#heady pipes

[gardenofmymiind]

Found my old pieces in a moving box!! Time to cleannnnn

[wateryuanglass]

my shining glass happy day

[firelifeglass]

Pocket Amber Bubble Window Spoon I just made

https://firelifeglass.etsy.com/listing/1780768870

[legacyglass]

dope lil sherlock from MN glassblower JFell <3

[sp4ceboo]

Upon the Sands of the Arena: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: basically reader fights feyd in the arena, my apologies if there are any inaccuracies, i'm dUmB

tw: 18+, smut YAAA, fighting, swearing, i use fire metaphors too much, blood, violence and death (it's in a a gladiatorial arena ffs), creampie, one ass spank, fingering + oral (f receiveing) hella lot of sexual tension, Fighting as Foreplay, feyd sorta has a blood kink but he's just freaky like that, sort of fluffy at the end, hint of voyeurism if you squint really hard, lmk if there's anything else

wc: 4.1k

part 2

The Bene Gesserit are distracted.

If the Kwisatz Haderach was not so near, they would have disposed of you properly. Instead, they sucked you back into their dark web of deceit and occulted plans only to spit you out just as fast, leaving your fate to the blood soaked sands of Giedi Prime’s arenas. You believe that if it were not for the actions of Lady Jessica Atreides and her defiance of the order, they’d pay you more attention.

Not that you’re complaining.

You were trained to flourish in the dark, lurking in the shadows of the deepest of nights, awaiting a time to strike. However, you are not like your mentors, you do not believe in the hoping, the weaving of bloodlines for the production of a distant messiah, nor do you dirty your hands to obey an imperious Reverend Mother.

Truly, you admire Lady Jessica for doing the same as you did - defying the order and thereby splintering from it; all the same, you do not desire what she wants. For she wants power for her son and her unborn daughter, and you want nothing but to be left alone.

In a universe full of yearning for a greater purpose, you want the opposite. Often, you find yourself wishing you were something of nature: not mundane, by any means, but uncontrollable, like the desert winds that sift through the sands of Arrakis simply because. To be like them, without a master, without the endless search for purpose, is freedom.

Instead, you have been branded with the title Bene Gesserit - ex Bene Gesserit now - and you wield too much power for the order to ignore you, even alone. Hence why they incorporated your capture into their plans, engineering it so that you face the Baron’s brutal, bloodthirsty nephew in the arena.

They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill you.

You think they forget that you once were as good as the rest of them. They forget that you still possess the ability to alter the molecules in your blood to resist the drugs they pump into the arena prisoners, and they forget that you trained beside the best in combat.

The arena is where you thrive.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. It excites you, the swell of noise that is thousands of harsh Harkonnen tongues heckling for blood; the stamp of their feet as they cry their na-Baron’s name vibrates through the arena, through the grains of sand beneath your feet, deep and heady like burgundy wine.

Your fingers tighten around the blade given to you, barely sharpened and made of unsanded wood, but solid all the same. It’s all you’ll need against the na-Baron. He is but a cruel man set on fire with exterminable blue flames, and you are Bene Gesserit: defiant of the order or not, it is who and what you are, and it is pure power coursing through your veins - power that answers to you and you only.

The roar of the na-Baron soars over the crowd’s cheering, animalistic and full of fury that makes you wonder what incenses him so much. Something in his past, maybe, something that he only acknowledges in the inner machinations of his cunning mind.

The grate in front of you opens, and you allow yourself a smile as you step out into Giedi Prime’s tortorous ebony sun. High above, you spot the slit of a balcony where the Baron himself reclines, watching his nephew with a benevolent smile and a pipe in his hand, flanked by subservient concubines with bowed heads. All around, the crowd shouts, thunderous, urging their na-Baron to spill blood on the sand, to paint the arena red. It swirls around you like a washed out dream, black and white but simultaneously vivid, the stink of rotting bodies and sun bleached white sand pungent in your nostrils, the occasional pop from the fireworks overhead heavy in your ears.

Rolling your shoulders, you pace a few steps in before sitting down in the sand, cross legged, the backs of your hands against your knees with your blade flat against one of your palms. Pitiless, you watch as the na-Baron slices the throat of the first prisoner that staggers his way, throwing him an enigmatic smile when he glances towards you.

His eyes are cold; calculating. They’re dark, striking against his pale skin as they suck in the light, and hungry too, as if he strives for something he does not quite know, always reaching, always burning for more.

Intriguing.

He circles in on the next prisoner, who meets his end by the same savage knife work as the first, his guts spilled out onto the greedy sand. Insatiable, chest heaving with excitement more than fatigue, the na-Baron turns to you, his final prey - his black teeth are bared in a magnificent, maniacal grin, his footsteps silent as he approaches.

Facing him now, you understand why the Bene Gesserit believed that by crossing the Atreides’ meant-to-be daughter with the Harkonnen’s na-Baron, they would make the Kwisatz Haderach. There’s no doubt in this man’s genetics, in the solid lines of his strength sheathed bones and the sheer virility and ferocity that permeates the air around him - it’s almost elegant, the way he prowls towards you, his stride lilting and laced with power. They picked him well.

Too bad you’ll have to kill him.

If he proves to be obtuse, you’ll have no choice but to slay him in order to save yourself. If he is, however, as cunning as they say, you’ll give him a chance to live - it’d be a shame to end him, actually: something draws you to the rawness of his nature, to the frigidity of the ire in his eyes.

The na-Baron circles closer, his skin like moonlight. He watches you like a hawk, as if he’s the one who’s hunting, ready for his next meal; his eyes flash in the sun, studying you, watching for your tells even as you identify his. Smiling, you drop into a crouch, knife outstretched like a twisted mockery of a peace offering, waiting for him to take the bait and strike.

He cocks his head. ‘It’s rare that I face a woman in the arena.’

‘I’m sure it will still be of pleasure to you, Feyd-Rautha.’

‘I believe it will increase it tenfold, little witch.’

You don’t have time to figure out how he knows you’re Bene Gesserit, because he slashes at you, once down towards your ribs and once back up at your throat. His knife flashes in the sun, reflecting the bloodlust in his eyes as it arcs towards you; light on your feet, you parry both of his blows, dipping in to land your own. He’s strong, which is of less concern to you than his speed. Feyd-Rautha fights as if he’s dancing: not in the aspect that there’s flourish in his bladework - quite the opposite, he keeps his strikes efficient and tight - but in the smooth, hypnotic way that the movements of his body blend seamlessly together.

The crowd screams as he forces you into defence. It’s temporary, though, because he gets reckless, both driven and blinded by his hunger for blood - enough so that you can dart your foot out, hooking it around his ankles and overbalancing him. Sprays of sand are kicked up as he tries to steady himself, and you force him down with the tip of your blade to his pale throat.

A single, sleek drop of scarlet slides down his skin. Unhurriedly, he brings a hand up to catch it before it leaks onto his black armour, lifting it so he can see the blood your knife has shed. His gaze flicks up to you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

‘Huh,’ he remarks, pleasantly surprised.

And then he lashes out, bringing you down into the sand beside him. With the hilt of his knife, he knocks your own out of your hand, and it’s catapulted into the air, spinning end over end and catching the light before it somersaults into the ground a few feet away. The grit plumes up at your face as you scuffle with him, and you hiss, frustrated that the sand does not lend you any more traction.

Rolling you over so fast your head spins, Feyd-Rautha drives his knife down towards your exposed neck. It makes a bolt of panic shoot through you, followed by the deep seated, survival impelled instinct to use the Voice on him, but like hell you’re doing that; honour prevents you, as well as the desire to finish this fight properly. You have no choice but to grab his forearm, slowing his blade’s descent, and a mirthful, rasping noise leaves his chest - a laugh that sets his eyes alight.

And then, the pressure dissolves, falling away. He stands, smirking down at you, the sun like a damning halo around his head. Silence falls over the arena, the anticipation thick in the air as he raises his hand, gesturing somewhere over your shoulder.

‘Go on, little witch, get your knife.’

You sneer, seeing the greed in his eyes, the misguided belief that he’s got you where he wants you. He wants to play, and it delights you.

Taking a few steps in the direction of the knife, you feign acquiescence. You can feel his eyes on your back, can sense the triumph oozing off him, and you let the adrenaline coursing through your veins guide your limbs, twisting you around so you can lunge at him, one hand wrapping around his bare forearm and bending it backwards as you spin him sharply until his back meets your chest. Viciously, you yank his arm further back, and the pain of that combined with your elbow tight around his throat, constricting his airways, is enough to loosen his grip.

A gasp ripples through the crowd as Feyd-Rautha drops his knife. It lodges in the ground beside your foot, and you flick it up with the toe of your boot, your hand darting out to snatch it from the air. The man in your arms bucks and writhes, but you keep your hold on him as you bring the knife to his neck for the second time.

‘Uh oh,’ you sing-song into his ear. ‘What’s happened here?’

He stills in your arms a little. ‘Why don’t you do it?’

‘I fear I’ve grown attached to you during our little fight,’ you hum. ‘It would be a shame to end a specimen like yourself.’

‘You are Bene Gesserit, I’m sure that you have arrangements - ’

‘I may be one, but I do not follow the order,’ you snarl. ‘I spare you because I wish to. Now, Harkonnen, knock the knife from my hand.’

You feel his muscles tense, the hesitation coursing through his body as he determines whether your bid is a trick or not, and then he does as you say, catching it smoothly and spinning to bring it to your throat. Calmly, you stare into his narrowed eyes, the cold caress of the blade harsh against your exposed skin.

‘What’s stopping me from killing you now, little witch?’

You laugh. ‘I trust I’ve piqued your interest sufficiently, na-Baron.’

‘Just Feyd is fine.’

You open your mouth to mock him, but he slices the blade away from your neck, very purposefully nicking you. Blood beads at the seam of the cut, hot and vengeful; he grips the back of your neck, exposing your throat to him, and prickles of pain shoot through you as the wound stretches. Frozen, you wait to see what he’ll do next, heart fluttering in your chest in a way that you know is not fear.

Insouciantly, he licks a long stripe up your skin, his scorching tongue following the trail of crimson his blade left behind. All consuming heat wells up in your stomach when he grins at you, displaying the hint of red coating his obsidian teeth, his eyes igniting the air between you as they dip down to survey your body, your heaving chest.

And then he releases you. You find your knees have gone weak, and you stumble as the guards close around you, grabbing you roughly under the armpits and dragging you out of the arena, your knees making twin tracks in the sand.

Managing a glance behind you, you catch sight of Feyd, his fist held triumphantly in the air as the crowd roars for their na-Baron.

Unsurprisingly, they throw you into a cell. Its walls are made of smooth, dark metal which seem to swallow up any sound that you make - it doesn’t surprise you that Vladimir Harkonnen has a Bene Gesserit proof cell - and the only thing furnishing it is a black blanket on the ground. A servant comes in and treats the shallow cut on your neck, but he refuses to meet your eyes and scurries off as fast as he can, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.

You estimate two hours, maybe three, before Feyd appears in the doorway. His silhouette appears in the small glass window set in the door and pauses; you wonder if he’s considering leaving you there for a little longer, but then the lock disengages with a whoosh and the door slides open.

The air is immediately charged as he strides down the steps, eyes locked on you. With the smooth hiss of hydraulics, the door closes behind him, and he prowls forward, not quite smiling yet - you sense that he’s here to continue what you didn’t finish in the arena, and your back straightens a little as his gaze rakes over your body. He’s taken off his armour, leaving him in the thin black underclothes beneath, and he too has had someone treat the wound in his neck.

‘Your resistance to the drugs is remarkable, little witch. My blade was laced too.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘I find that matter quite disappointing, actually, that you must face your opponents in the arena when they are half sedated in order to best them.’

He smiles, stepping closer to you until you share air. ‘It’s not just the winning I seek.’

‘Oh, what is it then?’ You ask. ‘Pain?’

Quick as a snake, you strike, letting the thrill of the fight shoot through you yet again as he matches you blow for blow. He looks at you as if he wants to eat you, to taste you - not just your lips or your tongue, but the defiant burn of your lifeblood too, and it makes you want to sink your teeth into him.

Slipping past his guard to catch the front of his shirt, you bunch the material in your hand and tear, baring his well muscled chest to you. The sight of it makes your lips quirk upwards, further so at the sound he makes: a half growl and a half groan as he lunges for you, wonderfully infuriated by the way you dance just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers like water. His eyes are kindled with ardour - for both your blood and your flesh - and when they meet yours, shivers snap down your spine and tug at your stomach.

Feinting to the left, you jab at his neck. Like a scorpion waiting to strike, he grabs your wrist, tugging you towards him; you glance down at his feet, easily predicting that he’s going to sweep your legs out from under you if you let him bring you any closer. Yanking your hand back, you attempt to shake his grip on you, but he refuses to let go.

You slap him across the face.

Hard.

His fingers loosen on you as his head snaps to the side, the noise your palm makes against his chiselled cheek sharp and ringing in the cell. A soft, animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, and when he lifts his chin, his jaw clenched to perfection, the pure lust in his eyes makes you stumble back a step.

Rushing at you, he takes advantage of the heady swoop of desire that messes with your head, slowly backing you against the wall with each punch and kick he throws. Heat roils in his gaze, so intense that when he slams you against the wall, you don’t know whether he’s going to kill you or kiss you - the not-knowing thrills you, sets your bones and soul on fire. One of his hands comes up, his fingertips caressing your throat before he pounces, mercilessly cutting off your air supply.

Leaning into your space, he brings his lips up to your ear. ‘If I’d had my way, little witch, I’d have fucked you right there on the sand, with all of them watching.’

Your head spins, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the lack of oxygen in your lungs or the feeling of his strong thigh pressing between your legs, relentless as he grinds it against your clit. You allow yourself a second to enjoy it before you retaliate, adrenaline seething in your blood.

Burying your nails into his arm, you twist it to the side, unbalancing him and taking him to the floor - his fingers grip your shirt, bringing you down with him. You land on his torso, straddling his hips, and as you do, he snaps his wrists down and rips your shirt from top to bottom down your back. The cool air of the cell sends ripples of goosebumps up your skin, and Feyd’s wide, calloused palms follow their path, surprisingly warm, deceptively gentle.

Bucking his lower body, he flips you over, pinning your hands over head, his long fingers circling your wrists as his hips press heavily into yours. Your eyes flick down to his mouth as he dips his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek; the curve of his lips is soft and almost graceful compared to the rough way he grinds against you, eager for more, yet eager to torture himself with the wait.

Tipping your jaw up, you let your lower lip brush his before you turn your head to the side, denying him. Amusingly, he follows your touch, insistent that you kiss him, but you ease out of his grip and trap him between your arms when he gives chase - a growl sounds low in his chest, one of his hands gripping your thigh, futilely yanking at your trousers as you grapple, rolling over and over on the cell’s floor.

His hand slams down beside your head, stopping your course, his forearm flat against your throat - not quite choking you, but not letting your air supply run free. Feyd’s touch sears your skin in the best way, and you wish to be consumed by the flames.

‘Must I tie you up, little witch?’

His voice is low and rasping, sending shivers up your spine. You don’t answer, instead claiming his lips, welcoming the insistent press of his tongue as you thrust your hips against his, seeking that exquisite friction. Running your hands up his strong back, you hook your elbow around the nape of his neck, locking him to you as he explores the taste of you.

Abruptly, he pulls away, and you open your mouth, protest on your lips until he tugs down your trousers and underwear, tossing them somewhere to the side, his own garments following. You get one good look at him, at his powerful, muscle lined thighs framing your hips and the curve of his leaking cock against his stomach before he swipes his fingers between your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.

When he lowers his face to your heat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a breathless moan slips from you, loaded with anticipation. You can’t stop the louder echo that leaves you when he dips his fingers into cunt, curling them to hit your sweet spot, and your nails claw at his shoulder blades, leaving red trails behind them.

‘That’s it, little witch,’ he croons. ‘Sing for me.’

And sing you do, as he wrings the pleasure from you with his tongue and fingers until your legs tremble and close around his head. He pins your thighs to the floor, holding you open for him as he tastes you, insatiable, pushing you unrelentingly over the edge, again and again until hot tears slide down your cheeks and your voice breaks from crying his name.

Finally, he buries his length inside you. Your eyes roll back at the stretch of it, your pussy fluttering around him; you muffle the moan that rips itself from your chest by biting down on his shoulder. He chuckles as you mewl his name, your back arching as he pulls out, only sheathe himself up to the hilt when he thrusts back in - he’s as drunk on your sounds as you are on his cock: he needs more. More of you, of your delicious sounds and your intoxicating scent and that sweet, sweet cunt of yours.

Feyd fucks like he fights: ruthless, full of passion and lust, remorseless.

Just as you’re about to come around his cock, he pulls out, leaving you scrabbling against the floor, hips futile as they follow his, his name like a plea on your lips. He drinks in your desperation, flipping you over and cracking his palm down hard on your ass before slamming himself back into your weeping pussy, the ragged cry that escapes you like the nectar of the gods on his tongue as he swallows it with a kiss. Gathering your hair in his fist, he pulls your head back, pounding tirelessly into you as he pins you to his solid chest, mouthing at the skin behind your ear.

As Feyd spills his warm seed inside you, you wonder if the Bene Gesserit were actually distracted, or if that was what they wanted you to think as they crossed bloodlines, even despite your defiance of their order.

You flop onto the blanket as Feyd eases himself out of your spasming cunt. Your head is fuzzy, warm, and a dumb smile pulls at your lips.

Feyd chuckles. ‘I have not broken you, have I, little witch?’

You send him a look half as fierce as it should be. ‘Barely. You have merely sated me - for now.’

He laughs again, lying next to you on the blankets. His body is angled towards you, but he doesn’t reach out - that he lay down beside you is surprising to you in the first place, but you seize the opportunity and curl up in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin. Slowly, his fingers card through your hair, and you close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the moment of softness from the bloodthirsty na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Reaching out, you grab the blanket and fold it over the two of you - he rolls over so that he lies with his head resting on your chest. His lips brush the skin between your breasts, and you're struck by the glimpse of vulnerability that Feyd allows you to witness; this is not by accident, this is a gift from him, a way of silently telling you that he has come as close to trusting you as he could ever come to trusting someone.

Silent, you bask there in the afterglow, eyes half closed. At some point, you seek Feyd’s lips, and he obliges you, lazily exploring your mouth in a way he did not get a chance to do before, sighing contentedly as you trace the lines your nails carved along the grooves of his broad back. Eventually, you pull away, staring into his eyes where the embers of the fire that had blazed in them still glow with the heat of it. You need to go.

Gently, your breath mingling with his, you kiss his cheek, your lips gliding against his skin before you get up, briefly laughing at the wobbly nature of your legs before gathering your clothes and dressing as best as you can, considering he ripped your shirt all the way down the back.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s propped himself up on his elbows; the blanket has slipped down to reveal most of his moon coloured stomach, and he regards you with mirth mixed with something like respect.

You pause in the doorway. You can tell he’s letting you leave.

A smile plays on his lips.

‘We’ll meet again, little witch.’

It’s not a question, nor a whimsy. It’s a promise.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Tess's Treasures

18+, MDNI

Pairing: Tess x Joel x OC!Female x Female!Reader Summary: After perfecting the art of pickpocketing, you’re invited to join Tess’s Treasures. They’re infamous around the QZ and the initiation process is not what you expect, but exactly what you need. CW: If you’re not into foursomes/bi girl shit then you are in the wrong place. MFFF, bisexual females, fingering, masturbating, oral, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink. Unprotected p in v. Overstim and squirting. Please read this at your discretion. If this isn’t for you, that’s perfectly fine. AN: You can thank @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for being good little girls and filling my mind with depraved and twisted thoughts. This fic has truly been a labour of love, taking me almost 6 weeks to put together and edit. I'm not the least bit sorry about the word count, grab a snack, probably some electrolytes and maybe some spare batteries lol. Special shoutouts to @pedritoferg for their kind words when my imposter syndrome had the best of me. As always, dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Friendly reminder that I'm phasing out my tag list, follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for new fics.

Word Count: 9005

Becoming one of Tess’s Treasures seemed like a fallacy, a pipe dream. A fairytale life only reserved for the most vicious females that prowl the shady streets of the Boston QZ, and you aren’t a killer. A thief, yes; but not a killer. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure if the organization existed. Sure, Tess was a real person, but did she actually have a horde of women she called her Treasures? 

She was infamous in the seedy underbelly of Boston, her and her henchman Joel. Granted, no one ever seemed to see Joel, unless he was about to kill you. And sometimes not even then, he was often hiding in the shadows, shadows darker than the demons that allegedly haunted him.

Outbreak day happened when you were just little, you don’t remember much of the journey from your old hometown to Boston. Everyone here is poor, doing what they can to get credits to buy basic human needs; making trades and swaps were what most people did. You, however, were much more clever. After discovering a book detailing the art of sleight of hand you started practicing, and now you can take anything, right in front of someone's eyes, without them noticing. 

Or so you thought. After stealing a pistol from a FEDRA officer and replacing it with a banana, all while having a conversation with him in broad daylight, Tess approaches you.

“Come to my apartment next week. I wanna see if you have what it takes. Mum’s the word.” It’s a hushed whisper as she passes you, slipping a small card in your back pocket as she goes. 

You follow the cards' instructions, arriving at the exact time, going up to the top floor and then doing two quick, sharp knocks on the worn out door.

“Enter,” Tess says from inside. The door creaks on your way in. It’s the hottest day Boston has seen in years, and even in your small sundress, the room is stifling hot. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and something else that you can’t quite put your finger on. There’s a fan oscillating in the corner, the paint chipped off the cage that protects the blades. As it blows warm air past you, you realize that the other smell is sex. 

Tess is sitting on the couch to the right of the door, two mismatched wooden kitchen chairs in front of her. Straight ahead from the door is a small kitchen, and to the back left of the studio style apartment is the bed. Unmade, sheets tousled like someone just woke up, but based on the heady taste of the air in the room, the messy sheets are definitely from two people rolling around in them.

“Come sit,” Tess says firmly. You click the door shut behind you and head to the empty chair that’s waiting for you. The other chair is occupied by a small brunette woman. She has long slender limbs and doesn’t look like someone who would hang out with raiders, poachers and drug runners. Her hands are folded in her lap, ankles crossed under the chair. She doesn’t look over at you.

Tess leans forward, spreading her denim clad legs wide and resting her elbows on her knees. “Do you two know who I am?”

You both nod slowly. Up close, Tess is terrifying. She could have you killed with just a snap of her fingers, and Joel would do it however she wanted. From what you’ve heard, very slowly was her favourite way to have people eliminated from this earth. Quick deaths weren’t something she enjoyed when someone had fucked her over. 

“Speak!” she commands. The brunette jumps and even though you’ve mastered the art of pushing your fears down and masking your emotions, a small butterfly flaps its wings behind your navel. 

“Yes,” you say hoarsely as a meek ‘yes ma’am’ sounds beside you.

