#i will say if i ever manage to get that far

[yieldtotemptation]

CRAZY ft. Chaewon

chaewon x male reader smut

9k words

Oh, it’s fucked up; the power dynamics are all over the place.

You were her manager, and now you’re technically her boss, and it’s all led to this weird feedback loop where Chaewon swears she doesn’t like being told what to do and you swear that you believe women should be treated with respect.

Never mind that it all goes out the window when you’ve drawn the curtains shut and you’re bending her over your desk and tugging out the butt plug you kindly requested she walk around with all day.

And so:

“If you think I’m some around-the-clock booty call that will show up whenever you get a boner, then—”

“Chaewon,” you interrupt.

Stare at the girl.

Catching her in the midst of removing her earrings, bracelets, really any loose items that could end up between the couch cushions or underneath a stack of files, only to be discovered by some poor cleaner in the early hours of the morning.

Perched up on your desk, heaven-sent and already stark-naked. Looking far too pretty for her own good, and just plain, flat-out, in-your-face fuckable.

Oh.

She’s already got your blood rushing.

“Really?”

Chaewon bites her lip. Holds it for a beat. Lets it go and sighs. Unable to help herself. “You’re such a little shit.”

You laugh right in her face. “Little is an interesting choice of words.”

"And you're so lucky I think you're cute."

A step forward, to put her in reach. To skate a hand up her thigh, rubbing out the tension coiled up in her muscles. Ending up on the curve of the most generous ass your palms have ever been graced with. Giving a gentle squeeze, massaging into the bare, vanilla expanse, hoping you’re already on the path to forgiveness.

It goes without saying, the two of you have run this same routine many times before.

(Yeah. You’ve fucked Chaewon a lot.)

“I can’t believe you just made me walk in front of the entire floor to get to your office. Everyone was staring.” Chaewon makes this loud, keening noise, pretty much guaranteeing that everyone’s listening now as well. “After that shit you pulled at the Christmas party.”

You lean close, kisses into her neck, apologies over her pulse. “Everyone was too drunk to notice what we were doing.”

Her eyes narrow. “You made me cum in the middle of the dancefloor.”

“And you’re welcome.” You’re laughing harder, right as she starts to do her whole Chaewon thing.

Saying one (usually insulting) thing with her mouth but screaming something else entirely with her body.

In this case, it’s in this subtle adjustment of her hips. A tilt, a lean, an angle so precise, giving you exclusive access to put your hands on where she’s most sensitive—which is pretty much everywhere. And really, you can’t be held at fault for whatever consequences follow because she makes it so easy.

It’s hard to imagine anyone else getting as crazy over the slightest touch. A shiver at the brush of your fingertips, trembling when your grip tightens, gets a little bit rough.

And when you fall into a rhythm, when it’s just the two of you and you’re curling your digits in her cunt and kissing all the right spots on her skin, and you’re making her feel like you’re everywhere all at once, it’s like she’s made of pure energy. Like she’s going to combust.

It does insane things for your ego.

It’s also so, unfathomably hot.

“God, I can’t believe I have to deal with such an ass—" But Chaewon never gets to finish that thought, because your fingers are getting lower, inching closer to that spot that grants you mercy every time; that makes her voice crack and her eyes lose all focus and has her forget any reason she has to ever be mad at you.

The moans that you tease out of her, each taking the shape of your name; the familiar, longing whimpers she makes when you do what no one else does and deny her.

It’s the same dangerous game every time.

Take her some place a little too public, with just enough risk to make her wet and ready and absolutely needy at the thought of getting caught. Get a hand in that bob of blonde, or black, or red; run your tongue over the hollow of her throat, or up the fine curve of her thigh, or trail down the ridges of her abs, just making her delirious.

And yeah, sure, most of the time it seems like you’re the one doing the leading, but look closer, past the pleas and the pouts and who’s on her knees at the feet of who; and realise that it’s mostly just you trying to keep up with her appetite.

“You don’t have to keep up the act,” you’re saying, “But you might want to try and keep your voice down.”

Chaewon’s rolling her eyes, petulant. She’s got the whole bratty thing nailed to a tee. “Your fault.”

Oh, she’s a vision, that’s for sure. God definitely took his time when making her, with all her grace and poise and her ludicrously bouncy tits and unreasonably slutty little waist. All just begging to be fucked askew. To put a smudge on her perfection. Be it the flushed cheeks, the glossed eyes, the already-on-its-way to being properly fucked-up hair—

The cocky smile and the gall to say, “You’re usually kissing me by now.”

You hardly have any complaints when she wraps your tie around her fist, yanks you forward, providing an unnecessary guide for your mouth to hers.

Like always, it’s messy.

There’s rarely any intention there; just kiss the smoking hot girl that’s right in front of you, let her breathe you in and flood your mouth with her tongue while your hands do their best to draw along her figure and map out each of her perfect lines and immaculate curves.

Seeking out where she’s hottest.  

There’s a cry muffled against your lips when your fingers get particularly adventurous, but it’s pure searing heat, all of it. All of her. Bottled up in the tiniest of packages, a Pandora’s box of sin, just waiting for you to come and let it out.

Chaewon’s knees spread wider, feet hooking around your back, making you strain against the wetness building between her thighs.

She gets in real close, letting her tongue slide along your jaw, your neck and finally your ear where she’s slurring the same variations of previous filthy and barely-lucid requests, “Get these clothes off before I tear them off.”

Your tie doesn’t stand a chance. Neither do any of the buttons on your shirt, your belt-buckle, your pants which land at your ankles and are kicked off to join an ever-growing pile on your couch.

“I need to feel you, like, right fucking now—”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “What happened to not being an around-the-clock booty call?”

“Just, shut up already.”

“Magic word first.”

“Please.”

But the problem, as always, is where the hell to start.

Chaewon, from head-to-toe, is a literal divine being—a goddess, personified.

A Greek epic made flesh, come down from the top of a mountain to fuck around with the mortals, leave them as dried husks to craft myths in her wake.

That’s what you’re dealing with here.

Perhaps it’s your destiny too. To climb that mountain, to conquer that peak. To mark, bruise, claim. Run your fingers over her; her tiny waist, her smooth, sweat-stained skin, her heart-wrenchingly soft ass.

All heat and need, right in the palm of your hand, begging for you to leave your own brand of worship and bring her down into the dirt with the rest of the living.

And despite the repetitions, the countless dark corners and quiet rooms that are forever stained with your cum and permeating with her scent; it still feels like a novelty every time.

So, it only makes sense to start with a personal favourite.

Her breasts.

“Always with my tits,” Chaewon snarks, but it’s more a statement of acceptance than any kind of protest.

She’s already leaning back onto your desk, her eyes closing as your fingers rise up her sides, and she’s sighing, nipples tightening at just the thought of your touch.

Begging for more pressure, for a pinch, a tug. Or just your teeth.

“It’s a classic for a reason,” you muse, and you dive right in, mouth around one of her hardened tips, glueing your tongue to the nub.

See, Chaewon’s tits are as unfairly incredible as the rest of her. Perfect wonders of gravity and genetics that fill up your hands and spill past your fingers; that bounce and jiggle and sway so nicely when you fuck her just right.

And when you taste, give a hard, gratuitous suck on one—there’s a choked-out cry, a stab of her nails into your shoulders, a kick of her heel into your back.

Really, not one for subtleties, your Chaewon.

Always quick to tell you exactly what she needs in every single moment; if not with her words then with the way she squirms and gasps and bites down on her lower lip until it’s a darker shade of red than the lipstick she walked in with.

And even then, each pleading request, each beg sloppily kissed into your shoulder, or your chest, or up and down your cock, amounts to the same thing: use me, use me now, use me good. Like a toy, a submissive little fuckdoll that’s just waiting to be picked up and played with until the batteries die.

That’s your Chaewon:

Preciously soft where it matters, razor sharp where it counts. Built to take it rough, but tragically doomed to be so fucking sensitive.

You flick your tongue; once, twice, over and over. Harder, rougher, grazing your molars against skin, and she’s curving into you, pushing her chest closer. Grinding herself into your waist, hips bucking. Searching for more friction. More heat.

Just the noises she makes. She’s generous with her moans, her breaths all chopped up and hitching with every tug of your teeth. It’s the worst cliché but yeah, her body is literally a fine instrument, musical; play the right notes and she’ll scream you a melody.

You idly wonder if she was like this before you met her.

The loving sigh of your name is all the answer you need.

Hands twist in your hair now, she’s getting impatient; anything to get you to give her what she craves. But you switch. From one perfect swell to another, giving it the same treatment, the same shameless licks and laps.

“More,” Chaewon tries, and then amends to a whimpering, “Please?”

Jesus Christ.

You take a finger, drag it along the valley of her wonderful chest, teasing down her stomach until it reaches the scorching heat between her legs.

Finding her wet, puffy. Feeling her pulse. Wanting to be made whole.

A groan bursting from her throat before she can even stop it—“Oh, fuck!”

“Chaewon,” you huff out, reproachingly, but it’s barely heard over the slick sounds of her cunt giving way. It’s heady, a rush you feel straight in your veins, just the idea that you could tear her apart with a single finger.

But that doesn’t mean you should just stop with one.

A second finger, your middle, eases in. It’s so downright pornographic, the way she opens up for you. How her pussy squeezes around you, how it soaks your digits, how it clenches and sears heat onto your skin. And how when you press in the pad of your thumb firmly against the swollen bud of her clit, just that achingly light touch of pressure, it sends her spiralling.

“Gah, you’re so fucking mean,” Chaewon rips through another moan, a filthy curse, and it’s really uncalled for. Because this is what she comes to you for.

Drops everything she’s doing, ditches anyone she’s with. She’d cross an entire ocean just to have you torture her with your lips, or your tongue. To have your fingers bringing her to her knees, or your cock just fucking her brainless.

Really, to her, every part of you is a little death, a stairway to an afterlife where it’s just the pure sensation of bliss and your cock, making her feel complete.

“And you’re terrible at keeping quiet,” you accuse, but you’re not doing anything to help her. Just making it all that much worse, ruining her so sweetly with a curl or a twist or a merciless press down. “No idea what I’m going to do with you. Naughty, naughty, naughty.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to punish me,” is Chaewon’s accusation, reaching the same conclusions you have. Reading your mind before you can even get a word out—grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer, hips rising up to meet the hand that will be her undoing. “How am I the naughty one when you’re the one that just loves to ruin me. Make me cum in front of everyone every chance you get. Fuck, if they couldn’t see it running down my thighs they definitely saw it on my face.”

And her eyes are shutting now, and she’s flashing back, feeling it all over again. The strobing lights, the unnecessarily loud bass. The throng of bodies pushed too close together and there’s Chaewon, in the tightest, shortest, sluttiest dress twirling around and fucking you with just the twerk of her ass from across the room.

Your own personal siren, luring you to your doom.

Or hers.

So, yeah, maybe you’re the villain for meeting her in the middle, grinding your body against hers, whispering plans of taking her to a closet, or a bathroom, or the fucking balcony and ruining that tragically flimsy strip of fabric and making her cum so hard she’ll never look at the sky the same way again.

And maybe you could still have some deniability if any one of those ideas came to fruition instead of what happened next. Because you just couldn’t stop yourself when she was already filling your mouth with her tongue, your hands with her tits, her ass, and it was all too easy to dip your fingers lower and under her dress and—

Do exactly the same thing you’re doing now.

“There were cameras there too,” Chaewon realises, “God, I can’t believe how stupid you make me.”

“I can’t be held responsible for any of your actions after fucking you senseless, sweetheart,” you chuckle against her neck, and lower to her shoulder.

“You absolutely can, this is all because of you,” she whines, and it’s petulant and bratty, and so goddamn cute. It’s unreal. “You just can’t help yourself. Can’t help trying to fuck me up every chance you get.”

“You let me.”

“Because you make it so fucking good,” and there’s the admission, the natural end point every time this same argument arises.

“Oh you poor, poor girl,” you murmur into the sweetness of her skin, sucking in the edges of her collarbone, leaving marks you know you’ll come back to, if not now then tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. “Too gorgeous for your own good. Just too pretty, too tempting. All mine.”

It’s obvious what you’re doing, feeding into Chaewon’s praise kink. She’s openly admitted it, she likes being told she looks good, loves the reward of your attention. Not just what you say, but the way you say it. The whisper into her skin when you tell her how hard she makes you. The grunt into her ear when you remind her that no one takes you as nice as she does. And the rough groan when you call her a whore, a beautiful, terrible little slut that’s going to rob you of all the cum you have.

But most of all, she loves the honest, direct command when you tell her that she’s yours.

And it’s so, so potent.

You don’t miss the smirk against your cheek, the kisses she’s started peppering across your forehead. Don’t miss how she’s drenching your fingers, filling up your palm with her juices, so delighted to have your hand fucking the hell out of her cunt and faster, filling her, filling the room with these desperate needy sounds.

She’s panting, whining into your ears these sweet little nothings that make you feel like you could fuck a hole straight through the nearest wall. And you can’t help it, you’re leaning into it, plunging your fingers in and out of her like you’re trying to set a new personal best. Quickest time to make Chaewon scream. To shatter her right there in the middle of your office, and get some unfortunate intern to clean up the mess she leaves behind.

Her lips clumsily dragging along your earlobe tells you all you need to know, “You’re going to make me cum again, you fuck, I hate how easy it is for you to—”

You slide a third finger in, and it’s like you’ve flipped a switch.

A choking groan when you start to hit that spot that makes her tighten around you. That makes her legs shake, her knees bang against your hips and she just keeps getting wetter and wetter.

The beg in her body. Pleading, needing to be pushed over that edge. And so, you do.

You see it coming before she does, spot the scrunch in her face, the flinch across her features, that perfect, hot little mouth widening and needing to be captured in a kiss because she’s always so fucking loud when she cums.

Muted, “fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” and then, “why are you so good at this?”, and she’s rocking against your hand, pussy desperately swallowing your fingers, the filthy slaps of skin and skin and the squelching that echoes off the glass walls.

At last, the release.

Everything built up in the anticipation, in her no doubt rush to be back in front of you, to end up wrecking another piece of furniture or a room, and not give a flying fuck because there’s nothing else that matters but the high of her orgasm.

Only, it’s just the first one. And it’s not enough.

God, there really are fewer things in life you love more than making her cum.

So, it only makes sense to do it again.

Unfortunately, she’s faded away for a bit.

It’s your job to bring her back.

A kiss on her forehead to remind her to come up for air, to let the world come rushing back into the room. But Chaewon’s not quite there yet.

She pants, pats your wrist, drawls, “Please, just, give me a second. Just a little bit. Too intense.”

Unfortunately, you’ve already made up your mind.

You push off her, giving her the shortest of seconds to catch her breath, claw her way back to some semblance of sanity before you start to make your way down her body.

She deserves it, all of it. Kisses on every inch of hot, sweaty skin.

Revel in the aftershocks that make her tremble. Make her sigh when your lips drag down her chest, return a tongue to her nipple, feel it shiver on your tastebuds. Get lower and lower, let her legs give way, making your destination clear.

It’s impossible to miss all these tiny little reactions, these quivers and shakes. The gasps at the sticky trail your fingers are leaving behind.

She’s a mess already, all because of you, and you can’t get enough of the power in that.

Right until you’re on your knees.

“I think I like the look of this,” Chaewon lets out a breezy laugh, so pleased to rest her legs over your shoulders.

You tilt your head, raise an eyebrow. And then get right in, drag a tongue from bottom to top.

Chaewon’s thighs clatter on either side of your head.

And now you return her laugh, “You seriously think you’re in charge right now?”

Her hands flail, and it’s so cute the way she tries to reach down, shuffle her cunt back onto your lips. Get her fingers in the back of your head, tugging at the strands. “Just,” she sighs, and sighs louder when you don’t immediately give in, “Let a girl fantasise, would you?”

“Only because you asked nicely.”

“Good,” and she pulls you back in, blessing you with the most pleasant of whines when she so kindly requests, “Now, pretty please, would you just fuck me with your mouth for, like, a second, okay?”

“Nice to see you still have your manners,” you say, already sucking a bruise into her skin. “We just might make a lady out of you yet.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Chaewon’s words barely leave her mouth before they trail off, lost somewhere between a laugh that turns into a moan that cuts right off into a gasp when your tongue slides through her slit.

You taste her. Really, taking your time. Savouring her flavour.

And she’s got so much for you, making a mess of your chin already, and you make a mental note to add your carpet to the long list of surfaces she’s left forever unsalvageable.

It’s a wonder, truly, how delicate she is, how little she can take without straight-up disintegrating. The fact that the slight press of your lips makes her breaths stall, a brief swipe of your tongue causes her thighs to tremble and when you suck just right she needs to work every muscle in her body to stop from screaming.

You’re not even trying that hard.

Just enjoying the taste of her pussy.

It’s a fragile balance; Chaewon’s cunt is a sweet science. Build her up quick, keep her just on the edge of too much. Leave her hanging, begging, just enough anguish so she doesn’t hurtle over into that oblivion she so desperately craves.

You swirl your tongue, pressing in, reintroducing yourself to each one of her nerve endings. Every fold and dip intensely familiar, like there’s the one that makes her thighs quiver and there’s the one that makes her toes curl, and oh, when you push your tongue in right here and use this exact amount of pressure—

“Holy fuck—your fucking tongue—”

Yeah, that spot might as well have your fucking name on it.

Her hands say everything she’s too choked up to get out. In your hair, pulling, clawing at your scalp, urging you to go on. Trying, so desperately hard, to fuck your face, whimpering in despair the entire time, eventually getting out, “Seriously, what the fuck. How the fuck can you just do this?”

“Just how good you taste, baby,” you speak into her cunt, even though you know she was never really expecting an answer. Just wanted some acknowledgment of the things you do to her.

But maybe she has a point—this skill you’ve built up for breaking Chaewon. Maybe it’s the way you’re so thorough, so precise. So greedy for her. Like you could never get enough. Just eat her out until your jaw gets tired, your tongue loses all strength, your body just gives out.

And even then.

You push your tongue inside, and it’s heaven, just pure heaven, to feel her clamp down around you. Her whole body thrumming against your mouth, her thighs tensing on either side of your face, her stomach tightening underneath the pressure of your palm.

You suck hard on her clit, and—

“Christ, you fucking—” she curses, failing to contribute anything else, besides a dying wail of your name.

“Shhh,” you hush into her folds, but it’s a fruitless endeavour. Chaewon has never once in her life been the quiet type.

“Oh, fuck off,” Chaewon says, breathing deeply, something of a laugh creeping out her throat. “You fucking love it. Love the idea of everyone knowing what a slut I am for you. Love having everyone see me and know immediately that you’ve had your mouth on me. That it’s your cum dripping out of my cunt.”

“Guilty,” you say, intending it to come out as an apology. But really, it’s just boasting at this point.

It’s all a test to you, a game. See how loud you can get Chaewon to be. How easy you can overcome her self-control, what little shreds of dignity she has intact. Try to put a thick, white stain on her flawless public image.

And you always win.

Every time she cums, you win.

So, you keep going.

Push the pace just a little, push her. Tongue laving, curling around her clit. Flicking and suckling until she’s just a puddle of needy noises and boneless limbs.

You look up at her, peer over her mound, see her chest rising and falling, her cheeks flushed and eyes hazed over with this utterly devastating look of pure want—so wet and messy and perfect. Like she’s drowning in it, even though you’re the one quickly running out of oxygen between her legs.

She’s so close, just needs that extra bit of effort. That little twirl of your tongue that turns her knees to jelly. And her pussy pulses against your lips, spine lifting off the desk, head banging against the wood.

She’s aching.

Sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing spectacularly at keeping her voice down, keeping herself from making sure everyone in the fucking building knows your name.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s chanting, when your fingers get busy again, pressing in deep, curling just right. And then, “baby, baby, baby,” when you start to pump into her, really get into it, sucking down on her cunt and letting her ride out her pleasure on your chin.

It somehow gets even messier.

“Can’t,” interspersed with, “fuck”, and topped off with a row of accusations, “why do you do this—how can you—” and ended with the whines of “don’t—don’t—please don’t you dare—”

But then—you stop.

Chaewon makes her agonising protest heard. Eyes snapping to yours, absolutely murderous. Simply, “Why?”

Because you enjoying watching her squirm.

Because you love to torture her.

Because you haven’t got what you want yet.

It’s so easy for you—break the hold her legs have on you, keep her stuck to your desk with a hand on her diaphragm. You stand up, watch her whine, see how her abs flex. Helpless when you take hold of her hips and flip her tiny frame over until she’s face down on a stack of papers.

You could throw her over your shoulder and parade her around your office and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Probably thank you afterwards.

But instead you just make her wait. Hold still, pussy leaking all over your desk. Ass pointing up in the air.

Perfect, round, prepared.

Designed by some divine engineering to be caressed, squeezed, worshipped. To be spanked. You palm one cheek, seeing how the flesh bounces back with a jiggle, before letting it go with a smack. The sound rings out, sharp, stinging.

Instantly recalling memories of the last time you left it a much darker shade of pink. You’re inclined to do it again.

For now though, you just bend down. Give it a gentle kiss.

Chaewon does her best to turn back, glaring. Like she doesn’t get off on the size difference.

She can’t find the words, so you give them to her, “You know what I want.”

Blushing, flustered, frantic. “You want me to beg.”

You nod. Wait patiently. Lips to her ass again.

Her eyes close, she inhales deep. Huffs through her nose. You spy the way her back curves and goes taut. Her hands clenching into fists.

Give her time. She’s a pro at this game too. Knows exactly how to play it. Chaewon’s voice comes out clear, no longer a mess of half-formed cries, or barely-there whimpers, but something sharp and precise:

“I need you to fuck me. Now. Please, please, fuck me hard. I don’t care if we get caught. Just. My cunt, my ass—any hole you want, I can’t—I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—I really, really need your fucking cock to stretch me out. Right now. I'm begging. Just like you wanted. Let me fucking cum.”

And then, to extend the torment just a little longer, “Haven’t I made you cum enough?”

“It doesn’t count unless I cum on your cock. Unless you fill me all the way up. Use me, own this ass. Make me walk outside with your cum inside me, dripping down my thighs, leaving a trail of you everywhere I go.”

“Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?” You grin, raising goosebumps with your words, Chaewon shuddering under the ghost of your lips. Knowing there’s nothing she wouldn’t say, nothing she wouldn’t do just to have you use her again.

She gives up. “Don’t call me that unless you’re going to treat me like one.”

Yeah, God himself couldn’t strike the grin off your face. “Well, if you’re going to ask me like that.”

“Anything to get you to finally stop teasing me, please. I don’t think I can handle it, just, just—”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Chaewon,” you say, and then you lick her, from her cunt to her ass with one long drag of your tongue.

Chaewon gasps. Cums again.

It’s just the thought of it that wrecks her. The thought of your cock pushing into that puckered hole, the thought of your fingers gripping into her hips and your thumbs pressing in bruises.

And you can see Chaewon’s shoulders bunch up, her ass tilting and pointing higher up towards you. The realisation of what’s to come setting in—you’re going to take Chaewon’s ass once again, make good on a promise you brokered when you first bought her that silver toy and pushed it into the tightest little hole she had.

You spit on her asshole. The saliva glistens against her skin.

Chaewon’s whispering, talking to you, herself. Just doing what she can to brace through it all without completely falling apart again. “Fuck, I can’t believe it. Can’t believe you’re going to do this again. That I’m going to let you.”

Your tongue returns, sloppily tracing the crevice between her cheeks, sliding up and down. It teases this moan out of her, loud and mangled and guttural, but still so melodic to your ears. Makes her cunt throb against your chin, gush even more.

Yeah, you can feel it in her thighs, flexing and pushing back, urging her ass further onto your tongue. Not that you need the encouragement. Because you’re loving it, feasting on her taste, her flavour. Her scent. Inhaling it in, all of her, all of that peach-shaped perfection.

You’re going to lose your mind.

So, you spread her open. Sure, the butt plug has done its work—done its best—loosening her up, but she’s still so maddeningly tight that you know it’s going to get dangerous, going to be such a fucking squeeze.

Your tongue dips low to scoop up all that sweet, sweet juice that’s been building up. Eagerly licking up her cum, spreading the mess across her ass cheeks, adding your own brushes to the masterpiece.

