#swynsmut

[menodoramoon]

Letting Go in All the Wrong Ways || Shadow on the Moon

Characters: Menodora Butterfly-Johansen, Oswald Marks (@oswaldxmarks) Date: 29 Sept 2024 Summary: Post-Mjaunie, Moon invites Oswald over for Blackberry Danishes. Things take a turn. Content Warnings: Depression Mention, Bug Mentions, uhhhhh…#swynsmut??

Read Here (Ellipsus). Or, In the Reblog under a Cut**

** At your own peril, it's 17.6K words ^^;

[simba-bonfamille-lyons]

West Hollywood Nightclub /./ [Simber]

In which MK complained about simber always having mushy-gushy sex and then immediately regretted ever complaining about it. AKA simber has hot sex in a nightclub.

BERLIOZ: Great thing about West Hollywood—anywhere you walked was a destination. It had to be, parking the way it was, expensive as hell (least, to most people) and cramped everywhere. Lucky for Berlioz and Simba, they just ubered to that side of the city, got dropped off in the heart of it, and then anywhere was fair game. They’d made no real plan for dinner, Ber saying they should just get down there and see for themselves. So they walked, holding hands, till they ducked into some Greek place that looked good. And after that they walked couple more blocks and there was ice cream, and then walked back up, night nestling down and the lights on every building came on in a fizzle and a flash of neon, drawing both Simba and Berlioz into its insides.

And maybe it was the lights that attracted Simba—looking like he was glowing on the inside out as he grinned at the different club signs and tugged Ber along.

But for Berlioz, like always, it was the music.

It poured out over the sidewalk, erasing all the bad parts of their day. As they fell into the queue, Ber didn’t think about the nightmare that started their morning or the awkward climbing of the stairwell, Anan’s comments brusque and cold, like ice cubes in the air. Simba didn’t look guilty anymore—didn’t look heavy, didn’t look tired. He was the Simba Berlioz was heart-and-soul-and-body in love with, with his grin split as wide as the rainbows painted on the side of these buildings, and his arm slung over Ber’s shoulder, drawing him closer. Ber’s heart beat with the bass; he grinned big too, didn’t hold back. This was what he wanted his life to be like. This. Right here.

They were still shuffling in the queue, not yet inside—Ber only had two cocktails in him from dinner—but it didn’t matter. His hand roped up and clasped the one Simba had thrown over his shoulder. The movement made Simba turn his face toward Ber, just enough for him to kiss him without warning.   

This was what he wanted his life to be like. This. Right here.

SIMBA: This was all Simba wanted too, really, it was. Even if his life was far too complicated for the simplicity of disappearing with his boyfriend into a random city for an evening. It was what he wanted. Berlioz made him feel young, Los Angeles made him feel free. Even Anan’s words snapping at his heels couldn’t bother him now. Not right now, anyways, would later, would when Ber wasn’t smiling at him across the table at a restaurant they didn’t know, his eyes warm and sparkling. When Ber wasn’t making him feel six years younger than he was, before tragedy, before Simba had lost sight of—everything.

Right now, all he had to think about was how much he loved Ber and how glad he was that he was here with him. How he wanted to get lost in a club that wasn’t Pixie—they could make it their own, just like Pixie was theirs. It would be a little seed of their love planted here among the desert. Simba would never forget where this club was, even among the ten or twelve others that were smattered along this street without rhyme or reason, like paint splattering.

The alcohol too, helped him forget about Anan’s vicious undercuts. His body was buzzing and even outside, they could already feel the bass sneaking up through their trainers.

When Ber grabbed Simba’s hand, Simba turned to him—was planning on saying something, even if he wasn’t sure what it was he was going to say. He didn’t have enough time to think of something before Ber was kissing him.

The kiss slipped a seed of desire down into Simba which made his insides quiver and he kissed back, a little harder than he intended—the kiss turning into teeth clinking together as he couldn’t stop the smile on his lips.

Someone whistled behind them in the queue.

Simba turned around and gave a roguish grin to the bloke who’d whistled before turning back to Ber and touching his cheek gently.

“I’m so glad you came with me. You’re the perfect excuse to get outta that house.” Simba kissed him again, lighter this time, still smiling. “You gonna dance with me tonight, hm?” he asked, pulling away just enough to brush their noses together. “Or am I gonna have to get you drunk first?”  

BERLIOZ: Ber could’ve kissed him longer and dirtier, and not cared how many blokes hollered their way. Because they weren’t in little Swynlake anymore, one of Simba’s mates around every corner, every face a familiar face. This wasn’t Pixie they were outside of. They were the strangers here in this big, neon city, all that city air in their lungs and under their skin. Ber wanted everyone to know just who he was with. He wanted to press Simba up against any surface like he could leave an imprint of the two of ‘em behind.

For now he just kissed him, tasting Simba’s cocktail on his tongue, while his hand slipped down into Simba’s back pocket, fingers pressing into his ass. He snorted some air onto Simba’s face at the sound of the bloke. Rolled his eyes, didn’t move away. He was too hungry, too thirsty, and wanted to get his hands all over Simba, as the music wrapped around them.

The second kiss was worse than an appetizer, just whetting that hunger. He licked at his bottom lip after, making it extra pink and shiny. His fingers dug deeper into Simba’s pocket.

“Maybe you just gotta ask nicely,” he teased back. “Before someone else does.”

He playfully glanced behind them as though he were looking at the other blokes. They were just a sea of blank faces to Berlioz though, most of ‘em cookie cutter L.A. trash anyway-- all v-necks and expensive jeans and the same sort of haircut.

None of them had Simba’s warm, honey-golden eyes or his dark sun-kissed skin or his long, slender fingers or the dark sprigs of curls on his chest, that Berlioz loved to run his hands across. None of them could cock a smile like Simba could, and be arrogant and charming all at the same time. Or hold him as tight or make him shudder with arousal with the lightest touch in just the right place.

They shuffled up in line-- next to go in. Ber looked back toward the bouncer and dug into his pocket to get out his fake I.D. since, here, in bloody backwards USA, technically he shouldn’t be in half these clubs. The bloke gave it a passing glance and took their cover without any fuss. Then Ber’s hand slipped back into Simba’s pocket, like it had never left, and they entered the club together.

SIMBA: Simba scoffed a little at what Ber said, but he stepped closer anyway--couldn’t help it. Ber drew him in with his hand on his ass, and with his words like a challenge.

Simba wasn’t a possessive bloke, really, he wasn’t. Not on the day to day. Ber had plenty of friends, both guys and girls he hung out with that didn’t bother Simba a bit. (Yeah, kinda irked him when he hung out with Cliff but that’s just because Simba was pretty sure he was a shady fucker.) But, he didn’t like people hitting on Ber, he didn’t like ‘em trying to get handsy with him, he didn’t like people thinking they could have what was Simba’s.

And Berlioz knew this. He was tempting fate, he was. Bloody bastard was doing it on purpose. Ber glanced around but Simba looked right at him. He didn’t care an ounce for anyone else standing in this line. They were all ghosts to him, spectators, featureless and unattractive, the lot of them. He could take them or leave them. Except for the boy in front of him.

