about me -
✩ early 20's
✩ any pronouns
✩ music enthusiast
✩ rpf-friendly (block if you're not down please)
✩ eng/rus (я работаю над переводами для нашего собственного архива)
✩ current obsession - geesebandnyc
inbox (asks will be responded to with links to adjacent fics)
masterlist - latest updated thursday, june 18
archive of our own NOT CURRENT I MAINLY POST MULTI-CHAPTERS HERE
✩ REQUESTS ARE OPEN
CHECK MY MASTERLIST FOR MORE INFO ✩
STRICTLY ANTI-AI
everything i write is purely human made slop
hi guys, hit a funk recently and cannot write like at all??? i’m not sure why because i’m not depressed or anything at the moment it’s just that nothing is coming to my brain
i PROMISE that as soon as i get my creative juices flowing again i will work on requests, i know they’ve been piling up and i’m sorry
usually i’m writing like 5k words a day and it’s just stopped dead in its tracks for some reason but it’ll come back don’t worry
hi guys, hit a funk recently and cannot write like at all??? i’m not sure why because i’m not depressed or anything at the moment it’s just that nothing is coming to my brain
i PROMISE that as soon as i get my creative juices flowing again i will work on requests, i know they’ve been piling up and i’m sorry
usually i’m writing like 5k words a day and it’s just stopped dead in its tracks for some reason but it’ll come back don’t worry
18+ MDNI
Dominic DiGesu x reader
tension uh, pinv sex (unprotected), slight voyeur maybe
nonsense disclaimer: this is RPF, don't like? don't read!
wc: 1,362
masterlist
The record shop smells like dust and old cardboard, bins of vinyl crammed into every corner. I'm scanning the "New Arrivals" section when I spot him crouched down by the hip hop section, flipping through a stack of albums with his headphones around his neck.
I walk up behind him and tap his shoulder.
He turns, already smiling that polite, distant smile he uses for strangers. "Hey, do I," His eyes focus. The smile cracks open into something real, shocked, delighted. "Oh my god. Oh my god, you're, wait what are you,"
"Surprise," I say.
He stands up so fast he almost knocks over the bin. "You're supposed to be at work. You said tonight. You said,"
"I lied. I just wanted to surprise you"
He laughs, loud and surprised, and then he's grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the back of the shop, past the employee-only curtain, into a narrow hallway stacked with boxes of unsorted inventory.
"Hi," he breathes, crowding me against a wall of dusty LP sleeves.
"Hi."
He kisses me, coffee and mint and that cedar soap he uses, and his hands are immediately everywhere, fumbling, eager. I can feel him getting hard against my hip through his jeans and we're both laughing into each other's mouths, his knee knocking against a cardboard box.
"Can't believe you're here," he mumbles against my jaw, his thumb hooking in my belt loop and getting stuck. He fumbles with it, laughing. "Can't believe, I was literally just thinking about you. About that voice memo you sent me on Monday night."
I feel my face go hot. "Dirty boy…"
"I've listened to it maybe fifty times." His hand finally gets free and slides down, cupping me through my jeans, but he's pressing too high and I have to guide him lower, both of us giggling, breathless. "Jerked off to it in the hotel bathroom. In the shower this morning. Thinking about my fingers in your mouth,"
"Dom!" A voice from the front of the shop. "We gotta roll! Soundcheck in twenty!"
He freezes, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. He groans, but he's still smiling when he lifts his head, shaking it. "Of course."
"Dom? You back there?"
"Yeah!" he calls out, not moving. "Be right there!"
Footsteps fade toward the front. He pulls back, adjusting himself with a wince, and holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me back through the curtain, toward the exit.
"I'll find you," he breathes, kissing me quick and hard by the door. "After soundcheck. I don't care what I have to do. I'll find you."
"Okay."
"Promise you'll wait for me."
"I promise."
He kisses me again, then jogs out into the sunlight, pointing back at me with both hands. "Don't leave!"
I laugh and he disappears into the van with the rest of the band.
I wait at a coffee shop across the street, killing time, checking my phone every five minutes. It's just past noon when my phone buzzes, a pin dropped in a parking lot behind the venue.
The van is baking in the sun, black paint absorbing the heat. I yank the side door open and climb in, and he's already there, sprawled across the bench seat, shirtless and sweating already in the heat.
"Hi," he says, breathless.
"Hi."
I trip on the step and land basically in his lap, and we both dissolve into laughter, sprawled across the bench. It's cramped and hot, the air thick with leather and the ghost of a thousand gas station sandwiches.
"Hi," he says again.
"Hi."
He tries to arrange us but there's a guitar case in the way, and he has to shove it aside with his foot, and by the time he gets back to me I've slid down the bench. He hauls me back up and we're kissing again, but it’s messier, hungrier, and fucking desperate.
