#glee did her dirty

[sapphirebluejewel]

Endless List of Characters I Love - Tina Cohen Chang

"JUST LEAVE ME LIKE THIS! I swear. I just thought, for one, lousy night of my life, I could be THAT girl. But who am I kidding. I'm not that girl. And I will never be that girl."

[mytraincantakeuhome]

I am so sorry I wasn’t in that writers room Quinn Fabray

[sserasin]

ruination

cw nsfw under cut, noncon, dead dove do not eat, female reader, degradation, car sex, use of degrading names (fucktoy, slut, cumdump), choking, overstimulation, heeseung cums inside.

“what did you fuckin’ expect?” heeseung grunts, your hair wrapped around his fist as he pulls your body up against his, breath hitting your ear. your eyes are squeezed shut, small whimpers escaping your mouth the harder heeseung slams into you. “going around and wearing shit like that? wanna go show off your ass and tits to a bunch of horny fuckers, might as well give you what you wanted.”

“hee—heeseu—” a loud cry leaves your lips when he gives a swift but just as hard smack to your ass, barely even able to feel the sting from the millionth time he’s done this.

“shut the fuck up,” he pushes your head back down into the backseat, “fucktoys don’t talk.”

squeezing your eyes shut tighter didn’t do anything for your tears, just pushing them out even quicker. if you could think of something happier… but the feeling of him stuffing you full was overwhelming, making you lose grasp of reality.

“you can’t fool me,” heeseung hisses your name through gritted teeth, as if he’s even disgusted to say your name, “saying you’re a virgin… no virgin would be easily sucking me in like this.”

your head turns to the side, revealing your teary eyes with tears rushing down your cheeks, “heeseung, p-please, stop. i-it hurts!”

“‘cause you like it like that,” he huffs, hips snapping into yours at a brutal pace. “like all dirty sluts do. you like to be put in your place, you like the pain. i know you do.”

you gasp out in a mix of mortification and pleasure as the head of his cock kisses your cervix. heeseung notices, chuckling as he pulls out without warning and flips you over, quick to push himself back in your wet, puffy cunt. you whimper at the intrusion, blinking back tears as you keep your eyes on the necklace that swings from his neck in your face.

“see, i knew you liked it,” he whispers, leaning down to press his lips to yours only for you to turn your head to the side so his mouth was against your cheek. his brow raises, slowly thrusting in and out of you but with enough force to make your entire body move. “i suggest you let me kiss you.”

with tears streaming down your cheeks, you turn and keep still as he moves his lips against yours, not all caring that you weren’t responding to the kiss. he was right. you were a dirty slut, weren’t you? you had to be— how else could you be this wet?

heeseung pulls back, glee in his eyes, “i’ve always wanted to do that.” his eyes then darken, “but you never gave me the time of day, did you?” you didn’t notice his hand had moved to your collarbone, slowly increasing your anxiety as his hand finally rests on your neck. his rings are cold around your burning hot neck. he doesn’t squeeze, not yet. “stupid slut was always busy fucking around with her friends’ boyfriends and giving fuck me eyes to all the wrong guys.”

your eyes widen, “no, no,” you attempt to shake your head, but his hand tightens around your neck. your eyes dart to his necklace again, trying to copy the calm swing and repeat it with your breathing. up, in. down, out. but it’s your mistake— heeseung’s grip keeps getting tighter and tighter.

“i told you, you can’t fool me,” heeseung says, eyes burning a hole straight through you. you’re letting out choked gasps, but it only has his cocking twitching inside you.

dots begin to blur your vision, chest tightening with the squeeze on your neck. your walls tighten around his cock in retaliation, making him groan before letting go of your neck and lifting your leg up over his shoulder. there’s a burning in your thigh, but it doesn’t matter when your vision isn’t just colors anymore and all you see is a blurred heeseung over you.

“i’m going to ruin you and that perfect fucking image of yours,” he snaps his hips up, immediately slamming into your g-spot. your hands clutch at the top of the car seat, squeezing your eyes shut and biting down on your lip. think of something else. not his cock hammering repeatedly into you, not the tightening in your stomach or your legs trembling. you wish you could focus on the necklace again.

you cream around his cock, a weak whimper finally leaving your mouth. but heeseung continues to fuck you, his thick cock dragging against your walls. the pleasure soon turned into pain again, grunts coming from his lips as your hand weakly tries to push him away, “ah, ah, heeseu— stop! ‘t’s too fast, please—“ you weakly sob out, but not a tear leaves your eyes. you wonder if you’ve cried all your tears out.

“shut up,” he groans, hips snapping up to hit the soft spongy spot with each word, “and lay there and fucking take it.” his hand comes to grip your jaw, pulling you into a kiss as his thrusts become weak and sloppy. “f—fuck, i’m go—going to fill you up with my cum,” he grunts making your eyes widen.

“wh—what?” you stammer, fists trying to punch him away again. “heeseung, don’t—”

“ruin y—you for all oth—other guys,” he continues like you’re not even talking, writhing under him for him to get off. “no guy wants a fucking cumdump as their girlfriend,” he grits out, bottoming out in you with a low groan and releases inside of you with three quick squirts. his head is thrown back, ecstasy shown on his face as he pants above you.

you watch him through lidded eyes, hoping this was it. he was done with you. you could go get plan b, and forget this day ever happened.

heeseung’s head lowers, dark eyes settling on you and dread begins to fill your chest again. you can feel his cock hardening in you again, a squeak leaving your lips as it stretches out your abused walls.

“i’m not done with you yet,” he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss under your jaw. it feels misleading. “i told you i was going to ruin you.”

[tieronecrush]

secret santa

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: your parents throw a christmas party every year, and this is your first time in the “adult” secret santa exchange. the last few times home, you’ve found joel, your dad’s friend, staring a bit too long, flicking away when he’s caught. for the game, of course, you get joel’s name. and you’re going to make sure it’s the best gift he’s ever received.

rating: E

wc: 5.6k

warnings: daddy kink, age gap (sorry folks but i did want to try my hand at dbf!joel lol i pictured him around 50, reader around mid-late 20s), alcohol consumption, mentions of food, distant relationship with parents, party, christmas, gift giving, secret santa game, bit of deception on reader's part just to get joel alone, lingerie, body worship, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, restraints (using clothes/undergarments), daddy!joel, soft!dom joel, praise, a few instances of degradation, dirty talk (as always)

a/n: (images in moodboard do not convey what reader looks like, only the vibe! no descriptions of reader) my first dbf!joel…milestone moment lol <3 hope y’all enjoy my take on the dbf trope! and tysm to my babies for beta-ing @northernbluess and @kiwisbell love you both 😚

dividers by @saradika

Twenty years. This same godforsaken party has been happening every December for the last twenty years of your life, full of overserved middle aged parents, and never has it been less enjoyable than since you’ve been an “adult”. An adult still treated as a child, chastised, fawned over, always told to follow the golden rule. No, not treat others as they wish to be treated. Your family’s golden rule was speak only when spoken to.

And your father was the enforcer. Always required you home for the party, even away, out of state for college, away for the semester studying abroad halfway across the world. You were flown home and called upon to do the heavy lifting — groceries, liquor runs, cleaning the house, decorating to make it all feel magically festive.

At times, it felt like Cinderella had nothing on you. At least she had a prince.

The only time that this party has ever been remotely improved was when Joel Miller moved into the neighborhood. He’d snuck in under your radar due to the fact that it happened the few months you were living abroad, but coming back for the party and Christmas break, you were quickly introduced to him by your father. His new “best friend”. One among many. Each serving a unique purpose to get your dad ahead.

Upon meeting Joel, you were drawn to him immediately. Skeptical over the fact he found company with your dad, but much to your surprise, he was different. Maybe lonely and looking for a friend; you’d found he was living alone, his adult daughter, Sarah, in her final years at the University of Chicago — a choice that was hers but Joel admittedly feared, you learned. He only encouraged her, regardless of the fact he was anxious about losing his kiddo.

Not the same sentiments your dad had when dropping you off to school in the farthest, cheapest corner of the country you could find. He was nearly jumping up and kicking his feet together in glee to get you out of the house.

Joel, though, Joel was kind hearted and patient. He was curious and caring, asking you about school, work, your life every time he saw you over the years. Warmth radiated from him despite his more shy demeanor. Comfortable. You felt so comfortable with him.

Which is what made the smallest of lingering glances or the slightest of smiles turned smirks that much more exhilarating.

Maybe you were being naive or projecting your burning desire for him onto every interaction, but as you stitched yourself tighter into Joel’s life over the years, you haven’t been able to help but notice him checking you out at times or slipping a subtle flirty comment into conversations between the two of you. You would give it right back, and that would usually pump the breaks, bringing things back to surface level.

There was one time this past summer, after a neighborhood barbecue that your parents left early from, that you and Joel really had a moment. It was loud, music drowning out the back and forth you were having to the point where you couldn’t quite make out every word, and Joel must have felt the same because he made sure you heard his next words clearly — “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Agreeing immediately, he pressed his large hand into the midpoint of your back, guiding you out of the confines of the party and to the open air of the street. He led you to his place and around back, pulling two lounge chairs next to his pool closer to each other.

That night, thanks to the alcohol buzzing in your system, you confessed more about your home life and your feelings around it. Joel was surprised, given the picture-perfect image your father paints for everyone, but he was comforting as always. Even as far as offering you his spare room if you ever needed a break.

That’s when you knew you were done for. Never in your life had you wanted to just kiss someone that badly. Let alone all of the thoughts that came along with it.

Harboring this crush for your dad’s friend, fifty plus and a father himself, you attempted to keep things growing closer when you came back. Friendly, polite, reciprocating any amount of flirty banter he threw your way. Even initiating it yourself.

You were so incredibly into Joel Miller. And returning home this time, you decided it was high time you acted on those feelings.

The noise of the bustling party dies down enough for your dad to introduce the game, as if the attendees haven’t been participating for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. But your dad loves the attention on him, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes while everyone else gives him a laugh. Always so focused on himself. How everyone else sees him. Image obsessed enough to forget to assign anyone as a Secret Santa to his own daughter but not forgetting to give her someone to gift to.

Granted, you weren’t that upset about who you’d drawn.

Watching from afar, you see Joel survey the empty space under the tree, only the deep cherry red skirt laid out on the hardwood. Nothing for him. Everyone opens their presents, laughter and excitement bubbling across the room as the point of the game begins. Partygoers start to guess their gifters, hoping to nail down their Secret Santa in one go. Conversations are struck up as people meet their pair, ‘thank you’s exchanged along with the gifts. Joel observes from his spot with a few of your neighbors, also friends with your dad, and the sight of him shifting his weight on his feet is enough to draw up the courage to approach him.

Crossing the room, flashes of him checking you out, lingering in conversations with you about work and your new apartment in the city, seeking you out each time you visit home flood your mind, reassuring your choices the closer you get to him. The closer you get to completely jumping into the deep end, the last few steps teetering you at the edge.

Slowing to a stop next to him, a finger of yours gingerly taps his strong shoulder a few times, pulling his attention away completely. Joel turns his body to face you, away from others to solely focus on you in front of him. The subtle sign of his attraction to you has your nerves tingling, clearing your throat when he speaks up in greeting.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Y’alright?” he asks, eyebrow raised. Always so goddamn sweet.

You sigh, a tinge dramatic but attempting to sell the dismay and toying with the flute glass in your hand. “Lame surprise, but I’m your Secret Santa and I stupidly left your gift upstairs. It’s a bit obnoxious to bring down so d’you mind coming up to open it and you can grab it at the end of the night?”

Joel agrees with a jolt of nervous excitement down his spine. Shuddering out the feeling subtly, he clears his throat and nods, awaiting your lead. He thinks he catches the slightest drag of your eyes up and down his body, lingering at the expanse of his shoulders and the sliver of his chest that is exposed from the two undone buttons of his red flannel.

When no one’s paying attention, you bring Joel upstairs into your old room that you’re staying in while you’re back in town for the holidays. He stands around a bit awkwardly, sticking out like a sore thumb with his broad shoulders stretching his red flannel, thick thighs straining deliciously against the perfectly worn material of his Levi’s. Stark against the frilly softness of your room, with its bright white furnishings, and feminine touches. He’s all man. Nothing like the guys your age who think they’re like him.

Joel glances about the room before he asks, “So, what was so difficult to get under the tree, sweetheart? You didn’t have to get me anything so major.”

“I wanted to. I mean, noticed you eyeing what I got you for a while so figured the least I could do was give it to you…” Joel’s face twists up in confusion, perplexed by the riddled clue before you’re standing in front of him, reaching to the side of your plaid skirt and dragging down the zipper. Joel stutters out nonsense at your actions, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Doll, I think—you don’t—” His mumblings die in his throat when you drop the material to your ankles, revealing red satin panties. When you turn around, a bow sits at the top of your ass, tying up the material to stay on your hips while elasticated bands run along the outline of your cheeks to connect to the crotch. Very little of your bum is covered, showing off the supple flesh to Joel. He’s rendered speechless, averting his gaze after a second too long of staring, the mumblings starting up again.

“S’not a good idea, shouldn’t be up here right now…” Joel looks around, looking over his shoulder toward the door. One of your hands reaches up to gingerly cup his chin, turning his flushed face to yours again. His pupils are blown wide, eyes darkened with desire. Your own gaze flicks down between the two of you, smirking at the bulge growing at the crotch of his jeans. So desperately trying to fight against what he really wants. Even when you’re serving it up in a pretty little package.

He makes no movement toward the door, which you take as a sign of letting go of at least some of his apprehension. Fingers grip the hem of your sweater, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it on your carpet along with your skirt.

Matching red satin material, the bra you’re wearing has a similar structure to your panties. Held up with straps and the usual clasps at the back, the front is a large gift bow, pulled tight when you tied it earlier this evening to push up the flesh of your breasts. One tug at the tail end of both the ribbons, the one at your chest and at your ass, would fully expose you to Joel. Something you’re desperate to propose to him.

“Aren’t you gonna unwrap your present, Joel?” Picking up each of his hands in yours, you guide one to your lower back and one to your chest, coaxing his fingers to wrap around the ends of the bows. “Or do you not like your gift? I thought you wanted this…”

“No, no, no. I like it. I really fucking like it, sweetheart, I just…Everybody’s downstairs and—”

“I can be quiet. I’m a good girl, Joel.”

That flips a switch in him, hearing those words from you. His eyes darken further, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips. A burning stare combs over you, head to toe, alighting flames in your gut that lick against your insides. Heat crawls across the back of your neck, pooling in your collarbone, and craving oozes between your ribs and between each of your vertebrae. Joel’s right hand lifts from his side, skating up the length of your left arm and leaving goosebumps rising in its wake. Fingertips ghost over the strap of your bra, down to the center of your collarbone, and sitting there. That lasts only a second before his long, thick fingers wrap around the base of your throat, raising his loose grip to settle underneath your jaw.

The silence is heavy, airy breaths the only sounds passed between the two of you. His hand at your neck coaxes your head to tip back, staring up at him looking down at you. A flicker to your lips. A low, curious hum. Arousal pools in between your thighs as you wait with bated breath for something, anything to happen.

“You’re dangerous, doll.” His whisper is coated in lust, his gaze greedy as it drinks you in once again.

“I’m a gift,” you correct sweetly, feigning innocence as a smirk grows on your face at his dark chuckle.

“A gift that keeps on giving?” he questions. His hand twists to allow his thumb to find your bottom lip, dragging across its glossy, cherry surface.

“I guess you’ll have to find out…” Your mouth stays open after speaking, tongue slipping out to lick the tip of Joel’s thumb. He presses his finger further, pushing between your lips as you welcome it, sucking gently. Joel sighs, shoulders relaxing while his eyes flash with need.

“Christ…” he hisses under his breath, shaking his head subtly before clearing his throat. Speaking sternly, unwavering, he says, “Can I unwrap my present, babydoll?”

His thumb leaves your mouth with a quiet pop, hand finding its place again at the slack of the bow at your chest, other arm wrapping around to find the bow at your ass. A gentle tug moves the satiny smooth material a few centimeters, not enough to pull it fully undone.

“All yours, Joel. Picked out ‘specially for you.” Joel smirks at your candied reply, eager to give him exactly what he’s been wishing for. What you’ve caught him staring at the last few times you’ve come back home. What you have been wanting for just as long, if not longer.

“Such a sweet girl. Beautiful girl.”

The words send a tingle down your spine, stoking the flames inside of you. Your eyes stay trained on Joel’s face while his fingers draw the bow at your chest undone, the lengths of material hanging at your sides and exposing your breasts. He licks his lips at the sight of your pebbled nipples, rolling out a stifled groan from his chest.

“Fuck, baby…S’pretty.”

Joel’s hands fan across your lower back, holding your hips against his, pressing his bulge into your covered mound. His broad frame folds forward, draping you backwards in his arms as his mouth attaches to your chest. Humid, open-mouthed kisses are littered across your skin, nips taken at the tender flesh of your breasts. Closing his lips around one of your nipples, he sucks strongly, pulling a whimper from your throat.

“Thought you could be quiet, doll?” he rasps, raising an eyebrow as he looks up at you from your sternum.

Nodding furiously, you pout your lower lip out, whispering back, “I can be, I will be. I promise.”

“You promise? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby.” Joel stands up straight, pulling you with him to press against his torso. Catching your lips in a deep kiss, Joel breathes a sigh into your mouth, melting his tongue against yours and drinking in the taste of you.

Dripping with saccharine sugar. Coated with syrupy goodness, plump and succulent like a maraschino cherry. A toothache, or maybe even a heartache waiting to happen.

He’s fucking screwed, but damn if it doesn’t feel good as he nails himself to his own persecution from whoever may find out about this.

Handfuls of your undulating curves fill his palms as he kisses you, groaning into your mouth as he grabs at the swell of your ass. Silky satin brushes against his hand, reminding him of the other part of his present to unwrap. Pulling away from your mouth with one last lick of your candied taste, he has the mind to imagine what the rest of your flavors all across your body might be.

Joel turns you in his arms, back flush to his chest as he grinds his bulge against the lustrous fabric, smirking to himself as you whimper quietly, so hushed he can barely hear it over his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Lips coast over the shell of your ear, nibbling your lobe before pressing a kiss right below.

“Can I undo your other pretty bow, babygirl? Unwrap the rest of my present?” Joel nips again when you breathe out consent. He walks you closer to the bed, hitting your knees against the frame before he takes one step back, touch still lingering on your skin. From behind you, he sighs appreciatively as he drinks in your form, licking his lips as his eyes devour you.

Pinching the ribbon between his thick fingers, he flicks it against your skin, satisfied with the way you react with goosebumps raised. One gentle tug unravels it all, exposing your cheeks to him fully and with the drop of the material from between his fingertips, your panties fall to the floor. One hand wrapping around your thigh, Joel coaxes you to step out to the side with it, kicking the fabric from your ankle.

He kneels behind you, pressing his lips against the swell of your ass. Flooded with the scent of your skin, vanilla and cinnamon, the smell of Christmas. Nose smashed into the supple flesh, teeth sinking into the curve, a gentle bite stealing another taste of you. A curse is mumbled against you, a sweet kiss pressed on the tiny birthmark on your ass, tongue tracing into the fading bite mark.

“Joel…” you whine above him, hand reaching back and nimble fingers tangling into his messy, gray curls.

“I know, doll. Got lost there for a second. You’re so perfect…”

He sighs again, standing up with a quiet crack in his joints. A blatant reminder of the difference between you two. Young versus old. Sprightly versus verging on doddering. Even if he is eager, there’s no denying the difference.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Joel’s about to be more of a gift to you than you are to him. The way he’s touching you, delicate worship before he’s even gotten to what he truly wants, taking his time despite the pressure of the party downstairs. Serves as a reassurance that he wants this as much as you do, wants to take his sweet time if this is going to be his only chance.

You pray to god it isn’t. Even before you’ve even laid eyes on his cock, you just know. He’s going to fuck you senseless. Ruin every other man for you.

In a blur, he guides you to fall forward onto the mattress, hooking fingers to remove your panties from your other ankle while you scoot toward the center. He finds solace between your legs, propping your hips up into a kneeling position to give him easier leverage. 

“Think this might be my favorite present I’ve been given, doll. So fucking gorgeous. Looking delectable…Can I have a taste, darling? You as sweet as you seem?”

Your head is turned sideways, laying against the plush comforter, opening your mouth to whisper to him in the same moment he swipes his tongue through your folds, groaning into your inner thigh before he dives back in, working to devour you like a man starved, quenching his thirst on your arousal. Flicking his tongue against your pearl, coated in your translucence, suckling at it with pure need. Turning to press the front of your face into your bedding, it muffles your moans and whines, raising in pitch as he fucks your tight cunt with his strong tongue, lapping at you with the same fervor he’d lick the color from a candy cane.

“Fuck, Joel, fuck fuck fuck!” you shout in a scouring voice, scratching your vocal chords together with a strain. Curling your fingers into the softened, washed fabric, you gasp when one of his solid fingers slips into your walls. He groans, holding back his louder reaction to your gripping walls, hypnotized by the way you even stretch around his fingers when he adds another.

Head against your thigh, he studies the way you take his middle and ring fingers, the velvety slick of your pussy, and the spongy spot he finds, curling his digits to press into it and watch you squirm helplessly from the sensitive pleasure.

“Talkin’ all well mannered and pretty. So quiet and polite all the time. With your ‘yes’sir’s and ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s. You think about saying those to me while you’re under me like this?”

“Yes, yes’sir. All the fucking time. Every time I—I looked at you, felt myself…felt myself gettin’ so fucking wet. Was always dripping around you, waiting for something to happen. For you to take me so I can be a good girl for you, sir,” you confess, obedience and need sitting every word so prettily into his ears. “M’so—Fuck m’gonna come, Joel.”

He nods slowly, taking last looks at your cunt before he moves his fingers in and out quicker, dipping his chin down for his mouth to find your clit against, lapping at your dripping wetness and sucking hard. At the next press of his fingers against that spot inside of you, your vision grows blurred, white haze painting everything with a dreamlike filter. You bite into the linen fabric of your comforter, gagging yourself to keep quiet as you come, digging the balls of your feet to the mattress to push yourself away from Joel who continues to work you through it. He grabs at you, tugging you back to get his fill until you sob, overstimulation drawing tears up to the corners of your eyes.

“All kept and composed and ladylike. Been taught to behave, haven’t you? Bet you fucking love to be such a little slut. Anybody ever let you? Such a dirty girl, aren’t you, babydoll?” Joel’s voice sounds distanced at first, senses falling back into place in your body as you come down completely. His work-worn hands coast over your body, roughening against your soft skin like sandpaper moving with the grain. Little resistance but catching in places it favors.

“Just—Just for you, Daddy.” It slips out smoothly from your mouth, the weight of the title heavy against your tongue in the same way you imagine his cock would feel. Filling. Satisfying.

Joel rises slowly from where he’s bent behind you, letting one leg fall behind him as he stands, the other propped on the bed. His eyes narrow in on yours, lips parted and tongue darting out as he replays what you said.

Daddy.

First, you’re already on his mind and years younger, yet he couldn’t stop picturing you in this exact position. Next, you’re the one to make the first move, dragging him away from this Christmas party and presenting him with a Secret Santa gift that feels way out of the budget. You’re priceless. And now, you’re laid out for him, already nearly at the level of fucked out from him only using his mouth and fingers, and you’re fucking calling him Daddy.

Best Christmas of his goddamn life.

“Now, darlin’, were you saving that to be the cherry on top of the cake? ‘Cause that’s just about the sweetest thing. My pretty lil’ babydoll saying she’s Daddy’s dirty girl,” he scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head while his fingers work his button open on his jeans, dragging the zipper down against his throbbing bulge. “Gonna have to be quiet, yeah? Gotta keep your sweet mouth closed while Daddy fucks you, doll.”

“I’ll be quiet, promise. Please, Daddy.” Your pleas widen Joel’s smirk, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips once again. He pushes his denim down with his cotton boxers in their wake, sighing softly when his hard cock is fully freed. His tip is aching and red, leaking precum and leaving a wet spot on his underwear. With one hand, he starts to slowly stroke himself, holding in a moan enough that it leaves his lips as a soft exhale.

“Good girl…” he mumbles, studying your form. “Move back toward me, babygirl. Hands behind your back.”

Complying with his direction, you inch back until Joel places a hand on your lower back. At that, you lay forward again, the side of your face pressing against the duvet as Joel steps back from the bed and searches the floor. A dribble of drool drips from the corner of your lips as you watch him, one large hand around his cock, spreading his precum along his length. Part of you has the mind to beg for him in your mouth, to completely disregard the need pulsating your cunt at the moment, and to feel his warm spend coating your throat as he finishes fucking it.

But you’re fucking selfish. This is also a gift for you, so win-win.

Pressing your wrists together at your lower back, you observe as Joel locates what he is looking for, standing up with a devilish smirk. Your panties.

He towers over you again when he steps back to you, one hand coasting over the curve of your ass, a gentle smack delivered that makes a quiet yelp escape from your lips. The same hand skims back up your skin, easily grabbing both of your wrists in his long fingers and holding them closer while he slips the silky material behind. In a quick motion, he has your arms tied together with a bow, a content smile on his face as he makes eye contact with you.

“Wrapped all up again, babydoll. Such a pretty gift for me.”

“Well you’ve got a pretty package, Daddy,” you reply with a mischievous giggle, earning a breathy chuckle from Joel behind you. He grips the knot of your makeshift restraint, tugging taut to arch your back and pull your hips closer. His other hand wraps around the base of himself, dragging the head of him through your drenched folds, circling your clit, and chuckling again at the jump of your thighs.

“Please, Daddy, I need—” you start pleading, muffled into linen before you’re cut off by the stretch of Joel’s cock filling your tight hole, a gasp escaping your lungs with a punch. Your mouth is stuffed with the duvet from your bite down, nursing your tongue against the material as he slowly presses into you, inch by inch. There’s an ever-so-slight pain candy-coating the pleasure, melting away to get to the gooey, oozing center that spreads over your entire body.

Pausing when he reaches the hilt of himself, Joel sighs, rolling his head back as he internally thanks whatever Christmas magic must be out there for this moment.

“So fucking tight, baby.” 

Your dampened whine shoots a wave of intense need throughout him, growling low as he holds your restraint tighter, dragging his hips back before he starts a punishing pace. Control escapes him, desire taking over his actions as he starts to properly fuck you. His cock teaching you how to take every single inch of it.

