#want it to slow down it’s too fast too fast

[eelliotss]

— Borrowed time, part 3

‼️Caleb x reader x Sylus. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely does not stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

word count = 5.2k

i appreciate all likes, comments, reblogs, and asks. i may not reply to all of them, but i want you to know that i reread them over and over 🥺

The choir of rain showering down envelops your whole world. Holding yourself close, you hug yourself away from the constant roar of the thunders.

You did not notice the man watching— his gaze lingering on the drenched rag of a person curled up on the roadside.

Another roar tears through the sky, clawing at your chest, sending tremors down your spine. With each shallow breath, you silently pray for the nightmare to be over, to wake up under warm covers in the safety of your own room.

He probably saw the state you’re in—the haziness in your unfocused eyes and the way you blink, once, twice, sluggish and distant. A sigh leaves his lips as he kneels down to your level. With one gloved hand holding his helmet, the other lightly flicks your forehead.

The flick is light—too light for the weight crushing your chest, yet enough to tether you back to reality and bring some focus back into your gaze.

You slowly raise your gaze, meeting his crimson orbs. Unwavering. Sharp. Studying.

His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite concern.

“You look like hell,” he states as he tilts his head, studying you like you’re an amusing puzzle.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your lips tremble, but no words form.

Sylus exhales, slow and deliberate—not quite a sigh, but something close.

“Can you get up?”

Silence. Only the sound of the rain, the low hum of the storm, and the quiver of your breath fill the air.

He clicks his tongue, running a hand through his drenched silver locks before shaking off the excess water. Then, without a word, he drops his helmet onto your head, fingers swift and practiced as he secures the strap beneath you chin

The sudden weight startles you. But before you can react, you’re lifted.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat as his arms hook effortlessly around you, pulling you up from the cold ground and onto the sleek leather seat.

He swings his leg over the bike, boots steady against the pavement. The engine purrs beneath you, low and commanding.

“Hold tight.”

The words are simple. A command. A warning.

Your hands instinctively clutch his waist, gripping the fabric of his jacket. The sudden yank pushes you flush against him.

But through the turmoil of it all—through the howling wind, the biting cold, the chaos swallowing the whole world as you ride through the roads a little too fast—beneath your fingers, beneath the soaked fabric,

he’s warm.

The contrast is sharp. The world untamed, screaming, tearing everything apart. The situation rushes past you, too quick, too unreal.

Through it all, you—fractured, weightless, drowning— hold onto him— steady, unshaken—like he’s the only rope tying you to reality.

•

“What’s your room number?” he asks as the bike comes to a stop and the deep rumble of the engine fades.

By the time you’ve returned to the resort, the campfire is long gone—reduced to nothing but damp coals and the ghost of laughter lingering in the air.

People scattered, rushed towards shelter, their hurried footsteps splashed against puddles. The storm has chased everyone indoors.

Except for you and him.

You’re still clutching onto him, fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket. The lingering warmth of his body beneath your touch feels foreign.

“Well?” Sylus’s voice cuts through the silence.

You blink, realizing you haven’t answered.

Your lips part, allowing a light whisper to leave your lips.

“409.”

Without a word, he starts walking.

Perhaps it’s because you did not want to be left alone in the darkness of the night again, or perhaps it was because the sudden loss of warmth prompted your body to move on its own.

You trail behind him through the dimly lit halls, the faint hum of electricity buzzing through the silence. Water drips from your clothes, leaving a trail behind as you shiver against the cold air-conditioned corridor.

You steal a glance at him. Sylus walks ahead, hands shoved into his pockets, completely unfazed. As if he didn’t just find you curled up on the side of the road, as if you’re not drenched and shaking beside him.

The two of you stop in front of your door.

You fumble for the key card, fingers trembling slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from everything that’s happened tonight.

“Shh, don’t be scared.”

Soft coos seep through the door.

“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

Soft giggles follow the gentle whispers.

“You’ve always stayed with me on days like these, holding me just like this whenever there were thunders.” Her voice is small and fragile—like something meant to be cherished, protected.

Your fingers hover the doorknob, frozen in place.

The storm rages on, harmonizing with the soft giggles on the other side of the door.

You stood there paralyzed, your mind too tired to register whatever it is that your heart is going through.

Sylus leans against the doorframe, watching you hesitate. Waiting.

“So? You gonna go in, or are we just standing here all night?” He finally asks, voice low and edged with amusement.

Your lack of response earns slow exhale from him.

Before you can fall any deeper, before you can drown in the ache clawing at your chest—he moves.

His hand wraps around your wrist, firm and unyielding.

You flinch, eyes finally snapping to him.

He doesn’t say anything—just turns, walking, dragging you with him.

Away from the door. Away from them.

“Sylus—“ Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t loosen his grip.

And deep down, you were glad he didn’t.

You let the warmth of his hand anchor you, let the storm swallow everything else, and let the laughter behind the doorframe fade into nothing.

•

Sylus doesn’t stop walking until you’re deep inside the quiet halls of the resort, the sound of rain and thunder fading into the background.

His grip finally loosens as he stops in front of a door.

Without looking at you, he pulls out his key card and swipes it. The lock clicks open.

“Get in.” His voice is flat, low—an order, not a request.

You linger by the doorway, water pooling beneath your feet.

Sylus exhales sharply for the nth time that night, raking a hand through damp silver strands, sending droplets scattering to the floor. Then, without warning, he grabs a towel from the bed and throws it at you.

It smacks against your chest, snapping you out of your daze.

“Shower.”

You blink up at him. His crimson eyes don’t waver.

His jaw ticks. Another sigh, this one slower, controlled.

More is tossed at you.

A shirt. A pair of sweatpants. His clothes.

They land in your arms, warm, freshly laundered, carrying the faintest trace of him—clean, sharp, and something unplaceable.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric.

“You’re soaked. You’ll get sick.”

It’s not concern. It’s a fact. A simple statement.

When you still don’t move, he clicks his tongue, tone dipping into something dangerously close to impatience.

“Either you go shower, or I’ll throw you in there myself.”

That finally makes your feet move.

You clutch the clothes tighter against your chest and step past him, disappearing into the bathroom.

The door clicks shut behind you.

And only then do you finally exhale.

The warmth of the shower does little to soothe the tightness in your chest, but at the very least, it washes away the lingering cold from the rain, the exhaustion clinging to your skin like a second layer.

When you finally step out, damp hair sticking to your neck, Sylus is exactly where you left him—leaning against the dresser, one knee bent, a towel draped over his head. His silver hair peeks through, darkened by water, stray strands clinging to his forehead. He’s slow with his movements, lazy almost, dragging the towel through his hair before ruffling it out with one hand.

For the first time, you actually look at him. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker of acknowledgement,—but really look.

At the way the dim light carves shadows along his jawline—the cut of his jawline, the slight furrow in his brow, the way droplets trail down his collarbone before vanishing beneath the black tank clinging to his build—damp and unforgiving, outlining lean muscle and sharp edges.

There’s something effortlessly sharp about him, something dangerous in the way he simply carries his frame.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his gaze flickers up, sweeping over you. Unbothered. Knowing. Like he’s caught you staring.

“Like what you see?” his voice drips with lazy amusement.

You blink, heat creeping up your neck before you compose your features.

“What is there to like?”

His smirk deepens, crimson eyes flickering with something teasing.

“You really are a shortcake.” He smugs as his gaze roams your body. “Looks like my clothes are trying to swallow you whole.”

You glance down. The oversized shirt hangs loosely off your shoulders, the hem brushing against your knees. The sweatpants are cinched at the waist, tied hastily to keep them from slipping.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re built like a damn tree.”

Sylus snorts, shaking his head as he runs the towel over his hair one last time before tossing it onto the chair. “Move.”

He brushes past you, the scent of clean linen and faint sandalwood trailing behind him. The door clicks shut a second later, leaving you alone in the room.

For a moment, you simply stand there, staring at the empty space he left behind.

Then, with a slow, heavy breath, you make your way to the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight, soft and warm—a stark contrast to the cold pavement you were curled up on just hours ago.

You sink into it, pulling the blankets over yourself, letting your body finally rest.

But sleep never comes.

Even as exhaustion tugs at your limbs, your mind refuses to quiet.

The storm still lingers beyond the windows, faint rumbles reverberating through the walls. Every moment from tonight replays, over and over again—

The laughter at the campfire.

Caleb’s dismissive jokes.

Caleb’s warmth, his head rested on your lap as the sun sets.

His voice, gentle, whispered—“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

And the way the line cut before you could even finish your cry for help.

Your grip on the blanket tightens.

It’s pathetic. How much this hurts. How much he still has a hold on you, even when you know better.

You force yourself to listen to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, gripping into your own palm like doing so could lull you to sleep.

The blanket feels too heavy. The air, too thick.

You shift onto your side, curling in on yourself, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

The shower stops, and a moment later, the bathroom door opens.

Sylus steps out, towel draped around his neck, silver hair still damp, a few strands clinging to his skin. The scent of clean linen and something sharp, something distinctly him, fills the space.

He says nothing, nor does he acknowledge you.

Instead, he crosses the room in that effortless, unhurried way of his, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair before grabbing something from his bag.

You watch from the corner of your eye as he settles into the chair beside the bed, flipping the book open like he’s done this a thousand times before.

Like you’re not lying there, curled up in his clothes, drowning in the silence between you.

Like this is just another one of his quiet nights.

The pages turn, slow and steady, the faint rustle of paper weaving into the distant cries of thunder.

Still, the way the thunder rumbles through the sky, rolling and crackling so close, makes your body tense on instinct. You will your breathing to steady, to calm. But your hands won’t stop trembling.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

The sudden change from the steady rhythm of pages turning to the faint tap of his fingers against his phone screen causes your brows to furrow in curiosity. You crack an eye open just enough to see him searching something up. His expression remains as impassive as ever, his crimson gaze flicking across the screen, scanning whatever article he’s pulled up.

Then—without warning—he gets up, grabs your blanket, and yanks it off you.

“H-Hey—!” You barely have time to react before he moves, fast and measured, rolling you over onto the bedspread like you weigh nothing.

“What the hell are you—“

He ignores you. Ignores your flailing arms, ignores your indignant protests, and swiftly tugs the blanket around you, tucking you in so tight you can barely move.

You blink, completely stunned. You stare up at him, utterly dumbfounded, as he looks down at you with a face that is, somehow, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is this?”

Sylus simply plops back down into his chair, cool as ever.

“It’s what they say helps cats with anxiety attacks.” He gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Something about mimicking the feeling of safety.”

Silence. You blink at him.

Once.

Twice.

His lips twitch—just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“What kind of dumb—this isn’t even—“ You wiggle, struggling against the tight wrap of the blanket. “Sylus, let me out.”

“No.

“Sylus.”

“They say chin scratches can also help calm cats down,” he smirks. “Would you want that too, kitten?”

You open your mouth to retort, but another loud crack of thunder cuts through the room. Your breath hitches before you can stop it.

Silence engulfs the room once more.

He flips to another page in his book.

“Do you hate it that much?” his eyes never leaving the words in front of him. “The thunders.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating the way your hands still tremble against the blanket.

“No.”

Sylus hums, the sound low, almost skeptical. He flips another page.

“Convincing. Really.”

You would never admit it, but the tight wrap of blanket around you created a protective barrier between you and the world.

Or perhaps it is the steady rhythm of his breathing. The calm, unshaken presence beside you.

Your eyelids grow heavier.

The storm still lingers outside.

But here, in this quiet space, it’s bearable.

And before you realize it—the world turns dark.

•

Your eyes shoot open.

The room is steeped in deep blue, the quiet hum of dawn settling over the world. The storm has long passed, leaving behind only the faint scent of rain lingering in the air.

You instinctively look around, your pulse quickening as the memories of last night rush in like a relentless wave.

The chair beside the bed is empty. The book he was reading is gone.

He isn’t here.

A strange feeling settles in your chest—one you don’t have the energy to name.

You push yourself up, the oversized fabric of his clothes slipping loosely around your frame.

Right. You need to go.

Sliding off the bed, you grab your things, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing you need is anyone seeing you sneaking out of a room that isn’t yours.

The hallways are eerily silent, save for the distant rustle of the ocean breeze slipping through an open window. You slip into your own room unnoticed, the door clicking shut behind you.

MC is still asleep, curled beneath the blankets, her breathing slow and steady.

You exhale, body weighed down with exhaustion as you strip out of Sylus’s clothes, replacing them with your own. The fabric is warm, familiar.

Sliding your phone onto the charger, you finally crawl into bed, slipping under the covers beside MC.

She stirs slightly, shifting at the dip in the mattress, but doesn’t wake.

The silence stretches, the soft rhythm of her breathing lulling you into something close to peace.

You close your eyes.

•

You’re jolted awake by MC’s sudden exclaim.

“Oh my god, Yn!”

Your eyes snap open, the soft haze of sleep vanishing in an instant. MC is hovering over you, her phone clutched tightly in one hand, her brows furrowed in concern.

“Where the hell were you last night?!” she demands, voice a mix of worry and exasperation. “I called you like, a million times! I was this close to going out and looking for you—” She pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “But, you know… how I am with thunders.”

You blink, mind sluggish, body too drained to react.

MC huffs, shoving her phone in your face. “Seriously, Yn. I was worried sick!”

You squint at the screen, barely making out the endless stream of missed calls and texts before you sigh, rubbing a hand down your face.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I—”

What are you even supposed to say?

That you got caught in the rain? That you collapsed on the side of the road? That Sylus found you?

That you spent the night in his room?

Your throat tightens.

MC sighs, finally pulling back. “I swear, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.” Her expression softens, the frustration fading into something quieter. “You okay?”

The concern in her voice makes your chest ache.

You force a small smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

MC watches you for a moment before nodding. “Alright. But don’t ever do that again, okay? If something’s wrong, you tell me.”

You nod, though you don’t say anything.

She plops back onto the bed, stretching her arms over her head. “Anyway, we have a long-ass day ahead of us. Let’s get moving before they start filming without us.”

You hum in agreement, pushing yourself up despite the weight still clinging to your limbs.

The moment your feet touch the floor, a faint dizziness creeps in, but you shake it off.

Today is going to be long. You just have to get through it.

MC chatters away as she gets ready, pulling out outfits and rummaging through her bag. She seems to have let go of last night’s worries, and for that, you’re grateful. You don’t have the energy to explain anything right now.

By the time you both leave the room, the sun has fully risen, painting the sky in warm golds and soft blues. The air is fresh, carrying the lingering scent of rain, but the storm from last night feels like a distant memory—like something only you remember.

When you arrive at the set, the atmosphere is already buzzing with energy. Crew members are setting up, actors are going over their lines, and the director is barking out instructions.

MC quickly joins the main cast, slipping into her role with ease, leaving you to find your own place among the side characters.

“Action!”

The day begins.

It’s hectic—far more chaotic than yesterday. Since most of the key scenes are scheduled to be filmed today, there’s barely a moment to breathe between takes.

You go through your role automatically, delivering lines, hitting your marks, going where you’re needed.

And yet, through the commotion, you can feel him.

“Action!”

You can see him in the crowd, practicing and discussing his lines.

You can see him placing his hand on MC’s head, telling her it’s okay she messed up her part.

“Action!”

Every now and then, between takes, you can see the way his eyes land on you, a certain look that you can’t quite place your finger on.

And every now and then, during any short break he can muster, you can see the way he tries to approach you.

But the simple thought of him makes you sick to your stomach.

“Yn—”

You slip away.

“Where were y—”

Someone calls you over before he can finish.

“Why didn’t you pick—”

Another take is called, forcing him back into position.

Every conversation dies before it can even begin, and you make no effort to change that.

You don’t want to face him yet.

You can’t.

“Action!”

Fortunately, the day is kind enough to be relentless, dragging you from scene to scene, making it easier to ignore the weight of his gaze, the questions lingering between you.

