pairing: chef Luca x reader
word count: 2.6k
warnings: 18+, nsfw!!!, smut!, no use of y/n but luca calls you baby :3 (unf), unprotected p in v, little bit of fingering, dom/sub, orgasm denial/control, edging, angry/annoyed sex?!?, public bathroom
summary: “Let me guess… ‘Too proud to stage’ but just humble enough to fuck you in a bathroom?”
author's note: um, so, this was my attempt at writing porn without the plot, but the plot got me!! the plot got me!! ugh >.< i'll try again. fyi this chef Luca smut has nothing to do with my fine line smut :) also i might write a second part?!?! anyways i hope you enjoy! the wordy peach <3
Seven minutes ago, you were sipping champagne, laughing with your cousins, letting the band’s cover of Sugar by Maroon 5 carry you into that familiar warmth weddings are supposed to have. Then Sydney just had to lean in, casual enough to pretend she wasn’t stirring the pot, and mention that Luca was definitely going to be the new stage at The Bear.
Now?
Your back is against the cold porcelain countertop, heels slipping against the tile as Luca’s frame crowds yours. Somewhere between your third “you’re better than this!” and his clipped “you don’t get to tell me that!” his hands had found the hem of your dress, and silk is now pooled around your hips.
You’re both glaring, eyes locked, daring the other to blink first.
“I thought you were joking, but you’re serious — you’re really going to be a stage? At his restaurant?” Your voice echoes through the tiled room, sharp and incredulous.
Luca doesn’t say anything, mouth screwed shut. His hand is braced beside your hip, the other grazing black lace — the panty he insisted you wear tonight. His fingertips slide the flimsy fabric to the side, letting the cool air hit your most sensitive area.
Your fingers curl against the counter, nails biting the surface, holding onto your anger to keep you steady. To keep you anchored. It’s your cousin’s wedding, for fucksakes. It’s practically a family reunion after years spent in Copenhagen with Luca while he chased, and caught, his dream of being a chef. You’re supposed to be mingling, drinking champagne, catching up, delivering a speech in about twenty minutes…
Not pinned in a bathroom with a needy cunt.
“It’s humiliation, Luca. You’re better than Carmen, and you know it.”
The more you poke, the more you prod, the heavier his silence grows. And Luca just stares at you in a flat, bored way. He’s done with the argument. Your words mean nothing to him, yet you’re still dragging it out. You grit your teeth, pulse thrumming.
It’s impossible to look away. He’s dressed too well for this fight. Black slacks, black collared shirt, hair styled to perfection. Fabric clinging and cutting in all the right places.
Luca looks untouchable.
Every inch of him screams control — making it harder to resist, and even harder to remember why you’re supposed to be angry when he looks like this, and smells like smoke and spice and something so distinctly him.
Then, Luca lifts two fingers to his mouth.
The wet sound of him coating them in saliva is obscenely loud in the tiny bathroom. Your stomach twists, heat rushing even lower, because he doesn’t look away.
Not once.
The connection is so palpable it makes your skin prickle — Luca is doing this on purpose. All because you picked a fight with him, because you dared to tell him he’s better than your cousin.
“This is about you proving something to him, not to yourself." you murmur, your voice faltering.
His fingers pop out of his mouth. Your chest stutters.
He drops them to your slit, peeling you apart. He starts just below your clit, gliding in an endless give and take motion — nothing about the way Luca touches you is careless. It’s dedication. Years spent mapping your body, so of course he knows the exact pressure it takes to make you gasp.
Your hand closes around his wrist, meaning to stop him, to push him away.
But you can’t.
Because you’re not in control. Luca is.
And he knows it.
The glint in his eyes tells you he feels the shift, feels as you lean into it. Into him.
“And if it is? What then?” He finally speaks, voice low enough that it scrapes over your skin.
His thumb ghosts over your clit, never makes contact. He knows your reaction by heart: a sharp inhale through your nose followed by a ragged exhale, squeezed through clenched teeth.
But he’s taken back by your harsh words.
“Then you’re not the Luca I thought you were.”
The real insult?
His pupils don’t even dilate. Just that same bored, ‘are you done?’ stare before muttering, “Mmm, wrong answer. Try again.”
Then, he circles your clit, just once.
Your body jolts, and you try to cover it with a useless scoff, “Well, the Luca I know wouldn’t go back to be a fucking stage.”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. Not anger. Not even annoyance. Just tired. So fucking tired of your persistent inability to understand him. One by one, Luca plucks his fingers away, leaving behind a glistening trail of ache.
Then, he moves.
Clutching your waist. Hauling you up. Setting you on the counter. Slotting his body between your knees. Cold porcelain biting your ass. Breath rushing out of your lungs. Hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
The bathroom is suddenly too small, and too hot. Music and laughter filter in through the walls, muffled but close. You vaguely register the risk of being caught, but none of it tears you away from Luca.
He tips your chin up, inspecting your flustered defiance at being manhandled.
“Go on, then. Define me some more, baby,” Luca orders, voice dark, hand dropping to his belt, flicking it open before working on his zipper. “You know how I hate half-assed prep work.”
Your throat bobs once. No words come. You’re still, silent, trapped by the certainty in his eyes that he has you right where he wants you. Every thought you had is gone, wiped out by the weight of his cock resting on your plush cunt, panty still shoved to the side.
“Let me guess… ‘Too proud to stage’ but just humble enough to fuck you in a bathroom?”
There’s no slow build, no easing in. Just a deep, hungry thrust. Nails digging into his arms. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, clamping around a gasp. Walls squeezing, adjusting. Every exhale comes out as a thin, nasally whine. Brows furrowing together, each line a whisper of it hurts.
Luca lifts a hand, fingertips slowly tracing them. His touch is light, teasing, and infuriatingly intimate. You flinch, slapping him away.
He smirks a little, daring you to try again.
“Luca, you can’t just—nngh, fuck—”
He shoves deeper, forcing your gummy walls to expand for him. Luca loves how your cheeks puff out, round and straining, fighting to stay quiet. Even after all these years, you still can’t handle his stupidly fat cock.
It’s cute.
Your hand drops to his stomach, trying to signal that you need him to stop, that he can’t just take what he wants. He halts, pulls out a little, lets your cunt flutter around his tip instead.
His calloused hand cradles your jaw, grip just shy of painful. His thumb traces your bottom lip, admiring how lightly it quivers beneath his touch.
“Can’t what, baby?” His gaze lingers, all honeyed and sweet.
You fix him with a glare that’s not really a glare. It’s heady, full of heat and frustration, trying to regain control over the situation you created.
“Is it too much?” His head tilts, just enough for the bathroom light to crown him. Gold-lit hair, sharp angles, and that permanent, teasing smirk.
Luca looks impossibly perfect. Entirely in control.
You nod, a little. A soft mewl escaping.
“Oh, that’s too bad…” He rocks forward, cock devouring the space inside you again. You wince, breath hitching. It’s too much. The friction. The burn. You feel dizzy. Lightheaded. Invaded beyond comprehension.
But it's also everything you ever wanted.
Luca watches, mesmerized, as your face reddens. His finger taps your swollen cheek, pressing just enough to make your lips part in a gasp.
“Adorable,” he murmurs, “But I’m going to need you to breathe, baby.”
He holds your gaze, waiting for your lungs to cooperate again. When they finally sort of work, he whispers, “Good girl.”
His praise liquifies your bones.
Then, you feel the slick drag, inch by inch, of him withdrawing. Leaving nothing to clench. Your face twists into panic — is Luca just going to leave you like this — cunt empty. Sticky. Drooling.
Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at him. Your eyes start to water, trying to reason with him, “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have said anything. I just don’t want your talent to go to waste working as a stage again.”
You whimper. It’s sad, and pathetic.
“Luca, please—”
“Mmhm, gonna have to cover that pretty little mouth,” Luca places his palm firmly over your mouth, the heel of his hand pressing against your cheek while the other hand locks onto your waist, holding you in place, “Or the entire wedding is going to hear you.”
With a single thrust, he splits you open. You writhe beneath him, grunting words that get caught between your lips and his palm.
Wait. Please. S’fucking big.
He doesn’t stop, giving you every fucking inch, burning through your limits until there's no room left, until he's completely buried at the hilt. Luca licks the tear spilling down your cheek, and lets out a low hum of pleasure, “Fuck—tight little thing still can’t take me, huh?”
You don’t answer him. You can’t. He’s knocked any and all sense out of you. Your chest just arches into his, neck tipping back. Luca uses his weight and strength to cage your body against his, and, he fucks you.
Each thrust is a reminder that he’s the one who’s spent hours plating dishes you can’t even pronounce. That he’s the one who lifted, endured, broken his body into muscle and precision until it became second nature.
“Tell me, was it the 16-hour days where you watched me bleed that makes you think I’m too good to get my hands dirty as a stage again? Or are you just going to miss being the only one who gets to taste my best work?” His fingers dig into the soft yielding flesh of your hip, body angling impossibly closer.
“Be honest, baby. I know you hate sharing.” Luca growls, tearing into the resistance like it's nothing, cock hitting that spot now — your eyes roll back, and your moans vibrate against his hand. He works it over and over and over. Showing no mercy as a hot, insistent pressure builds that's too tight. Too much.
You’re right there, walls pulsating with the promise of release that never comes. Because Luca has pulled away, leaving you a shattered, ruined thing of almost.
A wet, broken sound crawls up your throat. It’s half-gasp, half-sob.
It makes him laugh, a soft, disbelieving sound.
“Oh, did you want something?”
You nod, a bit too desperately. Maybe even a little bit humiliated too.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have picked a fight over nothing.”
His hand that seals your mouth is a brand, a reminder you can’t shake. Each slow flex of his fingers tells you that he’s the one who’s spent years perfecting pressure, and restraint.
He shakes his head, tsking, “Some insignificant bullshit just to hear yourself talk.”
Your stifled disagreement earns you a hard grind of his hips. It’s just enough to make your toes curl, but not enough to send you over the edge.
This is where Luca keeps you, teetering on the edge, denied.
Because he likes this part.
Like the way your hips jerk, desperate, when he pulls back. Likes the way your lashes flutter, the furrow of your brows, the tension in your neck. He sees it all. Feeds on it. He could end this anytime. But why would he? Watching your thighs quake with the need he refuses to satisfy is half the fun.