Messes of his name and your moans are stifled and stuttered into the comforter gagging you, chest hovering over the mattress as Joel holds tight to the knot in your panties.

“Can’t hold back any longer, baby, jus’—fuck—jus’ gonna take Daddy’s cock like a good girl, aren’t ya?” The only precision remains in the soft cracks of skin on skin, not loud enough to draw any attention from the party downstairs. Poppy carols play faintly in the background, the only other soundtrack being the vulgar mumbles slipping from Joel’s lips.

Drawing you closer and closer, the edge is tasted on your tongue, so close but barely in reach as the man behind you rocks his hips, the tip of his hard cock brushing that same spongy spot inside of you that he managed to reach with his fingers, bruising into your cervix with each snap.

At the next drag-out, Joel pulls away from you completely. When you whine with protest, he’s tugging you to stand up on your knees, whispering in your ear amid his quick movements, “Need to see your face when I make you come all over my cock…”

Before you can be left with any thoughts to a response, he’s flipping you onto your back, hands tied still, and tugging you near again. He steals a pillow from the top of your bed, shoving it under your hips to lift your pelvis, gifting himself the perfect angle to thrust into you again from the height he stands at.

The new angle punches out moans from your chest, Joel’s name littering the empty room as you try so hard to remain quiet.

“Shh, I know, doll, I know. Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Y’love bein’ Daddy’s little slut.” Nodding furiously, another louder moan leaves your mouth, brows knit together with worry as you hurtle closer and closer to the edge.

A large palm moves to cover your mouth, shaking his head slowly to remind you of your promise to be his good girl, his quiet girl. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, Daddy…” He feels the vibrations of your voice against his hand, the words muddled into slight nonsense from pleasure clouding your brain. Joel holds onto one of your legs, pulling it up to hook onto his shoulder and press forward to get deeper inside of you. The switch has you screaming into his palm, eyes squeezing shut as you squirm under him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl. Keep your eyes on Daddy.”

Joel’s hips pound into you, chasing his own climax. Your eyes snap open at his instruction, mouthing at his hand and moaning loudly behind it, nodding your head furiously. Your tight walls squeeze around his hard cock, his grunts held back to keep quiet despite the noise of the party downstairs growing in volume.

“Come on, doll. Come on my cock…Fuck, you gonna let Daddy fill up your pretty little cunt?” The quick, speechless nods answers his question, both of you toeing the edge.

There’s a moment when both of you seize up, muscles tense and eyes burning into each other’s. It only lasts a split second before it explodes with a pop, at the same second a champagne bottle pops downstairs. Joel breathes out your name, over and over, mingling with your whimpers of his name and Daddy switching back and forth in your mind. Interchangeable to you.

Pleasure fizzes over your bodies like bubbles in the flutes being filled, the bubbling aerations trickling up up up to your head, making you feel lighter than air as pure bliss overwhelms you. Tingles aftershock across your nerves, a shiver sent down your spine as Joel pulls out.

Quietly, he groans as he watches his excess spend drip out of you, mixing with your come and glistening against your folds. One thick finger swipes at the spot, pushing the swirl of you back inside of your walls.

A soft whimper slips from your lips and Joel’s eyes meet yours in a flash, a gentle smile stretching across your face. He coaxes you to sit up and unties your hands behind your back, slowly massaging your wrists with his thumbs and kissing where the skin rubbed against the fabric. The tender touches accompany the soothing, comfortable silence.

Redressing you, Joel attempts to tie the bows of your bra and panties, huffing softly in frustration. You giggle when he’s working on your bra, taking his chin gingerly between your fingers and turning his head to look at you. Leaning in, his lips catch yours in a sweet, sugary gumdrop kiss. 

It’s another moment before both of you are fully dressed again. You study yourself in the mirror above your dresser, smoothing your hair down. Joel steps up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder through the knit sweater. He turns you around to face him again, grinning shyly as his eyes comb over your face.

The two of you share another kiss, his calloused hand cradling your cheek when he pulls away.

“You gonna be under my tree again on Christmas day, doll?”

“Depends…Were you naughty or nice this year?” you counter, earning a quiet laugh from Joel as he shakes his head.

“Think what just happened has put me on the naughty list for a long time, babygirl. And you, too.” He shoots you a cheeky wink and you laugh, shaking your head as you lock your fingers together in front of you.

“I did actually get you something though…” you admit shyly, rocking back and forth on the heels of your feet.

Joel grins, eyes flicking down to your anxious hands. His thumb brushes against the skin of your cheek, eyes meeting yours again as he replies, “You have another gift for me? Didn’t need to do that, doll.”

“I mean…Kinda needed a backup plan if this whole thing didn’t work out.” A chuckle is shared between both of you before you continue, “Sorry for spoiling the whole guessing game of Secret Santa.”

“Darlin’, you could spoil any games for me if it ends up with this kinda surprise.” Joel smirks before stealing another quick kiss, pulling away when you step back to fish out the small, meticulously wrapped giftbox from the top right drawer of your dresser.

Handing over the square package, Joel’s eyes glitter with boyish excitement. The corner of his mouth pulls up to one side while his thick fingers slip under the creases of the paper to rip the tape, undoing the festive wrapping to reveal the lidded giftbox that he opens quickly. Inside, Joel studies the contents. Small triangles with rounded corners made from thin nylon plastic. A deep emerald green, all sitting like precious gemstones. His initials are branded into one side with gold paint, the flip side emblemed with the silhouette of an owl.

“Sweetheart…Thank you. These are real nice…” he speaks softly while he picks one up between his index and thumb, turning it between the tips of his fingers. “They’re perfect. Gonna be sad if I end up losing one of these like all my other picks.”

You smile sweetly, stepping closer again and resting your hands on his biceps, “Guess you’ll have to take good care of ‘em.”

As he looks at you, he mirrors your smile, sharing one more gentle kiss before whispering against your lips, “Can think of another something I have to take good care of.”

taglist: @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @thereaperisabitch @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic @xyzstar @cumberpegg @b00klvrs @burningnerdchild

[diejager]

reader who still tries to get her mom to know whats happening to her, what they're doing to her, but her mom refuses to notice. reader getting so sad about this and konig/horangi seeing a chance of make her feel even more helpless. könig who smirk when he sees reader crying again because her mom doesn't even want to listen that her husband is being weird with her daughter :( horangi cooing in fake sympathy while he brutally fucks her that her mom will never listen to her, that konig is much more important to her mom than her. anyway i think they are sooooo sick and twisted every opportunity they have to make her feel bad and helpless they will take advantage of! she cant ever escape them >:)

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, age gap, spanking, dracryphilia, spitroast, creampie, unprotected sex, PinV, rough sex, degradation, condensation, tell me if I misse any.

Every attempt to bring to light their obsession and disgusting acts are met with roughness punishment, their jarringly, cruel chuckles and the mercilessness of their rough hands. König did most of the punishing with Horangi as his accomplice, holding your feet down on your bed while you were laid over König’s lap, his wide and hot palm soothing your naked ass. He was your stepfather, it was only natural that he did the reprimanding, scolding his baby for causing trouble for him and his friend.

He always smoothed the skin before landing a hit, your ass jostling with every hit that had you jerking and hissing, before he smoothed it over again. Spanking you was his go-to punishment when you acted out, pain was a better deterrent than pleasure and bribes were, you reacted to it more strongly than a good and hard fucking. He’d land one hard and two gentler ones on your left cheek, caressing it tenderly before doing the same to your right one, it was a rinse and repeat act. They cooed and laughed at you, scolding you with condescending tones that would - hopefully - put you in your place. You cried, sobs that rendered them unable to stop themselves from slipping a finger in while you were being spanked, your cheeks tear-strained and your ass swollen and bruised.

You probably wouldn’t be able to sit without hissing for the next few days while the bruises subsided and the pain would linger for a longer period because they were so rough with you, picking you up and making you ride them until they came. Your body hurt and you were tired, your legs numbed and walls milking them dry, labia swollen and cervix battered by your stepdad’s thick and veiny cock with his unusually large girth from tip to base.

It didn’t help that your tears and sobs only excited them, their taunts and insults burning your skin as much as the flush of your cheeks burned you with shame. It proved as an incentive to plough into you harder as your depressive murmurs and your feelings of helplessness, their hips driving harshly into you with greater enthusiasm, loud and wet slaps echoing in the empty house.

“Don’t cry, 애인,” Horangi smiled, a mock of sympathy in his eyes, glazed over with sadistic glee, “I know, but you’ll choke.” [sweetheart.]

He pushed his cock deeper, your nose tickled by his dirty pubes, wet with slick and drool, smelling musky with a smell of sex and sweat. You retched loudly when König pushed you harshly into Horangi, the tip of his cut cock tapping the back of your throat where it laid heavily on the fla tof your tongue. He gripped your hair, fingers digging into your scalp to hold you still while König bucked into you, pounding Horangi’s cum out of your cunt from he sides, his cock so thick that it took all the space. You gagged, squirming wildly under them with fresh tears down your face, you couldn’t breathe with him down your throat, his length stopping you from taking in much-needed air into your dazed mind.

“Fuck, just a bit more,” Horangi groaned, throwing his head back as he came down your throat, gushing from the tip of his leaky cock. “You look so pretty crying.”

You chocked around him, throat closing to swallow down the cum that trickled down to prevent yourself from drowning in his salty and tangy cream. A part of it exploded out, your cheeks swelling until it couldn’t take anymore, white cream dripping down your spread lips and chin, drawing a filthy line on your body and onto your couch. You were cross-eyed, back arched and body limp between them, using the armrest and your stepdad’s grip as your support stay on your knees, legs quacking with every rough thrust from him, punching what little air was left in your chest.

“Scheiße, the prettiest,” König heaved loudly, pressing his sweaty chest to you back, head over your shoulder while he whispered filthy things he wanted to do to you when you were crying and sad that you mother couldn’t see the darkness in them or how awful their treated you. He rutted into you with ferocity, teeth grinding, pushed onward with Horangi’s encouraging words, his convoluted thoughts for a future with you between them, “Unser hübscher Schatzi.” [Shit, the prettiest. Our pretty darling.]

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Hi lovely. Can you please do mafia Charles and he’s very protective over reader who’s younger than him and maybe his enemies hurt her and he goes crazy or smth — F1driverszona

babe asked so she shall receive, I swear I’ve never written a fic this quickly I hope y’all’s like it 🎀

*Perceval*

You know how you look at someone and feel your heart swell with pride and joy? That was how Charles was feeling the exact moment he saw his pretty little girlfriend get her bachelors degree. She looked so gorgeous in the white outfit he had picked with her, so pure and innocent.

Charles genuinely wondered how she hadn’t noticed all the security that constantly followed him. How was he only 27 with an entire estate under his name? It really made Charles ponder. Maybe she noticed but was smart enough to not bring it up.

Regardless, he was the proudest person in the room, eyes beaming with glee as she threw her cap up in the air with joy enriched onto her face. With her only being 20, their relationship was the root of all the gossip in town.

It was strange, really. 7 years wasn’t that bad. He knew her better than anyone, and she knew him the most. He never let such thoughts bother him, especially since he was running one of the most discreet underground mafia. Charles knew the risk of getting her involved in his life. He knew that she would forever be tangled in his dirty business, whether she knew it or not. He hated the way that she drew in people with her charm and charisma.

In Charles' world, more attention meant a higher probability of ending up dead. Just thinking about something happening to her made his blood boil. She’d never be harmed. Little did Charles know that pissing off the Russian Mafia came with its drawbacks. The Russians played fast and dirty. They’d attack where it hurts the most. Due to their undercover agent in her university, they knew exactly who she was. Every little detail from the timings she enters and exits the university to the car that comes to pick and drop her.

The Russians were smart, very smart. They knew the best way to hurt Charles was to hurt his girl. They knew kidnapping would not work as she was heavily guarded at all times. So they came up with a public declaration of war. They were going to attack her at her graduation ceremony, in front of everyone, and most importantly, Charles.

This was their way to send a message. Frankly, ever since y/n and Charles started dating, he was ignoring his priorities with the mafia and appointed most of the tasks to Kyviat, who turned out to be a traitor. Some may say Charles’s lack of attention caused him to lose the most important person in his life. Just as they called out her name, the first shots fired. Almost in an instant, Charles whipped his head so fast you could hear a bone crack. He knew this was planned. He prayed and hoped deep down it wasn’t a message for him. He knew Alonso’s daughter also went here and selfishly hoped it was for him.

All his prayers fell on deaf ears when he saw his precious angel falling, almost in slow motion, with her white dress that he loved oh so much turning ever so red with each passing second. He knew he messed up. He had so much love he still needed to show her. The engagement ring in his pocket felt like hot coal, burning him almost taunting him painfully. He had everything planned out, each moment, each step. He never expected her to be ripped out of his arms. He had destroyed homes and families.

He knew he had unpaid karma. And just when he started becoming a better person, he had to pay his karma in full. They say the day she bled out in his arms was the day hell froze all over again. Each of her deep and labored breaths haunted his soul for the rest of his life. He still had days where he could imagine her next to him. If people thought Charles was cruel before the shooting, they would be very wrong.

Seeing the love of his life lying still on a ventilator enraged a different type of devil in him. He hunted each and everyone involved in the shooting like he was hunting animals. He shot, stabbed, burned, bleached, skinned, and mutilated each and everyone. It was borderline psychotic. By day, a doting boyfriend in the ICU. By night, a cold-blooded killer on the loose.

Each morning when he returned, he would utter the same words over and over again, “ça aurait dû être moi, pas toi, ça aurait dû être moi, ma chérie, pas toi. je suis désolé je suis désolé.”

Charles had lost it. More than ever, his reign of terror only ended when she opened her eyes again. He never touched another gun or affiliated with the mafia ever again.

The both of them found a safe haven in the Swiss Alps, only returning to Monaco when everything was over, Charles becoming the most protective person ever known to have lived. His large hand placed on her ever prominent belly. Monaco saw the aftermath of what happens when you mess with Charles Leclercs wife. That was the only incident that ever involved y/n. Charles made sure of it after all she was his and he protected what was his. His overprotective nature plus his power made sure she was safe.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Prewar!Cooper told Barb that one of his favorite things about her was the fact that she always tries to do the right thing. The Ghoul is entertained by Lucy's "goody two-shoes" thing, at first, but is clearly very deeply impacted by the kindness that she shows him outside the Super Duper Mart.

Cooper Howard obviously likes good girls...corruption kink, anyone?

Prewar!Cooper would be sweet about it, even gentlemanly. He'd be respectful, slowly warming you up to all these ideas that you've never even heard of before. Of course, you trust him implicitly, and you're happy to go where he guides you. He would get a sense of the things you're into, what your boundaries are, but once he knew you well enough, he might start to nudge you in certain directions.

Taking you for a drive, his hand on your thigh slowly slipping higher until he's rubbing you through your underwear as you go along, working you up to an orgasm at a red light in full public view, completely aware that everyone can tell what's happening. Going for a long walk in a nice park and pulling you into the bushes for "a few smooches" that turn into you deep-throating his cock until you almost pass out. Pushing you into poorly soundproofed closets at fancy parties to turn you into a squealing mess on the end of his cock, too loud for others to not hear. It's all so addictive and you're powerless to stop yourself from giving into him wherever and whenever, slowly turning you into a little exhibitionist because he thinks it's hot.

"Oh, I know how much you like this, sweetheart...what if I tried this? Does that feel good? Sure seems like it does. You don't have to be embarrassed. I'll take care of you. You trust me, right, baby doll?"

The Ghoul would be...meaner. He's more the "don't ask for permission; beg for forgiveness" type, but without the begging part. He'd just go for things, watching in almost sadistic glee as your face would morph from shock to disgust to ashamed arousal. You would be able to sense something different in the air, but you never see his dirty tricks coming. Does this stop you from continuing to sleep with him as you trek the West together? Of course not. As much as you might hate him a little (or a lot) for it, he knows exactly what makes you tremble and beg for more, even as your face reddens and you struggle to look at him.

Sliding his tongue back to tease your asshole when he's eating you out like a man starved, laughing wickedly and holding your hands away when you try to stop him because 'That's so gross!', but soon your protests turn to wanton moans. Hell, sliding his thumb into your ass as he fucks you from behind, using the leverage to bounce you harder on his hips, the sensation amazing despite how humiliating it feels. The next time he fucks you that way, you whimper out a little plea for him to do it again. Making you beg him to spit in your mouth as you near your orgasm until he no longer has to prompt you, you simply open your mouth. He gets off on getting you to request (or even beg for) disgusting treatment.

"Oh, did you not like that? With the way this greedy little cunt is reacting, I'd say you liked it. I mean...if you didn't, I suppose I can quit. Hmm? You want me to keep doing it? What a nasty little freak, gettin' off on this. Maybe if you ask pretty, darlin'..."

[babywriter]

Janine liked to go to school diapered. It turned her on. It also took quite a bit of courage to do so as she was terrified anybody would find out her little secret. There had been a few close calls, but by now Janine had grown comfortable with her choice of underwear. She had also grown complacent and less worried about hiding it. So what if someone she didn’t know would see the waistband of a medical diaper? This was college and she was free. It did become more problematic when someone she did know ended up seeing it.

While Janine was picking her books up, she carelessly showed the tip of her padded underwear to Brenda. Brenda was not a friend. In High School, she had been a mean girl who had gleefully spread rumors about Janine. Of course, Brenda bursted out laughing when she saw the diaper.

“Oh my god. This is-WOW. You are such a baby, Janine.” A little too loud perhaps as people wondered what was going on. Janine looked troubled when she stood up.

“What?” she asked.

“Oh I think we need to talk.” said Brenda. She grabbed Janine’s hand and led her out of the class.

“What are you doing? Let me go.” Janine remained steadfastly calm as she didn’t want to provoke the other girl.

“I know what I saw.” said Brenda. “You didn’t need diapers before.”

“So what if I didn’t?”

“I’m just saying. It would be a shame if others found out…”

“Please don’t.” asked Janine. In hindsight, this was a terrible reaction as Brenda now held all the cards.

“Oh I shouldn’t, should I? Why not, huh? There’s nothing to be ashamed of by being a little miss pottypants. You know, what I’d love to do? Change your little diaper butt!”

“You won’t.”

“Yes, I will. I should probably check if you’re dry right now…”

“No, stop! Get away from me!”

“My, my. Baby has wet herself. We are definitely going to your place.”

Obviously, this wasn’t really optional, and Janine only begrudginly accepted so that Brenda would go away afterwards. Janine had an apartment to herself, which meant that she could openly indulge. A baby bottle in the kitchen, a few toys scattered here and there, a ridiculous amount of stuffies. Subtle signs that gave it away. Brenda looked at her victim with glee.

“Oh this is much better than my dorm. You must love it here. No mommy to tell you to clean up after yourself.”

The worst part was when Brenda went through Janine’s closet. Onesies, footie pyjamas, loads of diaper packs with adorable prints, little dresses and skirts.

“This is all so cute! I didn’t know you were such a cute little baby! We should tell everyone, don’t you think?”

“Brenda, please. You’ve done enough. Can’t you act like an adult and start minding your own business?”

“I need to start acting like an adult? I’m not the one pissing myself, baby. In fact, I think I should inform everyone.”

“NO!” Janine stomped her foot and laid down the law. This was not going to happen.

“No? YOU don’t get to say no, baby girl.” Brenda wrestled Janine’s pants away from her and put the girl on her lap, spanking her well-padded bottom until she started to cry. Pain was only a small part, there was also the humiliation and a surprising amount of excitement. This strange and contradictory mixture of emotions is what made her cry.

“If you act like a good little girl.” said Brenda. “You will be a very happy baby, but if you make mommy mad, you will NEVER live it down. Is that understood?”

Janine nodded while sobbing.

Brenda immediately moved in to become Janine’s around-the-clock caregiver. And just as quickly, Janine was forced into the 24/7 lifestyle she had fantasized about. Everything was done for her and an extreme set of rules was also put in place. Like wearing diapers and baby clothes at all times or only being able to “make cummies” if mommy deemed her diaper sufficiently dirty. And she had to beg for them while showing off how used her diaper was. The cummies were mommy’s business too. Only mommy could use the vibrator on Janine’s diaper. While Janine was forced into this lifestyle, she still went about her daily activities. Brenda had wanted them to go on. Thus, Janine went to school diapered and wearing a short girlish dress that barely covered the padding. In the front and in the back, there was a noticeable bulge, revealing that Janine perhaps wasn’t wearing normal underwear.

In the hallways, Janine was forced to hold Brenda’s hand. Not only that, she was constantly flushed from the looks she was getting. She did not relax until she was seated in the massive auditorium, where she could have some privacy by sitting in the back. Yet, when she felt she needed to go, she did not hesitate for one second as Mommy had trained her well. It is unfortunate that after the class, a friend of Janine came to see her. The diaper, well-used, now sagged just under the dress.

“Hi! How...are you?” said the friend.

“I-” Janine began.

“Baby, put your thumb in your mouth. She’s doing super well!” answered Brenda in her place.

The friend nodded and went away immediately after. Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it.

Naturally, Janine began to cry, thumb in her mouth. 

“Do you need your diaper changed?” asked Brenda, loud enough for any passerby to hear. The woman put her hand on Janine’s butt and squished it. “Yes, you do!”

Whispers of “what’s wrong with her” could be heard. For some reason, this broke Janine. It was all in the open so why resist?

“Mommy, I wanna go home.” she said. Teary, her whole thumb in her mouth, raising her dress with the other hand so everyone could see her diaper.

Janine’s reaction was marvelous as far as Brenda was concerned. Now, the girl was all hers.

“We can’t leave yet, baby. You haven’t done your cummies.”

“Please mommy, no…” Janine was absolutely desperate to avoid at least that.

“No, perhaps it’d be better in front of your parents…”

Under this thinly veiled threat, Janine began to rub the front of her diaper with great vigor. The first and only time she had been allowed to touch herself, even if through her underwear. The thick padding made it especially challenging. So did the crowd of onlookers. Perverts in their own rights for watching, and filming, Janine. Finally, she moaned loudly.

“I made cummies mommy!” she nearly screamed in a high pitch lisp.

“Good job, baby! I won’t bring you here again, I promise” Brenda said with a grin.

Indeed, Janine never went to college again. Instead, she was kept at home. Forced to use her diapers, she grew dependent on them. Forced to ask permission to make cummies, always while wearing a used diaper and often in public. Truly, a baby that was shown off at every opportunity. And all that humiliation just kept making Janine hornier.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

POV: You are five, and are playing hide and seek with your papa. He always beats you in the game, but you are determined to win someday! Right now, he is counting to ten, so you are sneaking around in the hidden tunnels to find a hiding place. You wait for him to come. And he finds you...except it's not your papa. This...person, he looks like your papa, but he's not. Your papa always looked at you with tender eyes, but in this stranger's gaze, you see nothing but demented glee. You don't know why, but you can feel the fright slowly creeping on your back. And then he moves.

Hide and Seek

Summary: You always loved your weird papa. But you didn't know that one day you would be truly scared of him.

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping, dubcon, angst

Word count: 1930

Author's note: It took me a long time to finally reply to this ask. But damn, I'm so glad it didn't get lost on the page. And I was able to figure out exactly how I wanted to write this drabble.

Tag List: @druidwolf21, @kit-williams

And also I want @passionofthesith, @lemon-russ, @moodymisty, @beckyninja, @solspina to see this. Sorry guys, no horny atmosphere. Only fear and angst.

You lived in softness from the moment you were born. The entire floor was covered with warm and plush blankets, pillows. Not to mention the two beds. The entire room was covered with soft cute toys, with which you fell asleep by your side. Even your mommy, a kind and quiet woman, slept with toys in her arms.

You didn't see the world outside the ship. Mommy said that it was very dangerous there. She herself was from a planet that did not want to join the Imperium (you still didn't understand what that was). But daddy came and told them how to live correctly. He fell in love with mom at first sight and immediately took her to his place. To a safe place.

You always thought it was a romantic story. Although mom told you it very quietly. Sometimes she looked sadly at the ceiling and you wondered if she remembered her home planet? Perhaps she missed her parents, but now she has a new home. You and daddy.

Daddy didn't come around that often because he was a primarch. Papa told you that meant he was the most important. He had pale skin, black eyes and slightly dirty hair. His teeth were clawed and he always smelled of something metallic. Daddy said it was blood.

He looked a bit scary, but Mummy said it was because he worked a lot. But thanks to that, you and she lived so well. Your cozy room was soft and warm. Daddy always washed himself before coming in here. He didn't want to "bring dirt into his little paradise," as he liked to say.

He often played with you and had tea party. He told you stories. And he was always touching Mummy. Hugging her, kissing her. One time you woke up in the middle of the night when you realized that strange sounds were coming from the bed. Papa stroked her hair, saying how much he loved her, how obsessed (what does that mean?) he was with her. For some reason, Mom cried.

In fact, you didn’t see the whole ship from the inside (you didn’t even know what it looked like from the outside). Your whole life was concentrated in one room. And yet, when you turned four, daddy started taking you “to a separate compartment”. Especially just for the two of you. You didn’t know why he did it until he told you to hide and you happily ran to explore the territory. You just recently told papa that you and mom often play hide and seek. But there’s so little space that you quickly finish playing.

Then he quickly found you. And the next time. And the one after that. He was so fast and secretive. As if he was born in the dark! But you so wanted to defeat him one day. To hear the cherished “I can’t find you” and proudly come out of hiding.

Now you’re five. And before the next game, you thought about where exactly you would hide this time. In one of the tunnels. When you saw the black depths, you were scared of it and burst into tears. You were still afraid to go there. But… it’s such a good chance to win. Papa will never guess where you decided to hide.

***

It's very dark and creepy in the hole. In other hide-and-seek places, you sometimes giggled in anticipation. But here, you don't want to. It's very dark. And scary. You want to escape from here as soon as possible, but you endure it. You want to beat daddy at the game. And even though you haven't seen him, you felt like more time has passed than usual. But he still hasn't found you. You almost won!

A sudden rustle from behind interrupted your happy thoughts. Your heart pounded and goosebumps ran down your spine. You swallowed, trying with all your might to stay in place. No, you have to win. You can't leave this hole no matter how scared you are. But another rustle makes you squeak in fear. You turn around sharply, hoping to see nothing behind you. To overcome your fear and understand that you can survive this for the sake of victory.

You wanted to scream, but you couldn't make a sound.