“Good. So then you know the….perks of being one of my Treasures,” Tess’s eyes twinkle as she says perks like she knows something you don’t. Like it’s more than the better living arrangements, food and medical care. Better than a sense of family and belonging.

She continues, “I’ve seen both of you at work. You,” her steel grey eyes are laser focused on yours, “With your quick hands, and you,” she adjusts her attention to the petite woman beside you, “With your ability to talk a man into almost anything. Before you can officially call yourself my Treasures, there’s a small matter of your…” Her voice trails, mouth ticking up on one side as she cocks her head and drags her eyes across both of your bodies.

“Well, your initiation.” She leans back onto the couch, knees falling wider. One arm drapes across the back, the worn cushion deflating slightly. The other rests on her thick, toned thigh. “I take care of my girls, but they need to show me that they can listen.”

The air seems thicker, and harder to fill your lungs with. Every move of her eyes is suggestive. Is she saying what you think she’s saying? You feel yourself begin to soak through your panties at the possibility of getting to fuck.

You aren’t left wondering for long as she points a long finger at the girl beside you, “Stand up, take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” the girl sputters. 

“I said to stand up and take off your fucking clothes,” the words almost seem to burn as she repeats herself. 

The girl stands so quickly that the chair falls, making a loud crash against the worn hardwood flooring. She stares at Tess for a moment, unsure if she should pick up the chair before she decides against it and pulls her blue cotton baby tee off, revealing a lacy white bra underneath. 

“That’s it,” Tess groans. “Take off those little shorts next.”

With shaky hands she moves to the button fly, each drag of the metal on denim seems to echo in the silent room. Tess licks her lips as she slides her shorts down her legs and kicks them to the side. “Come here,” Tess says, her voice already husky and deep. The woman walks over to Tess, stopping between her spread legs. Tess’s strong fingers grip the girl's hips and she gasps. “Turn around,” she urges, dragging her fingers along her hips as the mystery girl spins.

“What’s your name?” Tess asks. The girl's bright green eyes land on you and you see her breath hitch in her slender throat. She’s petite, probably a few inches shorter than you and at least a foot shorter than Tess. You’ve always been attracted to both men and women and there’s no denying that this little stranger is absolutely stunning. 

“Lydia,” she croaks.

“Are you nervous, Lydia?” Tess asks, cupping the globes of her ass in her hands, kneading and squeezing. Spreading them gently, exploring what she’s about to claim as hers. 

She nods her head and lets out a shaky moan of agreement.

“Go pick up your chair and sit down, Lydia.” Tess swats her bum as she walks away and Lydia yelps quietly.

Tess’s eyes now come to you. Staring straight into your soul. I’m sure if she could, her eyes would incinerate your clothes right off of you. It’s intoxicating. You, unlike Lydia, are not nervous. Not in the slightest. If anything, Tess’s attention on you only makes you wetter. Your panties are practically soaked through already. “And you, my little thief. What’s your name?”

You say your name confidently and squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease some of the ache that Tess’s newfound attention is bringing to the apex of your thighs.

Tess whispers your name back at you and it sends a shiver down your spine. She continues, “Get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

Lydia swallows loudly beside you as you drop to the floor, crawling seductively to Tess, head held high. The worn hardwood planks creak under your weight. Even the floor is warm and sticky from the weather. You make it to her, sitting back on your heels like the good little girl you are. She leans forward and tugs on the hem of your dress and her syrupy voice says, “Arms up”. You lift your ass slightly and she slips your dress up and over your head. It was too hot for a bra today so you’re left in just a lacy pink thong.

“Mmmm, look at those pretty tits,” Tess hums, her fingers gliding along the plush soft skin of your breasts before ghosting over your nipples making the arm whoosh from your lungs. “You like that? Me touching your nipples.”

You breathe out a yes, eyes shutting as she pinches your pebbled buds roughly. “Oh god, yes.”

The old worn couch groans as Tess sits back, “Go take her bra and panties off.”

You climb to your feet and walk over to Lydia, holding out a hand and helping her stand. You move behind her and trail your fingers down the soft skin of her spinal column before popping the clasp of her bra. Lydia slides it off her body, arms crossing to block her now exposed breasts. Goosebumps rise across her from head to toe. You shush her and rub up and down her arms. Lydia relaxes under your touch and she drops her arms, Tess nods at you once, a silent encouragement to continue. You get down on your knees, hooking your index fingers in the waistband of her panties and sliding them down. Her round ass is in your face, she smells like fresh linen and rain. You fight the urge to kiss the sensitive little spot right where her ass crack starts.

“So fucking beautiful. Sit back down, Lydia.” Tess says and you want to cry out in protest. Her body is so enticing, soft and warm. She focuses back on you and says, “Stand in front of Lydia so she can take your panties off.”

You stand gracefully, biting your bottom lip as you maneuver yourself in front of Lydia. “Spread your legs,” you whisper, determined to help her so you can put on the best show for Tess. Lydia parts her knees and you twirl to face Tess, gathering your hair in one hand as Lydia slides your soaked panties down your legs. You kick them to the side and seductively drop your hair, smiling sweetly at Tess.

“Sit,” Tess barks. Lydia gasps behind you, but you like this; being told what to do. Commanded. Used. Tess continues after you sit, “I want you both to touch yourselves. Show me how you like it, but don’t come. You haven’t earned that yet. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” Lydia says, looking down at her hands. You nod eagerly, already sliding your ass to the edge of the chair and spreading your legs wide for her. Tess stares at your glistening core hungrily, leaning forward again to rest her muscular forearms on her knees. Her hair falls forward and frames her face. Her expression is hard, like you don’t want to disobey her in these moments. Brows are slightly knit together, lips in a thin line. She looks beautiful and dangerous, but as you bring your pointer and ring fingers to your entrance she softens a little, cocking her head to the side slightly. 

Lydia keeps her legs closed, slipping a finger down her slit and rubbing slowly from side to side. She whimpers silently beside you, glancing at you nervously. Your fingers easily slip inside of your soft, dripping hole. 

Tess’s eyes dance between the two of you. “Two very different girls,” she says to the room, neither of you stopping what you’re doing, both determined to become a part of her Treasures. “One of you seems shy, but I can work with that. Help you get out of your shell. And then there’s you,” her focus locks on you as she gets up with a grunt and saunters over to you. “You are a little whore, aren’t you? So eager to please.”

You feel yourself getting wetter at her attention and mean words. She pets your head lightly a few times, laughing quietly at how you lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed. Just as your lashes hit your cheeks she grabs a handful, pulls hard and gets within inches of your face. “You’re going to be a problem, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you gasp, your orgasm right on the precipice, so you slow your motions. “I’ll be good, Tess.”

“Did I say you could slow down?”

“I - I’m gonna come,” you whine. 

“No, you’re not. You just told me you’d be good. And good girls don’t come until they’re told.” She releases your hair and you suck in a breath. Tess’s presence is palpable, she seems to take up all the space and air in the apartment by just being here. “Do NOT come, that’s an order.”

Just as the last sentence leaves her mouth the door opens and the apartment gets smaller, like your whole existence is being put in a vacuum sealer. The deep chuckle that comes from whoever just entered makes your scalp prickle, but you keep your focus on Tess.

“What’re we doin’ here, Tess?” The voice is deep, with a slight southern accent highlighting an occasional word. It can only belong to one man, the only man allowed near Tess’s Treasures. Joel Miller. He’s feared and revered in the Boston QZ. Runs the drug trade that keeps both FEDRA and the seedy underbelly running. You’ve never seen him before, but you’ve heard stories.

“Recruits,” Tess says, walking over to Lydia, crouching in front of her. “This one is shy. The other one - well, I might need your help with her.”

Your clit feels like it’s zapped with electricity at her threatening promises and you moan loudly, pausing your fingers that have been plunging in and out of you as per Tess’s requests. “See,” she says flatly, hands massaging Lydia’s plush tanned thighs. 

You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps as he walks towards you, you can feel his heat and smell the tobacco coming off his skin. When he steps into your line of vision everything blurs. He’s beautiful and dangerous, but overall he’s the most incredible specimen you’ve ever seen. Your brain seems to go blank, like a hard reset, until all you see and smell and care about is Joel. You keep your eyes locked on his face, his brows crease, lips pressed tightly together. He plants his hands on his hips as his coffee and whiskey eyes slowly trail down your body. When he gets to your soaked and swollen pussy he licks his lips. “You gonna let her come?” He asks Tess but doesn’t take his eyes off you.

The fog clouding your brain clears and you glance towards Lydia and Tess. She has her legs spread and Tess is smiling encouragingly up at her, hand on top of hers, teaching her where to touch. 

“She can come when she’s earned it. Lydia’s earned it though. Haven’t you?” She nods at Lydia as she squirms in the wooden kitchen chair. “That’s it, show us.”

Lydia speeds the up and down motion of her hand sloppily, you can hear the wetness as her movements become more erratic. Joel’s eyes haven’t left you, still watching you fuck your fingers in and out of yourself, almost mesmerized by you. 

“Tess,” Lydia murmurs.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Let me see that pretty little pussy twitch.” 

Lydia’s body starts to shake as she cries out, her hand slowing as she whines and moans, “Oh god. Oh god. Yesyesyes.”

You peel your eyes away from her and squeeze every muscle in your body as tightly as you can, holding on, not letting yourself come. Looking at Joel makes it nearly impossible not to tip over that very tantalizing edge, so you clamp your eyes shut. “Tess,” Joel says, his voice a baritone whisper. “You’re torturing this one, look at her.”

He’s right, she is torturing you; but, what Joel doesn’t know is that you love it. You love being denied just as much as you love being used. You love being pinned down or tied up. You love having your throat or pussy or ass fucked in any and all positions known to humankind. The world is a dark and horrible shit show, but sex? Ya, sex makes you feel alive. 

“Torturing her would be not letting her touch herself at all. She should be thanking me.” Tess turns her attention back to Lydia, helping her stand up and pulling her to the couch. “You did such a good job for me. You looked stunning as you fell apart.”

You open your eyes at the movement of them. They stop and stand facing each other in front of the couch as Tess removes her shirt, her breasts are small and perky with light pink nipples. Joel looks away from you, staring appreciatively at the woman he’s sworn to protect. She pops the button on her jeans. “Take them off her, Lydia. Tess shouldn’t have to work this hard,” Joel commands. 

You whimper at the timbre of Joel's voice when he’s giving instructions and his eyes whip back to you. “You like that, don’t you? Being told what to do.”

“Yes, oh god, please can I come Tess,” you cry, eyes still locked with Joels.

“Lydia is going to lick my pussy, Joel is going to move out of the way so I can see you, and when I say you can come I want you to be loud. I want to hear those slutty little moans. Got it?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate, stepping behind your chair. He must be leaning over you because you swear you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear. Tess sits on the couch and tugs at Lydia’s wrist gently, encouraging her to kneel in front of her. “Come on,” she whispers and then places her finger at the top of her pussy. “Just lick and kiss right here. You can do it.”

Lydia moves slowly, giving you a knowing glance over her shoulder as she gets into Tess’s desired position. You suddenly realize that she’s more clever than you initially thought. She’s not shy, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Tess likes to lead, so she acted like she needed the guidance. And now she’s come and you haven’t. Tess’s head falls back, jaw going slack as Lydia tastes her. 

“Does that turn you on?” Joel whispers, his warm breath hitting your neck. “Seeing Tess being eaten out. She deserves that every day, you know. She’s gonna take such good care of you, so you better care for her.”

“I will,” you mumble. “I’ll do whatever she needs. Whenever. Fuuuuck.”

“Look how wet you’re getting, I don’t think you can hold it for much longer.” He’s taunting you now. “Little thing loves to come, doesn’t she?”

“No, Tess gets to - oh god - she says when,” you’re squeezing as tight as you can, holding back the orgasm that’s right there, like a seesaw teetering, so close to tipping to the other side and slamming through you. 

Lydia slurps at Tess, you can hear her sucking at her clit as Tess moans and tangles her fingers into Lydia’s hair. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck, right there.”

You let out a breathy whine and Tess’s eyes come to you. “Ssshh, not yet. Oh shit, Lydia. So good.”

Joel laughs into your ear. “Just come, what’s the worst she’s going to do? Spank you? Let me fuck your throat? I bet you like being punished.”

You shake your head, trying to block out all the lewd mental images he’s creating. “No, Joel.” you huff, refocusing on holding it in, thinking of all the unsexy thoughts you can as you watch Tess, waiting for your time. 

Tess’s legs begin to shake, “get ready, baby. We are going to come together.” 

Your wrist begins to ache, it feels like you’ve been fucking yourself for hours. “I need to, please. You look so - “

She cuts you off, “Joel, take over for her. I’m gonna come.”

Joel practically leaps in front of you, grabbing your wrist and pulling your drenched fingers out while slipping his two thick fingers into your mouth. You bob up and down on his fingers still looking at Tess. Her eyes are glazed over, and a bead of sweat slides down the line of her toned stomach and lands in her belly button. 

“Now, Joel,” she whines and Joel wastes no time slamming his fingers inside of you. You cry out at the stretch, pleasure mixing with pain before he pumps his fingers forward. “Come right now,” Tess says. 

You look down at Joel, his thumb coming to caress your swollen bundle of nerves and you cry out, the room filled with your loud moans just like she wants. You hear both her and Joel encouraging you. Joel’s Texas twang washing over you,  “that’s it, fuckin clenchin. Fuck you’re so tight.”

Joel is relentless, curling and dragging his fingers in and out of you as you writhe in your chair. “Tess, oh god, yes.”

Joel's other hand slaps the inside of your thigh, “LOUDER!” he demands.

You squeal at the hot pain that splashes along your thigh, “hhnnngg, thank you. Fuck.” Your pleasurable moans turn into whines of pain as the overstimulation starts to seep in. You try to pull back and bring your knees together and Joel lets out a growl. He looks up at you dangerously and your stomach clenches. This is the wild, animalistic Joel Miller that everyone fears. 

You start to panic, he’s not stopping and you don’t know if you can take much more. You’re so wrapped in his onyx gaze and a mix of fear and arousal that you don’t notice Tess behind Joel until she speaks. Her voice is soft yet firm as she cards her fingers through his greying curls, “Joel, that’s enough.”

He blinks hard, seemingly coming out of some sort of trance, and then slips his fingers from you, strings of milky arousal coating his fingers. “Good boy,” she whispers. “Help her up, but you don’t get to touch either of them until I say so.”

He nods and then stands, helping you up. Lydia is lounging lazily on the couch, her face still glistening with Tess’s juices. Your knees shake underneath you and Joel wraps an arm around your waist. You’ve had plenty of orgasms in your life, but never one that deep and strong. Your pussy is aching and you just want to sleep.

Tess sits on the chair that Lydia was on and spreads her legs slightly. “Lydia,” she crooks her fingers at her, calling her over. “Turn around, pretty girl. Straddle my thigh.”

Lydia follows Tess’s instructions, that fake nervous pout of her lips on display for Joel. Clever, very clever, you think through heavy eyelids. 

“Joel, help her on the other thigh and bring that chair.” Joel guides and steadies you as you sit on Tess’s thigh, then places the extra chair in front of the three of you. “Use the chair for balance,” Tess instructs, her hand running up and down your spine gently. 

You both lean forward, your sweaty palms slipping slightly against the wooden chair. You both gasp quietly as your swollen clits press into her muscular thigh, as she caresses your backs and hips. Joel sits on the couch across from you, one arm draped across the back and his legs spread. He watches you intently, eyes blown out and curls sticking to his forehead. It’s not lost on you that he hasn’t focused much attention on the other girl. You look over at Lydia and she’s smiling flirtatiously at you. Your faces are just inches apart and she nudges at your nose with hers.

“Ladies,” Tess starts, “this is the part where you show Joel what you can do. He’s going to kill people for you, and when he does, you need to repay him.”

You graze your lips against Lydias, her skin tastes like peaches and Tess’s cunt. 

“Pretend my thigh is Joel's cock, show him how you’ll ride him.”

You flick your attention back to Joel, and his expression shifts from hard to a tortured need. You rake your eyes down his strong chest, still concealed by that fucking denim button up that you want to rip off with your teeth. He’s dangerous and could easily snap your neck with two fingers, but fuck, if that doesn’t make you want him more. Lydia presses her lips to your throat and you start to grind back and forth on Tess’s thigh. 

You continue to take in Joel’s body, stopping when you get to his lap. Your eyes widen at the distinct outline of his hard cock pressing behind the zipper of his jeans. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you lock eyes with him again. His coffee coloured irises are almost onyx as he shifts in his seat. He wants you - just as much as you want him, and you just hope that you can break him enough so Tess lets him have you. 

Tess’s strong hand travels up the smooth skin of your back, tangling her hands in the hair at the nape of your neck. “Tell Joel how good it feels, baby. Lydia, keep kissing her.”

Lydia’s lips suck at your skin. “Mmm, fuck Joel. Feels s’good. Wish it was your big cock filling me up, sliding in and out of my tight, wet pussy.” Tess tugs at your hair to open your neck more for Lydia and you yelp.

“Keep talking, baby girl,” Joel says, his hand moving to palm himself over his jeans. “Tell me what you want.”

You grind harder into Tess’s thigh, between the sting in your scalp from her hand, Lydia’s soft lips on your neck, and Joel’s intense stare, it almost becomes hard to breathe. Every bit of their attention is on you.

“I-I want you to, mmmm, to pin me down,” you take in a shaky breath, never taking your eyes off him. “To f-fuck me…from behind. Want you to f-fill, oh god, fill me.”

Joel pops the button of his jeans, reaching down his pants to grip himself through his tight grey boxers. You continue breathily, “Wanna feel you spank me. Slam inside of me. Dominate me.”

“Good girl,” Tess says, releasing her grip on your hair and pulling Lydia off your neck, before pressing in between your shoulder blades until you’re flush with her thigh. You crane your neck to keep your eyes on Joel, looking at him through the wooden slats of the back of the chair in front of you. “Your turn, Lydia. Tell Joel what you want.”

She clears her throat before beginning, “If he killed for me, I wouldn’t make him do any work. I’d lay him down, lick and kiss every inch of him before sliding him in my mouth. Taking him deep, cradling his balls with my hand. I’d swallow every drop.”

Joel lets out a noncommittal grunt, almost like a secret language between him and Tess. Joel leans forward and removes his denim button up and t-shirt in one swoop. His tanned and toned chest makes your mouth water. His chiselled pecs and soft belly have trimmed salt and pepper hair dusted across them, he toes off his shoes and then lifts his hip, sliding his jeans down his legs. His skin glistens with sweat and you want to lick it all off of him, drink up his salt and musk, his innate Joel-ness. 

“Come here, Joel.” She says. 

“Sit up,” she says softly to you. Joel stalks forward like he’s about to claim what’s his and your pussy clenches around nothing in hopes that it’s you.

“Ride my thighs, girls. Whoever cums first, Joel gets to fuck.” You spit into your hand and reach between your legs, gently spreading your lips and coating yourself in saliva.

A deep, “holy fuck” leaves Joel's lips at the sight of you. Yes, he definitely wants you just as much as you want him. You move your hands from the chair to Tess’s knee and grind your hips in small, slow circles. Your arms push your tits together for Joel. Beside you, Lydia stops moving. She sits as still as a statue, looking over her shoulder seductively at Tess. A loud slap fills the room, followed by a lust filled moan that you didn't think Lydia was capable of. 

“Tess,” she says, all airy and breathy. Her tone feels sweet on your skin. “I don’t like sleeping with men.” 

You keep grinding, your focus on Joel. He’s so close that you could reach out and grab one of his muscular forearms. You’re going to fuck him. You want to fuck him. Any way he wants. Any hole he wants. None of it matters, you just want to feel him, smell him, taste him. 

Tess lets out an impressed sigh. “You’re even more amazing than I thought, Lydia. Had me telling you how to lick a pussy, how to touch yourself. But you already know. Don’t you?” She slaps Lydia’s ass again and the loud noise even has you clenching. Fuck, you want Joel to spank you. Or Tess. Even Lydia at this point. 

It’s wrong. And taboo. But who can say what’s right or wrong in this new world anymore? 

“You are going to have to do things for Joel, little temptress. It’s part of the deal.” You see Tess’s hands come to Lydia’s hips, encouraging her to grind at the same pace you’ve set. “So ride me. Let me feel that slick little pussy, let me feel it quiver on my thigh.” 

Things are quiet for a moment, just the squelching sounds of both your cunts gliding along her smooth thigh. You lean into Lydia, desperate for more. More what, you aren’t sure. Just more.

She responds to your touch, her nose brushing your cheek before you turn into her and kiss her deeply. Slanting your head to taste her tongue against yours. She’s sweet, like strawberry jam. Lips so soft they almost don’t feel real. Her teeth clamp onto your bottom lip and you cry out. The perfect amount of pain to increase the pleasure between your legs. When she lets go you’re panting. 

“She’s close, Tess,” Joel murmurs like he knows your body so well, but he’s not wrong. He continues speaking casually to Tess as if you aren’t in the same room. “Do I really get to fuck her if she cums first?” 

You grind down harder, kissing Lydia again. You love them talking about you as if you aren’t here. Making the decisions for you. 

“As soon as she cums, you take her to the bed.” Tess’s strong hand lays a sharp slap on the meaty globe of your ass and you crumble. 

“YES!” You scream, convulsing as the pleasure courses through you. You look up at Joel through your lashes, jaw slack, voice weak and desperate. “Joel. Please. Please.” 

He drops his boxers and his thick cock spring free. Slapping against his belly. The tip is smooth and leaking, he’s bigger than you thought and somehow your throat dries out as your cheeks fill with saliva. As you come down from your second orgasm you realize that you can do this. You are going to do whatever Tess says and become one of her Treasures. 

“Think you can take him?” Tess hums as Lydia falls apart beside you, moaning sweetly. Tess adds, “Good girl, Lydia. So perfect when you cum.”  

You decide to take a page out of Lydia's book and act innocent. “N-no,” you stammer. “It’s…I don’t…it’s too big.” 

Joel snorts, “You’re not a very good liar my little slut.” 

Before you can respond he’s lifted you up and over his broad shoulder. His skin is warm against your belly. You giggle mischievously as his hands dig into the plush skin on the back of your thighs. He can so easily overpower you, so easily destroy you - mentally and physically. And you’d let him, and to make it worse, you’d thank him afterwards and probably ask him to do it again. 

He drops you on the bed. “Don’t move.” 

You nod and swallow the dry lump in your throat. You definitely want this, even if you shouldn’t. Even if that logical voice inside your head is screaming at you to put up the wall, block him out like you do with everyone else. But the infinitesimal hint of softness in his face that can only be seen by the two of you keeps you sucked in. He won’t hurt you, no. Something in his eyes gives him away, he wants to please you with those hands that have brought pain and torture to so many others. 

