#when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night

[yourstrulysylus]

No Defense Zone (a Sylus point of view)

Sylus was walking down towards his kitchen to grab a drink after an intense training at his personal boxing gym. The twins were on a special assignment and was gone for a week - the house is silent it was usually filled with noise of laughter and pranks while they were around her. Not that he didn’t mind its what he’s been waiting his whole life.

“Sylus..”

Sylus stopped his tracks since he heard his name being called out somewhere in the living room he also heard it in a way that he had not been expecting and he knew that sound all too well.

He saw her sleeping on their couch tired because she had another book resting on top of her watching her read was one of his simple guilty pleasures in life because after when she immerses herself in a new book the whole day, she comes to his study unannounced grabs him by the collar of his shirt out of nowhere and make endless love all night in their shared bedroom - that’s where he knew that she was reading one of those books.

Her moans continued to echo in their living room she had her favorite fluffy blanket at the end of her feet. Wearing her favorite white sunny dress that looses at the middle of her thighs lounging on a huge pillow that he bought with her little plushie crow.

He was standing a few feet away from the couch carefully not to wake her up. Hearing her moan like that sent a surge of possessiveness through him. He took a step closer, his eyes darkening anticipating for her next move.

She moaned again but this time her hand started moving from her breasts down to her abdomen.

“Oh, Sylus.”

Her cute little face made a little frown and as her lips parted gasping between breaths. Her long hair disheveled in her pillow while Sylus listened intently wondering what could possibly happening that makes her feel that good in her dream not that he would complain he already saw her come undone under him, above him and side to side more times than he can count.

Her pretty white dress was almost revealing her long legs in the couch a perfect image of innocence and sensual woman before him ready to be taken in any moment. He grunted yet he was pleased after all she was dreaming of him that way he would have to make it a reality later and make sure she does not walk for a couple of hours.

She continued breathing deeply her back begins arching in response and her book fell on the floor. He could see how her body reacted to her dream. Sylus regained his self-control gritted his teeth straining as he watched her. His grip his hands tightened as his own breathing became heavier. He took a step closer, his eyes boring into her whole body as he watched her back arch again.

“Yes, yes.”

He watches as she continues her body respond to her own subconscious desires his eyes flickered to her face and her body silently grateful that no henchmen of his was present in the house this was all for him.

In life and in dreams.

His breathing heavy as his own body reacted to her movements.

She was sweating - her dress was beginning to damp he couldn’t resist any longer his self-control finally snapped and he pounced on top of the couch he hovered over her as he is aching to be inside of her. He made sure his body was pinning her down his eyes were like a wild animal filled with lust. He captured her wrists and held them above her head, while his other large hand gently wipes the sweat from her face.

“You’ve been a naughty little minx, haven’t you sweetheart?”

She opened her eyes and smiled sweetly at him feeling a bit victorious as she realizes her dream was about to come true.

“Smiling like you knew exactly what you were doing this whole time.”

Unable to resist she reached for his face and kissed his lips not caring that he just came from a work out his own desire warring his possessive control. She pulled away for a moment just to see his expression a knowing smile crept on his features.

“What were you dreaming about?” He asked softly as she only looked at his face with a desire that matches his very own.

He chuckled with the way she responded realizing that it doesn’t matter when he could make it a reality and better at this very moment.

[puck-luck]

this was born out of a text exchange between me and cappy where i rewatched the "coming home" youtube video and quinn had the audacity to bend over the edge of the table like a SLUT. my message about that moment was "I HATE him for putting his leg up on the edge like this (and you know what? Bea would fuck him on the pool table fs)". Cappy replied: "also - circling back to the fucking on the pool table. yes i do think that should be included in bea’s book. love that both girls fuck their men on the pool table". then I discussed how Bea is going to ask how it was for Honey because position-wise, she wasn't super comfy "And then honey’s going to be like “bruh” and then bea will be like “aw that’s so cute of us, we fucked our guys in the same place 😊 we’re basically semen sisters” and honey is going to be so affronted". So that's what inspired this. I started having visions when I was supposed to work on my grad school essay, so I needed to write it down to get it out of my mind.

HERE! is the beaquinn pool table sex. if you want to know what's happening with honeytrev at the same time as this, you can reread days 30-33 in Chapter 5 of stg. LOVE YOU! say it back. ENJOY!

[5.1K WORDS]

Bea almost doesn’t want to leave Quinn’s bed when she hears the front door creak open, signaling the brothers’s return from Las Vegas. It’s warm in here and the pillow smells like Quinn. Her t-shirt will have to do. It’s Quinn’s old yellow Michigan t-shirt, which falls big on her but not big enough to cover her behind. The hardwood floor is cold as she makes her way out of bed and throws the sheets back into place, tiptoeing down the hall and the stairs without making the floor creak too much. Bea undoes the messy braid on the back of her head, knowing how Quinn likes it when her hair is loose for him to play with. She shakes out her hair as she creeps down the stairs, the whispers of the brothers getting louder with each step.

“Jack, the door–” Luke hisses just before the front door bangs shut.

Bea stifles a giggle by pressing her fingers over her lips, still hiding in the shadows of the staircase. 

The boys stand in almost identical poses, shoulders tense and heads ducked. They’re waiting for one of their housemates to wake up and get mad at them for making so much noise. They’re lucky– Cole’s been dead to the world since about 10:30 and Trevor went to bed around 11 after he talked with Honey. Bea doesn’t know exactly what happened, since Honey is still so unsure about this Trevor thing, with good reason, but she knows that Honey had to remind him to think before he speaks. Bea is so glad she doesn’t have that problem– Quinn loves to think before he speaks. The other boys are less thoughtful, but she’s never had to chew them out for saying something stupid.

“Close one, eh?” Jack whispers, although he’s bad at whispering, so his voice just seems softer than normal.

Bea steps out of the shadows, staying close to the wall like it’ll camouflage her bright yellow shirt. 

“Bea,” Quinn breathes out, noticing her immediately. He sets his suitcase down next to him, a smile growing on his face when he recognizes her outfit.

“You’re late,” Bea whispers, matching his grin. “You said 1:30.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, but he doesn’t seem all that sorry.

“There was a crash on 77,” Luke adds. “Pretty bad. Probably better that it happened in the middle of the night, since there weren’t as many cars on the road.”

Bea hums. “That’s sad.”

“Have you been up this whole time?” Jack asks. “It’s late.”

Bea shakes her head. “Slept a little bit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack grins. “Whose bed?”

Stupid. Bea snorts, taking a few more steps until she’s in front of him. She lifts her hand and squishes his cheeks between her fingers. “Not yours,” she says. “G’night, Jacky.”

He makes a kissing noise at her, then steps back and bumps into the table in the hall. “Oops,” he mumbles. “Night, Bea.”

Luke echoes a goodnight and pats Bea on the back, holding both his and Quinn’s suitcases in his hands. The brothers squeeze past her, leaving Quinn and Bea in the dark alone.

She grins at him, bouncing a little bit on her tiptoes out of excitement. She’s missed him. Quinn smiles back, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He’s the first to step forward, sweeping her up into his arms in a tight hug. He buries his face in her neck, letting his arms push her shirt up so that he can touch the smooth expanse of her back. Bea wraps her arms over his shoulders and plays with his hair, breathing him in. He smells a little bit like airport, but the scent of his sandalwood shampoo is stronger than ever. 

“You shower this morning?” Bea asks, pinching the close-cut strands on the back of his head between her fingers. 

“God, I knew you were going to comment on that,” Quinn groans, pulling away from her. His hands rest on Bea’s waist, pinkies brushing the band of her cheeky underwear. “I was on a plane for like five hours, babe.”

Bea’s stomach twists at the pet name, her cheeks turning a little red and her mouth widening somehow further. She admires Quinn for a moment, eyes cataloging how his face looks sharper with his stubble only just growing back. Her eyes pass over the scar on his cheek. Honey only just noticed it the other night. It’s one of Bea’s favorite things about his face– tied for first with, well, everything else. 

She realizes that she’s gone too long without replying, mostly because the edges of Quinn’s lips are tilting upward in an amused way.

“Hey, winner,” Bea greets, tilting her head to kiss him hello. “Missed you.”

Quinn breathes out a tiny laugh, kissing her again like a reply. “I missed you, too. Was thinking about you the whole time.”

Bea faux-gasps. “You were thinking about me, but you didn’t even thank me in your speech?”

Quinn chuckles, a little louder this time. His thumb runs along her hip, petting the skin there. It makes Bea’s sides feel warm, like the friction is sending shocks through her body. “Oh, come on. How would that have sounded?”