There was complete darkness. And yet the black eyes and pale face stood out brightly, as if there was a ghost in front of you. The clawed teeth spread in a smile from ear to ear. The man himself was sitting on all fours, like a dog ready to pounce. Ready to tear you to shreds.

It was papa. No. It was papa's face. But it was not him. He no longer looked at you with gentle and kind eyes. His face was not sad as usual. He was beside himself with delight. Saliva was ready to flow from the corners of his lips, and excitement splashed in his eyes. And something else. A bad word that mom said in her sleep, when she had nightmares. Madness.

“Found.” - the monster whispered softly, as if trying to calm the girl. To make contact with her. To make friends. Before sinking his teeth into her throat. You saw, you saw this desire. It wanted to eat you. To absorb you. It wanted to take you into the darkness of the tunnel and never let you go.

And then it moved.

“PAPA, SAVE ME!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, closing your eyes, feeling tears streaming down your cheeks. You were sobbing like a little child. You were a child. Defenseless and abandoned to the mercy of a monster. Which immediately grabbed you in its arms and ran away laughing into the darkness of the tunnel.

Tears and snot ran down your face in disarray, you cried at the top of your lungs. But you didn’t even think about opening your eyes. You didn’t want to see this monster wearing your dad’s skin on its face. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the suffocating embrace of the monster’s stomach. How it giggled at your fear. It enjoyed it. Enjoyed your fear.

At some point, the monster slowed down and you felt it rise on two legs. Imitating a human. You weren't screaming anymore, your throat was hoarse. But you were ready to start bawling again, just so daddy could hear you. He had to hear, he had to save you.

“Here we are, home.” - the monster cooed in your ear. You trembled, but as soon as you heard the familiar creaking sound, hope appeared in your heart. - “Come on, delicious. Come to mommy.”

You slowly open your eyes and see your paradise. Your soft, toy-filled room. Books with children's fairy tales. Star-shaped lamps. And a little scared, but mostly sad mother. She sobs and stretches out her hands to you. Gentle, caring hands that always stroked you before bed.

"Come here, darling. Don't be afraid." - and her voice is gentle too. She looks only at you. Tries to ignore the monster.

But you are scared. And as soon as the stranger puts you down on your feet, you immediately run into the woman's arms. You hide in her chest, trying to ignore the evil giggling. The monster leaves you, locking the door. But you still hear his terrible voice.

“My girls.”

Your mommy gently rocks you on her lap, continuing to stroke you and kiss your forehead. You are still anxious. You want to forget this nightmare. And you calm down, surrounded by the care of a kind woman. Perhaps that is why daddy fell in love with her. Daddy…

“Mom.” - you finally raise your head and look at the woman with red, tired eyes. - “W-who is this man? Why does he look like papa? And where is papa himself?”

Your mother was always as quiet as a mouse. Neat and gentle, she did not attract attention to herself. She was often sad, especially when papa came. But there was light coming from her. Light that warmed and calmed you. You could always rely on her. But now she was silent. And this silence was tense.

You looked into her eyes and to your horror, you saw exactly the same fear there. Sadness. Despair. She was desperate. You hugged your mother tighter, rubbing her skin with your palms. Maybe she got cold? Maybe she needed to be warmed up?

“Mommy?” - you call her softly and she finally looks at you. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

“Oh, honey.” - your mom took a deep breath and you flinched at the way she said those words. As if she had met that person before. And not for the first time.

“You see, it’s… another papa.” - your mom explains to you softly, continuing to stroke your head. - “He doesn’t come often. I’m sorry you saw him like that. He didn’t mean to scare you.”

The woman said the last words so uncertainly, which made you press yourself closer to her.

“Does he hate us?” - you still remember his crazy look. His grin. How he giggled while you cried and called for papa.

“No, honey. He loves us. But he loves too harshly. Sometimes cruelly.” - you hear a quiet sob and understand that your mom is trying to hold back her tears. - “He’s just very lonely. And in pain. So he wants someone to share his pain with him. To calm him down.”

“And he can’t leave? "He can't leave us with our papa?" - you ask naively, expecting your mother to say the cherished "yes". That these are just temporary problems and daddy will cope. He is the primarch, he is the best.

But your hopes are shattered.

"No, dear." - your mother's voice sounds so quiet and hopeless that you want to hug her. To calm her down as she did you. - "This is your papa too. You will get used to him."

A sudden creak of the door scares you to the point of trembling. Your heart starts pounding like crazy and yet you turn around at the sound. You can't help but do it. You can't help but look because it seems to you that if you don't do it, he will get angry.

Absolutely black eyes are full of such universal sadness that a little more and you will suffocate. Papa did not smile and yet you knew that it was him. The ghost that haunted you. Who wanted to swallow you up and never give you to anyone. You wonder, maybe this is the real papa, and you saw daddy so often because you were little? Because he spared you? You didn't see him as often as mom.

And then it spoke.

"Are my sweet ones scared?" - you want to scream, you want to run away, but mom hugs you tightly, kissing your temple. You need to survive this meeting. And he will leave, leave. - "Well, it's okay, daddy is with you. He will protect you."

Night Haunter enters the plush room and carefully sits down with his two girls. He hugs you tenderly, but you want to cry. Daddy always smelled of blood, but he smells of death.

"Papa" - you squeak like a mouse, trying to reach daddy. Strange and sometimes frightening, but careful with you. Who smiled as if you and Mom were his whole life. Who had goodness in him, at least for the two of you. But Daddy is silent. Instead, a monster answers, a terrible creature who loves you just as much, which makes it even scarier.

“I'm here, delicious.”

[vixstarria]

Sweat

Astarion, Halsin and Tav become a triad after the fall of the Netherbrain. This is a story of how it begins, progresses, and eventually ends.

Astarion x named F!Tav x Halsin

porn with (!) plot / character study, but through smut

18+, smut, threesome, double penetration, lots of dirty talk, what else... you know what, just refer to the AO3 tags, link below

In my headcanon, Halsin approaches both Asmodea and Astarion together, rather than just Asmodea alone.

This fic picks up their story where I left it in A Night at the Inn, and is a companion for Chapter 10 of Bloodbang Chronicles (in which Astarion is the one receiving - you can read that chapter as a standalone if you want). All three pieces are threesome smut.

Or, if you want more of Astarion's dynamic with Asmodea, check out Bloodbang Chronicles generally.

Anyway, enjoy!

Approx. 7.9k words

AO3

Each section break signifies a jump forward in time.

Of course the bloody druid was after her too - just about everyone else in this blasted group had been at one point or another. Astarion sighed inwardly as he observed the druid conversing with his lover.

Halsin hadn’t been with them long. He hadn’t mingled much with the rest of the group during the journey from the Emerald Grove, and then, on reaching the Shadowcursed Lands, he had stayed back at Last Light, having only rejoined them recently. 

But ever since, the druid had been giving Asmodea increasing amounts of attention. Even now, having just finished talking with her, Halsin's eyes trailed her as he drew on his pipe. 

Why should he be any different - just about everyone else had made some advances on their de facto ‘leader’ by then. Only Karlach had always stayed on friendly terms with her – Astarion had worried that might change after that blacksmith Dammon sorted her little tactile problem, but it appeared their bond had remained sister-like.

As for his own claim on the woman – it seemed he was widely disregarded as a rake. Taken for a temporary thing she and anyone else would discard without a moment’s hesitation, if anything more tangible came along. Never mind that his feelings had been growing each day, despite his efforts to the contrary. As had her own, towards him, unless he was blind.

Was she even aware of any of this..? She had to be.

As Astarion pondered this, Asmodea sat down next to him, pressing her thigh against his and leaning against him; as though just a small fragile thing seeking protection or warmth from him – despite the fact she barely needed the former anymore, and he couldn’t provide the latter. Still, it made for an excellent and obvious display for everyone around them. Without thinking, he pulled her against him by her waist, pressing his lips against her temple. 

She looked up at him, eyes twinkling in lighthearted glee. 

“I know,” she whispered, inclining her head slightly towards the druid.

“I know you know,” Astarion murmured back. Well, now he did, anyway.

“Good,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the lips and turning her attention to the food in front of her. 

Astarion glanced at Halsin, who sat across the fire. The druid met his gaze. Not in challenge, but rather with... open curiosity. The druid’s lips curled in a genuine smile, his eyes lingering on Astarion’s longer than generally acceptable.

…Oh. …Hah!

Astarion looked away, amused, smirking into his wine goblet. It seemed he had misread the druid, somewhat. Yes, he knew that look very well.

Godsdamned wood elves…

“Could you go ask Lae’zel for one of her training swords?” 

“Why?” 

“I’ll show you. ...But also I think she will be less inclined to murder me for wasting everyone’s time, if she’s curious about me needing a sword with my morning bath.” 

“She’ll have to murder me and Halsin first.” Astarion grumbled, but left the inn’s bathing room to retrieve the sword. 

Him and Halsin… A debaucherous night spent with both of them, lasting well into the morning. Astarion had mostly watched or directed her and Halsin, still not wanting to be touched himself, but it was, undoubtedly, the most they had done since before the night they had their heart to heart in the Shadowcursed Lands.

Halsin hesitated at the door.   

“Before I leave this room, I must know... Once this door shuts behind me, is... this-” he gestured at the three of them, “staying behind as well? Or can the future hold something for us?” She knew the druid would have accepted whichever answer he was given, but she could tell he was a hair’s breadth from a pained expression.

She exchanged a look with Astarion. It was he who finally spoke.   

“It doesn’t have to stay behind. You’ve been better for us than you might realise,” he said, with a grin. “But let’s talk about that later.”   

“I am glad,” Halsin said, smiling, before leaving. 

What in the hells had they just started..? 

Astarion returned with the blunted practice weapon.

“Most of the others have gone out into the city. And you were right, the moment I asked Lae’zel for a sword, she swapped all murderous intent to curiosity.”

Asmodea took the sword and submerged most if it in the lukewarm water in the tub, channelling a Heat Metal spell through it.

“Old bard trick,” she explained to Astarion, waiting for the water to heat up. “So,” she added, looking up at Astarion. “Halsin.”

“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “Halsin.”

They exchanged and held equally incredulous looks, before breaking out into laughter.

“I told you he wanted both of us!” Asmodea exclaimed amid the tittering. “So… What do you think? Truly?” she asked once the laughter had died down a bit.

“It… It was certainly entertaining, sharing you with him,” Astarion snickered.

“And you..? Do you think you would be comfortable..? Being ‘shared’?”

“I’m not averse to the idea... But, for now, he might be more than I can handle.”

“...Well, with enough patience, determination and grease...”

“Why do I even like you...” Astarion muttered, heaving a massive, exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes. “That is not how I meant that!” he exclaimed. “...Although that too, most likely.”

They broke into another fit of laughter.

“But I… I don’t see any harm in it. I think it could be good, even,” Astarion said, softly this time, once they had both calmed down. “What about you..?”

Astarion sat on the roof of the Elfsong, watching the streets below. He was most certainly not on the lookout for two figures - a slender one with a disarray of locs on her head, and a robust-looking one that would tower over the first. How long had they been gone now, anyway?

He sipped his wine, straight from the bottle. It was pleasant, but lacked the kick he had grown used to from adding blood to it. Wyll would have agreed to donate some, if he’d only asked, but he couldn’t bear to go downstairs and be seen by anyone. He knew what they were all thinking.

Asmodea and Halsin had been eager to explore whatever it was they had set in motion. As for Astarion, after the initial elation had subsided, he just wanted time to himself to think, and so he had all but shoved them out the door together. Halsin had made it abundantly clear he wanted to include Astarion. Astarion, in turn, assured them both that he was happy for them to spend some time alone that night. And Asmodea… Asmodea had been visibly conflicted, but listened to him in the end.

And now he was hiding out on the roof, not being in the mood to explain to anyone why his lover had suddenly taken off with another. They had tried to be discreet, but you couldn’t sneeze without everyone in camp knowing about it and making it their business, much less have a little… arrangement.

Was that all it was?

He probed at his own feelings as he swirled the wine in his mouth, and found them to be a nonsensical potpourri of jealousy, relief, doubt, giddiness, inadequacy, excitement, fear and hope. The emotions mixed and swirled, constantly replacing one another at the forefront of his mind.

Astarion found himself, once again, contemplating how he himself felt about the druid.

There was a physical attraction, certainly. But also an admiration. A certain peace and serenity was to be found in his company - something Astarion hadn’t felt in centuries. Astarion often found himself discarding all his usual masks with Halsin, disarmed by the druid’s own earnestness.

Above all, he felt safe.

What would it be like..? Having this… gentle giant, to share with Asmodea.

Sweet pondering thoughts switched abruptly to more mundane and grounded ones.

What were they doing now? Talking about him, perhaps? Resolving that he wasn’t necessary after all? Or maybe just happily fucking each other’s brains out, not giving him a single thought to begin with?

Was all this just a massive, stupid mistake?

Thoughts spiralling and racing, Astarion gulped down more of the wine. He could go for more of that herb, whatever it was, that Halsin had given him the other night, Astarion thought - he refused to believe it was really catnip. He surveyed the street below, again. How long could it possibly take?!

Karlach appeared on the roof, holding a bottle of her own by the neck.

Ah, here comes the envoy of the pity committee…

“Hey Fangs. You alright..? Do I need to knock some sense into anyone?”

“I’ll have you know, I had their invitation, and they had my blessing,” he all but snarled, choosing to cut straight to the point.

“Right, whatever,” she said, sitting down next to him. “You elves are fucking weird, you know.”

“Yes, well, after a few centuries you change your perspective on some trivialities,” he snapped.

Karlach only emitted a brief, bitter laugh.

…Shit.

Astarion belatedly realised she was the last person to whom he should have said anything about longevity or life expectancy. He turned to look at her. Her forehead, he now noticed, bore a sheen of perspiration despite the pleasantly cool weather, her breathing was more laboured than usual.

“How’s your engine?” he asked, softly.

“Shit,” she said, taking a swig from her bottle, and drawing her knees up against her chest.

Another nail for his proverbial coffin.

He reached out, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, letting her lean against himself. He didn’t know what to say, but this - this was close enough to what he had done countless times for drunk and newly single women seeking a shoulder to cry on and a dick to ride on, before whisking them to their demise - though he truly meant the gesture this time.

“Saw an old friend of mine today,” Karlach said, quietly. “She’s having a baby. I told her I’d go see her once all this was over.” She sniffed, masking it as a chuckle. “Never going to happen, is it?”

Cazador’s presence still looming over him, tadpole still in his brain, his lover in another’s arms (at his own insistence, no less), AND he could lose his friend any day.

Astarion said nothing and rubbed her shoulder.

He lay in bed when Asmodea finally returned. She seemed hesitant, only giving him a worried look when she realised he was still awake. He wordlessly lifted the edge of the blanket in invitation. With some relief writ on her face, she joined him under the covers. She fidgeted, as though unsure just how to settle down, until he pulled her tightly against himself.

“Do you want to know..?” she asked.

He thought she would smell of the druid. Instead, she smelled like she just bathed.

“Not really,” he answered.

She snuggled against him as she would ordinarily, to go to sleep, but the silence between them was pregnant, and before long, she sighed and leaned away from him, reclining on her elbow.

“Star…”

Astarion opened his eyes and met her gaze.

Gods, but he didn’t want to talk about anything just then.

He pressed a finger to her lips, then stroked her face, gently, looking into her eyes. What was it he read in them..? Concern, maybe. Worry. Pleading? Was that… fear..?

Something twisted in his chest. He couldn’t bear to have her look at him like that.

He pulled her back against himself, pressing his lips against hers, as she melted into him, her tension beginning to dissipate. She wanted to say something, but he kissed her again and again, hands beginning to roam her. If only he could show her all his love... He caressed reassurance into her body, as he knew words would fail him now. Pulled her clothes off so he could feel her, all of her, and be felt. She did the same for him, also having given up on saying anything, turning instead to conveying her affection and longing through touch alone, just as they had done all that time ago, when their blossoming love for one another was still an open but unspoken secret.

But what had happened to this same body earlier..?

Even through the tenderness that had just overtaken him, he found that the thought intrigued him. His mind wandered to images of her writhing with the druid, coming undone in ecstasy, the way he had already witnessed them do earlier. The images caused a warm coil to tighten at the bottom of his stomach. How close were they to reality, he wondered.

As her clothes came off and her body wrapped around his, his fingers probed and sought evidence of her evening. Was she too tender? Too swollen? Did she seem sore? Was she bruised anywhere? The druid had been mindful of his proportions and movements in the night that they all shared together, but who knew, maybe Halsin lost his restraint and had simply healed any damage he had done after.

Perhaps he did want to know.

Lewd thoughts turned to outrage at the very idea that anyone might have possibly hurt what was his. Even if he willingly shared some part of her. She was his.

Astarion’s arms tightened around her, and he deepened his kiss, moaning into her mouth. She tangled her fingers in his hair and whimpered, softly.

“Ugh, gross…” Astarion heard Karlach saying a few beds over. “Hey Gale… Gale!”

The wizard produced something between a snore and a disgruntled salutation, and cast a habitual sphere of silence around the pair’s bed, before presumably immediately falling back asleep somewhere beyond the privacy screens.

Astarion’s fingers slipped between Asmodea’s legs, earning him a moan as she spread wider for him. Wet, so wet. For him. As she should be.

He wanted to fuck her hard into the bed, lay his claim on her, but he didn’t want to be compared with the druid so soon after whatever had happened between him and her. Instead, he slipped his fingers inside her, twisting and curling them, digging into the sweet spot within her - where she told him no one before him had ever pleasured her properly. This was his and his only. He pressed his fingers into it rougher than usual, until she panted and whined. Had she made these same sounds for Halsin earlier this night?

“Gods… Please don’t stop,” she gasped.

“Oh I’m not stopping anytime soon, darling,” he whispered in her ear.

Perhaps sensing something different in his voice, she opened her eyes and looked up at him as he leaned over her, his fingers still working inside her.

“How many times did you come for him?”

“Ast-” she began.

“How many?” he asked again, punctuating his words by rolling her clit with his thumb.

She swallowed hard, her cunt already starting to pulse in little pre-orgasm contractions around his fingers.

“Twice,” she said, wetting her lips.

“Then you owe me three.”

He moved his hand faster, mercilessly building more and more pressure.

Mine… Before anyone else’s, mine. Not the druid’s. Not her bloody patron’s. Not the godsdamned Emperor’s. Not that devil’s. No one’s. Only mine.

Her moans were mounting, almost turning into screams. She sat up, leaning back on her elbows, stilling, looking into his eyes and accepting what he was giving her. Just as she threw her head back and released a desperate groan, he sank his fangs into her neck.

Mine, mine, mine, mine…

She came all over his hand, completely losing all control, legs shaking as he stroked her more gently through her orgasm, even as he drank from her.

He broke away from her neck, humming soothingly as she gasped and sobbed quietly in the aftershocks of her orgasm. He kissed up her neck until his lips were at her ear again.

“One.”

Astarion watched Asmodea and Karlach toppling over one another, laughing, as they swapped stories of living in Avernus and living on the road travelling inn to inn (which at times sounded to have been rougher than Avernus). Halsin shared their table. He had been nursing the same tankard of mead for the past few hours, Astarion noticed, probably having gotten the drink solely to avoid anyone else inevitably forcing one on him.

A semi-decent bardic troupe had taken stage, playing something raucous but catchy.

“Come on, Halsin, come dance with me!” Karlach offered.

“I’m afraid I have two left legs, and a bear’s grace besides,” he declined with a smile and firm shake of his head.

“Aww,” Karlach pouted. “What about you, Fangs? Dance with me?”

“Darling, you have to wine and dine me before you get to dance me, and I’ve been carrying your tab ever since we got to the city.”

“Please??”

“No.”

“Ever seen a cat on a leash?” Asmodea butted in. “When it just plops down on the ground and refuses to move, even as you drag it? That’s Astarion when he doesn’t want to do something,” she laughed. “Let’s go, I’ll dance with you.”

And just like that, Astarion found himself left alone at the table with Halsin.

“Perhaps something needs to be said,” Halsin remarked with a coy grin, once the silence stretched too long for comfort. If Astarion hadn’t known any better, he might even have thought that the druid was teasing him.

Oh for hells’ sake…

Without a word, Astarion turned towards the druid, grasped his face with both hands, and pulled him down to kiss him.

Somewhere in the back of Astarion’s mind, he thought that if he had been a poet, he would have said that the kiss tasted something like honey and the warmth of a hearth on a rainy night. But no, the kiss mostly tasted like Halsin’s tobacco mixture, with a subtle hint of the cheap mead he had been pretending to drink. By no means repugnant, but not earth-shattering either.

But then he was pulled against a broad chest by strong but gentle hands, his kiss returned with tender passion and reverence, and something inside him fluttered.

They had taken to sleeping together, tiring of the game of musical chairs when it came to the large bed at their disposal, and the necessity to continuously move their things around.

They hadn’t had another night as debauched as their very first one - a kind of subdued modesty had replaced open lust once feelings were laid bare, their lovemaking treated with delicacy.

It hadn’t yet been long since Astarion had begun allowing himself to fully indulge in sex again, and thus far it had only been with Asmodea, and only privately.

That night, they both happened to find themselves awake next to the sleeping druid. Unassuming embraces led to tender kisses, led to sensual touches, led to unabashed groping and stroking, until they became a tangle of limbs, giggling and shushing at each other, a sheet pulled over their heads as though it would hide or muffle anything they had been doing.

Astarion had been leaving a trail of kisses down Asmodea’s neck when she realised that the sheet was slowly but steadily slipping off to one side. She turned her now uncovered head to see Halsin tugging on the covers, until she and Astarion were laid completely bare before the druid.

Astarion glanced at the other elf but only went right back to kissing and caressing her, like it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to do so before an audience.

Asmodea’s breath hitched as Astarion’s fingers, which had been playing with a nipple, slid lower, to stroke her slit, gliding with no resistance, spreading her slick.

“Hmm, already..?” he purred in her ear. “You like being watched, don’t you?” He grinned and continued to caress between her legs, dipping his fingers inside her.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” she said, innocently.

Astarion simply brought his fingers up to her mouth in response, letting her lick and suck her own juices off them, groaning softly. He continued to move his fingers in and out of her mouth, letting her suck and nibble on them.

“Should we show him more, my love?” he murmured, loud enough that he was sure that Halsin heard as well. “Should we show him how I make you come?”

An assenting hum had barely left Asmodea, when Astarion sat up between her legs, reaching to rub and slide his erection between her legs, coating it in her slick.

“My wanton minx… Always so eager,” he purred, before burying his cock inside her.

He plunged deep inside, but only gave her a few cursory thrusts, before leaning over her and beginning to roll his hips against her in hard, rhythmical, circular motions. He kept her stretched and full with his cock, but didn’t give her much inner friction, instead focusing the pressure on her clit. Persistent, knowing, unrelenting. But also gentle and loving. He could keep going like this as long as she needed - not that this ever took long.

Asmodea moaned and sighed in pleasure, the sensation gently but steadily bringing her closer and closer to her peak. She relaxed into it, beginning to pulse and squeeze around Astarion’s length before long, her moans building.

“That’s it, show him…” he purred. “Show him how you come on my cock.”

The sound of his voice brought her over the edge, melting helplessly under him in soft, keening moans. Only then did he really begin thrusting, perhaps being unable to withstand any more of this tease himself.

She doubted it had been much of a display, but the druid stirred next to them with a throaty groan,

“Beautiful…” he whispered.

Asmodea drew Astarion in a kiss, before rolling on top of him, dismounting, and kissing down his neck and torso towards his cock, rock-hard with his own unreleased need.

He breathed hard as she kissed and licked around it, perhaps not entirely unaffected by the presence of another in their bed either.

“Do you want me to do this,” she purred, regarding him from beneath her lashes, as she kissed the tender skin of his inner thighs, “or Halsin?”

Astarion hesitated, cock twitching in desperation to be pleasured by anyone.

“You,” he breathed, finally. She eagerly licked up his shaft and swirled her tongue around the head, and Astarion fell back against the pillows, shutting his eyes and tangling his fingers in her hair. “…This time,” he added.

It was Halsin’s decision to return to Reithwin after the fall of the Netherbrain. He sought to rebuild the city, gathering orphans, misfits and others who were displaced by the Absolute’s army. Astarion and Asmodea chose to go with him, not wanting to be separated, and not having any better ideas or plans besides.

It was a strange time in their lives. Elation at newfound freedom, mixed with the grief for the loss of Astarion’s ability to walk in the sun, and the overall uncertainty of their future. Neither were accustomed to what they had found themselves in.

Asmodea had returned to what she knew best, providing entertainment for the residents of the settlement. The children adored her, to her bemusement, bringing her small gifts: drawings, wreaths made of flowers that now grew throughout what used to be cursed and barren lands, beads they insisted she braid and tie into her hair.

Astarion in turn had been talked by Halsin into giving literacy and history lessons to the orphans. In part because there weren’t many others willing or able to do it, and in part, Asmodea suspected, simply to give him something to occupy himself with - he tried to hide it, but he had been miserable ever since the tadpole was removed from his brain along with all its benefits.

She walked in at the end of one such lesson, the makeshift classroom illuminated by candles and magelights, curtains and shutters drawn securely against the daylight.

“You’re very patient with them,” Asmodea noted with a smile, once the classroom cleared.

“I have an entire eternity to wait while they figure out the difference between ‘d’ and ‘b’,” Astarion sighed.

“Another group arrived today. Lots of kids. They’ll be joining these before long.”

“If they must,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “But can you do me a favour?” he asked. “No more teenage girls - someone else can deal with them. In fact, you take them.”

Asmodea lifted an eyebrow in question.

“They come in here, painted with rouge and charcoal, and try to make eyes at me instead of listening,” Astarion explained. “It’s disconcerting.”

The three lounged on a sofa in the house they had claimed for themselves. At one end, Halsin was busy with some ledgers that had been dumped on him - gods only knew why, he didn’t have a head for this kind of work. At the other, Astarion was likewise quietly busy with some novel, biding his time until the last rays of the sun hid. He would be out the door for a hunt the moment it was safe for him. Asmodea sprawled between them, her head on Astarion’s lap, her legs thrown over one of Halsin’s thighs.

Gods, but she was bored.

She regarded Halsin and the open misery written on his face as he tried to reconcile… What was it? Purchase orders of masonry and tools, against what had actually been recorded as delivered, against what had been charged.

Her bare foot slid between Halsin’s legs and pressed into his crotch, through his breeches.

