#it’s all very consensual just fyi

[weirdness-ensued]

thinks about them and i throw my head into a pillow and start squealing and kicking my feet

[captainfern]

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Five - Perfect •

141 x fem!reader

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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - rugby season is over, and the boys want to thank you for all your hard work lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 8.7k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, straight-up porn the slowburn has ignited baby, sharing <3 [4mx1f], unprotected piv, protected anal, oral [f!&m!receiving], m!masturbation, reader goes to paris lmao, voyeurism ig, praise, a lot of pet-names [baby, bonnie, love, sweetheart, etc], hella dirty talk, light overstimulation, multiple orgasms, spitting? cumplay? idk there's a lot of bodily fluids, price has a breeding kink and a sir kink, simon also has a breeding kink what a fucking surprise, gaz is a munch, johnny's just desperately horny, they work as a team but each get possessive in their own ways, um... that's it i think, oh strong language ofc

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part four

hi !! i am very sorry this took so long for me to write for you guys, but thank you so much for your patience and your support. i appreciate it !! and fyi, this has not been edited or anything like that. i’m posting this shit raw lmao. enjoy and thank you for reading <3

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It was two weeks after Price had asked if you were free this weekend. You were free, and you met up with the boys for dinner. It was nice, polite, and you really got to know them all a lot better. But, undeniably, the sexual tension was through the roof.

If it had been any other day, you would've gone home with them. But you didn't. You had work bright and early the next day, and you knew for a fact you wouldn't have been able to walk.

But two weeks later, it was the night of the Premiership Rugby Awards. Perfect.

The event itself was almost simply a blur. Kyle and Johnny were both commended for their work on and off the rugby field, and you beamed from your spot at the support staff table, watching them congratulate each other, dressed impeccably in ridiculously attractive suits.

Price was nominated for captain of the year, and was runner-up. Still, his team whooped and cheered for him, and you did the same. You and the other supporting staff clapped and hollered as he received a small award, standing awkwardly on stage. At least he didn't have to speak. Walking back to his table, he caught your eye and smiled, winking as the small glass trophy glinted in the light. He held it aloft for you to see, a subtle gesture that made your tummy flip. You held up a thumbs-up for him.

Then, the award of the night, Player of the Year. Simon was nominated and, hardly any surprises there, he won. You resisted the urge to spring to your feet and join the audience in the rapturous applause as he made his way on stage.

He looked out of his depth as he approached the microphone. But, hey, at least he looked really fucking good in that suit. You sipped casually at your champagne through the entire night and listened to the rich baritone of his voice as he delivered his quick, simple speech. And, towards the end–

"A huge thank you, too, to my team's support staff, and especially our physiotherapist, who should be getting award considering she keeps the lot of us intact and puts up with us on a daily basis."

The crowd laughed at that, and you smiled bashfully. Even from across the room, you could feel Simon's eyes on you. And John's. And Johnny's and Kyle's. You took another swig of your beverage, pressing your thighs together beneath the table.

Oh yeah.

Tonight was the night.

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Hours later, you and Gaz stumbled through the door of Johnny and Simon's flat together. He had his hands on your waist, his chest glued to your back and his face buried deep into the crook of your neck. You giggled as he wrapped his arms further around you, your hands resting on his forearms as he slowly began sucking a kiss onto the curve of your neck.

Although no one was drunk, you and Gaz were definitely the tipsiest. The small amount of alcohol in your system was enough to flood you full of liquid courage as you squirmed in Gaz's hold, rubbing your arse back onto his very prominent erection in his suit trousers. He groaned into the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing against you, as the three others finally walked through the front door.

Johnny was the first to engage– his eyes lit up in excitement as he kicked his shoes off and hurried over to you and Gaz. You giggled again, smiling at his enthusiasm as he grasped your face in both of his hands and kissed you. You smiled into the kiss– messy with tongue and spit– and enjoyed the warmth of his hands against the side of your head. Gaz had backed himself against the wall, and he continued to suck a line of kisses over your neck as Johnny kissed you.

Simon and Price stood in the doorway, watching the way you were wedged between Johnny and Gaz. They exchanged a look, a knowing glint in their eyes, before they made their move.

Price lit up a cigar as Simon shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it into the living room and hoping it landed across the couch. He was left in his white, form-fitting dress shirt. He began rolling up the sleeves as Price exhaled a puff of smoke into the air.

Johnny was still kissing you like his life depended on it, but one of his hands had travelled south, slowly beginning to peel away the straps of your dress. They fell down your shoulders, and Gaz helped push it down your arm, all the way until your breasts spilled out the front. Johnny broke the kiss and moaned loudly, his hands immediately shooting upwards to cup you, twisting your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You whined, arching against Gaz, whose hands travelled down your stomach and pushed your dress down at the same time.

Your dress dropped, pooling around your ankles, leaving you in just your underwear. You heard all four boys react in different ways to the almost dramatic reveal of your body– a subtle hitch of the breath from Simon and Price, and two very desperate whimpers from Gaz and Johnny.

Wordlessly, Gaz's hands skimmed lower. They passed gently over the soft mound of your tummy, rubbing gently just above the hemline of your underwear. He was less than a second away from pushing his fingertips inside when Simon approached; a looming shadow over the three of you intwined against the wall.

Gaz looked up, his mouth still pressed hot against the bare curve of your neck and shoulder. His lips glistened with saliva, and so did your skin. Johnny looked at Simon too, his hands still cupping both of your tits.

"Not here," Simon said softly. "Come on lads, be gentleman. Let's take our girl to bed."

You whined when Johnny stepped away, the warmth on your tits vanishing with him, your nipples hardening against the cool air in the flat. Even the warmth of Gaz disappeared too– he peeled himself away from you with one last cheeky kiss to the spot just below your ear. For a brief moment, you were alone– until Simon's hands were suddenly gripping the back of your thighs and he was hoisting you into his arms.

You yelped, arms circling the broad expanse of his shoulders as he held you to his chest, your nipples catching against the buttons of his dress shirt as you squirmed against him. You squirmed for two reasons: one being because of the shock of him carrying you; and two, the fact he was happily groping the soft flesh of your thighs as he began to climb the stairs.

"S'alright, pretty girl, I've got you," Simon murmured in your ear before kissing your cheek. With impressive strength– the strength that won him Player Of The Year– he carried you effortlessly to the top of the stairs, and then carried you all the way to what was presumably his bedroom. When he entered, Gaz, Johnny and Price weren't far behind, and he settled you gently on the edge of his bed. With one hand, he gently cupped your face. "You okay, doc? S'this what you want? All of us?"

You were nodding before he even finished his sentence, looking between the men in front of you with glimmering eyes. Of course this is what you wanted. This is what you have wanted for the past several months.

"If at any point you want us to stop, jus' say rugby," Simon said, a sternness in his tone that had your cunt leaking in your underwear. "We'll stop, okay? Promise me, doc. Promise us."

"I promise," you squeaked out. "I promise."

"Good girl..." Price uttered, leaning down from next to Simon and kissing you on the forehead. He stepped away before you could pull him into a proper kiss.

Instead, you reached up and pinched your fingers around one of the buttons on Simon's shirt, beginning to unbutton it. He chuckled lowly, his hand leaving your face to grab hold of your wrist.

"Not yet, love," he said softly, his tone putting you at ease as butterflies began filling your stomach. "We've got this all planned out, okay? You'll have me soon, but Gaz n' Johnny are gonna make you feel good first. Is that okay?"

His words, searching for your consent, made you whimper. You nodded, of course, whining a yes please as Simon stepped away. Your eyes found Gaz, who was already walking towards you, and you couldn't help but giggle when he got close and slotted his mouth to yours.

Gaz kissed you deeply, his tongue breaching the seam of your lips and licking against yours as his hands came to rest on your hips. With a little force, he pushed you up the bed– still kissing you– and lay you down on your back. Your hands found his shoulders– now bare of his suit– and your fingers flexed down the smooth planes of muscle. He groaned into your mouth, pulling back and dragging his lips down the curve of your jaw, beginning to suck even more kisses to the sensitive expanse of your throat.

"Such a pretty girl, bonnie..." Johnny approached, the bed sinking to his weight as he crawled alongside you. Immediately, he slipped his hands between you and Gaz and began pawing at your tits, rolling your nipples with the pads of his thumbs. Like Gaz, he had somehow stripped to his briefs between Simon putting you down onto the bed, and now. The hard imprint of his cock against his black underwear had you moaning, arching against Gaz– your clothed cunt rocking against his erection, making you moan even harder.

Johnny kissed you again as Gaz worked on peppering your entire body with kisses. He was now slapping Johnny's hands away from your tits so that he could take one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around you. Johnny broke the kiss with a saliva-soaked "th'fuck?" and a light frown. Gaz looked up at him challengingly as he pressed his tongue hot to your nipple– pulling a little whimper from you– and Johnny accepted his challenging stare. The Scot slinked down your body, not wasting any time with extra kisses– instead, he attached his mouth directly to your other breast, his teeth nipping the soft flesh.

Across the room, Simon and Price watched. They were a bit older, a bit more experienced, and had a bit more patience then the two players pinning you to the mattress currently. Although, Simon could feel his patience wearing thin. Your moans and whimpers were heavenly, and you looked absolutely stunning. He felt his cock twitching in his trousers, and kept his palm pressing heavily against it.

Price eyed his teammate and then offered him a puff of his cigar while Gaz and Johnny sucked and kissed your chest, their hands beginning to explore your almost naked body.

Simon accepted the cigar and took a long drag. Price huffed, smiling coyly when Simon returned the cigar. "Patience, Simon." It was said in a whisper, and Simon's response was a grunt and a subtle roll of his eyes. Yeah, he can be patient. Sure.

"Gaz, Johnny, fuck–" You whimpered, one of your hands cupping both Gaz and Johnny's heads. Gaz blinked up at you and was the first to detach his mouth, lips still shining with his saliva.

He moved down your body as Johnny continued his sucking– he had moved back to your neck, nipping at your collarbone now. Gaz settled himself between your legs, rubbing your thighs softly before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He searched your eyes for permission and when he found it, when you nodded and mouthed a desperate please, he carefully pulled your underwear down.

Instead of tossing them across the room like he usually would have done, he looked to his side and held them aloft, gesturing at the two men sitting on the couch in the corner of Simon's room.

Simon nodded, and snatched them up after Gaz threw them. His cock twitched in his trousers, painfully hard against the seams, as he felt the sheer dampness of your underwear and the expensive fabric against his hand. God, he wanted to wrap it around his cock and paint it white.

Gaz moaned loudly as he spread your legs, exposing your cunt to the shadowed lighting of Simon's room. Price and Simon's eyes were between your legs from across the room, and Price withheld a grunt in his throat, almost choking around an exhale of grey smoke. Like Simon, he left his cock twitching and straining in the confines of his trousers. There was a mutual competition that whoever gave in first and fucked their fist lost. There weren't any particular stakes. Not yet, anyway.

"Just as pretty as I remember," Gaz breathed, massaging your inner thighs. He watched slick dribble out of you and down the curve of your arse with a vulpine smile.

Above him, Johnny removed his mouth from your neck and you could feel how damp your skin was now. You wanted to turn your head to look at him, but you couldn't take your eyes off of Gaz.

The winger kneaded your thighs gently, massaging his fingers into the soft fat as he spread you out for him. His eyes, gleaming with excitement, were transfixed on the way your cunt fluttered, your swollen clit glistening between your folds. You watched him run the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip before he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to your pussy.

You gasped, chest heaving, eyes still on Gaz when he placed another kiss against you, as though he was kissing your cheek. His eyelashes fluttered and a deep moan rumbled from his chest. Quickly, he deepened the kiss until he was licking the point of his tongue through your folds and his nose was pressed flush to your clit.

"Oh, fuck–" you whimpered. Memories of the way Gaz ate you out last time flooded you, making your body heat up. He was so fucking good.

He looked up at you from between your legs, soft brown eyes staring into yours. They were still gleaming, crinkled at the edges as though he was smiling– smiling into your soaked cunt as he dragged his tongue through your folds and licked up as much of your arousal as he could. Cheeky little–

A hand grabbed your jaw and forced your head to the side. You parted your lips to gasp, but the sound was sucked from your mouth as Johnny smashed his mouth to yours.

He held your face firmly, whining loudly into the kiss as he licked his tongue against yours. His other hand was dipping into his briefs and pulling his achingly hard cock out. He fisted it, whining loudly again, and you couldn't help but smile.

Clearly, Simon found it amusing too.

"Gettin' desperate, are we, Johnny?" He mocked from across the room.

Johnny broke the kiss, panting against your mouth as he jerked his cock, his hand still holding your head in place. He whined softly when his fingertips ghosted the underside of his cockhead, and he breathed deeply in an attempt to bite back at Simon's remark.

"S'not fair..." He whined again, sounding more and more like a wounded puppy, or something else along those lines. "She's got such a pretty mouth an' s'not bein' used properly."

He kissed you deeply again, all spit and teeth and tongue. It was hard to keep up, the way Johnny was invading your space. Your brain was foggy, body on fire, only thinking about the men around you and, especially, the fact you were about to come.