But as the hours pass, the sun burns hotter, the air grows heavier, and a dull ache creeps into your skull.

It’s subtle at first, just a faint throbbing behind your eyes.

“Action!”

Your limbs feel heavier, your head foggy, the world tilting ever so slightly.

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus.

It’s nothing. Just exhaustion. Just the heat. Just the fact that you spent last night soaking wet in the cold for hours.

“Action!”

You push through.

A hand reaches for yours.

“Hey—are you oka—“

“I’m fine, Caleb.” You snap, finally turning to face him, snatching your touch away from his.

You look over his shoulder to find MC waving for him.

“MC’s looking for you,” you state, turning away just as quickly.

“You don’t look—“

The set sweeps him away once more.

The heat is unbearable. It sticks to your skin, clings to your lungs, burrows into your skull with a relentless pulse. Every sound around you—voices, instructions, the scuffling of feet on set—blurs into a distant hum.

“Action!”

You should sit down. You should stop.

But you don’t.

You push through, following the motions, forcing your body to move despite the dull, throbbing ache radiating from your temple.

The sun beats down harder.

Your limbs feel heavy. Your vision swims.

Something is wrong.

“Act—“

A sudden shift—the ground tilts beneath you.

The world spirals. Your stomach churns—everything is slipping too fast.

And then—a firm grip catches your wrist.

Through the haze, crimson eyes lock onto yours, sharp and assessing.

You don’t understand how, don’t understand why— but subtly, nearly imperceptibly—the sharpness in his eyes narrows, just slightly.

His grip tightens.

“It’s not called a dance if there’s no one to catch you when you dip,” a teasing smirk crawls up his face.

You narrow your eyes, a frown following closely.

“Let me go,” you demand, pulling your hand from his. To your dismay, he does not budge.

Sylus hums, tilting his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering with amusement.

“Let you go?” He scoffs lightly. “Sweetheart, you nearly face-planted in front of half the set. If it weren’t for me, you’d be eating sand right now.”

A flush of heat creeps up your neck—whether from frustration or fever, you don’t know.

“But it did look like you were throwing yourself into my arms just now…”

Your jaw tightens. “I wasn’t—“

“You were.” He grins, lazy and insufferable, before tapping his temple. “Don’t worry, I’ll be generous and let you blame it on heat exhaustion. But next time, try asking before you faint dramatically into my arms, yeah?”

A scoff pushes past your lips, hot and irritated. “I didn’t—“

He cuts you off again, eyes narrowing in mock thought. “Actually, should I be offended? You didn’t even call my name. Isn’t that what damsels in distress do?”

He shifts his grip to hook an arm securely around your waist, pulling you closer as your knees wobble.

You slap at his arm. “I can stand just fine.“

“Sure.” He drawls the word out, clearly not convinced. “If by ‘just fine’ you mean ‘barely upright and just one second away from proving me right.’”

Your glare sharpens, pushing his body away from you. However, your body betrays you as your knees struggle to find balance, causing you to lean just slightly into his hold.

Sylus smirks.

“You love proving me right, don’t you?”

You groan. “Just let me go, Sylus.”

Before he can answer, another presence looms in.

“Yn.“

The teasing weight of Sylus’s words vanishes in an instant.

You tense.

The air shifts—sharp, tight, suffocating.

Sylus’s smirk doesn’t falter, but the amusement in his eyes dims, replaced with something much more calculating.

“I’ll take it from here.”

Caleb takes a step forward, his expression unreadable—but his tone isn’t.

“Let go.”

A muscle in Sylus’s jaw twitches as his gaze sweeps over Caleb, the amusement curling at his lips deepening.

“That’s funny,” he muses, low and almost thoughtful.

Caleb’s eyes darken. “I said, let go.”

Sylus tilts his head slightly, gaze dipping back to you.

“Mm.” His voice drops lower, amusement flickering at the edges. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

The tension snaps tight between them—like a drawn blade, waiting to be swung.

You exhale sharply, yanking your wrist away from Sylus. Caleb’s presence itself is enough to push you off the edge, adding the tension between the two and your head splitting in half definitely does not help.

“I’m fine. I can walk. You two have scenes to film—go do that instead of hovering over me,” you mutter, your glare shifting between them.

Neither of them move.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Seriously. I just need some rest. Go.”

Sylus studies you for a beat longer, then— with an infuriating smirk, he raises both his hands in a mock display of surrender.

“Whatever you say, kitten.”

He steps back, turning without another word. But, even if you’ve just known him for a few days, you’re well too accustomed to that glint in his eyes. He’s entertained—like he just witnessed something far more amusing than it should be.

You roll your eyes, turning to leave—only to find Caleb following closely behind.

You stop in your tracks.

“Caleb.”

“You’re sick,” he states simply, as if that explains everything.

You let out an exhausted sigh. “I just need a nap. The sun’s too hot. You have a job to do. Go.”

“I’ll take you to your room.”

You groan. “I don’t need you to—“

“Yn.”

Something in the way he says your name—low, quiet, edged with something almost like a puppy left alone��makes your breath hitch.

You swallow, annoyance and fatigue surfacing your expression.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

You start walking. Caleb falls into step beside you, silent. The set bustles behind you, voices and movement filling the space. But between you and Caleb, the silence is louder.

The walk back is slow. The ground beneath you feels unsteady, your legs sluggish with exhaustion. The day had been merciless—your body drained from the heat, the lingering weight of last night clawing at your bones.

“I didn’t,” you murmur.

“You almost did.”

You finally reach your door, the cool AC left running inside brushes away a part of your exhaustion.

The door clicks shut behind you. You turn to face him, arms crossed.

“Alright. You walked me back. You can go now.”

Caleb doesn’t move. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, hands shoved into his pockets. “Kicking me out already?” he says with his usual playful tone, a grin plastered on his face.

“Out.”

Caleb sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just—why didn’t you say anything? You looked like you were about to collapse back there.” He slowly approaches you, placing one hand on your forehead and another on his. “You’re burning up.”

A deep frown crawls up your face, annoyance filling your senses. You swat his hand away, taking an unsteady step backwards.

“Get out, Caleb, I want to be alone.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly, taken aback by your response. A soft chuckle slips past his lips—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave. Right after I tuck you in.”

You let out a sharp breath, exasperated, but too drained to argue. Caleb takes a step closer, reaching for the blanket, but you snatch it before he can.

“Caleb—“

“You didn’t answer my calls.” The shift is almost imperceptible. His voice is steady, but there is an edge to it—like he is holding something back. His jaw is tense, something unreadable flashing behind his violet eyes.

Your breath catches for half a second and you grip on the blanket tightens, but you school your expression. “My phone was dead.”

“Where were you last night?” His voice is still too calm. Too measured.

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, exhaustion pressing into your skull. “Caleb—“

“Do you know how long I spent looking for you?” his tone is lighter than it should be, laced with something almost amused—but his eyes, his stance, the slight clench of jaw betray him. “I ran through the rain like a desperate idiot, calling for your name like a lunatic, only for you to act like I don’t exist the next day?”

His voice isn’t desperate. It’s frustrated.

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head.

“Yeah? That worried? Sure, Caleb. Sure,” you pause. “Do you expect me to be grateful?” sarcasm drips from your words.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” his eyes narrow.

“No? Then what are you saying?” You cross your arms, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “Because I remember calling you. I remember my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped my phone. I remember hearing your voice and thinking, ‘finally.’” Your throat tightens. “And then I remember you cutting the line.”

Caleb stares at you, his expression unreadable.

“I was in the middle of god knows where, drenched like a drowning dog, kneeled down on the road next to some fucking dumpster,” you continue, voice shaking despite yourself. “But it wasn’t a great time. You were busy.” A humorless laugh leaves your quivering lips.

His jaws ticks.

“You know how MC is with thunders,” he says, voice quieter now. Almost defensive. “But as soon as she fell asleep— I didn’t think—“

“Exactly.” Your words are barely above a whisper. “You didn’t think. Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

Something in his face shifts. His breath catches. For the first time since you met him, he looks like he miscalculated.

The silence is thick, suffocating. His gaze lock onto yours, searching—for what you weren’t sure.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, looking away. His hand grips the doorknob, knuckles paling slightly.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I didn’t know.”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

He remains there for a second longer, a shadow of something you can’t quite place flickering behind his eyes. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself, pressing a hand against your temple as a dull ache throbs inside your head.

“I’m very—very—tired,” you continue, voice barely above a breath. “So just… let me rest, Caleb.”

His jaws tightens. He shifts his weight, like he wants to say something—like there’s something sitting heavy on his tongue—but in the end, he exhales through his nose, slow and steady,

His voice, when he finally speaks, is quiet. Strained.

“…Get some rest, then.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. He slowly place his hand on your head, ruffling it softly—the way that has always brought butterflies to your stomach. His violet eyes flicker, scanning you—your unsteady stance, the way you press against your temple, the exhaustion settling deep in your features. Something flashes behind his gaze. But just as quickly, it’s gone.

He takes a step back. Then another.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you one last time—not with amusement, not with his usual lazy charm or playfulness, but with something much quieter. Much heavier.

“Try not to sleep through dinner, shortcake.” His usual grin flickers at the edges, forced, strained, before turning his heel.

Click.

[carnalcrows]

A DEAL - THANOS

pairing: plug!thanos x male!reader

synopsis: Your dealer offers you another way to pay for your drugs.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, drug usage, breeding, free use?

word count: 1.1k

You weren’t about to walk all the way back home just because you forgot your damn phone. That was like an hour’s trip—both ways—and for what? Just to come all the way back to buy the same damn thing?

Nah.

Not when you were already at Thanos’ place, comfortably sprawled out on his couch like it was your second home. Not when he was right there, sitting across from you in his usual chair, one leg crossed over the other, smoking like he had all the time in the world.

And definitely not when you could already smell the good shit from across the room.

“C’mon, man,” you groaned, head tipped back against the couch, fingers drumming lazily against your knee. “You know I always pay you. Just let me take it, and I’ll send the money later.”

Thanos didn’t respond right away. He just took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke like he was contemplating his life choices, like maybe he regretted ever doing business with you in the first place.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“That’s cute,” he said, voice slow and deep, smooth as ever. “But I don’t do charity.”

You scoffed. “Wow. So heartless.”

He smirked. “Nah. Just practical.” He flicked some ash into the tray beside him, tilting his head slightly. “Though, lucky for you… I do accept alternative forms of payment.”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh?”

Thanos just stared at you.

And then—oh.

Your lips curled into a slow grin. “Oh, you’re nasty.”

Thanos chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

You leaned back, running your tongue over your teeth, tapping your fingers against your thigh. You should just leave. Should just call it a night and make the trip home. But… that was a lot of effort. And you really wanted that stash.

And, well.

Thanos wasn’t ugly.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “Man, whatever. You better give me the top-shelf shit, though.”

Thanos grinned—dark, lazy, cocky as hell. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly. “I take care of my customers.”

Then, with no warning, he was on you.

His hand grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up just enough before he crashed his lips against yours.

It was messy. Fast. Hungry. There was no hesitation, no build-up—just Thanos, all heat and pressure and control. His fingers gripped your face like he had no intention of letting go, and his other hand pinned your thigh down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

You barely had time to react before his tongue teased at the seam of your lips, demanding. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t waiting. He was just taking.

A groan built in your throat, half a protest, half something else, but Thanos swallowed it whole.

"Relax," he muttered against your mouth, his tone edged with amusement. "You acting all shy on me now?"

You scoffed, gripping the front of his hoodie, half to pull him closer, half to push him away—but Thanos barely budged.

“Shut up.”

He smirked against your lips. “Make me.”

You tried. You really did. But Thanos had already won.

His hand slid up from your jaw, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. He was leading it, controlling it, and all you could do was keep up. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, sharp enough to make you gasp, and he took full advantage, drinking in the sound like he owned it.

You barely registered the shift until you felt your back hit the couch, Thanos settling over you, pressing you down like he had all night to burn.

Your breath hitched. "You're enjoying this too much."

Thanos chuckled, low and knowing. "Maybe." He dragged his thumb over your swollen lip, voice dropping to a murmur. "But you're not exactly complaining."

And, well.

You weren’t.

That was probably how you ended up in this position. Face pushed into the couch while your ass was gripped by Thanos’ hands as he wrecked your hole. His hands, god, they were so large, gripping you by the waist, as his colourful nails dug into your skin, leaving crescent shaped marks.

"You feel so good around me... fuck", he groaned as you clenched around him, your hands gripping at the fabric of the couch for support.

The way he fucked you was almost animalistic, if anything, you could say that it was better that the drugs.

Feeling himself close to release, he fucked into you with reckless abandoned, reaching spots you didn't even know exist.

You felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, arching your back into him as you came.

He came soon after, pushing all the way into you before painting your insides a pearly white.

He laid you on the couch and flipped you around to face him. Your fucked-out expression made him hard again, you felt him in your stomach.

"You thought we were done? Nah, the booze you want costs way more that this baby."

Oh.

Fuck.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[s4svnn]

Shower - Out of bounds drabbles

Your stubbornness is part of what brought you together—it’s a fire that keeps things passionate and exciting. But at times, it can also be exhausting, especially when neither of you is willing to admit fault because of your pride. Arguments can escalate quickly, with both of you refusing to back down each determined to prove a point, so when things heat up maybe the best way to cool off is together…in the shower.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader (Aylah)

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: couples argument, egos, stubbornness, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink, possessiveness, hair pulling, boob play, fingering, mirror sex, back shots, orgasm denial, sub + dom dynamic, spanking.

Word count: 5k

The door slammed shut behind us with a force that rattled the walls, the echo reverberating through the tense silence. My heart pounded against my ribs, my breaths coming in uneven gasps still heated from the argument that had started long before we even reached his house.

The air between us was thick with unspoken words, the weight of frustration pressing down on my chest. The dim glow from the entryway lights cast jagged shadows across Jungkook’s sharp features, emphasizing the tight clench of his jaw and the flicker of something dark in his eyes. His fists were curled at his sides, his posture rigid, as his entire body radiated barely restrained frustration.

"He likes you. I can tell."

I spun around so fast my hair whipped over my shoulder, my blood boiling at the audacity of his words. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him.

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

Jungkook exhaled sharply, the sound more of a scoff than a sigh, his lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t entirely devoid of amusement either. His head tilted slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as if he was holding back the urge to laugh at my denial.

"You really believe that?" he asked, his voice slow and skeptical, every syllable laced with quiet challenge.

I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet firmly against the floor as I met his gaze with unwavering defiance, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Yes, because it’s the truth," I said, my voice steadier now.

Jungkook took a step forward, closing the distance between us just slightly, but enough for the air to shift, enough for the space between us to feel too small, too charged. The weight of his presence was suffocating, the intensity in his gaze making my pulse pound harder, though I refused to let him see the effect he had on me.

"People don’t look at their friends like that, Aylah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost like a warning. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you alive."

A sharp, incredulous laugh burst from my lips, my head shaking as I fought the urge to scream at how ridiculous this entire conversation was. "I told you, he doesn’t like me!" I repeated, my voice rising in frustration. "And even if he did, I don’t like him!"

That should have been the end of it. That should have been enough. But of course, with Jungkook it never was, he just had to get the last word.

Before I could take a step back and create even an inch of space between us, he moved faster, quicker than I could react. His arms came up in an instant, trapping me between them, his hands pressing against the couch behind me as my back met the soft fabric. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse spiking as my body suddenly became hyperaware of the heat radiating from him.

"You sure about that?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but somehow even more dangerous than before. His eyes flickered over my face, searching, watching, waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, a crack in my defense. "I see the way you smile at him."

I scoffed, forcing myself to hold his gaze even though my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "What, so I can’t smile at people now?" I shot back, my voice sharp, desperate to shift the focus away from the way his words made my stomach twist.