And it is, all of it, your magnum opus.

Her cheeks parting and glistening underneath the warm office lights.

Her hole clenching, and relaxing. A wink because it knows what you’re going to do to it.

You push your tongue in that tiny pucker, just for a second, and it fucks Chaewon up good.

One final lick, one final perfect groan from her lips.

“Please.”

Stand up, cock in hand, line it up with that incredible, dark little hole.

Bend over, get close, and slowly, “I’m going to pound this hot fucking ass. Ruin it. Own it.”

Chaewon’s panting, nodding with each word. It’s all she can do. Hardly in any state to protest or argue or do anything but beg for you to do the one thing that’ll make her feel whole again.

You add that extra bit of torment, “And when I cum, when I fill your ass. You’re going to thank me. Thank me for using you as my own personal cumdump. Understand?”

“Yes,” Chaewon breathes, barely, and there it is: “I’ll do anything you want, just, please—”

Oh, the fucking grind when you push your hips forward, and the endless groan it rips from Chaewon’s throat.

“Fucking hell,” you’re cursing, barely inside, but still.

You push, inch by inch, feeling that rigid ring of muscle open itself up to you. Feeling like it’ll never end, this burning, fucking hot sensation; that has her melting around you, like she was always meant to be.

And it’s your name on her tongue, cursed and chanted and praised as you get deeper and deeper, until the words just dissolve into mindless mewls and whimpers and—“Fuck—so fucking deep.”

She’s just so hot underneath you, stretched impossibly wide around your girth, holding you tight and burning you up. And when you’re finally in; when you’re buried completely in Chaewon’s ass, and your legs are shaking and her eyes are wide and starting to well up, she whispers. Hushed, reverent—

“So perfect.”

You can’t come up with anything better than that.

Nothing in this world is better than your cock impaled in her ass, her pussy gushing onto your desk, and your hands just gripping so nicely around her hips.

God, just the way she fits. Made for this. Made for you.

You press your lips to her back, like licking salt before downing a shot. A last show of kindness for her to carry with her through the coming storm, through all your grand plans and designs to properly wreck her perfect, petite body.

Chaewon knows the score, “You’re just going to do whatever you want to me now, aren’t you?”

“Exactly like you want,” you answer, and draw your hips back, torturously slow, almost slipping out entirely.

Giving Chaewon’s ass a moment’s relief, letting her have a beat to pant, to inhale hot air, to remember what it’s like to not be so completely full of you.

Her shoulders heave, her spine curves upwards, and this is what you’ve been waiting for.

Chaewon, the idol—your princess. All doe-eyes and runny make-up and fucked up little sighs. No one was ever supposed to see her like this. See her looking anything less than magazine-cover perfect, anything less than dolled up and posed in designer dresses and outfits so nicely for a music video, or an award show, or a stage.

No one should ever see the lines in her picturesque face all flushed and twisted in agony. Her perfect bob in shambles. Her eyes wide, pupils blown, in tears. Her mouth loose and open and hot. Her ass bright fucking red.

No one but you.

You snap your hips back in. As hard as you can.

And—“Fuck!”

Too sudden. Too hard, too fast. Yet not nearly enough.

One stroke after another. Slipping in and out, easier and easier as Chaewon bends to your tempo, the pace you’re setting. Slow, steady, firm strokes that add on top of each other, and Chaewon keeps getting louder and louder until it’s now not just a problem, it’s going to be a fucking scandal.

The celebrity, fucked like some common whore by an executive on a power-trip. So easy for anyone to overhear, anyone to realise what’s going on behind the glass walls and the dark curtains.

Fuck, you’re not even sure if you remembered to even lock the door.

But the thought alone, someone walking in, witnessing the terrible and beautiful and fucking obscene way you’re claiming her—it’s the purest high. Making her take it. Treating her like a possession. Like she loves to be. Seeing her body shake, her face scrunch, her eyes sobbing at just the effort to keep silent.

It’s no use.

She’s so loud.

So, so loud.

Chaewon pushes herself off the desk, posts two hands flat to brace herself. Lifting herself up to give a better angle, to get you in deeper, letting you just chase that sweet, sweet sound of your cock slapping into her ass.

It’s fantasy, filth, every repressed wet-dream come to life. This pain that twists into pleasure and rocks her body, pounding her into your desk. Knocking over your monitor, sending your keyboard clattering to the floor. Chaewon’s nails fuck up the wood, leaving white scrapes on the varnish.

“I hate how—how good you feel. Fuck, I hate it—hate how much I need it—fuck.”

You grunt, slam your hips into her, make your cock disappear into her. “Stop lying.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s just you and me here, Chae,” even though you’re not entirely sure that’s the case, “Be honest with yourself for once.”

“Fuck—fine!” Chaewon’s on the verge of collapse, still cum-drunk, brain all cock-addled and filled with incoherent thoughts that are all distinctly related to how good your cock feels when it’s stretching her ass to its limits. “I love it, okay? I love being used. Love how much of a whore you make me. Love being treated just like this.“

"That’s all you had to say.”

You move.

Pull back, roll your hips, dragging your cock out of her tightness. Then pushing forward, plunging right back in, making her feel every inch. Forcing a whine out of her throat.

Steady, patient fucking.

The kind she loves to hate.

“Wait—please—why are you going so slow, it’s—”

Another slow draw, another hard fuck.

“Edging me like this is so fucking rude, I can’t believe you’d—”

Cutting her off with another deep thrust. Dragging. Deliberate. Faster.

“Such an asshole, doing this to me, can’t believe I’m letting you—”

Harder still. Building. Picking up speed.

“Fuck me harder. Faster. Please, I promise—I promise—”

Each stroke, each thrust, each grind, making her beg with every breath. But leaving her too helpless to do anything about it.

“I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you. Like I already have been. Like I always am for you. Aren’t I always such a good girl for you?“

And it’s starting to have an effect on you too, all this holding back, this enduring; this burning sensation inside you is reaching critical mass and it only makes sense to get it the fuck out of your system and into Chaewon’s ass while she just slurs—

"Please, fuck me, please, I don’t know how much more of this I can take—”

But she still takes it, anything you throw at her. Until you’re fucking her ass so hard that everything coming out of her mouth just becomes white noise. One long, garbled plea, a never-ending moan that sounds something like:

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me. This cock is gonna make me cum so much. Fucking me so good, it’s—”

You’re relentless.

Turning up the heat, giving it to her exactly how she’s begged. Fast. Hammering into her ass, harder, meaner.

Long, harsh thrusts that break her in two every time.

And you’re really putting her lungs to work, testing their capacity. Making her go high-pitched until she’s jumping octaves and showing no signs of coming back down.

Getting out of control, and it’s after one harsh curse directed right at your cock that your hand shoots for her mouth; slapping your palm over her lips and making her choke down the sound.

But the moans don’t stop, just vibrate against your skin, like you’ve given her license to let herself go. Immediately making all the prior obscene declarations of slutdom and whoring seem tame in comparison.

And it’s borderline impressive, the creativity with which she spurns all manners of filth and profanity, everything screamed into your hand, barely muffled. Not stopping, not slowing down at all, until her teeth are sinking into your palm with only her spit to soothe the pain.

It’s only fair that you have words for her too.

“Can’t even control yourself, Chae. Such a nasty cockslut. So fucking tight,” you growl, and it’s getting harder to hold on by the minute, your own vision starting to swim. “Unbelievable. So tight. So pretty. Just taking my cock like this. My little whore. Tell me, who’s going to want you after this?”

It’s your words that make Chaewon preen. Makes her ass spasm around your cock, her pussy melt. And she’s fighting, fighting for air, fighting to stay together, fighting to stay on her feet.

But she’s slipping.

“Mine.” You reach out, wrap your hand around her chest. It’s her tits, swinging underneath her, bouncing with every solid thrust, every rough push into her ass. It’s fucked that it’s taken you this long to get your hands back on them, dig into the lovely flesh, pinch and tug and fuck her up even more.

Holding her tiny frame against you, in your arms, an anchor for your worst desires.

Feeling how small she is. Feeling everything about her. The softness of her breasts, the insane tension in her stomach, the warmth of her thighs. Feeling the wetness of her cunt, the intense heat of her ass. You thought she was fragile once. Now you know better.

Now you know how ridiculous it is that not only does someone like her exist, but that she’s also so willing to let you fuck her like this.

Willing to let you split her apart with every stroke and even then she’s just so, so desperate for more. Like it’s the best feeling, the only feeling she’ll ever need again.

“God,” because it hurts, “Yes,” because it still feels so fucking good, and, “Keep going, please, fuck, keep going,” even though you don’t need any urging at all.

She’s drooling down your wrist, tears are streaking out the corners of her eyes—she’s broken, overwhelmed, overstimulated. Loving it entirely and there’s no way she’ll be able to get out of here in one piece.

Someone—everyone will know. It’ll play out exactly like she said it would, like you knew it would when you called her over.

Your office will never be the same.

“Can you hear that?” You taunt in her ear, all low and gravelly.

Chaewon’s eyes fly open, gaze hazy. Confused. There’s nothing but the sound of your hips slapping against her cheeks, your cock fucking filthy noises out of her ass.

You’re so happy to explain it to her. “Can’t hear anything, right? Nothing outside these walls. Do you wanna know why?”

A tiny little sigh escapes her when you peel your fingers off her lips, satisfied that she just might be able to hold back her screams for a minute. Drag your hand down, lower, glide it over her skin, pick up the sweat along the way, and end up at her cunt. A finger pressing down onto her clit. Rolling it.

“It’s because they’re listening.”

The cry that’s torn from her throat, louder, she’s going to wear out her vocal cords at this rate, ruin that angelic singing voice, but fuck it’s the most satisfying sound.  

You lean into it, toy with her tits, trace your finger around her cunt. Slide your tongue along her throat and kiss into that sweet spot under her ear.

“They’re all wondering why you’re screaming so much. Why you’re so desperate to keep it down. What’s got you so fucking crazy?”

Chaewon’s eyes are wild, she’s torn, but she’s so fucked out of coherence that her mouth and her tongue have lost all ability to do anything but plead, agree, repeat your name.

“Actually, they probably already know. Now they just want to hear what you sound like when you really cum hard. What it’s like to be used. To be fucked by me.”

Your fingers are dipping lower, pushing into her cunt, instantly drenching them in her wetness. And she’s biting down on her cheek so hard, adding onto the litany of bruises and marks you’ve already left on her. It’s all getting to be too much—for you, for her—her whole body tightening around you, cunt spasming around your digits, ass choking your cock and—

“Tell them, Chaewon. Let them hear. Tell them what it’s like to have my cock in your ass.”

Chaewon tries her best. “It feels so—”

“Louder.”

Barely can string a proper sentence together, can’t find the oxygen for it, “Feels so good.”

You’re not helping at all, not giving her a chance of a respite. Fucking the wind out of her, leaving her completely out of breath, a complete catastrophe of need and want and tiny, desperate sounds. But you insist, again, “Louder.”

“I—I—I can’t—I can’t—”

Her wrists give way, she falls into the desk. You’re quick to grab a fistful of hair, snatch it in your fingers before she can collapse face-first into the wood. Wrenching her head back, holding her up so you can keep pounding into her. “Try harder.”

“Please,” she cries, but it’s only making your strokes harsher, more punishing. Everything she needs. Setting every part of her on fire. The pace, the pressure, the force. Leaving her so flushed, and she knows you’re not going to stop until you get what you want, so—"Your gorgeous fucking cock is tearing me in two.”

“More.”

“It’s so fucking good, opening my ass—stretching me out—fucking me until I can’t even think straight. I don’t—I don’t know—I don’t think I can take it—Jesus fucking Christ—it’s too much.”

“You’re so good for me, Chaewon, you’re being such a good girl,” you tell her, cooing into her neck. Convincing her of your own brand of love, whispering praises that she just soaks in, basking in every word—“No one could take me like this. No other ass could ever compare. You’re just too good. I could fuck you like this forever. I don’t care who sees. Who watches. I want everyone to know how perfect your ass is for me.”

“Yes,” Chaewon breathes, like she’s testing out what little remains of her voice. Makes a decision. Thows it all away, uses every last bit of strength to shout out, “Fuck it—everyone should know how much I love your cock in me. Fuck—how much I crave it—”

And it’s starting to hit you out of nowhere—this mind-numbing sensation that’s rattling through your bones. Fire in your veins, fireworks setting off down your spine. And you’re sliding into her ass, again and again, can’t stop, just going, every second bringing you closer to the end, and Chaewon deserves nothing more than a hand tightening around her throat and a hard fucking slap on her cheeks so—

“Everyone should know how hard you’re making me fucking cum!”

Her ass suffocates your cock.

Takes you forward with her, forcing you to fall into her and squash her against the desk. Pulling you in the deepest you’ve been yet, just completely impaled into her thoroughly-fucked ass, until you’re spilling into the depths of her.

“God, fuck, I can feel it—”

And Chaewon’s shaking beneath you too. Trapped under your weight; her body would be shivering, cumming until she’s tumbled off the furniture and onto the carpet, but there’s nowhere to go with you keeping her in place. Using her ass to milk out every last drop from your cock, making her feel it right in her guts, shooting inside her and filling her tight hole right to the brim.

Fuck.

It’s all coming out of her too.

Down her thighs, mixing with the wetness gushing out of her cunt, sliding down her legs. It’s all sweat, cum, juices, these running rivulets that rush all the way down to her feet, pooling on the floor.

No time to think about the mess your making, no time to think about what happens after. Just trying to survive it. The intense visual of Chaewon cumming helplessly, endlessly beneath you. The dozens of tiny shifts in her body; the crane of her neck, the tightening of her jaw, the tight little squeezes of her ass around your cock, and the curl in her swollen lips—

That smile.

It’s everything: absolute debauchery, pornographic, and it makes you want to rip your heart right out of your chest and give it to her.

You hold her through it, kiss her down off that ledge, whisper quiet things from a tender place deep inside you that you had no idea still existed.

And yeah, maybe it’s a little concerning how sweet Chaewon gets right as you’ve broken her. Kissing into your wrist, nuzzling into your forearm with her nose. A whisper, barely heard as she goes weak beneath you, submitting completely when she sighs against your skin, “You really fuck me up good, you know?”

She keeps herself wrapped around you, no immediate ideas of ever leaving, ever existing in a world where your cock isn’t completely seated in her ass, where your cum isn’t painting the walls of her insides. Just so wrecked by all of it. By all of you.

So you keep kissing into her back, soothe her down. Kiss up her spine, kiss that spot between her shoulder blades, kiss her more, kiss her everywhere, until your mouth is a mess and her skin is a canvas of your lips.

Keep your hands busy, too busy. At her sides, and lower still, massaging into the tender bruises across her ass cheeks, as if you weren’t the one that put them there in the first place. But now it’s your job to fix them. To nurse them away. Make it right again.

Chaewon makes this slow, languid movement, a shift underneath you that has your softening cock slip out of her, has her rolling onto her back. Looks up at you; this beautiful, drowsy haze pulled over her teary eyes, and it all should be so played out by now, should be something your used to, but really, Chaewon’s truly stunning.

Gorgeous, all the time, but when she’s like this—used, ruined, destroyed, in a pool of her own cum—she’s on a different plane of existence.

She smirks, because she can read your mind, and sighs, “I’m going to miss this when you get fired.”

You’re cracking up, wiping the sweat across your brow with the back of your hand. “And what have I done for that to happen?”

“Um, try, railing the talent in the middle of the company office, maybe?”

“I think you did a pretty good job at keeping it down.”

Chaewon enunciates slowly. Like she's talking to a child. “I literally screamed at the top of my lungs that you were making me cum. The security guard on the ground floor heard it.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, but you’re already lifting her leg before you can think better of it. Lips meeting her ankle, her calf, once again well on your way to making Chaewon’s pretty little head let go of every thought that isn’t what you’re doing to her at this very moment. “Probably.”

And it’s when you get to her knee, and lower, further down, where she’s let herself get so wet and shiny and messy, and now that she’s quivering again, there’s no going back.

Your teeth graze along the inside of her thigh, your lips drag achingly slow, stopping short of where she needs you to be. “But no one on this floor did.”

Chaewon blinks. Stares at you, adorably annoyed. Happily frustrated that you’re back to torturing her.

“Told everyone to go home after you arrived. So, we’re in the clear. No one here but us.”

A myriad of emotions flash across Chaewon’s painfully pretty features. Relief, amusement, disbelief. Awe.

But also—disappointment.

Because here’s the real rub, the truth of the matter. The thing she’d only admit to in some darkened room; or scream into your hand, or a pillow, or, in this case, a stack of overdue paperwork.

Chaewon lives for this shit, as much as you do.

The thrill, the rush of almost getting caught, the addiction to having an audience.

Yeah, it’d probably make her cum buckets if someone was to witness the exact moment you actually break her.

And you can already see the gears turning in her head, thinking of the next time you’ll push her past her boundaries, raise the stakes, maybe forget to evacuate a floor before nailing her to the closest hard surface.

Find out just how much of a good girl she really is for you.

But for now she just smiles up at you. Lets the thought churn inside her. Simmering, then boiling, and then getting exponentially hotter, wetter; moans tumbling out of her lips until all that’s left is for her to accept that—

“Oh, you’re the worst.”

You quite readily accept your punishment for your crimes on her body; the individual counts against her cunt and her lips and her ass. Serve out your term between her legs, starting it off with a lick that passes the entirety of her pussy.

Bringing the two of you right back to the beginning, where her hands are threading into your hair and you’re putting your mouth to good use and making her go from hushed to panting to whining, and again she’s close to shattering into a million tiny pieces because fuck.

She really, really does make it so easy.

Easy to keep going, even when you're mentally and physically spent; even when she's lost all fight in her, can't even summon the strength to beg a little more, to plead for you to make it hurt better.

Easy to fuck—to make love to her.

To fall for her.

You don’t think you could ever stop, you don’t think she’d ever let you. No, even when the moment shifts, and you’re switching up gears, and you have her spread out over the comfort of your couch instead of your rigid office desk, she still is, and will always be, yours to play with.

And it's Chaewon’s eyes going soft, her arms wrapping around your neck, and she’s holding you tight, holding you like a lifeline.

Her voice is simply gone, no more declarations, but she’s already said all she needs to. Let you in on this quiet need inside her. This gentle craving. For something like this.

For someone like you.

You kiss her.

It’s different.

Take your time—you’re too drained to rush.

Just sink back into Chaewon, fall into her light kisses against your cheek, whispers of what you swear sound like three dangerous words, but you’re too tired to make them out.

Just embrace her, embrace the girl that could have anything, be anything she wants to be, but for some reason has chosen to be yours. Let your fingers run over her ribs, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, and lower.

Lose yourself in her, in this unholy silence that’s gradually being cut into by her gasps and her moans, and—

You pause.

Shush Chaewon.

Hear the low hum of a vacuum right outside your door.

“Ah. Shit. Cleaners.”

A scant thought crosses your mind.

"You think they heard?"

Chaewon smiles. Shrugs.

Somehow finds one last sliver of energy to adjust herself beneath you.

"Maybe," she's whispering. Reaching out to touch you. Rolling her hips. Making you throb. "Probably."

And now she's grinning, and you can feel it in your chest. That thrill that never really went away, the chase you can't quite escape from.

It's against your better judgment, but you're already surfacing these ideas, the things you could do to her; how creative you could really get in your office—just hoisting her up on her feet and pressing her against the walls and fucking her into the glass until she's leaving an imprint.

Chaewon reads it on your face.

Knows that all she has to do is ask:

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

[reilemon]

Sweet Stardust

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: You'd never expect to be set up on a blind date with Xavier - the one man you’ve been hopelessly crushing on for months.

♡︎ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, smut, use of 'sweetheart' 'princess' 'honey', reader has hair (at least shoulder length, didn't specify texture), fingering, creampie ofc

♡︎ word count: 6.1k

♡︎ a/n: written for @who-mentioned-rhys-larsen ♡ this fic is part of the Blind Date Matchmaking event by @unintentionalseductress

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @/anitalenia

You take a slow sip of your iced tea, the coolness doing nothing to soothe the warmth creeping up your neck.

Why did you think this was a good idea?

Your fingers find the edge of your star-shaped earring, tracing the smooth metal absentmindedly as you glance around. The restaurant is elegant but cozy, the kind of place that requires a reservation but doesn’t suffocate you with formality. Secluded tables nestle in private corners, the polished dark wood of the bar offering a sense of quiet luxury. It’s nice— a perfect spot for a first date.

The thought only makes your stomach twist tighter.

You arrived earlier than planned, too anxious to sit alone in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts. Now, perched on a barstool, you’re starting to question every decision that led you to this moment.

The worst part? You don’t even know what your date looks like.

Tara assured you she’d pick someone good. And you trust her—she’s not just a colleague but a close friend, someone who knows you well enough to understand your type, your standards, your... predicament. That is, your utterly hopeless crush on Xavier.

Your gaze drops to your lap at the thought of him, an old ache stirring in your chest. You’ve spent months pining for him—your colleague, your neighbor, the man who has occupied far too much space in your head. But nothing has ever come of it. No flirty advances, no subtle signs that he might see you as anything more than a friend and coworker. And you’ve grown tired of waiting.

So, you let Tara set you up. Maybe this mystery man will be exactly what you need—a good distraction, someone to help you move on. If that’s even possible.

Still, one small consolation eases your nerves - you know you look good. The sweater dress you chose hugs your curves just right, soft and warm, the cleavage dipping just low enough to be tempting. Your heeled boots elevate your outfit, and, miraculously, your hair cooperated today, falling just the way you like it.

Tara instructed you to wear a recognition piece—something star-shaped, she had said. You thought it was too subtle, but you were relieved you had control over your outfit. Now, though, as you anxiously toy with your earring, you wonder if your date will even notice it.

What if he saw you already and decided to leave?

Your grip tightens slightly around your drink, your pulse stuttering at the humiliating thought. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe—

A small speck of light floats in front of you, pulling you from your anxious thoughts. You can’t help but associate them with him, as they always appear -

“Hey.”

The soft, familiar voice shifts your attention.

You turn, blinking in surprise, and your heart nearly stumbles out of your chest.

Xavier is sitting next to you.

When did he even get here?

He’s propped against the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood, his cheek lightly pressed against his hand. The dim glow of the restaurant catches in his deep blue eyes, glinting with something unreadable as he watches you.

Your breath falters for just a second, heat creeping up your neck. “Hi.” you manage, offering a sheepish smile, your fingers still toying with your earring.

His gaze flickers down, catching on the star-shaped piece before shifting back to your face. “Are you waiting for someone?”

You straighten instinctively, forcing yourself to stop fidgeting. “I am,” you say, glancing toward the entrance. “But I’m not sure what he looks like.”

His brows lift slightly. “A blind date?”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Yeah.”

You glance at your phone. You exhale sharply, shifting in your seat. “But I’m starting to think he won’t show up.”

Xavier hums, the sound low and thoughtful. “Maybe he’s just running late.”

You look back at him then, finally taking in the details of his outfit—he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, paired with light-colored slacks that somehow make him look even taller, more put-together, but still effortlessly him.

Your stomach twists with an uneasy realization —what if he’s waiting for someone? Swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat, you force yourself to ask, keeping your voice as casual as possible. “Are you waiting for someone?”

His eyes linger on yours for a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “Not really.”

You barely have time to process that answer before he turns his attention toward the softly lit dining area. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat, and then—he extends his hand toward you.

“Our table is ready.” he murmurs, his voice smooth, a soft smile curving at the edges of his lips.

Your breath catches.

Oh -

He’s your date.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

After settling into a table tucked in a cozy corner, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, you and Xavier placed your orders—drinks and appetizers to start. But your mind was spinning too fast, so you excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to breathe.

Inside, you grip the edge of the sink, inhaling slowly as you pull out your phone.

"Tara, did you bribe Xavier into being my date?" Your heart hammers in your chest as you type the next part. "Please tell me you didn't tell him I have a crush on him!"

Within seconds, a text pops up:

"Of course not!"

You wait, staring at the screen. Then a voice note appears.

You tap play, Tara’s familiar voice filling the quiet space of the restroom.