You moaned into Johnny's mouth– both Price and Simon moaning in response as they palmed at their clothed hard-ons– as Gaz sucked your clit into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the puffy bud, his top teeth just skimming it, before he was quickly dragging his mouth just that little bit lower so that he could stuff your leaking hole. He pushed his tongue in with a light moan, grinding his hips into the mattress as he did so. Your taste, your smell, your noises, everything was making him harder.

You managed to turn your head away from Johnny's mouth. He huffed, leaning his forehead against your temple, mouthing at your cheek and jaw with light puffs eliciting from his saliva-slick lips. He was still jerking himself off, his cock leaking pre-cum onto Simon's sheets.

"Kyle..." You moaned the winger's government name. "M'gonna– oh my god, oh my god–"

Gaz kept the thrusting of his tongue steady, humming against you as your legs shook within his grasp.

Johnny, the desperate man he was, pulled your mouth back to his, licking a stripe over your lips before muttering, "That's a good girl, bonnie. Come for us. Come n' then I'll– I'll stuff this pret– fuck, pretty mouth with my– ah– my cock." After uttering that against your lips, he was shoving his tongue back into your mouth.

Then, you came for the first time of the night.

The coil in your lower belly snapped and you moaned loudly against Johnny, back arching off of Simon's mattress as Gaz held your hips and thighs, pinning them as he licked you through your orgasm. His eyes were on you the entire time, watching as you unravelled while he licked up your release which dripped out of you and down his chin.

When Gaz pulled away, Johnny was manhandling you onto your hands and knees. You yelped, still fuzzy from your orgasm, as the Scot pulled you into position where your head was resting on one of his hairy thighs, your arse in the air.

"Need you," he muttered, pawing at the back of your neck while he stroked his cock and guided it towards your mouth. "Need you so fuckin' bad–"

"Slow down, Johnny." Simon growled from across the room.

Gaz laughed as he got up, not bothering to wipe the rivulets of your arousal that tracked down his chin and, now, down the column of his neck. He rolled his shoulders, easing the tension from laying on his front, before shucking down his briefs and shuffling back onto the bed.

"He's been waiting a long time for this, Simon," Gaz joked in the number eight's direction. "He knows our girl's been worth the wait."

Simon grunted, Price's cigar now between his lips. "Still doesn't mean he can throw her around like that."

"Simon–" Johnny gasped from the head of the bed. He was dragging the leaking, reddened tip of his cock against your lips, smearing his pre-cum over his saliva which already wet you. He looked over at his teammate. "Shut the fuck up."

Simon scowled. "Watch it–"

But Johnny wasn't listening anymore. Not when he eased his cock past your lips and into the warm, wet heat of your mouth. He moaned, really fucking loudly, as you hollowed your cheeks for him and took him further back in your throat. You withheld a gag, tears blotting the base of your vision as Johnny's cock nudged the back of your throat.

"JesusfuckingChrist," The Scot hissed, the hand on the back of your neck tightening so he could pull you closer towards him. Your nose rested in the coarse hair at the base of your cock, and you moaned quietly, eyes upwards and locked onto his. You could already feel him twitching in your mouth as you gently bobbed your head, a trickle of saliva being forced out from the corner of your mouth.

Meanwhile, Gaz was gripping his cock tightly at the base, his other hand squishing and squeezing at the fat of your arse and thighs. He was muttering something to himself, something you couldn't hear, but whatever it was made Soap chuckle above you.

"F'you like her arse so much, use it," Johnny joked, and you whined, your core fluttering.

Behind you, Gaz stopped muttering beneath his breath and released a breathy laugh, his hand holding one of your arsecheeks and pulling it gently to the side. "I'll need to stretch her out first..."

"We've got all night," Soap remarked, thrusting his hips and making you gag around him. A tear rolled down your cheek and you hummed out a whine at the way both of them were talking about you as if you weren't even there.

You couldn't see it, but Gaz smiled. He then vanished from behind you for a moment, before returning, popping the cap on the small bottle of lube and pouring a generous amount over two of his fingers. He then spread you again, pouring even more of the cool liquid directly onto your hole. And, for good measure, he let a glob of spit fall from his mouth and slide down your crack.

You moaned loudly around Johnny's cock as one of Kyle's fingers pressed against your hole, rubbing circles carefully while his other hand reached between your legs to rub a finger over your puffy clit. You moaned again, and the vibrations had Johnny whimpering quietly above you, hips bucking, the grip he had on the back of your neck tightening.

"Such a pretty mouth, such a pretty mouth," he chanted through his whining, eyes screwed shut and head tossed back as he continued to push and pull your head down his length.

Across the room, the sounds of your muffled moans and Johnny's whines, paired with the sight of Gaz spreading you open before him was enough– enough for him to hastily pull his cock out of his trousers and wrap it in your soaked underwear. He jerked his fist once, twice, three times before stopping, glancing over at Price who simply shook his head, chuckling.

"Soap," Price said after he had finished giving Simon an amused look. "Let our girl breath, yeah? Give her a break."

Your eyes rolled and you moaned loudly– not at Price's words, but at the feeling of Gaz pushing a thick finger into your arse, gently probing and stretching you open. You wondered if the light buzz of alcohol in your veins was making the sensations a whole lot more enjoyable.

Johnny whined. "But–"

"Pull your fuckin' cock out, Johnny," Simon hissed, resuming his hand movements, your underwear still wrapped around his dick.

Johnny whined once more, but pulled out like his captain and teammate said. He continued to hold the back of your neck, petting you gently as he slid his cock out of your mouth, strings of saliva connecting your lips and his shaft. He moaned at the sight, tempted to shove it back into the warmth of your mouth– but the burning sensation of Simon's eyes on him made him pause.

"This better fuckin' mean I get to fill her cunt," he grumbled, much to your amusement. You smiled up at him, and he smiled back, moving his other hand to cradle the side of your head.

Price grunted, and you broke eye contact with the scrum-half to look over at him and Simon on the couch. He too was pulling his hard cock out of his trousers and fisting it in his hand. The sheer size of the both of them made your core heat up all over again, butterflies returning to your stomach.

After a short moment, Gaz had two fingers inside you, scissoring you open while Johnny pet your face, staring down at you as you mouthed gently at his cock. You ran the tip of your tongue along the prominent vein on the underside, causing his entire body to wrack with shudders.

"Ready?" Gaz asked Soap, and the Scot looked away from you in the first time in about five minutes.

He nodded eagerly, a grin splitting across his face as he slid his hands beneath your armpits and hoisted you up onto your knees. You yelped, the action unexpected, and the sudden loss of Gaz's fingers from inside you making you feel empty, almost hollow. But, as Gaz split open a condom and rolled it onto his length, Soap's hands were all over you, and not once did you feel empty again.

"You alright, bonnie?" He asked, hands gripping your knees and spreading your legs apart so he could slot himself between them, his cock rutting through the folds of your pussy.

You momentarily lost your train of thought, your mouth dropping open and a small "uh..." dripping from it.

Price exhaled a plume of smoke around his words as he spoke to you. "Use your words, darling. S'alright if you want to stop."

Forcing your muddled mind away from the feeling of Soap's warm cock, you looked over at Simon and Price and shook your head, uttering out a string of "no, no, no."

"M'fine," you added for good measure. "Please don't stop."

As long as they had the green light, the lads weren't going to stop. Gaz had a large hand across one of your arsecheeks, holding it to the side as he guided the head of his cock to your stretched hole. Johnny waited patiently, his cockhead rubbing cruel circles against your swollen clit, not quite enough to give you proper stimulation. But, it was a pleasant distraction– a distraction from the initial stretch of Gaz carefully pushing his cock into you. Slow, slow, slow.

You released a shuddered gasp, head dropping forward to rest on Johnny's shoulder. Breathing laboured, you panted against his dewy skin as Gaz stopped, pulled out a centimetre, then pushed back in– over and over until his hips were wedged up right against your backside and he was dipping his mouth into the crook of your neck, breathing in your perfume.

"Good girl, baby..." He whispered, pressing a kiss to the pulse below your ear. "This okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah... it's okay."

"Tell me when you want me to move."

"Now," you said almost immediately, mind fuzzing over with pleasure. The pleasure of feeling full and hot and sweaty and completely fucked out. "Please move, Kyle, fuck–"

He did. He pulled out and pushed back in, ebbing like the tide with gentle thrusts that knocked the air out of your lungs. You cried out his name, head no longer resting on Johnny's shoulder, but leaning back against Gaz's.

Johnny couldn't wait any longer. The tip of his cock soon aligned with your leaking cunt, and he was pushing in just as Gaz pushed in as well. Both me released a guttural groan, their cock's only separated by a thin wall inside you.

But the noise you made was nothing short of pornographic– a high-pitched, breathy whine that was punched from the depth of your stomach. Your entire body fizzled, tingling with pleasure as both men used you at the same time, thrusting in and out at the same time. The intensity of it all had tears running down your cheeks, your chest tightening between breaths.

Soap's voice broke around a whimper. "You're so damn tight."

Gaz was next to speak. "Can't believe... can't believe we went so long without having you, eh, doc?"

The way they were talking to you was driving you crazy. Hell, the way they were moving against you was driving you crazy. You couldn't believe you went so long without letting them have you, either.

"Doing such a good job for Johnny and Kyle, sweetheart," Simon said, which you only heard vaguely, like an echo in a dark room. "Looking so fuckin' pretty taking both of their cocks. Doesn't she, lads?"

"Fuck, yeah–" Johnny moaned, not really listening, his eyes attached to the way his cock pistoned in and out of you.

Gaz was the same. Distracted. Too busy sucking wet kisses along the side of your neck. Too busy trying not to come straight away, the tight walls of your hole milking his cock with each upwards thrust. He did leave his trance-like state for a short period of time, enough to praise you and say your name in a breathless moan.

"Our good girl, doc. Y'just our good girl," he breathed against you. "Fuck– knew you'd be good. We just knew you'd be perfect."

That sentence alone had your stomach tightening with your next orgasm, thighs trembling and sweat building between your bodies. For a split second, you wondered what your electrolyte levels would be after this (the thought was wiped from your head when the head of Johnny's cock slammed up against your g-spot, making you mewl).

You struggled to keep your eyes open as your climax neared. Your senses were going into hyperdrive– the smells, the sounds, the everything was making you drunker than the alcohol you had already consumed earlier that night.

The smells of Soap and Gaz, their sweat and cologne, was like an aphrodisiac as they pinned you between their bodies, moving in tandem. The sounds of Johnny's moans and whimpers, and Gaz's breathless whines and grunts were driving you insane– as were the quiet groans coming from the couch across the room.

"Gaz... Johnny..." You mewled, body hot, clit throbbing. "I..."

You couldn't finish your sentence. Luckily, you didn't have too.

"Gonna come?" It was Price who put the words out into the open. "You gonna come, pretty girl? Go on. Tell 'em."

You repeated the first two words Price had said, following them with desperate moans of both Johnny and Kyle's names. Johnny's hands tightened on yours, slamming up into you while Kyle's were smoothing up and down your abdomen, hips grinding into your backside. The sensations threw you over the edge.

You came hard– both men caught off guard by the way your body tightened around them. Your head dropped back against Gaz's shoulder, and he kissed your cheek.

"Holy fuck," Johnny cursed, breathless. His chest was heaving, forehead glistening in a thin layer of sweat, and a slight tinge of red to his cheeks. Your cunt fluttered around the girth of him, all wet and warm and tight, causing his thrusts to falter, stutter, before he was coming inside you with no warning. "Holy fuck."

You whimpered, energy being sapped from your body at the feeling of him coming inside you while you were still coming down from your high. You could feel his cock twitching as he emptied himself up against your cervix, but you were distracted from the simple movement when he leaned forward and slotted his mouth against yours.

Soap kissed you exactly how he'd kissed you at the beginning of the night. Still full of passion and longing as the warm mass of his tongue swept over yours, slicking over the tops of your teeth. One of his hands found the back of your neck once more, and he held you to him while you kissed– all the while Gaz continued to rut gently into you, his own orgasm nearing.

"Baby, m'gonna pull out..." Gaz whispered into your ear, one of his hands kneading the flesh of your arse. "M'gonna pull out, take this fuckin' condom off, and come where you want me to come, m'kay?"

You forced your way out of Soap's searing kiss, turning your head so you could nod your acknowledgment to the winger behind you (luckily for you, he began kissing down your chest instead). Gaz did as he said and pulled out. He did so slowly, his hands rubbing your arse and hips the entire time. When his cock left you, you released a little whine, cool air seeming to fill you and make you shiver.

"You're okay, you're okay..." Gaz reappeared behind you after pulling his condom off, tying it and tossing it somewhere in the room (Simon had shot him a dirty look for that). One of his hands was on your hip again, his body melting into yours, his chest to your back. You could feel him fisting his cock behind you, the leaking tip smearing pre across the small of your back.

"Where d'you want me?" He asked you softly, and for a moment, it just felt as though you and him were the only ones in the room. If it wasn't for Soap sucking on your tits like a fucking maniac, the private intimacy between you and Kyle would've been believable.