He walks back over to Tess and Lydia who are completely entranced with one another. Lydia is now sitting fully in Tess’s lap. Her back pressed to Tess’s front, both her legs draped over Tess’s as she pressed kisses along the tops of one of her shoulders and rubs her fingers gently from her pussy up to Lydia’s. Joel kneels in front of them, both of their legs spread, wet pussy’s glistening and on display for him. The sight of Joel Miller on his knees does something unexplainable to you. He’s so goddamn delicious. 

He looks over at you again, that softness still coaxing you deeper into his web, tangling around you, claiming you. His large hands cup Tess’s inner thighs and then he dives into both their pussy’s. Jealousy swirls in your stomach as he draws a sloppy wet line from Tess’s entrance to her clit, then up to Lydia in the same manner. 

“Oh, fuck Joel,” Tess cries as Lydia whimpers.

“Too much, baby?” he says gruffly to Lydia who nods before burying her face into the crook of Tess’s neck. “Little more, m’kay?”

He licks at them again, Tess’s moan ending as Lydia’s starts. Joel doesn’t stop. He uses long languid and lazy strokes of his tongue as he eats at both of them.

“J-Jo - fuuuck Joel!” Tess murmurs, her head falling back and mouth falling open in a silent scream. She wraps her arms tightly around Lydia as her legs start to tremble. Joel’s deltoids and biceps flex as he pushes to keep her thighs apart.

“Fuck, Tess.” Lydia purrs, “You look so goddamn hot when you cum. Suck on her clit, Joel. Make our girl squeal.” You can hear him slurp her swollen and twitching nub into his mouth. As it slips along his soft and puffy lips her pained sounding moans start to become mumbles of pleasure. Joel works her through her orgasm, not stopping until he knows she's good and sated.  

Lydia reaches back, twisting to kiss Tess deeply and then whispers into her lips. Whatever she says gets Joel's attention and he releases her clit with a pop before looking up at the two women. You haven’t moved from where Joel left you, as fun as being a brat is, he could probably dish out a punishment so intense that even you would break and use whatever safe word he gave you. Lydia whispers more, Joel smirks at whatever she’s saying and then the three of them all slowly turn to look over at you.

Fuck

Joel stands, his hands coming to the outsides of Tess’s knees and guiding her as she closes her legs, then he gives a hand to Lydia to help her stand before repeating the same with Tess. He stands tall and broad, completely naked and fully erect between these two powerhouse women, linking his fingers with Tess and smiling over at her. She gives him a little nod and your stomach flips as your pussy clenches.

This is it, you think.

“Little slut,” he says deeply, “‘M’gonna fuck you now, while they hold you down. Understood?”

You try to say yes, but just air seems to leave your lungs. Tess and Lydia climb along each side of you, hooking their arm under your leg and pulling back to open you for Joel. Your arms are trapped under their bodies as they lay beside you.  You’re pinned and exposed; fully at Joel, Tess and Lydia’s mercy. 

The bed dips as Joel settles between your thighs, his large body looms over you, resting himself on one forearm beside your head, his other hand wrapped around his cock, running it up and down your folds.

“So wet for me. So soft,” he presses the fat tip of his cock at your entrance and you gasp. “Shit! S’tight too, baby girl.”

Tess and Lydia nuzzle into you, lightly dragging their noses along your neck and jawline. “J-Joel, fuck me. Pleaseplease. Fuck me”

Joel presses his hips forwards, and the thick, smooth mushroom head of his cock pushes at your weeping cunt again. “Look at me, little slut,” he rasps. You don’t hesitate, look at him with big innocent eyes, biting your lower lip. He spits into his palm and then coats his throbbing dick with it, fisting himself up and down. He raises an eyebrow at you cockily, “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, please!”

Without warning Joel slams into you, stretching you painfully and your body jolts. You try to slam your knees together but the naked women on each side of you keep you spread open widely for Joel. “Shit baby,” he says through gritted teeth as his body folds over yours, his hands caging all three of you in. Tess nips at your neck, while Lydia sucks at your earlobe after whispering, “Relax, little slut, we all got you.”

Your lungs slowly come back to you. You take a deep, full breath in, and it feels like you haven’t taken a proper breath since seeing Joel for the first time. As you exhale you’re completely surrounded by Joel Miller. His large body is all you can see and feel. Meanwhile, all you can taste and smell is his tobacco scent and the salt of the sweat that coats his tanned skin. You’re addicted, you want to be able to inject him right into your veins. Your pussy relaxes around him and the pain ebbs into pleasure, and you need more.

“More, please more,” you murmur into his neck.

“There she is,” Tess whispers in your ear and you whimper.

“Say it again,” Joel commands.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you cry. “Please, fuck me. Make me your little slut for real.”

Lydia giggles seductively in your ear, pulling you into her tighter.

“Open her all the way for me,” he says to the other two. “S’too tight for me.”

He sits himself up and your knees are pulled open and back. Joel keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tilts his chin a bit and splits on your already soaked pussy. His veiny hands come to the back of your thighs, squeezing and massaging at your sensitive skin.

“Think I should fuck her, Lydia?” He starts, and soon they’re talking about you again as if you aren’t even there, the slick walls of your cunt fluttering as they speak.

“She's been good, hasn’t she?” Lydia says in a syrupy aroused tone.

“No she hasn’t,” Tess says between kisses along your jawline. “She’s a thief. She’s a bad girl.”

Joel slaps the inside of one of your thighs, with just enough of a flick in his wrist that it immediately sends a zap of pleasure toward your clit. Lydia feels you relax more into her grips, “She likes it when you hit her, Joel”.

“Of course she does,” Tess moans. “She’s a little slut.” She hits the t at the end of the word hard and Joel slaps you again. Right in the same spot, precision that you’ve never known before from a man who kills without being seen. 

“Should feel how tight she is, maybe she had us fooled,” Joel says, eyes shifting between the two women, wholly avoiding your gaze. You’re so desperate for his attention, and the humiliation of him not returning it arouses you so much more than it should.

“What’d’ya mean, baby boy?” Tess asks, her warm breath hitting your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Like a virgin, squeezin’ me like a vice.”

“She’s shakin,” Lydia adds. “Poor girl.”

“You two don’t stop kissing her while I do this,” they both nod and he flips his attention back to you. “I wanna hear you screamin’. Got it, little slut?”

You shudder under his intense stare. “Yes, yes, Joel. Please, just fuck me. Pleeease!”

He pulls halfway out and then slams back in, his heavy balls slap at your taint and asshole, your needy high pitched moans filling the room. Your whole body constricts around Joel and as it relaxes it feels like heaven. No one has made your body feel like this. “That feel good?” Joel says tauntingly, his hands gripping into the back of your thighs.

“Please - fuck, yes. More,” you mumble, almost incoherently. 

“Show our girl, Joel. Show her what he can have once she’s my Treasure.” Tess commands.

What’s that saying, ‘You say jump, I say how high’? Well, when Tess says jump, Joel is already mid jump, doing it exactly how Tess wants it. He’s already dragging his cock out slowly, all the way to the tip, before slamming fast and hard back into you.

“Harder,” Tess growls, biting your neck as Joel repeats the motion. Lydia squirms against you, her soft warm skin slipping along the thin sparkling layer of sweat that coats your body. “Look at her. Pliant, soft. Letting Joel do whatever he wants.”

“That’s cuz she’s a good girl,” Lydia moans, kissing the sensitive skin under your earlobe. 

Joel brings one of his hands to cup your chin, his thumb running around your bottom lip softly. “Gotta relax for me, little slut.”

You take a breath and as you exhale you can feel the grip your pussy has on his thick cock loosen. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

“Good job, baby girl,” Tess whispers, kissing at your throat again. 

“Fuck her now, Joel.” Lydia says, “We got her.”

Joel sets a quick pace, slamming in and out of you. His name and a string of swears leaving your lips with every thrust, just the screams of your pleasure and the squelching of your pussy filling the room. Tess and Lydia whisper praises as Joel is possessed by your cunt. Pounding and pounding into you without pause. Over and over, he’s relentless. A man possessed. You can’t help but wonder if he’s like this with all other women or if this is just for you. His hand falls from your chin, landing beside Tess’s head on the mattress, the other still gripped to your thigh. His short nails dig into your skin, leaving you marked with signs of him. 

“That’s it,” Lydia hums. “Taking it like such a good girl.”

Tess’s teeth lightly scrape at your jawline. “Come on, baby. I wanna see you come again.”

“So fuckin’ pretty when you come,” Joel says each word at the end of his harsh thrusts. His voice is gravelly and deep. Seeping under your skin and into your DNA, the very fabric of your being. You belong to him, no questions asked.

“M-more. I - more - please.” You aren’t sure what you mean by more, but Joel seems to know your body better than you as he sits himself back up and brings his thumb to your clit, teasing it gently and you writhe under him. It’s almost too much but you need it, and even more, you need Joel not to stop.

He hammers into you again, slower this time, but still with an intense flick of his hips at the end. The leaking tip of his cock pressing against the perfect spongy part behind your clit.

“Can see you in her stomach, Cowboy.” Tess moans. Both the women feather long, lingering kisses along your neck. The juxtaposition of their soft actions and the bruising dance of Joel’s hip is just as confusing as it is arousing. 

“Rub her clit a little harder, Joel. I think she’s getting close.” You clench around him at Lydia’s words and cry out loudly. 

He swirls his thumb easily along your lubricated clit, the mixture of both of your arousals and his spit making it slippery. “Ohgod, hnnnnggg, J-Joel pleasepleaseplease.”

“Sssshhh, baby,” he soothes, pausing with his hips pushed flush to your ass. “Gotta relax, remember?”

You whimper in agreement, nodding your head as you try to slow your breathing and your heart rate. “There she goes,” Joel moans as your pussy walls flutter and then relax.

He starts to fuck you slowly, circling your swollen velvety nub with the rough pad of his thumb. His other hand leaves your thigh, massaging your breast, pinching at the nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. Gonna fill you one day.”

“Today, please!” you protest through a salacious moan.

“Tell her,” he says to the women holding you in their arms, speeding up the circles of his thumb.

“Lydia,” Tess whispers, like it’s a secret just for the three of you, “Tell her your plan.”

You’re lost in a daze as Lydia says your name into your skin. When you don’t respond she nips gently at you and says, “Baby? You with me?”

“Y-yes. Fuuuuuuck,” you say wantonly.

“Joel is gonna make you cum, then pull out and cum all over our faces. After, we are going to lick it all off each other.” She says it with a hint of mischief and lust in her voice.

The three of them praise and encourage you as Joel keeps fucking you and rubbing your clit at the same time. You have no idea how long you’ve been in this apartment, how long you’ve been floating on a vibrating fluffy cloud of pleasure and craving. Whispers of “Good girl��, “so pretty”, and “fuck listen to how wet you are” travel through you.  

The electric currents of pleasure that sizzle along your skin all come to the base of your spine. Pressure building, so very close to exploding around all of you. “Come on, little slut. Let go for me.”

Lydia and Tess say ‘Come on’ and ‘relax into it’ at the same time.

“Shit, J-Joel,” you whimper. A tear runs down your cheek.

“I know, I’m here,” he says, voice slightly softer than earlier. “I know.”

The pressure becomes unbearable and then everything snaps. Your pussy flutters as the pleasure starts to consume every single inch of your being. Your vision blurs, every muscle going lax as you twitch unconsciously underneath him. 

“Good girl. Yes, that’s my good little slutty girl,” he growls. Your orgasm continues to tear through you, ripping you in half and you know when you come down only Joel will be able to stitch you back up again. 

Joel presses his large palm to your mound, and just as you feel yourself start to come down you’re on the precipice of another orgasm. “Got another one for me, baby?”

“Yesyesyes - yeeesss,” you’ve forgotten words, you’re just a bundle of pleasure. No muscles or bones or thoughts of your own. Just a pliant body, that’s fully under the control of Joel Miller. 

Your second orgasm hits you hard, tearing anything you had left in half. “She’s gonna squirt,” Joel mumbles.

“Just let it go,” Lydia whispers, suckling on your earlobe. 

You push into the feeling, letting it overtake you as liquid gushes from your cunt, coating Joel's pelvis and pooling on the bed below you. It splashes as Joel keeps up his pace. You scream out in pleasure. Lydia and Tess talking you through it quietly, “Good girl. Stay relaxed for me,” Tess says as Lydia adds, “Let it take you, we’re right here.”

The pleasure starts to ebb, it’s becoming too much as Tess whispers, “Breathe, baby girl. Just breathe.”

“Can’t, Tess.” you whimper, turning your face towards her. “Please,” you plead. If you learned anything from earlier, it’s that only Tess can make him stop. 

“Ok, baby, you’re ok,” she hums. She looks up at Joel above all of you and drops her voice, “That’s enough now, Joel.”

Joel pulls away from your clit and you sigh in relief, both his hands coming to your breasts, squeezing them roughly as his thrusts become sloppy. “Get ready,” he huffs through gritted teeth. Both Tess and Lydia scoot up so their faces are pressed against yours.

Joel slips out of you with a lewd pop and practically bends you in half to get over your faces. “Open your mouths and look at me,” he commands. The three of you obey, anything for the man who is going to kill for you or defend you to the very end if need be. 

His hand is tight around his cock, pumping himself quickly, the cords of muscle and veins along his forearm start to pop. His balls are full and heavy, tight against his body as he edges closer to his release. You stare at him, soaking in how wrecked he looks as he gets closer. His brows pinch together, onyx and whiskey flecked eyes looking only at you before his face goes lax and he lets out a deep, loud moan. Warm ropes of opaque white cum paint your faces.

As soon as he’s done he pulls away, Tess and Lydia letting go of your legs as the three of you kiss and lick at each other's sticky faces. Joel tastes better than you could have imagined, a heady mix of saltiness that leaves you insatiable for more.

Joel sits back on his heels watching the three of you slurp him up. He has a proud smirk on his face and when your eyes find his he winks at you before getting up and grabbing a towel off the top of the small dresser near the bed. Tess says something hushed to Lydia as you and Joel look at one another. Lydia pressed a kiss to your cheek before getting off the bed and following Tess into another room, the unmistakable sound of the shower alerting you to where they’ve gone.

Joel climbs beside you, looking down at you hesitantly. “You ok?” he whispers.

“Ya,” you sign sleepily. “I’m ok, Joel.”

He brings the towel to your thighs, soaking up your arousal. “I didn’t hurt ya?”

The towel ghosts along your swollen folds and you gasp, turning your head into Joel’s strong upper body. “I know, sorry.” He hisses, hating that he’s causing you discomfort. “But I gotta clean you up.”

He dabs gently with the soft towel causing an aftershock that shakes through your body and you feel yourself squirt again. Not nearly as much this time but a euphoric moan leaves your lips. Joel tucks the towel between your legs and guides your face up to meet his. His brown eyes burn themselves into your soul, “do you need more, baby? Just tell me.”

“It’s sensitive,” you whine.

He lifts an eyebrow slightly, “does it hurt?”

You stick your bottom lip out and nod sadly.

“Need me to kiss it?” he asks gently, his hooked nose rubbing against yours. 

You look at him hesitantly. Of course, you want Joel’s plush lips on your pussy, but a flap of a butterfly wing could probably cause you to implode at this point. 

“You can say another time,” he whispers, lips hovering over yours. He doesn’t know where this side of him has come from. Joel Miller is a simple man. Murder who Tess says, fuck any one of her Treasures that offer to get the adrenaline out afterwards, then leave them in their apartment pumped full of his cum. He usually can’t wait to rush back to his apartment to take a shower and shoot back a mix of whiskey and sleeping pills. But with you, he feels the need to care for you afterwards, and he has a strong feeling that you’re going to be a very large distraction in his life from now on. 

I’m fucked, he thinks to himself.

You lean forward to sponge your lips against his. He kisses you sweetly, pulling you in tighter as you hum contently into his lips.

“I don’t think I can tonight,” you say softly after breaking the kiss. 

“That’s ok, little slut.” He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re resting on top of him. Legs straddling his hips and your head resting on his chest. You shiver against him, tucking your arms into your body. His hands scramble for the blanket, wrapping it around the two of you, kissing the top of your head. “Tomorrow, after Tess officially makes you her Treasure, that will be your gift from me.”

You nod into his chest, he smells like gunpowder, fresh sawdust and sweat as your eyelids become heavy and the world seems to slip away. You have trouble sleeping normally, I mean who wouldn’t in this fucked up new world you’re all in, but with Joel, it happens almost too easily. Sleep just takes you to a deep and uninterrupted place for who knows how long. But when you wake you’re in a large grey t-shirt in a small bedroom, not the same one you fell asleep in. You hear the peaceful and melodic breathing of someone beside you. You move slowly, peeling open your eyes to see Joel sleeping beside you. The moonlight dances softly along his face, grey hairs glinting in the light. He looks so peaceful, nothing like the man that was crazed by your pussy early. He’s still visibly dangerous, but fuck is he beautiful. 

I’m fucked, you think to yourself.

Tag list:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 

@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

@lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog

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@javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey

@iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

[ectologia]

love your stuff!! would you be ok with making something about bakugo just being a bully?

HARD TIMES

KATSUKI BAKUGOU X F!READER

𝐂𝐖 ♱ DUBCON/NONCON, BULLYING, ABUSE, SWEATY ARMPITS, PISS, HUMILIATION, MISOGYNY, SIZE KINK, SIZE DIFFERENCE, CRUEL NICKNAMES, DEGRADATION, OBJECTIFICATION, PROFANITY

“Hey.”

You shuffle down the corridor quicker at the deep, rumbling snarl. Twisting the straps of your bag tighter in your clammy fists as you take long, purposeful strides, almost skipping in your steps.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” A heavy palm lands on your shoulder, squeezing like a python once your back collides with the wall.

Your eyes follow the stocky blonde’s form all the way up his hard chest, chasing to confirm the two crimson rubies placed atop his tanned features like the gems of a crown.

Bakugou juts his chin upwards in an abrasive fashion the moment you whimper under the pressure of his fingertips.

“I didn’t see you in math today.”

You sweep his hand off, shuffling backwards beneath his stoic gaze. “I.. Uhm.. I switched classes..” You mumble, barely coherent under your meek breath.

“Why’s that.”

It’s not a question, nor does he care for an answer.

One thudding foot after another and he’s in your shadow, looming over you like the sun swallowing the moon.

Two thick biceps come to rest by your spinning head, propped against the wall at the perfect angle for the heady stench of his sweaty armpits to suffocate you in the tight space.

“I’m disappointed, I was looking forward to seeing my little cock-sock today.”

You turn, raising a defensive fore-arm. “Please, Bakugou. Not today, I—”

He curls a set of scarred fingers around the flimsy joint, stretching it upwards until he has you pinned like a butterfly, helpless and vulnerable against the wall.

“What’s my name?” He scoffs.

You squeal once the calloused digits tense, popping and rolling your delicate bones in a painful hug.

“Katsuki! Katsuki!”

His fist goes limp once again. “There we go.. stupid bitch.”

The heavy appendage drops back down to his side, as does yours. You rub at the red stripes left across your skin, encouraging the blood to pool back into your veins.

“I ain’t got much time, training’s in 20 minutes.”

“Huh?” Your head snaps up, brows knitted in pardon.

His eyes roll in their sockets. “Get your pussy out, need to fuck something.”

Panic strikes and you’re flinching away.

“Hey, stop acting like such a little victim — just spread ‘em.”

It takes him less than 3 seconds to do it himself. You’re hoisted up onto the window-sill with one large palm splayed across your ass, while the other comes down to paw at the fabric stretched across your chubby mound.

“Thought I told you to stop wearing these shitty shorts under your skirt.”

“I can’t, they’re part of the uniform policy!”

“Blah, blah, bitch.” He tugs at the black spandex. “All I’m hearing is you want your pussy lips burnt off.”

The fibres twang and snap under the crackling heat of his quirk, disconnecting until a grand burning hole is left in the garment.

“Katsuki!”

“That’s me.” He snickers with a toothy grin, pulling away to inspect the tiny slit between your legs.

“Did you get looser?” He cleaves the swollen folds apart, hooking two thumbs around the gooey rim of your pussyhole.

You tuck your chin into your chest, frowning down at his ministrations.

“Only joking babe.” He spanks your clit, chuckling at the way your legs jump. “She’s still good for another fuck or two.”

He wastes no time, pulling the stiff length of his fat dick out to slap against your puffed up pussy.

“Let’s do this quick, yeah? Don’t really wanna be seen piping a loser, no offence.”

You’re swung back and forth by the hinges of your knees with your feet left dangling in the air, clumsily knocking his back with every hop.

His hips clap against the crease of your thighs, pumping in and out of your sloppy cunny as the bulbous head of his cock pokes at your cervix.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. Bounce that fat-ass back on me, just like that.” He howls through the thin space of his pursed lips, huffing and puffing as he lifts you up and down on his prick.

“B— Katsuki!”

“Shh, shut up.”

He squeezes your face in between his fingers, smothering your mouth in an attempt to keep your cries to a minimum.

A dewy sheen bubbles along his hairline, darkening the beach blond spikes until the ends droop from the humidity. The way his large frame tips forward to knock his sweaty forehead against yours has you mewling, clawing at his shoulders for stability and some form of comfort as he uses you like his own girlie little flesh-light.

“Mmh.. Fuck on it, fuck on that cock, fuck on that big fat monster cock.”

His rapid thumping slows to a mellow pace as a ponderous expression befalls him. “All this humping’s making me need a piss.”

At this, you yelp. Thrashing around in his arms like a fish out of water.

He takes one step, two steps, towards the window until you’re squashed and squished against the glass.

“Well done piggie. You’ve just been promoted to Katsuki Bakugou’s new toilet.”

The torrid stream has you feeling almost bloated, on the brink of bursting as you’re pumped full off cock and piss, dribbling and squirting out of the tiny seam left in the space that Katsuki has yet to fill. Your toes curl and cripple from the positively sickening warmth of his urine spraying out of your cunt, sloshing around in what you can only assume is your womb.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff…” His ears twitch at the sensation of releasing inside your body.

Your head lounges against your shoulder, floating in and out of consciousness until a stinging smack to your cheek has you shaking yourself awake.

“You passin’ out on me already?” He adjusts his position, bringing your pliable, fucked-out body closer towards his chest.

“I ain’t even cum yet, baby.”

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Late

Vox x FReader

CW: Smut, P in V sex, fingering, edging, overstimulation, erotic electrostimulation, semi public, fairly vanilla after hours office smut, lots of praise and various (excessive) endearments used... praise kink go brrr.

fic below the cut.

I hope you all enjoy your hot TV dinner.

Vox sat in his office working late one evening, focused on the screens before him, observing the general objects of his interest outside of the tower, he is consciously aware of the time due to the noises or rather lack of, in the areas outside his main (socially friendly) office. 

Rubbing a clawed hand wearily over his screen he sighs; he resigns himself to the fact there’s probably no more he can do so late in the day, and it be conducive to his productivity. 

So, he stands on heavy feet and exits his office, blinking a few times when he spots a certain little sinner diligently working away at their desk. This one seems to work as hard as he does these days, he wonders why for a moment, after all everyone else can’t seem to get away from work fast enough... Yet you... You linger. 