“Could it be one of the missing hammers is here..?”

“Not now, my heart,” was his response.

She continued to lightly rub her foot against the bulge.

“Or is this one of the pillars..?”

“I must finish this before tomorrow,” he said, though he did not shift away from her, and had indeed begun to harden beneath her prodding.

“My, it’s erecting all by itself, why have we bothered to order any supplies at all when we have such marvels at hand?”

“You are truly testing my patience today,” he said in a low growl.

The ledger went flying across the room as she kicked it out of Halsin’s hands. The druid’s nostrils flared and he gave her a smouldering look.

“I warned you.”

She squealed as she found herself suddenly yanked by her leg down the sofa, off Astarion’s lap.

“Astarion!!” she laughed, reaching for him.

“No, no darling, you poked the bear and brought this upon yourself,” he said, unaffected, turning a page. “Now you must face the consequences.”

Halsin pulled her onto his own lap, flipping her onto her stomach, holding her down firmly with one hand, and pulling her pants down with the other.

“You brute! Just what do you think you’re doing?!” she cried out, trying not to laugh.

Halsin, though a generous, attentive and passionate lover, was not ordinarily one for such games, and getting him into a state of mind for one was a rare treat.

A loud sound resonated through the room, as a smack landed on one of her ass cheeks.

“I am teaching you a lesson.”

It could have been much harder, the druid was holding back, as per usual.

“How dare you?! Release me at once, you savage,” she cried, her voice faltering on the last word, as Halsin delivered another smack.

Astarion shifted where he lounged, now watching them through lidded eyes.

“It’s no use, you know - you’re just throwing more oil on the flames.”

Asmodea gasped as Halsin’s hand slid between her legs, stroking her.

“You’re right. Should I cease?”

She struggled and kicked but remained securely restrained by the druid, his digits now slipping inside her rapidly moistening hole.

“Absolutely not. You must remain steadfast and determined. Perhaps double down on your efforts until you see a result.”

The hand between her legs left and delivered a series of blows on her rear, the slaps now having a sting to them. Asmodea moaned between each one.

She looked at Astarion with her best round-eyed pleading face. His own book had been discarded as well.

“Star? My love? My sweet? Are you just - ah! - going to let him do this to me?!”

“There there, my love… I’ll kiss it better once he’s done with you.”

They lay beneath the stars, bathed in moonlight, the night warm and serene. Asmodea’s head rested on Astarion’s shoulder, their fingers entwined.

“What is the difference between me and him, for you?” Astarion asked, softly. “In the way you feel about us?”

She paused to consider her words before responding.

“With you, I feel like I can take on the entire world. Like we could set it ablaze and stand atop a pile of rubble, holding hands and watching it all burn,” she answered, before growing quiet again for some moments.

“And with him, I feel like maybe the world doesn’t need to burn. ...Or if it does, no matter what, he would be an undisturbed, peaceful grove. A place where one would be protected and nourished. Where they could forget about everything outside. ...Only they couldn’t stay in that grove forever.”

“That’s a good way of putting it,” Astarion chuckled quietly. “I think I feel more or less the same way. It’s that, and…” he began to say something, but cut himself short, and shook his head, not finishing the sentence.

“And what?” Asmodea encouraged him, smiling. “Tell me!”

“It’s going to sound completely idiotic after what you just said,” he explained, before sighing and continuing, at her insistence. “…And sometimes, it… feels nice, for me, to be the small and delicate one,” he explained, coyly.

Halsin’s cock filled her, thrusting into her in short, rhythmic strokes - he was always so conscious of not hurting anyone, even when they wanted him to simply let go.

She arched her back, legs spread wide, ass raised to meet his hips, and bucked back into him wantonly, sliding on his length. Her back would hurt later, but for now she didn’t have a care in the world.

Astarion’s cock filled her mouth. She worked it with the rhythm of Halsin’s thrusts from behind her, keeping a hand firmly on the base of his shaft, in case any sudden surprises came from Halsin.

“Good girl…” groaned Astarion. “My good, dirty girl…”

“She’s like a wildcat in heat,” followed from Halsin, his voice heavy with lust.

She moaned at the praise and curved her back further, trying to open herself up even more, urging Halsin further, deeper.

He gripped her hips harder with one of his hands, continuing to thrust into her, and dragged the fingertips of the other along and up her ass cheek, until they brushed over her puckered hole.

She groaned around Astarion’s cock as Halsin’s thumb teased around the edge of her asshole, hoping he would do more, trying to buck and grind her hips against his cock and hand harder.

“Careful, it’s me she’ll bite if you make her too desperate,” warned Astarion.

Halsin applied more pressure, rubbing her hole, as she mewled and whined around Astarion’s cock, trying to continue sucking it, but losing any finesse or rhythm. It only made him gasp and bury his fingers in her hair, tugging on it and holding her in place, as he started to fuck her mouth himself.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word,” said Halsin. Fucking hilarious, she thought, considering the things that were happening to her mouth at that moment. Well, they did have other ways of communicating set in place, for just this type of situation.

“She doesn’t want you to stop one bit,” purred Astarion. “Do you, pet?” He tugged on her hair and tilted her head, keeping his cock deep in her mouth. “Look at me,” he whispered. She met his eyes as he continued to slide his cock between her lips. His pupils were blown with lust and want. “Do you like what he’s doing?”

Asmodea could only hum in assent. The pressure from Halsin’s finger told her he was just on the cusp of dipping inside, and it was driving her mad.

“Think your tight little hole is ready for more today..?” Astarion purred, stroking her face as he fucked it. “Tell me.”

His dick slipped out of her mouth.

“Yes, for hells’ sake,” she gasped.

But, to her dismay, the druid slid out of her entirely, leaving her frustrated and empty. Before she could react, Astarion lifted her up on her knees from her position on all fours, and kissed her, caressing and teasing her tongue with his own.

“Do you want to try something new with us?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her own, before leaning away.

Off to her side, Halsin had laid on his back, lazily stroking his cock, which had remained at full mast for her. He beckoned her with his free hand, and, released by Astarion, she crawled on top of him. She wanted to taste him then, but he kept leading her up, until their hips were level, and then impatiently plunged back inside her.

Astarion’s arm wrapped around her from behind, and brought her back up into a sitting position on Halsin’s cock. He kissed and nibbled on her neck as the druid thrusted shallowly inside her. 

Had they orchestrated this..?

“Hmm,” Asmodea hummed, with a sly smile. “What was that about tight holes?”

“Oh, this?” Astarion said, distractedly, sliding his fingers along her hip and the cleft of her ass until it reached her asshole and rubbed, teasing. “Why, is there something you want me to do with it..?”

She nearly hissed at him for his gloating, but Halsin chose that moment to pinch one of her nipples, and the noise that came out of her instead was closer to a whimper.

“You’re the one who said something about… wanting to try something new.” she managed, as Astarion continued to rub her hole, smirking. “So what is it?”

“Guess,” he purred against the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

Astarion had fucked her ass before. He wasn’t the first person she’d tried that with, but he was the one who managed to teach her to actually enjoy it. It wouldn’t be that, not exactly, but given Halsin’s presence and their obvious smugness - even Halsin appeared cocksure and brash…

“Are you both going to fuck me at once?” she grinned, biting her lip.

“Do you want us to?” he asked, his voice pure velvet. “Say it.”

Gods, this fucking man... Fine, two could play this game. Three, if Halsin was in the mood to go along with it - he usually wasn’t vocal, a contrast to Astarion, who simply wouldn’t ever shut up.

She leaned back, twisting and grinding hard against Halsin, and caught Astarion’s earlobe between her teeth, nipping at it, before murmuring back to him.

“I want to feel both of you, at once, fucking me, filling me. Now will you stop dallying? I want you inside me.”

Astarion let out what sounded like an involuntary groan, but before Asmodea could claim moral victory, she found herself thrown against Halsin’s chest, still stuffed with his cock, ass up.

“Inside you..? Where? Here?” Astarion asked, innocently, just before crouching down to tongue her asshole.

She gasped and laughed, squirming at the sudden sensation. But at last, it appeared Astarion had had enough of teasing her, as he retrieved a vial of oil, and hastily but generously coated his fingers with it, spreading it over her puckered hole as well.

She ground lightly against Halsin as Astarion inserted one finger, and then, at her obvious ease and eagerness, another. The druid was holding her down, not giving her much friction, and she mewled in protest at being restrained so.

“I thought you’d like that…” Astarion breathed in her ear. “More..?”

His fingers were a teasing promise of everything he was about to do to her, and she found she simply could not wait, and could not allow Astarion to find any reason to keep holding back.

“Please…” she begged.

“Please what?” he rasped.

“Please fuck me.”

She heard his breath hitch at her pleading. His fingers slipped out, and moments later, at last, she felt the tip of his cock against her entrance, slowly but insistently pushing its way in. She gasped as the sensation became overwhelming. There was no possible way that she could fit a single millimetre more of him, couldn’t be stretched even a hair’s width wider - and yet he kept going, cooing at her wide-eyed whimpers, until he filled her completely, pressing his chest against her back.

“Well look at you, filled to the brim with elf cock…” Astarion’s taunt didn’t carry its usual edge, given the way his voice trembled. 

“I think she’s earned a little reward for that,” said Halsin, reaching up to cup and tenderly caress her breasts.

“I think so too,” said Astarion.

Astarion’s fingers, still covered in some of the oil, snaked down her stomach to her clit, and began drawing circles around it. Asmodea shut her eyes and threw her head back against Astarion’s shoulder, moaning.

The sensation, starting off as a building warmth, quickly grew more intense as his fingers sped up, gliding over her sensitive bundle of nerves. Her hips began to twitch, but were held down securely by Halsin, as he started to thrust up into her.

“This is your reward for being such a good girl,” Astarion whispered in her ear, his fingers now flicking her clit quickly.

She was caught off-guard by how quickly an orgasm overtook her, suddenly finding herself melting, helplessly pulsing and clenching around the hard lengths inside her. The sheer force of it had both Astarion and Halsin groaning and gasping, in short order.

“Gods… We have to make her do that again,” laughed Astarion.

“You’ve read my mind,” the druid said in agreement.

They both began to thrust into her, gently but persistently, rhythmically, and all she could do was pant and whimper at the stretch of both their cocks inside her, even as they talked around her.

“She’s so incredibly tight like this,” Astarion groaned. He paused, briefly, with an incredulous, breathy laugh. “I can feel you through her,” he gasped. “I can feel you thrusting.”

“Can you..?” Halsin rasped, and sped up, gripping her hips tightly, making both Asmodea and Astarion pant. Astarion swore through his teeth and picked up his own pace, unable to hold back any longer.

Asmodea found herself thrown atop the druid’s chest once again, as her lovers lost their reserve and began fucking her vigorously.

Good, it felt so fucking good, this intense pounding in both her holes, and she tried to voice as much, knowing how much Astarion loved it when she talked or praised him during their lovemaking, but any words she tried to say came out as unintelligible babbling.

It was a wonder how easily they’d found this maddening rhythm, working seamlessly to bring her and each other over the edge with their thrusting - but she supposed they had a combined 500 years of experience on her, at least.

She gave up on trying to say anything and simply moaned into Halsin’s neck.

“Is our little vixen going to come for us again..?” Astarion had crouched over her, keeping her sandwiched between himself and Halsin.

Her clit was pressed tightly against Halsin’s pelvis, and between that, the way the head of his impressive cock dragged against all her most sensitive parts with each thrust, as well as the sensation of Astarion’s hips mercilessly snapping against her ass, burying himself in her again and again, another orgasm began to wash over her.

Feeling her walls throb, nearing another climax, the elves also lost all control, chasing their own release within her body with reckless abandon. Her world became nought but bucking hips and the sound of grunts and smacking flesh. She could no longer tell where her body ended and theirs began. Her legs shook as everything between them convulsed in shockwaves resonating through her entire body. Astarion bit down on her shoulder with a strangled groan just as Halsin gave her a final hard thrust with an animalistic growl.

Asmodea’s vision blurred, and she must have passed for some moments, as she came to, to find that the frantic pounding had once again been replaced by gentle rocking, as final orgasmic aftershocks were ridden out.

Astarion slipped out of her first, leaving a trail of tender kisses down her shoulders and back, as Halsin simply embraced her, pressing his lips against the crown of her head, while she continued to lie on his chest.

“Did you like that, darling?” Astarion whispered, as though he had any doubt about the answer.

“Uh-huh,” she managed, remaining on top of Halsin as Astarion got up, somewhat shaky, in search of a towel.

“Are you well, my heart?” Halsin murmured to her.

“Yep,” she susurrated. “I’m just going to stay right here for now - I don’t think my legs are willing to listen to me yet.”

The druid chuckled and held her closer.

A bead of sweat rolled from Halsin’s forehead, down his nose, and dropped right into Asmodea’s eye.

She blinked and rubbed at it, trying to do it quickly, without drawing any attention to it, so it wouldn’t break the mood. It wasn’t a big deal, but gods was it irritating when it happened... …Gah, she had been so close, too.

The sex was great, truly, but this - the godsdamned sweat - was an area where Astarion won by a landslide - his body being much cooler, he simply did not perspire anywhere near as much as Halsin. His body would heat up from exertion, or from absorbing the warmth of his surroundings, but it was rare for his skin to even grow damp. Meanwhile, a prolonged cuddle session with Halsin, not to mention laying with him, inevitably ended with Asmodea lying or sliding in a puddle. 

Astarion didn’t mind the heat radiating from the druid, and in fact preferred to wrap himself around Halsin when sleeping, but not possessing his own body heat, this only served to cool the druid down. Asmodea could not boast the same.

A multitude of other little things that once seemed endearing had begun to grate on her nerves as well, of late.

Halsin’s insistence on the orphans being welcome to run rampant through their home, including when she just wanted some peace and quiet. The ever-present aroma of tobacco - she enjoyed it when it was fresh, but after living together it seemed to permeate everything, including all of her possessions. The silent but disapproving sadness in his eyes when he brewed her fertility suppressant teas. The way he always forgot that the automatic pens did not need to be dipped in ink, or his blatant refusal to believe that their wall clock was accurate and reliable, instead opting to judge the time of day by the position of the moon or sun.

Astarion didn’t seem to mind most of that. In fact, his connection with the druid had only grown since their little triad had become official.

At wasn’t as sexual for the two of them – that aspect had always seemed to mostly hinge on Asmodea’s presence. Rather, they took on roles not unlike an old married couple’s - not necessarily approving of, but being resigned to each other’s routines and ways, and finding a quiet comfort in each other’s company.

And a comfort there was, for all of them. Serenity in their closeness. The pleasure of long, fascinating conversations about anything and everything, held over cozy nights. The simple security of being with those who would never cause harm or disrespect (unless they were asked to very nicely, anyway). The sheer strength of sexual attraction. Even if, for Asmodea, it all had never held quite the same spark as it had with Astarion. The same desperate need to love and be loved, needing the other the way one needed air. That part of her had always been Astarion’s.

Though Astarion hadn’t voiced any complaints about the druid, he had taken to frequently grumbling about their surroundings, saying his blades and wits had been growing dull. 

He had been losing his mind from boredom. Being confined within a small settlement grated on him. Though reluctantly accepted by the residents, he was viewed as an oddity and was generally avoided. In turn, he was completely disinterested in the town’s affairs and its success. The teaching had become a joyless chore. He was stagnating.

Asmodea lay contemplating all of this in his arms later that morning, once Halsin had gotten up for the day. Increasingly, these thoughts wouldn’t leave her mind. Instead, they had become a constant haunting presence.

“Is everything okay..?” came a murmur from Astarion.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. It’s just… I think…” She hesitated, not knowing how to even begin putting any of it into words.

“You’re no longer happy,” Astarion said quietly.

“Mmhmm,” was all she managed, suddenly finding herself choked up.

Astarion went silent for a short while, before speaking.

“Is it me?” he asked. “Please just be honest.”

“What? No! It’s just… It’s the…” she paused, sighing, before words began spilling out of her. “Halsin, for instance. He’s just so damned good. And so certain in his knowledge, so set in his ways, so adamant about everything he feels needs to be done… And he’s so damned patient, too.”

“All his virtues are an absolute travesty, yes.”

“And in his patience,” Asmodea continued, “he makes me feel like I’m a child that he’s waiting to grow up. And I won’t. Because I’m not. …Does that make sense? ...Fuck, I don’t even know where I’m going with this. And then there’s all this,” she said, gesturing around them, “it was always his. It never became mine, or yours, I don’t think.”

“No,” Astarion whispered.

“I think… I think I just don’t want to be here, and as long as I stay here, I feel like no matter what I do, I’m being unfair to him, or to you, or to both. I don’t know what to do.” Her eyes watered. “I only know how not to be unfair to myself, and that means leaving,” she whispered.

“It’s not working anymore, is it, darling?” Astarion said, giving her a sad smile that made her heart clench.

“You can stay here, if you want,” she said, uselessly. “I can see how close you are.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I want to stay here, much less stay here without you.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and hugged him.

“Where to, then? Back to Baldur’s Gate..?” he asked.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

“I think that’s the best option. It’s not that far, we could always write and visit.”

“We could,” said Astarion.

“I’ve had enough of tramping around, I want a place of my own, without any screaming children. And with proper walls. Locked doors. And plumbing.”

Astarion chuckled.

“And whatever shall we do in Baldur’s Gate, besides anything we damn well please?”

“I’ve been thinking about that… We could see just how far our ‘hero’ status can take us, capitalise on that…” Asmodea said, beginning to relax.

“And then? You’re grinning like you already have a plan.”