Jungkook exhaled, the sound rough, like he was trying to push down something simmering just beneath the surface. "That’s not what I’m saying," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "It’s just… I don’t trust that guy."

"Wow," I said, my voice dripping with disbelief. "So you don’t trust him, but you trusted Jade?"

His entire body went still. His grip on the couch tightened, his knuckles turning white as he processed my words, as they settled into the space between us like a ticking time bomb.

"What did you just say?" His voice was colder now—but I didn’t care.

I held my ground, refusing to flinch under the weight of his stare. "You trusted a bitch like Jade," I said, voice steady, unwavering, my eyes locked onto his. "But you draw the line at my harmless secretary?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, suffocating and heavy.

Then, Jungkook let out a dark, humorless laugh, one that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was empty, hollow, laced with something almost cruel.

"Like you’re any better," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. His gaze flickered with something dangerous. "You were friends with the guy that tried to kill me."

The words barely registered before my hand moved on its own. The slap echoed through the room, the sharp crack of skin against skin cutting through the heavy silence like a gunshot. Jungkook’s head snapped to the side from the force, his cheek instantly reddening where my palm had struck. My chest heaved, shock rushing through me, overtaking the anger in an instant.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper. "S-Shit, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to—"

Slowly, he turns his head back to face me, his gaze dark and unreadable. The tension in the air thickened as the sound of my pulse hammered in my ears.

Before I could fully register what was happening, his fingers tightened around my wrist, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled me forward. A startled gasp slipped past my lips, my feet barely keeping up as he led me up the stairs with a determination that left no room for hesitation. 

A strange mix of nervousness and excitement twisted in my stomach, making it impossible to tell whether I wanted to pull away or let myself be dragged deeper into whatever this was turning into. The hallway blurred around us, my focus narrowing to the burn of his fingers against my skin and the charged energy radiating off him in waves.

The moment we reached his room, he didn’t stop. With a swift motion, he shoved open the bathroom door and pulled me inside, the sharp sound of the lock clicking into place sending a shiver down my spine. Finally, his grip loosened, my wrist slipping from his grasp. I barely had time to catch my breath, to make sense of the storm raging inside me, before my eyes widened at his next move.

Jungkook reached for the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. My breath hitched as the dim bathroom light cast shadows across his toned chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing making the tension between us all the more unbearable. He took a deliberate step forward, his gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.

"You wanna fight?" he murmured, his voice low.

I swallowed hard, but he didn’t give me time to answer.

He took another step forward, and suddenly there was nowhere left to go, my back meeting the cool tile wall as his presence surrounded me once more. His eyes flickered over my face, watching, waiting.

"Then let’s fight."

“W-what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around the bottom of my shirt, the warmth of his touch burning through the fabric as he slowly, deliberately bunched it up between his fingers. The space between us was nonexistent, the heat radiating off him swallowing me whole, leaving me breathless as if I was trapped in the storm of his presence.

He leaned in, so close that I felt the ghost of his breath against my skin, the scent of him familiar and intoxicating as it pulled me under. His lips hovered just beside my ear, his voice low.

"Show me just how much you hate me."

His fingers loosened their grip on my shirt, releasing the fabric like he was giving me a choice, like he was daring me to move, to say something to stop him. But I couldn’t. My breath was trapped in my throat, my body rooted to the spot as I watched him.

Without breaking eye contact, Jungkook reached for the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with slow but steady movements, testing my reaction. The fabric slid down his legs, pooling at his feet before he stepped out of them, his confidence unshaken. Then, without hesitation, he removed the last barrier between him and the heat of the shower, leaving nothing between us but the charged energy hanging heavy in the air.

I stood frozen, my mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening, with what he was doing—what he was trying to prove. My mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.

Jungkook didn’t smirk this time, didn’t taunt me like I expected him to. Instead, he turned, stepping into the glass-enclosed shower without another word. The sound of the water turning on filled the space, the steam curling around him as hot droplets cascaded down his skin. And still, I stood there, unmoving, pulse hammering, thoughts spinning in every direction. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

My breath came in shallow bursts as my fingers curled around the door handle. My first instinct was to leave, to put as much space between us as possible before this fight spiraled into something I couldn’t control. But my grip hesitated, knuckles turning white as I stood frozen in place.

If I left now, nothing would be resolved. We’d still be angry, still be drowning in the same unresolved tension that had been building for too long. But if I stayed… I was throwing myself right into the fire, into whatever storm was waiting for me on the other side of that glass door.

My chest rose and fell unsteadily as I slowly pressed down on the handle, feeling the slight give beneath my palm. I could still walk away. I could leave before this went too far. But then my gaze flickered back. The steam clung to the glass, blurring the outline of Jungkook’s figure behind the shower door. Water streamed down his body in rivulets, his movements controlled, as if he was waiting—no expecting me to make a choice.

I swallowed hard, heart pounding in my chest. And then, without fully understanding why, I released the handle. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the hem of my shirt, dragging it over my head before letting it fall to the floor. One by one, each article of clothing followed until the cool air met my bare skin, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.

I took a slow step forward, my pulse roaring in my ears. Then another. My fingers brushed against the glass as I reached for the shower door, my breath catching as I pulled it open. There was no turning back now.

The rush of steam hit me first, wrapping around my skin like a second layer, thick and heavy. Water cascaded down Jungkook’s back, droplets tracing over every muscle, his posture relaxed yet tense in a way that made my stomach twist. He didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge my presence at first, as if waiting to see if I’d hesitate again.

But I didn’t. I stepped inside, my bare feet meeting the slick tiles as the heat of the water seeped into my skin. My pulse hammered in my ears, a steady rhythm that refused to slow no matter how deep of a breath I took.

Then Jungkook finally moved. His head tilted slightly, just enough for me to see the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his wet hair clung to his forehead. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. Neither of us spoke. Droplets of water rolled down his face, clinging to his lips, his chest rising and falling steadily despite the storm raging between us.

Then, slowly, he took a step forward. Before I could react, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist, and in one swift motion, he yanked me forward. A startled gasp left my lips as I crashed against him, my bare skin meeting his, the heat of his body searing into mine like a brand causing my nipples to harden. Water streamed between us, slicking our skin, but nothing could cool the fire igniting in my veins.

For a split second, we just stood there, bodies pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync. His breath was hot against my lips, his grip on me unrelenting.

Then his lips crashed against mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs, like he’d been holding back for too long and had finally snapped. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, as if he needed me like oxygen, like this was the only way to breathe. I didn’t think—I couldn’t. My fingers tangled into his wet hair, nails scraping against his scalp as I kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of frustration, anger, and something dangerously close to desperation into him.

The water pounded down around us, the steam curling between our bodies, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was him—his touch, his lips, the way he consumed me like he had no plans of stopping.

And, god help me, I didn’t want him to.

I barely had time to catch my breath before his mouth found my neck. A sharp gasp escaped me as his lips latched onto my skin, hot and unrelenting. He kissed, sucked, nipped, his breath ragged against my damp skin as he worked his way down, finding every sensitive spot with infuriating precision.

My hands clung to his shoulders, the muscles beneath my fingers tensing with every movement. His tongue flicked over my collarbone before he sucked at the delicate skin, teeth grazing just enough to send a shudder down my spine.

I tilted my head back against the tiled wall, my lips parting as waves of sensation crashed over me. The heat of the water, the steam curling around us, the feeling of his lips against my skin—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Without warning, Jungkook moved lower, his lips trailing a path of heat down my neck, past my collarbone, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. My breath hitched, my body tense with anticipation, but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

His mouth latched onto my right breast, lips wrapping around the sensitive skin as he sucked, hard and purposeful. A strangled gasp left me, my head falling back as my fingers dug into his shoulders. My legs threatened to give out beneath me, the sudden rush of pleasure making me feel weightless and unsteady.

At the same time, his other hand found my left breast, his fingers rough and demanding as they kneaded the soft flesh. He squeezed, thumb flicking over my nipple before tugging, sending another sharp jolt of sensation straight through me.

My stomach clenched, heat pooling low, my body betraying me completely. The contrast between the warmth of his mouth and the firm touch of his hand had my mind spinning, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of him, of the way he was taking his time, dragging this out like he wanted to unravel me piece by piece.

I tried to suppress a moan, but it slipped out anyway, soft and breathless. Jungkook groaned in response, his teeth grazing over my sensitive skin before sucking harder, like he wanted to hear more, like he wanted to push me past the point of reason.

I clung to him, nails scraping against his damp skin as the heat of the shower wrapped around us, steam curling in the air like a haze, thick and suffocating. My heart pounded wildly against my ribs, my pulse a frantic rhythm in my ears.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, his breath warm against my skin as he murmured, voice low and rough, "Look at you… shaking already."

I barely had time to glare before his tongue flicked over the spot he had just abused, soothing the mark he had left behind. The smugness in his voice should have irritated me, but my body had other ideas, betraying me completely as another shudder ran through me. Jungkook's hands gripped my waist firmly, and in one swift motion, he spun me around. A soft gasp escaped me as my back collided with his chest, the warmth of his damp skin pressing against mine, his every breath sending a shiver down my spine.

Now facing the glass shower door, I was met with our reflection—our bodies slick with water, our skin flushed from heat and something far more dangerous. Steam clung to the glass, blurring the edges, but not enough to hide the way he towered over me, his dark eyes locked onto mine in the reflection, filled with something raw and unreadable.

His hands slid slowly up my sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before settling at my waist, his grip possessive, unyielding. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, every inch of him pressed against me, making it impossible to ignore the tension crackling between us.

Jungkook lowered his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he let out a low, satisfied hum. "Don’t look away," he murmured, his voice dripping with something that sent another wave of heat through me.

I felt his hand trace a slow, deliberate path up the inside of my thigh, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. I refused to look down, knowing that if I did, I would completely unravel. But I could feel everything—his warmth, the steady pressure of his touch, the way he moved with agonizing patience, as if savoring every second.

Then, without warning, his fingers entered me, firm and unrelenting. A sharp gasp tore from my lips, my body jolting at the sudden contact. My hands shot out, pressing against the fogged-up glass in front of me, seeking something, anything to steady myself.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted, but my body had already betrayed me. My legs trembled, my breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers moved at a maddening pace, pushing me to the edge of reason. My reflection in the glass was barely visible now, steam curling around us, blurring the lines between where I ended and he began. His free hand skimmed up my side, grabbing my left breast tightly, a stark reminder of who was in control.

"Tell me," he breathed, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "Tell me how much you hate me."

"I-I hate you so much," I stammered, my voice barely above a breath. "You n-never listen… you just assume."

Jungkook let out a low, satisfied hum, but instead of slowing down, he did the opposite. His movements grew quicker, more insistent, tearing another sharp gasp from my lips.

"What else?" he murmured against my ear, his voice a deep, dangerous whisper.

I clenched my jaw, trying to fight against the flood of emotions surging through me, but it was useless. The frustration, the anger, the undeniable pull between us—it was all too much.

"Y-you think the world wants m-me," I managed between ragged breaths, my body betraying me with every shudder, every involuntary movement that pressed me closer against him. "But you never l-listen to what I want."

 "Then show me," he said, his voice low, steady. "Slap me."

I froze, staring at him in disbelief. "What?" My heart raced, unsure if I had heard him correctly, the air between us thick with tension.

"Slap me, take your anger out on me, do whatever the fuck you want to me." he repeated, his voice unwavering, though his jaw tightened as if bracing for my response.

I hesitated. The words lingered in the air, a challenge I didn’t know how to answer. My fingers twitched, my heart still pounding. I looked into his eyes, searching for the meaning behind the request, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, I raised my hand.

With one quick motion, my palm met his cheek, the sound of it sharp in the stillness of the shower.

At that, his pace quickened. His fingers explored with newfound urgency, reaching places that made my breath hitch and my body tense. A sharp gasp escaped me, my forehead pressing against the fogged-up shower door as a deep, twisting pressure coiled in my stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every second. My fingers trembled against the slick glass, my entire body caught in the storm he was pulling me into, leaving me powerless to do anything but hold on.

Then, with a firm grip, he spun me around to face him once more, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. Before I could catch my breath, his hand slid down my thigh, strong and possessive, fingers digging in just enough to make me shudder. In one swift motion, he lifted my left leg, hooking it over his shoulder with effortless ease, his body pressing even closer to mine.

His face hovered near mine, so close that our breaths mingled, the space between us reduced to mere centimeters. His other hand never faltered, continuing its relentless pace moving in and out of me.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips as the sheer intensity of it overwhelmed me, my body jolting against his hold as I felt myself near my release. His dark eyes stayed locked onto mine, watching, no devouring every reaction, every unguarded moment of surrender as my mouth fell open, a broken sound escaping me.

Before I could even gather myself, he released me abruptly, spinning me around once more. The sudden movement had me slamming against the cold tiles, the impact sharp but oddly grounding. His grip on my hair was fierce, yanking me back so that my ass arched into him, his hardness of his length evident.

His other hand shot out with sudden force, capturing my wrists together, then in one swift motion, he yanked them behind my back the pressure on my arms leaving me vulnerable and completely at his mercy. 

His voice came low and dangerous, a growl against my ear. "You know what I hate about you?" he said, his fingers tightening in my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look at him. "You don’t fucking listen."

I tried to respond, but the words died on my tongue as he closed the distance between us, entering me in one go. I gasped, my mind going completely blank as I struggled to process the overwhelming sensation.

The fullness was intense, dizzying, and my body tensed in response, fighting to steady itself against the intrusion. Every thought scattered, replaced by nothing but the raw intensity of the moment, leaving me breathless and suspended in a haze of confusion and heat.

Jungkook began to move against me aggressively, the severity of his actions causing my ass to clap against him as he plunged into me harder and harder, "You think these guys want to be friends with you?" His words were sharp, filled with something darker, something that stirred the heat between us even further.

"You really believe they have good intentions?" he asked, his words laced with frustration. His grip on me tightened, before his hand came down on my ass with a firm slap at my lack of response, once, twice, three times.

I mewled at the stinging sensation as I stared up at him, his anger evident in his expression as he continued to move against me. “They don’t care about you,” he said, his tone edged with something sharp and almost desperate. “They just want to know how to get to you. How to tear you apart.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, the rawness in his voice drawing my attention. It wasn’t just anger I heard, but a deep, underlying fear. 

His movements became more frantic, each thrust more urgent than the last. The heat between us surged, my body igniting under the intensity, every touch sending a jolt of electricity through my veins. My skin tingled with an intense, overwhelming mix of sensations as he gripped me with a force that left its mark. Red and purple bruises bloomed across my body, a testament to the desperation in his touch.

Each one felt like an imprint of something raw, something unspoken. I could feel myself nearing the edge, the tension coiling tighter inside me, my heart pounding with both anticipation and fear—afraid that, just like before, he might pull away again, leaving me suspended in that agonizing space of uncertainty, proving his point at the cost of everything we shared.

His grip tightened further, and his breath was hot against my ear as he spoke, his words laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

“They just want to fuck you," he murmured, his voice low and strained. "They want to know how it feels to be inside you, but I won’t let them. You’re mine."

His words lingered in the air, the weight of them pressing down on me like a heavy storm cloud. There was no mistaking the intensity in his voice, the conviction in the way he held me. 

“I won’t let them near you,” he muttered, his voice dark, almost possessive. “They think they can have a piece of you. Touch you. Know you. But you’re mine, Aylah. No one else gets to claim you. Not ever.”

He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the side of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “I don’t care if they smile at you or talk to you,” he continued, his breath hot against my skin. “I don’t care what they think they can do. I’m the only one who gets to touch you. You belong to me, and I won’t let you forget that.”

I stood there, frozen for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. The possessiveness in his voice wasn’t just about control; it was about fear. Fear of losing me. Fear that I might slip away, as if I were something fragile, something worth holding onto with everything he had.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, this time softer, but with an intensity that sent a fire through my chest. “No one else matters. You don’t belong to anyone but me.”