To answer, you wiggled your hips against him, mumbling something along the lines of on me while trying to grab a fistful of Soap's mohawk and pull him away so you could arch forward. The Scot was stubborn, though, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth with a sparkle in his eyes.

Simon helped you out.

"Johnny, don't fuckin' push it," he growled and that was the first time you had heard him speak in a while.

You looked over to him, finding that he was still languidly fisting his cock; the tip red and angry, leaking pearl after pearl of precum. He was edging himself. Your stomach flipped with arousal, pussy fluttering.

Johnny backed off like a kicked dog, pouting as he shuffled to the edge of the bed. Gaz smiled, winking at his Scottish teammate as he placed a hand to the small of your back and guided you onto your knees and elbows, creating a perfect arch in your back and a perfect view of your arse for him. Then, he quickened the pace of his wrist, stroking his cock for a few seconds before he was painting your arse white.

Like Soap, Gaz moaned loudly when he came. The sound dissolved into a low whine as he fucked his fist through it, not stopping until he ran dry and his cock only just softened beneath his grip.

A few moments passed before you flattened yourself across the bed, laying on your stomach with exhaustion rolling over your body in waves. Johnny was the first to up and leave, placing a kiss to the crown of your head before he was moving across the room. Gaz stayed with you, his hands rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"Doing so well for us," he told you. "D'you need anything? Water?"

You nodded and mere seconds later, Johnny was offering you a glass of cold water. You sat up to drink it, Gaz's cum smearing against Simon's sheets. You were hyperaware of Soap's cum dripping out of you and onto the sheets too. It made goosebumps bloom up your arms and legs, a shiver crawling through you.

Once you had drunken, the lads switched places like they had been practising.

Johnny and Gaz slipped away with one more kiss each to your lips, before two larger, broader figures were blocking your vision. Both Price and Simon had stripped now, all big chests and soft stomachs and hard cocks. It made you salivate.

"Just a bit longer, sweetheart, then you can have a nice break," Price cooed, walking up to the edge of the bed and placing his hand beneath your chin, gripping your jaw and angling your eyes up to him. While he did that, Simon slipped onto the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight, and slotted himself up against you. Price squeezed your jaw once. "You feeling okay?"

You nodded, but something inside you prompted you to respond with a sultry "Yes, sir" while you stared up at him. A coy smile split along his face and before long, he was leaning down to kiss you. He tasted of smoke and expensive liquor as he kissed you, his tongue immediately invading your mouth.

"You want her first?" Simon asked, and you jolted in fright, almost forgetting he was right behind you.

John broke the kiss and, still holding your jaw, looked over at Simon and shook his head.

"You can go first."

The arrangement was set.

Simon pulled you away from John, and you couldn't help but yelp at the way he manhandled you onto your stomach. Then, he grabbed your hips and pulled you back onto your knees, your breasts and arms resting against the bed. The captain had crawled onto the bed and, after tossing aside Simon's pillows, settled himself at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard. He spread his legs, patting one of his thick thighs invitingly.

Simon acted for you– pushing you up the bed and pushing another startled yelp from you. Your head came to rest against the warm, solid mass of Price's thigh, and his hand was put to work atop your head, petting you as though you were a cat.

Behind you, the number eight was nudging your legs apart with his knee, his large body doubling over yours as he slotted his hips against your arse, his achingly hard cock brushing over your soaked folds. You keened, moaning lightly as the tip of his cock nudged your clit, the thick weight of him smearing your and Johnny's cum up and down your slit. It made you shiver again.

"You don't have to do anything, okay, sweetheart?" Price uttered above you, still petting your head. His other hand gripped the base of his cock tightly. You watched a dribble of precum leak down the underside of it. "You're just going to lay there and be a good girl for me and Simon, okay? Be a good girl and take everything we give you."

At the completion of the captain's sentence, Simon notched the head of his cock at your hole. Your breath hitched.

Price cooed down at you. "S'alright... that's a good girl, just take it."

Simon eased into you, his cock splitting you open more than Soap's had. He was a bit thicker, and the stretch of it all had a moan catching in your throat. It stayed there until Simon bottomed out– the sound filtering from your mouth sounding like something out of a low-budget porno (it made Price's cock twitch, though).

"Fuck," you heard Simon hiss behind you. "S'a tight fuckin' pussy."

"Told you."

"Shut the fuck up, Johnny." Simon almost growled as he pulled out and then slammed back into you.

You cried out, sobbing a "S-Simon!" as his pace increased, his thrusts hitting deeper and deeper each time. You could feel the ruddy tip of him hitting the plug of your cervix, his girth stretching you open in such a way that you wondered whether you'd be able to walk tomorrow.

Probably not.

You realised both Gaz and Soap were sitting on the couch, and without even turning your head, you knew they'd be watching with their cock in hand. The intensity of the entire situation was otherworldly, and most definitely contributing to the fast rate at which your orgasm was approaching.

The sound of Ghost's cock moving in and out of you was lewd and wet. Wet shlick, shlick, shlick's and the slapping sound of skin-on-skin echoed throughout Simon's room, as well as the occasional creak of the bedframe and the hushed sounds of pleasure coming from the couch.

Bent over you, Simon was huffing and grunting. Deep groans left his parted lips periodically as he fought off his orgasm. God, the second he shoved his cock into the tight clutch of your cunt he wanted to come. But not yet. Not fucking yet.

"S'that feelin' good, pretty girl?" He asked you, his voice swimming through your head.

"Yes–!" You cried, one hand holding Price's wrist (his hand was still on your head), the other fisting the bedsheets beside Price's other leg.

"Yeah? You like being fucked by all four of us, hm? Like being stuffed full, don't you?" He didn't let you answer. He continued, "O'course you do, baby. 'Course you do. Such a needy little pussy... She just loves gettin' filled up, I can feel it."

Words evaded you. So you nodded. You nodded against Price's thigh, tears smearing against his hairy skin. He petted you gently, shushing you as Simon continued to rut into you, his entire body shaking with restraint. He needed you to come first.

"Want you to come for me," Simon whispered to you. "Want you to come all over my cock."

Then, one of his hands found your clit, and you were a goner. He rubbed three rough shapes across the swollen bud, and you were coming with his name falling from your lips.

You squeezed him tight, gushing around him as pleasure overtook you. The entire time you spasmed, your cunt leaking out around his cock, John held you against the mass of his thigh, petting you and massaging down your neck. You heard the odd "good girl" being whispered from him.

Simon praised you in similar fashion. "Good girl. Good fucking girl. My good girl."

The last part was whispered so quietly that you were sure no one else heard it but you. He said it as he curled over you, his chin against your shoulder, his massive arms holding himself over you as he fucked you hard.

"My perfect girl," he whispered again. Only to you. Then, it was like something went off in his brain. He released a low growl, something like a groan but much deeper. "M'gonna come."

"S'about fuckin' time," John joked, but Simon didn't find it at all funny. He ignored his captain.

His attention was only on you.

"M'gonna come right up in here, love." Simon held himself up with one arm, his other arm winding beneath you to grab hold of your tummy. He gripped it, kneading it, before pushing against it until you let out a small moan, the pressure making you dizzy. "M'gonna fill this pretty tummy right up. Fuckin' breed you right in front of the boys."

You were definitely drooling against Price's thigh.

With one last grinding thrust– and just as overstimulation crept into your head– Simon came. He came with a grunt and a quiet moan of your name, his cock right up against your womb as he emptied himself, filling you hot.

The heat made you moan, as well as the image of his cum mixing with Soap's and filling your womb.

What the hell–

The number eight didn't pull out straight away. He stilled above you, hips flush to your arse and his half-hard cock still plugging his cum inside you. Against Price's thigh, you mewled tiredly, shuffling your backside against the solid form of Simon behind you, your hands now travelling along the captain's legs.

Finally, Simon extracted his body from yours, but remained inside you. He kneeled, his large hands travelling down your back before finding your arse. He chuckled to himself, dragging his fingers through Gaz's load that painted you. With his pointer finger, he drew a smeared SR against your left arsecheek.

"Simon, gross," You complained, listening to the way he chuckled darkly to himself. You couldn't see him from your angle, but you knew he was probably grinning too.

Just like in the small period of grace between Soap and Gaz, and Simon and Price, you were offered water, with each man waiting patiently until you had finished the glass. While you drank, the four pairs of eyes on you made your stomach tighten.

This was all so foreign. But, god, you fucking loved it.

When the glass of water was placed soundly on the bedside table, Price slid down from the top of the bed and kneeled towards the end. He held out a hand to you, and you accepted, enabling him to gently lay you down with your head in the pillows (Simon had ordered Soap to pick them off the floor from when Price tossed them).

"Comfortable?" Price asked you, running his warm hands up and down your sides before slowly, slowly parting your legs and exposing your cunt to him.

You nodded. "Yes, sir."

He huffed proudly at that, a small smile surfacing. His hands shifted, and he brushed his knuckles along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

Beside you, the bed dipped. Simon kneeled on the floor next to the bed, his upper body leaning against the mattress. It was the perfect angle to cradle your face in his hands and wipe the steadily drying streaks of tears and saliva from your skin with his fingers.

Fingers, you realised, had not been cleaned. Fingers that still trekked a milky stripe of Gaz over your face.

You grimaced, and by the way Ghost was biting his lip to hide a smile, he knew what the grimace was for.

"S'a matter, pretty girl? S'just a bit a'cum," he teased lowly, and you had half the mind to smack his hand away. But his next words had you forgiving the action– the cheeky bastard. "Look so pretty covered in us, don't you?"

Kneeling between your legs, Price grunted his agreement with his teammate. He was fisting his cock, watching Simon and Soap's loads dribble out of you.

Pushing his hips forward, he slowly ran the head of his cock up your slit, making a mess of you. You whined, hands holding one of Simon's, as Price repeated the action a couple of times, eyes transfixed.

When Price's eyes did finally find yours, they were glazed, his pupils blown.

"Beg for it, sweetheart," he uttered, voice hoarse. "Beg for my cock."

You did. You started with a few desperate please's and several different curse words when you struggled to find the right things to say. But eventually, with your heart hammering against your ribcage and your clit pulsing in tandem with it, you begged out a yearning, "Please, sir, please– need your cock so bad. Please, captain–"

The captain hummed, pleased, as he thrusted himself into you without another warning. You cried out, arching off the bed as your cunt stretched around him, the tip of him knocking up against the plug of your womb just like Simon's had. It all felt so good you wanted to cry.

"That's it..." Simon whispered to you, nuzzling the side of your head as Price set his pace.

He held your legs either side of him as he fucked you, shunting your body against the mattress again and again. You'd already fucked him before, in his car just a couple of week ago, but this was different. So much different.

It's like he had something to prove. Maybe it was because his teammates, his closest friends, were watching, but he fucked you like he owned you. His thrusts were deep and driving and hit the perfect spot inside you each time. His hands on your legs were firm but gentle, and the way his eyes raked hungrily up your body were claiming enough.

His fingers dipped down to your arse momentarily as he shifted your hips, changing the angle so he could fuck you deeper. He looked over at Simon for a split second and nodded towards one of the pillows. The number eight got the hint, reaching over your head to grab one of his pillows. While he did that, unbeknownst to both you and Simon, Price's fingers wiped the sticky SR from your skin.

Once he had the pillow, Price shoved the pillow beneath you to keep your hips at the perfect angle. This way, he could continue to fuck his cock deeper and deeper into you, and still continue to worship your body with your hands.

But, he was closer than he would've liked to admit. He could feel, with each thrust, and each tightening of your slick, warm walls, his orgasm looming closer and close. That familiar coiling heat in his lower belly.

"C'mon, sweet girl, need you to come," he said breathlessly, then proceeded to push your legs upwards, bending your knees towards your ears. "Need you to come 'round my cock."

"M'close..." You whined, and the change in angle was pulling you tighter, sweat sticking you to the sheets below. But your body was exhausted, shaking and trembling and filled with honey-like pleasure that had your joints feeling heavy. "John, I don't... fuck, I can't–"

"Yes you can, sweetheart, yes you can," Price whispered, leaning down to kiss you. It was a sweet kiss, his facial hair tickling the warm skin of your cheeks and chin. When he pulled away, he placed a few more kisses to your nose, your cheeks and your jaw. "Just one more time for me. C'mon. One more time for your captain."

Well, when he put it that way...

It was like he had trained you, Pavlov's dog style. Your body jerked and you arched up against him, the same time the band of pleasure in your lower abdomen snapped.

"John!" You almost screamed, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Warmth seeped into your body, flooding your veins as you came around his cock, spasming and fluttering. You were dizzy, euphoria blinding you as he fucked you through it, Simon's hands on your head keeping you grounded.

Your release gushed around John, and he groaned at the way you drenched his pubic hair. The sounds of him moving in and out of you too were too much for him to handle.

(And too much for Soap and Gaz to handle, who spilled over their fists with loud moans from where they were sitting on the couch).

Price desperately wanted to praise you as his girl, a possessive my girl spoken into the universe. But, as captain, he knew better. As much as it did pain him to say, he croaked out a, "That's our girl."

You whined and whimpered, your body thoroughly fucked-out. As much as you enjoyed this, you felt as though you wouldn't be walking for the next few days, and would probably sleep for the next thirty-six hours.