And just to prove how practiced he is, how effortless his control is, Luca eases up. Penetration becomes shallow. Only giving you an inch, maybe two. Taking his fucking time, making every second count — again, again, again — until your nearly wrecked cunt starts making lewd, squelching noises and you’re clawing at him, whining in frustration.
A bead of sweat traces down the sharp angle of Luca’s jaw. He doesn’t wipe it away, doesn’t even flinch. Too busy holding the line, too busy forcing you to stay in this dizzy, aching place a heartbeat longer.
The sweat is the only thing that gives him away. The only crack in his control. And you’d worship it, if he’d let you.
“I know how to stage. I know how to be a chef.” Luca leans in, close enough for you to feel the heat of his words. “And I know I’m fucking good at it.”
He drags your hand to your stomach, covering it with his own, and presses down. Then, his hips snap forward. And you can feel the faint outline of his cock as it spears your cunt, owning you.
It makes you shudder.
“I’m not doing this to prove myself to Carmen — I’m doing this because he needs a chef like me in his kitchen.” Luca’s throat moves like he’s forcing down glass, tendons standing rigid under his skin. A swallow that’s too loud, too telling. But his eyes are worse. They’re bright with something feverish, pupils swallowing the light.
“I know I’m better than him in every way that matters.”
His hand stays firm as he kisses the corner of your mouth — a mockery of tenderness.
“Do you understand, baby?”
Only then does Luca lift his palm.
“—yes, chef—”
A knock rattles at the bathroom door.
You practically choke on your answer, eyes going wide with panic. Luca doesn’t seem to care, smoothing his hand over your mouth again, steady and calm, as if he’d been expecting it.
“Hey, you in there?” It’s your cousin. Carmen. “Your speech is coming up...”
You twist, a muffled sound pressing into Luca's skin, but he just looks at you. Totally unbothered. Then, without missing a beat, his voice lifts, casual and lazy, “No, she’s not in here…”
Luca smiles. It’s not sharp or cruel, but boyish. Soft in a way that completely disarms you, like he’s not the same man whose throbbing cock is still buried inside your cunt. He lingers, eyes sweeping your face before finally easing out. The loss is immediate, the ache cutting into the space just below your navel.
“Luca?” It slips out as a plea, a question you don't even know how to finish. You're half-undone, wound so tight. Head buzzing, blood thrumming hot in your ears. Desperate for the rest of him.
Luca just steadies you, patient, hands firm as he helps you down from the counter. Your legs wobble when your feet hit the ground, knees nearly give, and it makes him smile again — quiet, and infuriating. He knows exactly how wrecked you are.
With one hand lingering at your hip to keep you up right, Luca crouches low, helping to slip your heels back on, fixing the straps with sure fingers, like he’s dressing a doll he isn’t finished playing with yet. As Luca rises, he sweetly adjusts your black lace panty before smoothing your dress down over your thighs with those sure, capable hands. Tugging at the fabric until it lies flat, until there’s no evidence of what he just did, of what he almost finished.
“You’re fine,” Luca says softly, though you know he's lying.
You're ruined.
His thumb brushes your jaw, sweeping a stray strand of hair from your cheek. A deceptively soft touch, domestic, ordinary. And then, quietly cruel, with the faintest curve of his lips: “Well, baby. You better get out there — got a speech to give.”
Dr Michael Robinavitch x Dr Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
Summary: While Abbot works the night shift, Robby gets to have his way with you, but after handover, you’re all Jack’s.
Or Jack Abbot makes love. Michael Robinavitch fucks.
Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, sex with both men but not at the same time (yet 😏), degradation, daddy kink, implied age gap, sloppy blowjob with Robby, unprotected sex, mentions previous spankings, a little bit of mean Robby, Abbot going down on you and eating out Robby’s cum, fingering, creampies, cockwarming
Word count: 3.1k
A/N: banners by @vase-of-lilies, dividers by @uzmacchiato and belated birthday gift for my love @treatbuckywkisses
Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library | AO3
Michael Robinavitch and Jack Abbot are yin and yang. Different sides of the same coin.
Jack likes taking care of you, knowing if your emotional needs are met you’ll give yourself over to him physically. Whereas Robby takes care of you by pushing your body to limits of pleasure you didn’t know existed.
Jack Abbot makes love. Michael Robinavitch fucks.
“When I get home, I need you bare and on your knees for me.” He orders every morning before leaving for his shift. You would never again defy an order from Robby, you learned that after the spanking he gave you the first time you dared to be a brat.
You couldn’t sit directly on your ass for a whole week without being reminded of your punishment.
It’s difficult to know some days what time Robby will make it home, often staying late to check on patients after handover, but tonight you hear the front door close behind him before half past 7, which means he would have practically run out at shift change and sped home on his motorcycle above the speed limit.
“You know how to follow orders, don't you Angel? Always looking so pretty on your knees for me when I get home.” Robby’s calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting your head so you look up at him while he praises you.
He places a soft, quick kiss to your lips as you hear him undo the zipper of his fly, as a reminder that even though he’s about to act like he disrespects you, he does love you in a way only his damaged heart can.
“Now open that pretty mouth.” He commands, rubbing the head of his cock along your lower lip. Like the obedient girl you are, you stick your tongue out and invite Robby in. “That's it, you’re going to take all of daddy’s cock, aren’t you? You’re going to choke on it.”
Robby’s cock is as long, thick and heavy as the rest of him. He’s generous enough to let you set the pace to start out with, taking what you can in your mouth and wrapping your hand around what you can’t fit. But it’s not long before he starts driving his hips to meet your movements.
“Such a whore aren’t you? Only a whore could take a dick like this.” His hand finds the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, as you hum in agreement around his tip, coating it in your saliva, before he thrusts deep enough to feel the back of your throat.
A rumbling moan from the back of his throat falls past his lips, allowing you to pull back for breath before forcing you back down, stretching your jaw as wide as possible, gagging on his entire dick, your nose nuzzling a greying patch of pubes. He holds you there for as long as he knows you can take it, before he lets you go, pulling back with strings of saliva as you gasp for air.
There’s tears trickling out of the corners of your eyes as you nod agreeably. “I’m your whore, daddy.”
Using your saliva as lubrication, you start to pump his member, taking a second to catch your breath while still pleasuring your man.
“Yes you are, Angel. Now get on the bed, ass up, daddy’s had a rough day at work and needs your sweet pussy to take it out on.” He smacks your ass as you stand up, an alluring smirk on your face as you do what you’re told, legs spread wide, giving him the perfect view of every glistening fold.
Robby wastes no time, his intrusion allowing no time for adjustment, taking what he needs from you with no warning, nor sympathy. His hips are merciless in their momentum, his strong arms pushing both your hips and your head into the mattress so that you’re completely pinned by his strength, amenable to his every whim and desire.
“Oh god, I can hear how wet you are.” And he’s right, with each slap of his hips the room fills with the sound of how soaked you are, along with your symphony of cries and whines.
His pace is relentless, utterly unforgiving. His hips drawing back further with each thrust before slamming into you, his fingers digging into your waist so tightly you’ll have bruises there tomorrow.
“Look at you, so fucking pathetic aren’t you? Daddy’s little slut who can’t get enough of his cock.” You can’t get enough, it feels too good, too much, like you’re about to combust from how perfectly complete you feel when you’re stuffed full of him.
“Can I cum? Please, I’m so close.” You whine, needing your release more than needing the air you breathe.
“Daddy hasn’t given you permission yet, Angel.” Robby taunts. It’s all so much that tears begin falling from the corners of your eyes, desperate for the approval of the man who’s currently controlling every sensation coursing through your body.
He continues to piston into you with a fervent vulgarness that leaves you breathless. Teetering on an excruciating edge of ecstasy that threatens to consume you whole.
“Beg for it.” He whispers harshly directly into your ear without stuttering his brutal pace, bending one of your arms behind your back. “Use your words.”
“Please daddy, please, I’ve been so good! I was such a good girl all day. I need to cum… pretty please.” Your voice is strained, words you’re not even in control of spilling past your lips.
He simply smirks at your helplessness.
One of his large hands grabs the back of your neck, the other snakes around your tummy and pulls your back flush with his chest all the while never letting up with his hips.
“You were a good girl for Abbot during the day, not me, why should I let you cum?”
“Please I was all ready for you when you got home, just like you asked!” It’s the only argument you can consider in your current state, wetness leaking out of you and down your thighs where his balls slap your clit with each fervent thrust.
“You were, weren't you? My obedient little whore.” Robby reaches around your body and begins strumming your clit, making you mewl. “Daddy permits you to cum Angel.”
As soon as he gives you licence, you're cumming around him. Your entire body quivers as white hot pleasure floods through you from your clenching toes to the tip of your tongue as you shout his name.
“Oh there she is, fuck yeah, give me everything.” You’re saturating everything, Robby’s thighs, the bedsheets, his hand as it continues to play with your clit in just the way you like that completely overwhelms all your senses, that transports you to a dimension of pure rapture.
You don’t get any time after your climax to catch your breath, Robby flips you around, legs resting on his shoulders as he grunts, thrusting back inside you. The feel of his scratchy beard against your ankles has tingles running through your entire legs.
“Oh god… it’s too much.” You whine, scratching at his tummy as his hips persist with plunging into you.
“You can take it, be a good cockslut and take everything daddy gives you.”
At this angle you can feel him even deeper inside you, impossibly so, the rock of his hips captivating every neuron in your body burns with a yearning for Michael Robinavitch.
“Open wide.” Robby instructs, and it’s not a difficult command to follow when you’re already a panting mess. He bends you in half to lean over you, allowing saliva to pool in his mouth before spitting it in your mouth.
You gladly accept his offering, and the rough, devastating kiss that follows.
“Oh someone’s getting greedy, you’re going to cum again already? What a pathetic cumslut.” Robby can feel your walls fluttering around him, tightening your hold on him as he himself can sense how close he is to release. “Tell me you’re a pathetic cumslut.”
“I’m your pathetic cumslut, daddy.” You enjoy the sly grin curving on his face, and the stutter in his hips at the mention of you being his.
You could tell your approaching orgasm was one for the history books, but the reality is something else altogether. Ecstasy in its purest form courses in your veins when the taut band in your belly finally snaps. A shiver runs through your entire body, a high from being pushed to your absolute limit you may never reach again.
The groan as Robby coats your walls with his warm seed is downright pornographic, and you can’t help but feel bewitched seeing the deep set wrinkles at the outer corners of his eyes as he grapples with the same euphoria flowing through you.
