#I had no idea what clothes to put him in ignore whatever the fuck he’s wearing

[shesmymausoleum]

Did a full render of my York Vogue/Bogue cover from my last drawing and I think I should draw hot men more often because this was fun.

Please ignore my terrible hand lettering I really should have just typed but I’m stupid so I didn’t

[urfavfrenchgrl]

fuck you

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader ᥫ᭡ words: 2.7k ᥫ᭡ warnings: 18+ | SMUT | MDNI ᥫ᭡ summary: After a pointless argument, you gave in, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

Your feet carried you swiftly back to the castle, anger and frustration pulsing through your veins. You rushed to your dorm, hoping the solitude of the bathroom would calm you. You needed to be away from him, away from the whirlwind of emotions he stirred up in you.

Mattheo and you hadn’t put a label on whatever it was between you. Some days you yelled at each other, while others were spent tangled in the sheets. This time, it had been the first option. A ridiculous argument spiraled out of control, leading to your storming off, promising yourself you'd never speak to him again.

"Stupid bastard..." you muttered, stripping off your clothes. The argument echoed in your mind. You tossed your clothes into the corner and stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water might ease the storm raging inside you.

As the scalding water cascaded over your skin, you tried to relax, but your body remained tense, the frustration refusing to wash away. Your mind kept replaying the argument, but beneath the anger, there was something else—a tension you couldn't ignore. You were still thinking about him.

Mattheo had always been a storm in your life, unpredictable and dangerous. Suddenly, the sound of a knock startled you out of your thoughts. You turned off the water, frowning, listening. The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.

"Y/N?" Mattheo’s voice, softer now, cut through the door. There was a hint of desperation there, something raw. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he needed you, craved your presence even when all you did was fight.

"I’m sorry, okay?" His voice was rough, but there was a vulnerability to it now. "I didn’t mean to lose it. Can we just… talk?"

Your heart clenched, but your pride held firm. You ignored him, wrapping a towel around your body and retreating to the edge of the tub. He didn’t deserve forgiveness, not this time.

"Please," Mattheo’s voice cracked, more desperate now. "I’m fucking sorry. Just open the door. You know I don’t mean half the shit I say."

Your jaw clenched. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. Instead, you started brushing your hair, trying to focus on anything other than his pleading tone on the other side of the door.

The silence stretched, but you knew Mattheo wasn’t going to back down that easily. He never did.

Then his tone changed. It was darker now, authoritative. "I’m counting to ten, Y/N. If you don’t open this door, I’ll break it down, and you’ll have to talk to me whether you like it or not."

Your breath hitched. He wouldn’t. Or would he?

He started counting. "One… two…" His knocks grew louder, and your heartbeat quickened with each number. "Nine… ten."

With a crash, the door burst open. You gasped, clutching your towel tightly as Mattheo stormed in, his eyes wild with anger, frustration—and something else. His gaze locked on you, taking in the sight of you standing there, wet and vulnerable.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" you yelled, your heart racing.

His lips twisted into a grin, but his eyes were sharp, focused. "You’ve always known I’m fucking crazy, Y/N. So why do you act like it surprises you?"

"Go to hell!" you snapped, the anger boiling over again.

He moved closer, his presence overwhelming as he stared you down, and you could feel the heat between you rising again. "Oh, or fuck me, right? Isn’t that what you always say? Maybe I should fuck yourself instead." His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but beneath it, you could sense the desire that was building.

"You’re such an asshole!" you shot back, not backing down. But your voice was shaking now, the tension between you more than just anger.

The argument was a smokescreen for what had always been brewing between you. Mattheo’s jealousy was flaring, but so was his possessiveness. He couldn’t stand the idea of you walking away. 

He hesitated for a second, eyes flashing with a mix of anger and lust, before grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the bed. His grip was firm but not painful, the air between you charged with an intensity that left you breathless.

"What does this feel like, huh?" he growled, pushing you down onto the mattress, holding your wrists. His face hovered close to yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You really want to push me? You really want to see how much of an asshole I can be?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t look away, didn’t back down. "Fuck. You. Riddle."

His eyes darkened with something primal, and a wicked smile curled at the corner of his lips. "No, baby. Fuck you, Y/N."

And before you could say anything, his mouth crashed onto yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, a collision of need and frustration. It was a battle for control, and neither of you was willing to lose.

He kissed you harder, biting down on your lip, pulling a gasp from you as his hands moved to your hips, gripping you tightly. His touch was rough, unrelenting, as if trying to prove a point. He needed to remind you that no one could make you feel the way he did. No one could match this fire between you.

Mattheo’s mind was racing. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe it was because you drove him insane, testing his limits, making him burn with a desire he couldn’t control. 

Mattheo gritted his teeth, the intensity between you unbearable. He couldn’t take it any longer. His eyes locked onto the towel wrapped tightly around your body, and without hesitation, he yanked it away, tossing it carelessly to the side. His gaze darkened as he took in every inch of your exposed skin, his breath catching for a moment. His eyes raked over your body, filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

He stood there for a second, savoring the sight before him, as if committing every curve to memory. "Fuck, you’re perfect," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with want. 

Then, with an intensity that made your heart race, he leaned down and began kissing you, starting at your neck, his lips trailing over your collarbone, then moving lower. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach, worshiping your body with every heated press of his mouth. His hands followed his lips, exploring, gripping, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you beneath him.

His mouth eventually found its way to your breasts, and without warning, he took one of your nipples between his lips, sucking hard. You gasped, your body arching into him, your fingers digging into his hair as he switched to the other, giving it the same torturous attention. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, pulling a whimper from you as the sensation shot through your body.

"Already so fucking wet for me..." he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogance as his hand slid lower, cupping your wetness. He smirked against your skin, his fingers teasing, moving just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to give you the release you craved.

His lips found yours again, shutting you up and he kissed you hard, his fingers continuing to torment you, brushing lightly against your folds, teasing your entrance but never quite giving you what you wanted. The anticipation was unbearable, your body aching for more, for him. Here’s the same section with a little more detail:

"Are you satisfied now, Y/N?" Mattheo’s breath came out heavier, his voice laced with desire as he leaned closer, his eyes dark with hunger. “Pushing me to my fucking limit.”

You could feel the heat between you, the undeniable pull of your bodies. The way his chest heaved, the tension in his muscles—he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. The air was thick with anticipation.

Without thinking, you pulled him in, kissing him harder, your lips crashing into his. You could feel his need, feel him throbbing against you. Between heated breaths, you whispered against his mouth, "Shut up… and just do it."

And then, without warning, he pushed his finger inside you, rough and deliberate. You gasped against his lips, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure hit you hard. He watched you, smirking as he saw the way you reacted to him, the power he had over you only fueling his desire.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, thrusting his finger deeper, rougher, as your body responded instinctively to his touch. "Look at the mess you’re making.. Such a beautiful mess," he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with arrogance. He added one finger and thrusted deeper, rougher, feeling the way your body clenched around him.

You moaned, your hips moving in time with his hand, craving more, even as your mind screamed at you to resist.

"Fuck, Y/N..." he growled, his erection pressing hard against your thigh. He could feel your need, just as desperate as his own, and it only fueled him further.

Without warning, he slid a second finger inside you, his touch rough, determined. "You’re fucking perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with lust. "All mine, and you fucking know it."

Your mind was spinning, lost in the intensity of the moment. You were his, body and soul, and deep down, you both knew it.

Mattheo pulled his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss and wanting more.

With a casual motion, he unbuckled his belt, his gaze never leaving yours as he pulled down his trousers, freeing his erection. The air between you was charged, heavy with lust and anticipation.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his voice thick with impatience, his eyes dark with desire.

You nodded, breathless, barely able to respond, your body already aching for him.

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself above you, gripping your hips firmly as he slid into you, slow at first, as if savoring every second. You moaned, feeling the way he filled you, your body stretching to accommodate him. But the gentleness didn’t last. Without warning, he began thrusting hard and fast, the force of his movements pulling a cry of pleasure from your lips.

The intensity was overwhelming. You had never felt anything like this before, the way your bodies moved together, perfectly in sync. It was as if you were made for each other. No one else had ever made you feel this way.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Y/N,” he groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he drove into you harder, faster. His eyes were wild with lust, his teeth gritted as he fought to keep control.

One of his hands slid up to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to send a shiver of excitement through you. His thrusts grew more urgent, more desperate, as the tension between you built to a fever pitch.

Mattheo was rough, but you loved it. Every brutal thrust, every growl of pleasure, only made you want him more. You dragged your fingers down his chest, tracing over the scars that marked his skin, a reminder of everything he had endured. The sight of them stirred something deep inside you—a mixture of sadness and fierce desire.

He groaned, his teeth catching your lower lip as his hands moved to your breasts, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. "Fuck yes. Just the way you like it," he growled, his voice low and raw as he kissed your neck, biting down gently.

A moan escaped you, your body arching into him, your nails digging into his skin. "Is this what you want, baby?" he whispered darkly in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You want to be filled by a fucking asshole?"

Before you could respond, he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach with a swift, rough motion. You barely had time to catch your breath before he positioned himself behind you, his hand landing on your ass with a sharp slap that made you gasp. And then he was inside you again, thrusting deeper and harder than before, pushing you to the edge of what you could take.

Each thrust was more brutal than the last, driving you closer to the brink of pleasure. You were trembling beneath him, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

Mattheo pulled back, and for a brief moment, you felt the loss of him. Then, without warning, he slapped your ass again before plunging back inside you, harder, deeper than before. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you steady as he fucked you relentlessly.

"You’re so fucking perfect for me, Y/N," he growled, his breath ragged as he thrust into you again and again. "When are you going to realize that?"

There was a moment, in the heat of it all, where you almost told him. Almost confessed how much you needed him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Mattheo’s gaze darkened with a new intensity. Without breaking rhythm, he pulled out of you, flipping you onto your back. His hands gripped your thighs as he hoisted your legs over his shoulders, positioning himself to go deeper. His eyes locked on yours, his expression full of raw hunger and desire.

"I want to watch you come undone," he growled, his voice thick with lust, "I want to see you when I make you lose it."

Before you could respond, he plunged back inside you, thrusting deeper than before, hitting a spot that made your whole body arch off the bed. A loud moan escaped your lips as he set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into yours, your legs trembling from the intensity.

"You feel so fucking good on my cock," he groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs as he drove into you harder. "Look at me, Y/N. I want to see you fall apart on me."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. The pleasure was overwhelming, building with every thrust, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"Mattheo… I can’t… I’m so close…" you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as your body tensed beneath him.

He grinned, his eyes blazing with satisfaction. "Then be a good girl and come for me, baby. Let me feel you tighten around me."

With one final, deep thrust, the tension inside you snapped, and you cried out his name as your orgasm tore through you. Your entire body shuddered as the pleasure consumed you, your legs trembling on his shoulders.

Mattheo groaned, watching your face as you came undone beneath him, the sight pushing him to the edge. "Fuck… Y/N… you’re so tight," he gritted through his teeth, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

As you clenched around him, Mattheo’s grip on your thighs tightened, and with a guttural moan, he came, his release hitting hard as he buried himself deep inside you. His body trembled with the force of his orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he rode out the final waves of pleasure.

You both stayed like that for a moment, breathless, your bodies trembling from the intensity. Slowly, Mattheo lowered your legs, releasing them from his shoulders, and collapsed next to you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, that cocky smile spreading across his face as he glanced over at you. "Such a good fucking girl.."

You let out a breathless laugh, rolling your eyes at his arrogance. "Oh shut up.." you muttered, your voice weak and hoarse, still trembling from the intensity of your release.

Mattheo chuckled, his grin widening as he looked at you, pride and satisfaction in his expression. "Make me," he teased, his voice full of that insufferable, arrogant confidence as he pulled you close.

[taintedcigs]

— even if it’s handcuffed i’m leaving here with you

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: steve asks eddie for his handcuffs to spice up things in the bedroom with you, and once things go wrong, the two of you turn to eddie for help… in more ways than one. (wc: 3.1k+)

warnings: MINORS DNI, smut smut smut, or*l (f!receiving), handcuffs duh, lots of praises, dom!eddie, steve kinda subby but also soft!dom? the dynamics are mixed LMAO, pet names (sweetheart, honey, baby, slut), mmf, three way kissing idk

authors note: so this is what happens when a girl mixes her three hyperfixations; 9-1-1, steddie and CHALLENGERS. i wrote this v long ago it is a bit shitty and not proof-read SO IGNORE ALL MISTAKES THANK U. (also this is sm more meaningful to me now bc i got this song as my surprise song like i accidentally manifested this WAIT.)

and please, if you wanna support me; reblog + like + comment ILY!!

Steve is embarrassed.

Embarrassed that he has to ask Eddie for this. For handcuffs to use that he has no idea what the fuck to do with.

And of course Eddie finds it all amusing, a smirk plastered on his face while he teases Steve, rosy-cheeks turning pinker.

And normally, it would've pissed him off, Eddie's teasing, his flirty comments towards you, towards him.

But for some reason, it doesn't.

The three of you have this dynamic that he can't quite put his hand on, it's different, exciting, new, it intrigues him, more than anything.

You and Steve had just started dating, a couple months in, the honeymoon phase and all, and of course, Eddie had been there for it all.

The first moment you caught Steve's eye, you caught Eddie's too, the dynamic settled in then with Steve charming you right away, while Eddie's flirty antics didn't go unnoticed by you.

Yet, somehow, someway, it snowballed into you dating Steve. But it didn't end there. The three of you hung out often.

Very often.

So much so that you had regular movie nights, always ending up high out of your minds with Eddie’s shitty weed, talking each other's ears off 'till the sun came up.

You knew everything about his life, his shitty band gigs (the one Steve dragged you to, and surprisingly his music didn't suck), his uncle, his girlfriends. Or the lack thereof.

Eddie always mentioned how he just hadn't found the right one yet, just a bunch of meaningless sex.

And he made sure to always come to the both of you afterwards, telling everything, in great fucking detail too. 

Maybe it was weird for anyone else. But for the three of you, it was your normal. 

Especially for you, because you enjoyed them. Enjoyed his stories as they made you squirm in your seat. Reactions not going unnoticed by Steve.

And it's what led to Steve wanting to spice things up in the bedroom with you. He knew the sex was great. He was obsessed with you, and you were with him.

But, fuck, there was something missing. Something he couldn't pin point exactly. And he was willing to try out anything, especially when he remembered how much you reacted to one of Eddie's stories with the handcuffs, later mentioning to him that you really liked the idea.

The idea of losing control, giving yourself fully to another partner, and Steve's knees almost gave out right then and there.

He didn't know where the fuck to obtain handcuffs, hence why he immediately ended up at Eddie's door, enduring his endless teasing, sort of hoping that he'd offer to help.

An idea that crossed his mind, but one that he'd never verbalize, unless, you mentioned it too.

The second he showed you the handcuffs you squealed in excitement, putting on your best lingerie, making a show out of everything before the two of you didn't hesitate to jump on each other. His clothes scattered in the room, you in your lingerie, hungry for each other.

His mouth lingered, scent so intoxicating that you could feel your thighs dampen, lips all over your skin and hands squeezing whatever he could grab onto, both of you feral.

“Y'know I didn't wanna have to do this,” he murmurs into your lips, bringing the cuffs in your view, playing into it, enjoying the giggles you give him in return. 

“Please, sir, promise I'll be good,” you pout with those doe eyes, making Steve almost cave in, cock stirring against his tight boxers, begging to be attended to. 

He gives a rough grunt before pining your hands above your head “That’s my girl.” 

“But you still have to be punished,” he hisses quietly, putting his weight on top of you, the cold metal off the first cuff making you shiver, he tightens it as soon as he locks it, making sure your other wrist is free, for now. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on ya, doll.” His hums make you whine loudly.

“For now.” You can feel his smirk widening when his lips attack yours again, hungry, as his bulge presses against your inner thighs, his hand holding your cuffed one in place, making you mewl desperately, kisses traveling down your chest. 

And of course, you use his distraction to your advantage, quickly grabbing onto his free hand, the second cuff clicking onto its place before he can even attempt to protest. 

“I guess we’re even now, pretty boy,” you tease with a sultry voice, but Steve’s head pops up to meet your doe eyed gaze with a panic. 

“Did you just handcuff us both to the bed?” He asks, shear dread overtaking his face, making you furrow your brows. 

“Yeah, baby, that’s the whole point,” you giggled, attempting to kiss him again but he pulled away. “Fuck,” he groaned, making you roll your eyes. 

“Oh c’mon, I know you have a thing for women being in control.” 

True, and it would’ve turned him on, almost made him bust out right then and there, if the context was any different, but instead he could just groan in panic. “Oh, sweetheart, I do, but fuck-”

“What?” You ask, face puzzled.

“The keys are in my pockets,” he murmurs, gaze trailing near the dresser. 

Your eyes follow his, the jeans you threw in a hurry were placed upon the dresser, far away from the two of you, and there was no physical way to reach for them. 

Both of you, cuffed to the bed, and no one there to save you.

“Oh, shit.” 

-

The two of you tried every possible position to get out, but there was no fucking luck, and that’s when you finally settled on calling someone for help. 

It was obvious the only person you could call for help was Eddie, but you knew his teasing would be relentless, curls bouncing each time a laughter rumbled from his stomach, making you huff out immaturely. 

“Seriously, Eddie, this isn’t funny!” Steve chided, a bit playfully considering he knew how stupid the two of you must’ve looked, and it just made Eddie chuckle louder and louder. 

“Are you kidding? This is the highlight of my week!” 

“C’mon, Eds, just help us.” Your soft tone caught his attention quickly, his smirk disappearing just as fast before he approached the two of you closer, now able to get a much better look at the two of you. 

“Oh, Harrington, what did you even do?” He rambled, trying to ignore that feeling he always got, but this time much stronger, you in your lingerie, and Steve’s obvious bulge that made Eddie gulp physically. Shit.  

“I totally should’ve offered to teach you both.” He didn’t even know where the fuck that came from. Word vomit.  

“Why didn’t you?” Curiosity got the best of you, and you didn’t even realize the implications of your words, until the two boys snapped their heads in your direction, like you’ve blurted out the most scandalous shit ever. 

“I- uh- what?” Eddie stammered, eyeing Steve carefully, not knowing if this was a joke. Or if both of you actually meant it.

He never thought it was possible. This. The three of you. Sure the dynamic between all of you had been tethering on something more. But never straight forward like this. 

It surprised both of you when Steve spoke up, lips twitching into a smirk. “Why didn’t you offer to teach us?” The two of you finished each other’s sentences, it almost looked intentional, as if the two of you have planned this, like the two of you ever talked about this. 

You didn’t, it was just natural. Something you both had been too ashamed to admit. 

Something even Eddie couldn’t admit to himself, other than a few jokes, and some drunken confessions here and there, but nothing like this.

All he ever wanted.

Eddie’s usual confidence was wavering, and it was amusing to see, exciting. Something you’d love to explore. Make him beg. God, you knew he’d sound pretty as fuck when he whined. 

“W-would you guys want that?” Stammering, again, yet you can’t get too cocky, because you know once Eddie fully wraps his head around what the fuck is happening, he’ll lean back into that domineering side. After the countless stories the two of you  have heard, it intrigues you both. So you and Steve unanimously help him to get there. 

“If we didn’t, we wouldn’t offer it, Munson,” you encouraged, watching the way his eyes oggle both of you, curious, ecstatic, that dirty mind conjuring something.

“So… you’re both sure about this?” 

“Sure that I want to be fucked by both of you? I think so, Munson.” You roll your eyes, so bored of the fact that you’ve been handcuffed for the past twenty minutes with no action, and because you knew it’d rile Eddie up. You’ve seen the flare in his gaze before, jaw locking in each time you rolled your eyes at him. 

And it works, like a switch, you see the dominance bubbling up on his face.

“Feisty that one, isn’t she, Stevie?”

“Mmhm, the dirtiest mouth,” Steve adds, soft hands squishing your cheeks with a smirk, insides feeling gooey with the way they both eye you. 

He tssked, “Haven’t you taught her some manners?” You whined slightly at that comment, they both knew what you wanted, what you desired, your boundaries… everything. 

A dynamic that’s been brewing for months… finally exploding into reality, and of fucking course you couldn’t hide your excitement, making Eddie grin. 

He’s quick to uncuff Steve, a groan leaving his lips at the relief from the cold metal against his skin, making Eddie’s cock stir at the sound. His two play things. And he’s going to have so much fun. 

“Wanna help me teach her some manners, pretty boy?” Steve didn’t even answer, holding you down and spreading your thighs while Eddie grabbed your other hand, cuffing you properly this time, tightening it and relishing in your pathetic mewls. 

Biting the inside of your thighs, Steve didn’t hesitate to tease you, spreading your pussy lips open to show it to Eddie, both of them grinning hungrily, “look how pretty she looks, Eds.” 

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” Eddie hummed, admiring, groaning with a deep sigh. 

All he fucking dreamed about. 

Glistening with your arousal, inviting him in, and those goddamn sultry eyes were driving him insane, making him blink twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining, both of you looking at him like you wanted to eat him up. 

A kind of attention he wasn’t used to, but it got him more and more riled up, confident, trailing his fingers by your inner thighs, the sensation of Steve’s lips brushing against your thighs while Eddie’s fingertips softly teased at your skin was something straight out of a dream. 

Eddie looked at Steve, a subtle need to get his permission to press his lips to you.

So new… boundaries blurred and unknown, and Steve was quick to nod, hungrily watching the two of you, cock straining so hard against his boxers that he was aching.

Desperate. 

Eddie was more or less the same, especially when you initiated the kiss, the softness of your lips brushing against his, making him whine pathetically. 

It didn’t take long for him to take control again, the dynamic between the three of you changing ever so quickly, Steve still ghosting inside of your thighs, stomach, chest, legs, everywhere.

And shit… Eddie was a good kisser. 

His lips were demanding, soft but somehow still teasing, attentive. His tongue didn’t meet much resistance as it danced against yours, smooth, on beat, the type that made flutters appear in your stomach, all the while Steve’s touches making your thighs dampen. 

Too much. But in the best way possible. 

If your hands weren’t tied up, it would’ve been surfing through their soft hair, demanding more attention, making you grew more and more frustrated, a smirk sitting on both of their lips at your pathetic moans. 

A light scruff of Eddie’s beard scratched against your cheeks before he broke the kiss, “Steve,” he hummed, gaining his attention, head popping up all ecstatic, “C’mere.” 

Both of them stick to your side, weight of the bed shifting as the gazes exchanged almost burned each other through the core. Full of longing, desire, and hunger.  

Eddie angled your face toward Steve, “Kiss her,” he demanded.

A demand that didn’t take Steve a second longer to obey, thick fingers brushing against your face as his big hands cupped your heated cheeks, with your lips parted slightly he didn’t hesitate to push his tongue inside your mouth, possessing you fully, completely, an uncontrollable whine slipping past your lips. 

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered, “you guys are so hot.” His breath fanned against your neck, hot hands running down your body, all three of you growing more and more impatient with each ragged breath, Steve’s tongue still shoved down your throat while Eddie played with your breasts, lips on your neck, making you squirm. 

You could feel Eddie’s needy cock pressing against your ass, while Steve’s was barely confined in his boxers, prodding against your thigh, you don’t know how or when it happened but Eddie had joined in on the kiss too, the three of your lips moving in synch, busy between each other’s hot mouths, tongues curious and on beat, all magical and tempting.

Dark depths you always wanted to explore but never could, sloppy and filthy in the best way possible, shutting your eyes close as you enjoyed it, felt it all. 

Unsure of who’s tongue was tangled in yours at this point but you could careless, disorienting you in a way that you couldn’t tell whose hands were hot all over your body, everywhere, messy, and uncontrolled. 

And fuck, did you need more. 

You could tell they did too, dicks twitching against you in a way that made you flutter. 

And it felt like the three of you communicated, telepathically, because both of them, somehow managed to break the kiss, making your face fall in for more, unable to do anything with your hands cuffed to the bed. Infuriating, and not helping the wetness that had well already pooled inside of you. 

“Awww, our pretty baby is needy, isn’t she?” Eddie mocked, both of them shifting down to your thighs, attention all on you as they spread you wider, mesmerized gaze following your every slight twitch. 

“Relax,” Eddie cooed, amber gaze dangerously warm, both making you whine and giving you comfort at the same time, and before you could think, Steve’s hands warmed you up as well. 

“Let us take care of you,” he added, and you couldn’t help but enjoy their squeezing, kneading, making you feel so fucking good. 

You nodded, squirming as Eddie’s bearded chin tickled your skin, planting kisses inside of your thigh, while Steve’s fingers teased you, and all you could do was whine, hips rising from the bed, lust overshadowing the initial doubt. 

“That’s our good girl,” Eddie praised, your thighs spread open, pussy exposed, completely. The two of them taking care of you, hands everywhere and one of their thumbs teasing your entrance, collecting your juices, smearing it around your lips, making you go airborne. 

You could barely comprehend what happened when fingers slipped inside of you, one at first, then two, slicked in your juices, teasing, pumping in and out of you.

Head thrown back, you embrace the euphoria, different fingers entering inside of you, both of them deeper and deeper, squelching noises and your whimpers so heavenly that Eddie could feel his cock twitching, while Steve pathetically rutted into the sheets, desperate for some friction.

Fingering you until you could hear how wet you were, opening you up. Fully exposed to them.

You were too fucked out to notice that they had both started kissing your pussy lips, lapping up your juices, drinking you in, Eddie on one side and Steve on the other. 

Heaven-sent.

You moaned like a bitch in heat, Eddie and Steve’s dripping cocks stirred at the sound, desperate to make you cum, to taste you.

Their fingers linked inside of you, thumbs continuing their rubs, and that hot white spot appeared behind your eyes. 

You wanted to cum.

Fuck that.

You needed to cum.

And who were they to deny their little angel? 

You had earned it.

Back arched, hands tight against the cuffs, all you could do was mewl as their fingers were stretching you, licks all over your hole making your breath ragged, “E-Eds… Stevie… I-I… shit!” 

Eddie was quick to pop his head to meet your gaze, fingers still continuing their movements, flicking your sensitive spots as he gave you that goddamn grin again. “You wanna cum doll… don’t ya?” 

Your body was frail. The most beautiful ache. Your entire nerve system felt like it was about to explode. 

Everywhere. All at once. 

“Come for us,” Steve  encouraged, his and Eddie’s fingers moving faster, Steve lapping up your juices while Eddie’s tongue found your clit, sucking on it like it was his lifeline. 

The softest tongue, but the roughest movements. Just fucking perfect. 

“Oh, fuck!” You hissed, “E-Eddie, S-Steve!” 

“That’s right, slut, scream our name while you come for us,” Eddie demanded. 

And fuck you wanted more, so much more. Just the idea of having two of them inside of you at the same time was enough to have your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head. 

But you couldn’t wait. 

“You-you’re both so… fuck… fu… fu… fuckkkkk…” Your words got caught in the back of your throat, pathetic noises was all they could make out, especially as Eddie’s tongue circled around your clit, suckling, fingers working faster as it finally brought you over the edge. Making you jerk and come so hard that white spots flew behind your eyes. 

The wildfire and the chemistry between the three of you burning your insides, that tingling warm sensation prickling every inch of your skin. 

“God, you taste perfect, sweetheart,” Eddie praised with a low hum. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that fucking moan?”

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” Steve growled, making you his while he gently uncuffed you, each of their praises sending warm tingles down your spine.

Fuck, they were good. 

And as Steve was about to get up, Eddie stopped him with a quick tut. “Okay, pipe down, sweetheart, you still have a lot to learn.” 

With that dumbfounded look on his face, he turned to face Eddie, making him grin wider. 

“Oh, Stevie you look so cute with that confused look on your face, such a pretty face isn’t he?” Eddie’s attention turned to you, still so domineering that all you could do was frantically nod. 