At the realisation that I was lost in the moment, completely absorbed by his words, he abruptly released himself into me gasping against the back of my neck as he remained inside me. I gasped sharply, my breath coming in ragged bursts as my chest rose and fell with the intensity of my own release, each inhale shaky, every exhale heavy. 

As his grip finally loosened, I turned to face him, my heart pounding in my chest, still reeling from the intensity of everything that had just happened. Without hesitation, I reached up, cupping his cheek gently in my hand, feeling the warmth of his skin under my touch.

"You need to stop worrying," I said softly, trying to steady the emotions that still swirled between us. "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment as if my words were a quiet comfort, but when he opened them again, the concern was still there. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and almost vulnerable. "But I just...I don't want you getting hurt."

My heart ached at the tenderness in his voice. Slowly, I pressed my forehead to his, grounding us both in the moment. "I know, baby," I whispered. "But you just need to trust me. I promise, I'm not like Jade."

For a moment, his eyes faltered, as if my words had struck something deep inside of him. He let out a shaky breath, the weight of his fear still present. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Then, almost instinctively, he leaned into me, his head resting gently against my chest. "I know you're not like her," he whispered, his words full of quiet regret. "But I can't help but be scared. These feelings...they're all I'm used to."

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, running my fingers through the back of his hair in a soothing motion. "I know," I said softly, the understanding in my voice steady. "And it's okay. It's going to take time, but all I can ask from you is to put faith in us."

He pulled back slightly, lifting his head to look into my eyes. There was something different in the way he looked at me now, a tenderness, a deep honesty. "I do," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you."

My chest tightened at his words, the love between us palpable. And before I could say anything else, he closed the distance, kissing me deeply. I reciprocated, pouring everything I felt into the kiss—relief, love, and the silent promise that we'd face everything together.

Then, without warning I pushed him down so that he was sat on his knees. He looked up at me, startled by my sudden movement, his eyes wide with confusion as he stammered, "W-what...?" I didn’t dignify him with a response and instead threw my leg over his shoulder, pulling him closer with a determined tug so that his face was against my heat.

I looked down at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, but there was a sharpness to my tone. "You love me, huh?" I said, the words dripping with sarcasm as I raised an eyebrow, daring him to defend it. "Then finish me properly like a good boy."

He was taken aback by my words, clearly caught off guard, but he quickly tried to mask his surprise, forcing himself to regain control. After a brief pause, he let out a strained "Yes, ma’am." 

I gripped his hair tightly, yanking him closer as I guided his movements with a firm, unrelenting pull, pushing him further into my heat until he had no space to breathe. He slowly ran his tongue along my folds, savoring each movement. His eyes flickered up, watching me as he gently sucked on my clit, the rhythm of his actions drawn out, each flick of his tongue creating a subtle tension between us. 

I couldn't help but smirk, the playful edge to my voice matching the energy in the air. "Good boy," I teased softly, my words laced with a hint of approval. "You like that, don’t you?"

As he quickened his rhythm, he gave a soft murmur, “Yeah,” the word rolling off his tongue. Without warning, his hand grasped my other leg, lifting it and tossing it over his shoulder to mirror the first. In one swift motion, he stood, leaving me perched on his shoulders, my body leaning slightly forward as I tried to steady myself.

He stepped forward, pressing me firmly against the tiles, the cool surface sending a shiver through me as he resumed his movements with even more intensity. He sucked harder and harder causing my feet to curl behind his back as I felt myself release into his mouth, but he wasn’t done, instead he kept his mouth in place taking in every last drop of me as I watched it trickle down his chin.

His eyes closed for a moment, "I can’t get enough of you," he murmured.

I smirked, watching him enjoy the moment. “Good thing you’ve got forever to experience this,” I teased, the playful tone in my voice adding a lighthearted edge to the moment.

He met my gaze, his eyes intense, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'll make sure to savor every second of it then."

[00valentina-writes00]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! Write a smut where Vi is fucking the reader but the Reader fakes an orgasm but vi dose not find out right then and there. Instead vi finds out when they are hanging out with friends and drinking and playing games where someone asked “have you every faked an orgasm” and than before reader could say anything Vi says “no she hasn’t” like really cocky and then the reader is like actually I have once but it’s because I was really tried and then vi is like shocked but dose not say anything and they keep going for the night. And then when they get home vi is ALL OVER THE READER and says “I’m gonna make up for that one time you faked it. Right now and I’m gonna make you have the best one of your life that you forgot your fucking name.” And she DOSE. She fucking delivered that shit.

♡♥︎ MAKE IT UP TO YOU ♥︎♡

Warnings: smut, strap-on sex, mild dominance, Vi being competitive and cocky, reader getting absolutely wrecked.

It wasn’t like you meant to fake it.

You were just so fucking tired, and Vi had been going at it for a while, doing everything right, touching you just how you liked—but your body wasn’t cooperating.

So you’d made the call.

A little tensing up, a breathy moan, a few shakes for dramatic effect—and Vi had bought it, completely.

You felt a little guilty, but it wasn’t a big deal, right? It was one time.

Or so you thought.

It all fell apart at a game night.

You and Vi were knee-deep in drinks, hanging out with friends, playing one of those truth-or-drink type of games.

Someone read the next question out loud, grinning:

“Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

You didn’t even get the chance to open your mouth before Vi leaned back, smirking, and said, so fucking cocky,

“Nah, she hasn’t.”

Your stomach dropped.

Everyone laughed, teasing her for being so confident, but you just stared at her, your drink suddenly feeling way too strong in your hand.

“Actually…” you said hesitantly.

Vi’s smirk froze.

“I… might’ve, uh… once.”

Vi’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought she might get whiplash.

“What?”

You gave her an apologetic shrug. “I was just really tired, babe.”

The group oohed, making it so much worse, and Vi just sat there, processing, lips slightly parted, eyes wide as hell.

But she didn’t say a word.

Just nodded once, took a slow sip of her drink, and kept the game going like nothing had happened.

Like she wasn’t plotting your fucking demise.

—-

The second you stepped into your apartment, the door barely clicking shut, Vi was on you.

You gasped as your back hit the wall, Vi towering over you, her fingers already gripping your jaw, tilting your face up to hers.

Her voice was low, rough, her breath warm against your lips.

“I’m gonna make up for that one time you faked it,” she murmured, eyes burning into yours.

Your breath hitched.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget your fucking name,” she growled.

And then she delivered.

—

You were on the bed, naked, legs spread, Vi between them, grinding the thick strap against your cunt, the strap glistening with your wetness as she dragged it up and down your folds, teasing you, keeping you on edge.

You whimpered, hips twitching, trying to get more, and Vi just chuckled darkly, hands gripping your thighs, keeping you right where she wanted.

“Needy little thing,” she teased, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your inner thigh.

You gasped when she finally pushed in, the strap stretching you open, the sensation making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—”

Vi groaned, gripping your hips tight, keeping you still as she sank deeper, watching your face twist in pleasure.

“That’s it,” she murmured, voice husky. “You feel that, baby?”

You nodded weakly, panting, your nails clawing at the sheets.

Vi smirked, grinding her hips, the strap pressing right against that spot, making your entire body jolt.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “You’re gonna fucking feel this.”

And then she started moving.

It was punishing, her pace relentless, the sound of her hips slapping against you, her strap hitting deep, fucking you open, making you whimper and squirm.

“You faked it, huh?” she growled, voice strained, hands gripping your hips so tight you knew there’d be bruises tomorrow.

You couldn’t even respond, too busy moaning, gasping for air as she fucked you raw, the pleasure overwhelming.

Vi was so fucking smug, watching you, her lips curled into a grin, sweat dripping down her arms.

“Not this time, baby,” she murmured, leaning down, her chest pressing against yours, her lips brushing your ear.

“You’re gonna cum for me for real.”

And then she angled her hips just right—

Your vision went white.

You cried out, back arching, the orgasm ripping through you, your entire body shaking as pleasure exploded through your veins.

Vi groaned, watching you, riding you through it, her thrusts slowing but still deep, milking every last shudder and tremble from your body.

She kissed you softly, murmuring against your lips, “That’s my girl.”

She didn’t stop.

By the time she was done, you were wrecked, boneless, lying there in a dazed, sweaty mess, your body still twitching from overstimulation.

Vi chuckled breathlessly, collapsing beside you, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, tilting your exhausted face toward hers.

“You good?” she murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your swollen lips.

You could barely speak, could barely even move, your entire body still buzzing from how hard she fucked you.

Vi just grinned, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Yeah,” she murmured, smug as hell. “That one was real.”

[wvyik]

ruined in more ways then one. d.w. ➶ ｡˚ °

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; a lazy morning with dean turns sinful fast — filled with touches, soft laughter, and the kind of love that lingers long after… until sam walks in, coffee in hand, and instantly regrets his life choices.

warnings; mdni! explicit content, fluff & smut mix, oral sex (reader receiving), light swearing, unwanted coffee delivery, heavy doses of dean’s cocky charm, sam trauma™ (poor guy needs therapy), mild afterglow cuteness, a lot of giggling and awkward eye contact, motel room shenanigans.

notes; LMAOO sam, mah poor sweet baby, did NOT sign up for this. “(ノ _ <,, ) HE JUST WANTED TO BRING COFFEE..

words; 1862

Mornings with Dean were usually slow, lazy things — filled with tangled sheets, warm skin, and the scent of coffee lingering in the air. But today… Today, Dean was in a mood.

You felt it before you even opened your eyes. The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the scratch of his stubble as he nuzzled into your neck. Then— his hand. Wandering.

“Mm,” you grumbled sleepily, trying to burrow deeper into the pillow. “Dean, it’s too early…”

“Too early for what?” His voice was husky, thick with sleep, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “For me to touch my girl?”

His hand dragged lazily down your stomach, fingers skimming over your bare thigh. You shivered.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Dean chuckled, his breath warm against your neck. “Nah, just obsessed with you.” His hand slipped under the hem of his own t-shirt that you’d stolen to sleep in, fingertips teasing over your hip. “You gonna stop me, sweetheart?”

You let out a contented sigh, tilting your head to give him more access as his lips trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “I’d be an idiot to stop you.”

“Damn right.”

And just like that, you were flipped onto your back, Dean hovering over you, that signature cocky grin on his face. His green eyes sparkled with something both mischievous and downright sinful.

“You’re unbelievable,” you huffed, running a hand through his messy hair.

Dean leaned down, lips barely brushing over yours. “And you love it.”

Yeah. Yeah, you did.

His kiss was slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world. His hands roamed, tracing every inch of you like he was committing it to memory.

Dean was all over you— hands wandering, lips pressing slow, teasing kisses along your jaw, your neck, the dip between your collarbones. His weight caged you in, keeping you right where he wanted you, but his touch? That was gentle. Worshipping.

“Mmm, I could stay here all day,” he murmured, nipping at your skin just enough to make you squirm.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, sighing as he kissed his way down your chest. “Who’s stopping you?”

Dean chuckled, voice low and lazy. “Sam’s gonna kill us if we don’t hit the road soon.”

You grinned, dragging your nails lightly down his back. “Then maybe you should stop teasing and get to it, Winchester.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with amusement. “Oh, sweetheart… you know better than to challenge me like that.”

Before you could process his words, he was shifting lower, trailing his lips over your stomach, hands gripping your thighs as he settled between them. His smirk was downright sinful.

“Dean—”

“I got you, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

And damn, did he.

He took his sweet time, teasing you with his mouth, his hands. Dean wasn’t in a hurry, that much was clear. He was enjoying taking you apart piece by piece, relishing in every little reaction he drew from you. Every moan and shiver, every whispered plea for more—it all fueled his own hunger.

His lips found the soft skin of your inner thighs, and he sucked a mark there, his stubble leaving a delicious burn in the wake of his mouth. You bucked against him, but his grip on your hips was relentless, holding you down as he continued his slow, torturous path up your body.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his gravelly voice sending heat pooling between your thighs. He nipped at your thigh, the sharp edge of his teeth just shy of pain, just enough to make your toes curl. “Gotta enjoy my dessert first, right?”

"Damn, you look good like this," he murmured, his voice a rough caress in the intimate space between you. His fingers flexed on your hips, like he was physically holding himself back. "So pretty, all spread out for me..."

He let his nose brush against you, inhaling deeply. “Smell so good too, baby. So sweet, just for me.” His lips curled into a wicked grin as he added, “Now, let’s see how you taste…”

Without another word, he hooked a finger under the fabric, slowly pulling your panties down, past your hips, down your thighs, off your legs, and tossing them away. He took a moment to admire the view, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Mmm… so desperate for me already,” he murmured, and you could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. “Look at you… all wet and needy, just for me.”

And then he was on you, his tongue parting your folds, and your brain short circuited. His name left your lips in a broken whimper as he coaxed pleasure from you with slow, measured strokes. Heat coiled low in your belly, building with every movement, but he wasn't letting you reach that peak just yet. He was taking his time, like savoring a fine wine. Every touch was calculated, designed to keep you right at the edge, but not quite yet.

It was almost too much. The heat, the pressure, the way he knew just how to move to make you see stars. Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the short locks as you gasped his name in a ragged moan.

He groaned against you at the sound of his name, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Mmmm, I like that,” he murmured, his voice sending vibrations through you that left your legs trembling. “Say it again, sweetheart.”

You obeyed reflexively, your voice a breathless whisper, “Dean… Dean, Dean—”

He hummed in approval, the sound sending tremors through you. “That’s it,” he growled, the scrape of his stubble deliciously pleasurable. “Damn, you’re beautiful like this.”

You felt like you were losing yourself in the sensations, your body writhing under his touch. Dean seemed to know every sensitive spot, his mouth finding them and lavishing attention on each one, until you were mewling with desperation.

“Dean, please…” you gasped, your fingers clenching more tightly in his hair. Your body was trembling on the edge, needing his permission to fall apart.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

His words were like a command, sending you spiraling over the edge. A shudder rocked through you, leaving you wrecked beneath him. Pleasure washed over you, hot and sweet, and you couldn’t hold back the strangled cry that escaped your lips.

Dean finally made his way back up your body, looking far too proud of himself. You were still catching your breath when he leaned in, lips brushing against yours.

“You awake now?” he teased.

You huffed, shoving his chest playfully. “Cocky bastard.”

He grinned, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him so you were sprawled over his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles on your spine. “You love that about me.”

You kissed his jaw, settling against him with a satisfied hum. “Yeah, yeah.”

Dean’s hand brushed over your hip as he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice a rough whisper. “You’re incredible. Fucking incredible.”

You giggled softly, lazily kissing him back. “I could say the same about you.”

Dean smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. He didn’t move from his spot, content to just be with you.

The afterglow was perfect. You were all tangled up in Dean, his hand tracing lazy circles on your bare back, his lips brushing over your temple. It was warm, safe, domestic— something neither of you got enough of.

Until it wasn’t.

Because suddenly, the motel door swung open.

And there stood Sam.

Holding a few cups of coffee.

Looking like he’d just witnessed a crime scene.

You were both still tangled in the sheets, Dean’s body half over yours, your legs intertwined. You were both spent, breathing heavily, the evidence of your time together all too clear on the both of you.

Sam blinked. His hand faltered with the coffee cup as he took in the scene— his big brother and his best friend, completely out of it, looking like they’d been worn out.

“Oh, come on—” Sam’s voice cracked as his eyes widened in horror.

You barely had time to yank the blanket up to cover yourself before Dean— completely unbothered— grinned up at his brother. “Mornin’, Sammy.”

Sam made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, immediately slapping a hand over his eyes. “I knew this would happen one day. I knew it, and yet somehow, I wasn’t prepared.”

Dean chuckled, stretching lazily beneath you like he hadn’t just traumatized his little brother. “C’mon, man, we’re all adults here.”

Sam was frozen. His face was a mix of disgust and sheer confusion. He slowly took a sip of his coffee, looking as if he was trying to will himself into believing this wasn’t his reality. “I swear to God, I just wanted to bring coffee.”

