#even if I had to be read for filth about it

[bitchlessdino]

scream : the death of a nympho (m)

Pairing: ghostface!seungcheol x ghostface!wonwoo x afab!reader

Genre: horror, scream au, smut

Word count: 6.8k

rating: rated R for ROUGH FUCKING SEX (probably the meanest i've ever written anyone)

tags: THIS IS COMICAL BUT VERY DARK FIC, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. CONTENT MAY NOT SUIT MOST READERS. Morally black woncheol with no redemption arc, VIOLENCE IMAGERY (stabbing, physical fights), mentions of knives, Mentions of blood, Mentions of alcohol, humiliation, degradation kink, name calling sexually and none sexually (bitch, slut, cum bottle, ECT), manhandling, slapping kink, deep throating, face fucking, double bjs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex

Summary: This worn-out little town has seen its fair share of bloodshed, but now there are two new Ghostfaces in town—and their eyes are set on you. Someone who craves intimacy just as much as they enjoy sinking their daggers into something.

author note: thank you @highvern for being a great betaread, they got some giggles in so i hope you guys get to as well! This idea was initially requested and offered by @smileysuh and I hope you enjoy the journey babes!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys

The town has witnessed its fair share of bloodshed, with pages upon pages of stories about murders staining its history since its settlement. Transplants from the past couple of decades knew of the Ghostface murders, had experienced their horrors, and were relieved to finally learn the identities of what they believed to be the only culprits, known by the nicknames BL and SM. What they didn’t seem to grasp was that there was a lineage—a deep-rooted legacy that would take the eradication of many Ghostfaces to completely sever.

One that has yet to happen. But now there was another problem.

With nothing left but their dread, the townies embraced twisted ways of coping. They chased oblivion in reckless sex and drugs, feeding a festering culture of heightening promiscuity and sexual deviants to businesses catering to their darkest urges. But this decay only primed the ground for blood, making it easier to spill.

The Ghostfaces, known privately among themselves as the Spirituals, saw it as their duty to cleanse the town. In their eyes, there was no room for the filth that seemed to taint their almost perfect town, and so they took matters into their own hands, delivering judgment on their own terms.

Seungcheol took after his father, who was currently detained after being caught serving judgment to the town’s notorious transplant mayor, infamous for his monthly group-sex gatherings. Now, as the head of the Spirituals, Seungcheol was determined to continue following his father’s creed, not once forgetting the scripture carved into him as a child.

Whereas Wonwoo took after his mother, a caretaker of many children within their society's education system who had fallen in sacrifice for the greater good. Now the right-hand man to the leader of the Spirituals, once a soldier and now captain to many of its followers, he knew nothing but how to uphold and worship the Spirituals' beliefs.

They were a duo not to be reckoned with—the youngest in history to hold the highest possible ranks, and the most effective at slaying the vermin of the town. Unmatched to even their predecessors. If they wanted something to happen, they knew just how to do it.

Their targets had a history of overlooking them, their spry bodies and youthful faces seeming harmless to anyone they encountered—until their daggers found the light under a bright moon. They killed victim after victim, and were careful to not have a single clue that could be traced back to them or the society. It was the perfect ruse, ideal for victims like you.

Fresh-faced and eager to start your next chapter, you arrived in town for college and had stayed ever since. You’d dated here and there, with more than the occasional fling—so the thought of the murders never really intimidated you. As an aspiring journalist, you found the town’s dark history more fascinating than frightening. To you, it was just material for dark bedtime stories. Yet, while many who had survived the horrors saw them as more than history or folklore, those who had evaded them were a lot like you—they saw nothing to panic over, just a few rotten apples already put behind bars.

But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been tempted to test some of the theories. Almost eager, you found yourself wanting to investigate the current-day Ghostface rumors, wondering if they might be linked to the recent disappearances.

You pondered even now, nursing your third glass of red wine, the deep red hue swirling in the glass, mesmerizing under the effects of a light buzz that calmed your body. You and the bartenders of the high end Diamond Club, Hansol and Chan, had gotten acquainted in your time here—perhaps more than necessary—so they had a good idea of your usuals, whether it was your drink of choice or preferred form of entertainment.

“Red wine tonight, I see,” Chan flirtatiously engaged, wiping down whiskey glasses.

“Tonight called for something sweet, a little treat for working so damn hard,” You replied, finishing the last bit in your glass. “Where’d Hansol go? He had just serviced me.”

“Just getting something from the back, probably more of your wine.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, setting the wine glass down politely in front of him. “You both do know me so well. I don’t suppose there’s room for me to check back there too.”

“No can do today, beautiful,” Hansol said, emerging from the backroom as he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning, so we need to be on our A-game.” He threw an arm around Chan, signaling caution to his coworker, then regretfully scanned your attire.

Hansol’s gaze traced over the perfect lines and curves of your dress as he tightened his grip on Chan’s shoulder, both of them watching as you patted your lips against your napkin, leaving a kiss stain in mauve-red lipstick. He knew soon enough he’d regret his responsible decision-making. “But we’ll be sure we’ll leave a slot available for you after.”

Hansol turned toward Chan, looking for reassurance as the other man held the middle seam of his pants. “Right, Chan?”

“R-right,” the other bartender responded with a tinge of disappointment.

You softly pouted. “Okay. Another time. I’ll let you guys get back to work.”

The prospects tonight were slim, but not impossible. There were group gatherings and couples, but no one alone like you—that made it more challenging, and you loved a good challenge. You turned away from the bar on your stool, twirling your freshly topped-off glass from a new bottle, and scanned the room for another late-night treat.

In the corner, you spotted a diamond in the rough—a pair of men who couldn’t seem to tear their eyes off you, each idly toying with the dark liquor in their glasses. You flashed them a sly grin before turning away just enough to keep them in your peripheral vision, watching as they drank you in. They smiled back, one darkly handsome man to the next, their gazes unmistakably intrigued.

“Isn’t that a beaut,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, hiding it under his glass drenched in bourbon.

“They are,” Wonwoo agreed. “Their reputation precedes them. We complete our duty tonight.”

Before Wonwoo could stand to approach you, Seungcheol tugged him back down, something more than authority in his gaze. “Hold on, brother. What’s the rush? It’s not every day we come across a sacrifice as…delectable as this one. I say we take our time.”

“But, sir… Seungcheol,” Wonwoo corrected himself, remembering they were in a public setting. “We shouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“And we’ll make sure of that.” Seungcheol grinned at his capable, steadfast captain. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at them. Don’t pretend you didn’t, soldier.”

Wonwoo had looked at you—perhaps longer than he should have. Sinful deviant or not, he could understand why others found it impossible to resist you. You were a vision to behold, a captivating stain on the town he might have allowed to linger under different circumstances. But there were no exceptions in the scripture. You would meet the same fate as everyone else they’d killed.

“Nonetheless, we have demands to meet… Seungcheol.” Wonwoo’s tone was even, but his eyes held a flicker of impatience.

The elder man sighed, swirling his drink with a slow, deliberate motion. “Sure taking advantage of my given name, aren’t you…Wonwoo?” He raised a brow, an amused glint in his gaze, though his words held an edge.

“We must stay focused, even if the distraction is so… distracting,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady but his gaze briefly drifting to you before snapping back.

Seungcheol smiled cunningly, leaning back in his chair as he let his eyes settle on you. “All I’m saying is, why not reward ourselves with a taste of their mercy? Give them a final moment of sin before they see the flames of the inferno where they belong.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. “And would we not be sinning too, brother?”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, and he leaned forward his captain in arms, voice low and commanding. “You dare question my judgment?”

A silence hung heavy between them before Wonwoo let out a resigned sigh. “We need our affairs in order,” he murmured, his tone weary yet resolute.

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he conceded.

They adjusted their jackets, sharing a brief, knowing glance before rising from their seats and approaching you with a leisurely stride, intrigue glinting beneath their composed expressions. Seungcheol met your eyes first, flashing that boyish dimple—the one that had gotten them out of more than a few tight spots. 

“Mind if we join you?” he asked, his tone smooth, and inviting, but with an edge that hinted at something far less innocent.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip as you gave a slight nod. “Both of you?”

“If that doesn’t intimidate you,” Wonwoo replied with a polite smile, the bar light catching his glasses and casting a faint glare that concealed the depths of his true intentions.

“Not at all. Sit.”

And they did, boxing either side of you, each exuding an intoxicating mix of decadence, spice, and something darkly earthy. The scent was almost hypnotic, stiffening the hairs on your neck. 

Every glance, every subtle movement, spoke of a carefully restrained danger, like a coiled snake waiting to wrap around its unknowing prey. Their intensity crackled in the air around you, unsettling yet somehow magnetic. Something about this pair was dangerous on belief and your gut was screaming it loud, but instead of listening, you were anchoring yourself in place, wanting to find out just what it is you should be afraid of.

“I’m Seungcheol, and my colleague here is Wonwoo. And you are?” The dimpled man asked.

As you introduced yourself, both men let your name roll off their tongues, savoring each syllable as if committing it to memory. Wonwoo angled his body toward you, his gaze intent. “That’s quite nice to say,” he murmured, repeating your name slowly, watching closely to see how you reacted to the sound of it on his lips.

“What brings you both here?” you asked, subtly crossing your legs with a teasing smile. “Date night?”

Both men chuckled, clearly amused by how effortlessly they’d caught your attention. “Something like that,” Seungcheol replied, leaning in just slightly. “We’re just looking for a nightcap before calling it a night. Came straight from the office.”

You raised a brow, laughing softly. “It’s 10 p.m. You both work this late? And turn in this early?”

“Well,” Wonwoo countered, a strategic smile on his face, “we never said how long we’d be here… or how brief our nightcap might be.”

You hummed, sipping your wine as you eyed them over the rim of your glass. “You two really do everything together.”

“Yes,” they answered in perfect unison.

“Everything together?” you pressed, a playful edge in your voice.

“Yes,” they replied again, this time with a hint of menace that made the word linger in the air just a moment too long.

The longer you stayed in their presence, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their composed demeanor didn’t sit right. Call it survivor’s intuition, but something was off. Still—“I suppose neither of you has time for anything else tonight?” you asked a slight challenge in your tone. “A way to truly acquaint ourselves before the night ends.”

“That does sound interesting,” Wonwoo mused, pretending to consider, his gaze never leaving you.

“And what better way to end the night than with a new…friend?” Seungcheol added, his smile sharp as he leaned in.

It was almost too easy. One moment, you were at the club, indulging in a reckless amount of wine courtesy of these fine gentlemen, the night unfolding in a haze of alcohol and sultry gazes. The next, you found yourself in their penthouse, entangled in a kiss with Seungcheol as Wonwoo was tearing off your clothes, the world outside suddenly distant and irrelevant.

You could feel the warmth of the man’s breath against the back of your neck. His spectacles brushed lightly against your skin as he leaned in, the metal sending a subtle shiver down your spine as you counted the beats of his pants. He explored your body with reckless abandon, uttering your name under every tender kiss.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was evidently impatient, his lips quickly latching onto yours in a frenzy. He wasted no time tracing the surface area of your mouth, as if time were ticking and he knew that sooner or later, it would run out. “By gods, you are something else.”

He pressed up against your body, only the thin layer of your lingerie to protect you as you began to undress him, the concaves and curves of his body scorching under your fingertips. Your moans muffled under Seungcheol’s lips as Wonwoo's moans muffled under your skin, the tautness of their body sandwiching you into a sweltering trap.

“You both have no idea how much I needed this,” you panted, hands roaming in Seungcheol’s hair as his lips latched around your tits.

Wonwoo softly scoffed, loud enough to hear but soft enough to be dismissed. “On the contrary, you don’t know how badly we needed you.”

You mewled under the sounds of his false pretenses and squealed when they brought you naked over the sofa. Seungcheol took a moment to admire your vulnerability, caressing along your sides, spreading your legs so he may position himself between them, and just behind you stood Wonwoo. Impatient for something else entirely, procured a knife from under the couch, just where he had left it. 

Seconds before the spectacle man lifted it up, deciding to plunge it through your shoulder, chest, or even throat, Seungcheol stood up. “Just a moment, darling,” his eyes flickered over to the armed captain in caution, frozen with the hunter’s knife inches above you, “Me and my buddy got to do one last thing before we proceed. Wait for us patiently?”

“All right…don’t keep me waiting too long,” you purred, a slow smile curling on your lips, your heavy-lidded gaze smoldering with anticipation.

Seungcheol steered Wonwoo into a separate room, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. He fixed his subordinate with a piercing glare, the urge to drive him to his knees simmering just beneath the surface. “Tell me, soldier—what do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not ‘soldier’ anymore, sir,” Wonwoo muttered, his voice tense. “I’m doing what we’re supposed to. We can’t indulge in this…” he hesitated, searching for the word, “…depravity. It only complicates the operation.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his figure casting a shadow over Wonwoo as he instinctively leaned back, nearly cowering under the weight of his leader’s stare. “So you doubt our abilities, is that it?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous. “It’s been a minute since I took on my bitchbreaker on for a ride and you of all people are deciding to be a nuisance. If you’re so certain we can’t balance pleasure and duty, perhaps you should step aside—so I, your capable and trusted leader, can finish the job without you repeatedly defying me.”

He turned to leave, his movements sharp with frustration, but before he could take a full step, Wonwoo’s hand shot out, gripping his bicep tightly. The hold was firm, almost defiant, and Seungcheol could feel the strength behind it—a mix of resolve and the fear of regret that held Wonwoo back. Their eyes met, and in Wonwoo’s gaze was a fierce determination, teetering on the edge between loyalty and a barely restrained desire.

“I’ll follow orders,” Wonwoo said, his tone unwavering. “Your orders. I won’t question you again, sir.”

Seungcheol gave a smug smile, brushing off his right-hand man’s grip before leading him out of the room.

When they returned, they found you still lounging on the couch, but now holding something you hadn’t had before—something stark white and blinding, something that didn’t belong to you and should’ve gone unnoticed.

“Boo!” you laughed, lifting the Ghostface mask to your face with a playful grin as the rest of you was still nude, offering an enragingly tantalizing image.

Wonwoo’s voice nearly boomed as he tried to keep his rage in check, suppressing another sensation that fought him to break out. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes flashed a sign of panic, quickly narrowing at you. Had they been caught? Exposed? You were already a risky target, and now you were making things a lot more complicated.

You pulled the mask off with a casual smile, unfazed by the shift in Wonwoo’s demeanor, which was colder than it was moments before. “Sorry for snooping; I couldn’t resist.”

Seungcheol’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Where’d you find that?”

You held the mask in your hands, inspecting it from front to back, not fearing the consequences. “Under the coffee table,” you said, turning it over, admiring the attention to detail. “It looks really real.”

Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence looming as his eyes flickered over from the mask to you, its captor, with an intensity that bordered on possessive. “It is real. We believe it belonged to one of the original Ghostfaces...As historians, we collect these kinds of things.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh,” you grinned, your lips curling in slight admiration.

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his arms crossed in calculated intrigue. “You’re not scared?” His voice dropped slightly in defense. “Why?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know… I just find it more interesting than scary. And maybe kind of sexy… I don’t know.”

Wonwoo couldn’t hide his disbelief. His voice came out sharp, almost incredulous. “Sexy… you find centuries of bloodshed and thousands of lost lives sexy?”

You paused, your fingers tracing the edge of the mask. “Okay, well not that—the mask! I know it’s tied to awful, disgusting, horrific events, but…” You brought it up to your face, tilting it as you peered through the narrow slits, your voice trailing off in their signature tone of voice that the articles quote were ‘shrill and cunning.’. “There’s something about it that’s...captivating. Like, what kinds of things did they do, and why this mask? What makes it so...iconic?”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened for a split second, a flicker of something realization passing through them, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched you with a calm amusement, his lips curling into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Really?” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the silence, laced with disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he processed what you had just said, a quiet judgment simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You really think that is sexy?” His words hung in the air, thick with the implication that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could glorify such an image.

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. Yeah, I’m the one doing the killing, he thought, but they were sacrifices—an entirely different kind of thing. They were meant for the greater cause, something you could never understand. He had been the one to offer the death, to carry out the act, and yet you—you—were somehow making it seem like some kind of twisted, romanticized thrill.

He glanced at Seungcheol, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips curved into that unsettlingly knowing smile, the kind that signaled anything but anger.

Seungcheol retrieved the mask from your fingertips, put it towards him, and shielded his facial features. “So if I wear it like this,” He stuck out a hand to grab you, tugging you by the waist and gliding his hand over your sides, “and touch you like this…”

His palms cupped the underside of your ass, digits digging into your flesh roughly, releasing a sharp breath from you. His body, gloriously exposed, was firm and warm, so inviting you couldn’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders to press against his waist. You stared into the eyes of the mask, stomach-churning at the increase of stimuli and you almost heard yourself growl under your breath. “I don’t think I could resist you.”