“More a dream than a plan. Promise not to laugh?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ll tell you anyway. So I’ve always wanted to open and run my own theatre...”

~~~~~

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this, check out A Night at the Inn and Bloodbang Chronicles!

Find the fic on AO3 as well.

Series masterlist

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo @twirlywhirlywriting

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Sinstagram | L. Morningstar

Warnings: Lucifer being a slight menace to society, Reader is also a fallen angel, fem reader, bestie Angel Dust, mother reader, older sister Charlie, kinda wholesome, Lucifer being a good dad and an amazing husband, semi suggestive(?)

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N — sorry if it's kinda all over the place, I've been stuck in a horrendous bout of writers block and just barely had the motivation to sit down and write for Lucifer, my love 😭

"No fuckin way!" Angel Dust cackled from two rooms over and immediately you heard his footsteps coming towards you. It could be one of two things — Val posted something weird as fuck or he uncovered pictures of the two of you absolutely plastered from three months ago.

"What's up?" You asked, looking away from the paperwork Charlie had you doing for the hotel, while she took her younger siblings out. Some of the stuff she didn't understand, even with the help of Vaggie or Alastor, so you stepped in to help as you were a manager at a hotel when you were sent to earth for work — it was a way to blend in that unironically gave you experience.

Angel stopped before you, a smirk falling upon his face filled with glee and suggestive glances. "You check your phone in the last few minutes?"

Confused, you shook your head 'no' and set down the small stack of papers that had been stapled together so you could view them with ease. "I've been working for the last few hours to make up for being gone with Lucifer all weekend, so it's on silent. . . Angel, what's going on?"

He leaned across the counter and turned his phones screen to face you. It was Lucifer's most recent Sinstagram post. For a moment, you were confused until your eyes scanned the caption.

'She calls me apple the way I be in cider 😏🍎'

Immediately, you blushed and covered your blazing cheeks with your hands. "Oh my." You breathed out. That blush immediately became a flush of mortification when Angel clicked on the picture and it showed that he had tagged you. Your Sinstagram username stared back at you.

"So, you and the short king got down and dirty on your weekend retreat, huh?" Angel Dust smirked, turning his phone back to himself to scroll through the comments that were rolling in by the second.

"Well," you began, unsure of where your words were going to go. "I am his wife. . . It's a natural thing that married and apparently unmarried people do. . . Yes, it's only natural."

Angel snorted. "You ain't gonna hear any complainin' from me, [Y/N/N]. . . So long as there ain't anymore little Lucifer's running around anytime soon."

"About that. . ." You trailed off.

Angel Dust opened his mouth to reply.

As if on cue, the front doors of the hotel opened, Charlie and Vaggie entered, each holding one of your children — the former exorcist angel holding your sleeping daughter. She had your hair but Lucifer's eyes and rosy cheeks.

Your son was wide awake, bearing a striking resemblance to his father and older sister, but with your eyes.

It was clear just by the way he was buzzing that they had gone to LuLu World. He was always energetic coming home from such an exciting trip, whereas your daughter was out cold halfway through the ride back home every time without fail. It was likely a sugar crash.

"Looks like someone had fun." You removed your hands from your face and stood from your seat, rounding the desk.

"We all did. . . Thanks for letting us take them out, [Y/N]. I wish you and dad could've come with us and made it a family day." Charlie smiled brightly at you.

"We will soon, I promise. . . Thank you for taking them while I got some work in."

"It's no problem! I love them — they're just the cutest."

Your son practically jumped out of his sister's arms when you got close enough for him to wrap his arms around your neck. He went on and on about all the fun stuff the four of them had while you finished up working, until he fell asleep mid sentence.

You chuckled lightly and asked Angel to bring your daughter out to the limousine that was waiting out front of the hotel. He arrived a few minutes later and your daughter acted as if she was beginning to wake up, until she was strapped into her car seat and the driver started the vehicle.

"One more Morningstar, huh?" Angel questioned before you could close the door behind you.

You smiled, chuckling slightly. "Just one more. He convinced me this time."

A couple minutes later you were on your way, watching the buildings fly past your window. You decided to check your phone finally. The post had over a million likes and had just over six thousand comments. You liked the post, the blush creeping up once again. At some point you had to stop caring — you were in Hell and there were people doing worse things than being romantically involved with their partners.

It wasn't long before three of you arrived home and Lucifer threw the front door open before the vehicle could even stop. When the driver opened the door, Lucifer was there to see his children after a long day.

"Look at my babies!" He gushed quietly, tears springing to his eyes as he watched them sleep so peacefully.

You snickered and he turned to you.

"And my beautiful wife! Hi! I love you so much!" He kissed all over your face while placing one of his hands on your belly — you weren't showing yet, but would be in the next few weeks.

"I love you too, Luci. . . Let's get them inside. I want them to be in bed before you and I have a talk about what we do and don't say on Sinstagram when we'll be apart for hours." You whispered the last sentence, caressing his cheek.

His eyes widened and he gulped before chuckling nervously.  "You saw that, did you?"

"I sure did. . . Apple." You could've sworn he was gonna pass out from the tone of your voice, but he instead cleared his throat and unbuckled one child while you handled the other.

The two of you got inside and put the kids to bed, silently thanking Charlie for making sure they ate something other than sugar before they came home.

Then there was a lot of talking. Definitely just talking. . . Yeah. . . Talking. 👀

A few hours later, the two of you laid together, Lucifer laying his head on your lower abdomen. "I know I said one more. . . But what if we had more?"

You laughed lightly, raking your fingers through his hair. "How many more are we talking, Luci? I'd consider one more after this, but then we wouldn't have an even number. . . Charlie adores her siblings, but I think another after our littlest Morningstar would be pushing it."

"She always wanted a big family. . . Lots of brothers and sisters she could spend time with. She used to beg Lilith and I all the time for siblings, but I won't push you. I understand your concerns. I'll be happy regardless of what you decide." Lucifer declared, looking up at you with his pretty eyes.

"We'll see. . . I love you, Lucifer. You know that, right?"

"I know. I love you so so so so so so much." He replied. 

The post in question and the image that gave me the idea for this in the first place (the first pic expands more, fyi 🙂):

[buckgasms]

Bunny giving natasha a kiss as part of a dance/stripper thing? Idk

Ooooooh yes!! Nonnie I lost control of this one so I can only thank you for the inspo and apologise for the filth that is to follow. 🤭

Dirty filth below the cut....

Oh he's so grumpy 🥰

This scenario is especially annoying to Bucky because he knows that Natasha would snap you up in a heartbeat if he drops the ball for a second.

You, being a silly bunny, are unaware of the tension so when Natasha suggests you do a little dance for Bucky one night and she'll even join in, well you are only too happy to oblige!

Bucky is already bristling when you are announced on stage because he is too jealous and possessive for you to be up their sharing your goodies. His goodies.

But he tries to be cool because you are beaming from ear to ear right at him, only at him. That does help. And you are dressed in a lingerie set which is just a series of intricate bows and the one covering your pussy has a little tag on, like a present, that says 'Bucky'. He does enjoy that.

But his blood is quickly boiling again, the blood that hasn't gone directly to his dick, as Natasha dances her way on stage and pulls at a couple of bows, exposing your soft skin to the whooping audience.

She presses little butterfly kisses to your shoulders, whispers things in your ear that make you giggle and then... Oh then she pinches your chin, like he does, and pulls you into a sensual, slow kiss that had bills falling at your feet.

When you broke the kiss you were shocked as you didn't think she was actually going to kiss you like that! Before you could really think what to do next you felt two strong arms wrap around your thighs and lift you off stage.

✴️

The crowd jeered and whooped as Bucky carried you backstage as you squealed and wiggled. He landed a swat to your thigh and growled something as he carried you down the back corridors to the darkest, quietest room in the building.

He finally put you down on a table before turning around, slamming the door and locking it. You watched as he stormed around, shouting and raving about Natasha. You sat on the edge of the table and swung your legs, holding in a giggle at his raving.

"I'm gonna have to do something about her" he muttered and you couldn't help but giggle, bringing his piercing blue eyes to fix on you.

"Oh, you think this is funny bunny? Don't think I'm pleased with you either..."

You faked a pout before smiling again and checking your manicure. "Bucky, are you actually jealous? That's so silly, especially when I literally have a label on that has your name on it..."

He didn't seem convinced, but he moved closer to look at you. His chest was still heaving with rage but he didn't seem to know what to do with it. You decided to wind him up more. That always ended well.

As he approached you put your heeled foot up against his stomach and pushed gently. "Uh uh, you aren't supposed to touch the performers... Very naughty..."

He growled but grabbed a chair and sat himself down in front of you, just out of reach. You pulled at a little bow around your neck and threw the ribbon at him.

"What was it that you didn't like Bucky?" You smiled as you spun around to kneeling, undoing another ribbon and letting it fall to the floor. "Tell me..."

He exhaled heavily and rubbed his face. Your pretty face was full of glee but he was rooted to the spot as you laid back, stretched your legs high and undid a ribbon around your thigh.

"I.... Fuck. I dont like Natasha touching you like that. I don't want anyone touching you like that.... You belong to me Bunny."

You moved again, spreading your legs wide, showing off you're barely covered heat. "Well duh. Of course I belong to you. It was just a silly kiss Bucky"

Again your sweet, evil smile made him furious, but he knew he had you then. He did stand up but remained at a distance, for now. "Hmm that is true bunny. Just a kiss right? You'd be cool if I kissed someone else right?"

Your smile dropped. "No. Don't you even think about it." Now he was smiling. "Ah I see, are you sure? Cos just a second ago, you were saying a kiss was fine...?"

You reached forward and grabbed his tie, dragging him to you. "If you ever kiss anyone I'll...I'll really go crazy. Just fuck me will you?"

He chuckled, raising his hands away from you. "Not allowed to touch though?" You emitted a half growl half scream and pulled him on top of you, hands flying to his suit trousers zipper.

He grabs your wrists and pushes them down on the table, pinning you there. "Alright Bunny, calm down I'll fuck ya...." You whined and pouted "and you aren't going to kiss anyone else are you?" He chuckled as he tugged at the ribbon on your pussy, already sticky and wet from excitement. He sucks on it, closing his eyes, savouring the taste of you.

He opens his eyes as you whine again. "Tell you what bun bun, suck my cock real nice and we'll both promise to save out kisses for each other." You slide to the floor and tug his cock free from his underwear, smiling up at him and preening as his hand brushes through your hair.

You take him in one go, something you've been practicing because you know he loves it. You moan as his hair tickles your nose and he grinds his cock into your face. "Good girl" he groaned as you gripped his thigh and bobbed your head making a mess of him and you. You ground your heat down on his fancy leather shoe, becoming more and more sloppy in your sucking as you worked your way to a secret high.

You groaned long and low causing him to grip your hair and pull you off him with a pop. "You actually using my shoe Bunny, what a little slut." You giggled and grabbed his cock, twisting and pumping gently as he chuckled. "Clean my shoe Bunny and I'll fuck that sweet little pussy, you want that?"

You nodded before leaning down and licking his shoe, tracing the little marks you had left. He leaned forward, pressing his fingers I go your messy heat and making you moan. "Bucky please? Please can you fuck me now?"

He finally pulls you to your feet and lays you down on the table. He pulls the rest of the ribbons of you and runs his hands over your body possessively as he thrusts into you, making you squeal in delight. His hands pinch at your nipples, twisting and pulling until you are crying out.

"You're mine, you hear me? I don't like to share Babygirl, I don't want anyone having even a idea of what you taste like..." He swipes hard at your clit, pink and swollen already and rubs hard before taking a taste for himself.

"I don't want anyone knowing what that pretty, perfect mouth can do. Not sharing it with anyone, that's my little hole to do what I want with...." He sinks a finger into your mouth, choking you before wiping your spit over your face.

"Buckkyyyy" you whine as your hands play with your pussy as he slams into you. But he swats them away. "No bunny, that's mine. You dont get to touch. No one can touch..." He pulls out and lands some spit on your heat, making you whine. You couldn't resist this kind of humiliation and degredation. Mostly because you knew when Bucky was in this mood, you were in for the fucking of a lifetime.

All his composure was lost, he was a man unhinged. You squealed as he pressed his thick cock into your puckered hole. "These are mine bunny. All mine. Take it, relax and take it little slut..."

You emitted a giggle as be seated himself all the way in. You locked eyes with him as he leaned down and kissed you. "Love you Bucky, promise I won't kiss anyone ever..." He smiles and returns your kisses, pressing extras to your cheeks and nose. "Good girl, and I promise I won't kiss anyone either. Now tell me. Who do you belong to? Just wanna hear you say it..."

He pumped his hips as you repeated his mantra. You belonged to him, your holes belonged to him, everything was his. He presses his fingers into your puffy pussy and flexed making your whole body go taut.

You grip onto his wrist as he pounds into you, the feeling of his fingers moving driving you wild. "Come on little bunny, come for me and I'll fill you up."

As if on demand your walls beging to flutter around his fingers which is quickly replaced by his cock. He pounds harder as you cling to him for dear life. Your vision goes white as he drags out a body shaking orgasm from you, a long gutteral groan emits from his perfect lips as he drops forward, resting his chin on your chest.

Your hands wrap around his neck and grip at his face, tilting him to look at you. He shuffles upwards to plant a kiss to your waiting lips, a smile on both your faces. "I swear you plan these things bunny" he chuckles as he moves to standing, pulling you upwards and pressing more kisses to your plump, pretty lips.

"I'd never" you pout and let him wrap you up in his suit jacket because he was not in the mood to retie lots of ribbons around you.

✴️

Bucky called Natasha into his office and she found you sitting in his lap, cock buried in your pussy, eyes glazed over and a face covered in come.

"Bunny has something she would like to tell you" he smiled and tweaked your nipple to get your attention. He didn't miss Natasha squeezing her thighs together at the sight of you. He rolled his hips in retaliation, making you groan and blink heavily at her.

"Natty, that was very naughty of you to kiss me like that" you say slowly, struggling to make your point as Bucky's rolls his hips again, wrapping his arms around your naked body

"I'm sorry Zayka, I didn't mean to upset anyone" Natasha says thickly as her eyes struggle to focus on your face, she can't help but smile at the power play and knows she'll have to be trickier in future. But if this is punishment she can take it

"Who do you belong to Bunny?" Bucky croons, dragging his fingers across your body, flicking at your clit. "Bucky. Belong to Bucky. Holes are Bucky's..." The pressure and pleasure become too much as you fall back on his chest and moan as his hips roll again.

"Got it?" Bucky says to Natasha, her face breaking into a smile as she laughs at her friend.

"For god sake yes, you idiot. Calm down. And also, thank you for this" she motions at you. "You are losing your mean streak I think, this is not a punishment..."

She rises, waves goodbye and walks out, leaving Bucky to fume again. It doesn't last long as you stir in his lap, squeezing him deliciously. "That was a good punishment right Bunny? She won't be kissing you again right?"

You just shrug as you wriggle in his lap.

He'll think about it later. More important things to do at the moment.

[mediumgayitalian]

The satellite dish at Camp Half-Blood would be better suited as a cereal bowl.

It hardly works. It catches a grand total of nineteen channels, twelve of which are news stations, and the final seven almost never have anything playing that’s actually worth watching. But the DVD player only ever works every third month, and the strawberry plants have to be watered, so on rainy days, the sixteen of them cram into the rec room of the Big House, organised, fight-reduction seating for as long as Nyssa can tiredly maintain it, and squabble over the remote.

“It’s my turn! Give it to me!”

“Quit whining you little twerp —”

“Will! Make her give me the remote!”

“Snitch! Snitch! Sherman, beat him up —”

Nico narrowly dodges Kayla’s dirty sneaker, sniggering to himself as Will and Sherman share, for perhaps the first time in either of their lives, an identical sigh of endless suffering, each grabbing one sibling and yanking backwards. They’ve really dug their claws in, so it takes a couple tries.

“Kayla,” Will warns, both hands clamped around her ankles, “if you don’t let go in three damn seconds —”

“Ellis sucks at picking channels!”

“Everybody sucks at picking channels! We got maybe four to choose from!”

“Seven,” correct several people at once.

Will rolls his eyes. “Forgive me. I forgot about the three toddler channels the rest of y’all babies are so enthralled by.”

“As if you don’t watch Sesame Street with as much childlike glee as the rest of us, Solace.”

“Can it, Diaz. Kayla, remove your nails from his face!”

A hand tugs on his sleeve. Nico glances over to find Austin’s big, pleading eyes, and since he is a massively weak loser, apparently, he sighs, mouth twitching when Austin wiggles happily, and plunges his hand into the nearest shadow.

He digs around for a second, trying to orient himself, and smirks when he sees his hand reappear across the couch, right in between Kayla and Ellis’ heads. He waits, watching for a break. Austin watches carefully next to him, hands still around his other wrist, and when the timing is right — a twitch in Kayla’s knee indicating an oncoming kick that even Will won’t be able to stop — he squeezes. Nico darts between them, snatching the remote for himself. He passes it to Austin with a wink. Austin points it to the TV immediately, clicking it to what everyone has aptly named the ‘Grandma Channel’ — twenty-four-seven footage of gardening set to quit jazz.

Thirteen groans — one cheer by Miranda, their lone ally — sound at once.

“You’re weak as all hell, di Angelo,” Billie informs him, obviously a fake gardener. Shame.

He makes a face at her.

Despite their troubles, the peace of the Grandma Channel does not last. In what can only be a coordinated attack, Nico and Austin are lulled into a false sense of security, entranced by a particularly satisfying timelapse of a grape vine, and when their guards are down, they are ambushed. With a deafening war cry, Harley is flung bodily on top of the two of them, landing with two gleeful elbows to Nico’s shoulder and Austin’s ribs, rendering them breathless and perhaps even close to death.

“No maiming,” Austin protests, wheezing.

“I’m telling Chiron,” Nico agrees, similarly struggling to reinflate his lungs. He glances at his medic boyfriend, also known as Judas, who only shrugs, smirking. His thumb is notably smeared with grease, a consequence of touching Harley no matter how many times Nyssa forces him to shower. Traitor. “No maiming is, like, the only rule here.”

Harley climbs off of them, elbows once again violating the rule on the way off. Nico actually feels his spleen compress into the size of an atom.

“Tough!”

The little twerp hands his prize to his big sister, who points it at the screen gracefully, as if she did not just use said brother as a weapon against two innocent people. Constantly innovative, those Hephaestus children.

Nyssa, on account of having hands like steel wires and a right hook that could make Muhammad Ali fall crying to his knees, is left peacefully alone with the remote. Nico glares at her, as he often does, with equal amount of hatred and awe. His emotions are widely replicated across the overstuffed couches.

She clicks rapidly through the channels, as she always does, fast enough that the sound echoes like static along with the rain.

breaking — jump! — traffic — learn — George — crayon — soil — sale —

She hardly rests in a channel for more than a second, cutting in the middle of sentences and even words, images flashing rapidly across the screen, swirling colour and skipping melodies, steadied by the roll of thunder, the patter of raindrops, the roar of wind and away of bending trees.

kids! — buy — gun — bridge — add — spade — colour — nine — east —

Austin sighs from beside him, sinking into the couch. Nico breaks away from the hypnosis for a moment to glance at the rest of the room and finds everyone else similarly entranced; eyes half-lidded and unfocused against the still-swirling TV, heads tilted back, curled into each other, limbs slow, fingers tapping quietly.

run — neat — rose — pasta — schools — closure — Sola — bumper —

“Wait,” Will murmurs.

gym — roll — climb — bush — accident — bud —

The old couches creak as Will shifts, Kayla pushed gently to the side as he moves forward.

“Nyssa, wait. Go back.”

The rain seems to mute itself. Nico is aware, quite suddenly, of the stiff set to Will’s spine, the odd quality of his voice. Nyssa, too, must recognize it, because she glances over at him, then slowly back to the TV, pressing the channel button once and setting the remote carefully on the coffee table in front of her.

No one grabs it.

“— terrible tragedy,” says a news anchor. “Unbelievably, really, Barbara, and something so sudden —”

“No,” Will says.

“Yes, Dave, always something you read about in old newspapers but never remember happens in real life —”

“No. No.”

He reaches for the remote but misses the first time, patting blindly on the table, and the second time, too, eyes glued to the bright screen. His hand scrabbles, nails digging on the old wood, increasingly desperately, but his eyes won’t move, face won’t pivot. Nico swallows, pushing back the sting of bile crawling slowly up his throat, the dullness in his ear, muffled like his ear is turned to a soundproofed wall. The hands he tells to reach over and hand the remote to Will don’t work.

“— almost makes me think of James Dean. That’s Naomi Solace, for those just tuning in, currently in critical condition from a head-on collision with a semi in Savannah, Georgia —”

Nico’s ears white out completely.

Will’s knees hit the floor.

———

next

[mistress-riddle]

𝐌𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐁𝐘.

✐ 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

cw - tommy shelby x mother! reader. reader has a daughter and tommy is not the father lol. mostly fluff and humour, tommy beefs with an almost 4 year old but what’s new?

a/n : this was a request however i lost the actual request 🤷🏻‍♀️

"sweetheart, are you ready?" [name]'s voice rang throughout the house as she finished placing her coat over her outfit, rummaging through her purse to see if she had enough money to do her shopping shortly after.

"yes, mummy!" came the reply from her daughter in a sweet childish voice as she ran up to her mother who held her arms wide open for her baby to run into and balance on her waist.

she took sight of dana's face with her chubby cheeks and felt overwhelming affection cross through her "come here!" giggles erupted into the air as [name] peppered kisses all over the little girls face.

"alright, little bug," she says as she sets her down and looks directly at her "we need to go to the market but before that we'll go and see mister curly, is that good?" she asks the girl and in return receives a nod of glee.

"good, let's go!"

.

hand in hand, [name] and her daughter exited their house, arms swinging merrily as they made their way to the stables curly worked in. it was fate that they stumbled upon the place during one of their strolls intended to familiarise themselves around the city, having just moved to small heath less than 4 months ago after the death of the patriarch of the family.

small heath, despite its unpleasant parts (it seemed quite grime and dirty most of the times), had its charms. the people were alright — curly was friendly! — and it was not extremely hectic like london was. at least she thought so, she heard about something called "peaky blinders" mentioned every now and again but they were usually in hushed whispers and she found that it did not concern her as she lived peacefully with her daughter.

"good morning, mister curly!" [name] greeted curly upon their arrival. dana was quick to detach from her mother and approach curly with an eager smile and hug. the kind man took it in stride and with an equally jovial smile and he was quick to lead the young girl to the beautiful horse snacking on the scattered hay before it.

"a good morning to you too, missus [surname]" he replied shortly after, tipping his head in greeting like a gentlemen and a smile made it's way onto the widows face as she turned to look at dana rubbing her face against one of the horses fur.

"dana, we won't spend long here alright?" a pout formed on her daughters lips at the declaration and [name] mentally prepared herself to win whatever argument that would rise from her daughter.

"okay, mummy." the girl sighed in defeat and [name] approached her to press a kiss on the crown of her head for being an obedient child before she pat the horse her child was caressing.

"what was he called again, love?" [name] asked as she turned to look down at her daughter who smiled brightly. she loved animals but horses in particular seemed to have caught her little self's attention.

"he's moby, mummy," dana said, hands resting on her waist much like her mum would often do "you should know that."

"I forgot sweetheart, must be turning old." she chuckles and checks her watch before patting her daughters shoulder "now, let's get going, honey."

"goodbye mister curly!" dana waves at the man who waves back and [name] gives a milder wave of her own. the two begin to walk slowly to the market as the mother starts to instruct dana.

"hold onto my hand or my coat at all times, okay?" she tells her daughter.

"yes, mummy."

"I don't want you to get lost, babygirl. I'll get you a treat for being a good girl, alright?" [name] pinches her cheek when they arrive at a stand in the market and she starts checking the items being sold as the man behind the cart occupies her attention.

dana's attention, however, is captured by the neighing of a horse nearby and she gasps at the sight of moby striding through the streets with an unfamiliar man settled upon him. she is quick to leave her mothers side to get a better look at the man who stole moby. once he catches sight of her, he slows the horse to warn the young girl.

"out of the way, love." he says. voice gruff and so unlike the tone her mum would use to warn her and so dana stubbornly shakes her head and crosses her arms. he watches her as she watches him, a deep frown settled on her lips and eyebrows set in passionate defiance. anyone could see that the girl was not going to comply with anything and so the man sighs and mounts off the horse. he holds the reigns in his hand as he begins to head towards the girl with the horse following and takes his place in front of her, kneeling down to meet her gaze.

"can you move out the way, please?" he repeats, tone much softer this time. the girl still shakes her head and the mysterious man wearing a peaked cap shuts his eyes in annoyance.

the words she says causes him to flash his eyes open--

"sir, that horse is not yours."

she says it with so much confidence and certainty that he finds himself confused as she points towards the horse planted firmly behind him.

"pardon?" he asks, bafflement evident on his expression.

"how can you steal him from mister curly? mummy told me stealing is very rude and not nice. so stealing from mister curly is very rude and very mean. what if I went into your house and stole something important from you, would you not be sad? because I know I would."

in the midst of this occurring, the citizens of small heath take in the spectacle before them. eyes trained and mouths agape at the sight of the most dangerous man in birmingham being scolded by someone, nevermind a little girl, about stealing of all things.

tommy's face relaxes "first off, this is my horse," he claims, running a hand down monaghan boy's head "second, where's your mummy?"

"she's shopping" she quickly answers, dismissing him "but I'm here to stop you from stealing moby, mister thief."

"moby? mister. thief?" tommy repeats in mild amusement as his brow arches.

"dana, sweetheart, where are you?" [name]'s voice calls out and she breaks through the crowd to see a man kneeling with a hand shoved into his pocket in front of her highly irritated daughter.

"what's going on here?" she asks as she arrives to stand behind her daughter with her hands placed collarbones, hugging her body close to her torso in protection as mild panic settled onto her pretty features.

"I'm assuming you're the mum?" the man asks as he stands up straight and [name] takes this opportunity to scan his appearance thoroughly. he was a good looking man, seemingly based on the attire he bode, she took notice of the cigarette he almost wore as an accessory.

"you're right, is there a problem?" she confirms and levels his gaze despite how piercing it was.

"this little girl-" the man was interrupted by dana turning in her arms with angry tears threatening to spill from her eyelids "mummy, this man stole moby from mister curly and he's not wanting to give him back!"

[name]'s eyebrows furrow together as she looks at her daughter before lifting her head to see the man roll his eyes.

"miss," he interjects "your daughter will not allow me to pass despite my ownership of the horse, curly is my employee." he clarifies but dana just turns to [name] to rebut as she's not convinced.

"mummy, tell curly to come here and see if this man is telling the truth." the older woman was about to deny her request but dana widened her doe eyes and persisted and so, [name] sighed as she told her to stay in her spot before hurrying over to the stables nearby.

"I don't have time for this." tommy goes to move but dana screams in protest and he freezes.

"stop that." he demands the girl and she sticks her tongue out at him and if this situation wasn't a bit irritable on his behalf, he would have laughed but that didn't stop the half scoff, half chuckle from leaving his lips.

"fine, I'll stay until 'mister curly' shows up." dana moves closer to the man to pat the horse.

"it's fine moby, I'll save you from this mean man." she says in a loud whisper and tommy merely raises an eyebrow at her.

"alright everyone, keep moving." he claps his hands together beckoning the onlookers to briskly walk away and proceed their previous activities.

"I'm so sorry, sir." curly limps over to the man who just nods as a sign of dismissal of the apology and motions to the child clutching onto the horse.

"dana, come 'ere." curly takes the girl away to explain to her and [name] stands before the man and offers him an apology of her own.

"I'm very sorry, mister shelby?" she says with a bit of an intonation at the end and the man nods "we're new here and not really sure as to how this place works, I'm very sorry if my daughter offended you in any way and ask you to forgive her for she is merely a child."

"I'm not a monster, despite what you might've heard." he chuckles "she's a loyal child who wants to stop something bad from happening to someone or something she loves, you raised her good." he nods, as if agreeing with himself and looks at the girl who was walking guiltily over to the two and [name] gives a small smile in return.

"thank you, is there anyway we could make it up to you?" she asked, picking up her daughter to rest on her hip.

"well, I'd like an apology from this little lass" he taps the tip of dana's nose and she crinkles it cutely in response "and an address from you." he says after a bit of a pause.

"address?" [name] inquires, confused and intrigued as well as worried.

"fear not, I'm not the grim reaper asking for your souls." he smirked as he caught [name] looking apologetic at her hesitance, lower lip released from the clutch her teeth had against it "I'd like to invite you both to something."

"I see," [name] smiles with a nod before whispering in dana's ear something and the little girl looks at the man with a frown on her lips.

"I'm sorry for saying bad things about you mister, it was wrong of me and I'm very, very sorry." she looks at him with teary eyes.

"you're alright," he pinches dana's cheeks softly "I'm sure moby would appreciate you trying to protect him."

"can I still see him?" she asks, hope lacing her words and the man nods.

"thank you, sir!"

"thank you a lot, mister shelby."

"anytime, miss?"

"[surname], [name] [surname]." she flashes him a smile before taking her leave with her daughter still in her arms who gives the man a big smile that has him returning a smaller one.

[romanoffsbish]

Desperate Times…

Alpha!Natasha Romanoff x OmegaFem!R

Request (This is my first attempt at a/b/o, and I hope I did your request justice)

Warnings: Use of Suppressants

Smut: Natasha has a penis. Oral (R), Overstimulation, Breeding (Knot), KO.

18+ | Minors DNI

Natasha wasn't doing too well as she crashed through the front door of your shared house. Being away from you for long missions, three months as of this time, requires the both of you to be on differing (unsafe) suppressants. With knowing she'd be home soon, she'd been off of them for the last few days. So now she was on the verge of her rut, which was instantaneously activated the moment she passed the doorway.