Dean stretched lazily, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Well, you could’ve knocked, Sammy. Instead, you’re ruining my post-coital glow.”

Sam’s jaw dropped, his eyes darting between you and Dean. “Post-coital glow? What is wrong with you two?”

Dean only shrugged, completely unbothered. “Nah, you’re right. Should’ve just locked the door. But hey, it’s not my fault you barged in at the wrong time, man.”

Sam groaned, turning on his heel so fast you thought he might trip over himself. “I live with you two. I share motel rooms with you two. I just wanted to be nice for once and bring coffee! That’s it! That’s all I wanted!”

Dean smirked, amused by the whole situation. With a lazy grin, he looked over at Sam like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Appreciate it, Sammy.”

“I hate you.”

You were dying at this point, burying your face in Dean’s chest to muffle your laughter. Dean just wrapped his arms around you, clearly enjoying this way too much.

Sam groaned again, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’m leaving. I need bleach. For my eyes and my brain.”

As he stormed out, Dean just called after him, “You sure you don’t wanna stick around? We could use a referee!”

The door slammed.

You swatted Dean’s chest, still laughing. “You love torturing him, don’t you?”

Dean just grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Best part of my day.”

You, still in a fit of giggles, buried your face in Dean’s chest, not sure whether to be mortified or entertained.

Dean���s hand stroked your back soothingly as you calmed down. “I think we ruined him. And I’m here for it.”

You snorted, playfully shoving him. “You’re terrible.”

Dean smirked, clearly so pleased with himself. “You love it. Just wait ‘til he gets over his trauma and we’re on the road. Then we’ll talk.”

And with that, Dean kissed your forehead, settling back into the sheets with you, as if the world hadn’t just gone off the rails for both of you.

But Sam? Well, Sam was gonna need some serious therapy.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

[hazelira]

little lightning bolt

“Baby, don’t run too fast,” you called, watching your three-year-old son zoom past you with all the energy in his little body. His chubby cheeks were flushed, tiny fists pumping as he dashed through the arcade, excitedly squealing.

Heeseung chuckled beside you, hands tucked into his pockets as he watched your son dart toward a bright, flashing game. “He’s like a little lightning bolt,” he mused, eyes soft with adoration.

You smiled at that, but your gaze never left your little boy, his short legs moving faster than they should. The two of you had promised to bring him here for weeks now, and the second you stepped through the doors of the Chuck E. Cheese restaurant and arcade, he’d exploded with joy, bouncing like a rubber ball from game to game.

For a while, it was harmless fun. Watching him press every button on a racing game he didn’t understand, laughing at how he shrieked when the claw machine refused to give him a stuffed animal, holding him up so he could shoot hoops into a basket way too high for him.

But the thing about toddlers? They had no brakes.

“Hey, buddy, slow down,” Heeseung warned when he saw your son making a beeline toward a restricted area near the emergency exit. His significant, wobbly steps were headed where he wasn’t supposed to be.

You watched as Heeseung reached for him, strong hands gently wrapping around the little boy’s pudgy waist to scoop him up before he could go further.

And that’s when it happened.

The meltdown.

One second, your son was fine. The next, his little face scrunched up in frustration, and then—

“No! NO!!”

A piercing scream tore through the arcade. Heads turned. Parents glanced over. The flashing lights of the machines only made it more dramatic as your son’s tiny fists flailed, legs kicking as Heeseung held him firmly in his arms.

Your heart clenched when you saw the betrayal on his pudgy face, tears welling up in his round eyes as if his whole world had come crashing down. “I wanna go! I wanna go!!” he shrieked, body wriggling as he sobbed uncontrollably.

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, jaw tightening as he tried to keep cool. He was patient—always had been—but this was a whole new level of meltdown. “Hey, buddy, I know you’re upset, but you can’t go there,” he said calmly, adjusting his grip.

Your son didn’t have it. “NOOOO!!” He screamed louder, fists pounding against Heeseung’s chest in frustration. “Put me down!!”

Tears streamed down his face, his chubby cheeks red with frustration, snot running down his nose. Seeing it made your heart ache, even though you knew he didn’t understand.

Heeseung looked at you, eyes filled with exhaustion and silent pleading. You sighed and stepped forward, touching your son’s back gently. “Baby, I know you’re upset,” you cooed softly, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. “But Daddy wasn’t trying to be mean. He was keeping you safe.”

Your son sobbed harder, curling into Heeseung’s chest despite his tantrum. “I— I—” His hiccups made it hard to talk.

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmured, kissing his damp curls. “You were having so much fun, huh?”

A broken, wobbly nod.

“But you scared Daddy, baby. You ran too fast, and he didn’t want you hurt.”

Slowly, his cries softened into sniffles. His tiny fingers now clutched onto Heeseung’s shirt instead of pushing him away.

“I just— I wanna run,” he mumbled against Heeseung’s chest, his voice muffled and small.

Heeseung finally exhaled, shifting your son so he was cradled more securely in his arms. “I know, buddy,” he murmured, kissing his head. “But you gotta listen to Mommy and Daddy, okay? We wanna keep you safe.”

Another sniffle. Then a soft, “Okay.”

You wiped away the last of his tears with your sleeve, smiling as you saw the exhaustion setting into his big, round eyes. “Wanna play one more game, baby?” you asked gently.

Your son hesitated, then nodded, rubbing his sleepy face against Heeseung’s shoulder.

And just like that, the storm had passed.

Heeseung shot you a tired, knowing smile as he slowly set your son back on the ground. “Alright, lightning bolt,” he teased softly, ruffling his messy curls. “Let’s go win you a prize, yeah?”

Your son beamed up at him, the earlier tantrum already a forgotten memory in his little mind. He grabbed Heeseung’s hand, gripping his pinky with his tiny fingers. “Yeah!”

And just like that, your little lightning bolt was back in action.

Heeseung sighed, rolling his shoulders as he let your son drag him toward the game section again. You could tell the meltdown had drained him, but the moment your little boy looked up at him with his puffy, teary eyes and chubby cheeks still glistening, Heeseung softened like butter in the sun.

You walked beside them, watching as your son squeezed Heeseung’s pinky tightly in his tiny grip, his other hand wiping at his runny nose. “What game do you wanna play, baby?” you asked, brushing damp curls from his forehead.

Your son’s lips pursed in thought before he pointed toward the biggest game in the arcade—the claw machine.

Heeseung let out a chuckle. “You sure about that one, buddy? That thing’s harder than it looks.”

But your little boy was determined. “I want the bear,” he announced, jabbing his finger toward a giant plush bear sitting in the pile of toys inside the machine.

You and Heeseung exchanged a look. That bear was way too big for the flimsy claw to lift, but the hope in your son’s eyes made it impossible to say no.

Heeseung fished out some tokens from his pocket. “Alright, let’s give it a shot.”

Lifting your son so he could reach the controls, Heeseung guided his tiny hands to the joystick while you knelt beside them. Your little boy’s brows furrowed in deep concentration as he maneuvered the claw over the stuffed bear.

“I got it,” he whispered, pressing the button with all his might.

The claw descended. It grabbed the bear’s ear—barely. The moment it started rising, the bear slipped right out.

Your son gasped. “Nooo!”

Heeseung bit his lip, suppressing a laugh. “That was close, buddy. Wanna try again?”

A determined nod. “Again!”

Another token in. Another attempt. Another fail.

Your son let out a tiny frustrated growl, his lower lip wobbling. “It’s cheating,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his pudgy tummy.

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “It’s a tricky game, baby. But you did well!”

Heeseung nudged him playfully. “Tell you what, how about one more try? And if we don’t get the bear, we’ll pick a different prize from the ticket counter, yeah?”

Your son considered this, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

This time, Heeseung let him move the joystick, but when your son pressed the button, Heeseung subtly tapped it again at the perfect moment, giving the claw a better grip.

And then—

Clink!

The claw successfully carried a smaller bear to the prize chute.

Your son gasped dramatically, his mouth forming the most significant O you’d ever seen. The second Heeseung reached in and pulled out the plushie, your little boy grabbed it and held it to his chest, squeezing it tightly.

“I won!” he squealed, bouncing repeatedly in Heeseung’s arms. “Mommy, I won!”

You laughed, heart swelling at how quickly he forgot his earlier tantrum. “You did, baby! Good job!”

Heeseung grinned, ruffling your son’s hair. “Knew you had it in you, champ.”

Your little boy beamed at both of you, hugging the bear even tighter. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and pressed a big, sloppy kiss to Heeseung’s cheek.

Heeseung froze.

You giggled back as your son pulled away and rested his head on Heeseung’s shoulder. “Tank you, Daddy,” he mumbled sleepily.

The exhaustion from all the running, screaming, and excitement had finally caught up to him. His chubby fingers clung to Heeseung’s hoodie, and his breathing slowed as he curled up against his father’s chest, hugging his new plushie with his other arm.

Heeseung swallowed, eyes softening as he cradled your son close. He gently kissed the top of his head, rocking him slightly. “Anytime, buddy.”

You reached over, brushing a hand over your son’s back. “I think someone’s ready for a nap.”

Heeseung chuckled, shifting the now-sleepy toddler in his arms. “Guess the lightning bolt finally ran out of energy, huh?”

You smiled, slipping your hand into Heeseung’s free one as the three of you approached the exit. Your son might have had a meltdown earlier, but seeing him snuggled up against his dad, entirely at peace, made everything worth it.

And despite the tantrums, the chaos, and the exhaustion—these were the moments you both would cherish forever.

requested by: @sunoos-baby

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[miyaz6ki]

watching kinich jerk off n hes nervous about it 🙏🙏

NSFW content below the cut // old ass ask 😞

fuckfuckfuckfuck why are you looking at him like that?! fuck he feels like he's gonna cum already if you tend to keep watching that intently!

there was nothing wrong in getting 'confortable' in your own room but it was another thing if you got caught jerking it to your roommate.

but damn this whole watch him get off to the thought of you thing was making him real sensitive now. no way— was he really turned on by.. the mere thought of it?!

yes to tldr!! because he was caught like a bitch in heat, moaning your name oh-so-sweetly, thinking you wouldn't hear but there you were. on the edge of the bed, and observing his fingers slowly move up and down his shaft.

"no need to be so slow just because I'm watching you know." he only flushes harder hearing your words, but if he goes too fast than what he can handle right now, he feels like he's gonna explode!!

"buuut... you know.. that's fine.. I could.. always help you though." ahhh fuck what a loser you'll think of him, his dick just spurting out a load hearing that sentence. you'd really help?

he didn't let out a single damn moan, kinich was too embarassed to face you after what just happened. his head still thrown back out of pleasure, his back forming a perfect arch.

yet another warm, strong grip was felt on his cock. he immediately sprung back up— "what- what're you doing, (name)?!" the sudden panic sets in, yet it felt so pathetic as he tried to move away but the friction against your hand was too much for him to handle.

"look like you want help. and i'll give it pretty boy. don't worry." he wasn't one to submit but damn were you hot when in control. he shrunk back to his original position and let you stroke his member instead. it'd probably feel a lot better anyway.

and better it was—the euphoric feeling of your digits running over all seven inches, and teasing the slit of his dick. he actually just might cum all over your palm if you keep stroking it like how you are right now.

"ahhn—(name)..." his face scrunched up in pleasure, your touch lasting longer as it romaed over the tip of his shaft.

"soooo good right? you like the way that feels?" and all he can really do is hum, hum that slowly turns to a moan as he tries to find the letters of your name.

this was gonna be a long night.

[madebycloud]

Her Way

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: your lap is a comfy seat, but it's also her favorite form of stress release and, well, a little something more too... words: 2.0k warnings/themes: smut 18+, mdni, established relationship, strapon reffered to as cock, bondage, blindfold, dom bottom!jinx notes: just a heads up- this is my first time ever writing anything nsfw or smutty so it wont be the best quality but i tried my best and i hope you enjoy it :P

Your lap has never, ever been a more important piece of furniture. You'd pay all the money in the world to ensure this chair's longevity. Its only use was for her to get comfortable, but its use is far more important than that.

Your hands are tied behind the chair, head leaned back, and there's nothing to look at but the white fabric wrapped around your eyes.

Your hand flexes as if gripping an invisible shoulder. You're desperate to touch her, and with your current condition, there's not a single thing you can do to her except for what she's allowing you to do.

You feel the heat of her body over yours, her small palms applying a slight pressure on your shoulders as she hovers over the silicone cock.

You wish you could take off the blindfold and look down to where the toy is buried deep inside of her, just to get a glimpse of how soaked she is, wishing you could press your hand on her slit and feel how much she's dripping. Maybe if you could see her… maybe if your hands weren't tied, you'd be able to touch her the way you've always wanted to.

Her head dips to get closer to your face, and your nose is suddenly invaded by her sweet perfume. Underneath that is her skin, her scent that you want to press even closer to get the full feel of it. Her nose brushes against yours, and you involuntarily tilt your head up to capture her mouth. “Sshh…” She's so close, but not close enough.

You feel her hand move to your mouth, her fingers pressing against your lips, pressing you to open it. At first, you don't know what she's placing in. You open your mouth, your tongue reaching out to confirm what it was as she lets out a moan when your tongue circles her nipple.

“That's it, use your tongue,” she whimpers, “You look so pretty like that—you always look pretty with your mouth on something…”

You've never felt more useful in your life. You'd touch her the way you want to. You'd touch her the way she needs to be touched. You reluctantly pull away, your mouth wet from your spit. “Please, Jinx, let me see you.”

She giggles. “...no.”

No. No? how could she say no? you need to know how much of a mess she's made—you need to know just how desperate she is. Her heat is right there, and she's keeping you from seeing how much she's soaked. 

“...please.” You manage to say after a few moments, and it's like she smiles at your words.

She's still rocking her hip against the toy. “Be good, and you might get a good look later.”

She has you in a torturous state of mind, you just want more and more, nothing is ever enough. You need her grinding down on you harder, fast, rough. You want to get out of this goddamn chair and pin her down onto something flat like a bed or the floor.

But she likes you like this. She enjoys the whine you let out. beautiful and desperate. The one she loves hearing come out of your mouth. You sound so needy, the kind of needy she wants to hear because she wants to feel needed. She knows fully that your fake cock is drenched, her slick coating the entire length of it.

This is torture. 

Your head falls back against the chair once more. “Please, Jinx, let me—wanna touch you, please.”

“No,” she says as she slows the pace, “stay still.” 

This is going to kill you.

She's going to kill you.

Her hand on your face slides up to trace your jawline. Your breathing stutters as her tongue licks at your bottom lip, and then again when it dips into your mouth, and you let her take what she wants, she licks and sucks and bites at your mouth until they feel swollen.

You hear her laugh when they pop when she pulls away because you were biting a little hard, and then you can feel her teeth as they brush against the underside of your jaw before she starts moving down your neck, the path of nips and kisses burning as she goes. Then she's sucking at your pulse point.

“You can touch me,” and the second those four words leave her mouth, you're pulling at the ropes, tugging and yanking, but they won't budge.

“I changed my mind.” She lets out a shaky laugh against your neck, which makes your hips twitch, and then she's pulling off your skin slowly, licking at the red mark she left.

“Wha—Jinx.” You pull once more on the restraint. You don't appreciate the teasing.

She knows it's getting to you. She knows you're getting desperate. You'd give anything to be able to grab her, to pull her down on you or pin her against the chair and show her how needy she's making you.

Her hand moves to loosen your blindfold, pulling it off, then tossing it to the side. “Look at me,” and so you do as she says. Her eyes dilated, her cheeks tinted pink already. She looks so perfect. “Don't take your eyes off of me.”

You nod, watching as her pretty eyes take in your expression—all desperate and wanting—you watch as they glaze over, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips.

She leans back, her hands moving to your knees as she holds herself up just enough so you can see how the cock fills her up.