"He immediately refused when I asked him if he wanted to be set up on a blind date." You can hear her dramatic pout, but then it shifts—lighter, giddy. "But when I told him you’d be his date, he accepted. Anyway, have fun!"

You blink.

Your reflection in the mirror catches the exact moment your anxious frown softens into something else entirely—a shy, almost disbelieving smile creeping across your lips.

He accepted because it was you.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads down to your fingertips. You clutch your phone, staring at yourself, trying to tamp down the hopeful little spark.

Does this mean he likes me?

You bite your lip, willing yourself to stay grounded, to not jump to conclusions. It just means he didn’t hate the idea. That’s all. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Still, as you slip your phone back into your purse and wash your hands, your movements feel lighter, less burdened by nerves. By the time you push open the bathroom door and step back into the dinning area, that giddy warmth is still lingering in your chest.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You step into your apartment, and turn to lock the door after Xavier enters. It feels surreal. Xavier is standing in your entryway. In your apartment. Slipping off his shoes, asking where the guest slippers are. He shrugs off his coat, and before you can even think to reach for it, he’s holding out his hands—first to take the bouquet of flowers he bought for you on the walk back, then to grab your coat.

The bouquet is filled with your favorites. Did he ask Tara? Did he just… know?

You clear your throat, mumbling a quiet thanks, and step into the kitchen to grab a vase. The sound of running water fills the space as your mind is stuck on the simple, surreal fact that he’s here. Xavier is standing in your kitchen, looking around with quiet interest, his gaze flickering over little details—your recipe books stacked on one counter, the aprons hanging next to the fridge, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

“Cozy.” he comments, his voice warm.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

You cover your lips as a chuckle escapes you, shaking your head. “I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at Xavier with an apologetic smile, “I just always assumed you were bad at cooking since there’s burning smoke coming from your apartment almost every week.”

Xavier exhales a quiet laugh. “It’s not that I’m bad,” he muses, “I just have a bad habit of dozing off while waiting for something to cook.”

The low rasp in his voice makes your stomach flutter. You’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, how his knee has brushed against yours too many times to be an accident.

You clear your throat, scrambling for something to keep the conversation flowing. “I have dough at the apartment.” The words slip out. “I’m not sure what to make with it yet. Do you have any ideas?”

Xavier leans in slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he contemplates, but his eyes never leave yours.

“I bought strawberry jam today,” he murmurs. “It would be perfect with homemade bread.” His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest second before it settles again on yours. “I could help you with it—if that’s okay with you?”

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Your cheeks burn at the memory.

Just a few hours ago, you thought Xavier wasn’t interested in you at all. That your feelings were nothing more than a hopeless crush. But now—he’s here. He’s helping you find the perfect spot to set the vase, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

And you know - he does like you.

You saw it in the way he looked at you at the restaurant, in the way his usually distant, unreadable gaze softened, locked onto you. It wasn’t the casual attention he gave to others, the absentminded focus of a man who was simply being polite. No—this was different. His eyes had lingered, had traced the curve of your lips between words, flickering down for just a second too long before finding yours again.

And you felt it, too. In the way his knee brushed against yours beneath the table. In the way his fingers found yours by the end of the night,the touch tender and grounding.

And now, here you are—just the two of you in your cozy kitchen, setting everything up to prepare homemade bread.

You move around the space, trying to keep your hands busy, trying not to focus too much on the man leaning against the counter. You reach for the aprons hanging by the hook, and a playful smile tugs at your lips as you hand Xavier the one with the bunny print. He raises an eyebrow at the design before letting out a low chuckle, shaking his head in amusement but accepting it anyway.

"You picked this on purpose, didn’t you?"

"You’ll look cute in it," you tease, already tying your own cherry-print apron around your waist.

But before you can secure the knot, his fingers brush over yours. "Let me."

His breath against the shell of your ear makes goosebumps bloom along the side of your neck. He steps in behind you, his fingers tying the knot — but he doesn’t move away immediately. For a lingering moment, his hands rest on your hips, fingers splayed lightly over the fabric of your dress, and your breath catches. It’s so subtle, so fleeting, but the touch lingers even as he steps back and moves to stand beside you.

You exhale slowly, turning your attention back to the dough in the bowl.

Xavier rolls up his sleeves, the fabric sliding up his forearms, revealing the sculpted muscle, the veins subtly lining his skin. His hands flex as he reaches for the dough, fingers sinking into the soft mixture.

"I can handle the kneading," he offers, his eyes flicking to you. "Just instruct me."

You nod, too distracted to say anything.

Xavier’s hands press into the dough with steady, practiced motions, fingers flexing as he pushes forward, the soft mixture stretching and folding beneath his palms. You watch, transfixed, as the muscles in his forearms shift with each movement, flexing beneath his skin. The dough yields to his touch, stretching between his fingers before he folds it over itself again, his knuckles pressing in, wrists rolling as he coaxes the mixture into the perfect consistency. It shouldn’t be mesmerizing. It shouldn’t be distracting. But it is.

You swallow, completely absorbed in the way his hands work—the slow push, the press, the stretch, the way his fingers curl just slightly as he pulls the dough back. Heat pools in your stomach, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

And then he stops.

Your gaze snaps up from his hands to find his face already turned toward you, amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.

"Can you sprinkle more flour? Or are you just gonna keep staring?"

Your stomach flips.

Oops.

Heat spreads over your cheeks as you realize he caught you shamelessly ogling his arms like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. You scramble to gather yourself, clearing your throat as you quickly grab the flour.

"I was just making sure you were doing it right." you lie, voice slightly higher than normal as you sprinkle a light dusting over the dough.

Xavier hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he kneads again, the fresh coating of flour making his hands glide easier. But just as you think you’ve escaped the moment, he shifts—his hands no longer sticky with dough, moving faster than you can react.

A soft swipe of flour brushes against your cheek.

You blink, stunned. Xavier pulls his hand back, his smirk widening, too pleased with himself.

"Focus." he teases, the mirth in his eyes makes your stomach flip all over again.

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, so you grab a pinch of flour, and tap the tip of his nose. The faint layer of white settles on the tip of his nose, an almost comical touch against his usually composed expression. His gaze locks onto yours, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then—

A low chuckle spills into a soft, genuine laugh. Your heart stumbles over itself at the sight of him like this— warm and sweet, no longer distant. The sound of it makes you grin wider, but you don’t miss the way his eyes gleam with mischief. The playful glint is all the warning you get before his hand moves as he smears another streak of flour along your cheek.

“You should really focus.” he teases, voice rich with amusement, tilting his head as if inspecting his work.

You gasp, feigning an appalled expression. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

But you don’t get a chance to launch another attack, because he moves swiftly, catching your wrist in his hand. The contact sends a small jolt through you; it’s soft but firm enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your skin, holding you in place. You expect him to smirk, to tease. But instead, his expression softens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as he lifts your hand. And then—he presses a kiss to your knuckles. His lips linger for only a second, the warmth of them seeping into your skin, before he pulls away.

Your pulse is fluttering, your cheeks heating, and silence settles between you, stretching for just a beat too long.

You clear your throat, glancing toward the dough still resting on the counter, and force your voice to sound as steady as possible.

“So, what do you like to cook the most?”

Xavier hums in thought. “I like trying new things,” he muses, rolling his shoulders slightly, easing some of the tension in his muscles. “It doesn’t always turn out great, but I like the challenge.”

You tilt your head, intrigued, and then smirk. “So, you like torturing yourself with hard recipes?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Something like that.” His voice is a little quieter as he continues. “You make it look easy. Thought I’d try my hand at a few things.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if you heard him correctly. “Wait - have you been trying to remake my recipes?”

His fingers falter for just a second before he smooths his expression into something neutral. “Maybe.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “Xavier.”

He exhales, shaking his head like you’ve caught him in something ridiculous, but the corners of his lips twitch. “You make good food,” he mutters. “I wanted to see if I could make it too.”

You fight the urge to squish his cheeks that have flushed a tiny bit at the revelation. He actually remembers the things you’ve brought him, the little baked goods and dishes you’d made. And not only does he remember—he tries to recreate them.

His gaze flickers to you. “Maybe you should teach me.”

It’s a casual request, but you hear what he isn’t saying. He wants to see you more, and it sends another rush of giddy warmth through you.

“Okay,” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t doing flips. “What do you want to learn?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Egg tarts.”

The answer is so unexpected that you blink, then laugh. “Really? Out of everything?”

He nods. “They’re delicious.”

Finally, the bread dough is prepped, shaped, and ready for the oven. You slide the tray inside, and after cleaning up the counter and your hands, you remove the aprons and put them back on the hook.

As you turn to face Xavier again, you catch him watching you, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, leaning against the counter.

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the way his gaze makes your stomach tighten. Then, with a teasing lilt to your voice, you ask, “Should I go get you a blanket? Since you might doze off.”

His brows lift slightly, and then he huffs a short laugh.

But then, his voice drops, smooth as silk. “I think we can find a better way to pass the time.”

A soft laugh spills from your lips at first, but as soon as you catch the look in his eyes, the warmth in your chest falters, the laughter dying on your tongue.

The teasing spark in his eyes is nowhere to be found. Instead, a soft blush dusts his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. Then—he moves.

One step, then another, the space between you disappearing, inch by inch. The edge of the counter presses into the small of your back as he approaches, your body instinctively leaning away. His hands rest on either side of you, palms pressing flat against the cool surface of the counter.

His breath is soft, ghosting over your lips. The sheer weight of his attention wraps around you like a second heartbeat, syncing with your own, pulsing through your veins. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something—him, the counter, anything to steady yourself.

The rest of the world fades into nothing, and all that exists is him.

His lashes lower just slightly, his lips parting as he leans in, his gaze holding yours the entire time. He’s waiting, offering you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before the moment tips over into something neither of you can take back.

Then, barely above a whisper - “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t say a word.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, closing what little distance remains between you, and press your lips to his. Xavier exhales softly against your lips, the sound breaking somewhere between relief and disbelief before he finally moves.

His mouth presses more firmly against yours, molding to the shape of you, learning the way you taste, memorizing the way you feel beneath him. His fingers twitch against the counter, like he’s restraining himself from reaching for you, from pulling you against him, from letting his hands wander to the places he’s only ever dreamed of touching. But he lingers, soaking in every moment, every detail, every sigh and shiver you give him. You melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

Xavier pulls away for a moment, his breath warm against your lips. "Can I touch your hair?"

It’s such a simple question, yet it sends comforting warmth through you, and it makes you fall for him even more. You nod, your heart hammering in your chest as you tilt your head slightly in invitation. You press your lips to his again, needing to feel that warmth, needing to drown in the way he kisses you. The moment his hand settles on your hair, a slow shiver rolls down your spine. His touch is reverent, the slightest tug at the roots sending small tingles all the way down your neck. You sigh into his mouth, the sound soft and almost dazed, relishing in the way he handles you, like he wants to learn the texture of every strand under his fingers.

And then he steps closer, pressing his body fully against yours, erasing the last inch of space between you. His firm muscles shift slightly against you, the warmth of him seeping through his clothes, through yours, until you feel surrounded, consumed. And lower, against your hip, there’s something else—something hard and pressing insistently, showing just how much he wants you.

Your breath catches, your fingers faltering where they rest against his jaw.

Just a small movement—that’s all it takes, the softest drag of your hip against the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, to draw out a reaction from him.

Xavier’s body tenses, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers twitch against your hair, tightening slightly before loosening, as if he’s reminding himself to be gentle. His jaw clenches, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest second before they open again, darker now, heavier.

He whispers your name. "If you keep doing that—"

But you don’t move away. Instead, you lift your gaze to his. "Do you want to stop?" you whisper.

The moment hangs between you, before he exhales.

"No," he murmurs, "But if we do this, I need you to be sure."

And you are sure. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, feeling the pulse thrumming just beneath your fingertips. You guide his hand from your hair down to your waist. "I want this." you whisper, your heart pounding so violently you wonder if he can hear it. "I want you."

The tension in his body dissolves, his grip tightening at your waist, holding you there, against him. His breath stutters for just a moment, his nose brushing against yours, and then he kisses you. His lips move over yours with such aching tenderness that your knees almost buckle. His hands smooth over the curve of your waist, fingertips trailing lightly along your spine, sending shivers down your back, making you arch into him. Your fingers find the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric, gripping tighter as your body melts further into his.

Then he pulls away just enough to wrap his arms around you and effortlessly lift you off the ground. You gasp softly as he positions you carefully on the counter, ensuring you're comfortable. His fingers slip beneath the soft fabric of your sweater dress, and instinctively, you part your legs in silent invitation. He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, pressing into the space between your legs, his body crowding against yours. Then his hand ventures further, toward the ache pooling between your legs.

He pulls back just enough to watch you, his lips parted, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes flicker between your gaze and where his fingers now hover. Then—his fingertips graze over the damp fabric of your underwear and a sharp breath escapes you.

His voice drops to a husky murmur. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, not just from the way he touches you, but from the way he looks at you—devouring, mesmerized. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping up your neck, your ears. Your grip on his shirt tightens as his touch grows bolder, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your folds, teasing, coaxing.

Your lips part on a quiet whimper, and he catches it, swallowing the sound as he leans in again, capturing your mouth in another slow, intoxicating kiss. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing scrape that makes you shudder against him, makes your body arch instinctively. His fingers press firmer, brushing up, down—catching against your clit with just enough friction. You gasp softly, tightening your grip on him, your hips shifting involuntarily.

Then, his fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear, and you rest your hand against his shoulder, lifting your hips to help him slide the fabric down your legs. Heat blooms across your cheeks when you catch him tucking the lace into his pocket, and you’re even more flustered when you see the mischievous smirk on his lips.

His fingers trail back between your legs, but the first brush of his fingers against your bare folds makes you jolt.

"Relax for me, honey." His voice is soft, soothing, his lips just a breath from yours.

You nod, your breath shaky as you let your body give in. His fingers slide along your wet heat, teasing and exploring in slow, tender strokes. Your grip tightens on his shoulder as one finger circles your entrance, prodding and testing you. A quiet gasp escapes you as you tug at his shirt, pulling him closer—and you press your lips to his, your tongue tangling with his.

Then his finger pushes in slowly, making you feel every inch of that delicious stretch and every slick, teasing glide. He finds that sweet spot with ease, the one that makes your breath hitch and your toes curl. A soft curse slips from your lips as he strokes it again and again, spreading tingling warmth through you.

He savors your soft, breathy whimpers as he slides a second finger inside, curling them just right and moving them in deep strokes.

"Does that feel good?" he murmurs, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

You can only nod, unable to form words when he’s touching you so perfectly. Your gaze flickers downward—between your legs, where his fingers move, where his hand glistens with your arousal—and the sight alone sends another pulse of heat through you.

Xavier’s lips curve in a soft, knowing smile as he takes in your expression, your half-lidded eyes, your parted lips. His free hand lifts, cradling the back of your neck, tilting your head to expose your neck to him. His lips graze your skin, teasing at first, before his tongue flicks out, dragging a wet trail along the sensitive slope of your neck.

A sharp gasp escapes you as his thumb presses against your clit. He circles it in slow, lazy swirls, the pleasure deepening, pooling low in your stomach. Your thighs tremble, hips shifting involuntarily, chasing more, needing more.

"That’s it, honey." he breathes against your throat, his fingers plunging deeper, working you open. He latches onto your skin, sucking gently, his breath fanning over the damp spot.

The hand on his shoulder moves to hold onto his forearm, each precise stroke sending jolts of pleasure through you, winding that coil in your belly impossibly tight. You’re right there, trembling on the edge, every breath a shaky, desperate gasp. If you had any control left, you would be embarrassed by the broken sounds spilling from your lips—whimpers, soft cries, the only thing you can manage being his name, over and over like a plea.

Xavier groans low in his throat. “You sound so fucking beautiful,” he rasps, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me, princess. I’ve got you.”

His control is slipping—you can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his hips press forward, seeking friction against your thigh. He’s trembling, barely holding himself back, and the thought alone sends pleasure ripping through you. You shatter against him, burying your face in his neck as your release crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers, slick dripping down his hand. He holds you through it, his grip firm, his breath ragged, whispering praise into your hair, your pleasure undoing him just as much.

Your lips press against his throat, muffling the last of your cries as your body trembles against him, and he’s not so sure he can hold back any longer. His hand catches your chin, tilting your face toward his. His thumb brushes along your jaw, eyes locked onto yours, dark and desperate. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“I need to feel you.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, trembling. “Please.”

Your body is still pulsing with the aftershocks of release, but you know you need more.

"Yes." You whisper, wasting no time to slip one hand between your bodies, trembling slightly as you reach for his pants.

Xavier groans softly, helping you with the belt when your hands fumble, his own need evident in the way he works quickly to unfasten it. The moment he pulls himself free, your breath catches—he's so hard, flushed and aching, the sight alone making you even more wet. You can’t help but wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight, the heat, the pulse beneath your touch. When your thumb glides over the bead of precum on his tip, smearing it over the sensitive skin, a sharp hiss leaves his lips, his grip tightening on your waist.

"Fuck—" he exhales, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, stilling your touch before he brings your hand up, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of it. Then, as he lowers his gaze, positioning himself between your legs, his breath stutters again. His tip nudges against your soaked entrance, and just before he presses forward, his eyes flick back up to yours.

"I don’t have— Do you—?"

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you cradle his cheek, your thumb stroking along his jaw. "I'm covered," you murmur, brushing your lips over his. "And I trust you."

His exhale is shaky, his forehead pressing to yours before he finally moves. Carefully, the thick head of his cock begins to ease in, parting you with an aching stretch that has your body tensing before melting, your nails pressing into the firm muscles of his shoulders. You’re already so sensitive, still pulsing from his fingers, and this only adds to your dizzying arousal.

"Fuck," he grits out, his jaw clenching as he inches deeper. "You're so—"

The words die in a low groan as he bottoms out, pressing flush against you, his pelvis catching on your clit in a way that sends sparks through every nerve in your body. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him so tightly that he shudders, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Are you okay?" he breathes against your hair, his arms tightening around you.

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding as your body adjusts. Your lips part against the crook of his neck, sucking lightly on the skin there, grounding yourself in the feel of him. His first thrust is slow, dragging — so controlled it’s almost torturous. You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the way his breath shakes as he exhales through gritted teeth.

"Look at you—so beautiful." A deep groan rumbles in his chest as you clench down around him, your walls gripping him so tight it makes his thrusts falter, his cock stroking against that perfect spot over and over.

Your hands slide up, fingers curling in his hair, tugging gently as you tilt your face up, finding his eyes.

"Xavier—ahh—" your voice is soft, pleading, "I’m so close. I need you—"

His cock twitches inside you, throbbing against your walls, slick and tight and perfect. His fingers dig into your hips, trying to hold back, but it’s no use. A desperate moan spills from your lips as his thumb returns to your clit, pressing, circling, matching the frantic stutter of his hips.

"You feel so fucking good," he rasps, voice wrecked, hoarse. "Taking me so well, honey."

Pleasure crashes into you, shattering, overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him, pulsing, gripping, and Xavier curses under his breath, arms locking around you, holding you through it.

"That’s it—fuck—just like that,” he pants, breath shaky. “I’ve got you—haah—I'm so close."

His rhythm stutters, his hips grinding deeper, erratic, chasing the high. You’re still trembling, still lost in your high, but you don’t want him to stop—not with the way his cock throbs inside you, not with the way his breath stutters.

You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper. That’s all it takes.

Xavier chokes on a groan, his hands gripping you so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow. His cock pulses, his entire body tensing as his release crashes into him, his hips pressing flush against yours as hot spurts of cum spill deep inside you. His breath breaks into uneven gasps against your ear as he grinds through it, his cum slipping out, messy and warm between you.

"Can’t get enough of you," he mutters, almost delirious. His lips brush your temple, his hands roam over you, slow, reverent. Even spent, his cock twitches inside you, hips rolling in lazy, absent thrusts, as if he’s already craving more.

"Never gonna get enough of you," he breathes.

Xavier doesn’t move for a while, and you don’t want him to. His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest as his breath evens out, warm against your hair. His fingers trace light, absentminded patterns on your back, his other hand smoothing over the side of your waist, as if he can’t stop touching you. You sigh into him, boneless, completely melted in his hold, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied hum in response, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

His lips graze your forehead before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze is warm and tender as he takes in the sight of you in the afterglow, "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulder, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to say anything when all you want to do is hold onto this feeling forever.

So instead, you just nuzzle closer, in the crook of his neck where small, faint marks are forming on his skin. He smiles against your cheek, squeezing your waist before he loosens his hold, letting you shift against him.

And then your nose reminds you of something. Your eyes snap open, panic flashing through you as you sit up straight, hands flying to Xavier’s chest.

“Oh no!”

His brows furrow, confused at the sudden change. “What?”

“The bread!”

You scramble off the counter, adjusting your dress as best as you can, legs still shaky, as you rush to the oven, already bracing yourself for disaster. But when you peek inside, miraculously, the bread is still perfect. Golden brown, fluffy, not even close to burnt.

You let out a deep, relieved sigh.

As you take off the oven mitts after placing the bread on a cooling rack, you turn back to Xavier. He’s leaning lazily against the counter, pants in place, but his shirt still rumpled, his hair thoroughly disheveled. He looks impossibly handsome like this. But instead of letting yourself get distracted, you cross your arms, feigning a small pout. "You’re bad luck in the kitchen."

"Bad luck?" He tilts his head, and you instantly regret saying anything.

He pushes off the counter, strolling toward you with that confident ease, stopping just shy of pressing against you. "Didn’t seem like you minded the distraction."

Your face burns.

You could argue. You could roll your eyes, huff, tell him off for that smug little look he’s giving you. But what’s the point? He knows he’s right. And you’re too warm, too utterly spent to even deflect.

Before you can decide on a response, he moves.

One second, you’re standing there, legs still a little wobbly, and the next—Xavier scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. A startled yelp slips past your lips, but it dissolves into breathless laughter as you grab onto his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

But he only gives you a soft smile, before pressing his lips to yours.

By the time he pulls back, your head is spinning all over again.

He smirks down at you, adjusting his hold. “Come on, princess,” he murmurs, walking toward the bathroom. “We made a mess.”

As you gaze at his face, you muse how the once-distant, untouchable Xavier—the man who felt like a star too far away—has somehow become warm and steady and impossibly close.

And you’re just a giddy, melted puddle in his arms.

[jordiemeow]

Two guys for every girl. Once you boys get started you’ll be at it for hours. Come on boys, I know you’re not damn cowards.

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

summary: vying for one of the bridesmaids at their best friend's wedding gets a little out of hand, but they're tennis players. they aren't above some friendly competition.

warnings: smut, threesome, a trip to paris, throat fucking, drunk sex, tbh i'm lazy just generally 18+

Acting as bridesmaid for a girl you grew out of in college wasn’t really how you planned to spend your summer. Attending dress fittings, rehearsal dinners, bachelorette parties… but hey, free booze is free booze. And Megan’s fiancé Adam (soon-to-be husband) splashed out to pay for all the matching dresses. You reassure yourself you would have felt bad turning her down when she asked you to be a part of her bridal party.

Sure, you hadn’t talked as much over the last few years… but you were inseparable, once upon a time. She clearly hasn’t changed, considering the several breakdowns about table placements and flower arrangements you’ve witnessed over the last few weeks. And you doubt you’ll be best friends after this, but it’s nice to rekindle with someone who was a major part of your life, even if it’s not permanent.

The ceremony itself is beautiful. A beautiful stone chapel, austere lines evoking the early Christian churches of Rome; warm lights bathing the princess gown-sporting bride in an amber glow, stained glass windows glinting behind the wedding party as they read out their “I do’s.” The only modern element of the ridiculously elaborate wedding (yeah, Adam has to be fucking loaded) is the absence of any organ to reflect Megan’s aversion of them. But really, the harp just makes them seem that much more pretentious.

It’s the type of wedding children dream of. But there’s two people who clearly couldn’t give two shits about the white roses or the music being played as your friend walks down the aisle: the groomsmen. One blonde and one brunette, the latter of which is clearly bored of this entire thing, tuning out what the priest has to say and letting his eyes wander.

