#stoner reader

an impulsive move after getting her approval, and you've been second guessing it a bit.

and here you are now: standing outside of a dark house in the middle of a culdesac. it's late afternoon, purple and pinks breaking through the clouds as the sun sets for the night.

as you approach the door, you hesitate to knock for a split moment. it was really random of him to ask for a visit, but at the same time you did speak with him a lot at shoko's.

and her approval surely means you're fine, right?

after taking in a deep breath to help ease the nerves, you go for it. small raps against the door with a shaky fist, awkwardly looking around at the windows beside the door to see orange lights dimly brightening the space.

wind chimes echo from across the street, distracting you momentarily as you glance in their direction.

the soft patter of footsteps comes from inside of the house and you face the door, nerves weighing in your chest as he pulls it open and smiles down at you politely.

"hey, come on in."

you freeze under his gaze, flushing at the realization that this is your first time seeing him with his hair down. and wow… he looks so good.

his tattoos are almost amplified with the way his long hair stretches down his shoulders, the silver chain on his neck a pop atop inky artwork.

you have to shake yourself from your thoughts, a simple 'hi' just barely coming out as you force an awkward smile. you really hope he didn't catch your gawking.

he moves out of your way and you immediately see the glowing light all around the house. it's almost overwhelmingly cozy, and there's a distinct scent that pours out as you walk inside.

a mixture of expensive incense and something almost sickly sweet, yet familiar.

you look around, taking in the soft darkness of the house. his living room sits just in front of you, a long couch paired with nice end tables beside it. the tv's on, some music playing quietly.

"i'm honestly surprised you said yes to this." he says from behind you, dipping past you and heading in the direction of another room. he motions for you to follow.

you raise your eyebrows as you head in behind him, the kitchen lit up with the same soft tones.

he's hovering at the counter, a tray sitting there with a bunch of little snacks. 

"wait what, why?" you ask, stepping in next to him.

he shrugs, "i mean, it's not like we've hung out one on one before. wasn't sure if you'd be uncomfortable."

he passes you a small bag and you take it, reading the label before glancing up to him with narrowed eyes. "you sure you wanna give me this? and no, you're actually one of shoko's friends that doesn't seem to be a bad person."

it's a bag of flavored edible gummies, and it happens to somehow be your favorite flavor.

"just take it. shoko said those were your favorite."

you smile and open the package, eating a few and smiling at him. "thanks! i appreciate it."

you both head out to the living room, the bass of the song that's playing thrumming into the floors softly. you can feel the vague haze of the gummy settling in as you sit down on the couch.

at first, you don't feel much while you talk with him. he asks you what music you like, what shows you're into, about your hobbies, and you do the same back.

but after an hour, your body weighs down comfortably. you're sunk into the couch softly, curled on the side of the couch while he sits on the opposite end. the tv has some random show playing, the music still going but still a low volume.

the smell from earlier almost overwhelms you, just subtle hints of a sugary sweetness that enhances the incense scent tenfold.

you find yourself glancing at the strip of lights that traces the ceilings, that soft orange absolutely breathtaking with each passing moment.

at some point, that hazy filtered high turns into something… hotter. your mind wanders to places you're ashamed of, eyes glancing over to where suguru's seated on the couch.

the way his knees are folded open in front of him, the way he's sunk into the couch as well, the edge of his shirt is brushing against his stomach.

heat coils into your lower stomach and in between your thighs desperately, the tv and anything else around you suddenly too quiet as you rub your thighs together mindlessly.

you feel like you've been coated in syrup, a thick and heavy lust overtaking you.

sighing quietly to yourself, you stare at the tv and try to calm yourself down. you think about the scene on the tv, you remind yourself that this is a guy you barely know, but none of it stops the feeling.

you really want to fuck him.

the feeling of a slow sink into the couch coming closer to you has you freeze up, eyes looking to the side as you watch suguru stretch out a bit.

you swallow thickly, paying more attention to the tv than before. the last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable in his own home.

after a few minutes of steady breathing, you've calmed down enough to the point where the show is the perfect cover for the steady throb you feel in your clit. you haven't gotten this horny from an edible in so long.

it's like all of the other highs you've had where you haven't been decided to put all of that energy into right here and right now, almost painfully so.

you feel the warm pressure of his hand brush against your thigh, jumping and looking over at him with wide eyes.

he smiles a bit too bashfully, "my bad, didn't mean to do that."

you nod slowly, eyes pacing around the room. "okay…"

eventually, his leg is pressed against yours. the steady heat coming from his body and seeping through your yoga pants with ease, a feeling that you have to focus hard on just to ignore it.

it's almost impossible, and panic unfurls through you at that.

everything around you feels like it's clouded in a haze, slowed and blurred at the edges until the simple touch of his leg against your thigh is all you focus on.