“Do you wanna help me teach him, baby?” You nodded, again, gaze glazed, overtaken by desire.

The two of you were quick to pin him down, skin meshing all together when you helped Eddie cuff him.

“Let us take care of you, pretty boy.” 

[junkissed]

can't get you out of my head

member — fwb!vernon x f reader genre — smut, like a little tiny bit of angst? with a happy ending word count — 2.4k synopsis — so what if calling your fuck buddy every other day is a little excessive? maybe you're just in love with him. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, lots and lots of kissing, some dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, begging, creampie warnings — vernon is called hansol - i don't usually do that but just go with it; vernon is kind of a sweetheart tbh this ended up being pretty soft notes — june is back !! i've really been struggling to write these past few months so i'm actually super proud that i was able to sit down and write this as fast as i did. i can't promise another fic anytime soon or any kind of consistent uploads, but i hope you enjoy this meager offering! thanks for the support even while i've been gone :) also this is based on a dream i had about vernon the other day and i could not stop thinking about it it was driving me crazy, so everyone say thank you to my brain or the sandman or whoever put that idea in my dreams because this fic is a result of it. if there are mistakes pls ignore i wrote this at 2am

the thing you remember most about hansol is his lips.

the first time you kissed him was like opening a door to a world you'd never known existed. your past hookups had been terrible kissers, or even worse—hadn't even tried to kiss you at all. you were sick of the boring, underwhelming sex with men who couldn't care less if you got off or not. but some god or being in the universe must've been looking out for you, because finding hansol was nothing short of a miracle.

it was so good, you weren't even that embarrassed when you'd desperately texted him a couple of nights later, practically begging him to come over and fuck you again. he was burned into your brain, the feeling of his mouth locked with yours seared so deep in your memory you couldn't erase him if you tried, but it wasn't exactly like you wanted to. 

he hadn't explicitly said you would only be a one night stand, but you usually didn't hang around the same guy for too long, and he didn't really seem like the commitment type anyway. but when you find something this good, you don't let it go, and somehow you both knew that whatever this was, it was too good to pass up on.

so it wasn't really a surprise when you found yourself on his couch, straddling his lap in the late hours of the night for the third time this week. 

like you remembered, his lips were warm and soft, his cheek brushing against yours as you melted into him. you could kiss him for hours and not notice the time passing at all, so focused on the rhythm of his mouth working you up more than anything you'd done with any man you'd slept with before.

the heat of his hands resting on your hips sends shivers up and down your spine, unconsciously arching towards him as his tongue pushes into your mouth.

one gentle hand travels carefully up beneath your shirt, tracing the skin of your stomach before stopping at your breast, your heartbeat racing beneath his palm.

your breath is hot on his cheek as you readjust your position, slipping your knees onto either side of his hips and sinking down to straddle his lap. your clothed cunt throbs as he presses his bulge against the inside of your thigh, and you don't hold back the open-mouthed moan that escapes you as his other hand quickly reaches up to angle your jaw and guide your lips back to his.

you push your hips down a little harder on him and his nails dig into your breast. his grip tightens a little as his hips cant up against you, desperate for more pressure against his strained cock.

your eyelids flutter as his other hand tilts your chin upwards, finally breaking away from your mouth only to reattach his lips at the base of your jaw. his tongue laves over your skin before he starts to suck, and you shiver when he pulls back and cold air hits the wet patch of spit on your neck.

you have to focus hard not to drool when you open your eyes and catch a glimpse of his face, lust-glazed eyes staring up at you through his long, thick lashes, his intense gaze fixed on you.

if you ever get past this weird in-between stage of talking but not talking, maybe you'll tell him how jealous you are of his beautiful, natural eyelashes. if you ever actually get to have a conversation with him outside of calling to hook up, maybe you'll tell him how nice his lips are. you'll tell him how soft his hands are and how he's by far the best person you've ever slept with, leaps and bounds better than all the rest, and—

before you fully realize what's happening, you feel your shirt being pulled over your head and hansol's lips have made their way down to your chest. without a sound his hands roam your body, fingers drawing invisible lines over your bare skin and leaving trails of goosebumps with every touch.

he doesn't talk much during sex, or maybe you just don't know each other well enough yet for him to have much to say. aside from the way he occasionally murmurs about how perfect you are — an oddly intimate thing to say to someone who's just a friend with benefits, but coming from him it sounds so casual — the only words you ever get out of him are curses and whimpered pleas.

the only words he ever gets out of you are shamelessly begging him, please kiss me again, please, hansol; and you're always too far gone to care about how whiny you sound, because you need his lips on you so fucking bad you think you might just die without them. but he always obliges, quickening the speed of his thrusts and wrapping his arms around you tighter so he can kiss you deeper, until your lips are numb and you can still feel the weight of him holding you even hours after he's gone.

so maybe you do have a teeny tiny crush on hansol. anyone in their right mind would, and when he's finished with you tonight you're sure you won't have much mind left to even think about it. certainly this is a problem for another day, a day when you'll inevitably call him again so he can make you lose your mind all over again and you won't have to think about how much you like him, and you'll continue like that for who knows how long. 

maybe he'll get bored of you, or find someone else, or move to another city too far for you to justify travelling for a relationship that isn't even a relationship…

… but then he lets out a little groan and you fall back into reality, the reality where you've been making out with him for the past half hour and he quietly but confidently lets you know if he doesn't get his dick out soon he's definitely going to cum in his pants and not only will it make him look like a loser but he also won't get to fuck you, which is the whole reason you asked him to meet up tonight, right?

well, yeah, you guess, but a part of you knows there's more to it than that. but that's not really a conversation for right now.

you lean down to press another chaste kiss against those lips that you can't stop thinking about, and your fingers pull his t-shirt over his head before finding their way down to the button at the top of his jeans.

you've had his cock inside you more times than you think you deserve, but still your stomach bubbles with excitement as he lifts his hips and shimmies out of his pants, the outline against his briefs more than enough to make your mouth water before he slips those off, too.

for tonight, you're the recipient of his undivided attention. you alone get to have him and his perfect cock all to yourself; maybe not forever, but for right now, and that's all you really need.

he presses his hand against his bulge, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as you stand up from his lap to kick off your pants and underwear.

you must have been taking too long for his liking, though, because as soon as you're fully nude his hands tug impatiently at your waist and pull you back down onto him. 

he lets out a heavy sigh, the head of his cock pressed deliciously against your clit as you start to rock your hips back and forth.

but before long his hands bring you to a stop and he lets out his usual string of pleas to let him fuck you, and now it's your turn to sigh in relief as he pushes into you, the stretch so natural like he was the only one who was made to sit you on his lap.

he doesn't move right away. he never moves right away, whether to give you a chance to adjust or maybe because he himself can't handle the feeling. either way, you always struggle to take in a shaky breath as your walls flutter around him, perfectly thick and long that you could probably cum untouched like this if you sat there for long enough.

but as badly as you want to never move and let him cockwarm you for hours, he always eventually moves. 

he starts out slow, just a few inches at a time, a gentle in and out that's almost romantic until you feel like you can breathe normally again— right before he knocks the breath out of you, increasing his pace until the room is filled with the loud sounds of skin against skin.

he always fucks you like it's been months since he's came, even though you know for a fact it was last thursday and all over your stomach. all you can do now is hang onto his broad shoulders for dear life, nails scratching helplessly at his muscles as he carries you up and over the edge, pushing you into the first of many orgasms tonight.

sometimes he'll make a comment about how wet you get when he fucks you like this, rough and fast as he pounds into you like there's no tomorrow. and that's when you'll agree, yes you love it so much, yes he's so good, yes you need more and please, please keep going.

if it were anyone else they'd probably smirk at that, satisfied with the momentary boost to their ego. but that's what you love about hansol, is that he's not anyone else: he'll take those words and use them to somehow fuck you even rougher and even faster, so rough and so fast that sometimes tears will start to roll down your cheeks, and that's usually about when you start begging him to kiss you.

you can't help it. the way he bounces you so effortlessly on his cock, his lips parted and beads of sweat trickling down his neck, you need him bad. you want to be closer to him, closer than you know is physically possible but damn if you won't try anyway.

throwing your hands around his neck and falling against his chest, tears still streaming from your eyes as you plead with him, repeating his name over and over and over like you've lost your mind and he's the only thing left. in all honesty, maybe he is.

he quietly shushes you and tilts his chin up to capture your lips in the kiss you so badly crave, and it's everything you need and more and somehow still not enough but you can't think straight anymore when his cock is hitting you just right and his mouth is also just right and each vein, each curve, each ridge, drags perfectly along your walls and he's splitting you open and goddamn you are ruined for anybody else.

you feel like you're skirting in and out of consciousness when you cum again, squeezing around his cock so tight that even his powerful thrusts can't continue at their current pace.

it isn't long before he lets go too, holding you flush against his body as he fills you up, painting your insides white with a breathy moan, and in a weird way it makes you feel kind of proud.

you both sit there for a moment, panting as you start to come down.

without even standing up you already know your legs are jell-o, but you don't really have time to think about that as hansol lifts you off his lap and sets you carefully on the couch, leaving you with another kiss before he stands up and disappears down the hall, returning seconds later with a towel that looks suspiciously new.

you'd asked him about his bathroom towels last time you'd been over at his place. a mismatched collection of white and brown and aquamarine that he'd taken with him when he'd moved out of his parent's house, he said, he'd never really had a reason to buy a set of his own. 

the grey cloth in his hand now that he uses to gently wipe between your legs is one you don't remember seeing.

he finishes and you want him to kiss you again, but you're too shy to ask now so he leaves you again with just a kind smile this time.

you've put most of your wrinkled clothes back on by the time he comes back. he offers to drive you home every time afterwards, but you always insisted you were fine, already feeling like you'd overstayed your welcome.

this time he doesn't offer, though, just quietly sits down next to you to pull on his own clothes until you're both fully dressed.

he speaks before the awkward silence has time to set in.

"have you been seeing anybody else?" he asks, and it's probably the longest sentence he's spoken to you outside of when he's fucking you.

it takes you a couple seconds to say no. god, you sound like a loser, but you couldn't lie to him. since the very first time with hansol the thought of seeing anyone besides him hadn't even crossed your mind. just like you thought; ruined.

it takes him a couple seconds to reply, too. 

"good," he says, and you could almost swear his cheeks are pinker than usual as he admits that he hasn't been with anyone, either. "could we keep it that way?"

your breath catches a little. "yeah?"

"yeah," he answers. "whatever… this is, i like it. and i like you."

and just like that, things make sense. 

"maybe, would you, y'know, wanna stay this time?" he asks, and you can't hide the grin on your face as you lean over and kiss him again, your answer evident in the way your hand falls against his warm chest and your fingers weave gently through his hair.

everything is so simple with hansol.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[cherrycheolkat]

Hello!! I think the bing card is such a cute idea, do I send a request here or?? If so, oral would be my choice, w/ any of your preferred member (or multiple 🫣) 🫶🫶

hii - uwu thanks for liking the idea! and yes, here is the perf place to ask - and since you included multiple - gyucheol sandwich it is (sorry, i read multiple as uh…both at once - hope you still like it ^^)

♡ kat

summary: y/n is in an agreed polycule with mingyu and seungcheol - sometimes they get a little competitive and who is she to stop them?

word count: 895

warnings: oral (f. receiving), poly relationship, fingering (f. receiving), drunk foreplay, squirting, implied threesome

y/n was sitting on seungcheol’s kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around his waist as they kissed roughly. she pulled his hair, just to hear him gasp lightly before retaliating by biting her lower lip. she smiled, loving how he felt between her legs, firm and muscular - she loved his body. 

her clothes were somewhere - the rush to undress had been intense, especially since seungcheol and mingyu were practically racing each other, until mingyu realized he needed to use the bathroom - seungcheol was just childish enough to start without him. 

the situation might have been more chill if it hadn’t been for the renewed discussion of who was better at eating y/n out. she tried to say they were evenly matched, both good in their own ways - all true. but that had gone over like a ton of bricks. and now she was meant to judge them, on what criteria - she had no idea.

she heard mingyu’s telltale groan, “seriously, you couldn’t wait like two minutes?”

seungcheol barely pulled back, “for what? finding out i’m better than you?”

she swatted seungcheol’s shoulder, “minus 10 for being - unsportsmanly or whatever.” 

she laughed when she saw his indignant pout at being put behind mingyu before anything started. 

she couldn’t help pulling him back to kiss him again - he was too cute when he pouted. but then she felt his hand start to slide down her waist - it wasn’t the first time they had used his kitchen island. she felt a softer kiss on her cheek, recognizing mingyu, she leaned towards him, making space for him. 

seungcheol sighed, “lean back,” he rasped. 

she did what he asked, leaning back on her forearms, letting him part her thighs farther. she loved the way he always gazed at her pussy before he went down on her, like he wanted to know what state she was in before he did anything. she glanced at mingyu to see he was looking at her pussy too. she grinned and fell back onto the cool marble, hoping they would realize how ridiculous this was and just work together. 

she felt another soft kiss on her cheek - she turned to meet mingyu, kissing him and reaching up for him - her fingers tracing over his shoulders. she felt seungcheol’s mouth make contact with her pussy then - she couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips. mingyu ignored it though, kissing her and squeezing her tits while seuncgheol was licking into her wet opening, his tongue tracing inside her. her mind swirled between what each was doing, especially when seungcheol’s first two fingers replaced his tongue inside her and his mouth went to her clit, sucking it between his lips and using his tongue to tease it. 

“fuck,” she gasped when seungcheol’s fingers started scissoring inside her.

mingyu smiled, “good, baby?” he whsipered.

she nodded, pulling him closer, “want you too, though,” she said breathlessly.

he nodded, “come for cheol first,” he tweaked her nipple to punctuate his point. 

she grinned dazedly, kissing him, not minding that their kisses were sloppy. she felt seungcheol’s third finger slide inside her and arched off the counter as he stretched her, “oh, fuck - fuck,” she moaned, her nails digging into mingyu’s shoulders.

mingyu grinned, “mmmh, cheol, our baby, she’s such a slut for being stretched,” his tongue flicked over his lower lip as he spoke.

she heard a grunt from seuncgheol, as he pulled away from her, “yeah, i know - she’s so fucking wet, bro - you should finish her.”

he pumped his fingers lazily into her pussy for a moment, waiting for mingyu to move. mingyu stayed where he was, though.

“nah, you’re better at making her squirt,” he admitted easily, leaning back down to make out with y/n while seungcheol ducked back down between her legs, licking her more intensely this time.

seungcheol and y/n were both aware of just how much mingyu liked seeing her squirt. 

it only took a few minutes more of seungcheol’s ministrations for her to come apart for him - she grabbed mingyu roughly, her pussy clenching tightly just before she gushed for seungcheol - she moaned from the unbelievable pleasure flashing throughout her body. 

she felt mingyu kiss her forehead softly, “so perfect, baby,” he murmured. 

“can do it again, if you want,” she offered, still feeling like she was floating on a wave of bliss. 

“swap?” seungcheol asked, “see if you can do it when she’s like this,” he suggested, as his hands traced gently along her thighs, helping to ground her. 

they swapped places - she felt seungcheol holding her, kissing her softly, knowing just how to keep her in the right mental space. she loved mingyu’s lips and the way his fingers filled her.

she was surprised when seungcheol leaned up to tell mingyu something, the spot to ‘always’ touch. the thing was, she was so sensitive that it only took mingyu finding the spot for her to come again, but for once he was the one between her legs when it happened. the way he licked into her as she came was intense - she yelped softly. he overwhelmed her - his enthusiastic tongue pulling another orgasm from her. when he leaned up, kissing her, she knew she was tasting herself. 

she sighed when they pulled apart, “we haven’t even fucked yet,” she whined, feeling needy for both of their cocks.

a/n: hehe fr, hope this was a fun read! now i can update the bingo card

♡ if you want to be tagged, go [here] & my [master list] if you want to read more

if you want to submit a bingo ask, my bingo card and rules are [here]

[revelboo]

Everyone else: yearning, hating, yearning, pining, yearning and pining.

Rumble: DAY ONE MAKEOUT BABYYYYY

And then some 😆 18+ 🌶️

Alcohol Eyes Pt 3

Rumble x Reader

• Venting raggedly against your throat, he doesn’t want to move. Especially feeling the way your thighs are trembling under him and the way you smile lazily at him, your cheek resting on an outstretched arm. Lips mouthing your skin, tasting salt, he listens to that warm, throaty laugh. “Careful. I might just take you home with me if you keep that up.” Is that an option? And why would you think he doesn’t want to continue whatever this is? “You alone, Rumble?”

• You feel like you can almost see the guy’s eyes through that red visor. With how dim the store room is, it’s hard to be sure. He’ll probably think you were joking, but really? Your new friend fucks like an animal. Definitely not a quickie one and done like your ex. And taking him home? Keeping him at least a few days to get him out of your system by getting him into your bed? Oh, so tempting an idea. “I’m with you,” he murmurs, hips rocking against you. Ready to go again already? This guy isn’t human.

• Groaning as he grips your hips and begins lazily thrusting again, he watches you shiver and close your eyes with a low, needy sound. It’s the sound of the doorknob rattling that makes his movements falter, lip lifting to bare denta as someone bangs on the door. “You better have fucking clothes on by the time I get this door open,” someone’s yelling and your human starts laughing, reaching back to push against his shoulder. “Party’s over, champ.” Over?

• Pushing a little more firmly, Rumble finally slides out of you, turning away as you shove off of the container you’d been using. You can’t make out the writing on it, but sincerely hope it’s not foodstuffs, because you both made a mess. Hurriedly righting your clothes and trying to ignore his excess running down the inside of your thighs, you glance at him. He’s already fixed his costume, hiding your new favorite part of him. “Ready for the walk of shame?” You ask, offering him a hand. Because awkward is easiest when you pretend you don’t care at all and it warms you when he plays along, seizing your hand like he’s afraid you’re going to bolt and leave him.

• Apparently whoever had yelled at them and banged on the door had made enough noise to draw a curious crowd. Walk of shame? Grinning crookedly, he pointedly stares down the gawking organics, because why should he care that they know you’re his? Until he spots Frenzy, his twin’s mouth hanging open. That sours his amusement some, especially as Frenzy stalks over. “What are you doing?”

• There’s two of them, attention sliding from their matching costumes to their similar, gray painted faces, you decide they must be brothers and the thought sends your deviant brain spinning with the impulse to invite them both home. Especially when you notice your ex in the crowd of onlookers whispering and snickering at you both. He’s not laughing, though as his hands work at his sides like he’s itching to get them on you. Like he thinks you’re still his. And you lift your chin, even as you shift closer to Rumble. Because he’s never putting his hands on you ever again. “He’s coming home with me,” you tell his brother, seeing Rumble grin from the corner of his eye. “I’m borrowing him for the night. Maybe all week.” That part you say louder just for your ex, flashing him a sweet smile as he glares at you, that look promising you’ll have new scars the minute he gets you alone again. And Rumble’s fingers tighten on yours, that grin of his just like a kid turned loose in a candy store as his brother stares between you two in almost comical disbelief.

Previous

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[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a tiktok that i will come back and link when i'm not at work anymore lol

edit: big thanks to the 18-hour tiktok propaganda "ban" for reminding me that i never came back and linked the tiktok (here it is)

Midway through December, Eddie’s publishing house puts on a holiday party at their HQ all the way in NYC.

Okay – all the way might be a little dramatic. New York isn’t too far a haul from where Eddie and Steve put down roots in Massachusetts, but with three hellions under the age of seven, anything outside of their typical routine is a stretch.

They’re making it work though – anything for an opportunity to get some childless time together – and they’ve got Robin and Nancy watching the girls so they can stay overnight in the city, and they’re getting all dolled up too (Steve is wearing an enormous cableknit sweater with a turtleneck underneath and, seriously, Eddie had no idea that many layers could still be that fucking hot until he met Steve). 

Normally Eddie wouldn’t give a shit (he likes to bring a kind of come as you are type of vibe to the function, typically), but he’s actually looking forward to an evening spent wearing clothes that aren’t covered in snot and craft glitter and food.

He’s wearing these dark grey plaid trousers and he’s got a silk-ish black button-down on over a black undershirt, tucked in and unbuttoned simultaneously, and he’s topping it all off with a positively ancient leather jacket that he’s had for longer than he can even remember.

He looks pretty fuckin’ snazzy, if he’d say so himself.

Eddie is putting the finishing touches on his look – selecting the perfect assortment of rings and chains – when the door pushes open and his four-year-old, Robbie, enters the room.

Robbie pulls a confused kind of face as she looks him up and down.

Eddie furrows his eyebrows.

“What’s that look for?”

Robbie’s still got her nose all scrunched up as she says, “What happened to you?”

And now Eddie is offended because he actually thinks he looks pretty great, thanks, and he could do without judgement from his pre-schooler (who still gets dressed with her shirt on backwards half the time, just for the record).

“Amelia Robin, you cannot be serious.”

“What happened to you?” she repeats.

“Oh, you’re gonna double down on that?”

Robbie doesn’t even bother responding, just skitters back out from whence she came or whatever. He can hear Robin just behind him trying not to laugh.

“Did you tell her to say that?” he asks her, because it’s far from outside the realm of possibility.

“I swear on all that is holy I didn’t,” she snickers, “That was totally her.”

Eddie sighs.

“Y’know, Steve’s got all this big talk about oh, she’s you, Ed, she’s just like you,” Eddie says, his voice going all high and mocking, “But that – that was pure Steve.”

They head downstairs not too long later where Steve is walking Nancy through the insane binder he stores all of the girls' info in.

“Hey,” Steve says, a grin growing on his face, “Look at you.”

“Eugh,” Robin groans, “Can you guys leave already and be gross outside my line of sight.”

“You look good as hell,” Steve ignores her as he tugs just a little on the hem of Eddie’s coat.

“Can you tell your daughter that, please.”

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX IN PUBLIC — TOJI, GOJO, NANAMI

summary: you have sex. in public. slay.

cw: afab!reader, public/semi public sex (obvi) toji finger fucks you in a restaurant, you give nanami a lovely blowjob under his desk, and gojo just fucks you in a changing room so MDNI!

an: not proof read.. so ignore the mistakes and just enjoy the smut. thanks for reading <3

☆ TOJI

toji fushiguro was a sly bastard, everything was a game to him. and getting you to cum just as the waiter brings your order was on his agenda tonight. “go on babe, tell the waiter what you want,” he smirks, as his fingers work their way inside of your folds.

“‘u-um i’ll have the…” you stutter, your words faltering as toji picks up his pace, “i’ll have whatever he’s having,” you finally force out. toji chuckles at you, finishing the order for you. 

you were sitting in a booth, quite secluded from the other people dining, but just hearing the busy chatter from the restaurant had you buckling into toji’s side – excited at the idea that they might be privy to what you and him were getting up to. 

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he grins, his thumb rubbing against your clit, amused by the blissed out look on your face. “you like the idea of people watching you, don’t you?” you nod, grinding harder on his fingers.

“i bet that waiter could tell y’know,” he continues, his movements quickening as his fingers drive in you deepers, “he could see what a pretty little slut you are, getting off whilst he takes our order.”

“fuck, don’t stop p-please,” you beg, wantonly gyrating against his thick digits, “im s-so close.” you bury your head into his shoulder, biting down on him to suppress your moans.

“oh look,” he says amused, his head nodding in the direction of the waiter who was approaching the table with a tray of food, “i think our food is coming.”

“c’mon toji,” you whine, feeling yourself about to climax, “just let me cum.”

“just wait,” he demands, he was waiting for just the right moment to get you to cum. he was loving this, seeing how happy you looked all fucked out on his fingers thrilled at the idea of people seeing you just how he was. 

“excuse me,” you hear an awkward cough from the side. your waiter was standing at the edge of your table, your food in his hands, “i’ve got your order. w0ould you like anything else?”

“just one sec,” toji orders, his fingers pistoning into you harder, his mouth brushes against your ear as he whispers, “cum.” you immediately release onto his fingers, gushing out into the chair. you collapse into his side, his arm wrapping around your back to keep you up. you bite down on your lips to hide the loud moan that was threatening to spill out of you.

“don’t forget to thank the waiter babe,” he jests, his grin growing wider as he watches the look on both yours and the waiter's face after what you’ve just done.

“t-thank you,” you force out, your hand gripping on the table to keep you together. the waiter scurries off, flushed, and toji presses a kiss to your forehead as he removes his fingers from you, putting them in his mouth, sucking off the juices that came from you.

“now shall we eat?” he asks nonchalantly as if he didn’t just make you cum.

☆ GOJO

gojo loves playing dress up with you. he loves taking you out, blowing a bunch of money on you, just to get you to try on clothes – half of which you never wear.

“c’mon babe, let me see the next one” he calls out to you from outside the changing room, “i haven’t got all day.”

“‘toru the zippers stuck,” you say, “i need you to zip me out.”

he was quick to rush into the dressing room, coming to your aid. gojo loves helping you out, being your knight in shining armour even with the most trivial tasks – such as zipping up your dress.

“fuck,” gojo pauses, standing directly behind you, as he sees you through the mirror. his hands caress your back as they toy with your zipper.

“satoru, you’re meant to be zipping me out of it, not zipping me up,” you complain, as you feel him do the exact opposite of what you needed.

“but babe,” he whines in your ear, “you just look so fuckable in this,” he presses a kiss just under your ear, his eyes focused on you through the mirror, “let me fuck you in this.”

“have you forgotten where we are?” you question, side eyeing your boyfriend as if he’s lost his mind.

“that hasn’t stopped us before,” he smirks, as he hikes up your dress freeing his dick, moving your panties to the side, “so…?” he questions, eagerly awaiting your response.

“be quick then,” you murmur, quickly giving in to him. his dick inches into your pussy, you were already wet, it was practically on command whenever you saw gojo. your hands press against the mirror as he grips onto your shoulder, bending you forward as his dick slams into you. 

“s-shit,” he practically moans in your ear, as your pussy coats his dick, clenching tightly around it, “you’re so fucking tight.” 

you could hear some movement outside the changing room, making your eyes widen as you say, “toru, someone might here us.”

“and?” he retorts, shrugging, “i wanna hear you, let them hear you.”

“f-fuck” he drills into you harder and you couldn’t help but shriek out a moan as his dick hits just your spot. “it’s too much ‘toru.”

“you can take it baby,” he praises, his mouth latching onto your neck, licking and sucking on your exposed flesh. his hand works his way down to your pussy, flicking at your clit as his dick drives into you – a smug grin appearing on his face as you moan even louder. 

“you close?” he questions, noticing the way you throw your head back, your face looking more daze as he continues to charge in and out of you at a relentless pace. you nod, his dick leaving your head too empty for you to say any words.

his movements become sloppier, as he could feel himself getting closer, he balls up the bottom of the bottom of your dress in his fist as he sprays your walls with his cum. you cum just as quickly as he does, an earth shattering cry releasing from your lips as you spill out all over him. 

“we’re definitely gonna need to keep this dress,” gojo pulls out of you, smiling hard as seeing his cum leaking from your pussy all down your thighs. 

“yeah we’re gonna have to, its covered in your cum,” you retort with a soft laugh.

“our cum,” he corrects, adding a final kiss to your cheek, “we’ll keep this as a momento.”

☆ NANAMI

nanami’s favourite thing about his job was when you came to visit him. he liked the jealous stares he got from his co-workers as they saw the way you’d strut to his office with glee. he also liked knowing that they definitely could hear your screams and moans everytime he fucked you against his desk.

today you had to be quiet, nanami had an online meeting but you still wanted to give him his daily visit. his hand strokes your head under his desk, as your tongue swirls over the tip of his dick, you smile as you see him briefly tense at the contact. 

your hands pump his dick giving him slow strokes, and you could see his eyes meet yours with a hard glare as if to say, ‘hurry up.’ but you were in a mischievous mood, continue to tease him as you slightly take him into your warm, taut mout, nibbling on the head of his dick.