You watch as her back arches and she drops her hips as hard as she can. Your mouth goes dry, no one should look this pretty. Your girl looks so perfect, and you only want to make her feel even more perfect, feel even better.

“You're so beautiful,” you whimper out, “so pretty.”

Her hands move from your knee to wrap around the chair behind your head, gripping the edge. She lifts her hips, the tip barely slipping out, and when she finally drops them down, it makes you groan, her eyes stay on you as she does it again, and you can see her biting on her lip, her grip on the chair getting tighter.

“Yeah?” she asks, her head tilting. “Am I pretty, huh?” Her hand moves up, her thumb touches your lips. She presses on your bottom lip until you open your mouth, she presses deeper, pressing down on your tongue.

You try to nod, nodding against her thumb. Her hand slips away, you watch as she sucks on her finger. “You're a little messier right now.” You can feel how her thighs twitch this time when you call her that.

She huffs, sitting back up, your eyes immediately fall to her chest. She catches you looking. Then her hand goes back up to your chin, gripping it to pull your face back up to hers. “Don't get cocky.”

“Not cocky,” you whine, your tongue peeking out to lick your lower lip, and you can see her eye follow the movement. It makes you do it again.

You can feel the heat rolling off of both of you. You're so hot, and you're positive there's a patch of sweat starting to form on the fabric that covers the chair.

Her other hand moves back to your chest, and she leans her weight against it—pressing down to keep you in place as she starts to move. She lifts her hips only to press them back down, then back up again. She rolls her hips, letting the tip of it brush against her clit.

If you didn't feel like you already had trouble breathing, looking at her definitely feels like it's suffocating you.

Your hip gives another twitch, thrusting up to meet her. You can feel the wetness she's leaving on your lap, and you want to lick her clean.

Her back arches as her head tilts back. She starts to shiver as the sweat starts sticking to whatever skin it can reach, and her hair is sticking to her neck and face.

You look down to see her stomach muscles clench every time she drops down onto the fake cock. 

“I said, look at me.”

Your head goes back up before she can do anything.

“I want you to watch and see how pretty you make me.” Her words are broken up with sharp gasps, and she uses her grip on your chin and chest to keep you right where she wants you.

You bite down on your own lip, watching her eyes go from half-lidded. Your arms start to flex, pulling on the ropes as if trying to pull free so you can reach for the sweat rolling down her breast.

When your chin is released, her hand lands on your shoulder. “You look really good like this.” she murmurs. “Like a present just waiting to be unwrapped.” 

She leans in closer, her soft breasts pressing against yours, arms wrapping around your shoulders. You tilt your head, licking a stripe up the side of her neck when you're able to.

She let out a moan when the tip hit a certain spot inside her because it's just right, and she moans as she hits it again and again. Her moan is low and right in your ear, and you want to hear more of them, so you keep going, your tongue licking up her neck, and when you get to her jaw, you bite down, not enough to hurt, just to make her shiver.

She leans her head back, exposing more of her neck to you, and you take the chance to mark it up. It doesn't matter if it leaves a stain on her skin, she'll just love wearing it anyway.

Her hand moves to grip the back of your head, her nails scratching against your scalp. You bite down harder and suck on her pulse point, and when you finally pull back, you get to see your mark staining her neck.

She takes advantage of your absence by taking your chin and pulling your face back to hers. As soon as you're looking at her, her mouth is on yours, tongue slipping between your lips. You moan into her mouth, tasting her as she kisses you. Her tongue pushes in, and her other hand moves to the other side of your neck. 

Then she pulls away from your mouth, you're about to chase it back because you don't want the kiss to break, but her hand moves up to grip your chin and pull it back. A thick string of spit connects the two before it breaks, her gaze locks on the strand of saliva that drops onto your chin. You're panting as her eye slowly moves to look back up at you.

Jinx's hair is messy and matted. Her tongue licks her lips, making them shine in a way that you want to capture it with your mouth. She's breathing heavier, her chest rising and falling with each puff of air, and you can hear the whimpers coming out of her like they're amplified. She's so pretty looking like this—a mess that you made.

She doesn't look like this for just anyone. There's only one person who ever gets to see her like this, one person she trusts to have this view, and it's you.

“Almost forgot how you make me feel,” she whispers, and her eyes flicker down to the silicone as her pretty cunt slides out and back in it again.

Almost is a key word she uses because her hips are starting to pick up a quicker pace. Her eyes are glued on your face again, watching as you start to struggle to keep them open. You don't look away, though. It's getting harder to keep them open because she knows what her pace is doing to you—she knows you want to shut your eyes, but you don't because ‘almost forgot’ means remember.

Her breath stutters as she drops her hips down to meet the base. The chair makes this creaking noise, and she laughs a little. “Careful. You might break that chair.”

The chair won't be the only thing breaking if she doesn't allow you to touch her.

“I'd love to,” you hiss, “if my hands weren't tied.”

Jinx's mouth twitches into a smirk, and her hand moves to push her hair back. “That's my fault.”

[prettyangellllll]

You let him hit raw for first time

Pairing: rafe cameron x bitchy!reader

Summary: after he was beghing you for months to hit it raw you finally let him. But he gets too excited to last long

Warnings:( Smut (MDNI), Unprotected sex, Praise & degradation, Rafe being obsessed with you, Slight power struggle, Bitchy attitude (from you), Begging (from him), Possessiveness, Probably some light choking/gripping, A lot of dirty talk

----

"Come on, baby. Just once. Just let me feel you."

It had been Rafe's favorite thing to beg for since the start of your relationship. His obsession. His mission.

Every time he had you underneath him, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his hands gripping at your waist or your wrists or your throat—he'd ask. He'd plead. He'd run his lips over your ear, whispering filthy promises about how good it would feel, how much better it would be, how you’d never want to go back.

And every time, you told him no.

You liked making him work for it. You liked the way his jaw clenched, the way his grip got tighter, the way his frustration seeped into every rough thrust. Because Rafe Cameron didn’t lose, and telling him no? That made him desperate to win.

But tonight?

Tonight, you felt mean.

Maybe it was the way he’d been looking at you all night, the way his hands had barely left your body, like he was starving. Maybe it was the way he pulled you onto his lap the second you got to his house, hands palming your ass, lips dragging along your jaw. Maybe it was the way you wanted to ruin him.

So, when he kissed you breathless and muttered against your lips, "Please, baby, just once," you smirked.

"Fine."

Rafe froze. His pupils dilated so fast you thought he might pass out. His lips parted, brows pulling together like he was trying to process what he just heard.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "You heard me."

And then?

He lost his fucking mind.

The second his cock pressed inside, with nothing in between, he let out a sound you’d never heard before. Like an actual, feral groan, deep in his chest, his body shuddering against yours as he bottomed out.

"Fuck," he gasped, dropping his head to your shoulder. His hands gripped your thighs like he wanted to bruise them, like he needed to ground himself. "Fuck. You feel—Jesus."

His breath was hot against your neck, his whole body shaking with restraint. Like he wanted to ruin you, but he was trying—failing—to keep himself together.

"You good?" you teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Rafe let out a low, humorless laugh before he pulled back to look at you. His blue eyes were dark, wild, possessive.

"Oh, baby," he rasped, voice dripping with something dangerous. His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapping around your throat, tilting your chin up. "You just fucked up."

Rafe didn’t move for a second. He just stayed there, buried inside you to the hilt, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt around him. Like he was already dreading the moment he had to pull out.

“Holy shit,” he rasped, voice all shaky and breathless.

You smirked, just a little, running your hands up his arms. “What? You’re not gonna punk out on me, are you?”

That snapped something in him.

Rafe let out a choked laugh, but there was nothing funny about the way he gripped your waist. “You think I’m gonna tap out? Oh, baby.” His fingers dug into your skin, holding you down. “I’m just trying not to bust the second I move.”

You laughed, but the sound cut off when he rolled his hips—just once, slow, deep.

His whole body shuddered. His head dropped forward, forehead pressing into yours, his jaw clenching like he was physically fighting his own body.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, voice wrecked. His breath came out in short, sharp bursts, and his grip on you only got tighter. “Oh my God, this is—this is so much better—”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, dragging your nails up his back. “C’mon, baby,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “I thought you were dying for this. Don’t tell me you can’t handle it.”

That did it.

Rafe’s hands jerked your hips up, making you gasp, making you feel just how hard he was struggling to keep it together.

“You love running that mouth, don’t you?” he gritted out, glaring down at you. “Think you’re so fucking funny.”

You smirked up at him, dragging your fingers through his hair. “You begged for this, Cameron. If you can’t handle it, just say so.”

That was the final straw.

Rafe let out a sharp breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were still talking, still teasing him when he was this close to fucking losing it.

“Okay,” he muttered, half to himself, like he was officially done playing nice. His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing you into the mattress, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eyes when he said—

“Don’t fucking move.”

Then, he pulled out—all the way—before slamming back in, forcing a gasp from your lips as he stretched you again.

Rafe let out a broken groan, his body shuddering as he tried—tried—not to let it get the best of him. But you were so tight, so fucking warm, and there was nothing, nothing, in between.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Baby, I swear to God, I can’t—”

You laughed, breathless. “Already?”

His grip tightened around your throat in warning. “Shut up,” he muttered, voice shaking.

You did, but only because you were too distracted by the way he was trembling above you, holding himself back, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw popped.

You could feel how desperate he was. You could see the way his abs tensed, his muscles flexing as he fought for every ounce of self-control he had.

He wanted to ruin you. He needed to.

But he was so close, and it was killing him.

Rafe let out a shaky breath, glaring down at you. “I hate you,” he muttered, his voice all breathless and wrecked.

You smirked. “No, you don’t.”

And then, you moved. Just a little. Just enough to make him jerk inside you, to make his whole body seize up.

“Oh, you bitch,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he thrust forward, his restraint finally snapping.

[liwinly]

CHASiNG DOPAMiNE ── CATCHiNG YOU !

───── late night car rides and the way sunghoon looks at you messes with your head ( and heart )

MORE ( 800 ) . fluff , romance ✶ skinship , slightly suggestive

rbs & feedback please !

The night air feels thick. The windows are cracked open, letting the breeze slip into the car. City lights blur past like lazy brushstrokes, but all you can feel is the weight of Sunghoon’s gaze flicking between you and the road.

You try not to squirm in your seat, fingers gripping the hem of your skirt. It’s been like this for weeks — this weird, heavy tension hanging in the air whenever you're alone with him.

It’s not like you planned to fall for your best friend’s brother. You knew Sunghoon before he even got his license, back when his hair was too long and he barely talked. But somewhere between then and now, he grew into... well, him. The same sharp jawline, same stupid little eye smile — but everything about him feels different now. More careful. More... intense.

“Why’re you so quiet?” Sunghoon’s voice breaks through the hum of the radio. His fingers drum lazily against the steering wheel.

You force a shrug, pretending like your heart isn't doing that weird stuttery thing in your chest.

“Just tired.”

“Liar.”

You glance at him, but he's already smirking. He knows you too well. You hate that about him.

Sunghoon shifts in his seat, hand reaching down to mess with the AC. The air gets cooler, but your face feels hotter.

His fingers brush against your knee. Barely. Almost like an accident.

But you know better.

Your breath catches, eyes snapping to him, but he just keeps driving — like he didn't just short-circuit your whole nervous system with a single touch.

"You always get quiet when you're nervous," he says casually, like he's not absolutely wrecking you right now.

"I'm not nervous."

"Sure."

You want to punch him. You want to kiss him. You don't know which one would ruin your life more.

The car slows at a red light, bathing the inside in soft, red glow. Sunghoon's fingers trail up — slow, deliberate — brushing against the edge of your thigh.

Your heart is pounding.

"You should stop doing that," you mumble, eyes locked on the windshield.

"Doing what?"

"You know what."

There's a beat of silence — and then you feel him lean in. Just a little. Close enough that his breath warms the shell of your ear.

"Why?"

You hate him. You really, really hate him.

The light turns green. He doesn't move away.

"I thought you were tired," he teases, voice lower now — almost lazy. Like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"I am."

"Liar."

You squeeze your thighs together. He definitely saw that. His smirk twitches wider, but he finally pulls back, like he's sparing you.

The rest of the drive is quiet — except it's not. The whole car feels heavy with unsaid things. The kind of silence that feels louder than anything.

When he finally pulls into your driveway, you're halfway out of the car before he can even kill the engine. But Sunghoon moves fast. His fingers wrap around your wrist, gentle but firm.

"Wait."

You freeze.

His eyes flick down — to your lips, then back up — like he's fighting himself.

You feel like you can't breathe.

"I... probably shouldn't like you this much," he murmurs, almost to himself.

Your heart lurches.

"You like me?"

His grip on your wrist tightens, just barely.

"I've liked you since you started stealing my hoodies."

Your whole brain short-circuits. Because... yeah. Maybe you've been doing that.

"I didn't think you'd notice."

"I always notice you."

You swear the whole world tilts a little.

His thumb brushes against your pulse, slow and steady — like he's memorizing the way you're falling apart under his touch.

"Sunghoon..."

He leans in — close enough that you can smell his stupid cologne. Close enough that all you have to do is tilt your chin up and he'd be kissing you.

"Tell me to stop."

You can't. You really, really can't.

So you don't.

Instead, your fingers curl into the collar of his jacket, pulling him in the rest of the way. His lips slot against yours like they were always supposed to be there — soft and warm and so painfully slow.

It's not a perfect kiss. Your teeth knock, and you're pretty sure you're shaking, but none of that matters.

Because the second his hand slides to the back of your neck, tilting your head just right — you're gone. Completely, hopelessly gone.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours.

"You always get quiet when you're nervous," he whispers again, smug as hell.

You flick him on the forehead.

"Shut up."

His grin stretches wide — bunny teeth and everything — and you realize you're so, so screwed.

── .✦ @amoressb @chrrific @slayyuna @woniefication @ijustwannareadstuff20 @cheruphic @irasvr

[incomplete-leclerc]

　𝗣𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗖.　andrea kimi antonelli · #12

　　　cuddling with your best friend isn't weird, right?

genres : fluff ... best friend to lovers ... kimi x fem!reader.　 request : anon for kimi + “just never figured you for a little spoon.” for the 100 event.　word count : 0.6k.　warnings : none.　 note : okay we are so back 💪💪 (kinda i hope, pls let me not disappear for a month after this).　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

You knew Kimi like the back of your hand. Being best friends for too many years to count meant picking up on all the little things that others would have to dig deep to find out. Kimi was the one person who never took you by surprise, who you could read like an open book. 

But on the rare occasion, he still managed to catch you off guard.

“You want me to cuddle you?” you echoed the words that had left the boy’s mouth seconds ago, frozen in slight shock. 

It wasn’t the cuddling that particularly surprised you. Kimi was affectionate and so were you. Cuddling wasn’t foreign for you two— platonic cuddling, of course. But in terms of who was the big or little spoon, there were always silent set rules. Kimi seemed to always be the one spooning you whenever hugs turned into cuddles. His request to be the recipient was uncharacteristic for him. 

“Yes. Is that weird?” His tentative and slightly confused voice at your reaction made a smile start to form on your lips. Your best friend was adorable. Always clarifying and questioning as if the world was spinning too fast for him. It wasn’t that he was slow or unable to pick up on things, but rather he prioritized your comfort more than anything. Even if he knew what all your expressions and inflections meant in his head, sometimes he wondered if one day he would misjudge. It was always safer to just ask.

“For you? Maybe. Just never figured you for a little spoon,” you replied, your smile now growing into a grin, one that teased Kimi without words.

“Well, when you put it like that—“

You grabbed his arm and pulled quickly, yanking you both down onto your bed.

“What are you doing?” Kimi pried, rushed words falling from his lips as your arms quickly encircled around his torso.

“Cuddling you. Just like you wanted.” 