"you always get like this when you're high?"

your stomach drops, eyes wide as you lock onto his. he's smirking, head tilted innocently like he's just waiting for you to snap. "what do you mean?"

he shrugs, arm brushing against yours and sending tingles down your spine. "oh, just how locked in you seem to be on the tv…"

you can't tell if he's being sarcastic, just nodding slowly.

his leg brushes against yours again and you can't stop the jolt that it sends through your body, the room suddenly feeling so small, as if the orange lights all around you have wrapped around your skin.

your breaths become shallow, uneven, and everything from the flicker of the tv screen down to the music playing is drowned out by your frantic pulse.

you turn fully now, facing him and looking up to meet his heavy lidded gaze. 

it's so easy to see it in yours eyes now, too - pupils blown out, the quick rise and fall of your chest, and the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip. 

you gasp when he moves. his hands grab at the fat of your hips, pulling you close until you're shakily landing on his lap with your thighs pressed into his.

your tits are squeezed together against his chest, overwhelmed with the sudden closeness that you weren't expecting.

"what's got you so nervous?" he asks calmly, as if he didn't just pull you onto him.

you swallow thickly, feeling the hard bulge that presses against your clothed pussy. you try to relax, calm your shaky body down, but the feeling of him pressed into you has you whining out before you can stop it.

every single little movement is amplified against your skin, and when his fingers dig into your hips you can't control the way they slide down and grind on him.

the lights around him refract into blurs as your eyes roll back, a gasp passing your lips as you throw your head back. "oh my god…"

he pulls you suddenly by your waist closer, head picking up to meet his gaze. "this is the kinda high you are?"

you nod, head spinning when you do. your eyes feel like they could close at any moment, heavy but you're too pent up to succumb to any tiredness.

he smirks at the sight of you, leaning in close until his breath ghosts your lips. one of his hands wraps around your throat, clamping down until you're gasping for air.

you can't hold back anymore, you're just too far gone.

you push forward, lips smashing into his in a painfully messy kiss. the sounds fade to nothing around you, just you and him in the moment.

he reacts immediately, tongue sliding against yours in a way that you don't just feel in your mouth, it trickles down your spine and into your clit and sends you twitching against him.

"please…" you whine against his lips, grinding down against his hard cock through his pants.

you feel like you're melting, any hesitation and self respect gone. all you want or need right now is him touching you in some way.

his lips leave yours, trailing down your jaw and neck. you cry out when he bites down on the sensitive skin, fingernails digging into his thick forearms. the noises only get worse as he gets rougher.

"suguru…" you whisper, pulling him back to kiss your lips again.

he grunts into your mouth when you push yourself down harder, his teeth sinking into your lip and biting down. 

your hips roll against him repeatedly, a rushed and clumsy rhythm that has both of you panting into each other's mouths. 

his hands slide to your ass to guide you, and soon enough both of you can feel that you've soaked through the thin fabric of your yoga pants. he pulls back, eyes filled with a darkness that sends heat to your lower tummy.

"fuck, you're soaked."

his hand slides between your bodies, thumb digging into the wet patch and grazing your clit through layers of fabric. it's just enough friction to make your hips stutter, whining out.

he doesn't stop, his thumb circling that soaked spot with a rhythmic, heavy pressure that makes your vision swim. 

you're practically vibrating against him, the orange light of the room blurring into long, glowing streaks every time you try to blink.

"you're so sensitive," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your collarbone as he leans back in to bite at the skin there again. "every little touch has you jumping, hm?"

you can't even reply, a pathetic and broken moan leaving your throat as you try to grind back against his hand.

he slides his hand into the waistband of your pants, a smirk toying at his lips when he cups your dripping pussy. "you're actually dripping. didn't think you'd be so eager."

his fingers just barely slide between your folds, gathering slick and circling your clit. the haze has you cumming in seconds, loud wail passing your lips as you grind against his fingers.

your head's thrown back like before, hips shaking in the air as his fingers work you through it.

his touch is so amplified by the edible that you're already cumming again after the first time, another cry passing your lips as you sputter. "holy shit." is all he says, and you can just barely make out his blurry face through your teary eyes.

your brain's fluttering into nothingness already, hands on his shoulders as you hold yourself up.

"more…" you whimper, "i need more."

everything's too much - the orange of the lights too bright, the music suddenly too loud, and his touch too warm, almost as if he could burn you at any moment. 

your hips stutter with the aftershocks of cumming so hard and fast, thin sheen of sweat gathering on your skin. you feel like you're still brimming with need.

he watches you with that dark, heavy-lidded stare, his fingers still slick and glistening in the dim light as he pulls them back just enough to look at what he did to you.

there's no time to catch your breath as he suddenly flips you over so you're pinned onto the couch under him, eyes widening as he fully envelops you.

there's nothing else for your eyes to focus on anymore, just trailing their way from his face down to each tattoo that's visible on his neck and down his arms as well.

but the music still thrums in your chest, spilling into your lungs with that smell you can't get enough of.

his eyes are on yours, filled with a hunger that you're sure is present in yourself too. he leans down, kissing you hard as his hands grab your wrists and pin your arms above your head.