“nanami?” you hear from above him – coming from his computer, “are you there?” 

he coughs slightly, regaining his composure, “yes, im here, sorry about that.” 

but he’s swiftly back to tensing his fist, as you start to suck on his dick fast – practically choking on it. you use your hand to work on the parts that your mouth can’t take. his readjust himself in his seat, leaning slightly forward so you can take in him deeper. 

you could hear him talking above you, murmuring away about business things, but you couldn’t care less about that – you just wanted him to cum. you lips come off of his dick, and your mouth move to his balls, sucking on them with a smile as you hear nanami’s breathing become laboured.

eventually the meeting is over as you hear nanami slam his laptop shut, and he looks down to you as he says, “you’re a menace.”

“it’s just how you like me,” you grin as you take his balls out of your mouth, “i’m surprised you didn’t cum, you did well.”

“unlike you i have some self control,” he comments, pushing your head back onto his dick, “i am close though.” you go back to taking in his dick, practically inhaling it as he shoves it deeper down your throat. 

nanami’s grip on your head tightens and you grab onto his thigh to stead himself, as you could feel him about to cum. he spills into your month with a loud moan, and you swallow all of him, smiling as his cum slides down your throat.

he pulls you up from under his desk, and onto his lap into his strong hold. he pulls you into a kiss, tasting himself on your lips with a grin, “you are the best wife ever.”

AN: I was gonna do one for my baby geto but I just COULDNT BE BOTHERED. so um ooops. hope you enjoy. DIVIDERS @/CAFEKITSUNE

[yangcherie]

play chase

pairing: ascended!astarion / spawn!tav (reader.)

content warnings: female reader, dubcon, briefest references to age gap (c’mon, he’s 200 years old), power imbalance, forced dependency, abuse. cunnilingus. mentions of death. references to cannibalism. abuse. ascended astarion things, except he’s a bit nicer.

sypnosis: astarion has been having an immensely difficult time taming you; his newly-turned bride-to-be. he believes a lesson about obedience is well overdue. so he fucks you before the honeymoon.

author’s note: ugh. this was messy. like immensely messy im so sorry i just lost interest in this fandom but thought id still finish this up. hope you guys enjoy btw tav is feral here like Kinda i guess? ignore the plotholes or i rob ur house angry face emoji here

“Little one.” Astarion carolled, hoping he sounded just genuine enough to coax you out of wherever you’ve tucked yourself into like a feral animal. You’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “Sweet thing. Whatever you’re playing at, it’s time to put an end to it.”

He hopes the restlessness doesn’t bleed through his voice; having walked and stalked through what felt like the very entirety of his former master’s palace – now claimed by none other than himself. It only felt right to do so after his ascension, in the same vein he claimed you as his own. The manor is a wretched thing – but so were you. He would come to love it in time; as he had with you.

He felt like a fool right now with the way he was practically just going to rot away waiting for you to either crawl out or hiding spot (which was never) or to hear you slip up, shuffle around or screech just loud enough that he could catch the sound in his fingers and hunt you down.

You’ve fallen into much troublesome, teasing habits, including hiding away from him or viciously teething and ripping at whatever caught your eye — and Astarion doesn’t have the slightest idea on why or how — but he could excuse it. Decades of cruelty have also taught him mercy, despite having lacked it.

All the furniture you would violently break apart into splinters? You must’ve been teething, and this hideous manor desperately needs a renovation, anyway. The troublesome amount of tear and rip and fray of fabric in curtains, clotheswear and sheets alike? You’re simply due for a trimming on your claws, and again, the manor needs a renovation. Your incessant disturbances of racket and noise during the occasions he’d bring nobles over? His poor, needy wife must’ve been feeling neglected – and that alone is a perfect reason for him to usher away any unwanted guests.

(It honestly did him more good than you knew.)

Astarion could not only excuse and enjoy it, all your petty, feral little acts of disobedience – but he’s also dedicated nearly half his time to provide you gratification. You needed teething? Fine, expect to be fed with ambrosian blood; be it by kegs of it at your bedside, or drunkards thrown at your feet, paralyzed with alcohol and terror, all but open for you to forcefully dig and tear out their throats and drink in their dwindling life. He’d even dab at your face with a handkerchief after.

Couldn’t control your claws? He’s provided you toys to rough up and chew into — himself included, of course; if the never-bite marks beneath his collar were anything to go by. And if you were good enough, willing to paw at and prop your chin on his clothed thigh to prettily stare at him with roseate, cherub eyes; he’d take you hunting with the given main course or prey being deers, goats or nobles who couldn’t be swayed to his upcoming reign.

And if his other efforts to be of no avail, he could always do with his last but favorite method of calming you down; exerting his dominance with his own fangs wounding the muted skin of your throat to keep you still as he gives you a good fucking – just hard enough to keep you content from acting out for the next few days.

Astarion had done his utmost to be considerate. You were a fledgling; still adjusting to the intricacies that came with your newly-gifted vampirism. He was all but destructive during his first years as a spawn, as well. He could excuse it, all this disrespect, this ingratitude to his affections. Really! It just had to be a good day.

And to the fucking Nines, today was not a good day.

Right now, he was nothing short of frustrated. Frustrated with his idiotic thralls, with having to deal with posh aristocrat fools to establish his reign over the Gate, with the fabric of his shirt – all of it! And now he has to be frustrated with you, as well? All he yearnt for was to be soothed by none other than you, but even this you would pettily keep out from his reach?

The manor is stretched far and wide, generous; much unlike the fraying thread that is his patience. He licks his teeth, brows furrowing – legs aching just the slightest. You couldn’t behave for just today, could you? Always needing to test him to keep you in line.

You could’ve simply drained and massacred the enthralled nobles in his dungeons, or lay waste to yet another room in the palace and he wouldn’t have given much of a damn, but no, instead, you’ve decided to play hard to get and hide yourself away from him when he needs you most.

“Dearest.” Astarion grits out, an exasperated groan stuck in his throat. The heel of his boots thudding against the cobble is all he’s heard for hours, in his search of you. He might just raze down the entire manor if it meant you’d come out. “I am in no mood to be entertaining your tantrums.”

A wearisome ache begins to swarm his temples, coaxing a sigh from him. He can just envision it, in whatever hole you’ve tucked yourself in lays the ripped ivory tulle fabric of yet another gown alongside the vast amount you’ve already ravaged. It’s all you’ve been tearing at since he’s arranged your bethrothment with him – and his enthralled tailors aren’t very willing to oblige him and sew another.

He swears on the fucking ragdoll he will make out of you once he finds you that this time, you will not go unpunished. He has been lenient, and he was no fool; he could tell instinct and intent apart. Whatever game you were playing at, Astarion would let you know he didn’t like it in the slightest. First, you deny him of your presence and then you deny him of his right to wed you. What a little demon you are.

But it seems even you were getting restless in your own petty little game, he thought so smugly, as a hiss so unmistakably yours laden with offense and the impact of ceramic against the ground bounced off the opulent hallway making him sharply turn his body around to follow the sound. You never quite had the knack to keep quiet as a rogue like himself could, even before the feral inanity that clouds you now. It’s not long before he’s behind yet another bedroom out of hundreds in the palace and twisting the rusted doorknob.

It creaks open, Astarion pursing his lips as he steps inside – just to be hit with the pungent stench of blood and a mess littered that told him you indeed were in the room. A good hint; the hint being a gutted body of what he could only assume was a servant crumpled on the floor, who with no doubt you hurled actoss the room once you had forcefully drained your fill of.

His nose wrinkled at the sight. He ought to teach you something about manners on not playing with your food, after he catches you.

“Little pup?” He stalks through the room, briefly kicking the body aside and glancing at the two puncture holes on its neck. If you were hungry, you simply could’ve asked.

It’s a dreary scene, the room a relic of neglect worth centuries. Moth-eaten curtains spotted with fresh blood, rusted chandeliers rickety with dust. Dreary as it was, he had no doubt this is one of the rooms he’s used to bed many a victim.

He briefly wonders if you even bedded the servant before draining him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

There’s a subtle shuffle, a little, pathetic bleat of a hiss to his call, just below the old, yellowed canopy bed in the very center of the room. The space between his brows pinch as he approaches the dingy canopy and drops to his knees to peer below, batting at the dust that assaults his senses.

Craning his neck downwards, peering below the bed, he’s fixed with your beady, red stare – and it startles Astarion more than he’d like to admit.

Something weary between a growl and a sigh comes out of him when he wills himself to tear his gaze away from your unnerving eyes and across the entirety of your body; you’re filthy, with flaky remains of gore and scratches, cobwebs stuck to your hair and soot stuck to your skin. He quietly groans, filled with just enough irritation that your beady eyes bat him a blink so innocent and faultless that he’s rather tempted to bend you over his lap and paddle you —

But it was futile to scold you. He knows it, that you wouldn’t understand – had made sure your senses would dwindle, like a honed knife being whittled to dullness. Slowly but surely being to forced to rely on base instincts. He always thought you to be too smart for your own good, and he couldn’t have you thinking you could leave him in the dust, no, no.

(And, well, if you ever did, he doubt the ghouls that follow his word like law would let you through any door out, anyway.)

Futile as it is it to scold you, it’s easier to let his irritation roll over him in waves sear him like boiling water.

“You insolent brat, you.” Astarion hisses, batting his hand in a motion that tells you to get out and up. It’s with an infuriating obedience that you follow, one that casts something bitter to brew in him. Where was that earlier? He roughly wrenches you out by your wrist, dragging you up to your feet to meet his infuriated eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you, you fucking–?”

You hiss at the touch, nose scrunched and teeth bared enough to show gums – your free hand flying out to grip his wrist to dig your untrimmed nails into his skin just as he did with you. He raises a brow, unamused. Perhaps he should have felt offended the way you thought you could just behave like an animal and disrespect him like that. Perhaps he really should go and dig the heel in, let you sink in the fall from pride to humiliation of being paddled.

“You think you’re hilarious, hm? Quit acting like an animal.” Astarion huffs indignantly, disregarding a small part of him wanting to croon at you in the same manner one would with a feral thing. You need discipline and gods damn him if he did not provide that. He wrenches his wrist out of your clawed fingers, glaring. If you were some stranger, he’d feel inclined to spit on you. “Or I’ll drain you like one.”

It’s a lie, a petty one at that, and you seem to know it as it only pulls another one of those sounds out you; one more grating and animalistic than the last, one that makes him bare his own teeth at you. The threat is as petty as it is tragic, a reminder of what you’ve given up to him beyond your blood – your soul, your mortality.

He’s had his fill of you since the night you turned, since he sunk his teeth into the very marrow of your being and drained you for all you were worth. He swallowed you with a hunger that could burn out even the sun itself. You could not believe that on that night, the night he had killed you, the soft, benign hands keeping your head from hitting the hard floor were of the same body with the mouth and teeth that snuffed your light straight out.

(You died being held in his arms; whether it was to keep you still, keep you there unable to jerk away from death or to keep you comforted, you never found out. You didn’t want to.)

When you awoke, it was no longer his teeth that speared through you next but loss and hunger, a mind-numbing, mingling pit in your stomach. You woke up with grief knowing you were no longer who you once were.

Astarion has an intimate relationship with hunger, true and daunting hunger. And no nobles’ blood, no sheep, bear, boar nor lamb can fix it.

It will not leave him, and it will not leave you.

“I’ll have you know you look delectable right now.” He hisses through his teeth, something burning all hot, ugly and hungry in his stomach. It’s the way he says it that has you backing down, meeting his eyes with a glare of your own before tentatively softening; allowing him to touch you. In a time before now, he would have said it teasingly, as your lover, your man. Near a warm fire, pinned to the ground with your hair splayed and a summer solstice grin.

But now, he is more hunger than man.

(You suppose you are too.)

He stares you down, the dip of your collarbones, the slope of your hips, the slightest cinch of your waist, your lips, all doused in some servant’s blood. The scent of it with yours wafts out and beckons to him. Spanning his fingers over the stiffened slopes of your bare shoulders, he finds the knots he’ll have to work and ease over with floral oils later on during bedtime.

In your feral head, it feels as if he’s fondling the meat on your shoulder. Prodding at the softest spots, finding which would taste best.

His fingers leave your shoulder in favor of returning to your wrist, pulling taut at it to lead you out the dryrotting room and into those intricate halls, turning left, right, right, left, straight until you’re stumbling into his personal chambers, his soft canopy bed and sinking into his mattress with enough space between your parted legs that he takes the chance to crawl towards and tuck himself in.

He pushes his lips to yours, kisses you dizzy, tongue fighting a battle with yours. The bed is downy soft beneath you when you melt into it and dig your nails in, heeded by instinct as he pins you against them with ease. The air feels hotter, when he pulls away with silken strands of spit between you two, splitting when he dips back downwards to lay his head on your stomach, circling his arms around your hips to keep you still as he noses around the softness of your stomach.

“Stay still.” He rasps, throaty enough you feel inclined to begrudingly listen and settle down with a growl stuck behind your teeth. “This is just something to make you relax.”

It’s not entirely a lie, he thinks to himself. Nowadays, he only ever beds you if he sees you need to be put into your place or to be sedated. You’re not exactly as smart as you used to be.

He kisses his way down; trails little licks and bites over your stomach, lowering to the jolting of your hips, to the swell of your thighs. Moves a hand to fondle your calves and returning it to join the arms still locked around your hips, using his head to gently nudge your legs a bit wider and teeth to lift up the chiffon dress pillowing around your legs, lingering on your calf; to settle his lips on your clothed mound.

A protestant, breathy noise comes out of you when his mouth ghosts your clothed clit, and he grumbles at it; tugging at the flimsy fabric until it delicately finds its place on the floor.

The cold, dusty, evening air wraps around your clit, the muscles in your legs tightening with the amount of whatever strength you have to use to avoid clamping around his head when he kisses it briefly but so sweetly that an uneasy expression makes home on your face.

A dreadful shiver shoots an arrow straight through your spine then, when that one intimate kiss at your bundle of nerves turns into two, then three, until all that fight and spark in you has been stomped out and worn out into the dirt. Despite that senseless fog that clouds your head, you remain soft and still, legs open and unclamping around his head with the indomitable fear he’d do something less... gratifying than this.

That kiss turns into stripe licked up your clit, a shaky breath forced out of you once again. He gently pulls you closer, just a breathswidth from your fluttering entrance.

You wonder if he feels the way you stiffen under his hands, if he mistakes the way your hips rock as wanting more instead of trying to run away.

“Be good,” he murmurs, breath hot and voice lazy. “and everything else will follow...”

A spawn’s desire to follow their master is something even the likes of you cannot help but submit to, and so with a rough grunt, you finally let loose your tense muscles just enough to let Astarion pull you gently down, to fully ease you on his mouth — so he can really give you that relaxation.

He runs the tip of his tongue over your clit, laving around it and allowing himself a lazy glance up when you abruptly sit up and thread a hand through his hair, chest stuck in a growling air you struggle to take in. Rough as it is, it also sounds lewd – and it’s music pretty enough that he hums and closes his eyes shut, rewarding you with flicks and sucks on the sensitive little thing that only makes you tighten your grip around his perfect curls and dig into his scalp.

A moan can’t be stopped from slithering its way out your mouth, your shoulders working itself lower and the crease between your eyebrows letting up. He wasn’t lying, it feels good, you begrudingly think and huffing in an effort to hide your moan and keep the current of anger from diminishing under pleasure. You find it easy to keep grappling onto it when you feel him crookededly smile against the flesh of you, as if the idea of you adamantly resisting was theatrical and hilarious.

His tongue leaves your clit, delving into your hole and squirming against your walls in a way that has your ears ringing, hand still in his hair. Your eyes shut tight.

You hate him, you think. Hate how he makes you feel this way, makes you feel so alive despite being anything but. And you especially hate yourself for the sharp heat that tugs at your stomach, a thinly-veiled frenzy arching over you.

Ever since the undeath of you, you’ve lacked control; and it’s no easy feat to defy the oncoming slaught of pleasure about to wash over you. Not when his tongue laves around your slick clit in such a way that it makes you throw your head back and dig your heels into his back. So with a moan caged low behind your throat, you convulse, coming in his mouth when you wished for anything but.

“See what being good gets you?” He pulls away and coos at you with his teeth and lips shining, savoring you as if you were just the sweetest pomegranate out there. Your chest heaves as you come down from the high, so weakly throwing him a glare that attests to your damaged pride.

Your eyes flicker around his face and his hands, expecting him to move back and let up, having had his fill of you. But he doesn’t move back, no, he stays smiling at you, lets himself be busied by the frantic pattern of rise and fall by your chest — by the fact you breathe by habit even when you no longer need to.

Your throat bobs; his eyes are quick to narrow and trace the movement.

“You,” you rasp, you speak, the conciousness you fight to grapple on a rope so quickly fraying. Astarion’s smile stretches into a mean, mean grin that makes your skin crawl. “You’re done.”

Your head tricks you into thinking you lack the breath to make the questioning lilt in your words, so it comes out as a demand. One you’re not very sure he takes to kindly.

“Adorable!” He giggles, tapping the tip of your nose. “Silly. No, we aren’t.”

“And you,” Astarion coos again, meaner, reaching out with slick fingers to dig into your cheeks whilst ignoring your flinch and bared teeth. He squeezes your face and patronizingly moves it around as if afflicted with cuteness aggression, like an owner unable to believe his pet wants him to stop giving it pets. “You don’t get to make the demands around here. I–”

He pulls your face closer, his breath fanning your face.

“I do.” He snarls. You give him one back twice as malicious, sharp fingers flying to grip the hand that holds your face captive. “I make the fucking demands around here and you– you listen, and you do what I tell you to do because I—”

He inhales a sharp intake of breath, the fingers on your face digging in just further enough it starts to hurt.

“Honestly, dear.” He laughs like the idea of you having command over him is the funniest thing in the world, but the sound is so taut and forced. A display of theatrics. “If there’s anyone out here worth listening to, it’s me!”

Astarion doesn’t let go much to your dismay, watching you so keenly, drinking in your pain – and you start to hiss when his fingers don’t cease the tightening grip on your face, forcing you back into that instinctive, protective shell. It’s all a blur when you plant your two feet on his chest and kicking him with all your force, knocking him back just a mere distance away, still on the bed but further. He merely scoffs, moreso annoyed than pained, quick to get back on his knees and crawling towards you yet again. His hands grip the comforter, fingertips digging into the softness as he grits his teeth.

“No– no, no, don’t you dare.” Astarion brattily tugs at you, like you’re his favorite toy, until you’re situated beneath him once more, scratching and squirming about. “You will not not run away from me!”

“Not when I’ve been so kind to you,” he spat. It’s between a grit and tease when he says it, and now that he’s between your legs again, he grinds his clothed hips against your cunt. “And I’ve been busy making dresses for you, you know, when really I should be making leashes.”

He offhandedly mentions with a sneer and as if to help visualize the collar, his strong hand goes to wrap around your throat – squeezing just hard enough your breath leaves you all at once. Your mouth gapes open then, floundering to claw at his wrist.

“What do you think?” Astarion laughs, mean, mean, mean. Another hand goes to unbuckle his belt, the leather of his pants sliding off and making brief but chilling contact with your thighs. “Would you prefer it with a chain?”

Black dots around the edges of your vision, with the hand on your throat and the dwindling air in your chest, you cannot muster any disapproving sound to his words – and as if to punish you for your silence, he tightens his grip until you’re sure that the skin would be bruised purple and pretty underneath for days. And he watches you, like you’re some form of entertainment, floundering and wincing about for merciful air, distracted enough you don’t notice the heat of his cockhead pressing against your pulsing opening.

Distracted enough you don’t notice with how you’re squirming about for air, you’re grinding yourself against his cockhead.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Whilst you’re busy thinking if this is it, this is the fucking end of it all; you’ll be found dead on the master’s bed in the morning, indecent, monstrous even without a stake in your heart but with blue and purple around your neck instead, Astarion’s attention was charmed like a moth to flame with how you don’t seem to notice you’re still so alive despite having sunken his teeth into your neck and given you his blood.

How you don’t seem to notice that in being undead, you do not even need to breathe anymore. How still you look for the air even unneeded.

Entertained, Astarion hums and releases your throat, settling his hands on your knees as he watches you sputter and cough as the air hits you like debris. The pain in your chest as you take in the missing air is pure catharsis.

“Yes...” He whispers moreso to himself than you, nudging his cockhead against your opening – slick with his spit. “Perhaps a chain would look better than jewelry.”

And with that, he pushes into you with a low hiss, moving slowly enough that you feel the veins and the pulsing of him even as you focus on gasping for air, the pit in your stomach dreadful and the crawl up your spine pleasured. When it feels like he’s snug inside your guts all buried inside, he leans forward and catches your lips into a terribly one-sided kiss. It makes his cock nudge further inside and you flinch from the dull, familiar ache of it all.

“Fuck,” Astarion gasps hot against your mouth and pulls away with a string of spit, slowly dragging his hips and pulling back to watch his length move out your cunt. He slams it back in and you want to shriek but you bite your tongue instead, hating how he deep he is inside of you and how slow he is – like he’s trying to get your walls to take his shape. “—I wish you were always this good for me, little mouse.”

Pleasure is so cruel to you, bowing heavy against your spine as it forces you to arch, forces your legs to spread and take in his cock deeper. Something groaning guttural crawls its way out your throat as you clench your eyes tight and twist the sheets in your fist as you’re thrown gracelessly into the ever-tightening jaw of ecstasy. Your legs shake with a tremor to it, feeling his hand ghost over your hip.

He pulls back again; and slams back inside. Over and over and over again until you feel like you’re turning mad yet again, sweat beading at your forehead and sounds not so easily beckoned now tumbling out your mouth.

You once foolishly thought that with being undead comes the death of sensation in your body – the way your body flinches and burns so alive with every strong nudge of his cockhead into you just proves you so wrong. Sparks fly across your body like rocks trying to make fire when with every collision of his hips against yours, the base of his cock grinds so deliciously against your sensitive, reddened clit.

One particularly rough slam of his hips has you keening; the soft curls on his base bumping your bundle of nerves in a way that has you keening into him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down, closer and closer until you feel so utterly consumed by him in the same way you did that wretched night.

Another sound, one so feral and from the heart is forced out of you when his hips stutter teasingly, a moan so out of place from a voice unused and locked away when your stomach all but tightens when that thrust forces your hole to slacken and his cock to nudge at something so soft and delicate inside your walls. And you shriek like a murdered woman when he laughs so mean and thrusts even meaner.

He continues to thrust, thrust and thrust like some bully to that one little spongy spot, groaning st your little moan-shrieks. Your mouth stretches into a scowl as your teeth mash together in an effort to sweat through the pure pleasure that swarms your head and makes you see dots, only vaguely aware of the slick foam that runs down your thighs. All purely and humilatingly your arousal.

“A-Astarion,” You raspily grit out, locking your bruised knees around his hips and feeling a pleasant soreness bloom amongst yours when he gives you a response by driving in harder, tracing your throat as you throw your head back. “Astarion.”

Smooth fingers trace your neck before running up your cheek, dragging at the chub of it until your lips are apart and no longer are you scowling nor your teeth gnawing. “What?” Astarion murmurs, slurred and drunkenly kissing away the sweat that’s gathered like freshwater rain on your throat.

You open your eyes, blinking away the sting of tears and sweat mingling – and Astarion looks so godsent, romantic with his own teeth gritted and sweat down his arms as he piledrives into you.

You won’t last – you feel it the way your body is twitching with the exhaustion it takes to build up an orgasm, core burning even with the friction of slick inside. Astarion doesn’t need to be told, so very familiar with your body even in its death; so he dutifully lifts a hand from your hip and gently snakes it towards the in-between, towards your warm pussy until he finds your sensitive little button, circling the pulsing bud immediately and fondly laughing when your legs uncoil around his hips, and you shriek, squirming like you’re about to get murdered a second time. Your mind is fucking melting.

“Astarion,” you choke out, again, this time, more desperately, hand flinging out to grip at his wrist between your legs. His thrusting stutters as your voice breaks and your pretty eyes roll behind your head. “Y-you’re gonna fucking kill me, oh—”

“Don’t be a c-coward, darling.” Astarion is breathless, brows furrowing. He’s close too.

You pant.

You’re about to pop at the seams.

Your tongue lolls with every breath that heaves your chest, the ring of your entrance so tight around his cock as your body trembles with every feverish snap of hips and rub of his fingers against your red, abused bundle of nerves. The sound of slick flesh on flesh so obscene, you feel your body trembling as you throw your head back to the undercurrent of an orgasm — so strong it has white flashing hot behind your eyelids and a final, ragged whimper coming from you.

It only takes a few moments for him to catch up, his hips chasing your clenching as he throbs, pulsing once, twice against your walls until he’s spilling into them with his own warmth, contentedly sighing into the crook of your neck whilst you wince and whine lowly with satisfaction.

You both stay there, unmoving, until the warm semen that runs down your thighs turns cold enough that Astarion feels he should move, slipping out your hole and letting his member hit the cold air as he hisses, sensitive. And apparently, you’re rudely startled awake out of your pliancy with the sound, tensing up like you’re about to run again. He notices before you can and kisses you stupid, lips smacking noisily with yours in a way teasing lovers would do so, before pulling away with a grin and setting you still on the bed with the weight of a blanket on you.

“Oh, no, no, none of that tonight.” You try to wrack a hiss out your scratchy throat – but it comes out as a humiliatingly feeble cough. Astarion, endeared, smiles at it and pecks your forehead, bringing the blanket up to your chin by habit as he once used to when you were sleeping in tents, under nights and by fires. “You’re always running away, you little hellion, you.”

He’s tucking you in.

He’s tucking you in.

He’s an asshole, you think. He must be teasing you. With being undead comes the inability to sleep a wink – only being able to go as far as meditation. And by the gods, you do not want to be stuck thinking of how you just let the man you despise drive his cock and seed into you – and how he’ll do it over and over again if it means you’ll stop acting out for a night or two.

Astarion eyes you, giving you a once-over as if to size up if you’d take your chances and run away. You don’t budge, narrowing your heavy eyes at him and blinking blearily, shifting in the sheets, unwilling to admit to yourself how you like the molten warmth you feel when he looks at you attentively, the warmth that runs down your inner thigh and the warmth of the blankets tucked so nicely around you. He smiles again, smoothing a hand over your hair and lowly murmuring something about cleaning you up later at night where you’re more awake and hopefully, preferably not a bat hanging off the ceiling staring at him with beady eyes.

He hums then – reassured, standing up from the bed with a creak and reaching into the drawer beside his bed for a flimsy pair of thin, reading glasses he wears.

“Be good, and stay here, okay?” He lowly coos, like a husband leaving for war wishing his ill wife goodbye, walking towards the old mahogany door and twisting the knob open. You twist your fingers and clench your eyes shut, enraged and fulfilled all the same. “I’ll see you later, I have work to do, sewing your wedding dress and all.”

The door closes, gently, and you turn to bite the pillow and scream into it.