“‘And thank you to Bea McLean, the best person I’ve ever met’...?” Bea teases, blinking at Quinn. “Obviously. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Quinn shakes his head, still smiling fondly. He rolls his eyes a little bit, but he concedes. “I’ll work it in next time.”

“I’m expecting it. First back-to-back Norris winner since Nicklas Lindstrom, yeah?”

“Lidstrom, baby,” Quinn corrects. He pulls Bea close again, hugging her for the second time. His hands rub up and down her back again and Bea swears that she can feel his fingerprints as he moves. “You tired?”

“I slept a little. Are you tired?”

“Had a coffee at the airport ‘cause I’m stupid,” Quinn replies. His voice turns sarcastic, overly dramatic and trying to get her sympathy. “And the boys were draining me, they’re so annoying.”

Bea pats his chest. “You love them,” she reminds him.

Quinn’s easy to break. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They’re pretty great.” He pauses, eyes flickering over her face akin to how she surveyed him earlier. “Wanna go watch a movie?”

“Movie will put me to sleep. We can play a round of pool, if you want. Keep your winning streak going,” Bea teases. 

“You just want to bend over in front of me,” Quinn bites back, laughing. His hands go to her behind, covering Bea’s cheeks with his palms. “Distract me with your panties.”

“It would be more distracting if I wasn’t wearing them,” Bea points out, wiggling back into Quinn’s touch. 

“I think you’re already distracting enough in my Michigan shirt,” Quinn says. “C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You can fill me in on the past couple days while you lose.”

He’s got that playful tone in his voice again, the one that Bea loves. It’s so domestic, the way that she and Quinn talk to each other. They’ve got a vibe about them, something that fits like a puzzle piece, but Bea is getting too far ahead of herself. It’s not even July. They’re just having fun, by her own design. So what if he calls her ‘baby’ and it makes her stomach flip-flop every time?

They’re still trying to be quiet as they head down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind them. Quinn racks the balls and Bea chooses her usual stick– she only knows which one it is because it’s got a chip about ⅓ of the way down the shaft– and starts to tell him what he missed. 

“Honey tried to ban Trevor from the store because he’s bad at being a person,” Bea starts. “I don’t know the drama, but apparently he doesn’t think.”

“Have they fucked yet?” Quinn asks, rounding the table and stationing himself to break the rack. Bea never breaks when they play. She’s not very good at hitting one ball, much less strategically breaking up a group of fifteen. “Or are they still stuck on him fingering her in the back room?”

“They’re still stuck. She likes him so much, though, she just won’t admit it,” Bea continues. She looks at the table. Quinn made one of the stripes in off of his break– 14 maybe– so he’s trying to pick his second ball now.

“She’ll get there. It’s kind of like a tree falling, isn’t it,” Quinn says. He lines up the 11-ball with the pocket and knocks it in, then purposefully bumps off the wall in a meaningless shot so that Bea has a chance. “Takes a while, but once she’s down, she’s down.”

Hmm. “I’ve never thought of it like that,” Bea tells him. “That’s smart, Q. You’re right.” She eyes the 5-ball, since it’s kind of in the way of all of the ones she wants to get to. Might as well move it. Bea crosses the table and shoots it off to the other side of the table. A problem for later.

“You can’t try to lose on purpose,” Quinn chides.

“I’m not trying to lose on purpose, I just wanted to get that one out of the way,” Bea argues back. 

Quinn rolls his eyes and sighs. “You should’ve shot at the 7.”

Bea side eyes him. “Don’t tell me what I should’ve done. Mansplainer.”

Quinn shrugs. “Just trying to help.” He focuses on his next shot. “What’d you do after we left?”

“Worked. I dragged Honey here to watch the Awards, we played Uno– I won, by the way, and I’ll school you next time we play–” Quinn interrupts her with a laugh, narrowly missing a pocket when the ball bounces off the corner edge. “I called you after you won, and then we broke out the hot tub earlier today.”

That catches Quinn’s interest. “Oh, yeah?” He asks. “You took a dip? Did Cole try anything stupid?”

Bea hears the insinuation immediately. “No, Cole and I didn’t hook up while you were gone,” she says with a tinge of fake exasperation in her voice. “I told you over the phone on Thursday, I only have sex with men who have won the James Norris trophy.”

Quinn laughs aloud, throwing his head back. “How long is that going to last?” He teases. “Just so I can know when I’m back to graciously sharing you with the other boys.”

Bea groans. When they’re alone, Quinn always flaunts how he was the first and how he’s her favorite. He gets a kick out of acting like he’s special and Bea pretends to hate it. He is special, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I can still go up to Jack’s bed now, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Bea leans over to shoot at one of her solids. It bounces off a wall and changes directions. “That’s all that happened this weekend, really. Tell me about Vegas. Lose any money?”

“Tons,” Quinn confirms, but the cheeky grin on his face tells her that he’s stretching the truth. He starts to talk about how he and his brothers snuck Luke into the casino with a well-placed bribe to the doorman and autographs for his kids. The stories from the weekend pile up as Quinn and Bea mill around the table, taking shots and sinking them in Quinn’s case, missing them in Bea’s. He tells her about the people he saw, the things he did, the interviews he had, that he got an offer to be on the cover of NHL 25 but he’s going to hold out until they let him bring Jack and Luke with him, and that he’s happy he got to see his mom and dad. He officially tells Bea that they’re coming for Fourth of July, although that surprise had already been spoiled by Trevor on Thursday. 

Quinn wins– of course. Bea wasn’t going to win this game unless he intentionally threw it, like her first time playing him. They’re past the intentional throws now. Bea goes to update the board– honor code is highly valued in this house– and Quinn pockets the rest of the balls so that everything is nice and clean for tomorrow. There’s no sense in leaving them out. She can hear Quinn sneaking up behind her.

“You look good in my shirt, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing Bea’s shoulder. “I gotta get you in Michigan gear more often.”

“You know, if they ever play Carolina again, you’ll have to pry my UNC gear from my cold, dead body,” Bea says, reaching a hand around and threading her fingers through Quinn’s hair again.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I pried the clothes off this body,” Quinn says, self-satisfied smirk evident in his voice. He turns Bea in his grip so that she’s facing him. He kisses her, more than a greeting peck this time. “You tired yet?”

Once again, Bea can see right through his question. “Not a chance. I’ve been waiting for my winner to get home.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Quinn praises, voice low. He captures Bea’s lips again, moving against her in the comfortable way that they’ve adopted in the weeks since they’ve been seeing each other. 

Bea lets Quinn lead this time, his hands guiding her closer. He’s got a palm under her shirt, resting on the small of her back, and the other cradles her face gently, like something precious. Bea knows that it’s a casual thing, but she likes to lose herself in moments like this. Quinn is just so… all-consuming. He’s like a really loud and unexpected clap of thunder, one that rumbles on for longer than you expect. His touch makes Bea jump, sometimes.

Her hands explore him a bit, like she doesn’t get to touch him all the time. The difference is that Bea finds something new every time and she never tires of getting her hands on Quinn. She knows that he tends to be insecure when it comes to his build, which comes from years of being an awkward teen with a nose that seemed too big for his face and acne that riddled his forehead, but Bea can’t imagine Quinn as anything other than perfect.

He’d be slightly more perfect if he had a bedroom to himself. 

“I feel bad kicking Luke out,” Bea whispers to Quinn when they break for air. “You guys got in so late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn replies. He brings his hands to the backs of Bea’s thighs and lifts her up, guiding her legs around his waist. “We don’t need a bed.”

Bea makes a face. “We stay fuckin’ in the bed, Q.” Lord knows she’s not against having sex in an odd place– the back of Griffin’s patrol car, for one– but she and Quinn haven’t really branched out yet. “I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”

“What can I say,” Quinn teases. “You bring something out in me. Let’s try something new.” He nips at her bottom lip, then drags his tongue against the area he bit. “It’ll be fun.”

Bea giggles. He gets so flirty and touchy, sometimes. “What are you thinking, Crazy?” She teases him right back with the nickname, bringing her index finger to the curve of his nose. It really is the perfect size and shape– so appealing. 

She’s distracted by a memory, from the second time they hooked up. Quinn had told her that he didn’t get to do everything he wanted the first time, and when she asked what he meant, he’d licked his first two fingers and slid the wet digits against the fabric of her underwear. She’d gotten much more wet when he made his way between her legs with his mouth, kissing and licking over her folds and entrance as the fabric molded to her anatomy. It was only then that he’d removed the panties and gotten his mouth on her properly– the vision often comes to her when she’s trying to sleep at home, alone. His nose had been so nice then, bumping against her clit as he’d ravished her.