He collapses beside you, breathing heavy, hair glossy with sweat, but when he turns to gaze at you, there is an unmistakable glint of endearment in his eyes.
“You need anything? Some water?” He asks with the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him as he brushes hair from your sweaty forehead with one hand, the other teasing your still hard nipple.
“Yes please.” You respond and he places a delicate kiss on your lips.
“Of course Angel, I’ll get that. You be a good girl and don’t let any of that cum leak out of you until Abbot gets home to fuck it back into you.”
The sun has already risen high over the horizon by the time Jack makes it through the front door.
It’s the dip of the bed beside you that wakes you up as Jack sits down to take his prosthetic off, along with his scrubs, after a long night. There’s no sign of Robby, who must have left for his shift without waking you to say goodbye.
“Good morning pretty girl.” He whispers in your ear as he crawls under the covers behind you, arm slinging around your naked form, pulling you back into him.
You mumble a greeting still half asleep, turning into his broad, musky scented chest, basking in how Jack kisses every plane on your face, finishing with a luscious, if slightly lazy, kiss to your lips.
“Did my girl have a good night?” He asks as his lips move down to the curve of your jaw, before landing on the pulse point of your throat.
“Mhmmm, bit sore from Robby’s turn though.” You strategically say, knowing Jack will take that much better care of you if you advise him of an ailment sustained during a particularly rough session with his partner in crime. He always feels responsible for how both of them treat you, not just himself.
Jack’s attention immediately shifts from kissing your neck to inspecting your face, eyes quickly flicking down your body, then back to your expression to ensure you’re not seriously hurt.
“Sore my love? Looks like I’ll just have to focus my attention on taking care of you for the next twelve hours.” He smirks before kissing you again, sensual, loving, lingering long enough to leave you feeling like you’re floating on a cloud.
Where Robby had been rough, Jack is tender. Robby leaves bruises, then Jack kisses them better.
He slowly makes his way down your body, lips tasting every inch of you he can reach, paying close attention to each of your nipples, large hands caressing your body with the tenderness that speaks louder about his devotion to you than words could ever do.
The affection poured into his every movement is precisely what you need after Robby’s degradation, making you feel cherished, loved in a way that isn’t tied to your performance in the bedroom, but for just being exactly who you are.
He starts with inserting a single finger, and though his hands are thick, one finger is never enough to satisfy you when you’ve already experienced what his cock is like.
“Oh look at that, Robby left a gift for me.” He smiles, manoeuvring his body so that he has a better view of your core, warm breath tickling your centre before he dives in tongue first.
His stubble scratches against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but it’s the lapping motions as he eats Robby’s cum from you that starts tightening the coil in your lower belly.
“Oh Jack! Fuck yes, right there!” You shout as he sucks you between his lips with a low, gravelly moan, finally adding a second thick finger, curling upwards to hit that spongy spot inside you that feels like he’s setting all your nerves on fire.
One hand reaches down to tug on his greying curls, the other stimulates a hardening nipple as Jack’s strong, freckled arm keeps your legs from closing around him.
“Fuck gorgeous, you’re dripping.” He hums against your folds, placing an open mouthed kiss to your clit, his wrist rotating with every plunge of his fingers. “Leaking for me.”
He dives back in like a man starving. Licking up all the sweet nectar you are producing from the very bottom of you, near your puckered hole, through your glistening folds, to circle your clit, before doing it all over again. Every swirl of your bundle of nerves, combined with the force of his fingers, makes your body quiver.
“Oh god your tongue, oh Jack.” Your body involuntarily tries to twist away from his attention, but his weight holds you in place, subjecting you to every hungry stroke of his unrelenting tongue.
With his lips sealed around your clit and a vigorous thrust of two fingers your back arches off the bed as you cum with a shout of his name. The coil at the base of your belly snaps with a ferocity that makes your entire body convulse, your legs tremble uncontrollably as obscenities fall from your lips.
Jack doesn’t let up, he continues slurping every last drop of release your body provides, only prolonging your transcendence into utter bliss. It’s only once your crying moans and the quiver of your legs subside does he pull back, admiring how spent his actions have left you.
His chin is coated as he crawls up the bed to kiss you, giving you the perfect taste of exactly what he had relished devouring moments earlier.
“Need you Jackie.” You say, reaching between your bodies, guiding him towards your entrance. He always gets rock hard while eating you out.
“You’re not too sore?” The way the words tumble gently from his lips, that he puts your comfort and wellbeing ahead of his own gratification. It only makes you feel even more empty of him.
“I need you, please.” You angle your hips to open yourself up to him, breath catching in your throat when the heavy head of his cock presses against your slick hole.
Jack’s groan as he sinks into you reverberates through your bones. He holds your gaze as he slowly sheathes himself inside you, your body stretching to accommodate the thickness that always makes your head spin. Stilling once he’s fully seated inside, his forehead dropping to yours, studying your face to not only ensure you’re experiencing pleasure, but to relish in the beauty of the woman below him, the woman he adores more than life itself.
“That’s it, take me all the way, good girl. Shit, you feel so fucking good.”
You moan at the praise, at how utterly full you feel of him, and the way he looks at you like you’re the beginning and end of his entire world.
Juxtaposed to Robby’s merciless pace, the grind of Jack’s hips is much slower, but far more deliberate. The drag of his cock against your walls is intoxicating, purposeful in the way he hits all the areas inside you which makes you see stars.
“You make such pretty noises my love.” Jack nuzzles into your neck, his rhythmical, deep thrusts pushing you further into the mattress. “I could cum just from hearing audio of you.”
You wrap your legs around his waist as he sucks on the salty skin of your neck, teeth occasionally scraping against your pulse point which makes you gasp.
“Oh fuck, you’re so deep.” You groan, feeling thoroughly satiated by how fucking full he leaves you, and when he pulls back, all you want is for him to fill you up, to make you whole again.
Jack pulls back slightly to observe every micro expression on your face, how your features contort in pleasure, your warm breaths mixing as his name falls from your lips in hoarse gasps.
“You’re taking me so well, gorgeous.” His nose nudges your cheek, followed by a kiss to the same place, somehow still so delicate and affectionate with you while railing into you.
“You’re gonna make me cum Jackie.” Your fingernails claw down his back, desperately trying to pull him even closer to you despite his entire body already laying directly on top of you.
The feeling threatens to overwhelm you, you’ve already cum multiple times today, but you’re determined to be a good girl, the best girl for your Jack. However, it doesn’t stop you from turning your head away from him in some absurd attempt to escape the firestorm of pleasure.
“Nah uh, none of that. Eyes on me sweet girl, keep your eyes on me when I make you cum.”
As soon as you turn your head back, eyes meeting his hazel ones, the irises that always observe you with such tenderness, an affection so bright you could see it from light years away, you crumble.
You feel your entire body seize up, like a lightning bolt striking through you, Jack coaxing you on as you ride out your high.
“Oh fuck, that’s it… shit, oh god, I’m gonna fill you up.” His thrusts become sloppy, it’s the feeling of you clenching around him that is his undoing.
The air is ripped from Jack's lungs, his whole body shuddering at the force of his high as he spills all he has deep inside you, grunting and groaning into your mouth before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, wet tongues sliding against each other.
Jack rolls over when you’ve both come down, with his half hard cock still inside you, so that you're laying on top of him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before he closes his eyes, relishing having you so close as you feel his breathing slow.
“Sweet dreams Jackie.” You whisper, kissing the freckles staining his chest.
“I always sleep better when I’m inside you.” He mumbles back, arms slung around you, holding you tight as he drifts off into dreamland.
"jack 's too deep..." you whine. well, as much as you can, with your tongue pushed up against his. any noise you make gets muffled by the erotic sounds of slurping and saliva exchange between your mouth and his.
"i know baby..." he coos back, tipping your jaw upwards to keep the kiss going while reassuring you and fucking his cock deep and so, so slowly into your poor hole. his chest is pressed against your back, one arm hooked around your neck. the hand of that arm is holding your face so he can control the kiss, while his other arm is braced beside you, fingers clutching your bedsheets each time his cock is sucked in deeper with your velvety walls.
it's just so soft inside you today. he doesn't know if he's losing his mind or something, but your pussy is just devouring his cock, milking him with those soft muscles and creamy walls and making each thrust feel like heaven. he honestly hates pulling back and letting his cock not fill you even for a moment. so he keeps his thrusts short, wanting to stay deep. so deep that you can't take much more of it.
the thick head of his cock is pressed firmly against your sweet spot, pressing down and putting pressure on your weak insides. you claw pathetically at his arm, needing some relief from being so full, but he won't give it to you. he just wants to stay buried inside, keeping you stuffed to the hilt. "you can take it sweetheart. be good and patient and i'll let you sit on my face after this, kay?"
^ྀི IN WHICH one compliment gets you into some trouble with the star QB.
^ྀི ¡WARNINGS! smut (smidge of plot/buildup). nail tech!reader, college athlete!cameron, angst, pet names, dirty talk, fingering, just mr. cade being nasty.
^ྀི A/N i def based this on the part of quen’s video when she asked if he gets manicures 😭 his reaction after she called him nasty told me EVERYTHING! anywaysss, just had to see if i still got it lol, something sweet while i finish the rest of my drafts. be on the look out for the next week and after..hehe. thank yall for reading (interact pls) and lmk what you think! <3
“do you get manicures? your hands are pretty”
it was a mindless compliment, just something that slipped out in the spur of the moment. occupational hazard. you worked with hands all day long so cuticles and nail beds are the first things you notice about anyone.
you didn’t know him well, or at all really, but you knew enough. cameron cade is practically a campus celebrity. his face is plastered everywhere you look, whispers of whatever rumor of the week involving him leaks from distant conversations. that’s about as far as it got for you
so when he’d claimed the seat next to yours in your contemporary literature class, always as quiet as a church mouse, after weeks of stolen glances his clean, perfect hands had weirdly became something that you took notice of. fixated on.