[motorway-south]

cersei loves jaime

the idea that jaime loves cersei in a genuine and true way while cersei only wants to take advantage of jaime and loves him as an extension of herself is completely misogynistic. cersei really does love jaime, expressly for the person he is. what makes the cersei/jaime affair toxic (especially in affc/adwd) is that jaime was given a list of names by tyrion of men cersei has slept with, and it completely destroys his trust in her

"Cersei is a lying whore, she's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know..." - Jaime I, AFFC

Lancel and Ser Osmund and how many more? Was the part about Moon Boy just a gibe? - Jaime IV, AFFC

i shit you not, jaime thinks of this moment 10 times across his 7 chapters in AFFC. This wedge is further agitated by cersei's (rightful!!!) paranoia about the tyrells and tommen. it's in the moments where jaime is most flippant with tommen's safety that she is cruelest towards him. she isn't angry that her mini-me isn't doing exactly what she asks. she's angry that, days after their first child AND father's deaths, jaime shows callous disregard for their only remaining child's safety (with myrcella in dorne)

but it's completely ridiculous to say cersei doesn't love jaime. he's her first choice to be her new hand as regent:

"We are his heirs, Jaime," she whispered. "It will be up to us to finish his work. You must take Father's place as Hand. You see that now, surely. Tommen will need you . . ." - Cersei I, AFFC

ignore the lannister facsism my girl was lowkey drinking the kool aid. NEVERTHELESS him denying her here really does fuck with her head and become another in a long list of abandonments she deals with in AFFC

but wait! you say. she immediately says this to kevan afterwards:

"Jaime . . . Jaime has taken vows. Jaime never thinks, he laughs at everything and everyone and says whatever comes into his head. Jaime is a handsome fool." - Cersei II, AFFC

this line could be damning. it's not kind, and it's not entirely accurate (though it is accurate the the persona that jaime puts on). but it also comes at a crucial moment in the "breaking" of cersei, which is when she realizes that she is not tywin's heir. she married robert. she gave him grandchildren. she restored him to hand of the king. and yet.

"I shall set matters aright!" Cersei softened her tone. "With your help, Uncle. If you will serve me as faithfully as you served my father—" "You are not your father. And Tywin always regarded Jaime as his rightful heir." - Cersei II, AFFC

Though he was ten years her junior, he wanted her; Cersei could see it in the way he looked at her. Men had been looking at her that way since her breasts began to bud. Because I was so beautiful, they said, but Jaime was beautiful as well, and they never looked at him that way. When she was small she would sometimes don her brother's clothing as a lark. She was always startled by how differently men treated her when they thought that she was Jaime. Even Lord Tywin himself... - Cersei IV, AFFC

cersei isn't being cruel to jaime because he rejected her. she's being cruel because kevan and tywin have rejected her as a possible heir.

prophecy paranoia also gets to her

Jaime did not understand. No one understood. Only Melara had been in the tent to hear the old hag's croaking threats, and Melara was long dead. ... There is no one I can rely upon, not even Jaime, she realized grimly. - Cersei III, AFFC

but i promise you, under all of this, cersei still has a huge crush on jaime

she thinks of him very highly in regards to his tourney wins

No man will stand before him." Margaery Tyrell gave the queen a coy smile. "But I never knew that King Robert was so accomplished at the joust. Pray tell us, Your Grace, what tourneys did he win? What great knights did he unseat? I know the king should like to hear about his father's victories." A flush crept up Cersei's neck. The girl had caught her out. Robert Baratheon had been an indifferent jouster, in truth. During tourneys he had much preferred the mêlée, where he could beat men bloody with blunted axe or hammer. It had been Jaime she had been thinking of when she spoke. - Cersei V, AFFC

she frequently thinks back on his words

Jaime always said that the hardest part of any battle is just before, waiting for the carnage to begin. When she stepped outside, Cersei saw that the sky was grey and bleak. - Cersei X, AFFC

including some truly terrible jokes im sorry cersei but theres no defending this one

The dank and dismal fortnight Cersei spent at Greenstone, the seat of House Estermont, was the longest of her young life. Jaime dubbed the castle "Greenshit" at first sight, and soon had Cersei doing it too.  - Cersei V, AFFC

these little moments highlight that cersei does see jaime's personality, his jokes, his skill for battle and jousting, and they're not traits she envies for herself. we NEVER see cers wish she was funnier, and while she expresses a desire to be a man, she never really expresses a desire to wield a sword like the other warrior maids we meet in the series (brienne, arya, asha). she describes jaime as her sword arm, but that too is playing off of jaime's own projections of himself. cersei wants to be a great king, and jaime wants to be a great kingsguard.

the "extension of herself" theory only works if cersei is keeping jaime in a subservient position to her, which is countered by the fact he time and time again refuses power that would upset his position as kingsguard. it would also make sense if she only lauded jaime's traits that were similar to hers, which she obviously doesn't. cersei truly loves jaime, but that love becomes corrupted by the blood that is required for its sustanence (jon arryn, bran, ned, joffrey, etc.)

[covetyou]

when we begin again

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub-con (reader was paying a debt, less so now), oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, thigh slaps (three small ones), small description of a hand injury, cumplay/cumshot/cum marking, praise kink, maybe Joel has a bit of a pain kink idk, possessive slutty Joel, derogatory names ("whore"), drug reference, unspecified age gap word count: 4.1k summary: He wasn't one to lick his wounds, but after a deal gone wrong Joel finds something he'd much rather put his mouth on.

A/N: and here we be, the first of the SWAT oneshots that serves as a sort of bridge between the main series and the few ideas I have brewing and ready to go. This is a whole re-write in less than 24 hours because the original fic I was almost finished with felt too me and not enough SWAT. no one needs sad girl monologuing about life and death and grief with their porn. you're welcome.

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"Hrrrmph!"

Joel's lips crash into yours the moment you step inside. One moment he's running an anxious hand through his graying hair, and the next he's making quick work of the space between you, striding across the floor to grab you and plant his lips firmly on yours.

It's not what you'd come here for, funnily enough. You wanted to talk and, glorious as it was to have your lips against his, you couldn't talk like this.

Wretching yourself away is stupid. After everything you know it's stupid, yet you do it anyway.

"Joel -"

Cupping your head in his hands his lips find yours again before you can get another word out, teeth knocking together as he licks into your mouth, and you briefly lose yourself, turning to putty in his arms, ready to sculpt into whatever he sees fit that day. Before the bonelessness takes hold completely, you pull back once more.

Searching his face you look for the sudden need, the sudden rush, the desire to kiss you and have your face in his hands that hadn't been there any other time until now. You see nothing, his dark eyes refusing to meet yours as his hands find themselves at the front of your pants, deftly unbuttoning them before you can even question him. Before he can unzip them, your hands find his, holding him gently in place.

Joel freezes, hands stilling on your zipper, and he pulls a small, sharp breath of air in through his nose as if you hurt him, wounded him by daring to slow him down.

"You want me to stop?" he growls.

"No, I just -"

"Then quit your complainin'."

You do. Briefly. Until the zip snags as he pulls on it again and he curses in frustration.

"Let me do it." Until last time, which wasn't really like any other time, he'd always asked you to strip yourself, made you strip in front of him before he touched out. His clumsy hands on your clothes felt alien, and as it was he was being too slow, even in his desperation.

"You not want me to touch you or somethin'?" he snaps, frowning down at your pants now as he fiddles with the zipper, trying to get it to budge.

"I never said that."

"Then quit your fuckin' complainin'."

And this time you really do when you finally see the tremble in his hands and the blood on his knuckles, and it occurs to you that maybe you did hurt him, that grabbing his hand to stop his frantic movement caused him pain.

Joel hadn't been in a rush before you got here. He'd been the opposite, pacing the floor, willing himself to slow down, calm down. And it had been working - each turn he could feel himself relaxing, all the pent up energy from a deal gone to absolute shit steadily leaving his bones. But your delicate knock on the door had sent his blood boiling in a different way. He'd fought with himself to ignore it, to tell you through the door to fuck off for another day, but the idea of something warm and wet and compliant to soothe his aches and pains was too enticing to pass up. Making you in particular moan and writhe and give in to him was even more impossible to let go. In the end, the door had practically let you in all on its own.

So when his hands pull at your zipper again, yanking it in frustration, you will it down, beg with your mind for it to not snag again, and you sigh with relief when it doesn't.

In one fluid movement your pants are unceremoniously pulled to your knees, and Joel is crowding you back against his dining table, rough and aching hands on your hips to guide you. Your exposed ass collides with the solid wood, and he's pressing into you, the hardening lump in the front of his jeans poking into the softness of your belly. You can feel the frustration in him and how it twitches through his fingertips, swells in his cock, and each time you feel how the need wins out over frustration as he grinds into you, latching him onto you as his veins hunt for some kind of relief.

Another yank of your jeans and he's pulled them to your ankles, stepping on them as he pushes you to sit on the table. Your jeans stay behind, dragging your shoes from your feet with a dull thud, and Joel kicks them away. Winters in Boston are bitter, none moreso than this one, and your frozen ass barely registers the feeling of the wooden surface as you sit on it, still kitted out in your hat, coat and gloves. When you move to pull them off his hand pushes between your breasts, knocking you back onto the table. A second later there's a harsh scrape of a chair across the floor and, just as you manage to tug one glove off, he's yanking you down the table toward him.

You sit up and look down where he sits between your legs, enraptured by the softness of your skin beneath hands that glide up and down your thighs, gripping and squeezing the soft flesh more gently than the wounds on his knuckles suggest he's capable of. He's holding off, you realize then as you watch his hands, trying to slow himself from taking what he needs.

Tossing your hat to the side you lift your hips, shimmying your panties down just enough for Joel's fingers to work them down the rest of the way. Sitting back in his chair he looks between your legs, and you know that he can see what you've been feeling since you stepped onto his street. By this point, the response was Pavlovian. Each step closer to Joel's apartment you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your cheeks feeling hotter and hotter. You wonder if one day he'd stop having this affect on you, or if he'd stop responding to it exactly how you knew he would, but with a knowing quirk in his brow, you know that day is not today.

"Fuck me, sweetheart. You sure no one else been down here today?"

Shaking your head, you manage one more look at him before he's pulling your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders and diving into your slick folds with a firm lick.

"N-no," you gasp, bucking slightly into his face with your legs spread over his broad shoulders. He should know that you haven't, that you wouldn't, but you think he just needs to hear the confirmation, needs to know that this thing in front of him right now is just his for the taking, and so you let him have it. "Haven't even touched myself today."

He moans into your cunt, cold nose pressing into the softness of your mound as his tongue laps and laves you. With a slurp, having cleaned up the arousal that had leaked out of you on your way here, he looks up at you, ticking his head to the side and nodding down to your bare pussy. "Well, shit, looks like all o' this is just for me, huh?"

There's no air left in your lungs for you to respond when his tongue circles your clit and makes you groan into the cold air. Whatever he needs, if this is how he was going to take it, you were damn well going to let him take everything you had.

And so, pinning you to the table he begins to devour your cunt, licking messily all over you, coating you in his saliva. He pulls you open with his arms hooked over your thighs, spreading your lips further for him. The chill hits you for just one second when you're fully spread to the cold air, but his mouth soon descends on you and all you can see are his eyes and the curve of his nose, his mouth hidden as he buries it into you.

You shuffle your jacket off, the room suddenly feeling much warmer than when you first entered it, and earn yourself a small slap to your thigh, making you squeak out a yelp of surprise, when Joel's mouth involuntarily pulls from your cunt.

"You gonna keep still? Or you gonna keep fuckin' wrigglin'?"

You shift again, biting your cheek as you test him. Channelling his energy into eating your cunt is working wonders for him and he seems calmer already, but that doesn't stop him lightly slapping your thigh again, shooting a warning look up at you.

"Got a way to keep you still if you can't fuckin' do it by yourself, sweetheart," he warns and, as if sensing you're about to test him again, he unhooks one arm from you and pushes a finger straight into your wet heat.

You moan, gasping again when he sucks your clit for good measure.

"Huh?" He's coaxing you, trying to get you to wiggle again and earn yourself another surprise. Not one to push your luck you simply moan, letting your back arch slightly when he begins to move his finger inside you. "What was that?"

"Fu-nothing. Just - fuck - so good."

You mind is liquid, seeping out of your ears and making a mess of your jacket when he licks you again, dancing the tip of two fingers around your entrance before sliding both into you. If it hurts him, he doesn't let on, but you can tell it does something to him by the groan he makes into your cunt as his fingers curl in you, making your walls clamp and twitch around his fingers.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Like gettin' this pussy ate, don't you?"

"Mm."

"Thought so. Needy fuckin' pussy. Not just your mouth that wants to be kissed is it, she needs it too?"

"Oh god, yes please, she needs it too."

And you can feel it, the moment he switches from eating your cunt to kissing it. You know the shapes, the trails he kisses, the way his tongue dances. You'd committed it to memory the past week, made yourself come at the thought of his mouth, the scratch of his beard, the feel of him beneath your fingertips, touching him as much as he was touching you. His mouth and the memory work together then, bringing you so impossibly close to coming you can feel as your moans leave you more high pitched, how you push into him, chasing and chasing that feeling that's right there -

"See," he says, stopping your orgasm in it's tracks when he pulls back, a knowing smile on his face. He pushes another finger into you too, watching as your legs twitch open wider to take him, the rim of your pussy spreading across his fingers with slicked up ease. "Don't even gotta stuff your mouth, just gotta keep this thing right here stuffed and suddenly you're actin' all nice and polite."

There's a brief hope in you that he'll go for a fourth finger, stretch you out across his sore knuckles and ready you for his hard cock, but the hope fizzles away, cast to the side and forgotten, the second his mouth joins his hand back between your thighs.

You're almost there again already, the crest of the orgasm he stole from you a moment ago barely behind you. His tongue laps rhythmically, never ceasing, and his breaths come in heavy, fanning across your folds as he feasts on you, fingers pumping so deep you're sloshing around them. You're hot, so impossibly hot in spite of the cold. You want to shed more layers, bare yourself for him, but you're so close and he's getting you there fast, goading you on with each satisfied groan into your cunt.

"That's it," he mumbles into your twitching pussy. "Fuck that's it sweetheart, come on my fingers."

You can feel it build, Joel's mouth engulfing you and lapping at everything you have to give. The beginnings of your orgasm start to shudder through you, your legs stuttering with every flick of his tongue. Your back arches from the table, toes curling in thick socks as your heels press into his back, pushing him into you. And then it hits you.

The coil in your belly snaps, letting loose an orgasm that swamps all your senses. Held down by Joel's muscular arm and pinned by the fingers hooked in you, you buck into his mouth. Quivering thighs have clamped around his ears, attempting to draw up and pull back as you squirm in his firm grip. You're screaming too, you think, a breathy high pitched shout of his name that you just can't hold back, that gets shakier and shakier the longer it goes on.

And it does go on. Joel doesn't stop, determined to wring from you as much as he can. His fingers are locked inside of you, forced to stillness by the pulsing in your pussy. Still, he can flex them, curling his pruning fingertips into you while he tongues your clit, groaning with each twitch of it beneath his tongue. You know that sound, how it's gotten deeper and more desperate as he's devoured you. It's a sound that tells you he's hard, that he needs relief and will be desperate for it the second he pulls away from you. That thought only makes you come harder, and by the time your cunt has stopped its erratic pulsing around Joel's fingers and you've fallen limp, deaf, and winded against his table, he's already standing, pushing the chair back and letting it crash to the floor.

Dragging his fingers from you he pushes between your legs, pulling his jeans open as best he can, wincing when he rasps his knuckles on the fabric a little too harshly. You reach for him, wanting to help, wanting to be a relief for him like he is for you.

"Let me -"

But he knocks your hand away, tugging down his jeans a moment later, his cock springing free and knocking into your thigh before he can capture it in his fist. It's hot against you, burning and dripping, likely feeling as achey as his knuckles do.

You expect him to plunge into you immediately, to take advantage of the position between your thighs and your pussy still fluttering with want at the sight of him, but he doesn't. Instead you watch for a moment as he strokes himself, the bloody scrapes on his knuckles contrasting harshly with the smooth, solid plains of his cock.

"Your hand, Joel, I can -"

"Fuck, my hand," he growls, resting his unmarred hand on your though to hold you still.

Your legs fall open further, his touch light on your thigh barely applying any pressure to open you up for him. Still, he doesn't take the clear route in, and you're rocking forward trying to notch his tip on your entrance just as the rough scrape of his knuckles drags across your sensitive inner thigh.

"Please put it in me," you finally beg, needing to feel the deep stretch of his cock as it pierces you.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart, you get what you're given and you be grateful. You gonna take it?"

"Yes," you say quickly, following on with a small, "Please."

He groans at your eagerness to please. Making a man like Joel desire you so much he can't help but moan, just with small words and gasps of your own, makes you feel a power you've never had before and your eyes just about roll back in your head.

"Use your hands, show me that hole," he demands, giving you a little space to reach down and spread yourself for him. Your pussy is leaking, still, you can feel the slick spread on your fingers as you spread yourself for him. "That's it, hold yourself open. Fuck she's still twitchin'. Fuuuck. That's it."

His strokes become longer, more fluid, as he stares at your aching, empty cunt. You still want him inside, would do anything to get him there, but the desire in his eyes tells you he's getting exactly what he wants right now, and you almost want that more.

Tilting his head back as he strokes his cock with pussy drenched fingers, his bruised knuckles rub against your cunt with every stroke. Holding yourself open is easy, but keeping your legs from snapping shut each time his fist rubs your clit feels almost impossible. As if noticing, Joel pulls back, looking down where your cunt is spread open for it.

"That's it, keep it open. Good girl."

You know you're glistening for him, he'd eaten you so fiercely his saliva had been dripping from you, mixing with your own slick as you came on his tongue. He can see the evidence of it now, and the evidence of what his words do to you at the tell tale twitch of your cunt at his praise.

You can't take it any more and you beg in desperation again. "Please put it in, please."

It does nothing but earn you another soft slap to your thigh, which he rubs, grabbing the meat of you and squeezing in his large hand as his cock twitches and drips in his damaged one.

"No," he grunts, breath coming in more ragged now. "Want you to fuckin' wear me. Know who's pussy this is?"

"Yours."

"Fuck," he hisses. "Yeah it is. Pussy's mine, sweetheart. Mine."

Gripping your thigh tighter he moves in closer again, his hand bumping your sensitive nub as he jerks so closely you slick up his knuckles, soothing the soreness and jerking your clit in tandem.

"Oh fuck, that's it, sweetheart. Keep it just like that, show me that pussy. Show me," he's saying, over and over as he watches you.

A second later he's looking up, staring straight into your eyes and pinning you there on the table with them. You nod, words stuck in your throat when all you want to scream is for him to come, to cover you in it, to claim your pussy just like he needs, just like you want.

The sneer on his lips tells you he wants it too, and before you know it his tip is pressing firmly to your clit, jerking it with every frantic movement of his fist, his hips thrusting minutely into it like he can't control it, can't hold it back any more. And neither can you. The pressure and the movement on your clit is too much and you're coming again, so soon after the first it brings tears to your eyes.

"Ohhh, f-Joel, pleasecomeonme."

Looking down where he's pressed to you, he hisses a breath in through his teeth, holding it for just one second until it pushes out of him with a deep, shakey moan, cum exploding out of his tip and coating your folds, dripping through you until the last spurt coats your mound and he's left breathless.

You flop onto the table, grateful for the padding your coat offers your bones as you collapse into the wood. He's leaning over you, finally releasing his grip on your thigh and running a thumb across his mouth, cock still in his aching fist. Using the oversensitive tip, he smears the cum into your bare cunt and the insides of your thighs, catching your eyes just in time to watch them turn from glassy to rattling in your head, your mouth in a small O when he jerks your clit with his head, making you both gasp.

"You did say this pussy was mine," he says, letting a small wry smile tug at his cheeks. He pulls back then, letting go of his spent cock to run his fingers through your cum covered folds, scooping up a drop with his thumb.

Leaning leaning over you, he swipes his cum slicked thumb against your lips. You suck on it, tasting him, salty and bitter and sweet and Joel exploding on your tongue all at once. You want to thank him for it, but he pulls your mouth open with his thumb and pushes two fingers in, making you clean them with broad soothing strokes. You're careful not to catch him with your teeth, still aware of the wounds on his knuckles as you taste yourself off of his cum soaked fingers. If his hand looks like that, you wonder what the person on the receiving end looks like - the thought shouldn't make your cunt twitch, you know it shouldn't, that it's likely sick and twisted and wrong, but it does, and you moan around his fingers just has he pulls them from your mouth.

When your eyes flick to his lips, he smirks, knowing what you want without even asking. Cupping your face with his bruised, wet fingers, he makes you look at him, waits for the desperation in your eyes to ramp up to the point of frustration before he gives it to you.

Just a peck, that's all he gives, soft lips and the tickle of his facial hair so fleeting you could have blinked and missed it, before picking up the chair with a groan and settling back in it with a deep sigh, inspecting his wrinkled fingers. They'd spent so long buried in you the tips are starting to pucker, the ache that your warmth had soothed slowly crawling back down his knuckles.

Your mind is slowly pulling itself together, slowly crawling back into your ears and taking root in your skull again. Joel's eyes scan across you before finding something apparently considerably more interesting on the floor by his dining table.

"Where the fuck you shoppin' this late in the day?" he says with a frown, and you sit up, following his gaze to the floor.

Your pants are in a tangle, a sprawled mess on the floor with your shoes from where Joel had dragged them from your body and there, next to them in a messy pile, is a small stack of cards that you'd brought with you.

"Oh."

Right. You came here to talk to him, to renegotiate your arrangement, before Joel had needed more from you than a chat in that first moment through the door and pushed all thought of conversation from your mind. You clear your throat and square your shoulders, pushing away the last haze of orgasm and look back up at him. "I'm not. They're for you."

With a groan, he bends to pick them up, counting them as he stands and then raising them to you with a question on his lips.

"What're these for?"

"For the pills," you say, like it's obvious, like you hadn't been using your body as payment for months.

"I've already taken my payment," he says with a look to your cum coated cunt. "'n' if you wanna pay me for your daddies pills, you know it's more than this, right?"

"I can take 'em back if you don't want 'em. I just figured we can pay a bit now and, y'know... I wanna come here because I wanna come here, for me, not just for pills all the time." It sounded better when you rehearsed it in your head this morning, but coming out of your mouth now it sounds ridiculous.

He looks at you for a moment, taking you in, sat pantsless and dripping on his dining table.

"Y'know, there's a simpler solution to this than dumpin' cards on me without warnin', right?" If there is, you haven't thought of it. "Stop only comin' by when you need pills." Oh.

"If you want somethin' else, you know where I am. Now, if you don't wanna whore yourself for meds anymore, if you wanna be respectable, then that's fine. I'll take your cards. But I ain't takin' all of 'em. I'm keepin' these," he says raising a few cards up to you. "And you're takin' these," he pushes the remaining ones into your hand along with a small bag of pills he slips out of his pocket and you frown. You already weren't offering him enough.

"Now I get a nice respectable, good girl to fuck, and you get to pretend you're not a whore. Win-win."

"I'm not a whore," you insist, rolling your eyes, even though you know it's not exactly true.

Joel simply shrugs, shaking out your jeans and throwing them on the table next to you before placing his hand by your ass, thumb stroking delicately along the soft skin there, and leaning down toward you. He tilts your head up to face him, his nose catching yours as your eyes meet his.

"Whore or not, sweetheart," he smirks. "Pussy's still mine."

You weren't going to argue with him there.

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[satorusugurugurl]

Paging Dr. Sexy and Dr. McDreamy!

Summary: You try to go to a Halloween costume wearing pretty scandalous costume. Both your boyfriends disagree with your choice, but you plainly ignore them. They decide to take matters into their own hands and punish you for it.

Characters Gojo Satoru x AFAB!Reader x Geto Suguru

Word Count: 3.2K

Warning: dress up, language, Brat/brat tamer, degradation, spanking, hair pulling, anal, sex unprotected sex, cream pies,

A/N: Kinktoner Day 18: Scandalous Costume! Ahhh my boys!! 😈 I would wear those just to get a rise out of them!

“No.” Satoru nearly drops the case of beer he’s holding as you step out of the bathroom. “No, what the fuck are you wearing?!”

You give him an incredulous glare, eyeing yourself up and down before fixing your attention back on him. “Uhm, I am wearing a nurse costume for the Halloween party.” Your white-haired boyfriend scuffs as emotion down to yourself to emphasize the point; in fact, we’re wearing a costume as it was clear as day.

“No, you're not wearing that shit!”

“Yes, I am!”

Satoru scrubs a hand down his face as he puts the beer on the kitchen counter. “Suguru!” he yells down the hall for help from his best friend and partner. “I need your help with this!” Suguru sighed b as he walked out of the bathroom, smoothing out the scrubs he had on before tugging on the white doctor's coat.

“What?”

“Did you know what she was planning on wearing tonight?!” Satoru asks, in a matching teal scrub, set complete with a stethoscope.

Suguru doesn’t even bother looking in your direction. He reached for the fridge, grabbing the fruit tray you were bringing along with the beer. “She’s got a cute little nurse outfit because we’re both going to this as doctors.” Suguru places the fruit tray on the counter.

“She cannot go to the party dressed like that.”

“Satoru.” Suguru chastises, giving him an almost disgusted look. “She can wear whatever she wants. I bet there will be more girls at this party wearing less clothes than she is. It’s fun; we’ll take off whatever little she has on when we get home.” Around the same time, Satoru realizes Suguru probably has no idea what you’re wearing. So, he grabs both sides of his boyfriend’s face without saying a word before turning his head to face you. When his violet eyes lock on you, his jaw drops.

When you said, you were going to dress as a nurse for this party. He had expected a cute little dress, maybe some thigh-high socks and heels. With whatever hat in the prepackaged costume. Maintaining sexy and cute at the same time. What you were wearing was considered as fucking lingerie! You wore a tight, one-piece, white lace lingerie corset set with red trimming that barely covered your ass.

Your boots were leather and a bright red, going up to the top of your thighs. And, of course, to ensure they didn’t fall, garter belts were fastened to your underwear so he could see as clearly as day through the lacy top you were wearing. The most wholesome part of your costume had to be the little nurse's head on the top of your head. Everything else looked like it was straight off of a porn site.

You looked fucking hot. That was the truth in black-and-white writing! You looked perfect. Your ass was voluptuous and delicious! But there was no way he would let you leave the house in that lingerie.

“No,” Suguru repeated his best friend's words from several minutes before. “You cannot wear that.”

Your cheeks puff out, and frustration as your well-done makeup glitters in the apartment's light. “I am!” You stick your bottom lip out, crossing your arms over your chest effectively, pushing your breasts that are already popping out together. “I did not seriously just spend an hour getting ready for you to tell me to change into something stupid.” Your boyfriend exchange with each other; their eyes have a silent conversation.

“You’re not wearing that, " both boyfriends said in unison. I told you this conversation was over.

So much your dismay the boys you put on boring scrub that they had. You weren’t going to let us stand, though. You had a plan when they would never come.

When you all got to Shoko and Utahime’s for the party, you immediately took off, telling them you needed to use the restroom. You insisted that they have their fun, and they, of course, took the bait. You smirk as you watch them hurry off to a table to grab some drink as you set off to invoke your devilish little scheme.

“Where is she?” Satoru asked, looking over the heads of everyone else walking around. In one hand, he was nursing Cola, and the other toyed with the badge that read “Dr. Sexy” attached to his chest.

“She’s fine, Satoru.” Suguru had it in his leg, shaking as he looked around the room for you. “She’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

Part of Satoru wanted to believe that, but he knew you. You tended to get a little pissy whenever you were told not to do something. And when you got pissy, you turned into a brat. It was only a matter of time before you started doing something to get back at them for making you change.

He huffed out a sigh, about ready to give up on his quest to find you. When he heard a whistle from across the room, he turned his head to the sound, looking over to see a few men standing off to the side, pointing at a woman passing by. One seemed eerily similar to you, which couldn’t be because you weren’t wearing the skin costume you had on earlier.

“There’s no fucking way,” Satoru grumbled, smacking Suguru’s arm, motioning him to join his side. “Please tell me you weren’t seeing what I’m seeing.”

There was a sharp huff from the longer-haired man as he pushed himself out of the chair, following his best friend's gaze. He stopped watching as your doppelgänger bent over the table, reaching for a drink. As much as he wanted to believe it wasn’t you, he knew your cute ass anywhere.