Seungcheol removed the mask, holding it in one hand and tightening his grip on you with the other. “You’re a weird little thing, are you,” he asked, narrowing his eyes, voice rich and dark.

“I’ve always wanted deep throat the cock of someone wearing one,” you blatantly confessed, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. 

Seungcheol quirked a brow, interest piquing before tossing the mask in Wonwoo’s direction, who caught it flawlessly, looking back at it in concerned confusion. “Wear it,” said the fellow conspirer, “Make our little guest dreams come true while I enjoy the show.”

Wonwoo didn’t argue, and against his better judgment followed his leader’s orders, securing the mask on his face as he bared his nether region, regrettably taut and aroused. As soon as Seungcheol released you, you fell to your knees, gazing up at the Ghostface mask before drawing your gaze down to Wonwoo’s cock that stood on its own, full of life.

Beneath that mask, Wonwoo held on to his uncertainty, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to the image of your lips wrapped around him. It was about all he could think about since being aware of you, other than killing you that is. Even as you beckoned him closer, with your knees on the ground of where the blood he’s shed–the bodies he’s slaughtered–he couldn’t help but think about how to dispose of you. How to get rid of your stain next. But the moment your lips reach the tip of his cock, his worries and schemes seemed to fade away, vanishing even faster as your pace quickened so eagerly.

Your hands palmed over his waist, and the lust in your eyes was insatiable, making a man—even Wonwoo—wonder how that pretty little mouth could take so much cock. He groaned, grabbing you by the crown of your head, and pushing you closer as he started to thrust, gradually adjusting to the tight, warm press of your mouth. “Oh fuck,” his voice gave out, muffled by the mask. 

He winced as he felt himself hit your throat, swallowing as he heard you gag on his cock—trying to fit all of him and he broke out in a hidden smile, and if he was being honest, he hasn't held a smile like it in a long time.

Why, Wonwoo hadn’t realized how long he’s had a good fucking like this. Ever since he took on as captain, sex was a thing of the past, something not even in the back of his mind, but you. Oh, you. You awoke something that should’ve stayed dormant. Years of training and discipline are suddenly out the window. And now he’s had a taste, he was going to ruin you until you didn’t even have the energy to breathe.

His hand locked between your tendrils, shoving your head impatiently. “Little toy that knows how to play. That’s rare.”

One hand found the underside of your chin, bringing your face up to gaze upon his, and watched as the mask on his face tilted in curiosity. Vice gripping that head of yours, he used your throat, letting his length slide down inside you. “Aren’t you a little slut? Just fucking wet having my cock down your throat, are you? Don’t try to deny it. I don't have to see or feel it. I can smell it.”

You confirmed with a strugged nod, salvia dribbling down your chin as tears began to burn your eyes.

Wonwoo let out a staggered breath, hitching another in his throat with a groan as felt your face touch the base of his cock, holding you in place and hearing you breathe with immense difficulty l. He pulled himself out of you, dragging you by your head, watching you cough on the ground, strings of your salvia ruining the floor and stretching from your cheeks. “You’re such a try-hard, taking my cock when I hear you practically gasping for air.” 

He bent down to level with you, the mask staring back at you menacingly, so realistically. “What? You’re not gonna beg for more?”

“I will, I will,” you assured, a blubbering mess, gasping while the tightness in your throat failed to bother you like it should’ve.

“Is that right?” Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing your cheeks in a rough grip. “You gonna beg for me to fuck your face? Huh?” He inhaled your gasps, body convulsing. His voice was gravelly and stinging with repulsion. “Cockbreath.”

You whined, pleading: “Please, I want to feel it deep, deep inside me, Mr. Ghostface. Give me your cock.”

“Then let me hear how much you want it.”

Your mouth parted, fumbling for the right words, struggling to release them from your strained throat, the sound coming out rough and raspy. “I want your cock shoved in my throat. I want to feel it from one end and out the other. I live for you cock. I’d die on your cock. Please just stick in my throat and don’t stop please.” 

Wonwoo looked down at you, surprised with the spew coming out of your mouth but went with it, shoving himself swiftly back in you, the sensation of your throat welcoming him like it never left. “I better see you swallow every inch,” he warned, his voice thick with malice. “If you so much as breathe, I’ll give you more than enough reason not to,” a smile laced with dark amusement edging his tone.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watched as he promised, laying aloof back on the sofa with cock in hand and reveling in the sheer desperation from your voice as he stroked his cock to the pace of Wonwoo’s thrusts. 

As the reigning leader of the Spirituals, he was accustomed to having others do his bidding, just as his father had planned. But through his experience in leadership, he discovered he preferred being directly involved. Very involved. And it was moments like this that confirmed it.

“Good little cocksleeve, ain’t they?” Seungcheol commented, licking his lips.

“They certainly know how to make use of themselves,” Wonwoo drawled, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed your efforts, taking him with as much excitement as you initially came with.

Seungcheol started getting up, standing beside his partner in crime with a growing cock firmly in his grasp. He cast his gaze down at you, his presence domineering and intimidating, yet all the more mesmerizing. Seungcheol scoffed as soon as your eyes flickered in his direction, and his hands found themself in your hair. “I wonder how they’d take two cocks. How does that sound?”

Seungcheol helped release you from Wonwoo’s clutches and invited you into his as he met your eye level. “Can two cocks,” He produced another Ghostface mask, lifting it to his face, “fuck that pretty mouth full? There’s only one right answer.”

“Yes,” you managed to answer, your voice trembling, tears streaking down your face as you exhale, your flushed cheeks betraying the weight of your words. “Always.”

“Exactly what I was looking for.”

Kneeling between them, you held them both in either hand and traveled down both their lengths. Each Ghostface was more wicked than the other as you shoved a cock down your throat, Seungcheol’s groan following in response. Your tongue dragged along its underside, mouth stretching to adjust its size and familiarizing with your throat just as Wonwoo’s had, and the familiar sting of your tears had caused another stream of heat down your cheeks.

“You dirty little slut, so this is the kind of treatment my partner here has been getting,” Seungcheol took you by the hair, and slammed you against the base before pulling you back to only reach the head, another fit of coughing to ensue. “You better work five times as hard if you want to please me too.”

You nodded, each stroke to either of their cocks deliberate and purposeful, the masked individuals looming in front of you anticipating your next move. Taking Seungcheol back in your mouth, you sucked all around his circumstances, memorizing the veins of his shaft to then do the same with Wonwoo, batting your eyes back at him, your mouth parted wide letting both exit and enter on your own accord.

It was then either tip breached one another, both of your hands rubbing against each other at once that you heard something so delicious in their voices, so real and so pure. And before you could truly savor it, both of them pried your mouth part, either cock rubbing against either inside of your mouth, stretching your cheeks, as they unevenly thrust into your mouth.

It looked like it hurt, and either man was glad for it because, in its own sick way, it was another form of punishment, catering to them would only guarantee your ultimate demise and proving to them once and for all how necessary their roles really were.

Still, they enjoyed it—hell, they were euphoric seeing you put so much effort into such an ordeal, but not more impressed than about how it felt. Each twist of your wrist aimed to pump ego in their lengths, the dampness of your slobber stretching from your chin to their shafts creating a path of viscous filth, and the tension building in their manhoods that never seemed to fade as they attempted to bury themselves inside of your face.

It was momentous, and Wonwoo, who was initially concerned, was elated to reap more of the benefits just as much as his leader.

They shoved you off as soon as one of them was close, landing you on the sofa, flushed with a thin layer of sweat. Wonwoo, lifting the mask slightly above his face, let his lips run down your body, the hard, cold of plastic the mask chill on your body, while his teeth were nipping your torso and soft growls hummed against your skin. Startled, you yelped as he tugged your legs toward him, his cock position almost perfect at your warm entrance before he inserted himself, not wasting time by giving you a warning.

You mewled at the sensation, his rock-hard length plunging against your moist, plush walls. You instinctively gripped his arms for support, his ruts definable sharp, guttural, and primal. He loomed over you, mask still in place, but the shadow cast over his face in combination with just the barest hint of his mouth exposed showed a twisted smile of lunacy, dangerous beyond recognition.

Wonwoo was rough, hurting you in a way you’ve never been fucked before, but it made it all the more pleasure and Wonwoo knew it more than you thought. Seungcheol joined your side, squeezing himself between you and the couch as he propped his cock towards your mouth, slapping it against your cheek. “Open the fuck wide,” he said in a gnarly rasp through his mask.

As you opened, he seized you by your chin, slapping the cushion of your cheek where it already stung, before slapping the shaft of his cock on your tongue. You looked up at him, panting in excited gasps before he filled your mouth, then emptied it, and then filled your mouth again. His free hand claimed your breasts, ruthlessly squeezing them, pinching at your peaks, before ultimately slapping them, every action you could only swallow at. At almost every end, you were filled to the brim, hung in the balance of their mercy, and not once could you open your eyes without seeing stars.

“Can’t fucking stand it, what’s a fucking slut like you think you deserves our cocks for,” Wonwoo slapped the underside of your thigh, the sting of it ringing in your ears.

Seungcheol chuckled, fingers threading through your hair, pulling your head back to see the glisten in your eyes, how they beg without saying so, or how they water in delight. “One would be lucky to be so fortunate. You’ll thank us later and it won’t just be with gratitude, it’ll be a plea for more.”

Wonwoo, almost as blinded with lust as either you or Seungcheol, gave a deep heart laugh as he folded your legs back towards you, feeling him bottoming inside you and hitting a spot that shot you up in space. At this point you were immobile of making conscious decisions that didn’t have to do with sex, deducing you to only something they could use—something they could fuck until they were sick of you. 

You’d muffle something around Seungcheol’s cock, whether it be their names, or calling them Ghostface, it didn’t matter. It was as if the world outside this room didn’t exist and none of them cared for it to exist. Just them and you, and the sound of raw, unbridled sex. Succumbing to their primal urge to unleash pent-up tension and energy—and how effortlessly they did so.

Wonwoo felt his stomach seize, his abdomen tightening as the involuntary contractions slowed his pace, the warmth starting to overcome him, and his low groans took power over his voice as he doubled over. His cum up and out of him in thick ribbons up your path, the twitching of your orgasm quickening in response to his warmth. Simultaneously, Seungcheol filled your mouth, expanding your cheeks, and he gently stroked your throat, “Swallow every fucking bit of it, you fucking cumbottle.”

Your eyes fluttered, pushing the cum down your pipes as he still stood in your mouth, feeling it slide down with a heavy swallow, and you opened your mouth wide to show just how thorough you are.

Seungcheol finally peeled the mask from his face, revealing flushed pink on his cheeks and damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, making him an undeniably captivating sight—nothing short of a perfect reward. 

Wonwoo followed, his presence marked by a familiar mirage, his smile shifting into a Duchenne grin—a smile that sparkled in a way most didn’t, reaching his eyes and revealing just how genuine it truly was. Underestimating the relief that consumed him. “Finally,” he gasped out.

He stood up, towering over your frame, his shadow falling over you. “Nothing short of our expectations,” he complimented before pressing a kiss to your lips, explosive and electric, foreshadowing how it’d be the last.

He started to retrieve the additional knife from under the couch, its steely presence finally making a comeback, and you managed to catch the glint of it peering at you at a lower glance. Jumping into action, your feet aimed for his gut, throwing Wonwoo off base as the knife scattered on the ground and crashing him hard into the glass coffee table behind him. 

“Fuck!” Wonwoo shouted, pain pricking him at all sides of his body, blood gushing from the holes from which the glass had penetrated. “You bitch!”

“Like I was going to let that happen,” you spat, recovering from your fatigue. 

Seungcheol pinned his arms behind you, an evil smile visible in your peripheral. “And you think I’d let you damage my property like that?” He hissed.

Before Seungcheol could avenge his comrade, you head-butted him from the back of your skull, momentarily blinding him as he clutched his face in agony. “Fuck! Holy fuck! My fucking face! You broke my fucking face!” He growled from the depths of his gut as you backed off of him. “I’m gonna enjoy fucking killing you.”

“God fuck, you knew! Didn’t you, you stupid bitch?” Wonwoo started inching closer to you, the knife a good distance away from him. “You knew who we were and came up here anyway. To what? Get one good fuck? Are you that stupid?”

“Of course, I didn’t fucking know! But I had a gut feeling,” you panted.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol taunted, eye swollen, cheeks and forehead red as he procured a knife from between the couch cushions. “Where that gut feeling take you? Besides getting them rearranged, that is?”

Wonwoo scoffed, finally finding the strength to get up. “Dumb slut like them didn’t get that far. Just good for a fuck.” He spat on the ground blood, gritting his teeth.

Your gaze flickered from one to the other, bare fisted, preparing for the worst. “Why don’t you test that theory then, boys?”

“Fucking gladly,” Seungcheol agreed, voice falling several octaves.

They bolted towards you in blind fury, grasping at you like straw and swinging a knife in your direction, barely nicking you. When Wonwoo ran at you from one end, Seungcheol came at you from the other, attempting to corner you. Determination oozing in their gazes, piercing through your very being, the mirage of the devil’s on both of their unsettlingly handsome faces. 

“Nowhere to run now, you little bitch.” Wonwoo screeched venomously.

Seungcheol twirled the knife between his fingers, a grin stretching from ear to ear. “This is where you start crying. Or begging for mercy? It doesn’t matter like it won’t matter where or what we stab you with next.”

You slid underneath their swinging arms, the knife briefly slicing, forearm and you gasped in response, stumbling backward. Feeling cornered. You slowly backed away, searching for an escape, but by luck, you find something in your purse instead, abandoned on the ground just out of your assailants’ sight. “You fuckers aren’t gonna get away with shit by the way. You should be careful where you leave your things around here.”

They both laugh at you condescendingly, not an ounce of doubt in their eyes. “No one is believing your bluffs, darling. Just come over nice and slowly. We’ll only stab you 20 times each,” Seungcheol feignedly reassured.

Thinking you were defenseless, they charged at you at full speed—until you lifted what you’d hidden behind your cowering figure. A burst of pepper spray erupted from the canister into their eyes, and the sound of grown men screaming from the tops of their lungs, like terrified final girls, seared itself into every wrinkle of your brain.

”You stupid slut! Pepper spray? Seriously?”

”First you swell up my face, then fucking blind me? You’re in for a real one, cum guzzling little shit.”

Seizing your chance, you delivered a final kick, shoving Wonwoo in Seungcheol’s direction, sending them into an unexpected embrace. In the haze of pain, Wonwoo's eyes shot open, the piercing ache in his chest telling him everything he needed to know about what had just happened. “S-Seungcheol…what the fuck…”

As he stared into his comrade's eyes, Seungcheol’s eyes grew wide in realization, and looked down at the knife he held in his hand, now plunged into their chest. The leader followed him as he collapsed, taking the longest moment to register the events leading up to this as Wonwoo’s eyes began to drift close. Gripping his brethren’s shoulders with the anger of a million suns, Seungcheol bared his teeth, voice singing in regret. “You…I’M GOING TO CHOP AND FEED THEM TO MY PET SHARKS, YOU TRAMP.”

He turned to face you swiftly—too swiftly—because as soon as he did, his neck met the blade, slicing from one side to the other until you plunged it deeper, twisting it down his throat before pulling it out. Fury lingered in his eyes, barely alive, as he began to spit up blood, several drops landing on your face and body. Moments later, he collapsed beside his partner, his eyes dulling as the life slowly drained from his face and body.

You collapsed to your side, shakily reaching for the phone in your bag and dialing the authorities. “H-hello…I just killed two men that attempted to kill me…I think I know the address.”

Once you hung up, you summoned the courage to flip your phone to camera mode to capture the evidence, gasping for breath, ensuring yourself of the life left in you. As soon as you did, a gravelly voice cut through the silence. Its owner raised the knife that had once been lodged in his chest, charging at you with bloodshot, deranged eyes. “DIE, FREAK, DIE!”

You managed a quick, well-aimed strike where the sun doesn’t shine, slowing him down just enough. As he stumbled, you seized the knife you’d stolen from Seungcheol’s throat and plunged it into his head, again, and again, and again, screaming at the top of your lungs until he finally collapsed to the floor.

With trembling hands, you struggled to hold the phone steady to capture the scene. Blood streaked down your forearms, and your sniffles provided the only soundtrack to the aftermath.

You’d done it—you’d finally done it. It only took a hundred tries and countless hours of risk, but it happened. You had become the one–if not the only–true survivor of the town’s Ghostface murders. If this didn’t launch your career, you weren’t sure what would.

You just had hoped they wouldn’t come with backup.

[katyspersonal]

OP, I am very impressed with how keen your understanding of both the way Soulsborne stories work (especially the phrase "And not choosing to get what you want can be as bad as choosing opposite.") and of the way fandom is fucking shit up on regular basis. Dark Souls trilogy fandom is the most safe from this cancer, Bloodborne is quite deep into this trouble by now (with only fans of very messed up characters such as Alfred or Micolash doing the service to the community xd) and Elden Ring is ALL about this.