You weren't home, making matters worse as your scent remained throughout every room. Sweet hints of citrus and berries lingered on every possible surface, and Natasha's cock was painfully hard, her sweats tented out far as her dick twitched with a need for you, her Omega.

——

Natasha felt horrible about it, but she hadn't much choice as she delved into your dirty clothes and pulled out a pair of your panties. There was a fresh pair on top still damp with your juices, and the moment she touched it to her nose she was already taking her sweats off.

Natasha clambered into your nest, it was your sacred place, but she'd always been welcome. Her body instantly calmed, her sore muscles melted into the blankets, but her erect cock only grew impossibly harder. Pre-cum coated her tip in a sizable quantity, and with your slicked panties to her face she got herself off.

When you entered the apartment three hours later a similar occurrence happened to you. The piney smell of your lover permeated your nostrils, and your body shivered with glee. You'd missed her terribly, all you wanted was to cuddle her, but as you rushed to the room you realized that wasn't first on the agenda.

There you found her laid out in your nest with a blissful fucked out expression, you felt your entire body tremble as a gush of wetness soaked through your panties instantaneously.

"Fuck," you groaned as you gripped onto the railing of the bed, you did your best to suppress a whine, but you fear she heard it. It wasn't clear though if it was your scent, noises, or overall presence that awoke the beast that was your wife, but you hadn't much time to ponder it before she was on her feet pouncing on you.

"Oh malysh," Natasha coos, strong hands grip your hips, pulling your backside against her prominent bulge as she nuzzles against your neck. "Mmm, my sweetest girl," she dizzily muttered, your fruity scent overwhelmed her and her hips begin moving of their own accord as she humped her restricted cock against you.

"Oh detka, I missed you so much, please, let daddy fuck that pretty little pussy, I'm not beneath begging, let me fill you up my Omega. I'll finally get you pregnant with our pups."

A tense silence befell the room for less than ten seconds as your desperate lover took a breath. Then Natasha groaned sensually, your arousal was no longer in question, she could smell you. If only she could see too, she'd see you were dripping through your panties, your thighs squeezing together was the final confirmation.

"Fuck, you need me just as bad, huh," she was teasing now, so you played along by pushing back into her abruptly, "That's right, look at you detka, become my brainless whore."

There was no reason to fight it, not only had you missed her touch, but the smell of her alone seemed to have sent you into a desperate heat; her cock was all that would satiate you.

"Please daddy, want to carry your pups so bad."

"Yeah?" She rutted into your backside a few more times, she was so desperate for release it wasn't even funny, her strong hands roughly felt you up over your clothes, your moans were bordering pornographic, and it was then that she just couldn't resist her urges anymore.

Natasha ripped your clothing off of your body with brute force, her husky grunts drove you so mad you could feel your pulse in your cunt.

The redhead gawked at the sight of your folds, glistening, and dripping your delectable juices onto the carpet, it was such a waste of goods.

Natasha spun you around and smashed her lips to yours in desperation as she lifted you with total ease, your fingers dug into her deliciously defined deltoids as she carried you over to the mattress, and just as soon as your heated body touched down she was kissing down your body on her way to your cunt for a taste, and boy did she seek to devour you whole. Natasha didn't stop after you came on her tongue, she kept going regardless of your trembling body, your last orgasm was so intense that you cried until the pillowcase was practically soaked through.

"Oh malysh, you're okay," Natasha kissed over your wetted cheeks, drops of your slick now smeared against your skin as your intoxicating essence that soaked your Alpha's flushed face transferred with each peck. Natasha slid her boxers down as her lips landed on yours, she ran her length through your drenched folds while maintaining the heady kiss. Your mind was absolutely spinning with dizzying arousal.

Once you began to thrust up Natasha knew it was time, so without another moment wasted she pressed her bulbous tip to your pulsing hole and slid right on in. Your abundance of slick was helpful, but there was still a sting of pain as her thick veiny cock stretched you out.

Natasha shushed your pained mewls with her tongue pressed against yours, she kissed you until you were breathless enough to need it to end, but even then you chased her lips. If there was one thing you'd never tire of it was her soft lips, whether they be on yours, or elsewhere.

Your Alpha knew her way around your body.

"Can I move moya lyubov'?" Natasha asked, you knew she needed to, the way she pulsed unendingly inside of you a dead giveaway, but she was too caring to give into her carnal urges, she would never do so until she had the clear go ahead from you—her precious Omega.

A huge sigh of relief left her lips to fan across your face as you gave her express permission, your desperation was clear, and hot as hell as you breathlessly begged her to destroy you.

"Don't you worry," she chuckled with a sensual rasp in her tone, "I already planned to detka."

Natasha pulled her cock out of you slowly, allowing the throbbing ridges of her shaft to drag over your tight walls. She watched the way your mouth fell open at the welcome sensation. The way she felt inside of you set your nerves off, and goosebumps bloomed in response.

Natasha grazed her teeth over your scent gland as she slammed entirely back into you, and when you screamed wantonly into her ear in direct response she harshly bit down, a fresh mark replacing the fading of her former one. The Alpha then lost all sense of control when you wildly fluttered around her, and there set in place the brutal pace that she picked up.

"Daddy, you feel so—mmm," you were nearing incoherent at this point as she fucked you dumb, a common occurrence for the redhead. Natasha knew just how to get you mindless, and it was usually now that she'd pull out, so she could prevent from impregnating you, but this time she meant her words. She was done postponing the inevitable, the idea of you no longer having to suppress yourself had the beginnings of her knot forming, "Oh fuck."

Too dizzy with arousal you didn't realize what was happening until you felt her knot securely slip into place, your eyes filled with fear, but all you could articulate was moans of pleasure. Natasha chose to kiss you tenderly, doing whatever she could to distract you as her cum released inside of you in massive loads.

Once her knot began to go down she pulled away slightly to survey your face, you wore a serene smile, but it was one that came with the furrowed brows of a worried Omega.

"Nat—," she kissed your lips to quiet your obvious concerns about how she hadn't pulled out, you wanted to carry her pups more than anything, she knew that you did, but with the crazy demands of Avenging for her it wasn't a justifiable choice for the both of you. While the both of you worked to regain your breaths she began to overload the room with her scent, doing her best to calm your trembling form.

"It's okay lyubov'," she smiled against your neck when she heard a deep purr rumbling from your chest, then as her warm tongue licked over your aching gland she felt your body slump into the bed, you were at peace.

The redhead had clearly forgotten to tell you, but this mission was her last, she was ready to settle down. To live the typical life with you, to start a family the same way Clint and Tony had with their respective wives; it was finally her turn. More importantly though she was tired of hurting you. Every time she left she had to watch your heart break through your glazed over eyes, and she couldn't do it anymore. Plus, the suppressants would soon have long lasting effects if she didn't remove the need for them.

"It's finally our time detka," she whispered the words you'd been desperate to hear for years, "Soon you'll be waddling around," your heart melted as your eyes fluttered open to see hers sparkling with unbridled happiness and love.

"Really?" Natasha nodded with a smile, "Then in due time this massive house will finally be filled with the soft pitter pattering of our pups."

Natasha groaned as you clenched around her, more of her seed spilled from her even though her knot had deflated majority of the way. The idea of carrying your Alpha's legacy made you feel so many things, but primarily you just felt aroused. Your heat was far from over, and with the way your lover began to rock her hips you knew it was the same for her, and her rut.

"How about we spend the night ensuring your seed sticks?" You proposed, and your wife met your teasing expression with a devilish smirk, "Oh, I had every intention of going all night long detka," she winked, and softly chuckled when your eyes widened with fear, or maybe it was delight, either way she knew you were on board as your arousal gushed around her cock.

"I'll never grow tired of spilling inside of you," her cocky smirk caused your body to heat up even more, and in a moment of compulsion you lurched up to remark her as well, your sharp teeth sunk into the skin of her neck and she twitched, "Oh fuck, now you've done it."

After about the sixth instance in which your lover knotted you, your body finally succumbed to a sex induced slumber. Natasha continued to thrust as best she could with the resistance your abused cunt offered, pushing her seed as deep into you as she could until the fatigue of the nights events finally caught up to her limbs.

"Goodnight lyubov'," she sloppily kissed your cheek before nuzzling into your neck as her body gently settled atop of yours, "I love you," she pressed another kiss to your mark, and she grew more sleepy as you purred deeply in your own slumber. "My perfect, beautiful Omega."

——

1,930 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn

[breakyourrxles]

❥déjà rêvé (m)

↳ When your best friend marries her stuffy, stuck-up, long-time boyfriend, you swallow your feelings and put your reservations aside to support her...

...and when your erotic imagination takes hold of you one night in relation to him, you’re thankful for the fact that your friend is able to laugh it off.

Unfortunately, you’re not able to let it go as easily.

kim doyoung x fem!reader — enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, gratuitous sexual content, porn with plot [17.7k wc] cws: open relationship, alcohol consumption, social smoking. sexual content: bdsm-heavy!! dominant doyoung, submissive reader, unprotected penetrative sex (v+a), oral sex (m+f), gratuitous dirty talk/degradation/humiliation, cum play/facials/wet&messy, deep throating, safe word usage, ravishment play, infidelity play, spit play, doyoung has a big dick and fucks like a pornstar.

Seven years.

 Watching as your best friend now sat in glee as hired hair and makeup help dart around her to make sure that every strand, every eyelash be perfectly in place for her big day, you realize that now, after so long, it's difficult to even really recall the first few times that she started bringing him around. You remember the first night she mentioned him — a careful slide of a photo of him into the group chat, followed by the usual 'he looks better in person' commentary — although hilariously unnecessary given that the man stunning even back then.

You did, however, wish that his looks had translated more into his personality.

Unfortunately, it was no mystery the way that you and Doyoung did not get on. Never culminating into blow-out fights, or a need to pick sides, or even the ruining of an evening or vacation: But it was there. Petty jabs and comments slung about, backhanded slips of the tongue coming from either side at a moments notice — something that, earlier on, came to be of much contention between you, Mina, and her now husband-to-be. Over time, however, with the relationship growing, evolving, and coming to terms with the fact that this man most likely to remain in your life for as long as Mina would be, you decide on doing the only thing that a good, supportive, friend can do in such circumstances.

After all, you weren't the one marrying him, and thank fuck for that.

  "How do I look?"

Nearly tear-filled eyes looking up at you through the reflection of the mirror as you stand behind your best friend of a decade and more, you offer a tight-lipped smile back to her — in an effort to keep it together, really, you'd rather not cry your makeup off, as well.

"You look amazing, he's lucky," you begin genuinely before switching to a more playful tone. "And he better remember that, because I'll be watching."

With a sway of her hand, Mina shoos you away equally playfully and laughing through the fact that she was surely just about to start crying. "This long and you guys are still like this, are you ever going to get over it?"

"Is he ever going to stop being a pretentious douche? Because all signs point to 'no.'"

Cocking her head as if to say 'give me a break,' your bestie sighs audibly at the much anticipated response from you in regards to the matter.

"He's a good man."

You nod. "I know. He's good to you and, well — good enough to me, so I'll allow it, I suppose."

Would you choose to spend time with Doyoung if not for Mina; if not for the fact that he be obviously and irrevocably in love with her and treat her as such every moment of everyday? No.

But the rest of it sort of makes up for that fact.

One of the perks of having Kim Doyoung around is the money.

Of course, Mina doing well enough for herself that she need not rest on the laurels of a man, but marrying this one be far from a bad choice as far as financials go. A hard worker all through high school and college and landing a fancy, high-paying career gig straight out — only a few weeks after the wedding, the two bought a house together — an expensive, modern home a little bit on the outskirts of the city but not too far away as to make it inconvenient, glass paneling, black marble, and perfectly shined platinum stainless steel; the first time entering it, you can't help but think how it's precisely what one would expect upon being informed of the kind of money and stature that Doyoung has.

'New money,' they call it, and with it comes a certain expectation of being a prick, apparently.

The positives of all of this, of course, include that the man work long hours, and thus, you're free to be over without having to see much of him.

And thank God for that.

 "Drink?"

Already reaching up and into one of the white and glass cupboards just above as she calls out the question, you answer back a simple "sure" as she continues bringing down two, large, red wine glasses that you're almost certain cost far more than any reasonable person would pay for cups.

"Doie brought these back from Portugal the last time he went on business, apparently they're one of a kind, handmade."

"I swear to God every time you call him that I get the most intense case of sudden indigestion. No relation, though. I'm sure."

The same playfully annoyed cock of her head that you're used to seeing every time the man comes up into conversation, the both of you chuckle as she sets two glasses down onto perfectly shined marble countertops in front of you.

"There's like, thirty bottles of wine down here and I don't know what's fancy or not," Mina begins, already squatting down in front of the wine storage just beneath (and of course, something that Doyoung personally had built into the kitchen during renovations). Popping back up and grabbing her phone from across the shining table, "Let me ask him."

Only a few seconds of the phone ringing, the line is answered and you hear that all too familiar and also irritating voice come through. "On a work call, what's up, babe?"

You roll your eyes, it's nearly automatic. Mina slaps the marble in front of you like she's trying to dissuade a cat from something.

"We want to open a bottle of wine but I don't know what we can and can't have, so give me a name of something, quick."

"You can have anything you want," The man on the other end coos back. You sort of wish this conversation wasn't happening on speaker phone.

Rolling her eyes, Mina chuckles back at him. "You said some of these bottles are like, three hundred dollars."

"And? Let me know how it is, gotta-go-love-you-bye—" Doyoung sing-song's into the phone before cutting the line completely. You watch the way a grin takes your best friends face at the short but sweet conversation that has only just transpired and it reminds you that all things considered, and all personal feelings about the man aside, they're absolutely, remarkably in love with one another.

As if momentarily forgetting the fact that you're even there, in favor of daydreaming about her husband, Mina finally comes back down to the expensive kitchen with you. "He's so annoying."

"Yeah, I can tell that's totally how you feel about him right now," You respond with obvious sarcasm.

About an hour and a half later and two glasses of whatever accidentally expensive wine your friend has chosen, you're a little disappointed when you hear the familiar voice of The Husband coming down the stairs and slowly making his way into the kitchen.

Of course, and again: You don't hate him, but he always has some shit to say.

Finishing up a work call as he comes around the corner — gray sweatpants and a black, oversized sweatshirt with hair only a tiny bit disheveled and probably due to it being the end of the night for him finally, you watch intently as he leans against the large, stainless steel refrigerator — briefly making eye contact with you as he says goodbye to whatever late night client happens to be on the other end of the line.

With a heavy sigh, Doyoung outstretches his arms. "Finally, freedom."

"Until tomorrow—" Mina adds with a quick peck to his cheek as she hands him a glass of wine as well. The reminder unfortunate, wiping any joy from the mans features in an instant. "—Yes, until tomorrow."

Then, his eyes catch towards you. Bringing the rim of the glass to his lips, the words slip out just before he takes a sip. "And what about you? Do you work?"

Always something to say.

"I do!" You quickly quip back. "I work normal people hours, like most people do."

"I don't think hanging out with my wife is a job."

"Doie!" Mina huffs with a playful slap to his chest.

"I assure you, you don't have to be concerned about my working hours," you begin, taking another sip from your glass before setting it down onto the counter next to you. "At least I won't look seventy years old when I'm thirty, like some people."

"Ooh—" he plays along, eyes narrow as if you've almost got him on the losing side of the banter. "That may be true, but I'll still be rich, and I'll still have a sexy wife."

"Please spare me, I choose not to acknowledge that there is any sexual relationship between the two of you at any given moment in time."

Finishing off his glass and taking a step forward to set it down next to yours, he offers you a thin-lipped grin, as if accompanying it with his sympathies. "And I'm sure that's not a result of projection, at all. Anyway, have a good night, you two, I'm off to bed."

With a quick kiss to Mina and another tip of his head towards you, the man is off and back up the stairs.

Well enough out of earshot, your eyes shoot back to your friend. "Did he just imply I'm not getting fucked?"

She shrugs. "Are you?"

Scoff falling from your lips, you press the point of your index finger out and towards your bestie. "I was just out with that guy last week, remember?"

"And how did that go?"

"It was terrible, but that's not the point—" you answer dryly, as if it be the simplest thing in the world. "—The point is, I get dick, regardless of how questionable the quality may be."

Chuckling, Mina comes around to pick up the glasses and set them next to the sink. "I'll be sure to let him know, then."

"Please don't," You groan in response.

Long, thin, fingers wrapped around your wrist as you're quickly shuffled down the familiar, dimly lit hallway of their shared marital home before your back suddenly finds pressure against the cool wall — legs pulled apart to make room for his hips as you feel the all too familiar burn of being pried apart with not enough prep for such endeavors — enveloped suddenly by broad shoulders and a hard chest held firm against your own as you bite back the moan that threatens to echo down and against the walls, your fingers finding purchase in the fabric of such shoulders as they dig in to match the feeling of being taken so thoughtlessly, relentlessly.

"How do I feel?"

A rhetorical question of sorts, knowing that he can hear and feel the way you fall apart beneath him already and with such little effort on his end — one hand coming up between the wall and the back of your head to curl fingers into you hair and tug roughly on the strands as you hiss into a mouth just centimeters away but not quite touching your own. "God, how long have you wanted this?"

 Waking up in the morning, you don't recall many of the details — instead, living now with the irritating knowledge that you've had a sex dream about one man in particular that you wouldn't wish sex with onto your worst enemy.

Of course, it will pass — as things like this always do. It's just a dream, after all.

Right?

Wrong, regrettably.

Worse than having the dream itself, you think over the next few days, is the way that it simply won't leave you alone. Any moment of downtime in your thoughts now plagued by the memory of a certain best friends husband fucking you against the wall of their newlywed home — it's far from ideal, and for a plethora of reasons that don't necessarily need to be explained. And yet.

But, you know enough about Mina, and your friendship with her, that if you can confide in anyone about having a sex dream about their husband to get it off of your chest, it's her.

Sitting outside of a bougie cafe just down the street from Mina's work building as you wait for her to join you with legs crossed and a mimosa on the table in front of you, as you stare at the menu in an attempt to focus on what it is that you'll be ordering for lunch once your friend arrives, the words still find their way floating through your mind with no prompting, and a little bit too much ease.

 "God, how long have you wanted this?"

 "So long!" The familiar voice of your friend from just behind you pipes up and jars you from your thinking — and thank fuck for that, because any excuse not to be brought to that place is a good one, as far as you're concerned. "Took me so long to find parking here, I don't know why we always insist on coming to this place."

"Because it's central to both of us," you answer with a tone that says that this should be obvious. "Besides, you're always the one that wants to come here."

"What can I say, hot sandwiches here are amazing—" pausing the thought to flag down the wait staff, you place the menu down on the table and rub your eyes with the flat of your fingertips as her attention falls back to you. "—Do you know what you want to order? Wait, what's wrong with you?"

"Yes," you reply to the first question, only to hesitate on the second. "Nothing, tired. Work's been killing me."

"Aw, and Doie said that you don't work," She offers, a comforting tone that only offers the opposite with the addition of the pet name to her lover. Her husband.

"Can we not talk about that man?"

A questioning cock of her head and curiosity piqued, Mina smiles with narrowed eyes. "...Why? Did he say something else? You know, he's only joking—"

"No," you firmly cut her off with a wave of a hand as the waiter returns with a drink for her and an exasperated sigh from you. "He didn't say anything else. He's just...exhausting."

"You don't even know the half of it. I live with him," Mina cheerfully retorts as she takes her drink into hand.

 No, you don't even know the half of it.

 Allowing your friend to do a good bit of the rambling through lunch as you slowly make your way through your salad — you try to put it out of your mind just as much now as you have since that night — unfortunately, the very presence of the woman married to said man in question causing the thoughts to be just that much more at the forefront of your memory.

With a fork between teeth, Mina finally stills mid-sentence and glares at you through perfectly made up, long, eyelashes. "Alright, what the hell is up with you today?"

 Yes, you were busted, but if you were honest, you had every intention of telling her about it, anyway.

 With a groan and a roll of your eyes, you finish chewing through your lettuce before setting your own utensils down at the edge of the plate and dramatically falling back into your chair — a reluctant acceptance of defeat at the hands of your best friend. All perfectly pressed business suit and perfectly structured black hair that her ever so doting husband no doubt pays for to have her take care of.

This is so annoying.

"Well!?"

"Okay, okay, don't rush me, geez—" you cut her off with palms in the air. Allowing silence to once again fall between you — nothing more than the busy bustling of the street nearby and the other patrons of the restaurant around you — you sniffle sharply, now having accepted that this is a conversation that's definitely going to happen.

Her being upset, or angry, not something you're concerned about — rather, just the humiliation of having to admit it (and the way that it's lived in your mind ever since.)

"Have you ever — had a dream about someone else's partner?"

Visibly taken aback, and physically so as Mina jolts into her chair at the question, a chuckle falls from her lips as she just as quickly takes a sip from her tall glass again. "Are you kidding? I've banged Karina's man like, three times unconsciously."

The fast and honest reply has you nearly choking on the sip of drink you had mirrored her in taking.

"It's just a dream, it's not like we have any control over it. Why? Whose man dug you out?"

 Silence.

 Mina's eyes glued to your face as you bring your glass up to your lips again and pull your own line of vision as far from hers as you can manage without actually turning physically — you hate the way you can literally see as the knowledge finally dawns on her with how her teeth quickly begin to peer through the grin that plasters across her face.

"Stop—" she first says.

"Don't—" you respond just as quickly.

"—No way." She finishes with a gasp.

You immediately plant your face into the flat of your palms with an affirming groan.

And thus, your best friend does what anyone would do upon finding out that her friend had a sex dream about her husband: Let out the most annoying, boisterous witch-cackle that a single woman could possibly muster.

When her laughter finally dies down enough to manage in some breaths for an attempt at speaking, Mina takes another sip of her drink through tight lips that are quite evidently still trying to pull back the smile that she wants so badly to let pull across her features. "Well," she quietly begins. "How was it?"

"Really?"

"Just curious how fantasy matches up with reality, that's all."

Rolling your eyes at her curiosity, you can't help but make an attempt to pull the embarrassment from you, and onto the man in question. "I'm sure I was doing him the favor. It wasn't thirty seconds of missionary while he told me about finances so he should be thankful for that much."

Snorting through her nose, Mina's eyes drop down to her mostly-eaten sandwich before her. "Is that what you think it's like?"

"I simply do not think about it at all, actually."

"Evidently, that's not the case."

 With more silence coming between the two of you, now Mina is the one that cuts through it with an all too pointed, proverbial knife.

 "Do you want to fuck him?"

 Sputtering through more salad as the words enter your line of hearing, before you have a chance to answer, Mina amends the statement — as if she can read your mind. "Before you say 'no,' really think about it."

And so, you do. Quietly mulling over all of the possibilities, the thoughts that this bring to your mind — not limited to and especially the recollection of the dream — more than anything, it's a reminder that you don't actually even really like this man. You don't enjoy his company, and you don't particularly enjoy conversing with him. The purpose that Doyoung serve in your life be uniquely in relation to him being the perfect, most amazing husband to Mina.

And how this might be precisely how you ended up here to begin with.

But what this really brings to question is one very pointed, very particular thing:

"A-are you asking me if I want to have sex with your husband...with intention of granting me permission to do so?"

The woman across from you shrugs, calling the wait staff over again for another drink. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, one thing at a time. So, do you?"

Feeling a bit like a taboo, kinky carrot being dangled in front of your face — you know Mina well enough to know that she wouldn't be asking this in an attempt to set you up — to get upset with you, to drive a wedge between your friendship.

If she's asking, it's because she's genuinely curious, and has other such genuine intentions, as well.

Clearing your throat and blinking away the awkwardness in the fact that you're really about to answer this honestly: You could lie — pretend that it hasn't been stuck on your mind ever since, pretend that you haven't been fantasizing about him, and in a particularly low moment, cumming to the thought of him — but really, what good will that do you, now?

In fact, even just the conversation now bringing back the dull ache between your legs. Humiliating the power the subconscious can have over us.

"I mean," you quietly start with a shaky, unsure tone. "Yeah. Yes, I guess."

"I know, he's sexy, right? You wouldn't expect it but there's something about him—"

Your best friend regrettably far too accepting of this conversation topic.

"Look, it's not a big deal, I'm not like — dying for it," you cut her off suddenly, mostly in an attempt to deter the conversation from any more detail about that something about the man. "It's just like...in theory, you know, something about that angry, 'I don't like you, you don't like me' type of arrangement makes for a good fantasy but of course, it's just that."

"Right," she snorts again and into the glass pressed to her mouth. "Just that."

 Ten minutes later and with the check for lunch paid by the credit card of a particular husband, with Mina hurrying to gather her things on account of being late back to work — she hugs you quickly with one arm slung around you before rushing off the other way — but not before turning just as suddenly and whispering a little too loudly for your comfort given the people around.

"Look, obviously I can't make him fuck you, but I'll run it by him. I'll let you know. Cheers, babe!"

Great.

"Babe, come to bed!"

Tone whiny and pleading as she kicks her feet from beneath the covers of their shared, King sized bed, Mina groans into the pillow expectantly in anticipation of her husband joining her for a cuddle and a conversation.

Although, mostly the conversation, this time.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Doyoung chimes back from their white and gold accented bedroom, toothbrush shoved into his mouth as he peeks his head out through the doorway just before spitting into the sink. "Pushy, aren't you?"

"One of the many things you love about me."

As he saunters towards the side of the bed, all too aware of his surroundings and even more than that, the mischievous grin pulled across the lips of his beloved wife — eyes narrowing with suspicion, he slows his movements just ever so slightly before finally crawling into bed next to her and meeting beneath the sheets. "Why do I have a feeling you're not just looking to snuggle up with your wonderful husband, tonight?"

"Aw, Doie, don't be like that—" Mina whines, wrapping her arms around his and pulling her body against his as he flips through channels on the television against the wall in front of them. "—I had lunch with my bestie today."

Glancing out of his peripheral towards her, Doyoung hums inquisitively, as if unsure of what this has to do with him but anticipating that he's going to find out. "That's good. How is she?"

"She's good," every word coming out like she's singing a song — one made up of no-good and trouble — charming in her tone. "Although, she's had a lot on her mind, lately — so to say."

Pausing, the man shifts just slightly in place as he finally settles on a channel and sets the remote control down between the two of them. "And why do I have a bad feeling about what that means?"

Lips gently beginning to decorate the exposed skin of his shoulder and arm, Mina smiles into them just before the words finally leave her. "She had a dream about you."

"Okay?"

Slow on the pick-up.

This time, she delivers the information a bit more pointedly. "She had a dream about you."

"Oh," he says quietly at first, until the fact of the matter finally, truly, dawns on him. "Oh."

A squint and a frown now, Doyoung's head turns quickly towards his wife.

"And she told you this?"

Mina nods.

"You both are a little too close."

"Well?" She finally offers up the question at hand, lips still innocently peppering across her lovers skin. "What do you think?"

"Are you asking me if I want to fuck your best friend? How would this work, anyway? It's not as if we even get on all that well—"

"I think that's part of it for her."

"—Kinky minx."

Slowly pulling from Doyoung and groaning into a long stretch of her limbs as if settling in for slumber, she smiles again. "It wouldn't be the first time, anyways."

"Yeah, but never friends," he says, rubbing his palms over his face as if a little taken aback by the topic of conversation as a whole. "—I mean, I'm down, you know her better than I do — if you think she can handle it."

"We'll have the discussion later, I wanted to run it by you, first."

Reaching a hand over to his wife, Doyoung pulls her by the arm back over and against his torso with a kiss to the top of her head as she settles her face into the crook of his neck.

"My little liaison," the man chuckles into her hair lovingly. "You just wanna hear about all the dirty little details after the fact, don't you?"

Pulling back to meet eyes with him, a scrunch of her nose and a giggle gives Doyoung all of the answer he would ever really need.

"What can I say? Everyone wins."

Two glasses of wine poured and the both of you sat next to one another on the large and undoubtedly far too expensive plush couch of the living room — a certain comfort of being only in the company of your best friend — it brings you back to so many other instances like this through the years of your friendship, curled up on far less luxury items but sharing all of the intimate details of your loves and lives, as the closest of friends tend to do.

Tonight, however, would offer a bit of a different experience. You're prepared for it, suppose, as much as you possibly can be, given the circumstances at play.

 "He's not home, is he?" You question suddenly, Mina tucking her legs under the rest of her with glass in hand as she situates herself to be facing you. A smile and a chuckle, she shakes her head. "No, it's just us."

Exhaling a sigh of relief at the option of being walked in on by the very topic of conversation not being on the table, you allow yourself at least a tiny bit more of comfort with the affirmation.

"You're going to have to be honest with me," Mina begins, one corner of her lips tugging upwards. "I can only relay to him what you tell me, and he's not going to freestyle it, either, so—"

