's alright. You close baby?" You nodded, nuzzling his shoulder with your face.

"Good, good girl" he kissed your head, "Come for me"

Didn't take anything more than that for you to reach your high, your hole clenching around his length, and you shivering from the aftermath and intensity.

Chan slowed down but didn't stop, allowing you to gently get off, except that you started grinding on his crotch.

"You wanna come again?" He smirked, short of breath. You nodded, but it wasn't enough for Chan.

"Say it" he ordered, "I wanna hear my little cum slut say that she wants to cum again"

"Ffuuck yes, I-i'm a little cum slut that wants to cum a-again" you exclaimed, suddenly reinvigorated by the new chase to your second orgasm, to which you were already so close.

"Whose?"

"Yours! Your cum slut, your baby, your everything" you responded, desperately. Chan groaned at that, his pace getting faster.

"Yeah, that's fucking right, my love, my whole world" he mumbled, kissing your lips.

"Can I come with you, mmh? Can I, baby?" You nodded frantically, cupping his face in your hands.

"Yes, please come with me, I wan' it" you slur, "Want your cum inside me, fuck" you gasped as he hit a particularly good spot, just above your cervix.

"Fuck yes" he moans, "Want my cum? Wanna make me a real daddy? So everyone knows who you belong to?"

Your legs clenched around his waist, your heels pushing his butt further into you, if that was even possible.

"Yes" you answer, "Wanna be filled up, carry you around with me everywhere"

That was the last drop for you both to orgasm. Him for the first time, and you for your second. Chan groaned deeply, stilling inside you as his seed sprayed your warm walls. While your own pussy pulsated, wet and sticky.

You remained hugged for a good while, him softening inside you. His breath became so quiet and regular that for a moment you thought he had fallen asleep.

"Channie?" You whispered sweetly. He hummed back, making you smile. Your fingers started to lightly scratch his scalp and caress in between his short hair.

"Now, I'm sleepy" he mumbled, hugging your body tighter.

"You can rest, love" you reply.

"Gotta clean you up" he replied back. So at that point you moved delicately, hinting at him to get off of you. You got up, on slightly wobbly legs and almost jumped for how cold the floor was against your hot feet.

You went into your shared bathroom and grabbed a towel, wetting it a bit. You then came back, finding Chan laying on his side, his hand resting on where you should be, waiting.

"Get the covers back a bit, baby" you say, and he complies. You delicately clean his lower area, including his abs which were full off little droplets. Did you squirt a bit? You didn't even realize.

When you were done you went back in the bathroom, and cleaned some droplets of both your juices that had trickled down your thighs. Then discarded the towel, and peed before coming back into the bedroom.

You picked up all the clothes, putting back on the panties and the sweatshirt.

"Baby do you-?" You were asking if he wanted to get redressed, but his eyes were closed and his mouth pouty. He fell asleep. You smiled warmly, just picking up the boxers and putting away the rest of the clothes.

Then you climbed up on the bed, putting one foot then the other in each hole of the boxers, then trying your best to slide them up. Chan did wake up for a slight second, realizing what was happening, and promptly arched his hips to allow you to pull the fabric up all the way.

After that, you reached your arm to turn off the bed light, and then finally you were back hugging your husband, falling asleep quickly as well.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[whore-ibly-hot]

'Photo Shoot'

Yan!Photography Student x GN!reader x Yan!Art instructor (Joseph and Mr. Burton)

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: All characters are legal age, multiple yanderes, dub-con touching, perverted thoughts, voyeurism, student/teacher dynamics, nude photography, no real mention of specific genitals

AN: I'm so eepy right now... Also, if you like this fic, use the tags on my masterlist to find all the other Yan!Boarding School writings.

The smoke coming from the corner of the room ceases when Mr. Burton snuffs a cigarette butt out on an... ashtray? From where you're sat, you can see him putting it out on what looks more like a student pottery bowl. That strikes you as odd, but he can be very critical of others art so you can't be suprised. Cracking his knuckles and leaning back a little, he turns to you and the extremely quiet classmate beside you, Joseph.

"Alright, lets get this show on the road, yeah? Joseph, you're our camera man, I'll have you leading this thing, running the camera's and I'll give some creative direction. Student and the master, I can finally teach some actual fucking art." Mr. Burton mumbles, as Joseph quickly begins setting up the camera on a tri-pod. You feel odd about him to say the least, despite you being the 'muse', as Mr. Burrton calls you, Joseph's barely made eye contact with you. You agreed right off the bat when Mr. Burton asked you to help one of his favorite students with some anatomy shoots, you like Mr. Burton, he's funny, honest, and that's refreshing, given you worry some people at this academy have ulterior motives. Still, you had some concerns as you fiddle with the thin top you wore at Mr. Burton's request. "Mr. Burton?" you ask, and he looks up from where he's mumbling about something with Joseph. He motions for the young man to keep working as he strolls over.

"I'm nervous." You admit, hand rubbing at your elbow as an attempt to self-soothe. "I don't usually get, nude, on camera, and i-it's not that I don't trust you, sir, but-" He puts his hand up to cut you off, gently rubbing your shoulder. "Woah, woah. I get it, I get it." He assures you, tone comforting. "You're my student, and you've got great, great potential. I've been on the art scene, kid, I see the burnout path some people go down, I see the ways people exploit and get exploited. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. If you get uncomfortable, I'll pull you out. And trust me, being in the nude for art starts to feel perfectly normal after a while, okay?" He pauses, then sighs. "Okay, it's comfortable except for being cold as hell." He laughs.

You chuckle in return, but there's still a bit of worry. He can tell, and leans in. "What is it that worries you, exactly? If it's insecurity, trust me, the real artists are those marketing execs who can photoshop a skinny model and make change up the whole idea of beau-"

"It's not that sir, I promise. I'm just worried about other people seeing, you know? I'm worried about it getting spread around, or people getting bad ideas about me." You admit, face a little pale. Mr. Burton's brows furrow, and he slaps his hand down on his jeans. "Joseph, come here!" He yells.

Joseph jumps, hands shaking as he almost knocks over his tripod. "But- uh, the cameras-" He squeaks out, and Mr. Burton shakes his head. "You're one of the best photographers I've ever met, Joseph, I know damn well that cameras been set up for well over ten minutes already. Come here, don't be shy, don't be weird. You're freaking out the subject." At the idea him staying away is freaking you out just as much as him coming up to you, Joseph walks over. "H-hi." he greets, holding out his hand. You shake it, and it is particularly sweaty.

"Joseph is a great photographer, my best student and possibly one of the best I've ever seen. I assure you, he's a good kid. He's dedicated to his craft, this isn't a complex scheme for him to fence some nudes of you to the highest bidder." The young man's eyes widen exponentially as Mr. Burton makes his assertion, and instinctually puts his hands up in surrender. "No, no! I would never, ever. Do I- do I come off as that kind of creep, if I do I'm sorry."

"No, it's not that at all, I just struggle with, well, some issues like that." Joseph visibly frowns, and Mr. Burtons hand tenses from it's spot on the table.

"You are pretty creepy, Joseph." Mr. Burton admits, making the boy flush as the teacher playfully pushes his head. "This'll be good, good art pushes outside of comfort zones, yeah? Let's get all set up." He claps his hands together as he goes to stand behinf the camera with Joseph. You strip, and sit awkwardly before the camera in front of a messy brick wall with various stains and prints on it from Mr. Burton's studio. Mr. Burtons licks his lips subconsciously as he looks over your meek form, the clears his throat. "Okay, first position, mermaid pose. Lets get those legs to the side."

The shoot continues on for a while, until Mr. Burton suggests a more 'raw' shoot. That's how you find yourself posing, hands over your chest area and thighs ever so slightly parted while Mr. Burton sits behind you, also nude. You worried about it being inappropriate, mostly for his sake. "Couldn't this... I mean, I'm willing to do it if you think it'll be good art, but won't you get in trouble if people find out?" You ask, turning over your shoulder a bit. He scoffs again, and shakes his head. "No self-respecting person with credentials like mine would teach these silver spoon brats art, I'm all they've got." He assures you, going to move an arm around your waist from behind.

"What composition do you want, sir?" Joseph asks, face red as he uses every ounce of will-power to try and suppress an erection at the sight of you and the older man. He'll worry about the new and conflicting feelings later. He's got enough photos to die happy, but the fact you seem so willing fills him with a delusional sense of your interest in him.

"It's your shoot, Joseph. Take over directing." Mr. Burton calls back, and Joseph doesn't seem sure. "I don't know, sir, you have more of a vision than me, and-" Mr. Burton groans, rolling his head back like a kid throwing a tantrum. "Jesus christ, kid. How many times do I have to hammer in that you're a good artist? You can direct your own shoots-" He notices the violently red flush of Josephs cheeks, and chuckles. "Or is this more an issue of being to embarrassed, because I told you-" He waves his free arm around. "We are pushing the envelope, making something raw, pushing ourselves out of comfort zones. To be a great artist, you have to not be afraid to tell your NUDE SUBJECT, to spread their legs and bare it all." Joseph is completely silent, stun-locked by his gruff teachers comments. He begins examining the shot in the view-finder after taking a few shaky breathes.

"Alright, Sir... of course." He swallows, and his shaky hands adjust the lens. "I want to-to try and delineate from what other people think nude shoots are, away from like... porn and stuff. Raw, but intimate, I think." Mr. Burton nods for him to continue, and seeing the interest in your eyes at his creative direction, Joseph gets a little more confident. "If you're okay with it-" He addresses you now. "I'd like Mr. Burton to be able to touch you, nothing too invasive, just a kiss on the neck or the shoulder, maybe letting him hold your thigh?" Joseph keeps his tone soft and asking, sure to imply you can say no.

"That's alright, I trust him." You mumble, looking at the gruff art instructor and seeing to your surprise a soft look on his face. "I'm honored, little muse." He teases, and the nickname makes you flush. "Oh, and you too, Joseph, we've not talked much, um, but you seem really dedicated, I'm sure I'm in good hands."

Shit. Well, so much for keeping his dick down, but at least he doesn't think you can see from the way the lighting is set up. He nods, and you shiver, feeling a cold pair of lips and a thin stubble scratch at the surface of your shoulder. "Are they cold?" Mr. Burton chuckles, placing a few more small kisses as you hear the camera shutter snap. "I'm sorry, I can't control the thermostat in here, all this money and they can't afford to make sure I don't freeze my dick off doing my job." He's always so grumpy, even when he's trying to be sweet. You close your eyes and try to relax into the feeling. It escalates occasionally, hands on your thighs as he kneads gently at your flesh, occasionally making a complaint about something or picking at Joseph, who keeps making an odd series of grunts, but you assume he's just breathing heavy from being so focused.

It culminates in you being positioned over him, as if playing the playful or dominate role in some sort of erotic moment. Mr. Burtons hands rest on your ass, his firm yet not fully erect cock a little too close to your hole. You're chest to chest with him, and while he's relishing in the feeling, Joseph makes a hand motion, and he knows its time to pull away, at least for this ession. He's smart, knows not to rush it, and he knows this is more than enough material for the vouyeristic camerman.

"I think we got some good shots, i-it's getting late. I'll go grab something from the vending machine while you too warm up." Joseph scarmbles away, camera bag held oddly across his crotch area. Mr. Burton smiles as you slide off from him, flushed as the weight of your previous position hits you. "You were great, a real professional." He urges, scooting forward to sit beside you.

"Thank you, sir. I was trying not to get too flushed or anything, I hope I didn't sweat too much." You admit, and he shakes his head to assure you. "Nah, you did fine, but if I could make a suggestion?" You look up. "No real intimate scene like that doesn't have a couple kissing. On your neck and shoulders was fine, but lets face it, people do more than neck each other when they're getting it on like that." He glances at the door, making sure Joseph is still doing whatever it is he's doing out there. He didn't discuss this part with the young artist, but let's face it, learning to be one step ahead, to protect your work and your muse, is something he's gonna have to learn anyways. "Will you let me show you?" he asks, voice low as he leans closer to your face.

You glance at the camera. "It's not running, though shouldn't we wait for joseph to take the photo?" You ask, a little more unsure about the artistic integrity of the action. He shakes his head as he lets his stubble scratch your cheek. "This'll be practice, yeah? For next time..."

"Next time?"

"Next time." He mumbles, lips feverishly sealing against your as he hunces over your form, cold bodies pressing together and leaving goosebumps which trail down your form as the session closes out.

[little-diable]

A dare to kiss - Tyler Owens (smut)

I'll keep on riding the Tyler train till my ideas run out. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tyler and the reader have been best friends for years. But after another storm season, she finally snaps and realises she can't be around him any longer, not when her feelings for him won't let go of her. But perhaps the feelings aren't unrequited as she fears.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), friends to lovers, idiots in love, some angst, but a very happy ending

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (2.4k words)

“How old are you? Stop it, Boone!” (Y/n)’s voice dripped with annoyance, eyes flickering from her friends and colleagues down to her drink. It had been their last day of chasing, saying goodbye to another season that had been filled with exciting but also horrible moments they all haven’t quite processed just yet.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s just a kiss!” Boone excitedly clapped his hands while he let his gaze wander from (y/n) to Tyler, who was looking at her with an unreadable expression. They no longer knew who had started their annual game of truth and dare, passing a few hours where they got to spill secrets, fears, and do harmless dares to end the night with stomachs that hurt from laughing too much.