"John, sir..."

"I know, sweetheart, I know, m'coming," he muttered, thrusts beginning to falter. "M'gonna come deep in this tight little pussy. Yeah... fill her up real good."

First Simon, now John? Damn. The personification of your pussy was not what you expected to get out of this tonight. But you weren't complaining.

The captain came, moaning your name loudly into the room. With a gentle hand splayed across your belly, he emptied himself inside you alongside two of his teammates'. The feeling of it never ceased to make his mouth drop open in pleasure.

Simon kissed your temple. "Alright, pretty girl?"

You nodded. "Yeah... more than alright."

•º•º•

You should have known that all four men would be absolute kings at aftercare. It was pure bliss.

Johnny popped into Simon's bathroom to run you a bath while Simon cradled you in his arms, not letting you feel an ounce of loneliness. He had dragged you over to the couch, hugging you to his broad chest and watching as Gaz stripped the bed and made quick work of changing the sheets. Price entered the room with a fresh glass of water and a small bowl of your favourite sweets (you didn't question why Johnny and Simon had them in their flat in the first place).

You sipped your water and snacked on the sugary food for a little while, Ghost's hands rubbing up and down your back. Before long, Johnny reappeared and helped his teammate in guiding you towards the bathroom.

There was a slight argument between who was going to get into the bath with you, but ultimately Gaz one, and Simon begrudgingly handed you over to him. The pair of you sunk into the warm water, and you immediately melted back into him.

"Did such a good job for us, doc..." Gaz whispered in your ear, massaging your thighs and hips from where you were nestled in front of him between his legs.

Simon, who was lurking over the bath like some sort of spectre, nodded. "Such a good girl."

The praise made your body heat up, the steam curling up from the water suddenly scolding.

In the doorway, Johnny watched on with his phone in his hand. He asked you, "D'you want me to order some food?"

You nodded. "Can we please get–?"

He was already walking away. "I know your order, bonnie!"

You made a face at Simon. He shrugged.

Price, like Simon, stood at the edge of the bathtub. He looked down at you with adoration in his eyes

"You're just perfect, aren't you, sweetheart?" He said, and Simon and Gaz were agreeing with him before the sentence even registered in your head. You smiled at him. He smiled back. "Our perfect girl, hm?"

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝐤𝐞 - 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 3.5k

chapter summary: Joel takes you to a cabin for the weekend, there you propose he pay up the bet he lost to you and that the two of you should have some roleplaying fun.

warnings: prey/predator kink, chase kink, choking, dirty talk, hunter w reader being "hunted", roleplaying, knife kink, piv

a/n: fyi everything in this is consensual and even though it's not explicitly mentioned, there is a safeword in place. I like to imagine this takes place in September so there's a bit of a time jump from the original story but you can read this without getting spoiled or knowing the overall story. Enjoy, and happy Halloween! 🎃🎃🎃

You’re speechless. The world that surrounds you is an autumn dream that stretches vast in front of you. Joel holds your hand tight. Both of you slightly damp from sweat, both of you exhausted from the trip here. Green pine trees surround the crystal clear lake, a small wooden pier making way towards the water. And just a bit further from all of it is a tiny cabin, nestled under the gorgeous red and green of the sweetgum trees. Your heart soars. You imagine the brush strokes you would do to mimic the texture of the nature surrounding you, a gorgeous tapestry of a world untouched except for the small tiny cabin.

After practically drooling over the scenery before you, you turn to Joel. Heat crawling up from your neck to your cheeks when you realize he’s staring at you instead. He alone halts the breath in your lungs as he suddenly leans, his chapped lips touching the warmth of your cheek. 

“How did you even manage to rent this place?” you ask, breathless due to the touch of skin. 

“Someone owed me a favor,” he grins, leading you down the small hill of fading grass. 

“I wasn’t aware contractors had so much leverage.” 

“Oh, you have no idea darlin’.”

You want to bathe under the smooth rumble of his drawl. His voice is like coffee, warm and rich. A shudder crawls up your spine, stroking the base of your neck. A burst of heat spreads between your legs, your panties suddenly slick and sticking to your skin. You watch intently as Joel unlocks the door and guides you inside with his hand on the back of your neck. Another shudder. This time accompanied by your mouth watering. It’s been a while since you two had some alone time. Between helping Sarah adjust to the new school year and the Miller brother’s busy work schedule, it was hard to snag some time for yourselves. 

“You’re gonna burn holes into my skin if you stare any harder.” You jump, the interior of the cabin suddenly bright and vivid. Joel smiles lazily before dropping the bags to the floor, a tiny cloud of dust swirls in the air. “Care to spare what it is you’re thinkin’ so hard about?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know,” you mimic his movements and drop your own, less heavy bag, to the floor. You laugh when he frowns. 

“I would actually. I would very much like to know.” 

He steps forward, crowding you until your back meets the tender wall of the cabin. It creaks. Joel’s hands find your waist and pull you until you’re flushed against him, his scent thick with sweat and pine fills your nostrils. Briefly, you close your eyes and breathe. He fills your lungs, you desperately want to keep him there, keep his delicious scent within you until the day you die. 

“You gonna make me ask again?” his voice drops, something dark and curious lingering in his tone. A tingle makes home at the small of your back. You want to chase that darkness, follow it until he snaps. With a swallow you raise your chin, eyes shimmering with delight. His gaze hardens. His worn jeans hide nothing as he grinds his thickening cock over the soft flesh of your stomach. A soft moan escapes your lips and he smiles. “Why are you bein’ a brat all of a sudden? And here I thought how good you’d be because I brought you here.” 

Your head falls back with a loud thud, his short moment of worry makes your heart melt. 

“Remember our little bet that I won?” you ask and he nods. “I think I want to cash in my price now.” 

Joel raises a brow, “Oh?”  he rubs himself against you once more, both of your breaths catching in your throats. “Tell me then. Don’t keep me waitin’.” 

“I want you to. . .” you gently guide your lips out of his reach as he chases them. He leans in again, grazing your lips with a tantalizing touch. Yet, with a turn, you offer only the warmth of your cheek. Your nipples tighten, arousal coils in your stomach. “Hunt me down, Mr Miller.”  

“Hunt you down?” 

You nod bashfully, wrapping your arms around his thick neck, you force his face into the crook of your neck. His labored breaths are warm against your skin. Another wave of lust washes over you when he kisses and bites the tender skin. You would’ve looked him in the eyes but anxiety still rolls dutifully in your gut. You’ve done a lot of things with him. Things you haven’t done with anyone else. However, the doubt always lingers. 

“I want to be the pretty little thing you’re obsessed with—” 

“I’m already obsessed with you.” 

His lips moving on your skin makes you stammer over your words. You breathe and swallow, trying to clear your mind. 

“I mean in a stalkerfindsoutwherehiscrushlives type of thing. If. . . if that’s alright. I’m still not sure if you’re comfortable with. . . stuff like that.” 

Joel forcefully breaks out of your hold and looks you in the eyes. The crease between his brows is deep, the corner of his lips looking downward. “I’m comfortable as long as you’re comfortable.” You’re about to object and say that’s not how that works but he cuts you off before you can. “I’ll let you know if you hit any of my limits darlin’ but for now. . . you hit none.” 

His pupils visibly dilate, the look he’s giving you shortens your breath, makes you squirm where you stand. You swallow. You want this man to ruin you in the best and worst way possible. 

“So, what exactly would you like your hunter to do?” he rasps, all you hear is gravel. Your heart stops as his fingers one by one roll around your neck. He applies gentle pressure and kisses the corner of your chin. “Tell me all the things you want me to do to you, sweetheart.”

The subtle warmth caused by the fire flickers out, replacing the lovely heat of your body with a damp chill. You curl your body until your knees nearly touch your chest. You can hear the tree leaves dancing with the wind. A stream of moonlight trickling from between the still curtains. You listen to your own breathing, to your heartbeat. You were completely alone in the small cabin. Another burst of wind blows and the wood creaks. Fear coats your tongue, your mouth suddenly very dry and your senses very much awake despite the late hour. 

Among the silence, a little click flows loudly within the cabin. Your body stills, and you hold your breath, waiting for the sound to repeat itself. 

It does. 

A creak and a groan caused by the wood. You close your eyes. Footsteps. Slow, silent, but still audible. The door to your bedroom is closed but you know it won’t stay like that for long. Closer and closer. You feel the beat of your heart in your throat. Louder. You swallow. He’s coming. He’s close. Sweat bursts from every pore of your body. 

You need to get out. 

Quickly you whip the comforter off of your shaking body and look for clothes. Not bothering to change, you throw your jacket over your shoulders and shove your feet into your boots. You quickly tie them. His steps are getting closer and you know he’s right outside the door, listening, waiting for you to jolt out the tiny bedroom so he can catch you. But you won’t make it that easy for him. You refuse to make it easy. 

The windows open with a loud click, old metal and wood alerting him as you manage to jump out. You’re clumsy and stumble forward when you land, nearly falling face-first into the moist ground, “Fuck,” you mutter, starting to run.  

Moving leaves alert the moon of your departure. A beautiful blue hue coats the long blades of grass, the lake, and the trees. The sky is reflected perfectly above the still surface of water. Sadly, you don’t have much time to admire it. 

“Come back here!” he shouts and when you turn you see him jumping out the window the same way you did. “You know I’ll catch you and when I do you’re mine!”

A pleasurable shiver crawls up your spine. He sounds so serious, his voice husky and deep and loud. Again you feel that fear of getting caught. Your fear and excitement walk hand in hand. However, you know it won’t have the same effect if you just fake it. 

So, you run. 

You dart into the forest, drawing deep breaths from your mouth, your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage. Like most things, he’s also better at the chase than you are. He’s strong, has better stamina. He’s been here before. He knows how to survive and meanwhile, you’re the type of person to scream when come across a bug. You and him are not the same. Which makes you realize that maybe this is a bit unfair. 

You also can’t ignore the way sticky arousal coats the inside of your thighs. You imagine him panting as he looks for you, sweat dripping down his temples and shirt sticking to his tanned skin—

Your lungs feel like they’re about to explode and you stop. Your body is buzzing with adrenaline. Some part of you wants to go back, to just give up but you can’t move. A mirage crawls around your throat and holds you in place. A lingering darkness. A watchful pair of eyes. 

You’ve never viewed him as dangerous, maybe you should. 

“There you are, my playful lil’ beam of sunshine.” You turn then, there’s still a decent amount of space between you but he’s not moving, only watching. As you imagined, he’s panting heavily, ragged breaths leaving his curling lips. “Found you,” he says in a slightly melodic tone. “Now come here before I lose myself in this game of yours.” 

His gray button-up hugs his shoulders and chest tightly. Every bulge of muscle is accentuated by the fabric, creating a sculpted silhouette that demands attention. The sleeves, rolled up to reveal forearms adorned with veins, hint at strength restrained but ready to be unleashed. It’s hard to see within the dark but when he slightly shifts you see it, a blade glimmering under the soft light of the moon. You swallow. 

“We’re not playing hide and seek,” you say, meeting his gaze. “This game isn’t over until you actually catch me.” 

Before you give him a chance you step forward, ready to run. 

Yet you fall. 

“Ow!” you cry, the side of your cheek scraping the dirt. You turn to your back and look down as you hold your nose. You glare at your shoes which are now untied. You open your mouth to curse but a hand is promptly shoving you down back into the dirt. Joel is fighting hard not to burst out laughing. You can see it in how he’s biting his bottom lip, the corners twitching in amusement. With his full body weight on you, it’s almost impossible to break away from him. 

“Caught you,” he teases. “Now, ain’t that easy.”

“Oh, fuck you, Joel. You know this isn’t fair—” 

The words are caught in your throat when he clicks his tongue and presses the knife against the hard shell of your throat. Your eyes widen, breath hitching, your hands find his waist and squeeze a little. 

“Don’t be a brat,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to your lips. “A deal is a deal. I catch you I fuck you. This sweet pussy is mine now.” 

His eyes search yours for a brief moment, a hint of worry, a hint of uncertainty lingering in his dark irises, “Sound good?” 

“Yes.” 

This time he can’t hide his smile. He grins broadly as his face nestles the crook of your neck, sharp knife still in place, forcing you to be careful with your movements. Joel kisses your neck, the softness of his lips repeated against your cold skin. And when he finally tears himself away from you the joyful softness is gone, leaving only in its place carnal hunger.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he kisses you over and over, sucking on your tongue and nipping at your bottom lip. You can’t breathe, the sharp end of the knife secured on your throat. “Mine,” he growls again. You feel the hard outline of his cock as he desperately ruts himself between your legs. All you can think is how dirty this is. How filthy and amazing it is for him to claim you. To devour you out in the open. He keeps chanting the same word—mine— over and over. As if you’ve awakened some kind of beast. 

Joel pulls away, the lack of his heat making gooseflesh rise in its wake. He smiles as he looks down. Your lips part. Your heart beating a mile per minute. The knife slowly deserts your throat and trails down your neckline, cutting your weathered shirt in the middle like butter. You hold your breath. With the sharp end, he teases the soft flesh of your stomach. He eyes your tits greedily, your nipples hard and aching. 