"Missed you," he keeps saying between kisses, his hands fumbling with my jeans. "Three weeks. Need you so bad…"
His fingers find the button and get stuck, and we're both laughing, my hands shaking as I help him. We get my jeans undone, shoved down my hips, and he's working on his own, and it's all fumbling and elbows and giggling, the van too hot, our skin sticking together.
"Gotta be quick," he pants, his forehead pressed to mine. "Soundcheck. Ten minutes, maybe,"
"We’ve had worse." He lines himself up, hot and hard against me. He pushes in and we both gasp, my nails digging into his back. He groans, long and low, his whole body going tense.
"Fuck," he chokes out. "Fuck, you feel so good…"
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he starts to move, already urgent, his breath hot against my neck. He's breathing hard, his hips rolling against mine, and he lifts his head to kiss me, messy and open.
"So good," he mumbles, "missed this, missed you so much."
He speeds up, his thrusts getting harder, more desperate, and I'm gasping, gripping his shoulders. He feels amazing, filling me completely, and I can feel the tension building, coiling tight in my belly.
"Wait," he gasps suddenly, his hips stuttering. His eyes go wide, surprised, like he didn't expect it. "Wait, I'm gonna, oh god…"
He groans, loud and broken, and thrusts hard, burying himself deep. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the sudden heat of him filling me, and he collapses forward with a shocked little laugh, his weight pressing me into the bench.
"Oh my god," he whispers into my shoulder, his whole body shaking. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, that was embarrassing."
I wrap my arms around him, still feeling him twitching inside me, the warmth of it spreading. I'm still wound tight, aching, the friction not quite enough, the tension unbroken. "That was fast."
"I know." He lifts his head, his face flushed dark, eyes blown wide and embarrassed. "I didn't, fuck I thought I could last, I was trying to think about boring stuff, the setlist, the knicks score or something, and then suddenly I was just, coming. Couldn't stop it."
I drag my fingers through his sweaty hair. "Three weeks of buildup."
"And that voice memo." He groans, hiding his face in my neck again, laughing embarrassed and breathless. "You saying you wanted me to hold you down and fuck you until you screamed. I kept thinking about it, about doing that, and then I was inside you and it was too much…"
He lifts his head, his crooked grin breaking through the embarrassment, but his eyes are soft, apologetic. He shifts his weight, his hand sliding between us, thumb finding me, but I arch away slightly, too sensitive, too frustrated.
"Hey," he whispers, cupping my face with his other hand. "Hey, I'm sorry. I swear I'll make it up to you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He kisses my nose, my mouth, soft and earnest. "Tonight. After the show. However long it takes. I swear."
Voices outside, closer now, footsteps on gravel. Dominic groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder again.
"Of course," he mutters.
"Dom?" Someone knocking on the van door. "You in there? Soundcheck, man!"
"Yeah!" he calls out, his voice strained. "Coming!"
He pulls out slowly and I whimper at the loss, at the sudden emptiness, and he groans again, watching himself spill down my thigh. "Fuck. Sorry. That's um," He grabs his shirt from the floor, wiping us both off with clumsy, apologetic motions. "I'm the worst."
"You're not."
"I am." He kisses me, hard and desperate. "But I'll fix it. Tonight. I promise."
He hauls his jeans back up, wincing, and kisses me once more before sliding the door open. Sunlight floods in, blinding and hot.
"Wait for me," he says, jumping down, pointing at me with both hands. "Don't leave."
"I won't."
He grins and jogs away, backward, watching me until he has to turn the corner.
I lie back on the bench, the vinyl creaking beneath me, feeling the ache between my legs, the heat of him still inside me, the promise of tonight like a knot in my chest.
18+ MDNI
Max Bassin x reader
besties to lovers, tension, makeout, hickeys, oral (m receiving)
nonsense disclaimer: this is RPF, don't like? don't read!
wc: 1,699
masterlist
part 1
The morning light is filtering through the curtains when I stir awake, still half-drowned in sleep. We're spooning the way we always do now. Max curled around me from behind, his arm heavy over my waist, his hand resting just above the waistband of my pajama shorts. His breath is warm and even against the back of my neck, slow and deep. He's still asleep.
I shift slightly, pressing back against him, and I can feel him hard against my ass even through the fabric of his pants. He's always hard in the morning. The thought sends a flutter through my stomach, and I wiggle back a little more, wanting to feel it.
He stirs behind me, his breath hitching, his arm tightening around my waist. His hand slides down, slipping under my waistband, his fingers brushing over my hip, my stomach, dipping lower. I freeze, holding my breath, and then his fingers are between my legs, finding me already wet from waking up pressed against him.
"Mm," he mumbles against my hair, still mostly asleep, his fingers tracing lazy circles through my folds. "You're wet."