Simba wanted to get his hands on him, bodies pressed close--dancing, the closest thing to sex you could do with your clothes on. He lamented that they’d have to go back to Anan’s tonight--that he couldn’t ravish Ber the way he wanted to right now, remind him that he was Simba’s.

They went forwards in line, the music getting louder, Simba’s heart thumping harder in response, all the blood rushing through him, hot and fast. He kind of shuffled his feet and looked at Ber when he handed his ID over, trying not to look too guilty, but the bouncer wasn’t paying attention to them.

Ber slipped his hand into Simba’s pocket and Simba felt his whole lower body tingle in response. His hand came up and rested on the back of Ber’s neck, scratching with his dulled nails at the skin there.

It was dark inside the club, but Simba’s eyes adjusted fairly quickly, the perks of having worked in a club himself. There were purple, green, and yellow lights streaking and flashing. To their right was the dance floor. Straight in front of them was the bar.

Leaning in close enough his chest rested against Ber’s arm and part of his back, Simba put his lips right up to Ber’s ear, his voice low even despite the volume of the music. “What do you wanna do first?”

He nipped gently at Ber’s earlobe, feeling frisky and young--he’d left his demons at the door--Anan’s shadow--there was no room for those things here.

BERLIOZ: Do? What didn’t he want to do?

That one kiss outside had made him itchy-- like he was jonesing for another hit, Simba the only drug that he needed in his system. He could take or leave the alcohol, honest (perhaps he should, for Simba’s sake, but Berlioz-- didn’t wanna bring that up here in this space). The high he was seeking was the one he got with Simba’s body pressed against his. That fire spread so fast, could lick up the walls of his insides till it was all he felt, all he thought about. It burned him up before he was even close to a climax of any kind.

Coming in Simba’s hand was another story altogether.  Or coming in his mouth. Or under him, or even all over his chest--

Anyway.

So yeah, there was so much that he wanted to do. He nearly said make out, like a total knobhead teenager (which he was), but it was the first thought that popped into his head, followed by the imagine of grabbing Simba by the face and snogging him in the doorway, blocking everyone or giving them a show. Didn’t say that or do that though, if only because Ber actually did have some measure of self-control and wanted to torment himself a little. The longer he waited, he knew the better it would be-- even if they were just gonna end up groping each other on the dance floor and nearly coming in their trousers before they headed back for the night.

But right now, night was just starting. He didn’t have to think about the blow-up mattress waiting for him. Just rubbing up on Simba like he was a matchstick looking for a spark to ignite.

The ear-biting made it worse-- and better. That shudder he’d been thinking about, that special kind of shudder his body only did when Simba was near, ran down his spine. It’s all he needed. Here, standing in a club surrounded by blokes-- some half-naked, a few on raised platforms with barely more than a speedo on-- Ber was only thinking about Simba’s lips. And his teeth.

He smiled, leaned back in toward Simba so he could speak into his ear (music too loud otherwise). “This is the only time ‘m gonna agree to dance without at least a shot in me,” he said. He leaned back out and caught Simba’s eye.

SIMBA: Ber’s breath ghosting against his ear acted like a wind stoking a flame inside of him, that little tingling want growing until he felt it in his toes and fingertips. But, that was all kind of erased when his brain caught up and he realized what Ber was saying.

His head tilted back so he could look at Ber properly, a smile sprung onto his face immediately, big and wide and dimpled. His hand clasped at the back of Ber shirt without even thinking about it and he leaned back in, his excitement making him less coordinated as he jostled Ber. Immediately, he kissed his lips, two little pecks in quick succession and then down his jaw to his ear again.

“You’ve got two cocktails in you so I dunno if it really counts,” he told Ber playfully, “but I’ll take what I can get.”

With that, his hand released Ber’s shirt and went down his arm to grab at his boyfriend’s hand instead. Then, he practically yanked him, as Simba twisted around him and headed towards the dance floor, making Ber have to spin on his heel to untangle himself before following behind Simba. As they entered the wave of moving bodies, Simba just coasted through the crowd, his slightly sweaty hand gripping Ber’s tightly so he wouldn’t get pulled away in the current. They got to the middle of the dance floor with a decent amount of shoving and wiggling on Simba’s part. Once they got there, Simba tugged Ber close to him so their bodies were pressed right up against one another.

Simba had never dated someone who was pretty much his height before Ber (both of ‘em were giants, as Tink used to affectionately call them) but he had to admit there were certain perks--like being able to line their pelvises up without much trouble, which Simba did now, snaking an arm around Ber’s lower back to press him forwards, his other hand going to Ber’s ass and giving it a playful squeeze, a smirk on his face.

And he loved this--anonymous and safe--in a sea of people he didn’t know and didn’t particularly care about. All those people did was jostle them about slightly and make everything in the room hotter.

BERLIOZ: Berlioz rolled his eyes at Simba’s smart-ass comment, his shrug lifting his shoulders-- like he was acquiescing a little bit, yeah, not that it mattered. Alcohol or not alcohol, he didn’t care—he wanted one thing and one thing only. And that was Simba, that want in him thudding in his body in time with the music, growing with every measure.  And that want only got worse as Simba grabbed at his hand and squeezed. They’d held hands all night, but when Berlioz was like this (see: horny) he couldn’t feel anything else.

Simba needed to be so much closer. Simba needed to be right on top of Ber, running his hands up and down Berlioz’s body like it was his own body. Like Ber kept a map of the world tattooed to his skin and Simba wanted to chart his journey.

For now, he just followed where Simba led him. They darted into the crowd, squeezing their way onto the dance floor. Ber ignored the bodies he bumped into or the people who bumped into him, didn’t look away from the back of Simba’s head—on the seconds of smile Simba threw him over his shoulder, as if Ber would forget if Simba looked away too long. He clung to Simba and fell right into step with him, letting his body be drawn in flush.

Ber slipped his hands around Simba’s waist as Simba’s hand groped at his ass. His lips parted and he dipped his head forward. Their foreheads brushed, noses too, Ber’s eyelashes fluttering for a moment as the heat of Simba’s body and the feel of his hand sunk deep into Ber’s skin.

Wasn’t enough.

The track switched then—the beat staying the same as the DJ layered a track on top, handing the song off to Sam Smith—because ‘course a gay club in WeHo would be playing Sam Smith. Ber’s mouth twitched into a smile though, his dimple showing through. He could get lost in this. No alcohol needed.

Just the beat, that croon, soaring through the crowded space-- and Simba’s hand on his ass.

Simba moved Ber’s body first—before he even got a chance—using his hand to roll Ber’s hips the same time as his own. A jolt of heat spread between the two of them. Simba’s mouth was practically on top of his, his breath hot too. Ber rolled his hips again and one of his hand snuck away from Simba’s back. He pressed against Simba’s chest, grasping at the muscle under that thin layer of fabric.