And that cute ass was currently bent over a table, grabbing a drink from Yuki, who reached over to toy with the lingerie corset you were wearing. The same one they both had told you not to wear. Both of your boyfriends moved before they could even think. They pushed past people, gritting their teeth with every glance. A guy stole it from you. Wanting to end the ones who are practically undressing you and eye fucking you right there in the room.

They had no issues with you wearing what you wanted. But when you were dressed like that in a room where men had trouble controlling themselves, they got protective. Besides, this costume, if you could even call it a costume, was nearly see-through, exposing parts of your skin that they didn’t want other people to see. They were possessive and protective in every way they could be. So they were pissed off with your little stunt was a bit of an understatement.

“You look so good!” Yuki cheered down her beer before draping an arm over her boyfriend, Choso. “Like seriously, dude, you look amazing!”

“Thank you!” You pulled back one of the red straps to your garter belt, snapping it against your thigh. “The boys didn’t want me wearing this, but I’m a grown woman who can handle myself!”

“Is that so?” A chill ran down your spine as you choked on your rum and Coke. “You can handle yourself?”

Yuki hissed quickly, averting her eyes as she tried to focus on anything other than the towering men above you. “Yikes, come on, Cho.” And within the snap of a finger, your best friend abandoned you to the wolves circling you.

At first, you froze, unsure of what to do or what to say. The smell of clean linen, mint, and pure musk invaded your senses. Usually, it brought you a sense of comfort, but tonight, it made your stomach twist and knots. You had to be strong, though you were making a point. This was your choice! You wanted to prove to them that you were fully capable of making your own decisions.

Whether they liked it or not.

Tilting your head back, you looked up at the two men glaring down at you. “Oh, hi, guys.” You took a long drawl of your drink. “I decided to get into something a little more comfortable.” Suguru and Satoru gave each other another look, one you weren’t able to read. “I hope you don’t mind.” To emphasize your point, you took the strap on your garter belt again and pulled it out as far as possible before snapping it against your skin.

“Oh, you wanna be comfortable?”

“That is what she said.”

Satoru grabs a handful of your hair, tugging your head to the side, allowing Suguru to slide down his mouth, pressing against your ear. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But this little outfit you’re wearing is far from comfortable.” In a single swoop, you were lifted off the ground.

“H-Hey!” Your cheeks were on fire as the boys paid no mind to anyone else clearing a path as they headed for the basement. “W-What are you guys doing?!”

Satoru went down first, ensuring the basement, normally reserved for Shoko’s close friends, was empty. “Oh, she doesn’t know what’s going on.” Satoru scoffed as bounded up the stairs, locking the door behind him as Suguru carried you down the stairs. “You’re so cute when you act stupid.” Satoru’s hand slapped firmly against your ass, drawing out a scream from you.

“You said you wanted to be comfortable.”

“Mhmm~ and that tight corset is far from being comfortable.” Satoru purred, tilting his head to the side. “So the only reasonable thing for us to do is to help you get even more comfortable.”

“Exactly; what kind of boyfriends would we be if we just let you suffer?”

Suguru sat down on the couch as Satoru came up behind you grinding his hips against the bed of your ass. “G-Guys, let’s talk about this, Haah!” You cried out as Satoru’s fingers hooked underneath the flimsy fabric of your outfit, tugging to the side, revealing the pink jeweled butt plug you had in. “I-I was trying to make a point!”

“A point we can read loud and clear.” Suguru hummed, his hands working at your breasts, squeezing and massaging them as he buckled his hips up against you. The swell of his cock rubbed perfectly over your clit. “Poor Princess just wants some attention, it seems.”

Satoru hummed in agreement, nodding as he grabbed the butt plug that was firmly placed in your ass, gently tugging on it, causing you to moan as it caught against the rim of your hole. “We can give you all the attention you want.” He slowly twisted the toy before pushing it back in, repeating the movement over and over again as Suguru continued grinding against it.

“I don't need attention.”

“That’s what your actions say. You blatantly disobeyed us. Fuck you lied to us. We can see exactly what you want and need now.” Suguru ripped the lazy corset down, shredding the thin material as he freed your breasts. “You wanted our attention.”

“And you got it.” Satoru finished as he yanked the butt plug out, causing you to cry out, tears forming in your eyes.

Oh, you had fucked up, you fucked up bad!

Before you have any time to register what’s going on, you feel the velvety smooth skin of both their cocks against you. Before Satoru grabs a handful of your hair and yanks it back, Suguru halts his hand before you. You stare at him, open, confused as to what he wants, until he flatten it out just below your chin.

“Spit.” He commands, and you oblige.

Satoru follows his lead, turning your head to face his hand, which is pushed directly in front of you. “My turn, Sweetheart.” You are starting to question your life’s choices and decisions at that moment. But you wanted to act on your own accord and thought you were making the right choice; I know you had to live with the consequences. Satoru hummed as you spat into his open palm. “Well, look at that. She does know how to listen.” That causes butterflies to flutter deep inside your stomach in your pussy as you listen to them stroking themselves with your spit.

“Too bad you didn’t listen to us earlier.”

In an instant, you’re filled with both of their cocks. Suguru is inside you fast and hard, while his white-haired best friend is slightly more gentle. So, push inside the tight ring of your hole. Both men have before kissing and nipping at your skin, allowing you, thankfully, to adjust to their sizes. You’re shaking, forming in the corner of your mouth as you cry softly.

“Holy fuck.” you whisper, eyes rolling back as they continue pushing inside of you.

“Yeah? This is what you needed, Princess?” Suguru asks as he gently begins fucking in and out of your cunt. “Need to put you in your place.”

You whimpered, tilting your head back before rocking against them, not caring about the sting of being so full. Your head spun as your walls twitched around your best friends and lovers. "Y-Yes! Punish me! I’m sorry for being such a bad girl." You cried out before pressing your lips so softly against Suguru’s that your request was barely audible.

Satoru groaned grout as he watched Suguru's eyes roll back. “Yeah, Sweetheart, you need to fuck some sense back into? Because we all know how much of a good girl you are." Suguru nodded in agreement, grunting as he began thrusting a bit faster in and out of you.

You whimpered as you gripped a handful of Suguru's hair, your lips moving against his as you rocked back against Gojo. "M-mmm yes, Toru~ I need that so bad! Fuck me back to my senses, please!!."

Watching his best friend so shamelessly fuck up into you like you were flash had him growling. He swapped your ass before pressing his cock further inside of you, stretching you out. "Don't worry, baby, we'll put you back in your place, won’t we, Suguru?”

“Fuck yeah, we will.” Suguru huffed out as he nipped and sucked at your neck, marking you up, so there would be no doubt who you belonged to when you left the basement. “We’ll make sure to get those senses back in line.”

You felt dizzy as both your boyfriends were fucking into you as fast and as hard as they could, not giving you a break in the slightest. They were treating you like the brat you had been all night. "I-I feel so full." You said in a begging tone. "Toru feels good! Fuck!” Suguri looked up at you with a guttural growl as he grabbed your thighs, driving his cock up inside you.

"Princess~ are tot nnngh so good for your daddy’s, the rest of the night?~" Suguru growled in your ear before pulling back to watch the blissful expression on Satoru’s face as he fucked you hard.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it hard as you nod. Gasping as Satoru nipped and suckled at your shoulders. "Y-Yeah~ I can be a good girl for my daddies!!" Your eyes watered at the dual and rough sensation of being so full and fucked mercilessly. “I'll be good! I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

Suguru groaned as he felt Satoru thrust in and out with him, their cocks pressed up against each other through your thin walls. Making it feel good for all of you. You cried and begged for more. Finding this double penetration is less like a punishment and more like a reward for you. For a second, you thought maybe you should act up more from now on. Both of them picked up on your pleasure, and they chuckled as they pressed kisses all over you before starting a pace that they both immediately picked up on, their cocks plunging into you desperately.

It wasn’t soft at all. It was fast and hard, and they were fucking you as hard as they could. You can barely handle it anymore as you grab onto Suguru’s shoulders. "Oh fuck~ d-daddies!!" your pussy and ass throbbed around them, lips pressed together, as she cried out. “G-Getting close!” Both groaned loudly as you continued to throb. They sped up, growling and moaning as they rut up against each other.

"Do you even deserve to cum?" Suguru panted, a dark brow cocked.

"Yeah, maybe we should just edge you all night,” Satoru added, smirking as you made a cute little sound of protest, which made his eyes roll back.

“N-No! Please, I’ll be good! Let me please, please!!”

“What do you think, Satoru?”

“Hmm, I don't know, Suguru.”

You whimper, and it’s so pathetic and weak but also cute at the same fucking time. “Please!!” Tears stream down your cheeks as you scream for them to show mercy. And seeing those tears ruin the perfect makeup you had worked so long on is what they were waiting for.

“Cum for us,” Suguru growls, losing all of his control as he fucks you deeper and harder, bruising your cervix almost.

“Cum on, Sweetheart~ cum for us, baby!”

You screamed in pleasure as you came hard. Squirting on Suguru as you convulse around Satoru. Your dark-haired boyfriend in maroon scrubs groaned needly, his hips stuttering as he felt his load fill you up; his head was thrown back, and all he could focus on was your sweet tight pussy. While Satoru, on the other hand, was fucking feral as he slammed into your ass a few more times before growling, nearly roaring out loud in pleasure, as he gripped your hips, slamming home one last time before cumming inside your ass.

Time to stop as the three of you lay there, panting heavily, recovering from the intensity of your orgasms. But for your boyfriend, don’t stop as nearly long as it stops for you because, in an instant, you’re flipped onto your back. You blink several times, trying to process what’s going on as your afterglow fades.

“W-What are you—nngh!!” you arch off the sofa as Suguru positions and stuff between your legs, instantly eating your pussy out. “Fuck!!” you fingers, tangle, and strands of hair as Satoru wraps his long, pretty fingers around your neck, gently, squeezing off your air supply. “Haaah~ fuck Toru?”

“Or did you seriously think a little double penetration was gonna be your punishment?” he laughed right in your face, and it was full of humor and darkness that had your legs closing around Suguru’s head. “Ohh, sweetheart, you’re in for a long fucking night.”

“But you’re in good hands with us,” Suguru adds before flicking his tongue over your clit. “Trust us~ we’re doctors for tonight, princess.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️SIX

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

As they talk ground rules concerning their unique situation, she finds herself agreeing to whatever he tells her, ultimately confessing her reason for allowing all the vile things he does to her. Dangerous information in his hands, and he knows exactly how to use it to his advantage, pushing her limits even further.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Oral cockwarming. Anal fingering/sex. Rough oral sex/deepthroating. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 7.4k

A/N: Please remember to check the tags very thoroughly! This chapter is a little rougher. Just a heads-up.

FIVE 🟥 SIX 🟥 SEVEN

She focuses on what he told her: Get dressed. Ignore the pain, she tells herself. It's hard, very hard, one wrong move and there are new tears in her eyes. It's a strange pain, deep-rooted, a soreness of muscles she had no idea she even had. Walking is tough, but sitting is even worse.

After somehow managing to slip into the clothes he put out for her (the dress is cute, a happy color, the soft fabric moving around her thighs, brushing against her sore butt, the thong however sits a little too tight between her cheeks, pressing hard against the knob of the plug, every movement only adding to the discomfort), she slowly makes her way into the kitchen on unsteady legs, pressing her lips into a thin line, breathing hard through her nose.

He sits on a bar stool at the kitchen island, sipping on his coffee, his eyes moving away from the phone in his hand towards her when she approaches. His smile makes her forget about the little sparks of pain when she moves closer. He pulls her against him, leaning in to kiss her forehead, luckily not forcing her onto his lap or onto the stool next to him.

“Help yourself,” he says with a nod to the coffee pot and a variety of breakfast foods laid out on the counter in front of him. Fruits, toast, buns, oats, other cereals, jam, slices of cheese and ham, fried bacon, small sausages, too much to choose from, really.

Letting go of her again, he looks back at his phone, seemingly scrolling through emails. She turns her head away quickly, doesn't want to be too nosy, so she leans in and grabs a piece of sliced apple, nibbling on it, not really hungry after all.

She stands a little awkwardly next to him, leaning on the counter, the same counter he had her bent over yesterday. It's a strange thought and an even stranger thing to eat off the same surface now. Or to think it's been a day (and a long night) since she woke up in his place, as his... whatever she is to him. His to fuck whenever he wants, apparently. It's still all a little fuzzy.

This somehow turned from a simple hook-up to her asking him to take her virginity to him taking her however and wherever he likes, and it's only taken him one day (and that awfully long night) to breach all her holes, take all her firsts, and it doesn't feel like it's the end of it. And somehow she is glad, in a twisted sort of way. Glad he didn't drop her after he's used her. Instead he provides her with clothes, food, keeps her close. Despite all the pain she's in, it feels strangely nice to have someone take care of her like that.

Someone who does the thinking for her – which is only fair when he is the one who takes away her ability to do so in the first place. Another thing she finds enjoyable despite the soreness it leaves, is how he never fails to give her that head-empty-feeling. No worries, just fucked out of her mind, happy. A feeling she only ever achieved with drinking too much, and somehow getting fucked is better than having to deal with the aftermath of too much alcohol.

“So, how do you feel?” he asks through the murky fog of thoughts inside her head, quite the opposite to how she feels when he does all these vile things to her.

She swallows the apple bite and licks her lips. “Sore,” she says quietly. “But I'm fine... if I just stand here,” she adds, giving him a shy smirk.

He grins at her, though there is a furrow to his brows. Putting his phone into his pocket, he gets up, and she shifts to follow him, but he holds up his hand. “Wait here,” he tells her, and she nods, watching him leave the open kitchen into another room she hasn't seen before. She's barely seen anything of his place, to be honest, but she has the impression there'll be time for that yet.

When he comes back, he grabs a small water bottle from the fridge and holds out two pills in his palm, one slightly larger than the other. She looks up at him, hesitantly takes the medicine.

“One for the pain and one... for after,” he says, cocking his head to the side. She frowns at the explanation. “You're not on birth control, are you?”

His question heats up her face. Clearing her throat, she looks down at the pills. “No,” she mumbles.

“Take these then,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket, quickly sliding his thumb over the screen. “I'll get you the pill. You'll need it...”

She doesn't know why this is so embarrassing to her (she's so embarrassed she doesn't even register the implication behind his words). It makes her feel like a child, someone who's way in over their head but doesn't want to admit to it. This is not the kind of taking care of her she thought about earlier, this feels like showing off her flaws, makes her realize she was not prepared for any of this to begin with.

Inhaling deeply, she puts the pills on her tongue and brings the water to her lips, swallowing hard to get them down. She empties the bottle, trying to empty her mind as well and not worry about anything anymore.

But now she thinks about accidentally getting pregnant because he couldn't stop pumping his freaking cum into her (and how she didn't even think about that possibility while he's done it), and how she feels so inexperienced and tiny next to him, him in his fancy suit pants and ironed shirt, typing on his phone, looking busy and important, and she's here in her small sundress that barely covers her thighs, barefoot, hair messy, face flushed, hurting from the inside out, useless.

He seems to feel her discomfort and without saying anything, he puts his large hand on her back, warm and comforting, rubbing softly up and down. She takes a deep breath, forces a smile and picks up another sliced apple piece, trying to focus on anything but her worries. She'd even have him fuck her senseless again, just to get rid of the nagging thoughts, soreness be damned.

“Okay,” he then says after a few minutes, his hand slipping to her lower back as he steps closer to her. She looks up, nibbling on the apple. He smirks at the sight, momentarily distracted. “Let's talk ground rules, shall we?” he eventually continues, sitting back down on the stool, lowering his towering height a little bit.

“Ground rules?” she asks, frowning at the change of topic.

“Yes. Think, darling, what are things I already told you to do and not to do?” He looks at her, a serious expression on his face, watching her so intently she feels her cheeks burn up even more.

“Uh,” she starts, thinking hard. It's a little contradictory to have her remember things he said when he keeps turning her brain off. “I... I uh...”

His hand grabs her chin, and she winces, eyes widening.

“Use your words,” he tells her sternly.

She swallows hard, her mind racing, her heart beating out of her chest. “I... I am yours to... use. You... you can... f-fuck me whenever you want,” she whispers, stumbling over her words, feeling even more embarrassed now. “And I... I can't say... no...”

He tilts his head, listening patiently. “Correct,” he says, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Anything else?”

She frowns, biting the inside of her cheek. Her throat tenses up. She doesn't know what he wants to hear from her. It's like these horrifying moments when the teacher asks a question and you haven't listened to anything they said. Her stomach drops. “I... I don't know...” she murmurs under her breath, voice quivering, brows furrowing.

He stares at her, but then nods and loosens the grip on her jaw, gently cupping her cheek instead. “It's okay, I'll tell you,” he replies.

She relaxes slightly, but only until he lifts her onto his lap in one swift motion, effortlessly, his grip on her upper arms tight, and she flinches badly, unable to hide the pained little whine slipping from her lips. He moves her on his thigh, one arm wrapped around her, the other back on her cheek, tilting her face up. Her muscles protest, the ache flaring up as she shifts on his hard leg. She swallows any other sounds that threaten to spill from her, blinking quickly to keep the tears down as well.

His thumb wipes at the corner of her eye as he watches her closely. “Hurts, hm?” he whispers, and she nods. “You'll always have to tell me if you're in pain, okay? I can't read minds. Ask me for pain killers, ask me for anything, just ask. That's a key rule: you will ask me if you need anything, understood?”

“Yes,” she says, wincing before she adds: “Sir.”

“Repeat.”

“I... I'll tell you when it hurts, and I'll ask you if I need anything...”

He nods, caressing her cheek. “Good. That includes taking the plug out,” he clarifies, pushing his leg up slightly, coaxing another wince out of her as the motion pushes against the mentioned object stuck in her butt. “You don't have to wear it all the time, but you will ask me if you can take it out. Right?”

She nods, he looks at her. “Yes, sir,” she says quickly. “I... I'll ask you when I want the plug out...” His eyes narrow slightly, her heart skips a beat. “Uh, if... if I'm allowed to take it out...”

He huffs a laugh. “Exactly. You don't want anything. You take what I give you, you do what I tell you, always, no matter what, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbles, biting her lip, focusing more on the words to repeat than on their actual meaning. “I'll do what you tell me to do, take what you give me...”

“And that includes?” he asks softly, cryptically, leaning in a little, his finger tracing the shape of her lips.

She blinks in confusion.

He smiles at her, then brushes his lips against her ear. “If I pump you full of cum, you will not get rid of it. If it drips down your leg, you will let it drip. If it gathers in your underwear, you will walk around with it until I tell you to change. I will tell you if you can clean yourself or not.”

His words make her shiver, and it's not just the close proximity, how his deep voice vibrates through her body. It's humiliating to think he has this kind of power over her, making her wear his cum like a trophy. Taking away the innate want to be clean. She inhales sharply, hoping he won't notice the hesitation in her voice. “Y-yes, sir. I'll... keep it on... and in me, at all times...”

He leans back, watching her closely. “Good girl,” he says, and she shivers for a completely different reason, her breath hitching slightly. His eyes move over her burning face, a soft smile grazing his lips. “You'll do anything for me if I call you that, huh?” he adds quietly, almost mockingly.

She looks away, something hot growing inside her stomach. “Yeah,” she admits quietly, worrying her lip between her teeth. It's indeed worrying how he can see right through her, and even worse that she will in fact do absolutely anything for a bit of praise from him. Worrying and deeply disturbing.

“Isn't that good to know,” he whispers, leaning down to press his lips against her warm cheek. She swallows hard, still not looking at him. His hand moves along the column of her neck, a light pressure against her throat, thumb rubbing over her pulse. “Why did you come to me?” he then asks, making her look up with a frown. “You approached me. You made me take you... why?”

Made him... take her? It's that big black hole she has in her memory of how she actually got here. He took her after all, and it wasn't just for a hook-up, she knows that now. He wanted all of her, all for himself, for more than a night. All because she approached him first?

She tries to ignore the dark truth of his actions, focuses on his question, thinks back to the night she's first seen him. “I... I've noticed you before,” she then replies, quietly, watching him as he listens to her. “I've come to the club a lot, always because of... well, you. I wanted to be... one of those girls...” He raises an eyebrow. “Well, you know, you always had one or more around you, and they were all so pretty and tall,” she adds with a little purse to her lips, her words tumbling out of her mouth with a bit of a rush now. “And I wanted that too, I mean, not being tall, I can't just grow like that, right? But, uh, to have your attention. It's silly, isn't it? I barely know you... but... that doesn't matter much, hm? When there are... feelings... or, I guess, illusions of feelings or whatever this is?”

The lines on his forehead deepen slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I was... uh... well, I... I guess I had a... a crush on you,” she says quickly, averting her eyes as her blush expands to her ears and down her neck, a strange tightness settling in her stomach.

“Had?�� he asks, nudging her chin with his knuckles to make her look up. “You no longer have a crush on me?”

She lets out a groan, her eyelids fluttering. To be honest, she has no idea. Is this still a crush or something else entirely? Whatever it is, it's anything but healthy, that much she can admit to. “No, I still... I think I still do...” she whispers, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Still, huh?” he says, his fingers moving up to cup her jaw, turn her face back towards him. “Despite everything?” She nods into his hand. “Aren't you a cute little thing...” he adds with a dark smile. “You're absolutely perfect, do you know that?”

His words surprise her, but as soon as he leans in to press his lips to hers, she doesn't question them anymore. Perfect for what? Doesn't matter. He wants her, all of her. Is it fucked-up and strange? Yes, certainly, but she doesn't care. She has his attention now, more than that even, more than she could have ever imagined (and this is clearly far beyond anything she could have ever thought up on her own).

Her hand finds his wrist, holding onto him as she moves her tongue against his, slow and intimate, a deep connection between two strangers who feel like so much more. What they are exactly, she can't say, and frankly, it doesn't matter.

After breakfast, he shows her around the penthouse. It is a penthouse, high above the city, a giant array of many rooms, most of them he tells her not to enter. There's a gym, another bedroom plus bathroom, his office that's connected to a library, a large room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves she stares at longer than she should. The interior continues to be minimalist, a lot of blacks and whites, antique-looking wooden floors, intricate trim lining the walls. It looks expensive, luxurious, but ultimately also very masculine.

If she didn't know it already, she'd say this was the typical den of a bachelor, and from all she does know about him prior to waking up in his penthouse, he is one of the most popular ones. Rich and single, no wonder he was always surrounded by women in the club. His club. And to think she is the girl he chose to take back home? It's still mind-blowing to her.

He squeezes her hand to pull her out of the library, and she follows slowly. He's strangely gentle to her, always waits for her because she still can't walk properly (it is his fault though, so it's something a normal man is expected to do, but he is far from normal, that much she knows now, that's why it's such a surprise). He pulls her towards him when he explains things or when they step onto the large balcony that wraps around most of his apartment. And she feels safe, protected, and, despite her isolation from the rest of the world, not alone.

It's a sunny day today, contrary to yesterday, and she's in awe at the view she has over the city. If her whole body wouldn't be in pain from all the former ordeals he's put her through, she'd think she woke up a princess, or at least someone on the whole other end of the wealth spectrum.

She can barely think back to her old life, where she had a shitty job, lived in a shitty apartment the size of his walk-in closet, had barely any friends, mostly just acquaintances, who'd ask her to come along sometimes, and co-workers she'd talk to on occasion, and no family to rely on. It's been a hard, lonesome life, so to be able to spend her time here now, with him, she'd let him bruise her every single day for the rest of her life if it meant she could stay.

That is what this deal is, right? She doesn't have words for it, but it's the age old thing of giving a service to receive something in return. Letting him use her for a chance at a better life. Doesn't sound too bad, does it?

He finishes the tour in front of his office, one hand on her waist, head tilted down to look at her. “Do you want to lie down and rest now?” he asks her, his low voice so gentle she completely forgets about the other side of him, the dark one, the one that forces his cock into her ass to punish her.

She shakes her head. “I'm fine,” she says, stupid as she is, blinded by the pleasantries he's shown her.

The shift in his face is immediate. A dark glint settles in his eyes. “Yeah? No more pain?”

“Well, I'm still sore,” she says quickly, biting her lip. “But it'll be fine.” He seems to understand that she just doesn't want to leave him.

“Come join me in my office then,” he tells her, guiding her into the big room.

The giant desk is the center piece of the space, a large window behind it, a couch on one side, another, smaller desk on the other, framed by shelves and sideboards. Apart from the occasional plant, there's no clutter anywhere, not even on the desk, only a little cart beside it, laden with various alcohol bottles and glasses.

When he leaves her to walk around the desk and sit down on the leather chair, her eyes move to the door leading into the library. She's already turning into that direction, thinking about finding a book to read, when she stops, literally freezes on the spot as she remembers his rules.

She turns back to him, clearing her throat, licking her lips, suddenly very nervous. “Can I... can I get a book from the library?” she asks quietly.

He looks up in the middle of opening a laptop, one eyebrow perked up. “No,” he says, and she frowns at the harshness in his voice, her heart instantly sinking. “Come here,” he adds and waves her over.

Inhaling deeply, she shuffles to him. He rolls back in his chair, creating a space between his legs. The gesture is pretty obvious, the command unspoken, she still hesitates as she moves closer. His eyes darken as he watches her.

“Kneel,” he tells her, and she does, her heart beating faster.

She can't help but wince when she settles between his legs, hands on his thighs, looking up at him, carefully leaning on her knees as to not get the heels of her feet in contact with her sore butt.

His hands move to unbuckle his belt, long fingers opening his pants. “I want you to cockwarm me,” he then says, his eyes boring into hers. “Do you know what that is?”

“I... put your cock in my mouth and keep it warm?” she replies with a raised eyebrow.

“Smart,” he says, patting her head with a smirk. “Exactly like that. But I don't want you to suck me off, understood? You just keep my cock in your mouth, no sounds, no movements. Can you do that?”

She nods slowly, not entirely sure she understands correctly, but she's willing to please him nonetheless. “Yes, sir,” she whispers, shifting closer between his legs.

“I need to work, make some calls and video chats, and you are not allowed to interrupt me. No noises,” he repeats, looking at her pointedly. “If you need a break, you do so quietly. But you will not leave, you'll stay right here under the desk. Just a couple of hours, okay?”

A couple of hours? On her knees with his cock in her mouth? Hours? The shock must be obvious on her face, and he moves his hand down to caress her cheek.

“It's not as bad as you think. Just relax, make yourself comfortable down there. Keep me nice and warm, yeah?” The gentle voice is back, and she inhales deeply, feeling something warm settling in her stomach.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, giving him a weak smile.

His fingers sink into her hair, and he moves her further under the desk before he rolls his chair closer. There's enough space, even though she feels as if sitting in a wooden box, caged in on three sides, the hard wooden floor beneath her, and the table top above her, but she can look past his chair and out of the window, sees the clear blue sky and some clouds floating by. She cannot see his face though, only his crotch. He grabs her wrist and guides her towards his cock as he frees it with his other hand.

She grips it gingerly, shifting closer on her knees, and she can already tell that this position will add to her list of pains. The floor is hard and unyielding, and her dress not long enough to work as a protective layer. Sighing quietly, she opens her mouth and lets him put his tip on her tongue, then he nudges her to close her lips around it. Her first instinct is to hollow her cheeks, but he quickly corrects her with a soft slap to her jaw.

“Hold completely still,” he reminds her, and she hums in response, nestling between his legs, hands holding onto his thighs, head as still as possible as she feels the weight of him on her tongue. And she's supposed to do this for a couple of hours? She almost wishes he'd just fuck her hard on his desk or something.