Bea’s stomach grows a little warmer at the reminder. 

“I want you right here,” Quinn says, breaking her from the spell. He sits Bea down on the edge of the pool table, the cool wood of the edges pressing against her thighs while the felt of the table scrapes against the hem of her shirt. He stands between her legs and places a hand behind her head, kissing her and leaning forward so that she’ll lay back. Once Bea is laying down, flat underneath Quinn, he pushes her shirt up and takes it off. 

The felt of the table feels weird under her bare skin, but it’s not bad. The bite of the ridge of the table is worse against her thighs, but Bea doesn’t speak up about it because Quinn’s removing his shirt.

The moonlight from outside makes him seem paler than he is, but it creates a beautiful series of shadows across his body that emphasize his muscles. His arms seem like they’re bulging more, his chest has more definition, and his jawline– oh, his jawline. Bea didn’t realize just how much his long hair hid that from her.

“I like your haircut,” Bea says, not realizing how silly and belated it sounds when she’s almost entirely naked on the pool table below him. 

Quinn chuckles, smiling at her. One side of his lips lifts higher than the other, which is how she knows that he’s blushing, even when the moonlight hides it. “Thanks, baby,” he says softly, leaning down again to find her lips. His cock, still trapped by his pants, fits perfectly against the place where she wants him most. 

She grinds up against him, drawing a low moan from the back of Quinn’s throat. He placates her with kiss after kiss down her neck and between her tits, as far down as he can go while he keeps his pelvis in line with her own. He’s fiddling with his zipper with one hand, kneading Bea’s right breast with his left hand. The skin of his fingertips is a little dry, but his thumb catches her nipple just right and Bea keens, her vision getting a little darker.

“Missed me that much, hm?” Quinn teases in his low voice. “Two days I’m gone, baby, and you’re this needy? What am I going to do with you when I’m gone for a week, or two?”

Bea reaches to his hair and brings his lips to hers, to silence him. She’s beyond talking and beyond teasing. She wants him inside, like, yesterday. 

“Relax, I’m coming,” Quinn assures Bea, mumbling his words against her lips. He finally takes his hand from her breast to shove his pants and underwear down, stepping out of them so he can move better. He drags his tip through her folds, her wetness gathering along his skin. “Did you mean it?” He asks. “What you said on the phone?”

Bea pauses, wracking her brain. She said a lot of things on the phone to Quinn. She meant them all. She’s about to say yes, just so he can get on with it, but then she spots the way he’s biting his lower lip and his eyes have turned hungry. They’re trained on the place where he’s nudging his tip against her clit, slit bubbling out precum and dripping on the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“What part?” Bea asks, captivated by the look on Quinn’s face. 

His eyes rise to hers and he looks positively intoxicated by whatever he’s thinking. Bea’s skin crawls a little, but not in a bad way. In an excited way– whatever Quinn’s referring to, he wants badly. Bea wants to see him give into that.

“That you’d reward me for winning,” he prompts, eyes darting from her gaze to her lips, which have parted in recognition. “By letting me fuck you bare.” His jaw clenches a bit once he says it, but Bea reads him. He’s not sure what she’ll say and he seems cautious to show his deeper thoughts on that, but his caution is betraying him anyway. Bea knows Quinn. She speaks his language, reads his tics, and understands him. He wants this.

“Norris winners get to come inside me,” Bea says, repeating the exact words that she whispered into the speaker while he stroked himself in the Las Vegas hotel bathroom. It was his tipping point, and now she understands why. “Since you won, you get to feel all of me.” Her throat seems drier than before when she swallows. Bea’s never had that before– she’s thought about it, hence why she brought it up to Quinn in the first place. It’s why she gets the shot every three months instead of relying on condoms– in case, one day, there was a man that she wanted in the most intimate way. That day is today. “Fuck me, Quinn.”

His mouth is insistent when it joins hers, tongue dragging over her own and filling the space between her lips. “Baby,” Quinn groans. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Preferably not right now,” Bea jokes, lifting her hips to remind him of the task at hand. 

Quinn laughs at the joke, smiling into his next kiss. “You’re so perfect,” he says. “Can’t believe I met you.”

Bea feels his words on her heart like a prick of a rose’s thorn. A little bit of herself seeps out, flooding her chest and making her eyebrows furrow with the sudden rush of emotion. “Quinn,” Bea says, feeling like she’s whining a little bit.

“Okay, okay, I won’t say it anymore,” he says, returning his focus to the space between her legs. He wastes another few seconds, entranced by his tip going through her folds, before he lines himself up and starts to shift forward. He moans quietly at the feeling, just expelling the breath from his lungs.

Bea’s surprised by the feeling too– at least, she thinks Quinn’s feeling some sort of surprise. He’s certainly relishing in the experience, trying to catalog how she feels around him with the way his eyes have drifted shut and his mouth has fallen open. She closes her eyes to do the same– and finds that it’s not that different, all in all. She just feels closer to him.

“Please, move,” Bea whispers, resting her hand on Quinn’s bicep, giving it a squeeze to prompt him. Well, that, and she wanted to feel the muscle beneath it. The moonlight had her wondering if it was really that much more defined. 

“Gimme a sec,” Quinn grits out, taking a breath. “You just feel so–” He exhales a sharp breath. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Another thorn to the chest– Bea has to breathe in deep to steel herself. This doesn’t feel like just fucking anymore.

She’s able to put that aside when Quinn starts to drag himself out of her heat, then push back in. His hair is tickling her nose with the way that his head has fallen forward in pleasure, so Bea pushes it out of the way with her palm. Quinn’s forehead has started to bead with sweat, but only barely. His eyes catch hers.

His eye contact has always made the hair on her arms stand up, increasing her pleasure tenfold. He’s so attentive to her needs, crowding into her space and touching her tits and sides in the way that makes her feel like a lighting rod gearing up for a strike. 

Quinn breaks first. “Bea,” he murmurs, dipping his head to mouth against her neck. He leaves a wet spot there, which dries in the cool, early morning air. His hand moves from her side to her thigh, spreading her legs further so that he can inch closer. He seems determined to be as close to her as he can, touching her in every way. 

“I know,” Bea replies. “Harder, Quinn. Take it. Make me come. Need you to feel my pussy when it comes on your bare cock.”

His moan is choked but loud when she says that. Quinn’s hips start to move the way she’s used to– harder, faster, determined. He’s louder like this, or maybe it’s the silence of the basement and the night that surrounds them playing tricks on Bea’s mind. It’s just– his breath is warmer and she feels like she can feel him moving in her bones. This is more.

Quinn brings his thumb to her mouth, which Bea takes greedily. She knows his moves– he wants her to get him all wet so that he can touch her somewhere she needs. She swirls her tongue around the digit, leaving as much saliva as she can on his thumb before he pulls it from her mouth with a pop. 

His hand drifts to her boobs again, finding one of her nipples and pinching it with his slick finger. He tugs a little, which prompts Bea’s spine to arch like her body is begging him to do it again. Quinn does, but he switches nipples, wiggling his hand between their bodies and taking hold of her. He kisses her again, distracting her from the mixture of pain and pleasure. All the while, he’s bucking into her desperately, displacing her on the pool table. 

Her thigh starts to spasm under his hand, twitching because she’s close. Bea wraps her arms around Quinn’s shoulders, a mirror image of the hug she gave him at the beginning of their night. He’s not the only one who wants to be close.

“Fuck, Quinn, keep going,” Bea pleads, shifting as best she can to remove the pressure of the edge of the pool table from her body. It’s a dull ache, distracting her from Quinn’s cock and the way it moves in her cunt. His tip meets the cartilage of her cervix relentlessly, turning her vision spotty with the sensation. It feels so wet with him unprotected inside of her, leaking and mixing with her own slick. 

He shifts so that he’s hovering just a few inches above her body, hands going from her thigh and her breast to both of her hips. He grips her skin, biting his lower lip to stifle his grunts. His eyes have grown focused, narrowing the way they do when he evaluates a shot on this very table or when he tries to dance between the boys on the hockey rink outside to score. He pulls her back into him, all while thrusting his hips forward, and Bea’s falling into an unfamiliar space where only Quinn has ever placed her. 