“your hands are pretty”
cameron’s pen stilled over his page instantly. he almost thought he’d hallucinated the words. today’s lecture faded into nothing but background noise, your honeyed voice was the only thing he cared about,
finally. he thought
the opening he’d been waiting for.
he couldn’t help the slow grin that pulled at his lips.
you caught his attention easily on the first day of class. bright eyed and bubbly, draped in baby pink from head to toe. a walking ray of sunshine with the kind of natural, warm confidence that just makes you so much more attractive. it also didn’t help that you’re fucking stacked. your body looks like it was hand crafted by god herself.
the two of you never really spoke much outside of borrowing pencils or sharing notes—he was afraid of ruining any chance he might have—but cameron knew one thing: he needed you before the semester ended.
his sea green eyes flicked up to yours before dragging down your frame, and his pupils blew wide as he drank you in. entranced doesn’t even begin to explain what you do to him.
“‘preciate it. i been tryna stay consistent” he said lowly, leaning back further into his seat, his tongue gliding slowly over his bottom lip
your pulse spiked when you caught the way his eyes dipped. he was so clearly checking you out, and he wasn’t shy about it
you cleared your throat, huffing a quiet laugh and picking nervously at the hello kitty charms that dangled freely from your square french tips
“well you’re doing a good job. they look better than most people’s,” your gaze dropped to those veiny, well kept hands again before snapping back to his modelesque face
“way better. especially for an athlete”
that did it for him. you’d given him just enough to make ends meet..amongst other things.
but how were you supposed to know that a stupid observation on his hygiene would be the key to open pandora’s box?
you’d learn very, very quickly.
“oh yeah?,” he tilted his head slightly, smirking “sound like you been paying real close attention”
his pen was long gone. forgotten. sidelined at the edge of his notebook while he sat with his toned arms folded over his chest, angled toward you
you stammered “n-no! i just— a giggle slipped through you before you could stop it, “i know nice hands when i see ‘em”
the sweet, melodic sound made his skin hum, and his grin only widened once he realized he could pounce.
“alright then, miss hand expert” he chuckled “since you know what you talking ‘bout, maybe you can do ‘em for me sometime”
conversation flowed easily after that. he’d say something mildly flirty, you’d playfully roll your eyes and pretend to be taking notes
and the moment he caught up to you after class, all six foot something of his muscled, sun tinted frame towering over you, that gleaming dimpled smile and those misty green irises coaxing you back to his on-campus apartment to “just talk some more”,
you were his for the taking.
the pilot episode of jury duty is barely audible beneath your helpless whimpering. not that cameron actually planned on paying attention anyway,
it took no time for him to laugh you right out of your clothes.
which is how he ended up flat on his stomach between your smooth brown legs, one hand planted firm on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wants you. prying you wide open for him to bask in the stunning view of your creamy, soppy pussy clamped tight around his thick fingers, glossy beneath the warm glow of the picture lights hung over the sofa.
“pussy so pretty..so perfect” he rasps shaking his head in disbelief, “wish you could see how fucking good you look right now” the euphoric sound of your juices circling the air as he keeps his pace
suddenly his fingers curl upward digging straight into the ridges of your pleasure point,
you cry a string of curse words as he drills into your button again, and again, coaxing so much slick from you that it’s trickling down his hand
“mmmhm” he hums, zeroed in and focused on the mess you’re making “give me all that shit, mama. fuck” the bulge in his sweats swells. he’s more than satisfied when he feels your warmth tighten around him
a high pitched, elongated moan spills from you. so pathetic that it’s almost embarrassing, “nnggh— ohhh my— c-cameron!—” your breathing stutters as you arch your back off the cushions,
“what’s wrong princess?” he coos softly, a devious smirk on his lips “you love my hands, don’t you?”
“touching you like this? making you feel good? hmm?”
he’s delving deeper, harder, in a slow torturous rhythm that sends a burst of pleasure springing and coiling through your core. too much for you to handle all at once, and still not nearly enough. it just about takes you over the edge
your eyes widen, glassy with tears threatening to fall, “yes! fuck! wait—” you yelp “wait wait—” you’re gasping and palming his broad shoulders attempting to push away, but the grip he has on your leg only tightens.
“mm mm, stop moving” he pauses his wrist mid stroke. the pressure that’s building in the pit of your stomach depletes slowly, and those hypnotic blue green orbs snap up to yours, his voice dipping into something dangerous. “be a good girl for me. you almost there, i can feel it” he holds your gaze while he plants a warm, wet open mouthed kiss on your inner thigh and latches gently to the soft skin
a shaky breath courses through you as you attempt to steady yourself, part of you aching for more of him, part of you so close to the brink that you can’t take it
but you do anyway.
“cam…please” you whimper, your lips pouty and trembling, breathing as torn up as you are. your brows softened into a frown
“i know, baby.” he coos “i got you”
now his fingers are moving again. quicker, more precise. another broken moan rips from your throat, loud enough to break the sound barrier, probably earning nasty looks from his neighbors— your classmates—but he couldn’t care less.
he’s not letting you go anywhere anytime soon.
he rests his cheek on your inner thigh and takes his bottom lip into his mouth, slowly breaking his gaze away from your gorgeous, tear stained face before letting his eyes dip again, and his breath catches in his throat. shit, he almost combusts at the sight
arousal pooling in thick sticky heaps at the base of his fingers every time he curls into you. your pearl swollen and throbbing, your folds glistening with threads of slick. like something out of a painting
he breathes out,
“oh my god, look at you”
you moan an attempt at a response as your head falls lazily to the cushion beneath you, the tremor of your thighs earning a hum of approval
and then a low, desperate moan tears through him, “damn, this pussy dripping all over me,” his jaw falls slack. “can’t tell me you ain’t mine now” he’s moving his fingers up in tighter circles, twisting and curling as far as he can reach, stimulating pressure in all of the right places,
carrying you right into an otherworldly orgasm.
“cameron— you yelp “shit, shit, shit, you’re gonna make me—
your words snag in your throat, overcome by the pitiful, whiny cry that ejects from you. everything fades for a split second, your brain turns to complete mush,
and he’s loving every second. he’s starry eyed, in awe watching you come apart for him. it feels like he has the whole world in his hands
The ER had already paged two times mid-surgery before you were sent down. The patient you had been assisting with had a spinal fusion 12 hours ago, and a screw had been misplaced by the slightest from the previous surgeon, which led to bleeding that quickly became a hematoma and needed surgery urgently.
It all happened at an awful time. The other attending that was meant to be on shift along with Dr Park had called in sick, and there wasn’t anyone else they could call in. Night shift could be called in early and that’s all, which meant the majority of the shift Park was the only Ortho attending on shift.
Meaning he had to supervise all the residents on shift while being a surgeon himself, which had snowballed out of control before it was even lunch. He spent nearly his whole afternoon in surgery, with nurses and residents with more seniority poking their heads in frequently to ask questions.
You had been assisting on the surgery for nearly 4 hours, along with two other residents, one a year above you while the other is in the same as you. The second to last screw was being carefully put back when Dr Park had decided to send you down to the ER in place of him. He knew they wouldn’t be too happy, but they needed a consult urgently, and beggars can’t be choosers, in his mind.
So, you may have taken longer downstairs than needed. You needed a breather honestly, and were praying they’d finished the surgery by the time you were back - or at least didn’t call you back in. The looks you had received from your fellow residents made you glad looks can’t kill, but you’d be long dead if they could anyways.
It again solidified the amount of trust Park has in you, and not them. Unlike other units you could be sent to for consults, the ED would send your ass right back to where you came from if you weren’t an attending, and Park knew this and decided to send you down.
You poked your head into a few cases before heading back, a 8 year old who broke his arm at baseball, a 31 year old guy who popped his left shoulder of the socket at his construction job, and a 42 year old women who dropped an extremely heavy marble cutting board on her foot and shattered multiple bones. Just on your way to the elevator, you told yourself, even thought they definitely weren’t.
Dr Park had been in a fucking mood when you left, his pissy mood leeching out to everybody else and creating a very tense and argumentative operating room. You’d stayed as silent as possible, though you were just stewing in your own frustration, and avoiding annoying the nurses or Park more than they already were.
Although it obviously wasn’t one of the longest surgeries he’s done, he doesn’t usually have three residents with him and people constantly coming into his OR and asking questions or nagging him. On a normal day, he has a short capacity for bullshit and unnecessary questions, but today it is next to none, and everyone was testing his patience. Especially the other two residents assisting, both classic Ortho bros who seem to have a penchant for unnecessarily questioning and just annoying him.
The ride back upstairs you spent in peaceful silence, something you were sure you wouldn’t have any of until you went home at some point tonight. Leaving the elevator at your floor, you walked through the corridors that always felt so quiet after being in the ED, back to the OR that you left only an hour ago. Park told you to come back after the consult, so that’s exactly what you’re doing. Rounding a corner, you met eyes with the man you were looking for.
The look in his eyes welded your feet to the floor, your own eyes widening as he walks over to you. You can see just in the gate he walks how strung tight he is, looking like he’s about to explode - on you. You brace yourself for a long, borderline yelling loud lecture as he takes his last step towards you.
“Dr Park, I am so sorry,” you began meekly, practically quivering under the weight of his stony stare, “I got caught up in the ER and—“
“It’s fine,” he interrupts shortly, in that way where his words sound like gospel - where there’s absolutely not any room for argument. “Come with me,” he tells you, continuing, and placing a large hand on your bicep, steering you with him.
“I— Okay,” you agree, surprised, like there was any room to disagree as he leads you back the opposite way you came, his arm tight around your shoulders.
Park leads you through the corridors with the patient rooms, his grip like steel. At the end of hall he goes right, toward the few offices on this floor, instead of left to the nurse station like you’d expected. Without a word, he brings you to his office, letting go of your shoulders in favour of guiding you through the door with a hand on your lower back. You, for a lack of better judgement, haven’t said anything either, not as he led you away, not as he went right, not as you step inside, and not as he shuts the door behind him.
Dr Park turns to you from the door, his gaze heavy, but not cold like usual - burning hot in a way you have only ever seen while under him. It sends a pang of arousal through you, settling in your cunt with a throb. That look should’ve scare you, hell, this whole walk to his office you should’ve been nervous as hell and thinking about excuses for why you were at the ED so long.
But something extraordinarily stupid in your brain just shuts off when your body knows he’ll take control of it for you, all of you. Especially where you know wetness will be pooled in a few minutes.
“You okay with this?” Dr Park asks, correctly assuming you already know his intentions are the opposite of pure. His hand lingers on the door handle, fingers ghosting over the lock.
Before you even think about it, you’re nodding vehemently. You’d feel embarrassed at your eagerness if you weren’t blinded by the excitement coursing through you, a twisted kind that left you solely focused on the riled man stood in front of you. He twisted the lock, an audible click coursing through the tense room, leaving a sense of finality in its wake.