At least it had always been like that until this very dare, something that clearly went too far for her aching heart. Her feelings for Tyler were no secret, they all knew of the feelings she harboured for her best friend – all but Tyler, who obliviously chased other women while (y/n) was forced to suffer around him. 

“Give her another dare, Boone.” Tyler’s voice drew all eyes towards him, ripping their hope of finally being able to push the two of them together into shreds. They were too focused on Tyler to pick up on the hurt crossing her features. It was her own fault, she should have just kissed him, should have crossed the distance between them while the chance had been right there for her to grasp. A chance that had passed the second Tyler had spoken up.

“You know what, I’m tired anyway, I’ll head back to the motel.” She rose to her trembling feet, hands buried in the pockets of her jacket to hide the fists she had balled them into from their confused eyes. She didn’t wait for them to speak up, turned from them with an aching heart and allowed the darkness to swallow her while almost jogging back to her room. 

Even though (y/n) hated parting from the group, not wanting to leave them that early on their last evening together, she needed to be alone with her thoughts for a while. Staying this close to Tyler for the past weeks had been more exhausting than she had thought it would be, unable to endure his closeness any longer. She should look forward to returning home, to quiet hours where she won’t have to worry about hiding the feelings she hadn’t been able to let go of for the past years. 

The door to her room fell shut behind her, letting the silence wrap itself around (y/n) while she wiped away the tears that had started to fall. Curses rumbled through her, she felt as if she was drowning, unable to breathe while the room closed in on her. Her body started moving without listening to her mind's command. She threw all her stuff into her bag, hastily reaching for her things as her vision grew more blurry. 

She needed to get away, needed to make it home, she couldn’t stand being around him for another minute. She left the room with her heart in her throat, forced to a sudden halt before she could collide with Dexter. His hands shot out to catch her should she fall, drawing her tear stained features up towards him. 

“Oh, (y/n). What’s going on?” She let her head fall against his chest, searching the closeness of the man who had always treated her like his daughter, the first one she had told her feelings for Tyler to. A sob wrecked through her, forcing him to tighten his hold on her to keep (y/n) close. 

“I need to leave, I can’t do this any longer, Dexter. Here, this is my room key.” She pushed the key into his hand, trusting him to take care of checking her out in the morning. His hand ran up and down her spine in a comforting manner, set on soothing the pain she felt all too clearly. Another sob left (y/n) before she stepped out of the embrace. “Tell the others I’m sorry and that I’ll reach out soon.”

(Y/n) squeezed his hand one last time, trying to put on a soft smile for the man who stared down at her with pity swimming in his pupils. She felt his eyes on her as she jogged towards her truck, set on driving through the night to make it home before the sun would paint the horizon in bleeding colours.

……

“Hey, it’s me again. It’s been a while, and I really need to see you, (y/n). We need to talk, call me back, please.” 

She woke to new voice messages every single day since leaving a few weeks ago. At first Tyler had voiced out his disappointment and confusion, not understanding why she had left him just like that. And then the sadness had entered the picture, begging (y/n) to call him back because he missed her and was sorry for whatever he had done to her. And now his voice no longer carry any emotions, monotonous and unfamiliar without any nicknames he’d normally use. 

(Y/n) knew it was time for her to finally reach out to him, to bury her own sadness and her embarrassment and to call her best friend, if she could still call him that. Her hands shook as she clicked onto his contact, listening to it ring five times before he answered with a whisper of her name. 

“Hi,” no further word managed to leave her. She listened to him exhale, shuffle around before speaking up.

“Are you at home today? I’d come round to see you.” A part of her screamed at her to say no, knowing that she shouldn't meet him at home, the one place where she had managed to focus on her feelings, giving her space to think about them properly. But the stronger part knew it would be less awkward to see him here than somewhere else where they could easily run into fans. 

“I am.” His hum shot shudders down her spine, forcing her to fist the blanket she had tossed over her cold legs. 

“I’ll be over around three, see you then.” He ended the call before another word could leave her. Her stomach was churning, not used to his cold voice and how he spoke to her as if she was a business contact or a stranger almost. 

(Y/n) let her phone drop into her lap while she sank further into her couch. What would she even tell Tyler? She wasn’t ready for his rejection, wasn’t ready to mess up what was still remaining of their friendship. Even though she couldn’t stand being close to him for longer than a few hours, (y/n) also knew that life without Tyler by her side wasn’t worth living. 

……

“There you go.” She pushed the coffee towards Tyler who was leaning against the kitchen island, right across from her. His eyes followed her every move, ever since a rather awkward hug and exchanged pleasantries that felt as if they didn’t know one another at all. He shot her a grateful smile before taking a sip, not letting his gaze leave her nervous features once. “How are you?”

“Cut the bullshit, (y/n). Wanna tell me why my best friend ran from me and then decided to ghost me for the past weeks?” Her heart sank, letting her guilt settle deep inside her stomach. Her eyes found interest in studying her trembling hands, not daring to get lost in Tyler’s angry expression. 

“I’m sorry, I was just so exhausted with it all. I needed some time away.” A humourless laugh clawed through Tyler, a sound that finally forced her eyes back towards him. 

“You’ve never been good at lying. What is this really about, huh? Why did the others all seem to understand what’s going on, but you couldn’t tell me?” His voice carried his hurt, dripping with sadness and anger she also felt flushing through her system. 

“It's nothing you need to worry-“ the sound of his palm coming down on her kitchen island interrupted her, forcing her pupils to widen as he shook his head at her. It felt as if she was looking at a stranger, not once had she seen Tyler this hurt and angry, never directed at her at least.

“Just be honest, (y/n)! I’m supposed to be your best friend, or is this what this all is about? Do you no longer want to be-“ now it was on her to interrupt him.

“It’s because I’m in love with you, you idiot!” And then they were engulfed by nothing but silence. The seconds faded by, turning into almost a full minute of Tyler just staring at her with an unreadable expression. It seemed as if he was combing through his every moment with her, reliving all the past years to figure out how he could have missed this. His silence forced her lips to part again, knowing that she needed to say some more. 

“I tried to let go of it, I really did. But being around you made it impossible for me. I am sorry, I just needed some time alone. And then that dare, I wanted to kiss you so badly, but it would have been my end, and I couldn’t risk losing that last shred of sanity I had in me.” Her whispers lured Tyler closer, letting her watch him round the kitchen island to come to a halt in front of her. 

“Look at me, darling.” Her heart skipped a beat at the use of the nickname, taking some fear from her trembling body. Slowly she raised her gaze, looking up at him with glassy eyes as he cupped her cheeks with his big hands. “I’m sorry it took me this long to see it, but I was quite occupied with hiding my own feelings from you.”

Tyler’s words left her frozen, staring at him with confusion laced in her gaze. Her mind was racing, letting his words sink in to understand what he had just told her. A soft chuckle rumbled through him, “Will you let me kiss you? No dare this time.” 

She shifted her weight onto her toes, letting her lips collide with his. Tyler instantly replied to the touch, kissing (y/n) breathless while his hands moved down her sides. She deepened the kiss with a soft moan clawing through her, allowing his tongue to meet hers. Both their hearts were racing, pounding in their chests as if they had just returned from another chase, losing themselves in the adrenaline that still buzzed through them. 

Tyler parted from her for a moment, hands wandering down her thighs to pick her up and place her down on the kitchen island. For the first time since she had started being with partners, she truly felt weightless, trusting Tyler fully with whatever he had in mind. Slowly, he connected their lips again, kissing her to stop her racing thoughts from overthinking what was about to happen.

“Do you want this? Do you want to be touched by me?” His voice was raspy, deeper than it had been before - details that made her walls flutter in excitement. 

“Please, touch me, Tyler.” The hum he let go of was drowned out by her gasp as he pushed her back down on the kitchen island, feeling his wandering hands find their way to her pair of shorts. He pulled the fabric down her legs, panties following moments later to expose her lower body to his piercing eyes.

“What a beautiful sight, it was worth waiting for all these years.” Heat rose up her neck, spurred on by his praises. Carefully he touched her, letting his fingers brush through her slit, spreading her arousal on her skin. Goosebumps littered her body as if she was trapped in a cold room, unable to stop shaking. And yet her body was burning up, set ablaze by his touch. 

“I need to taste you, can I, baby?” Nothing but a moaned “yes” left (y/n). His tongue felt rough against her pulsing bundle, letting the sensation zap through her aching body like lighting. She tried to find something to hold on to, and yet her fingers could only wander to his head to tug on his almost golden roots. 

“Jesus fuck, why haven’t we done this sooner?” (Y/n)’s words left Tyler chuckling against her heat. The sound vibrated on her skin, pushing her even closer towards the edge.

“Seems like I ain’t doing my job well enough if you can still speak.” He was urging himself to move his tongue quicker while pushing two fingers into her heat. Her walls clenched around his fingers, drawing him even closer in while her orgasm crept closer and closer. A moan clawed through (y/n), letting it reverberate through the air as Tyler sucked on her pulsing bundle. 

“Atta girl, I got you, pretty.” He comforted her, cozied her along to finally push her over the edge. His name left her parted lips like a prayer, unable to think of any other thing to say as she felt the blinding sensation wander up her limbs. (Y/n) came without a warning, back arched off the cold kitchen island top. 

Tyler kept lapping at her folds to guide her through her high before he pressed one last kiss to her inner thigh. He moved up her body, hands stroking their way up her sides until he cupped her warm cheeks to pull her in for a kiss. 

“I love you, darling, and I promise to make up for all the time we’ve lost.” 

[sunrisesfromthewest]

Playing Hard To Get Pt 3

Summary: After that night at the precinct the sexual tension between you and Armando increased ten times more causing him to come up with a clever way to keep you from running away.

Warnings: Smut +18 | Rated R Language and Actions| Handcuffs | Office Sex | Gagged | Fingering | Use of Restrains | Clit and tit loving | Fucked Against table and Wall | Hair Pulling | Barely Proofread

Previous Part: Pt2

Time seems to fly by after that night at the precinct and since then your focus has been on all the new cases.

Hense why you haven't noticed Armandos predatory eyes watching your every move throughout the week.

At the moment your attention was focus on finding a very important file but with a frustrated sigh you push away from your desk and turn your attention to the ceiling.

“Still ain’t have no luck finding that Leoni file.”

Swiveling your chair towards the hearty voice, you see Marcus gazing at your computer screen with mild interest.

"Yeah, that file is about as old as you and Mike." you say giving him a teasing smile. Marcus stares down at you for a moment before releasing a very sarcastic laugh.

"I see your ass got jokes."

Shaking your head in amusement at his annoyed expression, you turn your attention to Mikes baritone voice and approaching figure.

"What you two bobble heads over here talking about?"

"Something that your elderly light skin ass could help me with." you sassed, moving forward to double check your information on your note pad.

"Y'all young folks disrespectful as hell."

Hearing the light snickering from the squad had you biting at your bottom lip to contain your laughter.

Pausing to take a sip of his big gulp Mike sends Marcus a look before smacking his lips loudly with a mischievous grin.

"And that's too bad cuz I was just about tell you where that file was at."

Groaning you glance up at the older man, already knowing he wasn't going to give the information to you without trying to cut a deal.

"What do you want?" you ask, while gazing at him with hesitant eyes.

"Lunch is on you."

Frowning your eyes shift back to his and your blank computer screen before releasing an agitated sigh.

"Fine but y'all not finna be blowing up my phone tryna add extra food."

Watching the two men give each other a devious smirk, they walk away from your desk.

"Hey! Where's the file!"

"In the old records room!" Mike answered, entering the break room with Marcus hot on his tail.

Standing up from your desk, you shifted your red dress back down your browns thighs and make your way to the records room.

"Go ahead and write down what y'all want, I'll grab lunch after I get this file." you announced, sending Armando a pointed look since he always tries to give you his order last minute.

"Prefiero comerte el coño en lugar , princesa. (I'd rather eat your pussy instead princess)"

Seeing the shocked look on Kellys face had you raising your brows, but you don't stop to question his comment.

Smirking Armando briefly shifts his attention to Kelly who looks at him with a wrinkled nose before moving his brown eyes back to your retreating curvy form.

Walking down the small flight of stairs, you spot the room a couple of steps ahead of you.

"They really need to transfer this stuff to the online records." you muttered, sticking your pad in your bra and twisting the handle of the door.

Standing there a few seconds in disbelief you twist the knob again only to grumble when the door doesn't even budge.

Glaring at the keyhole, you look around to see if anyone was watching before leaning forward while slipping a bobby pin from your dress pocket.

To immersed with trying to pick the lock, you failed to notice a familiar Latino man walking your way.

"I swear if they planned this to get more foo-"

Pausing at the sound of a low whistle, you flip your hair back to see Armando leaning against the opposite wall with a dimpled smile.

"A stripper and a little criminal.... what else you been hiding from me detective?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out." you replied, turning back to the lock and smiling after hearing a small click.

Turning to him you open the door and send him a smug look before entering the room. Pushing off the wall amused, Armando entered the room behind you, "I'll keep that in mind."

Not replying you pull the small pad from your bra and flip through it to double check the id number for the case file.

Heels clicking against the floor your eyes move around the room in search of the correct file cabinet.

"Is there something you need to get out of here too?" you questioned, missing the sound of the door closing with a click.

Finding the cabinet, you open it and began to search through the packed drawer.

"The last time we were together.... alone, I remember you left those behind princess." he commented, spotting the way your hand stops at the sight of your thong stuck between the files.