Now I got you in my space I won’t let go of you Got you shackled in my embrace I’m latching onto you

Then he shifted in Simba’s arms—twisting around, Simba’s chest pressing immediately against Berlioz’s back, his groin digging into Berlioz’s ass. Simba’s hand slid around to his thigh, his fingers feeling like fire over Ber’s too-tight jeans. He twisted his head then and found his lips, kissing with breath and tongue as Simba grinded against him.

When the kiss broke, so did the song and both boys were breathless. Ber already felt the sweat at the back of his neck, knowing by the end he and Simba would both be dressed in a fine layer of that and smoke. Not that he cared. Ber liked being messy and sweaty with Simba.

And then outta nowhere, a voice cut through:

“Mind if I cut in?” a bloke said and Berlioz felt a hand grasp at his upper arm. His head shifted at once, breaking his gaze with Simba, startled more than anything at the stranger currently smirking at him.

“Oh, or are you…with him?” the bloke said as he raised his eyebrows. His hand was still on Ber’s arm.

SIMBA: Ber got even closer, their noses touching, breathing each other’s breaths like they were the only breaths in the room. To Simba, they were—everything faded out for him except the places where Ber’s body lay flush against his. Those places were on fire, his jeans tight just at the proximity, even through all those layers. It felt like forever since last night.

Travel did that. Going from one place to all the way across the world in just a few hours made you feel a little crazy, made time get all weird and wobbly. That night, in the low blues of the streetlight outside shining in through the shitty shutters in their shitty motel, it felt like magic—it felt like a capsule. Somewhere that stood in the in between of time. Much too far away for Simba to grasp right now.

All he was thinking about was how he wanted this time to stretch on forever, how he could get lost, dancing in this club, Ber grinding hard and needy on him for the rest of time. All worries and burdens dropped away.

The dancing had shaken them off, with ever roll of Ber’s hips in tandem with his, he shook another layer off, peeling himself away until he was only 20, 19—horny and in love and carefree.

It made his skin hot, beads of sweat gathering in the collar of his bright blue polo. The bass was moving through his trainers, his cock pulsing in his jeans in time to the music and Ber’s ass rubbing against it. He wanted it, he wanted it, he wanted him. Their tongues slid together wet and hot and slick and messy, the kiss sloppy and at an odd angle but he didn’t care, just pressed his lips against Ber’s anyway, breathed little pants against his nose. His fingers dug into Ber’s thigh, trying to pull him closer, closer, but he was close as he could get—at least as close as her could get with Simba slipping inside of him.

That was the thought his brain latched onto as the music petered out and Simba was left staring hungrily at his boyfriend, pupils blown wide, a fire in his chest.

That was the thought his brain latched onto as someone else wrapped their grubby fingers around Ber’s arm.

The fire exploded in a blaze that consumed Simba’s rational thought. The hand that had been on Ber’s waist flashed up, quick as a snake striking to wrap around the bloke’s wrist. The fingers on Simba’s other hand brushed lightly against Ber’s thigh as if saying: don’t worry, you’re not going anywhere.

“Yeah, he’s with me,” Simba growled low, like any animal protecting its territory, its family, its mate.

“Mind if I cut in anyways?” the bloke asked, still smiling cheekily.

“Yes,” Simba growled a little louder, his fingers tightening slightly on the man’s wrist.

“Aw, you can spare one dance, can’t you, sweetheart?” the stranger purred, eyes flicking towards Ber.

With a quick yank, Simba ripped the guy’s hand off of Ber. “No one gets to call him that but me,” Simba informed the bloke, fire in his chest, his eyes dark and dangerous as he leaned over Ber slightly—like he was a blanket that could cover him completely, like he could swallow him whole and make him disappear. “No one gets to dance with him but me. No one gets to touch him but me. Got it?”

The guy’s face crumpled and then twisted into a sneer. “Come find me when this asshole gives you space to breathe.”

Simba just stood stiffly, his body humming quite pleasantly, actually, as the man wandered away again.

He felt Ber shift a little, melting out of his surprise but before he could say anything, Simba captured his mouth with his own, breathing rough against it as he pulled him into a rough kiss. It broke after a few moments, Simba brushing his nose against Ber, both of them panting slightly.

“Come with me,” Simba said, dropping his hand down to Ber’s wrist and tugging him through the crowd again with determined strides. It was like people could sense his irritation and moved out of his way, like he was a ship cutting through the ocean, Ber chugging along in his wake.

There was a wait for the bathroom because of course there was. Simba didn’t care, he wasted no time pressing Ber up against the wall near their spot in line, caging him in with his hands on either side of his head. He tilted his own head slightly, eyes flicking over Ber’s shiny red lips and pink cheeks.

“You wanna go dance with other blokes?” Simba asked quietly, nudging their noses together just barely before drawing his head away again.

BERLIOZ: It’d been a really, really long time since Berlioz had been hit on. Really—months and months. Maybe there’d been a passersby somewhere in there, young hitchhiker backpack-across-europe types, who might try a go when he bartended but wouldn’t get past two or three comments before they knew he wasn’t interested. That kinda thing didn’t really count. They would’ve flirted with anyone behind the bar; it was the bar that did it. It wasn’t picking Berlioz out of a crowd for no reason at all. Maybe, in fact, Ber waged as the bloke smirked at him, it was Simba that did it. Some men were like that—wanting something another had just because they could.

It’s not like he couldn’t know Ber was taken, the way he and Simba had been grinding and kissing. Sure, maybe he could slip them into the story of two men who’d just met—maybe he didn’t realize Ber loved Simba so much he couldn’t see past him if Simba was in the room—it was just… hard to believe. Ber’s love was so big. His devotion to Simba, so big. He wanted to wear it loudly. He liked being messy and sappy and a little inappropriate with Simba in public. It made him proud.

So this was just bizarre, felt out of nowhere, the man’s hand like some foreign object Ber couldn’t decide was dangerous or not. He just stared, not even registering if he was attracted, because—why would he?

He wasn’t Simba.

Simba was right beside him.

Simba grabbed the asshole’s wrist.

Simba snarled, leaned past Ber, turned himself into a shield: No one gets to touch him but me.

Ber’s heart pounded loud, quicker and harder than the music, which had picked up again all around them. It was saying yes. Yes, only Simba. Yes, he belonged to Simba. He felt hot all over, flustered but certain of just that—wanting to nuzzle against Simba’s shoulder and feel Simba’s hand stroke his hair or his cheek, the way Simba liked to do, like Berlioz had been an awful good boy.

Yes, he thought. His. Just his. And that’s what he was thinking when Simba grabbed him, yanking him so hard and fast (Ber still a second behind) that he stumbled a step, nearly smashed into two lads snogging. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had because Simba would just keep pulling him and pulling him on.

He hit the wall just a couple of seconds later, feeling, at once, breathless. Simba swooped in and stole all the air.

But Berlioz wanted to give it to him.

Their eyes locked. Ber couldn’t blink—couldn’t look away. His lips parted, tasting Simba’s breath, thinking he was about to kiss him. His heart picked up speed for that, a pleasant tingling in his fingertips and starting in his stomach. But as Ber lifted his chin just a tick, no kiss came. It was just the air, hot on Ber’s lips, Simba’s lips a breath too far. Ber wanted them. Wanted all of Simba.