I arch back into his touch, my eyes falling closed. "Max…"
He wakes up more fully then, his hand becoming more purposeful, his fingers sliding through my wetness, circling my clit, making me gasp. He presses closer behind me, his hips rolling, and I can feel him grinding against my ass, sleep-drunk movements like he can't help himself.
"Want you," he breathes, his voice rough with sleep, his fingers working me faster, harder. He slips one inside me, then another, curling them, pumping them in a rhythm that has me panting within seconds. "Fuck, I want you so bad."
He's humping against me now, his cock straining against his pajama pants, rutting against my ass while his fingers drive me wild. I'm gasping, my hips bucking back against him, chasing the friction, the fullness.
"Please," he groans, his voice desperate, his movements becoming frantic. He pulls his hand out of my shorts and fumbles with my waistband, tugging my pajama shorts down my hips, then his own, shoving them down enough to free himself. I feel him hot and hard against my bare ass, and he groans, lining himself up, ready to push inside…
"Wait," I gasp, twisting in his arms, turning to face him. He's flushed, his eyes dark and hazy with sleep and arousal, his cock twitching against my stomach. "Wait, I don't, I don't wanna fuck. I wanna try something else."
He stares at me, blinking, his breath coming hard. "What?"
"I want to suck your dick," I say, the words rushing out, my cheeks burning. "I've been thinking about it. I want to try. Please?"
He groans, his head falling back against the pillow, his hand gripping my hip tight. "You're killing me," he breathes. "I'm so fucking hard right now, baby, I just want to be inside you."
"I know," I say, my hand sliding between us, wrapping around him. He's throbbing in my palm, hot and heavy, and he groans, his hips jerking forward. "But let me try this first. Please? I've been wanting to."
He looks down at me, his jaw tight, his chest heaving. For a moment I think he's going to insist, just flip me over and take what he wants, but then he exhales, his hand coming up to stroke my hair.
"Fine," he mutters, his voice strained. "But I'm not going to last long. You've got me so worked up already."
I smile, pressing a kiss to his chest, and slide down under the covers, my heart hammering. He's right there waiting for me, his cock curving up against his stomach, flushed dark and wet at the tip. I stare at it for a moment, taking in the size, the veins, the way it twitches under my gaze.
I lean down and lick experimentally, just a quick swipe of my tongue over the head, and he gasps, his stomach muscles tensing. He tastes salty, musky, warm. I do it again, slower this time, circling the tip with my tongue, and he groans, his hand finding my hair under the covers.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth..."
I try to take more of him, wrapping my lips around the head and sinking down, but I immediately feel awkward, unsure of how much suction to use, how to coordinate my hand with my mouth. I pull back, coughing slightly, embarrassed heat flooding my cheeks.
He sighs, loud and dramatic, his hand tightening in my hair. "Aw, poor thing," he coos, but there's an edge of frustration in his voice. "You're trying so hard, aren't you? Come on, it's not that complicated. I showed you what I like."
I take him in my hand again, stroking him slowly, and lean down to try again. I wrap my lips around him carefully, trying to remember, but I'm too tentative, too hesitant. I bob my head a few times, but it's clumsy, my rhythm off, and after a moment he makes a low sound in his throat. Not a groan of pleasure, but of irritation.
"That all?" he asks, his voice tight. He shifts under the covers, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. "You're just... fumbling around down there." He reaches down, gripping my hair a little harder than before. "Here, stick your tongue out. Flatten it. No, flatter, Jesus, like this."
He guides my head, showing me the angle, the pressure, but when he lets go I lose it again, my jaw too tense, my movements jerky and uncertain. I try to take him deeper and immediately gag, pulling back with tears springing to my eyes, coughing.
He sighs again, longer this time, his hand tightening in my hair. "You're not getting it," he mutters, almost to himself. "I keep showing you and you're just... you're not getting it."
I look up at him, my eyes watering, my cheeks burning with shame, and he stares down at me for a long moment. He’s frustrated, his jaw tight, his cock twitching against my chin. Then his expression shifts, something resigned settling over his features.
"Whatever," he mumbles, his grip on my hair becoming firmer, more purposeful. "Just, here, open your mouth. Stick your tongue out. I'll do it."
I obey immediately, my mouth open, my tongue flat against my lower lip. He guides himself between my lips, his hips lifting, and he starts to move. Not gently, not teaching anymore, just fucking. Shallow little thrusts at first, then deeper, finding his own rhythm while I struggle to keep up.
"Just stay still," he breathes, his hand holding my head in place. "Don't try to do anything. You're too stupid to do anything right now, but it's okay. Just let me use your mouth."
The words hit me like a physical blow, and yet I feel myself getting wetter, my breath coming faster through my nose. I stay still as he instructed, my hands gripping his thighs, my eyes watering as he pushes deeper, hitting the back of my throat.