You look up and blink in surprise, having not noticed him leaving his office at first, and this is actually pretty early for him to make an appearance, usually he’s engrossed in his work until a much later hour. 

You shiver slightly at his intimidating posture, Vox is just standing and staring at you, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. You restrain yourself from reacting. It wouldn’t do well to give away how his mere presence affects you, especially not knowing how he... Or specifically his other male counterpart, might react if he found out exactly why it is you linger so late in the office night after night. 

Your thighs tense slightly under the desk, the safest move possible and it does help alleviate some of the ache within. 

“Can I help you sir?” You manage to pipe up as formally as possible, slightly unnerved and hyper aware of the isolation surrounding you both as has been a frequent occurrence lately. 

“Mhm.” Vox nods, his eyes scanning over you, you think perhaps hungrily, or rather you half hope, as he seems to maintain his composure with what appears to be effortless ease. 

 He takes a step closer, his voice low and husky, his glowing eyes trained upon you as he speaks. You try to manage your breathing to stay level as his scent hits your nose; slightly metallic, maybe a hint of something more but very subtle, his cologne overpowered by the heady smell of fuel or perhaps oil, your mouth waters slightly, it's an addicting smell either way, subtle but almost hypnotic... Just as he can be. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, Doll. Your work ethic is truly... inspiring.” His words are dripping with innuendo, your heart races, and eyes dilate, and, in your head, you panic, thinking over and over again ‘It’s happening’. There’s also an underlying sincerity that betrays his true feelings, one you don't seem to notice, but is a little too exposing for his comfort. 

He leans in slightly, his breath hot against your ear as he continues. “And those... ‘assets’ of yours. Absolutely fascinating. I can’t help but wonder how, you came up with such... efficient productivity plans.” His voice is barely above a whisper now, filled with desire and obsession, he idly thinks to himself how he would love to feel your ‘assets’ pressed against him. 

You shiver slightly at his proximity, his breath ghosting the nape of your neck and goosebumps erupting all over your skin, your heart pounding at his suggestive tone, you must restrain yourself from moaning out loud and embarrassing yourself. 

Vox straightens up, his grin turning wicked as he meets your gaze, knowingly guessing correctly his effect on you, after all there’s a reason you’ve also been working late, and it definitely isn’t due to your work ethics.  

Vox ploughs on... “You see, my dear, I can’t get you out of my head lately. I’ve been wondering if perhaps you also have been having the same... challenges I have seemingly been ‘blessed’ with upon our frequent encounters... And I’ve decided I’m done waiting and second guessing... I want you Doll, I’m not going to waste time beating around the bush, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine, name it and it’s yours.” 

You blush, as your boss leans closer, his heat making your heart race, his smirk widening as he sees the evidence of his effect on you, your blush, your tense body, the small bumps forming along your skin, the slight shiver and submissive tilt of your head, he feels his cock hardening, already desperate to find out just how good you feel wrapped around it, not a new feeling, but one he feels much closer to achieving, now more than ever. 

Vox steps even closer, looming over you now, his chest almost touching yours as he bends and speaks in a low, husky voice. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you blush, Doll? Do you have any idea what that does to me... What you do to me? It’s like you’re inviting me to take you, to taste you.” 

You’re utterly mesmerised, speech unable to form as you bathe in his ever-present glow, his large frame dwarfing you, making you feel delicate and ready to melt just for him, the moisture between your legs already way ahead of you. 

Vox’s sharp, cyan-tipped fingers reach out, a moment of unnoticed hesitation on his end before gently brushing against your cheek and tracing down your neck, your breath hitches, your heart pounding so hard your vision blurs and ears feel muffled.  

“And your pulse... it’s racing. Are you afraid of me, my dear?” Vox teases, his fingers lingering right where your heart betrays you, he knows that the exact opposite is true, if his scent receptors were more sensitive, he would no doubt be able to smell the arousal currently pooling in your underwear, filling the office with such a fragrance you’d be utterly humiliated to be found as the source. You try desperately to control your reactions, trying so hard not to embarrass yourself. 

Vox smiles devilishly, leaning in even closer, his lips mere centimetres from yours, breath tickling your lips, his own heady scent wafting up your nostrils, making your eyes want to roll back and for you to present yourself like a bitch in heat, as he whispers, tantalisingly. 

“Or are you excited by just the mere thought of being mine?” His glowing blue tongue darts out provocatively, your eyes greedily following the suggestive action, a slight whimper escapes, making you blush even harder, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but the look on his face says everything. 

Vox’s screen flickers suddenly displaying various images of the two of you together in intimate scenarios, revealing his deepest fantasies and desires in just a fraction of a second, but enough for you to see, your whole body goes hot at his intentional display. 

You stammer over your words, attempting to communicate, utterly enthralled and speechless... You whimper slightly as his body heat radiates even closer to you, the main source... His screen... You lean forward unconsciously seeking the warmth... And him. 

Vox smirks, noticing your reaction to his advances. He takes advantage of your momentary vulnerability, closing the gap between your faces until his lips are almost touching yours. “You want me, don’t you, Doll?” He whispers, his hot breath mingling with yours. 

You visibly shiver, his grin widens impossibly further as you gaze up at him, your brain short circuiting. 

Emboldened by your reactions thus far, Vox’s fingers continue their exploration, taking a huge gamble but he doubts he’s read you wrong, moving down to gently cup your breast through your clothing. 

He feels you arch into his touch slightly in response, and it only makes him more determined to claim you, your whimper assures him his advances are not unwelcome. He marvels at the soft pliant feel of you in his hands, all just for him... Just the way he likes it. 

Vox is certainly glad you seem to take the time to work as late as he does, (whether his guess as to your motives is correct or not) as it’s left the office deserted for the two of you, fortuitous circumstances indeed. 

His thumb rubs over your nipple, he watches your reactions closely, savouring the sight of your arousal, the slight stutter of your chest on an inhale, the trembling of your upper body, the goosebumps rising incessantly on your flesh. 

“You see, my dear, I can give you everything you desire... All you have to do is submit to me.” Vox coos, trying to entice you further, wanting there to be no doubts in your mind, wanting your full submission. He wants you to want him, needs this more than he ever realised, before, maybe its infatuation, but he’s never felt so hard for another in his entire existence... Well except... But that’s never going to happen. 

Vox’s screen this time involuntarily displays an image of the two of you, entwined in a passionate embrace. It’s clear to you that he’s envisioning a future where you belong to him completely, it’s actually a rather wholesome scene of the pair of you entwined, his fingers stroking down you back as you read to him, his eyes trained on your face with a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. 

You bite your lip, stifling a moan as your senses are jarred back to him and his touch as Vox kneads your breasts, feeling a fresh warm rush of desire and arousal flood between your legs, further ruining your underwear, if there is such a possibility at this point. 

You whimper softly as he teases your nipple with the tip of his claw, edging you and waiting for an answer before taking anything further, the raised eyebrow makes you realise all of this. 

“Yes please... Sir.” You manage to breathe out, finally finding and forcing your voice to do its damn job, feeling a little faint from the effort of not just letting him do all the work. 

Finally! Vox chuckles menacingly, his eyes flashing with satisfaction as they darken with desire as he hears your plea, still using his office honorific, he finds he rather likes that particular word coming from your enticing lips, as breathy whines escape you, encouraging him further with every reaction he drags from you. 

Unable to hold back, you feel as though you could combust right now with the overwhelming racing thoughts and sensations, your fear of getting caught in the act, your despair of the possibility of this being a use and dump situation, his utterly enthralling pleasurable ministrations, his scent... Just him in general, you whine even louder as he floods your senses to know nothing but him in this moment. 

You wonder why you’re holding back from something you’ve wanted and fantasised about for so long now. Perhaps it is because you’re both still in the office, your whirling fears a cacophony in your head, trying to warn you. 

Despite being the only souls who should be anywhere near at this late hour, there are the cleaning crew to still worry about, you have a thrill of fear, at this though, the thought of being heard or worse yet, being seen impaled on your boss's cock as he rails you seven ways to Sunday. 

Vox is completely unconcerned which such things, it seems, his touch swiftly becomes bolder, squeezing your breasts more firmly now he’s had audible consent, he leans in eagerly to capture your lips in a bruising electrifying kiss, and all thoughts about being caught fizzle from your mind as you moan into his mouth, finally getting a taste of the fuzzy static you had pondered would be present. 

He can practically taste your desperation, his tongue delving and exploring with impatience, now he’s got you he wants everything all at once, he needs every experience he’s rubbed his cock to, fantasising for months about you now as he’s observed your beautiful curves and sway of your hips as he’s let you out late each evening from work to lock up behind you.  

Using the VoxTec drone Vox had subtly followed you home as he’d rushed to the nearby janitorial closet, your walking rear displayed on his screen, he gasps and moans, his hand wrapping around the blue throbbing need and stroking himself with abandon and desperation, until he erupts into a nearby cloth, the frequency of these acts leaving him raw and yet unable to stop, even after he was caught by a cleaning staff member, promptly silenced. 

You sigh, bringing his thoughts back into the moment, he finally has you, why is he wasting time reminiscing when the glory is all right here, right now? Practically begging for him to enjoy, and enjoy he shall, he smiles, his screen heating to an unsafe temperature for a moment as the fans kick in. 

You moan, to his utter delight, he’s delicious, and it only fuels his own desire. His tongue explores your mouth fervently, he presses himself even closer dominating the space and pressing against you as he deepens the kiss even more, your mouth giving way to his. It's odd because his kisses leave such tingles on your lips, but it’s not a flat screen you’re meeting, its rather firm, but they’re definitely a pair of lips you feel, electrified, tingly lips, but they feel amazing. 

Vox breaks the kiss briefly, allowing you both some air, his voice husky, full of lust and confidence as he speaks, almost repeating himself word for word once more. 

“You’re going to be mine, My Doll. And I promise you, I will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.” 

He captures your lips again, his fingers still teasing your nipples as he claims you in a display of dominance and power, bearing down on you. His other hand moves lower, pressing against the fabric covering your wetness, making sure you know exactly what he intends, as if there was doubt at this point. 

You whimper, your hips bucking as he brushes your swollen aching clit through the fabric, and he smirks against your lips, the zing of his static causes your hairs to stand on end, his own cock jumps inside his trousers at the feel of your sopping cunt, not a dry patch to be found on your panties, and even your skirt and office chair had suffered the same fate. His arrogant grin widens at the thought of him being the cause off this, and the willingness emanating from your squirming whining form.

“Good Baby Doll.” Vox purrs, pleased with your response. He moves in, pressing his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue demanding entrance into your mouth. 

“Mmm.”  

Vox moans as he tastes you, his hands still fondling your breasts possessively, your back arching as you whimper and moan deliciously for him, after a few seconds, he pulls away, his electric blue eyes darkened with desire as he drinks you in. 

“You’re mine now, Doll. And I intend to use you well.” He promises, smirking sinfully as your body burns with desire, his tone dripping with arrogance, supported by the sight of your dishevelled needy state. 

He grabs your wrist, pulling you up into his strong arms as you gasp at his hardness pressing insistently into your abdomen briefly, before he tugs on you, leading you to the ‘waiting’ couch nearby, pushing you onto it before slotting his warm hard body against yours, fitting together so perfectly. Vox can feel you dampening his trousers, his hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt impatiently as your hands remember they exist and you run them up the smooth fabric covering the hard planes of his toned chest, you don’t bother to stifle the moan that escapes you this time, so far gone in the moment. 

“Say my name Doll.” Vox insists. 

“S-Sir?” You manage to choke out as he flings your top away indelicately and tuts amused at your unfocused gaze. 

“No, not ‘Sir’, Say my name, my little Bombshell.” Vox chides, light-heartedly. Teasing your nipples through the lace of your bra, using the slight pain from his claw tips to keep you further enticed... Not that you need any coaxing, as you moan so prettily for him yet again, he notices your cheeks darken again to his immense pride, “Fuck, Doll you’ve got such glorious tits. Now be a good little Sex Kitten and do as you are told.” 

“Vox!” You gasp loudly at his pinch on your sensitive bud. 

“Again.” He demands fiercely, not letting go, screen glitching slightly. 

“Vox,” comes out whined more breathily this time, “oh, mmmmmpppfff” You moan softly, leaning your head back as he fondles you more thoroughly and gently in reward, your body meeting his hands to press your chest further into his touch, begging silently for more. 

Feeling Vox’s finger trail down to your wet panties, you spread your legs wider, desperate and aching, hyperaware of the large hard presence of his cock throbbing against you insistently even as he focuses entirely on your body, a trail of sparks follows his touch stimulating you, the slight burn making you tingle and jolt, he keeps you in his dazzling gaze. 

Vox smirks as he observes your leg's part wider, giving him better access to your drench's wetness. “Look at you, desperate for more, for me, I can see it in your eyes Baby Doll.” He chuckles, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes unblinking as he takes everything in, trying to embed it all in his memory banks, unwilling to miss a single frame. 

Vox slides his finger under the fabric of your panties, teasing your entrance before plunging it inside without warning, you gasp and squeak in shock and pleasure, moaning as he slides in with such ease, your body moving to meet his movements obediently. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Vox groans, his own self-control flickering, feeling your walls clench around his finger as he starts gently thrusting in and out, mindful to use his finger pad not the claw to press against the spongy spot of ecstasy for you, your tight heat gripping tightly on just his finger, his cock throbs eager to know just how much squeezing and teasing he’ll have to do to fit inside. 

His other hand continues to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers as he ravishes you. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Vox’s voice low and seductive, not expecting an answer as you moan again as a second finger joins the first, your whole body shaking from the tingles he’s causing within you, your body tightening and loosening with every tiny zap and rub, igniting much more than ever before, your body almost convulsing from the overwhelming stimulation. 

His tongue snakes out to lick his lips, biting down on it in concentration, his cerulean eyes, liquid, and locked onto yours as he watches your every reaction to his ministrations. 

“I could fuck you right here, right now. And anyone outside would be able to hear your desperate little moans.” Vox teases. 

You suddenly realise you’ve been making quite a ruckus, however when you try to shut your mouth and put a once again forgotten hand over it, Vox tuts. 

“Don’t you dare deprive me of this Doll.” Vox moves your hand away from your mouth gently, and places it right on his straining bulge, his hand cupping and encasing yours, firmly his hand holds over the top of yours as he moans, bucking his hips into your hand as you feel his own burning need for you, rutting desperately hard and frighteningly large, pressing your hand against him so you rub him, his other hand not forgetting it’s task for an instant, but you own eyes meet his again so aroused and intimidated, all it does is endear you further to him. 

“Look at what you do to me Doll, can you feel how hard my fucking cock is for you right now.” Vox growls and you shiver and moan again, as a third finger pulls you away from eye contact, the burn of the stretch as he attempts to prepare you for what’s to come, he’s not sure how much patience he has left at this point as it still won’t be enough. 

Vox smirks, his fingers sliding out as he gives into his desires, tracing back up through your wetness, making sure to tease you just enough to leave you wanting more as you whine needily, on the verge of an orgasm as he torments you with glee. His other hand moves upwards, gently gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze yet again as you had been staring at his fingers longingly, not allowing you an inch of reprieve. 

“Look at me, Doll.” He commands, his voice firm and dominant as he holds your gaze. He can see the desire in your eyes, and it only fuels his own. He starts to tug at your bra, pulling it impatiently one handed, before growling and giving up, using a sharp claw to slice it off your body, upwards to reveal your bare breasts. His eyes widen at the sight, and he lets out a low whistle. 

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” He murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly over your nipples before pinching them gently between his thumbs and forefingers again, zapping you gently to give you more burning tingle and your nipples go all puffy in their already pebbled state, as you can’t hold back a very loud moan, to his utter smug delight. 

Making sure you’re watching him, Vox slowly brings his glistening fingers back up to his screen, and you whine as you watch his long tongue wrap around the first digit wickedly, shaking and needy you watch as he hums and greedily devours your essence from his skilled fingers, slightly pricking his tongue in his eagerness, a drop of red escaping his mouth, your eyes following its path down his chin, but oddly doesn’t escape past his screen. 

“Delicious.” He leans in, capturing your lips in another heated kiss as his free hand begins to undo his pants, swiftly releasing his impressive throbbing length. He grins against your lips as he pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours as you whimper scared and aroused at the sight of the veiny, blue member, it's so thick and long you doubt your ability to house such a monster, as you begin to protest. 

Vox silences you with another kiss, this time slow and reassuring, when he allows you mild freedom again, you bite your lip, looking back into his eyes as he stares down at you, you feel warmth suffuse your tingly body, reassured you nod. 

At his encouraging glance, you reach out, tentatively wrapping your hand around his shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze, and smiling shyly as he groans, his eyes half closing. You can feel the heat radiating off him increase, you bite your lip to hold in another moan as Vox’s cock throbs in your hand, twitching eagerly at your attention, you’re so tempted to taste, but shy from the idea at the last moment. 

Vox moans as your hands feel so very soft on his raging erection as he finally feels one of the things he’s been dreaming of for months... Any part of you touching his bare cock willingly, hell if you back down now, he’d have wanking material for the next several decades, after all he had less to go on before with... And that never stopped him. 

He shakes his head slightly to ground himself, refusing to let the past taint what is finally in his grasp, a chance at true pleasure, perhaps even happiness, if he can make the right impression. 

Vox’s eyes flutter closed momentarily as you wrap your other hand around his cock, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He can feel the anticipation building within him, his desire for you reaching new heights. 

“That’s it, Doll.” Vox murmurs, his voice husky and filled with need. “Touch me... Feel how hard I am for you... It’s just us right now, this is all for you, you do this to me every time I see you, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He bites his tongue for giving far too much away too soon luckily not hard enough to hurt. 

He opens his eyes in his panic, meeting your gaze once more as he starts to thrust his hips forward, hoping to distract you enough to not think on his words, grinding his cock against your soft palm. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching eagerly in your grasp. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me wild Doll.” Vox groans, his other hand reaching out to caress your leg, inching closer and closer to your dripping cunt once more, wanting just to flip you over and drive into you again and again until neither of you can stand for several days. In his ecstasy he had almost forgotten your pleasure. His trusty thumb brushes against your aching pulsing clit, circling it gently as he continues to grind against your hand, both of you let out a long low moan simultaneously. 

You jolt as a bolt of burning pleasurable electricity zings through your clit, stronger than the ones before as he loses control slightly, with a glitch as evidence, you whine loudly your hips bucking and tears pricking your eyes as you’re basking in the blue glow of his attention, like the sun, but better. The zap had caused you to gush so much the sofa would definitely need replacing as your legs twitch and tremble. 

“You’re so fucking ready for me, aren’t you? Fuck you feel so good.” Growling as he recovers just enough. 

“I can’t wait any longer, Doll.” He whispers, his voice filled with raw desire. “I need to be inside you... Now.” 

You nod rapidly, gasping and complying as he touches you, guiding you, your legs spreading wider without conscious thought, offering yourself to him as he pulls your hips adjusting you almost frantic now. 

“Please!” You beg, desperate for release, the heat between your thighs becoming unbearable, droplets of your juices glistening on your thighs. 

He greedily drinks in the sight of you, his screen fritzing slightly again making you blush at the scrutiny. 

“You sure Doll?” He double checks, sweetly and you melt, nodding, unable to form words. 

His fingers which had been working away at you once more pick up and your head flings back, hurting slightly on the cushioned impact of the sofa arm, as your pussy throbs and contracts as he brings you to the edge, your juices slicking his fingers, proof of your need for him. 

You bite your lip, staring up at him, pleading silently for him to take you, to give you what you need as Vox watches you hungrily pumping his hot hard weeping cock. 

When he finally positions himself at your entrance, you spread your legs wider, straining them with seer need, eager for him not even thinking twice about denying him now, not when you’re so close, he savours the sight for just a moment, his cock poised and ready to enter you. 

As he sinks in slowly, you cry out, arching your back as he loads himself inside you, fighting and teasing the soft clenching cushioned sopping hole every step of the way as it clings to him like his own personalised cocksleeve, only better, filling you completely, stretching you deliciously as you almost cum right then and there. 

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him down to meet your lips in a brutal kiss, needing more, your legs wrapping around the backs of his thighs, pulling him deeper, making you cry out as he impacts your cervix half painfully half pleasurably, the heat from his screen making you crave him more. 

Gripping his shoulders tightly as he begins to move inside you, you could cry in thankfulness as he finally gives you both everything you need, dragging and splashing, moaning and groaning, his thrusts becoming harder and faster with each passing second, lips joined together in a dizzying kiss, you’ve never felt more wanted... More possessed... More pleasured. 

He breaks the kiss panting, his screen fritzing again and buries his face in your neck, angling his and your head just so, to give him access, clearly well practiced by now, just so he can hear your unimpeded sinful gasping moaning and sounds of ecstasy for HIS cock. His teeth scraping against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he claims you in every way possible. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your loud moans and cries of pleasure, mixing together in a symphony of pure ecstasy. Vox’s hands roam your body, squeezing your breasts again just enough to have your moans change pitch, pinching your nipples between his fingers as he continues to ravish you. 

You finally remember your own hands again and cling to his flexing forearms which only serves to bring you both more pleasure with another shared moan in confirmation, your legs not allowing him to drag out for too long, like he would be tempted to tease now he's finally in your heavenly depths. 

Vox groans as he continues to thrust into you, his body coming alive with each movement. He can’t believe he finally has you beneath him, your bodies joined in the most intimate way possible. His hands continue to explore your body, revelling in the softness of your skin, the curves of your body. He can’t get enough of you. 

“Fucking divinity, right here you pretty perfect Little Petal.” Vox moans in your ear. 

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours as he begins to thrust harder and faster, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable, building heat in you both as your walls tighten around him, and he begins to throb, fire in your lower abdomens. 

Vox can see the pleasure in your eyes, and it only fuels his own determination. He starts to thrust even harder, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as he pounds you into oblivion. 

His hands move lower, gripping your hips as he ruts into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. His cock pulsing incessantly inside you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

Vox leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers hotly. “You’re mine, Baby Doll.” 

His hands continue to explore your body, revelling in the softness of your skin, the curves of your body. He can’t get enough of you, every dip, curve, hard line, and every glistening bead of sweat utterly entrancing. 

He moans, his hips thrusting forward as he pounds into you relentlessly, his cock throbbing inside you, his need for you growing stronger with each thrust. 

He trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin, leaving love bites in his wake, you enjoying every overwhelming sensation as your nails dig into him and you cling for dear life, unable to match his pace and just letting him take control sliding your whole body up and down on his cock at one point. 

“You’re mine, my dear. Mine to fuck, mine to ravish, mine to possess.” Vox growls possessively as proof, his fingers digging into your hips as he continues to pound into you. 

He can’t get enough of you, he needs more, he needs to claim every inch of you, your tight soft cunt feels so perfect wrapped around his cock, just like he knew it would, and Vox is never letting go now he’s had a taste. 