He felt--  hypnotized. That was the best word for it. Simba’s question just made Ber’s desire all that bigger. He bit down on his own lip, didn’t look away, just shook his head. His hands reached forward and grasped at the hem of Simba’s polo—like he could tug Simba back.

“Just you,” he murmured, tasting his own lip again. He wanted Simba to kiss him, devour him. His fingers slipped just under Simba’s shirt, falling lightly on Simba’s hot skin.

SIMBA: Everything was instinctual as Simba’s head twisted one way, dipped the other, his lips hovering over Ber’s, the words that tumbled out of his mouth—none of it he thought about. He’d let go of himself, or, maybe, he was more himself than usual. And it felt good. It felt good to be nothing more than his lust, surrounded by the smell of sweat, in a seedy place he’d never been before, Berlioz the only familiar thing and the only thing he was looking at anyways.

His desire pulsed in his veins, pulsed harder in his cock which had swelled to near-aching in just the few moments it had taken to push Ber up against this wall. It didn’t help that Ber kept biting at his lip, making it red as a cherry that Simba wanted to bite into until it burst. The fingers on one of his hand curled into a fist as he watched that lip go from pale pink to deep red as it sprung from between Ber’s teeth as he spoke, those words ghosting over Simba’s lips.

“Right answer,” he murmured with a devilish smirk and he nudged his head forwards to capture Ber’s lips in a gentle, open mouth kiss. Their lips slid together, Simba could taste Ber’s saliva in his mouth, the cocktails on his tongue and he wanted more, but he pulled away again just as Ber pressed into the kiss a little harder.

His own heart was pounding away, heavy in his chest, weighed down with his yearning to be that much closer. At the moment he was content to tantalize both himself and Ber, toying with their arousal, stringing it along like a spider designing a web. An accurate metaphor, seeing as Simba planned on devouring Ber.

It was in his eyes, no mistaking the deviant glint, the fevered fixation of Simba’s dark gaze on Ber’s. The current was alive between them (when was it not). He could feel Ber’s fingers ghosting along his abdomen, the touch provoking Simba’s lust which was growing louder and louder until it was all he could hear.

“Oi! Line’s moving,” Someone said behind them, and Simba twisted his head around, lip curling back slightly, but the bloke just raised his eyebrows. Simba swung his head the other way and noticed it was their turn.

He got his hand around Ber’s wrist again, tugging him towards the empty stall in the middle of the row. Pulling Ber in front of him, he pushed him roughly into the stall (partially on accident) and then stepped in behind him. The lock clicking into place sounded like a gun cocking back. Eyes glancing up, Simba’s eyes flickered down to those pretty lips on his boyfriend’s slightly parted mouth.

Simba took a step and then another, like a predator stalking its prey, his desire rioting in his chest. He pressed himself up against Ber roughly, their shirts sliding up some, hot abdomens brushing. Simba’s hand went to Ber’s hipbone, pressing their groins together hard enough that the metal wall of the stall creaked slightly.

The sound outside the bathroom was dulled—like closing that door had locked the two of them in their own world (but weren’t they always, when they were together?)

Simba’s dark eyes, blown wide with formidable hunger, roved over Ber’s face, quiet and contemplative for a moment and then, he moved his head to Ber’s ear, flicked his tongue out against the top of his ear, possibly the only cool spot on Ber’s whole body, and ran it down the curve of that soft flesh.

“I am going to fuck you,” he informed Ber in a murmur, almost affectionately, pressing a gentle kiss into Ber’s pulse point—but there was no mistaking the wicked feral timbre of his voice.

BERLIOZ: The kiss was too soft, and just wet enough to make Berlioz want more—to groan low and open his lips, his tongue tasting Simba’s, teasing over Simba’s bottom lip like Ber could coax Simba into snogging him for real. It was the kind of kiss that made him shiver hot and cold at the same time. The kind of kiss that made his brain spin and his imagination start churning in overdrive, thinking about all the different kinds of kisses it could become. It was the kind of kiss he felt in his cock.

He’d been half-hard on the dance floor, Simba’s hand rubbing at his thigh and his groin rubbing up against Ber’s ass enough as is. Now he ached, needed friction in any form—Simba’s body or Simba’s mouth or Simba’s hand—something to spread the heat through the rest of him. His fingers pressed against Simba’s skin, wanted to sneak around to grab Simba’s ass. He just wanted to tuck Simba’s lines up against his own. It’d been too long, it’d been—

Less than 24 hours.

Too long, thought Ber, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He let out a whine as Simba pulled away. He knew Simba could tell just how aroused he was, knew that Simba was doing this on purpose. He hated it. He loved it. He was soaking in every second, propped up against that wall, staring at Simba, waiting for any scrap of contact he could give him.

He was still in that hot, lust-tinged headspace when the line shifted around them and Simba’s hand clamped down on his wrist again. He pulled Ber forward and Ber’s steps clipped a little at Simba’s heel as he obliged. Simba didn’t notice. Didn’t slow down.

Next second, Ber was in the stall. The door shut and clattered, then Simba pressed him back into the wall, just like how Ber needed.

He drew in a sharp breath, the back of his head knocking the stall, eyes closing at once. Simba’s heat was everywhere, much better than the kiss—his chest against Ber’s chest, his hand on his hip, his groin on top of Ber’s. Ber could feel Simba’s hard cock even now through his trousers, and it was that cock he was thinking about as he closed his eyes. His hips lifted just enough to press on back, and Ber’s hand grasped over Simba’s ass, as Simba’s tongue licked over Ber’s earlobe.

He swallowed the lump of desire in his throat, then barely bit back the whine that rose in his throat at Simba’s words.

I am going to fuck you.

With just those words, it was as though Simba had reached down between them and squeezed Berlioz’s shaft-- as if he was already inside of Ber, nudging the head of his cock against Ber’s sweet spots, making Ber moan. Ber’s cock throbbed harder in his jeans, and Ber breathed out harshly. He groped at Simba’s ass again.

“Yes. Please,” he said. Already begging, Berlioz? The word had just come to his lips. He rubbed against Simba, greedy and impatient, the bursts of friction going straight to his head. That whine of his escaped anyway. “Fuck, please, oh god.”

SIMBA: Those words shot down into Simba’s gut hot and fast and he wanted to pin Ber to this wall—harder than he already was. He wanted that spine to dig into the cold metal, wanted to press himself all up and down Ber’s sharp angles until he cut himself on them. Instead, his mouth slipped down from beneath that beautiful jawline to the joint of his neck and shoulder, where he clamped his teeth around the muscle and groaned. His hand on Ber’s hip squeezed tightly, enough to bruise, he knew—he’d done it before. He sucked deep on that spot on Ber’s neck, feeling the skin raise a little and he flicked his tongue out over it.

He wanted to be inside of him already, his cock was burning in his trousers, trapped by all that delicious heat. Ber rocked against him, rolling his own hard cock against Simba’s and it felt extraordinary, even trapped in their jeans. Something about that almost made it better, as much as Simba loved the wet, slick slide of their cocks against each other, when they were pinned down by fabric, cotton and denim separating them, they were pinned in place and every rub felt like kindling rubbing together.