She can hear him typing on his keyboard, click clack, a monotonous sound, sometimes mixed with a soft thud when he puts his phone on the table. After only a few minutes, she is not only bored out of her mind, but also feels a slight ache in her jaw. Additionally, it's very hard not to move her tongue. It's so tempting to just flick it around his tip, feel the spongy flesh, taste more of him. His scent is already in her nostrils, and it has a strange effect on her.

An arousing one.

A loud exhale slips through her nose, and she feels him shifting in his chair, his hand coming down to grab her jaw. She lets out a muffled whine when he pulls her head to his crotch, letting him slip deeper into her mouth, but that is not what he intended to do. He presses her cheek down so it rests on his pelvis, close to his hip. She tries to settle into the new position, her knees aching already. Draping her arms around him, she adjusts and actually relaxes against him, his cock heavy on her tongue, a bit more than just the tip.

He ruffles her hair once she keeps still. “Good girl,” he whispers, before he focuses back on whatever he's doing above her. His words only increase the wet feeling between her thighs, but she tries to ignore it, focuses only on the weight and scent and feel of him in her mouth. She even closes her eyes, leaning against his warm body, occasionally trying to swallow the drool gathering on her tongue, which is harder with her mouth open like this, so she can't get it all down. Some drips past her lips, running down her chin. But she couldn't care less.

Suddenly his voice sounds above her, and she realizes he must be talking to someone, stern, professional, barking orders in a way that's demanding and authoritative. She doesn't care what he says, it doesn't matter to her. It's the thrum and timbre of his voice that lulls her, makes her sleepy, and she feels herself drifting off, jaw going slack, but then a jerk runs through her body, making her twitch, and she gasps as she realizes she's bumped into him as she fumbled to put his cock inside her mouth again.

He keeps talking as if nothing happened, but his legs press against her shoulders for a bit, and she relaxes into him again, adjusts her position, keeps her eyes open and stares past his crotch towards the wall – which is so boring. A simple white, maybe even a soft beige, she isn't sure. Could be the daylight that changes the color. Daylight. There are no shadows to follow, no indication of how much time has passed. Just his voice, then silence when he's done with the call, the click clack of his keyboard.

Sometimes he moves his hand under the desk to caress her hair, slip his fingers through it, massage her scalp. She hums softly then, and he allows the quiet noise. Her jaw is tense, upper lip is dry and no way to lick it, while more drool keeps running down her chin. She wipes at it with her hand while she keeps one arm around his waist to hold herself up. She is so bored, her mind empty and at the same time not as she thinks about things she would rather do than sit in this uncomfortable position on her knees.

It's not even his cock in her mouth, she's somehow fine with that, but everything around it, the keeping quiet, the not moving, the doing absolutely nothing. And she can't even fall asleep in fear she might bump her head when she wakes up or maybe even bites down on him because she can't control her jaw any longer. For what it's worth, it's these doubts that keep her awake at least.

To keep herself somewhat entertained, she tries to think back to all the things that happened since she woke up in his bed. Her memories are hazy, but she still remembers the moment when he forced the plug into her butt, just like that, as if it was a normal thing to do. And she had just let him – well, she couldn't really fight him, she's tried, oh and he'd spanked her for it also. So fighting him really is and was not an option.

While she thinks back to the beginning of their strange situation, she hears his voice again, interrupted by other voices. A video chat probably. Again she doesn't care what those men are talking about, it doesn't matter to her.

Rolling her jaw a little, accidentally pushing her tongue against the underside of his cock, she stiffens slightly, waits for his reaction, but nothing happens. He keeps perfectly still, a true professional talking to whoever, while some girl he picked up in his club cockwarms him under his desk. What a normal thing. What a strange world where this is indeed beginning to be normal to her as well.

She dares another little press of her tongue, feeling the texture of his warm skin, the veins throbbing beneath it, and again he doesn't do anything. In her mind she thinks back to the first time she had his cock in her mouth, that handjob turned blowjob on the couch, how he's forced her down on him, how panicked she has been – and in comparison to the next blowjob in the kitchen, he had been really gentle.

A shudder rushes through her as she remembers how he pushed into her throat, made her gag, that horrible twitch of her body she couldn't control, the feeling of not being able to breathe, choking on him and her own spit. Nothing she wants to experience again, but knowing her situation, she may not have the luxury to wish for anything.

When her thoughts become darker all of a sudden, she focuses back on the here and now, hears the drone of the voices above the table, feels his warm legs around her, ignores the ache of her knees and jaw, the constant flow of drool down her chin, the weight and heat and taste of his cock in her mouth.

Somehow he's gotten a little harder, thicker, filling her mouth more, straining against her lips, and she can't help but move her tongue beneath him, roll her jaw once more, and then she sucks, hollows her cheeks, not necessarily to do something to him, but to keep the spit inside her mouth. His hand is on her head in no time, fingers digging into her hair, and she forces herself not to make any noise as she flinches against him.

His grip is rough, but his hand is heavy, holds her down, in place, still, and she relaxes again, breathes deep through her nose, closes her eyes, doesn't move as she holds him between her lips. The tension in his fingers eases, and he starts to caress her again, gently massaging her scalp, all while talking to some men over a video call.

And eventually her head runs completely empty. The way he touches her, how his cock rests hot and hard and heavy on her tongue, his scent all around her, it's all there is, all that matters.

Him.

Someone to focus on, someone to please... someone to service...

Only him.

It's his voice in her head, a soft echo, getting louder, clearer. “Baby?”

Her eyelids flutter open, a new strand of saliva drips from her chin. His hand is on her jaw, catching it. It takes her a moment to realize where she is. Under the desk, between his legs, his cock still in her mouth. She moves her hand up, rests it on his thigh, and he slowly rolls his chair back. She follows the movement, shifts on her knees, a sudden sting crashing through her body, and a muffled groan escapes her.

“You can let go now,” he tells her quietly.

She blinks again, looking up from under her lashes, meeting his gaze. There's a soft smile on his lips. The heat in her stomach is instant, a fire jumping to life by the snap of a finger. She leans back hesitantly, using her hands to hold his cock and wipe at her wet mouth. Her first instinct is to swallow, really swallow, without anything obstructing the motion. Then she inhales deeply, not daring to let go of his erection. It's covered in her spit, as is part of his pants, and she feels her cheeks burning up.

His hand cups her face, thumb rubbing over her chin. She sits back on her knees, one hand braced on his leg, the other tight around his throbbing length. “You did good,” he tells her, nudging her to get to her feet, his other hand prying her fingers off his cock before he grabs it himself.

She more or less crawls out from under the desk, gets up on shaking legs, a strange weakness in her limbs from kneeling for however long he's made her do this. Her head is filled with cotton, a strange vertigo making her sway a little. Suddenly he's standing next to her after she's blinked a few times, that tall frame towering over her, warm, strong, confident.

“Come on,” he says, his voice a little muffled, his hands on her waist turning her until he gently pushes her stomach-first onto the desk. Confusion washes over her, her cheek rests on the cold wood of the tabletop. His knee is pushing her legs apart, he steps between them. Her heart beats faster. His hands move along her sides, following her curves, slip under the skirt of her dress.

He flips it up quickly, while her breaths turn almost frantic. What's going on? His fingers curl around her hips, pulling her back a little. Her hands find the edge of the table. She can only see him out of the corner of her eye, her vision is blurry, he's just this intimidating shadow behind her, backlit by the light streaming through the large window. Her legs twitch against him when she feels his finger in the cleft between her ass cheeks, following the fabric of her thong before pushing it aside, and a quiet wail escapes her.

“Shh,” he makes, not even hesitating when he tugs at the knob of the plug. She squirms a little, her rapid breaths fanning over the tabletop. His thumb presses the metal toy against her tight muscles, and she whimpers in response, the soreness within flaring up again.

“P-please...” she croaks out.

“Please what?” he asks, fingers closing around the base of the plug, pulling gently. “Please fill my ass? Please fuck me hard? Or please stop?” he teases.

She gasps when he suddenly pulls the plug out with a strangely wet pop. She knows she shouldn't answer him, it's a trap either way, but she can't help herself. “Please don't do this...”

He puts the plug on the table next to her, stepping a little closer between her legs. She hears him spitting into his hand, before something wet and warm slips between her cheeks, over her tense hole. He completely ignores her when he dips his finger into her ass.

“Don't! Please!” she whimpers, writhing on the desk.

He pokes his finger deeper. “Why?”

“B-because... you... you just said... said I did good,” she stammers, body shivering under his ministrations. “So... why... why are you... punishing me?”

“Punishing you?” he asks, genuine confusion in his voice as he stills his finger inside her. “This is not a punishment, sweetheart, it's a reward.”

Her response is a sudden sob, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Come on, do you really think anal sex is a punishment? Did it hurt that bad? Didn't you come when I fucked you in the shower? Can't you remember? I bet that felt good, huh?” While he speaks, he pumps his finger in and out, slowly adds another, repeats the motion, every word accentuated by a deep push of his hand against her ass, slow and steady.

She sniffles quietly, unsure what to say to that.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, fingering her harder, deeper, faster, his fingers stretching her tense muscles.

“A-a little,” she whispers.

“Really? Or is it just a strange feeling?”

His question makes her pause. Of course it's a strange feeling, she's never had fingers or other things pushed up her ass before she met him. But she does question the pain or discomfort. Because the more he pushes into her, the better it feels, or maybe her body just adjusts to the sensation, giving her the illusion that it may feel better?

“Huh? What is it?” he presses, moving his fingers faster, the squelching sound making her blush deeply.

“I... I don't know...” she whimpers.

“Does it hurt or does it not hurt? It's a simple question!” He sounds more and more agitated, but she can only breathe faster, whine louder.

“I don't know!” she cries out.

“Well, how about this,” he starts, pulling his fingers from her ass. “How's this then? Does this hurt?” he asks, and she feels the spongy tip of his cock press against her hole. It's a simple roll of his hips, and he's inside her, slipping deeper, slow shallow thrusts as he fills her out.

She can't even say anything or make any noise except a low gurgle from deep within her throat, she can barely breathe with how full she feels all of a sudden. Her fingers curl around the edge of the table, his thrusts, as slow and careful as they may be, pushing her back and forth. His hands grip her waist, it's a steady push and pull as his cock slides in and out, slowly getting faster.

The friction is worse than yesterday, her muscles too tense and unprepared and frankly still sore. He doesn't care, slipping deeper, pounding harder, going faster. Every thrust feeds the fire burning within, the bad kind, not the one smoldering in her stomach, but the one sending cold shivers over her skin as pain ripples through her.

“Does – it – hurt?” he asks through gritted teeth, every word stressed by a particularly hard snap of his hips.

She whines quietly, too overwhelmed to even comprehend the question or why he's asking it.

“Tell – me!” His grip around her waist tightens, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, squeezing her sides.

She gasps, breathes rougher. “Yes... yes!” she wails.

He stops immediately, the only sound her little whines and the loud thumping of her heart in her ears. His hands ease their grip, moving lower over her curves, caressing her tense skin. His cock rests hard and heavy inside her, throbbing slightly. “Good,” he says, inhaling deeply. “Tell me what you want,” he then asks, kneading her cheeks lightly, pulling them apart as he waits for her answer.

This must be another trick question, she thinks frantically, trying to control her heavy breaths. “I... I don't... I don't want... anything...” she then whispers. Somehow that reply came to her, slipped over her lips, a deep-rooted understanding pushing to the forefront of her mind.

“Correct,” he whispers, surprise evident in his voice. “You don't get to decide what I do to you. You don't get to say no. You take what I give you...”

She closes her eyes, he resumes the rolling of his hips.

“And if I tell you that this is a reward, you better fucking believe it!” he ends, quickly picking up the pace, really hammering into her now.

She cries out, body convulsing, thighs slamming into the hard edge of the desk, the sudden onslaught of sensations making her head spin. His pants and groans become louder, his thrusts even harder, and she succumbs to it all, just takes it, like he wants her to, while hot tears roll over her cheeks, gathering under her head pressed to the table.

The pain is that heavy thing inside her, weighing her down, pulling her into all directions at once, overtaking everything she feels. It's mostly just... hurt. Burning, aching, thumping hurt. Though there is a strange heat building up as well, but it's flimsy, a feeling like trying to catch smoke. She's yearning for it, but it slips away every time he pushes particularly deep.

She's numb when he finally finishes, a loud grunt echoing through the room as he gives her that final thrust and stills, all of him inside of her, his cock throbbing angrily, balls twitching against her folds, ropes of cum shooting into her bruised depths, warm and filling. He leans his hands on either side of her body, breathing heavily as he comes down from his orgasm.

Her eyes are closed, lashes clumped, face wet from crying. Her body shudders deeply when he slowly pulls back, her muscles clenching around him until the pressure is gone, her hole left gaping, something hot and thick dripping from it. He moves his finger around her sphincter, teases it with his fingertip. “Clench,” he orders, and subconsciously or not, she does, muscles working around his digit. He pulls it out and grabs the plug, quickly pushes it back into place, sealing his cum inside her.

He rubs his hands along her rear, then adjusts her thong and pulls her skirt back over it. She hears him walking around the desk, and without much protest, she is being rolled onto her back, head hanging off the edge as he pulls her towards him. Moved like a doll. Used like a toy.

“Open your mouth,” he tells her, and again, she just does, pliant and defeated, her eyelids too heavy to open. His hand is under her head, holding it up, a strong but somehow comforting touch. There's nothing comforting about his next move.

His cock, still semi-hard, pushes into her mouth, her jaw protesting, his tip, wet and slippery, scraping over her gums. He bends her neck a little, stepping closer, sinking it deeper. It hits the back of her throat, and she feels that deep shudder, the uncontrollable twitch, the sliver of panic, when she gags around him, her throat working against the intruder. He pulls back a little, lets her swallow the spit and bile, before he pushes back in, deeper, deeper, filling her throat, his hips resuming those rolling motions, just against her face now.

With how he leans over her, how her head is held by his hands, she feels his tight balls slamming against her nose with every thrust. She's already breathless, gasping and gulping for air whenever he allows her some reprieve between gagging and choking. Spit and cum drip from her lips, trailing down the side of her head. She's too weak to fight this, can't do anything but let him fuck her face, push into her throat, over and over again, until she feels her consciousness slipping.

But he never lets her drift off, watching her closely, pulling back just in time. He seems to fully harden again, more and more with each deep plunge, his groans are quiet, his movements becoming jerkier. She feels so dizzy, muffled whimpers sitting right where he pushes into her throat. Somehow she's stopped gagging, her muscles relaxing enough to allow what he is doing to her.

His hands grip her head, holding her still as he pushes deep, stills there, and shoots thick warm spurts of cum right down her throat. The urge to breathe, to swallow, is that faraway thumping motion in the back of her mind. She doesn't care anymore. She just wants it to end. Tears and spit and cum leave trails on her flushed face. He pulls back eventually, his cock throbbing against her swollen lips, the last drops of his seed landing on her chin and further down her aching neck.

He pulls her off the table, her body limp in his hold. She can barely feel how he sits her down, holds her chin, nudges her softly. “Breathe,” he whispers, wiping at her soiled cheeks. His voice moves something within her, her stomach flutters, chest heaves, and with a deep sharp inhale, she resumes the frantic attempts to get air back into her lungs, gasping, gulping, coughing hard. He gently rubs her throat as he watches her.

She slowly calms down, though new tears spill from her lashes, hot and desperate, and she remains deeply disturbed by the turn of events. When her eyelids flutter open, she sees him leaning over her, watching her, eyes dark and stern.

“Did you like your reward?” he asks.

Something snaps inside her head like a twig that's being stepped on. The fucking audacity! She wants to scratch his eyes out, shove something down his throat for a change.

The sudden anger that rises within her makes her gasp, a deep shiver almost as bad as her gag reflex or the coughing fit that shook her earlier. It terrifies her. Where did that come from? Pressing her lips into a thin line, she only looks at him from under her lashes, afraid she might say something that will make him really angry.

His eyes narrow, jaw clenches. His hand closes around her throat. “When I give you a reward for good behavior,” he starts, his voice low and with a dangerous edge to it. “I expect you to be grateful. I expect you to say thank you.”

She stares at him, blinking slowly, tears streaming down her face. Is he serious? Thank him for this kind of treatment? How was that even a reward? He didn't even make her come! Somehow she didn't want to see it before, but now she does, in that tiny moment of clarity as the relief to still be drawing breath floods her body. She sees it now: he is absolutely insane, there's no other explanation.

(This isn't normal, this isn't what she wanted, not what she wanted, not normal, not wanted, not –)

An even more disturbing revelation is that there's only one thing she can do: follow his orders, be at his mercy, play along.

So she does. “Th-thank you,” she tries to say, but her voice is just that raw, rough croak caught in the back of her throat. She frowns, clears her throat, winces at the strain and ache within. Whines at the pain.

And strangely enough his expression softens, his hand moving to her cheek, caressing it gently. He leans down and presses his lips to her forehead, then wordlessly picks her up onto his arms and carries her out of the office.

FIVE 🟥 SIX 🟥 SEVEN

End notes: So. This happened. It kinda escalated a little in the end, hm? I'm sorry (but not really). You've read the tags though (I hope), so please don't blame me.

Again, I want to stress that THIS IS FICTION! Not real life! I do not condone this behavior! But sometimes those characters that live inside my head have a mind of their own, and they just do stuff, I can't stop them.

So, thank you for (still) being here! Remember, no rain, no rainbow, right? It'll get better again, I promise!

Thanks again for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE ◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

[soft-persephone]

Something Real

MDNI // E // WC: 9.5k // smut, oral (w receiving), glove kink?, hand kink if you squint, John talks you through it // masterlist // rough drafts // AN: I had a time getting this one started, but as hard as it was, I also had fun and I may make it a series. Who knows?

Imani rushed down the block, flying past the few pedestrians that were up at this particular twilight of dawn. 

Raw adrenaline coursed through her veins as each leg collided with the concrete below her feet, jolting her with such force to her goal. 

She snuck a glance behind her to see he was getting closer.

Fuck. 

He was catching up with her. She couldn’t let him get any closer. Barely a minute ago he was nowhere in sight and now he was gaining up on her.

Diggin deep within herself, Imani mustered up whatever strength she could find in her body, grunting with force, she somehow gained speed. 

You train for this, she told herself. This is what you do, its who you are, no random fucker on the street is going to take that away from you. You were going to live and you were going to win. 

Just a few more seconds and she’d be at her shop, and she could finally escape. She would win and be free.

“Aye!” from the corner of her eye, Imani saw a blur of black wool rush past her to who was behind her.

What the?

Another man was rushing towards her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t, but he was just as fast, going step for step with her. 

He slowed down when she did, reaching out to grab her, by the shoulders. Instead of her usual sloppy slow down, she collided face first into his chest.

“It's okay now.” his velvet tone flooded her senses, “you don’t need to keep running. We got him.”

Oh God.

Imani frantically tapped at his chest with the palm of her hand when she saw his friend in the dark wool coat handcuff the man running after her.

“N-n ugh- no.” she gasped for air, half choking when she couldn’t breathe in enough, “no.”

“Alex!” Elle waved him down, quickly shifting her attention once he started to jog over, “NO!”

“What do you mean, no?” Alex huffed shortly, the condensation of his breath filling the space between them as he shoved the man to the side, so he wouldn’t be near her, but he could still hold onto him. “We arrived here, just to see this man chasing a woman who looked scared out of her mind. We can ask him questions once we get downtown.”

“A race!” Elle explained, as she turned her phone around, so he could see she was livestreaming on instagram, “she was scared of losing a footrace.”

“A footrace?” The man holding Imani scrunched his face as he held her back some to look at hers. She nodded, her chest still falling up and down.

“I wasn't doing nothing!” The man finally spoke up for himself. “It's just a thing  Citrusly does.” He huffed, shaking his head, “you beat the owner in a footrace, you get free drinks for a month. She’s only here Tuesday morning’s  5am to 6am for it.”

Imani felt like she could breathe a little better once Alex uncuffed the man.

Alex’s expression shifted to something more guarded, but not quite pleased or relieved, slightly sorry, but only slightly. He uncuffed the man and pushed him. 

“Get out of here.”

“Fucking cops.” the man muttered, brushing off his clothes.

“I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?” Imani put her hand on his shoulder, looking him over as she would have done if the situation was dangerous, which it was not, but she had a business to run, and right now there were lots of phones recording them.

“I’m fine now.” He beamed at her. His body language shifting. 

“That's good.” she squeezed his shoulder lightly, giving him a polite smile, praying it didn't give him any ideas, “because accidental arrest or not, I still won, so you don't get the one month discount.’

“Mani!” Elle scolded her, but she ignored it. 

“Are you kidding! I totally would have had it, if that man didn't tackle me!”

“He tackled you three steps away from the shop door.” You pointed at Alex’s cop accomplice, “this man didn't grab me until I stopped running which was at the shop door.” she waved her hands up as she finished proving her point, “You lost.”

The onlookers cheered and laughed, some going back inside and others going on about their day as she attempted to console a sore loser.

“Tell you what,” Imani put her hands together in front of her, “As an apology, because of my friend’s actions, I’ll give you a drink and a pastry today for free, on me.”

The man, Donnie, she just learned his name was, nodded. He had a sweet smile that went well with his light brown eyes and freckled face, a few spots on his cheeks much whiter than the rest of him. You would have been all over him in high school, but right now, you weren’t  so sure if you were up for anything with anyone.

“I’d really like it if I could also get,--”

“No more no less.” Imani interrupted with a playful smirk and a laugh. “That’s my final offer.” she licked her lips, ignoring how his eyes followed the movement. “Take it or leave it.”

She bounced back and forth on her heels, laughing softly and averting her gaze at Elle who looked at her like a disappointed mother. She ignored the smirk on Alex’s face and the coy look on his friend’s

“Alright.” Donnie relented, even taking a step back. When did he even get so close? She wondered. How did she let that happen? “But I'm challenging you again next Tuesday!” he pointed at her, smiling.

“I’ll always be here.” Imani opened the door for him and waved him off with one more smile. 

“Damn,” a rich voice called behind her as the door was taken out of her grasp and swung open wider, “mm mm mm, that was cold blooded.”

Imani huffed through her nose, praying she didn’t jump from how he startled her. 

“Right,” Alex chuckled, pushing past her in the shop. 

“Tell me what you’ll say if the same person asks you out on the same day every week, but you keep giving the same answer each time, and they can’t take the hint.

Imani shook her head and made her way behind the counter to make everyone's usual.

“Every Tuesday?” Officer stranger asked.

“And Mani’s too stubborn to actually say yes.” Elle Huffed, “He’s nic–”

Imani took the opportunity to raise the pressure of the steam wand to cut her off, blowing  a cloud in front of her. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

“I’m not falling fo–”

Imani did it again. 

“Will you–”

She did it again, but this time only for a second the sound getting softer as she gently changes the texture of the milk to something silky and smooth.

“Sorry, I was actually making a drink  that time.” 

Imani placed it  in front of her. “This one’s yours.”

“Giving her a look, Elle took her drink and left to go to the usual table. Before she could ask Alex’s friend what he wanted, he was already following her.

“Does he—“ Imani turned to Alex.

“He will eat and drink anything you put in front of him," Alex deadpanned with a hint of a grin. “He greedy as hell.”

Imani will always love her best friend Elle, but she was doing the absolute most, and so was Alex.

She  and her friend have been close since college. Truly the sister she’s  always wanted, so when she finally got the guy she’s been obsessed with since high school, it sucked that they didn’t get to spend as much time together as they used to, but Imani was a big girl, and she knows she can handle not being first in line anymore. 

She’ll settle for two.

But right now, number two was confused on why it was so important for them to meet the best friend, that was more of a brother, to the new number one, the man her best friend was dating. 

“Just to be clear, I’m not the one in a relationship with Alex, right?”

“Mani!” Elle warned through gritted teeth. 

Imani raised her hands, backing off. 

“You are my family and you’re important to me,” Elle put a hand on Imani’s shoulder, “just like John is to Alex.”

Imani wanted to fold in on herself. 

She looked up at the ceiling to avoid Elle’s gaze.

“And as your family, I’d like to know where you have been in the last week. You weren’t answering  your phone and no one had seen you anywhere. Is it because of what comes up in two days?”

“No, I’m fine.” Imani shook her head,” I just needed some time alone with my thoughts. Is it healthy, probably not, but I know what I want, and I just needed to take that time.”

“So you're okay?” Elle asked softly. 

“I was in my apartment. I just chose not to pick up any calls.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and averted her gaze from everyone for a moment. They were all looking at her now, and she didn’t even know what else to say. 

Fuck, Elle for doing this to her. 

“Okay.” Imani hoped it didn’t come off as short as it sounded to her. All she could feel was her face burning and her ears muffling everything from how hot her head was getting. She shrugged off her jacket for good measure and took a large sip of her drink. 

“John,” he held out his hand, breaking the ice first, “Sampson.” He said as she shook it. 

“Imani.” She half smirked and  waved a hand in an obvious gesture, since Elle has done nothing but call it out every five seconds. 

“You have a last name, Imani.”

“Nope.”  She said, popping the p.

“It’s Lounds.”

“Like The Lounds Enterprise Lounds?” He raised an eyebrow. 

Imani smacked her teeth and leaned back, crossing her arms. 

“Now why’d you have to go and tell him.”

“So you’re his semi-estranged daughter he doesn’t like talking about.” 

“We’re not estranged.” She huffed, “I just make my own money.”

“And how’s that working out?” he chided. 

“John, don't start with her. Once she gets started, she won’t stop.” Elle smiled as she gave her input, failing to hide her smile as she did. Not quite a master at 

“Good.” Imani beamed, grabbing a cinnamon roll and picking it apart as she ate it.

“Aye,” Alex frowned, “you're wasting a perfectly good common roll.”

“It's a habit,” Imani said with her mouth half full, “it’s a test for texture. Jimmy taught me. I've been doing it all week and now, whenever I eat a pastry, I pull it apart .

Imani talked on, going into detail about texture and doughs and mouth feel as she watched John grab a muffin. 

Interesting. 

She laid out an assortment, just like she did when she met Alex here the first time. Who had a knack for picking out which one was the sweetest just by looking at it. 

Muffins could be sweet but they weren’t sweet like other things. He must be normal about them unlike his friend.

“Slow down Sugar,” John brushed his hands of crumbs, “it ain’t going nowhere.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“It’s a nickname.” Elle mused.

“Sweet tooth.” Was all Alex said, focused on getting the rest of the cinnamon roll in his mouth. 

Well that explains it. 

“Why are you dressed like a  Gangbanger from LA?” The John Sampson asks.

Imani looked down at her clothes, picking at the fabric of her Dickies jacket and pulling the oversized sleeves over her hands. 

“They were Deonte’s.” She licked her lips before smiling slowly. “He was from LA and he did live that type of life at some point, but I- I think something happened and he used the last of his money to fly out here,” her chest used to feel tight when she talked about him. It used to make her shake and take her breath away, but now. . . not so much, “so he was uh- I think that’s why he was homeless when I met him.” She nodded, feeling like that was enough for now. 

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to—“

“No, it’s okay,” Imani smiled softly, “I like talking about him.” She said in a half whisper, thinking of her long lost friend. 

No one said anything so she felt the need to interject, or rather Alex and Elle had heard all this stuff before, but the opportunity to show someone else Deonte as she  knew him, to share who he really was with anyone who listened, she’ll never pass that up. 

“He left all that behind once he got here, I helped him get on his feet. . . let him stay with me. . .save up for a new place, but there wasn’t any need for that. We got so close and the housing market was shit, so I. . .  somehow, convinced him to stay with me.” She gently cleared her throat, “for good I think.”

“That’s when he started the nonprofit with you?” John graveled, his  interjection startled her. She blinked at him for a moment, remembering she had an audience. 

“Y-yeah.” She smiled. “How’d you know that?” She leaned forward, but kept her hands in the sleeves of the too big jacket, “people don’t usually know that.”