"Fuck," he groans, his hips moving faster, his eyes falling closed. "Your mouth is so wet. Just, fuck, just stay there, don't move."
I do as he says, letting him use me, my jaw aching from trying to stay open wide enough, spit dripping down my chin. He's not looking at me anymore, not coaching me. He’s just fucking my mouth all sloppily, his hand gripping my hair tight, his hips lifting off the bed with each thrust.
"You're so fucking bad at this," he mutters, his voice strained, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Fucking useless. Can't even suck cock right. But you're so eager, aren't you? So desperate to try. That's something, I guess."
I whimper around him, the vibration making him gasp, and he groans, his hand tightening painfully in my hair.
"Don't make noise," he pants. "Just take it. Be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth since you can't do it yourself."
I go quiet, my eyes streaming, my whole body trembling as he uses me. He's rough now, his hips snapping up, his cock hitting the back of my throat again and again. I gag, tears spilling down my cheeks, but he doesn't stop, just groans, his head falling back, his muscles tensing.
"That's it," he breathes. "Just like that. Your poor little mouth, doesn't know what it's doing, but it's so wet and warm. Gonna cum, fuck baby…"
He groans, long and low, and then he's cumming, thick and hot, flooding my mouth. I try to swallow, I really do, but there's so much and I'm overwhelmed, struggling to keep up as he keeps thrusting through his orgasm, milking himself dry in my mouth.
"Swallow it," he pants, his voice wrecked. "Try to swallow, you stupid thing. Come on."
I try, but I'm a mess. Spit and cum dripping down my face, my throat working uselessly, some of it leaking out the corners of my lips. He collapses back against the pillows, his chest heaving, his hand still gripping my hair tight.
"Look at you," he breathes, his voice softer now, almost fond. "Covered in it. Couldn't even swallow right." He loosens his grip, his thumb wiping roughly at my chin. "Aw, poor thing. You tried so hard and you just... you couldn't get it. That's okay. We'll keep practicing."
I crawl up his body, my face burning, my jaw aching, and he pulls me into his arms without hesitation. He kisses me, messy and deep, and then pulls back, his eyes soft and warm despite everything he just said.
"You okay?" he asks, his hand stroking my hair.
I nod, burying my face in his neck, and he laughs.
"You're such a mess," he whispers. "My eager little mess. You'll get better. I promise. Just... lots more practice, okay?"
I close my eyes, smiling despite the ache in my jaw, the humiliation still warm in my chest. "Tomorrow?" I mumble against his skin.
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my ear. "Yeah, baby. Tomorrow. And the day after that. As many times as it takes."
"Seriously? Three days and you're still like this?"
"I can't help it. It hurts and I just... I want you."
18+ MDNI
Cameron Winter x piercer!reader
ear piercings and aftercare, uhhh pain kink sorry, i am the worst at tagging, riding, i think the term "pain slut" deserves its own tag
nonsense disclaimer: this is RPF, don't like? don't read!
wc: 1,037
masterlist
Three days later, we're on the couch in his apartment, the one with the sagging cushions and the view of the fire escape, and I've got the saline solution in a little spray bottle, the kind I keep telling him to use twice a day. He's sitting sideways, legs stretched out, head tilted to give me access to his right ear, and I'm kneeling beside him on the cushions, close enough to smell his natural musk , that woodsy thing he uses that makes me want to bury my face in his neck.
"Hold still," I say, even though he's doing better now, less twitchy than he was in the chair. The studs look good. Clean, no redness, healing nicely. I spray the saline onto a cotton pad and press it gently against his lobe, soaking the area.
He hisses, sharp and sudden, shoulders tensing. "Shit."
"Stings?"
"Yeah." He swallows, and I watch his throat work, watch the way his hands tighten on the couch cushions. "Yeah, it stings."
I pull the pad away, check the piercing, then reach for the spray bottle. "Let me flush it properly. Tilt your head."
He does, exposing the long line of his neck, and I position the nozzle close to his ear and squeeze. The saline hits the fresh piercing and runs down his lobe, and he makes that sound again. That high, broken whine that goes straight to my gut, that same noise he made when the needle went through.
I look down. He's in those gray sweatpants, the thin ones that leave nothing to the imagination, and there's already a shape forming there, growing, pressing against the fabric.
"Seriously?" I say, but I'm smiling, setting the bottle aside. "Three days and you're still like this?"
He opens his eyes, looks at me, and his face is flushed, embarrassed but unashamed. "I can't help it," he mumbles. "It hurts and I just... I want you."
I swing my leg over his lap, settling my weight on his thighs, and I can feel him now, hard and hot beneath me, straining against the cotton. I grind down, just a little, and he groans, head falling back against the couch.
"You're such a pain slut," I say, teasing, and I grip his jaw in my hand, turn his face to look at me. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips are parted. "Gets hard from a saline flush. From aftercare."