Alarmed you peer at him with wide eyes as he draws closer to you with a dark expression.

"Now ever since you left me high and dry, I've been using these as a way to get off."

Shocked you just stand their sucking in air like a dying fish, mind trying to come up with a coherent sentence.

"Hmm.......Cats got your tongue, mami?" he stated, snatching up the material from the abandoned file cabinet.

Snapping out of your stupor you maintain eye contact while backing away from his approaching form.

"Glad to see that you enjoyed yourself." you joked but stop when you run into a hard surface.

Laughing at your comment, Armando reaches you with a wolfish grin while watching you slide onto the 'desk' to create distance between him and you.

"All you been doing is running that smart mouth of yours and running away," pausing he drags a hand down the small opening of your dress top," And if I'm being honest mami...I'm done chasing you."

Shivering from his light touch, you give him a grin of your own, "Then why do you keep doing it?"

The next words that come out his mouth completely throws you off.

"How's your wrist?" he asked, shifting his gaze down to your manicured hands.

Blinking up at him with a quizzical expression, and a quick glance down at your healed wrist.

You look back up at his now lustful eyes, confused, "It's fine but why do you as-"

Before you could finish you feel cold metal hugging your skin and the ghostly touch of Armandos stealthily hands. As quick as you could react you began to frantically tug at the metal restrains and take in that what you thought was a 'desk' is actually an old slick interrogation table.

"Armando the fuck you got going on!" you fumed, pulling at the restraints more.

Moving closer he spreads your legs causing you to freeze as the cool air hits your damp covered center.

"Armand-do what are you doing!"

"Claiming what's mine and teaching you a lesson." Armando whispered, running his hands over your center. Jumping at his touch you try to move back but he just pulls you closer by the chain of the cuffs.

"The more you run the longer I'm keeping you in these cuffs." he growls, voice becoming low and accented. Gasping loudly at the feeling of him pressing down firmer against your clit, you breathe out a response and trap his hand between your thighs.

"We can't......someone migh-"

Once again you were cut off but this time, he stuffed your mouth with your thong.

"Problem solved. Now open your legs."

Shocked that he just gagged you with the soft material you don't catch his words but the feeling of him quickly sliding your panties down with his free hand does.

"You practically dripping baby, and we haven't even got to the fun part." he mutters sliding the material past your heels and into your mouth to ensure you want make a sound.

Mouth completely stuffed, you stare at him aroused and with dilating pupils as you start to drool from the way your mouth is stretched open.

"You're so pretty when you allow me to give you what you need, Y/N."

Dark eyes running down your face he moves a hand forward to wipe at your mouth before trailing the same hand towards your throbbing center.

Feeling the pressure on your clit had you closing your eyes from the sensation, making him stare at you with a smug expression.

"All this time you been fighting against what your body wants," pressing down harder he moves his thumb in a circular motion, "I know you been craving my touch princess."

Hips shifting forward your eyes remained closed as you released moans muffled into the now damn material.

"Tossing that thong at me and then running away was the third straw." Leaning forward, he began to trail hot kisses down your exposed neck while speaking to you.

Shivering from his words, you feel yourself become even wetter as he continues his motions on your clit while slipping a few fingers inside you.

"Now look at you.... pleasuring yourself with my hand."

Throwing your head back, your body shivers as he pumps his fingers faster inside of you which makes you tug at the restrains with pleasure.

"You're taking this so good Y/N.....I thought you would at least put up a fight." Armando taunts, placing a hand on your lower back so that you wouldn't run from his fast pace.

Groaning you slightly open your eyes to peer at him but moan more when you see his lustful gaze watching your every expression.

Clenching around his fingers, you blink drowsily up at him as you feel a familiar pit form in your stomach. Wiping away the drool from your mouth he gives you a fake pout, "I know baby.... your close."

Hiking your shaking legs around his waist to anchor yourself, you pull him towards you with pleading eyes.

Moistening his lips with a swipe of his tongue, he slows down his movements and leans down to your ear.

"Is it too much, baby......you want me to stop." he whispers, slipping his hand out and watching you attempt to protest as he stops you from reaching your high.

Whining at the withdrawal of his hands, you glance away as frustrated tears run down your face.

“You been playing with me for months…. did you really think I was going to let you get off that easy.” Placing his wet fingers into his mouth, Armando grabs your chin and maintains his gaze with you while releasing a satisfied hum.

“I didn’t know you could be so…..sweet.”

Rubbing your thighs together, go to speak but remember that you’re gagged. Seeing this he shifts his attention to your mouth, “Got something to say, mami.”

Nodding your head, you tilt your head up so he could remove the material out your mouth.

“You look so pretty tho.” He commented, running his thumb over your wet bottom lip. Giving him your best ‘Hurry the fuck up’ look, you roll your eyes as he slowly pulls the material from your mouth.

Pushing the last of the thong out with your tongue, you take in a few deep breaths before you speak.

“If you’re not going to let me cum,then what’s the point of me being here?” you gasped out and attempted to wipe away the drool from your lower face.

“We’ll that depends on how you answer this question.” he replied eyes scanning your flushed body with desire and need.

Although you were intrigued you were feeling some type of way about being teased of an orgasm and handcuffed.

"Since I didn't get to cum, I think it's fair that I don't answer your questions." you snarked, shifting back on the table at the constant pulsing feeling between your crossed legs.

Crossing his arms he trails his eyes back up to yours and pick up on the shift of your attitude towards him," This how you want to play."

Not answering you flip your slightly disheveled hair over your shoulder and turn your attention to the silver cuffs dangling from your wrist. Unfolding his arms, he grabs your waist and flips you over to press your front against the cold hard surface.

"Arman-!"

"Tss. Tss. Don't try to talk now princess, I gave you a chance." he interrupted, scrunching your dress over your ass he gives it a hard smack while kicking your heeled feet apart.

Whining loudly from the smack, you try to move away but he just press his warm large hand down on your lower back and grinds his hard on against your dripping cunt.

Moaning your body moves with his naturally; logic and common sense going right out the door as your mind becomes clouded fully with want.

Noticing this Armando tilts his head back to get a good look at your wet cunt grinding against his covered member with eagerness.

"There you go baby, just like that." he groans, left hand moving to caress and spank your ass as you quicken your pace.

Panting loudly your drag your restrained hands onto the edge of the table in search of some type of leverage as the pleasure becomes intense.

Moving his grip back to your thick waist he pulls your bottom half slightly away from the table causing your heeled feet to dangle a few inches off the ground.

"I'm close Mando-please!" you rasped out as the rough material of his jeans and the sudden touch of his index finger pinching your clit sends flutters to your stomach.

Pulling your hair back he stares down at your half-lidded eyes with a coy smile, "Please what mami."

Running his hands between your wet folds he grinds against you harder at the sight of your slightly parted lips and begging tone.

"Please let me cum! I need it-I need you!"

Biting his lips he pressed his front against your back and tugs your hair to the side to suck at your neck while picking up the speed of his hand.

"You need me Y/N-Where do you need me baby." he breathed, tilting your blissed out face to look at him as he anxiously waits for your answer.

" Arman-I need yo!" cutting yourself off you moan out his name loud as your orgasm sneaks up on you and spreads throughout your body.

Whispering small words of encouragement in your ear he keeps his hands between your thighs while trailing kisses down your back.

Letting out small whimpers your body starts to come down from it's high but the moment you feel hot breath hit your pussy you freeze.

"You don't mind if I get a taste..."

Before you could protest his hot mouth glides across your soaked lips causing you to shudder and regrip your hands on the table as he drags his tongue against you.

Mouth dropping open you released a breathless moan as your senses becomes overwhelmed.

Pulling away from you with a pop Armando runs his rough hands along the backside of your thighs before standing back up to his full height with urgency.

"You got one more in you sweetheart." he asked, accent slipping as he unbuckles the front of his pants with the speed of a man on a mission.

Cuffs scrapping against the table as you push yourself up to stand on shaky legs you turn to face him with an unfocused gaze.

"You still want me." you heaved, leaning against the table for support while watching him stalk towards you with a broad grin.

"I been wanting you baby from the moment I saw you."

Wrapping his hands around your thighs he hoists you up and carries you to the open space by the bared window.

Laughing you place your cuffed wrist behind his head while dragging your nails down the nape of his neck. Leaning his firm body against your soft one he shifts your legs higher on his waist so that he can pull himself out.

"You ready baby."

Shivering at the sight of his long girthy dick, you lick your lips anxiously while nodding your head eagerly.

Smirking he rubs the tip between your fold in a teasing motion as he blinks up at you with desire, "You sure cuz once I have you Y/N... your mine."

"Then let this be my answer." you purred, pressing your lips against his moist ones in a sloppy kiss while racking your manicure nails through his short thick hair.

Groaning into the kiss Armando pulls you closer as he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes just the tip in.

Breaking away from the kiss, you tilt your head back as he begins to thrust into you while letting out a low groan.

"Gosh Armando." you moaned out as the feeling of him stretching you open sends a delicious tingle up your spine.

Clenching his jaw, he releases a small breath while maintaining a tight grip on your hips,"Fuck Y/N... not gonna last long with the way your pussy keeps gripping me."

Locking your legs around his waist tighter you shiver and grip his shoulders hard as he finds a fast hard rhythm. Grabbing your chin, he brings your full lips back to his in a searing kiss while groaning at the loud squelching noise coming from between your legs.

Breaking the kiss with a small wet pop, Armando starts to nip and suck on your bouncing breast with intense desire.

Whining loudly, you shift in his arms as you feel another orgasm creep up, but that seems to only encourage Armando to pound into you harder.

Unlatching his lips from your breast he mutters I knows into your neck as he starts to chase yours and his orgasm. Letting out a mixture of breathless moans and groans at the sensation of his nails digging into your ass as he begins to split you open.

And just like that, your peak sneaks up on you again which triggers Armando already frantic pound to go into overdrive.

Whining out your name, he cums deep inside of you while keeping a possessive grip on your fucked out form against his as y'all come down from an intense orgasm.

Warmth admitting from each other's skin seems to bring comfort and slightly relief while your bodies finally start to cool down from y'all's risqué activities.

"I guess I'll go out with you." you joked in a light tone.

Shaking his head, he looks up at you with that cute, dimpled grin, "The dick that good huh?"

"Don't act like you weren't swimming in this tsunami." you stated, smacking his chest playful as he carries you back over to the table while letting out a deep chuckle.

Whining as he slips out of you, you watched from the table as he opens one of the cabinet drawers and pull out a small bag of supplies.

With a gaping jaw you watch him set the bag beside you and pull out a few things to clean each other up with including the keys to the cuffs.

"Ohhh you sly dog......you set this whole thing up!"

"This was the only way I could get your stubborn ass to finally admit your feelings……and to traumatize Kelly.”

Pausing you turn to him confused,“What’d you say to Kelly?”

Meanwhile...............

The whole squad was to busy eating and working to notice the absence of two members who has been gone for a few hours…..everyone but Kelly.

Dorn watches Kelly picks at her food with disgust before sliding her plate away while releasing a frustrated groan.

“You good baby?”

With furrowed brows she shakes her head while massaging her temples with a sigh.

Catching the rest of the members attention they listen to Dorn ask her what’s wrong but the reply they received would’ve made anyone passing by think they were in the wrong department…..or police station.

“The thought of Armando eating Y/n out want leave my head!”

Authors Note🎙️:

Sorry it took so long I’ve literally been busy getting ready for the semester and guess what today my first day back so it’ll be awhile until I post.

😜But I had to make sure I leave y’all good and satisfied until I get back into a balanced schedule.(I think I out did myself 🤞)

Also,I do have that Mike Lowrey x reader typed up but once I get free time again I’ll post it.

Hope You guys Enjoyed and Stay Blessed💓💓

Taglist: @poppetbaby02 @livirosa@dyttomori @cibresworld @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @theclownmimi @blackgirlmagicforever @3amvaiya @thesizzler @bitchyglittersuit @leahnicole1219 @babywinter @housewifewithnohusband22 @undevidedattentionsblog @delusionalbutterfly @ky44 @thatwassofetch @pandorafrost @yeahnohoneybye @disc0fairy

[ellebakers]

☆ My love (+18)

Aemond Targaryen x reader (twin sister)

Summary : Being Aemond's twin sister is a good thing, he is gentle with you, always kind and affectionate because you are his twin but also his wife, but with the others, he is cruel and you have more than enough of it.

Warnings : Smut, slight angst, language, incest.

You would be his wife, that's what your mother Queen Alicent decided when she gave birth to you, three minutes after Aemond. And until today everything was perfect between you, obviously as a child there was only platonic love and joy, over the years this love was transformed into desire especially for Aemond who knew that you were going to be his but who had to watch you become a woman without being able to touch you, suffice to say that your wedding night was not very relaxing..

“To these three strong boys.”

You let out a sigh as you heard your husband's cruel words directed towards your nephews.

In a split second things escalated, Jace hit your husband and Aegon slammed Lucerys onto the table, everyone stood up, screaming and panicking.

Aemond wore a smirk as he turned to you, hoping to see you laugh at the situation, but it was a tired and cold look that you gave him, shaking your head.

You got up from the table and informed your mother "It's time for me to retire mother, have a good night."

Hearing your nonchalant tone of voice, Alicent offered you a sad smile "Of course my dear."

Aemond watched you leave the room, a little disappointed that you didn't appreciate his provocation.