“Fuck,” Bea whines, reaching for Quinn and coming up with nothing, so she clutches at the pocket of the pool table instead. She holds the wood between her fingers, sure that she’ll either warp the table or break her fingers from the force of her grip. “‘M coming, Q.”

“Good girl,” Quinn says through his teeth, his voice gravelly. “Let me feel it.”

Bea lets out a short cry, legs still shaking beneath Quinn. The bruising pain of the edge of the table is nothing now, not when there’s a chill making its way from the depths of her stomach to the tight coil in her stomach. 

“So perfect,” Quinn says again, praising Bea as she starts to come undone on his cock.

“You,” Bea corrects, breathless and reaching for Quinn again. She finds his forearm this time, circling her fingers around his wrist. She squeezes, trying to get her point across. He can say it all he wants, but she’s going to make sure she says it back, because he is. 

Her touch sends Quinn over the edge, which only intensifies the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Bea keens lowly in the back of her throat as Quinn’s jaw drops once again, eyes falling shut as his seed flows from his cock and paints her walls. The sensation surprises Bea, much like her original reaction to his raw form, and she constricts against him by accident. That spurs Quinn on, making him choke and plaster himself against her body as his cock releases the last of his cum.

His hips twitch inside of her after he’s done and Quinn has to clear his throat and shake his head to come back to himself. Bea pets his hair through it, focused on the feeling of his freshly cut ends between her fingers. 

“You should know that I really liked that,” Quinn says first.

Bea giggles, tugging his hair. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Quinn bites the side of Bea’s neck to chastise her for teasing him. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I think I’m about to leak all over the pool table in your rented house if you don’t get me to a bathroom soon,” Bea replies. “Chop chop, babydoll.”

Quinn groans with the effort, but he lifts Bea from the pool table and awkwardly walks toward the basement’s bathroom, settling her on the already-lifted toilet seat– perks of living with a bunch of fucking boys, Bea thinks– and then he starts to wash his hands.

“Tired yet?” Quinn asks for a third time, looking over at Bea and grinning as he continues to rub the suds all over his hands and wrists. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Bea makes a face. “Are you trying to wash me off or something? Damn, Q, it’s been twenty seconds,” she replies instead, pretending to be offended and hurt. She doesn’t actually want to start watching a movie at 3 a.m. and Quinn should feel similarly. She wants to go to bed with him.

Quinn looks down at her vagina, very obviously, and quirks an eyebrow. “I mean, I just came in you, so I feel like that’s hard to wash away.” He rinses his hands and towels them off. “So no movie?”

“Oh my God, get out of the bathroom so I can pee,” Bea exclaims, starting to laugh a bit. “You’re so weird. No movie.”

“Episode of Love Island?” Quinn asks. “Any drama I missed between Leah and Rob?”

Bea points an accusing finger at him. “I knew you enjoyed my trashy shows,” she says. “And all this time you’ve been grumbling about them.”

Quinn shrugs. “No one will believe you,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

Bea purses her lips at him. “Well, good, because that’s my thing with Cole.” Quinn acts like he’s wounded, so Bea sticks her tongue out at him. “Not everything can be about you, Q.”

“I’ll get over it,” Quinn says. “You still like me best.”

Bea matches his previous whisper. “And no one will ever believe you.”

Quinn leaves the bathroom laughing. Bea hopes he goes upstairs to get one of the good blankets for them to share when they inevitably fall asleep on the couch after Quinn turns on a movie that Bea does not see the point in watching.

The background noise does help her sleep, though, and she thinks Quinn knows that.

sigh i love beaquinn they're so dreamy best couple ever can't believe they break up at the end of the summer OOPS SORRY SPOILERS (y'all already know that, i haven't been keeping that under wraps)

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the king is dead)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: driftmark

- Next part: the war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sound of Tyland's hurried footsteps broke the serene stillness of chambers as he approached your side of the bed. Before you could stir fully from sleep, his hand was on your shoulder, shaking you gently but insistently.

“Y/N, wake up,” he urged, his voice low but filled with an urgency that immediately pulled you from your slumber. “You need to get up. Now.”

You blinked groggily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Tyland? What’s—what’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

“There’s no time to explain,” he said, already moving to the wardrobe and pulling out one of your traveling dresses. “Get dressed, quickly. Gather your cloak. I’ll wake the children.”

His words sent a ripple of unease through you, and you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, heart pounding. “What do you mean, there’s no time? Tyland, tell me what’s happening!”

He paused briefly, turning to face you, his expression tense. “Viserys is dead.”

The weight of those words crashed over you, stealing the breath from your lungs. “Dead? How—when?”

“Tonight,” Tyland replied grimly, running a hand through his hair. “Word hasn’t spread yet, but it will. And when it does, this place will become a battlefield. We’re leaving for Casterly Rock. I need you to trust me and move quickly.”

You stared at him, the enormity of his words sinking in. The fear that had been rippling in the Red Keep for years was about to boil over, and you could see the determination in Tyland’s eyes—he was doing everything he could to shield you and the children from the storm.

“What about Rhaenyra?” you asked, your voice trembling. “And the rest of the family?”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, his gaze steady but filled with unspoken concern. “Rhaenyra has Daemon and her sons. She’ll fight her battle. But I will not risk our children or you in the chaos that’s coming. Please, Y/N—hurry.”

His urgency snapped you into motion, and you quickly dressed, your hands trembling as you fastened your cloak. The soft patter of Tyland’s boots echoed as he disappeared into the adjoining chambers to wake the children. Moments later, you heard muffled voices—Loren and Rhaelle’s sleepy protests, Kevan’s louder confusion, and Alysanne’s soft, frightened whimper.

When Tyland returned with the children in tow, their faces were a mixture of sleepiness and alarm. Loren, now a young man with the confident stance of his father, carried Alysanne in his arms while Rhaelle clutched Kevan’s hand tightly. Your youngest, barely three years old and still drowsy, was perched on Tyland’s hip.

“Papa, what’s happening?” Loren asked, his voice laced with concern. “Why are we leaving?”

Tyland set the youngest, a boy named Jaeryn, onto his feet and crouched to meet Loren’s gaze. “The King has passed, Loren,” he said carefully, his tone firm but calm. “Things are about to change in ways that could put our family in danger. We’re going to Casterly Rock to ensure your safety.”

“But why can’t we stay?” Rhaelle asked, her violet eyes wide with confusion. “This is our home.”

Tyland placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “Your home is where your family is, and right now, that’s Casterly Rock. This isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly, Rhaelle. Please trust me.”

You knelt beside Alysanne, brushing a tear from her cheek as you whispered soothingly. “We’ll be safe, my love. We just need to listen to your father and move quickly.”

Kevan, ever inquisitive, frowned. “Will we come back?”

Tyland hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “One day. But first, we need to leave.”

You stood, gathering Alysanne in your arms as Tyland ushered the children toward the door. His hand brushed yours briefly, a reassuring touch amidst the chaos.

“Do you have everything?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Where do we go now?”

“There’s a carriage waiting in the lower courtyard,” Tyland said, taking Jaeryn’s hand as he guided the group through the dimly lit hallways. “We’ll leave quietly before dawn. By the time the court wakes, we’ll be long gone.”

As you hurried through the silent corridors, the reality of the situation settled heavily over you. The death of Viserys was more than the loss of a king—it was the end of an era, the tipping point for a conflict that had been brewing for years. You glanced at Tyland, his jaw set and his pace unyielding, and silently vowed to trust him, no matter what lay ahead.

For now, your family’s safety was all that mattered. The rest could wait.

The carriage rattled over the uneven road as it moved away from the Red Keep, the faint glow of the capital's lights fading behind them. Inside, the air was charged. You sat close to Tyland, holding Jaeryn in your lap while Alysanne leaned against your side, her small hand clutching yours tightly. Loren and Rhaelle sat opposite, their faces pale but composed, while Kevan fidgeted nervously beside them.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady clatter of the carriage wheels and the muffled rustle of the wind. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice low but firm. “Tyland, how did Otto and Alicent allow us to leave? Surely they wouldn’t want us far from the court now.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t meet your gaze immediately. Instead, he glanced out the window, the faint glow of the moon casting shadows on his features. “They didn’t,” he admitted finally, his voice calm but clipped. “They have no idea we’re gone. By the time they notice, we’ll be far beyond their reach.”

You stiffened, your heart quickening. “Tyland, do you realize what they’ll do when they find out? Leaving the capital without permission—it’s practically treason in their eyes.”

He turned to you then, his eyes sharp but filled with determination. “Let them think what they will. My priority is our family, not Otto Hightower’s ambitions. I won’t let our children become tools in their schemes.”