Finality, that that you’re all too excited for, imagining all the ways this could play out. Alone together, in his dark office - an office that might as well be sound proof with the amount of people around here - with Dr Park, who obviously needed some kind of release. You’d previously assumed that release would be lecturing you, until the only thing coming out of the conversation is his enjoyment of listening to his own voice. But watching him take the few steps toward you solidified any fears of that, are long gone, and what’s left is the thrill of the mystery of whatever’s going to play out next.
It felt like a flash as Park guided you to the front of his wooden desk, kicking the chair that blocked you from being flush against the desk out of the way, picking you up by the waist and placing you on the edge of his desk with little strain. Before it even registered to you, he’s pulling off your scrub bottoms, dropping to his knees between your legs and tugging the polyester and your shoes off from around your ankles.
Looking up at you, as commanding as ever, from between your bare legs, he told you, “Don’t move, and do not make a sound.”
You hardly had any time to react before Park is tugging down your panties - a simple, old cotton pair that you feel oddly embarrassed about. It’s not like the previous pairs of your underwear he’s seen were any more glamorous, but he always makes you feel incredibly intimidated and out of your depth. Always leaving you wanting to impress him. It makes sense - he is your attending after all.
Snapping you out of your thoughts, a cold ball of spit lands directly on your clit, shocking your system. Utterly appalled, you watched as he shoved his face between your thighs, his rough tongue dragging up through your folds to the apex of your cunt.
You were too surprised to really feel anything, until Park pulled back the hood of your clit, sucking hard on the small bud until his cheeks hollowed. That definitely made you feel something, shocks of pleasure rushing through you and making you squirm against his mouth. His hands shot up to your thighs in response, pushing them further apart and holding them there firmly, giving the soft skin a hard squeeze.
What you were expecting when Park dropped to his knees in front of your pussy, you weren’t sure, but it certainly wasn’t him eating you out. You’d hooked up with him before, sure, once or twice or thrice, but he’d never done this before. You’d just assumed that wasn’t something he’s into, which you had no qualms with. It wasn’t like you’d ever sucked him off either.
Unending with his lips wrapped tight around your clit, even with your squirms, Park leans up, shifting you so you’re on your back, his hands pushing your knees to your chest. With better purchase to your cunt, he goes feral, releasing his lips to rapidly lick up and down your folds, gathering the wetness that was pooling at your entrance. He moved back up, rapidly flicking your exposed clit with his newfound fervour. He wrapped his lips around your bud again, flicking his tongue against it whilst sucking.
You didn’t release the sounds falling from you until Park looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his. His, that tells you everything you need to know through a look - Shut the hell up. A wave of embarrassment washes through you, clasping your mouth shut at the realisation.
Another wave washes through you after, a much stronger one caused by another, stronger suck on your clit, accompanied by another lick through you. Your head hit the wooden desk beneath you as Park spits another ball of saliva onto you, spreading it through your folds with his fingers and watching a mix of his saliva and your wetness drip down to your ass.
A strangled noise left you as Park dives fucking right back in, ravaging you again until you’re so consumed by him you can’t make sense of what he’s doing with his mouth.
Embarrassingly quickly you feel a familiar heat light in your lower stomach, feeling like a kind of calm before the storm. That fire spreads, fast, alight in every limb, every muscle, bone, vein.
Your hand shoots out, grabbing for something to find purchase on, and almost reaching for the head between your thighs. Even in your foggy head, you realised Park would absolutely kill you if you fucked up his perfectly gelled hair.
Your hand instead goes for the next best thing - his shoulder, his very clothed shoulder. Ending up just grabbing a handful of navy fabric, you’re happy enough, letting a warning wave of pleasure crash through you.
Your release comes fast after, with another embarrassing noise and your legs trembling in Park’s hold. His mouth worked you through your orgasm, leaving you panting and whining unabashedly.
“Park!” you yelp when he keeps going, attacking your overly sensitive clit directly. You hadn’t really been expecting anything from him, but to your surprise—
“Brendon. It’s Brendon, baby,” he corrects you, his voice rougher than his usual sharpness.
Brendon stands, leaning over you to press his open mouth to yours. His tongue barges into your mouth before you can even think, invading every centimetre. The taste of your cunt colonised your tase buds, but his assault didn’t leave any time for thoughts.
Abruptly Brendon pulled away, slotting his head between your thighs again. Your knees fell slack against his shoulders, his lips connecting to you clit again in an instant just as his pager started beeping. He groaned, pulling away from you and tugging it off his waist band to read the message.
“Shit,” Brendon mutters, standing and clenching his jaw. “I need to go.”
“Oh,” you mumble, pushing yourself up into a sit. You felt embarrassed, watching that familiar shark look form on his face again while your bottom half’s completely bare.
Brendon put his pager back and leaned down, pulling your panties up your legs and on your hips. Still just hovering over you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead unexpectedly. Maybe he does still have some of that heat from earlier left.
Brendon steps back, nearing the door. His hand dips into the waist band of his scrubs, and apparently boxers, drawing your eyes there. You watch as he drags his dick up, tucking it into his waistband for discretion.
“Meet me after shift in the parking lot, you know my car,” Brendon tells you, right before turning the lock on the door handle and leaving. Leaving you high and wet.
You’re left sat on the desk in his office, your shoes and pants strewn on the floor in front of you.
sorry it’s taken so long for me to post again, but thank you for all the attention on my first post!!
summary: cameron can't wrap his head around how you want him but at the same time don't... and he especially can't understand why on earth you're letting other people see you the way he thought only he did.
pairing: ex boyfriend!cameron x blackfem!reader
warnings: smut (18+), unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), angst with unresolved ending, use of n word, mean!reader again bc why not, not really cheating but reader has another side piece, some toxic relationship traits, not proofread.
notes: i'm obsessed w this series wow 🤭 also reader is heavilyyyyy inspired by monaleo like her aesthetic is who i imagine #needthat
chapter one.
"Shit," Cameron groaned, throwing his head back and gripping your waist tighter as you bounced up and down on his dick. "Just like that, baby."
Your hands were on both sides of his neck as you rode him, watching his eyes flutter shut as you clenched around him. Cameron hated you being on top most times, the reason being you absolutely whored him out. It was almost too easy.
"Fuck... Stop, stop, you're gonna make me───" he cut himself off with a low groan, and you could feel him holding back his orgasm. You couldn't have that, could you?
"Shh, s'okay," you whispered real low in his ears, your nude chest pressed against his. You let your hands drop from his neck to reach for his hands, placing them on your ass and you smiled when he immediately started to knead the flesh on it.
He guided you up and down on him just like that, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as you moaned in his ear.
"You don't wanna cum for me?" He didn't have to open his eyes to see the pout on your lips as you worked him up.
"Stop talkin' to me," he refused to look at you, knowing it would only make him give in to you and right then, that was the last thing he wanted.
"Why? I thought you said you wanna make me feel good, hm?" you were smiling now, slowing your movements to grinding on him.
Cameron dropped his head in the crook of your neck, panting, torn between wanting you to flip you both over or wanting you to pick up the pace again.
You lifted his head up, kissing his lips twice as he looked at you with those huge, round eyes of his. "Please?" you tilted your head.
He didn't say anything, just squeezed your hips and started to thrust into you from below. You met him halfway, your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, the feeling of your hardened nipples against his chest only spurring you on.
"Shit," his ragged breaths let you know he was almost there, his thrusts growing a little sloppy as you felt the slick inside of you start to run down your thighs. "Hold on, baby, I'm almost there."
You whined when he came in you, your orgasm breaking through seconds after. You watched him come down from his high, chest heaving as he looked everywhere but at you.
"That's the last time you ever do me like that, swear to God," he kissed his teeth.
You laughed, leaning back in his lap. "Actin' like you don't love when I get on top."
"Man, whatever," he rested his chin on your shoulder, his dick still inside you. Just as he was about to say something, your phone rang on the pillow beside you.
You leant over to pick it up, and Cameron saw a faint smile on your face as you looked at the caller ID.
"Hello?"
He couldn't make out what the person on the other end was saying, but it was clear it was making you happy, judging by the growing smile on your face.
"No, I'm not busy." The fuck? His brows pushed together as he looked at you, internally screaming "I'm literally still inside you, what are you talking about?"
"I've been good, you know, just laying around," you answered, all while your hand was kneading Cameron's shoulder. You saw the looks he was giving you, and you knew it was killing him not knowing who you were speaking to.
You laughed at something that was said, but it wasn't your usual, obnoxiously loud laugh. It was a giggly laugh, the one you did when you trying to contain whatever giddiness you were feeling inside. He knew because that's how he used to make you feel.
Cameron tried to lean in closer to you to hear better, kissing your lips to distract you before you could object, but when you dodged him a second time, that's when he knew you were hiding something.
He opened his mouth, about to say something when he heard a deep voice from your phone. "So... Can I come over or are you still frontin'?"
He paused his movements, turning to face you with a mug you got too used to seeing at certain points.
"Well, right now isn't a good time... maybe later?" It's like you didn't even care that he was still there, or that you lied earlier when you said you weren't busy. Hell, you were looking right at him as you spoke.
Cameron was growing more and more frustrated the longer you entertained whoever was on the phone.
"Nah, it's nothing serious, it'll be over in a minute or two." Now that really got him. He cocked his head to the side, his tongue poking his cheek as he nodded.
"Bet," he mumbled.
You eyed him cautiously, geeking out on the inside because you knew this was destroying him.
"Yeah?" you answered something that was said, your eyes not leaving Cameron's.
He'd had enough. He pushed you off of him and onto the bed, slipping out of you fast enough to bring a moan out of your mouth. You were still on the phone, lying on your back as you watched him get up and kneel on the bed.
"Now, I'on know 'bout doin' it better, but I'll give it to you... you can put it down."
If looks could kill, you'd 100% be dead by now. Cameron straightened up, his expression something along the lines of "you must love playing with your life" as he looked right at you.
Your nail was in between your teeth as you listened to the voice on the other side of the phone, bringing your foot up to nudge Cameron in his stomach.
He swatted it away, lip curling up into a sneer as he used that same leg to flip you onto your back with no warning.
"Hey─── Cam," you mumbled as his hands pulled your body up, your legs folded underneath you.