But, he didn’t want that. He wanted to consume Ber—wanted to make him tremble and moan loud, say his name, tell him harder.

Simba’s teeth scrapped Ber’s neck while his free hand came up to Ber’s jeans. His hand was trembling slightly, weaker with all the blood pulsing in his cock, as he tugged hard on Ber’s belt, making his hips jerk one way than the other. He got the trousers undone and without preamble, he plunged his hand down into the inferno of Ber’s lust and squeezed.

His teeth were still scrapping at Ber’s collarbone, leaving hot kisses wherever his mouth trailed, the sound of his lips against Ber’s frail skin lewd and loud in his ears. He squeezed at Ber’s cock again and then pulled his hand up, feeling Ber’s pretty, pretty cock pulse for him.

Within his trousers, his own cock was thrumming, leaking at the tip with its eagerness. Moving his head, he kissed Ber’s mouth ferociously, thinking about his cock and Ber’s cock and being buried deep inside Ber, his ass tight around him, full of him. Breathlessly he drew back, pulled his hand out of Ber’s pants, his hand winking with precoma and sweat in the harsh neon and florescent light of the bathroom, which Berlioz still managed to look so desirable under.

“Touch me,” he demanded with a growl right into Ber’s mouth. “Touch me hard.” And he pressed another fierce kiss onto Ber’s mouth, knocking his head back against the metal of the bathroom stall.

BERLIOZ: No sooner had his whimpered words slid from his lips did the air fill with the sound of his belt jangling undone. A pop of the button, a slide of a zipper, then Simba’s hand was inside his pants, fingers wrapping around Berlioz’s shaft just like he’d thought about only a couple of seconds ago. He groaned at once, head lolling to one side, his own teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The pleasure filled him, dancing up his spine to his head. Each pull of Simba’s hand around his cock brought another one of those moans to his lips, while Simba’s teeth scraped down the neck Ber had so readily exposed for him. It was just enough pain to balance the pleasure, to keep him from pushing his hips against Simba’s hands.

But it was over too bloody fast. Simba’s hand darted away just as fast as it had stolen inside Ber’s waistline. Simba yanked at his hair instead. Ber’s head snapped to, his lips opening with a rapid intake of breath like he might say something (like don’t or please or with your mouth now)--

But Simba’s mouth covered his own and swallowed Ber’s breath, his words, and his sounds, all at once.

He was gonna go dizzy from that kiss. His knees trembled weak. He reached up and clutched at Simba’s arm with his hand. His lips bruised as Simba devoured them. Ber didn’t care. He’d surrendered himself. He only wish he could sink to his knees and surrender entirely. When their lips broke apart, both of their chests rising as they panted for air in this cramped little stall in the middle of West Hollywood, Berlioz wasn’t ready for Simba’s words anymore than he’d been ready for his hand, that kiss, or the one that followed it after.

Touch me hard, Simba commanded. He’d become a tornado of heat and pleasure. These words just wrecked Berlioz a little more.

Then his lips were on Ber’s again, like they could press the order against his tongue. Touch me, Simba’s tongue said in Ber’s mouth. Touch me, said his teeth, kneading at Ber’s bottom lip. Hard, said those teeth.

Another moan rose in Berlioz’s throat, right up into Simba’s mouth, but he listened.

His hands moved to Simba’s waistline. His fingers grabbed at his shirt, slid underneath, first just scratching at the strained, taut muscles of Simba’s abdomen. He ran those nails down them like it was a washing board, then fumbled at Simba’s button too, till he’d gotten it undone. He didn’t just sneak his hand in though. Ber pushed Simba’s jeans over the swell of his ass and let them fall around his ankles, then shifted the fabric of Simba’s pants too, to expose his hard cock to the bathroom air. Ber’s hand went to the shaft, squeezing it like Simba wanted. The cock pulsed in his hand. Ber stroked up the shaft, then down, pumping the cock faster and harder than he’d normally-- if Simba hadn’t commanded him to do so.

And then he grabbed at Simba’s hip and pulled away from the kiss, to breathe but also to look down at the two of them. His eyes lingered longest on Simba’s cock, as he pulled Simba closer. And then he fumbled with his own cock, untucking it from his boxers so it was always exposed to the air, pink-red in its arousal, the head of it leaking. He guided their cocks together, the head of Simba’s pressed against his own-- in the dirtiest of makeshift, come-slicked kisses. Ber let out a grunt at the feeling and barely kept his hips from bucking.

And then he got his hand back around the both of them and began to pull them off together.

SIMBA: Simba didn’t know where those words came from, where the desire came from—hot as lava as it rose up in his veins, burning him from the inside out. Maybe it was just that they were somewhere new and excited and the dancing and the music had pumped into Simba like ecstasy. Maybe it was another bloke’s hand on Ber’s arm and the urge quivering inside Simba to reclaim Ber’s whole body for himself, wash him clean with their sweat, rub up against him until it was all gone.

It was silly if he took a step back and thought about it, because he knew Ber was his. That Ber hadn’t even for a second thought about dancing with that other man. But, for some reason, the carnal part of Simba had taken over his brain and it wanted to take more, take, take, take—take all of Ber’s moans, take his hand around Simba’s cock, steal inside of him and take his breath away too. It was all Simba could think about.

He wanted it hard and fast and all at once, the kiss alive with that desire. His cock twitched at Ber’s moan as it filled Simba’s mouth, sweeter than any alcohol. He was drunk with desire, the feeling shivering up his stomach as Ber scraped his fingers down. The sharp little bursts of pain sweet as if Ber had touched him with a feather, just as teasing.

Simba hadn’t expected Ber to push his trousers down, but the sound of his buckle hitting the concrete floor rang through the little enclosed space and made Simba’s cock pulse before Ber even got his fingers around it. He pulled it hard, just like Simba had wanted, the kiss breaking as Simba drew in a sharp breath, his whole chest tightening with the feeling, all his nerve endings confused—sweet and hot, the feel of Ber’s hand working over him practically ruinous.

His own hand came up near Ber’s head, clenching his fist against the metal of the wall, pressing it there, his muscle taut as he breathed heavy.

Quick as it started, Ber pulled away—though it didn’t cool the fire at all. Simba’s long eyelashes fluttered open, saw Ber’s gaze drop down and his own followed. His cock pulsed as Ber grabbed him by the hip and pulled him closer. His foot caught a little on the fabric of his jeans, but it was barely a trip at all. The air around them seemed to grow even hotter as Ber exposed his own cock all pink and lovely. Part of Simba wanted to get his hand around it again, part of his mouth watered to take it against his tongue, let Ber fuck his mouth so that he could taste his come in the back of his throat the rest of the night.

Instead, Ber just pressed their cocks together, the slits sliding against each other, folds of skin catching. The feeling was near delirium-inducing and Simba groaned low, though half of it was cut off in a sharp pant. The spike of pleasure so strong Simba’s lips tingled with it—his whole body shuddered as Ber’s hand wrapped around both of them and began to work his bloody magical fingers again.