“Patrick, pay attention,” Art hisses under his breath from where he’s standing behind Patrick, and in clear view of his friend’s lack of interest in the upcoming vows. Considering the congregation makes up of several hundred people (who are definitely just here for the reception and Instagram stories), it’s embarrassing for him to be associated with a disinterested fool.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Patrick mutters back, with a low whistle that makes Art wince. “Just not to Adam and his gold-digging bride.”

Despite initially feeling the need to jump to their friend’s defence and insist he was perfectly capable of finding a wife—Megan was lovely, as far as Art was concerned—that train of thought vanishes as soon as he follows Patrick’s gaze to the opposite side of the altar. Standing behind the bride and her maid of honour, one of the most beautiful women he’s ever had the privilege of laying eyes upon… you.

He’s not sure how you manage to pull off the bridesmaid dress that the rest of the poor ladies seem to be drowning in, but god, you look gorgeous. A vision in pastel pink, even with that hideously large flower embellishment clinging to your left shoulder. Maybe Patrick had been right about Megan being a bitch for the last two years; nobody who loves their friends willingly puts you in something like that. And yet, against all odds, he’s ready to drop to his knees and worship you right here on the chancel. A true angel, illuminated by the mural of Mother Mary shining through the window. How anyone is paying attention to the bride when you’re standing right there clutching your bouquet of flowers is beyond him.

Patrick’s thoughts are far less pure, of course. Daydreaming about the sound your dress would make when he tears a slit up the back to see what colour your panties are. Fisting his hand in your hair and pulling those ringlets out of your pretty little flower pins, because why would you need those to hold it up when he has a perfectly good hand right here? Bent over the altar, crying out his name like he was your god, and not the Christian deity Father John was currently droning on about watching over Megan and Adam’s nuptials.

Both of them are half-hard in their slacks by the time they hear the priest rejoice, "You may now kiss the bride." Neither of them mention the way they adjust themselves in sync while stepping down to congratulate their friends and take wedding photographs.

Art gets to stand beside you in the pictures. He tries to make small talk about the happy couple, but his throat feels like it's closing up and he already knows he's going to look flushed in the picture album by the end of this. He swears he almost passes out from embarrassment when you regard him with a pitiful look as he stammers over his words trying to tell you he thinks your hair looks lovely.

If the looks Patrick keeps sending his way are any indication, he's royally screwed this up. And that little smirk he flashes as you rush off to gush at the viewfinder suggests he is absolutely going to pay for that fumble later.

He does.

—

"Dibs," Patrick announces, nursing a champagne flute and eyeing you from the opposite side of the reception venue.

Another intricately decorated hall with a local, well-known DJ Adam has connections with. Neither of them would care about the music if it weren't for the fact you looked so fucking good swaying your hips and grinding against another woman to Don't Cha by The Pussycat Dolls. They don't have girlfriends, but yeah, if they did... they'd wish she was hot like you.

"I talked to her first," comes Art's instant protest. He's already downed three glasses by now to quell his nerves, but it's only serving to make him more antsy. At least he probably won't remember any of this come morning.

"Yeah, and look where that got you," he snorts in return, mimicking the pity grimace you had given when Art restarted his sentence for the fifth time. That deflates Art's sails somewhat, and he mutters something about his friend being a dick under his breath.

"Fine. Go talk to her, then. I'll just sit here all by myself and wallow in my own self pity at a celebration of love. Knowing I am forever doomed to be alone."

Patrick shoots him a flat look for that, and Art visibly deflates. Yeah, that was a little dramatic, but he's tipsy and moping about how socially inept he is when it comes to pretty women at weddings. Give him a break.

"Nah, she'll talk to me first. We've been making eyes at each other for thirty minutes. I don't have to do anything."

"So... you aren't going to go talk to her?"

Given Art perks up a little at that, Patrick should probably be a little more sceptical. But he just shakes his head, sipping from his champagne and watching you laugh and excuse yourself from twirling around the floor with that other bridesmaid.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool…” Art hums in reply. Patrick doesn't even get the chance to reply before he's shooting off across the venue to catch you by the refreshments table.

Oh, that's how he's playing this. But Patrick said he wasn't going to talk to you, so it's his fault, really. That's how Art justifies it to himself as he dodges and weaves through dancing couples, tripping over his feet a few times in a bid to get to you.

"Does dibs mean fucking nothing to you?" Patrick hisses as he catches up to Art, just as the pair reach you.

"Hey," Art slurs, a lopsided smile on his face as he pointedly ignores his friend's complaint. "You look... really beautiful. I know I told you that earlier, but you're like... an angel."

Smooth, Donaldson. That's Patrick's queue to swoop in and save him from embarrassment, while hopefully pulling you in the process. He's not above knocking his friend down a few pegs if he really has to, though.

"We've never seen you before," Patrick says, giving you a quick once over that's far more appraising than it ought to be. It's hard not to blush and match the pretty pink alcohol-induced flush on Art's cheeks. "Friends with Megan long?"

"Uh... yeah," you reply, a little sheepish, plucking a h'ordeuvre from the table as you glance between the pair of them. Art isn't sure if you're wary or just amused. "We go way back."

"Really?" Art says, blinking. "Adam's never mentioned you before. Which is weird because he never shuts his—"

"So she's been keeping you a secret from us, then?" Patrick cuts in. God, his best friend gets so mouthy when he's tipsy. He's more of a lightweight than his fucking grandma. At least Nana can tolerate a few eggnogs without running her mouth.

"We just have conflicting schedules," you smile. "Not teenagers anymore, you know?"

You don't mention the fact you've hardly had contact with Megan since her twentieth birthday, where she deemed your gift lacklustre and cut you out of her social circle over the following weeks. Maybe that attitude is why she had been so desperate to have you as a bridesmaid in the first place—nobody else would stick around to deal with bridezilla.

"What about you and Adam?" You add a moment later, when both men giving little hums of acknowledgement. You pretend not to notice the way Art downs the last of his champagne as liquid courage before he gives his answer.

"Well, Adam's been our—"

"My friend since I was a kid," Patrick interjects again. Art sends him a look of inebriated betrayal, but the brunette is too busy eyeing up your cleavage as he talks to take much notice of it. "Our parents work together. Art's a groomsman because he's an extension of me. Fire and Ice, right, bud?"

A little nudge to Art's side, who looks thoroughly dejected at the depiction of his relationship with Adam. And the fact he's just come off as Patrick's little sidekick. So fucking unfair.

"... Right," he mutters.

"Fire and Ice? What's that?" You offer, in the hopes it'll brighten his spirits. It seems to work.

"We're tennis players. That's our nickname. A little childish, but we've been called that since we were kids."

"So you've known each other a long time?"

"Since we were twelve. Bunkmates at tennis camp," Patrick chips in helpfully, crooked grin permanently plastered on his face as he eyes you intently.

Well, they certainly have the build for it. Not that their suits leave much on display, but you can still see the way Art's muscles strain a little against the sleeves—his suit clearly isn't as tailored as Patrick's—and the way Patrick's ditched his bowtie to unbutton a few buttons of his shirt to give you a peek of his chest hair. And if the way he keeps reaching for h'ordeuvres to give him a peek of your ass every time he leans around you is any indication, that view is definitely intentional.

"So... which one's Fire, and which one's Ice?" You ask, glancing between the pair with a tilted head. Art seems eager to reply with a genuine reply, because he's just tipsy enough to actually be comfortable with you now, but Patrick speaks up before he can open his mouth.

"Why don't you find out?"

And, despite your better judgement, you intend to take him up on that. Spending the next hour at the reception taking candid photos and alternating between dancing with the pair of them; two gorgeous men on your arm, each equally as eager for your attention as the other. Suddenly, the last few months of Megan's temper tantrums feel worth it.

Not to mention you never expected Art to be able to breakdance. Five champagnes in and he's tearing up that floor, a far cry from the man who blushed crimson when the photographer asked him to place his hand on the small of your back after the ceremony.

—

When you all get a little too tipsy, they offer to walk you back to your hotel. You're all staying in the same one, anyways. It's no hassle. No point in sticking 'round here. Party would be boring without you. You can't remember which one of them told you that, but it was flattering nonetheless. Adam placed all of the bridesmaid's on the same floor, insisting it was the least he could do, but Patrick... well, apparently he has a presidential suite, so how could you possibly deny him when he offers to show you? That's the only reason you're going up to their room. Couldn't be anything else.

You trail in after them, heels hanging from your hand as you take in the sight. You're pretty sure this place is bigger than your entire apartment. Hell, the complimentary wine and gift basket on the table probably cost more than one month's rent for you.

"You look like a kid in a candy store," Patrick remarks, lips quirked up into a little smirk as he watches you ogle the sight. Both of them shrug off their jackets and abandon them on two armchairs, leaving you another sight to ogle.

"This place is... nice," you manage, eyes trained on the way Art is removing his cufflinks and rolling his shirt up to his elbows, muttering something about it being way too hot in here before collapsing into one of the arm chairs.

You almost make a remark about how it'd be considerably more tolerable if he just took the shirt off entirely, but Patrick beats you to that idea. Peeling off his own shirt and grinning to himself like a fucking idiot when he catches a glimpse of you admiring the way the muscles in his back flex as he moves. He even gives an exaggerated stretch and a groan to really seal the deal.

You have to take a seat and squeeze your thighs together after that.

"Nice is an understatement, babe," he replies. Babe? He's ballsy. Art is just drunk enough not to mask the exaggerated roll of his eyes he gives at Patrick's choice of words.

The three of you pop open that expensive bottle of wine and pass it around for another thirty minutes (with Patrick gradually giving Art less and less time to hog the bottle the drunker he gets), chatting about Adam and his stupid wife Megan and their stupid wedding. About tennis, and your own career, and who you think is going to win the Olympics this year or whether there are really aliens in the ocean. The kind of stupid shit drunk people discuss just because the conversation is as seemingly bottomless as the wine bottle you're drinking. You somehow manage to persevere throughout it all without staring at Patrick's chest too much.

"Well, I should probably go," you say, standing up (just a little wobbly on your feet) and offering a grateful smile to the pair of them. "Definitely going to be nursing a hangover in the morning."

"Wait—" They both protest in sync, sitting up.

You tilt your head at them, questioning.

"Aren't you going to sleep with one of us?"

Well, that's tactful, Zweig. Art reaches over to smack him up the back of the head, sending you a wordless apology in the form of a wide-eyed look, like a dog that's about to be scolded. But you take it in your stride, laughing as you pick up your heels.

"I don't want to pick between you. Seems mean," you reply. And you don't think you even could choose.

"You don't have to pick between either of us," Art says hastily. Even Patrick seems to be surprised by that. They've joked about sharing girls for years, ever since the Kat Zimmerman incident, but he never thought Art would be the one to actually suggest it. He averts his eyes when Patrick is searching for a towel after the shower, for Christ's sake.

But Patrick recovers quickly.

"Yeah," he chips in. "Don't you wanna find out which one of us is which?"

That gives you pause. Right. Fire and Ice. And judging by the victorious look they share at your silence, all of you are aware of the decision you've subconsciously made.

Your clothes don't take long to disappear. A tangle of limbs backing up into the master bedroom (Patrick's), hair pins discarded in a bid to yank your head back and mouth along the expanse of your neck, both men in just boxers before long. Touching each other in ways that are far from platonic but they'll both blame on alcohol and wanting to get the three of you undressed as quickly as possible.

"This is really ugly. I'm sorry," Art tells you candidly, as you straddle him on the bed. His fingers are tracing the large pink rose pinned to the shoulder of your dress, and you bark out a surprised laugh. The pair of you are giggling like idiots between kisses, insulting Megan's taste in bridalwear before there's a loud tearing sound, and suddenly you can feel the humid air hitting the back of your thighs.

That's Patrick. Doing the things he's fantasised about since he first saw you at the altar and ripping up the back of your dress to reveal your underwear. God, they're even better than he expected.

"Patrick, what the fuck—" Art starts, but his friend makes a kissing sound through his teeth.

"What? She said Adam paid for it. It's fine," Patrick mutters. "Besides, it was so fucking worth it. You should see the view back here, man."

His fingers trail over the dampness of your panties, the lacy white just as pure as Megan's wedding dress. If he wasn't already hard in his boxers (he has been since you entered their hotel room), he certainly is now. Pushing the fabric of your dress further out of the way and leaning in to lick a stripe over your panties, a low groan slipping past his lips at how soaked they are just from kissing. You would be embarrassed but... double the men, double the wetness, right?

Your hips jerk involuntarily at the sensation, a pair of matching moans escaping you and Art as it grinds you down against his clothed erection.

"I don't think Megan would be very happy you wore white on her wedding day," Patrick says, smiling against your clothed cunt as you push back against him.

"Fuck Megan," you reply breathlessly.

"No, fuck you," he shoots back. And he very well intends to. Both of them do, actually, given the way Art is whining and arching his back off the mattress in an uncoordinated attempt to get any friction against you. He's pretty sure he might cum untouched just from the sheer anticipation of it all.

Your panties go next, lost to the heap of the rest of your clothes on the floor. It doesn't take long for strong, calloused hands to rest on your ass, spreading you open so he can tongue-fuck your pussy. Mumbling something unintelligibly about how you taste even better than the wedding cake while your whines synchronise with Art in between sharing lips and spit. Stubble grazing your face and your ass, all three of your mouths too busy for any more wisecracks.

At one point, Art tries to snake his hand in between you and rub your clit, but the front of your dress is still in the way. He still makes the effort to roll his fingers against it over the fabric of your dress, and the sound you make in reply tells him he's at least contributing somewhat to the mess Patrick is making of you. He's content enough to just lick into your mouth greedily and swallow the keening sounds you're making.

"Cumming—" is all you manage to gasp out between kisses before you're clenching around nothing, and Patrick is lapping dutifully at your release. All three of you are groaning like the orgasm is shared between you. It's only when you're bordering on overstimulation and letting out pathetic little whimpers that Art realises he's still circling your clit on autopilot, and his hand falls back to grip the sheets.

"God, she's so fucking pretty when she cums," he moans, and you'd be offended by the fact he's talking about you like you're not here if you weren't so blissed out. "You should have seen her face, Pat."

"I'll see the next one," Patrick says.

Next one? Both a promise and a statement. Just hearing that has you whimpering as Art eases you off of him. Both of them help you out of your dress, a little more gently this time, and you have to ignore the comment Patrick makes about no bra, just for me? You don't have it in you to explain built-in cups and the power of pasties to a man right now. You just want to get fucked. It's only then, when you're all spread out and wanting on the bed, that you realise the wet patches in their matching black boxers (cute, you think) are just as vivid as the one that no doubt stains your lost panties.

"Jesus, you're big." You didn't mean to say that out loud, but you're in too deep to be ashamed about any of the events transpiring right now.

"Which one?" They both ask. The question goes unanswered when you start palming them both through their boxers, a chorus of moans elicited from the pair of them. (You all know the answer, anyways.) Hands grabbing at whoever they can touch, whether it's you or each other, until Patrick has the sense to yank down Art's boxers.

The protest dies on Art's tongue when he sees the way Patrick is eyeing his cock, flushed red tip glinting under the harsh hotel lights with the amount of pre-cum smeared across it. There's a moment where you all think he's going to touch him, wrap a hand around his closest friend's pretty pink dick and jerk him off, but then he simply shrugs off his own underwear. You aren't sure which one of you is more disappointed.

Everything is a haze from then onwards. You can vaguely hear them discussing positions as you kiss at Art's neck, red lipstick mottling his pale skin until it's hard to tell which stains are makeup and which are hickeys.

"We can't ask her to do anal, man. We hardly know her."

"Why not? I bet she'd like it. Fucked in both at once."

"Because that's... it's violating!"

"Oh, right. Because whatever else we're about to do won't be. Real innocent, vanilla sex with three drunk people in our fucking hotel room."

Fucking hotel room. The double-meaning of Patrick's own words makes him snort. The only reason they stop whispering back and forth is because you pull away, settling on all fours. Back arched in a silent invitation, pretty little ass stuck up in the air and arms braced against the silk sheets. They glance at each other, before scrambling to follow, with Art shoving Patrick aside to press himself behind you.

"Why do you get her pussy?" Patrick protests, sitting up and fixing his best friend with an indignant look.

"You said you wanted to see her face when she cums!"

Fuck. He did say that. Stupid logic. Well, it's not as if your throat would be unpleasant; he wonders if your mouth will be as welcoming to his cock as it was his tongue.

"C'mon," you whine, pressing back against Art's throbbing arousal. "Can one of you just do something?"

"D'you want me to use a condom? 'Cause my wallet is in my jacket in the next room—" Art starts, but you're already reaching back to guide his tip between your slick folds. Well, that's an answer if he's ever witnessed one.

Patrick is too busy getting situated in front of your face to make a comment about filthy girls taking it raw. Art's almost disappointed—he'd never be brave enough to make the comment himself. One large palm cupping your face, tilting your head up while the other slaps his cock against your lips. Whatever gloss they'd kissed off was replaced in a new sheen, one that makes him give a soft hum of approval.

"You look pretty," he tells you, and your thanks dies on your tongue when Art pushes into you. Easing himself in inch by inch, until you're practically drooling onto Patrick's tip. "God, what a fucking sight." For a moment, his eyes are on the way Art's face contorts in pleasure at the tight warmth surrounding him. It's even hotter than the way he looked when they used to jerk off in the same room at night.

"Open wide," he instructs, eyes flitting down to you. Smiling down at you with that shit-eating little grin and talking to you like you're at the dentist, not getting spit roasted after your friend's wedding. "Big girls take it all, right?"

You oblige, though—how could you not, when your senses are clouded by Art drilling into you from behind? A few more slaps of his cock against your tongue, and he's pushing himself in, too. His breath catches in his throat as the warm wetness of your mouth envelopes him—yeah, definitely just as welcoming.

You can hardly tell who's moaning at this point. There's something almost beautiful in the synchrony, the way your hands and bodies move against each other. Clutching at Patrick's hips, while he fists your hair, admiring the way the ringlets spill through his fingers like a waterfall as he pushes you down further; gagging at the intrusion in your throat while Art whimpers behind you like this is his first time getting pussy. Each of you are in your own individual heaven, while simultaneously in ecstasy together.

"Good fuckin' girl, just like that—"

"Oh, Pat, she's so tight—"

A hand slaps against your ass, and you can't tell who it belongs to. Patrick seems like the most likely culprit, given how sweet Art had been earlier, but with the way he's ramming into you like a jackhammer leaves you doubtful. It doesn't really matter, though—they both know you enjoyed it, given the way you garble out a moan around Patrick's dick. You don't know if you're praying for mercy or for more.

He lets you come up for air occasionally, telling you how pretty you look taking Art's cock. Such a good girl, before you're being degraded for letting him fuck your throat like a slut. There's no time for arguments before his tip is at the back of your throat again, the sound of your gag reflex going off hardly audible over the sound of moaning, wet slapping and skin hitting skin.

You think you know now. Fire and Ice.

Art reaches around to rub your clit at some point, slurring, "want you to cum first. You deserve it. So fucking good for us."

Patrick makes a sound of disagreement, tightening his grip in your hair as his hips begin to stutter. Not because you aren't being good for them—you're so fucking perfect—but because he wants to be able to see and hear you properly when you cum. He doesn't have the vocal capabilities to voice that aloud right now, though, so he just continues to thrust eagerly past your swollen lips until his climax hits him. You'd be worried about the obscene slew of noises coming from Patrick's hotel room if it weren't a presidential fucking suite. God, why does that make this so much hotter?

He groans out your name—or maybe it was Art's?—as he releases, holding your head in place to ensure it's all aimed down your throat. The salty taste isn't foreign to you, but you still grimace. Patrick takes it as an expression of pleasure, though, withdrawing from your mouth and leaning down to press his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

"You can cum," he murmurs. You weren't asking for permission, but you nod anyways. Art's grunts of exertion are the loudest sound in the room, the occasional whine slipping past his lips when your cunt squeezes harder around him. Slick fingers circling your clit until he feels you convulsing around him.

You mewl with pleasure, bowing your head forward, your arms and legs threatening to give way from your arched position. But Patrick catches your chin and tilts it upwards, watching the way your eyes roll back as Art fucks you through your orgasm and your spit-slick lips part around his name. “Art, fuck, yeah—“ It's only after Art announces his own climax with a low moan and collapses on top of you that Patrick is kind enough to wipe the drool coating your chin away.

It's all a bit of a blur after that. Shared kisses between the three of you in the darkness when the light has been switched off—sometimes between Art and Patrick, though neither of them have any intentions of acknowledging it. Gentle caresses against sweaty skin as you lay tangled in Patrick's queen-sized bed, praises whispered aimlessly into the quiet of the humid night.

—

You're gone by the time they wake up. A walk of shame back to your own hotel room in a shirt borrowed from one of their suitcases (you don't know which), mourning the loss of that ugly dress you wanted to sell on eBay afterwards to cover dinner for the month. Neither of them speak of the events that occurred the night before until after breakfast has been ordered and Art has taken several pills for his hangover, eating room service on the same chairs you all sat on last night, their jackets still strewn across the back of them.

"I think that was better than either of us getting laid alone," Art comments, poking at his egg with his fork. Both of them are littered with hickeys, but Art bears the worst of it. He's pretty sure most of the marks came from cuddling with Patrick in bed afterwards, but he’s too afraid to mention it. Not a can of worms he wants to open right now.

"Yeah?" Patrick prompts, with a knowing little smile. Even tired and hungover, Art has enough wits about him to know that something is up. He narrows his eyes, dropping his cutlery onto his plate and sitting up straighter.

"What?" He demands.

"Nothing."

Art leans forward. "There's obviously something, Pat."

"Just... when have I ever not approached a girl I wanted?"

It takes a moment for Art to really process what that means. Last night was a pleasurable, drunken haze, but he does remember Patrick's words in the reception hall. It makes sense now—that bullshit about Patrick waiting for you to approach him.

... Manipulative little bastard. That doesn't stop Art from replying with:

"Fuck you, man." A pause. "... But I think we should do that again some time."

[yanderedrabbles]

This is a thought I’ve had ever since i read your yandere outlaws story: what if you (try to) run away with one of the outlaws…could you even do that…. Would the poor guy even survive if you two get caught

Which of the yandere outlaws would run away with you?

CW: noncon, violence, knife play

You can't exactly ask the boss to run away with you. He's got responsibilities, authority. His men rely on him. If he wasn't the boss though? Yeah, in that case his loyalty would stretch very far at all.

The gunslingers absolutely would. But is it really a good idea? Without the boss around, there's no one keeping them in check. How much tighter will their grip be, with no one to scold them for the bruises?

They're the type to make you earn their help, and then force you to keep paying off that favour for the rest of your life.

"Mighty dangerous thing you're askin' pretty."

"How you gonna compensate us for our trouble?"

The wrangler absolutely wouldn't. Which is a real pity, since he's probably the only one with the skills to evade tracking. But he's also loyal to a fault.

"I wish I could beauty, but there are some debts that can never be repaid."

The kid, hmm. Yes. Maybe. It depends on how much time they give him. The outlaws know he's still soft, so I don't think they'll leave him alone with you for too long. He's young and guilty. You can definitely manipulate him.

"I'll...I'll do it. Just don't tell anyone, 'kay?"

The second in command, the man who claims to love you. You'd think all it would take is batting your pretty eyes and asking him to take you away from all this. And you'd be partly right. If it was any other gang, he'd be gone with you by morning.

But despite all their flaws, these outlaws are his brothers. He owes the boss his loyalty.

He's also a practical man. He knows it will be considered a betrayal. And the boss isn't one to let that slide. Even if he did make it out with you, he'd spend his whole life looking over his shoulder. And what kind of life is that?

"No. You belong here. Nowhere else."

But let's ignore all of that and assume you do manage to run away. How will the outlaws react to you and the traitor?

The boss will shoot them. It doesn't matter who. And then he'll bend you over the nearest thing and fuck some sense into you. Rough this time. Not holding back. You've proven kindness is wasted on you. Anal probably, dry and unprepped.

You realise for the first time exactly how thin his patience is. How cold and terrifying his anger. He'll be clipped and curt the entire time. "Move it." "C'mere." "Suck it." No sweet pet names this time, no treating you like his little girl. You want that softness? You're going to have to earn it back.