"This leads to something like Marika fans writing essays on the topic You Can In Fact Deserve Genocide"

This reminded me of a very annoying situation from a couple of months ago where my friend wrote very based post ( x ) about how fandom treats Hornsent as this evil race that is evil just to be evil thus painting Marika as a hero "cleansing" the world from this "filth". And what happened was EXACTLY what you've mentioned! The first reblogger jumped in to not only excuse genocide of Hornsent but also add excusing genocide of Fire Giants for the good measure, the popular artist jumped in to confirm all of that was based when they didn't even read the original post, and then they both continued to gloat in their blog about how ridiculous this "Marika hate" was.

Marika HATE, dude. How. Literally how this fandom always, always, ALWAYS keeps drawing the connection of 'pointing out bad shit character did = hating the character'? Before DLC, the similar problem happened with Mohg! Whoever painted him as sexual offender was viewed as just hater by his fans. Also before DLC, whoever pointed out pettiness of Malenia or Miquella's sinister traits (Bewitching Branch) was seen as just hater. It only got worse after the DLC too! These are just interpretations and analyses! ....And yet, at the same time, there ARE people who hate Marika, hate Miquella and Malenia, and hated sa!Mohg interpretation. And they hate not only the characters, but also their fans. As if these fans just subscribed to condoning any of that shit in real life.

I just think that this endless morality contest is so dumb. Like...

"Oh if you like Godrick/Rykard/Post-DLC Miquella / Seluvis then you’re moral pervert/ lover of Dark."

Like, where are the DOWNsides? xD /j

And seriously, what is the goddamn POINT of engaging with fiction, where any person and any dynamic can be examined within the safety of fantasy, if ALL you're gonna do with this is to just express how you would act in real world? There is a much, MUCH better place to apply opinions and morality as you would in real world. ....IT IS THE REAL WORLD! 🤦‍♂️ Go outside and form correct opinions, and only like good people. This IS what real world is FOR! Fictional world is for doing ANYTHING, and yet you choose to just re-simulate what you already have!!! How little imagination, curiousity, wonder and passion do you have? What is WRONG with you, people!

Really. Elden Ring fandom's creativity and imagination suffers very badly from the fact that when someone simps for a morally grey character or is just a huge fan, 90% chance that they will wash out all that moral greyness from them and make sure they're pure, innocent, and always in the right. Who cares if the story has to become so one-dimensional and pointless as 'race is evil just to be evil and exterminating them is net-positive for the world', right, Marika and Messmer fans? And when you can't distort the story this way, you can always just declare writers to be incompetent and ruining the character and insist on """pre-DLC portrayal""" as if it was an entirely different character, right, Miquella and Malenia fans?

All could have been way more fun, interesting, deep, developed, and above all, respectful to OTHER fans, had we as a fandom just abandoned the mentality of 'if you like a character that did something bad then YOU are bad, so nullify this bad thing at all cost if you want to prove you are NOT bad'.

I think we really should understand that engaging with fiction is NOT about translating and advertising ourselves as people! No, as PRODUCTS!! Purge that stupid corporative brainrot out of your system with Messmer's Flame!!! Engaging with fiction is about experiment, imagination, curiosity, creativity and extending emotions and wishes without any harm to real people! Well, we should ALSO understand that the more war crimes the character did the hotter they are because again, we ALREADY have real world to target liking the kind, nice people so what is the point of doing the SAME shit here fsdfhds But I digress

Ok about moral greyness in elden ring fandom

I feel like it’s mostly treated as either some kind of badass cosmetics for a GoodGuy (like “my blorbo is cool and good and kind but you know they kill people - bad people, so it’s not bad but it’s not also your Jesus guy which is normal bc who would give their second cheek”) or some kind of euphemism used by bad/problematic/pseudo intellectual people to erase morality

I’m bad problematic pseudo intellectual person so take my opinion with grain of salt, but I think it’s a great misunderstanding or what a morally grey character is in ER especially

It’s usually based on the that understanding of goodness that to be good you just need to do good things and don’t do bad things (which is of course extremely vague and not defined but anyways). It’s seems pretty straightforward and because of that brings a lot of confusion

It’s quite easy for a character to be GoodGood (even with murders but I digress), you can see it in many fix-it fanworks where often every trouble finds its own, well, fixing, and there’s always a way to set things right, maybe just with some sad deaths along the way, but characters often will find this correct way because in these universes there’s always at least one

(It’s not a rant on fanfiction I like it and I like fix-its very VERY much)

And when same logic is applied to the game itself, often arises treatment of characters as GoodGood, MisleadedGood and BadBad ones

But in the stories we see in Elden Ring context is usually such that when a character wants to get something, even something good, like for example make people live forever or cure their own sister, there’s sometimes no way of resolving their trouble without facing some kind of moral choice, even if you’re a literal half-god. You either get what you want with a price, or don’t get it… also with a price. Because fromsoftware stories are build on conflict, tragedy and irony

That’s what makes character grey, the fact there’s no third option or that you don’t have third option just because world is that way and you’re unlucky. And not choosing to get what you want can be as bad as choosing opposite. And that’s what usually makes situation complex and twisted and inherently grey

I don’t want to say that like every person in fandom should treat all the characters as mostly good ones without making some way less sympathetic than others. Making characters twisted and horrible is fun! I’m just tired of the way how people 1) don’t realise there’s often HUGE room for interpretation and make it problem of others 2) hate characters with such a passion as they were real humans who live in your neighbourhood on planet earth 2024 3) sanitise characters into strictly Good and Bad ones etc etc etc

My whole vent on Miquella’s hatebase is in fact divided into two parts, one being me thinking many people just lack understanding of the DLC/base game ideas and plot, but that’s ok we all have different opinions (I’m just the only one who is correct. LIVE WITH THAT.), and second being that vague ??rudeness?? and hatred which accompanies division on Morally Good and Morally Bad, because there’s this subtle idea like. Oh if you like Godrick/Rykard/Post-DLC Miquella / Seluvis then you’re moral pervert/ lover of Dark. Which is rarely true and really annoys me

I also have no trouble with GoodGood characters being GoodGood because, well. it’s comforting and cozy stuff. But often it turns into token of moral superiority, like look I love GoodGood guy because I’m good too and also not stupid. This is also annoying and I wish we had less of this in fandom.

It’s often also a lie to oneself, because even if we approach elden ring from I Can Simp Only Morally Pure ones (which is very boring and butchers the whole thing in my opinion) then we would probably be left with only Boc, Hewg and maybe Roderika. What do you mean you want to simp LITERAL murderers?? What do you mean you want to simp those assholes demigods who think that people are just dolls for their games, who turned the land into land of the dead because they just couldn’t stop war after war after war to decide who will make new order? What do you mean you want to simp the demigod who quit the war to do literally nothing to stop it???? CRINGE

Also GoodGood character headcanon making without self-awareness often results in very weird moral twists of its own, because in this logic character is allowed to make only GoodGood decisions, therefore all the stuff character made in canon MUST be good and morally justified. This leads to something like Marika fans writing essays on the topic You Can In Fact Deserve Genocide

Enough for today have a good day fellow dlc lovers 💪

Upd posted this on main by accident got jumpscared it’s so hard to copy past on mobile for some reason. No edgy on main I promised!!

[4setsofcorsets]

Coworker: what’s your book about?

Me: a 16th century tennis match that didn’t happen and is an allegory for the changing shape of political power

Coworker: so do you….do light reading?

Me: Caravaggio’s in it!!!

[gaystonerdragon]

sometimes i feel like the people reading black butler forget that the whole premise of the narrative is a boy who saw his entire family and household massacred on his birthday is tricked into forming a revenge pact with a demon that was summoned by the cult that killed his brother after abusing the two preteen boys for weeks on end, to bring equal humiliation, pain, and suffering to everyone responsible for the aforementioned horrors committed against him. “its so dark” like yeah… what gave it away? “the subject matter is so heavy” again… what part of the narrative set up made you think it wouldn’t be? like you know how this is ending, right?

[hijackedhoneybeeez]

My hyper specific assumption is that laios' feelings in broken teeth (his self harming behaviors, running away at times when stressed, and finding relief in a specific person) are a reflection of yourself and how you cope with issues sometimes, either as a past coping mechanism or current one

AAAAAAAAAAAA I am glass to you

You're not wrong 🙃🙃🙃

[svartalfhild]

More thoughts!

Illario is extremely sus.

THE CAMEOS!!!!! IN MINRATHOUS!!!!!

I always knew from the lore that the First Warden was a little bitch, but actually meeting him is a next level experience. What a fucking asshole.

Taash is such a fun character. They're so delightfully blunt, but also sweet in their own way. The gamer bros are so mad about Taash and those whiny little pieces of detritus can go fuck themselves.

Every now and again, there's a wild Matt Mercer, and I'm delighted. He Has The Range.

I'm genuinely enjoying the puzzles, which is a wild concept for a BioWare game. Finally, some good fucking level design.

They keep dropping deep lore bombshells that have put years of me going full Pepe Silvia over this world to shame, and I'm so excited about it.

Ghilan'nain is a straight up nasty bitch in every sense of the term, which I already kinda knew from Tevinter Nights, but fighting her makes me think Rook should invent bleach just to deal with her mess.

Emmrich's personal arc villain has energy somewhere between Yzma and Doc Ock, and I am very entertained.

Emmrich may not wear black, but he's the gothest motherfucker in this entire series and I couldn't be happier.

Everyone is so concerned about Lucanis' pantry living and it's very sweet but also hilarious.

I love watching Lucanis develop friendships with everyone else. That's right; open your heart, sad bird man.

Love how Taash is immediately Lucanis' #1 fan for assassin reasons and he's so confused by it.

Unlocking the pieces of Solas' backstory is so fun because you get worldview-altering lore drops and then the Veilguard has a family meeting every time to discuss the new info and read Solas for filth.

Absolutely worth reading any codex entries related to the Lighthouse or companions, because you get fun insight into the daily domestic living of the Veilguard in the Lighthouse on top of whatever lines you already get about it when they're talking to each other at home. They really are like a household.

I enjoyed the Descent DLC of Inquisition, so Harding's personal arc is an absolute joy.

All the gamer bros complaining that the game isn't dark, mature fantasy like the rest of the series are honestly probably just mad at the lack of Desire demons, because there is absolutely no shortage of dark shit in this game, y'all. I mean, for fuck's sake, the major factions in the story include 1) a struggling abolitionist resistance movement that routinely tangles with people engaging in horrifying ritual murder, 2) a guild of assassins who have way too much political power but have also been forced to become a resistance group because their country has no army, 3) the supposedly apolitical army of people who poison themselves to fight evil until they inevitably die horrible deaths, and 4) straight up necromancers. And that's just the factions! That's not even getting into the plot!

Neve and Lucanis continue to have stellar chemistry.

Bellara needs so many hugs and it frustrates me that I can't provide them.

Experienced a very funny glitch during Harding's second personal quest in Act 2 where something seemed off about my Rook and then I realized that her left boob was missing. Her left boob was Sir Not Appearing in This Film. Straight up had decided not to participate in this conversation. I lost my shit. I may share a screenshot of it at some point.

Taash admitting in an argument with Emmrich that they don't like him because they think necromancy is freaky allowed me the opportunity to be like "Do you think that about me? 🥺" as a Mourn Watcher, which I'm so glad of, because a lot of the companions are uncomfortable with Emmrich's necromancy and I have been dying to get the chance to call them out for not considering how that would make Rook feel.

Emmrich made a move on my Rook last night and *fans self* hoo lord. Lucanis better show up with some extremely strong game very soon, otherwise he will have thoroughly lost to Thedas' very own Hammer Horror Man.

(Davrin fell out of the running pretty quick, since his personality ended up not fitting well as a romance for my Rook. Ironically, when they first announced the companions, I was almost certain I would end up being a Davrin girlie. Alas, he is not the type I'd thought he'd be. He also failed to show up in a waistcoat, unlike the other two, and we all know how weak I am for a good waistcoat.)

I love that Act 2 is just like The Gang Goes To Therapy. Sometimes this involves killing things. Or people. But not always!

Some fun DATV things I'm experiencing:

Playing as female Rook makes the first few quests until you get Lucanis very Girls Night, which I really started to notice after a friend pointed it out and she is so right.

Neve is bestie.

Lucanis' intro cinematic made me feel so attacked. That shit was so my brand lol.

Lucanis and Neve's banter is hilarious and if I don't romance Lucanis I may end up shipping him with Neve.

Did Bellara's first personal quest and almost cried. Hit me a little close to home.

Neve's hangout quest was delightful. I want to chat and snack and walk around with her all day.

Neve and Bellara's developing friendship is so fun. I want to see a scene where Lucanis gets involved in their cooking adventures.

Shopping and getting coffee with Lucanis was like Oh No He's Thoughtful And Charming And I'm Weak.

Chose Lucanis over Neve in that one decision that made me want to scream and now she's hardened and I'm so sorry bestie I was thinking of the defenseless people and I will never be okay again.

Varric playing mentor to Rook got me right where it hurts. He's there for when you need an adultier adult to tell you that you're doing okay and that he's proud if you. I cry forever.

Assan and Manfred are my SONS and I LOVE THEM and I make the most ridiculous noises when they are on screen. THEY ARE SUCH GOOD BOYS.

The quest to acquire Emmrich is fucking delightful if you're a nice Mourn Watcher and you bring Bellara along. Just three huge nerds enjoying each other's company while doing dangerous shit.

Davrin and Emmrich's banter is like two dad's comparing notes.

As a Watcher, Myrna kinda feels like my mentor-mom, which is funny.

More thoughts to come. Just wanted to scribble down a few things so far for the people to let y'all know I'm having a fucking blast.

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Top 5 golden girls Moments?

How could you ask me this. Not even my top 5 episodes, my top 5 moments. This is an impossible choice. Do you enjoy inflicting pain on me? I may die from this (said in Blanche's half-asleep accent).

I hope you know that producing this list has been equivalent to tearing my beating heart out of my chest.

The Great Herring War scene from S1E25 The Way We Met

Rose's reveal that she had 56 boyfriends before settling down with Charlie from S7E13 Old Boyfriends

Dorothy telling off Blanche's abusive boyfriend (and Blanche kicking him out of the house) from S6E13 The Bloom Is Off The Rose

The little moment between Dorothy and Rose on the lanai from S5E19 72 Hours

The kiss on Rose's nose + hug from S3E3 Bringing Up Baby

There. I hope you're happy. Personally I will never recover from this.

[Ask me my Top 5 anything]

[neversetyoufree]

I've been using my down time at work to do a lot of reading lately, and a big part of that has been making my way through the works that VnC references, just for the fun of it.

I was going to start The Song of Roland a few days ago, but when I first looked at it, I just did not have the patience to deal with the sheer ~righteousness~ and pomp of a story about a bunch of eleventh century catholic knights.

HOWEVER, after making my way through a solid 80 pages of de Sade, I have to admit, those righteous catholic knights ended up looking pretty god damn appealing.

[crossbackpoke-check]

wait you got me so invested in the stammer & heddy tailor au....

this is my standard disclaimer that i have never posted a fic on ao3* and for however much i say “au” i truly mean that it’s a universe that lives in my head & i am absolutely delighted to tell you all about, all the time <3 if it helps i ALSO got me so invested in the heddy & stammer tailor au

ok now that the author’s note is out of the way here’s some notes about the not!fic heddy & stammer tailor au:

stammer as the tailor from gent’s playbook, very reserved, quiet, with an excellent eye for details (honestly the evidence i have for his style sense is just that he’s best friends with pk subban so it has to be there somewhere if only by proxy irl) is hired by victor hedman, star of the tampa bay lightning who is every other tailor’s nightmare to dress (huge, opinionated, fashionable)

heddy is decently well-known throughout the league for being very well-dressed & becomes quietly well known for also being one of his new tailor’s favorite loyal customers [heddy has the nicest fabrics. he has his suits the first day a new collection drops & e v e r y o n e is jealous]

stammer’s business booms after heddy takes a chance on him as his first big client & promotes him, heddy sees him grow in popularity & get more clients

heddy also moonlights as a model for stammer’s suits on instagram, initially to help him grow his business because then he won’t have to pay for a model and then because he’s over there all the time anyway because they’re dating (that’s why the model’s face is never in the pictures)

there’s not really a plot to this besides the vague idea of a plot where stammer makes heddy his lucky suit that he wins the cup in & sews a special little tag into the lining of his jacket that says i love you

because love sometimes is picking out the perfect right color pocket square to match your husband’s beautiful suit that you fitted like a kiss to the curves of his huge body

& also sometimes love is making your beautiful husband who makes you beautiful clothing enjoy nice things for himself once in a while, like the fancy watch you bought him or the nice suit you custom-ordered for him (from him) just so you could take it off of him

[ozarkthedog]

𝐯𝐢𝐬

summary: Logan's feeling impulsive before a mission and you happen to be within reach aka he fucks you in the jet.

pairing: Logan Howlett x afab mutant!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. feral!Logan. rough sex. dirty talk. bicep choking. biting. spit kink. reader can read minds and regenerate. size difference. brief mention of blood. pure filth - no plot. unbeta'd. w.c: 1.1k

an: this look fucks me up every time I see it, so I had to write something.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Logan fumes with pent-up energy.