"Only for you," he breathes, hands coming up to grip my hips, fingers digging in. "Only because it's you."
I pull my tank top off, toss it aside, then shove my jeans and underwear down my thighs, kicking them off onto the floor. I'm already wet. I've been thinking about him all day, about his noises, about the way he trembles, and when I pull his cock out of his sweatpants, he's thick and flushed and leaking, and he groans at the contact.
"Condom?" I ask, already reaching for my purse on the coffee table.
"Yeah," he gasps. "Yeah, please, I want to feel you."
I roll it on him, slow, watching his face, watching him watch my hands. Then I position myself above him, guide him to my entrance, and sink down in one smooth motion.
We both moan. He's filling me, stretching me, and I pause for a second to adjust, hands braced on his shoulders, feeling the way he throbs inside me. His hands are gripping my waist, thumbs pressing into my hip bones, and he's looking up at me with that look, that worshipful, desperate look that makes me feel like I could burn the world down.
"Move," he begs. "Please, please move,"
I start to ride him, slow at first, rolling my hips in tight circles, feeling him drag against my walls, hitting that spot that makes my vision spark. He whines, high and needy, and I remember the saline, reach for the bottle still on the couch cushion.
"Hold still," I say, and I spray a fine mist onto his left ear while I'm grinding down on him.
He cries out, hips bucking up, driving deeper into me, and I gasp at the sudden fullness. "Fuck,"
"Sorry, sorry," he pants, but he's not sorry, I can tell, he's gripping me tighter, thrusting up to meet my movements.
"You fucking love this don’t you," I accuse again, but I'm laughing, breathless, and I spray his other ear, watch him shudder, watch his face twist with pleasure and pain. "You like that? Hurts so good?"
"Yes," he sobs, and his thrusts get harder, more desperate. "Yes, yes, hurts, don't stop…"
I drop the bottle, focus on riding him, setting a punishing pace, slamming my hips down to meet his upward thrusts. The couch is creaking, shifting against the wall, and I don't care, can't care, because he's hitting me just right, because he's making those sounds, because I can feel him swelling inside me, getting close.
I reach between us, rub tight circles over my clit, and the added sensation makes me clench around him, makes him groan my name like a prayer.
"Close," he gasps. "I'm close, fuck, you're so tight, you feel so good,"
"Come," I tell him, working myself faster, chasing my own edge. "Come for me, Cameron. Show me how much you like it."
He breaks, shuddering, hips stuttering up as he spills into the condom, and I feel the pulse of him, feel the way he goes rigid beneath me, head thrown back, throat exposed, earrings catching the light. I keep riding him through it, rubbing my clit, and then I'm coming too, clenching around him in waves, pleasure radiating from my core, making my thighs shake.
I collapse against his chest, panting, sweating, and his arms come around me, holding me close. I can hear his heart hammering, feel his ragged breath in my hair.
"You’re terrible," he mumbles, but he's smiling, I can hear it in his voice. "Using my aftercare against me."
I press a kiss to his collarbone, taste the salt of his sweat. "You love it."
He laughs, soft and breathless, and touches one of his earrings, wincing slightly. "Yeah," he admits. "I really do."
"Don't apologize. You like it, don't you? The pain."
He nods, eyes wet, and I feel another twitch against my thigh.
"Dirty boy."
18+ MDNI
Cameron Winter x piercer!reader
ear piercings, jerking off (with gloves on hehe), uhhh pain kink sorry, you guys know i am the worst at tagging
nonsense disclaimer: this is RPF, don't like? don't read!
wc: 1,442
masterlist
Cameron shows up at the shop with two paper bags from the deli down the street, the ones with the grease stains bleeding through the bottom, and I know it's the pastrami on rye I like, the one with extra mustard. He's wearing that stupid white singlet that’s kind of become his brand at this point, his biceps flushed from the sun and trust me I am not complaining about seeing those. His hair is sticking up in the back where he's been running his hands through it, and he stands in the doorway of the piercing room like he's not sure if he's allowed in.
"Hey," he says, and his voice does that thing it does when he's nervous, higher in the register, a little breathless. "Brought you lunch."
I wipe down the station, toss the paper towel in the bin. "Oh sweetie, you didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." He steps inside, sets the bags on the counter next to my autoclave. The shop's empty except for us, Chloe’s in the back doing inventory, and the tattoo artists don't come in until two. He looks around like he's never seen the place before, eyes lingering on the flash art on the walls, the display case of jewelry, the chair. "I also wanted to ask you something."
I peel open the bag, take a bite of the sandwich. It's perfect. "Shoot."
He touches his ear, just the lobe, rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. His hands are shaking a little. "I want you to pierce me."
I stop chewing. "Your ears?"