Before you could respond, Rhaelle’s voice broke in, trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “And what about our dragons?” she demanded, her violet eyes shining in the dim light. “We’re not leaving them behind! We can’t just abandon them in the Dragonpit!”

Loren nodded in agreement, his expression resolute. “They’re part of us. How could we leave without them?”

Tyland hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line, but before he could answer, a piercing shriek echoed from above, followed by a thunderous roar that shook the air. The carriage jolted as the sound reverberated around you, and the children gasped in unison, their eyes wide with shock.

You leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and your breath caught in your throat. Above the carriage, several massive shapes loomed against the moonlit sky, their scales gleaming like jewels in the darkness.

“Belerix,” you whispered, recognizing your own dragon instantly. His massive, sapphire body shimmered faintly, his amber eyes glowing as he circled above, his wings spread wide and powerful. Beside him flew Valtyr and Aelirys, the twins’ dragons, their cries echoing as they soared gracefully through the air. Behind them, two smaller dragons flapped their wings, their roars lighter but no less fierce—Kevan’s flame-orange Orerion and Alysanne’s pearl-white Sylverith.

The children gasped in delight, their fear momentarily forgotten as they pressed against the windows to catch a better glimpse. “They came!” Rhaelle exclaimed, her voice trembling with relief. “They found us!”

“How?” you asked, turning to Tyland, your voice a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. “They were chained in the Dragonpit. How are they here?”

Tyland’s lips curved into a faint smirk, though his expression remained serious. “I bribed a servant,” he admitted, leaning back against the seat. “I sent a message to the Dragonkeepers before we left, instructing them to unchain the dragons. I knew they would follow us if they were freed.”

Loren stared at him, his awe turning into a grin. “You bribed the Dragonkeepers? That’s brilliant, Father!”

“It wasn’t without risk,” Tyland replied, his tone measured. “But I wasn’t about to leave your dragons behind. They’re part of our family.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you glanced out the window again. “Jason is going to be ecstatic when he sees all these dragons landing at Casterly Rock,” you said dryly, imagining your brother-in-law’s reaction.

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “He’ll have to get used to it. The dragons are ours, and they’ll go where we go.”

From above, Belerix let out a low, rumbling growl, as if in agreement. The sound seemed to calm the children, who leaned back into their seats with wide smiles, their earlier fear replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement.

As the carriage continued down the road, the dragons flew above, their presence a reassuring reminder of the strength and unity that bound your family together.

The carriage rattled to a halt at the base of Casterly Rock as dawn broke over the horizon. The towering cliffs of the ancestral seat of House Lannister rose before you, their golden hues catching the morning light, making the fortress appear almost otherworldly. The gates were wide open, and the sounds of a bustling courtyard echoed beyond—raised voices, the clatter of boots, and the unmistakable shrill cries of dragons.

You glanced at Tyland as the carriage door opened, his expression calm but with a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “It seems word of our dragons reached the Rock before we did,” you murmured wryly, stepping out with his help.

He chuckled softly, though his gaze scanned the commotion ahead. “Jason will be beside himself.”

The children spilled out after you, their excitement barely contained as they craned their necks to catch a glimpse of their dragons perched on the cliffs surrounding the Rock. Loren’s chest swelled with pride as he pointed to Valtyr, whose green-and-gold scales glimmered in the sunlight. Rhaelle clutched your arm, her eyes sparkling as she spotted Aelirys, perched daintily on a ledge with her silver-blue wings tucked in.

“They’re here,” Loren said, his voice filled with awe. “They followed us all this way.”

“They always will,” Tyland said, his tone firm but warm. “Dragons are bonded to their riders. They’ll protect you as fiercely as you protect them.”

The scene in the courtyard was chaos. Jason Lannister stood in the center, his arms crossed and his face red with irritation as he barked orders at the men around him. Soldiers scrambled, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror as they glanced toward the cliffs. One dragon gave a particularly loud shriek, causing a young stable boy to drop his bucket and bolt for the safety of the stables.

Jason caught sight of you and Tyland and strode over, his golden cloak billowing behind him. “Tyland!” he exclaimed, his voice exasperated. “What in the Seven Hells have you brought to my doorstep?”

Tyland’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Our family, Jason. Along with their dragons.”

Jason gestured wildly toward the cliffs. “Dragons, Tyland. Plural. Do you realize the commotion they’ve caused? My men are terrified, and the villagers are already spreading tales of fire and blood.”

You stepped forward, your tone calm but pointed. “Perhaps if your men were better acquainted with dragons, they wouldn’t scare so easily.”

Jason turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though his frustration remained. “Sister-in-law, I mean no disrespect, but this is Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone. We don’t deal with dragons on a daily basis.”

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “Our dragons are part of this family. They’re not going anywhere.”

Before Jason could respond, one of the dragons—a gleaming pearl-white creature you recognized as Sylverith, Alysanne’s dragon—let out a playful roar, sending a gust of wind through the courtyard. The soldiers scrambled further back, muttering among themselves.

Jason threw his hands up. “Seven save me,” he muttered. “I’ll need more wine for this.”

Tyland clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder, his smirk widening. “You’ll adjust, brother. Besides, think of the stories you can tell—Jason Lannister, host to dragons.”

Jason groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I’m sure the bards will sing songs of my bravery while I tried not to wet myself.”

The children giggled at his theatrics, and you couldn’t help but smile as well. Despite the chaos, the sight of your family safe and together brought a sense of relief you hadn’t felt in days.

“Let’s get inside,” Tyland said, his voice returning to its usual calm authority. “We have much to discuss.”

Jason sighed but nodded, waving a hand toward the castle. “Fine. But if one of those beasts starts breathing fire, you’re cleaning up the mess.”

As you followed Tyland and Jason into the halls of Casterly Rock, the children lingered for a moment, casting one last glance at their dragons before hurrying to catch up.

The heavy stone walls muffled the noise of the bustling castle beyond, leaving only the sound of the flames and the occasional clink of a goblet as Jason Lannister poured himself wine. He sat across from you and Tyland, his sharp green eyes studying both of you with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

“Well,” Jason began, swirling the wine in his goblet. “You’ve barely been here a day, and already you’ve brought chaos to my doorstep. Dragons, Tyland? Really?”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but resolute. “I did what was necessary to protect my family.”

Jason’s brows arched as he set his goblet down. “Protect them? From what? Or should I say, from whom? The raven arrived before you, Tyland. I know Viserys is dead. And I know Otto Hightower sent a message asking where House Lannister stands. If we declare for Aegon, all will be forgiven. Including your… insubordination.”

Your stomach tightened at Jason’s words, and you glanced at Tyland, whose jaw clenched imperceptibly. He met Jason’s gaze steadily, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Forgiveness comes at a price, brother. Otto’s mercy isn’t freely given—it’s a leash, one he expects to tighten around our necks.”

Jason sighed heavily, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “You took my men, my resources, and now you bring a storm to my gates. Explain to me, Tyland, why House Lannister should risk everything for this decision of yours.”

Tyland’s expression hardened, his golden eyes flashing. “Because Otto Hightower ordered my family placed under house arrest. That’s not an offer of forgiveness, Jason—it’s a threat. He wanted us to submit by force, to make an example of us if we didn’t bend the knee. I won’t stand for it. Not for me, not for my wife, and not for my children.”

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And where does that leave me? Where does that leave Casterly Rock, Tyland? You’ve put me in the center of a storm, and now I’m the one who has to decide how we weather it.”

You spoke then, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the tension. “Jason, I understand the position this puts you in. But I will not stand against my sister. Rhaenyra is the named heir. My father’s wish was clear. Supporting Aegon would be treason against the crown—and against the bonds of family.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded you. “And you think Otto cares about treason? About bonds of family? He cares about power, Y/N. And you know as well as I do that once the crown rests on Aegon’s head, his rule will be legitimized.”

“That’s the problem,” Tyland interjected sharply. “He’s using force and fear to make it so. If we bow to him now, it sets a precedent. House Lannister becomes a pawn in his game—a tool to secure his power. Is that what you want for our House, Jason? To be remembered as a family of opportunists who turned their backs on honor?”

Jason’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward. “Don’t speak to me of honor, Tyland. I’ve upheld our House’s honor through every battle, every political game. And now you ask me to risk all of that for your ideals?”

“Not for my ideals,” Tyland countered, his voice rising slightly. “For our family. For our children. Otto Hightower threatened us, Jason. If we bend now, what happens when his demands grow? When he uses that leash to drag us further into his schemes?”