"i don't think you've had enough yet."

the same hand from earlier drops down, sliding against your clothed body as he pushes your legs open with his own. he pulls back from your lips, chest heaving.

he pushes his fingers into your waistband again, smirking as two fingers push into your pussy and stretch you out. your back arches against the couch, a loud moan tearing through your throat.

he curls his fingers in you and they brush into that spot within you that has your eyes roll into the back of your head, every sensation blurring into an amalgamation of colors and sound.

his fingers are thick and overwhelming, loud squelches echoing in the living room with each drag into your body.

when your eyes open again, he looks like a god. he's practically glowing, his forearm flexing as he finger fucks you. his eyes are so calm that you could mistake it for boredom if he wasn't ruining you.

his thumb brushes against your clit and you shake while another orgasm hits you again, eyes clamping shut while your pussy clamps around his fingers.

"that's it, just like that." he rides you through your high, his fingers only leaving you after your body has stopped spasming periodically.

you try to catch your breath but fail to do so, focusing on how quickly your heart beats. but before that becomes the panic you know it will, he's picking you up as if you weigh nothing.

his hands cup your ass while your legs wrap around him, arms around his neck. "definitely time to use the bed. don't think i can hold back anymore."

each step is like a flash of the moment, your eyes barely open anymore as he carries you out of the living room and towards another door. the sudden quiet is louder than the noises before, that orange glow following.

after crossing the dark hallway, he opens the door to his bedroom and there's more orange - but this time it's from a simple salt lamp that's been placed in the corner on a table.

it's all your eyes can actually grasp, your high making paying attention to anything else feel like an olympic sport.

you gasp when he sits down on the bed, you still on top of him. the heat of his body is overwhelming, pressing into you and only amplifying the hazy state of mind you can't escape.

your hands fumble with the fabric of your shirt, a gentle tug against your skin as you pull it up and throw it off of you. your bra follows next, tits spilling out.

then your hands wander over his body, desperation hitting you while you try to pry his shirt off. he laughs at the sight, reaching and pulling his shirt off for you before he immediately settles his attention on your tits.

his hands knead them, goosebumps forming as you whine out when his fingers graze your hardened nipples.

your hips grind down against him again but he stops you, his hands leaving your tits and settling in a warning grip at your hips. "nuh uh, no more teasing. strip."

he pushes you off of him and your feet hit the cool wooden floors with a thud, your hands shakily pulling the dampened yoga pants and drenched panties down until they've pooled at your ankles.

"fuck, you're so hot. c'mere." you look up to see him naked now too, his cock thick and flushed between his thighs.

your breath picks up as you process his words, a heavy weighted wave of lust crashing down between your thighs. you sit down on his lap, your soaked pussy just resting against the bulge of him.

neither of you move for a few minutes, the pure pleasure of finally shredding layers of clothing enough to have you reeling.

you stare at each other before you can't stop yourself, leaning in and kissing him again. your hips move subconsciously, a delicious roll that has your puffy folds coat his cock in your slick.

he groans into your mouth at that, fingernails digging into your skin so hard it leaves small crescents behind in their wake.

you move over and over again, pussy dripping onto him and creating a wet mess between your bodies that's audible with every move.

his own hips press upwards and you nearly shout when the tip of his cock presses into your pussy. you pull back from the kiss, breath shaking frantically as you start sinking down on his length.

"that's it… nice and slow for me, baby."

every inch of him feels so fucking big it's overwhelming in itself, the friction of how thick he is making your brain melt into nothing. all you can hear is him and all you can feel is him. it feels like he's taken your body and mind as his own.

your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails dragging over the ink on his skin as you finally bottom out.

​"fuck," he hisses, his head falling back against the headboard. "you're so tight, i can't—"

​he doesn't even finish the sentence before his hands are back on your hips, guiding you up and down his cock.

you give in to the feral urge that pulls in you, immediately finding a brutal pace on him that causes the bed frame to creak loudly and slam into the wall. 

the tip of his repeatedly slams into your g spot, your eyes rolling back as your mouth falls open. your vision's back to fragmented lights that blur into each other.

"fuck," you cry out, "harder. i need more."

"yeah? you want more?" he asks, voice breaking.

you nod frantically, still bouncing on his cock. he stops your movements, forcing you off of him and tossing you around like you weigh nothing. you land on your stomach, a huff of air coming out as you arch your back. 

he climbs onto you, a steady weight as he drags his cock up and down your folds before he's forcing himself in with one strong thrust.

your jaw drops at the new angle, the way his cock is flush against the deepest parts of you. you can barely think, but this almost feels more like a dream than real life.

"please move—" you start, and his hands grip harshly onto your hips while he begins a pace that ruins you completely.

the bed slams into the wall loudly, but your screams are a close contender for what's noisier. your face is buried in his pillows, that familiar smell blending with laundry.

you feel like you've lost your mind, only able to focus on the loud slap of skin on skin and how his cock fills you perfectly.  

you can’t even form words anymore, just broken, high-pitched sounds as your fingers claw at the sheets, trying to find anything to hold onto.