"Yeah." He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his pale throat. "Both of them. I don't trust anyone else to do it. You're so careful with me. You know how I am about... things. Needles. Pain." He laughs, but it's thin, anxious. "I've never done anything like this. No tattoos, no piercings. Clean slate, virgin skin or whatever, but I want this. I want you to be the one."
He's twenty-four, twenty-five soon, but right now he looks younger, eyes wide and dark, mouth slightly open. He's scared. But he wants it.
"Okay," I say. "Okay. We can do that. Right now?"
He nods, fast, like if he doesn't do it immediately he'll lose his nerve.
I wash my hands, snap on gloves, the nitrile tight against my skin. I set up the station, sterile needles, 16 gauge, the titanium studs he's picked out, simple little things of course, the clamps, the alcohol wipes. He watches every movement with the intensity he usually reserves for watching me when he thinks I'm not looking.
"Sit," I tell him, patting the chair.
He climbs up. It's the reclining kind, black leather, and he looks small in it somehow, even though he's tall, all limbs and angles. I adjust the height, get the light positioned. His hands are gripping the armrests, knuckles white.
"Relax," I say, touching his jaw. His skin is warm, a little clammy. "I'm not going to hurt you more than I have to. You know that."
"I know," he breathes. "I trust you. I just, my head feels... floaty. Like it's not attached."
"That's the adrenaline babe. It's normal." I mark the spots on his lobes with a surgical pen, stepping back to check the symmetry. "Look straight ahead."
He tries. He really does. But his head keeps drifting, tilting, like he's trying to escape the inevitable. I reposition him twice, three times, and he's apologizing, stammering, saying he's sorry, he's making this difficult, he doesn't know why he can't just…
"Hey," I say, and I swing one leg over his lap, straddling him in the chair. The leather creaks. I'm in my work clothes and I can feel the heat of him between my thighs, the rise and fall of his chest against mine. "Better?"
His eyes go wide, dark pupils blown. "Yeah. Yeah, that's... that's better."
I cup his face in both hands, holding him still, my thumbs resting on his cheekbones. His skin is soft, unshaved, a little rough. He's looking up at me with something like worship, like fear, like desire all mixed together, and I feel powerful like this, pinning him down, controlling the moment.
"Don't move," I say, and I pick up the clamp with one hand, position it on his right lobe.
He whines when the needle goes through. It's a high, broken sound, almost a sob, and his whole body jerks but I've got him, I've got his face in my hands, and I push the needle through in one smooth motion. His eyes squeeze shut, breath coming fast through his nose, and I can feel him trembling between my legs.
"One down," I murmur, threading the jewelry through, securing the backing. "You did good. You're doing so good."
"Fuck," he gasps, and his hips buck up, just a little, involuntary. "Fuck, that hurts. That really fucking hurts."
I look down. The black denim of his jeans is tented, straining, and I realize with a sudden, hot rush that he's hard, rock hard, pressing up against me where I'm straddling him. He realizes it too, face flushing crimson, trying to stammer an apology, but I press my thumb against his lower lip, shushing him.
"Don't," I say. "Don't apologize. You like it, don't you? The pain."
He nods, eyes wet, and I feel another twitch against my thigh.
"Dirty boy," I whisper, and I switch to his left ear, clamp it, and he whines again before I even push the needle through, anticipating it, wanting it. When I pierce him this time he moans, loud, throaty, and his hands fly up to grip my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
I finish the second piercing, get the jewelry in, but I'm not getting off him. He's panting, pupils blown wide, cock straining against his zipper, and I can feel how much he wants me to touch him, how much he needs it.
"We can't," I say, but I'm already reaching down, palming him through the denim. He groans, head falling back against the headrest, exposing his throat. "I can't be loud. The shop. Chloe’s in the back."
"Please," he begs, grinding up into my hand. "Please, I need you, just touch me, please, your hands, I love your hands so much baby…"
I unzip him, pull him out. He's thick, flushed dark, leaking at the tip, and I wrap my gloved hand around him, the black nitrile slick against his skin, and he chokes on a sound, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.
"Quiet," I remind him, and I start to stroke, fast and tight, the way he likes it, the way I've learned from all the nights together in his bed, in mine. "You have to be quiet or I stop."
He nods frantically, biting down on his own knuckle, the one with the new piercing gleaming in the light. I work him with my hand, watching his face. The way his brow furrows, the way his eyes roll back, the way he keeps making these desperate, wounded sounds in his throat like he's dying for it.
The gloves are slick with his precum, sliding easy, and I twist my wrist on the upstroke, thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and he shudders, whole body going rigid.
"Close," he gasps around his knuckle, voice muffled. "I'm close, fuck, I'm,"
I squeeze tighter, jerk him faster, and he comes with a strangled cry that he cuts off mid-sound, spilling over my gloved fingers, hot and thick, his hips jerking up into my grip. I keep stroking him through it, milking him, until he's whimpering, oversensitive, trying to squirm away.