The gunslingers will make a game of it. Say whoever finds you gets to have you all week. They'll kill the traitor slow. Maybe leave him out for the ants and coyotes. And then they'll tell the boss you need to be punished.

They're the kind of bastards who'll slap a knife against your pussy just to see you shiver, scrape the tip against your inner thighs. Never drawing blood but always getting oh so close. 

Double penetration too, until you're too cock drunk and hurt to even think about running.

The wrangler is the one who can track you down the fastest and also the first one to figure out if you're plotting something. He won't tell the others. He'll just follow you and come out of the dark like a ghost. Shotgun levelled right at your heart. He won't kill the traitor, but the cold glint in his eyes shows you exactly how close he is to doing it.

When he gets you home, he'll make you sleep in his bed. So if anyone mentions your absence, he can say you were with him.

He won't be angry with you. Instead, he'll just hold you. His chin on the crown of your head as you sob into his chest.

"I'm sorry beauty. But there really is no way out. Wherever you run, I will always find you."

If it's the boy who finds you, it's a toss up. He might let you go, might remember how much you cried that first day. He might still be a good person at heart.

Or, he might see this as his opportunity to finally earn the rest of your body. That's what the gunslingers said, remember? If he wants to fuck you, he needs to earn it. And what better way than to bring you home?

The second in command almost never gets angry, but this time? He doesn't even bother with a gun. He kills the traitor with a knife. Rips his throat out and leaves him to bleed out on the desert sand.

He's explosive. Grabs you by the jaw and throws you against the wall. Kisses you before you can fall, ripping your clothes off with one hand. He's the worst of them all when it comes down to it. His anger making him twice as cruel and thrice as callous.

He fucks you with the other man's blood still splattered across his face.

"You wanna be like that? Don't like it when I'm nice? Fine."

He'll fuck you dry, his hand around your throat the entire time. His lips just the tiniest bit away from yours, just watching the fear and the tears. Revelling in them. When you're done, he shoves you down on the bed.

"Open your fucking mouth."

He'll make you suck the blood and come off his cock, pulling your hair so hard it gives you a migraine.

He'll grab your jaw so hard the bones ache, and yank you up to his lips.

"I'll fucking kill you next time."

You believe him. 

[nicolewritesthings]

What would Madonna do?

Summary: Hopper!Reader tries to have a fun night on her favorite holiday, but her best friend’s love life gets in the way.

a/n: posting my drafts now because why not! This is another installment for Steve x Hopper!reader. Can be read as a one shot, but also the earliest timeline moment I’ve written in the series so far. Please read the blurb that kicked this idea off if you’d like :)

Steve Harrington x Hopper!reader, Slight Billy in there too, drinking + light petting

October 31, 1984 - Tina's Halloween Party

Music blasts through the packed house filled with Hawkin's students dressed up in their very best, or worst, costumes. Nancy Wheeler beelines for the suspicious red juice, leaving her boyfriend, Steve, to mingle with his beloved peers.

He scans the room, his gaze settling onto Hopper!Reader, his new pal, who was dressed as a very hot Madonna. She smiles wide and waves even bigger, grabbing tightly to the tequila bottle in her hand and shoving her way to Steve.

Steve beams down at her, his eyes fleeting down to her lips just for a moment before snatching the bottle out of her hand.

"Hey! All you have to do is ask. No need to be so aggressive," she rolls her eyes as Steve takes a swig, handing the bottle back to her.

He shakes his head, "Madonna. Really?"

She shrugs, taking a gulp, "it's sexy and fun. Just like me!"

"And who's the lucky man tonight?" Steve wraps an arm around her, surveying the crowd. He points, "George from first period? Or captain of the football team this time?"

Hopper bites her lip and grabs Steve's chin, turning his attention across the room to Billy Hargrove doing a keg stand, the crowd cheering him on. She smirks, "I'm thinking I'll finally give the new kid a shot."

Steve straightens up, "absolutely not."

She puts her hands on her hips and glares up at him. "Like you have a say in this."

"He's a psychopath. Like, really hyped up on testosterone. It's intense," he states, trying to plead his case. She takes another swig of the tequila, leaning closer, getting up in Steve's face.

"Maybe an intense, testosterone filled psychopath is just what I want," she cocks her head, turning on her heel and strutting to Billy who is mid celebration.

Steve shakes his head, chuckling a bit. Hopper always managed to surprise him. After the events of last year, the two ran in the same orbit now. But their friendship really kicked off when they were partnered together for Chem lab, to which Steve was shocked to see she was even taking Junior chemistry as a Sophomore. He didn’t know much about Hopper other than her cemented reputation as the Chief’s wild daughter. From the bits and pieces uttered about her in the locker room and from what he gathered at parties, he heard she could hold her liquor and was extremely talented in the bedroom. Whatever that meant.

The rumor was, that while she didn’t sleep with a ton of guys, he had only heard of two or three, she was the best they ever had. So when the boys at Hawkins are saying that, some of the girls take it and spin it to create jealous rumors that she’s a total slut. But she doesn’t care about that one bit. Hopper knows who she is and now Steve was starting to as well.

Regardless of the dumb high school reputation, she got along with everyone and managed to slip easily through the different social circles. Partly because of her numerous extracurriculars, but mainly because she was a genuine person. Kind, funny, and completely herself.

So they spent all of last Spring meeting for school stuff, and their relationship turned more into a friendship, bonding over their shared Upside Down trauma and similarly stupid humor. He only hung out with one other person more - Nancy, who didn’t particularly get Hopper’s vibe. She mentioned they had been friends once, but inevitably grew apart. The girls genuinely liked each other, but Steve had a feeling they only tolerated their friendship because of him.

But, again, Hopper was so much more than he expected and so was their friendship. It was easy with her and fun, something he never quite felt with anyone before. So, he can only sit back and enjoy the show, waiting for her silly antics to blow up in her face.

He watches as Billy's gaze lands on Hopper approaching him. A smirk appears on his face. She offers him the bottle to which he gladly takes. Accepting defeat, Steve retreats to the kitchen, looking around for his very drunk girlfriend.

Hopper smirks as Billy takes long gulps of the tequila. He wipes his mouth, "I see you've finally come around, Hopper."

"Oh no, I'm just testing the waters. You've still got to jump through a few hoops," she grabs the bottle back and takes a sip.

Billy shakes his head, laughing, "so it's true what they say about you. Always can count on the chief's daughter to have a good time."

"Guess you'll have to find out and see,” she raises her eyebrows, “let’s dance.”

She takes his hand, letting him guide her to the dance floor.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Nancy gulps down another drink while Steve reluctantly watches Hopper move closer and closer into Billy. He watches as Billy leans down, her hand gripping his shirt and pulling him toward her. Steve turns away, taking a deep breath.

"Hey Nance, let's dance -" he stops short as Nancy haphazardly dunks her cup into the punch bowl. He rushes over to her as she tries to go back in.

"No, no, no," Steve pleads, grabbing her arm.

Nancy turns, "get off."

He pulls her away from the bowl, "No, you've had enough, okay?"

"Screw you," she warns, yanking herself away.

"Nance, I'm serious," Steve pleads but she's quick to dunk her cup back into the bowl. "Hey. Hey. Hey. Stop. No, I'm serious," he warns, reaching into the bowl.

The full cup teeters between Steve and Nancy as they yank it back and forth.

On the dance floor, Hopper moves her body against Billy, their lips connected just slightly as she plays hard to get. He moves a hand to the back of her head, gripping it. She let's out a small gasp at the sudden pressure, smiling into his lips and leaning into his touch.

"Careful," she warns playfully, "you're so close to winning me over."

Billy laughs, pulling back to look at her, "oh yeah? What's my prize then? If I win."

"If you win," she teases, "hm. I’ll think about it.”

He pauses, eyes glimmering with interest, “you’re good, Hopper.”

She goes to lean in when a GASP echos from the kitchen, catching the entire crowd's attention. Billy continues to lean in while Hopper looks over at the scene, finding a punch-soaked Nancy scowling at a very distraught Steve.

"Nance," Steve pleads, following Nancy up the stairs.

Billy follows Hopper’s hard gaze on Steve. He tries not to rolls his eyes. "The married couple will be fine, don't worry," he assures her with just a hint of annoyance.

She ignores his slight tone and nods her head, trying to push Steve from her mind and focus on the extremely attractive boy right in front of her.

As if switching on a light, she snaps back to the flirty girl she was just moments before. She grabs his shirt and pulls him in for a deep kiss.

Billy wraps his arms around her, his hand finding her butt, gripping it tight as the other cradles her neck. She lets her hands wander his tone arms and chest. His lips are softer than she thought they'd be. Actually, he's softer than she thought he'd be. While he grips her tight, it's never harsh, just purposeful. She pulls back. He smiles down at her.

"Let’s get out of here," he smirks.

She nods, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the side door and past the stairs. Just as they reach the first step, Steve rushes down, colliding with her and Billy. She lets go of Billy's hand.

"Whoa, whoa. What's wrong?" she asks Steve, putting a hand to his chest.

Steve looks down, "nothing, Igotta go." He tries to leave but she's quick to grab his arm. She looks up at his watery eyes and brings a hand up to his flushed cheeks.

"No, something's wrong," she insists.

Billy groans from behind her, "he said he was fine. Right, Harrington?"

Steve finally looks up, eyeing Billy then Hopper. "Yeah, don't worry Hop. Have fun."

"That's it, I'm taking you home," she loops her arm into his and heads for the door. Billy throws his hands up, "what the hell?"

She looks back, a smirk on her face, "guess you'll have to work a little bit harder to catch me!"

"Oh, we'll see about that!" he calls back, attempting to cover up his intrigue with annoyance.

———————

The cool Halloween night settles around her and Steve as they walk down the empty residential street, handing the tequila bottle back and forth between the two.

"Bullshit! She said our entire relationship was bullshit! That loving me was, was -"

"Bullshit?" Hopper interjected.

Steve threw his hands up, "exactly! I can go my whole life without ever hearing that word again.

She bites her lip, smiling to herself, "yeah man, that's total...bullshit."

He stops in his tracks, "fuck off."

She nudges Steve, frowning "Seriously though, I'm sorry that happened tonight."

"I don't know what to do. This is the first girl I've ever really seen a future with. What am I supposed to do now?"

Hopper nods, tearing her gaze from him. God, he really is obsessed with Nancy. Poor guy.

"Okay, first of all, we're just in high school. You still have time to figure your shit out."

"Easy for you to say miss captain of the varsity soccer team, class president, Ivy League bait bitch," Steve huffed.

She laughs, "did you just call me a bitch?"

"Yeah, didn't feel right coming out, but you know what I mean. You have your life figured out. You're going to get out of Hawkins and have a big career in the city and meet some really successful guy and make very beautiful yet devious children while I take over my dad's business and marry Tammy or Courtney or Brittany then have a beer belly by thirty-five and hate my life. Not to mention, you'll forget all about me," Steve groaned.

"Wow, you’ve really thought this through,” she chuckles, crossing her arms.

Steve sighs, “well, I’ve actually thought a lot about my future. You know, a few kids in a cozy home, maybe a dog.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“But, Nancy’s always there,” he shakes his head, “no one else.”

Hopper sucks in a breath. A dull pain pings at the pit of her stomach. It hurts her to see her best friend so dejected, but also, can he not see that he’s deserving of this future even without Nancy Wheeler there to complete it?

She clamps a hand down on his shoulder, “any girl would be lucky to share that with you, Steve.”

He looks down at her, catching the honest look in her eye. He wants to believe her, but it’s too soon. Wallowing is the best option for now.

She stares into his big eyes, Steve’s face closer than she realized. She eyes his pink cheeks, tinted from the cold. He breaks her trance, shrugging and looking ahead as his house comes into view.

“Thanks, man” he says sadly. Man. Could that get anymore friendly? Hopper shakes that thought away and loops her arm into his, snuggling into his side. For warmth, she tells herself.

Steve changes the subject, “so you ditched Hargrove for me? That’ll go over well on Monday.”

“He’d be stupid to give you shit,” she shrugs, “if he’s really interested in me.”

“Would you actually go out with him?”

Hopper contemplates this, “yeah, why not?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “you deserve way better than him. You know that.”

“Oh sure. But not everyone’s looking for the love of their life, Steve,” she teases, “I’m just trying to have a bit of fun before life gets too serious.”

They stroll up his driveway as he smiles, “you always are. That’s what I love about you.”

He says it casually but she’s pretty sure that’s the first time he’s said it. Even if it’s just friendly, it still means a lot to her, stopping her up for a moment.

Steve breaks apart from her, heading to the front door and unlocking it. Hopper follows, quickly catching up with him. A smirk on her face.

“You loooooove me,” she sings in his face.

He rolls his eyes, “yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head, Hopper.”

She smiles wide, heading for the kitchen and making herself a midnight snack like she’s done before. Steve shuts the door, leaving the two teens to their familiar post-party routine.

But this time, it’s a little different. The most subtle of changes have occurred in their feelings for one another. A heartbroken Steve felt like his world was ending, only to have his best friend make him feel slightly less terrible, making him realize that he does care for Hopper so much more than he planned to. Hell, he loves her.

And then there’s her feelings. How that dull pain in her stomach intensified when he said he loved her. She would be lying if she never thought about it, loving Steve. She always chalked up the butterflies in her stomach to simple desire. He was a good looking guy, constantly flirting with her because that’s just how they are - two charmers who happen to be friends.

Well, for now.

[katuschka]

Draw the Line

f!OC x Josh Kiszka x m!OC 13.200 words

Summary: Jo and her husband Lucas own an art studio where Jo teaches drawing lessons. As one of her students becomes a model one day by a "lucky" chance, he soon manages to have them both wrapped around his finger (unintentionally, f'course). The situation escalates quickly when they confess about being attracted to him, respectively.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): This is filth, ok? FILTH! Including: voyeurism, seduction, kissing, licking, fingering, rimming, booze, threesome, sex, oral sex, anal sex, light choking, light dom play, overstimulation, throatfuck, gagging, face-sitting, expressive language, open-ish marriage, polyamory

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Oh, you're such a pretty one And the naked thrills of flesh and skin Would tease me through the night Liquido, Narcotic

Ever since you can barely walk, there are people who think it’s due or even necessary to ask that one stupid question: What do you wanna be when you grow up. 

It’s quite funny, because some people can reach middle age without having figured it out! Yet there’s always this one grandpa, or aunt, or someone else’s mom who thinks they have the right to know your answer before you even reach the age to even care. 

Not me. I cared quite early on. However, my answer never satisfied anyone. Ever since I could barely hold a crayon, I wanted to be a famous painter. Famous because in my childish head that simply meant that I would make money, and thus wouldn’t have to do anything else. 

The imaginative worlds created by visual artists always fascinated me and I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to dedicate my life to it. ‘But that’s a hobby, Jo, not a profession,’ they all said. Some of them went as far as calling me a stupid girl, which became much more common as the years went by.

I can be quite stubborn when it comes to my life choices. Sometimes it’s a weakness, other times I profit from it, depending on the situation. It proved to be a blessing exactly twice. 

The first time was when I met Lucas and I simply decided that he would be mine, even though I’ve always thought that he’s completely out of my league. He’s perfect. Toned and strong, but not too much, with overlong eyelashes and thick dark shiny hair that many a woman would die for, including me. He wears it in a high bun with an undercut, sometimes switching to a french braid when he wants to get me extra wet, because it makes him look like Ragnar. 

But more importantly, he’s kind, loving, (com)passionate and supportive. And that brings me to the second time I tried to get what I wanted, and went for it, headlong! No, I did not become a famous painter, but running an art studio where I teach drawing classes is not that bad either. Definitely better than some boring office job. So, against all odds and with a bit of luck, I’m living the life I truly enjoy. Needless to say, it wouldn’t be possible without Lucas, his support and help. I’m the creative driving force and he’s the brain, taking care of “business”. 

He had helped me to create a place that truly felt like a second home. I’m confident enough to say that it’s a cool artistic haven, bohemian in style, but well-equipped. Lucas understands my chaotic mind, always willing and able to put my visions and ideas into practice in an orderly, yet original way. I wanted my art studio to look like a tearoom, and he made it work. 

You see, my husband is a true bringer of light. At least as far as my life goes. 

Well, despite all that, having everything doesn’t necessarily mean that you never want more. I’m not talking about money or ambition, but rather about simple joys of life and that insatiable yearning to try something new. I still had secret dreams and fantasies; some of which came true. However, certain wishes should remain locked in the safe and sacred space of your own head. 

My most secret fantasy materialized in the form of one loud and vivacious pixie man. 

He was attending my figure drawing classes. I never really understood why, because he just couldn’t stand still and focus on the task in front of him. Instead, he roamed around the room, discussing other people’s progress animatedly and with sincere interest. Everyone loved him, because he managed to turn each session into a pagan sermon praising human creativity. While hardly ever finishing his own drawing, he assisted me in bringing out the best in other people. 

Did I mention he was also cute as a button? No? Well, let me tell you, there were times when I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He possesses this special kind of handsomeness that’s not always noticeable at first sight because he doesn’t flaunt it, but once you really look at him, you just can’t unsee it. A little effeminate, but with some undeniably masculine features. His face is asymmetric, and yet the proportions are just right. He has an almost boyish body, but so well toned it makes him look powerful. No, actually, I think it is his strong personality that makes him look powerful.

Long story short, Josh invaded my mind with impudence and made himself at home there. That means the thoughts he helped paint inside my head were definitely not innocent. 

But that’s where I drew the line. 

Don’t get me wrong. There were no complicated feelings involved. Josh was like fragrant, spicy wine that I wished to taste, but did not necessarily crave.

I enjoyed his company during my lessons and always looked forward to seeing him again. My fantasies and secret, made up scenarios took us a bit further – to more dangerous places – but they were my and my only.

Private fantasies. Locked up worlds to which only you have the key. Not even Lucas can infiltrate these. He has his own, anyway. 

We both know this. It’s refreshing to be able to talk about it without the fear of hurting the other. We even discussed the concept of an open marriage a few times, and even though the opportunity never presented itself, we never ruled it out as a possibility in the future. 

For a long time, we were just dreamers.

Nevertheless, the Universe works in mysterious ways sometimes. 

One course usually consists of ten weekly classes, and the one I mentioned – the one Josh was attending, that is – was nearing the end. I needed promotional pictures for my socials and Lucas once again volunteered to take them. He’s no professional photographer, but still pretty good, being able to catch the genuine atmosphere of my courses. 

Sadly, it was also one of those days when everything that could possibly go wrong, indeed does go wrong. My personal struggles that day culminated when my model cancelled at the very last moment and without explanation. The lesson was already paid for and everyone was waiting by their respective easels. 

Normally, I would probably just call it off and return the money, but this was the last session before Christmas, there was not time to schedule a substitute class, we had agreed on doing a series of quick sketches and I desperately needed those in-class photos to promote exactly that because new courses starting January were supposed to focus on croquis drawing for designers. 

See, my courses are not intended only for enthusiastic amateurs; I offer help and consultation also to many aspiring and ambitious artists and designers who feel like school classes are not enough. That’s why it’s necessary to have a good model. 

Anna had proven to be unreliable in the past, but the people attending my classes loved her for her naturally looking yet challenging poses. Models are almost like actors. Or mimes. It’s hard work, extremely boring on Monday and then suddenly physically challenging on Tuesday… I guess I couldn’t really blame her. And yet I blamed her. 

For a moment, I considered doing it myself, but I also had to instruct and advise my students, AND it was also essential for me to be portrayed in Lucas’s photos in precisely this role. 

I’m able to keep my cool in most situations. However, the stressful day had taken its toll, Lucas had not yet arrived to give me at least some emotional support and I simply lost it in front of everyone, groaning in frustration and kicking the stool in the middle of the room where my model was already supposed to sit and which was now empty. 

“Fucking bitch!”

I regretted it immediately. Very unprofessional. However, several people laughed and Laura, a sweet (and slightly roguish) sixty year old lady who attended almost all my courses including landscape painting, chimed in with “hear, hear”. 

I didn’t laugh though. I felt tired and miserable, and it probably showed. Tilting my head back and searching for some answers on the ceiling (Blank spaces inspire me, so what!), I didn’t even notice him approaching me until I felt his light touch on my shoulder. 

“Hey, Jo, I can do that.” He sounded almost bashful… which was pretty unusual, if you ask me. His cheeky grin when I finally looked at him spoke a different language though. I knew who Josh was, and what he did for a living. I knew he loved to be the center of attention. And yet…

Artistic models are often deliberately anonymous people. They cherish their privacy and like to remain unrecognized, especially when they pose for nudes. It’s understandable, because for many, it’s not their main source of income. Another good thing about Anna was that she didn’t mind being featured on my website and social media. So that’s another reason why the situation sucked. 

“Seriously? You’d do that?” I asked incredulously, crossing my arms. “Do you realize you’d have to strip to your underwear…?” 

“Yeah, about that…,” Josh scratched the scalp at the nape of his neck and giggled. 

“What?” 

I didn’t really need to ask, though, because I think we all already suspected it. And sure enough, the cheeky Laura made herself heard once again. 

“I think he’s not wearing any, Jo! Am I right, Joshy boy?” Standing there with her large cup of latte like the queen she was, she pulled her glasses down and winked at him playfully. 

Josh blushed and bit his lip, but remained determined to save the day. “Damn right, Lor!” he practically screeched and then giggled again. While I would have been willing to let him pose for us in just his briefs, I couldn’t possibly allow this. He might be a bit reckless, but I am not. Getting into trouble with his manager was not worth it. 

The possibility of seeing him totally naked was, on the other hand, DEFINITELY worth it, but still not enough to make my brain shut down completely.

“I can’t let you do that, Josh. Do you realize my husband is coming to take photographs of this lesson? And I’m planning to use them online!” 

He still seemed completely unfazed, making a long face as well as some other animated gestures with his truly beautiful hands, and it was starting to get on my nerves, honestly. “And? People have already seen all of me anyway… well, um, maybe all the parts except lil’ Joshito, but even that’s a bit… debatable.” 

I shouldn’t have laughed, but the nickname almost made me choke on the oxygen I just inhaled. He was still so nonchalant about it. With his hands in his pockets, he was swaying slightly back and forth, while still waiting for my response. It was a true match of stubbornness, with the two of us standing in the middle of the room, and neither willing to give up. He kept wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I kept chewing my lower lip. 

“Seriously, Jo. It’s gonna be fine! And honestly, what other option do you have? Well, of course, unless the others are against my idea…” To my dismay, Josh was very good at persuading people to do whatever he wanted. It comes with the profession, I suppose. When he failed with me, that little weasel naturally turned to others for help. And he was successful. Those traitors all cheered and kept nodding in his favor, so I finally gave in, albeit reluctantly.

“Fiiine,” I sighed and put on the most careworn face I could muster. “But see how miserable you make me feel?” There was still more on my mind – and tongue – but the sudden kiss on my cheek rendered me speechless. Bold! Before I could recover, he was already shirtless and taking off his shoes… which immediately felt like a final, fatal blow. 

To say that I did not expect such a sight would be a lie. If I told you I had never watched any of his videos on Youtube or TikTok, my nose would grow like Pinocchio’s. Josh is like one of those friendzoned good guys from movies that transform into objects of desire when you’re least expecting it. Not that I did not suspect him to look fine under his bleached long sleeves and beige hoodies, but what used to be a very abstract subject of my daydreams now became a tough reality that had me on a chokehold in no time. 

Thank god I was not the only one and god bless Laura once again for her insolent remarks that brought me back to reality and prevented me from staring at those flexing arms while he was unlacing his sneakers. I recovered quickly, reminding him we had a changing room for that, with bathrobes he could use. 

Josh dismissed that with one flick of a hand and proceeded to unbutton his fly. I think my head started spinning even before he actually slid the khaki fabric down his precious buttocks. I have seen my fair share of male asses and dicks – and not just in bed, obviously – but there’s a strange novelty in it when it’s someone you actually want to see naked, which I’m sure you understand. I went to check on my emergency supply of charcoal and kneaded erasers that were placed on another stool nearby. There I secretly counted to ten before I took his neatly folded clothes to put them away. 