Jason let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “And if we declare for Rhaenyra? What then? We’ll be at war, Tyland. War with the Hightowers, war with Aegon, and possibly war with the Reach and the Crownlands. You’ve brought dragons, yes, but dragons alone won’t win this fight.”

You leaned forward then, your voice low but resolute. “Rhaenyra is not without allies, Jason. The Velaryons, the North, the Vale—they will stand with her. This isn’t just about dragons. It’s about what is right.”

Jason stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and admiration. Finally, he let out a long sigh, reaching for his goblet. “You always were the stubborn one, weren’t you?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “And you always cared about doing what’s best for our House.”

Jason drained his wine in one long gulp before setting the goblet down with a clink. “Very well. But understand this, Tyland—if I stand with you, with Rhaenyra, we are committing ourselves to a war that could destroy us. You’d best be ready for what comes.”

Tyland nodded, his expression grim but determined. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I wasn’t.”

Jason pushed back his chair, rising to his feet. “Then let us prepare. If war is coming, House Lannister will not be caught unprepared.” He turned to you, his gaze softening slightly. “You’d better hope your dragons are as fearsome as they seem, sister-in-law. We’ll need them.”

As he left the room, the tension lingered like smoke in the air. Tyland reached for your hand, his grip firm but reassuring. “We’ve taken the first step,” he said quietly. “Now we see where it leads.”

The warm glow of the hearth in your chambers at Casterly Rock offered little comfort against the weight of the conversation you and Tyland had just shared with Jason. The sprawling fortress, so grand and impenetrable, felt smaller under the looming shadow of war. You sat by the window, gazing out at the cliffs where the dragons had settled, their faint silhouettes outlined by the pale light of the moon. The children were finally asleep, their soft breaths filling the nursery down the hall, but your mind was restless.

Tyland stood nearby, removing his doublet and laying it neatly over the back of a chair. His movements were deliberate, but his shoulders were tense, the weight of the day pressing down on him. When he finally turned to you, his eyes softened, and he crossed the room to sit beside you.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said gently, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, a comforting gesture that steadied you even in the storm of your thoughts.

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s hard to find words for everything I’m feeling. The thought of war, of our family being drawn into it…” Your voice faltered, and you turned your gaze back to the window. “I can’t help but think about our children. What kind of world are we leaving for them, Tyland?”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times, Y/N. But we’re doing what we must to protect them. That’s all we can do.”

“Is it enough?” you murmured, your voice heavy with doubt. “Loren and Rhaelle—they’re old enough to understand what’s happening. They’ll want to fight, to protect the family. And the younger ones… Kevan’s so curious, always asking questions. Alysanne is so sensitive, and Jaeryn is just a baby. How do we keep them safe from all of this?”

Tyland pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “We teach them strength,” he said softly. “We show them how to stand tall, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. And we remind them, every day, that they are loved.”

You closed your eyes, taking solace in his words. “I wish they didn’t have to learn strength like this. I wish we could give them a childhood free of fear.”

“So do I,” he admitted, his voice tinged with sadness. “But the world doesn’t always give us what we wish for. It gives us what we can endure.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. The flickering firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of worry etched into his features. “Do you ever regret marrying me, Tyland? Choosing to stand with my family, even knowing it would lead to this?”

He frowned, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Not for a moment,” he said firmly. “You are my wife, my love, the mother of my children. My loyalty is to you and to the family we’ve built. Whatever comes, I will never regret standing by your side.”

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you leaned into his touch, finding strength in his unwavering devotion. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’d manage. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as the fire crackled softly in the background. But the heaviness in your chest remained, the knowledge that this peace was fleeting, that the world outside your chambers was changing irrevocably.

“Do you think we made the right choice?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tyland didn’t answer immediately. He gazed into the fire, his expression thoughtful. “We made the only choice we could,” he said finally. “Otto Hightower threatened our family. Rhaenyra is your sister, the rightful heir. And our children—our legacy—deserve a future free of fear. If standing with her is what it takes to secure that, then yes, it was the right choice.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart didn’t lessen. “I just hope our children understand one day.”

“They will,” Tyland said firmly. “Because they’ll see it in us—in how we stand together, in how we fight for them. They’ll know it was always for them.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words, to cling to the hope that your family would endure the trials ahead. But deep down, you knew that the road would only grow more perilous. And as you sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the shadows of war loomed ever closer, threatening to upend everything you held dear.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

pairing ✭ sub!soobin x afab!reader

synopsis ✭ soobin just wants you to come home. he misses you so so much. but you left your panties on the bed...so maybe he'll be okay.

content/genre ✭ smut

word count ✭ 1k

notes ✭ this is a rewrite of one of my yunho fics 🤭

warnings ✭ smut, panty sniffing ☺️, mommy kink, sub soobin, dirty talk (mc calls soobin a whore & slut), masturbation

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

He knew he shouldn’t call you in the middle of the day. You were out with friends, getting lunch and shopping. He didn’t need to be by your side at every waking moment…but actually he did.

The bed felt so cold without you. No amount of blankets could replicate your touch. But he needed to let you be. It was noon anyway. He should probably get out of bed.

So…he called you. And it rang. And rang. And rang until eventually the tune faded and he was left with his own wildly impure thoughts. He could stop thinking about you. How good you had smelt after you’d spritzed your perfume in the bathroom. How good your legs had looked under that skirt. How gently you’d kissed him before you left.

Pressing a hand to his chest and pressing your freshly glossed lips to his own, “Be a good boy for me while I’m gone, okay?” 

He’d only nodded breathlessly before retreating to your bed and burying himself in your fluffy blankets. Bringing one of them up to his face and inhaling the scent of your shampoo and fabric softener that clung to the fabric. He could already feel himself getting unbearably hard.

And when you hadn’t picked up, he’d only gotten more and more needy. When he tossed his phone down next to him, though, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. 

Fuck.

You’d left a pair of panties on the bed. The ones you had just changed out of before you left. The light blue fabric printed with little bows was taunting him. 

He should put them in the laundry. Clean them for you. And let you kiss him on the forehead and call him a good boy for helping you out.

But they were so close. It was just so easy to take them. Keep them. Hide them in a special place. He should’ve felt more guilty. Where was that nervous knot in his stomach that kept him from doing stupid shit? Was this a boundary he really wanted to cross?

He reached across the bed and pinched the waistband, caressing the fabric with his thumb and dragging it closer to him. “Fuck,” he groaned softly as he gingerly picked them up. 

It was so wrong of him. Why was he acting this way? Like some kind of sex-depraved creep. He was your boyfriend for fucks sake. You buried his cock deep in your pussy nearly every day. Riding him and draining him dry. Leaving him a babbling whimpering mess every night before kissing his cheeks and caressing his hair until he inevitably fell asleep in your arms.

And was here returning the favor by burying his nose in your panties, whimpering at the scent of you left on them. He finally pulled his aching cock out of his shorts (he always forwent underwear in the house). The precum leaking out of the tip was more than enough to lube himself up as he teased himself. Starting the pumps painfully slow. Grazing a finger over the underside. 

He was a whining mess. Whimpering into your panties, picturing you sitting on his face. He imagined you breathing in his ear.

I thought you were gonna be my good boy?

No? You’re gonna be a little whore, aren’t you.

It’s ok~ Mommy likes needy little sluts anyway.

He shuttered at the thought of your breath on his neck. Degrading him just like he deserved, “Hmmm, mommy,” he whimpered, “‘M sorry–fuck–’m sorry mommy.”

The words came out as barely coherent babbles that he choked out between breaths. Pumping his cock desperately and erratically in his fist just to get a fraction of the feel of you. 

He brought the panties down to his cock and rolled over onto his stomach. He gripped your pillow for dear life, moaning and sobbing into it as he furiously jerked himself off. The control he had over himself was wearing thin. He kept grinding into your mattress, too. Trying to give himself just a little more friction. 

It was so overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. Everything smelt like you. The pillow, the sheets, the blankets tangled between his legs. But nothing felt quite like you. Not his fist, not the panties, not anything he could get himself.

The whimpers come out as he aimlessly begged, “Need you. Mmm…need you so bad.” His grip on his cock tightened as he felt himself get closer, “Need mommy’s pussy. Hah–please.”

He imagined you chucking at him. Condescending telling him that, “Mommy’s right here. You have mommy’s pussy.” You’d grip his cheek between your fingers, “Don’t tell me you need more?” And you’d pout out your bottom lip as his eyes welled up with tears, “Baby boy can’t get off by himself, can he? Needs some help?” And he’d nod desperately. He’d have no resolve, no dignity left. Just an empty head filled with the desire to cum.