The smile that you gave Kimi— that self satisfactory mischievous one that he didn’t like to admit he adored so much— made his heart drop to his stomach. 

Hugs with you were never weird. Cuddles with you were never weird. Always in a platonic, best friend kind of way, naturally. Except, this suddenly didn’t feel like something best friends did. 

Heat crawled up Kimi’s neck as he tried desperately to ground himself to something before he made things weird. It was a classic cliche— that boys could never just stay friends with a girl. He had always joked about it with you in the past, proudly boasting how you both defied the odds. He remembered saying how he would never be able to see you in a romantic light. 

That was almost 5 years ago now, and the Kimi back then felt very different from the Kimi now. The one that you were holding in your arms, way too close for him to focus on anything else in the room except for you, you, you. 

Your gaze drifted over his look of surprise and the slight flush on his cheeks. You noticed him slowly start to relax in your hold after a few seconds, slow blinks of his brown eyes staring into yours. You couldn’t help but find it comforting, how he fit so well in your arms, curled up so close.

Kimi was the one person that you could read like an open book, and right now your eyes were skipping over the words, putting together the sentences in your brain, the understanding clear as day. 

Maybe what you had with Kimi wasn’t as platonic as you had thought.

[melanchoire]

cld you do giselle and reader roomates who “help” eachother when horny? ^^

cw: ass eating, cunnilingus, fingering, scissoring, 69ning.

i see giselle capable of doing this 😭 you could be sitting on the couch of the living room on any given day of the week in the afternoon, focused on completing homework when she plops down on the couch and says “oh my god i’m so horny right now” 💀

it would take you so by surprise that you would have to turn to look at her hoping that she was joking, but she looks so frustrated and disappointed that you feel like she’s not completely joking...

you know giselle’s reputation, her typical routine of partying all weekend and kissing or sleeping with as many people as possible, and you weren’t against that! she is attractive and has a hot body, you would fall for it too

“can’t you just, i don’t know, text one of your many boyfriends?”

“ugh, sexting isn’t the same as fucking. i want to get laid, not dick pics.”

and well— you loved giselle's honesty, but sometimes it was too much even for you or for her own good

“don’t you want to help me? you know, fuck and stuff.”

“giselle what the fuck—?”

“oh shut up, (y/n).” and she takes the computer off your lap and places it on the coffee table, climbs onto your lap and takes your hands to guide them to her ass 😳 you would have refused if it weren’t for the fact that you were focused on her tits practically pressed against your face and the feeling of her ass in your hands… giselle is hot as hell and you wouldn’t miss the chance to fuck her! honestly, it’s something you’ve wanted for a long time

dry hump with giselle on your lap with a steamy session of messy and sloppy kisses as you two grope each other’s bodies, squeezing tits and pinching nipples through the thin fabric of t-shirts or gropping each other's asses playfully 😵‍💫 both giselle and you wanted this for a long time and it shows in how you never hesitate before your actions

69ning with gigi with her on top 🥴 you always looked at her ass when she wore very short pants or just ones that really accentuated her attributes, so when she made you lay on your back on the couch you almost drooled watching her sit on your face with her pussy on your mouth and her ass lowering onto your face...

moaning into each other’s pussy because you two are fingering each other at a fast pace, massaging her thighs and squeezing the skin between your fingers or spanking her to make her squeal and leave finger marks on her creamy skin🫠 taking advantage to start to tease giselle, parting her buttocks and giving a long and slow one all over her slit, from her clit to her ass, grinning against her when you hear the shaky moan that leaves her lips

giselle can only moan against your pussy, and that’s all for giselle to start enjoying your teasing. stopping the actions of her mouth on you to end up sitting properly on your face, tilting her head and throwing her messy hair over her shoulder as she moves her hips against your mouth and begins to lose herself in pleasure 🥴 but she’s not selfish! she knows you’re just as horny as she is, so being the kind roommate she is, she ends up riding your mouth at the same time as she fingers you and uses her other hand to rub your clit 💕

even when her juices are gushing out of her pussy and soaking your entire face, she's not done yet! but the moment she lifted her ass from your face she directly positioned herself between your legs, aligning her pussy with yours but in a reverse way in which she was turning her back to you because she enjoyed more than she should the sharp spankings that you provided her at all times 🥰

gigi being so exhausted but wanting to continue 😔 laying on her side and lazily making out with you, pressing her sticky, sweaty body against yours and saying “c’mon, (y/n). just one more. i need one more.” looking so attractive with her messy hair and sweaty forehead 😩 giselle being so insatiable that you don’t understand how she can calm her needs when she is alone 😭 but she is lucky that from now on, whenever she has a problem, her roommate will be here willing to help her

[theonottsbxtch]

LOW LIFE | LN4

an: LMAO DID I JUST ACCIDENTLY WRITE MY OWN FIRST SMUT LMAO @iimplicitt IS STILL IN SHOCK BUT IT JUST HAPPENED.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT MDNI (18+), drug use, cheating, graphic? sex

LANDO NORRIS WAS THE KING OF THE ICE—MVP, team captain, the kind of player scouts drooled over. Fast, ruthless, unstoppable. On the rink, he was untouchable. Off it? He was a ticking time bomb.

The parties, the girls, the drugs—it all blurred together in a haze of neon lights and bad decisions. He lived for the rush, for the next high, for the next night he wouldn’t remember. And then came her.

She was off-limits. Oscar’s girl.

Oscar, his teammate, his so-called best mate, the one guy who still believed Lando had a shot at going pro if he could just get his act together. And she was his. The perfect hockey girlfriend—pretty, polished, and loyal, at least in theory.

But Lando saw the cracks. The way her gaze lingered when Oscar wasn’t looking. The way she bit her lip when he got too close. She wasn’t as untouchable as she wanted to be. And Lando? He never turned down a challenge.

One night, a club. Oscar was out of town. She was bored. One too many drinks, a little bit of molly, and suddenly, she wasn’t resisting anymore.

Lando didn’t love her. He didn’t even know if he liked her. But he knew she’d come back. They always did.

Their affair was a game, a sick addiction—sneaking around, pretending there were rules when there weren’t. She hated him. She wanted him. She swore it would stop, but it never did.

Then the cracks shattered.

A video. A night they couldn’t take back. It spread through the team like wildfire, through the uni, through Oscar.

Lando never claimed to be a good guy. He never pretended to play fair. And now? Now, he was about to lose everything—his captaincy, his shot at the league, his best mate.

But the worst part?

He still wanted her.

And he was willing to burn the whole fucking world down to keep her.

7 months ago:

The first time Lando really noticed her, she was wearing Oscar’s jersey.

She was standing just outside the rink after a game, her hair still damp from the cold, laughing at something Oscar had said. Lando should’ve kept walking, but something about the way she smiled made him pause. It wasn’t just pretty—it was effortless, like she wasn’t even trying.

And then she looked at him.

Just a flicker, a half-second too long, before she turned back to Oscar. But Lando felt it. That awareness.

He ignored it. At least at first.

It wasn’t like he needed another complication. His whole life was a balancing act—keeping his grades just high enough to stay eligible, keeping his nose clean enough for the scouts to stay interested, keeping his habits in check enough that the coaches didn’t start asking too many questions.

Besides, he had options. Plenty of them. Girls who didn’t come with consequences.

But she was different.

Not just because she was Oscar’s, but because she wasn’t like the others. She didn’t throw herself at him. She barely looked at him when Oscar was around. She should have been safe.

She wasn’t.

The first mistake was at a party. 

The whole team was celebrating a win, the kind of night that blurred into neon lights and sticky floors. Lando had already taken something by the time she showed up, a slow burn in his veins, turning everything soft around the edges.

He saw her first.

She was wearing something tight, something short. Not for him, but it didn’t matter. Because he saw the way her eyes flicked to him when she thought Oscar wasn’t watching. The way her breath hitched when he brushed past her.

She stayed close that night. Close enough that he could smell her perfume, close enough that when she reached for a drink, her fingers skimmed his.

Oscar left early. She didn’t.

Neither did Lando.

It wasn’t planned. He wouldn’t even call it intentional. But the second they were alone, the tension cracked like a shot to the glass.

“You’re drunk,” she murmured when he backed her against the wall.

“So are you.”

She should’ve pushed him away. She didn’t.

And when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

It was a mistake. One they should’ve never repeated.

But they did.

It became a pattern.

It became an addiction. 

Oscar would go to bed early after a game, and she’d stay up just a little longer. Oscar would go grab drinks, and she’d glance at Lando across the room. It was never enough to prove anything—but it was enough.

Enough to make it impossible to stop.

The first time he fucked her, it was after another party, both of them high, half-drunk, caught between a hotel room door and a terrible decision. She was gasping his name, fingers digging into his back, and he didn’t even feel guilty.

Because it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along.

He told himself it wouldn’t happen again.

But it did.

Again. And again. And again.

She never left Oscar. She never tried. Maybe she told herself it wasn’t real, that Lando was just another bad habit, another high she couldn’t quit.

But Lando knew better.

Because she wasn’t the only one addicted.

He should’ve stopped before it got messy. Before the video. Before Oscar found out.

But Lando never stopped anything.

Not until it was too late.

And by then, it wasn’t just his career on the line.

It was everything.

The morning before the end of her world, she woke up to a pounding headache and a sinking feeling in her stomach.

The room was too bright, the hotel curtains half-open, letting in the early morning light that made everything look too real. A slow, creeping nausea settled in as she forced herself to blink.

The sheets weren’t hers.

The bed wasn’t hers.

The shirt she was wearing sure as hell wasn’t hers.

Fuck.

She sat up too fast, the room tilting as last night hit her in flashes - booze, a long drive, Lando’s hand on her thigh in the car, his breath against her neck in the elevator. The taste of him still on her tongue.

Panic clawed up her throat.

And more importantly- where was Oscar?

Her heart was hammering as she shoved the sheets away, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, but before she could move, a lazy voice cut through the silence.

“Relax.”

She turned, pulse spiking, to find Lando sprawled on the other side of the bed. Shirtless, half covered in the sheets, arm thrown over his forehead like he didn’t have a single fucking care in the world.

Like this wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” he muttered, blinking at her through heavy lidded eyes. His voice was hoarse from sleep, slow and thick, and so fucking casual it made her skin craw.

She was about to be sick.

“Where the fuck are we?” she snapped, voice sharper than she meant it to be.

Lando groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair before reaching for something on the nightstand. “Couple hours out. Middle of nowhere. You insisted we get away before Oscar got home, remember?”

She didn’t. But she believed it.

Her fingers clenched around the hem of the shirt, his shirt, realising she wasn’t wearing anything else beneath it. Her stomach twisted.

“This is bad,” she whispered. “This is really fucking bad.”

Lando just hummed, reaching for the little plastic bag sitting next to his phone. She watched in muted horror as he dipped his pinky finger into the powder and brought it to his nose, inhaling it like it was nothing. Like this wasn’t a complete fucking disaster.

“Chill,” he muttered, voice nasally as he sniffed again. “You'll give yourself wrinkles stressing like that. Shit, you’re stressing me out.”

She stared at him, breath coming too fast, too shallow. “Lando, Oscar is going to kill me.”

At that, he actually laughed.

“Kill you?” He scoffed, shaking his head before leaning back against the pillows, watching her through hooded eyes. “No, sweetheart. If anything, he’s gonna kill me.” He tapped a finger against his chest, smirking. “And I don’t plan on dying today, so…”

He reached for her wrist before she could move, tugging her back onto the bed like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Stay.”

She resisted, barely, fingers digging into the sheets, trying to hold onto whatever little self-control she had left.

“I need to go,” she muttered.

Lando tugged her closer. Not hard, not rough. Just enough to make it impossible to leave.

“Not yet.”

Her breath caught.

“Land-”

His lips brushed her bare shoulder. Just a ghost of a touch. Just enough to make her shiver.

“You made your choice last night,” he murmured. “Might as well enjoy it.”

She wanted to push him away.

She didn’t.

Because Lando was right.

She had already made her choice.

And deep down, they both knew-

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Lando’s breath was warm against her skin, his lips ghosting over her shoulder, lazy but deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew she wasn’t going to pull away.

And she should.

She should push him off, grab her things, and get the fuck out of this hotel room before it got even worse.

But his fingers were already sliding up her thigh beneath the sheets, slow and teasing, his grip just firm enough to make her breath hitch.

“Lando…” Her voice came out weaker than she wanted, barley a whisper.

“Mm?” He hummed against her skin, his mouth brushing the side of her neck now, his stubble scratching just enough to make her shiver.

She swallowed hard. “I need to go.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening on her thigh as he pulled her fully into his lap, pressing her back against his bare chest.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, nosing along the curve of her jaw. His other hand came up to push her hair aside, exposing more of her neck. “But you’re still here.” 

She clenched her thighs together, but Lando’s hand was already between them, fingers tracing just under the hem of his oversized shirt.

She hated how easily he could do this - how he could make her body betray her even when her brain was screaming at her to stop.

Hated how much she wanted him.

His hand slid higher, his fingers grazing just over the lace of her panties, a teasing brush that sent heat curling through her stomach.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” she breathed.

Lando grinned against her neck, his teeth catching just enough skin to make her gasp.

“And yet…” His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.

“You’re still in my bed.”

And just like that- she stopped fighting it.

She let him pull her back down, let herself sink into the sheets, into him, into the inevitable.

Because she knew the truth. 

She was never leaving.

Not really.

Lando’s hands were everywhere.

Sliding up the curve of her thighs, gripping her hips as he pulled her back against him, his breath hot and slow against her neck. She could feel him - hard and insistent, pressing against her.

She should stop this.

She should.

But then his fingers were slipping up higher beneath her borrowed shirt, skimming over her stomach, higher-

Her breath hitched.

He smirked against her skin.

“See?” His voice was low, rough with sleep and something darker. “I knew you weren’t in a rush to leave.”

She wasn’t.

Not when his lips were trailing down her neck, his hands gripping her like he owned her. Like there was no point in pretending she was anyone else’s.

Because wasn’t that the truth?

Oscar might have had her first. 

Might still think he had her now.

But this?

This was Lando’s.

And she fucking hated herself for it.

He nudged her thighs further apart, his fingers dragging back down her stomach, slow, teasing-

Then the phone rang.

A shrill vibration from the nightstand, cutting through the thick haze of heat and need.

She froze.

Lando didn’t.

His fingers kept moving, sliding lower, dipping into her, his mouth brushing her ear.

“Don’t answer it.”

She swallowed, pulse hammering in her throat.

The phone kept ringing.

Lando let out a slow, exasperated sigh before reaching past her, grabbing it off the table without properly looking at the screen.

And then he smirked.

“You should probably get this,” he murmured, turning the screen towards her.

Her stomach dropped.

Oscar.

Her hands were shaking as she took the phone from him, but before she could sit up properly, Lando grabbed her wrist, dragging her back down against him.

“Don’t move,” he muttered.

She shot him a glare, but he just grinned, fingers now idly tracing circles against her bare thigh and she hesitated- then answered.

“H-hey,” she said, voice strained.

Oscar’s voice came through the line, casual. Trusting.

“Hey, darling. Can we talk when you’re back from your mum’s?”

Lando grinned.

She felt sick.

Oscar exhaled a slow breath. “The boys showed me this video, and I want to talk about it.”

Her heart stopped.

“I don’t think it’s you, but it’s best we clear the air with what the guys are saying, it’s silly I know.” Oscar continued while she struggled to catch her breath.

Lando must’ve felt her tense, because he laughed - low and lazy, dragging his fingers back up her thigh and in between them, completely unbothered as her entire fucking world crumbles aroundher.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t speak.

Because she knew.

She knew exactly what video he was talking about.

And it sure as fuck wasn’t a highlight reel.

It was the video that made her call Lando last night.

It was the video that led her to this hotel room.

Her hand tightened around the phone.

Her mouth had gone dry, her stomach twisting into a brutal knot, but she forced a weak, “Yeah, sure.”