He was sitting cross legged on the stool when I got back, grinning and tapping fingers on his knee. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Right…well,” I cleared my throat. “You’re supposed to change the pose every fifteen minutes… don’t worry, I’ll set the timer. It could be theatrical or completely relaxed, doesn’t really matter. Just make sure it’s different every time. AND be mindful of the fact that you’re supposed to hold the pose! No fidgeting.” Knowing Josh, I stressed the last piece of information and he nodded enthusiastically to convince me he understood. It didn’t convince me at all. “We already lost some time, so there will be nine poses max.” 

“Got it, boss. So how about this?” He stood up and struck a mighty pose with his hands on his hips, chin up and chest sticking out proudly. He looked like Napoleon before bedtime and I couldn’t prevent my eyes from rolling. 

“Yeah, whatever suits you… So everyone, let’s get to work!” 

As I had expected, it proved to be an almost impossible task for Josh to keep still, and after a short while, he started talking to keep himself from moving. I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t interrupting me in my own attempts to consult other people’s progress as I walked around the room, checking their sketches. 

We finally agreed on putting on some music during his next pose, which was that of the thinker a la Rodin. Not gonna lie, I was glad he got back in a sitting position. At least for a while. 

My relief was short-lived. 

As the timer chimed for the second time, Josh stretched his back, pulled his arms up and my breath hitched in my throat at the sight. I thought and hoped he was just making himself comfortable, relieving his tense muscles, but he decided to remain in the position. He just bent the right arm, grabbed his left elbow with his right hand, rested his head against his right bicep and closed his eyes. Obviously, that was the next pose and everyone got back to work, quickly switching their papers once again. 

I stood there mesmerised, watching his heaving chest and being intrigued by his pouty lips, when a familiar voice on my right almost made me jump. I hadn’t noticed him coming in. 

“Who’s that?” Lucas asked in a low voice so as not to disturb anyone. He stroked my back gently, but his eyes were fixed on Josh, his expression one of wonder. 

“That’s Josh…,” I replied – almost absentmindedly – as if that somehow explained the situation, but Lucas’s amused “ok…?” pulled me fully back into reality. Lucas was often present at my lessons – usually doing some boring but necessary work in the adjacent office – but never before during figure drawing, because it collided with his workout plans. 

“Yeah...uh…Sorry. He attends this course. Anna screwed me again and Josh volunteered to substitute for her today.” I looked sideways at Lucas to see him still watching Josh with a furrowed brow. I was a bit anxious that he had noticed my restlessness, but Lucas seemed lost in his own thoughts. 

“He seems familiar,” my husband mumbled after a while. 

“Yeah, I think you know him. Greta Van Fleet.” I never listened to that kind of music, but Lucas did, and Josh’s band was featured on some of his favorite playlists. I think he had even subscribed to their channel, but in Lucas’s case, that doesn’t mean much. I expected him to respond with “oh, cool,” or something like that, but he just kept staring at the dainty figure in the middle of the room that still seemed oblivious to his arrival. Just like I had been, thanks to the music. Laura finally noticed him too, and waved hello, breaking the strange spell we were both seemingly under. 

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Lucas whispered after he saluted the old lady. I knew what he meant, so I also knew his mind returned back to business. 

“No, but he insisted, and there were no other options. Just please, try to keep it all waist up and… I dunno, blurry,” I added with a telling, pained look. He squeezed my shoulder in silent response just when the timer chimed again, making Josh open his eyes at last. He immediately looked our way and his whole body jerked as if he got burned. It was followed by a shy smile. 

“Hey! I… um, got lost in thoughts a bit… I think, uh… I love this song, ya know, anyway… forgot to think about the next pose...” He got back to his incessant babbling, but it was different this time. He looked almost embarrassed as he crossed his legs again and started playing with his curls absentmindedly. 

I tried to introduce him to my husband, which in the end made the whole situation even more awkward because it wasn’t exactly one of those moments when guys just shake hands, if you know what I mean. Moreover, I knew about Josh’s preferences and my husband is a handsome man. I’m sure those pretty cheeks didn’t suddenly turn so rosy only because of the heating. 

But as I already said, I can always count on Lucas, and this was no exception. He remained very casual about it and proceeded to take the camera off the bag matter-of-factly. “I’m only here to take some pics, so everyone please ignore me and just keep doing what you’ve been doing, which, as I can see, you’ve been doing great so far.” He addressed everyone in the room with a pearly smile, making it known and clear that it was a perfectly normal situation for everyone involved. I made a mental note to thank him for it later. 

The rest of the evening went on smoothly. After two more poses, Josh stood up again, seemingly at ease once more. He was a natural after all, and in the end, everyone told him so. Laura went as far as to suggest that he should do that more often. Of course she was going to attend the next course and I suspected the main reason was not him just being a good model. I couldn’t help but agree though. After the slightly shaky start, his behavior turned completely professional and his poses were perfect, allowing my students to explore all essential aspects of human anatomy and movement. Not to mention that good male models are hard to find.

“You know, I think she’s right,” I chimed in half-jokingly, but he took my offer very seriously.  

“I had a great time, to tell you the truth, and I’m kinda free till early March, so… if you really mean it, I’m more than willing to help.” 

You know… screw it. Yes, I meant it. Even though Lill’ Prudent Jo on my right shoulder kept telling me that I was about to enter a potentially dangerous territory, I agreed. There was a strong chance that if I didn’t, I’d never see him again, and I was not yet ready for that. As a bonus, I suddenly had a strong leverage against Anna. If she wanted the job, she should start to behave in a different way. 

Christmas was fine, but even though I love the festivities, I was really looking forward to January. For the first time in my life, because I hate January. However, the picture of naked Josh – stretching like a tomcat – got burnt into my retinas and haunted me for days after the last session. 

But not only that. The pictures Lucas had taken turned out great and because it was Josh on them, as soon as I posted them online, they went literally viral, boosting my business immensely. So strictly businesslike, January suddenly didn’t seem so bad at all. 

Josh had warned me it might happen (...with a wide grin, no less… that cheeky little fucker was looking forward to it.), but to see it actually happening was something completely differrent. It was like a Christmas gift. I wanted to thank him, and as I didn’t have his number, I had to wait to do it personally. 

We were starting January 6th. I was a bit concerned with Josh’s inability to arrive on time, as he had been late to seven classes out of ten, so I told him we start at five. He arrived at quarter to six, just in time to get ready, and when I told him the truth, he blushed and promised to never do that again. 

Of course he did it again, but all within the academic quarter hour. But I digress…

Lucas was free on Mondays, which basically meant that he spent those in my office, catching up on administrative work I had been recklessly ignoring. Oftentimes he wandered into the main studio to greet the people or watch me doing my job. 

I always loved those little interludes; it only enhanced the sense of home, as well as camaraderie. Sometimes he gently brushed his fingers across my arm in passing. Other times he brought me a cup of tea and kissed my hair while doing so. When he was in an especially good mood, he arrived with a full box of chocolate pralines and offered everyone a treat before going back to emails and paperwork. We were known as the perfect couple. 

That day, Lucas lingered in the main room more than he usually does, and I soon noticed it was only because of me. 

One moment I noticed him standing in the doorway with a cup of tea in his hand. He leaned against the door frame, his eyes scanning the room, until they fell on the naked figure in the middle. He wore his poker face, which I deemed as foolish because I know very well that he does that when doesn’t want his thoughts and emotions to be seen, while being naturally quite expressive when he doesn’t care. 

Despite his aloofness, he watched Josh intently. 

After the first week, Josh and Anna modeled alternately, five poses each. It gave Josh the opportunity to wander around again and watch other people working. It didn’t take long for him to grow unusually calm and simply observing, because it was different this time, as the room was filled with naked drawings of him: haphazardly thrown on tables, or even on the floor. His body, seen from different perspectives or even points of view. I quickly sensed what was going on. It’s just very different to seeing photographs of you, because art doesn’t necessarily reflect unfiltered reality; rather someone else’s perception of you. He knew how he looked, but seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes can be a strange and humbling experience. 

That was the second time (but definitely not the last) when I saw him blush. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” I chimed in when I approached him. He was crouching down, examining a few sketches that lay abandoned on the floor. 

“Scary,” he whispered, careful not to offend the person who drew them. “I mean, they’re fantastic, but it’s also a bit frightening.” 

“I know what you mean.” I got on my knees next to him. “Just a few expressive lines, yet you can recognize yourself, right?”

“Yeah… but at the same time, I can’t.” His voice sounded strange. Hoarse and husky. I placed my hand on his shoulder and stroked it gently. I wouldn’t dare to act that way with anyone else, but this was what he himself often did. Josh never shied away from touch. For him, it was an essential part of human communication, because sometimes there are things you simply cannot put into words. 

I looked up and noticed Lucas watching us again, his expression wild. It was not jealousy though, yet it still made me strangely agitated, because I couldn’t quite interpret it. He looked… hungry. 

Later that evening, when we finally got home, he fucked me raw. I know my husband well, so I also know this is often the result of some conflicting thoughts and emotions, as well as previous unanswered arousal. It could very easily be interpreted as lust driven just by jealousy, but I felt there might have been other reasons.

I already suspected it, but nothing could prepare me for what I witnessed later that night.

I woke up in an empty bed after midnight. At first I thought he just couldn’t sleep so he decided to go get some work done instead. Just him and his laptop in our otherwise dark living room; that was a usual scene in our household. 

After an hour of having trouble going back to sleep, I concluded I needed his embrace to help me, as his arms wrapped around my body could do the trick when everything else failed. So, I put on my bathrobe and ventured into the dark hallway to search for him and convince him to go back to bed.  

I heard him before I actually saw him on the couch; the sound of him jerking off was unmistakable. So that thing with me earlier that night wasn’t enough? Interesting. But… men, huh? Still, I was becoming more and more convinced that something kept bothering him. I was also sure he would tell me in due time if he wanted or deemed it necessary. 

Everyone needs their private space, some alone time. I respect that. I was about to turn around and go back to bed, but the sound of some music playing faintly on a loop made me intrigued. It didn’t sound like porn.

I remained standing in the open doorway, keeping myself quiet so as not to disturb his moment… when I saw it. 

It was probably some tik tok video, playing over and over again. A video of… Josh! My husband was masturbating to the more or less erotic stage poses of our little friend, further sexualized by the edit. 

And even though I had my suspicions that Josh managed to get into his head too, it was still a shock. Lucas was as straight as can be, never having mentioned any fantasies of this kind. It confused me, shook me, intrigued me even, as I stood there barely breathing… and surprised that my own jealousy was not part of the whirlwind. How could it be, when I was essentially guilty of the very same thing? 

At last, I made my way back, making sure my footsteps weren’t heard. 

I was still awake when Lucas came back to bed as well. Snuggling closer to me, he buried his face in my hair, while I pretended to be sleeping. We had to have a conversation, but it was destined for another place, and another time. 

Morning came, and my determination to talk to him about last night’s events vanished. We ate our breakfast in peace and went our separate ways. Hours went by, then days, but I never mustered the courage to open that hot topic. Everything else was pretty normal. Just our usual week. 

The week passed eventually, another lesson started, and Lucas was once again there, unknowingly confirming my theory. 

Except this time he didn’t just watch. 

The lesson went on smoothly. After it ended, I collected the supplies to carry them back to the storage. When I came back, I found them sitting on stools next to each other, deep in a low, nearly whispered conversation. 

That wouldn’t be that surprising, or unusual. We often whispered during lessons (not Josh!) and it was an unconscious habit to continue doing so even when it was no longer necessary. 

Josh had his bathrobe on, but the front was still open, more like a blanket thrown over his shoulders rather than something that was supposed to cover his naked body. What really threw me off was Lucas’ hand on Josh’s knee and the look on their faces. Now I was pretty much sure, but… the bastard! I never dared to actually do something like that, never even thought of doing it outside the confines of my own head. Ok, I might lie a bit, but – knowing I probably had no chance anyway – I simply didn’t. 

I cleared my throat, notifying them of my presence, and they both jumped as if hit by electricity. Trying to keep Josh out of it, I pretended I hadn’t seen anything weird, although I’m pretty sure my face betrayed me. However, making a scene was the last thing on my mind. I wanted answers. One answer, to be exact. And, to be honest, the sight ignited something else in my mind. 

“Jo…” 

“I'll wait in the car,” was all I said before turning around abruptly. I grabbed my coat in the hall and disappeared outside, letting Lucas take care of the rest. 

They came out five minutes later; together, but keeping a visible distance. 

When Lucas got in the car, I could feel his silent gaze on me, intent and wary, but I didn’t return it. My eyes followed the other figure, dressed in a weird, custom-made bomber, strolling hastily across the parking lot towards his own car. He kept glancing our way stealthily. 

“Jo…”

“Not now,” I interrupted him coldly. Josh got into his jeep in the meantime and I watched him drive away. “...and not here. Later. I’m hungry.” 

Lucas watched me for a few more seconds, before he finally put the key in the ignition. 

We spent the whole ride home in silence, ordered some food, which we once again ate in silence, until he just couldn’t take it any longer. 

“Listen, Jo, I…”

“I saw you the other night,” I interrupted him. 

“Saw me…” Lucas’ perplexed look quickly turned to one of utter horror. I won’t lie, I enjoyed watching him squirming like a snake on a hot plate, searching for words, before I finally decided to put him out of his misery. “But I’m not mad.”

That actually made him look even more perplexed, though he relaxed just a bit. 

“Do you have feelings for him?” I continued. I needed to be sure of that one thing. 

“No!" He seemed almost panicked. It was a dangerous question. Sex is a physical need, sometimes interconnected with feelings, but not necessarily. We agreed on that. Even our own fucking varied. It wasn’t always making love. And there were times when we weren’t even completely alone…  “No, I mean, it’s difficult not to like him… in a purely platonic way…? But this is just lust. How come you’re not mad?”

I finished my beer before I replied. “I feel the same way, actually.”

“Do you!” 

“Indeed.”

He raised his right eyebrow at me; a gesture which held a couple meanings at once. Curiosity and annoyance. He was teasing me… because he was jealous, while knowing too well that he had no right to be. 

We watched each other for a while, each contemplating what to say next, even though there was nothing else to say. Knowing it as well as I did, Lucas sighed: “Ok, so what do we do? Ignore it and forget about it?”

“We’ll see it next week, my dearest,” I replied sarcastically, because that was actually the core of the problem. Not only we’ve never been in this situation before, but Josh was also very real. And while I enjoyed his company for the reasons I already mentioned, knowing that we in fact shared this little secret made it uncomfortable for the both of us. Lucas leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Oh, funny. Fine, enthral me with your own proposal on how to get out of this situation.”

“Well,” I sighed, “sometimes it’s best to scratch that itch.”

“What are you suggesting, Jo? Surely not to seduce Josh…?”

“I’m just answering your question,” I replied evasively. “I have one too, though.”

“Which is?” 

“What were you two talking about?” For some strange reason, it made Lucas laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Music. We were discussing music…” 

“Stop trying my patience, Lucas,” I spat. For the first time, I felt really angry. This game can be played only when there’s honesty. Lucas’ expression sobered, but he shook his head. “I’m serious. Kind of. We were discussing life performances,” he smirked at me. “And before you bite my head off, let me remind you what some of your most cherished paintings are about. It’s art, right?” he added, referring to several large canvasses depicting the two of us fucking.

“Ok, point taken,” I mumbled sulkily. He really liked those tiktoks, didn’t he. Bastard. 

We left it at that, not really sure what to do. However, the situation solved itself that very next week. Josh may look like a cherub, but he’s not that innocent. 

Josh was the only model that week, because Anna had to finish some essay which was almost past the deadline, and of course, he was late again. Storming into the room, he gave me just one worried glance and a barely audible sorry that had nothing to do with his late arrival, before he quickly changed and took up his position in the middle of the room, pretending to be a statue. That was unusual, considering his inherent restlessness.

Lucas was there too, but preferred to stay hidden in the safety of his office room. And while Josh kept avoiding eye contact with me as if his life depended on it, I noticed his numerous side glances towards that door. 

When the lesson ended, he hastily wrapped himself in the bathrobe and started helping others put away their easels and other stuff. That was even more unusual. I had half expected him to run off as soon as possible, but the boy was lingering. 

And surely, the moment everyone else left and I took some remaining supplies to carry to the storage room, he followed me like a pup, trying to explain what I had walked into the week before. “Listen, Jo, about that last t…”

“You mean when I caught you shamelessly flirting with my husband?” I interrupted him, throwing the unused paper on a huge pile in the corner. I can be merciless sometimes. His expression turned to one of utter abashment and diffidence, and it was funny to watch. I didn’t feel like he really fully deserved it, because it was Lucas’ hand on his knee and not vice versa, but this shy, empathetic and almost boyish side of him is sexy as hell and completely intoxicating. 

Shamelessly, I wanted a sip of that tasty cocktail. Nevertheless, I fell into my own trap. 

We were shrouded in semi darkness, with just enough light coming from the main room through the open door to allow us to see our expressions, enhanced by sharp shadows. The dim light suited him and his Adam's apple looked even more prominent as he swallowed. 

“I… It…” unusually at a loss of words, he resorted to the second best thing he mastered quite well: touch. 

A completely innocent touch. Just his hand sliding down my shoulder, his fingers gripping my arm firmly but tenderly. It shouldn’t have surprised me that much. Josh just likes to really physically connect with people in order to be understood. But it did take me by surprise. I had imagined those fingers wrapped around my bodily parts many times before.

My immediate reaction was completely involuntary. I just moaned. I mean… aloud. 

Josh looked taken aback – and quite understandably – but instead of retreating, those fingers slid gently and slowly down to my elbow, as if testing me. Needless to say, I failed the test, although it wasn’t that blatant this time. 

“Seriously?” he whispered. The puppy dog face was gone, replaced by something much more fierce… and excitingly dangerous. “What’s the deal with the two of you?” 

“Yeah, Jo, what’s the deal?” I saw him enter, but Josh did not, and the suddenly cast shadow accompanied by Lucas’ husky tone visibly startled him. 

It was like a strange pantomimic theatre nouveau. A play of shadows, touches and slow movements. Josh let go of me and his palm, open theatrically like a flower in mid air, was suddenly covered by Lucas’s right hand while the left one slid lightly down Josh's spine until it found purchase on his lower back. Josh tensed, but didn’t withdraw from the touch. In fact, he pulled Lucas’ right arm closer to him instead. Looking at me intensely with those big dark eyes, his lips slightly parted, but all that came out was a soft exhale. Being much more hesitant and restrained than my husband, I reached out to caress his cheek, and he leaned into my touch. 

Suddenly, he tensed again, as if being awakened from a slumber. “Ok, what’s going on here?”

“Do we make you feel uncomfortable?” I wasn’t teasing. It was a genuine question.

“No, not uncomfortable. That’s why I’m asking. If I felt uncomfortable, I’d tell you both to fuck off.”

It took one shared fleeting glance between me and Lucas to escalate the situation beyond the point of no return. It was a true now or never moment.

“I have a few questions.” 

Josh made himself comfortable on our large, U-shaped couch and took a sip of red wine from the glass I just handed him. 

He had arrived in his jeep just about three minutes after us, giving me no time to make this place a little bit more… presentable. But honestly, who cares. He’s a rockstar, I’m a painter, and I was about to see him naked in a completely different situation. Dust if you must; I shall not. 

“Shoot,” I replied, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Uh… ok… well, the first one’s obviously why.”

Naturally. At the same time, it was a pretty stupid question, with the three of us evidently sharing the why not mindset. I just opened my mouth to respond, but Lucas beat me to it. “Why what?” 

Lucas, too, was still standing. Moving closer to the couch from behind, he grabbed the headrest on each side of Josh’s head and leaned down a bit. 

We were circling Josh like prey, but the little cherub didn’t even flinch, convincing me he was well aware as to why… and liking it very much. The fucker just wanted to hear it. 

“Why me, obviously,” he responded with a raspy voice and took another sip. 

“Have you seen yourself?” I chimed in. 

Josh sighed and leaned his head against the headrest, his curls brushing Lucas’ clothed stomach teasingly. See? He was VERY well aware, already playing the game along with us with gusto.

“Took me a few years to really see myself, but yeah.” His jaw tightened and he smirked at last. “Alright. Point taken. I’m irresistible.” He straightened again to help himself to another gulp of wine without the risk of spilling it, allowing Lucas to rub the nape of his neck gently. Josh leaned into the touch, but Lucas asked anyway: “Is this ok?” It was very important to build trust in this new situation. 

“Totally,” Josh whispered and blinked, before he focused his gaze back on me.

“Ok, next question. Have you two done this before?”

Lucas stopped playing with Josh’s locks and put his hand on Josh’s right shoulder instead. Our little friend acknowledged the gesture with a stealthy side look, but his main focus remained on me, even when Lucas spoke. “No… Well, we… shared a bed with another couple once, but it wasn’t as exciting as it may sound, because everyone was only interested in their respective partners in the end. I dare say it turned out to be even a little bit awkward eventually. Chemistry’s important in such situations, and it wasn’t there.” 

We certainly couldn’t complain about the lack of it this time. On the contrary, it was so strong it turned the air in the room into a thick soup of tension and growing lust. I kept eye contact, watching Josh’s eyelids droop as his lips transformed into a subtle pout. Our Ganymede was playing along, exerting his own power and dominance. At least over me. 

The evening was not planned, the roles were not set and my own imagination had never led me this far despite me being the original author of this bold proposal. Now I was dying to know what was going on in his pretty head and what he might have in store for me. 

His demeanor changed in a snap, and he turned his head a bit, finally looking up at Lucas like a puppy waiting for his master’s next move. I had to hide behind my own glass to prevent Lucas from seeing my face. Unnecessarily, because he wasn’t paying attention to me, anyway. “... and outside your mutual experience… how about… men?” Josh looked directly into Lucas’ eyes, who returned the gaze and answered truthfully: “No.” 

Josh’s eyes widened slightly and he bit his lower lip. He had probably already expected it, but hearing it is always different. 

It was pretty obvious what he was thinking, but even if it weren’t, his growing bulge told stories of its own. His sexual intelligence mesmerized me, though, as he willingly allowed Lucas to keep the high ground. It was no doubt a vulnerable moment for my husband, and I admired him for how well he’d been handling it so far.  

I hated to break their little moment, but there were still other things that needed to be addressed. “Speaking of chemistry… I want you to know that I’m perfectly fine with just… watching. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable.” Josh’s eyes snapped back to me, his expression a bit hard to decipher, but it still managed to increase my heart rate significantly. Then he spoke up and said heart jumped up my throat. 

“I…uh… think you underestimate me, Jo. I consider myself to be a very eclectic person, especially… uh… when it comes to fun. Which brings me to my last question. What are you two actually planning to do with me?” 

My breath hitched as I watched him lick his upper lip with the tip of his tongue playfully. We had no plan. We couldn’t possibly have one, not without his participation, and he was quite aware already. It wasn’t really a question, it was an offering. 

“Whatever you want…,” was all I managed to choke out. 

“I think I want a kiss. Just show me how much you want this, yeah?”

I swear I could hear something snap, and the last remains of our restraints were gone with a puff. Josh was game. I wanted to ask from whom, but there was no longer room for questions, because Lucas took action. Without any further ado, he leaned forward again, grabbed Josh by the chin and forced him to turn his head to the side. I’m not sure if my brain slowed my perception of time or if they really looked at each other for so long, but it was fascinating to watch. 

And then Lucas fulfilled Josh’s wish. Softly at first, but Josh made it clear he didn’t come here to cuddle. He opened his mouth without being asked to and their tongues met in a very sloppy and passionate kiss.

Josh reached behind Lucas’ head to grab the nape of his neck while my husband’s hand slid down to Josh’s throat, which made the latter moan loudly and I had to pull in my lips to stifle my own whimper. They paid me no mind though, lost in their own realm where they both ruled, each one in a different way, each one holding a different kind of power over the other. 

What a mesmerizing sight. Truly. I watched in awe the dark and dirty fairytale that was just being played before my eyes. I really would be happy just watching it. My stomach muscles contracted violently and I could feel my panties absorb the overflowing wetness. I took the glass from Josh’s outstretched arm, which became an inconvenience. I put it on the kitchen counter and poured myself more wine.