“You’re so fucking tight, I can barely fucking think!” Vox grunts, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his climax, you moan in agreement at how perfect he feels burrowing a Vox shaped imprint deep in your pliant cunt. 

His tongue snakes out, tracing patterns on your skin, leaving a burning electric feeling behind with every lap against you, you moan as you hear it crackle so close to your ear. 

Vox’s breath suddenly hot against your ear as he whispers sweet nothings to you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, so fucking delicious, such a delicate Little Flower aren’t you Pet, you were born to be as beautiful as all the Flora, an entire meadow of Roses could only hope to compare.” 

“Please.... Don’t... Stop... Oh fuck.” You whine, your body convulsing again, feeling his cock spreading you open forcefully with each thrust, it’s maddening, delightful, sinful, heavenly, you can’t think up enough adjectives as your mind also shorts out. Vox watches as your body bounces with the force of his thrusts, your tits mesmerising him. 

He can’t believe he finally has you beneath him, you wet right cunt trying to drag him in deeper as he has to fight each thrust, just to drag his warm member rubbing every inch of it through your hot wet cunt, just to do it all over again, never wanting this to end, yet desperate for it to end all at the same time. 

His eyes flicker down to your breasts, watching as they bounce freely with each thrust. He reaches out, his hand wrapping around one of them, squeezing it gently as he continues to pound into you, feeling as it tries to resist staying in just one place, to pillowy mound making him throb again and you moan feeling everything. 

His other hand moves lower, teasing your clit with his fingertips, rubbing it in slow circles as he continues to thrust into you, your moaning and thrashing increasing to new heights. 

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers hotly.  

“You like that, don’t you, Doll?” He growls possessively, his fingers pinching your nipple gently. “You love the feeling of my cock stretching you out, filling you up, don’t you? Your cunt is like a little Lotus, so soft and delicate and beautiful like an Azalea... Or perhaps you’re more like Nightshade, as I feel like you could be the death of me” His voice is husky, full of desire and need as he continues to own you. 

His sweet words a massive contrast to how he’s treating your helpless body, not that you’d complain as his cock throbs making your cunt clench again reflexively with another loud moan. 

All you CAN do is moan helplessly your nails finding purchase on his back this time, digging in through his suit jacket, he hadn’t had the patience to discard it in his eagerness to claim you. 

Vox glitches again at your reactions to his rough treatment, enjoying every moment of it, his fans working overtime as he tries to stay in the moment, not wanting to miss even a second. 

“You like that, don’t you, Doll?” He purrs, the glitching making him repeat himself. 

His hands move back up to grab your breasts, obviously an obsession for him at this point his enthrallment with them hard to miss, squeezing them firmly again as he continues to thrust into you relentlessly using them to steady himself. 

“You’re so fucking sexy; I could fuck you for hours and never get tired of this.” His lips crash down onto yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue demanding entrance into your mouth as he ravages you. 

“F-f-fuck... ‘Ellmmmm... ‘Ellllp...” You manage to stammer out as you’re so overcome, he’s so very entertained by your plea for mercy, his hips snap forward, driving his cock as deep into you as he can, hitting that spot that makes you scream in pleasure in response. 

You’re panting, moaning loudly, every muscle in your body quivering, he slows slightly as he sees you trying to speak meaningfully. 

“I’m close... Please... Make me cum...” You gasp, begging him to let you release. 

“Not yet...” He growls, pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming back in, the sudden change in pace making you scream in agonised pleasure, so overstimulated, tears pricking your eyes at his denial, but he doesn’t want this to end, not yet, not now, not ever. 

He does it again, and again, pulling almost fully out before slamming back in with a wet slap, driving you higher and higher until you’re sobbing from pleasure. 

“You’re going to cum for me, right though Baby Doll... All over my cock... Just like that... Soon I promise,” His voice thick with passion. 

He keeps driving you towards the edge, again and again, never letting you fall over, keeping you on the razor’s edge until he’s ready for you to explode. 

You’re a pleading, soaking, begging mess when finally... 

“Cum for me, Doll... Cum for me now!” He demands, his voice a low snarl, his eyes burning with desire, his thumb merciless against your throbbing needy clit, his cock filling every part of you, your walls fighting him every step of the way as you clamp down so tightly. 

As you reach your peak, the sensation washes over you like a tidal wave, suddenly pulling you under. Your whole-body tenses and spasms, your legs kicking and writhing as he continues to thrust into you as you cum hard, and he moans as your walls ripple and clench around him trying to milk him for everything he has desperately. 

A flood of liquid squirts from your pussy, spraying his belly in powerful bursts, trickling down his cock and onto his balls, pooling in his lap and running down your thighs, making a huge mess as his thrusting causes the sweet-smelling droplets to splash on anything in the near vicinity. 

The sound that escapes him is inhuman, his screen going completely blue momentarily. 

Vox gasps, his eyes flickering back in and widening in shock at the sheer amount of fluid that still gushes from you, he knew you were wet, but nothing could have prepared him for this, his eyes glued to the sight of your pleasure, entranced, his hips faltering ever so slightly, before picking up again, determined to wring as much from your bucking body as possible. 

Vox definitely found a new obsession as the floral scent hits him, strong enough for him to actually smell as it fills the entire office, he’s never needed anything more, and it was something he had no idea he’d ever wanted, moaning at the sheer warmth and feel of your squirting cunt, it was utterly divine, heaven could suck it, because he just found his. 

He keeps trying to control the fritzing of his screen, it would be a crime to miss a moment of this utter glorious display. 

He groans as he continues to thrust into you, maintaining his pace, his fingers rubbing more gently on your overly sensitive clit, prolonging your orgasm as he chases his own release within your spasming cunt. 

Vox’s eyes roll back in pleasure as he finally allows himself to let go and cum, pumping his load deep inside you, his hot seed mingling with your wetness, filling you up completely, even spilling out the sides of his embedded cock and flowing out of you in thick spurts as he finishes. 

You moan as you feel the burning sensation of his cum spilling inside you triggering a small involuntary convulsion within you as you scream helplessly as his cum makes you milk him for every last drop, the static electricity seeming to force your body to take every ounce... If only you could breed, the swift thought crosses Vox’s mind momentarily. 

Vox collapses onto you, his chest heaving as he pants heavily, cock still buried deep inside you, arms wrapping around you as he kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth lazily, as he thrusts his hips lazily, making sure to fuck every bit of his cum inside you even deeper. 

You’re panting, moaning weakly, completely spent, your body still tingling from the force of your orgasm, trying desperately to recover enough to at least think straight. 

Vox’s still moving inside you, you vaguely register, driving his cock deeper with each tiny thrust, the pleasure is too much for the both of you, but in the best way possible. 

“So good... So, fucking good...” Vox murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against you, far hotter than you'd ever felt before, you could almost burn yourself on him but miraculously he doesn’t seem to be causing any harm. 

He keeps thrusting seemingly reluctant to stop despite the little jolts of his whole body indicating his own overstimulation, your own lax body matching his jolting with its own. 

He breaks the kiss to press his flat smouldering forehead against yours, his eyes locked with your well fucked gaze, the intensity in his ocean deep eyes taking your breath away. 

But his screen dims enough so he doesn’t hurt your vision, and it helps him begin the cooling down process much faster. 

“You’re mine now, Doll...” Vox whispers possessively, his voice husky with desire and satisfaction. “I’m not letting go of you without a fight, you better believe, the Sins themselves couldn’t pry you from me now.” 

He eventually pulls out slowly, mindfully of your likely sore body, his cock sliding out of you with a heavy thudding wet sound as it hits his thigh, dripping your combined fluids onto the floor as he stands. 

“Y-yes sir.” You manage to shakily pant, your legs trembling and dripping. At his warning look you correct immediately, “V-Vox.” 

“Much better Little Petal.” His suave confidence returning now with ease, he’s the big boss man himself again. 

Vox chuckles as he sees you watching the swaying of his limp cock as he moves, not a clue what you’re thinking, but he likes the look in your eyes, so he starts taking off his clothes properly. 

This time he’s determined to take his time with you and show you what more you could expect from him, his half hard cock standing proudly trying to regain its attentive state already. A much faster refectory time than he’s even used to, he’s definitely not done with you yet... 

Vox smirks, seeing the look of surprise and apprehension on your face, he decided he loved surprising you... Especially with his cock, it’s his new favourite thing. His grin dangerous, promising to devour you.

“What? Did you seriously think I was done with you already Doll? No... Not now I finally have you. It’s late, and you’re Mine.” 

[pin-k-ink]

maelstrom // miya osamu & miya atsumu (pt. 1)

tw ⇢ dub-con, mutual pining, teasing, sexual content, strong sexual tension, suggestive themes, polyamory/threesome implications

wc ⇢ 12.3k

part one | part two

The summer heat enveloped you like a warm embrace, thick and heady in the late afternoon air. Your skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat as you chased after the twins, breathless laughter tumbling from your lips.

Atsumu glanced back at you over his shoulder, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. "C'mon slowpoke, you're fallin' behind!" he teased, dark brown hair whipping in the breeze as he ran.

Osamu shot you a playful smirk, easily keeping pace with his brother's longer strides. Even at nine years old, the competitive spark between the twins burned bright.

You huffed out a breath, cheeks flushed from the exertion as you willed your shorter legs to move faster. The sound of Atsumu and Osamu's rambunctious laughter echoed through the park as you gave chase.

Finally, you caught up to the twins under the broad canopy of an old oak tree. Doubling over with your hands braced on your knees, you gulped in deep lungfuls of air.

"You jerks...waited up..." you managed between pants, shooting them a half-hearted glare.

Atsumu propped his hands on his hips, eyes dancing with poorly concealed glee. "If you can't keep up, maybe you shouldna played tag, (Y/N)-chan."

"'M faster than you," Osamu piped up, sticking his tongue out at his brother in a show of childish teasing.

You watched the familiar bickering unfold with a fond smile, their back-and-forth already an ingrained fixture of your childhood. Atsumu and Osamu had been your best friends for as long as you could remember, partners in crime and constant companions through thick and thin.

The first day of your senior year started off like any other. The piercing trill of your alarm sliced through the heavy silence of your bedroom. You groaned, blindly reaching out to slam the snooze button before reluctantly peeling yourself out from under the cocoon of warm blankets.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you trudged over to your closet and began the familiar routine of getting ready for school. You pulled on your uniform skirt, smoothing the soft plaid fabric over your thighs. Next came the crisp white button-down, which you tucked neatly into the waistband before fastening each button one-by-one.

As you stood in front of the mirror putting the final touches on your look, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of melancholy. This marked the beginning of your last year of high school - your last year before everything changed. Soon you'd be going off to college, leaving behind so many cherished memories and faces.

The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed up the stairwell, followed by a muffled "I'm here!" Sparing one last glance at your reflection, you grabbed your backpack and hurried downstairs to find the Miya twins waiting in your entryway.

"Well don't you look as radiant as ever?" Atsumu purred by way of greeting, leaning casually against the wall. His dark blazer hung open to reveal the trademark navy sweater vest, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

You felt your cheeks warm at his bright smile and unabashedly appreciative once-over. Even after all these years, Atsumu's shamelessly flirtatious remarks never failed to flustered you.

"Ignore him," Osamu chimed in with a good-natured roll of his eyes. The gray haired twin stood beside his brother, hands tucked into the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers. "Ya know he's always been a smooth-talkin' little shit."

"Oh c'mon 'Samu, don't be jealous that I actually know how to compliment a lady," Atsumu shot back with a devilish grin.

You bit back a laugh at their playful back-and-forth, shaking your head in amusement. "You two are too much. Are you ready to go?"

With a final shared look, the twins followed you out the door and down the all-too-familiar path towards Inarizaki High for the last time. You couldn't help but savor each familiar sight and sound - the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, the rhythmic tapping of your footsteps, Osamu and Atsumu's animated chatter.

These small moments had been the steadfast backdrop to your life for as long as you could remember. And soon, everything was going to change. You tried not to dwell on how much you'd miss this comfortable routine...and how much you'd miss the twins.

The walk to school passed by in a warm, familiar rhythm. Atsumu and Osamu bickered good-naturedly as they always did, trading barbs and insults that held no real bite. You chimed in occasionally with a teasing comment of your own, relishing in the easy camaraderie between the three of you.

All too soon, the gates of Inarizaki High came into view, signaling the end of your short reprieve. The open courtyard buzzed with students carrying on conversations and laughing amongst themselves as they began to filter inside for homeroom.

You lingered back, letting the twins stride ahead a few paces as you drank in the atmosphere around you. This grand entrance, these precisely trimmed hedges, the cherry blossom trees lining the walkway - they had become such ingrained sights over the past three years. You wanted to commit every detail to memory before it all slipped away after graduation.

"You comin', (Y/N)?" Atsumu called back to you, snapping you from your reverie.

You blinked rapidly, offering him what you hoped was a convincing smile. "Yeah, I'm right behind you."

As you moved to catch up with the twins, Atsumu fell into step beside you. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body as your arms brushed together with each stride. Up close, you noticed the strong line of his jaw had become more chiseled, his cheekbones sharper and more refined. He really had grown into a handsome young man.

"See something ya like, (Y/N)-chan?" His voice was a deep rumble laced with amusement. When you turned to face him with furrowed brows, Atsumu's piercing eyes danced with mischief. "You were starin' pretty hard there."

You felt your face grow hot with a blush. "W-What? No, I wasn't staring! I was just...lost in thought."

The lie tumbled clumsily from your lips as you averted your gaze, silently cursing your inability to be honest - with Atsumu or with yourself. Because the truth was, you had been drinking in every detail of his appearance, admiring the way his perfectly tousled hair seemed to glow like sunlight in the morning rays.

Osamu scoffed from your other side. "Sure ya were. That's what they all say."

You shot the gray-haired twin a halfhearted glare. "Oh, put a sock in it, 'Samu."

The three of you continued your playful banter, but you were hyperaware of Atsumu's presence beside you. The cadence of his voice, the subtle spicy aroma of his cologne, the casual brush of his arm against yours - it all flooded your senses in a dizzying wave. You swallowed hard and tried to push away the fluttering feeling blossoming in your chest.

Was it possible you were developing feelings for your best friend, after all this time?

The thought was dizzying...and more than a little terrifying. Atsumu and Osamu had been permanent fixtures in your life for as long as you could remember. To complicate that bond with romantic feelings felt like an overstep, even if Atsumu's own flirtatious behavior seemed to egg you on.

No, it was better to just bury those confusing emotions. Your friendship with the twins was too precious to risk over a passing infatuation that may not even be reciprocated.

The school day passed by in a whirlwind of lectures, notes, and mindless doodling for Atsumu. His thoughts kept drifting, wholly consumed by you and the inexplicable pull he felt in your presence.

During lunch period, he spotted you walking across the courtyard alongside Osamu, deep in conversation. Atsumu's breath hitched in his throat as you threw your head back with unbridled laughter at something his twin had said. The way the sunlight kissed your features, illuminating the jovial crinkles around your eyes and the bright flush in your cheeks - you looked positively radiant.

Atsumu felt that all-too-familiar ache blossom in his chest as he watched you from afar. An ache that had plagued him more and more over the past couple of years. At first, he mistook it for typical teenage infatuation, but lately the feelings had only intensified into something deeper...something he couldn't quite put a name to.

All he knew was that he never wanted to miss another moment of your smile, your laughter, your easy way of existing in the world. You were his harbor, the one thing that kept him grounded amidst the chaos of school, volleyball, and the looming pressure of an uncertain future.

"You're starin' again, ya big creep," Osamu's gruff voice dragged Atsumu from his reverie. The gray-haired twin slid onto the bench across from him, already digging into his perfectly triangular onigiri lunch.

Atsumu felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks at being so brazenly called out. He tried to play it cool with a nonchalant shrug. "I wasn't starin'. Just...observin'."

"Is that what yer callin' it these days?" Osamu quirked one brow skeptically before taking another massive bite of his rice ball.

Atsumu's eyes drifted back over to where you still stood near the vending machines, laughing at something on your phone. The sound was light and airy, so full of pure, unbridled joy - he wished he could bottle it up and keep it safe forever.

With a resigned sigh, Atsumu dragged his stare away to meet his twin's knowing gaze. "It's nothin', okay? Don't go readin' into it."

But even as the words left his lips, they both knew it was a lie. There was no use denying the truth any longer - Atsumu was well and truly enamored with you.

The realization should have been earth-shattering. You were his closest friend, his confidante, the one person who knew him inside and out and stuck by him through everything. To risk that connection by developing romantic feelings seemed like the highest form of idiocy.

And yet...Atsumu couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when every shared laugh, every brush of your hand against his, every softly murmured inside joke set his heart aflame with purpose. Being around you simply felt right in a way he couldn't explain.

Maybe there would never be a way to act on these feelings. Maybe he was destined to keep them locked away, a melancholic ache to carry through life.

But still, he decided as he watched you rejoin them with that brilliant smile, it was worth it to bask in your light...even if doing so risked getting burned.

The final weeks of senior year passed by in a bittersweet blur for Atsumu. Each familiar routine and milestone carried a melancholic weight, knowing it would all be ripped away after graduation.

As he strode through the halls of Inarizaki for the last time, memories seemed to assault him from every corner. There was the spot under the old oak tree where you used to enjoy lunch together, trading jokes and playful barbs. The student lounge where he and Osamu would lounge around after practices, making up ridiculous games to stave off boredom while they waited for you.

And then there was you - an omnipresent force that had been woven inextricably into the fabric of Atsumu's high school experience. Your radiant smile, your effervescent laugh, your quiet strength that grounded him even in his most unhinged moments.

He tried not to dwell too hard on the ache that blossomed in his chest whenever you were around lately. The nagging feelings that had started as a tiny spark but had grown into a raging inferno, threatening to consume him whole.

Atsumu knew, in that deep part of himself he refused to acknowledge, that his feelings for you had long surpassed the boundaries of a platonic friendship. You weren't just his closest confidante, his partner-in-crime of sorts. You were...everything. The very axis around which his world seemed to pivot and spin.

But he could never admit that out loud, could never even entertain the notion of exposing those feelings to the harsh light of day. Because to do so would be to risk fracturing the precious bond you'd all cultivated over years of shared history. You were too important - what you had was too important.

So Atsumu carried his burden silently, stuffing those unruly emotions down until they plaqued his very bones with a dull, relentless ache. He watched from the sidelines as you laughed and joked with Osamu, intimate in a way that simultaneously warmed and shattered Atsumu's heart.

Did his brother feel the same forbidden longing that seemed to consume Atsumu more with each passing day? He could never tell - Osamu had always been the quieter twin, opting to express himself through subtle gestures and lingering looks rather than brash words.

All Atsumu knew was that with each tender brush of Osamu's fingers against your arm, each murmured private joke you shared, another tiny fissure seemed to splinter his foolish heart wide open.

He couldn't begrudge either of you for something so inexplicably human as emotional attachments. You had both been the two pillars propping him up for as long as he could remember. To lose one of you would reverberate through his entire world like a flash-bomb detonation.

So Atsumu simply swallowed down the persistent lump in his throat and basked in your presence for as long as he was permitted. He drank in the sight of you crossing the courtyard, head thrown back in uninhibited laughter at something Osamu murmured in your ear. He committed the melody of your voice to memory as you cheerfully called out to him during breaks, always including him.

Because as long as he could revel in these small moments, maybe the hollow ache of unrequited love wouldn't completely devour him. Maybe he could subsist on the lingering crumbs of your friendship and admiration from afar.

As their high school years faded into memory, a new looming question began to worm its way insidiously into Atsumu's mind:

What would he do when simply being near you was no longer enough to satiate the relentless hunger burning inside him?

The day of graduation dawned bright and cloudless, the perfect sunny backdrop for the class of Inarizaki to bid farewell to their high school years. As Atsumu donned his crimson gown and mortarboard hat, he couldn't help but feel a surge of melancholy.

This moment marked the end of an era. No more shared classes or inside jokes scribbled onto desk tops. No more rambunctious locker room celebrations after winning the championships. Atsumu's indelible memories were forever trapped behind these walls, preserved like insects in amber.

As he made his way across the manicured quad towards the auditorium, award-winning volleyball skills moving his long legs with an innate grace, Atsumu scanned the milling crowd for your familiar face. His breath hitched in his throat when he finally spotted you.

You looked positively radiant swathed in the rich burgundy robes, the sunlight catching on your glossy tresses as you laughed at something one of your friends said. Atsumu felt that familiar swooping sensation in his stomach as you tossed your head back, entire body alight with uninhibited joy.

In that moment, he made a silent vow to etch every curve, every plane of your face into his memory forever. The delicate sweep of your lashes fanning across flushed cheeks. The dimples that appeared whenever your smile stretched wide enough. That lopsided grin he'd fallen tragically in love with over the years.

Atsumu wasn't naive enough to think this wouldn't be one of the last times he saw you look so unburdened and carefree before the pressures of the "real world" came crashing down. He wanted to soak in this moment for as long as he was permitted.

A gentle hand on his elbow pulled Atsumu from his reverie. He blinked rapidly, only then realizing he'd been unabashedly staring. Osamu stood beside him, dressed in his own graduation robes with an inscrutable look on his features.

"You're doin' it again," was all he said, letting the unspoken words hang heavy between them.

Atsumu swallowed hard, feeling a flush of embarrassment warm the tips of his ears. Before he could formulate a pithy retort, you suddenly appeared in front of them, all sunshine smiles and breathless excitement.

"There you guys are!" you exclaimed happily. "I've been looking everywhere for my two favorite people."

You reached out to playfully swat at Atsumu's bicep, and he was struck by how utterly at ease you seemed - as if the joy of this momentous occasion coalesced around you in a glowing aura. How he longed to bottle up that radiance, keep it tucked away for himself to admire whenever the world drained the color from his periphery.

"Aw, ya know ya don't gotta flatter us like that, doll," Atsumu drawled out with a roguish wink. "We were always the favorites, even if you won't admit it."

You stuck your tongue out at his teasing, eyes sparkling with mirth. And just like that, the familiar song and dance resumed between you three. Banter and jokes filling the empty spaces, temporarily soothing the sting of all that was ending.

As you pulled both twins in for a group photo, arms looped casually around their shoulders, Atsumu was struck by the sudden realization of how small you seemed tucked into his side. He breathed in the intoxicating floral notes of your shampoo, allowing it to temporarily saturate his senses and blot out the rest of the world.

This was the feeling he longed to chase endlessly - the comforting warmth of you beside him, both temporally and physically close. With you tucked against him, nothing else seemed to matter in that moment. Not the pressures of the future or impending loss of this routine. All that existed was your smile, your laughter, your essence.

As Osamu's hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling your trio into an even tighter warm embrace, Atsumu couldn't ignore the dull flare of _something_ igniting in his chest. It was a spark threatening to raze him from the inside out if he allowed it to fully fan into flame.

Jealousy? Longing? Desperation?

He wasn't sure, and he was too afraid to inspect that conflagration any closer. All Atsumu knew in that moment was that he didn't want this feeling to ever end - even if the fire consuming him was the only thing keeping him warm.