“I make it a habit to keep up with things that benefit my community.” he took a non communal sip of his drink before tilting his head and squinting at it with a low short hum, “ You two did good work.” he shifted his attention back to her, “  You,  do good work.” 

Imani’s shoulders fell with a tension she didn't know was there. His dark eyes reflected a glimmer of. . Joy? A sort of complement of  reverence she didn’t quite understand. 

She searched his eyes, the feeling overwhelmed her, but she let it. She couldn’t stop the way she held his gaze and searched for more, eagerly taking as much as she could get in that moment, but then she realized what it was. 

He was proud of her, of Deonte and the work they did together, and the work she kept doing after his death. 

A feeling her father long since neglected to give her. A feeling she forgot she used to devote herself to once she removed herself from her father’s influence. 

“You don’t like saying thank you either, Imani?”

She inhaled sharply, leaning back in her seat. 

“I- I uh.” 

“Most people say thank you when they get a compliment.” He said casually, but there was something in the inflictions of his voice. How the colors of his tone would sway and flow across a spectrum like a musical scale. Going from something light, casually rich, and pleasant to something low and imposing. 

A skill she’s sure he’s picked up to properly reprimand and deal with the criminals he may catch, his less than agreeable coworkers who had reservations about black people and what they should and shouldn’t be doing in America, but she was no criminal, there was no danger, and she decently wasn’t a racist pig. 

So why use it so flippantly?

Her mind felt foggy, but she knew not to ask.

“Say thank you.” He took a sip of his coffee. Imani watched him intently, confused in her sudden stupor, her eyes following the micro expressions on his face, his hand, soaking in the way the leather of his gloves creaked and strained as he moved. How his tongue darted to reach  the foam of  the latte that settled on the hairs of his upper lip, catching in his beard. 

“Thank. . . You.” She averted her gaze, ignoring how tightly her legs were pressed together. 

“Leave that girl alone.” Alex drawled, breaking the spell, “she’s trying to have a heartwarming vulnerable moment and you keep messing with her.”

John rolled his eyes. 

“And you need to take some notes, so you can learn to do the same instead of bottling everything up until you explode, motherfucker.” 

Imani winced and let out an “ooh.”

“You gon’ let them gang up on me like that?” He glanced at Elle in mock offense.

“He’s right though.” She took a conspicuous sip of her drink. 

“Don’t do him like that,” Imani fiddled with the hem or her sleeve, feeling normal and letting her hands out of the jacket, “everyone grieves differently.”

“Exactly,” Alex held out his hand in a fist, not putting it down until she bumped it, “unh, that’s what I’m talking about. We gotta stick together.” 

 “Stick together as what?” John smacked his teeth. 

“Dead partner club.” Alex said matter of factly. 

Imani nodded in agreement. 

“I grieve different.” She said in a partially nasally tone and pitched her voice lower. “Huh.” 

“What?” Elle looked at Imani as if she was being an embarrassment, again.

“None of y’all listen to Kendrick?” Imani shrugged back.

“Is that hat an artist of some kind? Is he one of the rappers you like to listen to?”

“Elle, do not play with me,” Imani bristled. Because they’ve been friends for how long? And she still wants to act  brand new whenever she brings up the goat.

“See, this is why Jannie thinks you’re old and I’m not.”

Alex bit back a laugh, but John let it fly, not having to worry.

Elle shook her head, not taking the bait because they were in mixed company, but if it was only the two of you, she would have definitely taken it there. 

“Anyways,” she said pointedly, “I need a favor.”

Imani laughed through her nose. 

“Shoot.” was all she said, Elle already knew she’d do anything for her. 

“I need you to accept your invitation to Jonesy’s  dinner party with me and—“

“Ugh,” Amani loudly scoffed and downed the rest of her drink. Grabbing her water and refusing to look up at Elle, “anything but that, Please.”

“It’s just for one night.” She urged, there will be lots of amazing people and you’ll even find more donors for your organization. It’ll be amazing event for networking.”

“Okay,” Imani frowned, “fine fine fine.” She kept saying until Elle stopped talking. “I don’t care. I’ll just go.”

This was more than a hopeful answer for her. Ellle softly squealed. 

“You’ll like this one. I promise.”

“Please don’t,” Imani scoffed into her drink, “I don’t want you to be known as a liar off something like that.”

“I think that’s our cue to go to work.” John downed the rest of his coffee and tapped Alex on the shoulder.

As Alex bundled back up and kissed Elle goodbye. 

Imani watched as John stood and fastened his coat. 

“Are you okay?” Elle brought her out of her daze. They were long gone and out the door but she was still looking out, “You seem out of it today?”

“Y-yeah,” Imani muttered into her glass of water, “just thinking about Deonte.” 

________

Fuck. Imani cursed to herself. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

She paced back and forth on the sidewalk. 

She hoped  her eyes weren’t too red. It was a bit ago and it took her a while to get here, so maybe it’ll wear off before dinner starts. She just needed to get over it by then. 

Her usual stuff was gone and she frantically kept calling her main guy until he was able to come through, but he had everything but what she usually buys from him. 

Going against her better judgment, she settled for what he had and it was way too strong and it felt way too different, and now everyone was going to know she was high and she’ll embarrass herself, and they’ll hate her forever. Then Elle wouldn’t  want to be her friend anymore, and her Dad will find out, and he’ll cut her out of his life and from the family forever. 

“Fuck!” She shouted into the night air, searching for some reprieve. 

“Mani?” 

“Oh,” she softened some at the sight of her friend, “hey.”

“Are you alright? I brought the gummies you left at my house.”

Oh right. 

She did ask for Elle to bring it. That’s where it was. 

But it was too late. She was already on some other stuff and she had to smoke it and worry that none of it stuck to her skin. 

“No, I’ll be alright without it, but thanks.” She took it and hid it in her purse, and that’s when she saw the little baggie of pills.

Fuck, she was screwed. 

In addition to T seeing her have a mini panic attack he have her the pills free of charge, insinuating she take them. 

“They’re real anxiety pills and shit. People use ‘em just to feel good, but you may want to see a Dr to actually get them prescribed. Let me know if you need something stronger or not as strong, and I’ll hook you up. Take care of yourself.”

Imani closed her purse. 

She’ll just wait until the weed wore off and she wasn’t high to take one, she might not even need it at that point. 

“Imani, let’s get out the cold and inside already.”

Huh?

Imani blinked. 

Alex and Elle were giving her odd looks at the door. 

“Sorry, I zoned out.”

She followed them. 

She needed to pull herself together. She’ll get busted at any point if she keeps this up.

“You guys made it!” Jonesy kissed her and Elle on the cheek. Alex held out a hand for him to shake, but Jonesy pushed his hand away, going straight for the hug. 

“Oh we know each other better than that, Alex.”

“Uh, yeah.” Alex patted Jonesy on the shoulder, politely putting an appropriate amount of space between them. 

“Your coats can go in this closet here.” Jonesy pointed, “Make yourselves comfortable. You all know your way around the place.” He flashed them with a smile and a slight wave, “I’ll let everyone know when dinner is ready.”

“WOW, you look gorgeous Imani!”

“Thank you.” Imani pretended to be flattered by the backhanded compliment. 

Since Deonte’s death she’s developed a nasty habit of wearing his clothes and adopting a lot of his personal style into hers. The extravagant more feminine outfits or even her own particular  style of streetwear was seen less and she wore more dickies and carhartt than anyone in her old circle  had ever seen in their life. 

“Are you planning on returning to the court anytime soon?”

“No, I left my tennis days behind me, I fear.” She chuckled lightly and moved on, making sure not to be rude.

Five more interactions and twice as many more comments about her long silky dress that hugged her curves and how the color complimented her skin, Imani felt like she had a little more control of her senses. A sense of herself had begun to return to her.

“Come here.” A velvety low voice resounded in Imani’s head, and a hand firmly grabbed her and dragged her into a half hallway half corner. 

Was that God? Some sort of Angel punishing her for everyone to see, making her an example of his divine punishment?

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Imani gasped  half a beat after he spoke, her eyes widening as she came face to face with John. 

He grabbed her face in one hand, his thumb and forefingers  slightly digging into her cheek as he moved her face up, down, and side to side. 

“Weed.” She managed to squeak through her squished lips. 

“You sure it’s just that?” He let her go, pulling up a little baggie in front of her face. 

“H-how did you?” 

“Don’t worry about that.’ He steeled. “Answer my question.”

Imani blinked, piecing together her thoughts to remember what the question was again. 

“I’m fi—“

“— no you’re not. Your friend asks you to come somewhere as a favor and you decide that’s the perfect time to get high.”

“That’s not it.” Imani hissed. “Let me answer.”

He held her gaze, but shut up. 

Good. 

“I smoke to take the edge off of being here, not to be out of it completely. Although sometimes, you do need to get that high.” She ignored the disapproval on his face and continued, “I left my usual stuff at Elle’s, so I made a quick irrational decision to take something  else, even though I knew it wasn’t going to go well because I refuse to be  here sober.”

“Doesn’t explain these pills.”

“They're back up—“

“They’re a crime.” Imani flinched at the bite in his voice. “I could arrest you just for having these. You already admitted they were yours.” 

“I just—“

“John, you made it!” Elle’s warm soft voice filtered out between them. 

“This is why we don’t bring you nowhere. Can’t show up anywhere on time. Don’t take your coat off and shit.” Alex shook his head, saying the last part lowly so no one around them could hear. 

John didn’t spare them any pleasantries and Imani must have looked as panicked as she felt, so much for being discreet. 

“What’s going on here?” Alex's expression fell, his brows drawing close and his mouth falling shut into a firm line to match John’s.

John silently flashed the bag of pills before stuffing them back in his pocket. 

“Your friend is high, out of her mind.”

“Is that why you said you didn’t need the gummies?” Elle turned to look her in the eye, but Imani turned, not wanting her to see the look on her face. But Elle stepped closer, gently grabbing her shoulders. 

Imani kept her gaze cast to the side. 

“Mani,” Elle whispered, “what did you do?”

“I called Tony and he didn't have what I wanted, so I had to take what he had and then he recommended these pills  he said  they was for anxiety or something like that because apparently he thinks I have it or that something’s wrong with me  and offered to be my unofficially psychiatrist or some  shit but then advised I see a real one if I took these and felt like they helped but I wasn’t going to take them unless the weed didn’t work which it isn’t so once it wears off I’m taking them but I can’t now because he took them so I—“

“Mani, breathe.” She sighed. 

 Imani hated that sound, and she  hated the look on her friends’ face even more. . 

“I’m sorry.” It spilled out of her mouth. “I just wanted to feel comfortable in my skin. I didn’t want to be here.  I just want. . . I hate how they look at me.”

“It’s okay, Imani.” With a tissue, she didn’t see her pull out her purse, Elle dabbed at the tears she wasn’t aware of, “let’s just get through tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” Imani urged, desperate to show her sincerity. . Her mind not letting her come up with anything more thought out, everything she was feeling felt messier and harder to describe. 

“I know, I know.”  Elle cupped both sides of Imani’s face and brought her forehead to hers. 

“Let’s talk tomorrow okay.” She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and Imani gave her one back on hers. “No excuses, Elle added.” A smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“If I have to hurt Jimmy to make time for you to be with me this week , don’t get mad at me for it.” Imani smiled back. 

“And I won’t.”

Imani nodded, for some reason feeling better.

John didn’t look like he approved any more or less, and Alex’s face seemed unreadable to her. 

“Can I have my drugs back?”

“No.” John said seriously without missing a beat.

Imani rushed to him and pulled at the front of his shirt. 

“You can keep the pills. I just need the other stuff that’s in there.”

If she remembered correctly, there might have been some shrooms and a bit of weed left.

He pried her hands off his chest.  

“Are you seriously asking a cop if you can have your illegal substances back?”

“No, I'm asking a cop if I can have the  legal substances back that happen to be in the bag with the illegal ones.”

“You mean you’re illegal ones.”

“Please.” She stepped into his personal space and rested  her chin on his chest, craning her neck up as she did so she could look him in the eye.”Please can I just have the mushrooms back?”

“Oh just the mushrooms?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Yes!” Imani leaned back from him. Happily grabbing at his arms as they rested at his sides. 

“Well I’m that case,” He started to move  his hand  and Imani immediately stepped back to accommodate him,” no.” He shrugged his coat off his shoulders and straightened his blazer on his body. 

“John, don't antagonize her.” Elle lightly chided.

Alex nodded in agreement. A hint of amusement in his eyes. “Elle’s right, don’t antagonize her John.”

Imani slumped forward, letting her cheek rest on his chest as she pouted.

“What are you doing?” John said, too exasperated to even let out a sigh, ignoring both  Alex and Elle.

 His display of emotion was a delightful anomaly to Imani. How could he look so upset but nonchalant at the same time? 

“I’m not moving until you give them back.” She huffed through her nose.

“Then I guess we better get comfortable.” He murmured in a low peeved voice, flooding her senses with its bass and depth. She could listen to him speak forever. 

“Mani, no.” Elle hissed. “Get off him.”

“He has my drug—“

Alex lowered himself so he was at her level and could get in her face. “Get. Up.” He said through gritted teeth, his tone sending a chill down her spine.  

Imani  rose to stand straight, but she was not happy about it. 

He didn’t  leave her any room. She tried to step past him, but he took one forceful step forward, backing her into John’s chest. 

“Act like you have some sense.” He pointed in her  face. 

“No one told you to do these drugs and no one told you to bring them here. Be grateful John, or me, isn't  arresting you in front of your friends and dragging  you out that door.”

“I—“

He  wordlessly gave her a look, daring her to speak and interrupt him.

Imani shut her mouth.

“If you’ll do what I say, then you’ll do what he says, do you understand me?”

Imani nodded silently, not wishing to provoke him further. 

He patted her cheek and then backed up to take his place by Elle’s side. 

“You aren’t my fucking Dad.” She muttered under her breath. 

“What was that?”

“I said you aren’t my—“ 

“Dinner is ready!” Jonesy popped around the corner with a smile. 

On instinct, Imani plastered a smile on her face and shifted her body language to something casual that suggested polite conversation. 

“Thank you, we’ll be right there.” She slightly bowed her head. 

“Oh,” Jonesy paused, his brows raising, “when did you and John get so close?”

Imani was no longer resting onto his chest, but she hadn’t removed herself from his personal space. While she would no longer lay on him as he stood, she settled for resting her hands on his lower half, close to his pockets. 

She’s been attempting to ease them in his pocket and take her drugs out, but he either smacks her hand away or grabs it before squeezing very tightly until tears pricked her eyes, so she just kept them there in case there was a small window he wouldn’t notice her hand slipping into his pocket again. 

“We haven’t.” Was all Imani said, her smile unwavering. 

Adding to her amusement, John stayed silent behind her. 

She watched out the corner of her eye, as he discretely moved the bag from his pants pocket to the one  inside his jacket. 

Fuck. 

There goes plan A.

“Everyone to their seats.” Jonesy declared loudly, his voice filling the room before scurrying off with a terribly concealed grin. 

Imani was very familiar with dinner parties at Jonesy’s house. He was a stickler for order and had a flair for presentation, decoration, and all things that went into being a great hostess.

One of those things he never budged on and will always obsess over to every minute detail, is the seating arrangement. 

Childish as hell to some, and by some, mostly her, the seats were often set by a system only he understood, something about the structure to set up the perfect flow of conversation, so they never lulled and no one was ever bored. 

Imani had the same seat around the same people each night, but not this time. 

She was by John, Imani and Alex at a completely different spot by the head of the table. 

The fuck?

They were practically at the end. 

When Imani brought Elle, they were placed closer to the head but not there directly. Imani would be on the left and Elle would be on her right. 

She peered down the table to glance at Alex and Elle once more. 

He was on her right. 

Imani’s brain struggled to put the pieces together.

“Imani,” a blond woman who had a clearly younger and equally  blonde man stuck to her side. He fawned over her every movement, but the hollow glint in his eyes was off putting.

 A forced  display of desire? Or was he really that bad at hiding how much he hated the woman who was undoubtedly paying him to be here? “I heard you were investing in restaurants? What a cute adventure.”

“Not investing,” Imani took a careful sniff of her green beans before taking a bite, the accent of almonds in some type of balsamic glaze? Went really well together, a perfect way of combining flavor and texture, but the green beans were undercooked, making the dish crunch unpleasantly in her mouth, “I own a cafe and I’m slowly making my debut into the fine dining community here in DC. There’s this chef– Jimmy Raines, who reached out after visiting my cafe and trying one of my pastries. He—“

“So it’s true?” She smiled thinly, smirking, “you’re actually making food in these places? You aren’t just investing?”

“Well I, for one,  think it’s wonderful,” a brown skinned gentleman next to her interrupted, “Imani is truly exemplifying how she's the best of us each and everyday, and if she figured out a way to get income from her hobbies, then I say brava.” 

Imani gave Sharvesh a quick smile of thanks, but turned her attention back towards her plate. 

There was the option of Chicken or Pork Chop, and she went for both. 

The chicken was perfect, but the porkchop was dry, even more so  disappointing, they both were seasoned the same. The flavours were not too compelling, not even in a garlic powder onion powder way of simple and good, Only salt and pepper, but they weren’t that high quality in cuts that warranted such a simple flavor palette. 

They at least could have been basted or crusted in some type of herbs. 

The only good thing had to be the potatoes.

Fondant, to be exact. 

She made a mental note to ask Jimmy to teach her how to make them. 

“May you pass the potatoes down, please?” She had to have more, her stomach felt like it opened a portal and transformed into a bottomless pit that would never get full. 

Before she could put her fork down and take the platter, John had already reached for it, his arm more than long enough to reach over for it before she could. 

Wordlessly, he puts some on her plate for her before adding some more to his owne, 

Imani thanks him softly, and digs in, not wasting any time. 

“Can I have them back now?” Imani leaned towards him to whisper in his ear. 

“If you behave.” Was all he said in between bites of his food. 

Sighing, she takes another bite of her chicken. 

Sharvesh directs his attention towards her, ready to say or ask something else, as he takes the platter back, but John interrupts him. 

“You mind passing the chicken down here too?”

“Of course.” His shoulders drop some, but he complies, recovering with a quick smile. 

They were going dish per dish, plate for plate. If he wanted something, she also wanted that something and vice versa.

Dessert was atrocious and she couldn’t fight the indignant sound that came out of her mouth. 

It was some type of… peach cobbler inspired thing. . . Shaped cylinder made up of layers. The peaches were clearly canned, insipid, and flavorless, overwhelmingly covered in fructose. The layer of crust was dry and it fell apart in the mouth in the worst possible way. The only good thing  about it was the scoop of ice cream on the side. A terrible choice for the presentation, but at least something about it was edible. 

“Can I have your ice cream?” Imani said a little too loudly. The disgust in her voice is clear and easy to pick out  in her semi inebriated state. 

Imani was seconds away from loudly complaining, before John pinched her side faster than she could speak. 

John leaned towards her, and dropped his voice. “This is not behaving.” he hushly growled in her ear with more bite than she could physically comprehend. He wouldn't dare openly glare at her, but the threat in his voice made up for what his face could not.

She swallowed, ignoring the chill that ran down her side and the knot of warmth that quickly raced through her lower belly. 

Imani flinched away from him. Unable to fight the fear that he might do. . . Something. 

The look on his face and tone of his voice made her think of a look she remembered a mother giving her child in public one time. 

Apparently, she is acting out. 

“How was dinner? It was nice wasn’t it?” Elle questioned as they stood around once more for cocktails. 

“Don't ask a question and not give someone a chance to answer.” Imani scolded into her cup without looking up. “And then don't give your answer first.” 

“Well someone’s clearly sober.” Ellle half singed in a soft voice. “How do you feel?”

Imnai frowned, pondering.

“Upset. . . but not like, disappointed.” She licked her lips. It would be mean to say it out loud , but she couldn't fight the nagging voice in the back of her head. The thought of saying it, seeing her say it, and all the possible reactions of the words once she said them, were starting to become its own beast. The thought of not saying it at all begins to eat away at her and she now has to say it.

“Upset. . .dinner was, well it wasn’t terrible but it could have been better.”

“You and John practically ate half of everything?” Alex’s brows drew together.

“That was mostly potatoes and the. . “ She turned towards John who was scarfing down one of the “dessert cocktails, “what was the vegan dish?”

“Red pepper chickpea souffle’.”

“Hot hummus.” Imani nodded matter of factly.

“Definitely sober.” Elle said with a shake of her head and a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Alex interrupted, looking concerned, “are we just okay with Imani being rude as hell for no reason.”

Imani’s face felt like a child’s would if they’re parents told them no after they asked for ice cream. Her cheeks puffing in another pout.

“It's not on purpose.”

“She was raised to be emotionally unavailable and is learning to express herself emotionally.”

“Elle!” Imani said shortly in warning.

“She left her feelings wheel at home.”

Imani opened her mouth to defend herself, but quickly closed it in realization.

Elle was doing this on purpose. Why? 

“Ain't nothing wrong with trying to better yourself.” John interrupted out of nowhere. “The right way is always better than self medication.” he tossed his drink on the nearest tray as it went by. “But what do I know? It's not like I got a degree in psychology or anything  fancy like that.

“Nigga, done read two books sand thinks he knows something.”

Imani laughed, rolling her eyes.

They said their goodbyes and grabbed their coats, shuffling back out into the chill of the night air.

“Mani!” Elle called out.

She turned, the wind whipped at her face. The snowflakes falling into her lashes slightly obscured her vision,“Yeah?!” She called back.

“John’s taking you home.”

And he did.

“There are more things than drugs that can take the edge off” he was so close, his words rumbled against Imani’s face, pulling at something within her  and making her pussy throb. 

Her tongue felt thick as she licked her lips. 

“Like what?”

Like what included Imani’s bare  back to his still dressed chest, watching his leather clad fingers rub torturously slow firm  strokes against her clit. 

“Please. . . “ she whimpered, throwing her head back into his chest, her smooth bare  legs shamelessly spreading wider, straining against his pant legs. 

She attempted to grab his offending hand with hers to do something, anything, but he stopped her, restraining  her hands against her chest in a tight grip.

“I’m so close.” She tried again with a sniffle. His deft fingers found a way to circle the sensitive nub of her clit even slower, before sliding off down her lips and into the wet center of her pussy. He curled his fingers in an equally slow pace, fueling her desire and bringing her back to the edge. Driving her insane, but nowhere near what she wanted. 

“Look at you,” he trailed firm sloppy kisses down her neck before coming back up. Imani Relished the feeling of his lips. Craning her head back into his chest so he could trail them along her jaw. 

He pulled his fingers out of her pussy to hold her chin back, her arousal pooling between them on the bed and what was left of it on his fingers trickled down her face as his lips locked onto hers in a backwards upside down kiss. 

She keened into his mouth as he wantonly pushed his tongue past her lips to slide his tongue against hers. 

“I wonder what sound you’ll make after you taste yourself on my tongue.” He added another finger and started sliding them in and out of her at a faster pace. 

“Oh,” she softly let out. 

He brought his other hand to her clit, letting go of his cruel grip on her hands. 

She immediately brought them to his arms, squeezing tightly at his sleeves, but she wouldn’t dare stop him, not while she felt so good. 

His finger glided across her clit at a steady cruel pace. With each stroke of leather against her puffy nub she gushed around his other fingers that slid in and out  of her pussy. His thick long fingers were filling her up. 

“Look at you,” his voice was hot  and low as it brushed against her ear,  “all that talk, but you do just what I want you to.”

“Please,” she strains, somehow straining her legs wider. He responds by curling his finger into her, digging her out and hitting a spot she didn’t know was there. Her hips chased the movent, and he didn’t stop her, letting her fuck herself onto his hands.

“And you ask so sweetly” his rich dulcet tone was a song in her ear she didn’t want to end. She’d let it get stuck in her head forever. 

“You wanna cum for me?” He added another finger not waiting for her to respond. 

Imani mewled, blinking away a stream of tears as they stung her eyes. 

His words pulled at something within her. The desire had her body ablaze, but his request was adding a foreign feeling into the mix. Tinging her desire with another burning emotion that electrified her nerves and filled her with something akin to bashfulness or fear, but it was a fear colored with an excitement for more that she would never admit, unless  he made her, and something told her he could. 

He pushed down on her clit. 

She cried out against the movement, her hips jolting foward in shock, but pressing against his hands just as much, increasing the impending pressure, causing her to leak onto the hand that was sliding in and out of her. 

“Cum for me.” 

And she did. 

Her legs jolted and tensed, as she spilled into his gloved hand. 

Before she could let out any moan, he snaked his head around her to swallow any and every sound in a kiss, his beard danced against her cheeks as he did. The slide of his tongue on her matched the movements of his hand buried in her pussy as he buried them inside her, coaxing  her through her orgasm.. 

Once over, he eased from behind her. 

Imani layed back onto her sheets with parted lips. Watching with hooded eyes as John stood over her. 

She swallows the lump in her throat as she watches him enveloped his own gloved fingers  past his lips, lapping as much of you as he could off them. 

When he slid his hand out his mouth, something in his face changed, making her body flush with even more heat. The thin sheen of sweat  on her body started to burn, unable to catch up with her ever flowing desire and the man who caused it. 

He tugged roughly  at  his gloves and threw  them on her nightstand. 

Her hips dipped in the bed as she watched him unbutton his shirt, revealing the expense of flushed dark brown skin overflowing with a warm undertow of gold. 

She pant for  more, her tongue threatening to lathe out her mouth at the sight.

She needed her mouth on his skin. 

The smirk he gave her as he shoved himself out of his pants sent a jolt through her body. 

“Keep those legs open. I want to taste you.”

And taste her he did. 

Imani shoved at his head as much as she could, pushing with all her might, but he ignored her and latched his mouth on her more firmly, sucking hard at her clit. 

His bare hands felt even better, but she couldn’t take it. 

Her lips were sore and puffy and her clit was aching. 

Each push and pull of his finger inside of her brought another tear to her eye, and his mouth on her clit only made her keen and whine at the pain, but her pussy had other thoughts. 

What she registered as pain and too much, her body only felt an override of pleasure. 

Her legs strained open, pathetically begging for more and giving him easy access. She gushed and flooded his tongue with each cry, whine, and whimper. 

“Please, please, please. . .” Was all her brain would let her say through her cries of ecstasy and tears. 

“I’m giving you all I got baby,” he added a third finger, his voice against her puffy pussy making her squeeze each and every one of them, unbearably filling her up more than her mind could comprehend, “what more do you want.” 

He switcher from sucking on her clit to lathing it with his tongue. Swiping with slow firm movements. Her hips follows each one. With his tongue hitting her clit just right, his fingers stuffed snuggly inside her, and his beard scratching oh so pleasantly at her sensitive overstimulated skin, she came again without warning, 

He hummed against her, making the feeling that much more euphoric and that much more unbearable. 

He pulled his fingers out of her. As they slid out, they were followed by a hot sticky stream of her arousal. 

“You’re so creamy.” He kissed her inner thigh, smearing the mess she was making further along her body, 

He pushed his tongue in her, his beard scratching overwhelmingly at her pussy. Wet, sloppy sounds and matching slurps filled the room as he continued to eat her out. 

Imani clutched the back of his head, pulling at his hair. She’d had enough. She couldn’t take anymore and she needed to put a stop to him now or else he’d kill her. . She’d be surprised  if her knuckles weren’t raw and split in the morning from how hard she was pulling, but it only encouraged him, 

He moaned into her, making her whimper and lose her grip,

“Please. . “

She didn’t realize it until he was looking at her through her legs that she had came again. 

He looked half crazed. A hunger so deep and intense, she had to avert her gaze, but her eyes were  back on him once he made his ascent towards her. Without looking away, he crawled over her body. 

“Come here.” He said like velvet, leaning down, he trapped her in a hard kiss. Haunting her senses and  pushing against her further, swiping against her mouth more intently than he had the entire night. 