He knows he needs to take care of it, or else he's gonna snap. He hopes Scott shows up soon; throwing a few digs at the younger cyclopes will relax him. Still, he stalks back and forth in the empty jet, from cockpit to tail, puffing on a cigar that's smoked down to a nub of tobacco when his ears prick.

He turns just in time to watch you walk up the ramp. You're suited to the nines and ready for the mission, your leather outfit hugging every curve on your body.

Logan feels the rampant energy to kill slowly morphing into one of possession.

You catch his wandering eyes as you reach the top. Flashes of snarling teeth, slapping flesh, and debauched moans spark before your eyes as Logan looks you over.

"Logan," you greet him with a wry smile as the older, silver haired mutant rolls his cigar between his lips and nods. His energy permeates the hull of the jet; he's like a wolf standing over maimed prey.

"Ready for this?" Logan asks, breaking the silence and stepping closer to you. He's so large and consuming; he'd scare you if you didn't have the power of mind control.

"I'm always ready." You quip, jutting your chin.

Logan snorts, cigar snatched between his pearly whites. "That so?"

You reply with a teasing hum as your fingers dance over his suited pecs.

"Think you can take me?" He steps even closer, nudging his larger body against your smaller one before flicking the cigar nub to the ground.

You cock your head, eyelashes fluttering. "Why don't you find out."

He grips your shoulders, spinning you on the spot, and shoves you against the wall of the jet; its gentle thrum vibrates your body as he presses himself against your back. "I can smell you, you know."

Your heart beats wildly like a hummingbird. You'd been aching since you stepped onto the jet. "Don't know what you're talking about." You purr dumbly.

Logan snickers at the blatant lie. "Keep those hands where I can see 'em," he grunts, gripping your hips and yanking you back. Your hands glide down the metal wall as your ass nestles against his cock. He's got you in a vulnerable position, bent over and exposed; any of your teammates could walk onto the jet any second. The thought makes you clench.

Logan unzips your suit from the waist down and groans as your curves spill from the tight material. You hide your face in the crook of your elbow as he takes in the sinful sight. "Y'sure are a pretty lil' thing." He comments against your cunt as hot breath ghosts over your core.

Two brute hands palm your ass, roughly kneading the curves before pulling them apart and brazenly spitting on your cunt.

A gasp catches in your throat, and it makes Logan smirk. "Knew you were a dirty girl."

As your lips part to reply snarkily, a hot tongue drags up your puffy folds from clit to taint, leaving no inch untouched.

Logan eats you alive.

At least that's what it feels like as he tightens his hold on your hips, making sure you don't pull away for a second to leave him chasing after you.

He smothers his face into your folds like a lion eating a fresh kill. His tongue lashes against your clit, sending rapturous shock waves up your spine. His nose nudges your taint as he roughly pulls you closer and spears his tongue into your core. He pushes and shoves your hips back and forth, making you ride his tongue until your knees buckle and you gasp his name over and over like a prayer. A dark growl vibrates your cunt as your slick spills into his mouth, and then he's gone.

As you're left reeling from the mindnumbing bliss, wondering why he stopped, he takes advantage and hooks a strong arm around your neck and lifts until your spine is flush with his chest, effectively trapping you in a headlock.

His bicep presses against your carotid as his cock catches on your soaked opening, making you stumble. "Can feel 'er clenchin'," he rumbles, and his beard scratches the soft skin of your temple. "Don't worry, Sugar. I'm gonna take good care'a 'er."

He sheaths himself in one devastating thrust. You have no choice but to take everything he gives you. Your cunt molds around his length, morphing and reshaping into the shape of his cock as he presses into the deepest part of you. He cruelly grinds his hips, kissing your cervix and tearing soft cries from your lips.

He fucks you with a steady pace, withdrawing his cock until the bulbous head catches on your withering hole before plunging it back in. Each shove forces you onto your toes. You anxiously grip his ungodly thick forearm for support.

The metal hull of the jet does nothing to tamper the lewd sounds of slapping skin and sticky arousal.

He presses his leather-clad forearm against your chin, tipping your head against his chest, forcing you to stare up at him. His features drip with untamed darkness as he smirks down at you. For a moment, fear tingles at the base of your spine.

"Gonna be drippin' out in the field," he chastises. "Wonder who else'll smell you?"

Logan's hips begin to pound against the curve of your ass savagely; muscles ripple, and skin rolls like waves; he chases his high like a man possessed.

The feral, all-consuming vigor from the older man rushes through you like a tidal wave, drowning your senses and free will. Your orgasm ignites, sparking so quickly you're powerless to the blinding pleasure that flares deep in your belly.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, growling like a wolf as he comes. His fingers dig into your flesh, pulling a soft, pitiful whine from your body. Copper fills his senses as your blood washes over his tongue, awakening his primal senses. The pain from his touch has your cunt swirling once more. No man could mark you like Logan, nor would you want one to.

Logan unhinges his jaw and eases himself from your warmth with a hiss. As the teeth-sized holes on your neck instantly begin to heal, he licks away the crimson that stains his lips. Your inner thighs glisten, stained with your combined arousal, as you lean against the wall of the jet, catching your breath.

"Made quite a mess, Sugar." Logan can't help but drag his fingers through the gluey spend. His gloved digits prod your swollen folds as he pushes the heady mixture back inside your warmth.

A lithe whine pours from your lips as he teasingly curls his fingers along your walls for added measure. "Think you can keep from drippin' while fightin' the bad guys?"

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[junovrsmp4]

three is not a crowd

OR

5 times Chris walks in on you and Matt fucking + 1 time he gets to join in on the fun

pairing: established!matt x reader, chris x reader, matt x reader x chris

summary: what it says on the tin basically

warnings: THREESOME, PURE FILTH, dick riding, oral (female & male receiving), teasing, edging, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, p in v, slight degradation/praising, slight angst, happy ending yay

word count: 6.9K

author’s note: im a whore for both of them. that is all. (also this has plot, and is mostly beta read but i havent slept in hrs so if some mistakes did slip thru my bad

1

“Hey Matt, have you seen my-” Chris begins to ask as he pushes Matt’s bedroom door open, expecting his brother to either be lazing around in bed or be at his desk, gaming.

What he doesn't expect is the sight he is instead greeted by, of you, Matt’s girlfriend of the last year and a half, astride Matt’s lap, riding his dick while he leans against his headboard, head thrown back and hands grabbing your hips, guiding you, slowly.

Chris is shocked, understandably, and he should just turn around and book it. Instead, he stands frozen, watching the way your head is nestled into the crook of Matt’s neck, your shoulders shaking. If Chris ignores the sound of his own pounding heart, he can almost hear the soft whimpers you’re letting out at each downward thrust of your hips.

At the sound of a soft, deep groan, Chris’ attention shifts to Matt, who has his eyes shut, and his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. There’s something surreal about this scene, seeing Matt, who looks nothing like Chris, but also looks the most like him, fucking this beautiful girl who’s been on his mind for months now.

“Matt…,” he hears you whine loudly against his brother’s neck, and Chris has to grit his teeth, fight against the urge to shove his hands into his pants and fist his growing erection. This shouldn't turn him on so much, hell, he shouldn't even be here right now. He should have run in the opposite direction as soon as he realized what he’d walked in on, but he’s mesmerized by the way you move, your back arching as your hips move back and forth. The slow, sensual, almost hypnotic, movements of your body as you ride Matt’s dick has him clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms and it’s easy to imagine him in Matt’s place as he gets this view of what it might look like to fuck you. Your moans grow louder, and Chris thinks it might be because you’re getting close, and god, he feels so hot underneath his skin.

“Shh baby, didn't you say we needed to be quiet?” Matt whispers against the side of your head. “Can’t have Chris hearing us, can we?”

At the sound of his name, Chris’ heart hammers faster, and he looks up at Matt’s face, only to see that his brother’s gaze was already on him, watching him with a slight smirk before thrusting his hips up, presumably driving his cock deeper into you, making you moan even louder than you already were.

Breaking out of his stupor, Chris stumbles backwards before hightailing it to his room, slamming the door behind him. It takes all of five seconds for him to get his cock out of his sweatpants, furiously jerking off as he leans against his door, biting into the hem of his t-shirt that he’d pulled up over his chest, and only another five seconds before he shoots his cum all over himself.

2

Chris knows its wrong, wanting his brother's girl. This was never a problem before, because any time he found out Matt liked someone, Chris immediately lost interest. It was the brothers’ code; they never fought over girls, and besides, they always just liked different ones.

You, though…it was hard not to like you, even after he found out Matt had his eyes on you.

Chris remembers the first time he met you, how nice you’d been to him and his brothers, how easily you’d fit into their lives. He’s not going to lie and say he’d wanted you right from the start. It was a gradual thing, slowly creeping up on him before he realized what had gotten him.

You just made him feel so comfortable, and surprisingly, the two of you had a lot in common. But then again, you had a lot in common with Matt, and Nick. And yet, you were so different. You were smart, playful, and so, so kind. You were just the right amount of goofy and serious, and you just, fit well into the dynamic Chris and his brothers shared.

It shouldn't have surprised him when Matt eventually told him and Nick that he was into you and planned to ask you out. It all happened so quickly after that. You and Matt had gotten together and, now you weren't just the new friend that Chris and his brothers were always hanging out with, but his brother's (his brother who was also his best friend, really) girlfriend.

Which is why Chris knows it’s fucked up. Wanting you. And he knows it’s even more fucked up that he wishes he could have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago when he accidentally walked in on you and Matt. The amount of times he’s jacked off to that memory alone the past few nights is insane, his mind supplying images to create his own version of events where he doesn't run away.

Especially fucked up is the fact that Matt had seen him, had looked cocky that he’d caught Chris watching them, and even that fact hadn’t deterred Chris from chasing orgasm after orgasm to the thought of fucking you, imagining how tight and wet your pussy might be, what it might taste like.

Speaking of the fucker who seemed totally unfazed by recent events, Matt sat across Chris, scrolling through his phone, while Nick sat beside him, editing their latest video. Chris was trying his hardest not to flip the fuck out, but his whole nervous system seemed like it was fried. Nick had already yelled at him twice to stop moving so much because he was apparently jostling the table too much, and Matt had just let out a bemused chuckle without lifting his eyes from his phone the entire time.

Just as Chris was about to get up and retreat to him room, the doorbell rings, before Matt gets a series of texts.

“Oh, she’s here-” Matt says, before shooting out of his chair and rushing to great you at the front door.

“Hey, hey, hey!” your cheery voice rings through the hallway, as you and Matt make your way into the kitchen, and Chris almost chokes on the sip of Pepsi he’d just taken because holy fuck-

You were wearing a short, tight black dress that hugged the lines and curves of your body just right, the square neckline barely covering your chest. His eyes slipped further down to the way the fabric of the dress cinched at your waist, and to the slit at the side of the dress that came up to mid-thigh. That and the combination of tall strappy heels you had on made your legs look…really good. So good that Chris wishes he was between those legs, licking a path up your calf to your inner thighs, leaving bruising kisses to mar the smooth, unblemished skin of your legs, before finally, finally-

Nick hoots just then, exclaiming about how hot your fit looks, pulling Chris out of his daze. He watches as you bask in the compliments being showered onto you by both Nick and Matt now, and can't help but smile at the way you try to hide your blushing face.

So, it’s completely out of left field when he sees you again later that night, sitting on the couch with your hands covering your face but this time it’s to hide the loud moans that threaten to slip from your mouth as you watch Matt kneel in front of you, his mouth pressing kisses into your inner thighs…just like Chris had imagined doing earlier.

It’s ridiculous really, how Chris had been feeling slightly normal after dinner with you and his brothers, because as awkward as he may have been feeling about you and Matt, being around you and his brothers, having good food and just laughing about random shit made him feel really fucking good. Like everything was normal and he wasn't fantasizing about fucking his brother’s girlfriend. Like he hadn't accidentally walked in on them fucking.

Of course it’s just his fucking luck that as soon he’s feeling just that slightest bit of normalcy, he’d decided to go to the kitchen and grab a Pepsi from the fridge at 3 AM, only to find his brother about to eat you out on the couch.

“Matt-” you whine, as your back arches off the couch, one of your hands moving to grab Matt’s hair, the other trying and failing to hold back your moans. “Matt, please- nnggh- stop teasing.”

Chris feels all his blood rush down south and it leaves him lightheaded. The low lighting in the room accentuates the shadows of your body and he can see the muscles in your legs flex as your thighs clench around Matt’s head, trying to get him to move his mouth closer to where you want him. You’re not in the tight black dress he’d seen you in earlier, but in a blue baby tee and black lace-trimmed hipster briefs. There’s an almost imperceptible quiver that wracks through your entire body in anticipation for what’s to come.

Matt doesn't keep you waiting for long. Chris' breathing grows even more jagged as he watches Matt’s fingers push your panties to the side before he runs his tongue flat up your pussy. Chris can't see as much as he’d like to, but his overactive imagination does the job for him, imagining how wet you must be.

Chris feels like such a sick perv for still standing there, watching with wide eyes as Matt (his literal brother) enthusiastically licks and kisses your pussy, and he almost wonders how neither of you haven't noticed him yet. Then again, you and Matt seem so lost in each other, and now there’s another ugly thought circling Chris’ brain, one that makes his chest hurt a little.

He forgoes his Pepsi for the night and quietly returns back to his room, cock half-hard, and his heart just the slightest bit heavy.

3

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Nick asks him, while his eyes are still fixed on his phone.

He and Chris were sitting on the couch (Chris had been avoiding the section that you and Matt had used during your late night rendezvous), and Chris was idly flipping through his Netflix watch list.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Chris says with a heavy sigh, slumping further into the couch.

It’s quiet, and the silence makes Chris look up at Nick, who was already looking at him with a curious frown.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?” Nick asks, and he actually looks concerned, which throws Chris off a bit. “You’re usually bouncing off the walls and annoying the shit out of everyone in your nearest vicinity, but lately you've just been, I don't know- I’m like actually worried, did something happen? Is everything okay?”

Chris swallows around the lump that had formed in his throat and takes a minute. To do what, he doesn't know. It’s not like he’s going to prepare himself to tell Nick what he’d witnessed, twice, and how he was feeling about it. Really, how does one go about telling their triplet brother that they’d accidentally witnessed their other brother in an intimate situation with said brother’s partner, not once, but twice, and had enjoyed it, to the point of having nightly fantasies about it?

There were more complicated feelings lurking just under the surface, more than just Chris wanting to fuck you, but he did not have the mental bandwidth to unpack all that, so that was that. It’s not like he had honest to god feelings-

“See, at this point, you would’ve been yapping away-” Nick says, interrupting his train of thought, “-but instead, you’re just sitting there, looking all sad and miserable.”

“Okay, I don't look sad and miserable,” Chris says with a roll of his eyes. At least, he hopes he doesn't. “I’m just tired dude. Haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“Right.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Didn't say you were lying,” Nick says, matter-of-factually, in that signature Nick tone that lets everyone know when he isn't buying their bullshit.

“I’m fine,” Chris says slowly, waiting for Nick to stop looking at him so intensely.

“Sure,” Nick drawls out. “You’re also a shitty liar.”

“Fuck you,” Chris grumbles, chucking the TV remote at Nick, who flails to try and dodge it, letting out an indignant squawk when it bounces off his shoulder and falls to the ground.

This, of course, results in Nick throwing whatever was closest to him at Chris, which happens to be an empty water bottle, and eventually they're just chucking it back and forth, cursing at each other in between laughter.

It’s the most relaxed Chris has felt in weeks.

Too bad you had to walk in at that exact moment.

“Hey guys!” you say cheerily, plopping down on the couch, next to Chris. You’d stayed over for a couple of nights now, as you usually do, and Chris should be extremely used to your presence, except he feels his skin prickle as soon as your close to him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off of your skin.

“God, how are you so chipper every morning?” Nick asks, shaking his head with a poorly hidden smile.

You twirl a strand of your hair around your finger, and bit the corner of your bottom lip. “It helps that I wake up to one of the hottest guys ever, and then get to hang out with his hot as fuck brothers,” you say with a smirk, waggling your eyebrows at Nick.

Chris wishes you hadn't just said that because now his mind wanders (more like sprints) to the memory of this morning, when he’d walked past Matt’s open bedroom. He’d heard the telltale sounds of skin slapping against skin, and your voice, whining Matt’s name over and over, which had him stopping right before Matt’s door, eyes wide, mouth agape. This couldn't be happening right? There was no way he’d walked into this situation for a third time.

Chris debates on whether he should just turn back around, go downstairs, out the front door, and bash his head against a tree, or if he should soldier on and just walk past to get to his room.