“You were runnin’ around like this?” he rasps, his tone amused. “With no bra?” 

You nod. The knife travels lower to the waistband of your sweatpants. He doesn’t cut the fabric, instead, he fixes his gaze onto yours. A look powerful enough to empty your lungs with one long breath. He leans until his lips brush against your own. 

“If I cut this off will you be bare there too?” 

The answer is no, but you’re regretting not going completely nude under your clothes now. His look is one you’ve never seen before—maybe only hints here and there—but never this unhinged, never this hungry and wanting. 

Joel places the knife right near your head.  Your eyes drop down to where he’s unbuckling his jeans, the sound is loud within the silence of the forest, and the sight makes your mouth water. You want to move up, take him between your lips, suck on his deliciously large cock until he has nothing else to give. He doesn’t allow it. With one hand, he holds you by the throat and pushes you down, his other hand disappears beneath his jeans, stroking himself. 

“I’m gonna fuck you hard, sweetheart.” The gravel in his voice scratches your ear pleasantly and your eyes flutter closed. He gives you a warning squeeze until you open them back up again. “I want you to scream for me. I want to see you writhing underneath me. I’m gonna give you everything and you’re gonna take it. Understood?” 

Tears flood your eyes, every bit of sense of the real world fading into the back of your mind. You see only him. You hear only the forest. Feel only the earth underneath your bare skin. You’ve never thought letting go would be this easy. 

He makes it easy. 

Joel is quick to undress you, tugging off your sweats along with your underwear—he, himself doesn’t undress. You don’t know why but the awareness that you’re naked and he’s not makes your skin grow even tighter. You feel the scrape of his jeans as he aligns himself with you, dark curls crown the base of his cock, a sliver of stomach showing when he pushes forward. Your body arches at the stretch and just as you attempt to take a deep inhale, his hand is back on your throat. Controlling the airflow and only allowing you enough to remain conscience. 

He slides into you easily, your body the perfect hole for him to fill. Your cunt, your thighs, the patch of earth underneath you—all of it is embarrassingly wet and it’s only getting worse with his cock filling you inch by inch. Joel lets out a loud groan when he’s completely sheathed inside. He stays still for a while, forehead dropping to meet your own, heavy breaths fall from his lips. The act falls for a moment and he kisses the tip of your nose and then your lips, the rough hairs above his lips tickling the sensitive skin. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good. Can you feel how tight you’re squeezin’ me darlin’? How excited your body is for me to fuck you until every thought is knocked from your head?” With the whimper you let out, he finally pulls his hips back, only to snap them forward without concern. Your eyes roll back, your breasts jumping from the sheer firmness of it. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, look at you—” 

Then, just as promised, Joel fucks you hard.

Your fingers dig into the dirt, your body moving to meet the harsh strokes of his cock. He lifts both your legs and pushes them to your chest, pressing down harder, you cry out as he reaches even deeper. Your body is set on fire. “Beg,” he commands. And when you don’t, Joel pulls out, drags the head of his length over the soaked lips of your cunt. He teases your puffy clit, smiles when you shudder and shake. “Beg,” he repeats. 

“Make me come,” you cry out, almost deranged. “Fuck me—Please please please—I don’t know what else to say. . . J-Just. . . fuck me.” 

You’re still muttering, whimpering when he pushes back in, spearing you and stretching you wide. He’s pleased by your groveling and you’re thankful he is because you were on the brink of sobbing. His tongue is in your mouth as he hammers himself even deeper, you can barely think, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock are damp with slick, adding friction to your throbbing clit. 

There’s a short moment where your eyes slip and look to the side, following the shine of the moon, you see the blade. You remember how he threatened you, how the metal felt against your skin— 

He tears you apart and you shatter around him. Your body goes rigid then loose, almost simultaneously. Joel moans between gritted teeth, your body squeezing him tight so he doesn’t go. A gush of slick wets his cock and trickles down his thighs. His teeth sink into your neck, hips moving up and down without fully leaving the tight fist of your cunt. He whimpers needily into your skin, kissing and biting. 

You want to feel him inside, feel the warm drip of his spend trickling out of you when he pulls out—you want to beg him for it—tell him that you don’t care about the consequences—Before you can, he’s pulling out, his eyes wild as they search your face, his wet cock between his fist. He falls back down and squeezes the base. 

“Come here. I want your mouth on my cock right now—Want you to fuckin’ taste how good you are—” 

You scramble forward, nearly falling as your hands grip the meat of his thighs and your mouth finds the head of his cock. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust. Holding your head, he pushes you down until your nose is buried in his curls. You feel him going down your throat. You swallow constantly, trying your best not to gag. 

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Joel’s voice echoes, shallowly thrusting into your throat. “Fuck fuck fuck—” 

His cock throbs heavily on your tongue, spilling down your throat, he keeps you still. You can barely breathe, shiny translucent tears trickling down your cheeks. There’s so much of it. Spit mixed with come trickles down the corner of your lips, his balls heavy on your chin. 

“My good fuckin’ girl,” he says within a low chuckle. Joel releases your head and you slowly pull back, you swallow once more and lick your lips. You enjoy the taste of him. “Are you a’right, sweetheart? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“Not at all,” you answer, surprised at how hoarse your voice sounds. “You know I love sucking your cock.”

His eyes close and his body visibly shudders, “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.” You’re about to quip back but you end up shivering instead, the cold once again settling over your skin. “Here,” he says, wrapping you with his jacket. “Sorry ‘bout your shirt.”

You smile as you stand on shaky legs. He hugs you and kisses your face, fleeting kisses peppered all over your face. A soft giggle drops from your lips. Joel cradles your cheeks, thumbs moving down the apples of your cheeks, he slants his lips over yours, his tongue warm and soft as it slips into your mouth. Kissing you in earnest. 

“Was it worth cashin’ in your prize?” 

Your smile broadens. 

“It was worth every second.”

[be-my-ally]

The Return Flight

Big Bunny #2

As always it's super late here, I will re-edit grammar etc tomorrow! enjoy!

Summary: It’s the next day and they’re off on their return flight. Elvis and Bunny get up to panicking and meditating, and then a couple hours of later one of the other bunnies joins them. Idk I just really can’t see elvis missing out on such a prime chance for a teeny lil bit of voyeuristic action. 

I truly tried to wiggle the wrist weights in but alas, not to be today - next time though, next time. 

Warnings: 18+, p in v penetrative sex, handjobs (v), oral (p and v), mentions of drug use, graphic description of a panic attack, f/f touching, elvis is kinda sweet in this one - except for the voyeurism + girl on girl action; TO CLARIFY - this is asked for by elvis + both parties consensually agree however, I am warning about very teeny tiny elements of internalised homophobia + the fact that reader implies she only does so (at least at first) to please elvis - she is not, however, reluctant nor unwilling.

wc: 11.4k

FYI: I’ve updated my bio to say I’m pausing requests - just until I get my inbox cleared down + posted! xx Also!!! I’ve had a couple of requests for a taglist - so this is my official mention of that; lmk if you want me to tag you in future posts! FINALLY found images of Elvis AND big bunny! pictured on the left and top right below!

Your brief encounter with Elvis had been your first experience of anything casual, or meaningless, and you’ve never had to navigate the emotions or situations before. It makes you antsy that you don’t know the correct procedure even before you’d left the plane; what do you even say to him? ‘Thanks for the sex, see you on the flight tonight?’ You’re not proud of it, but you ultimately panic to such an extent that you hide in the powder room until they’ve all disembarked. You’d not realised you’d have to hide from the other bunnies too though; they’d all converged on you as soon as you’d left - desperate for any morsel of information you would give. You’d somehow, thankfully for your dignity and the taxi driver’s ears, managed to prevent them from asking too many questions until you’d all arrived at the hotel where you would be staying. 

You were looking forward to ensconcing yourself in the hotel room, a proper shower and time to relax for the night and day or so before the return flight. That was, however, not to be, and you were thankful that you’d had the chance to at least wipe yourself down before getting redressed on the plane; your sudden lack of tights had forced you back into your dress - unwilling to be so exposed in your bunny corset. Instead of the peaceful night you had planned Daisy and Maggie were forcing their way into the room (of course, they’d have been sharing with you anyway but you can’t say that you didn’t try to run in and close the door on them) with Darla and Michelle close behind; you forget sometimes that even though they may be more ‘senior’ bunnies, they were still only two years older than you. They sit down around you, demanding you tell them everything, wanting you to fill in the gaps between the assumptions they could make from what they’d heard and when things had gone silent. 

“Oh lord, I just don’t know what to do -” You'd said after you’d recounted, blushing, the majority of the details; you’d left out him licking you, or that you think that might have been the first true orgasm of your life. You leave out that you think the hour you spent with him might have made you fall in love, and other ridiculous notions. And, for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a detailed description of him, trying to simultaneously protect him and to keep something just for you; you wouldn’t let them speculate on his size, or his stamina. But you had mentioned that he had a thing for feet, something that had been met with raucous laughter and clapping from the girls when you’d prefaced that with the story of your pantyhose being torn. You were, despite your embarrassment, glad to have these girls around you - you’d grown up in a fairly conservative part of town, and you know any of your close childhood or home friends would have been disgusted with you. They might have let it go - since it was Elvis, or have loudly judged you while silently expressing a level of jealousy but under no circumstances would they have encouraged the behaviour, or been so happy for you. Nor would they have interjected your story with their own, somewhat similar, although far less famous, tales. By the time the conversation had gotten back around to your dilemma with how to deal with Elvis again you were all relaxing on the two beds, piled up and crossed legged like a slumber party. “So really - what should I do?” 

“Just don’t change a thing,” Daisy recommends, “If he wants to make something of it let him, but you have to rise above it all. Seem like you don’t care. “ Maggie offers you differing advice;

“If you want it to happen again, just be all over him, it’s not like you have to worry that he doesn’t like you.” You consider these opposing suggestions, silent, sipping the terrible hotel coffee. Michelle speaks up, Darla nodding in agreement;

“In my experience… you’ve got to subtly let him know you’re there and available, but don’t fawn over him, just … just say hello in a friendly way and it’s all in his hands then. Remember, be casual about it.” You consider this for a moment before agreeing. It does seem to be the way of the least mortification. You try to put it out of your mind for the remainder of the break, taking the time to try and focus on resting and relaxing before you had to be back in the air. 

This time, there’s far less pomp and circumstance around his arrival; and you’re not surprised to see that it’s solely the same group again. Only Darla greets them on the tarmac - the rest of you already onboard and preparing for a quicker departure than last time. This time, you’re all in your little bunny suits, collars and cuffs, cottontails perfectly fluffed - since he’d requested it you all assumed it would save being made to change. This airport was, despite being private, closer in airspace to the larger international airport and your takeoff time was therefore far stricter than any of you would have liked. All knowing that sometimes these celebrities were as difficult to wrangle as herding a particularly difficult group of cats.

So you don’t have a chance to really look at him, take him in, until he’s brushing past you, his thick hands on your hips and waist moving you from where you’re blocking a narrower part of hallway with your body. He doesn’t say excuse me, or ask you to move, just manhandles you across him. You feel then, before you see, the soft plush fabric of his outfit, and when you glance over your shoulder at him you’re a little surprised that rather than the expensive, perfectly fitted, suit he was wearing last time, this time he was wearing a, clearly expensive but nonetheless fairly ordinary, tracksuit - navy blue, low zipper exposing the wide collared shirt underneath - his chest hair peeking out. Your tummy flips seeing him, and you stay very still where he’s put you, struggling to remember what your plan had been. He pats your ass, casually, in the blatantly chauvinistic way that should make you squirm, that implies he could and would do it to any girl at any time - although you hadn’t actually witnessed that yourself, and you’re mortified that at even that brief touch, without any words exchanged your breath hitches and your mind goes slightly blank. He’s gone by the time you try to open your mouth to say something and you try to clear your head by distracting yourself with the take-off preparations. 

Michelle is eyeing you up when you’re finishing checking the door, and she opens her mouth but you’re frantically shaking your head before she can say anything, gesturing to not say a word. She frowns, but complies - a moment later only asking you to help her sort the food out. You do so, happy to disappear for a little while and let the others deal with them for a bit. It’s not long after that the pilots signal for take-off and you sit down briefly as the plane taxies down the runway. You’re distracted enough by the situation you find yourself in; are you making it more awkward not talking to him? That for once the take-off doesn’t bother you at all and soon the plane is balanced in the air, allowing you and Michelle to finish your preparations. Daisy pops her head around the corner a few minutes later saying you’d been requested. 