Oscar exhaled, oblivious. “Cool. I love you.”

She hung up.

Didn’t say it back.

The second the call disconnected, Lando plucked the phone from her fingers and tossed it onto the nightstand.

Then he laughed again.

A low, smug, wicked sound as his hand made itself comfortable in between her thighs, his mouth ghosting over her neck.

“Well,” he murmured, dragging his teeth over her skin. “That’s unfortunate.”

She clenched her jaw. “You’re a fucking dick.”

He hummed. “Yup.” His fingers teasing over her already aching core.

She wasn’t meant to be feeling this way.

“But as I said before, you’re still here.”

She should leave.

She should be horrified.

Instead, her body betrayed her.

She gasped as his fingers stroked slow, deliberate circles against her, her back arching as heat curled through her stomach.

Guilt tangled with need, twisting into something dangerous, something irresistible.

Her boyfriend had just told her he loved her.

And here she was- spreading her legs for his fucking teammate.

She hated herself.

But she didn’t stop.

Didn’t fight it when Lando rolled her onto her back, his dark eyes burning with amusement, with something possessive.

“You feel guilty,” he murmured, pulling her shirt off.

She didn’t answer.

He smirked. “Good.”

Then he was inside her, stretching her open in one slow, merciless thrust.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“Fuck-”

Lando groaned, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her closer, deeper, his mouth brushing over hers in something that wasn’t quite a kiss.

“You think about him?” he whispered, rolling his hips, making her whimper. “You think about your boyfriend while you let his teammate fuck you?”

Her nails dug into his back. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, slow and sinful before grabbing her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“Say my name.”

She shook her head, panting, her body trembling beneath him.

“Say it,” he demanded, thrusting deeper.

She broke.

“Lando.”

His smirk was pure sin.

“Good girl.”

And then she stopped thinking.

Stopped caring.

Let herself drown in the feeling of him, in the way he ruined her, in the way she let him.

And the guilt?

It only made it better.

Her body was betraying her.

Pleasure coiled tight in her stomach, hotter, sharper, with every brutal thrust. She could feel it building, could feel herself unraveling under Lando’s hands, under his weight, under the way he was destroying her.

And he knew it.

He could feel it.

His smirk was pure sin as he drove into her, as he dragged his teeth over her neck, sucking a hickey just where Oscar would see it later.

“You gonna come for me?” His voice was dark, teasing, bruising on her hips. “Gonna let me fuck you out of every last bit of guilt?”

She shook her head, a whimper escaping her lips, but he just chuckled.

“Liar.”

He dropped his hand between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow, devastating circles that made her back arch, her body tightening around him.

“Come on,” he whispered, voice dripping with wicked amusement. “Be a good girl and let go. Let him hear it when he calls back.”

Her breath hitched.

God, she hated him.

Hated the way he knew exactly how to push her, how to twist the knife in her guilt, how to make her body betray her completely.

Because she was close.

So fucking close.

And the Lando pressed his forehead against hers, chain dangling between the two of them, his breath hot, his voice a low growl-

“Come for me, cheater.”

She broke.

Her entire body tense, pleasure ripping through her in waves so intense she thought she might black out. She gasped, nails sinking into his shoulders, a wrecked moan spilling from her lips-

And Lando fucking laughed.

Low, sinister, utterly satisfied.

“That’s my girl.”

He didn’t slow. Didn’t give her a second to recover before he took her again, chasing his own release, using her for it, dragging her deeper into his twisted, fucked-up world.

And she let him

Because at this point, there was no coming back.

Her body was wrecked.

Still trembling, still pulsing around him, her mind fogged with the aftershocks of her orgasm- but Lando wasn’t stopping.

He wasn’t done with her.

He gripped her thighs and pushed them wider, dragging her even deeper onto his cock, making her whimper from the sensitivity.

“Too much?” His voice was teasing, smug, but there was something cruel under it, something that enjoyed watching her squirm.

She nodded, breathless, her whole body shivering-

But he just smirked.

“Too bad.”

His thrusts slowed, but they were deep, drawn out, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside her. She gasped, her legs twitching, hands gripping at his biceps, trying to ground herself, but Lando was relentless. 

“You can take it,” he muttered, dragging a hand up her stomach, hand pressing down on her lower belly. “You’re already so fucked out, but I bet you’ll come for me again.”

She shook her head, biting her lip hard enough to hurt, trying to fight the pleasure that was already creeping back in-

He chuckled darkly.

“Cute that you think you have a choice.”

Then his hand slid between them, fingers finding her overstimulated clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

Her whole body jerked, a strangled sound leaving her throat.

“L-Lando.”

“I love hearing you say my name like that,” he murmured, brushing his lips over her ear. “All soft. All fucked out.”

She whimpered, a tear slipping down her cheek from the intensity, but he just licked it off her skin, laughing under his breath.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, his voice mocking, his fingers never stopping. “Feeling guilty?”

Yes.

So fuckign much.

But her body didn’t care.

Because she was close again, pleasure building fast, even more devastating than before.

Lando felt it. He felt the way she clenched around him, the way her thighs trembled, the way she was completely at his mercy.

And he loved it.

“Come for me again, cheater,” he whispered, his thrusts getting sharper and faster. “Come while your boyfriend is waiting to talk to you.”

That broke her.

Her second orgasm hit like a gunshot, pleasure searing through her like white-hot lightning. She cried out, body locking up, vision blurring, and Lando groaned as she clenched around him, taking everything he gave her.

Her mind went blank.

She couldn’t think.

Could barely breathe.

And Lando?

He just grinned.

Because she knew why she came back to him every time.

Because she was completely his now.

And there was no going back.

Poor Oscar.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

[00valentina-writes00]

Doggy style with vi :3? Vi's the one behind us

♡♥︎ BREAK ME, BABY ♥︎♡

Warnings: strap-on sex (Vi using her pink strap), doggy style, rough sex, fast-paced (jackhammering), hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, slight dumbification, Vi being relentless, reader being wrecked.

Vi wasn’t holding back.

She never did, but tonight?

Tonight, she was on a mission.

The bed creaked violently beneath you, the sharp slap of her hips against your ass echoing through the room, accompanied by the obscene, wet squelching of her strap slamming into you over and over again.

Your body jerked forward with every thrust, your hands clawing at the sheets, struggling to keep yourself upright as Vi fucked into you with no mercy, her grip on your hips bruising.

“F-Fuck—Vi—” Your voice broke, barely more than a desperate, breathless cry.

Behind you, Vi grinned, her breath hot against your sweat-damp skin as she leaned down, her toned chest pressing against your back.

“Yeah?” she rasped, mocking, her voice hoarse from exertion, from wrecking you for the past hour. “S’too much, baby? Can’t take it?”

Her pace didn’t falter—not for a second.

She was relentless, hips driving forward, burying her thick pink strap so deep inside you that you swore you could feel it in your fucking throat.

You sobbed, face-down in the mattress, the pressure, the fullness, the fucking stretch making you see stars.

Vi chuckled, the sound dark, cocky, possessive.

“Aw, baby, that’s cute,” she purred, her calloused fingers snaking up your back, curling into your hair—yanking you up so your back arched beautifully.

Your gasp turned into a whimper, your scalp burning, but fuck—you loved it.

Vi knew you loved it.

“Tell me,” she growled, her breath hot against your ear. “Who’s fucking you this good, huh?”

You couldn’t answer.

You literally couldn’t—your words choked by the overwhelming pleasure, by the way her strap hit every perfect spot, by the way too much, too good feeling crawling up your spine.

“Uh-uh, don’t go dumb on me now, sweetheart,” she mocked, slapping your ass hard, the sting making you jolt. “Use your words.”

“I-I—” You sobbed, your head spinning, your thighs quivering from the sheer force of her thrusts.

Vi tch’d, yanking your head back further, her pace somehow getting faster, harder, more punishing—

“Fucking say it.”

“You—Vi, it’s you, fuck—”

Your scream cracked as she slammed even deeper, your arms giving out, your body collapsing fully onto the mattress, letting Vi manhandle you however the fuck she wanted.

She groaned, hands gripping your ass, spreading you open, watching the way your soaked pussy swallowed every inch of her strap.

“God, look at you,” she gritted out, voice tight, shaky, like she was barely holding herself together. “Taking me so fuckin’ well, baby. You were made for this dick, huh?”

You couldn’t even process words anymore.

Your body shook, your jaw slack, your vision blurry as she kept fucking into you with that merciless, jackrabbit pace—giving you no chance to breathe, no room to recover, no way to run from the pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

Vi grinned, feeling you clench around her strap, hearing the high, desperate little moans spilling from your lips.

“You close, baby?”

You nodded frantically, legs trembling, thighs burning from the sheer force of her thrusts.

Vi smirked, digging her fingers into your hips, bruising, possessive, determined to keep you there, pinned, helpless as she fucked you into oblivion.

“Then fucking cum for me.”

And fuck, you did.

Your whole body locked up, a strangled, broken sob ripping from your throat as the orgasm slammed through you like a truck, your vision going white, your limbs twitching uncontrollably.

Vi groaned, watching you come undone, watching your pussy squeeze her strap, watching your body completely surrender to her.

She let you ride it out, slowing just barely, drawing out every last shockwave of pleasure—

But she didn’t stop.

Not even when your body started shaking, not when you tried to crawl forward, not when whimpers of overstimulation left your lips.

“Nuh-uh, babe,” she growled, pulling you back onto her strap, her movements never faltering.

“We’re not fuckin’ done.”

[slytherinshua]

☆　PURELY PLATONIC　( 高山りき )

genre fluff , friends to lovers , taki x fem!reader   cw none   wc 602   request no   note previous posted to my f1 account as well but i thought it fit taki too !!   net @kstrucknet @lune-net

You knew Taki like the back of your hand. Being best friends for too many years to count meant picking up on all the little things that others would have to dig deep to find out. Taki was the one person who never took you by surprise, who you could read like an open book. 

But on the rare occasion, he still managed to catch you off guard.

“You want me to cuddle you?” you echoed the words that had left the boy’s mouth seconds ago, frozen in slight shock. 

It wasn’t the cuddling that particularly surprised you. Taki was affectionate and so were you. Cuddling wasn’t foreign for you two— platonic cuddling, of course. But in terms of who was the big or little spoon, there were always silent set rules. Taki seemed to always be the one spooning you whenever hugs turned into cuddles. His request to be the recipient was uncharacteristic for him. 

“Yes. Is that weird?” His tentative and slightly confused voice at your reaction made a smile start to form on your lips. Your best friend was adorable. Always clarifying and questioning as if the world was spinning too fast for him. It wasn’t that he was slow or unable to pick up on things, but rather he prioritized your comfort more than anything. Even if he knew what all your expressions and inflections meant in his head, sometimes he wondered if one day he would misjudge. It was always safer to just ask.

“For you? Maybe. Just never figured you for a little spoon,” you replied, your smile now growing into a grin, one that teased Taki without words.

“Well, when you put it like that—“

You grabbed his arm and pulled quickly, yanking you both down onto your bed.

“What are you doing?” Taki pried, rushed words falling from his lips as your arms quickly encircled around his torso.

“Cuddling you. Just like you wanted.” 

The smile that you gave Taki— that self satisfactory mischievous one that he didn’t like to admit he adored so much— made his heart drop to his stomach. 

Hugs with you were never weird. Cuddles with you were never weird. Always in a platonic, best friend kind of way, naturally. Except, this suddenly didn’t feel like something best friends did. 

Heat crawled up Taki’s neck as he tried desperately to ground himself to something before he made things weird. It was a classic cliche— that boys could never just stay friends with a girl. He had always joked about it with you in the past, proudly boasting how you both defied the odds. He remembered saying how he would never be able to see you in a romantic light. 

That was almost 5 years ago now, and the Taki back then felt very different from the Taki now. The one that you were holding in your arms, way too close for him to focus on anything else in the room except for you, you, you. 

Your gaze drifted over his look of surprise and the slight flush on his cheeks. You noticed him slowly start to relax in your hold after a few seconds, slow blinks of his brown eyes staring into yours. You couldn’t help but find it comforting, how he fit so well in your arms, curled up so close.

Taki was the one person that you could read like an open book, and right now your eyes were skipping over the words, putting together the sentences in your brain, the understanding clear as day. 

Maybe what you had with Taki wasn’t as platonic as you had thought.

&team taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @kpoprhia,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @talking-saxy,, @hursheys,, @loserlvrss,, @voikiraz,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae

[vilemorals555]

Give us a sam fic

❝KISS KISS, BANG BANG❞ — Sam Monroe.

contains: car sex, dirty talk, established relationship, porn with plot, p in v. both characters are above 18, obviously.

pairing: sam monroe x alt!fem!reader

note: my first smut, be patient with me i'm shaking.

SAM MONROE, despite his looks and attitude towards the outside world, was a gentle lover. He always took great care of you to his best abilities — buying you the band tees you've been eyeing for the longest time, surprising you with CDs of your favorite songs. The complete opposite of the man he turned into when he let his dick do the thinking.

Here you were, in the backseat of his beat up car at 2am in a parking lot. Nothing out of the ordinary for the two of you, teenage hormones and all. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your movements in a way that had you babbling barely coherent words.

"Feel s'good, Sammy." You mumbled. Poor you. It has only been around three minutes and he already had you drooling, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Who could blame you? He'd been looking so him all day, and you were always very easy to please. His stupid Korn shirt, stupid eyeliner, stupid piercing. It drove you crazy.

"Does it, baby?" He smirked, voice low as his lips grazed your collarbone. Your black acrylics dug into his shoulders, his cock stretching you so deliciously. "You like it? Needy girl. Couldn't keep your hands off me all day."

Anyone who caught a glimpse of the car could put two and two together — the windows were foggy, and you weren't exactly holding back in any way. Your moans and whimpers mixed with his, bouncing off the interior.

"Faster..faster." You muttered, hands slipping onto the leather seat behind him instead.

"You want it fast? Say please. Use your manners, angel." He said, brows furrowed in mock offense. You had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

"Please, baby." You whined, too impatient to play into his games, but too cockdrunk to protest. "Please."

"There's my sweet girl," He smiled. It wasn't like he wasn't going to comply. He was just as needy as you are, cunt so warm and tight around his cock like it was made for him. His hands came up to grip onto your hips, steadying you above him before fucking into you at a much faster pace.

He let out a soft groan, his eyes glued to the way his glistening cock disappeared into your pussy. It was a sight for sore eyes and he made a mental note to take videos next time.

"Fuck, Sam.." You moaned, brows furrowed in pleasure as you fought to keep your eyes open, just so you could take in the way his mouth fell open, the way his head rolled back against the seat.

"That's it, honey." He mumbled, nails digging into your soft flesh. "Louder. C'mon." To give you some encouragement, one hand slid down to circle your clit.

Hesitantly, but you obeyed. It was the middle of the night, no one was around to hear you, anyway. Strings of curses and his name fell from your puffy lips, driving him closer to sweet release.

"Shit, you're so good f'me. Don't stop, baby. Let me hear you, yeah?"

"So close, Sammy." You cried out, chest pressing against his. "Right there."

Your words urged him on, hands caressing your thighs as he littered your skin with wet kisses.

"I've got you, sweet girl." He whispered, cock twitching at the long moan that escaped your lips as you came, your body collapsing into his. He held you close, mixed juices dripping down from his balls onto the leather seat — but that was a problem for later.

He kissed your head, brushing a strand of sweaty hair out of your flushed face. "You alright, baby?" He asked quietly, arms wrapped around your waist.

You gave him a weak nod, swallowing before you mumbled a quiet "Yeah."

Sam just held you for a couple of minutes, comfortable silence filling the car as your heart rate slowed down to normal. He helped you fix your clothes, running his hands through your messy hair to make you look more presentable.

There was a sweet smile on his face, eyes full of adoration as he took a moment to study your features.

"You're beautiful." God, he was so in love with you.