You sighed and walked towards the nursery where one of the maids was sitting, watching your daughter, you smiled tenderly and whispered to the maid "You can go and rest, I'll keep Aenora in our marital bedroom."

The servant bowed "Of course princess, I inform you that Aenora does not want to drink my milk, it is possible that she will ask for it later."

You smiled and nodded, taking the little girl, only three months old, into your arms.

The small Valeryan looked at you, cooing as you stroked her cheek while taking her to your room.

When you arrived, Aemond was sitting on your bed, waiting for you, he raised his head when you entered. “I told myself that my wife had fled the castle.” He tried to joke.

You didn't bother to answer, settling into your reading chair you kept Aenora close to you, rocking her lightly.

“Did I do something to make you angry ?” Aemond asked with a hint of sadness in his voice.

You sighed. “Why do you have to be so cruel to everyone other than me ?”

He sat down next to you "You are my wife, the love of my life, I only need to be nice to you and our daughter."

You shook your head slightly and handed him Aenora. “Take her, I have to change.”

Aemond grabbed the baby and wrapped his arms around her, smiling tenderly at her as you stood up to take off your dress.

"You know what I'm talking about, why did you need to tell our nephews that ?"

Aemond scoffed "Because it's the truth, they're bastards."

You gave him a cold look. “Don’t use that kind of language in front of our daughter.”

He chuckled "She's four months old honey, she can't understand."

Once changed into your nightgown which left nothing to the imagination, you sat down again next to Aemond. “Even if that is true, why do you constantly need to remind this poor childrens of that ?"

Aemond scoffed, his jaw clenched. "Children? They're men, didn't you see the way Jacaerys was looking at your breasts ?"

You frowned a little, not paying attention to the way your nephew was looking at you. “What are you talking about ?”

"My love, you should stop thinking that everyone has good intentions. Jacaerys almost had a hard-on looking at your dress hugging your chest."

You slapped his shoulder, laughing lightly, “Stop.”

Aemond smiled "It's my role as a husband to protect you and if I can humiliate these.." He was about to say an insult but seeing your look he did nothing "Boys.. by the same opportunity, so I do it."

You rolled your eyes and smiled "You're stubborn, are you aware of that ?"

He smiled and kissed your lips “That’s why you love me.”

Aenora started to get agitated and cry, Aemond handed her over to you, understanding that the little girl was probably hungry.

You lowered the strap of your nightgown, letting your left breast come out, and the little girl hastened to put it in her mouth to extract the milk.

After a moment you saw Aemond moving out of the corner of your eye, pulling on his pants that were becoming too tight.

“Don’t tell me that seeing me breastfeed turns you on?”

Aemond couldn't help but moan "Can you blame me ? It's been a week since I've been able to touch you... do you have any idea of ​​the torture you're inflicting on me ?"

You couldn't help but laugh, "You're insatiable." Aemond came closer and nibbled on your neck making you moan slightly, thanks to the gods Aenora had finished drinking and was starting to fall asleep.

You gently placed him in his little bed, and as you turned to face Aemond, he threw himself at you, kissing you furiously.

You stepped back and fell on the bed, your twin took the opportunity to lift your nightgown, he pulled on your thighs, bringing you a little closer to him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking up at him lustfully, he maintaining eye contact with you as he knelt down and attached his mouth to your pussy.

You gasped and threw your head back, your hand came to his hair instinctively, pushing his head a little closer to your pussy to feel even more pleasure.

“Lords.” You moaned and moved your hips as he continued to devour you, his tongue working magic as you arched up moaning harder each time, and when you felt the orgasm approaching you grabbed a pillow and put it on your move to cover your cry of pleasure so as not to wake Aenora.

Once recovered from your orgasm, you looked up at Aemond and saw him take off his pants, leaving him with his tunic, he grabbed his hard cock let his hand slide over it to harden it a little more, once ready he grabbed a pillow and put it under your pelvis, then, with these firm hands he grabbed your thighs and spread them a little further.

You closed your eyes and gasped as his length entered you slowly and deliciously.

“Still so tight.” He whispered to you, letting out a moan in your ear. “So hot, wet and good… you’re perfect.”

The act was so sensual and romantic, different from what he used to do before your daughter was born.

“Aemond.” You cried with pleasure.

He grabbed your thighs, wrapping them around his hips, he continued his slow and terribly delicious movements, you felt every inch of his length as he moved in and out.

"My love." He moaned, with his fingertips he pulled down the top of your nightgown, exposing your breasts to him, he grabbed the left breast, licking and sucking your nipple, extracting some of your milk while he massaged the other.

Having enough of his slow movements you swapped positions.

He let out a groan of pleasure, you placed your hand over his mouth "Shh, you're going to wake up Aenora." He smiled against your hand and gave you a thrust making you moan.

You started moving on his cock quickly making you moan mutually

"That's my little dragon." He groaned, running a hand over your face, letting his thumb brush over your lips, you grabbed it and sucked on it while looking at Aemond.

He growled and slid his hand between your legs, playing with your clit, and in no time he had a hand over your mouth as you came, letting out cries of pleasure.

It was up to you to shut him up with your lips on his mouth as he finished inside you after you clenched your pussy around his length.

You pulled yourself off of him and dropped to his side with one last moan, both of your bodies sweating, out of breath.

He turned and kissed your lips while caressing your breasts “I love you.”

"I love you too." You sighed, trying to catch your breath.

After a while you fell into a deep sleep, but before you fell asleep you heard Aemond's words as he stroked your hair.

My love...

[mosaickiwi]

Little "Love" Notes

Angel should really tell someone if they think somebody’s breaking in but instead they do… this? For some reason.

very good idea

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Quiet and quick as could be, [REDACTED] slowly opened your window by the fire escape. He climbed in carefully, a little astonished that you still weren’t bothering to lock it after all these months. Their boots hardly made a sound as he took practiced steps over the hardwood floor of your apartment and headed straight to the kitchen. He didn’t need to see to know which floorboards would creak or groan underfoot.

Just as they expected, the usual sight that had him even more excited to go on his now almost nightly break-ins was there to greet him. A handful of hastily scrawled, bright pink sticky notes were slapped across various surfaces.

At some point or another you'd gotten sick of things going missing. Sure, most of them turned up after a while—and always right where you thought you'd left them—but even still it annoyed you. So you started leaving silly messages for your supposed burglar. He chose to read them as love notes.

“Don't take anything in here you BITCH I'll be so mad!!” screamed one from its place on a kitchen cabinet. Your writing there was a little illegible from how fast you surely wrote it, but he found it endearing.

Another, on the side of some faded plastic-ware read, “I made these cookies for a friend but a lot of them came out wrong. You may have the burnt ones.”

“Give that ugly red shirt back it doesn't belong to me.” That was the last one he could find in the room for now, left on top of the counter next to the notepad and pen you always used.

As much as he wished to, the hacker usually didn’t respond for fear of confirming your needless worries. They'd never want to harm you like a real burglar. But he always followed the instructions when he could. And he could do some of those tonight.

Since you'd so nicely asked, he left the bottom cabinet alone. They already knew what you kept in there anyway. He wouldn’t tell a soul.

He took a few burnt cookies out of the container left on the counter—not enough that you'd notice. Some to eat once he left, and one to keep. It was another thing you offered up to him, after all. 

But the sorry excuse of a shirt that your (worst) childhood friend had left behind was long gone. [REDACTED] had already given it a much needed vacation to the bottom of Lake Bluemoss, along with some other items that Leon had dared to leave among your belongings.

With the notes in the kitchen mostly taken care of, he set off towards your laundry closet. Only to find the small sliding door in the hallway closed shut with a note of its own smack dab in the middle. 

“Please don't take my comfy clothes anymore :c I know you always give them back but it'll be getting cold soon!! You don’t want me freezing in the middle of the night, do you? Won't you forgive me? Pretty please? ♥ ♥”

Mind going a mile a minute, [REDACTED] had to read your beautiful handwriting again and again as if decoding a different language. Those tiny, black inked hearts at the end of the note were all he could understand in the moment. Your sweetly written, pleading love letter finally sunk in once he managed to shake away the haze you’d unknowingly swept him into.

This one was a risk that he was willing to take. Of course they wanted you to be comfortable. He gently peeled the note off so it wouldn’t tear, and folded it away to tuck into his jeans.

Then, the dark haired man began to tug his favorite hoodie up and over his shoulders.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

You lazily pulled the folding door open in search of a blanket. It was just a little bit colder for some reason when you woke up this morning, so you needed something to keep you cozy while you waited for Violet to come over later that afternoon. You reached up to the middle shelf where you normally kept extra blankets, but something just below it caught your eye.

A huge, black hoodie sat folded on top of the pile of clean towels you forgot to take care of days ago.

You didn't recognize it, but it had to belong to one of your friends, right? They all formed a habit of leaving stuff with you once you moved back to town. Jae still hadn’t picked up the roller skates he got for Maple—they were only used the one time.

Ignoring the blanket you meant to grab, you picked up the hoodie and slipped it on. The giant thing practically swallowed you, sleeves enveloping your hands and the hem falling well past your hips. The garish horror design that decorated its front didn't seem to be anything your friends were into, either.

But it was warmer than you thought possible. Plus, it smelled nice, like cherries and a little familiar comfort of something you couldn't place. Whoever it belonged to surely wouldn't mind if you kept it for a while.

You didn't bother to spare it another thought and hurried off to check the kitchen. Hopefully the cookies you'd painstakingly baked yesterday were still there.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

personal confessions. [1/3] l Joel Miller

Summary:  you met to celebrate, but your conversation took a dangerous turn

Warnings:  (+18) smut, a little bit of angst and fluff, a few beers, a few unexpected confessions, some swearing, jealousy, lust, fingering, one ex-boyfriend, Sarah mentioned, Tommy is there too

A/N: I'm not sure how this will end, because I'll probably stumble along the way. But this idea has been on my mind for a while. We like a friends-to-lovers story, right? I hope I can find the words and put them together, create something nice. I'll give it a chance.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

"Sweet Jesus!"

He turned and moved his gaze to where Tommy was staring. At first he didn't know what his brother was talking about, only when the crowd thinned out a bit he saw a familiar silhouette. At that moment Joel knew exactly what his brother meant.

You were walking towards them dressed in a pretty black silk skirt that beautifully accentuated your curves and a top that left little to the imagination. A few men clearly looked back at you as you approached their table giving them a wonderful smile.

"Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting." you said sitting down next to Joel.

Tommy grinned at you "Nothing to apologize for. Besides - wow - you look amazing!" he noticed you were a little embarrassed "Why don't you dress like that for work?"

"That's a good reason." you replied "But today we're celebrating so I thought it would be a good idea to wear something different, right?"

"Would you like something to drink? A beer or a cocktail?" the man stood up from the table.

"Beer sounds good. Thanks."

Tommy walked away towards the bar and you looked at Joel. He hadn't said a word to you yet and you felt a little awkward. He was wearing a nice shirt and looked really good.

"So..." you started, folding your hands on the table. "Lots of work ahead of you, huh? This is a new big deal."

"Yeah, I guess so." Joel scratched the back of his neck. "I'm glad we managed to work it out with the client. You're the one to thank for that too."

"Stop it!" you laughed, placing your hand on his forearm. "You're the boss. I just sit at the desk."

"If your job is just sitting around, then you're doing a great job." He smiled, affectionately patting your hand with his. "Jack didn't mind you coming with us? He didn't want to join?"

In one second, Joel noticed how the smile fell from your face and you stiffened. He immediately sensed that something was wrong and regretted asking the question at all.

"I guess I don't really care if he would mind since we haven't been together for over a week." You replied, trying to sound much more relaxed than what your body was saying.

"Does that mean... You broke up?" You nodded "Shit! Sorry, I didn't know."

You raised a reassuring hand and plastered a small smile to your lips "That's fine. It's not really something I want to brag about, is it? People break up all the time, we just filled in the statistics."

Joel swallowed a sip of beer to hide his confusion and surprise. However, you quickly forgot about your conversation as soon as Tommy placed a beer in front of you and you immersed yourself in a discussion about his last date.

The minutes of a pleasant Friday evening passed, filled with laughter, conversation and slow sipping of cold beer. Tommy talked you into dancing with him, twice, and then disappeared to the other end of the bar when he saw some really beautiful girl. You plopped down in the chair next to Joel, feeling how hot you were.

"I guess we can cross Tommy off the attendance list now." You stated, fanning yourself with your hand and watching as the girl giggled at some of his jokes.

"I think so." Joel mumbled, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from your cleavage.

Your chest heaved as you breathed deeply, your skin glistening with sweat, and the scent of your perfume became even more intense. You were beaming, single strands of wet hair stuck to your neck, and your body relaxed.

If it weren't for the fact that he had only just started his second beer, Joel could have blamed this strange feeling on the fact that he was drunk. But he didn't feel that way.

At that moment, Joel envied his brother the ease with which he approached women. You intimidated him a little, although he really liked you. 

You had been working together for some time and outside of work, you had also been on really friendly terms. Joel would be grateful for every bit of help he got from you with Sarah. 

It didn't matter if it was some weird project for school, buying some clothes or just talking to him as you tried to explain what was going on with a teenage girl. 

Joel loved Sarah more than life, and she adored him, but sometimes they needed a translator, and you were perfect for that.

"You should do the same thing he did." You said after a moment, and seeing Joel frowned, you laughed "What? You think you won't pick up any pretty girls here? Please!"