You take a much larger swig from your glass than previously had, nearly finishing off the contents of it.

"—Tell me what you want."

"Another glass of wine, for starters."

Snorting, your best friend leans towards the table to grab the bottle into hand, tilting it towards your glass and filling it all over again. "You don't have to be uncomfortable, like I said, it's not really the first time we've done this."

"Yeah, news to me," you sigh with a bit of shock cutting through it. "All these years and I never knew."

Shrugging, Mina sets the bottle down again before settling into place all over. "People tend to assume monogamy among couples, we just allowed them to do so. Not as much of a stick in the mud as you thought he is, huh?"

Choosing not to acknowledge that fact, you take another sip of your wine, waiting for the topic of conversation to shift to something that is — effectively the same topic, but more in pertinence to you, specifically.

"So, tell me."

A sharp inhale, you know that you don't have to go through with this: You can just as easily call the whole thing off and pretend that none of this has ever happened — and that the both of them would happily carry on with their lifestyle all the same — but the unshakable lust for the man now deeply imbedded within you, like an itch that's otherwise impossible to scratch — an offering to have it when under most other circumstances it would have to remain as a dull, silent ache only left to you and your own devices, as it were.

 A little too sweet of a deal to turn down, you find. Not God's strongest soldier, it seems.

 "I don't — I don't want him to all of a sudden pretend like we're best friends and that we get along perfectly," you begin cautiously and with eyes darting up towards your friend with every passing of every word. "I want it to feel natural, to feel real, so—"

"You want him to fuck you like he hates you?"

Laid out so simply, the idea of it makes your throat dry, but you nod all the same. "Yeah, yeah I guess so."

"Let me tell you something," your friend begins as she shifts into a more comfortable position with one leg out and over the side of the couch. "What's always been a little funny to me with your preconceived notions about how Doyoung is in bed — he's actually quite...intense."

"What does that mean?"

"He likes to be in control, there's a bit of a dominant streak in him."

Hearing the words, the math starts coming together in your head about the way the man carries himself, the way he works, and just the way he is in general — you're not quite sure how the idea never dawned on you, perhaps too wrapped up in all of the ways that you find him insufferable and a bore, it only natural to assume the same of his abilities.

Before you have a moment to focus on the ache between your thighs, your friend continues on.

"Does that...sound like something that would interest you?"

Swallowing down your pride along with your arousal, you nod until the rim of your wine glass.

"Well, that's easy enough, then," Mina scoffs with a casual roll of her eyes, as if she had almost been hoping for it to be a bit more of a challenge for him to fulfill the role asked of him. "In that case, what's off limits?"

 For some reason, you hadn't bothered to think that far ahead. Your friend notices as much.

 "For what it's worth, there will be a safe word, so even if you agree to anything now or later or any time, really, you don't have to go through with anything if you're no longer having a good time."

Eyes widening at the concept of needing a safe word, you swallow hard. "That intense, huh?"

"It's up to you," she continues on. "It's not just for when things get wild or out of hand, hell, you can use it if you're just in the same room as him. Have you—" She pauses inquisitively, suddenly questioning whether or not this is a good idea at all. "—Done anything like this before?"

But hearing the reluctance in her tone, you nod quickly. "Yeah! Yes, not with...my best friends husband, though."

A cute grin across her face, Mina laughs with a coy flick of her wrist. "Don't get so caught up on that. He's my husband, yes, and for all intents and purposes very much still will be for the sake of the scene, but even more than that, he's here to fill a role — he knows that very well."

"Are you going to be involved?" You ask suddenly, the question only now popping into your mind. Your friend laughs.

"No, I mean, he'll tell me about it afterwards but I won't be like...planning scenes with him, or anything. Whatever he has in store for you — well, that's between the two of you, until after it happens, of course."

"Okay."

Taking a sip of her glass and glancing up at you through eyelashes, she brings the topic back around again. "So, no hard limits?"

"Piss play, shit play—" you quietly begin to list off before Mina stops you. "Okay, he's not into any of that either. I mean more along the lines of; name calling, degradation, humiliation, general rough-housing."

Even just thinking about partaking in half of those things with the man in passing sending a shiver down your spine, you shake your head. "I—I don't think so, maybe start slow, though."

"I'll let him know, again, don't be afraid to tell him to stop in the moment if he gets a little too carried away. He's a good dom."

'He's a good dom.'

What an absolutely perplexingly arousing set of words in succession.

Leaning back finally with your shoulders pressed to the couch, you exhale heavily with eyes high to the ceiling above as your friend mirrors your movement — but instead, with a bright smile pulling across her red, wine-stained lips.

"This is going to be so fun."

Part of the fun, you come to find, is the not knowing.

Even with rules, and safe words, and all of the parties involved very much having come to an understanding of the ins and outs of such an endeavor, the truth of the matter was this: You had no way of knowing when, or what, Doyoung has in store for you.

It's a little bit of risky play, too, at the core level. The fact that the two of you not be explicitly exchanging words among yourselves in order to maintain a certain sense of authenticity to the scene (far from unusual, in the kink world), but new to you, and most definitely requiring a level of trust among all people involved. Far from your favorite person, sure, but you trusted him — and that's far and away what a scenario like this require in order to make it run without a hitch.

And so the question runs constant at the forefront of your mind as you stand in front of your mirror, getting ready for the couples housewarming party: Are you going to fuck your best friends husband tonight?

Stemming from that very simple question, of course, comes a plethora of others: What should one wear? Is it too presumptuous to assume as much? What if it's just a normal evening party and you're completely out of your element in thinking he would fuck you tonight? Do you want to fuck him tonight?

Unfortunately, the answer to that one is an easy yes.

One of the rules being simple enough: The arrangement ends once you and Doyoung have penis in vagina sex — that considered to be the 'goal,' which then only begs the question of how much is the man intending to put you through before even getting to that point?

Or is he to get it done and over with as quickly as possible, instead?

Glancing into the reflection of the mirror and towards a simple, three-quarter sleeve black dress that hands down fitted to the knees, you think it sexy but not too sexy. Just sexy enough. The right amount of sexy.

Let's not appear too excited, after all.

  "Darling, you made it!"

Mina's voice ringing through the kitchen in a faux-french accent as she pours wine for a couple of friends — handing you a glass, she kisses your cheek before pulling away to look you up and down. "You look ravishing, my dear."

God, you hope so.

You find, however, that now that you're here, it's a bit more awkward than anticipated. Man of the hour no where to be found just yet, but unable to stop looking over your shoulder in an attempt to locate him — you sort of hope that your friend be all too preoccupied with the other guests to catch wind of just how hungry for this you may actually be.

Side pressed against the cupboard, you feel the nudge of someone attempting to open it, and turning in an instant to move yourself from out of the way, you're not at all prepared to meet the narrow, dark eyes of the man you're meant to — whatever, with — at some point in time.

You think that your stomach falls out of your ass right then and there.

"Look who showed up! You do take your job of being my wife's friend very seriously, after all."

"Doie! Don't start, it's not even ten o-clock yet!"

 It's almost bizarre to you the way that things carry on with such normalcy, given all of the ways in which the goings on between the three of you now be anything but. Reaching up and towards a bag of chips, with the mans eyes turned towards the subject, you allow yourself the greedy view of his fitted, navy blue button down tucked perfectly into black slacks, with a belt that you're sure costs more than your car payment, accenting it.

Sleeves pushed up and off of his forearms, you take in the way that the muscles and veins flex and move as he does.

Seeing Kim Doyoung in a whole new light — and more than that, you're allowed to do so.

How can a man this fucking insufferable look like this.

"I'll have you know, I can't be out late tonight," you bite back, a good effort in pretending that you hadn't just been eye-fucking him only seconds earlier. "Early morning in the office, tomorrow."

"What a shame," he exasperates sarcastically, settling back down to his heels and handing off the bag to Mina as she walks by with a carefully placed elbow into his side for...being the way that he is. "Don't let us keep you."

"Be nice." You hear your friend groan from just down the hall.

Everything the same as it always is.

Shrugging and reaching to his other side, the man grabs a single popcorn — tossing it into his mouth with a quirk of his eyebrows. "Don't worry, I was just leaving. Some of us still have work to do."

You have really got to get this out of your system.

  "Mina!"

Shouting through the open flooring of the living space towards your friend, you don't bother waiting to hear back a response before you carry on with the thought.

"Is the downstairs bathroom working yet?"

"No, you have to use our bathroom. Upstairs, to the right, all the way down."

With a quick yell back, you hurry yourself up the while, marbled staircase — not having to go particularly badly yet but mostly instead wishing to get away from the volume of the crowd downstairs for a bit — you realize it's your first time having been on the second floor of the home. Still so new and unexplored, you can't help but take in the sight in a way that feels akin to sight-seeing.

The two certainly did not do badly for themselves.

Slowly making your way down the hallway, your attention is instead drawn to a single room to the left and just before the end of the hall — the tiniest bit of flickering, blue light spilling out from the open doorway — simply enough, you know who reside inside.

Carefully sneaking past in an attempt not to disturb him as he works, you can't help but turn your head to peek at the man inside: head cocked to the side to hold his phone there as his hands work busily at a keyboard on the desk in front of him — but you should really know better than to think that you can get away that easily.

Eyes picking up and towards you, one hand pulling upwards and pushing out his index finger towards you. That silent motion that we all know.

The 'come hither.'

Glancing back down the hall from the direction in which you came, you slowly step towards the doorway, palms nervously pressed to either side before slipping past as quietly as can be — then, with the flick of his wrist, Doyoung motions for you to shut the door behind you.

Your heart rate spikes so hard you feel dizzy.

Hand shaking as you reach out and toward the door, you carefully pull it closed behind you — not all of the way, still sitting ajar just behind you — but seemingly good enough for the man and with eyes glued to you all the while, it's then that he motions once again with his finger for you to come to him.

A slow saunter, feeling the way that your heart beats so hard and fast against your chest you're certain that the people on the other end of the phone can hear it, once you reach just beside him, it's then that he finally swivels his chair around and to the side to face you.

Along with issuing another command: To get on your knees.

The truth of it is that it's humiliating how aroused you already are by it all: A quiet, drowning culmination of so many things happening all at once. The fact that it's so wrong to be doing at all, the fact that you had only an hour ago been downstairs reconsidering if it was worth it entirely given how horrible he is, and beyond all of that — the unknown.

A dull thrum between your legs as you slowly kneel down and between his, thankful at least for the friction that that provides.

Legs spread wide before you, you watch as Doyoung slowly slips one hand down the front of his pants to settle over the growing bulge beneath. Barely noticeable strokes over himself and only inches from your face — remaining calm and collected on the work call in his ear as he does so, you slowly bring a hand up to unfasten his belt as the heady desire of watching him work himself begins to course through even pump of your veins.

Catching your wrist in his other hand just as quickly to stop you from touching him, the two of you make eye contact: a look in his features of displeasure and disapproval.

You're not allowed to touch him.

Watching in silence as Doyoung's head falls back against the office chair, barely able to make out the strands of black hair sticking to his slicked forehead — you can't hear him, on account of the call, but the visual enough to drive you mad, and probably even worse than the dream had ever done — pressing your thighs together as tightly as you can manage as you eye the movement of his fist beneath the fabric of his slacks. Growing faster, using his free hand to pull his shirt up and out of the way so that you can watch the way the muscles of his abdomen move with every tug of his hand against his cock — it's truly the most excruciating and simultaneously intoxicatingly arousing thing you've ever watched.

Internally begging for the request that you climb up and onto his lap to take him, or at the very least taste him, you realize all too suddenly that you might really be in over your head this time as you watch him come in his pants for your viewing pleasure, only.

Completely silent, heavy breaths as his chest rises and falls with each one, Doyoung brings his head back up from the back of the chair to tentatively meet your eyes once again as he pulls his dirtied fingers from the inside of his pants.

Playing with the way that his cum coats his fingers for a brief moment, he motions for you one last time — but this time, a much different meaning to that single, cum-covered digit.

You waste no time leaning toward him, and for a moment, it's like you don't even recognize yourself, anymore; long past the realm of the kind of lust-drunken stupor you've ever experienced before — and as the man shoves long, sullied fingers into your mouth, it's an automatic response the way you suck and swirl your tongue around them, as if wishing them to be the cock you would be more than willing to beg for any moment now.

When finished, Doyoung frees his hands from your lips, only to motion you away from him just as simply as he had beckoned you.

 Stumbling down the hall towards the bathroom in which you had originally intended to find, panties slick and soiled with nothing besides your own desire — the words from your bestie ring loud through your memory in a horny daze.

'Intense' might have been the understatement of the year.

When Mina invites you to a work party for her husband, all that you can think about is the night of their housewarming: sucking his cum off of his fingers in the dull, blueish glow of a computer monitor.

You wonder if she knows. Surely, she knows.

Similarly, modestly dressed as that night — this time in a nice blouse and a fitted pair of dress pants, your friend praises your attire as you enter the busy conference room, shoving a tall glass of bubbly into your hands just as quickly as you're able to greet her back.

"Thank you for coming," she sighs in relief. "I was so fucking bored."

You can't help but wonder what this evening has in store for you now.

Now that you've gotten a taste...no pun intended.

"Sure, I didn't have anything better to do."

"Unsurprising, stuff like this is your job, after all, isn't it?"

Slipping up from the side of the both of you with a proud smirk — hair slicked back and off of his forehead to accompany the the just as put together look of his freshly pressed suit, Doyoung comes up to settle next to his wife, hand settling just at the curve of her hip.

You sort of wonder what it feels like to so easily be touched by him before shaking the thought from your mind entirely.

"Are you ever going to let that joke go?" You ask with a roll of the eyes. "It wasn't funny the first time, promise it's not getting funnier the more mileage it gets."

"I'll stop making it when you stop showing up everywhere, maybe."

"She invited me!" You scoff, only to watch the man bend over to whisper the response into Mina's ear. "Don't worry, I'll handle her for that later."

Out loud, your response is of feigned disgust at the sight, but inside, the visual of the man so vividly offering himself to someone once again reigniting the lust in your gut.

It's a deep, untamed need to have him, now. Part of you hopes that tonight will be the night that he finally puts you out of your misery. Get it out of your system, and move on with your life. Go back to nothing but pointed distaste for the man that your best friend chose to marry.

"Well, I'm off, got to make the rounds," The man finally says with a kiss to the top of his wife’s head before gifting you nothing but a raise of the eyebrows in acknowledge of your existence. "Have fun."

It's funny, because it's precisely what you had requested. For him not to pretend. To not act differently in any other circumstances — for everything to carry on as it normally would. You wonder if it's a conscious effort on his part to do so, or if it simply comes that easy to the man.

  Quarter past eleven, you make your way out and onto the balcony by yourself — Mina off enjoying herself with a couple of the other work wives — weaving your away around a handful of folded and tucked umbrellas, tables and chairs for outdoor dining — you manage to find yourself a comfortable little nook of privacy off and to the side, and far from the line of sight of any prying eyes.

Thankfully, as it not be much of a habit you wish to be caught partaking in.

Digging into your bag to drag out the long, white stick from its box along with a lighter and sandwiching it between gently parted, red-stained lips, you light the cigarette and inhale with a feeling of relief washing over you — no, not a habit that you find yourself indulging in often, but perhaps after a few drinks on a particular night, you'd be known to have a bit of crumble to your resolve.

You know that Mina would have a thing or two to say, so best that she not know at all.

 "Look at you—"

Not just the sound of a voice, but a mans voice at that being the thing to startle you, swinging around to find the visage only slightly more comforting than that of a strangers.

"—Don't you have secrets."

Strolling towards you with hands in pockets, you watch as Doyoung closes the distance between the two of you with a toothpick between teeth, and feeling like a child caught red-handed, the lump in your throat catches any chance you have at swallowing down the obvious nervousness carried through your body at his discovery.

Turning away and facing out towards the railing of the balcony, you choose instead not to give power to his overwhelming presence as you inhale another puff of the stick.

"It's just a social thing when I drink."

A quick, careful shift of his body and Doyoung just as easily has you caged in with arms on either side and chest pressed to your back.

It's not the only thing pressed to your back side, either.

Mouth dipping down into the crook of your neck as you carry on your desperate attempt to ignore him, he never kisses you — never actually makes contact of his lips to your skin — but the feathering of warm breath that smells of expensive scotch all the same kind of intoxicating, as if having drank the liquor yourself.

"Have you thought about the other night?"

The first, verbal acknowledgement of this between the two of you. Suppose, it always was just a matter of time before actual words had to be spoken in relation to it, but with one hand sliding closer to your own along the guard rail as the warmth of the words linger against your skin, you swallow dryly at the question before attempting an answer.

"Y-yeah."

"Did you like how I tasted?"

Doyoung answers back to you much too quickly for your liking, obviously far more comfortable and in control of this interaction than you find yourself to be — by design, based on Mina's run down of the man and his sexual preferences — but more surprisingly than that is the way that it doesn't feel alarming, or discomforting, but rather, pools the arousal between your legs faster than you think anyone or anything else ever has.

It's humiliating, and unfortunately, that sort of adds to it, as well.

Fingers around your wrist, the man pulls you around and back towards one of the tables just behind where the both of you stand — a small, couch-like set up with a cloth awning that doesn't allow for a visual inside of it unless you be directly in the front of it — Doyoung drags you gently towards it before seating himself down with legs spread, and this time, hands busily working at his belt as he stares up at you.

"Knees."

If someone had asked you why you simply obey the commands, you wouldn't even really be able to tell them outside of the throbbing, painful need to find out what obeying may get you in the end.

Taking your place between his legs, you dare not attempt to reach out and touch him this time, figure, you learned your lesson from the first encounter enough — watching instead as his fingers pull the leather from it's loops, then work at the button just beneath — a quick lift of his hips to press his dress slacks down only enough to expose himself as necessary, but with the added coverage of his briefs, as well.

You realize now, in this moment, that you'll do just about anything to fucking see it.

Same hand as before sliding down his stomach and gripping his cock from under the remaining fabric, you watch with lewd attentiveness as the man strokes himself in front of your face all over again, just as before.

"Want another taste?" He says, words airy and lustful. Nodding your head in affirmation like a dog begging for a treat, Doyoung chuckles under his breath. "Are you wet?"

The question excites you more than anything else, because surely, he's asking for one reason and one reason, alone.

Quickly darting your hand down and between your legs, the man shoots up and off of the back of the seat with a sudden urgency. "Don't. Don't touch yourself. Surely you know without checking."

Nodding again, you try to say "yes," but the words barely escape through the dryness of your mouth.

"Good girl," he answers, leaning against the seat again and slipping thumbs into the sides of the fabric remaining at his hips to pull it down only a few more inches from where it currently lie. Watching intently as his cock springs free from the confines — finally in full view for you — long and perfectly curved, not too thin but not enough thickness to him that taking him would be troublesome, suddenly, it's as if the problem of your mouth being too dry be replaced now by one of being too wet — watering at the sight of something you want to feel inside of you so desperately that by the second you find yourself losing the ability to feign disinterest in him.

Dominant hand snaking around his length again, Doyoung brings his other hand forward and towards you — wrapping around to the back of your head and fingers curling into the strands of hair there. It stings, but nothing too bad, and instead you find the pain only amplify the throb between your legs now as he dangle precisely what it is that you want just out of reach and in front of your face with every slow, gentle stroke of his hand along his cock.

"You want another taste, yeah?" He whispers this time as he tightens his grip into your hair and tilts your head back — perfect angle for the wet, head of his cock to rub just at your chin and bottom of your lip.

It's exciting, painfully so, as the untouched arousal coiling within you threatens. For a second, you really wonder if you can cum from this alone.

"If I cum for you will you be a good girl and swallow it for me?" He says then as the movement of his hand begins to pick up just that much more. "I come a lot, can you handle that?"

For some reason, the thought of the man having full, heavy loads of cum makes you even hotter for him. Something so primal and lewd about the idea of it — but perhaps you're too fucked out on not being fucked by now that you can't tell what's sexy and what's not, anymore.

Either are possible.

"Y-yes," you huff out, darting your tongue out to lick at the bottom of your lip and not-so-accidentally meeting with the tip of his length. Devilish grin taking his features, Doyoung stills his actions just as easily — an impressive amount of self-control. "Uh-uh, that's cheating."

Pulling you up and higher from your knees so that you gain more height above him, with the way that you're positioned over his cock, you think that he may threaten to impale your throat on him in one, smooth go. Deep down, you sort of hope he does.

"Spit."

The command comes through so strong in tone that you quickly answer to it, collecting enough saliva in your mouth to dribble down and onto the already plenty wet shaft of his cock as he continues to stroke himself through it with a low, throaty groan that makes you want nothing more than to swallow him whole with how close you are to it.

"Wanna suck my cock, baby?"

You nod wildly.

Hissing through his teeth at the sight of your neediness, he picks up the pace of his fist along his shaft as he settles you back down to your original position between his knees — tip of himself pressed along your lip. "How bad do you want it? Will you beg to have me in your mouth?"

"Yes, please—"

"I didn't say to beg, I just asked if you would," he amends with a patronizing cock of his head. "Want me to fuck your throat? Choke down my cum for me like a good girl?"

The throb nearly unbearable now, you can only whine at the words as he gets closer and closer to his own completion.

"Why don't you open that pretty little mouth for me so I can give you what you came here for?"

The words coming out in a deep, throaty groan as he teeters on the edge of completion, you allow your jaw to fall slack as he fucks himself with his hand a few more times before moaning out through gritted teeth at the feeling of his release — ropes of warm, wet cum painting your cheek and lips despite mostly being caught on your tongue as he comes in waves with every pull of his fingers along his length until finally stilling — leaning forward only to gaze upon his artistic handy work before telling you to swallow it all as previously instructed.

On the way home that night, only ten, simple words lingering on your mind as you make peace with the discomfort of your arousal along the way.

'so I can give you what you came here for.'

"Mina! I'm—"

Turning the corner and into the kitchen to find the door to fridge open — this is all well and good, except for, of course, once it closes and you're forced into contact with the same man who just came in your mouth unceremoniously a week prior.

Expressionless otherwise, Doyoung raises an eyebrow at the sight of you in his home before closing the stainless steel door and walking the other way.

"Guess my lovely wife forgot to inform her employee about the schedule change!" He says with a huff.

"You have got to let that joke go."

Right back to the usual. You wonder what sort of cruel games God plays when granting such a horrible man such a beautiful cock.

Shrugging and turning to look back at you from over his shoulder, the man takes a pitcher of water from the counter; pouring himself a glass before taking another one down from the cupboard and filling that, as well. Slowly carrying on towards you, he hands you the perfect crystal before nodding towards the marble island sitting in the middle of the kitchen for you both to take seats at.

Watching him move, it's such a different feeling from the one that intimately, you've grown a bit accustomed to. You know well enough that people involved in kink and alternate lifestyles are just regular people, but suppose you find yourself never having been so involved with one.

Or rather, fooling around with one who also happens to be married to your best friend.

Oversized, brown sweater hanging off of broad shoulders and thin, round framed glasses, Doyoung perches himself onto one of the stools with a gentle clank of his glass against the cool marble beneath — elbow snug against the hard material and hand serving as a means to lean his temple against as he looks upon you.

It's a little bizarre, feeling him watch you in a way that doesn't feel sexual at all. In a way, you find, it might be the first time Doyoung has really paid you any attention at all beyond the irritating banter of your joint, non-intimate involvement.

Looking charmingly soft and domestic, it's hard to make sense of the man seated in front of you, and the man who asked you to spit on his dick a week ago.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

Taking a small sip from your glass, you try to drink down with it the nervousness of being in his presence, but suppose, maybe just a normal conversation will help alleviate that much.

"Have you...told her?"

Stilling, as if not quite sure what it is that you're asking, Doyoung's eyes first pull away from you in some attempt to gather knowledge from elsewhere that he not quite have in front of him. "Yeah, she told you I would."

Thumbing at the rim of your glass, intentionally avoiding any and all eye contact with the man, you hum in response. "What does she think?"

Glancing up, you catch the sight of a grin taking the mans lips, tongue darting across his lower lip like he's finally cracked the case of what all of this is about — settling back into his position from just before with a wide, gummy smile that you're not all that used to seeing.

"She thinks it's hot, is that what you want to hear?"

Snorting at the reply, you shrug. "I don't know. I guess."

"If this is some juvenile way of asking if everyone on our end is okay with the way things are taking place thus far, then the answer is 'yes,'" he says with an annoyingly judgmental tone to his voice. "Everything good on your end?" He adds much to your surprise, popping your head up suddenly at the question.

"Uh," you begin, bashful at the thought of further acknowledging the goings on between the two of them at this current point in time. "Y-yeah, everything is good."

Answering you first with a nod as he sets the glass into the sink, the man carries on down the short hallway and out of the kitchen entirely.

"Well, I've got work to do. Mina'll be home in about a half an hour. Make yourself comfortable, you apparently live here, after all."

Frown on your face at the words and tightening the grip on the set of keys that most definitely go to this home — suppose it's a fair enough assessment.

  After a much later night than usual, with Mina in bed and keys of your own, it's simple enough to let yourself out.

Dimly lit hallways all of the way into the kitchen, it's on your way to sneaking out that you recall having left your dirty glass on the counter — and without giving Doyoung any more reasons to be a thorn in your side, obviously, it easier to be dealt with now. Easy enough.

Except that apparently this guy fucking lives in the kitchen.

Laptop propped up onto the same counter that the two of you shared your small chat earlier, the man watches you move slowly through the area — carefully reaching towards your glass and taking it into your hand as you slide it towards yourself and turn to set it precisely where it is that it belongs.

"Sorry," you whisper on your way past him again and towards the kitchen exit, before that familiar, strong hand finds itself looping around your wrist all over again.

You don't know if you can handle another night like the other two, however.

Pulling you into him with your back to his chest and still seated in place, you think it perhaps a good idea to have worn a cute little sun dress today.

That's not the only surprise you have in waiting, either.

One arm wrapped around your shoulders as the other slinks down to the inside of your thigh — you delight in the feeling of the man touching you, really touching you, for the first time. Delicate pads of his fingers feathering up slowly to the apex of your thighs, it's only due to the position of you against him in such a way that he feels the knocking of something hard against his wrist as he attempts to move closer to your vulva.

And it causes him to still completely.

Seconds of silence passing between you, nearly holding your breath at the anticipation of what's to come — you wonder if he'll choose to punish you for daring to go out on a limb and do such a thing, if punishment is even really something he would do — so many questions and possibilities, all more exciting than the last.

Slowly, you feel him lower his head down, mouth just next to your ear as the very same traveling hand pulls back to your behind and presses a finger right up against the exact thing causing the intrusion.

"Well, well, well," he whispers teasingly against your flesh. "Someone came over with expectations."

Already having opted out of verbally replying to him, he makes it easy with the ease in which he pushes you forward to give him space to stand — fingers pressed into the side of your neck from behind as he hurriedly urges you towards the darkened, least lit countertop in the kitchen.

It's a nice attention to detail: Not that the two of you have to sneak around, but pretending to makes it all that much more worth it.

Forcing your face and chest down and folding you over, Doyoung bunches the fabric of your dress up and over your ass just before diving by hand into the back of your panties for precisely the device that has him in such a mood.

"Who told you to wear this?" He asks with a gentle press against it. One finger extending down, he dips into your folds just ever so lightly before pulling back up with a chuckle under his breath. "You're so wet. Aren't you a little cockslut?"

The shift in Doyoung's demeanor this time hard to ignore, like a little bit of him lost in some sort of primal, animalistic lust to have you — it's precisely what you had been going for, after all.

Distinct sound of him hurriedly trying to pull himself from his jeans, met then with the feeling of long, deft fingers gently tugging your underwear down your legs — Doyoung pulls your hips up and out just enough before pressing your thighs closed together with his cock sandwiched in between and the plug in your ass on display for him as he continues gently pushing and pulling on it with ever shallow thrust of his hips against you.

It's excruciating, the promise of feeling him snug between your walls in only an inch or so of adjustment — head of his cock rutting gently against your swollen clit as he aimlessly fucks the wetness of your pussy from the outside — you regret the way that the quake of your thighs give away the fact that you may be able to come from this contact alone.