Simba’s hand snuck around to Ber’s ass as his hips moved in time with Ber’s hand, grunting slightly with each pull. His fingers fumbled around in Ber’s back pocket, dipped inside his wallet, got his fingers around one of those little packets of lube they’d brought with ‘em. Thank god for it, because Simba wasn’t going to be satisfied until he was rocking into Ber, surrounded by his heat, being squeezed tight.

His hands made quick work of pushing Ber’s trousers down, slipping the elastic around the bottom of Ber’s ass. Squirted the lube messily in his hand, some of it dropping to the floor with a splat. He didn’t waste time slipping his finger into Ber’s ass, crooking it up at once to brush against his walls, pulling a new range of sounds outta Ber as he tuned him up like a guitar, like a car, like his favorite thing to tune.

BERLIOZ: There was the shifting of more fabric and then the cold stall, for a second, was up against Ber’s ass. But not so long before Ber pushed his hips against Simba’s for another delicious slide of their cocks, and Simba’s hand moved to grip at Ber’s asscheek.

And then Simba was everywhere and all Ber could think about. His body filled the whole space. Each breath he took tasted like Simba, each inhale through his nostrils smelled like their sex, turning the stall into their cozy bed back at home. It dizzied Ber, made his eyelids even heavier as he pulled their cocks again together again The parts of him that weren’t touching Simba felt as cold as ice and Ber longed for Simba to run his hands over them to spread the heat, but didn’t want them to leave where they were now-- sliding down his back, fingers groping at his ass. Those fingers were nice and wet and slick with lube, each one a hot rod of pleasure soon to be pressed up against Berlioz’s most tender spots.

And then he knew the pleasure would get even better and Simba would get even bigger, in front of him and in back of him and inside him. Ber felt gluttonous though because he knew even that wouldn’t be enough. He wanted more. More, more, more, wanted the cock twitching in his hand, pushing against his own cock, to be buried deep inside him, rocking him back and forth, torturing every sound of pain and pleasure out of Ber’s wet, swollen lips. With his eyes half-closed, that’s what he thought about. And then Simba slipped two hot fingers into him and made the fantasy even stronger and brighter, Ber’s hand leaving their cocks to grip at Simba’s bicep, feeling weak in his knees.

He needed Simba to hold him up. Put his hands right there on his hips, though only after he’d spread Berlioz’s legs and positioned his hands, widespread, on the stall wall. Then when his knees trembled he began to pitch over, he wanted Simba’s fingers to grip him so hard, hold him so steady, he’d find the shape of them bruised into his skin after.

For now, Simba was just teasing him, blurring Ber’s vision as his fingers twitched inside him. Ber’s fingers squeezed Simba’s arms as he pushed his hips forward again, still fucking against Simba’s cock, though the ruts were uneven now. He moaned low, the tip of his cock throbbing. He squeezed Simba’s arm again, so he wouldn’t squeeze his own shaft.

“Oh, r-right...there...ah,” he panted. Ber kneaded his own lip between his teeth, head pitching forward to look at the dirty stall floor, Simba’s jeans still around his ankles. Simba spread his fingers inside of Ber, stretching him enough to elicit a high hiss from Ber’s lips next. He could feel his toes curling in his boots. Another swirl of his fingers, then sliding deeper, and Ber’s head jerked up, all the way up, to hit the stall and rattle it. “Please, Simba-- please, fuck me,” he said breathlessly. “Fuck me.”

SIMBA: Unlike Ber, Simba couldn’t forget that they were in public right now—he was vaguely aware of every time the row of stalls rattled as someone came in and out. He was aware of the sound of flushing toilets and the running water of the sink and the murmur of voices coming like a swarm of mosquitos from all sides. Though, it didn’t distract him, if anything, it just made his blood run hotter, it made that streak of possession that had started all this glow brighter.

He wanted everyone to hear, he wanted everyone to know that Berlioz was his. His, his, his. It was Simba who was going to fuck him, who made him tremble and pant and moan. Even though these were all a bunch of strangers and it’d mean nothing to them, he wanted them to know anyways.

Ber’s hand slipped off Simba’s cock but it was still pulsing hot, aching now with no friction against it for something more—something around it, squeezing it to orgasm. He teased more, though, first, at Ber’s ass, wanting to draw out the pleasure curling in his gut and his toes because he knew when he was inside of Ber—it wasn’t going to be long.

Just as he was thinking this, Ber pleaded with him, the words going right to his cock, making it leak against the hem of Ber’s shirt where it was pushed up against his boyfriend’s body. His head turned to nip at Ber’s ear as he slipped his fingers out of Ber’s ass. “Only because you were so good,” Simba purred, voice rough and hungry, “asking so nicely.”

He leaned back a little then, got his hands on Ber’s waist and flipped him fast, making sure to catch him and keep him standing as Ber untangled his feet. Simba’s eyes roamed over Ber’s back, even though he was still wearing his shirt. His ass was exposed, glistening slightly from the lube. Simba ran his hand over the curve of it before sticking his own foot forward and kicking at the inside of Ber’s so his legs would spread as far open as they could while still stuck in his jeans. Simba’s hand moved down to the inside of Ber’s thigh, gripping it hard and pressing it open as he leaned forwards, to press hot, open-mouthed kisses up Ber’s neck.

“Keep your legs spread,” he demanded in Ber’s ear as he grabbed at his own cock, lining himself up against Ber.

He rubbed his cock once, twice over Ber’s hole before pressing his hips forwards sharply and burying himself inside Ber’s heat all at once.

Simba groaned low as the feeling spread through him, all the way down his legs, eyes screwed shut for a moment. A breath of air puffed across the back of Ber’s neck—one of Simba’s hands grabbing at Ber’s—he hooked both of them over top of the stall, his other still gripping at the inside of Ber’s thigh.

Then, he pulled out and thrust in again, only halfway this time—short, hard thrusts that made the cheap metal latch rattle threateningly, like it was going to come undone and the door was going to burst open, so that everyone could see the two of them like animals; Simba hunched over Ber, driving into him hard and carnal, panting against his ear.

BERLIOZ: Simba grabbed his hips and flipped him, and for a second, the world rushed around him, a roar in Ber’s ears, all blurred colour and light. Then his hands hit the stall and it clattered with its metallic clank, bringing Berlioz back into the present.

He gasped, chest rising rapidly as his fingers twitched on the door. He stared at the chipping black paint. Under his own fingers, there were countless etchings of inappropriate graffiti but none of it was legible. It blurred into nothing for Ber, who couldn’t concentrate on the sounds outside the stall let alone the cusses scratched into a door. He couldn’t think about anything but the echo of Simba’s whisper in his ear— his fingernails digging into his hipbone—and most of that, his other hand, grasping Ber’s thigh and shifting it out.

Keep your legs spread, Simba growled the command. His knees trembled at the words. He breathed loud and throaty and only nodded his agreement because he couldn’t speak. If he did, it would be to beg Simba for his cock.