​"you like that, don't you?" he rasps, his voice dropping into that dark, low register that vibrates through your entire spine. "so high you can't even think... just taking me like a good little whore."

​he shifts his grip, one hand reaching around to find your clit again, his thumb rough and insistent as he continues to drive into you from behind. 

the dual sensation is too much. it turns you into a puddle. your pussy is pulsing around him, so tight and sensitive that every thrust feels like it's going to snap you in half.

"yes, yes, yes, yes—" the words start falling out of your mouth in a frantic, mindless loop. you can't stop them. you're nodding your head into the fabric of the pillow, your hips jumping to meet every hit. 

"right there, suguru, please, yes—oh god, don't stop, don't stop."

your vision whites out, eyes rolled back so hard it hurts as you cum on his cock. a strangled high-pitched scream tears through your lungs as your pussy clamps down on him repeatedly.

it hurts, how hard you cum. your whole body seizes up, and you can feel suguru shake then still. hot and thick ropes of cum fill you up, another whine passing your lips while you come down.

your chest moves rapidly to compensate for the irate pace of your heart, body shaking as he weighs down on you.

the high is still there, but it’s shifted now—rounded at the edges, turning into a weighted blanket that’s pinning you to the mattress.

you can’t even move your arms to push yourself up, just laying there face-down in his pillows while the smell of him and the faint orange glow of the salt lamp keep you anchored in the mattress.

you feel the bed shift as he moves, the weight of him lifting off you before he’s pulling the duvet over both of your tangled, sweat-slicked bodies. he tucks it around your shoulders with a gentleness that makes your heart squeeze.

​"you still with me?" his voice is a low, raspy rumble right against your ear, sounding completely wrecked.

​you just hum, a soft and broken sound, shifting your head to the side so you can see him. his hair is a mess, fanning out over the dark pillowcases, and he’s watching you with those heavy-lidded eyes.

The faint smell of cherry and weed lingers in your kitchen, mingling with the sharp tang of hair dye. Pink this time—bright, unapologetic, and a little rebellious. Your little sister bounces on her heels, the green from last time faded into nothing but a memory.

“Do it now, Sissy! Make it good,” she demands, hands on her hips, eyes gleaming with mischief.

You grin, unbothered. “Relax, baby. You’re about to have hair that slays and matches mine again.”

She squeals, tossing a handful of black-and-pink streaks toward you like confetti. You kneel down, careful, precise, the tattooed skin of your arms catching the morning light as you work the dye through her hair. Glitter dust clings stubbornly to your collarbones and chest, a lingering reminder of the night before.

Wednesday stands stiffly behind her brother, arms crossed, scowling but when your sister tugs her forward, whispering, “Just a little! I wanna match!”, Wednesday relents with the smallest nod. Only a few strands for her—tiny pink streaks—but the effect is immediate: the corners of her mouth twitch upward, a rare smile.

You brush a wayward pink strand behind your own ear, smirking. “See? Team chaos, bonded by color.”

A quick hit from your joint calms the edge of your nerves—you’re a little buzzed, like always, because school events are hellish, and you refuse to be vanilla for the PTA. You’re dressed to kill anyway: a deep-plunging button-up wrap over your chest, pencil skirt clinging in all the right places, heels that make your legs look endless, gold jewelry catching the light, tattoos flowing across exposed skin. Even here, even now, you are chaos incarnate.

Your sister twirls, delighted with her hair. “Now let’s go! Play’s in thirty!”

Your little sister grabs the last of the cupcakes from the counter, carefully stacking them in their container. Black frosting swirled with pink sugar, the perfect complement to the streaks you just put in her hair. She spins, excitement practically vibrating from every limb.

“Okay, Sissy! I’m gonna hand these out before the play!” she squeals. “Just a few to the parents, then the rest on the snack table!”

You give her a small nod, taking a slow drag from your joint one last time. Glitter clings stubbornly to your collarbones, chest, and shoulders, the pink streaks in your locs catching the morning sun. Pencil skirt, heels, plunging wrap over your chest—everything screams polished chaos. You glance at Wednesday and Pugsley, already buzzing with nerves, and a rush of warmth hits your chest. You’ve adopted them in a way even Morticia and Gomez would admire.

The drive to the school is a mix of black coffee, laughter, and your subtle buzz. Your sister cradles the cupcakes, balancing them carefully as she counts them off. Wednesday sits stiffly, glaring slightly, but the tiny pink streaks in her hair betray her secret approval. Pugsley babbles excitedly, bouncing in his seat, while you hum quietly to yourself, content.

Pulling up, your gaze catches Gomez and Morticia before anyone else. Gomez is sharp in a black suit with subtle red highlights and a cute vest peeking out; Morticia glides beside him, black dress flowing, red brooch catching the sun in perfect synchrony. They seem casual, almost poised, but you know them—the quiet anticipation radiates.