He didn't answer you, but the voice you were entertaining did. "No, not you, sorry. I'm doin' something."
Cameron was trying so hard to ignore that jealous feeling threatening to consume him, but when you were acting like you couldn't care less, it was hard not to.
You tried to push his hands off of you, getting up to a kneeling position but you didn't get too far, his large hand pushing your head back into the pillow. "What the fuck?" you whispered.
"Shut up," he muttered.
"Do somethin', scary" you bit back at him. And trust, do something he would.
He pushed into you from behind, once again no warning, and you shut your eyes, wanting so badly to let out any sound because of how good he stretched you out just then.
"You still there?" your phone lit up as you momentarily forgot what was happening.
"Go on, answer him. Since you wanna be playing with niggas." Cameron prompted you, thrusting into you harshly.
"Hmm," you pretended not to hear him, yet your body was saying something else. Cameron stopped moving and you let out a small huff.
"I said answer him. What, you hard of hearing now?" he tilted his head at you, even though you couldn't see him.
You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone back in your hands. "Yeah, I'm still here."
"You good? You sound a lil off."
"I'm good."
Cameron let out a bitter laugh as pushed himself back into you, your folds dripping as he slid through with ease.
You covered your mouth with your hand as you trued to listen to the phone call, but Cameron knew what he was doing. He pressed down on your lower back, guiding you into a deep arch as he fucked you.
"What's wrong? Thought you had all that mouth on you." he tutted, watching you try to conceal your moans.
"Yo, what was that?" Cameron rolled his eyes as that voice kept on interrupting. He looked over your shoulder, reading the name on the ID. Jayson.
He scoffed, driving into you faster. "You couldn't have one source of dick on the football team so you had to get another? Really, Y/N?"
Your heart skipped a beat when you realised what he was talking about, quickly turning your phone over so he was looking at your clear case.
"Nah, don't hide it now," Cameron flipped it back over, and you snuck a quick look over your shoulder at him. He looked so hot when he got mad, the sweat glistening at his hairline, his brows furrowed together all focused as he thrusted in and out.
His hand slapped your ass, hard enough to leave a brief sting and to get a moan to slip out of your lips.
"Bruh, Y/N, you sure you good?" Jayson's voice came through again but this time, Cameron was done.
"Yeah, nigga she's fine, she'll call you back when I'm finished with her."
"Yo, what the───" his voice cut off as Cameron hung up and threw the phone somewhere in the room.
"Oh my God," you could finally let your moans out with no restrictions, clawing at the bedsheets as your walls clenched around Cameron's dick. He was going in so hard, you couldn't even bring yourself to think of the bruises about to be formed.
"You think I'm stupid?" He breathed out, his hand reaching up your grab a fistful of your hair, turning your face to the side as he pressed you further and further into the mattress.
"No," you panted. "I just think you're not the only source of dick I have," your smile turned into a moan as his hand came down on your ass again.
"I'm your only source for good dick, and you know that." He grumbled, and his thrusts started to falter when he fucked back into him, his hands stilling your movements.
"Shit," he groaned. "Gonna call another nigga while I'm still inside of you, fuck you think this is?"
"Aw, shit," you whined as hit that spot over and over. One thing about Cameron was that he didn't need you to verbally tell him he was doing a good job, your body responded to him in ways it never did to anyone else.
"That's right. You can front all you want but at the end of the day, there's only one person making this pussy cry like this," his words were so filthy they only turned you on more, and it wasn't long until you felt that coil inside you about to snap.
"Don't stop," you babbled on, eyes closed as you took everything he was giving you.
"Stop talking."
The only reason he was giving you what you wanted was to remind you that he could do it, better than anyone else.
He heard the scream you let out into the pillow, feeling you cum all over his dick as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own chasing right behind yours.
He filled you up with a low groan, pushing his seed back into your swollen cunt, a hazed look in his eyes as he slipped out of you and walked into the bathroom.
You shuddered at the loss of contact, pushing yourself up to lay on your back propped up by your elbows. Cameron was getting dressed, his boxers already on after you guessed he cleaned himself up.
"And where are you rushing off to?" you joked, but by the look on his face, you had an inkling he wasn't going to entertain you.
"Home."
"Already? Come on, surely you've got one more in you," you held onto his hoodie as he came to get it from the bed, teasing him.
"Y/N, I'm done playing with you, give it." He looked at you with nothing but an irritated expression.
You tilted your head before scoffing. "Come on. Are you seriously mad? We aren't together, Cameron. I can do what I want."
"Whatever, I'm not talking about this." He took the hoodie from your hand, putting it on before walking over to the socket where he left his phone charging.
"Well, you seem to care a lot. Or did you think we were getting back together just 'cause I let you hit again?"
"Move," you were standing in the doorway now, wrapped in the throw you had that dropped from the bed. He didn't want to move you out of his way, but he also didn't want to stay another minute in that room with you.
You took one more look at him before rolling your eyes, letting him pass by.
It was until you heard the door click shut that you let out a breath, throwing your body back onto your bed.
Why was it okay when he entertained a bunch of girls after you broke up with him but you couldn't do the same in the same position?
⋆۶ৎ . ݁2,112words, Ex-Friend'sBrotherxWoc!Reader, Morning sex, Oral(m reciving), Riding, Spanking, Dirty talk, Established situationship, No condom(wrap the willy), ⋆۶ৎ . ݁
You shouldn’t be here.
Not in his kitchen. Not barefoot, hair mussed from sleep, drinking water out of his glass like you belong. Not after everything that happened—after the fallout with his sister, after the rumors, after the texts you never answered.
You shouldn’t be here.
But he lets you.
His shirt hangs off your shoulder, swallowing you whole. He watches the glass tilt to your mouth, watches your throat flex with every sip. You don’t say good morning. You don’t have to.
“Trouble,” he says, low and amused.
You glance at him. That little half-smile of yours, the one that used to get you out of trouble in high school, tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Mornin’, sweets”
His jaw ticks.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Oh?” You lick a drop of water from your lip. “What should I call you, then?”
There’s a beat of silence. Tension thick enough to chew through. You set the glass down, slowly. You don’t back up when he steps closer.
You don’t flinch when his hand comes up and tugs the collar of his shirt—your shirt—down a little, exposing the delicate skin of your shoulder.
He bends. Lets his mouth hover there. Doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.
“I should put you in the car,” he murmurs. “Drive you home. Drop you off at your mama’s and tell her she raised a disrespectful little brat.”
Your breath catches. “You’re not gonna do that.”
“No?” His voice dips. “Why not?”
You reach for his wrist. Hold it. Thumb sliding over the faded scars and veins in his forearm. “Cause you don’t want to. You’re just as bad as me.”
He exhales hard through his nose. He’s too close. Too warm. His hand is still curled in the fabric at your collarbone, rough knuckles grazing your chest. His body is thick, solid, and steady. And you? You’re a live wire. It’s been this way for months. Years, if you’re honest.
“I wanna taste you.”
The words leave your mouth like breath. Like instinct.
“You wanna be nasty this early?” he mutters, half-scolding, voice dragging like gravel.
You don’t speak. You just press your lips to the corner of his mouth and breathe in the quiet, heavy promise sitting between you.
“You’re not goin’ back over there,” he tells you, voice thick with sleep and something deeper. “You're stayin’ with me now.”
You kneel for him right then—there on the kitchen tile, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs, your bare knees already smarting from the cold. You don’t care. You look up at him from under your lashes, mouth parted, pupils blown wide.
“Look at you,” he mutters, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Like you don’t even need breakfast. Just want me in your mouth, huh?”
You nod.
He huffs a low, humorless laugh. “Shameless lil’ thing. Open.”
You do. Pretty. Slow. You keep your eyes on him the whole time. It’s not about being good. It’s about having him. About claiming space in his life in the filthiest, rawest way you can.
He lets you take your time with it at first—lets you lick the head, swirl your tongue along the underside, kiss your way down the length like you’re tasting him after a long fast. But the second you sink down farther, moaning around him, he’s gone.
Hand in your hair. Body tensing. That quiet grunt he does when he feels it.
“Goddamn.” His fingers flex in your coils. “Knew it the first time. Knew that mouth was trouble.”
You whine low in your throat and start working him harder, messier. Saliva pooling at the corners of your lips, spit sliding down your chin. Your nails dig into the backs of his thighs for leverage, and he gives it to you—hips rolling into your mouth, slow but deep, each thrust dragging against your tongue with a filthy wet sound.
"Where you learn this, huh?" he grits out. "On your knees for somebody else?"
You hum a hard no.
"Mm. That right? You like suckin’ my dick this much? Can’t stay away, can you?"
You shake your head, eyes glassy.
“Nasty little thing. Gag on it, sweetheart. Lemme hear you.”
You choke around him, nose buried in his pelvis, throat clenching. Your legs twitch beneath you, aching for friction. You can feel how soaked you are—nothing under his shirt, your slick already dripping down your thighs, untouched.
He talks you through it, slow and low and possessive, fingers brushing your jaw as your lips stretch around him. He calls you a little thing, a mouthy girl, a damn brat with no shame. And he likes it. He likes you. Always has.
He pulls back just when you’re about to push too far, and you gasp, lip swollen, mouth glistening.
He wipes your chin roughly with his thumb, makes you look up at him again.
“You’ll let me fuck your throat on a Tuesday morning but can’t call when you’re out late?” His voice is thick now, deep and bitter, like it’s been rotting in his chest. “Had me worried and hard all night.”
“I’m here now,” you whisper, kissing the tip again. “I came back.”
His mouth twitches. He pulls you up and walks to the living room. He sinks onto the couch, legs spread, cock still heavy and wet with your spit.
“Come finish it,” he says. “Come sit right here and show me you mean it.”
You straddle him, trembling, but he doesn’t let you drop down just yet. He grabs your jaw instead—thumb pulling your mouth open—and slips two fingers inside.
You moan, high and broken. Your thighs clench around his. You suck on his fingers like they belong there, messy and eager, tongue lapping at his knuckles. He watches the way your eyes flutter, watches the way you grind against his thigh without meaning to.
“Always like this,” he mutters. “Can’t keep that mouth off me. So damn greedy.”
You whine around his fingers.
“I talk nasty and you get wetter, don’t you?”
You nod, desperate.
“Say thank you.”
You pull off his fingers with a wet pop. “Thank you so much.” You murmur, eyes locked on his.
His breath stutters. One hand slaps your ass hard enough to make you jerk.