You breathe in, deeply, as much as you can as a little bunny, plastering a smile on your face and you head out to the forward compartment where the group is sat. You expect to walk straight over to Elvis, but you’re stopped by someone else whose name escaped you - barely greeting you; 

“Look babydoll, last night, you made me the best Mai Tai of my life, and I’m sure you’re all…” he looks sideways, “as well trained as each other, but honey,  I’d really like it if you could do me another one?” You somehow manage to keep your face in check even though you want to scream at his barely concealed innuendo. Instead, you agree, customer service smile on your face, and turn to the rest of the compartment asking if they were all ready for drinks. There’s a resulting chorus of orders and so you head over to the bar to get started. Elvis hadn’t responded, walking out when you’d walked in - he’d gone right into the conference space and one of the boys had mimed a phone to his ear at another's questioning face. You were a little hurt to not be acknowledged but also, truthfully, a little relieved to not have to deal with him for the second. But it wasn’t to last long, upon delivering the other drinks with the other girls to many a relieved sigh,  a different man had pointed through to the conference area, gesturing to the bar, 

“Think you should take the boss a little pick me up too.” You nod in agreement but he hadn’t drank last time and you have no idea what that would mean making so instead you pour a short glass of cola, hoping that’ll do at least, and balancing the glass on the tray, head through the little curtained archway. You try not to show any emotion when you walk through, keeping your face neutral and concentrating on holding the drinks tray, the slight tip of the plane was liable to send a single glass sliding if you didn’t balance it perfectly. You hear him before you see him, curled against the wall with the phone pressed to his ear. His fingers twirling the cord as he looked out of the window, but with how dark it was outside he could only be looking at his reflection. You’d intended your poker face to display that you weren’t going to be the first to crack, to acknowledge anything but now you’re having to maintain it to retain dignity once you hear what he’s saying. He’s sweet-talking a girl, uttering promises and reassurances; 

“No, honey, darling, no - would I be ringing you now? You don’t need to nag me baby, that’s right you’re my baby aren’t ya, ye-ah, put it on your card honey, on my card, yeah that’s no problem… you know I like you in blue…” 

You know you have no claim on him; despite your activities together you’ve barely spoken to him, and you’ve only known the man 24 hours and yet a weird surge of possessiveness fills you. Or is it even possessiveness? Or just plain jealousy? Half the trouble was that you’ve never wanted someone like this — you’d never understood why the girls at school would fawn over a specific boy, it had never interested you. You’d never lain awake wondering what you should wear or how you should style your hair to best catch their attention. But today, just this morning, you’d nipped out to the nearest drugstore to the hotel and frivolously bought a new lipstick; you had no need for a new one, and certainly not in the colour you’d chosen - far flashier than you would usually wear, for some reason certain it would catch his eye, but you’d been unable to resist the temptation of putting on a bit of a show for him. To have that gone to waste, for him to ignore you, preoccupied with worrying about appeasing some other girl? Who wasn’t even there? You were annoyed at yourself, for being hurt by his actions and for doing it in the first place. 

He finally spots you in the window and he turns, waving you over, reaching out a hand for his drink off of your tray. He doesn’t verbally acknowledge you, or pause in his conversation, simply demanding you come closer with an impatient hand raised. You come towards him, dipping to allow him to easily take the glass, and you watch as he immediately tips it back for a gulp and places the half-full glass back onto the tray. He makes a little mmhmm noise down the phone as he turns his attention back to the call, and the girl on the other end. You turn to leave, not willing to simply stand there and wait for him to want the glass again, jumping when you feel him swat at your exposed thigh. You whirl back around, ready to either playfully (or truthfully, actually) confront him - once was fine but twice? But, before you can he’s back giving his attention to the phone again, looking out of the window. You take it as the dismissal he meant it, and you hate that as you walk away you add an extra sway to your walk - bunny tail bobbing with the motion - just in case he’s looking, and that you can feel your slightly smug smile from even that touch.

It feels like hours, but it was probably only twenty or so minutes later when he returns to the forward compartment, settling down into the large sofa-seat in the middle of the cabin. You’re forced to walk past a moment later and he grabs your arm on the way; 

“You look real good today Bunny - very cute.” You wiggle your tail at him and he chuckles; that deep laugh that starts in his chest but ends in his belly. His head rocks and it causes his loose hair to flop about, so different from it’s stiff look from the years prior. You beam at him, pleased to have been so entertaining. He looks you up and down again, still holding onto you,

“Like the lips darlin’. You wear that just for me?” You shake your head no, but he just laughs at you, “Ohhhh, you did it for ol’ Joe over there then did ya?” Feeling the catch-22 you’ve put yourself into you frown, you don’t want to admit that you did do it for him, but god do you not want him to even jokingly suggest you were trying to attract one of the other guys. So you do the next best thing, shaking your head and teasing him back.

“Nu-uh it was for me.” He laughs back at you, his eyes crinkling. When he calms back down he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“ O’course it was honey,” You protest his condescending tone,

“It was!” You gesture down at yourself,  “I don’t put all this on just for you,” He laughs again, eyes crinkling as he crows at you; shouting to the rest of the boys.

 “Ooh-hoo we got ourselves a real-life feminist bunny over here!” He says it mockingly, adding a sneer; “Watch out Ms. Steinem!” He scoffs,  “Now hon-ney, we both know it ain’t true… so why don’t you stop playing hard to get, admit you made yourself all pretty for me and come and sit over here. Right on daddy’s knee.” He pats his lap. You frown, you were a feminist, but his lap did look pretty inviting, and your heels were already hurting and you had wanted his attention. So, you do. 

“I’m only doing this because you’re paying me.” He chuckles again, one hand coming around you to hold your waist, the other coming to hike your legs further up and across him, his broad hand rubbing your thigh as he does so;

“Sure thing honey - you want me to tip you a little extra for whatever we’re about to do in there?” He nods his head towards the back of the plane. You frown a little, you know he’s joking but you’re suddenly a little worried he does think you’re paid to provide him with extra services. ‘We naturally do not tolerate any merchandising of the bunnies.’ That’s what the bunny bible says. Its word is law, so it’s not true that any extra services are expected. But then, when you think about it, you were told to be…nice to him. The annoying thought then registers, less concern about whether what you’re doing is against the rules, that you hope he realises that you’re doing this because you want to and not just because you’ve been told to. You try to shake this thought off, be casual - c’mon be casual, the mantra running through your head as you attempt to push all other thoughts and feelings out. After all, you don’t want him to think you’re not fun, or reading too much in to anything. 

“No-o, that’s, that’s, that’s just an added bonus.” You stroke down the zipper of his jacket, and he laughs again, grabbing your hand and kissing the knuckles.  He spreads your hands in his, assessing them. 

“God, you got such pretty little fingers baby, look at them lil’ nails  - what’s that colour called? Call-Girl Red? Scarlet Tart?” You blush, but you’re able to laugh, recognising that he would only continue to suggest increasingly ridiculous names until you did. He holds you there while he finishes his conversation with the boys, fingers brushing over your skin, until finally, he pats your thigh phrasing an order as a question - “Come through to the bedroom, doll?” You stand up, waiting for him to lead the way to the bedroom at the back of the plane; instead he stands and gestures ahead of him.

“C’mon bunny, hop to it,” He pauses, grinning after his borderline tragic bunny pun as if waiting for a laugh; you comply with a polite giggle even though it’s really not that funny, and take his hand when he holds it out, “let’s go.” When you cross into the bedroom he lets go, leaving you to sit down on the huge elliptical bed while he disappears into the bathroom for a moment. You try to breathe, wondering what he has planned when he returns. 

You have no idea why you’re suddenly so nervous. There’s a rising sensation of breathlessness travelling up your chest, your stomach churning a little. You feel inexplicably sick, and for a moment you worry, as the plane bobs the tiniest bit - the motion normally soothing, that you might actually puke. He’s still in the bathroom, and you’re trying to calm yourself down - what will you say to him when he comes out? He’s expecting something now. You don’t want to miss out on anything, it had been so good last time; you didn’t want this to be the new lasting memory of your, however brief, time together. You try to tell yourself you’re being ridiculous - c’mon now, calm down, you’re fine - it’s not like he hasn’t seen you before - not like you haven’t done this before, why are you doing this - don’t ruin it for yourself - oh my god why are you such a little baby get a grip.  But that clawing feeling is climbing your chest and you’re struggling to swallow - to breathe. You’re ripping off your little bow and collar as hurriedly as you can but it doesn’t make a difference. You sink down lower, practically lying down now, attempting to practice deep breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. It’s in that moment he comes bounding out of the bathroom - looking you over, as if he’d expected to be ready to pounce; not deal with you still fully dressed (as much as you could be in the bunny corset) and close to tears. 

“Hey - hey honey what’s this?” He sounds panicked, and his pitch only increases at the tear falling down your cheek. You try to speak but can’t; “Just - Just talk to me bunny, what, what’s wrong?”  You whine at him, trying to sit up and look at him rather than peep from your horizontal angle. He makes it easier by sitting by you on the bed and peering down at your face. 

“Nuh-uh-thing,” You finally gasp out, “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just - just got myself all twisted.” A tear slips out, and you angrily brush it away trying to stem the flow. He looks concerned for a second, patting your arm.

“I won’t - we haven’t -  we don’t gotta do anything baby, you know that? Not gotta do a thing you don’t wanna do.” He sounds unsure, like he’s not had to deal with this before, or like he’s nervous he’s upset you. It only makes the tears fall a little faster - at how nice he’s being to you when you don’t feel as though you deserve it.

“No-o no I know, I want to,  I just can’t seem to stop,” You talk through your hitched breaths, trying to explain. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t breathe.” He hums, looking over at the little table that ran the length of the wall, at the little black bag settled there before patting his thighs and sighing. 

“Right. ‘nough messing about - lemme just get one of the boys to call Dr. -” 

“No! No! No - I want you! I wanna do this!” You roll onto your side, scrambling upright and turning to grip his jacket, twisting it in your fist. “I wanna - Elvis I promise I’ll be fine in a second just need to calm down. Catch my breath.”

“Well, if its just you’re breathing all funny let me just give you a puff of an inhaler; they’ve barely got anything in them, just wet your throat really but- but they do help,” You shake your head and he sighs again, as if unhappy you’d refuse the offer. But then he nods, almost to himself, and taking matters into his own hands - hauls you up to be leaning against this thick, sturdy, chest. The zipper was a little lower than before and another button of his shirt has popped open allowing you to pillow your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you feel yourself come down. Shame creeping up as you become fully lucid at how irrational you’d behaved. You sit there for a little while - maybe as long as twenty minutes, but could be as short as ten. Elvis hums song after song at you, occasionally breaking into a little quiet verse, chest hairs tickling you as he moved. Finally you feel sane enough to push up a little, pulling away.

“Sorry - Sorry don’t know what came over me.” You stare at his chest, avoiding making eye contact. He brushes his hand over your chin, pulling it up to force you to look at him. He’s looking at you with an expression of tenderness that’s almost too much to bear. 

“S’all right doll, told you - it’s all fine.” You give him a tentative smile. 

“I’m sure that wasn’t very …sexy of me, but I do wanna give it another go, please Elvis?” He looks at you hard for a moment, directly in your eyes, as if attempting to judge you were being serious. He clearly decides you were because a moment later he’s leaning over you and moving his hand up your leg. 

But when his hand grazes your upper thigh, travelling upwards you feel yourself tense, suddenly stiff as a board. He kisses your neck, and his hand retreats. He spends a long couple of minutes stroking your arm, kissing your neck - your ears. Before attempting it for a second time. Again he gets most of the way there before you go stiff and tense. He moves his hand back to your arm,  talking lowly and slowly, practically whispering. 

“Now, darlin’ s’ok - we’ve done it before baby.” He’s soothing you like you’re a skittish horse, crooning into your ear, “If you wanna do this I need you to relax for me darling. Can’t do anything otherwise.” You nod, agitated at the accusation that you’re not already attempting to relax. 

“I’m trying Elvis - I want to too! I just, it’s involuntary!” He hums - looking over at the bag again -

“Look, honey, I’ve got some, some ‘ludes you can take,” You frown, you didn’t think Elvis was known for doing disco drugs. “I take ‘em to uh help me settle down baby.” You start to speak, perhaps to question the veracity of this claim or where he gets these from - considering his position on recreational drugs. But before you can he’s talking again; “Don’t get me wrong doll, I’m not - don’t get it twisted - they’re prescribed.” He pauses again - “But they’ll sort you right out, real leg spreaders. Won’t change your mind, if you say you want it you still will but, trust me, they’ll relax your body enough.” You shake your head at him, not admitting that while you would love to breathe the concept of not being in complete control of your body was terrifying, instead taking deep breaths to try and force yourself to relax a little more. 

“No-no, no need for that, ‘m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me - I’m so nervous today - I just, sorry - just need another minute.” He sighs again, and although the irrational part of your brain worries it’s in annoyance you can tell he’s more annoyed about you consistently declining his offers of help. He’s still doing his best to soothe you, delicate fingers firmly rubbing your arms and sides, a constant motion. “I just - I know it’s ridiculous, but I still feel like I can’t breathe properly.” His fingers stop on the boning of the corset, and he taps it - as if he’s discovered an answer. 

“Awh no this is silly now doll, who could all squished in there like that.” He gestures down to where your chest is threatening to spill out of the tightly laced and zipped bodice. You frown, you’re pretty sure it’s mental and not physical but now he’s drawn attention to it you feel like it’s tightening around your middle. You twist to attempt to unhook it yourself - moving forward to bend out of his lap; “No, no darling, let me - I’ll get this thing offa you.” He pushes you further forward a little way, and then with surprising skill deftly undoes the bunny corset. You don’t want to admit it but the moment the hooks fall away you do feel as if some of the air has returned to your lungs. He’s gently and firmly peeling it away from your body, pulling it down and off of your legs - tutting and stroking the little red marks where the seams and boning have dug into you a little - whether because it was just generally too tight or because you’d been contorted into a slightly awkward position. 