I let him go, slowly, carefully. He's a mess. His hair wild, face flushed, eyes glassy, cum on his stomach where his shirt's ridden up, new earrings glinting in his lobes. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful.
I peel off the gloves, toss them in the biohazard bin, and grab a paper towel to clean him up. He's still trembling, still catching his breath, and when I touch his jaw again, tilt his face up to look at me, he smiles, lazy and sated.
"Thank you," he murmurs, voice rough. "For being careful with me. For knowing what I need."
I kiss his forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth. "Anytime," I say. "But next time, we're doing this at home. So I can make you scream properly."
He laughs, breathless, and reaches up to touch one of the new studs, wincing a little at the tenderness. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"You're gonna hurt her. Look at her neck. You're not stopping."
"I'm careful."
"You're not, you're fucking starved. I can see it. You need more."
Vamp!Cameron Winter x reader x Max Bassin,
established Cameron x reader, makeout, hickeys, blood mentions (duh), vampire typical level of violence, biting, sucking blood, handjob/blowjob, threesome, pinv sex
nonsense disclaimer: this is RPF, don't like? don't read!
wc: 1,623
masterlist
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A few weeks in and Mr I-Vant-To-Zuck-Yer-Blood has figured out exactly how he likes to take me.
He's got me pinned beneath him on the couch, his full weight pressing me into the cushions, his hips rutting hard against the armrest as he feeds. He's been at my neck for ten minutes now, sucking deep and rhythmic, and his fingers are inside me, three of them, curling hard, fucking into me with a relentless pace that has me sobbing.
"Cam," I gasp out, tears streaming down my temples, my hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Baby, I can't,"
"Yes you can," he growls against my throat, not stopping, never stopping. His hips snap forward, grinding his hard cock against the couch arm through his jeans, desperate friction while he drinks. "Take it, baby. Take it for me."
I cry out again, arching beneath him, my body caught between the pain of his fingers stretching me and the overwhelming heat building in my core. He's rough tonight, hungrier than usual, and every time he sucks hard at my neck I feel another wave of pleasure crash through me, sharp and overwhelming.
"Please," I whimper, not sure if I'm begging him to stop or to keep going. "Please, Cam,"
"Not yet," he breathes, and his fingers speed up, pounding into me, his palm grinding down on my clit with every thrust. "Not until you come for me. I want to taste it."
I'm sobbing in earnest now, overwhelmed, my vision sparking at the edges as he keeps fucking me with his hand, keeps sucking at my neck, keeps rutting against the couch like he can't control himself. I'm close, so fucking close,
The door opens.
We both freeze, Cameron's teeth still buried in my neck, his fingers still deep inside me, his hips mid-thrust against the armrest. I turn my head, tears blurring my vision, and see Max standing in the doorway with his keys in his hand, staring at us with his mouth open.
"Fuck," Max breathes.
Cameron pulls his teeth out slowly, a soft sound accompanying the release, and lifts his head. His mouth is smeared dark, his pupils blown wide, his expression dazed and hungry and completely unashamed. He doesn't move his fingers. If anything, he curls them deeper, making me gasp and squirm beneath him.
"Get out," Cameron says, but his voice is wrecked, rough with blood and arousal, and he doesn't stop grinding his hips against the couch.
Max doesn't move. His eyes travel down Cameron's body, taking in the way he's draped over me, the way his hand is still working between my legs, the obvious bulge in his jeans pressed against the furniture. Then his gaze lifts to my neck, to the fresh bite marks, the blood still beading at the edges.
"Jesus Christ," Max whispers. "You're actually," He stops, swallows hard. "How long?"
"Max." Cameron's warning is sharp, edged with something dangerous. His fingers flex inside me and I whimper, turning my face into his shoulder. "Leave."
But Max steps inside and closes the door behind him, and I can see it now, the way his jeans are tented, the way his breathing has gone heavy. He's not scared. He's fascinated.
"You're gonna hurt her," Max says, his voice dropping lower, taking on a dominant edge that makes Cameron's hips stutter against the couch. "Look at her neck. You're not stopping."
"I'm careful," Cameron snaps, but he sounds less sure now, hungrier. His eyes drop to my neck again, to the marks he's made, and I feel his cock twitch against my hip where he's pressed against me.
"You're not," Max counters, stepping closer. "You're fucking starved. I can see it." He stops at the edge of the couch, looking down at us, and his hand comes up to adjust himself through his jeans, obvious and unashamed. "You need more."
Cameron's jaw tightens. He pulls his fingers out of me slowly, making me whine at the loss, and pushes himself up on his elbows, hovering over me. His eyes find mine, checking, questioning. I nod, small and trembling, and he turns his gaze to Max.
"I need to feed again," Cameron admits, the words rough, dragged out of him. "But I don't want to take too much from her."