In the meantime, Lucas climbed over to join Josh on the couch, where they continued with their mutual exploration; taking their time. Lucas was on his knees, still hovering over Josh slightly, holding his head in both hands now, fingers scratching the buzzed sides. The huge amount of energy that had been building inside of him for hours (or weeks) was palpable, and it begged to be released. 

With his head tilted backwards, Josh’s hands slid down Lucas’ chest, searching blindly for the hem of his shirt, tugging at it tellingly. I downed the glass, bracing for what was to come,  as Lucas broke the kiss and pulled his arms up, letting Josh do the job. They were both almost breathless, watching each other with eyes wide open. I couldn’t blame them; my own were popping off. Suddenly, Josh grabbed Locas’ bare sides and brushed his open mouth and nose hungrily against Lucas’ chest, taking him in with all the senses. 

The wildest fantasies couldn’t compare to this overwhelmingly intense show. I wasn’t ready, and with the wine already making my head spin and my cunt burn, I myself was getting completely lost in the intensity of the moment.

“I… really…,” Josh breathed out before he licked his lips and his fingers brushed the button of Lucas’ jeans. 

“Good god,” my husband muttered and closed his eyes. “Ok, yeah, go ahead, please…” With that, he straightened and stood up, once again towering over our sexy guest. Josh looked up with his mouth slightly open to allow those slow, deep breaths in and out. His fingers brushed over Lucas’ prominent bulge, making Lucas whimper. “But don’t tease.”

Josh smirked. Teasing was exactly what he was planning to do. 

He pulled the zipper down, keeping the movement excruciatingly slow, and carefully pulled the pants low enough to set Lucas’ throbbing dick free. “No underwear, tsk,” he teased. “Another thing we have in common.”

“What’s the firs…” Lucas tried to ask, but never finished the sentence, because Josh suddenly swirled his tongue over the already leaking head like a hungry tomcat. 

“Oh Jesus!” Lucas panted, his finger running through Josh’s curls. “No more teasing! You wanted suck, so take it. Suck!”

And so he did. And I suddenly wished I had a dick, because while I considered myself to be quite good at it, I hardly ever managed to make my husband really weak in the knees. Josh, on the other hand, got him there in less than three minutes and Lucas had to stop him eventually. 

“Good?” Josh grinned.

“Too good, and you know it, you bastard,” he growled before turning to me. “Jo, could you… the box…”

“Oh, sure,” I nodded, rushing to retrieve a small box filled with necessities from our bedroom. Once there, I decided to quickly change as well. He wants fun, so let’s have fun. I chose a black lacy top with ribbon lacing at the back and no underwire. No panties either. let the pussycat breathe. I had showered before the lesson, so whatever was going to happen, I was ready.

I checked myself in the mirror one last time before going back. Letting my hair down was the last, finishing touch to make me satisfied with what I saw in the reflection. My tits looked heavy supported just by thin lace and my cheeks were flushed from the excitement. 

It only grew as the muted sounds of their voices reached me through the open doors. Lucas’ teasings and promises, uttered in his lowest register, followed by a naughty giggle. It fueled my imagination even more. 

Were their limbs already entangled? Restless hands roaming every inch of their flesh? Did their eyes meet often, sharing the unspeakable? Soft moans reached my ears as I stood there, wondering. I longed to see it all, and hurried back. 

They didn’t notice me at first. I walked around the couch stealthily, careful not to disturb the intimate foreplay. 

And as I had expected, both were already naked. Josh, lying on his back with his arms behind his head. He had his eyes closed, getting lost in time and space. Lucas was crouching between his spread legs, his parted lips travelling across Josh’s chest, while his hands kept Josh’s elbows in place. 

I watched as he darted his tongue out, swirling it around Josh’s left nipple, leaving the areola glistening wet. Josh tilted his head back and moaned again, arching his back ever so slightly while doing so. 

“Oh dear god,” I muttered at last, informing them of my presence. 

Josh just opened his eyes while Lucas straightened a little, his hands stroking Josh’s exposed triceps’ while he turned around to look at me. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he asked Josh with his eyes still on my. 

“Stunning.”

Feeling a bit uneasy under their sudden scrutiny, I took a step forward and handed Lucas the small box, before I dared to sit on the floor right next to Josh’s head. “Hey,” I smiled shyly. 

… which he answered with a toothy grin. “Why so coy all of the sudden? Where’s my bold lecturer? Shouldn’t I be the one to feel bashful?

“Are you?”

“No… especially not now when I see what this does to you.” 

Always a showman. I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance and he grinned even more before his eyes fell back on Lucas, who had bent down again to pepper Josh’s lower abdomen with tiny kisses. 

“I love when he does that to me,” I whispered. “Feels good, doesn’t in!”

With a melodic “mmmmhhhhn,” Josh closed his eyes again, panting softly through his parted lips as Lucas dared to venture lower. I watched how his finger enveloped Josh’s hard dick, giving it a few tentative strokes, before he suddenly grabbed Josh’s legs under his knees, forcing them upwards, making him gasp. 

“Can I kiss you?” I asked, making him open his eyes again. 

“I think you must.”

And I did. I had been longing to taste them for so long that I was NOT coy about that in any way. I took advantage of him keeping those lips parted and licked the inner corner first before I pushed my tongue into his waiting mouth, making him moan into mine. 

Or perhaps it wasn’t just my doing. He gasped again soon after, breaking the kiss. “Fuck, you’re good at this!” It didn’t belong to me, as I could immediately see. 

Lucas paused for a bit, just to look at us. “That’s because she loves it,” he grinned deviously before returning to Josh’s ass, eliciting a few more profanities from his pouty mouth. The sight and the sounds were making me hungry, and I went for Josh’s exposed neck, licking and sucking on the delicate skin. He grabbed the back of my head to prevent me from stopping. He loved that. I could HEAR it! Oh god, he sings even during sex. So beautiful. 

Lucas straightened again and with a long, steadying intake of breath, he opened the box to retrieve a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms from it. It was time. 

“Is it ok if I stay like this? I wanna see everything,” Josh breathed out in a husky tone, watching Lucas apply a generous amount of lube on his fingers. 

“Whatever you want, pillow princess.” With that, he pushed Josh’s legs even more upwards, letting them rest against his listed arm while he started circling Josh’ entrance with the middle finger of his other hand. He watched me, looking a bit lost in thoughts and I wondered what was going on inside his head. I didn’t have to wonder for too long, though.

“Hold him!” he ordered and I quickly obeyed, loving the idea. 

“What?!” Josh bursted out when I sat behind his head and grabbed his wrists, pulling his arms back behind his head. At the same time, Lucas pushed the finger inside. I looked down into those wide-eyed pools and he swallowed hard. “Not what you expected?

“I… I…”

“Not what you want?” Once again, I didn’t mean to tease. His pleasure was the ultimate goal, after all. 

“I..yes…I want…”... Lucas added a second finger… “Yes!” 

“Wonderful, baby. Enjoy,” I smiled down at him. 

I knew Lucas would be careful, and Josh’s relaxed face told me I was right. And Lucas had been right too; I loved this a lot, thanks to his gentleness. I always wondered what it would feel like if I had a prostate though, feeling maybe even a bit jealous sometimes. This time, I could at least watch it. Tiny droplets appeared on Josh’s forehead and and a string of muttered ‘fuck’s’ flew from his pretty mouth when Lucas curled those fingers. 

“Fuck…” Josh breathed out again after a while. “Fuck me already!”

Lucas’s eyes visibly darkened at those words. He let go of Josh’s legs, carefully withdrew and crawled over him, looking him directly in the eye. “That was hot,” he hissed. “Beg again!” 

“Please… fuck me,” Josh whimpered, tugging at his wrists restrained by my firm grasp. 

“Good boy.” With deliberate precision and skilled swiftness, Lucas put on a condom, poured more lube on top of his dick, spread it all over and positioned himself. between Josh’s outstretched legs. One of his feet slid down from the couch, so Lucas grabbed him again under his knee and threw the leg lovingly over his shoulder. “You’re a very pretty whore, Josh Kiszka,” he crooned and slowly, carefully entered. 

I bent down to kiss our very pretty whore whole Lucas waited for him to adjust, and I didn’t stop until I felt him move. Josh arched his back again and his soft pants soon turned to moans, and moans to cries when Lucas quickened his pace, holding Josh’s hips firmly. 

I wondered why Lucas was so quiet though, and I learned the reason soon. This night…it was just too much, it was too unexpected and overall so sexy there was a pool between my legs just from watching it. He exhaled ruggedly all of the sudden, and then again, and at last he cried out before he collapsed on top of Josh, panting. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered right next to his ear, making Josh chuckle breathily. 

“For what? God, that was…”

“Quick.”

“Yeah, but…”

I let go of Josh’s wrist and collapsed into the corner of the couch, trying not to laugh. Lucas pulled out carefully and helped Josh into a sitting position before he disposed of the condom quickly. When he came back, He offered Josh his outstretched hand. “Stand up.”

“Why?” Josh asked as he hesitantly took it. 

“Just stand up.” My husband looked visibly nervous, but determined, and I knew immediately what he was going to do. For the first time in his life. 

He kissed the slightly bewildered Josh first, softly on the mouth, before he got on his knees before him. “Oh…ok,” Josh panted. 

I sucked in breath, unsure what to do… or maybe just feeling second handedly Lucas’ own uncertainty. “Lucas, if…”

“Shut up.” He brushed his fingertips across Josh’s lower abdomen first, shadow tracing all those kisses he had planted there before, before he let them circle around the base of Josh’s erection. And, at last, he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the head. 

Josh closed his eyes and with a furrowed brow, he muttered an encouraging “yes”. Emboldened, Lucas tried to venture further, only to make Josh hiss in discomfort. I bit my lower lip. Teeth. 

“Imagine her mouth,” Josh said softly. “What does she do?” Lucas tried again and Josh shuddered, but it was different this time. He smiled at last. “Uh huh…hmmmm, yes,” he breathed out. “Yes, that’s it. 

Slowly, Lucas found the way, as well as the right rhythm. He was hell bent on making it right. Needless to say, he had a very empathetic teacher. He stroked Lucas' hair with one hand while the other ventured behind his ear, holding him firmly without forcing him down. And Josh was not a faker; when he made a sound, you knew it was genuine. 

“I’m gonna come,” Josh moaned after a while and his fingers slid gently to the nape of Lucas’s neck. He was asking for permission. 

I could see that Lucas tensed slightly and visibly hesitated, so I quickly slid down on my knees right next to him and opened my mouth. Josh blinked at me, understanding slowly appearing on his face. “Come on, I want it,” I urged him. He pulled out and I quickly swallowed him whole, pressing my flattened tongue against the underside of his already twitching dick. I continued to suck, determined to save every drop as he shuddered above me with a heavy sigh. 

After I finally released him, he fell backwards on the couch, panting wildly. I already swallowed most of his cum, I could feel it burning my throat slightly, but there was still a strong aftertaste when Lucas grabbed my jaw and kissed me deeply and hungrily. 

“Good?” I panted when he withdrew. 

“So good.” 

“Jesus Christ…” we heard Josh mutter, rubbing his hand over his face before he let it run through his messy curls. I looked at him and smiled before I stood up, joined him on the couch and exhaled slowly, content, but not fully satisfied. Lucas remained sitting cross legged on the floor in front of us. His gaze darted between me and Josh, and I couldn’t really tell what he was thinking. With his arms resting on his knees, he looked calm and tired. 

“What about you, Jo?” 

I slowly turned my head towards the source of that deliciously raspy voice. Josh’s eyes looked almost black in the dimmed light, making the whites sparkly in contrast. He smiled and ran a finger back and forth across his lower lip, eyeing me inquisitively. 

“What about me?” I smiled weakly back. 

He cleared his throat first before he replied. “I’d really love to reciprocate.” 

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” I teased, my mind already there, browsing through all the possibilities. 

His reddened cheeks literally glowed and I found myself unable to break eye contact, still examining what was hiding behind his dilated pupils. I didn’t notice how his hand slid towards mine until he grabbed it and drew it up to his plump lips. I expected him to kiss my fingers, and he did, but… his tongue then slid between my index and middle finger, licking suggestively. He kept eye contact the whole time and I squealed a bit taken aback by the lewdness of the gesture, despite everything that already happened. 

Josh’s pillowy mouth between my legs? Oh, fuck yeah! “I’d really love that.”

“May I?” He asked Lucas almost hesitantly.

“Go on, she deserved it.”

I expected him to get on his knees, but instead he slid lithely on his back again and rested his head on a small cushion in one of the corners of the couch. “Come on then, sit.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He rolled his eyes and grabbed my arms, making me almost tumble over him, making us both giggle. Regaining my balance, I positioned myself carefully and hesitated again, so he grabbed my ass and pulled me down, making me squeak. I dared to look down, meeting the same gaze that he had shared with me earlier that evening in the storage room. Fierce…and dangerous. The very next second I understood why, as he darted his tongue out and let it flutter over my clit with insane speed. I tensed and arched my back, opening my mouth in a silent scream. 

Mercifully, he gently enveloped it with his lips instead and started licking it tenderly. Honestly, that was probably even worse. In a matter of seconds, I was a moaning mess, bending over the headrest. 

Naturally, I didn’t hear Lucas move until he was right in front of me. He was hard again and ready to continue. “I think I need your help, bitch.”

Not the first time he called me bitch. Never during an argument, always when he wants to cum. It makes me wild, to be honest, and that’s exactly what he wanted. I grabbed him by the hips, pulled him closer and swallowed him whole. He grabbed my hair to make sure I knew who was in charge and pushed again, thrusting all the way until he hit my throat. And then again. 

I relaxed, focusing on tbe head of Lucas's dick deep in my throat, but it took one swift flick of Josh’s tongue around my clit to throw me completely off balance and I gagged violently. 

It was followed by his own loud whimper that reverberated through my pussy. That kinky little bastard. I felt a subtle, rhythmic movement somewhere behind me and tried to break free from Lucas’ grasp to have a look. “Yeah, he’s jerking off,” he groaned impatiently. “Suck!” 

For a fleeting second I imagined seeing myself from the outside, the whole scene. My head spun and the sensation between my legs became almost unbearable. I was acutely aware of every tiny licks that sent me further towards the edge… and then I was falling. Lucas had to pull out just to let me breathe. 

Slowly and carefully, I lifted myself on my knees, allowing Josh to get from under me. I was aware we weren’t done. Not after my husband had called me bitch. It also meant he was in the mood for some pretty rough fuck. However, he didn’t move, his hard-on now literally resting against my flushed cheek. “Well, well, what a precarious situation, right?” 

His tone confirmed my suspicion, but still told me nothing about his plans. “I think that pussy’salready pretty swollen now. Hmm, that’s always good. Do you want to fuck her, Joshy boy?” I tensed at those words, so hot and lewd and unexpected. A hand ghosted over my left asscheek, making me shiver. 

“Oh yeah, you do, don’t you. Go ahead then.” 

The continuing silence made me nervous. “Josh?”

I felt him shift behind me, I felt his skin brush against my back and closed my eyes, reveling at the sensation. Then suddenly, it was his hot breath near my ear and he whispered: “Can I, Jo?” 

“Oh god, yes!” I blurted out. 

I felt him shift again, reaching for a condom. A moment later, I felt those hands again, as he grabbed my hips and pushed them up. I looked up, meeting Lucas’s dark eyes, my mouth already open and ready. “You’re whore,” he said. “I love it.”

And then Josh entered me. And then I was completely full, and barely breathing.

It was overwhelming. Josh was hitting my g-spot just right and it took only a few more minutes until I came hard again with my mouth still full of Lucas’s dick. I moaned around it as he held me by the nape of my neck and continued to fuck my mouth. I gagged violently and he let go just to let me take one deep breath before he plunged back. I convulsed and my throat constricted around his head, making him moan. I loved the sound. My whole body tensed and another wave of orgasm reverberated through it, making my pussy spasm and clench around Josh’s dick.  

He slowed down and hesitated, and his grip on my hips loosened. He was no longer holding me firmly, he just stroked me soothingly. I looked up, begging Lucas to tell the other one that it was all ok, because I couldn’t. “Go on, she absolutely loves this.”

It didn’t convince him. He was still rock hard, I could feel it. That wasn’t the issue. Losing my patience, I clenched my walls on purpose now, making him whimper, before I mustered all my remaining energy to hiss: “For fucks sake do your worst.”

I’m not kidding, he growled. I swear, it’s true. 

I felt almost like a ragdoll between them, with my chest pressed against the headrest and clutching it with both my hands until my knuckles turned white. My thighs were shaking and I was gasping for air, but neither of them stopped. After a while, Lucas grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head up. I looked up at him with my mouth still open, long ropes of saliva still connecting it with his dick somehow. He didn’t meet my gaze; he was looking at Josh instead, while jerking himself off frantically right in front of my face. 

“Does it feel good, fucking her?” he growled. I could feel Josh’s fingertips pressing harder into the ample flesh of my hips as he slowed down his pace considerably. I couldn’t blame him. Lucas’s tone was dangerous. 

“ANSWER!”

“Yes…” Only then I realized how much I wanted to hear that, but Josh stopped in his movements, unsure if that was the right answer. 

Me being familiar with that menacing tone, I knew it meant Lucas was extremely aroused. Only this time, I couldn’t really tell where this was heading, and my own apprehension only grew. He soon answered my unspoken question, making me gasp.

“Would you like to fuck ME?” 

I couldn’t really see what happened next. I could only feel and hear it. I only imagined the shock on Josh’s face, drawing it with sharp lines inside my head, inspired by Josh’s sharp inhale. It was followed by a whispered breathy ‘oh’ and a whimper as his dick twitched inside me. One involuntary thrust forward, followed by three more… and he was spent. 

I DID watch how it all reflected in Lucas’s eyes, growing more fierce with each passing millisecond as he stared at the other man behind me with his lips slightly parted in surprise. 

“Open!” he ordered suddenly. I thought he meant me, so I obligingly opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out, but Lucas pushed me slightly aside and I felt Josh shift above me. He leaned himself onto the small of my back to get closer, grabbing the headrest with one hand and my shoulder with the other for support. I could feel he barely recovered; he was still shaking. And yet… In my own post-orgasm gaze, I dared to glance sideways only to see him do just what I had done a second before. 

Looking down at us, Lucas smirked. “Look how obedient he is, my love.” The words, while spoken to me, were not meant for me at all, and Josh inhaled loudly, dutifully bracing for what was to come. Lucas grabbed him by the hair and rammed his dick deep in his throat. Josh’s cheeks puffed out and he barfed chokingly, while his eyes rolled up into his skull, making him look almost possessed. The obscenity of it was the last impulse Lucas needed to paint Josh’s throat with hot spurts of his seed. 

Lucas pulled out just enough for Josh to be able to swallow. Only then did he let go of his hair completely, letting him take a breath. 

Josh collapsed onto my back completely now, with his cheek resting on my shoulder, and his quickened breath resonating against my ribcage. I wrapped my arms around Lucas’ waist, resting my forehead against his belly. He stroked my hair gently, while wiping sweat from his forehead with his other hand. We must have looked like a mannerist sculptural group. 

“So, everyone good?” Lucas said at last. 

I felt Josh chuckle against my shoulder and I started giggling uncontrollably. 

We showered separately, allowing ourselves a moment of privacy to fully absorb what had just happened. 

Lucas ordered some Indian food and we are on the very same couch just like three good friends, except we were all still naked. And because we also finished the bottle of wine and opened another one, I refused to let Josh drive back home. No, he was staying, end of discussion. Our bed was large enough. 

Despite my previous exhaustion and unusually deep sleep, I was roused later that night by a peculiar sensation; as if I was sleeping in a rocking cradle. Half awake and with my eyes still closed, my brain tried to make sense of it, until I heard the unmistakable sound of the two of them fucking on my right, literally just a few inches away from me. They were trying to be quiet, and moving slowly, swaying together in a spooning position like two boats rocked by the waves. Their deep breathing and the sensuous, slapping sound of lubricated flesh gave them away in an instant and I could feel the heat emanating from their skin. I listened in silence for a minute or two, feeling almost like an intruder in that very intimate and very carnal moment. 

But this was my bed, and my husband, and basically my idea. I was not going to let them leave me out of it like that. 

I turned my head to the side slowly and opened my eyes, instantly meeting Josh’s. They widened in bewilderment, the white of his eyes shiny in the near darkness, and I responded with a cunning smile. 

Lucas had his arm wrapped around Josh’s torso and I stroked the back of his hand with my fingertips. It immediately made him stop. They lay unmoving in complete silence, waiting for my next reaction. 

“Go on,” I whispered, while my hand traveled further down, brushing against the tense flesh of Josh’s abdomen until it reached his rock hard cock. I wrapped my fingers around it and gave it a tentative squeeze in unison with Lucas, who moved again. 

Josh finally broke the silence and immediately tried to stifle the moan by biting his lower lip. What a blasphemy! I wanted to hear that beautiful voice. I wanted it to reverberate between the walls of our bedroom until the window panes rattled! So, I grabbed his jaw with my right hand and forced it open again with my fingers. He continued staring at me with wide eyes and I snuggled closer, licking his parted lips with my tongue while stroking him slowly with my other hand. 

His eyelids fluttered closed and he moaned loudly in my mouth. 

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” he mumbled afterwards. 

The darkness around us was slowly subsiding, but it wasn’t just my eyes getting used to it. Dim, blue light gradually filled the room and I could finally see more than just their outlines. It was already early morning. Lucas lifted his head and looked at us for the first time, winking at me. The motherfucker felt no shame. He wanted him all for himself. “You bastard,” I spat and he responded by bottoming out forcefully, making Josh arch his back and grab my arm instinctively. I kissed him again in response while still pumping him, only this time I forced my tongue inside his mouth, licking into it. 

“You’re so sinfully pretty,” I mumbled against his lips when I finally broke the kiss. “I wanna paint you as a fallen angel.”

“A fallen… angel…?” he whispered back shakily in between his pants that matched Lucas’s languid thrusts and my strokes.  

“Yeah, watching you being fucked by my husband is making me all wet. What a sight. So beautiful...” 

Lucas grunted and Josh just shook his head in a silent no. 

“Yes, you are. See?” I let go of him and reached between my legs, gathering some of the wetness before I pushed my fingertips inside his mouth, making him suck on them. Josh obliged, in his docile attempt to please me. 

We were literally using him and he was very much aware. And loving it. With his plump lips still wrapped around my fingers, Josh looked at me again and something in his eyes changed. I swear I could see undiluted depravity in it and it made my head spin even while still lying safely on the pillow. He was indeed a true piece of art.

“What are you gonna do about it?” I whispered daringly and he grasped my wrist and pulled my fingers out of his mouth, before he grabbed a handful of my hair, letting me know that he was not yet completely giving in. He was not as strong as Lucas, but nicely toned and could still overpower me if he wanted. I felt the power emanating from him, boosted by the sexual stamina. I could tease him all I wanted, fascinated by how comfortable he was in letting me, but – clearly – enough was enough.  

“Turn around,” he breathed out and I quickly obeyed, completely taken aback by the sinful idea and breathing in their mixed manly musky scent that wafted around us. Lucas halted his movements again, letting Josh position himself. He pressed his right thigh against mine, using it as leverage. Feeling his head between my folds, I let out a shaky breath and pushed back, making him enter me fully. 

Now it was me breathing heavily, still trying to convince myself that it was not all just a dirty dream. The time almost ceased to exist in the steely morning light. We were no longer silent, all moving in a synchronized rhythm set by Lucas. He was like a metronome, setting the pace as we all moaned into it, writhing like snakes in the lustful melody. Josh wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer while I reached behind me to stroke his hair. “So soft,” he mumbled, kneading my tit. I took another deep breath, taking in the overwhelming mixed scent of their heated bodies. For a moment I wondered what it would feel like to be in between them, penetrated by both and being pushed to the brink of madness by the combined, double stimulation. 

Josh came first, and no wonder, because he was the lucky one now, being fucked while buried balls deep in the warm softness of my pussy. He let out a prolonged, high-pitched whimper and I could feel him twitch inside me. I reached down and grabbed his thigh while he trembled with his face pressed in the nape of my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. My hand traveled up his thigh until I reached his ass and dug my fingernails in his hairless, juicy flesh, making him squeak. Lucas kept fucking into him mercilessly as if nothing happened and Josh held onto my forearm for dear life. He almost sobbed and for the first time that night I felt strangely strong, like he was finally completely at our mercy… which he was. 