With a few clicks and flashes, the impromptu photoshoot came to an end. You stepped back from the twins, smoothing down the sleek crimson fabric of your gown with a beaming smile.

"I can't believe this is really it," you said, letting out a slightly breathless laugh tinged with disbelief. "The end of an era."

Atsumu felt his throat constrict slightly at your words. You weren't wrong - the life and routines you'd all become so accustomed to were coming to a definitive end today. The demon of change loomed on the horizon, refusing to be ignored any longer.

Before he could dwell too much on the creeping sense of melancholy, Osamu was suddenly there, his larger hand engulfing your smaller one in a warm grip.

"C'mere for a sec," the gray-haired twin murmured, voice pitched low enough that Atsumu had to strain to catch the words.

You shot Atsumu a quizzical look over your shoulder as Osamu began to gently tug you away from the crowd of meandering graduates and their families. Atsumu could only offer a halfhearted shrug, that ever-present lump forming in his throat once more.

He watched with a strange sense of detachment as Osamu guided you under the secluded alcove of a tall oak tree, its thick canopy of leaves providing a sheltered respite from prying eyes. You came to a stop before him, the two of you bathed in shards of filtered sunlight as you stared up at Osamu with clear confusion.

But Atsumu knew his twin, could read the set of Osamu's shoulders and the slight downward quirk of his lips. He was working himself up to something, expending that extra energy to gather his thoughts in a way Atsumu had never been able to do himself.

Slowly, reverently, Osamu lifted his free hand to cup your cheek, calloused thumb tracing the delicate curve of bone there. You seemed to freeze under the tender ministration, lips parting slightly on an exhale. Atsumu found himself holding his breath right along with you, the world around him reduced to a dim buzzing while he waited for whatever would happen next.

Then, as if in slow motion, Osamu leaned down to press his lips against your forehead in a lingering, achingly intimate kiss.

The gesture was shockingly gentle, a sweetness Atsumu didn't know his rough-edged twin was even capable of. He couldn't tear his widened eyes away as you lifted your own hands to settle against Osamu's chest, fingertips lightly bunching the fabric of his gown.

For a fragmented heartbeat, it was as if Atsumu wasn't even there - just two bodies frozen in a private embrace, conveying everything words could never hope to fully encapsulate. It was beautiful and heart-rending all at once.

Just as quickly as the moment began, it was over. Osamu pulled back ever-so-slightly, eyes flickering over your features as he drank in your awestruck expression with an indecipherable look of his own.

Then, the spell was broken by the sound of Atsumu's mother calling out to them, gesturing with her camera for the trio to regroup for more pictures.

You stepped backwards, mouth still hanging open as if to speak before visibly collecting yourself. Osamu's expression had already smoothed back into his usual impassive mask, but that muscle in his jaw ticked with some undefinable emotion as he followed your lead out from the shade of the tree.

All three of you rejoined the crowd without a word spoken about what had just transpired. Atsumu fell into step beside his twin, throwing furtive glances towards Osamu's stoic profile out of the corner of his eye.

What the hell was that? The thought battered around his skull like an insistent, droning pulse he couldn't ignore. Did Osamu have feelings for you too? Unrequited, seemingly unspoken feelings if the tortured longing in that chaste embrace told Atsumu anything.

The realization that your friendship may have permanently shifted should have been earth-shattering. But in that moment, Atsumu couldn't bring himself to process the full weight of it. Not when you stood there looking so bewildered and ethereal, the last rays of afternoon sunlight setting your very skin aglow.

Change was inevitable, he supposed. And no amount of clinging to the nostalgic innocence of the past could stop the inescapable march of time.

So he simply closed his eyes, letting the radiant warmth of you sear itself into his memory alongside the phantom imprint of Osamu's lips against your forehead.

It was a picture he knew, deep down, that he would never be able to recreate or find again.

A few weeks after the bittersweet pomp and circumstance of graduation, you found yourself standing in the cozy kitchen of the Miya household. The air was thick with the aroma of simmering rice and freshly chopped vegetables as Osamu methodically prepped ingredients.

"Told ya I was gonna put ya to work," he called over his shoulder with a teasing lilt. "Can't have ya leeching off my hospitality for free, (Y/N)."

You stuck your tongue out at the back of his head, momentarily forgetting he couldn't actually see the childish gesture. In the weeks following your high school sendoff, the three of you had fallen back into that familiar, effortless rhythm. Spending time together was as natural as breathing - a fact you were infinitely grateful for.

"I'm happy to help however I can," you replied easily, tying one of Osamu's spare aprons around your waist. "You know I'd do anything to support your dream of opening that onigiri shop."

Osamu's shoulder hitched in a half-shrug, but you caught the way the tips of his ears tinged pink at your earnest proclamation. For all his put-upon gruffness, the gray-haired twin had a surprisingly soft underbelly when it came to vulnerability.

"Just don't go gassin' my head up too much," he finally muttered, turning to face you with a bashful smile. "I'll start to think yer tryna butter me up for free food or somethin'."

You opened your mouth to refute his teasing claim, but your retort died on your lips as Osamu closed the distance between you. He moved with that same innate grace he exuded on the volleyball court, casual confidence rolling off him in waves until you were cast in his looming shadow.

Up close, you were struck by the intensity simmering in his half-lidded gunmetal eyes, the slight protrusion of his sharp cheekbones accented by the strong angles of his jawline. All boyish softness had faded from his features, giving way to an arresting maturity that stole your breath.

When did Osamu become...this? You found yourself wondering with no small amount of bewilderment. Sure, you'd always known the twins were outrageously handsome, but that acknowledged fact had seemed almost irrelevant in the grand scheme of your close-knit friendship.

Now though, as Osamu's broad palms settled on the counter on either side of you, effectively bracketing you against the solid line of his body, you were hyper-aware of how big he was. How undeniably masculine in a way you'd somehow missed until this very moment.

The barest whisper of his sandalwood cologne infiltrated your senses as he leaned closer, deep timbre reverberating against your skin.

"A'right, enough flirtin'," he murmured, the barest hint of a smirk playing on those full lips. "Let's get cookin' before this rice gets any older."

You could only nod dumbly as he guided you through the familiar rhythm of onigiri preparation, his body a scorching presence against your back. Each brush of his calloused fingers against yours as he adjusted your hand positioning sent electric jolts of heated awareness dancing along your nerves.

And when he bent even closer, the deep rumble of his laughter ghosting across the sensitive skin of your neck while he murmured instructions, you struggled not to shiver. The dizzying blend of cedar musk and the salty tang of dried seaweed filled your senses until Osamu was all you could perceive.

In the periphery of your vision, you caught a glimpse of Atsumu lingering in the kitchen entrance, watching your intimate exchange through narrowed eyes. You tamped down the slight lurch of guilt at the realization he'd witnessed your proximity to his twin.

Surely there was nothing untoward happening here - just Osamu teaching you a skill he'd perfected through hands-on guidance. This closeness and physical ease was natural for your long-standing friendship... Right?

Still, you couldn't help the shiver of heated awareness that trickled down your spine at Osamu's every touch, igniting your nerve endings like driftwood catching the first lick of flame.

This felt decidedly new, unfamiliar...and more than a little thrilling in a way that should have been deeply unsettling. Yet you found yourself sinking into the unfurling warmth of Osamu's proximity with little protest, chasing that smoldering spark of tension.

As the rhythmic kneading and shaping of the onigiri filling continued, the heavy silence that blanketed the kitchen only seemed to grow thicker with tension. You were hyperaware of every minute shift in Osamu's body behind you, the whisper of his exhales fanning across the back of your neck.

His hands felt searing against yours as he firmly guided your movements, broad palms engulfing your smaller ones entirely. You struggled to focus on his softly murmured instructions, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through you with each rumbling syllable.

"There ya go, just like that..." Osamu's praise was a low purr against the heated shell of your ear. "Yer a natural at this, doll."

You bit back a full-body shiver at the endearment, all too aware of how easily those simple pet names rolled off his tongue nowadays. There was an undeniable undercurrent of suggestion woven into each word, blatant flirtation thinly veiled behind their usual banter.

When had his teasing comments started to evolve into something more heated, more weighted with implication? You couldn't pinpoint an exact moment, but the shift was unmistakable now.

A large, calloused palm skated up the length of your arm to splay possessively against the dip of your waist, effortlessly drawing your bodies into complete alignment. You felt surrounded, enveloped by Osamu's solid heat and earthy, intoxicating scent.

"Gettin' a lil handsy there, aren'tcha 'Samu?" The familiar lilt of Atsumu's voice shattered the heated tension like a bucket of ice water.

You startled slightly at the sudden intrusion, tearing your eyes away from the expanse of tanned forearms bracketing you against the counter. Atsumu stood in the kitchen doorway, hip cocked lazily as he regarded the two of you with an inscrutable expression.

There was an edge to his Usually playful smirk that bordered on something darker as his piercing gaze slowly raked over the suggestive lines of your bodies. You suddenly felt unbearably overheated under the weight of that stare, heat licking up the back of your neck in a flush.

"Can't have my favourite taste tester gettin' cold feet now," Osamu replied without missing a beat, not even bothering to extract himself from your intimate position. In fact, his fingers flexed ever-so-slightly against your waist, pulling you somehow even closer in a subconscious gesture of possession.

The air felt weighted, charged with an undercurrent of challenge that had your pulse thrumming in your ears. Osamu's confident indifference only seemed to sharpen the intensity of Atsumu's regard.

When the blond finally spoke again, his voice carried a strained edge that had your mouth going dry with unnamed tension. "Is that how yer plannin' to taste test? Gettin' real...hands on with the process?"

It should have been an innocuous statement, laced with Atsumu's trademark cockiness that you'd come to expect. And yet tingles of heated awareness sparked along your nerve endings at the subtle growl woven into those last few words.

You were abruptly, viscerally reminded that these were not the same unruly teens you'd grown up alongside all these years. Somewhere along the way, the easy camaraderie and roughhousing had evolved into something darker, heavier - an intricate magic act of push and pull and simmering, unspoken tension.

Osamu simply cocked one brow in response to his twin's barb, the barest of smirks playing at the corner of his lips. "That a problem for ya, 'Tsumu?"

The challenge hung thick and palpable in the air as Osamu let his palm splay even wider across the dip of your waist, thumb grazing the exposed sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up.

You felt like you were suspended in the eye of a storm, caught in the crosshairs of some secret battle waged entirely through subtle physicality and heated stares. The energy swirling between the brothers was suffocating, heady, triggering your fight-or-flight instinct.

Part of you wanted nothing more than to flee this suddenly stifling kitchen and catch your breath. But the other part - a deeper, primal part of your psyche - was entranced by this unfurling dance. You were transfixed by the raw, unbridled maleness suddenly radiating from two men you'd known your whole life.

"Y'know, on second thought..." Atsumu's voice dragged you from your daze, lower and edgier than you'd ever heard it. He pushed off from the doorframe with one last lingering look, jaw flexing subtly. "I'll leave the two of ya to it."

Then he was gone, disappearing back down the hallway from whence he'd come. Yet the heated imprint of his stare seemed seared into the very air around you, an inescapable phantom presence.

The tension didn't dissipate even after he departed. If anything, it ratcheted up several precarious notches as Osamu's gunmetal gaze slid over to you. A beat passed where you simply stared at each other, the weighted silence stretching taut.

Then, before you could even process his next move, Osamu dipped his head until his nose brushed against the sensitive skin just below your ear. His gravelly exhale fanned across your throat as he murmured, "Where were we, doll?"

Osamu's words seemed to release whatever fragile hold you'd maintained on keeping this heated situation at arm's length. The rough timbre of his voice coupled with the scorching brand of his body against yours proved to be your undoing.

You couldn't resist leaning back into the solid wall of his chest, seeking out that blissful fusion of hard planes and masculine warmth. A quiet, needy sound escaped the back of your throat as Osamu's hands roamed with more insistence - one splaying across your lower abdomen to tug your hips flush against him, the other skimming featherlight patterns up your ribs.

"That's it, sweetheart," he rumbled in approval, lips brushing the shell of your ear with each ragged syllable. "Don't overthink this..."

His palms felt scorching even through the thin cotton barrier of your top as they mapped every dip and swell of your torso. You shuddered at the overwhelming rush of sensation sparking along your nerve endings, body instinctively arching into his touch like a flower seeking sunlight.

This went against every sensible part of your being that understood intimate moments like this between friends could lead nowhere good. That little voice of restraint had been drowned out entirely by the molten lava flow of want and need thrumming through your veins.

All you could perceive was the hot brand of Osamu's body weighing you down, the dizzying amalgam of his cedar musk and the salty tang of rice. The rough pads of his fingertips skating higher, higher, until you were certain he could feel the frantic staccato beating of your heart.

"So responsive for me," Osamu growled in approval, sounding almost awed. "Been wantin' this for a long time, haven'tcha doll?"

Had you? The question should have given you pause, allowed some semblance of rationality and self-control to creep back in through the hairline fractures.

But Osamu didn't give you that opportunity. His palm finally cupped your breast in one scorching caress, kneading the soft flesh with confident surety. The brush of his calloused thumb over your pebbled nipple right before he pinched it punched a shuddering gasp from your lips that he instantly swallowed in a searing kiss.

There was nothing gentle or tentative about the way Osamu's mouth moved against yours. Just raw, unbridled hunger and need as his tongue swept between your lips in a blatant claim of dominance.

You surrendered to the dizzying onslaught of sensation without a shred of resistance. Fisting your hands in the front of his shirt, you pulled him even closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Just prussian lines and valleys molded seamlessly together in a perfect, blissful fit.

Osamu's free hand threaded through your hair to angle your head, deepening the kiss until your shared breaths mingled in harsh pants. His taste, his scent, the dense weight of his body crushed against you - it all blended into a mind-numbing, euphoric loop.

Only the jarring thud of something clattering to the tiled floor penetrated the hazy lust-soaked pocket you and Osamu seemed to have crafted. You startled slightly at the sudden noise, lips parting with Osamu's on a shallow gasp as you blinked back to reality.

Atsumu stood frozen in the kitchen doorway once more, eyes blown wide and jaw slack in astonishment. One of the ceramic canisters that usually lived on the counter had fallen from his grip, rolling across the tiles in his wake.

For a beat, the three of you simply stared at each other through the thick silence, tension crackling like a livewire. Then Atsumu seemed to visibly collect himself, scooping up the fallen canister as he slowly backed out of the kitchen without a word.

Only the dull thud of the pantry door slamming down the hall gave any indication of his hasty departure. Yet in the stillness that followed, you couldn't fight the premonition that the earth had irrevocably shifted on its axis - consequences be damned.

Several days had passed since that heated, unforgettable encounter with Osamu in the kitchen. Yet no matter how hard you tried to go about your daily routines and pretend nothing had fundamentally shifted, you couldn't quite meet either twin's gaze directly.

The memory of Osamu's calloused palms mapping every swell and valley of your body, his demanding kiss swallowing your shuddering gasps - it all replayed through your mind in vivid flashes. Stoking an insistent, smoldering burn low in your belly whenever you dared dwell on the implications.

You knew you should have been mortified by your lack of self-restraint, disgusted with yourself for nearly throwing away a lifetime of close friendship over some sordid tryst. But you couldn't seem to muster up that sense of appropriate shame or regret. If anything, some deeper, more primal part of your psyche only ached for more.

That confusing internal tug-of-war came to a head when Atsumu texted you late one evening, asking if you were free to come by Osamu's new onigiri shop the next day. Apparently, he needed an objective third party to blindly taste test some new menu items he'd been working on.

You really should have said no, claimed you were too busy or had other plans. Put some healthy distance between yourself and the tangled web of heated tension now straining your connections to both brothers. Yet the words of refusal couldn't find purchase on your tongue.

Which was how you found yourself sliding onto a barstool across the service counter from Atsumu the following afternoon, stomach aflutter with an undercurrent of trepidation you refused to examine too closely. Osamu was conspicuously absent, having said he needed to run some errands and leaving you both alone with a veritable buffet of onigiri prototypes.

"Aren't ya a sight for sore eyes," Atsumu purred by way of greeting, all traces of his typical shit-eating grin notably absent. Instead, his honeyed gaze roamed over you with an unsettlingly weighted intensity that raised gooseflesh across your skin.

You tried your best to swallow down the sudden lump of nerves clogging your throat, mustering up an awkward chuckle. "Don't go getting fresh with me. Your flattery won't sway my taste bud honesty."

That, at least, earned a quiet huff of laughter from the setter. "Wouldn'ta it any other way, sweetheart."

God, that pet name should not have sent a shiver of heated awareness skittering down your spine the way it did. Yet here you were, unable to tear your eyes away as Atsumu methodically rolled up the sleeves of his fitted black tee to expose tanned, corded forearms and the flex of sinewy muscle.

He caught you staring, lips ticking up ever so slightly at the corners.

With a subtle shake of your head, willing away your treacherous thoughts, you nodded toward the array of rice offerings spread out before you. "So, where should we start?"

"Let's start with this lil number." Atsumu slid a plate with a beautifully shaped onigiri towards you. "New flavor combination 'Samu’s been wantin' to try out."

You reached for the rice ball, but Atsumu's hand shooting out to wrap around your wrist stalled your motion. You glanced up sharply to find him regarding you with an indecipherable gleam in his eyes.

"Allow me, (Y/N)."

The deep rasp of his tone sent tingles sparking across your nerve endings like licks of flame. You could only mutely nod in assent as Atsumu brought the onigiri to your parted lips, gaze boring into yours as he murmured, "Open up for me, sweetheart."

Electricity crackled down your spine at those loaded words, a visceral thrum of heated want coiling low in your abdomen before you could stop it. But you refused to shy away from his challenge, parting your lips to allow Atsumu to slowly feed you that first succulent bite.

As your teeth sank into the fluffy rice, flavors exploded across your tongue with dizzying complexity. Savory soy sauce notes mingled with the brine of salted plum and whispers of toasted sesame in a harmonious fusion. It was heavenly and utterly sinful all at once.

"Oh my god..." you breathed around the bite, eyes fluttering closed in order to better focus all your senses on the flavors. "Atsumu, that's incredible."

When you reopened your eyes, the blond was keenly watching you from beneath hooded lids. There was a tension wired through every harsh line of his body, thrumming in the corded tendons of his wrist as he clutched the onigiri in an almost punishing grip.

"Got a lil carried away there for a sec, didn'tcha doll?" His timbre dripped like molten honey, viscous and weighted with undisguised heat.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond beyond giving the slightest shake of your head. There was a frisson of something dark and intoxicating swirling in the depths of Atsumu's piercing gaze that threatened to rob you of rational thought.

As if slowly waking from a trance, Atsumu brought the onigiri to his own lips for a tantalizing bite. He held it between his teeth while reaching for another one, making a soft sound of approval around the mouthful.

"Try this one next."

You didn't miss the challenge glinting in his eyes as he brought the new rice ball to your mouth. Nor the scorching graze of calloused fingertips along your jaw as he cradled your face with his free palm, thumb swiping blatantly over your bottom lip.

The soft whine that spilled from your throat was utterly involuntary, as was the way you instinctively leaned in to chase the tantalizing scent of Atsumu's cologne mixed with the briny sweetness of the rice.

"That's it, sweetheart..." His rumbling purr seemed to reverberate through you, stoking the steadily mounting embers of want low in your belly. "Let go and just feel for me."

You were utterly intoxicated by this side of him - self-assured and ravenously potent in a way you couldn't help but crave. So you readily obliged when Atsumu guided the onigiri between your parted lips in a torturously slow glide, eyes locked with yours in a scorching display of dominance and challenge.

What should have been an utterly innocent affair - taste testing new menu items alongside a friend - had swiftly devolved into something far more sinister under the dual onslaught of Atsumu's seductive ministrations and your own inability to keep those floodgates of hunger tightly sealed.

Another breathless moan spilled against the pad of Atsumu's thumb as the flavors burst over your tongue in a euphoric explosion. You didn't even register the complexity of the seasonings, too thoroughly subsumed by the spell his mere proximity wove over your senses.

In that heated trance state, you reached for the next rice offering with a steadier hand than you felt. But instead of simply proffering it to Atsumu, you found yourself mirroring his earlier move - cradling his chiseled jaw to swipe a maddening path over the lush swell of his bottom lip.

A punched-out sound rumbled from the setter, pupils swallowing up the warm honey of his irises as you guided the onigiri between his parted lips. You didn't miss the way his lids fluttered or the sharp flare of his nostrils as you stroked the pad of your thumb over that lush expanse of plush skin in a blatant tease.

"What did I tell ya about sweet talkin' my customers, ya sleazeball?"

The rough growl of Osamu's voice felt like a bucket of ice water down your spine, effectively shattering the ephemeral bubble of heated tension you and Atsumu had spun trance-like between you.

You sprang apart with a harsh jolt, whipping around to find the gray-haired twin observing you both from the end of the counter. His expression was unreadable beyond the faint twitch of that muscle feathering along his jaw - a nearly imperceptible tell that betrayed the depths of his tightly controlled displeasure.

An oppressive silence seemed to blanket the small shop, thick and loaded like the calm before a storm. You felt suspended in its grip, caught between twin infernos of intensity radiating from Osamu and Atsumu.

The weight of your actions - the heated flirtation, the flagrant disregard for boundaries - crashed over you in searing waves of guilt and something far more primal that you couldn't put a name to. Part of you wanted to slink away in mortified shame. But another part felt locked in the thrall of that precarious simmer, utterly unable to look away from the unfolding confrontation.

"This how you been tastin' yer new menu items?" Osamu finally spoke again, a ragged edge fraying the depths of his gravelly timbre. His gunmetal gaze pierced into you with laser focus before sliding over to pin his twin with equal scrutiny. "Gettin' real hands on with the process?"

There was a challenge laced into those words that raised the fine hairs along your nape. You found yourself momentarily frozen, mouth working soundlessly as your brain struggled to formulate a response, an excuse, anything.

Of course, leave it to Atsumu to recover his wits and asshole bravado first.

"Maybe if ya finally learned how to properly season things, I wouldn'ta had to get creative," he countered with a blasé shrug, full lips quirking into a smirk that bordered on taunting.

The muscle in Osamu's jaw ticked dangerously, but otherwise he didn't so much as flinch at his twin's barb. You, however, felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath as dread and arousal swirled nauseously in your gut.

"That so?" he murmured after a loaded pause, low and lethal in a way you'd never heard from the typically unruffled twin before. "'Cause from where I'm standin', looked an awful lot like ya were just tryna get yer rocks off with our best friend."

The bluntness of Osamu's accusation hung viscous and weighty in the air. You were paralyzed, every rational brain cell screaming at your damning silence in the face of such inflammatory words.

Yet still, you couldn't seem to find your voice. Couldn't will your limbs into action and flee from the escalating situation like any sane person would.

It was almost as if some primal, id-driven part of your psyche was reveling in the heated tug-of-war unfolding between the Miyas - being the focus of their piqued attention and unresolved tension in a way you never had before.