“Mm. There she is.”
You sink down on him slow, thighs trembling around his hips. He’s thick—almost too much—and you moan into his neck as your walls stretch wide, greedy and wet, swallowing every inch. He holds still for you, hands heavy on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles over your hips.
“Shit,” you whisper, breath catching. “You’re… it’s—”
“You can take it.” His voice is low, gravel-sweet. “Already did half the work with that mouth, didn’t you?”
You nod against his shoulder, whining as you bottom out. It knocks the breath out of you, that deep, perfect pressure. You feel full, stuffed in the best, dirtiest way, like he’s carved space into you just by being inside.
He watches the way your face crumples as you start to move—grinding slow, rocking your hips in desperate circles. The stretch burns, but you want it. Need it. Crave it enough to ride through the sting just to feel him deeper.
“You like being filled up like this, huh?” he murmurs, hand sliding up your spine. “Your pretty little pussy stretched around me, squeezing like it never wants to let go?”
You whimper. “Yeah. Yeah, I—fuck, I love it.”
His mouth twitches, and he lifts his hips just enough to meet you halfway. You jolt, clenching around him hard. His hands never stop moving—squeezing your hips, stroking your spine, caressing your face, thumb pressed just under your chin like a quiet claim.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “God, you feel so good. So warm—so wet.” He groans against your collarbone. “Every time I get in this pussy it feels like home.”
You whine into his ear, fingers curling in his hair, overwhelmed and clinging.
He starts fucking up into you now, taking over the rhythm, strong hands guiding your hips. The sound of skin on skin fills the room—wet, filthy, so loud. You're moaning freely now, every stroke brushing your spot, every thrust pushing you closer.
And he’s watching you unravel.
“Look at you,” he breathes, dragging his thumb through the mess where you're joined. “Can’t even talk now, huh? Just cock-dumb and soaking.”
Your breath hitches. He slips the slick thumb into your mouth.
“Taste it.”
You suck greedily, hips still grinding down on him.
He groans. “Filthy girl.”
Your rhythm falters as the orgasm creeps up sharp and fast—burning under your skin, winding tighter with every stroke.
“I’m gonna—oh my god—”
“Let go,” he says, voice like velvet-wrapped sin. “I got you. Ride it out. Make a mess on me.”
You come with a cry, full-body trembling, clenching so tight around him he curses under his breath. He’s not far behind—gripping your hips, grinding up into you, deeper, harder, teeth clenched as he spills deep inside with a guttural sound.
After, it’s quiet. Just breathing. Your body slack against his, face buried in his shoulder.
“Stay right there,” he mutters. “Just like that.”
You nod.
His arms wrap around you. He strokes a hand down your back, gentle now, murmuring little things against your ear, how good you were, how warm you are, how he doesn't want to let you go.
Your thighs still tremble when you try to stand.
He catches you before you tip, murmuring a soft “Easy, baby,” as he lifts you off his lap. He’s still thick inside you when you shift, and both of you hiss—your body clenching one last time, and his jaw tightening at the overstimulation.
“Sensitive ass,” you tease, breathless.
“Yeah? Says the girl who just melted on my dick and tried to keep me there.”
You roll your eyes, weakly shoving at his shoulder.
He grins—that grin, crooked and smug—and carefully tucks himself back into his sweats. Then he scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your arms slinging loosely around his neck as he carries you to the bathroom.
He runs the water warm. Gets a soft towel. Cleans between your legs so gentle it makes your chest ache.
You watch him the whole time. There’s something about the way he focuses—like you’re something sacred. Like touching you this way means something. You try to swallow the lump in your throat.
“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter now. “Sore?”
“A little.” You pause. “It’s a good sore.”
He nods once, but doesn’t say anything more. Just keeps wiping, then kisses your knee before drying you off.
—
Later, you’re sitting at the kitchen table in one of his big T-shirts, legs tucked under you, watching him pull leftovers from the fridge. He moves around easy, shirtless, loose basketball shorts riding low on his hips. There’s a faint bruise blooming on his shoulder where you bit him earlier.
You stare at it, cheeks warming.
He glances back. “You hungry or just admiring your work?”
“Both,” you say.
He snorts, plating up food—fried rice, some grilled chicken from the night before, a couple of steamed buns he tosses in the microwave like he planned all this just in case. He sets it in front of you, along with a glass of cold water.
You look at the plate, then up at him.
“…Why are you so nice to me?”
He shrugs, leaning on the counter. “Cause I want to be.”
“But why?” You poke at your rice. “We weren’t even speaking last week.”
“We weren’t talking, but I was still thinking about you.” His tone dips low. “You think I forgot how soft you are? How you sound when you moan? How mad you get when I touch your hair?”
You huff, fighting a smile.
“I’m not mad now.”
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Now you’re just hungry, sore, and trying not to admit you like me again.”
You scoff. “You’re so cocky.”
“I’m right, though.”
He leans down, presses a slow kiss to the side of your mouth, like it’s not a big deal. Like he can. You let your eyes close for a second. Then open them and reach for a steamed bun.
“Whatever. Feed me first. You can be annoying after.”
He laughs, deep and warm, then pulls up a chair beside you—close enough that your knees touch.
Mdni/Support dividers by @cafekitsune
Pink & brown hearts and chocolates divider by @dollywons
hi lovie!! can i request anything from the established relationship list for tee higgins please 🤍 love all your writings!!!
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#15. Sighing and pouting loudly because you haven't paid them any attention. & #30. Falling asleep within minutes of you playing with their hair or scratching their back.
Tee Higgins x black!femreader
• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •
The television flickered quietly in the background, some rerun of a college game playing with the volume turned low. The living room was warm with early evening light, slanting in through the wide windows, casting soft golden bands across the hardwood floor. But none of it was enough to distract Tee Higgins from what he considered a grave injustice.
The sun had begun its slow descent behind the skyline, bleeding a soft, syrupy orange through the living room windows. It painted everything in a kind of sleepy glow—the oak coffee table, the framed photos on the wall, the curve of her collarbone as she sat with one leg folded underneath her. Her phone glowed in her hand, casting soft light on her face, the light brown undertones of her skin catching the sun in a way that Tee Higgins always thought looked like warm honey.
Tee watched her from the other end of the sectional, arms crossed over his chest like a scolded child, his long legs sprawled out, taking up way more space than necessary. The TV was on—ESPN muttering in the background—but it might as well have been on mute for all the attention either of them gave it. He sighed once.
Loud.
Then again. Louder.
He shifted, making a big show of adjusting the blanket, letting the leather couch groan under his weight. Nothing. No reaction. She just kept scrolling, eyebrows occasionally lifting at whatever she was reading, lips curving in the faintest smirk that wasn’t for him.
He waited.
Still nothing.
Across from him, nestled on the other end of the couch, his girlfriend remained unbothered, her attention fully claimed by whatever was on her phone. Her legs were tucked underneath her, one hand supporting her chin, the other casually scrolling. Her skin glowed in the amber light, rich and smooth like polished mahogany. Her natural curls were piled into a loose bun, a few strands hanging down the side of her cheek in a way that made Tee want to be mad at her for ignoring him and kiss her at the same time.
He sighed again—this time louder, more pitiful.
Still, not even a glance.
“Damn,” he muttered, shifting with the grace of a man twice his size who was trying very hard to make noise while pretending not to.
She blinked, maybe halfway aware of his antics, but didn’t look up. Not even a hum of acknowledgement.
Tee sighed again—this one dramatic enough that it almost echoed. He let his head fall back over the edge of the couch, arms hanging limply now in full surrender.
“I’m dying over here,” he mumbled.
“You’re not dying,” she replied, without glancing up.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
He sat up slightly, twisting toward her like she was the one being unreasonable. “You’re really gonna sit over there and ignore me like I’m not suffering in silence?”
There was a pause—just long enough to make him wonder if she was really about to ignore that too. Then she smirked without looking up.
She finally looked at him—just briefly—and then looked back down at her phone. “You weren’t silent, Tee. That was your third sigh in under two minutes.”
He scoffed. “That’s restraint. I could’ve been groaning since you picked up your phone.”
Now she rolled her eyes, lips twitching.
“You’re a grown man, Tee. You’ll survive ten minutes without being the center of attention.”
“But I’m suffering,” he groaned again, heavier this time, letting his head roll to the side like his neck had lost all strength. “You see me? I’m fading away right in front of you. I’m wasting away.”
She snorted. “You’re 6’4” and built like a truck. The only thing wasting is your self-control.”
He gave her a look—wide-eyed and hurt, like she’d just called him ugly on live TV.
“Wow. So cold,” he mumbled. “A man comes home after training camp, emotionally vulnerable, physically depleted—”
“You ran six routes and caught passes for 45 minutes,” she cut in, still not looking up.
“—and all he wants is his woman to love on him a little.”
“I do love on you. You just want constant praise. You’re like a golden retriever in cleats.”
“I’m a very handsome golden retriever, though.”
At that, she finally laughed, the sound light and rich, and it made Tee’s chest unclench just a bit. She shook her head and set her phone face down on the coffee table.
He pressed on. “You really gonna leave me like this? Lonely. Starving for affection.”
She set the phone down with a slow exhale, turning her full attention to him for the first time since she sat down. “You had two team trainers massaging you this morning. And a cold tub. And a nap. And protein pancakes.”
“None of that counts,” Tee shot back, folding his arms again. “That’s not the same as you scratching my back and telling me I’m your favorite human.”
“You are my favorite human,” she said, easing toward him now, amused despite herself. “But you’re also the most dramatic.”
“I learned it from you.”
“Boy, please.”
Tee grinned then, victorious in his small, petty battle. He watched as she slid closer, her warmth already sinking into the space between them. Her skin shimmered slightly in the last slants of sun, and her curls—loose and full and slightly wild—fell forward as she leaned in toward him.
She pushed the blanket aside and patted her lap. “Come on, you big baby.”
Tee didn’t hesitate. He curled toward her like a plant toward the sun, resting his head in her lap with a satisfied groan that made her laugh. “Finally,” he muttered. “Equilibrium restored.”
“Mmhm. You act like you didn’t get 112 receiving yards last week. You’re spoiled.”
“And sleepy,” he added, eyes already drooping. “I got hit like... three and a half times. That takes a toll.”