Your sister bounds out first, cupcakes in hand, passing a few to the lingering parents with a bright, sincere grin.

“Try one! They’re good,” she chirps.

A mother murmurs, voice clipped but curious:

“Well… I suppose she's … responsible. And the cupcakes are… really good.”

Another scoffs, muttering, “I guess she tries hard… too hard maybe.”

Your sister doesn’t care. She beams and sets the remaining cupcakes on the snack table, then hurries backstage to join the kids.

You crouch near the stage, brushing a stray strand from Wednesday’s face. “Remember, this is your moment. Don’t let anyone else’s noise shake you,” you whisper, hand lingering gently on Pugsley’s shoulder. Every word, every touch, radiates that quiet, confident nurturing that makes the kids light up.

And then they see you.

Gomez freezes, jaw tightening slightly, pupils dilating. Morticia’s eyes narrow, dark approval flickering across her face. Your outfit commands attention, but it’s your energy with the kids that ignites them. You treat Wednesday and Pugsley like your own, guiding, praising, encouraging… and that, more than anything, makes them hunger.

Gomez rests a hand lightly on his thigh, subtle at first, grounding himself. Morticia notices, her fingers brushing against his arm, a gentle reminder: “Patience, love.”

Other parents whisper.

“Do you see her? Tattoos and all…”

“She’s… goth, obviously. But… their kids are happy. Very happy.”

“Hmm. Well… cupcakes were good. Can’t argue with that.”

You brush off side-eyes and murmurs with a small smile, adjusting a stray lock of Wednesday’s hair. Every small act, every confident word, feeds Gomez’s tension. He shifts, hand tightening subtly against your thigh. Morticia hums softly beside him, leaning closer, lips just brushing his ear: “Soon.”

Your sister and Wednesday move with grace onstage, Pugsley beaming. Your little pep talk before the performance has clearly worked. Gomez’s subtle bulge, already noticeable, is growing. By the final act, the pressure is undeniable; his hand grips your thigh with just enough force to remind himself of what he wants. Morticia notices, smirking darkly, letting her hand rest lightly on his other arm, leaning in close to whisper teasingly: “Can’t hide it any longer, can you?”

You notice the subtle change in him, the tension coiling fully, a bulge pressing through the suit. You glance at Morticia, who smirks knowingly, and back at Gomez, whose jaw is tight, his focus torn between the stage and the way he wants you pressed against him.

By the end of the play, he is at full mast, fingers still gripping your thigh, every inch of him aching. Morticia’s calm, teasing presence beside him, hand on his arm, only heightens the torment. You straighten subtly, noticing how impossible he looks, and a quiet smirk tugs at your lips.

The final curtain falls, applause booming in the auditorium, kids grinning, flushed with success. You turn toward the stage exit to gather your little chaos crew—but before anyone can even reach you, a hand—a firm, hot hand—grabs yours.

Gomez. Tight, urgent, practically dragging you toward the first private space he sees. His eyes are dark, predatory, desperate. Morticia glides behind, perfectly composed, heels clicking softly, eyes alight with that wicked approval.

“You… you’ve been… driving me mad,” Gomez murmurs, voice low, almost breathless, as he steers you down a quiet hallway, away from the lingering parents and curious children.

Morticia’s voice follows, soft but sharp, teasing in that way only she can: “Watching you with them… my love, it was… intoxicating. The way she guides them, nurtures them… it makes me ache in ways I didn’t expect.”

You glance at her, and her dark, approving smirk sends a shiver down your spine. Gomez presses closer, hands tightening on your wrist and waist, pulling you flush against him.

The door to the small private room clicks shut behind you. Gomez buries his face in your neck instantly, inhaling, murmuring praises—your name, your scent, the faint glitter that still clings to your skin, the way your body radiates warmth and authority. One hand grips your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered, chest pressed hard to yours, subtle grinding against you already betraying his desperation.

Morticia steps behind him, hand lightly resting against his back, leaning close enough that her warmth brushes yours. Gomez grips her hand instinctively, anchoring himself as he waits, trembling with restraint, for her signal.

“I… I can’t…” he groans, voice raw, broken, fumbling, “I can’t even… kiss you yet…” His lips hover against your neck, grazing, barely moving, one hand buried in your waist, the other clutching Morticia’s hand like it’s a lifeline.

Morticia murmurs softly, teasing and commanding all at once: “Soon, mi amor. Wait for me. Control yourself, and you may have her entirely.”

Gomez groans again, grinding slightly, helpless, hips pressing into you, chest to chest, each inhale shallow. His desperation is tangible—you can feel it through every press of his body, every subtle tremble of his hands. He’s been thinking of this—thinking of you—nonstop for the past two weeks. Since dropping off your little sister at the Addams house, since he and Morticia have been holding back, craving, remembering every touch, every curve, every glittering inch of you.