"Maybe I was," Atsumu countered at last, straightening to his full towering height with a boldness bordering on bravado. His smoky gaze slid over to scorch a path across your body, from the flush blazing high on your cheekbones down to where your thighs strained against the thin cotton of your shorts. "Ya got a problem with that, 'Samu?"

The sudden forcefulness of his regard, coupled with the molten heat dripping from Atsumu's words, sent a thrill of pure, undiluted arousal sparking down your spine. You watched, utterly transfixed, as the brothers stared each other down from across the counter.

The air felt charged and heavy, loaded with the promise of an impending storm front about to break. You shouldn't have wanted to remain tethered to that maelstrom any longer. Should have fled before this rapidly escalating situation obliterated the final tattered remnants of the world you once knew.

But as Osamu slowly rounded the counter towards you and Atsumu with a look that could peel paint, the only thought reverberating through your lust-addled brain was how grateful you were to finally be feeling the full force of the tempest.

No more skirting the edges of that swirling vortex, content to simply catch glimpses through the fractures of the world you'd built around yourself. You were about to become fully subsumed by its churning intensity - consequences be damned.

When Osamu finally came to a halt mere inches away, you could feel the raging heat of his stare like a brand searing your very bones. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing up the pale silver of his irises almost entirely as he drank in your flushed, parted lips and subtly heaving chest.

"I think," he began slowly, each word seeming to catch like gravel in his throat. "The real question here's whether our best friend's got a problem with it. Don't ya think, (Y/N)?"

Both twins swiveled their heated stares your way in uncanny tandem, effectively trapping you in the crosshairs of their unspoken stand off. You felt like a gazelle cornered between two starving lions, completely at their mercy yet unable to summon up any rational sense of self-preservation.

Because the plain truth was, surrendering to the raging storm of want consuming you sounded like bliss itself. All you wanted in that moment was to succumb to its swirling chaos completely, no matter the consequences awaiting on the other side.

Your lips parted around a trembling exhale, the sound seeming to echo loudly amidst the fraught stillness. Then with an audible swallow, you allowed your gaze to drift between the two men, barely daring to hope at the spark of undisguised hunger mirrored on each of their handsome features.

"No," you finally rasped, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their combined gravity. "No problems here."

The stifling tension that blanketed the onigiri shop in the wake of your breathless confession stretched on for several beats, loaded and electric. You watched with bated breath as the twins silently sized each other up before Osamu ultimately turned back and left.

Then, as if an unspoken decision had been made, something inside Atsumu seemed to detonate. In the span of a blink, he surged forward with unchecked purpose, muscular forearms bracketing you bodily against the counter. The solidity of his frame crushed against yours punched all the air from your lungs in a harsh exhale.

"Fuck, sweetheart..." he rumbled, voice already wrecked with need as he cradled the nape of your neck. "'M gonna make ya feel so good, yeah?"

Any coherent response you might have mustered was effectively swallowed by the punishing crush of Atsumu's mouth against yours. There was nothing gentle or tentative about the devouring slide of his tongue sweeping past your lips to lick hotly into the cavern of your mouth.

You could only whine against the unbridled onslaught of sensation, hands fisting in the front of his shirt as if to anchor yourself against the riptide threatening to pull you under. Everywhere your bodies melded together felt feverish and electric, stoking the steadily mounting blaze of arousal smoldering in your core.

Atsumu was all sharp angles and wiry power as he pinned you with his weight, one calloused palm drifting down to catch the flare of your hip and grind your hips flush. The undulating roll of his lower body against yours in tandem with the harsh suction and nips of his teeth against your bottom lip punched a broken keen of pleasure from your very core.

"That's it, let go for me sweetheart," he growled against the swollen seam of your lips before dipping back in for another dizzying taste.

There was no room for conscious thought beyond chasing the euphoric haze of sensation after burning sensation. Your very nerve endings were lit up in a constant loop of overload, every inhale filled with the heady, masculine blend of Atsumu's cologne and sheer musk.

You were utterly consumed, strung out by the steady build of blinding want coiling ever tighter and hotter at your center. Nothing else seemed to exist in that endless stretch of moments beyond Atsumu's sculpted body weighing you down and his punishing mouth claiming you as his own in a blaze of possession.

Only the harsh clatter of something solid striking the tile underfoot finally allowed the smallest fragment of clarity to pierce the lustful fog. With a broken gasp, you wrenched your mouth away to glance wildly over Atsumu's shoulder.

Osamu stood frozen in the entry to the kitchen, the plastic crate he'd clearly dropped at some point now lay scattered across the floor along with its contents—a selection of carrots and rice balls spilled haphazardly.

His pupils were blown wide in shock, pale irises swallowed up almost entirely as he watched you and Atsumu slowly untangle from your fervent embrace. The air felt supercharged and stiflingly heavy, weighed down by the newfound awareness and implications of what he'd just witnessed.

For several dragging beats, nobody spoke or even dared to move a muscle as the three of you simply stared at each other through the weighted stillness. Then, with a measured inhale, Osamu bent to slowly retrieve the scattered items with jerky motions, gaze averted.

"Don't mind me," he muttered once the crate was repacked, voice tinged with an undercurrent of something that made the hair on the nape of your neck prickle. "Just...carry on."

With that, the gray-haired twin pivoted on his heel and stalked back through the kitchen without another word or backward glance. You and Atsumu remained frozen in place watching his retreating form, the atmosphere between you now so fraught and overpoweringly awkward, it was practically suffocating.

The air felt viscous and stifling, as if you were both suspended in an airless vacuum that sucked all residual heat and excitement from the confined space. After another weighty moment, Atsumu finally cleared his throat and shifted away, careful to maintain a respectable distance while straightening his rumpled clothes.

"I should..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck while stoically avoiding your probing gaze. "We'll pick this up another time, yeah?"

And just like that, the subject seemed to shut with an almost resounding finality. Whatever simmering, unspoken tension blazing between you just moments prior was swiftly smothered and packed away without ceremony. No acknowledgment, no discussion - just a desperate pivot back towards the familiar status quo as cleanly as possible.

You could only mutely nod your assent, still reeling from the emotional whiplash of the past few minutes. With one last indecipherable look, Atsumu collected his bag and swept out the door, leaving you alone in the empty shop to vainly attempt collecting your scattered thoughts and tremulous emotions.

It took some time for the harsh pounding of your pulse to finally recede, thrumming in your ears like the steady beat of retreating waves. As the swirling chaos quieted, it brought with it a sudden, sweeping ache - an insidious phantom longing that had taken root deep in your bones.

You were utterly unprepared for the hollow, aimless melancholy that would linger even after the smoke and heat dissipated entirely. A melancholy that was only sated by continuing to greedily chase those ephemeral moments of blinding, tempestuous bliss.

No matter the inevitable devastation that awaited in the aftermath.

In the days following the emotionally charged encounter with Atsumu at the onigiri shop, you found yourself perpetually off-kilter, like the very ground had shifted beneath your feet.

Interactions that should have been lighthearted and routine felt weighted down by countless unspoken words, lingering glances filled with undisguised longing neither party dared voice aloud. An inescapable tension blanketed every moment the three of you occupied the same space.

You tried in vain to stem the rising tide of heat that furled low in your belly whenever you were near Osamu. The memory of being consumed by Atsumu's passion was still so viscerally fresh, every graze of his calloused palms against your oversensitized skin replayed in high definition.

But it was more than that – your reawakened desire also thrummed with flashes of Osamu's masculine presence surrounding you that day in the kitchen while crafting onigiri. The memory of being utterly enveloped by his cedar musk and the scorching brand of his solid frame pressed flush against yours was enough to have you trembling.

Worst of all were the times Osamu would catch you watching him from across the room, gunmetal eyes boring into you with an intensity you couldn't decipher. In those infinitesimal pockets of stillness, you could have sworn his pupils blew wide in a mirror of your own hunger. As if he was an inch away from abandoning his rigid self-control entirely.

The atmosphere was a powder keg just waiting for an inevitable spark to detonate it. So perhaps it was foolish, but some deeper desire within you found itself carelessly fanning those smoldering embers whenever you could. Offering Osamu lingering glances through your lashes, or pressing just a bit closer into his space under the guise of tasting a new menu item.

If he noticed your provocations, the twin gave no outward indication. Stoic control was second nature to Osamu, an unbreakable dam allowing just the barest trickle of turbulent undercurrents through the cracks. Yet for the first time in your life, you found that steadfast composure began to grate under your skin in a viscerally infuriating way.

You recognized the spiral of your behavior, the desperate goading to elicit a reaction – any reaction – from Osamu. It was like poking a slumbering beast, shoving and prodding until it lashed out in snarling hunger. Conscious thought took a backseat to compulsion as you rapidly gave yourself over to that primal hunt.

The breaking point came, inevitably, one sweltering afternoon in the cramped supply closet tucked behind the kitchen. You'd ducked inside to retrieve some extra rice containers only to nearly run headlong into Osamu's solid frame, ensconced in the tiny space.

"Shit—" you started, instinctively flinching backwards as muscular forearms shot out on either side of you to brace against the shelving units. The sudden cloying proximity of his sheer mass surrounded you in an inescapable cage, radiating heat like a furnace.

Osamu watched your startled reaction impassively, seemingly unruffled. However, his pupils had blown wide, irises reduced to smoldering iron rings locked on your own.

"You're gettin' reckless," he growled after a drawn pause, deep baritone reverberating over your heated skin like a physical caress. "Those little stunts o' yours ain't as subtle as ya think."

Your breath stalled somewhere high in your chest at the dark promise in his tone. In that moment, this close and utterly trapped in his orbit, the twin was not nearly as unaffected as he liked to project. You could practically taste the hunger bleeding out beneath those hairline fractures in his control.

"Maybe I'm getting tired of being subtle," you heard yourself replica before rational thought could kick back in. Having him so near, caging you in, sent a frisson of blatant challenge licking like flames over your nerve endings. That same feral, desperate compulsion to break through his composure drove you to keep pushing.

"Ya don't know what yer asking for, princess." The pet name rasped off Osamu's tongue, completely devoid of its usual lightheartedness. He seemed to swell even larger in the confined space as you watched that muscle in his jaw tic in agitation.

Fuck, he was going to consume you – a conquering king who refused to be denied his due any longer.

The notion shouldn't have been nearly as electrifying as it was, sending a spiral of molten arousal thrumming hotly outward from your core. You surged forward on pure reckless abandon to meet him halfway, searching for any type of friction.

It was Osamu's turn to inhale sharply through his nose at the sudden contact, every rock-solid plane of his torso now sealed flush against your softer curves. Neither of you spoke or dared to move any further as the miniscule space crackled with unbearable tension.

"How'dya know what I want?" you finally provoked, lifting your chin boldly despite the way your pulse thundered in your ears. "Maybe this is exactly it."

The implication hung hot and heavy between your bodies for all of a split second before Osamu's carefully leashed restraint finally shattered. With a guttural growl that reverberated straight to your center, he roughly grabbed your jaw in one large palm and crushed your mouths together.

Every ounce of pent-up hunger and yearning seemed to explode forth all at once in a clash of lips and teeth and questing tongues. The shock of it all momentarily robbed you of higher brain function as you jolted against the steel shelving at your back. Pinned between two scalding, inescapable surfaces with no hope of reprieve.

Osamu swallowed your resulting gasp with another plundering sweep of his tongue, cradling the back of your head with rough possession to angle you deeper into the maelstrom. His lips claimed yours in a searing brand you could practically feel etching into your very bones.

Not to be outdone, you quickly recovered enough dexterity to wind your arms around his neck and draw his weight more fully onto you. This time it was Osamu's turn to groan at the steady friction of your bodies meeting in an instinctive, rocking tandem.

You were utterly consumed from all sides by his scorching heat, the earthy cedar musk and briny tang of dried seaweed filling every fraught inhale. It should have been suffocating, that level of utter possession. Yet all you craved was diving deeper into the tidal wave's undertow.

Only the unmistakable creak of the main shop door being eased open from the front room shattered the electrified bubble you'd constructed. With a wounded noise, Osamu wrenched his mouth away as if burned, eyes blown wide and wild in the shadowy dimness of the storage closet.

For a handful of harrowing moments, you both remained frozen, sharing rapidly shallowing breaths as your straining ears caught the telltale thud of Atsumu's heavy footfalls somewhere out front.

"Yo, Samu! Ya back here?" the blond's smooth call ricocheted down the hallway preceded by the sound of more of his swaggering steps moving towards the kitchen.

You and Osamu sprang apart like repelling magnets, chests heaving as if coming up for blessed air. There would be no speaking of this, no dissecting the maelstrom currently ravaging every logical brain cell left to you both.

With twin looks of wild desperation, Osamu turned and eased the door open just wide enough to admit a sliver of illumination from the kitchen. Then with one last anguished look over his shoulder, he disappeared back towards the front to greet his twin.

You remained rooted in place for several minutes after, back pressed against the shelving units and hands fisted at your sides to quell their incessant trembling. Each labored inhale flooded your system with the lingering traces of cedar musk and sweat that felt seared into the very lining of your lungs.

Only once the thunderous pounding of your heart eventually subsided to a dull throbbing ache did you finally feel stable enough to emerge from the shadowy closet on shaking legs, purposefully avoiding the kitchen and front room entirely until your body no longer vibrated with need.

As you settled adrift in the churning seas of the unknown, one excruciating fact became eminently clear - there was now no possible way to turn back from that hairline fracture which had first allowed the darkness to creep through.

You'd irrevocably shattered the dam holding everything at bay. And the resulting flood waters would drown you all without mercy unless you surrendered to their relentless pull completely.

Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the aftermath of that heated encounter with Osamu, an undercurrent of heated tension seemed to permeate every interaction between the three of you.

Simple, innocuous moments that should have passed without second thought now felt loaded with unspoken implication and promise. Like the powder keg you'd inadvertently lit was still smoldering, waiting to detonate once more at the slightest spark.

Which was likely why your pulse kicked up a furious staccato when you found yourself alone in the kitchen with Atsumu a few nights later, wrist-deep in sudsy dishwater. The familiar domestic scene should have been comforting in its mundanity. Except the blond setter didn't seem interested in keeping things light.

"Y'know, I've been thinkin'," he began conversationally, sliding up to lean one hip against the counter beside you. "We never did finish that little taste-testin' session properly, did we?"

You did your best not to visibly react, keeping your gaze trained on the ceramic plates you were rinsing with poorly-feigned nonchalance.

"That was years ago, 'Tsumu. If I recall, your brother walked in on us getting a little too...comfortable with each other," you replied, mouth dry. Out of your periphery, you watched Atsumu's smirk deepen at the obvious implication.

"Yeah? Well, what 'Samu don't know won't hurt 'im."

The blatant suggestion in his tone raised a flush of heat along the back of your neck. You struggled not to dwell on the mental imagery of Atsumu slowly stalking closer like a predator sent your arousal thrumming in your veins.

"That so?" you croaked out, pulse kicking up another notch when the cotton of his t-shirt brushed your upper arm thanks to his proximity. "Whatever happened to keeping things professional, Miya?"

Atsumu simply chuckled, deep and wicked against the heated shell of your ear as his chest fitted snugly against your back. You drew in a sharp inhale at the brand of his torso pressing flush with yours, palms stalling in the dishwater.

"Does this feel very professional to ya, sweetheart?"

The low rumble of his words vibrated straight through you, searing pleasure lancing bright and hot to your very core. You fought not to shudder at the barely-there rasp of Atsumu's early-evening stubble trailing down the slope of your neck.

"'Tsumu..." The plea fell in a trembling whisper as your eyelids fluttered closed of their own volition. You were undeniably powerless against this all-consuming riptide of tension he'd steadily mounted, body singing in electric want.

Warm, calloused palms settled at your waist, fingers flexing possessively as Atsumu's nose skated across the rapid flutter of your pulse point. The sensation of every exhale fanning blistering heat across your damp skin robbed you of all coherent thought.

"Let go for me, sweetheart," he rasped in your ear, the words more a physical caress than verbal command. "We both know ya want this as bad as I do..."

And suddenly you were seventeen again, young and reckless and utterly enthralled by this beautiful boy with the sly smirk who'd watched you grow up. How many times had you privately longed for him to turn those heated golden eyes on you in the way you craved? For Atsumu to finally shuck off those layers of carefully curated aloofness and claim you as his own?

The answer was too many to quantify. But in that moment, it no longer mattered.

With a needy whine that may as well have been torn directly from your soul, you leaned back to finally fully seal your bodies flush together. Atsumu let out a punched-out sound of approval as your back arched instinctively into the solid planes of his chest and abdomen.

"That's my girl," he crooned in a low, wrecked rasp before finally sealing his mouth over the thundering pulse in your throat.

You cried out at the first scorching sweep of Atsumu's tongue, hands scrambling wildly for purchase. One fist caught in the front of his shirt while the other knocked a few remaining dishes from the counter with a telling clatter.

There was nothing tentative or gentle about the way Atsumu kissed you - just pure liquid heat and consumptive want as he staked his claim with lips, teeth and questing tongue. You were utterly, blissfully adrift in the roiling tides of sensation.

A desperate, broken noise very nearly punched its way past your lips when Atsumu's large palm settled at the nape of your neck, angling your head for even deeper exploration. It was wildfire, molten lava being pumped directly into your veins, and you willingly, greedily burned from the inside out.

Everything beyond the scope of Atsumu's questing mouth, the heavy drag of his teeth scoring delicious friction as he mapped every soft plane, simply ceased to exist. You floated outside the mortal realm of space and time, enveloped in a lush, honeyed vacuum of pure blinding pleasure.

It could have been seconds or eons before Atsumu eventually slowed the maddening pace, gradually reducing you both to panting, open-mouthed exhalations against bruised lips. You struggled in vain to come back down to earth as the setter slowly, reverently brushed his nose against yours in an intimate eskimo kiss.

"Good god, darlin'," he husked out on a ruined exhale, "the things I wanna do to ya..."

His bestial words seemed to momentarily fracture whatever daze you'd slipped into. The lingering echoes of reality, of inescapable consequences, finally began to pierce through the lustful haze swirling around you.

With a tortured mewl, you pushed half-heartedly at Atsumu's shoulders in a silent plea for respite. The precipice you both currently teetered on was far too dizzying to grapple with right now.

Atsumu, bless him, seemed to instantly grasp your sudden reluctance. He cleared his throat roughly before easing back, peppering one last torturously soft kiss to the corner of your swollen lips.

"Easy there, sweetheart," he gentled, calloused palms skimming up and down your ribs in a soothing caress. "We don't gotta take the plunge just yet..."

Chest still heaving from the overwhelming intensity, you watched with a swirl of conflicting emotions as Atsumu slowly backed away and straightened his disheveled appearance. The atmosphere between you thrummed with the echoes of your heated exchange, alive with lingering arousal and unspoken questions.

"For the record..." Atsumu rasped out, voice utterly wrecked in a way that raised goosebumps along your skin. His honeyed gaze burned with undisguised hunger as it roamed your flushed, kiss-swollen features. "Soon as you're ready to let me drown ya proper, just say the word."

You could only nod shakily, fingers still gripping the edge of the counter for stability as Atsumu's suggestive promise seemed to caress every raw nerve-ending. With one final, searing look that pierced straight to your soul, the blond pivoted on his heel and strode from the kitchen without a backwards glance.

You remained frozen in place for several moments, struggling to regain your equilibrium as the phantom echoes of Atsumu's passion slowly started to dissipate. Only once you heard the soft thud of the back door swinging shut did you finally sag backwards against the counter, chest heaving with steadying inhales.

Unbeknownst to you, Atsumu barely made it a few paces down the darkened hallway before a solid weight slammed into his shoulders, propelling him back against the concrete wall with a harsh grunt.

"What the fuck d'ya think you're doin', 'Tsumu?" Osamu growled, stormy eyes glinting like steel as he pinned his twin with one forearm braced against his collarbone. "Fuckin' around with (Y/N) like that right under my goddamn nose?"

Atsumu glared back defiantly even as his windpipe strained against Osamu's unrelenting pressure. "Since when did I need your permission, huh?"

"Don't play stupid, you little shit." The muscle ticked rapidly along Osamu's clenched jaw as he pressed closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "We both know what's really goin' on here."

A tense silence stretched between them, electrically charged and weighted with too many unspoken truths. Osamu's glare bored into his brother's unflinchingly as his free hand fisted in the collar of Atsumu's shirt until their foreheads nearly touched. When he spoke again, his deep timbre emerged barely above a gravelly rasp.

"She doesn't just belong to you, 'Tsumu. I've loved that girl just as long as you have."

The raw admission seemed to detonate the fragile tension encasing them both like a powder keg. Atsumu's piercing stare dimmed briefly with something that looked remarkably like resignation before his lips peeled back in a sneer.

"Yeah, well at least one of us finally found the balls to make a move," he spat back with no real bite.

Osamu's eyes slitted dangerously at the jab, but he made no move to further escalate as the brothers simply glared at each other through the weighted stillness. A strange sense of defeat seemed to gradually wash over them both like an outgoing tide, leeching the residual anger away until only a weary brand of acceptance remained.

With a measured exhale, Osamu slowly loosened his grip until he could fully step back, straightening his broad shoulders as if physically shrugging off the confrontation. Atsumu watched him cautiously, throat working around a dry swallow.

"We can't keep goin' like this," the older twin said at last, scrubbing one large palm over the back of his neck as he purposefully avoided Atsumu's probing stare. "Sneakin' around, steppin' on each other's toes over her every damn minute..."

He trailed off with a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head as he finally locked eyes with his silent counterpart. "It ain't right, and you know it. No matter how we twist ourselves up tryna make it okay."

Atsumu held his twin's gaze for a long moment, every muscle in his chiseled jaw and throat working subtly beneath the surface as the painful truth settled in his bones with leaden finality.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering inhale, he gave the barest dip of his chin in assent. "What're you proposin' then?"

The challenge was clear in Atsumu's carefully neutral tone, an obvious gauntlet thrown for Osamu to pick up and take the reins. And for a fleeting second, the blond could have sworn he glimpsed naked longing warring with resignation in his twin's pale eyes. But then it was gone, shuttered behind that same impenetrable wall of impassivity.

"We deal with this thing head-on," Osamu answered at last, tone resolute and free of its earlier bite. "No more sneakin' around, no more holdin' back - we put it all on the table and let the pieces fall where they may."

He held Atsumu's alarmed stare with an inscrutable mask of his own, leaving no further room for argument or avoidance.

"Either we go for broke and finally have it all out...or we walk away from this for good."