She chuckled, brushing his hair back gently from his forehead. He relaxed instantly, the tension in his shoulders easing under her touch. Her nails traced slow, looping paths down the center of his back, and she felt him exhale—deep and heavy, like his whole frame was deflating.
“Right there,” he murmured. “You know that spot.”
“I know all your spots,” she said, voice low, affectionate.
He smiled lazily but didn’t reply. The muscles in his face softened. She shifted a little to make him more comfortable, letting his full weight settle against her. One hand moved into his thick hair, her nails scratching gently along his scalp in slow, practiced rhythm. His body stilled completely.
Two minutes.
That was all it took.
She heard his breathing even out, slow and steady. The rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic now, peaceful. His mouth parted slightly, lips relaxed, and one large hand dangled limply off the edge of the couch like he’d melted entirely.
She tilted her head, watching him sleep. So much strength, all wrapped in softness now. Tee Higgins, who could bulldoze defenders and outrun nearly anyone in the league, was out cold in her lap because she scratched his scalp.
She ran her fingers through his curls once more, slower this time, her touch more tender than teasing now. There was something about watching him like this—unguarded, quiet, utterly at peace—that filled her chest in a way no words ever really could. It wasn’t just the attention he wanted. It was her. The presence. The closeness. The safety.
She leaned back against the cushions, letting the moment stretch. The TV played on, forgotten. Outside, the city began to dim, the sky bruising into deep indigo. But inside, the living room stayed golden and still, the kind of stillness that only came with love that was safe, rooted, and full of unspoken things.
Tee shifted once in his sleep, tucking his face slightly deeper into her thigh. She smiled.
“Big baby,” she whispered again, softer this time.
But she didn’t stop touching him. Didn’t stop running her fingers through his hair.
this video got me thinking….its kinda giving choso so walk with me real quick besties
˚ʚ♡ɞ
“fuckkkk,” the back of choso’s head knocked against the headboard, his chest heaving with a thin sheen of sweat covering it. the poor boy couldn’t form a single thought—the only thing swirling around in his empty mind is that he needed more.
his breath hitched when he felt your tongue wrap around his nipple once more, flicking the sensitive bud with your tongue. you didn’t bother saying much to him, it’d be pointless being the only word he could respond with was a breathy ‘fuck’.
“i’m ’bout to—hmph! nut again, it’s coming baby,” his head lolled onto his shoulder, his hips now bucking up to create a rhythm with your hand. you hummed around his nipple, squeezing his angry red tip, the clear pearls of precum leaking from his tip had you dying for a taste. “be louder…w’nna hear you cho,” you whispered in his ear, licking at the shell of it.
choso shuddered rather violently at the feeling, but nonetheless he got louder for you—a tad bit louder than you had expected. choso’s mouth dropped opened, a symphony of whiny moans following right after.
if he had any energy he’d fuck your fist himself, but alas after 3 consecutive orgasms all he could do was pathetically roll his hips. “so fuckin’ close, cmon baby make me cum,” choso nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt your soft hands begin to play his balls, squeezing them ever so softly.
choso’s entire body went limp as his orgasm hit, moan after pornographic moan spilling past his kiss bitten lips. the first shot of cum landed on his chest, some getting on his chin, which you greedily licked at a second later. his thighs shook in overstimulation, nearly closing because now it was really starting to become too much.
“baby baby baby wait—hah! you’re gonna f-fuckin’ kill me,” his larger hand wrapped weakly around your wrist, but it stopped nothing. you kissed you way up his chest to his neck, sloppily kissing, licking, and sucking any bit you could get. he just smelled so good—like vanilla and cinnamon, you just wanted to eat him up.
you brushed his hair out his face with your free hand. you looked into his tired, yet oh so lustful eyes, “you good?” you asked, halting your hand’s movements. choso sniffled and gave you a weak nod, “want you to drain me dry angel, even if i start crying.” it’s funny because just as choso finished his sentence a stray tear slipped from his eye, landing on his already messy abdomen.
choso stuck out his tongue making you giggle. you knew exactly what he wanted. you leant over, wasting no time shoving your tongue in his mouth, swallowing up his whiny moans. you resumed your hand’s movements, squealing when you felt choso’s teeth sink into your bottom lip.
he truly didn’t know if he had another orgasm in him but he didn’t care, even if he blacked out. why do you ask?? because soon he’ll be receiving the best aftercare known to man. cuddles, kisses, BACK SCRATCHES!!! he was as content as could be.
Have you ever considered this is a really stupid layout to have when there’s no way to easily get your account back if you accidentally hit the wrong button???
Actually you guys should reblog this because if it's that easy to accidentally delete an entire account, there's something wrong. It totally sucks that multiple people have lost up to (and even over) a decade's worth of blogging because you put these two buttons so close together, and leave zero grace period for the person to get their blog back.
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ── Jjk Men in their -real- Daddy era. (Am I secretly having a baby fever LMAOO)
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ── fluffy stuff, pure wholesomeness and affectionate dads.
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢
It's safe to say that sometimes you're raising two babies - only one of them is a big buff pouty one.
Daddy Toji sneaks to the kitchen in the middle of the night, leaving you both sleeping in your shared bedroom and then slowly closes the door. He promised himself he'd only take one *unnoticeable* spoon of your newborn's baby formula but ends up stuffing his face with the forbidden powder in the heat of the moment. He tries his best to hide his tracks by shoving the tin somewhere far in the cupboard.
He *oddly* always makes sure to be the one preparing his baby's bottle the next day - 'Oh darling, don'tcha move a muscle...I'll be right back with our baby's breakfast!'
You smile and raise a brow, already suspecting something. Daddy Toji is not much of a morning person. much less when it comes to baby chores...
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
Gojo is always there whenever you change your baby's diaper. He keeps laughing and giggling like a 6 year old, curiously learning from his baby momma how to take care of his little child. His sky blue eyes are staring at your skilled hands, handling your precious little one with infinte care. He keeps smiling in awe, chuckling every time your baby farts and making the funniest faces just to make them giggle.
He takes a million pictures of his baby every day; we're talking his whole camera roll is just his baby's face, cutesy hands, tiny feet, smiling, eating, sleeping on daddy's chest, drooling on his shoulder...the list never ends.
His baby looks so smol when he holds it in his huge hands. He has to bend all the way down just so he could pick them up cause obviously my dude is the tallest man ever.
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢
He'd take full care of your newborn just to see you rest and relax. He told you to teach him everything he needs to know so that he'd be perfectly fit for his new -and best ever- occupation; your baby father. He's got however only one pet peeve; getting his little one to burp after feeding them.
The reason? He was doing it once, holding the baby while gently patting its back...until he suddenly felt a warm liquid slithering down his shirt - the expensive one you dearly gifted him on your wedding anniversary- and to his surprise it was none other than his little one's vomit dripping down his shoulder...
Now he makes sure you hold a napkin behind him whenever he does it.
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨
He's by far the chillest Daddy EVER. Carries his little one whenever he goes. Gets super jealous when your baby starts calling for you, or wants you to hold them instead of him. He's determined to make them say 'daddy' first, but deep down knows it'd melt his heart when he sees the little version of him utter mommy's name for the first time.
Staying awake at night putting his baby to sleep just so you can get your full nightly rest is something he'd never miss out on. He hates seeing you tired or sleepy and puts both of your needs before anything else.
Daddy Geto is always calm and smiley, no matter how much mess his baby makes or how long it'd take for him to clean it up - sometimes makes you seriously wonder how he manages to be so damn chill all the time.
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚
For a husband twice your size with four arms and eyes he sure should take most care of your little offspring - He does tbf - His baby is always laying somewhere on his body or at least near him; sleeping against his chest, nibbling on his thumb, drooling on the side of his shoulder or sitting on his huge lap.
He's got a 6th sense whenever it comes to his baby being hungry, thirsty, sleepy or needing anything at all. Instantly knows the reason why his little one is crying and most of the time is very quick to make them happy again.
Absolutely hates poopie smell and calls them a brat whenever he senses their diaper getting heavier. 'Aggh you little runt!' You can't help laughing at him getting overwhelmed with such a tiny thing and start teasing him over it.
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐘𝐮𝐮𝐭𝐚
There's nothing that Yuuta loves more than children. He has always wanted to have kids and couldn't wait to create his very first and own one with you. He's in LOVE with seeing you taking care of them; almost admiring every move and every word you say. He smiles like an idiot whenever he sees you holding your baby, breastfeeding them, playing with them or even laying next to them.
His favorite game is to hide somewhere in the house and let his little one look for him. He does it so suddenly and quickly, leaving them puzzled with big round eyes - comes out of his hideaway when they start sobbing and laughs at their little red nose and pouty cheeks.
'Aww why is my little cupcake cryiiing?...Daddy's right here!'
fred would absolutely be into fucking you when you're asleep(with your consent).
"i know you're sleepy love but can i just feel you for a bit? i promise you won't have to do anything, i'll be gentle, just want to be in you so bad." he knows you'll always mumble a quiet yes, he's asked you many times to make sure it's still okay. he places soft kisses down your neck as he hears your small sighs and whimpers and runs his hands over your body delicately, occasionally ghosting his fingertips down to brush against your clit. he knows at this point you're deep asleep but he whispers in your ear, "you're so warm sweetheart, i love you so much" causing you to get goosebumps.
soon enough he's sliding his cock inside of you, trying to suppress his groan. you whimper again and fred presses his face in your hair, stifling any noises and smelling your shampoo causing him to get more turned on as he slowly pushes into you, letting you become accustomed to his size before he starts thrusting, leisurely and deep. as he gets closer he holds you closer and spills inside you, because not only does this man need you in your sleep but he also needs to breed you. he quickly falls asleep with you in his arms.
☆summary: when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?
☆pairing: Min Yoongi x singer female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)
☆genre: work collaborators to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff
☆warnings: alcohol, cursing, OC has family problems similar to those Yoongi went through, financial insecurity, loneliness, cheating but not cheating because they are on a break, sexist interviewer, explicit content: grinding, dom!reader, switch!Yoongi, big dick!Yoongi, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, face riding, tits/nipples play, hickey, fingering, protected sex, choking, clit play, denied orgasms (due to consensual drunk sex), fingering, mentions of anal sex, handcuffs, anal plug, anal fingering
☆word count: 34.9k
☆a/n: it’s so weird to post something other than The Forgotten Spaces :’) I hope you’ll still enjoy this! As per always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3
☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!
titsay
yousharknotpass
janainaart
romaincrisis
areudirty