Joel shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm not cut out for this." He muttered, and seeing the surprise on your face, he added "I'm a single father, I work too much and I forgot how to flirt or pick up anyone. I'm out of business."

You rolled your eyes so dramatically that Joel couldn't stop laughing.

"Really?" You sneered "I've never looked at you like that."

"Because you work for me."

"But I'm also a woman, which may be hard for you to see." you were wrong, he knew that from the first moment he saw you "I always thought you were a really handsome guy, after all you just have to find someone nice. And don't hide behind "I'm a single father", because that's lame."

You both laughed. The beer you drank was pleasantly buzzing in your head, but you didn't feel drunk, just a little happier. Your nails were tapping quietly on the table top, and a smile was on your lips.

"What about you? Now that you're single again..."

You looked at him and Joel immediately noticed a shadow of sadness in your eyes.

"I'm sorry." he mumbled quickly looking down at the bottle he was turning in his hands "I don't know why I said that."

It was a lie, he knew, but he didn't want to admit it to himself yet. 

"I didn't know we were bidding on each other." You replied, smiling. "I'm in." You bit your lip, thinking for a moment, then recited. "I work a lot too and my phone is glued to my hand, I dressed in my best clothes to improve my low self-esteem after the breakup, and I haven't had a real orgasm with a guy in ‘who knows how long’."

Joel choked on the last sip of his beer. It took him a moment to stop coughing, and you giggled as tears welled up in his eyes.

"I guess I won." You said.

"What did you say?" he finally choked out, hitting his chest with his clenched hand and regaining his breath.

You shrugged. "That I work too much. I once got a call from a client during a visit to the gynecologist. He was a bit surprised because we were in the middle of an examination, but..."

"I meant..."

"Oh! Ooohhhhh!" now you understood, but you shrugged again "I think there's something wrong with me, I don't know."

"What about Jack?" he asked.

"He didn't really have problems with orgasm."

You watched each other carefully, until suddenly you both burst out laughing. You hid your face in your hands.

"I'm sorry!" you groaned "It's so embarrassing!"

"It's not embarrassing, it's just...sad." Joel gently grabbed your hands and moved them away to see your face "Just... Look at yourself! Have you talked to him about this?"

"I guess I was too nice, you know. I figured that since he's a nice guy and treats me well, I can take care of the rest myself, right? And that's how it worked."

"And he never... Fuck! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

You smiled and looked at him with some strange tenderness. "Don't worry, Joel. It's totally fine. Let's blame it on the beer."

He tilted his head and mumbled a quiet "Sure." After that, you both fell silent for a moment. Tommy had long since disappeared from your field of vision, but that didn't worry you. Eventually, you announced that you were going to the toilet and would probably slowly get home afterward.

Joel watched you as you walked through the bar, your hips swaying freely, and he noticed again how your skirt beautifully emphasized your curves. He didn't know why he couldn't get your words out of his head.

How on earth had a woman like you never experienced an orgasm with a guy? Or at least hadn't for a long time. It was beyond his comprehension. You were a beautiful, smart, and funny woman. Joel never hit on you because you were in a relationship, but he was a guy, he had eyes. 

He couldn't imagine having you in his bed and never making you cum. Never to see your body tremble, to hear you moan his name, to see your chest heave as you catch your breath, your flushed cheeks. He would love to see the look in your eyes right after he brought you to climax, in every possible position. You would look so good with your legs on his shoulders or your ass in the air.

Fuck!

The twitch in his jeans meant his thoughts had wandered too far. Way too far. He shouldn't be thinking about you like that.

His eyes immediately caught the moment you appeared in range again. Some guy stopped you and you talked for a moment, smiling at him flirtatiously. A strange feeling filled Joel's chest. His body tensed, and when the guy put his hand on your shoulder, he was almost ready to go there and take you to his car.

However, you must have really wanted to go home, because soon you said goodbye and went back to the table. You didn't notice any change in Joel's behavior and he was happy about it.

"Do you need a ride?" he asked as you finished your beer.

"If it's not a problem for you, you'll save my life." you replied. "I don't like walking home alone at night."

You left the bar together, and Joel placed his hand on the lower back of yours, throwing a quick glance at the man who dared to stop you. In a strange way, he wanted to give a signal that he had nothing to count on.

The evening was pleasantly cool and it was nice to breathe in fresh air. When you reached his car, before he opened the door for you, he leaned against it, clearly struggling to say something to you. He was strangely silent the whole way and you were afraid that it was maybe because of your conversation.

"Listen..." he started, his voice low and pleasant "I don't want you to go home thinking that something is wrong with you. What you told me... It wasn't fair to you, you know."

You watched him carefully. You were silent, letting him blurt out what he wanted to say and he was grateful for it. It wasn't easy for him. 

You were friends, but you were also a man and a woman. The news that you broke up with Jack opened doors in Joel's head that he had pretended not to see before.

"I would never let you... I mean. Fuck!" he hissed, scratching his neck in embarrassment "You're wonderful and you deserve everything."

A small smile appeared on your lips and your hand stroked his arm.

"Thank you for saying that, Joel." You said. "That means a lot to me. And you know what? I think you were a little too hard on yourself, because you know exactly how to talk to women. You should give yourself a chance and find someone..."

"I don't want someone." He blurted out, his tone decisive. He looked at you completely differently than before, his eyes darkening. "I want you. For a long time."

You were surprised, but you didn't have time to respond when his warm hands grabbed your cheeks and Joel moved closer to place a tender but deep kiss on your lips. 

It was something that consumed you completely. The tart taste of beer and mint gum first made itself felt on your lips, and when you parted them, his tongue slipped deeper. The warmth of his body was transferred to yours. You hesitantly placed your hands on his waist, but he only deepened the kiss, extracting a muffled sigh from your throat.

Fuck! He could go crazy if he heard it more often. But he wanted to listen to it for hours. 

Your perfume, the way you clung to him, the way you kissed him back, your hands on his body... Joel had to stop so he wouldn't bend you over the hood of his car and take you in the parking lot.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered "I don't know what got into me."

"Don't apologize if you don't mean it." you replied "That was really...good."

He smiled the way you loved it, small wrinkles appearing around his eyes as they sparkled. "If you let me, I'll make you feel really good."

It was bold and unexpected. Joel immediately thought that this time he had gone too far. After all, you had recently broken up with your boyfriend, and he acted like he was just waiting to get into your panties and...

"I think that's an interesting offer." If he hadn't seen your lips moving, he would never have believed you had said that. 

He opened the car door and you got in, feeling like your muscles were giving up on you. Maybe it was stupid and unwise, but you didn't want to think about it. You left your common sense at the door and when you felt Joel's lips on you again, you just wanted to lose yourself in this guy.

He kissed you like his life depended on it, hard and insistent. His hands were everywhere, but you weren't shy either. When you slid your fingers into his hair and pulled them slightly, a muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest.

"Sounds good." You giggled, breaking away from his lips that were thirsty for you for a moment.

"I want to hear what you have inside you, baby." He replied as he slid his hand under your skirt, then followed the inside of your thigh to your hot center.

Brown eyes looked at you carefully, ready to catch the slightest grimace that would indicate your discomfort. The last thing Joel wanted was for you to feel bad and uncomfortable with him. But he didn't see anything like that in your eyes as his fingers slid over your covered pussy.

"Will you let me?" You nodded slightly. 

At that moment, you would have let him do anything. Joel had stunned you. You couldn't think rationally, you just wanted to feel him by your side, on you, inside you. It didn't matter how or where. He was the only one that mattered to you. You didn't want to be rational anymore. You followed him and wanted what he promised to give you.

Besides, it was Joel. You knew him, you trusted him, you were friends and you really had a strange weakness for him.

His hand pressed tightly and slid over your pussy, your legs spread apart unconsciously. Joel's lips kissed your neck and you closed your eyes, tightening your fingers on his shoulder as he pulled your panties aside and you felt his fingers on your skin.

"So wet..." he whispered in your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck "You must be very thirsty, but don't worry, baby. I'll give you what you deserve."

He pressed his lips against yours, stifling your sigh as he pushed two fingers inside you. Your body tensed at the sudden feeling of stretching, but soon a pleasant feeling flooded your lower abdomen.

Joel's fingers were long and filled you perfectly, he moved steadily, but he slid them all the way to your knuckles, which made him reach your g-spot perfectly. You tightened your fingers around his wrist, but he didn't stop.

"I know, I know, baby. You take them so well." he whispered, kissing your temple and looking between your spread thighs.

His hand was already wet with your juices, and the thought of what it would be like to have his cock inside you made him even harder. Sweet moans escaped your throat. You were so close, and he hadn't seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment in a long time.

"Shush." he whispered as he added a third finger, and you moaned louder "You're so beautiful, you know that? You deserve it, so take it... Let it go, baby. I'm holding you."

"Joel..." you whispered.

Fuck! 

He already knew he'd never forget how his name sounded in your mouth when you reached your peak. But he had to help you. 

His fingers hit into you harder and faster, you found his lips and pressed yourself against them the moment it happened. Your body quivered hard, and Joel felt your walls almost swallow his fingers. You hid your face in his neck, moaning quietly and trying to catch your breath.

"God, if you only knew how beautiful you are when you cum..."

He didn't expect that he actually said those words, but he had to, because you stroked his cheek tenderly.

"Fuck, Joel..." you lifted your head and looked at him with such a dreamy gaze that he got lost in your eyes "You have talented hands."

You both burst out laughing. He leaned down and kissed you, this time much more gently, with tenderness.

"Maybe..." you started as his hand stroked your thigh. "Maybe we can go to my place and see how many more talents you have inside you, huh? The night is still young."

"Do you want that? I don't want you to think that..."

Suddenly your hand slid over his bulge and Joel closed his eyes at the friction.

"We both want that, don't we?"

Another kiss before the car engine started and you headed towards your house. It felt good. He had his hand on your thigh, smelled your scent on himself, your kisses still so fresh on his lips. He knew he was imagining too much, but he thought he could get used to it. To you in his life, so fully.

However, when you stopped in front of your house something changed.

"What the hell?" you hissed, leaning out and looking at the car standing by the curb.

"What’s wrong?"

"It's Jack's car." you mumbled, and when Joel parked you quickly got out.

At the same moment a man got out of the other car, the bouquet of roses in his hands looked impressive. Joel felt something heavy drop to his stomach.

Jack approached you, noticed Joel in the car and nodded to greet him, and then started to say something. Joel didn't hear him, but he saw how you wrap your arms around yourself, clearly surprised and tense. You looked in his direction a few times like a scared animal, until finally Joel was the one who made the decision.

He started the car and drove home, leaving you with Jack and the bouquet of roses.

[part 2]

☆☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

You look like a fun place to sit.

Gif credits

Pairing: Neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader

Words count: 2667

Rating: + 18, MDNI

Summary: You decide to enjoy a night at the movies, your neighbor Frankie ruins it all. Or maybe not?

Tags: pov second person, no use of y/n, fluff, sort of romcom vibes (?), smut, enemies to lovers, age unspecified but they are both full grown adults, Frankie is annoying but also cute and lovely and fucking gorgeous, reader has hair, breasts and vagina, other than that no other description of her is given, fingering (f receiving), sexual acts in public places (again? Again. I'm not even particularly interested in doing that irl I don't know what to say to you, please forgive me), pet names (honey, baby, princess), arguing, kissing, no use of Spanish because I terribly suck at it and I don't want to butcher another language LOL. If by chance I realize I forgot something I'll add it right away.

It’s my first Frankie ff and I’m so incredibly nervous to post it you all! I really hope it doesn’t sucks because I had so much fun writing it today in one sitting ‘cause I’m just an impulsive impatient mess. (Leo sun and Aries moon, what do you expect from me if not chaos? I had nothing a few hours ago, I even skipped WIP Wednesday and btw thanks for the tag @almostempty 🩷)

Title comes from a gif of Karen Walker from Will and Grace that I saw last night, it made me laugh a lot and this thing was born LOL

As usual, English is not my first language so please be gentle, no beta and no proofreading, it’s tiny and it’s all my fault, I’m sorry 💀 Thanks to anyone who will read this!

“Excuse me, you should stand up, that’s my seat” 

Frankie turns, looking at you with a surprised expression “I don’t think so, you’re wrong” he replies. 

Ugh, your neighbor.

Frankie lives two houses away from you. Last winter you had a fight at a neighborhood meeting because you pointed out that he keeps forgetting to put the recycling bins back in, and he told you to mind your own business and called you an hysterical witch.

A stupid fight that ended up with you not saying hello to each other and various other arguments about your flashy Christmas lights or his overgrown yard. You and Frankie fight constantly, about everything. And now he's here.

You glare at him “I’m not wrong at all, look” and you wave your ticket under his nose “P10, see? It’s my seat and you’re rude”. 

A grin spreads across his face “listen, honey, I don’t know where you got this ticket, you probably made it yourself, I bought it a moment ago and it’s the same seat” 

He takes a card out of his pocket and hands it to you, remaining comfortably seated with a large popcorn box. 

You look at the ticket, him again, the ticket again “how the hell is that possible?! I booked it on their website a week ago” 

He sneers “I told you! It must be a system error, I don’t know, I’m not getting up from here”

You are furious. The theater is filling up and you absolutely don’t want to leave, you have been waiting for this movie for months and you have inspected the theater map choosing a seat that would guarantee you the very best view.