Morticia leans closer, her hand trailing along his side, murmuring low against his ear: “You want her, yes… but remember why we wait. Imagine her… with our children. Imagine making this… permanent. Imagine her… part of us.”

Gomez shudders violently, hips pressing harder into you, grinding just enough that you feel the desperate tension pressing through his trousers. He’s trembling, near snapping, but Morticia’s presence, calm and teasing, keeps him on the knife’s edge.

You feel him shiver in your arms, hear the guttural, stifled whines that escape him as his desperation builds, every muscle taut. His chest presses fully to yours, hands gripping tight, eyes closed, head buried in your neck as he murmurs praises—how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he’s waited two weeks to feel you like this again.

Morticia steps closer behind him, pressing lightly, her own desire for you mirrored in her voice: “Seeing her… care for our children… it makes me want her too. The way she nurtures them… the way she has them wrapped around her little finger… she’s ours. And we’ll make it so.”

Gomez bites back a groan, trembling, grinding slightly, lost between Morticia’s guidance and his own primal need for you. One hand holds you, the other Morticia, and he rocks subtly, desperately, waiting, wishing, nearly breaking as he murmurs your name against your skin over and over.

The tension is unbearable, electric. You can feel it—the anticipation, the need, the shared desire of both your lovers, both entirely consumed by you. Gomez is right there, trembling, hips pressing, chest heaving—one more second, one word, one command from Morticia, and he would lose every ounce of restraint. You can feel it, smell it, taste the desperation in the air between the three of you, a slow, simmering storm that promises utter chaos—and pleasure—soon.

---

Gomez shudders violently, grinding harder, nearly losing himself. He can feel himself on the edge, hips pressing, chest heaving, every desperate whine barely contained. His eyes are dark, intense, almost feral, waiting for the silent permission he craves from Morticia to let go, to lose himself entirely against you.

Your voice is soft, coaxing, unaware of the madness you’ve stirred: “Let me gather our kids, and I’ll meet you outside… we can go home after.”

The words hit like fire. Our kids… home…

Gomez freezes mid-grind. His head snaps up, jaw tight, pupils dilating. Morticia’s eyes snap toward you, smirk gone for the briefest heartbeat, a low groan escaping her throat.

“No,” Gomez breathes, almost growling, hips jerking in restraint. His hand tightens around your waist, the other still clenching Morticia’s, one leg subtly pressing against yours. “We… we need to go home. Now.”

Morticia murmurs low, sultry and commanding, against his ear: “Yes… we’ll collect them… quickly… mi amor. But she will be ours.”

Gomez physically pulls back, carefully—oh so carefully—from you, chest still heaving, one hand dragging along your back, one still holding Morticia’s. His erection is straining, bulge impossibly obvious now, every inch of him screaming in frustration. He swallows hard, muttering to himself, forcing control into every fiber of his being.

“We need… to… get them,” he groans, voice rough, a shuddering exhale escaping as he jerks you gently toward the door. “Go… go with me. We… we need to… move.”

You glance up, innocent smile still there, unaware of just how close he was to losing all restraint. “Okay… I’ll gather the kids…”

Gomez nearly snaps again, another guttural groan ripping from him, teeth pressed to keep from shoving you into the wall right then and there. Morticia huffs, eyes narrowing, fingers curling against his side. “Yes… we must… get them… quickly, mi amor,” she murmurs, voice thick with desire and amusement.

With a collective groan, the two of them practically drag you down the hallway, urgency radiating, one hand gripping each other, moving faster to corral the children before restraint fractures completely. Every step is a struggle—the friction, the pent-up lust, the thought of finally being home with you—and yet, they manage to gather the kids, hurry out, and almost stumble into the car with barely a pause.

Gomez is still trembling, hips subtly grinding against the air, chest heaving, muttering low curses and praises, every nerve screaming in anticipation of the moment they’ll finally be home and able to claim you entirely, Morticia perfectly at his side, equally desperate, equally gleaming with anticipation.

The world outside is chaos, but inside the car, every muscle tensed, every pulse racing, it’s clear: as soon as those doors close at the mansion, nothing will stop them from losing themselves to you again.

---

You lean into the driver’s side window of Gomez and Morticia’s car, the late-afternoon sun catching the glitter still on your shoulders, collarbones, chest. Your pencil skirt hugs every curve, your wrap plunging just enough that Gomez’s eyes darken immediately, and Morticia’s smirk widens with wicked amusement.

“The kids are restless,” you murmur, voice low, teasing. “I’ll see you when we’re all home.”

You press a quick kiss to Gomez’s cheek first, leaning over him just enough that he can see everything, your glitter catching the light, your chest hovering just above him. Then you reach over, tilting slightly to press a soft, deliberate kiss to Morticia’s cheek. His hand tightens on the wheel before he can stop himself, the subtle friction of your body against him enough to make him shiver and groan quietly.