The more he thought about your dirty words the closer he got. So so so close. “Please please please,” he whined, “Mommy please let me cum. ‘M your good boy. Please–’m a good boy.”

And just the thought of you telling him, “Go ahead baby. Cum for mommy,” made him cum. A lot. All into your panties and over your sheets and he shook under your blankets. Sobbing into your pillows. 

When he collapsed fully into your pillows, he had to take a few minutes to catch his breath. Trying to realize what had just happened. He pulled your blanket up to his neck snuggling further into your bed. 

His phone buzzed next to him. And he groaned as he stretched over to grab it. Only to see a text from you. 

angel : what happened to being my good boy soobin?

angel : i can’t leave you at home for a few hours without you breaking the rules, can i?

What the fuck? He clicked out of the chat quickly to check his call log. And there it was.

You’d been on the phone the whole time.

general taglist: @swimmingkpopblog @oddracha @drinkingrumandcocacola @minaateez @funnyvxlentine

txt taglist: @shinyj3lly

[wordsinhaled]

Hello everyone! I am so excited to finally be able to add something to this AU again! I have a few other installments I have been mulling over for a while that will hopefully see the light of day at some point in the future, but for now, here is a little bit of pining Charles :) This is set some relatively short time after @qwanderer's sickfic and will make the most sense if you've already read that bit <3

-

It is a bloody privilege, Charles thinks contentedly, to wake up on a weekend morning buried in a cocoon of blankets on Edwin Payne’s familiar sofa. Of course, Edwin is already awake by the time Charles blearily untangles himself and manages to get upright. The first thing he notices is that the flat smells incredible.

The second thing— Oh, god. He’s going to be late for farmer’s market. Mum is going to kill him. Especially if she finds out he overslept at Edwin’s and still hasn’t even kissed him yet. “Are you making breakfast?” Charles mumbles through a yawn, making his way through the maze of camera equipment into the kitchen to find Edwin in the middle of a neat pivot away from the fridge with a carton of whipping cream in hand. “Wait—why’re you making breakfast? Isn’t mum going to kill us? S’market day, innit?” “I took the liberty of asking Aadhya if we could help at next Sunday’s farmer’s market, instead. She very graciously said yes.” Charles raises his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s some excuse you must’ve had.” Edwin smiles, his cheeks dimpling, and Charles feels his heart do a slow, devoted flip in his chest at the sight of it. “Not at all. She simply agreed, and said she would find someone to cover for us. Your mother is really unduly kind to me, you know, Charles.” “So… you… asked for time off? For both of us?” Charles grins, incredulous. “You all right, mate? Not coming down with something again?” “I am fine, I assure you. It is just…” Edwin coughs delicately. He stares down at the wire whisk he has just got out of the drawer. “We have not had much time to spend together, lately, have we, what with the show, and our…” Charles could swear Edwin’s blushing, or are his eyes playing tricks? “My very silly misunderstanding putting us at such unnecessary odds. I suppose I simply… missed you? And wanted to make it up.” He puts down the whisk, which he had started fidgeting with, and sets to the task of measuring cream out into a mixing bowl. Right, Charles thinks. Edwin’s misunderstanding. The one where he’d thought Charles had a blooming boyfriend, when everyone and his mother, everyone but Edwin, knows that Edwin’s the only one Charles’s been able to think of in ages. He'd got all maudlin and sad-eyed about it, too—but that was the fever talking, Charles reminds himself—and so relieved when Charles'd disproved the whole thing… Charles has to wonder… well. He has to wonder, doesn't he? Still wonders, sometimes, if he’s totally lost it. Still wonders, when it’s been a long evening, and several hours since his last text from Edwin, if Edwin is texting Monty instead. But then Edwin had him round for Monopoly and takeaway. Edwin trounced him soundly, and Charles laughed harder than he has in weeks. When he admitted defeat he considered upending the game board in a flurry of paper money, in a moment of really awful sportsmanship, but he'd shaken Edwin’s hand instead. Edwin’s grip was firm and sure and... Charles had let himself linger. God, he shouldn't have, but he had. The cool press of Edwin’s palm was heady and perfect, fizzed through Charles’ blood and buoyed him for the rest of the night. They fell asleep tipped close together on the sofa, Edwin’s hair tickling Charles’ chin, Charles’ arm hooked about his shoulders in case Edwin had a nightmare like he does sometimes. And Charles woke up this morning to the smell of caramelized bananas and masala chai, and the ghost of Edwin’s cologne in his nose.

Edwin is making him breakfast, because he'd missed Charles too. Edwin missed him. And nothing’s changed between them, has it, nothing at all; except maybe Charles is even more in love with Edwin than before.

-

*Edwin is making Charles Bananas Foster French toast with homemade whipped cream <3

3/? - Restaurant owner / chef Charles / Food critic Edwin AU - continued!

Hello, lovely folks - the restaurant AU continues and has outgrown its last thread, which is amazing! Here's a new reblog chain to reblog from and continue the journey <3 I'll also be updating the masterpost to add this one!

You can read the AU from the beginning here!

The masterpost for the AU is here!

[calinaannehart]

time is shortening (down to the bone)

Four months after the breakup Buck gets a text message from Lucy.

He’s just woken up after a 24-hour shift, the haze of sleep still clouding him when his phone chimes. He doesn’t read it straight away, a habit he’s gotten into to stop him from rushing to see if Tommy had finally texted him.

Buck has spent hours at a time staring at his phone screen and his and Tommy’s message history. Occasionally, the white bubble would bounce, the three dots telling him that Tommy was typing something out and Buck’s heart rate would spike, nerves and anticipation clogging his throat as he waited, and waited, and waited until the bubble would vanish altogether.

Tommy never messaged. But it told Buck that the man was still thinking about him, that had to mean something, right?

He’s called Tommy a handful of times, giving in to the deep-down urge to hear the man’s voice again, usually in the middle of the night when he’s been wallowing in the bottom of a liquor bottle. The ones that he didn’t end before the call connected had gone unanswered just the same as every call and text in the first few weeks following the break-up.

All he’d wanted was to talk to Tommy, try and make some sense out of what had happened for things to have derailed in the blink of an eye. One minute they’d been celebrating their sixth month anniversary, Buck looking forward to another six months with Tommy by his side, and the next Tommy had been calling him Buck and walking out of his life.

Now they’d been apart almost as long as they’d been together.

A box of Tommy’s things, his toothbrush, a spare phone charger, a harbor hoodie that Buck had claimed as his, the fluffy socks Tommy wore when his feet got cold which Buck found so fucking sweet and endearing it made his teeth hurt, still sat by the door waiting to be collected. Eddie and Chim have both offered to drop it off at Tommy’s but Buck shrugged them off.

If he’s being honest with himself he just couldn’t let them go.

It wasn’t just him who Tommy has been ghosting, Bobby, Hen, and Chim, they’ve all tried reaching out to no avail. Eddie is the only one who’s had any success, a couple of messages in the early days asking Eddie to keep an eye on Buck, and an odd one now and then replying to Eddie’s attempts to get him to meet for a pick-up game or sparing session.

“He always says he’s working,” Eddie had told him with a shrug. “I guess he’s just picking up some extra shifts to keep himself busy.”

They never see him on calls, however, not on the 217 truck or on the chopper when they’re joined by air ops, and Lucy just shrugs when anyone asks saying he’s off that day.

Buck’s starting to think Tommy’s either avoiding the 118 or he’s taken a transfer altogether.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, staring at his phone while he waits for his coffee to brew. The screen lights up again, another text coming in with a chime before falling dark again and Buck figures he’s delayed it long enough.

There’s still a spark of hope as he taps the screen to wake it, but it extinguishes in a flash when it’s Lucy’s contact that’s revealed instead.

If you have any plans today cancel them.

I know you’re off shift today so you have no excuse.

Answer your damn texts Buckley!

I’m not in the mood Lucy.

I don’t care. Clear your schedule for today.

Why?

I need you to go somewhere.

Again, why?

Just do it Buckley. Call it a favor.

How do I know there’s not gonna be a man with an axe waiting to try and murder me?

If that happens I’m haunting you for the rest of your life.

No axe. Scout’s honour.

Fine. Where?

Presbyterian.

Buck hits the call button. Thankfully, Lucy answers after the first ring. “Why are you sending me to the hospital?” He asks. “What’s…wait, are you hurt? Did something happen on a call?”