The sounds were getting to him. His cock strained against his grey sweatpants, creating a very obvious tent. His clothes suddenly felt a size too small, the air around him too thick, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. He should leave, run far, far away from his house probably, but a sick part of him wants more than anything to see what’s got you moaning this time.

He rounds the corner and is met with a sight that almost has him falling to his knees.

It’s unfair, how incredibly gorgeous you look straddling Matt’s thighs, bouncing on his dick rhythmically, your head thrown back. You’re leaning back on your hands, supported on Matt’s knees, and Chris watches the way your body undulates as you swivel your hips, ribs flaring as your chest heaves. Every gasp you let out is a punch to Chris’ gut, leaving him feeling winded.

You’re so lost in the throes of pleasure that you don't hear when Chris groans out loud, but he knows exactly when Matt hears him, because his head rolls lazily towards him, his hands that had been grabbing your hips tightening, and there’s little to no warning before Matt’s flipping you over and thrusting into you with vigor.

“Does that feel good baby?” Chris hears Matt ask, his voice rough and low. “Tell me how good my dick makes you feel.”

“Fuck, so good, Matt- please, please, please-” your moans turning into whimpers as Matt’s thrust pick up in pace. Chris can tell exactly when Matt hits the bundle of nerves inside you that has you seeing stars because your back arches off his bed, hands scrambling to find purchase. Your fingers clench into the pillow above your head, as you beg Matt to go harder, faster.

Chris’ eyes bounce back to Matt, who’s watching you in awe, and he’s seen that look on his face numerous times before, like Matt can't get enough of you. Chris’ breath hitches, because he wishes it was him, in Matt’s place. Him, worshiping you, making you feel good. He wishes he was the one that was ripping those sounds out of you.

He catches Matt’s eyes just then, and Chris has never wanted to punch him in the face more than he does in that moment, because it almost feels like he’s mocking Chris.

See what I have, what you so desperately want…

Chris holds up a middle finger, directed at Matt and whatever god was up there who’d clearly forsaken him. He had half the mind to just yell but the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you. So with a scathing look at Matt, and a mouthed fuck you, he walks to his room, the sound of Matt’s laughter the last thing he hears before Chris angrily slams the door and sheds his clothes, pumping his cock to the memory of your voice.

It’s the hardest he’s cum all week.

4

Chris walks in on Matt pounding you against the wall leading to the garage. At this point, it had to be on purpose. The two of you had to be planning this, because how was it always Chris that ended up walking in on them, and not Nick? Knowing his brother, Nick would’ve gone around voicing his disgust at having caught you and Matt fucking, any chance he got.

So, it had to be on purpose.

Matt’s whispering dirty things in your ear, loud enough for Chris to hear every word.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby-”

“I want to ruin you, want you to feel me for days-”

“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” and that has you letting out a particularly loud whine. The next bit Matt whispers into your ear is too inaudible for Chris to comprehend but he can tell how much it affects you, because you absolutely lose it just then.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“Can y’all stick to fucking in Matt’s bed?”

At the sound of Chris’ voice, you look up at him, startled, and it’s electrifying, your stare. Chris sees your eyebrows furrow, your lips, plump from being bitten (by yourself, or Matt, who cares at this point), fall open. Matt’s shoulders stiffen for a second, so Chris knows he’s aware that Chris is right behind them, but the asshole just keeps fucking going. And you, you’re still staring.

“Chris-” you gasp, your nails digging into Matt’s shoulder. Chris thinks you’re going to push him away, scramble to pull yourself together.

You surprise him by pushing back down onto Matt’s cock with even more fervor, your hands moving up Matt’s neck to grab onto his hair, pulling hard.

Chris watches you cum on Matt’s cock for the first time that night, all while your eyes were locked on his.

5

Chris doesn't like being angry. He very rarely is. And usually, he gets over it really quick.

Which is why it’s shocking to everyone when he gets cold and hostile towards Matt seemingly out of nowhere, and the anger doesn't subside.

It gets in the way of their work. Filming becomes exhausting, and it leaves all three brothers feeling frustrated and annoyed at each other.

It’s in the middle of filming a new car video when it all goes to head. Nick and Matt had attempted to film a video, but Chris couldn’t hold back the jabs at Matt, interrupting him every time he spoke, insulting him for no reason whatsoever, which only made Matt retaliate just as hard.

“That’s it-” Nick yells, his hands pushing his hair out of his face in frustration. “I’ve fucking had it with you two. I’m getting the fuck out of this car and the two of you are going to stay in here and talk. Don’t even bother coming back in until you sort out whatever-” he gestures wildly between Matt and Chris, “-is going on with you two!”

And with that, Nick storms back into their house.

Chris stares out of the window with his arms crossed, seething. He can tell Matt is looking at him, can see part of his reflection on the window, but Chris isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking first.

Matt, much to Chris’ annoyance, was completely calm and collected.

“Chris-” Matt begins to say, but Chris just chucks his empty Pepsi can at him without looking. He hears it clatter against something (the steering wheel, he thinks), before dropping down onto the car floor with a dull thud.

Matt sighs, and Chris wants to yell, because Chris is the one that should be huffing and sighing, he’s the one that’s tired of all this bullshit.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Chris asks, because he never could stay quiet for too long. “Is that it? What the actual fuck Matt?”

Chris had fully turned to face Matt, who at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed now. His face was tinged pinked, and he was fiddling with his rings.

Chris continues. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but if you’re just trying to get me to see she’s your girl, I fucking get it, okay? You’ve made that really fucking clear. Did I say or do something to warrant this shit, because if you think I’m out to get her, I’m not, okay? Jesus- do you know how fucking insane-”

“She wants you bro.”

Chris blinks. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

“I used to catch her staring at you sometimes, and there were times she’d just keep scrolling through pictures of the two of us together- you and me, I mean- and…I don’t know, she’d have this look on her face.” Matt trails off. He looks at Chris, trying to gauge his reaction so far, but truth be told, Chris was still trying to process what Matt had initially said.

“What…?”

“Look, the two of us are happy together. I love her, she loves me, but I think she…” Matt coughs out, and it’s the first time since this whole thing has started that Chris has seen Matt this awkward. “She’s into you too. She never really told me, but it got pretty obvious after a while. And eventually, I- I started bringing you up, when we- um, yeah. She wants us both.”

Chris starts laughing. Because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Alright, good prank dude- I’m still so fucking mad at you but-”

“I’m not kidding, Chris.”

Right. Because why would Matt joke about something like this?

“Um…”

“Yeah…”

And that’s how Chris finds himself back in Matt’s room. You and Matt were sitting on his bed, albeit a little far apart, meanwhile Chris had taken a seat in Matt’s gaming chair. Chris almost wants to call the two of you out on the pure torture you’d put him through the past few weeks, but one look at your face has him abandoning that train of thought.

You look so…remorseful. You’re slightly curled in on yourself, like you’re bracing for some sort of attack, and Chris’ heart melts. The last thing he wants is for you to feel upset, so he tries to lighten the mood.

“So, do you just wanna see which one of us has the better dick or-?”

He smiles as you sputter, eyes wide as you finally look up at him.

“There we go,” Chris whispers. “You’re finally looking at me.”

“Chris…I’m so sorry,” you whisper, lips trembling. “God, this is so stupid, why did we decide to tell him-”

“Hey, hey-” Chris chides. “I think I’ve been kept in the dark long enough, actually. I just wish y’all hadn’t used such a weird ass fucking way to tell me.”

“Well, to be fair, she didn’t even know you’d seen us that first couple of times,”

“Oh, god-”

“-And, we kinda assumed you’d take the fucking hint or something.”

“Yeah, I thought the hint was ‘I know you wanna fuck my girl, so I’m gonna make sure you catch us fucking every chance we get so you stay the fuck away’,” Chris says with a raised brow, staring deadpan at Matt.

“Wait, what-” you start, but you’re interrupted by Matt.

“Yeah, he’s wanted to fuck you for a while too.”

And that's how Chris finds himself with a front row view of Matt fucking you, up close and personal. Matt has you on all fours, facing Chris, while he pounds into you from behind, hard and deep. Each thrust punches a high-pitched moan out of you, and Chris watches, enraptured by the way you take it.

Chris watches to his heart's content that night, no longer worried about getting caught, no longer stressed about wanting to fuck you.

Chris watches you fall apart in Matt's hands over and over, and all he can think about is when he can finally have his turn.

+ 1

They’d had to wait for the perfect moment, a night they could be sure none of them would be interrupted.

They'd been planning for this night for a few days now, and it was finally here.

Chris and Matt stand side-by-side in front of Matt’s bed, arms crossed over their chest as they watch you squirm in his bed, their combined attention making you nervous. They’re both barely dressed, Chris in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, the front of which were already tented from his hard dick, while Matt was just in his black boxers. The low lighting of the room made Matt’s rings glisten as he rubbed at the stubble that he’d slowly allowed to grow on his face.

“How are we feeling, baby?” Matt asks you, smirking at the way you visibly gulp. “You ready for us?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, looking up at Chris through your lashes before nodding.

That’s all the cue he needs.

Chris stalks over to you, slowly, climbing over the bed and crawling over you, his hands landing on either side of your head as he holds himself above you. You lay back, your hair fanning around your head on the pillow, your eyes wide as you wait for Chris’ next move.

“Can I kiss you?” Chris asks, wetting his lips, and he doesn’t have to wait long for his answer. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the strands close to his nape, bringing his lips onto yours. The kiss is heady, a wild mess of tongue and teeth, because you’d both been waiting for this, dying for it, and here it was, finally happening.

“Chris-” you gasp, open mouth sliding over the hot skin of his cheek as he lowers his head to the crook of your neck, biting harsh kisses into the skin there, before tracing his tongue across your jaw.

“Fuck, fuck- you smell so good, I need you so bad ma-” Chris blabbers, his brain-to-mouth filter long gone. He vaguely registers Matt settling onto the bed, leaning against the headboard, as Chris kisses a path down your body, laving every inch of skin he can access with nips and kisses. You arch your back as Chris circles one of your nipples with his tongue, sucking on it as he flicks the other. He alternates between kissing and nipping your nipples, all the while, you have an almost painful grip on his hair, pushing your chest harder into his face.

Matt watches your face intently, seeing the way your features scrunch up in pleasure, mouth wide open as you gasp and whine. There’s a small part of him that knows he shouldn’t be so okay with his own brother having his way with his girlfriend, but it’s almost like he gets a 4K view of what it might usually look like when Matt’s the one doing these things to you.

Chris continues his path downwards, fingers hooking into the sides of your panties and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling them off of you. Your legs instinctively squeeze shut when the cold air hits your wet core, but Chris’s hands gently pry them open, staring at you in wonder.

“You’re so fucking wet, fuck-” Chris groans, before licking a stripe up the seam where your thigh meets your crotch, so close to where you actually want his tongue.

“Please, please-” you whimper, pushing your hips up closer to his lips, feeling his hot breath fan over you pussy. You hear both him and Matt chuckle, before Chris has his mouth on you, licking the wetness gathered in your folds. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the obscene sounds of Chris’s mouth as he eats you out like a man starving.

It’s almost too much, the way he’s sucking on your clit, before pushing his tongue into you, his face pushed deep, you’re sure he can’t breath. The pleasure builds, heat pooling low in your stomach. You feel Matt’s fingers brush against your forehead, pushing the hair that was starting to stick to it from all the sweat.

“You feel good baby?” Matt asks, tone soft, but his eyes glint dangerously. “One of us wasn’t enough for you, was it? You’re such a dirty girl, wanting me and my brother.”

You whine, head pushing against his thigh closest to your head. Chris laughs, pulling his head back to chime in.

“Greedy little slut, that’s what she is,” he says, cheeks rosy and face glistening from the nose down, his chin absolutely soaking wet. “You gonna cum soon ma?”

You don’t even know what you respond with, just that Chris goes back to eating you out, this time, bringing his fingers to your entrance, sliding one finger, then two, into your sopping wet cunt as he licks random paths across your folds, occasionally circling your clit and sucking on it harshly, all while thrusting his fingers in and out of you, causing you to buck your hips up wildly. Your orgasm, only the first one of the night, is fast approaching, and your thighs clench around Chris’ head. The only warning he gets is a sudden yell of his name before you gush all over his face.

“Did you just- did she just squirt?” Chris asks, eyes wide as he takes in the mess that you’d made. His face and neck were now fully wet, and there was a perfectly round wet spot right underneath you. His fingers flutter over your now slightly puffy pussy, watching your folds quiver.

“Fuck, it’s too much- Chris, wait,” you whine, hands moving to grab Chris’ wrist. He doesn’t stop with his ministrations though, fingers pumping in and out of you, prodding at the bundle of nerves inside you that caused your vision to white out. It was fast, intense, and Chris manages to pull a second orgasm out of you before you’d even managed to catch your breath from the first one.

Chris sits up on his knees, reaching his arms behind him and pulling his tank top off, throwing it behind him. He hooks his arms around your thighs before pulling you down the bed, closer to him, allowing Matt to slot himself behind you.

“Can you turn over for me ma?” Chris asks with a gentle pat against your hip. It takes some effort, your limbs feel loose and languid, but you manage to flip onto your stomach. Hands grab your face, tipping your head up, and you see your boyfriend looking at you with a smirk, tongue peeking out to run across his teeth.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” he asks, voice like dripping honey with a hint of something razor-sharp. “This everything you imagined?”

“Yes- oh god, Matt- I need you, please-”

“You have me baby,” he coos. “You have me and Chris. That’s what you wanted, right? ‘Cause one dick was never enough to keep you satisfied.”

“Ngghh- please, please, I-” you whimper, mouthing at Matt’s dick through his boxers, startled when you feel a sudden smack against your ass, pain blossoming across your skin.

“If she’s already this cock dumb, I wonder how she’s gonna get when we actually get our dicks in her,” Chris wonders out loud with an amused huff, palming at your ass cheeks as he rubs his clothed dick against it.

You continue begging, your pussy soaking wet and clenching around nothing in anticipation for what’s to come, hips arching off the bed while your back dips low, shoulders tucked between Matt’s spread thighs as you lick him through the only piece of fabric that is keeping you from tasting him, from having his cock fill your mouth.

Chris smooths his palm down your back, making you arch your back even further, before he spreads your cheeks, seeing the way you twitch at being put on display.

“I think she’s waited long enough, hasn’t she?” Matt asks Chris, nodding his head slightly as if to tell Chris to get on with it. Chris doesn’t waste any time pushing his sweats down his thighs, freeing his cock. You turn your head back to try and peek at it from over your shoulder, but Matt has a firm hand on your head pushing you towards his crotch while he pulls his dick out of his boxers. With one hand holding the back of your head, and the other around his dick, Matt slaps it against your cheek, amused at the way you so desperately try and get him to guide his cock into your mouth instead.

Simultaneously, Chris is behind you, rubbing the tip of his dick through your folds, gathering the wetness there. Above you, you feel Matt lean towards his dresser, before rifling through the top drawer and chucking something at Chris. There’s a sound of a bottle cap clicking open, and lube being squeezed out, before you hear the squelch of it as Chris spreads it over his dick.

Later, you’ll think they must have planned this head of time, but both Matt and Chris decide to push their dicks into you at the same time, Matt feeding you his cock, pushing past your lips, applying gentle pressure to the back of your head, while Chris spreads your folds apart and drives his dick into you, the tip catching inside you for a moment, before he thrusts his hips and pushes his dick deeper into you.

“Look at that,” Chris says, smacking the palms of both his hands onto your cheeks at the same time, before kneading at them. “She takes dick really fucking well.”

“It’s like she’s made for it, isn’t she?”

Chris fucks you like he has all the time in the world, savoring the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, fascinated by the sight of his dick disappearing in you at every thrust. You stretch around him so beautifully, and you’re so fucking tight, he wonders how he managed to fit it all in you in one go.

At the other end, Matt watches you with soft affection as you suck on his cock, tears streaming down your face from the exertion on your body and minimal air supply. At every thrust of Chris’ hips, you would get pushed closer to Matt, which would push his dick deeper into your mouth, making you almost gag on it.

You have no concept of time anymore, or where your body starts and Chris’ and Matt’s end. You feel like one big mess of limbs, moving fluidly, with the common purpose of chasing your orgasm. You hear Matt’s groans getting louder above you, and you know he’s getting close. You’re not far behind yourself, but Chris still seems like he’s nowhere close to being done.

Pulling your mouth off of Matt’s cock, you circle your hand around the base of it, before stroking your hand up and down, twisting it around the head. You swipe your thumb across the slit at the top while you tongue at the underside of the head, all while looking up at Matt through hooded eyes.

“Cum on my face, Matt, please-” you beg, mouth slightly open, a line of spit connecting your tongue to his dick. Chris' thrusts are picking up, but you keep your elbows planted firmly on the bed below to keep yourself steady for Matt. There’s a tingle building low in your spine, but you focus on Matt, the way he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair is a mess, and his body is flushed. The hand he has on your head grips your hair tight, and the other joins your hand in pumping his dick. It only takes a few more seconds of that before Matt lets out a loud groan of your name, spurts of thick, hot cum landing across your face, and you close your eyes as it drips down your face, some of it landing on your tongue.