“Lord almighty - they doin’ that to you every day?” You shrug, about to say that it wasn’t that much worse than some of your tighter dresses or your panty girdle. He holds it up though, looking at it with distaste, rather than the humour he had the first time he’d seen it off of you -  as if seeing it for the first time. “They should make ‘em stretchier! Or - or - a better lining!” He frowns again, “I’m gonna ring Hef and tell him - it’s not right!” You shake your head, the conversation at least distracting you from your lungs. 

“Elvis - it’s not like I’m meant to be naked right now. How would you supposedly know.” You gesture down at yourself, a little flushed at the realisation that you were, in fact topless and therefore nude from the waist up. He laughs at you, a little condescendingly. 

“You ‘spect me to believe he doesn’t know what you’re up to?” He pauses, “Or that…, bunny, you know, I was, uh, warned that you girls would be… available.” You grimace, it makes you feel like a whore when it’s put like that and you try to return you mind to the point you were trying to make. 

“Well, still, if it’s because of me that the boat gets rocked - I like my job, and it was at your request we’re proper bunnies today and not in our flight uniforms!” He rolls his eyes at you, huffing at the accusation.

“Ok, ok. Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” You laugh a little, and you notice your chest bobbing with the motion - it makes you suddenly very aware of your nudity, probably a sign that you’re starting to return to normal, and you wrap an arm around your middle while scrambling to sit properly upright instead of in a semi recline. He looks at you sideways, starting to lean down, 

“Well - now we got that sorted - “ You cut him off,

“It wasn’t about that - it was just, I just got all caught in my head, I think I’m a little messed up; it happens every now and again. It just - anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Could you, sorry, would you pass me my bag from over there?” You nod towards the bag just inside the door, it had been a little presumptuous perhaps but you’d left it close enough that if you had missed the mark it wouldn’t have been tricky to move or hide it. “I’ll get changed now.” He frowns, he’s sat upright again himself, but doesn’t move for the bag, instead pulling your arm around and dragging you to sit over his legs again - he leans back, pulling your head to lie on his chest. 

“Babe - there’s nothing wrong with you… you just gotta, gotta put a little of it into the air, believe it’s happening for a reason.” He pauses, one arm moving up to wrap around your waist, the other stroking your arm, catching on the little cuff that was still there. “You gotta promise you won’t - it’s no secret, not anymore, but I don’t share this with everyone - so you promise you won’t laugh?” You nod, as best you can - he sounds nervous. “My mama, she er, she always used to say I was real special, that I had a gift.” You nod again, assuming this is about to lead into him singing something to you which, while you didn’t think it was going to be key to ending these nerve attacks you keep having, is certainly not something you would discourage. “But, she uh used to say I had the power to heal things, and, and I think its true baby, so will you - maybe if we can; if I can give you some of my ‘nergy and we think about it - real hard - together, we might get somewhere? Just gotta, gotta connect - spiritually. Maybe if I, If I push on you, and we meditate together we might, it might help?” He looks so hopeful and sounds so earnest that, despite your misgivings about the veracity of these claims, you agree. 

“Ok, ok - if you think, if it might help. I just, I do wanna do things with you, I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You won’t baby, you won’t.” He sits down, cross legged at the top of the bed, pulling you around to sit in front of him. He makes no mention of your nakedness, and you’re doing your best not to notice it yourself. “Ok, honey, so just, I’m gonna put my hands here, and you’re just going to breathe with me ok?” His eyes are bright, and his face open, like he’s simply excited to be able to share this with someone. You nod, placing your hands on top of where his are resting on his thighs. “Hold on baby, let’s get these offa ya too.” And he unbuttons your little cuffs, rubbing your wrists where they’d sat, “You don’t hafta, don’t need to think about anything ok darling? You just sit there, and focus on my hands and match my breathing ok? I’ll do all the hard work.” You nod again, and he shuffles himself a little, as if getting himself ready to settle in. “Oh - and I want you to close your eyes.” You look at him for a second, attempting to gauge that he’s being serious and this isn’t some kind of elaborate set-up. He gazes back at you, blue eyes completely calm, and you let your eyes slip closed. He hums a moment later, and then you feel him clasping your hands. 

You can tell he’s focussing his breathing, slowing it down and drawing it out, and you match him as best you can, feeling him spread your fingers and press his palms into yours. It takes all of your attention and sufficiently distracts you from your panic and worry that quickly you don’t realise you’re no longer thinking about anything but the light pressure of his hand on yours and the air filling your lungs. 

You’re entirely focussed on his slow, measured breaths, and your mind is blank - it’s almost a surprise when an immeasurable time later he flexes his hands, whispering at you to open your eyes. You come back up slowly, blinking in the artificial light of the plane, despite Elvis having used the dimmer. 

Although you do, admittedly, feel better you’re still not wholly convinced by his healing properties. What you are grateful for however, is how happy he looks when you open your eyes, as if pleased to have been given the opportunity. And regardless of the ability to heal you, you also feel like something has changed. A shift in the energy between you. 

His hand grasps yours, his fingers releasing you to trail up your wrist, up your forearm, and stroke back down to your palms again, brushing his fingers all the way down to your very fingertips and starting all over again. The motion of it, after the intimacy of the last half hour sends your nerve-endings alight, goosebumps forming over your flesh. You feel completely calm, completely ready for him again, your posture straight but relaxed. He moves his hands further up, brushing against your armpits and you gasp as he tickles you the tiniest amount. Suddenly, you find yourself up on your knees - leaning into him, falling into him. Your hands cupping his face, fingers tangling in his sideburns. He catches you in his relaxed arms, the soft fabric of his jacket rubbing against your nipples. He’s still breathing quite deeply, mouth parted - and it allows you to press your lips against his, tongue rapidly falling into his mouth. His hands spread across your torso, curving around your chest as you lean into him - trying to get as physically close to him as you emotionally feel.

His thumbs twirl in circles and your back arches as your nipples pebble against his soft touch - your pussy suddenly starting to feel unbearably hot in its three layers of tights and panties. You huff against his lips, pulling back to grasp the waistband of them all - determined to simply roll them all down together, saving them from him, and you do so in one motion almost immediately regretting that it left you completely bare while he was still fully clothed. He doesn’t give you a chance for it to be more than a fleeting thought though, lying you back, still focussed on making you breathless with his mouth. He kisses along your cheek to your neck and you gasp as he sucks on the sensitive patch just above where your collar bone joins your shoulder. You try to reciprocate, pushing the jacket off of him and struggling to unbutton the last of his shirt -  exposing his chest and stomach. He bats your hand away when you go for the top of his pants, pulling away from you and he stands up - surveying you. 

“You ready for me, baby?” You squirm a little under his gaze, and you’re not sure where the boldness comes from to reach a hand down, dragging a finger over your wetness, and spreading the folds of your labia open for him to see the glistening stickiness within. 

“I dunno, what do you think?” His mouth gapes at you, breathing heavily, the motion as unexpected to him as it was to you, and as you sink a finger into yourself, moaning while you do, he hurriedly removes his pants - throwing them somewhere, his eyes never straying from your core. He pushes your arm out of the way a moment later, 

“Think you look like a goddamn fucking centrefold - Jesus Christ, bunny, Lord, all for me, Halle-fucking-lujah,” He lowers himself back down, pressing a kiss to your chest, pumping himself a few times before lining his cock up with your entrance. 

He sinks into you, slowly, letting you feel every inch of him that he guides into you. The slight overhang of his belly pressing against your middle as he holds you close, pressing into you as deeply as he can get. You feel every inch of him, every fold in his skin as he pushes in - you know he’s not huge, but it’s been so long that to have something in you two nights in a row, you can feel your entrance ache a little, and inside a slight burn from the stretch. He groans, feeling your tight walls clench around him as you shift, wrapping your legs around him crossing your ankles behind his back. He pants against your ear, kissing the sensitive patch of skin right behind.  He’s encasing you in him, smothering you, the smell of him - he’d clearly showered after his show, the faint hint of neutrogena still clinging to him but his own scent, the mixture of his own musk and woodsy cologne layering over it - surrounds you. It altogether feels as intimate as the meditation did - just his and your bodies entangled together. He rests there, barely rocking into you, slowly, almost tenderly - before dragging himself out, rolling off.

“Gotta let you breathe, mama - wanna get deeper.” The concept seems impossible, but he’s pushing one of you legs to the side, rolling you slightly and clambering on top, straddling your other leg and kneeling down before he’s sinking in again. 

“Oh - shit, shit - how’re you, oh my god Elvis, that’s - I’ve never,” He knocks against your walls, blindly, until he hits the little bundle of nerves inside you causing all thoughts to leave your head, unable to form a sentence past whimpering. You prop yourself up with one hand, holding onto him with the other, it’s new for you - to be able to watch someone’s face as well as watch them push themselves into you. Being able to look at his face, his mouth open, little grunts and moans flowing as his eyes half-close in pleasure is mind-blowing; beyond your wildest imagination. 

“Oh baby, mama, you’re so - oh god, how are you still so tight, you ain’t been properly broken in yet, have you, fuck,” His hips are thrusting into you now, little jolts of pleasure running down your spine and you whine as he hushes you, rubbing a hand across your tummy, moving it up to grasp at your breast. He squeezes, on the edge of too hard, swiping his thumb across your nipple as he pinches it - causing you to clench down on him again, prompting a low groan out of his own mouth. He strokes down your torso, before resting his hand on you, it feels huge across your stomach, heavy and hot almost feeling like it’s burning through you. He slips his thumb lower, coaxing your clitoris out from hiding. 

“Want you to go with me, C’mon now baby - c’mon bun, I’m close,” He slams his hips into you, “Al-most there,” His fingers rub over you a little faster, and your nails of your supporting hand dig into your own hair, the other clutching his arm, as you tumble over the edge, shouting,

“Oh - oh - oh, god, Elvis - daddy, god, fuck that’s - oh god,” You hear him swear, pulling out just in time and spraying over your stomach, his fingers coming off of you, allowing you to come down, your body still trembling for a few moments.  

When you feel like you’re properly back on earth, a few minutes later, you’re still lying back, panting, while you hear him stand and  get himself wiped off.  Coming over to you to gently wipe away the mess on your tummy. He looks over at you, eyes still half-lidded, 

“C’mon ‘lil bunny, time to get back to work.” He pats your thighs and you shakily stand up. Despite his hurry he behaves almost unexpectedly gentlemanly and fetches your bag for you from beside the door. “Ain’t gonna make you put that torture device back on - you can do the leather if you want.” You frown, thinking for a moment - everyone will know what you’ve been up to then, but then you laugh to yourself a little - everyone already certainly knows. You pause before getting your underwear back on, slightly surprised at his speed, looking over at him; 

“You sure you won’t…don’t wanna go again?” He looks a little bashful for a second, 

“ ‘m not, I’m an ole man now baby.” Is all he says in reply, but it does the job in conveying what he meant. You look over at him - not sure that you’d describe him as old, he’s what… 38, 39? But you leave it be - dressing in the little leather coat/wrap dress. As you sit to roll your tights over your legs though he stops you, looking you over. “Bunny? Leave off the hose.” 

“Sure daddy, sure.” You obey, stripping them off again and pulling your boots onto your bare legs - undoubtedly you’ll get a blister but it’s worth it for the pleased way he looks at you and the kiss on the top of your head in reward for your obedience. You nip into the bathroom, trying to sort your hair and touch up your make-up, and by the time you’re ready to come out he’s gone. 

You walk out with your head up, and while you’re greeted with a series of smirks and some whispers you’re not as panicked about it as before, and you’re relieved he came out before you, positive that he took the brunt of any teasing. He winks at you when you pass him, dressed without his shirt now, but otherwise ignores you. This doesn’t upset you like before -  you’re content that only you and him truly know what’s just gone on and that your new, intimate, connection is safe and tucked away just for the two of you. It feels like you’ve been wrapped up in him for days and yet when you look over at the clock ticking away you realise you’ve only been in the air for an hour and a half. You feel a little like you’ve left a tiny part of yourself in that room with him, and that you should feel more vulnerable - more exposed than you do. Instead, you feel calm - your tension almost completely gone and with that you start to feel the possibility that you might actually be able to enjoy the next few hours. 

A couple of hours later, you’re dancing in the disco room - providing entertainment although you’re sure most of them, certainly Elvis, should be sleeping; unsure where the burst of energy from everyone has come from. But still, you’re dancing about with the other girls, playfully messing around, when he - from his sat position, lavender tinted glasses now on his nose, pulls you down to whisper in your ear,

“C’mon bunny, give me a little show - pick one of ‘em.” He gestures to the other girls bobbing around you. You look at him, mouth open, a little shocked at his bold request - so different from the sweet, slow, intimate behaviour from earlier. It’s not something you’re totally opposed to, but….in public? It’s as if he’s reading your mind; reassuring you -

“S’ok, baby, s’just us up here - just me and m’boys,” He pats you on the thigh, “Go on - there’s a good girl.” You stumble forward a little and make eye contact with Maggie - who was already looking over, clearly eager to share his attention. You look back over to Elvis, watching him grin at her, pleased that she seems so willing, “Just wanna watch you two kiss honey, nothing more - don’t gotta be that dirty but just… just a little. Just for me.” You nod, steeling yourself. But Maggie isn’t reluctant in any way, threading her fingers through yours to pull you closer. The tie of your leather dress brushes against her bare thigh, still in the bunny corset, and you feel her shudder against you as you step completely into her space. 