“I bought it first, so I have more right to be here than you do,” you say firmly and Frankie laughs. 

“Where are we, elementary school? Listen, honey, go buy yourself another ticket and leave me alone.” He replies crunching on popcorn.

The way he calls you “honey” irritates you deeply, it sounds like an insult.

“I’m not going anywhere, YOU get the fuck out of here” you hiss. 

“No” he simply replies and then he turns back at the screen pretending you’re not there. 

“Truly a gentleman, as usual. I have no words.” you roll your eyes and search for an usher to ask for help. No one is there. 

The movie starts in 5 minutes and you don’t want to miss anything you paid for. If you went to the box office right now to complain it would take forever to get back in. 

“Fuck” you exclaim and sit down next to him huffing. You are sure that someone will make you get up very early and it pisses you off.

Frankie continues to nibble on his popcorn and looks at you with an extremely amused expression, it seems like the show has become you.

“Why do you care so much about this movie anyway?” he asks you. “Does any of your relatives happen to be in it?“ 

You’re fuming. 

His teasing tone, his vaguely Spanish accent, his smirk, the sound of him chewing, everything bothers you.

“No. Shut the fuck up” you tell him with a death stare. 

You won’t tell him that your favorite actor stars in it, that you have every photo from the set of this movie saved on your phone, that you’ve read every article about it, and that you couldn’t wait to enjoy it on the first day of screening.

You can already hear his raucous laughter. No, you would never tell Frankie anything like that.

“You're not one of that guy's crazy fans, are you?” 

“What guy?” you ask him, pretending not to know what he's talking about. “Gladiator is one of my favorite movies, that's all. I just wanted to watch the sequel in peace. Someone is stopping me, though” 

“That guy, I bet you like him, what’s his name? Paul Pascal?” he stares at you searching for every little involuntary movement on your face that might give you away. 

“Oh for God’s sake, what are you doing here anyway? Do you even know what you're about to see? They are Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, two different people, you uncultered swine.” You yell. This guy is impossible.

“Yeah, whatever, so which one do you fancy?”

“Fucking nobody” you lie “I just want to watch a movie after a horrible week at work, okay?” You try to play on his guilt. If he has one, you think.

“Well, I've had a rough week too, okay?” he shrugs without stopping to give you that annoying little smile. “And it's not my fault that this theater is having problems with its computer system.”

You glance at him, wondering if he's telling the truth, it's impossible to guess from his face.

People keep sitting in the front rows and you start hoping that luck will be on your side and that no one will make you get up.

“Okay, look, now we're going to watch this movie and then we'll go our separate ways, please don't bother me anymore"

“As you wish, princess” he replies ironically.

You don't even answer him, you're too busy checking that no other people come in.

Finally the opening credits start to roll and the doors close with a dull thud.

You made it, despite this unbearable guy, you feel victorious.

You begin to relax in your chair and you don't know why you turn to look at him, lingering on his face for the first time in months.

His eyes are fixed on the screen. In the dim light you observe his raven curly hair tucked under his baseball cap, his dark eyes, the line of his prominent nose, his scruffy beard, his mustache, just above a pair of lips that seem made for kissing.

Really, truly, gorgeous.

You're so busy arguing with him all the time that you never realized how handsome he is.

He's wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans, you can’t help but admire the way the fabrics hug his body so deliciously. 

He’s just your type, built up in all the right ways, you find yourself unable to take your eyes off him until the last second. Then the movie starts and you look away.

He’s still your number one enemy, what the hell were you thinking?

When Pedro first appears, you shift in your seat, crossing your legs.

“FUCK” you scream internally “here we go”

Unbelievably stunning in his armor, you’re basically drooling. 

You try to stay as composed as possible but Frankie is next to you and notices.

He comes closer to you and whispers in your ear “So it was all about this guy… the fuss before” You feel one of his large hand brushing your arm that is resting on the armchair and you try with all your strength to remain still even if he causes a storm inside you and especially in your panties. 

“Shut. Up.” You hiss, without moving your gaze. You feel his breath on your skin and it’s intoxicating. 

He chuckles “Yeah, that was I was thinking” and throws another popcorn into his mouth.

Your cheeks burn and you're thankful you're in the cinema, in the dark.

“What’s so special about this guy?” Frankie approaches again “is his penis platinum by any chance? All my female colleagues at work are crazy about him”

You turn to look at him with the desire to slap him “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” 

“Okay, okay, I was just asking”

You hate people talking at the movies. You wonder if you could have a more annoying guy than Frankie next to you. Probably. 

Hotter? Probably not.

This dude hits on your last nerve but he makes you horny at the same time. 

Terrible combination. 

Frankie settles back into his seat and resumes watching the film.

You can't help but look at him from time to time and your desire grows. even if you're offended that he didn't even offer you his popcorn. Rude. 

His mouth pouted and his eyebrows furrowed as he seems all focused on the movie makes you want to cup his face and kiss him.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand on your arm and his breath on your neck.

Concentrate, you tell yourself, it's the neighbor you hate, the neighbor you hate, the neighbor you hate. Fuck. You want him so bad. This revelation drives you crazier than Pedro half naked on screen.

At a particularly bloody scene you involuntarily turn around and hide your face on his shoulder.

You feel his arm around you “hey, it’s okay. I’ll tell you when it’s over” and he holds you tight the whole time.

He smells clean and fresh, like citrus and sage with a light hint of cigarette that you assume he smoked right before entering. 

Your mind goes fuzzy and your pulse races at an impossibly high rate. 

“You can look now” and it takes you a few seconds too long to register his words. 

“Th-Thanks” you mutter, shifting back to your place. 

Halfway through the movie the lights come back on and Frankie bursts out laughing looking at you. “What?” you ask him with wide eyes “what is it that makes you laugh so much?”

“Your face” he grins “it's clearly painted on it how much you want that guy. He turns you on, huh?”

You roll your eyes “Oh my God! Can't you go sit somewhere else? Two rows down, look how many free seats there are”

“I like it better here” 

You cuss, there’s no way to get rid of him.

He has something magnetic that destabilizes you, your eyes fall involuntarily on his neck, slide along his broad chest and stop at the crotch of his pants. From the way he sits you can clearly see that he is quite big.

“What are you looking at?” he asks you amusedly. 

You immediately look up. “Nothing” 

“Nothing my ass. Did you like what you saw?” 

Fuck. He noticed. You're done for. You hate to make him understand that after all, yes, you like what you saw. He seems pleased, proud, you would so much like to wipe that little smile off his face. As much as you struggle to admit it to yourself, you like him.

“Well, maybe…after all, you look like a fun place to sit” 

You can't believe you actually said that.

Frankie's response is not long in coming, his eyes immediately darken and his smile twists in a mischievous way.

The lights go out again and you feel him tug gently on your arm “come here, pretty”

He sits you down on his lap and as the movie starts again he whispers “was that what you wanted the whole time? Were you offended that I didn’t invite you?” you can clearly feel his smile spread across your skin just before he places his lips on your neck.

You would like to say something back but his closeness makes you confused and excited.

He sucks your skin like he's hungry and you moan in the dark "shh baby you gotta stay quiet while I give you what you want”

You don't know how but you find the strength to reply, "God, you're so arrogant.”

He tightens his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him, now you are practically sitting on his cock. You feel it pressing against your ass, trapped in his pants.

A rush of pleasure wets your pussy and you bite your lips to hold back another moan, you hear his hoarse voice in your ear “Maybe. You like it though” You hate to admit that he is right. 

The heat of his body envelops you pleasantly, he raises a hand to one of your breasts and squeezes it over your shirt. You like his hands. They are big, expert and eager to touch you, they make your head spin. 

You completely forgot about the movie, which seemed impossible to you, if they had told you you would have laughed in their face. In no universe would you have expected this.

“God” you whine “oh my God” His hand slides under your shirt and reveals your breast pulling down your bra, it is still covered but now you can feel his skin against yours. His fingers gently grasp one of your nipples, pulling and twisting it.

“Open your eyes, baby. Watch the movie like a good girl” his voice sounds authoritative, it irritates you and another rush of pleasure floods you at the same time.

“It’s not that easy” you mutter between your teeth as you feel his other hand dangerously approaching the hem of your skirt. He slowly goes up, as you try to hold back and make sure no one notices what he’s doing to you. Luckily, everyone seems enthralled by the film.

At this moment you don't even know why you started arguing so fiercely, if you had known before you would have tried to smooth things over a long time ago.

His fingers reach your panties, you feel them barely touching you and you already feel yourself burning with anticipation.

They move under your skirt, pushing your panties aside, grazing at your outer lips and then dipping inside you “Fuck, you’re soaking” 

He moves them up and down between your folds, gathering your wetness towards your clit.

You feel his heavy breathing on your neck, his tongue running over your skin and his teeth nibbling on you.

“Fuck, Frankie” you cry 

“Eyes to the movie”

You want to turn around and straddle him but there isn't enough room and Frankie holds you firmly anyway.

He applies pressure on your clit just right, starting to move two of his thick fingers in circle over it, the motion of his hand is partially hidden by the fabric of your skirt and your moans die in your throat one after the other. Frankie is rubbing away your sanity, you feel possessed and delirious under his touch.

Your last shred of control is torn by his fingers entering inside you, claiming your cunt as his, curling and scratching at your spongy spot.

Your eyes are still fixed on the screen but your vision is totally blurred, you see nothing, you understand nothing, you only feel Frankie pumping incessantly inside you while continuing to rub your clit with his thumb.

You feel the soft reverberation of his voice behind you, close to your ear “good girl, you're taking me so well”

The subtle Spanish accent in his voice now seems to you the most erotic sound in the world, sweet, melodious, addictive.

He takes you to the edge, you throw your head on his shoulder, shutting your eyes so everything goes black and you only feel him, until even biting your lips doesn't help anymore. He covers your mouth with his hand as you explode in a devastating orgasm, you moan against his skin, between his thick fingers that have just left your breast and you already miss them, feeling full and satiated by him.

He uncovers your mouth and kisses your neck, pressing his hand to your hip to keep you from slipping off his lap as your body trembles against his.

“Shit” you mutter “Frankie…oh my god”

“Do you think we can stop arguing all the time now?” He playfully says as he nuzzles at your hair.

“I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked, you know, I’m just like that” you reply, grinning and turning around to finally fix your eyes on his. 

“I noticed it”

You take off his cap laughing and put it on backwards and before he starts to protest you kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth, tasting butter and salt on his tongue.

“Take me home”

“The movie isn't over yet,” Frankie observes, and you reply, “that means you'll have to take me to see it again and you’ll pay”

“Fine to me, princess” 

[delphi-shield]

push and pull // leon s. kennedy & jill valentine

Leon x Reader x Jill Smut wc: 2,860 mdni - 18+ read on ao3

the plumber at my house reading this over my shoulder: 😲 this has been in my drafts for like two months, i finally ripped the bandaid off and touched it up. i cant believe people want the jill/leon ship name to be jilleon when 'breakfast sandwich' is right there. ohh nooo i had to cut the scene where they high-five after you cum...... guess i'll have to write more jill and leon......what a tragedy.....

summary: Jill said she'd be home two hours ago. She's stood you up for dinner again. You're so upset, Leon's got to fuck you about it to make you feel better.

content: fem!reader, all porn no plot, piv (reader receiving), some praise from leon & some degradation from jill, spit, crying, hair-pulling, masturbation, blowjob, dom!jill, use of strap-on, established poly relationship, sorry yeah there's more religious imagery, stealing the jill & leon dynamic from this post, fucking your relationship problems away does not work and you should not attempt. very loosely proofread.

Jill's late.

She promised. You cooked, you cleaned, and she promised she would be here. Bought a special candle and everything, three wick, fresh linen scent. Not your kind of thing, but you know she likes those clean, bright smells.

The first half hour, you’d clung to the idea that her physical therapy appointment was just running late. Forty-five minutes in, three unanswered texts, your hope diminishes. An hour, and Leon’s helping you put the food up and clean the dishes.

Leon’s not exactly happy with Jill. This isn’t the first time she’s done this to you. He hates to see you pout. Even more than that, he hates to see the way you’re trying not to cry in front of him. He does everything he can think of to make you feel better. Watch one of your godawful shows with you, play with your hair for you, give you a nice bath if you wanted - none of his offers made much of a difference. He knows better than to take it personally. He’s not Jill. He can’t fix what she broke.

He can fuck you about it, though. That always seems to take your mind off things, at least for a little while. 

He let you use him however you like, dealer’s choice. You wanted him in the dining room chair, wanted to ride him slow, grind down on that fat cock till you unwound and your pretty tears weren’t because your girlfriend stood you up, and that’s what you’d get. Not his first choice, but he’s not the one who looks so pretty with those big, wet eyes.

The only downside is that you can't hear Jill's key turning in the door when Leon's got his cock stuffed so deep in your pussy you can feel him in your ribs, when you’re too busy rocking yourself to a gradual, slow-built end. You'd missed your ringtone too - and Leon's for that matter. You weren't intentionally being petty, but intentions never did soothe Jill's moods.

"Nice," she drawls, dropping her bag with a thud. "Real nice."

Your head falls back just enough to get a look at her, pouting in the doorway. Maybe it's supposed to be intimidating. Really, she just looks like a dejected cat, all puffed up for attention. The hand splayed on Leon’s chest flops back uselessly, reaching for her.