[frogchiro]

IM HOLDING YOUR HAND PLEASE WE CAN BE DELUSIONAL TOGETGER!!!!

no the letter should be so terrifying, but nothing in it is threatening towards you and its all praises, all words of utter adoration and instead of calling the police you're just on your bed kicking your feet like it's a normal love letter

you start wearing cuter outfits to visit Simon at the butchers, start looking for any excuses to see him! cute little sundresses that show you off a little bit too much, always greeting him with such a sweet smile, bringing him meals you've made with anything you've brought to him! leaving him a little letter confessing just how much you appreciate everything he does, and you mean Everything, and just how many nights you stay awake thinking of him :(

RAAAAAHHH LETS GO

You're absolutely right love :(( Dolling yourself up just to go over to his shop and buy some of that extra fresh meat he always specifically leaves for you, softly pouting and complaining about the new recipe you wanted to try but you accidentally made too much of the cream stew and you're afraid it'll go bad.

Sheepishly asking him if he'd like some as a kind of thank you for the meat he sets aside for you and all the nice things he's done for you like help repairing the old piping and Ghost is over the fucking moon. You offer to cook him food? Share your food with him?? It sound almost like a proposal to him; you already act like the perfect wife for him, you obviously must love him too right??

Wearing cute sundresses when going to the butcher's, always pretty and dolled up and your heart is hammering inside your ribcage, cheeks warm and eyes glossy. Also if you think that Simon won't jerk off to the image of you all neat and pretty in your little yellow dress think again. Gets off like crazy of the sheer contrast between you two; he's a very large man, standing at a whopping 6'4 killing machine, hands rough and callous from years of hard work in the military and now as a butcher, covered in blood. He's big, he's heavy and has a heady musky scent that he'd love to rub off on you.

And then there's you, so small compared to him and soft, your soft curves and body coming to him in dreams at night. There is a certain...something in your eyes that he can't quite decipher, a deep sadness and pain and yet you're still always polite to him and everyone around you, always smiling and greeting others, even rescuing that malnourished black cat that no one wanted and now it's the most spoiled fat black cat he'd ever seen. You smell so nice too, sweet like the baked goods you're often baking but also...like home. Like all those spices and seasonings you put into your food, your perfumes and your own distinct smell, like warmth and safety.

He's obsessed and in love, cums with a growl of your name and grumbles at the sight of his sperm covering his tummy and hairy chest, it should've been inside you and not waste it like this >:(

Little does he know is that you're laying now in your bed wide awake thinking about the mysterious dark butcher who captured your heart, his 'secret' letter in your hand as you re read it for the 3rd time and your heart swells and cheeks warm up at the borderline worshipful words of your 'secret admirer'.

[itsactuallycorrine]

inertia

buddie; 1K words; feelizings realizations; s08e06 spec

If Buck still had his math superpowers, he’s sure he could’ve told everyone how statistically unlikely it is for them to be on a second call where a kid fell down a well.

Even without the powers, he has an inkling: really, really, really fucking unlikely.

And yet here they are, staring at another kid stuck in a pipe, and icy cold dread ties Buck’s stomach into knots the minute Eddie opens his mouth.

Bobby says something about Eddie not fitting, and while Eddie, Bobby, and Chim are brainstorming solutions, Buck knows he needs to get his head back in the game, needs to be here, in the moment, doing his job.

Instead, his mind is cast over four years back, his eyes watch the sky for signs of a storm, his ears ring with the memory of a deafening crack, and his heart beats desperately against the cage of his ribs, pounding and pounding like it’s looking for an escape, any way out. 

“You good?” Hen murmurs to him, sliding him a solicitous glance and nudging her arm into his. 

Mouth dry, he nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he manages, and it convinces neither of them. 

Hen doesn’t call him out on it, though, just raises one brow. “He’s not going back down—he’s all right. No cut lines today.”

Buck’s still nodding, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. An object in motion and all that, Newton’s first law, he vaguely remembers from one of Christopher’s science assignments last year. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I know.” Nodding, nodding. 

She frowns, brows drawn low in concern, before a small smile pulls at her lips. “That was the first time I suspected, you know,” she says, quiet and teasing, and it’s so unexpected, he’s finally able to force his head to stop, to tilt it her way instead.

“Suspected what?”

“That maybe you weren’t as straight as we all assumed.”

It’s even more unexpected. He gapes at her. “What? Why?”

That skeptical brow goes up again. “Really?” she asks, bone dry. “You can’t think of any reason why someone might have seen you that night and suspected that maybe, just maybe, you felt a little more than friendship for your coworker?” When he stares at her, lost, she softens, grasping his arm as if to steady him for the next blow. “Buck, you were wailing and clawing at the ground like you’d just lost the love of your life.” 

Her words strum at something, buried deep down inside him, and its sonorous echoes bounce within the boundaries of his skin, making his head ring. He inhales sharply through his nose, casting his gaze away, from her, from the team, from the call. It’s not like he doesn’t remember that, remember Bobby bodily hauling him up from ground, holding Buck as he sobbed. Remember them talking to him in their gentle hysterical-victim-handling voices, assuring him that no one had given up on Eddie and they were doing what they could to get him out. Remember the heady relief of Eddie showing up on his own, cracking jokes like he hadn’t almost died, radiating cold and hardly able to stand. 

It had felt like a miracle. It still did. They’d all had their share of them, before and since, but that had been the first time it’d happened for Eddie, to Eddie, since they’d met. The first time Buck had to sit with the idea of losing him, of being left behind in a very real and permanent way, one from which there was no coming back. 

Fully-realized, post-therapy, semi-mature Buck can admit now that he’d never given himself the time or space to process that. Instead, he’d just put it away, on to the next thing. There had been Red, and then Abby’s return, and, in retrospect, an obvious dotted line that connected all three of these events, drawn in tears and sweat and blood and abandonment issues. 

But that didn’t mean what Hen was insinuating. He shakes his head. “It was Eddie,” he says, helpless. “I didn’t—I’m not… I can’t. Hen, I can’t.” It’s the last thing he needs on top of everything going on between him and Tommy, and Christopher still being gone, and all the other ripples finally calming in the wake of last spring. He cannot afford an ill-timed revelation right now.

Her lips part as she stares at him. “Buck, I didn’t mean—” she starts, only to be cut off by Chim’s urgent call of, “Hen, need you over here.” But still she hesitates until Buck gives her a nod. “We’ll talk more later,” she promises, and there is nothing Buck wants less, so he ducks her the rest of shift, and doesn’t even change out of his uniform before he takes off the next morning. 

In his loft, he struggles to keep his mind blank as he showers and changes, but as soon as he lays down, sleep eludes him and the floodgates open.

He closes his eyes against it, the childish thought that if he can’t see it, it can’t hurt him. But it’s there, and real, spilling out and touching everything, an unstoppable rising tide, and Buck curls up into a ball as it picks him up and carries him along, gasping for breath as it buffets him from every side. He wants to fight, wants to push it back, but it’s too much, years and years of moments big and small, touches, looks, words, deeds. 

It’s You can have my back any day and There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you and You act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong and You don’t have to be anything for anybody.

It’s fond eye rolls and soft smiles and secrets shared and fears unburied and shoulder touches and the right kind of teasing. 

It’s fear and joy and laughter and tears and friendship and grief and comfort and…love. Always love. 

Hen was right; he had been acting like the love of his life had been buried alive, because he had. Because that’s what Eddie was—is—for Buck. 

Fuck.

ao3

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - X

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more gif and pics from pinterest

he tastes like candy, he’s so beautiful -Awful, Hole 🤘

10. little bird

Wick says nothing more, just holds your gaze, and again you feel like the floor is going out from beneath you. You’ve become accustomed to your cooler body temperature, but now for the umpteenth time tonight you feel hot beneath the collar. 

“It’s…just a coincidence.” 

“Surely.” He smirks at you, laughing at you, deep down.

Asshole. 

One extremely fine, extremely dangerous, asshole. 

Glaring at the two of you eye-fucking eachother, Constantine clears his throat. “Are we trying to find don Juan or not? Otherwise, I should get to Midnite’s.” 

You look to John. Despite the energy you’d shared with him, he still has dark circles under his eyes, still seems just this side of fragile. You remember how much blood you had to take from him last time, to call up that much excess power, that it just felt like you were floating above your corporeal body. You’re not sure he can spare it, now. If you sent him to an early grave with blood loss you know you would walk yourself right out into the sun. 

On the other hand, there is Wick, robust, full of blood, and who you wouldn’t feel guilty at all about taking down a peg or two. His smile widens as he notices you assessing him like a piece of meat, his powerful body sprawled in the rickety old chair–maybe he wouldn’t be so smug, however, if he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

“Depends,” you answer John. “Will you let me in, or are you going to keep stonewalling me?”

“I’m not exactly in the habit of leaving my aura hanging wide open. It leads to bad things in my business,” he grumbles. 

You suppose, considering his occupation, that’s understandable. But you also think he’s making excuses to shut you out.  

“Uh huh.” 

You cross the cracked linoleum floor to him. He’s so tall that you’re nearly eye to eye, even with him sitting, and even though you already fed once tonight, just looking at him like this kindles that insatiable hunger in your belly, a lick of desire that curls in you like smoke from an opium pipe. Heady. Wonderful. Addictive. Shields up or not, you know he feels it too in the bond between you, his lips parting with a gasp, his pupils dilating to turn his dark irises purest black.  

He takes your hand, and the energy that ignites between you as his long fingers slide into yours fills the dilapidated room with something bright and charged. It even makes Wick sit up straighter in his chair. It feels like sunshine on your face, when you were still human, and you cannot suppress a sigh of enjoyment. 

They both seem surprised when you hold out your other hand to Wick. “Come here.” The vampire hunter obeys, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as he approaches, his presence a solid line of warmth at your back.  

With an almost quizzical look, Wick takes your hand. His fingers are calloused, and strong, and his touch feels like a live wire gripped in your hands. Reincarnated sweethearts or not–your magic likes him, and you think you can work with that. 

Constantine’s frown as he watches this exchange is thunderously contemptuous.  “We gonna sing kumbaya now, baby?” he gripes at you. 

“No. We’re going to find don Juan, and Mr. Wick here is going to cut off his fucking head. Got a problem with that?”

You see the corner of his mouth tick for the barest second, his only indication of mirth before he throws himself wide open to you, and the mingled energies of these two powerful men rips through you like an electric shock. 

♰♰♰

Maybe John Constantine is ill, but you were a fool to think him weak. One mouthful of blood taken carefully from his wrist is so power-charged you practically see stars. It’s possible that adding Wick’s rich blood to the cocktail nearly renders you drunk, so giddy you think you might hover physically off the ground. But the two men on either side of you keep you anchored, vying even now in their holds upon you. 

It’s funny, maybe, that you thought it would keep things tame, drinking from the wrist. But there is an agonizing tension amidst the three of you, unsatisfied lust and painful longing. It all adds a particular spice to this conjuring you work as the focus between them, and you are able to rise with barely a thought this time.

It’s more familiar, this second time you wander through the minds of the city, and you are more careful as you sift through them like grains of rice, in search of that one poisoned seed. You think you are successful more than once, before realizing they are just don Juan’s awful progeny, but not the original root of that particular brand of evil. 

You are surprised, when in your wandering you encounter Angela, the detective John Constantine so secretly fancied. She is in her apartment, working at her laptop. There is a glow of such goodness about her that is rare to find in humans. Her aura is practically a halo, it shines so bright. She is warm, and smart, and strong, and it’s no wonder John likes her, you think to yourself sadly. 

You probe a little deeper, finding that at this moment she is thinking about John. She likes him too, though she’s puzzled as to why. That is a feeling you understand all too well. She must feel your presence, looking up as though there is something in the room with her, reaching out to put a hand on her service issue Glock on the desk next to her. She’s already had quite a scare after her first encounter with real demons, and guiltily you back off, not wanting to upset her.  

You are about to give up your search, feeling that you have stretched yourself to the limit, when at last you sense him. That seething, cloying dark energy that follows don Juan like a cloud. You are more cautious in your approach this time, keeping your distance as you observe him. It seems he retreated north into the mountains, to a chic but almost quaint little house tucked into the hillside. He sits beside a glittering swimming pool, smoking and brooding. The moment you sense him turning your way you retreat, returning to your body, too quickly perhaps. 

It’s disorienting, after being weightless, to wrangle with your flesh and bones, like it’s hard to get all the pieces of you to mesh back again. You would have fallen, if not for two pairs of strong hands steadying you. You lean back on a broad chest. Constantine is before you, you recognize, which makes the imposing wall behind you still Wick. You are either the luckiest girl in the world, or you are cursed. You still haven’t decided which yet. 

“Back off,” snarls Constantine to the dhampir, pulling you into his arms. 

Wick growls, and you can't help but feel like the bone between two cranky dogs. You really shouldn't be enjoying it so much.

“Are you alright?” 

You think you’re fine, but you’re tired. You didn’t travel that far, last time, or search with such purpose in mind. It took a lot more energy than you thought it would.

“He’s in Laurel Canyon,” you whisper against Constantine’s chest. “North end. A little cottage with stone facing, clay tile roof. There’s a bronze statue of horses out front.” You think back, and realize you even remember the house number. You manage to say it out loud before the room starts to spin. Are you going to be sick? “I don’t feel good.” 

“I warned you,” grouses Constantine, even while his hand sits protectively on the back of your head. 

“She did well,” defends Wick. “This will save me time.” 

Sitting back down, Constantine pulls you into his lap, away from the dhampir. You hate to admit how good it feels to curl into him like a child who’s had a nightmare, his arms around you.   

“Great,” he snarks to Wick. “Feel free to go.”

Wick snorts in answer, still looking down at you. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Reluctantly you nod against Constantine’s collarbone, closing your eyes. “I’ll be fine. Will you be fine by yourself?”

Wick laughs lowly at this, but not unkindly. “No worries, ptichka, no more flying around for you. I will give don Juan your regards.” 

“Please, kick him in the nuts for me,” you grumble. The thought of that awful vampire finally getting his comeuppance is darkly satisfying. 

“Would you like me to bring you his head?” 

“Ew.” 

Wick laughs, and you hear his footfalls as he crosses the kitchen to the crumpled vampire in the corner. You’d almost forgotten about the poor bastard. “I will see you soon,” says the dhampir, winking at you before dragging the informant out by his ankles. 

A strange quiet settles over the apartment, without the ominous dark energy of John Wick filling the room. 

You should be scared of him–but you kind of miss him.

“Alone at last,” grouses Constantine, his hold on you tightening. 

You laugh a little, snuggling into the bend of his neck. You start to feel better, sitting like this with him. His hand drifts to your thigh, tracing the hem of his shirt absently. “Was this really the only thing you could come up with to wear?” 

“You don’t like it, John?” you tease sleepily. 

“I like it a lot. For my eyes only.”

“Hmm. I think that’s something only a boyfriend gets to say,” you dare ripost.

He snorts in answer. “If I was your boyfriend, would I get to tell you what to do?” 

“No.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He coughs, and only a beat later do you realize it was a laugh. 

 But then he can’t help but ruin the moment: 

“I thought the dhampir was your new boyfriend, Miss I’ll come visit you in New York,” he complains in an insulting falsetto.  

You, in turn, just roll your eyes. “Excuse you, but I saved you from getting your head lopped off. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Then, he has to go and turn serious on you. “Baby, when I’m gone–” You whine, hating hearing him say it aloud, but he talks over you. “It’s going to happen, y/n. You’ve got to accept that. And when it does, you cannot take up with him. He is bad news. Call it…my dying wish.” 

You’re smart enough to bite down on your first response, which is, ‘he doesn’t seem so bad.’  

It turns out you don’t have any reply at all, and he watches you with an intensity that makes you fear he can read your mind. You’re not sure why he takes mercy on you, saying more gently, “You can’t save him, sweetheart. Any more than you can save me.” 

You look down, because his laser-like gaze is too much, even for you. 

Part of the reason you want to get this thing solved so badly is because you hope you can save him. Maybe with the help of modern medicine, and your own combined magic…something might work out. Buy him some time, at least. He already seems better, after finally letting you into your bond earlier that night. 

Maybe he’s resigned, but you haven’t completely given up hope. 

“I just…want to get this thing resolved,” you admit. “So you can rest.”  

He lifts one of those angular dark brows, clearly thinking that the only rest waiting for him is the permanent kind. But he doesn’t insist again that you accept the inevitable truth of his demise. Sometimes, when you care about someone, you let them get away with those little lies that keep them sane through the day to day grind of life. Maybe he realizes that you need this, so that you don’t run down the street screaming at God and anyone else unfortunate enough to get in your path.  

“Sure, honey.” He surprises you again, when he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to put you to bed, and I have to go to Midnite’s.”

You know the kittenish sound that escapes your lips sounds ridiculous. “Let me go with you.”

“You’re wiped out. Stay here and rest.” 

“No.” You sit up, feeling a little better. Tired, but better. 

“Yes,” he insists, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“I’m just going to follow you, if you try to leave me here.” 

“For once, can you not be so stubborn when I’m trying to protect you?” 

Your lips dance as you try to suppress a smile, lifting an eyebrow. “I could ask the same thing of you?” 

Another exasperated growl escapes him, and your heart sings when he pulls you into another kiss, that golden rope between you pulsing with energy, singing with light. He pulls back to look at you, his pupils blown wide. You wonder if it occurs to him, that this could be his last chance to be with a woman, if things outside this crumbling apartment do not go well. Or maybe, just maybe, he finds you as irresistible as you find him. Either way, when he tangles his long fingers in your hair and kisses you again, you are all too ready to lean in. 

You’re not sure how it’s possible, that this man simultaneously breaks your heart, and puts you back together again. 

When he stands with you in his arms you give a sound of protest, worried about the extra exertion.

“I’m fine, y/n,” he tells you with a rare gentleness that to you is precious as any gemstone. “I’ve got you.”     

He carries you to the bed in the next room, and you are more than happy to let him have his way with you. 

______

*ptichka - little bird

[firelifeglass]

One of my Galaxy Spoons with Earth Marble

"Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam."

-Carl Sagan

[legacyglass]

Mike Luna x Disk Glass, Japan and American glass blower collaboration! this is a FUNCTIONAL piece of art!!

[mr-asa-jones]

There is something about the smell of beeswax and polish on the wood in my study. The scent of linseed oil on my tawse and canes. The hint of rubber on the plimsolls. The faint smell of a naughty girl's freshly laundered lowered knickers and the dainty smell of her soap.

There is also something about the tick of an old clock, the ting and tang of old cast iron radiators and piping. The creak of ancient floorboards. The sound of a sniffing naughty girl.

The shadows on the floor on a late afternoon.

When I have just spanked a naughty girl...

.....almost naked because she has disgraced the uniform, time passes by with all the sounds and smells of calmness after the storm of a long hard spanking.

Visitors come and go, the girl cringes with each entry of one.

Then...after a while, and looking at the sunlight on her trembling bare bottom a while...

I give her a dire warning of what could be. Tell her to dress, and to go back to her class.

Sometimes discipline at Saint Helena High School for Wayward Girls can almost be artistically sublime.

Back home I reflect on the heady mix, and feel grateful I am a Headmaster at a school for delinquent young women.

Asa Jones

[comatosebunny09]

fun-sized | leon k.

summary: somehow, musing about being short lead to an obsession with leon’s boobs.

genres: romance, humor

cw: suggestive themes, reader is short, leon is a cheeky little sh!t, stream of consciousness, not proofread

music inspo: if - r5

Being short isn’t all bad. Sometimes, it has its perks.

Strangers pity you in the supermarket, for example. Watch with fond smiles and swelling hearts while you struggle to fetch a box of Froot Loops from the topmost shelf—it would be the last box with marshmallows, too. 

As your poor little calves sting and your fingers strain and you whimper pitifully for added effect, a leggy gentleman often swoops in to save the day.

You don’t have to duck beneath low tree branches when jogging through the park, either. Not at all fazed when your taller coworkers play limbo to avoid a splinter to the face.

Being fun-sized also comes in handy when dodging chainsaws and blades on a mission. Helps that you’re an agile little spider monkey, but you don’t have to do some fancy footwork to avoid having your head lopped off. You can simply duck.

Sure, you have to climb onto your countertops to reach the spice rack. Need a step ladder to retrieve plates from the cupboard. And maybe you have to put a little more oomph into your jumps to reach the pullup bar at the precinct. But the best part of being petite is, well...

Having the best view in the house.

That view being Leon S. Kennedy’s bodacious tits.

They flex invitingly in your peripheral whilst he reaches overhead to fetch a coffee mug. Doesn’t help that his shoulder rigs cup his bosom just right. And, of course, his dress shirt is tapered, accentuating the shape of his Adonis-like pecs.

Yeah, you could be a little more subtle with your ogling. Nearly scorch yourself with piping coffee, too preoccupied with Leon’s nipples that pebble in the cool air conditioning. But, he’s warm-bodied and virile beside you. Exudes the heady aroma of gun oil and cashmere. Stubble dapples his chin, and the golden slither of collarbone playing peek-a-boo with your vision beneath his button-up, well…

It takes every bit of you not to bite your lip, grateful the break-room’s free of any other occupants. It’s embarrassing enough eying your superior like a piece of prime rib.

Leon’s Adam’s apple bobs, causing you to instinctively swallow. Don’t even know when you stopped breathing, static filling the space between your ears. The definitive click of the cupboard being shut brings you back to the present. And you would nearly leap out of your skin, caught like the proverbial child rifling through the cookie jar.

His chuckle tinges the air, warm milk and honey to your ears. Tingles in the tips of your toes. Sparkles in the crown of your head whilst your cheeks flood with heat.

“Think you dropped something,” Leon drawls on the edge of your ear. Incredibly close, the heat radiating off his torso, branding your arm as he reaches around to pluck the coffee pot from your shaky fingers.

“W-what’d I drop?” you sputter, scanning the floor like a fool. Your gaze settles on Leon’s chest when another chuckle cascades from his lips. When a battle-worn finger creeps beneath your chin, angling your head back. His eyes swim with mischief, glittering like sea glass.

“Your jaw, sweetheart,” he croons as if taking part in a naughty secret.

You glimpse Leon’s crow’s feet before he draws away. Miss the warmth he emits, your voice corked in your throat. You watch pathetically, rooted to the floor whilst he ambles towards the break-room’s entrance, a hand stuffed in his pocket.

Before he crosses the threshold, Leon jests over his shoulder, “Gonna watch me like that; you should buy me dinner first.”

It’s out before you can think, hopefulness prickling your limbs. “W-what do you like to eat?”

It serves its purpose, stopping him in his tracks. The smirk he dons when he faces you again siphons your breath.

He stalks towards you before you can process things, soundless as a feline. Places his mug on the counter, spilling over you like liquid fire. Your back collides with the wall; didn’t even notice how close you were to it. Shiver as he sweeps an errant lock of hair behind your ear, suddenly caging you in with brawny arms on either side of your head.

You shrink beneath his power whilst he leans in. Jerk when he gathers your cheek into his palm, leaning down to whisper obscenities against the pulse point behind your ear.

Your knees buckle, and your lashes shutter from the absurdity of it all. From the sodden promises murmured against your skin, causing your tongue to loll about in your mouth.

Leon departs after whittling you down. Leaves you boneless, every egotistical ounce of him filtering from the room alongside him.

“So, dinner at seven?” you quip to his retreating back in the hallway, battling the thundering of your heart in your rib cage.