“Mmh,” she whimpered in between kisses. They were soft and keening. 

When she had made one particularly drawn out mewl his hips pushed against hers, causing his dick to smear precum against her lower belly. 

 “Mmmmm.” He broke the kiss in satisfaction. “Keep that up.”

He moved her to her side, putting one  of her legs around his waist as he settled behind her on his side. 

“You ready?” He smirked against her ear, kissing her right below it. His breath was hot. 

She shook her head into the sheets, straining her eyes shut in worry. 

If he wasn’t holding her, she’d collapse into the bed, and her pussy was worn out and tired. 

“Oh, you can take it. Don’t be like that.” The gentleness of his voice was in contradiction with the cruel way he rubbed his dick through her folds. Holding one hand at the base, he meticulously and cruelly swayed it from side to side before smacking it against her pussy and then repeating the action. 

“Mhm,”  she  whined in protest, “stop.”

“See, “ he ignored her, "you can,” he pushed inside of her without warning, “take it.”

Imani couldn’t remember the last time she felt so full. She couldn’t  remember the last time she wanted someone to fill her up. He was opening up a desire she forgot she had. 

He started with slow languid thrusts. 

“Damn, baby.” He moaned in her ear. “Damn—“

She clenched around him, making him swear. 

He thrust into her harder and she keened, her walks opening back around him.

“Just like that, keep taking it,” he graveled in her ear, “you take me so well.”

Imani mewled, squeezing tight against him once more. 

His hips snapped harder, pushing through how tight her pussy was holding onto him. 

“Fuck. . .” She moaned softly. 

His hot chuckle danced on her skin as she swore for the first time tonight. 

“You like that baby.” 

She let out a drawn out moan.

“You like when I tell you how good you're doing? Like when I tell you how good you take this big fat dick? That you let me fill you up like this? Dig you out?”

He licked his lips before kissing along her neck. 

His beard rubbed deliciously against her skin, the satisfying scratch heightening her senses. 

She let out a long string of incoherent noises, unable to talk back. 

He smirked into her  neck as he pushed her onto her belly, snapping his hips into hers at a grueling pace, her walks desperate to keep as much of him inside as they could. 

Without wanting, she snaked her hand around to grab his head and pull him closer.

“John.” She moaned.

His duck jumped inside her. 

“John.” She called out again. Her voice was soft and strained with need. 

A need for him. 

John had plenty of women who wanted him, who threw themselves at him, and sometimes it was women he may have wanted just as much, but he can’t call how many of them needed him. Not like this. Not this much. 

That wasn’t his style. That’s not who he was. That’s not how he got the name Two-John.

But tonight, he’d let himself be needed. 

But only for a moment. 

Mustering up the last of his strength, he thrusts into her harder, faster. 

She went limp under him. Her hand slipped out of his  hair and beside her head. Not taking any chances, he grabs her hands and refrains them above her head. Her pussy throbs around him and he makes a mental note of that. 

She whimpers, keens, and mewls, and shuts up.

Freeing him of thoughts of being needed. 

“You like it rough too?” He slowed down, thrusting as hard as he could with each stroke, letting her feel every inch from tip to base.

“Cum on this dick baby. Cum for me.” 

He enveloped her neck with his teeth, biting hard. She moaned  into his mouth and he moaned as he felt it vibrate in his lips. 

By some unforeseen power, she did. Imani came just when he told her too. 

She squirmed in his mouth. But as his hips slowly moved her through her orgasm as he also came down from his, she attempted to move her neck but he wrapped his hand around her throat as he bit her again,  squeezing firmly. His other hand grabbed at her hands, leaving her at his mercy. 

He let go of her neck, lapping at the intentions of his teeth before moving to her collar.

As her pussy painfully throbbed, snd the sting on her neck followed suit, an odd sensation like she was being punished washed over her as she settled down.

“John.” She called out again.

It seemed to pull him out of his trance. 

However, he didn’t move his mouth off of her without one final clench of his teeth. She whined, shuffling against his grip and the feeling of his dick softening and the condom inside her.

He peeled himself off her.

Imani felt an odd sense of Deja vu as she watched him with hooded eyes as he moved above her once more that night. 

His chest rising and falling heavily under a thick sheen of sweat. 

She had had one to match, her skin sticky as well, but she was so exhausted her lungs failed to rise and fall in her exertion. She only pant silently into the air. 

John was going to tell her he should go. 

Grab his clothes and make an exit.

But he couldn’t stare himself from her gaze. Those big brown eyes and puffy round cheeks, tugs at something within him he thought he buried  long ago, but if it did occasionally  come out it’s grave, he knew how to fight it back down into the pit where it belonged, but it wasn’t until now, after he came, did he realize he fucked up. 

“You got a bathroom?” He needs to focus on something. Focus on a task until he could find a way to leave you. 

“Other side.”

Her artsy open plan loft was off putting. 

There were no hallway walls. Every room bled into the other except for  the one extra room downstairs and the bathroom. 

He’s confident the single room above that looked over every  size of the loft, that also had no surrounding walls, was your bed. 

He grunted once he finally found the bathroom and the lined closet. Running warm water over it he made his way back. 

There were plants galore, art and other knick knacks  littered everywhere in an organized mess. An island? Oversized bar cart? Whatever it wasproudly displays an espresso machine and equipment and tools he didn't understand. 

If it’s a bar cart, it’s a waste to not have  a proper alcohol display, but to each their own. 

“If that’s your room upstairs than this is—“

“Yeah it’s Deonte’s room.” She interrupted him, fidgeting as he cleaned her up. He tried to look into her eyes and gauge where her head was at, but she kept averting her gaze. 

“Can we not talk about it?” The softness of her plea startled him. 

Reminiscent of a tone he’s heard Elle use ever so often with Alex, but not as headstrong or demanding. It was insecure, panicked, and vulnerable. 

He nodded, wordlessly climbing into bed. 

He froze as she instantly moved against him, cuddling into his side and wrapping an arm around his waist as he laid on his back. She snuggled up against him as if she belonged there, and for half a second, it felt that way. 

Unable to find an excuse, he stayed.

But as she  drifts to sleep, he keeps thinking what exactly he got himself into. 

Fucking a woman in her dead exes bed, a woman who hadn’t had sex with anyone since his death three to four years ago, sharing a moment he knew was just sex, but what did she think it was? 

But he remembers her other suitors.

 The way Elle complains when she blows off or intentionally ruins the dates she sets Imani up with.

How Elle makes side comments whenever she brushes off a guy who hits on her and asks for her number, and he settles, drifting into a sleep as deep as hers because if anyone wanted a relationship less than he did, it would be Imani Louds. 

He was sure of it. 

.

.

.

.

taglist: @megamindsecretlair @nerdieforpedro @blackpinup22 @kindofaintrovert @notapradagurl7 @unknownpinner @jedinightsister @m1sk1n3

@kemkem101 @savvysav1 @professionalm1sandrist

@bbyxgall @blackpinup22 @sweettea-and-honeybutter

@brattyfics @blowmymbackout @cherrypoppers1

if you notice any errors, please let me know. My brain hurts and i have no beta readers.

[oneforthemunny]

star girl |dom!eddie munson x sub!reader|

prompt: eddie doesn't decorate. you gift him a small tree to try and get him into the christmas spirit. he decides he'll decorate it, with his own personal decorations. thank you @wheels-of-despair for this iconic idea

apart of the twelve days of christmas with dom!eddie series that you can read here!

contains: smut minors dni 18+. dom/sub themes. dirty photos. oral fem receiving. male masturbation (eddie jacks off). cum play-ish???? taking nudes and dirty pictures lol (on a polaroid).

“You know,” You purr, pushing up on your forearms, the worn comforter slipping over your naked frame. 

Eddie’s eyes lingered momentarily on your chest, half-lidded blinks through the smoky, hazy air, one arm behind his head to prop himself up while he smoked the joint. A soft grunt rumbling out of his chest, offering you the burning joint between his fingers. 

You shook your head, holding the comforter to your chest, sitting back on your knees. “I think,” You twisted your lips gently, looking around the familiar room of the trailer- the same as it always was through every season. “That a little teeny tiny tree in here would really make the place festive.” 

Eddie huffed, eyes rolling into his head in annoyance. He felt blindly for the ashtray on his bedside, bumming the joint and flicking it into the pile for later. “No. How many times do I gotta say it?” He muttered. “You got every other room in the house.” 

“It won’t be a lot.” You countered, eyes rounding sweetly towards him. “I swear, just a tree. Please? Let me just put up a tree. A small one, like this big.” You held your hands up, motioning at the smallness of the tree- one you may have already bought. That may be in your trunk. 

“Why does it matter?” Eddie huffed in annoyance. 

“Because I want it.” You pouted, bottom lip puckered in just the right way to have him flushing. “And you love me, and want me to have what I want.”

Eddie scoffed, shaking his head, but you didn’t miss the blush rising up on his chest. “Right. If it’s what you want, then you should get it, right?” He snided sarcastically. 

You ignored it, hand slipping off your chest, letting the comforter slide with it, down the slopes of your breasts. Eddie’s eyes followed, like clockwork, as the blanket fell further and further. “You can decorate it however you want.” You thrummed seductively, low and gravelly, lashes batting his way. “I’ll help you if you want.” The blanket fell, sliding down your sternum, nipples hardening at the cool air of the room. 

Eddie blinked, eyes going vacant, mindless with your tits sitting in front of him. You weren’t playing fair, you knew exactly what you were doing. Eddie had half a mind to tell you that, maybe bust out the clamps and use them on you for trying to manipulate him this way. 

Instead, he let you ride him, boobs bouncing with every gallop of your hips, his hands grabbing and squeezing them, hard enough to have you squealing. 

The next day, the tiny tree had taken up residence on his dresser. Pushed to a corner, one he begrudgingly cleared, bare and smushed from storage. Eddie glared at it while he smoked, the way it mocked him just sitting there. A reminder of the most wonderful time of the year, or whatever the fuck it was. 

“I have extra ornaments, if you want to decorate it with them.” You had offered, but Eddie refused. He wouldn’t decorate it, not unless he got a really good idea- unless he could decorate it his way. 

The idea came when he was jacking off. 

Palming himself on the couch, watching MTV, Eddie’s cock was twitching, creeping to life with arousal with every twirl Paula Abdul gave on the screen. He was glad you weren’t here, you’d smack him and scream at him for staring. Eddie paused for a moment, pulling his hand out of his pants and walking to his bedroom, snagging the bottle of Jergens out of the bathroom.

“Where the fuck did I- ah!” Eddie grinned, pushing through his clothes hanging in the closet for his Rebok shoe box, old and torn at the corners but it held his prized possessions. “There you are.” Eddie muttered, flipping the cardboard lid open easily. 

Inside, dozens of polaroids scattered inside, all of you. You tied up, cum shots of your face or your ass or your pussy, all the things you’d tried- clamps, plugs, paddle marks, wax, the gag. Eddie laid them out carefully, his own little collection of naughty photos all for him. 

Eddie crawled the length of the bed, reaching for his favorite, a teary eyed photo of you on your knees, tongue out for Eddie’s cock, a faint peek of your red ass sticking out behind you.

Sweatpants shimmied off his waist, kicked with his boxers to the far side of the room, Eddie propped himself against the headboard, hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself slowly. 

He could remember the day he took the photo, after a concert at the Hideout. You had worn a leather corset, teased Eddie all day with it until he couldn’t take it any longer. He’d gotten you home, really played with you until you were sobbing, begging him to fuck you. 

His hand jerked his length faster and faster, a low groan caught in his throat, head tipping back. He could hear you, hear your whiny, little voice begging him to fuck you. “Please, I’ll be so good. So good, Eddie, please. I need it. Need you.” 

“Fuck, I know you will.” Eddie groaned into the quiet of the room, a straggled whimper creeping out. He tried to imagine it was you making him feel this good, not his own hand. He had never missed you more. 

Eddie knew his own orgasm was close, belly tightening with that feverish heat coursing through his body, his hand pumping himself faster and faster. A half lidded gaze cast on the photo of you, memories playing behind his eyes like his favorite film, hips jerking, small grunts and whines of pleasure until he was spilling over himself. 

Eddie’s chest heaved, hot and clammy, his release on his hand, some spilled on the base of himself. Vision blurred lightly, focusing gently back to normal from that post-orgasm haze. His eyes landed on it. The tree, perched right in front of him, bristling him with annoyance, killing his post-bliss euphoric feeling. 

A tattooed hand snatched his underwear, discarded on the floor, wiping himself off half-heartedly. He made sure to put his soiled underwear in the hamper- knowing you’d huff at him if he didn’t- snatching his sweatpants back off the ground. The Polaroid of you slightly creased in the corner from his grasp, he opened the box, setting it neatly inside until an idea crashed over him. 

The idea. 

Call it post-orgasm clarity, Eddie would call it genius, but his lips curled, a positively smug grin that felt like The Grinch’s snarly smile from the cartoon. 

Eddie grabbed the box, lying it out on the kitchen table, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips while he worked. Hot glue gun dripping onto the already scratched wood, tiny ornament hooks, and ribbons. Eddie knew exactly how he wanted to decorate. 

“What is this?” 

Eddie smirked, the quip in your tone, a ghosting of a scoff; he knew you saw it. His creation. 

“What, baby?” Eddie hummed coyly, slipping into the bedroom behind you. You stood in front of the dresser, carefully looking at each of the ‘ornaments’ he added to the tree, your face flushing with each one you saw. 

You turned, a brow furrowed at him, nodding towards the tree. “Oh, I decorated.” Eddie said simply, a tiny shrug of his shoulders. “Thought that was what you wanted.” 

“You decorated.” You blinked. “With… these?” Your fingers brushed over one of the Polaroids that captured your legs spread, cunt dripping with his release onto the sheets below you. 

“Yeah, why not?” Eddie shrugged so nonchalantly cool it made you shiver. His arms circled your waist, nose nuzzling into the soft skin of your flushed cheek. “You said I could decorate it however I want, and if it’s gotta be in my room, I want it covered with my favorite things.” He muttered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss against it. 

“Hm,” You hum, leaning into his touch. His groin rubbed against your ass, sporting a semi that had you snorting lightly. “Well, as long as you like it, I like it. Very festive, baby.” 

“Yeah, I thought so.” Eddie purred, lips ghosting over your cheek, sliding down to your jaw. “Need one more though. Somethin’ special for the star.” 

“Oh?” You squeaked, a shuddering breath caught in your throat. Eddie’s lips kissed down your jawline, teeth grazing over the spot under your ear that had your knees buckling. 

“Mm-hmm, want it to be a good one.” Eddie rasped, hands sliding down your hips, up your tummy towards your breasts. “Think we can take one? One good one for the star?” 

Your eyes fluttered open, whining behind closed lips. Eddie’s hands squeezing your boobs through your shirt, lips pressing sloppy kisses down your neck. You found the camera on the dresser easily, propped on the edge and ready for use. 

“What kinda picture?” You pressed, hips wiggling back against his groin, head tilting for better access, his lips trailing down your neck. 

Eddie’s hand grip at the small of your waist, walking you back towards the bed. Hands fumbling over each other, brushing touches and shoving of your clothes, tearing them off the other until they were a pile beneath you. 

“How do you want me?” You asked, a raspy whisper that had Eddie’s cock lurching, tip leaking with his own excitement. Your hand grabbing at his arms, his shoulders, his back, pulling him closer and closer to you 

“Get on all fours for me, baby.” Eddie growled, a sharp squeeze to your ass that had you squealing, scrambling to the disheveled bed, crawling until you were in a table top position. 

Eddie grinned, swiping the camera off the bed, checking the film. “Look back at me. Yeah, fuuuck yes, baby just like that.” He groaned, holding the camera to his eye, looking at you through the tiny hole. Your chin hooked over your shoulder, ass high in the air, arched and presented so he could see every single inch of you. 

The flash stunned you, blinking even though you were expecting it. “That’s the star?” You asked, brow lifted in question. “Thought you’d want something better than that.” 

“Oh, that’s not the star.” Eddie smirked, shaking the Polaroid. “This one’s just for me, sweetheart. You just look pretty. Wanted it all for myself.” 

You blush, heat spreading from the tip of your ears, to the tingling euphoric rush in your toes. “Ed,” You huffed. “Please, can you- can you hurry up?” 

Eddie’s brow raised, challenging- warning. “I said please,” You pout, that nasally pinch to your tone reserved just for him at times like this. His weakness. 

“I heard you.” Eddie rolled his eyes, tossing the camera beside him, grabbing you by the small of your waist, yanking you back towards him. “Stick that ass out f’me. You know how I want you.” A sharp smack to your ass had you squealing, Eddie’s jaw flexing at the sound, silencing the groan that threatened to spill from his throat. 

Your back arched, sinking your lower half down so your ass raised higher, cheek pressed to the mattress. Eddie stroked himself, eyes trained on your puffy lips. “You ready for me?” Eddie rasped, calloused hands gripping the fatty flesh of your ass, spreading your open wide. 

“Mmhmm,” You squirmed, hands gripping the sheets, arching further and further. 

Eddie’s right hand left your ass, fingers swiping over your sopping folds. The gasp you gave was music to his ears, a heavenly sound, light and airy- it made his heart race, cheeks flushed with rushing excited heat. It wasn’t what you expected, not in this position anyways. 

“You excited, hm?” Eddie grinned, voice rising to that taunting tone that had you clenching around his fingers pumping slowly in and out of you. “You like the idea of me takin’ photos of you like this, don’t you? Dirty girl.” 

“Yeah,” You breathed lightly, eyes pinching closed in pleasure. “That feels good, Ed.” 

“Does it?” Eddie hummed, pulling his fingers out slowly. You raised, a breathy whine of protest filling the room, Eddie’s hand on your spine pressing you down before you could continue. 

His hand found his shaft again, sinking to his knees on the mattress behind you, spreading your arousal easily over his length, tongue sliding over his bottom lip then it was on you. Tongue flattening, licking a long strip from the very top of your cunt, gliding through your folds, stopping to circle over your sopping hole. 

You gasped, a sharp breath of a grunt, hips bucking out of place at the feeling. You were expecting Eddie’s cock, for him to rail you, pin your arms to the small of your back and fuck you into the mattress. 

Eddie’s nose traced over your drenched entrance, lips curling and suckling around your clit, his free hand jacking himself. His hand would brush over your skin with every hard stroke, leaving you shuddering in its wake. 

“Ed,” You panted, face pressed into the mattress to try and keep your pathetic whines and cries in. “Please, whatever you’re doing just- ohmyfuckin’god- don’t stop.” 

Eddie groaned, vibrations sending shock waves straight to your core, hips rocking back towards his face as best as you could in the awkwardly bent position, folded in two practically so he could devour you. He stroked himself harder, faster with every whimper and whine that fell from your lips. 

He knew that you were close, the way your toes curled, hips jolting with every hollowed cheek suckle of his lips on your clit. He could feel his own high coming, slowing his strokes to time his release. Eddie wanted you to cum first- wanted that dazed, glassy eyed tinge in your eyes, when you looked positively picture perfect. 

And he got his money shot. That tree topping, perfect picture, better than what he could have imagined. Your cheeks glowing, teary eyes rounded, looking up perfectly at him with your tongue out, collecting every drop of his release while Eddie grunted out babbling praises that left you flushing with heat. 

“That’s the one.” Eddie grinned, chest still shining with a sheen of sweat, a pink flush down his tattooed torso. He flicked the Polaroid in his hand a few more times, grinning proudly at the photo, his own masterpiece. 

“That’s it?” You hummed, head rushing with that post-orgasm gooey feeling that had your heart swelling, cheek pressed to Eddie’s pillow. It smelled like him- citrusy Gain detergent, faint spicy cologne that was muted in the second hand transfer to the cotton, and his tea tree shampoo. You pressed your face further into the cotton, hands sneaking under the pillow, peeking out at Eddie from your place on the bed. 

“This is the one, babe.” Eddie nodded, rummaging through the small box of ornaments for what he was looking for, a cheap, plastic star. “This is a star worthy photo.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” You giggle. “Glad I could make your vision come true.” 

Eddie smirked, adjusting the star so it sat perched on top of the tree, the Polaroid taped to it. He stepped back, hands on his hips, admiring his own handiwork. You sitting back on your thighs, love drunk look in your eyes, tongue out showing off his release proudly, a tiny sliver of his tip in the bottom corner of the shot. 

His picture perfect star. The only thing he wanted on top of his tree. 

[i-dared-myself]

The Look

Minho x reader x Jisung

In which Jisung convinces you to do something stupid

18+

When Jisung gave you that look, you knew you wouldn’t last long. It was the wide-eyed, puffy-cheeked, begging-smile kind of look.

“What?” you tiredly ask. You put your phone down on the couch to give him your full attention.

“Minho isn’t here…” Jisung shrewdly says, raising an eyebrow. His eyes glint mischief. 

“Yeah? And?” You stare at your boyfriend, waiting for whatever terrible idea he was about to throw your way.

“And we should have a little fun.” Jisung giggles quietly and straddles your lap. He grabs the collar of your shirt with his hands, fingers digging in.

“You know Minho’s rules…” It’s pathetic how quickly you can feel your walls breaking down. “He’ll be mad.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” Jisung grins before covering your mouth with his. You give in after about a millisecond, meeting him with an enthusiastic kiss.

“We really shouldn’t…” you say as Jisung pushes you down to the couch. He laughs again before kissing you.

Jisung begins to unbutton his pants. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

You wiggle out of your pants, kicking them to the side. “Okay, fine, but make it quick.”

“You’re wet already,” he remarks as he looks down between your legs. “Why?”

Heat rises to your face. “I might have known you would do this.”

Jisung acts shocked as he presses into you, stretching you out just right. “Am I that predictable?”

“Maybe.” You kiss his knuckles as he gently rocks in and out of you. 

Jisung giggles again as he places his hands on either side of your head for leverage. “Ooh, Minho’s gonna be mad.”

“He’s not going to know,” you remind him, even though you flutter around him. Jisung moans and his thrusts stutter. “He won’t know.”

Jisung bites his lower lip, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yeah, about that…”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

You hear the front door slam open. There’s a dull thud that you recognize as Minho dropping his bag, and then footsteps.

“Oh, shit.” You shove Jisung away and reach for your discarded clothes, hastily tugging them back on. Jisung mimics you, straightening his hair hastily.

You grab your phone and leap back onto the couch just as the door swings open.

“Hey, baby,” you greet, resting your head on Jisung’s shoulder. “How was your day?”

Minho eyes you suspiciously, crossing his arms. “Good. What have you two been up to?”

“Nothing,” Jisung innocently answers. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “Just hanging out.”

Minho hums and steps closer. “Right. Jisung, baby, take your cock out.”

Jisung swallows, pupils dilated. You inwardly curse him.

“Why?” Jisung stretches his legs out and points his toes. He nudges your leg with his sock. “I don’t think he trusts us.”

“Jisung,” Minho warns, patience clearly running out. 

Jisung rolls his eyes, but stands and rolls his pants down to his ankles. He arches an eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Happy? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to-“

Minho wraps his hand around Jisung’s cock, stroking once. “Why’s it wet, baby?”

Jisung’s mouth parts and he whimpers as Minho’s hand twists. “I- I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Minho repeats. He glances to you, lips pressed together tightly. “Do you know why?”

You have two options. Either go down with Jisung, even though this whole thing was his idea, or…

“He was touching himself,” you respond. You ignore Jisung’s gasp of betrayal and continue, “He spat on his hand and then-“

“Thank you, baby.” Minho sits on the couch and pats his lap. “Come here.”

You perch yourself on him, casting a smug look back at Jisung. He sticks his tongue out at you before Minho ‘tsk’s.

“What was that for?” Minho questions, rubbing circles on the skin at your hips. His fingers slip beneath your clothes to do so.

“I fucked her,” Jisung announces. You glowere at him furiously. “We had sex without your permission and she loved it. It was all her idea, too.”

Minho’s grip tightens.

“I tried to tell her not to, but I can’t stop her.” Jisung falls to his knees and shuffled closer to pout up at Minho. “You know how she is…”

“I’ve had enough of your bickering.” Minho pinched your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t care who started it, just that it happened. And you know my rules.”

“Yeah,” you dully say. Stupid Jisung and his stupid plans and-

“Open,” Minho orders you, ignoring his boyfriend for the moment.

You obey, jaw falling open for him. Your tongue unfurls from your mouth in the way you know he likes.

Minho spits in your mouth, using his index finger to shut it. “Swallow.”

You clench around nothing, watching as Jisung whines for attention next. He’s promptly pulled in for a kiss before given the same treatment as you.

“Undress. Both of you,” Minho coldly says, loosening his tie. His arm flexes as he does so.

You and Jisung both strip and elbow each other, arguing about whose fault this whole ordeal is. Jisung is stubborn, and wrong, because obviously this was all his idea.

“You both have been getting on my nerves lately.” Minho examines the pair of you, irritation flashing across his features. “The fighting and breaking of the rules is getting out of hand.”

“You gonna spank us?” Jisung bats his eyes mockingly. He leans forward and the corners of his lips lift. “Gonna bend us over your lap and teach us a lesson?”

“No,” Minho shortly says. “Because you like pain, and she doesn’t learn so easily.”

Jisung scoffs and smirks at you. “Or he can’t do it.”

You cover your mouth to hide your smile. “I think you’re right.”

“That’s it!” Minho snaps, shoving Jisung until his back hits the wall. He braces his forearm against the other man’s chest, sneering. “You’re such a little-“

“Bitch?” Jisung supplies. “‘Cuz I’m your little bitch.”

You burst out laughing, immediately stopping when Minho turns his gaze on you. “Oh, no, Jisung, don’t tease him,” you monotone.

Minho pushes Jisung to the couch. “Come here.”

You pad over, pursing your lips. “On behalf of Jisung, I apologize. He’s a nasty little freak and I totally understand if it’s his turn to do laundry for the rest of time.”

Minho chuckles. “Nice try. Now sit on his cock.”

You shrug and do as he asks, sinking down on Jisung with a sigh. Jisung groans and tosses his head back with a groan as you squeeze around him. You him as you roll your pelvis to feel every inch of him.

“Uh-uh,” Minho softly chides, grabbing your hips. He forces you down until Jisung’s cock is completely nestled in you. “Stay like that.”

“For how long?” You blink at him.

“Until I say.” Minho’s continuous pressure on you keeps Jisung down as well. “Can you finally listen?”

“It was his fault!” you protest. You snuggle against Jisung’s chest. 

“You still haven’t learned,” Minho sighs mournfully as he removes himself from his pants. “Suck me off, baby. But don’t swallow when I finish.”

You furrow your brow in confusion, but do as he says. You hollow your cheeks and curl your tongue around him, keeping your hips still. You’re pretty sure you’re dripping over Jisung, but you don’t care.

Maybe if Minho’s orgasm is good enough, he’ll let you cum.

His hand loops through your hair. “Doing so good.”

You hum at the praise, rocking your hips before you know it. Minho clicks his tongue in disapproval and thrusts into your mouth harshly, making you choke.

“Fuck me already!” Jisung whines, twitching inside you.

“So impatient.” Minho laughs, cutting himself off with a groan as he finishes in your mouth. He pats your cheek patronizingly, smiling wryly. “Give it to Jisung, baby.”

Your eyes widen, but you bend over. Jisung’s lips part, gaze locked on Minho’s.

“Do this, and I’ll let you fuck her,” Minho coos. “But don’t let a single drop go to waste.”

You dribble Minho’s spend into Jisung’s mouth, clenching around Jisung as he swallows it all.

Minho laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll be in my office. You’ll stay like this until I get back, and then you’ll both get to finish.”

Jisung and you let out cries of protest, but Minho ignores them as he walks out. Jisung sighs before looking up at you and-

“No,” you firmly say. “Not this time.”