“Jill -”

Leon’s hips jut up, reminding you he's here, reminding you who's inside you. Whatever you were going to say melts away into a whine so pathetic even you want to roll your eyes.

"Got started without you," Leon says, callous on your behalf. His hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you back to him. It doesn’t take much prompting for you to curl back into his chest, walls fluttering around his cock, gripping him like your life depends on it. "Saved you some dinner. It’s in the fridge."

How can he be so casual? Feels like you’ve got lava running through your blood. His hands settle on your hips again, push-pulling you back and forth to get you to grind again. You oblige, faster than before, mouthing open kisses against his neck. They ought to canonize him for his patience, crown him Patron Saint of Not Plowing You Into The Carpet.

Jill doesn't say a word. She marches off to the bedroom, leaving her boots behind as she goes. Her cardigan gets flung over the couch - poor thing. It didn't do anything wrong.

She’ll come out when she’s ready, you tell yourself. Ignoring the ingrained need to manage Jill’s emotions for her is hard, but not quite as hard as Leon’s dick. Makes it a little easier to forget. You press your moans into Leon’s skin, let him have them for safekeeping.

Her footsteps pound back into the room. You don't know what she's done that's so funny, but Leon shakes with a laugh. You move to look, and his palm pressing against your cheek stops you. Something clatters onto the dining room table, a heavy thunk and buckles. He presses a light kiss to the crown of your head, strokes your hair.

"Go ahead and finish up, baby. Doin' so good. All yours."

It's all the permission you really need. It doesn’t take long - you’re good for him, after all. So good, you don't even need his help. You just need him to hold you up when that slow heat finally expands, spreads like fire through your limbs and leaves you making a mess of his lap, baptizing his cock with your release and moaning hymns for him.

You slump against him, eyes heavy and limbs loose. Your head nestles against his chest, his heart hammering like crazy. Poor guy. So patient. So sweet. You want to offer to take care of that for him - he's still inside you, sitting so still and so good, the stretch all you need. It feels like a bomb went off in your skull, though, scattered all your thoughts around the apartment. You need a moment before you can be considerate, before you can formulate any kind of offer. You reach up, pat his cheek gently to tell him how good he made you feel, lazily kiss at the hollow of his throat.

Jill's got plenty of words, though. She's not the one who just fell apart.

"You so needy you can't wait forty-five minutes?"

"Closer to an hour," Leon counters, and for the first time you hear the strain in his voice. "More like two, actually."

Jill’s irritation boils over. "Shut up. Why don't you go jerk off in the corner?"

After all, he's supposed to be on her side. He's the one who knows what this life is like, the one who knows what their work entails and the stress of it all.

He's also the one who texts when he's running late. He's the one still on active deployment, the one who hadn't been dodging home like the plague. He got over himself a year ago, figured ways to deal with his emotions that didn’t include running as fast as he could, drinking until they drowned, or working himself to the bone.

Jill’s still working on that part. Again - saint-like patience.

“Maybe I will,” he says, casual as he can. He jostles you in his arms. He’d say it’s to keep you awake, but it’s mostly to keep his dick hard. You pulse around him, groan into his t-shirt and drool a little dark patch onto his shirt.

You’re all soft and pliable when her hands slide up your sides, fingers curling in the spaces between your ribs. You lean back to her, longing for the softness of her tits under your head, and you glide back through the air unsupported, like you’ve faded through the ghost of her. Your head lolls back, pretty, pathetic pout on your swollen lips.

“Gonna be good?” She asks, staring down her nose at you, eyes half lidded. You nod your head. Her eyes narrow. “Words.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shifting you off of Leon's lap is a group effort, one that Leon doesn't particularly care to be too enthusiastic about. His poor dick is lonely, and fucking his fist is a poor substitute for the sticky warmth of your cunt. Jill cradles you in here arms - the first hint of tenderness you've had from her all night - and settles you on the floor in front of the couch. She kicks your legs into position, sways back to appraise your form, and gives you a long-suffering sigh that's a far cry from approval.

"Whatever," she mutters under her breath. "It'll do. Don't move."

She shuffles off to the side. You hear the rustle of fabric. You turn your head to look, and -

"I said don't fuckin' move."

Your head snaps to the front again, hands fisted against the tops of your thighs. No arguing with that tone. Your back is ramrod straight. There's movement to your right, and Leon finally comes into view, settling against the far side of the couch. He's at least kind enough to give you a show, stroking his cock for you in long, slow strokes, massaging his palm over that shiny red tip and sliding his own fluid down to squeeze at the base. Makes your mouth water just looking at him.

Not that you have to wait long for a treat. Jill finishes her prep work, drags herself back over to the couch and drops down in front of you, strap-on making you go crosseyed.

“Go on,” she sighs, waving her hand lazily. Like she’s doing you a favor.

And she is. It’s a privilege to suck her strap.

You rock onto your knees and take too much of her at once, gag yourself right off the bat in your eagerness. They both groan, Jill in exasperation, Leon because holy fuck, if he hears you make that noise again he's going to blow his load immediately. His hand shucks his t-shirt up. He's not trying to stain this shirt with cum. Not his cum, anyway.

"Your mouth is so perfect for this," Jill says, leaning forward and fisting a hand in your hair, "and you're still so bad at it. Do I have to show you how to do everything?"

You nod uselessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Jill rolls her eyes, smothers the hint of a smile that threatens to twist her lips up. She guides your head back to the head of her silicone cock and sets an easy pace for you. Lets you take it nice and slow, get accustomed to the weight of her cock on your tongue as if you haven't done this a hundred times - as if she knows you went too hard right off the bat just to get her to guide you like this.

"There you go," she drones, the praise feeling like anything but. You bob your head freely, her hand in your hair just a suggestion now. "Finally figured it out. Not as dumb you look."

You push further, tucking your thumb tight in your fist and gagging only a little when the head of her cock prods at the back of your throat. Leon's hips buck into his fist, quick and rhythmless, swearing under his breath. His leg kicks out, nudges Jill's calf and you swear she's going to snap at him.

Your eyes cut from Jill to Leon, a tear rolling down your cheek, and that’s the final push that has him cumming all over his stomach, head tipped back into the arm of the couch, pretty moans so loud, so perfect that it makes you feel your heartbeat in your pussy.

You don’t have time to savor the way that he looks, paint him in your mind and hang it up on the walls around your skull like a pin-up. Jill lifts you off her cock, stuffing her hands under your armpits like you’re a stray kitten. You would be, for her, if she asked. Let her slip a pretty collar around your neck, hope you’re lucky enough that it’s got a bell.

She doesn’t wait for Leon to recover, just manhandles the pair of you so your back is pressed to his chest, his cum smearing against your skin. Leon’s got that loose limbed laziness that comes with a release that built-up.

“Hold her,” Jill growls. “Stop fucking around.”

Leon's hands curled around the back of your thighs, spreading you wide for Jill. A warm chuckle rumbles through his chest and pours into you. His head ducks down, mouth by your ear.

“She's mad ‘cause I had you first.”

You turn your head, stifle your giggles in his shoulder. The silicone head of Jill's cock slides through your sopping folds, nudging at your clit. Her hips rock agonizingly slow. It’s tough to tell whether she’s teasing you or herself at this point, but your sensitive body twitches and jerks with every pass of her spit-slick cock.

“Gonna make a mess?” Her hand grips your jaw tight, pulling your face from Leon's shoulder. It’s less a question and more a demand. You nod as best you can in her grip, remember too late to try and bumble out words. She taps your cheek twice, hard enough to sting, hard enough to make those pretty eyes water again.

Jill doesn’t wait for you to say it. She enters you in a quick, jerky thrust, no hint of warning, your breath stuttering and back tensing. She rabbits her dick into you, your moans falling as staccato as her pace. Her head bows to spit a fat glob of spit onto your clit. Her fingers rub you frantically, a pace so at odds with the slow push and grind of her hips that it makes you burn. You try to squirm back, the way your blood starts to singe a little too quick for your liking, but there's nowhere to go when you're pressed so tight against Leon's broad chest.

His hand slithers up and over the point of your hip, pressing down firmly just below your navel. Betrayal. You thought he was on your side. Your whining sharpens into a moan that has to have rattled the windows. Jill huffs a laugh, low and cruel. She pulls back just far enough to leave you wanting - and when you claw at her shoulders to drag her back home she's already moving, hard and slow, the light dancing in front of your eyes, her hips driving the breath out of your lungs, your chest caving in. It feels like you've imploded, blood on fire, singeing your bones and leaving the ash to remember it by.

She’s not done. You promised her a mess. Your voice is splintered, her hips still driving into you. You don’t feel yourself gushing around her until it’s already happening. You sniffle, your moans choppy and your tears falling quick, humiliation warming the embers in your stomach. Her pace slows and finally stills, finally lets you find yourself in the pile of ashes.

"Already?" Jill mocks, hands rubbing your quivering thighs soft and sweet despite the way she sneers.

You want to scoff, but you haven’t got the breath. Already, she says, like she hadn’t just ripped that orgasm out of you fast enough that you’ve got cartoon tweety-birds spinning around your head.

“My turn,” Leon pipes up.

“Fuck off. You’re not even hard. I'm just getting started.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you made her cum.”

God, they’re like lions fighting over a piece of meat. You push yourself up on shaky arms, give Jill your best gazelle-trying-not-to-get-eaten pout.

“M’tired,” you slur, your brains thoroughly fucked out. You form a T with your hands, calling for a time-out. “Need a break.”

Jill looks like she wants to bite anyway. But you were good, used your good girl hand signal and everything. She sighs, her shoulders slumping, and loosens the straps around her hips.

“C’mere, pumpkin.” Leon gathers you into his arms easily. “Gonna get you all cleaned up. Tuck your ass in.”

You ache when he moves you, in places you weren’t quite sure could ache. It’ll be worse later. Always is. They always have to fuck you at some weird angle. Can’t ever let your muscles get used to it, like you’re some kind of glorified exercise equipment. At least they wipe you down after they use you. Very polite of them.

Leon hands you your water bottle and settles in behind you, slotting up against your back. He’s got the both of you cleaned off even though he seems just as tired as you, bless him. Say a prayer to the patron saint of the bedroom.

Jill found dinner, apparently. You hear the microwave beeping distantly and share an amused look with Leon. Sure enough, she’s got a bowl of food in her hand when she settles at the end of the bed, legs crossed.

The silence lays somewhere in-between battlefields, landmines hidden all around your bedroom. Everything you want to ask is too loaded, too heavy. You’re not even sure you have the energy to stay up for a serious conversation, much less an argument. Jill looks so soft right now, the bags under her eyes seeming lighter in the warm lamplight of your bedroom. You don’t want to see her eyes sharpen. You don’t want to hear her teeth click together when she bites back her words. You search for some other topic, something that will make the tension evident in her shoulders melt away.

"We should do one of those clone-a-willy kits," you murmur, eyes shut, head tipped into the pillow. You open your eyes just enough to gauge her reaction. Warmth blooms in your chest when you see her eyes crinkle and her smile lines deepen.

"Why?" Jill laughs.

"You don't wanna fuck me with Leon’s dick?"

It’s the first time you’ve heard Jill laugh like that in a while. Pride spreads in your tired little grin. Leon's cock gives a tired twitch against your thigh. He groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder blade.

“You two are gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

[oceansmotion]

Aoife's Maxis Match Face Templates UPDATED.

Now less gendered, more consistent between ages, and with baby faces! More info and a bunch of pictures below.

Finally, after months, I have finished these. A long time ago now, I'd made my original templates but didn't really pay any mind to how gendered faces really are, and how inconsistent they are between each age. I love the Maxis faces, I just wanted them to look a little less lumpy, and to replace ones that I felt were redundant. Basically, I hated that with any given template, I couldn't really tell what a sim was going to look like as an adult because every face looked different at each stage!

So today I bring to you my less gendered Maxis Match templates, where I have chosen which face I felt was more iconic and matched the other gender with it, and then made every age look more like that template (including baby faces).

Martin Ruben can be a good example:

Yeah, sure, the eyes are the same, but that's pretty much where the likeness ends. A lot of the templates will do this, and some of the female faces suffered for it (jaws were outlawed on females in 2004, didn't you know?)

They aren't perfect but they're miles better than the originals! I also think they bring a lot more variety to faces, because I did notice that a lot of the templates would use face parts from entirely different templates! Face 2's eyes and face 1's nose are really popular, as well as yeeting jaws and chins out the window.

Faces 1 - 4

Faces 5 - 8

Faces 9 - 12

Faces 13 - 16

Faces 17 - 20

Faces 21 - 24

Faces 25 - 27

An example between AF and TF

and the same face as a child and toddler.

If you noticed in some of the pictures, the ears clipped through a few hairs, and that's because I also took the liberty of adding custom ear shapes to almost every face. No, it didn't occur to me to change the hairstyle I picked for photos until I was already on face 18 and didn't want to start over.

These aren't perfect, and maybe someday I'll go over them again to change more minute details, but for now, I'm very happy with how they turned out! Please let me know if there are any issues, I triple checked everything but I probably missed something somewhere.

Download || Mediafire Box

Credits: Meowingcookie on MTS for their baby face templates. I pretty much just used their baby faces with some tweaks to better match my changes.

@withlovefromsimtown for giving me the idea in the first place. I love their faces!