Lucy doesn’t answer straight away. “Nothing happened on a call.” She says eventually in her usual evasive and unhelpful way.

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick.”

The inflection to her words, whether intentional or subconscious tells Buck what he needs to know. “But someone is?”

Lucy sighs again but doesn’t offer any further explanation. “Third floor. Preferably before two this afternoon.”

“But who—”

“Please, Buck?” The desperation in her voice is enough to sway him. Lucy never sounds desperate.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go. Who am I—”

“Thanks, Buckley. Third floor. Before two.” She repeats then hangs up.

Stepping out of the elevator Buck blinks when he realizes he’s on the oncology floor. He looks around, mind reeling with who could possibly be getting treatment on this floor out of every possible department. It can’t be one of the 118, he would know.

He texts Lucy, asking who he’s there to see, and she leaves him on read. She ignores his call, too.

“Hey, excuse me,” Buck says to the nurse behind the desk. “Um, I’m not sure who I’m—”

The words die in his throat as his eyes land on a familiar form in a large wingback chair, the leg rest raised so he’s reclined with his head tipped back and eyes closed. He’s thinner than he was when Buck last saw him, deep shadows sit under his eyes and his hair, patchy in places, has been shaved short. There’s a port-a-cath in his upper arm and hanging on the drip stand above is a bag of fluid, the bright red chemotherapy label visible even at this distance.

“Sir?” The nurse says, but Buck can’t look away from the man.

“Tommy.”

Read on AO3

If you like please reblog!

[dragonnan]

Saturday Sherlock Fic Recs

Gathered from my bookmarks :)

It's Not The Violin by copperbadge - M Somewhere between Alejandro and the fistfight, John Watson became someone Sherlock Holmes would kill for.

Sound of Silence by SailorChibi - G Sherlock returns from the dead but nothing is like it was. He doesn't speak and John doesn't understand, not until an encounter with the Yard explains the depths of Sherlock's trauma.

Lost for Words by awanderingbard - M Sherlock is assaulted by an unknown assailant while John is away at a medical conference, leaving him with a severe brain injury. While his intellect and personality are intact, he's lost the use of his right-side limbs and his ability to speak freely. John suddenly finds himself as the main source of support, and possibly a caregiver, to a flatmate who is struggling to do the things he loves most. And Sherlock Holmes has never been the best of patients.

Following On by in_in_in_in_in_in - G ‘Well,’ says Sherlock, throwing the empty bottle down into the foot well. ‘I did think I was going to die.’

‘You thought you were going to die?’ Donovan chokes out. ‘I knew you were a freak, but are you really so self-centred? I thought he was supposed to be your friend, and instead of worrying about him you’re worrying about yourself? Did you push him in front of you or something?’

When something happens to John, Sherlock doesn't understand why everyone's so surprised that he was worried for his own life.

Flinch by Salr323 - G "We hated him."

Oubliette by CherryBlossomTide - T After a traumatic incident, Sherlock becomes trapped in the darkest part of his Mind Palace. The only thing that can still reach him is the sound of John's voice.

A Cure for the Final Problem by Saasan - T (Warning for Character Death) As far as Sherlock knows, he's back in rehab, but something is amiss. Why won't John come visit him?

The Holiday by Scriblit - M (Warning for offscreen noncon) A month following an horrific, sadistic attack during a case, Sherlock is still physically incapacitated and emotionally damaged. A holiday is suggested, but even stuck out in the middle of nowhere, he and John happen upon a case that could make Sherlock begin to feel like his old self again - or could kill him.

Paying Back by Dayja - M Some men do not appreciate Sherlock's handling of their cases. They decide to pay him back.

Harmless Things by J_Baillier - M This is definitely not how John had imagined their Saturday night.

It takes John Watson to save your life. by Sparkypip - T A series of One shots where John saves Sherlock's life in so many ways. Will be updated sporadically as and when I get any time to write. As always I like my characters hurt, so plenty of angst, H/C, whump and bromance.

Seek Out The Unworthy by squire - T Set after the events of His Last Vow - but this time, the plane carrying Sherlock off to Eastern Europe never turned around, and John's life is very different as a result.

Hopeless Wanderer by Cyane (orphan_account) - Not Rated Mycroft wakes up in a cold, dark, cliche. Normally this would be fine, except this time, his captors were smart/stupid enough to drag Sherlock into this.

And they're going to be there for a while, until his agents and Scotland Yard figures out where they are.

This would be a hell of a lot easier if Mycroft wasn't blindfolded, tied up, and forced to listen to Sherlock's screams.

Redemption by sgam76 - G The reappearance of James Moriarty means an initial reprieve for Sherlock Holmes. But the consequences of that reappearance put not just the Holmes boys, but most of the world, at risk. An emerging threat in Eastern Europe brings visions of the plagues of the Middle Ages--but that's the least dangerous part.

English as a Foreign Language by standbygo - G Sherlock is not quite right after Mycroft pulls him out of Serbia.

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart - T The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

The Least of All Possible Mistakes by rageprufrock - M If ever a people deserved tasering, it’s Holmeses.

Define Vulnerability by TheGracefulBlueCat - T Shortly after Sherlock's return John realises something is very wrong with his friend. He, Greg and Mycroft try to help Sherlock as he falls deeper and deeper into the abyss called PTSD. But Sherlock is not ready to allow anyone in, but then the events of the current case cause him to hit bottom hard.

Into the Gloaming by Vulpesmellifera - M She lays the sage bundle down in one of his seashells, avoiding the label. How he loved cataloging natural items. That sharp mind of his so naturally tended to the sciences, and she’d taken great joy in encouraging him all his life. All the first thirteen years of it. The last year has been entirely different.

His hand lies just outside the white comforter. When she touches it, the chill of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. His lips move, his voice as soft as dead, dry leaves.

“What’s that, love?” she says.

“In the trees,” he says, his eyes still closed. “Is it John there in the trees? I think he’s waiting for me.”

Viola turns her gaze out the window and to the closest tree, a resplendent cherry in the throes of autumn. In the branches there, for just a second, she thinks she sees it: a black bird, feathers gleaming in the sun.

Learning the Heart by Calais_Reno - T An android tries to understand love and grief.

The Ancillus's Tale by Chryse - E (Warnings for noncon and MPREG) Once Sherlock’s body had been his alone. He was free to treat it with great care or none at all; to live on cigarettes and coffee and cocaine and then sleep it all off for days on end. He was free to stay in and sleep alone or to go to clubs and choose someone to touch him, mark him with nails and teeth or to kiss him with sweetness and care, according to his whim. Every part of it had been his decision. No more. Now he was property of the Crown, tagged and marked like one of the King’s deer, to be bred like one of his horses.

[capricornsims]

Jenny and Lyla are best friends no matter what kind of feud is happening between their husbands. Either way, they get together and plan to raise their babies to be best friends like they are. Lyla spends most of her time at the Smith house, and PT9 is more than happy to cook for all of them.

Also, this is part 2 of my last post.

[queermccoy]

imagine you are a lesbian. imagine you are a lesbian and you love your gf. imagine you are a lesbian and your now ex gf is seeing a man with traditional values. imagine you are a lesbian and your ex gf is a tradwife.

you are max from black sails

[paintinganangel]

Chappell Roan performing Good Luck Babe at Bonnaroo Festival

[iamplutotheplanet]

[aiodenhunt]

Hc that the only reason Cassandra isn’t in the Isle of the lost is because of Rapunzel, they did take her there for a day or two. But Raps noticed and technically begged King Beast to send Cass back to Auradon. Rapunzel took full responsibility of Cassandra, saying that if Cass ever caused chaos in Corona or the world again then both Rapunzel and Cassandra would be sent to the Isle.

Both of them are currently in Auradon, and Cassandra cannot thank Rapunzel more to this day.

And if Rapunzel and Cassandra knew about Ginny’s existence Raps would probably take Ginny to Auradon too.

[pennyschool]

Alexa, play Good Luck Babe by Chappell Roan

(also hi I’m the Pam blog mod)

I have never heard of that artist (mod// GIRLIE IS LYING) Ill check her out!

[dailytraingirl]

haley loves chappell roan because i love her but im too scared to date a girl so im getting married to sam

[graysonsmullet]

[iheartsteve0704]

GLORBIE WARRIORS WHERE IS THE CHAPPELL ROAN GOOD LUCK BABE GLORBIE VIDEO EDIT OR AO3 INSPIRED FIC??????? WE NEED ANGST BABES WE NEED IT!!