Matt leans back heavily against the headboard, and before you can register anything, you’re being flipped onto your back, face still covered in Matt’s cum. Your shoulders hit Matt’s chest as Chris crowds against you on the bed, his hands now on the back of your knees, pushing your legs back against your chest, before thrusting his dick back into you.

The sudden shift has you blinking back stars, and this new angle has Chris’ dick brushing against your sweet spot on every thrust, and all you can do is sob at the immense pleasure you feel. Matt circles his arms around you, one hand playing with one of your nipples, while the other moves down your stomach and edges closer to your clit. The tingling sensation grows, and grows, your hands scrambling to find purchase on Chris’ shoulders as he thrusts particularly deep into you before you finally snap, screaming as your third orgasm is ripped from you, the force of it pushing Chris’ cock out of you as you squirt all over him, yourself, and the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably.

You’re fully gasping and sobbing now, the intensity of your orgasm wracking through your whole body. You watch through hooded, teary eyes, as Chris leans over you, furiously stroking his cock as he soaks in the view of you, hot and messy, ruined because of him, before he too eventually reaches his orgasm, cum pulsing out of him and landing high on your chest, across your nipples, one spurt even hitting your chin.

The three of you are a heaping mess of limbs after, all basking in the afterglow of a night well spent, tired, but satiated. Matt and Chris lay on either side of you, stroking whatever part of your skin they can reach, occasionally batting each other’s hands away and pulling you closer to either side, like you’re not all squished together already.

“We should do that again sometime,” you say after a long beat of silence. Matt snorts, eyes closed, but the corners of his lips are quirked up in a small smile.

“Y’all are crazy if you think I’m never fucking you again after I just got a taste,” Chris states. “Besides, I think there’s a lot of lost time I need to make up for, hm?”

After that night, Chris gets to have his turn with you, over and over. Sometimes, Matt is present, and the brothers somehow always turn things into a competition of who can make you cum the quickest, who can make you cum multiple times, who can make you absolutely incoherent by the end of the night.

Now Chris had his own reason for always being so chipper in the morning. It helps that he finally gets to fuck the hottest girl he’s seen, who just happens to also be fucking his brother.

author’s note: i put too much fucking effort into an idea that essentially started as a joke, its gonna be so funny if this flops because i literally stayed up till 4 am twice in a row to write this lmao- anyways, let me know what you think! my inbox is open and waiting for your thoughts (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @kvtie444 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @55sturn @chrisopeningabag

[kamitv]

could you write about who you think are the most touch/affection-starved of the jjk boys? the thought of them crumbling at the slightest touch and savoring every second with us makes me 🥴🥴🥴

▷ Delicate

Sypnosis . Men who fold under your touch. / Pairings . (Separate) Nanami x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Ino x f!reader / Content . afab!reader, established relationships, fluff, begging men, sensitive men, soft sex, filth, dirty talk, etc. / wc . 4.8k

A/N: Grieving over the loss of my man right now-- Gege I hate you and the air that you breathe. This was going to include more men but due to the loss of my lover, my mood was ruined and I couldn’t finish what I had for the others… Anyway, not proof-read, hope you enjoy! ^.^ [MDNI]

★ Nanami Kento

While it may be a bit... unexpected, yes, Nanami is sensitive to your touch. Each one lingers on his skin, seeps through his clothing, and tattoos itself onto him.

He's a very stoic and, usually, stern man but when it comes to you, he's almost like putty under your touch. It's intoxicating really, the way you're always caressing his arms, grabbing his hand to hold when the two of you walk or even during sex.

You're quite the touchy woman and Nanami can't say he doesn't love that about you.

When he comes home after a long day of work, you'd rush to the door to greet him, dressed in your comfort clothes from head to toe with that bright smile of yours latched to your face. Your hands are on him instantly, helping him rid himself of his coat, his tie, hell, even his shoes sometimes if you're feeling enthusiastic enough.

It's cute really. The way you help him undress as soon as he steps into the house, asking him how his day was and reciprocating with a not-so-eventful tale of your day. He's listening to your every word though, hanging off every syllable even, but you don't notice it.

Even as you guide him toward the kitchen to show him a surprise dinner you'd whipped up, you're rambling about something concerning your cooking process and he's hearing every word but, the way your fingers slip down his arms, curl around his wrist to pull him along, release him and then press into his chest to stop him from walking-- it was truly alluring.

Nanami swears he wasn't always this sensitive to touch. He doesn't know why exactly his heart swells in while you keep your hand flat on his chest, your attention on some nearby pot as you continue to talk.

You were explaining something but he'd stopped listening, his eyes all over the side of your face and soon trailing to your arm, and then to the hand you've got on him.

Nanami's hand would be moving before he even realizes, slipping so gracefully to your wrist and moving your hand off of him just to lean down a bit and plant a loving kiss across your knuckles.

"And then I almost-," His sudden kiss would make your brain freeze, head whirling in his direction to see your husband planting peck after peck before he shifts your hand to cup the side of his face and then meets your gaze.

Those gentle brown eyes of his would be so sappy and soft with you, filled with a love you can hardly comprehend as he rests his head against your palm, grinning at you. What a handsome man you've married.

You couldn't be happier as you look at him, even with the sigh that leaves you, "Kento..."

His brows would raise ever so slightly, "Hm?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?" You'd huff out. And there's this slight frustration in your voice but he loves it anyway, completely and utterly smitten for you no matter the situation.

Nanami nods, just barely, before turning his head and kissing the inside of your palm, "Mhm," He hums casually, "You were telling me how you almost burned our kitchen down."

"Yes, and..." Your eyes narrow at the man, watching how he just kisses and kisses your palm, almost as though he couldn't pull himself away, "Ken..." Your hand slips a bit and you caress his face, "Are you okay?"

His hand, much veinier and larger than yours, would come up and cup yours over his face, "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Your touch is just so... soft."

That earns a smile from you, "Is it?" You'd giggle amid your question, eyes lowering at the man before you.

"Yes, it is," Nanami responds simply. Then he begins moving your hand to the side of his neck and his head tilts as he looks at you, stepping closer and closing the slight space between you and him, "I love how gentle it is, how loving, how caring."

"Oh?" Your smile widens and you move your other hand away from the, now forgotten, pot and it goes toward the buttons of his shirt, "Should I start touching you more then?"

"I implore you to, yes," Nanami huffs out, his body leaning toward yours.

You bring your lower lip into your mouth and tip your head a bit, one hand toying with the buttons of his shirt and the other caressing the side of his neck, "Since when has my touch had you this... pleading," You question, words coming out slow as his eyes drop to your lips.

Your husband takes his other hand and grabs a careful hold onto your wrist, dragging your hand further down his body and making you feel against his abs through his clothing as he leans closer to you. His free hand then moves to your waist and he tugs you to him, closing any and all space left.

"Always," Nanami confesses to you, "Your touch makes me weak, sweetheart." He explains with that gentle yet deep voice of his, always so soft when speaking to you.

You smile, "Weak?"

"Yes, weak," Nanami whispers in agreement with a steady nod of his head, eyes doting on every aspect of your facial expression.

The man was so in love and his poured out of his every gaze, brown eyes lingering on your lips long enough to silently tell you what he wanted. So, your hand steadily undoes the first button on his shirt, moving your other hand from his neck to assist yourself.

Your eyes on his the entire time, you unbutton at least four buttons before taking a finger and grazing his bare chest, watching how his breathing stutters from something so light.

Smiling, "This, Kento..." Your voice is small in a sultry whisper as you drag your finger down and down until you pass his torso and reach the hem of his pants, "This makes you, weak?" You as tauntingly just before you begin unbuckling his belt.

His heart rate quickens and he swallows loud enough for you to hear, sighing as his head weighs to the side a little, "Hahh, yes, my love," Nanami tells you, face inclining down to your own.

Your gaze and his meet and the eye contact is heavy with tension, your fingers working his belt loose before you're teasing him by just barely unbuttoning his pants and making sure your fingers caress the area below his abdomen.

Nanami's lips twitch and so badly does he want to kiss you but he's too busy hanging off the slow words leaving your lips.

"Who would've thought?" You utter, smiling at your husband, "A serious man like you crumbling to your wife's small touches."

He tilts his head further and his lips are practically on yours as he speaks, "Small or not... they're touches from my wife." He emphasises just before giving you but a small peck on the lips.

You hum, "I suppose."

And then you're finally kissing him, lips molding into one another and his body melting to the feel of you. Oh how Nanami loves the way your lips part for his tongue to push through, the way you kiss him back with just as much passion as he approaches you with, and how warm and savory the inside of your mouth is.

Soft smacks emit from the two of your lips sliding over one another, your husband nipping at your lower lip and quick to kiss you like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Then his hands are grabbing a firm hold of your waist, silently telling you that you're his to hold and touch however he feels.

His fingers, large, veiny, and thick, feel you through the fabric of your top, unable to pry off of you once he's got you in his grasp.

Then, into your mouth so very lowly, h's grunting, "Undress me," Nanami orders as he slightly steps forward with you.

You step back accordingly and your hands are flying back up, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and feeling him up afterward as you start slipping the item off of his body.

"Like this? Hm?" You whisper back to him as his shirt hangs off of him, his hands gripping onto you tighter and tighter whilst he walks you backward and out of the kitchen.

His voice makes your knees weak as his mouth detaches from yours and drops to your neck while you move to finally get his slacks off, "Yes, like that. Good girl," Nanami praises against your neck, soft but hot kisses making you gasp.

With your voice all breathy and your feet and hands stumbling with the large eager man before you, "C'mon Ken, at least make it to the bedroom," You murmur, his pants loose on his hips as he bulge brushes against your front.

"I'm trying." He groans, breath simmering into the crook of your neck before his tongue is felt against you.

You can't help but giggle, "You're trying?"

"Yes," He huffs out, voice hinted with this tune you rarely hear from him too often.

You're walking back and back until you bump into a wall for a second, your bedroom door now to your right as Nanami marks up your neck messily. Then you snicker, "Mmmh, I like you like this, Kento," You comment, to which he sighs.

Then he's off your neck and moving you to walk backward into your bedroom, clearly no longer patient.

Cocking his head to the side, "Like what?" Nanami asks curiously.

You shrug and the back of your legs hit the front of your bed, "Desperate, almost," You hum, brows furrowing a bit.

Nanami helps you settle yourself onto the mattress completely before he's crawling on top of you, shrugging his shirt completely off of his body and revealing his full chiseled physique to you.

"Starved?" He asks, trying to find the word you were looking for.

You shake your head and then it comes to you, your arms wrapping around his neck and tugging him down to you before you whisper, "Craving."

Nanami gazes at you for a long moment, simply taking you in before nodding his head slowly, "Craving, yes." He agrees.

Then, another long press of his lips to yours is made and your legs are adjusted to wrap around his waist, Nanami wanting any and all parts of you on him now.

His lips shift to the left a little and he kisses the side of your mouth, then your cheek, and then he drops to your neck again, making you do nothing more than smile as his hands work to get your clothes off of you.

Your top is soon removed, bottoms followed soon after, all of which is discarded to the floor somewhere before Nanami's kissing you again and forcing your hands to be on him.

"Run your fingers through my hair," He murmurs, directing one of your hands to his blonde locks of hair. Then, he takes the other hand and moves it to wrap around his neck, "Scratch my back while I fuck you," Nanami whispers, works making your breathing unsteady while he suddenly grinds his hard cock down into you, "Try pushing me away when it becomes too much, I don't care, just want your hands on me, okay?"

His directions had you hot all over, pupils dilated already, breathing heavy from his constant kisses, and your hands quick to run along his tensed skin before you nod with an obedient, "Yes sir." Leaving you.

Nanami just barely smiles and you feel his heavy cock twitch against you, "What'd I tell you about that?"

"I don't remember," You whipser, your fingers slipping down from his hair to caress his jawline and then pulling his face closer to your own, "Remind me, sir."

There's a smile on his face as his lips finally near your own again, "You'll be the death of me one day." Nanami utters to you lovingly.

And maybe one day you will.

But tonight?

Tonight you are nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he soon grunts into your ear telling you how good your cunt feels around him, telling you how pretty you look taking his cock, and moaning out how much he loves the way you touch him.

★ Choso Kamo

You always knew he was sensitive to your touch. Look at him. No, literally, look at the man. He's not sensitive to everything but your touch is most definitely his weakness.

You once gave the man nothing more than a handjob and he was cumming all over the damn place. You're not sure if you've ever seen your boyfriend so... whiney.

Choso had his legs spread like a slut for you as you sat oh so prettily beside him, fingers wrapped around his cock and stroking him torturously slow. Your thumb would caress his bulging veins, fingers would twirl around his fat tip, tap and slip in between the slit of his cock, teasing him.

And since you were sitting beside him, your breasts would graze the side of his arm, making him flinch over and over. You had him so tense, so sweaty, so loud.

Choso didn't even know he could moan this much just from someone's hand. He's jerked himself off plenty of times but when you do it, it's like blood rushes to both his head and his cock, his vision would blur, and his breathing would grow unsteady.

Maybe it's because of how you had teased him beforehand, running your manicured nails along his inner thigh as the two of you tried to watch a movie together. Only for your hand to accidentally graze his dick, somehow groping him through his clothing and then turning to look at him.

That was when he began to sweat buckets, cock springing up under your palm at one measly little touch and his breath hitching.

Then he was whispering a gruff little, "Baby," Making you smile as you did nothing but innocently bat your lashes at him. To which he'd tip his head back against the couch and swallow, "Stop teasin'..."

You then scooted closer to him, your thigh touching his as your voice neared his ear, "I barely even touched you, Cho," You had whispered, watching how even in the dim lighting, his face grew red and he struggled to keep his composure.

Turning his head to you, Choso was quick to meet your eyes with a low and desperate gaze, lids dimming, brows tensing, and breathing heavy. "Then touch me more, please." He requested quietly, deep voice making your cunt jump with excitement.

You quickly switched hands so that you could turn your torso to him, which was when your breast pressed into his arm and your hand then moved to work his cock out.

And yes, in minutes he was cumming in your hand, making such an embarrassing mess of your fingers. Your hand was so soft, jerking his twitching cock off so perfectly.

Choso was groaning into the air like he couldn't control it, "H-Hahh, aagh, baby-, baby fuck, y-your ha-hahh, hand-," His voice... squeaks? as he says that last word, pitching so deliciously that you have to squeeze your thighs together as you watch him tense up yet again, "S-Shit, m'gonna cum again," Choso breathed out through gritted teeth.

He was so sexy all sensitive and tense for you, making you smile as you watched his face twist up and his eyes flicker every time you focused your palm on his tip.

"Again, Cho? You're makin' such a mess, baby," You coo softly, breath just barely hitting his ear and adding on to the numerous things he was feeling.

His head was spinning at this point and he couldn't stop himself from watching your, much smaller, hand jerk him off, from quick pulls and tugs to slow drags and caresses, to twisting and rolling-- Choso was both in a daze and high off of watching you stroke his aching cock.

God damn you knew how to use your hand. You knew where he was sensitive, knew what to do and how to do it.

His cock was wet with cum and your hand just slide up and down and up and down, the sloppy sound filling the entire space and adding onto his arousal. Cum was slipping in between your fingers, all down to his balls-- shit, he really did make a mess.

It was nasty but... he liked it that way.

"P-Princess, fuuck, please," His voice was cracking, breaking because of you, eyes tearing up as your hand only got faster and faster, "Fuck fuck, please d-don't stop." He pants out, head flying back against the couch as his thighs closed and opened, almost like he wanted it all to end and yet continue at the same time.

Watching him had your body hot, there was a pulse coming from in between your legs and you had half the urge to get down on your knees and just suck him off since he was being so damn whiney.

But at the same time, you couldn't stop your hand. Not when he was about to cum again, not when you were about to drag the sound you were looking for out of him.

"Y'like that, Cho?" Such a simple question you murmured to him and yet it broke him.

Nodding all needily and fucked out, "Yes baby, yesyesyes," He gasps, abs tensing as your hand just would stop. You wouldn't let up on him for even a second and it was killing him, "F-Fuck I like it s'much-, I like you- love you," He corrects, struggling and stumbling over all his words, "Love your fuckin' hand-"

His jaw drops and the groan that leaves him comes from deep within his throat, "Ohmygoddd, fuck," Oh he was babbling for you, thoughts whirling, voice cracking and high pitched with you.

Then his lips quivered and that's when that noice came out. Such a cute, whiney, and filthily obscene whimper slipped out of his mouth, eyes at the back of his damn skull as he came all over your hand again.

And you had the nerve to talk him through it, whispering sweet, "That's it baby," To him and making him pant and his breathing stutter, your hand still going.

Choso couldn't formulate proper sentences with you anymore, barely chanting an almost silent I love you over and over until your hand stopped and his dick finally calmed down.