That cock, which he felt now sliding between his cheeks. That cock, wet and iron-hard, already dripping for him, like Ber’s own was. This was why he couldn’t think about anything else outside the stall. His mouth was too dry, body wound too tight, his own cock too hard.

All he could do was draw in another breath and lick at his lips—and do what Simba said.

Simba grabbed at his hand and slid it up the stall door, hooking his fingers round the edge of it, and Ber groaned again, the fingers of his other hand spreading over the stall like he could plant himself there.  Simba’s cock nudged up against his entrance again, Simba’s hand clenching tighter—

Outside, a faucet was running as someone washed his hands, lathering up the soap over his wrists.

Outside, the line was getting longer, two stalls occupied by two couples fucking. Complaints flew down the line, as did snickers and cheers.

Outside, a boy was hooking his finger into another boy’s belt loops, smirking—waiting for their turn.

Inside, Berlioz cried out as Simba fucked into him.

He gripped the stall door even harder, his knuckles going white (couldn’t see though, with Simba’s hand on top of his own). It was like Simba had unleashed an electromagnetic pulse, and it was electrifying every cell in his body, going up his spine like it was some sort of lightning rod. He felt it in his head, felt it in his cock and twitching in the muscles behind his knees. It was good, so good, hard and rough and good. It wasn’t the clean, sweet slide of their sex at home, when they had plenty of lube or coconut oil to fit together like a well-oiled machine. It was like the forest in the 1800s—it was like in the shower sometimes, only better—Simba dragging his cock half-out and making Ber’s body burn and tingle with the ghost of him. Ber just wanted more.

And Simba thrust into him again without pause, then again, and again. He grabbed at Ber’s hip again, the fingers of his other hand digging into Ber’s thigh. Each thrust felt like another firework. Ber let out a short cry at each one, but the noise was sweet and full of pleasure, mounting the harder and faster Simba went.

Fuck, yes, fuck yes, yes, merde, please, oh, yes—Ber thought, unable to say any of these words as Simba fucked into him, pushing out Ber’s moans instead. Good, so good, want all of you—come in me. Come on me.

His own orgasm raced toward him.

“I’m gonna—” Couldn’t finish. Soon as he started the sentence, Simba’s cock slammed into him just right and Ber cried out, his orgasm shooting through every body part. He came onto the stall, a splatter of white against the black paint—like abstract art.

SIMBA: No one gets to touch him but me.

If Simba was thinking anything, it would be that. It would be how this body pressed against his, this body which trembled, that mouth that made such lovely noises, that skin that smelt so good, felt so good—it was all his. No one else was allowed near it, at least not in any sexual kind of way. No one else in a dirty sleazy club or at a dirty sleazy concert was ever gonna touch it again. It was Simba’s to treasure and protect and covet.

He was thinking, in the quietest but most sure part of his brain: me, me, me with every sharp thrust of his hips into Ber’s heat.

It all felt so good—even if the bathroom floor was sticky, every shift of Simba’s weight making his shoes squeak. He didn’t care about that, just cared about the insatiable hunger that was driving his hips forwards fast and hard. The feeling danced up and down his spine, spread through all his limbs, made him grip harder, his own legs trembling slightly as his pleasure began to center in his cock, moving fast in and out of Ber.

Short heaving pants were the only sound that left him. Instead, the sound of their minimally touching skin hitting together rang in his ears. Ber’s whimpers the loudest thing to Simba as he placed his open mouth on Ber’s shoulders, felt Ber’s breath against the side of his face, coming in short moans, smelling of lemon from his cocktails earlier.

Every thrust was another burst of pleasure, overwhelming as it stole his breath away. It electrified every part of him. It made him feel wild, impossibly salacious.

He was so deep in his pleasure, in the pulse of his own cock as it sped in and out of the tight walls surrounding his cock, that he barely realized Berlioz said anything at all, but oh did he feel it. Ber’s orgasm made his whole body clench, making his walls constrict around Simba’s cock. In response, Simba thrust into him deeper, slamming him up against the stall.

“Oh,” he grunted, getting both of his hands around Berlioz’s slim waist, tilting his ass to change the angle so that he could thrust deeper, faster. He shoved into Ber again, and again, and again, bearing down on his orgasm which was coiling in his gut.

His mouth was still on Ber’s neck, teeth scrapping down the salty flesh. Simba was sweating, the back of his shirt drenched—it was too hot in this club, in this bathroom, in this stall, inside Berlioz, where his cock pulsed and ached with the blistering heat of little lube. The slide of his cock was rough but so, so good. It was making him dizzy and even more greedy for release.

It took only a few more sharp, needy thrusts of his hips, coaxing his orgasm forwards, until he felt the toe curling, rapid rush of pleasure slam into him, stealing his breath. His teeth clenched around the joint of Ber’s neck as he groaned, spilling his hot come inside of Ber.

Mine, mine, mine, he thought as the hot-blooded pleasure moved through him.

As it tapered off, Simba came back to himself, his eyelashes fluttering as he turned his bite into a soft kiss over the large mark of his teeth. His breathing was still harsh but he turned his head slightly, moving his lips gently up the side of Ber’s neck, to his ear, his jaw, the corner of his own lips. His hands brushed affectionately against Ber’s waist, one of them sneaking around to pet at his stomach where Ber’s shirt had ridden up.

“Wanna take you home,” Simba whispered against Ber’s lips. “Away from all these—people.” His fingers clenched on Ber’s hips. He chuckled as he came back to himself a little further and remembered where they were. “Or, to a hotel, yeah, sounds good. Mmm, let’s go.”

[audrey-auto-motive]

Guilt Bubbles Up || Poached Mechanic

Date: Early June, prior to Prom Summary: Audrey's not entirely herself in the month of June due to a certain anniversary coming up, Gen notices. Emotions ensue. Hurt/comfort vibes. Trigger/content warnings: Mention of death, mention of InterPride 2025 events in an inner monologue, mention of fire, mention of blood, and as always smut (but this time... with emotions?) @genevieve-davenport [link here]

[june-von-drake]

Winners Never Quit || One-Shot

Summary: Set the day after prom, at the von Drake day drink. June processes her recent loss and makes a decision.

tw: alcoholism, brief smutty moment rated pg-13 but there u go lmao

****

June woke up with a knife in her skull, blood trickling between her eyes. 

Right, obviously not— a knife to the skull would be less painful than the double-hangover of losing prom queen and drinking too much in one night.

With a moan, she closed her eyes again, dragging a hand through the molasses air to rub at her forehead. Pulses of light bled and then fizzled out on the back of her eyelids, like disintegrating cigarette butts. Her mouth tasted like alcohol and puke that she didn’t remember puking. She dreaded seeing if the remnants of her utter humiliation had made it to the toilet or her floor, but eventually she opened her eyes, breathing out when she saw her shoes discarded and her beautiful dress turned inside out like a creature skinned alive, its parts left in a heap on the floor. 

But no puke. Yay!

She had a feeling she was forgetting something else.