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

L Lawliet X F!Reader Smut Oneshot

VERY SMUTTY SMUT, 18+

FINALLY finished! This was so fun to write, but I've been so distracted recently that I haven't been able to work on any of my hobbies. I apologize for going AWOL for like, what, a month? Anyway, hopefully finishing this will be the start of bringing writing back in my life. Enjoy, L fans, and let me know if you have ideas for more!

Warnings/contents: Oral (reader recieving), PinV, cowgirl, happy trail, slight amounts of biting, and a very tired man

L has been working far too much, and it's showing. Not only has he not been leaving the CTV screens, he's stopped sleeping all together. Not even at his seat. For someone so smart, you'd think he'd know to take better care of himself.

Well, tonight, he's finally returned to your shared bedroom, only to retrieve some important flash drive. You were laying upside down on the bed, your legs propped up on the headboard and your hands busy with a rather riveting game of snake.

As soon as you heard him walk in, you perked up, flipping around and watching him with intent, your phone playing a sad little song at your loss of the now irrelevant game. "Hey! are you done working?"

He had his hands in his pockets, his steps light but slow as he felt weighed down by his lack of energy. "I'm never done working," he answered simply, walking to the nightstand and crouching down in front of it.

He opened a drawer, which contained a safe. He typed in the 12 digit code, opening it and finding a few small files and three flash drives...none of which were the right one. "I put it right here...did you take the red drive from this safe," he asked with slightly narrowed eyes, turning to the left to face you.

"No...is something missing?"

He examined you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, taking in everything about you. This was the problem, he could never tell if you were lying. Whether it was that he was so infatuated with you he couldn't imagine you lying to him, or if you were simply that good, It was frustratingly inconvenient. Perhaps you simply never lied...that was the delirium from not sleeping speaking, most definitely.

"Are you lying," he asked simply.

"No, unfortunately. I wish I had it...I can help you look," you say sweetly.

"I will find it myself...thank you," he nodded, throwing the polite thanks on the end.

"If you say so," you say in obvious skepticism.

He stands back up, looking down at you as you laid back once more. "Do you doubt my ability," he asked challengingly.

"Well...no...It's just..." you look back up at his big, tired eyes, his face discreetly shifting back and forth between curiosity and annoyance.

You look back to your phone. "You've been so tired, you're running on fumes...I just don't think you're in the right place to be effectively searching for and finding things...or, remembering where you put things...or...doing detective work..."

Silence.

You slowly look back up at him, already wincing at how he must look. When your eyes met his, he just seemed...surprised?

"Do you really think my lack of sleep is affecting my efficiency in a palpable way?" He seemed to be considering the notion.

"I do. Very much so."

"Well...I don't have time to sleep," he mused lowly.

you could work with this. "Would you at least shower? It could help you relax, get your mind off things. It'd only take, like, what, 20 minutes?"

He thought about this.

"I suppose it may assist me in 'getting my mind off things'," he sighed. "Fine. But I'd like you to look for that flash drive while I'm gone," he said firmly. Even without the team around, he still acted like he was your boss. You looked up at him with raised brows.

"...please." This energy deficit was making it harder to engage in social conventions, it took a level of consciousness he did not have currently. Another reason he needed sleep.

"Sure," you said with a smile, sitting up. "Go on, go shower, I'll start looking right now," you assured, standing and guiding him to the bathroom. He walked on his own, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed, turning to face the room, scanning it, your brow furrowed. Then, the water turned on. You glanced to the door. You could hear the rhythm of the raining droplets interrupted by him getting in.

With a deep breath, you relax, walking to the nightstand and opening it back up. You typed in the code to the safe, It was a seemingly randomized combination of the numbers within you and Watari's respective birthdays.

Reaching into your bra, you pulled out the flash drive, placing it atop everything else. You'd have to confess and apologize later, for tricking him. You really just needed a reason to get him away from his computer.

With a satisfied huff, you laid back down, continued your game of snake, and waited for him to get out.

fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door gently pushed open, and out L walked, seeming slightly better. he had a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, a slight and sparse amount of black hair barely visible above the pristine white of the fabric. Another towel was slung around his shoulders, catching the water dripping from his spiked black hair.

perfection.

You sat on the edge of the bed, smiling happily at him. "Hey, how do you feel? Better? About the flash-"

"I'd like to have sex."

Your mouth hung open for a moment, the suddenness shocking you. You supposed it was because he was lacked so much energy before, because him being so direct wasn't rare in the slightest. Meanwhile, he simply stared at you, waiting for a proper response.

"Right...right now?"

"Do you have any other plans?"

"Well, no," you say, laughing a little. "I thought you were tired. You should be tired."

"I am tired, but I've come to the conclusion that sex with you would be beneficial, more so than the shower, and more time efficient than proper rest."

You just laughed even more, giggling at his frankness. "Sure, yeah...so, I'm assuming you'll want to get straight to things? make it quick?" Nothing was unexpected with him, that was for sure.

"Well...not without foreplay. I'm not completely helpless," he muttered, his brows furrowing slightly at the insinuation he wouldn't. He could tell that's what you were thinking.

"Is that so? Here I was, thinking you'd leave me high and dry," you tease.

He took a step closer, before putting his foot up and onto the bed next to you and leaning over you. His hands were at his hips, the natural placement for him after so much time putting them in his pockets. "Do you think that lowly of me," he asked softly. His eyes were half lidded, staring deep into yours as if he were reading your soul, and his lips were parted, slowly taking in air, his breath warm against your face, so impossibly close to you.

Your skin was warming, blood rushing to your cheeks and nose as you take in the sight before you. Then, you smile, bringing your hands to cup his face. "You're trying too hard," you taunt, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. He closed his eyes, and when you pull away he leans in farther for a beat, as if he's trying to chase you. His serious expression disappears, and he sits up just a little more. "Am I," he asked, genuinely, cocking his head a little in curiosity.

He just makes you giggle, he's so funny without even realizing. "Yes," you laugh jokingly, nodding for a moment before you calm down. Then you lean in a little more, glancing down at the foot propped up on the bed, and quietly say, "No. It's nice, fun...but, I'd rather you just be yourself." You tilt your head up, your lips brushing against his, before you give him a true kiss.

He closes his eyes, a shiver running up his spine, and when your mouth opens to slide your tongue across his bottom lip, he gladly opens his own. Your hands stay to the sides of his face, and his eventually make their way to your shoulders. You stop for a moment, scooting backward. Without even thinking, he sits completely on the bed, just to follow your lips, and as a reward you waste no time kissing him again.

You stay like that for a while, making out while he sort of straddles your legs in his usual crouch, until he moves past your mouth and to your jaw. It surprises you for a moment, but you quickly adjust, your hand moving to his damp hair to steady yourself.

He leaves wet, meaningful kisses up your jawline, his hand sliding up to your neck to hold you in place. "Did you know," he starts, planting a kiss to the spot where your ear meets your jaw. "That the ear is one of the most sensitive parts of the body," he finishes, kissing at the shell of your ear and sucking on your lobe for a moment. He wasn't even trying to be overly sexy, at least not in his words, you could tell he simply said it because your ear made him think of it, but the candidness of this moment that was so L made you melt...especially because of his soft, low voice.

"Is that so," you ask, your voice wavering a little.

you could feel his smile against the skin of your ear as he left another impassioned kiss to the shell. "It appears it is," he hummed, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Maybe he was trying.

You could do nothing but let out a nervous giggle, your back arching upward until your chest met his. You turned your head, your ear no longer accessible to him, and planted a kiss to the side of his neck. You could feel him stiffen, his breath catching in his throat. You kissed him again, this time slowly, and his hand moved to be in your hair, the other planted firmly on the top of your hip to steady himself.

You take the moment to remove the towel around his waist, glancing down to see just what you were working with...and there he was.

He was fully erect, around 6 inches, the pale pink tip beading with pre. Perfect. You almost reached out to touch him, to please him, but...

Finally, and rather suddenly, he mutters, "Sit back....please."

You don't argue, you just...do. You sit back from him. You could have kept going, just to tease him, but just in case he was overwhelmed, you sat back.

He wasn't overwhelmed, to your delight, and you knew because he leaned forward and brings his lips to your clavicle, placing a gentle but impassioned kiss there. He hears your breath catch, and as he looks up at you with his usual moon-eyed stare, he catches the way your nostrils flare, and your lips part. "You are aroused," he states softly, his hands running up your sides and under your shirt.

"I am," you titter, his cool hands sending a shiver up your spine as you watch him intently.

"If you take your shirt off, I may be able to assist you," he hums sarcastically, a slight, gentle smile across his face.

You roll your eyes, a big smile on your face as you remove your shirt, setting it aside. You take your bra off too, and your pants for good measure. The only thing left on you is your underwear, something that, as he trails feather light kisses down the valley of your breast and the center of your abdomen, he carefully removes with his thumbs and index fingers. By now, he's on his knees and bent forward completely, his hands holding your legs apart as he brings himself to be face to face with your aching folds.

he gazes up at you, not in question but in curiosity, almost a way to tease you. do you want this? how badly? you really want this, don't you?

He slowly licks his lips as his eyes flick back down to what was before him. He sticks his tongue out, giving a long, tentative lap up from your entrance to your clitoris. as his tongue slides up your clit, beneath the hood, your hips buck, just enough to let him know you're excited. With that, his lips lock onto it, his eyes half lidded as he lavishly sucks and laps, soft groans reverberating through you ever so gently as he pleasures you.

He always seems to enjoy this as much as you do, and with each moan you release, he responds to you with a particularly angled prod of his tongue, or a vibrating groan in return, rewarding the crescendo of your sounds.

Your hand finds its way to his hair, nestling in the soft black stands and gently pulling at the base. At the feeling, he releases a breath he seemed to have been holding, the air fanning against the skin of your thighs and lower abdomen. The sturdy grip he has on your hips tightens a little, and as your hips stutter with the eventual arrival of your orgasm, he looks back up at you, his eyes peering, examining, daring you to look anywhere but at him. You can't help but to stare back.

With one final lap of his tongue, you finish, back arching, head tossing back, your voice ringing through the room in what he can only describe as the song of the angels. He helps you through, gently sucking on your clit, and when you finally come down from it, he pulls away, licking the fluid from his chin and upper lip. It was sort of endearing, watching him do something that looked so...stupid, to put it bluntly.

You laugh despite your panting, smiling as he sits back with his knees rather relaxed compared to usual, not to his chest, although arched halfway there. "you were...considerably louder than usual. has it been a long time since you've experienced an orgasm?"

you almost wanted to chide him for asking a question that had such an obvious answer, but you supposed it was good he didn't negate the fact that you could self pleasure. "Nope. I guess you could say I've been saving myself for you," you sigh teasingly, crawling closer, over his legs, bringing your face and hips above his, respectively.

He instinctively takes your hips, looking up at you with a thoughtful expression. "Why would you do something like that," he asked disdainfully.

You laugh a little. "Does it matter?"

He pauses, looking to your hips. "I suppose not. It makes no difference to me," he muses.

You smile down at him with endearment, your hands sliding to his shoulders. No time to waste.

You lower yourself down his vehemently leaking cock, his grip tightening around you as you push yourself past his tip.

he leaned forward, his knees coming up, your body now between his chest and his legs as your hips met his. he wasn't especially girthy, but his length more than made up for it. You take in a breath, steadying on his shoulders, and slowly slide upward.

He watches with a sort of aroused fascination as you begin to ride him, his eyes not leaving the sight of your body taking his dick in and out, watching and feeling every twitch, listening to every sound, the variations, the angles, everything perceived. You wouldn't think he was enjoying himself all too much, given the fact he was only releasing tempered pants and the occasional hum, but it was his attention that gave it away. Nothing besides his work, and now you, has captured his attention so quickly and so intensely.

If he weren't so tired and in need of a proverbial "quickie," he'd have you in as many different positions as possible. He has a need to see every facet of you, to know how you look and feel and sound in every angle and situation...but, for now, the usual cowgirl will do. And it does, it does rather nicely.

He only looks up at your face when he takes notice of your own noises, growing in volume and desperation. Of course, when he looks up, he can really only see your tits, bouncing away, and he really has no choice but to lavishly suck on your nipple. a formality, truly. The sounds and expressions that elicits is simply heavenly.

He grips your hips tighter, and as the air from his nose fans across your chest, he thrusts himself up. You cry out, his tip unexpectedly hitting your cervix, and all you can do now is shift back and forth as he thrusts up, peer into his large observant eyes as he tongues your breast and uses your body as he wishes. The sight, the feeling, the sounds, it was all too much for you. You moan louder and louder, signaling an orgasm, and the moment his tip pounds a particular spot, you're done. Your hips buckle, your body shakes, and best of all for him, your walls constrict.

in mere moments after you, he begins to truly moan, his cheeks flushing as his orgasm grows closer. After one particularly fast and hard jerk of his hips, he's calling out your name, his teeth pressing into your chest as his lashes flutter, his cum releasing within you in quick spurts, riding the wave as your hips roll against his.

He said this would be quick, a way to relax while staying time efficient, but fortunately he was too tired to take his own tiredness into account. He fell completely asleep beside you, his head pressed into your chest and his legs pressed to your torso as you stroked his hair. He'd sleep for the next 14 hours, and while you got up to pick up the slack at work, get something to eat, or use the restroom, you always returned to him.

I genuinely looked like coraline's dad writing this. I had fun, but wow was I lethargic. I'd like to do this again though, hopefully when I'm feeling more determined!

Taglist: @cheekyweekymouse