“Is he big inside you?” I teased. 

“So…,” Josh breathed out, but was unable to finish the sentence. That’s when Lucas chimed in for the first time. 

“So tight. He’s taking me so good. You’re… a good boy, huh?” 

Josh was still hard inside me and whimpered again at those words. “So be a good boy a little longer. Make her cum if you want my load,” Lucas continued – almost breathless – but his tone sounded strong… authoritative almost. He was also very close, I could tell. And so was I. To be honest, I could come just by listening to the two of them. 

Josh’s obedience prevented me from testing that theory, though. His hand grabbed my inner thigh and forced my leg up a bit, before he snaked it in between my legs and his fingertips brushed against my clit, almost fearfully this time. He started with slow, tentative circles, but soon quickened his pace when I moaned lewdly, making it known that he was doing a good job. 

Lucas’s thrusts became frantic at this point and he basically forced Josh to keep moving inside me. His knee that was still resting against mine started to tremble violently and he cried out from overstimulation. 

Suddenly, Josh’s breath hitched and I sensed rather than saw how Lucas wrapped his hand around Josh’s throat, as I could feel his arm between us. “You like this?” Lucas growled and Josh let out a high-pitched, strangled “yeah”, confirming my suspicion. I was getting high on his nasal ‘hnnnns’ and it took only a few more seconds until I came hard around him, squeezing him tight. 

It was too much for him, and he ejaculated again, howling like a wolf pup. He was literally writhing now. His arm twisted around me again, squeezing my rib cage. 

“Lucas!” I hissed warningly and looked behind me, but there was no need. He let out a low growl and let go of Josh’s throat, grabbing at his side instead in a frantic need to hold on to something. I was certain he was going to leave marks. He bottomed out one last time and his whole body shook while he filled Josh’s ass with his seed. 

Neither of us moved for a while. I felt Josh go limp inside me until he just slipped out. I heard him hiss slightly as Lucas pulled out too. “Are you ok, baby? I asked him tentatively and he rubbed his nose against the nape of my neck before he answered. 

“More than ok, Jo? I think I might not be able to walk tomorrow, but… yeah, it was worth it,” he chuckled. 

I felt something shift as the dawn broke. It felt right like that. I didn’t want it to be just one night. 

The truth about love is it's nasty and salty It's the regret in the morning, it's the smelling of armpits It's wings, and songs And trees, and birds It's all the poetry that you ever heard P!nk, The Truth About Love

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep  @takenbythemadness  @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @josh-iamyour-mama @Lyndz2names @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickitty @clownstarr @gretasfallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @sacredsparrow @scarabsinthestardust @Ironlotus90

[dark-elf-writes]

I need to write a modern mdzs au not because I have a plan for one but because the idea of Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian at like sixteen standing in a CVS trying to figure out what kind of tampons Yanli needs made me laugh so hard I almost blacked out.

Like the image of Lan Wangji going about his life out to pick up a prescription or something and looking down an aisle to see Wei Wuxian with like four different boxes of tampons stacked in his arms, and Wei Wuxian who is already panicking at the thought of not being able to help his sister blurts out that he’s finally becoming a woman. Jiang Cheng throws a fifth box at his head. The brothers are now arguing in the feminine care aisle. Wangji has not blinked through the entire exchange. There is about to be an entire brawl in this CVS. Wangji finally manages to get his brain working again and asks if they even thought about asking Yanli. They haven’t. They can figure this out on their own. They need to be able to take care of their sister. She texts them a picture of the usual brand she gets in the middle of them saying this as some sort of older sister divine intervention before they can get themselves arrested for attacking each other in public. They buy her NASA amounts of tampons and also every snack she has ever enjoyed in her entire life. Wei Wuxian declares that Lan Wangji is their savior and presents him with a little stuffed bunny keychain. Wangji will not stop staring at it even after the brothers leave. Yanli laughs so hard she cries when she sees the boys’ haul and her tears set off another round of panic in the boys. All three of the siblings end up in pjs and face masks watching trashy reality tv while snacking on copious amounts of junk food. Wei Wuxian and Yanli paint Jiang Cheng’s nails because he’s the only one that doesn’t have theirs already painted and their sister deserves a true sleepover experience. Wei Wuxian picks the most fluorescent pink the world has ever seen and gets so much on Jiang Cheng’s skin even though he can do his own in a moving car without a drop out of place no problem. The three of them pass out on the living room floor with the tv still on and all piled on top of each other like when they were kids. Jiang Fengmian finds this far cuter than his wife does when they finally come home the next morning.

[louisupdates]

In an exclusive interview, the former One Direction band member says it’s the right time to come play in India.

Louis Tomlinson brought an intimate energy to the music festival on Sunday, captivating the crowd with his signature blend of Britpop and indie rock. Fan swayed and sang along to his numbers, ‘Drag Me Down,’ ‘Night Changes,’ and ‘Saturday,’ to name a few. The 33 year-old singer from Doncaster, England, made a confession. “Never in a million fucking years did I ever think I’d be in India as a young lad, and never did I think I’d be performing here. It’s mind-blowing, man. I can’t get my head around it. I love you,” he said. He tweeted after the show, “India I had no idea what to expect but you turned up in full force. From Doncaster to Mumbai. Mind-blowing! Thank you!” Ahead of his performance, earlier in the day, we met with Louis instruct an exclusive conversation with him which revolved around India, his music, and more. 

This is your maiden performance in India. What are your thoughts like going into the show?

I always try and manage my own expectations. I don’t really know what to expect. This is my first time here. There’s a reason why I’m here, that’s for sure. I’ve felt the presence online from Indian fans, and it’s a place I’ve always wanted to come to. So, it feels like a real honour to be here. When I saw the amount of people that were waiting outside the airport just for me to arrive, that’s always a lovely feeling. As soon as I kind of touched down, I had that confidence that I’ve got that support, and that was a nice feeling.

Shawn Mendes wore the Indian cricket team jersey on Saturday. Do you follow the game back home?

Cricket is very big in the UK. I do remember this. My great-granddad used to have this old cricket ball; he had kept it for a long time. As a young lad, I remember playing with it quite a lot, but b eyond that, I don’t follow the game too much, to be honest. I respect the sport, for sure, but I’m not a massive cricket fan.

What do you think of India as a global music destination? Coldplay performed here; Ed Sheeran was here for a while. Various global artistes are now frequently performing in the country.

It’s a surprise to me that we never came here with One Direction. I hear the band was big in India. It was a missed opportunity for us. Although, as you said, it is more common now with the likes of Ed and Coldplay coming here. I feel lucky because it’s the right time to come play in India. I do think like all things in life, the music industry tends to be a bit rigid. As soon as you see Ed and Coldplay come over, that is brilliant for everyone else. It sets a precedent about how amazing the shows are in India and what is possible over here.

I don’t believe there’s specifically a change, but the fact that those massive artists are coming over here and doing substantial shows now, it only means more artists from the West will follow suit. 

Right from The Beatles to now Coldplay and Ed Sheeran, English artistes have a strong connection with India. What was your perception of the country before landing here?

When I was 16 or 17 years old, I never imagined that I would be in a band someday. Probably the thing that might have been furthest away, like a dream, was playing in a place like India, so far from home and with a completely different culture and food. That’s a luxury. That’s something I never thought I’d be in a position to do. So just to be here and take in the excitement... Because, like, the reason I’ve been fighting to come for the last five, six years because it’s just such an exciting place to explore. 

You know, if I go back to England and tell anyone I’ve been to India, i’ll watch their ears prick up. They’ll be interested all of a sudden because it’s just such an exciting place to explore. 

You started off quite young as a singer. You’ve been a contestant, judge, band member and now solo artist. What have been your learning lessons?

I was always taught from a young age to trust my gut, and I think especially in an industry like this, you are constantly surrounded by different opinions, some are valid and some are not. At some point you have to trust yourself and trust your gut. Also, in my world, you’re dealing in the theoretical. We are constantly looking into the future to imagine what things might mean or accept ourselves. There is a big element of crossing your fingers, trusting your gut and just going for it. 

You are known for your fashion and your music. As a trendsetter, what inspires you? What gets you going?

Musically, it’s lyric. I always come back to lyric. I think that’s my strongest suit as a writer. I really appreciate deep lyrics. I admire someone like Sam Fender. He has good conceptual lyrics. As far as fashion is concerned, I always dress down. And in recent years, it’s become trendier to dress down. So, the whole time, it’s kind of suited me very well.

You have acted a bit. Are you aware of Bollywood and the film culture here?

I have done a bit of acting. I am aware of the film culture in India. It’s enormous here. I haven’t really watched a Bollywood film though. Maybe you could give me a recommendation. if someone from Bollywood is listening, I’m in!

You are in Mumbai for the first time after all these years. Is this a brief visit or are you hoping to explore the city in terms of food, people, culture, and shopping? 

I am just taking in as much as possible because this trip, given the nature of the festival, we’re in and out. I’m going to spend about 48 hours here and leave right after the show, so my time is limited. My mission is to absolutely nail the show and hopefully to come back and do my own tour here. And it’ll be at that time where I will probably have more time to explore, take in the culture and eat more food. Because I’ve realized how much of a Brit I sound when I say the only curry I’ve had so far is butter chicken. That’s pretty British, isn’t it? The food is definitely better here, obviously. Even the butter chicken. I had it last night.

Where did you have it?

Room service! (Laughs)

What are you like when no-one’s watching, Louis? With social media, so much of a celebrity’s life is out there.

I suppose everyone says this, but I like to think I’m not too different from what you see on camera. I always try to carry myself in an honest way. I suppose just by the nature of the job, behind the cameras, I’m probably a little bit more lowkey. But yeah, I suppose I’d like to think that I’m pretty similar to how I am now.

[indigo-flowers09]

Here have some mama roba doodles for me to rant under :]

big fat RANT under the cut. just wanted an excuse to post it by posting doodles

its about why i haven’t been posting as much and a bit about the c!overtale comic ( >vo) ~*

So. i have not been posting as much as i used to. and i definitely have not been updating c!overtale as much as i want to.

I get that as i get further and further into the school year i’m gonna have more work and it gonna get harder, but i’m still making good grades so i just haven’t had as much time or energy to work on c!overtale or digital art as i want.

First off, i’ve been drawing traditionally a lot more. i don’t post it often because it just doesn’t do as well on here compared to digital art. it’s what’s accessible to me at school and just. easier. right now.

i’m not the only person who gets into a cycle of (good at digital > bad at digital > good at traditional > bad at traditional > good at digital) right??? i’m just in a bad at digital swing right now

Second, C!overtale. I’ve REALLY been wanting to talk about it. just another reason i haven’t been posting as much.

so far, of what i haven’t posted, i have 2 pages completely finished, five more inked, and at LEAST 30 to 40 more thumbnailed. i’m planning on having the next update be seven pages total, and i’ve been working on them little by little for over a month now.

this is really taking a lot longer than i wanted but i know the quality of work i’m capable of producing and i want to achieve it. i don’t want to half ass something i’m so passionate about just for the likes or to satisfy my social anxiety telling me people already forgot about it.

Expect that update by the end of the month. i’m gonna try to wrap it up over thanksgiving break. i really am sorry it’s taking so long, i’ve been working on that and school and, shivers, self care ewww like healthier habits and all the doodling in the world. i doodle when life gets uncontrollably political. i hate politics.

if you actually read all the way through this, thank you and why????? have some more mama roba for your inconvenience. she’s giving clover a bubble bath :3

Also im working on a drawing that’s shaping up to be pretty good. hope y’all like yuri 😼

[fitpacs]

,

[yanderedrabbles]

Thinking about giving head to a yandere werewolf when he's in heat. The way his cock practically pulses when you lick it. The way he digs his nails into the sheets to stop himself from shoving himself down your throat. The way he whimpers when you pull away and chide him for not being a good boy.

The way his voice cracks when he promises to behave, just please don't stop.

Thinking about the way you drive him to the end of his tether, cock leaking pre and the veins standing out on his shaft. The way you climb onto his lap and grind against him, still in your jeans, the denim so harsh against his sensitive skin.

The way he grabs onto your hips, his nails pricking into your skin as they get just a little sharper every minute that passes.

Begging you to let him fuck you, lashes wet with tears.

"P-please, please, I can't take it. Just a little. Just for a few minutes. I'll pull out, I promise."

Thinking about the way he yanks you against him when you say yes, his forehead against your shoulder as he pushes into you. Jaw clenched, his breath rasping.

It's too much.

He's too sensitive, his cock swelling to the point it feels like he's about to come just from being inside you.

When you move, he drags you back into place. Stuttering out that he just needs a second to adjust. Truth is he can't handle the friction. Not when he's so close to the edge.

When you finally get impatient and start riding him, he digs his fingers into your flesh and whines in your ear that you're just so mean.

And when he comes inside you, you keep going, his knot not enough to make you stop. That's when he starts crying, tears slick on your neck because no man alive should ever be this overstimulated.

And in the torrent of begging and pleading, you'll sometimes hear the truth about the way he feels. The way he rasps your name like prayer, the way he calls himself yours, the way he begs you to never leave him.

"I'll die if you go away. Please stay with me. Forever."

And darker things too. When he's too far gone to realise what he's saying.

"You're m-mine. My mate. Never gonna let you leave me. N-never ever. Gonna kill anyone who tries to take you."

You tell yourself he's just saying things he doesn't mean, but the way his teeth graze your neck tells a whole 'nother story.

He'll never quite manage to push you away. No matter how tight your walls are squeezing him, no matter how many stars he's seeing. He'll still hold onto you, still whisper into your neck like that's going to make you suddenly have mercy.

"Poor puppy can't handle his heat?" you coo, nails running across his scalp and making him whine. "That's okay puppy. Just sit still and I'll make it alllll better."

[threegoldfish]

At some point, everyone talks. Many claim to keep their cool, to never break under pressure, no matter which kind it is - but, so far, Jake's always managed to have them spill, in one way or another. Whether he actually wanted Sasha to start talking he isn't even too sure about... but here she is, and she talks.

And Jake listens, allows her words to reach him, one after another. He keeps sipping that gin in the meanwhile, takes deep drags of his cigar, his back still turned toward her as his gaze focuses on one of her windows; Not really looking outside, not with intention. The faint reflection of himself stares back, expression more readable than his own - it's Marc, he's watching, and Jake offers him a brief blink before his eyes flick to the side, focusing onto another point as erik satie's gnossiennes no.1 keeps playing in between her words.

Sasha's talking herself into a certain kind of rage, desperation even, and Jake can hear the tone of her voice sharpening with every word that leaves her lips. The sound of her shifting on the couch is also noted, followed by what he assumes is her hand going for her gun... and Jake simply waits, does not make a move himself, nor does he display any sign of uneasiness when she pushes and prods on him.

Trying to make him confess. Trying to make herself feel better by having been right all along.

Jake hums, thoughtful - and only once she's done with her speech, the music now cutting back through the silence rather than her, he brings his cigar back up to his mouth again and takes in some more of that smoke, followed by the mellow taste of gin, a shift of his shoulders and waist as he puts his weight from one leg onto the other.

Nonchalant. Comfortable, even.

He's not scared, not afraid. Sure, she could shoot him in the back here - but Jake knows she won't. Not like that, not without getting answers. It would eat her alive to never know who he is and whether he truly did work for... what did she say? The god of chaos? Yeah, Steven mentioned a similar thing. She'd break apart upon not knowing whether she'd been right or not, possibly hurting an innocent soul instead of a killer, of someone who'd tried to trick her and end her to get his hands on that stone slab.

"---Which one do you want it to be?", is what Jake finally, after more minutes of quiet have passed, speaks out into the room. There's no pressure behind his words, not yet - he just tilts his head up again and exhales more smoke, then looks down onto his own gloved hand that holds onto his drink. "¿El primero? ¿El último?"

Another sip of booze, another drag of his cigar. He quite enjoys to make a show out of this, it's been some time since he'd last had the pleasure of doing such; A somewhat lopsided smirk stretches across his features for a second, hidden from her, before his expression turns firm and almost stern again---

And then he turns around to face her, movements slow and fliud, a twirl on his heel before he comes to a halt at the perfect moment for him to look at Sasha. His chin is softly lifted, dark eyes framed by even darker lashes, cigar placed between his lips again to nonchalantly check the fit of his own tie; He gives it a bit of a tug, shifts it into position beneath the classy vest he wears under his jacket, elbow causing said jacket to slip open a bit...

It reveals his own holster and the gun sitting inside, for a fraction of a moment. He knows. He wants her to know too. But he remains easy about it, actions happening with leisure, almost, head tilting ever so slightly as his gaze continues to focus on her.

"Tell me, señorita - what's his name?" Does she even remember? Jake wants to know. "...And am I him? Is he me? ¿Somos realmente la misma persona?"

Fingers have taken a hold of that cigar again by now and Jake takes another drag, holds it, then exhales it long and slow through his nostrils - gaze unwavering, strong, brown irises basically drilling into her form.

he entered without much reaction, finger holding her cigarette twitching gently while she observed. a slower version of erik satie's gnossiennes no.1 played quietly from a bluetooth speaker, eyes watching every move he made.

her words were practically ignored, a smile curling on her lips while she looked into her lap for the moment. lights were kept low in the evening, even still the pale pink silk still shined.

he was upset with her.

she exhaled, leaning back uncomfortably while her free hand rest on the arm of the sofa, finger tapping irritably. hand still close enough to reach for her gun if needed. HE was upset, though? the nerve.

he walked around rather ominously, letting his actual thoughts be known without having to say. " thank you. " sasha purred, a glint of amusement still holding in her gaze. he kept his back to her, raging heart racing in her chest while she attempted to keep calm. perhaps take a sip of her own gin and tonic, watered down and long forgotten about.

she shifted to grab her cup, the clattering ice cubes being the only noise to be made in that room for a moment while she brought it to her lips. it was placed back down on the side table with a light thud, jake deciding to make a drink of his own--still keeping his distance.

" I take this doesn't happen often? " sasha finally shot through the silence, inhaling deeply while taking another drag of her cigarette. she exhaled the plume of smoke quickly, carrying on while she placed her palm on the side of her head, elbow resting on the arm of the sofa. someone meeting both of 'you'.

" it is like night and day. jekyll and hyde, hm? " chuckling to herself. hopefully that wasn't too offensive. knees pulled close to her chest, the woman adjusting herself on her couch. " you can imagine how I felt when the man who helped me the other night appeared again where I thought I might find help...only to not recognize me or claim to be that man at all. but still able to help ? "

a short silence followed while the slow piano echoed around the baroque style penthouse, white walls with gold trim like a step back in time. " it comes across as just a little bit odd, no? for you to be there at the start of my con.. and the end of it. " she tilted her head and squinted, finally putting out her cigarette in the ashtray.

" maybe that was your game all along. let my guard down--make me feel a little INSANE. tell me about the grand plan with the stone since you were going to take it back and kill me anyway. " sasha picked up her drink again, getting more comfortable in her spot. it would be on brand for the god of chaos to do so. probably.

" you can deny it all you want--that you are not that same man. but know that I know you're a liar. " whatever the same man meant exactly. taking a quick sip again, sasha sat up, leaning forward for a moment, her voice a little quieter. " ...there is something there in your stare--even with your back turned to me. I can still see it. it was in his, too. " almost like she was taunting him that she knew. since he seemed to want it to be a secret.

she sighed heavily, gazing at her nailbeds briefly. " so... you are here for one of two things. " using that same hand to rake through her hair.

"one... you have come to take the slab and kill me quietly since you failed to do so at the museum. " that idea made her grin wickedly, rather enjoying the thought for some reason.

" or two...I am terribly mistaken and you have come to explain to me this rather confusing predicament and that you are in fact not affiliated with the egyptian god of chaos attempting to make his return at all. " hand slipped back beneath her robe to rest on her weapon, brows furrowing while she questioned a bit stern now.

" so which is it, mr. lockely ? " oh how she wished this was going differently. she longed to go back to the days prior--the way he looked at her. a part of her wanted it to be the latter so badly.

[alsaurus-loves-dean]

.

[lvmimis]

so bear with me:

imagine you’re about to get married to your fave and you decide to do a prenup. what’s in the prenup, however silly or serious?

[jaijeijayjei]

I Think “Olive” You - Part 2

“So, Jayce,” Mel began once they were seated. “Last we spoke, you mentioned working on an exciting new project, tell me more.”

“Oh it’s going great!” he started, “I got an internship with the Kirammans, they own the engineering company responsible for the ventilation systems in Zaun. Viktor and I, -you know Viktor right?- we got a research grant to design infrastructure that could purify the air down there instead of just redirecting the smog!” Jayce enthusiastically walked her through the ideas they tested so far and the progress they’ve made while Mel offered thoughtful remarks and questions.

Mel was captivated by the way Jayce spoke so passionately about his work and the grandiose ideas he had for making the world a better place. Jayce’s almost childlike optimism reminded her of her younger self.

Jayce and Mel briefly paused their conversation to place their order, mac and cheese and baked ziti respectively. The waitress also brought a steaming bowl of complimentary breadsticks and Mel was pleasantly surprised to find she quite liked the pillowy texture and buttery garlic flavor.

“Enough about me,” Jayce began after the lull in the conversation, “Tell me about yourself, Mel! Where are you from?”

Mel cursed herself for losing control of the conversation, having been distracted by studying the arc of Jayce’s angular cheekbones and noting the proportions so she could sketch him later.

“I am from Noxus,” Mel said carefully, “I moved to Piltover only a few years ago to earn my degree and become a lawyer.”

“What made you want to study law?”

“I have witnessed… unsavory things done by those who believe they are above the rule of law,” she said with a slight frown. “People willing to ruin others’ lives to avoid responsibility. Companies willing to do inhumane things just to increase profit.

“I suppose I hope practicing law will allow me to defend those who are unable to do so themselves,” she concluded.

“I’m sure you’ll be the best lawyer this city’s ever seen,” Jayce said with a bright smile. “You’re one of the most intelligent and hard-working people I know.”

Mel smiled back faintly at his wholehearted belief in her. Jayce continued to listen intently as she told him more about her goals for the future.

After their meals arrived and they enjoyed the first few bites, Jayce unknowingly tripped a wire.

“Your family must be really proud of you!”

Mel felt an uncomfortable knot start to form in her stomach. She grasped her cutlery tighter and tried to steady her hands.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage, “You flatter me, Jayce.”

“Don’t be so modest,” he teased. “Do you have family here in Piltover, by the way?”

“No. I do not,” she said quietly.

“Oh, do you at least get to visit them in Noxus?”

“My family has made it clear they no longer wish to see me,” she said with a finality.

An awkward silence settled in.

“I… apologize for my tone,” Mel said tentatively, “I know you meant well, Jayce.”

“No, I’m sorry Mel, I shouldn’t have asked about your personal life so soon! I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

Mel had been trained all her life to always carry herself with grace and poise, to be always in control, level-headed, and untouchable. But around Jayce, she’s begun to feel the oddest sensation of fluttering in her stomach and she could feel words bubbling through the iron walls she’s put up around her heart.

“The truth is, life in Piltover has been… isolating, to say the least. Spending time with you has been a true pleasure, Jayce.” Mel surprised herself with the earnestness in her tone.

Jayce reached across the table and placed his hand gently over hers. “I enjoy spending time with you too, Mel. And if it’s alright with you I would love to continue getting to know you more, at your own pace of course,” he looked into her eyes awaiting her response.

Mel smiled and moved to grasp his hand.

“I would like that.”

Mel had dined in countless fine dining restaurants, enjoyed the fare of top-notch private chefs, and sampled cuisine from all over the world. Yet no meal has ever satisfied her heart as much as the cheesy pasta dish and free breadsticks she shared with the sweetest man she’s ever met.

i had a spanish assignment where you had to make a conversation at a restaurant so i made jayce and mel go on an olive garden date

[erdasmcnonsense]

Okay I know it's not guaranteed by any means, and it's common enough for reds to survive a good while after turning red, but wouldn't it be funny if Martyn were to also be the first out of the game in Secret Life? The canary curse broken by the previous winner because the Watchers are just that done with Martyn's shit by now or whatever