Max's breath hitches. "So take it from me."
Cameron goes completely still above me. "What?"
"You heard me." Max's voice is steady, commanding, and he reaches down to unzip his jeans, pulling his cock out. He strokes himself once, twice, his eyes locked on Cameron's mouth. "Ask me properly."
Cameron's hips grind down against the couch again, involuntary, desperate. When he speaks, his voice is barely human, low and guttural and starving.
"Can I bite you?"
Max groans, loud and shocked, and his hand tightens around his cock. "Fuck yeah. Yeah, you can bite me."
But he doesn't move to offer his neck yet. Instead, he steps closer, right up against the couch, and grips Cameron's jaw with his free hand. He tilts Cameron's face up to look at him, and I watch Max's eyes drop to Cameron's mouth, those sharp fangs still extended, stained dark with my blood.
"Look at you," Max breathes, and then he leans in and licks a slow, deliberate stripe across Cameron's lower lip, catching the smear of blood there. He pulls back just enough to look at Cameron's eyes, then does it again. Deeper this time, his tongue sliding between Cameron's lips, tracing the points of his fangs, lapping up every trace of copper he can find.
Cameron whimpers against his mouth, hips bucking helplessly against the couch, and Max groans at the taste, at the intimacy of it, his tongue coming away stained red.
"Jesus," Max breathes against his mouth. "You taste like her. Like," He stops, swallows hard, his pupils blown wide. "Do it. Bite me."
Cameron moves fast, pulling off me completely, leaving me empty and aching and trembling on the couch. He grabs Max by the waist and pulls him down, settling between his legs on the floor, and I watch, dazed, as Cameron nuzzles into Max's neck, breathing him in.
"Touch him," Cameron orders me, not looking up, his voice muffled against Max's throat. "While I feed. Jerk him off, baby. Look at how fucking hard he is…"
I scramble to my knees, moving behind Max on the couch, reaching around to wrap my hand around his cock where he's still stroking himself. He's hot and heavy in my palm, and when I squeeze, he groans, his head falling back against my shoulder.
"Oh my god," Max breathes, his hand falling away to grip the couch cushions. "Fuck, your hand is,"
Cameron doesn't wait for him to finish. He sinks his teeth in, and Max cries out, a sharp, broken sound that vibrates through his whole body. I feel him tense, his cock twitching in my hand, and I start stroking him, slow tight pulls, matching the rhythm of Cameron's sucking.
"Fuck," Max groans, his hips bucking up into my hand, then back against Cameron's mouth. "Fuck, Cam…"
Cameron moans against his neck, the sound vibrating through Max's body, and I can see his hips rutting against the floor now, desperate for friction, his hand shoved down his own pants to jerk himself off while he feeds. He's lost in it, completely lost, and Max is staring down at him with dark, glazed eyes, watching his best friend drink from him, his cock throbbing in my fist.
"Harder," Max commands, and I obey, tightening my grip, speeding up my strokes. He groans again, his hand coming up to grip Cameron's hair, holding him in place. "That's it. Take it, you fucking freak…”
Cameron whimpers, the sound sending shivers through both of us, and he sucks harder, his hand working himself faster beneath his jeans. I can feel Max getting close, his cock swelling in my hand, his breathing ragged and desperate.
"Don't cum yet," Cameron pulls back just enough to speak, his mouth smeared with Max's blood, his expression feral. "Not until I'm done. Hold it."
"Jesus," Max whines, but he nods, his jaw clenched tight, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Mm fuck, is this, yeah don’t stop, why your hickeys are so dark?”
Cameron goes back to his neck, slower now, savoring, and I keep stroking Max through it, my hand slick with his precum, my own body still throbbing and unsatisfied from earlier. But watching them, feeling Max shake in my arms while Cameron drinks from him, it's almost enough.
When Cameron finally pulls back, he's panting, his eyes blown wide and dark, his lips stained crimson. He licks his mouth clean, watching Max with a predatory gaze, and Max slumps back against me, breathing hard, his neck marked and bleeding.
"Clean him up," Cameron orders me, his voice rough, leaving no room for disobedience.
I lean forward, my hand still working Max's cock slowly, and press my mouth to the bite marks on his neck. I lick the blood there; copper and salt and something else, something that tastes like Cameron now. Max groans, his hips jerking up into my hand.
"Fuck," he breathes, his hand coming up to grip my hair, holding me against his neck. "Fuck, do that again…"
I lick again, cleaning the wounds, and Cameron watches us with dark, hungry eyes, his hand still working himself beneath his jeans. We're all breathing hard, tangled together, and when I pull back from Max's neck, I see him and Cameron lock eyes.
"Next time," Max says, his voice rough, "you ask before you bite."
Cameron's lips curl into a smile, sharp and bloody. "Next time.”