Morticia hums low, fingers brushing his arm as she watches you, eyes dark, filled with approval and lust. “Perfect,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

You pull back, winking at them, and begin walking toward your car. The kids are already buzzing, excited, and you guide them in, buckling each safely into their seats.

From inside Gomez’s car, he’s breathing hard, teeth pressed together, jaw tight, one hand gripping the wheel, knuckles white. Morticia sits perfectly poised beside him, but her eyes betray her calm—the hunger, the need, the way seeing you like that makes her ache is obvious.

Gomez let's out a subtle groan, just a whine really, almost imperceptible over the engine. He adjusts himself slightly, desperate for friction, for something, but there’s nothing. Not yet. Morticia’s hand rests lightly against his thigh, a grounding touch, but the need radiates between them like a live wire.

You climb into your car, engine rumbling to life, kids safely strapped in. The drive begins, playful chatter from the backseat filling the car, completely oblivious to the storm you’ve just left behind.

Behind you, Gomez speeds along in their car, red highlights catching the sunlight, trying to keep control of both himself and the vehicle. One hand adjusts his bulge subtly, chest heaving, whispers of your name spilling from his lips. Morticia hums low beside him, fingers tracing his arm, guiding, teasing, keeping him tethered just enough.

By the time you arrive at your home, Gomez is trembling in his seat, hips rocking ever so slightly, whispering your name, his breath shaky and thick. Morticia watches him, amused and desperate herself, leaning close to whisper teasingly: “Soon, mi amor… all will be ours again.”

You park, guiding the kids out and inside. Gomez and Morticia wait a few minutes in the driveway, letting you settle everyone, letting the kids get deep into the house so they won’t witness what’s coming. Then, in perfect synch, they step out of their car, dark coats catching the late sunlight, and make a beeline for your door.

Gomez’s hand on the door handle, chest still heaving, barely able to look at you without grinding against the air in frustration. Morticia follows, eyes dark with hunger and amusement. You glance up at them, smile faintly, and feel the familiar storm brewing again—the moment when restraint teeters on the edge of breaking completely.

The kids are already upstairs, disappearing into the playroom, laughter echoing faintly through the hall. You step inside the mansion, and the air itself feels charged, alive. Gomez’s hands find your waist immediately, pulling you flush against him, body pressed chest to chest. His breath is hot against your neck, whispering your name with the kind of desperation he’s been holding in since the drive.

“We should have known…” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, teasing, breath catching in low groans. “Seeing you with the kids… it would affect us. It… it destroys me, mi amor.”

Morticia glides beside him, hand trailing lightly over your arm, smile wicked. “You’ve made them ours, haven’t you? Our children, and our hearts. And now… so are you.”

Gomez groans, nipping at your shoulder, grinding subtly, one hand sliding along your hip, the other clutching Morticia’s. “We’re going to… make this permanent. You, the kids… your sister… part of this… part of us. Every inch, every heartbeat. Ours, cara mia. All of it.”

Every word, every murmur, sends shivers through you, and you press closer, hand brushing against his chest, feeling the sharp strain of his erection pressing insistently.

They guide you down the hall, Gomez pressing a little harder at every turn, unable to keep from grazing your body, murmuring praises against your neck. Morticia’s fingers trail along your arms, teasing, her presence hot, her dark amusement filling the air as she whispers: “We’ve wanted this for weeks. And now… finally, you’re here. Finally… ours.”

Gomez reaches the bedroom door first, almost fumbling with the handle as his desperation peaks. He steps in, pulling you forward, pressing you against the wall before the door closes, one hand gripping your waist, the other dragging Morticia along behind him.

The moment the door clicks behind them, Gomez loses all pretense. He buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing lightly, hips pressing impossibly hard into yours, grinding slowly, each movement teasing the edge of his control. Morticia follows from behind, hands tracing your sides, lips brushing along your shoulders and collarbone, murmuring low, dark praise.

Clothes fly in a chaotic, slow-motion storm—skirts, wraps, belts, everything discarded in the heat of pent-up lust finally unleashed. Gomez’s hands roam greedily, grinding against you, hips pressing, whispering your name against your neck as if it’s a prayer and a plea.

“This… this is everything I’ve wanted,” Gomez groans, voice rough, nearly breaking as his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping, tugging you flush against him. “Every… every day… thinking of you… imagining this… I can’t…”

Morticia hums softly, a wicked, dark purr against your ear. “We’ve dreamed of you, cara mia. Every whispered promise… every cruel thought of leaving you… gone now. You are ours. Completely. And we will show you just how… desired you are.”

The three of you collapse together onto the bed, chest to chest, arms and lips tangled, fingers grasping, teeth grazing, murmurs, groans, and whispered promises filling the room. Gomez presses your body fully into his, grinding, whining lowly, unable to contain the need. Morticia teases, guides, and holds him back just enough to make him desperate, every inch of her presence stoking the fire between you.

Every movement, every touch, every whisper cements it: you, the kids, the chaos, the glitter, the pink streaks, the adopted family—all of it—is theirs. And tonight, at long last, they will claim it fully.