That was a constant symptom of a late night out. As June sat up, it niggled at her. She stumbled to the bathroom, smearing her tongue over her fuzzy teeth, and searched for the missing piece. What had happened last night, besides the obvious? She splashed water on her face, sucked water off her palm, and grasped at slivers of thought, sparking as briefly as the impressions of light on her eyeballs: staring at the ceiling of the pillow fort, Henry’s hand lying stiff on her back, Kovu’s clueless face, redoing her lipstick in the mirror, her sisters’ perfume…

That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it. 

June chugged and spat out mouthwash, then turned on the shower. Oh well. It would come back to her eventually, or else she’d wash it forever down the drain with the rest of what was left of last night. Either way, she didn’t have time to care— she needed to get ready. 

She had a day drink to get hot for.

[Read here!]

[june-von-drake]

good bi // june's LGBTQIA+ party girl playlist

tw: swynsmut for talk about sex lmfao

TBH, at first I figured I would not do this task, because most of my characters' sexualities are not important to them-- we love living in a world with minimal homophobia!!! but i pondered anyway and decided to use it as a way to explore June's sexuality beyond just being bisexual. Instead, this is sort of like "I'm bisexual and I have commitment issues and see sex as a sport I Have To Win (tm)"

Something like that.

So that's the basic theme that goes through this playlist. Not only do we feature some queer artists and a mix of wlw and wlm songs, but we also have a lot of domination~ and the idea of kink~ and dom/sub vibes. June would not claim to be part of the BDSM community at all-- I think in many ways she's pretty young into her sexual exploration and has mostly hooked up with inexperienced dudes and some lovely ladies, so maybe in the future she'll really enjoy that lmfao. but for now, it's just kind of something that underscores her sex life.

Good Bi: This song is what it says! It's just about being bisexual, loving being bisexual, very sex-positive, etc! Don't think too much about it, it just sets the scene lmfao.

My Body Is On Fire: And Here Is Some BDSM Vibes, kinda! "Pull my hair/pin me down/my body is on fire/c'mon baby put me out." Once again, this is very sex-positive and unapologetic about the speaker's sexual appetite. She says exactly what she wants which is very much like June. Also, June is certainly a bratty bottom at times, I think-- she enjoys a bit of domination so she can turn the tables! She likes it when sex is like a wrestling match! Fun

safeword - continuing on the theme here for BDSM vibes. This song kind of uses that language as a metaphor, like I don't actually think this is strictly a song about sex, but rather about relationships in general. This one is definitely more like, about domination-- "You're not the boss of me" -- and I simply think it captures June's general hatred of losing. In life. And in sex. :)

Kiss it Kiss it - this is a blatant WLW song and I like how whiny and demanding Renee is in this song!! I think June's favorite thing is to get eaten out tbh tbh tbh. So maybe this is just about that.

Sports Car: This was one of the first songs I ever put on my main June playlist. It just captures her vibe perfectly-- she loves speed, she loves wealth, she loves sex, she loves playing dirty and dangerous. This song is blatantly Heterosexual (tm) so I like that we have those two vibes back to back.

Breakfast: Another Bi Queen, thank u Dove Cameron! This song is again about dominating boys and like, turning sex into a game and winning that game.

My Kink is Karma: Now this song is actually NOT about literal kinks, it's about winning a break-up...but truly that is June's kink. So this could be literal and it could be figurative. Both work.

Good Girl: This song is generally about how June treats sex/her body in general, which is to say unwisely. Many nights start off with June thinking one thing (see the blackout one-shot), but then end another way because she gets too drunk and loses control. She makes bad decisions but...tbh her bad decisions are another kink. She's gotta work through that.

sex money feelings die: this is probably the 'darkest' part of the playlist, something that sort of acknowledges that the way June uses sex is a lil toxic, could be a lil dangerous, even, unlike a lot of these songs, which are very unapologetic and sex-positive. I like that the music itself reflects that. Lots of dark synth, the singer is more placid, chilled out like they are high, rather than these like bigger, expressive, passionate vocals of previous songs.

MOSH PIT: ngl I didn't have this at first and then it came on my Spotify while putting together the aesthetic and I was like OH! It references Body on Fire. So I like it as a kind of bookend song, just to like bring us to the ending. I'm silly like that when it comes to my playlists, lmfaooo. But yeah, it still fits with the general themes I've said here.

CHOOSE UR FIGHTER: Yes, let's just say the obvious thing in the obvious way now-- "when you choose your lover/ you choose your fighter." That's exactly it! This is why June rarely has any actuallll romantic partners She still views relationships, in part, as something contentious. I wonder if that has anything to do with her parents and their contentious divorce.................................

[nobody-like-jesse]

Wake Up Call || Chaos Gremlins

Backdated March 21, 2026

Summary: At this point Jesse spending the night at Sid's place isn't uncommon. What is uncommon is what happens after. An accidental wake up and a teasing remark acted upon, taking all parties by surprise.

TW: smut

[Read more here!]

@pall0r-mortis

[knightley--phillip]

For Better, For Worse || One Shot

A hook up gone horribly wrong for Phil

cw: sexual situations, not quite smut but almost there

It started off the same as most other nights.

A club. A couple of drinks. Lots of loud music. Two eyes meeting across a crowded room. A what are you drinking? Can I get your next round? An invitation to dance. Said dancing. Hands wandering, down the strong planes of a chest, across chiseled shoulders, cupping a firm ass.

Lips meeting in a heated kiss on the dancefloor as lights pulsed in time with the music and with the rush of blood in Phillip’s throat.

It was a quick exchange of my place or yours? Mystery Bloke confessed he was visiting his nan and it would be incredibly awkward if they accidentally woke up his 85 year old grandmother. So Phillip’s place it was.

[READ HERE]

[gem-mohanty]

Love Me Weak/Love Me Strong🔥[Snow Quartz]

In which Gem and Snow reconnect after Gem's absence...[takes place: January 2]

@lady-snow-flower

[cw -- smut, some brief thoughts/discussion of negative body image]

🔥🔥🔥🔥

SNOW: It had been a long, long day at the Hauntley. 

It was just a day after New Year’s—which meant that all the guests who had checked in to enjoy the festivities had finally left. She’d done so many check-outs, done so many loads of laundry, and so much bed-making that Snow swore her skin smelled like the lavender detergent they used and her fingers felt a little raw. 

The good thing was that the Hauntley only had one or two guests now. For the first time in a while, her inn was quiet and sleepy again, with all its familiar aches and haunts. Oh, it would fill up again soon. But for now, Snow was happy for the break.

She got to her bedroom and Gem was already in bed, reading something. Although she was normally against wearing her outside clothes on her bed, he looked so cozy– like one of the pillows she had freshly fluffed, inviting Snow to snuggle down into it. She smiled from the doorframe, then slipped over and crawled onto the bed, kissing him on the cheek.

“Hello,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek a second time and then let out a sigh, letting her head fall on her shoulder as she snuggled into him just like she’d imagined. “Finally, all done,” she said, sighing. “The laundry machine tried to eat me at one point. I’m very lucky to be here.” 

[outfit]

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[read here]

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