★ Ino Takuma

Is this even surprising?

Of course your cute boyfriend Ino is sensitive and affectionate starved. Sometimes he tries to act like your touch doesn't faze him but the very second it leaves him, he's giving you these doe-eyes and moving to put your hand back on him.

And it's just perfect for him that you enjoy touching him a lot. You're almost always hugging him or grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss and he loves it.

So whenever you're away for a few hours, his body aches for you. You'd have your nails done too so that was something he enjoyed feeling more than ever, loving how your fingernails would run through his hair as he laid on your thighs or even in between them, face stuffed into your cunt.

Either way, Ino loved your touches and yes he craves it when you're not around.

So whenever the two of you do meet up, you're always running up to him, throwing your arms up and around his neck, laughing and smiling about how much you missed him.

Then you'd always tug that beanie off of his head, telling him how much you enjoy it when his hair is out and teasing him about looking silly with the accessory on.

He'd shrug off your comment and then as soon as you turn away from him, his arms are draping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder and crotch pressing into your ass.

Your body would freeze in place as you feel something familiarly hard poking at your ass, turning your head to your boyfriend who you've barely even touched so far and raising a brow at him, "Takuma..." You'd utter softly, earning a grin from him.

"Hm? Somethin' wrong?" He'd ask casually, as if there's not a painful boner in his pants all because you'd hugged him.

"You tell me," You tease, moving out of his hold and turning your body around to face your boyfriend as you cross your arms.

He quickly raises a hand to the back of his neck to scratch, chuckling nervously, "I'm not sure what y'want me to say?" He hums plauyfully.

You tilt your head and him and sigh before moving to point at his crotch, "How about you start with explaining that."

Ino's head drops to look at where you're pointing to, laughing as soon as he sees himself, "Oh, that. Yeah, no, that's uh, that's nothing, really-," His head lifts and you've gotten all close to him again, head angled upward slightly to meet his gaze and your stare making him swallow all his words down with a loud gulp.

Your hand then moves in almost slow motion and you place but a single finger to his chin, tipping his face down some more to get a good look at him and then smiling. "Y'know you can ask me to help you, right? I am your girlfriend, remember?" You whisper.

He starts nodding like he's hanging off of your words, eyes set on your lips and his breathing picked up just because you've got a finger on his chin. "M-Mhm, I uh," He blinks a few times to gather himself, "I know."

You smile and step even closer, your body just barely touching his, "Takuma," You whisper yet again, causing a shiver to slip down his spine.

He was so nervous because of you, "Lover," He hums back.

A chuckle slips past you, "Lover? That's cute."

"Y'like that one? I've been brainstormin' pet names recently," Ino tells you happily, his voice soft with you due to the lack of distance between you and him.

"Yeah, that one's cute," You whisper as your lips near his, "But uh, we're not just gonna skip past this," You emphasize as your hand palms at his erection, making his breath hitch.

Ino's brows tense and so does the rest of his body, "Y'gonna take care of it, baby?" He whispers to you, eyes softening at you as you peer up at him so tentatively.

"You want me to?" You utter back, batting your eyes at him and feeling on his cock through his clothing.

"Yeah," Ino nods out, to which you give him this look and he swallows, quick to correct himself, "Yes... please."

Smiling, "How do you want me to take care of it, hm? On my knees? With my hand?"

Ino barely knows how to even answer your question, it always makes him nervous when you take the lead, not that it doesn't happen often but most times anything sexual between you two just occurs mutually.

There's not always someone in the lead and it's usually just the two of you trying to make the other feel good. Which is enjoyable of course but when you're like this? Asking him what he wants and yet telling him what you're going to do through your gaze?

Oh he's almost the one on his knees for you.

Which is how you ended up later sitting behind your boyfriend, head peering over his shoulder and arms wrapped around him so that your pretty hands could work up and down his cock.

He hardly remembers how he got into this position with you or what he said for you to even want to do this but, here he was; face red, moans pouring out, hips bucking up into your touch, eyes lidded and struggling to keep up with watching the way your two hands groped and jerked at his cock perfectly.

Your fingers and his dick glistened with spit and precum, the sounds of you giving him the best handjob he could ever have asked for loud throughout the room.

"Oh baby," Ino whines out, eyes nearly shut as he tries his hardest not to squirm too much, "That feels so fuckin' good, holy shit."

"Yeah?" You smile, "My hands feel good?" The taunting behind your words made his cock throb in your hands, slim veins bulging against your palms and making you snicker.

Ino nods his head needly, "M-Mhmm, fuck-," He gasps, voice lagging behind as he tries his best to answer you properly.

You start kissing the side of his neck and he swears his head is spinning. He doesn't even know what to focus on at this point. Your hands on his cock? Your lips on the side of his neck? Your breasts pressed into his back?

It was all too much for him, making his knees bend just for his legs to extend out seconds later, his mouth just open with moans of your name and not-so-silent whines slipping out. Did he want it to go on forever or stop as soon as possible?

Fuck, and then there was you heavy breathing against him, almost as if you were aroused by this too-

Holy shit you were. You were probably soaked just because you're busy getting your boyfriend off using those pretty hands of yours. Ino's on cloud nine just thinking about how wet your cunt probably is, his moans getting louder and louder as second pass.

Up until he can't take it anymore and he moans your name, "B-Baby, fuck, needa' feel you, please."

"Hm?" You giggle softly, though it's noticeably more breathy than usual, "You are feelin' me though?" You point out as your hands tighten around his cock.

Ino's head rests back a bit and he pants, babbling out his desperations more clearly for you, "No baby, your pussy, come put it on me, please." He huffs out.

You cunt twitches at his words and you whisper his name, "Takuma...."

"Please?" Your boyfriend begs, gulping afterward to catch his breath for a moment, "J-Just... oh fuck, let me feel you, taste you, fuck you, anything baby, please?"

"Shit, okay, okay," Is the last thing you say before you too folded under pressure and moved.

Then you were on top of him, his eyes glossy as he watched you above him. Neither of you are sure which was more stimulating, you jerking him off or what you're doing now.

Which was rubbing nothing more than his tip against your slick hole, dragging him back and forth and back and forth in between your sopping folds. His tip was glazed in your arousal and his own, both of you moaning softly at the tease of it all.

It was somehow almost better than sex itself. You liked teasing him like this and he loved being teased. Ino was in a daze, trying his hardest not to cum at the sight of you forcing his needy cock against your pussy.

Your cunt looked so fucking delicious, so wet, so warm, he wanted to be inside you so bad and that's what was arousing him right now-- the temptation to just thrust his hips up into you and finally sink his inches deep inside you.

There was a light wet and sloppy sound that followed your languid movements, his cock slipping inside of you every now and then and making you practically start drooling for it.

It was taking everything in you not to just plop down and start bouncing on his cock like you normally would but when you looked at Ino's face and saw him panting and quietly whimpering-- you knew he was about to cum and you didn't want to stop.

Rocking your pussy over his tip over and over and over and over again until he was struggling to gasp for air, hissing out a cry of your name over and over, trying to warn you.

But instead of stopping, you whine, "C'mon, cum f'me," And then he is, and his cock is leaking in cum before he can even comprehend it, never realizing how sensitive his body was to you until now.

You always kinda knew he was sensitive and sure, you rubbing his cock against your pussy was pleasurable but it really surprised you how much he came from the action.

Smirking as he comes down from his high, you then lean to him and kiss him before whispering, "Good boy," To which his jaw drops a bit and you're angling his cock to slip inside you, "Now, hurry up 'nd please your girlfriend," You huff out.

And he's nodding without a second thought, "Yes ma'am-, fuck, whatever you want, pretty girl."

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[pepperyduck]

“roomates” with satoru gojo

 this is part five of my kinktober event!

word count: 2.3k

warnings: nsfw, roomate au, fingering, gojo has a nasty mouth, pwp!, virgin reader, overstim. (18+ mdni!)

notes: i love the idea of actor and roomate gojo so much,,, may talk about it later. uploading early again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

having the satoru gojo as your roommate is quite the experience.

it was odd—

you had known satoru in college, always somehow getting stuck in the same overflow housing on campus. you had gotten to know each other well, being forced to live with the other off and on. after he had gotten his degree in drama—and you got your degree in a successful STEM major—he proposed moving in together. you needed a place off campus, and he needed someone to room with, because rent was too high for him to afford on his own as a budding actor.

things were fine for a while, daily routines consisted of seeing one another regularly. but then satoru had his first big gig. he disappeared for months, needed for a last minute replacement. he told you about the role; a younger version of a strong—no, the strongest—sorcerer. apparently, he got to play his part in a dramatic friendship breakup, which you figured perfectly suited the way satoru acted normally.

his fame quickly rose, with the series being released only a few months later. after that, satoru never really came around all that often; you saw him maybe twice a month, if you got lucky. but even after that, satoru stayed in the apartment. you didn’t mind, honestly, he kept up with his side of the rent plus some.

but the really odd part?

your social media feed.

every social wouldn’t shut up about him—“upcoming star, satoru gojo makes an impact in new tv series,” “he’s so hot, i’d let him do whatever he wanted,” “I NEED HIM,”

and yeah, maybe curiosity got the best of you when you searched up the fanfiction—but hey, people seemed like they would kill to be in your position. the creative minds of those online made you see your goofy, struggling artist of a roommate in a different light. the way they wrote about his chest, and how smooth and toned it is, or his sparkly blue eyes and how they could make clothes fall of with just a look. recently, satoru had shared in an interview his fingers are 6 inches, and boy did people go feral over that.

they focused on every part. his soft fingertips, and how lengthy his fingers actually are the more you look at them. the subtle veins that ran over the back of his hand and up his arm. his middle and ring finger, how nicely they slide in and out, hitting that spot, coaxing you toward—

“whatcha readin’?”

the abrupt question shocks you out of your trance, making you yelp and practically throw your phone across the room. it lands face down beside your vanity, earning a loud thud when it hits the floor. your heart speeds up as you turn to face your roommate, internal temperature rapidly rising.

“jesus, satoru! what are you doing home?” you ask, praying that he wouldn’t take it upon himself to grab your phone for you.

“it’s my apartment, too, y’know,” he retorts, throwing his hands on his hips dramatically. “i’m gonna be here for a few days, if you don’t mind.” every word off his tongue is laced in sarcasm. it’s annoying.

and just as you try to reply, gojo swoops to the other side of the room to grab your phone, intently staring at the screen before you can even say, “stop!” you want to run away because you just know he’s reading pure filth about himself that you looked up. but you find yourself unable to move whatsoever, only able to watch in horror as your roommate reads fanfiction about himself. immediately, a sly grin overcomes satoru’s expression, and his eyes flicker from the phone to you over his sunglasses.

“this is pretty detailed stuff,” satoru teases. you’re able to tell he is in fact reading whatever you had pulled up on your phone, because he’s taking his sweet time scrolling and reading through all the divine things said about his hands.

“stop, satoru,” you whine, pathetically reaching for your phone. gojo holds it out of your reach, of course, and even though you almost came to grab your phone that was almost touching the ceiling, you can’t quite reach it. “please just go away,” you sigh, giving up and flopping back down on your mattress. you can only look on, still mortified, as satoru continues scrolling.

after a few heavy minutes and some more comments on your choice of fiction to read, he throws your phone back on the bed next to you, placing his hands on his hips once more.

“how long were you gonna keep that from me?”

“never really planned on telling you, satoru. leave me alone.” you reply, grabbing your phone so it’s out of gojo’s reach.

“you could’ve just asked—,”

“go away—huh?” you furrow your brows and look at the taller man, who’s sassily posed next to your bed, “don’t fuck with me like that.”

“i’m not.” he assures you.

satoru wasn’t joking. in fact, he had never been more serious in his life. he’d always thought you were pretty – more like drop dead, breathtakingly beautiful – but never mustered up the courage to talk to you about it. you were his friend, his roommate. he didn’t want to scare you off. but all chances of him not scaring you off were thrown out the window because he knew you wanted him now.

so, yes, he did what he did with every other girl—encouraging a hot make-out session after you got over the embarrassment of what was on your phone. you hadn’t had a chance to think about all those stories you read online, because it was all happening to you in real time.

with your lips in a permanent lock, satoru takes his time rubbing his hands all over your body, grabbing your waist, flipping up the skirt you had worn in the previous hours to run errands—

“wait,” you labored out, breathing heavy as you pushed your roommate’s shoulders away from you, “i’ve never—i haven’t…” your words are tripping over themselves into silence as you try to explain to your – gorgeous, famous, actor – roommate that you’re a virgin.

queue satoru’s head almost exploding. he swears then and there that his nose should’ve started to bleed, and his face turned an awful shade of red at the news. it was unfathomable in his mind that you, his smoking-hot roommate, was a virgin. he swore he saw you come home with your ex-boyfriend plenty of times…but maybe you were saving yourself, or something.

“stop looking at me like that. you were a virgin too.” you scoff at his ogling, crossing your arms over your chest. you’re still trapped against your headboard, the sheer size of satoru making you stay in one place. your legs are draped over his thighs, not quite straddling but close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your clothed pussy.

“do you want me to finger you?”

the crude question rolls off his tongue with ease, and you smack his shoulder with the palm of your hand in return. but again, he’s being serious. it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s being serious, he wants to finger you and it’s written all over his face.

after a few moments and shocked blinks, you nod your head.

satoru’s nosebleed actually happens whenever he gets you in position; you’re laid back with your legs on top of his, knees pressing into his waist. he just stares in utter disbelief at how cute and sexy you look, flustered all because of him. he runs the pad of his thumb over the mound in your panties, relishing in how soft, warm and damp you are. he can’t take his eyes away from how his thumb presses into the flesh, pushing down just to watch how his thumb gets swallowed by it.

“satoru—your nose is bleeding,” you gruffly state, snapping the white-haired man back to reality. one hand stays pressed to you while he lifts the other one to wipe under his nose with the back of his wrist.

low and behold, a few droplets of blood smear on the back of his wrist—but he’s too entranced by you to care. he looks back in your eyes, wiping his face with his shirt grossly.

“i’m okay—can i take them off?” satoru asks, almost politely if he wasn’t bleeding from the nose at how horny he is. his fingers hook into the waistband, eagerly awaiting your nervous little nod that you give him. he rips the thin fabric off your legs, taking it upon himself to lift you up and move your legs so he can toss your panties to the side of the room.

your immediate response is to snap your thighs together, but satoru quickly stops you and holds your legs open, forcing you to show your most intimate area to him. he drools over how pretty it looks, folds spread open and glistening, a perfect display of anatomy. he’s in love with the view alone. a prominent tent pokes in his sweatpants, but he ignores the feeling to focus on the task at hand.

“stop staring,” you meekly speak up, eyes looking anywhere else but at your celebrity roommate.

satoru’s bright irises look up at you before asking, “can i?” with the looks of a child begging for a piece of candy. after another quick, nervous nod, satoru swipes his thumb over your hole, then all the way up to over your clit. the sensation makes you wriggle and gasp, it’s odd being touched by someone else—but it feels good, even better than alone. natural lubrication practically drips off your pussy, so prettily, and satoru continues dragging his thumb up and down, paying close attention to how you whimper or move around when he gets to the bundle of nerves poking out.

you feel particularly needy at his ministrations, they’re so slow and it leaves you aching for more when he moves to less sensitive parts of your cunt. every time your eyes flash to gojo, he’s completely locked on what’s between your plush thighs, making you all the more embarrassed. embarrassment is thrown away, though, when his middle and ring fingers close together and creep up to slowly rub your clit.

your body jolts and satoru silently giggles, god, you’re so sensitive for him, he might go insane. he finds it simply endearing how well you react to him. each small circle he draws over your bud makes your thighs twitch and hole clench, and from his view, he can see it all perfectly. satoru’s eyes look up at you for once, just to see your head thrown back on the pillow and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth to silence yourself.

“don’t be quiet, babe,” he says, and your eyes snap open to be brought back to reality.

“wh—uuht?” you drawl, mind hazy and foggy from just the little bit of pleasure he was providing. but as your mouth is open, he speeds his fingers up, forcing you to practically yell out, “satoru—wait!”

“i wanna hear you,” gojo taunts, his voice light and happy, not at all giving the impression he was playing with your cunt.

he does not wait, or slow down, he only continues to quicken the pace of which his fingers circle your clit. he feels accomplished when you finally begin to let out little moans and suck in air through your teeth, knowing the feeling of his finger pads was becoming all too much. this was the type of thing he lived for—making cute, inexperienced girls (you) lose their mind from pleasure.

it’s the type of pleasure that you weren’t able to achieve yourself; it made the bottoms of your feet tingle, and your legs move on their own—and the familiar feeling of an orgasm was quickly building up. the knot in your lower abdomen grows tighter and more intense, making you whine and thrash below your roommate.

satoru’s other hand comes down to prod his index finger at your tight hole, an unfamiliar feeling to you—especially as it’s being done by someone else. he pushes his finger in, causing another yelp to come from the back of your throat—but it doesn’t hurt. gently fucking you with just the tip of his finger, satoru’s hand focused on your clit speeds up more.