Slowing his movements against you with hands firmly pressed into the dip of your hips, Doyoung leans down and against you to whisper more torment into your ears.

"So close, baby," he huffs out. "You're so wet, could slide inside of you so easily — fuck you raw right here, would you like that?"

As if the knowing and the wanting wasn't enough, the talking always ending up as your ultimate downfall with the man.

You nod despite the way in which the side of your face lie against cold, unforgiving marble — looking back at him as he administers this particular punishment of the night. You're not sure if it's intended to be a punishment — of if any of it really is, but it certainly does feel that way.

Perhaps you're just a little bit too used to getting what you desire, with ease.

"Sort of want to," he says through gritted teeth, a certain tonal anger that you don't think you've heard from the man in your encounters before but that causes you to clench hard around nothing all the same. The promise of finally getting what you want to bad — the taking of what he wants and needs of you even in spite of himself. One hand sliding up your back and setting on the back of your neck again, he pulls his hips back just enough to position the tip of his length perfectly at your entrance — threatening all the while with shallow pokes to sheath himself inside of you once and for all.

"Fuck you stupid, have you babbling my name while I fuck you full of my load like the cum-hungry bitch that you are, that's what you want me to do, right?" Without giving you time to respond, you feel him pull hard enough on the plug embedded in your ass to remove it, tossing it into the sink only a little bit away. "Come over here with this in makes me act a little fucking crazy — but you haven't earned having me in your cunt just yet."

Hand swooping down from the small of your back and cradling instead his length as he positions the tip of himself at your well-prepped asshole — well enough lubricated from topically fucking your pussy, Doyoung presses himself inside of the tight cavern slowly with a bitten bottom lip and a forced back groan from his chest as he sinks inside of you as delicately as he can muster.

You're thankful enough for his attention, but it's not your first rodeo, and you prepped for a reason — pushing your hips back and against him as signal to carry on, he brings the hand back up and to your shoulder, leverage to pull you back with force and onto his cock with every following snap of his hips.

Truthfully, he feels fucking exquisite inside of you.

"Fuck, Doyoung—" you whine, only for one hand to swing around and over your mouth just as quickly as the words exit.

"Don't address me," he grits through drives of his hips into you — moans spilling out through his fingers all the same as if no hand there at all. "Don't talk, just take my cock like you're supposed to."

Nodding, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to come so badly and not knowing if you can get there untouched — tears threatening the corners of your eyes with every relentless yet heavenly drag of the mans cock inside of your ass — it's then that you feel the ghosting of fingers over your clit. A feeling so exciting to you now that you nearly bear down against them, to which, Doyoung chuckles at your neediness.

"Can't just come from my cock in your ass?" He whispers, the lewd sound of his hips meeting the flesh of your behind echoing through the otherwise empty bottom floor of the home. "How much do you think I'd have to rub you before you came all over my hand? Ten seconds?—"

The light, feathering of the tip of his fingering feeling nearly electric over your clit now, you moan out into the palm of his hand with eyes clamped shut. "—Five seconds?"

Breathing heavily through his hand as he continues his relentless drive into you from behind, pulling his hand away from between your legs you whine loudly against the flesh of him at the loss of yet another release, but instead, the hand around your mouth curling fingers between your lips as you happily and seductively suck around them like cock presented. Groaning at the sight, his other free hand traveling up the length of your torso and finding purchase against your breast as his thumb gently circles around the bud there — Doyoung leans down to curl his lips into a smile against your back at the sight of all of the ways that you're willing to fall apart for him.

"I think you can come without it."

Gently fucking his fingers into your mouth — simulating the presence of his length currently buried in your ass, also buried down your throat, with the additional stimulation of gentle tugs and flicks of his thumb against your nipple, pressing your thighs together tightly — you suspect that he might be right.

"God, look at you," he groans, slowing his hips to focus elsewhere as he watches the way you hungrily lap at his fingers. "You want to suck my cock so bad — have you always wanted it, baby?"

It's nearly involuntary, the moan that rips through you as the words leave his mouth.

Just shy of baby talking, condescending certainly, Doyoung pressing the pads of his fingers harder against your tongue as he shoves all of the way into your mouth to the best of his ability given the angle. "That why you act like that? Need me to fuck your face open, make you gag on it a little bit so you shut up?"

The words, with a particularly sharp snap of his hips, has your legs pressing in on themselves in just a way that you know with a little bit more movement, you can get there. Through tears brimming in your eyes, you manage out a desperate plea past the mans fingers — met with such a familiar sinister grin, Doyoung picks up the pace of his hips — harder and fuller with length against you as you nearly cry out around the fingers still dug in between your lips.

Digging a hand up from your chest and in your hair again, knuckles twisting into it hard as he chases his high, with a bit back groan he gazes down at you — standing tall and firm from behind you as you barely manage to meet eyes with him from your twisted position.

"Gonna come, baby?" He whispers through labored breaths as he teeters on the edge of release. "Want me to fuck my cum in your ass, don't you?"

"Yes, yes—" You chant at the promise of finally being able to come in the presence of the man. You're thankful when it's only two or three more stutters of his hips into you from behind before he releases into you — hot cum spilling into your hole as he shoves the full length of himself inside as he finishes. It's enough for you, thankfully, enough friction from the movement of him against you to have you barreling over the edge along with him with a shriek and a whine through his fingers as you come hard and long for the first time since you two have begun your rendezvous.

Chests heaving as the man gently pulls himself from you, you quickly bend down to pull your panties up to catch the mess of cum already immediately making its exit from your used, stretched open hole. Turning back around to face him as he effectively cages you in with arms on either side of the counter — the two of you make eye contact briefly before a gentle flushing of embarrassment washes over you and you're forced to pull away from the man that only seconds ago was inside of you.

"Try to remember to wash your dishes, would you? I can't do this every time."

Turning back suddenly, you playfully slap at his arm as he shimmies his jeans back up and around his hips.

Mixed drink and a slightly over-cooked quesadilla in front of you on the table of a busy, evening restaurant on your side of town — in the company of a handful of shared friends, Mina and her miserable husband, you can't help the pique in curiosity about the ins and outs of such an arrangement from inside of the marital home.

How much their relationship benefits from the retelling of such engagements with your best friends husband. How much their sex life benefits from it.

Watching from your peripheral — an attempt to not make it so obvious, how interested you are in the dichotomy of it — Mina and Doyoung playfully flirting and touching each other from across the table as if the man hadn't just sodomized you in their kitchen only a few days prior.

It turns you on even that much more. The mystery behind it.

"God—" An exasperated sigh from the man; black turtle neck and fitted black jeans just under the table as he sets his glass back down onto the table with a disgruntled scrunch of facial features adorning his face. "—This drink is terrible, I should say something."

Squinting, the pointless complaint pulls something from you. Such a typical, stuck up, rich guy thing to say.

"Drinks are two dollars here, what did you expect?"

"I don't care if it's two or twenty dollars, if I'm paying for it then it should at least be drinkable."

Eyes turning towards your friend seated next to you as she meets your gaze just the same, a swift kick across the way to her husbands shin has him rolling his eyes and jolting back in his chair. "Be good, Doie."

"Yes, dear."

"Can't take him anywhere," You whisper to your friend, well within earshot of the man, which of course only causes him to lean in and towards the both of you with an irritated frown. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

"Better than talking to you."

"Trust me," he sighs, leaning back into his seat again. "The feeling is more than mutual. I wonder everyday how you ended up with a key to our place."

 For whatever reason, that one stings in particular.

 Normally, dealing with Doyoung is something that you're used to — but tonight, there's a certain tone to him that you find hitting somewhere in your chest in a much different way. Not just banter, but perhaps a deeply personal disapproval of not only you, but your friendship with his wife.

It's not that you anticipated starting a sexual relationship with him to have fixed your dealings outside of it — quite the contrary, actually — but maybe enough was enough, now.

You've cum on my face, the least you could do is treat me with a basic level of respect.

 Napkin out of your hand and onto the table in a way that it's obvious of your displeasure, you stand suddenly and inform Mina of your departure to the bathroom. "Do you want me to come with you?" She of course offers, only for you to quickly dismiss it and assure her that you're fine as you carry yourself off and down the short hallway to the small, two-stall ladies room.

Leaned over the dirty, wet, black granite counter with both hands pressed into the edge, you look at yourself in the reflection — needing a moment to cool off, you're still relatively unsurprised when you don't receive it.

Cracking the door open, you watch from in front of you as the most insufferable man you've ever known slips inside to join you.

"You having fun?" He starts, already with intent to have a fight with you. "Have fun causing a scene?"

"Oh, I'm causing a scene!" You chime sarcastically, "not the guy who wants to complain about a two dollar drink not being up to par. Does it ever get exhausting? Being so fucking far up your own ass?"

Rushing towards you in an instant, Doyoung wraps a hand in your hair from behind — first pushing you forward with the momentum of it but just as quickly ripping you backwards and towards one of the empty stalls. Door slamming shut behind the both of you and just as quickly allowing the back of his shoulders fall to the wall, he works quickly at his belt as the sinister look in his eyes never once leaves your own.

You wonder how he has this kind of power — only seconds ago the most horrible man you could ever imagine being around, but now, watching him stare you down as he works to free his cock for you in this public bathroom — you realize that it's that precise mixture of things that makes his desirability so strong. Painfully so, as the throb between your legs already finds itself stirring up once again.

Barely pushed down his hips and freeing his hardening length, languid strokes over himself as he stands in front of you never once breaking eye contact for a second, you realize in humiliating silence that you're waiting for his command.

Of which, he quickly grants you: "Why don't you put that mouth to good use, for once."

Maybe if you hadn't been wanting it for so long already you'd be more willing to put up a bit of a fight, but finally being granted one of the things you've been dying for since the beginning of this endeavor with him — falling to your knees in the filth of this bathroom stall and immediately taking him into your hand with a long, enthusiastic swipe of your tongue up the bottom of his shaft — the low, breathy groan that it grants you reason enough to pull forward to take the head of his cock between your lips and swirl your tongue there, only to press down along his length for as far as you can before the tip of him threatens the back of your throat.

Unfortunately, it's not much of him that you can take before that happens.

Hand in your hair again as you've grown so familiar, you hear the sound of his head falling back against the granite before parting his lips to speak. "Gonna have to do a better job than that. How good can you be?"

You know what he's really asking.

Pulling you forward by your hair harder along his length, you struggle to accommodate him in your mouth, but it's not the first time you've done something like this — he's not asking too much of you — but it's sudden, and the burn against your throat something you're not used to feeling as your gag reflex begins to trigger and tears well up in your eyes at the struggle.

Doyoung pulls you back only slightly so that you can take a deep breath before bringing your mouth back along him. "Come on, you're gonna have to take it all, baby."

The words 'have to' immediately pooling between your legs, especially.

Gagging around him, the man moans through the sounds of you struggling to take his cock into your throat, he begins shallow, short thrusts against your mouth in an attempt to bring your nose flush with the skin of his pubic area, but with this not being something you've done often enough — there's part of you that wants to fight through it, because frankly, you've been fantasizing about this very moment since the very first night you tasted his cum from his fingers, anyways — but perhaps you should have practiced a bit more (or at all) at home in anticipation for this night.

You don't want to, but everyone has limits.

Three fast taps of your hand against his thigh, Doyoung immediately removes himself from your hair, allowing you to pull off from him just as quickly — coughing into the crook of your elbow as you attempt to regain oxygen into your lungs, you can't see much through the wetness gathered in your eyelashes, but you do hear the sound of him tucking himself away again before kneeling down to meet you on the floor.

"Are you okay? Can I get you anything?"

"No," you rasp out, sounding far more fucked and broken than you actually are, but rather, a physical result of the assault on your throat. Really, you're fine, just too much, too fast. "I'm okay, seriously, just couldn't yet."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Concern dripping from his voice — he's not touching you, purposely as to give you enough space from him, you shake your head with a chuckle as you bring your hand up to wipe the tears away from your eyes before making eye contact with him again.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong, I was a little too enthusiastic, I think."

"Is it okay if I touch you?"

Chuckling again at the way that the man almost insists on handling you with kid gloves, you roll your eyes. "Yes, I'm not broken, I just can't deep throat seven inches of dick on a whim without a bit of practice."

"Aw," Doyoung coos, running a hand gently through your hair, before standing himself and helping you to your feet. "You think I'm seven inches. That's sweet."

Sniffling hard and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before straightening your clothing and dusting off your knees, you shoot the man a confused frown. "Bigger or smaller?"

Unlocking the stall door and motioning for you to exit, Doyoung offers you a simple wag of his index finger and a pompous grin before answering.

"A lady never tells. After you."

With weeks of fooling around with Kim Doyoung under your belt now, you find a certain level of trust and comfort established. Exemplified by his adhesion to boundaries and safe words at the drop of a hat, you can't help but recall the words that Mina had offered you so early on in the initial discussions of this foray into ethical non-monogamy.

'He's a good dom.'

Sure, you have a lot of criticisms of the man: That he's brash, boring, conceited, self-important and a whole other mess of ways to say that he's far from the kind of man you'd like to see yourself with at the end of the day, but one thing is for sure — safety, respect and trust are of the utmost importance to him.

Thinking back to that time in the bathroom — immediately unconcerned with the state of his erection in favor of the state of your well-being — sure, it sort of is the bare minimum when it comes to this sort of sexual play, but something to be celebrated, all the same.

So now, you may have an interest in rearranging some of the terms of your agreement.

  "Honey, I'm home!"

Annoyingly sing-song in a way that you know will irritate the man of the house but be effortlessly charming to the person that you're there to see — when met with silence, you're a bit disappointed. After all, playing house in spite of Doyoung's clear distaste for it has turned into one of your favorite past times.

Both the playing house, and the irritating him parts.

"Hello?" You ask again, listening to the way the words echo through the empty, lower-level of the home, only to eventually be met regretfully by the husband — apron-clad and wooden spoon in hand as he settles a straight-faced look upon you without offering anything for words.

Then, he turns back and into the kitchen from which he came.

A roll of the eyes, you set your bag down on a chair near the door, kicking your shoes off and following after him — eyes pulling towards the familiar countertop that you've more than become acquainted with as you circle around to the other side of the kitchen island to sit in the very same chair that the man had been seated in the last time that the two of you had your...engagements, here.

"So," you sigh. "When's Mina coming home?"

"She's not."

The words sort of send a chill down your spine, because the first thing that comes to mind is that the things that the two of you have been engaging in have now torn their relationship apart.

But, Mina was the one that told you to come over.

Glancing over his shoulder while perched over the stove — obvious horror splashed across your face, Doyoung laughs at the obvious line of thought in your mind. "She's on a business trip."

"Then, why did she tell me to come over?"

Halfway into turning his attention back to his cooking, he brings his head all the way back to look at you again: It's a look that says, "you know why, don't play dumb now."

He doesn't offer verbal confirmation, but you understand the jist of it well enough with just that. "Have you eaten?" He asks instead, to which you nod. "Yeah, had something on the way over."

It's sort of perfect, the way that the pieces fall together as Doyoung stands across from you at the very same island — a small bowl of soup being shoveled into his mouth with no particular haste as you watch him — gray sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, it's a cozy look that you're not all that used to seeing from him considering the majority of your involvement with him has been out and about.

You've been meaning to bring this up, anyways.

"I think—" you start quietly, picking at the skin around your fingernails lightly. The nervousness being the first thing that Doyoung notice as his eyes travel up from his empty bowl and towards your own, waiting for you to finish the thought.

"—I don't want to do this anymore. With you. It feels wrong. I can't do it anymore."

The layer of silence that falls across the atmosphere of the kitchen feeling so suffocatingly thick as you wait for his response — the man simply staring at you quietly through his eyelashes without even the slightest bit of movement until his lips part ever so lightly to speak.

"Color?"

And with confidence, you whisper back "green."

Squinting at you, you recall back having mentioned this to Mina in passing: the resistance kink. The desire to be 'taken,' to have a complete loss of control over the situation — participating in something so dirty, so wrong, and loving every second of it so much that you desperately wish for the morality of it to be out of your hands entirely. 'I want it, but wanting it is wrong. Only when stripped of the choice entirely is there true freedom to desire.'

And obviously, she passed it along to him, but the discussion not having happened in full means that now it's up to you to take matters of consent into your own hands.

But slowly raising from his slightly folded position, Doyoung brings his bowl to the sink, rinsing it out, and coming back to you in silence. The discomfort is poignant, so, now you have to ask.

"Color?" You slowly drop from dry lips, and without breaking his suffocating gaze on you, he whispers back pointedly "yellow."

The word exits his mouth quietly, smoothly, as if really trying to drive home to you how much this is not the way these things are supposed to work: Truth of the matter is that you know that, and this should have been discussed at length long before tonight — but you trust him to be able to make the adjustments, and worst case, to stop if you should need him to.

You're hopeful that he trusts you to do all of the same.

Then, he parts his lips to speak again. "—But, green."

It's his way of letting you know that you've gone about this all wrong, but all things considered, he's willing to roll with the punches, anyway. Jutting towards you, Doyoung wraps long fingers around your wrist, ripping you off of the stool and nearly knocking it to the floor as a result; tearing the apron from his waist as he roughly tugs you out of the kitchen, down the hall, up the stairs and swings you around to press your back against the shining, platinum railing of the banister in the hallway.

"Why did you wear jeans?" He grunts as he drops to his knees in front of you, quickly pulling apart the button and zipper to roughly drag the tight fabric down your legs.

Frankly, you didn't know that you'd be doing this tonight.

Stepping out of them and shoved down the hallway to be sufficiently out of the way, the man hoists one of your legs up and over his shoulder — one hand digging fingers into the side of the crotch of your panties to grant him quick access to your already anticipatory pussy.

However, him being eye level with your cunt not particularly how you had expected this to go — ever, really.

Looking up at you from between your legs and through devilishly narrow eyes, the man makes one, simple, request: "Tell me about the dream."

Diving into your folds as his tongue presses flat and firm against your clit — the sudden feeling of him having you like this making you dizzy with want, you find yourself entirely unsure how you're expected to recount much of anything to him like this — and especially once he begins unrelenting suction to you that threatens to make you cum almost immediately.

Attempting to bite back your moan, and instead opting for a breathy 'fuck,'  you know well enough that if you don't adhere to the command, he'll most definitely stop.

"Y-you—" there's an attempt to speak at least, until two long, thin fingers bury into you to the last knuckles.

Pulling his mouth away from you and licking at his lips lewdly, he cocks his head to the side playfully. "Better start talking or I'll stop."

"God, okay," you exasperate as he dives back in. "Was...against the wall, you fucked me against the wall — we weren't—"

"Allowed?" He pauses again only long enough to finish your thought with a grin. Nodding quickly, Doyoung still slowly fucking into you with his fingers as he watches you fall apart from above him, he coos at the look and sound of you — perhaps finally coming to an understanding of what all of this is about.

"Good girl," he hums gently, lips brushing against your wet folds without much intent behind the contact. "Can you do me another favor?"

Breathy and already a little fucked out, you whisper out a "yes."

"Come on my mouth."

Leaning up and into you again, tongue firm into your clit with tight, intensive swirls — it doesn't take long for you to follow through as one hand falls down and wraps into his hair — holding him firm in place as you involuntarily grind down against his mouth as you come blindingly hard onto him. Long since needed and the orgasm from the night in the kitchen hardly offering the release you had been looking for — Doyoung lending his face to you in such a lewd, particularly out of character act of a blending of roles — as you come down slowly from your high, you watch the man pull away and out of you with a gentle ease, sucking his fingers clean of you before wiping his face with the back of his hand and standing tall in front of you.

 "Want to fuck your best friends husband, but don't want to be responsible for the repercussions of it, huh?"

 You just came, but the promise of getting exactly the fantasy that you wish for out of this throbbing between your legs pooling just as if you hadn't.

You don't even get to answer before the same, dominant hand is wrapped up in the hair at the back of your head and pushing you down the hallway, towards the bedroom.

Stumbling inside as he roughly pulls you around, once the both of you reach the edge of the bed, Doyoung sits you down just in front of him — not letting you free of his grasp, but instead with his other hand, freeing his growing erection from his pants and pulling your mouth against him harshly.

Of course, you take him in with ease.

"You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth like this," he groans from above you, eyes glued to the place where he disappears inside of you. "Always knew you wanted me, that's why you always act like that, just need me to put you in your place, don't you?"

Moaning at the words and around his dick as he shallowly presses inside of your wet mouth, speed slowly picking up with each passing moment as he continues to talk you through it. "What are we going to do if my wife finds out? Suppose we just can't let that happen, can we?"

You hate the way the thought has you clenching down hard.

"That's why you're over here so much, isn't it?" Doyoung asks through gritted teeth as he continues fucking into your mouth, gently prodding at the back of your throat with each thrust. "Just begging for me to fuck your mouth? You love my cock, don't you?"

Pulling his length from you only long enough for you to answer back and breathy 'yes,' he sheaths himself inside all over again

Only a few more thrusts before grunting, Doyoung pulling himself from your mouth to fist over his cock and lined up with your face — you display your mouth open with tongue flat as he comes over your flesh again — warm, heavy ropes of himself painting your face and mouth before quickly angling your head down again to place his length between your lips for you to suck him clean, as well.

Holding your head back again and bringing his other hand up, thumb spreading the wetness of the act across your lips, chin and cheeks before shoveling most of it into your mouth as your lips close around his thumb to suck the digit clean just as you have with his cock — groaning into the look and sensation of it, Doyoung gently taps the inside of his fingers against your jaw, signaling for you to open your mouth all over again as he shoves two fingers in to swirl around the mixture of cum and spit collected there.

Slipping back and away from you, the command comes through simply. "Swallow."

You do so without question.

Wiping your mouth with your shoulder and taking in a heavy breath, you sigh out while looking up at him. "We can't ever let her find out about this?"

But glancing down at you with the most evil look in his eye, you watch as a single corner of his mouth gently pulls up,

 "You think I'm done with you?"

 It sends a tingle down your spine and straight to your pussy, Doyoung suddenly reaching forward to turn you around and bent over the bed as he pulls your soiled panties roughly to the side with a tear. Rubbing the head of his cock through your soaking slit and against your still sensitive clit, you grip hard into the sheets beneath you, attempting to pull away from him but to no avail as he grips fingers roughly into your hips to keep you precisely in place and displayed before him.

"Think you can take it all, baby?" He sighs, leisurely stroking himself back to full hardness as his tip slowly begins to split your pussy open from behind. "Can you be a good girl for me, take the whole thing?"

Whimpering against the mattress at the desperate, delicious burn of his cock finally entering you after so long — what feels like a lifetime of desiring having him buried inside of your walls, finally being granted to you with slow, almost delirious ease as he sinks into you from the back, you answer him honestly. "N-no."

"I don't think so, either," he responds with a comfortable ease as he continues with his initial stroke. "But you're going to try, aren't you? Not used to taking such a big dick?"

"No, fuck, Doyoung—"

"God you want this so bad, already so fucked out on my dick and I'm not even inside all of the way," gently pulling his hips back only to rock back inside, even such a simple movement granting him a cry out from between your dry lips. Leaning forward and over your back to plant a hand down between your shoulders and holding you in place, Doyoung repeats the action again to elicit the same response from you all over again.

"Oh, you love a big cock," he grits out through his teeth as he finally settles into a rhythmic pace against your behind. "You love my cock. Say you didn't want to do this, didn't want to go through with this, but I don't think that's true at all, is it?"

Pulling out far enough for only the tip of him to remain inside of you before drilling back hard into your cunt, you nearly cry at the unrelenting pressure of him against your walls, and in particular, against your g-spot. Thighs trembling and stomach tightening with every full, hard drive of himself into you, it's an attempt to form a full thought but instead, the words come out as only babbled sobs as he drives hard and firm into you.

"Do-Doyoung, fuck, 'm gonna, 'm—p-please, please, fuck—"

"You gonna come, baby?" The question comes through with hastened, airy breaths as if close himself. "Come around my dick for me? Wanna earn my cum?"

Nodding fast against the mattress, he grunts into a particularly hard thrust against you. "Make your lil cunt so messy."

Pulling himself back up into a straighter, standing position at the edge of the bed, fingers firmly dug into the flesh of your waist as he pulls you back hard onto his cock — the sudden angle change toppling you over into your orgasm unexpectedly as you cry out for him and curl your own nails into the sheets beneath you as your release rips through your body — simultaneously, Doyoung falling victim to the way your pussy clenches down around his length, fucking you roughly through your orgasm as he reaches his own with bit back, throaty moan at the way your cunt nearly milks his cum from him with little movement and so much ease — burying himself so deep into your guts that it threatens to hurt and whining at the near pain of having him so fully inside of you as he coats your walls.

Chests rising and falling, Doyoung pulls from you and falling next to you, it's much to your surprise when familiar hands tug you to the side and seated over his hips.

 "Split yourself open on my cock and come again."

 The words themselves nearly enough to do you in, but with the unrelenting throb of your untouched clit impossible to ignore, you follow the command as you position your hips over his impressively hard length and wasting no time burying him inside of your messy, cummed-in cunt all over again.

Leaning back ever so slightly and quickly rubbing circles into your clit for his viewing pleasure as he pulls the sweatshirt still clinging to his chest up to expose more skin of his abs and chest — reaching your free hand down, you touch over the skin there, feeling more of him and the way his abs reach to not only your touch, but the visual just in front of him.

"Fuck," you whimper, already feeling the threat of another orgasm building as your walls squeeze tightly around his seated shaft. "Fuck, Doie—"

The pet name.

"God, don't call me that, I'll come in your little pussy all over again," he nearly whines through an exhausted chuckle. It's a sort of endearing, almost break in character that you're not used to seeing from the man.

"Come on baby, be a good girl and come for me," he starts again with a fucked out whisper as he watches you twist circles into your pussy just above where his length disappears inside of you. "Show me just how bad you wanted me inside of you."

Toes curling and teeth gritting as it washes over you all over again — a nearly silent scream of an orgasm as your mouth hangs open through your release — a similar, quiet groan from the man beneath you as he watches and feels you come on him for the third time tonight.

 He takes his jobs very seriously.

 Giving you a moment to calm before heaving you off of him and standing in front of you again, as you sit up to meet his dick with your lips just as before, you can't help but be seriously impressed by his ability to maintain an erection.

You're beginning to understand why Mina married him, after all.

"Clean me up," he commands, hand gently weaved into the back of your head in such a familiar way. "Enjoy it while you can, it's the last time you'll get to taste me."

True as it is, you find yourself surprisingly somber at the thought of this being the end of the arrangement, as agreed upon. Far from an emotional connection, but rather, a mental one — a mutual understanding between physical lovers. The trust, the communication, and safety inherent in this particular pairing of people.

Plus, his cock is perfect and he fucks like a pornstar.

Licking up the length of his shaft, truly savoring the taste of his cum and your own mixed along it before taking him deep into your mouth and bobbing slowly, carefully, full of intent along his cock — partially for the show of it, and partially because yes, it's the last time, and you'll miss this more than you might have thought you would going in.

"You're amazing," Doyoung sighs, gently pulling his length from between your lips and folding over just enough to be only a few centimeters off from your own face with his. "Open."

Obeying the command and jaw falling slack, the man allowing the collection of saliva from his mouth to drip lewdly into your own — missing direction ever so slightly and catching partially at the corner of your mouth — Doyoung brings a hand up to thumb at the messy corner before finally closing the distance between both of your mouths and pulling you into a full, intense, passionate kiss — tongue immediately pushing forward to lick at the inside of your mouth — it's breathtaking and intimate in a way that nothing else thus far has been.

And pulling away with a single, thin, string of saliva connecting the two of you by mouth yet, Doyoung's lips curl into a sinister grin as his eyes pull from your own, to your lips, then back up to meet your vision again.

 "Happy to help."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—part 2!