Gomez shifts, pressing you harder into the mattress, grinding slowly, unable to hold back the whines escaping him, one hand gripping your waist, the other clutching Morticia’s as if she alone can anchor him. His lips find yours again, teeth nipping, murmurs of your name spilling like sacred chants.

Morticia leans down, lips tracing along your jaw, teasing the edge of your ear, trailing a hand along your hip, tugging at your waist just enough to make you arch into her touch. “Do you feel it, mi amor?” she murmurs. “The way he aches for you… the way we both have dreamed of this… for you… with you…”

You gasp as Gomez’s hands slide along your sides, fingers pressing into every curve, tracing the glitter, the tattoos, the soft skin. He whispers over and over, each breath catching, “You’re mine… ours… finally… finally here…” Grinding low, pressing against you, murmuring praises, nipping at your collarbone, chest flush to chest.

Morticia guides him, hands along your curves, teasing and steadying, whispering, “Take your time… savor her… make up for every moment we’ve waited… every day we’ve been apart… every touch we’ve imagined…”

Gomez whines low, grinding impossibly, hips moving with the restraint he can barely hold, pressing his forehead to yours, murmuring, “I can’t… I’ve waited too long… every night… every thought… just you…”

Morticia kisses your shoulder, sliding down to your chest, lips grazing lightly over skin, teasing, her hands tracing along your body, feeling every inch, guiding, making you arch, making you moan. “We’ll take everything,” she murmurs. “Every inch… every curve… every sigh… finally, mi amor, finally…”

Morticia presses close behind him, murmuring encouragements, tracing your curves, teasing Gomez, keeping him on edge, heightening every sensation, every gasp, every moan. She presses her lips along your neck and shoulder, fingers sliding along your waist, occasionally pinching or brushing your nipples through fabric, keeping your attention divided, deliciously confused, entirely consumed.

You arch, moans spilling, fingers clutching sheets as they take what they’ve waited for, every touch, every murmur, every grind of hips, every whispered declaration of possession, every single thing they swore they’d do when finally with you again… all of it happening, slow, sinful, poetic, and absolute.

The room is heat, whispers, grinding, nips, moans—Gomez low, desperate, whining, Morticia teasing, praising, touching, all of it pointed entirely at you, worshiping every inch, marking every curve, building you into theirs completely, utterly, as the three of you collapse into chaotic, erotic symphony.

And then—he snaps.

A low, guttural groan escapes him as he cums fast, gripping you tight, pressing himself into you, grinding slightly, still whispering your name in delirious praise. His release is hot, shuddering, but it doesn’t slow him down—if anything, it fuels him, giving him reason to worship you harder.

Morticia leans in, lips grazing your neck, teasing your earlobe, fingers tracing along your sides and chest. Gomez nips lightly along your shoulder, murmuring praises, pressing kisses across your collarbone, neck, chest. His hands roam freely now, unrestrained, all pent-up tension melting into the way he worships you, tracing your curves, teasing your nipples, pressing your body flush to his.

Morticia guides him, murmuring encouragements, whispering your name, tracing tattoos, brushing glittered skin, every movement designed to heighten the pleasure, stoke the obsession.

“Do you feel it, mi amor?” Morticia whispers against your ear. Her lips trail along your shoulder, then down your collarbone. “The way he aches for you… the way we’ve imagined this… every day apart… it’s all here.”

Gomez groans, one hand sliding up your back, the other pressing your hip to his, grinding harder, whispering praises in your ear. “I’ve wanted you… every second… thought of this… all of you… ours…”

You tilt your head, pressing back against him, running your hands over both of them, tangling your fingers in Morticia’s hair, pressing your palms against Gomez’s chest. “You’re both… insatiable,” you murmur, and the words make them shiver.

Morticia smiles darkly, nipping at your earlobe. “And you, mi amor, have made us ache… watching you with the children, with your sister… everything about you… it destroys us.”

---

They take turns, alternating attention—Gomez worshiping your chest, neck, thighs, pressing into you low, murmuring, grinding, whining; Morticia teasing your sides, neck, chest, tracing tattoos, kissing, murmuring encouragements. You’re arched, trembling, moaning, every inch of you worshiped, glittered skin, pink streaks, tattoos, every curve praised, touched, kissed, ground against.

Hours pass in whispered names, low groans, grinding, kisses, teeth grazing, nails tracing, murmurs of obsession, praise, and worship. Gomez whispers deliriously, low, broken phrases: “Every inch… ours… finally… perfect… finally…” Morticia murmurs against your neck, shoulder, tracing, teasing, guiding, holding him back just enough to make him ache harder.

By the end, you’re trembling, glittered and glowing, exhausted, every curve worshiped, kissed, touched, praised. Gomez presses low against your neck, grinding lightly, murmuring delirious praises, nearly undone again, Morticia pressing close behind, whispering darkly, guiding, teasing, adoring.