“mm—satoru, think i’m close,” your words are rushed as you warn him, but his movements don’t falter in the slightest.

“yeah? gonna cum on my fingers?” he teases, “gonna cream all my hand?”—and if you weren’t already so close, you would’ve kicked him out at the taunting. instead, you throw your arms over your face and try your best to hold back the feeling—wanting it to last as long as possible. he slowly pushes his finger in more and more, gradually coming to fuck you with one thin, long finger. the first bit he’s fully inside, it’s uncomfortable, but the pressure fades the more he plays with you. the bubble of your orgasm grows and grows until you’re about to topple over the edge.

“i’m gonna cum,” the words come out your mouth in a long, sultry string— satoru’s never heard anyone sound so good while telling him that.

“yeah, that’s it—come on, baby,” satoru encourages you, his voice having dropped multiple octaves to sound a million times more sexy — far from the satoru you’d come to know. his words force the orgasm to crash over you, your body continually jolting and stuttering—beginning to fight satoru because he doesn’t stop.

“i—i finished—stop, satoru—ohmygod—,” you stutter out, and satoru presses his elbows against your thigh, rendering you immobile.

“you’re so sensitive, princess,” satoru teases again, and you catch his eyes in a downright primal stare,

“gonna make you cum on my fingers again, baby.”

[rookiesbookies]

The boys catch their ladies reading smut, originally this had the books I was basing this on in them but I hadn't got the time to read the books so I remove the book titles and authors. I hope you enjoy <3

Price: Yeah, she’s younger than him. This book is like 100% just breeding kinks. So she was reading this book about a man breeding his young woman and being super obsessive and clinging… while sitting in their living room… with her fuzzy, super obsessive, newlywed husband. “What are ya readin love?” He said, swiftly snatching the book from her grasp as he sat down on the couch next to her. He kicked his feet up on the couch and laid so his back was against her shins under the blanket she was bundled in. “Nothing important! But you really should give it back!” She panicked, reaching for it. “Holy bloody Jesus, love. This is a casual read for you?” “... yeah.” He wiggled his eyebrows while looking up to see her. She put a hand in his face and took her book back. “You almost made me lose my page.”

Soap: Being bent over and defiled by a hot Scotsman in a kilt? Oh hell yeah. How could you refuse?

“Jesus, Bonnie, why are ye readin about this shit when ya could get the real thing with me?” He chuckled, flipping through the book she had poorly hidden in her nightstand. “My kilt is in the closet, give me less than 10 minutes to get me socks and straps on and I’ll rock yer world harder than some words on a page ever could. You’ll see, donnae worry.”

He did indeed rock your world harder than pages ever good.

You claim and cry that you want to finish it for the plot, he says you can only read “that filth” when he’s away on deployment.

Says its a waste if you have a real heavy, hairy, and thick Scotsman at your disposal on the daily.

Ghost: Reading a story about a man whose face was painted like death and has charm that causes hormonal riots? Sounds exactly like her Simon. She lay on their shared bed as he packed up for their walk to the park. Her legs kicked up in the air as she read. 

He raised an eyebrow at what could have her so giddy so he effortlessly snatched the book and was met with a nasty surprise when he looked over the words. “Take it you’d rather stay home than go to the park,” he mumbled with a smirk before bending down to kneel in front of her now with a red face. 

“No- no I think a walk in the park will be fine.” She nervously chuckled.

Konig: Hot giant caveman dragging a woman away to have his way with her? Basic Konig when he comes back from missions.

Grabbing his sweet girl and pulling her into the dark cave that is their bedroom, only letting either out once he’s had his way with her and showing her just how much he’s missed her.

His face was red flushed as he read over her shoulder though.

“Oh meine gut, Schatz."

The scream she let out even made him fall back.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He pressed a kiss to her temple in apology. 

“This book made me horny, can we fuck?” She asked straight up, knowing Konig preferred her blunt. She didn’t need to ask him twice.

Gaz Hot british guy? Her standards were so low for her choices in literature as long as it was someone she could imagine her Kyle as. Hmmm easy.

So when she was leading her walk with her audio book in her headphones she was more than busy. When he got a hold of one of her airpods while at the gym and she forgot he had the other one, he looked over at her with wide eyes. He texted her, “I didn’t realize you were interested in being folded like that.”

[chososdiscordkitten]

Synopsis: Reader asking to watch Choso jack off ^-^

Pairing: Switch!Choso x Fem!Reader Content: porn w/ feelings, established relationship, masturbation, spit, pussy job, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms (m), rough sex, cream pie

MDNI

You had developed an enjoyment of watching Choso. Watch him talk, watch him breathe—your eyes would always be glued onto him when he did anything. And that little glimmer in your eyes would go overlooked by him. 

You liked watching him reach into a high cupboard, the edge of his shirt revealing his hip in the slightest. Or when he would talk- most of the time, the words would be spoken, but your ears would hear them without registering in your mind. 

You would only pay attention to his expression- his eyebrows furrowing with a sudden severity in his tone. Or when his eyes would spark in the slightest when you would agree mindlessly to what he was saying. 

Usually, your face showed what you were thinking. Giving hints to what raced through your mind. And any hints your low eyes provided, or every half smirk that formed on your lips, Choso wouldn't acknowledge them.

Only Choso never could tell what you were thinking. Even if your expression should have told him all he needed to know. He never knew why you would look at him like that- or what it meant. 

And when he asked you; 

"Why do you look at me like that?" snapping you from the cloud of filth you would picture as he talked. 

You only replied with an earnest smile, "I just like lookin' at you." 

And Choso stayed with that idea- whenever he would see your gaze darken, he would remember what you said. Almost endearingly scanning the look on your face, as though your lowered eyes and lightly flushed skin meant that you were only looking. And nothing more. 

So when the topic of masturbation came up- something about how he only does it when he knows you're too tired or when he didn't want to bother you. You couldn't help but ask him, "Can I watch?" 

He looked off the side- furrowed eyebrows, unknowing why you'd want to watch him do such a menial thing- everyone does it, right? It's not some marvel and you gained no pleasure from it physically. But then he remembered what you told him. 

'I just like looking at you.'

A few days had passed since that conversation- too embarrassed to tell you when he would do it- and ask if you wanted to watch. It almost felt like he was admitting that he wanted you to watch. Even if you were the one who told Choso you wanted to- coming to you and saying the words. It felt too filthy- even for him. 

You had been catching up on school assignments for most of that day. Sitting on the couch of your shared apartment with a furrowed brow. Unaware of what Choso was concocting in his mind as you read through the work. 

He had been working up the courage to ask you since the morning, along with thinking up a way to say the actual words. He mostly looked at you with sad puppy eyes, hoping you would look at him and know what he wanted. 

All but begging for you to read his mind, just so he wouldn't have to say it. 

Slowly walking past you with his eyes locked onto your expression, hoping you would look up and see the pleading look he held. 

And when he sat on the other end of the couch, the ache in his sweats was too unbearable to continue waiting for you to pay heed to what he wanted. 

Your focused gaze unmoved from the words splayed onto your screen, he called your name. Barely considered a whisper and with a sprinkle of a whiny tone- as though it was your fault he couldn't admit what he wanted. 

Looking up from your screen- "Yes?" you spoke. Your tone was far too kind and tolerant for what he was about to ask of you. 

"You remember when you." he looked away from your gaze, "When you asked if you could watch-" you raised your eyebrows- eager to hear how he would phrase it. "If you could watch, me." Bells ringing in your brain as he spoke.

"Watch you?" you asked- playing coy to what Choso tried insinuating. Looking down at your screen again and hearing a light sigh as he shifted on the other end of the couch. 

Choso clenched his teeth- already flustered from what he was expected to say. "...Jack off?" he mumbled, facing away from you in shame. 

You flashed your eyes back to him, seeing his ears flushed with a light blush. "Yes, I remember." You closed the screen of your computer, lightly tilting your head and awaiting his response. 

"I was about to-" 

You couldn't help the light grin that rose on your lips. "You want me to watch you?" spoken with a hint of tease as Choso tensed his shoulders at the words. 

Still looking away from you- lightly nodding his head up and down. "I wanna hear you say it." You tapped him lightly with your foot- urging him to hurry. 

"I would like you to watch me—" he inhaled, "Jack off." He turned over to you. You, holding the very same expression that would look back at him when he spoke most times. 

And as you instructed him to go on as he normally would- "Pay me no mind." you grinned. Taking his shirt off before he eased onto his side of the bed, avoidant eyes and nerves spasming in his sweats. 

Choso sat up halfway, his shoulders flush against the wall, his legs extended, hands planted on either side of his hips as he looked at you. 

You sat at the foot of the bed, legs crisscrossed and waiting for him to start. Soaking in the sight of him- carved torso and blushy expression on his face. 

As Choso flashed his eyes to yours- some kind of way of asking if he could start. You only raised your eyebrows, urging him to go on. He lightly gulped, placing his hands on the band of his sweats. 

Lightly wincing when he pulled his firm cock from them- bordering on a purple hue on his tip, clear tears of his precum falling from his neglected cockhead, and his shaft lightly twitching against the sudden hit of air. 

It looked pained, and based on his expression- bordering on dizzy as he took a few breaths in, he had been this way for a while. "Were you like this the whole time?" you muttered, watching his head lightly nod. 

"Didn't know how to ask you." he spoke softly, tone bordering on a whimper and placing a hand onto his base. Tingles forming on his cheeks and falling down his broad shoulders. 

You watched with intense eyes- his lips parting in a soft sigh as he slowly stroked himself. Choso's grip was light- some attempt to not cum as soon as he started. His body buzzed with shivers of exhilaration and timidity.

Soft sighs took the shape of low moans as your eyes made work of blinking down to his pretty cock. 

Surrounded by his hand and stroking lightly. Building himself up as his eyes closed, looking at the curve of his neck. The adams apple in his throat bobbing with every light breath he took. Tipping his head back onto the wall with parted lips. 

"You don't watch anything?" eyes filled with amazement, and your panties starting to soil as you watched his hand take on a tighter grip. Choso nodded his head 'no'- a little sigh leaving his lips with the upturn of a whimper. 

Choso's chest lightly caved with an exhale, "I jus' think about you." he muttered, words he spoke without filter. Your cunt spasming at the declaration, making you consider forgetting this idea of just watching- wanting to give him more than your gaze in gratitude. 

But the sound of a choked whimper leaving his throat snapped you from that thought- his hand taking on a slightly faster pace as his other fisted the sheets. Watching his hand smear beads of precum down his shaft and back up again. 

You leaned over in the slightest- watching his hand start to lose its easy glide when he began. Somewhere in Choso's mind, he had thought you abandoned the idea of just watching as you tucked hair behind your ears. Looking down at his cock with a whimper, all but asking you to help him. 

Collecting as much saliva you could on your tongue, lightly bending over, and allowing a fat glob to slip from your lips. The ache between your thighs becoming more and more apparent with every passing second.

A light huff in the shape of your name left his throat- his hand taking a faster pace from the action. Choso's tummy clenched in the slightest as he felt the start of his orgasm pool, smearing your spit with his pre in urgency.

His eyes scanned your expression- the same one you held when he would speak, only this time, he knew why you were looking at him like that.

And the slight shame of how good it felt to have you watch him with that look in your eyes- having you spit on him- made it all the more easier for his eyes to close. Huffing your name as though it was you who was stroking him. 

Low eyes watching with your hands threatening to replace Choso's as his chest rose and fell in sync with his quick strokes. 

His lips hung open in a silent moan- abdomen spasming as his tip oozed pearly tears onto his tummy. His shoulders shivered as he continued his hand's strides, slower and with a lighter grasp. 

Working himself down from the orgasm that soiled his skin, the back of his hand falling onto the bed. Even if his breathing and expression seemed satisfied with one orgasm- his cock told you he wanted another. 

Hard and twitching against his abs. At that moment- you lost the idea of sitting on the sidelines and rose to your knees. Watching Choso's expression steady with every deep breath he took. Slipping off your panties and scooching closer to him. 

You planted one leg over his hip, hoovering directly above his laid cock and looking at his eyes blink up at you. The smile on your lips churning with intent as you placed your hands onto his shoulders.

Choso's made haste in landing on your upper thighs, delighted you abandoned the idea. 

Kneading the plush skin in his hands as you lowered your cunt onto his shaft, trapping his cock between his carved tummy and your cunt. A soft sigh leaving your lips at the contact. Using your own slick mixed with his spend and pre, you slowly slid back and forth on his shaft- soaking in the expression he wore at the stimulation. 

Leaning in with a soft whine and relishing the feeling of his lips against yours- slowly frotting your cunt back and forth against his cock. Similar to how he was stroking himself. But nowhere near as warm nor as slick as your core felt. 

Your puffy clit brushing against his tip with every grind your hips made. Huffing heavily as one of Choso's hands slid beneath the band of your hoodie. His touch searing against your skin. 

Your hands on his shoulders moving onto the side of his neck, bracing as your tongue slid against his. 

Messy and uncaring teeth clashing against each other, proving to you, that the absence of your cunt swallowing his cock, frustrated him far more than it did you. 

The hand on your thigh assisting in your slow glides, the one roaming beneath your hoodie cupping your breast. 

Fervor and urgency filling every moan Choso's lips rumbled onto yours- his hold on your hip tightening to guide you into a quicker pace. 

You pulled away from him, unable to withstand the heat boiling beneath your skin as your hands slipped off your hoodie. Tossing it aside, uncaring where it landed.

Choso's hand made contact with your breast again, a light groan leaving his lips as you connected your lips with his. His orgasm building again in his tummy. His grasp against your breast turning desperate- bordering on overstimulation as you slid against him. 

You pulled away from him, looking into his hazy eyes, and raised yourself forward. His cock following your cunt as you felt his twitchy tip brush against your entrance. You huffed a flushed smile- lowering yourself onto his cockhead with a shared whimper. 

Choso's hand trailing back down to your hip- whimpering at your walls sucking him in. Lips brushing against each other- not even trying to connect them, knowing it would be cut short as his tip nuzzled against your sweet spot.

And when his cock filled you to the hilt- you slowly started grinding. Ignoring the light sting from the stretch and watching his eyebrows knit, his lips parted in a drawn-out breath. 

The urge in Choso's hips was unable to be still, causing him to place his hands on your waist, holding you still as he started rutting up into you at a quicker speed. Your hands gripping the back of his head, lightly tugging on his hair as he thrusts into you without a pattern. 

You closed the little space held between your lips and his, callously slotting your tongue against his as he nudged into your sweet spot with every grind. 

Choso trailed his hands a little higher on your waist, guiding you to tip onto your side- rolling onto your back with Choso's knees bent on the bed. Leaving him atop you with your thighs beside his hips.

Slipping his sweats lower on his thighs as he pulled back from your cunt- sliding back into you as he desperately wanted to when he was beneath you. 

One strong hand on your thigh as he rolled his hips against you, moaning shamelessly into the air as the other planted onto your tummy with his thumb on your clit. Watching your face churn with small circles drawn against the sensitive bud. 

The crude slapping of his balls against your ass, breaking up the joined whimpers that left your lips and his.

Your back arching against the sheets as he thrusts into you- so desperate for just one more as his hand on your thigh hooked behind your knee and started applying pressure. 

Your pinned thigh gave his cock a better angle to mistreat your gspot with every rough thrust. Fever-filled eyes struggling to stay open with his hips taking on a furious pace- his lips mumbling words muffled by pretty whimpers. 

Choso's face was adorned with the lightest sheen of sweat on his airline, furrowed eyebrows, and clenched teeth as he had his way with you.

His thumb rubbed harsher circles- so fucking eager to finish together as your moans drew clearer. Threats that he was close spoken in broken mutters- a breathy string of moans leaving your lips in response. 

Air being knocked from your lungs with every mean thrust against your thighs- and with one guttural groan leaving his clenched teeth, Choso spilled his thick seed into your cunt. 

His movements with his thumb refused to stop as the fulfillment of his spend pushed you over the edge.

Walls twitching around him as he slowed his thrusts, fucking his seed further into your as your breathing steadied. Choso's tired eyes looked down at you with a heaving chest- his back unable to keep his posture as he eased himself down onto you. 

Pressing his ear against your collarbone and easing his hold on your leg. Allowing your thighs to press against his hips, arms instinctively thralling over his shoulders, a sigh laced with a moan leaving his lips. 

Choso's softening cock twitched inside of you with every after-orgasm tremble that shook in his shoulders. 

"So much," he huffed heavily, swallowing lightly. "-for just watching." he smiled, closing his eyes against your chest and feeling a half laugh rumble against his profile. 

The realization of that expression you held while looking at him most of the time— meant pure filth. He hazily thought back to every time you looked at him with bedroom eyes and smiled to himself. 

-

(a.n) tarde pero sin sueno, start of Choso week hehe