It’s a little strange, kissing her, different but simultaneously essentially the same. The startling difference was the … niceness of it, it was sweet and slow and gentle. Different from the lip biting and teasing of the men you’d kissed. You forget, for a moment, all the other people in the room, it’s narrowed to just the three of you although really you’re putting on a show for everyone, and you open your eyes - watching Elvis watch you. Despite Maggie’s lips on yours - her soft body still pressed against you - your focus is solely on him. His eyes are burning into you, and his legs are spread, thighs thick and inviting. You put a little more effort in, grasping her hair, rubbing down her back, and you listen to him huff a little chuckle when you jokingly squeeze her tail, and slot your leg between hers. You keep eye contact behind her head, watching him swallow, shifting a little to rub a hand over himself - completely unabashed at doing so in front of everyone. The sight of him sat there, looking like a sultan surveying his harem, blue eyes serious and intense, makes your eyes slip closed, and you put all your focus into the feeling of being watched and being kissed. You pull away, laughing as you both sway a little from the force of coming apart - you look over at him; 

“That alright Da-El?” He beams at you, 

“Perfect girls - so goddamn perfect.” He pats his thigh, the outline of his hardening cock almost completely visible, “Why don’t you come over here bunnies, let me have a better look.” You both do as he asks, giggling, as you tumble together onto his lap. It’s messier now, more fun, her hands scrabbling down your sides, and yours cupping her cheeks. You feel so hyper from it all that you almost feel drunk. His hand moves to support your lower back as you lean across to kiss Maggie again, giggling a little against her lips as she almost tips backwards until his arm catches her. 

“God, men fucking dream about this dolls - two little bunnies sat in their laps. But this is just for me ain’t it? Just for me?” His head is tipped back, but he swings it forward to look at you both - intensely, possessively. How a man could be possessive over two women he’d only known 48 hours, on a plane he didn’t even own, was mind-boggling - the sheer confidence required for that kind of thought overwhelming. Yet you can’t help but feel turned on by it, your own head nodding insistently to reassure him. Maggie looks askance at you, but still rapidly nods - the slight lie going unnoticed. His thigh flexes and where you’ve leant forward has hitched your tiny skirt up high enough that you’re now entirely sat feeling the soft fabric encasing his thigh underneath you rub against your bare legs. You can’t help but rock against it, just the tiniest amount. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you three, and instead of the shame you expected to feel, your stomach tightens in arousal at the sensation of being watched. He lets out a little moan, and it only makes you work harder, slipping your tongue into Maggie’s mouth as she pants against your lips. You feel Elvis’  hand slide up your body to the side of your ribcage, his thumb brushing your breast. You pull back, and he gasps as you stroke the outside of his soft trouser leg, gently rubbing the fabric over his cock. Elvis abruptly stands, pushing you both off. 

“Think there might be some important business I need to do in Hef’s office. Why don’t you two run along ahead - gonna need,” he looks sideways, jokingly, playing it up for your forgotten audience, “gonna need a couple of helping hands.” You give what can only be described as a polite smile, wondering what on earth has gotten into you that you were willing to display yourself like that in public. But for whatever reason you’re walking back into the bedroom again - this time following behind Maggie. You’re watching her from behind, and though you’ve seen her in uniform countless times you’re suddenly left wondering if her shape has always looked that inviting to grab - or if the teddy had always revealed so much of her ass. She seems far more at home in Hugh’s private quarters than you ever did the first time, and you realise suddenly that it’s very probable this isn’t her first time back here with a guest. The realisation shoots a burst of anxiety through you again, that you try to immediately brush away, that this whole thing really was just expected of you. 

Elvis shuts the door behind him when he comes in, immediately setting the mood lighting. Before resting his hand on your back and pulling you in for a quick kiss. It’s strange kissing him again now, you expect for some reason his lips to feel rough in comparison to Maggie’s, masculine instead of her soft femininity,  but as always his lips are full and buttery soft a perfect representation of the juxtaposition of his personality. He pulls away too soon and you find yourself leaning into him, eyes still closed, chasing the sensation, pouting when he laughs at you. 

“You good to go honey, or do you need a hand givin’ me a show?” You’re confused by what he’s offering, until you notice he’s holding out his hand two little pills sat in it. “Just vitamins baby,” You shake your head, you’re a little nervous but despite the environment you’re working in you’ve not taken anything yet, and the concept of it scares you more than your nerves. You’re surprised though when Maggie’s hand comes from nowhere, plucking one of them out of his palm and swallowing it dry. He beams at her, “Atta girl.” Maggie giggles at him, 

“Thank you daddy,” and he glances over at you, sideways, again before swallowing the leftover pill. 

He claps his hands, before suddenly, playfully, throwing you over his shoulder and onto the bed. You’re shocked at the display of physicality - not expecting it at all, and even more surprised when a moment later Maggie is thrown in much the same manner, bumping onto the bed and knocking into you. He settles himself up by the cushions, looking expectantly at the pair of you of you sprawled out and he gestures to the rest of the bed. He shifts, settling his hands on his open thighs, the hard outline of his cock almost completely visible through his pants. He clenches them into fists, like he’s trying not to touch. He looks, with his hair wild and his glasses on, so classically - typically Elvis that it makes your heart rate increase just watching him.

“Go on then, pretty little bunnies - wanna see you two - wanna see you havin’ fun. Give me a show.” It’s not a request but a command, and even if you’d wanted to (which you didn’t) you can’t do anything but obey. 

Maggie responds with a “Yes, sir,” as you move to situate yourself, kneeling at the bottom of the bed and she crawls over to meet you. This time she takes control, kissing you, her hands moving over the little leather coat-dress. It feels different having her lithe, nylon covered leg pushing in between yours instead of Elvis’ thick thigh. You wouldn’t go so far to say it’s better, but the friction against your thin panties and the way it allows your legs and thighs to stay fairly close, to clench and move is appealing. You can’t help but rock against her, clutching at her waist -  she laughs into your mouth, pulling your hair a little as she presses gentle kisses down your neck. You gasp, head falling back, before you pull away to lean forward again, catching her face between your hands, you rub against her, drawing her front back towards you - you giggle, whispering, 

“Mags’ I can’t - can’t believe we’re doing this...” Elvis chuckles behind you, clearly you weren’t as quiet as you thought, and that makes you laugh harder. It’s fun and flirty and you haven’t felt this chill about something in a while - the ability to just zone out and enjoy the sensations without having to worry about the future. You start to unbelt your dress, trying to move quickly - frantically, and as soon as you’ve got it unbuttoned Maggie is palming at you, pushing it down your shoulders. She moves forward a little more, and you lean back - letting Elvis get a better look at your newly uncovered skin. She moves her hand to brush against your panty-covered mound and you gasp. Your head falling forward onto her shoulder at the feel, so different from your own fingers or his thick digits, she moves her leg and you’re suddenly humping against nothing - you whine into the air, Elvis interrupting you as you try to pull her back.  

“Sl-slow down girls, get tha’ dress off and go a lil’ slower - there’s no rush. No need to rush now - just slow - slow it down.”  You nod trying to still your hips, gasping out, 

“Ok, ok, daddy - well - we’ll slow -ah- down,” and Maggie pushes you, both of you tumbling backwards. You roll for a moment, the silk of Maggie’s costume rubbing against your skin, the coolness a welcome relief to your burning skin. You suddenly catch, out of the corner of your eye, Elvis shifting, his arm moving at a rapid pace and you don’t know why, considering what you’re currently doing, you’re shocked to realise he has his cock out, that he’s touching himself watching you. You accidentally make eye contact, and you’re taken aback by the look on his face, his lip curling in pleasure. To be watched with such burning desire is shocking, and would be enough to make you shy had you not had this overwhelming sexual confidence come over you from somewhere. You absently think that you should probably help Maggie out of her corset, the pufftail isn’t comfortable to lie in and she was probably wishing for more breathability right now, but before you can offer she’s stroking a finger down you and all thoughts fly out of your head. She looks up at Elvis, questioning something that you can’t hear through your single-minded tunnel vision and hearing, but you manage to catch his reply; 

“No - no, just - just, just over top, honey, not - no, that’s just for me.” And she resumes to touching you over the top of the growing dampness of your panties, you groan at the sheer level of objectification; at being spoken about as if you were just there for his amusement, that you were his. Maggie renews her efforts though, and her fingers quickly, even over the soft cotton fabric of your underwear, find the spot to make you squirm, hips bucking into her. She soothes you, and you wonder if you should be reciprocating in some way but as her delicate fingers push the tiniest fold of fabric into you, you’re lost clutching at the fur throw, the slight friction easing as it gathers up your slick. She moves her finger to circle around your clit, bunching the fabric between her thumb and fingers and rubbing it against you. You somehow manage to blink open your eyes, leaning your head all the way back to look at Elvis; his entire focus is on what’s happening between your legs - it causes a shudder to run through you, and your stomach tightens as you feel your legs start to cramp; 

“Go on baby, hold it for me, hold it - don’t - want you to keep her just there for me - that’s it. Stop stop, that’s just for me.” She pulls her hand away and your back arches as whine, so close to the edge. 

He leans in gripping Maggie’s neck to kiss her and you can hear the wet smack of their lips together, he pulls back, briefly “Don’t worry, honey, don't wanna make you jealous…just wanna say thank you for such a lovely show - that’s alright isn’t it?” You can’t do anything but agree and he returns to her, hands on her neck and head to hold her in place. Watching it up close you can understand why he wanted to watch himself, you wonder if that’s what you look like with him too; all teeth and tongue and lips. You squirm, still feeling the possibility of your orgasm. 

“Now go on, there’s a good girl, run along now, thank you darling - You gonna be alright? You want me to get one of the boys to uh, see to ya properly?” She shakes her head, almost fondly as if laughing that she might need his help to find a willing partner.  “Well - You tell ‘em I said it’s ok.” He sends her on her way like he’s pimping her out for the night, you hate how it makes your core throb a little, and you can’t help but glow at being the very obviously chosen one; not just one night but two in a row. Maggie looks back at you, still lying on the fur throw, winks and leaves - sauntering through the door. When she’s gone Elvis turns back to you, rubbing sweeping circles on your stomach,

“Just wanna get you goin’ again for me,” His hand starts to trail down, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you put your own out - grasping his wrist to stop him wanting him to know;

“Daddy, I’ve never - that was my first time with,” He laughs, 

“Oh, honey, I know, I know. Did you like it?” You nod, and he laughs again, “I’ll bring my camera next time baby, can’t believe Hef’s not got one installed in here somewhere. What a waste.” He tries to move but you hold his hand where it is, causing him to look calculatingly over you, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Was there something you wanted?” 

“I…” You squirm under the pressure of his gaze and the tone of his voice. 

“C’mon bunny, tell me what you want.” You nod, a bit nervous - but you had stopped his hand for a reason. 

“Could you, would you… you know.” He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face when he responds, 

“No, sorry, I don’t.” You whine,

“Ugh - would you, with your tongue?” 

“Ohh - you want me to go back down on you? Have another taste of that sweet yittle bunny cunt?” You wriggle at his harsh wording mixed with his babying tone, but you frantically nod. He grins, taking his glasses off and throwing them somewhere on the bed.

“Well ain’t today just my lucky day.” He manhandles you into a better position, ripping your underwear off, pushing you against the cushions and shoving one underneath your hips -  moving to situate himself between your thighs. He wiggles like a cartoon about to be served at a restaurant - almost certainly to make you laugh and you comply, nervously giggling, mind preoccupied with hoping that you taste alright now that you’ve asked for it. He spreads you open, kissing your inner thigh before moving closer to your core, and you can feel yourself pulse with anticipation.

He tentatively licks you, just a gentle, wet stripe and you immediately gasp - eyes flying wide open, startled at how sensitive you already felt. Although it shouldn’t come as any surprise, you’d been slick and swollen since you’d fucked earlier, and a bit sore since last night. He flattens his tongue, spreading your folds, and moves his fingers in to keep you spread open. Your hips buck of their own accord when he wets his lips and blows cold air onto you, watching you squirm and clench in response. You can feel his smile before he concentrates again his tongue lapping at your entrance. Your legs come up, needing more support to better grind onto him and your hands move down to grip his hair, thumbs digging into the side of his face, his sideburns, while your fingers find purchase in his long strands, gently holding him in place. He renews his efforts, flicking his tongue in your inner folds and he moves one of his hands to brace your stomach down as he moves to lick directly over your clit - your hips thrusting up enough in response for you to understand the necessity of his hand holding you down. You didn’t realise you could become addicted to the feel of something so quickly, but you’re not sure you’re going to be able to live without someone, preferably him, doing this to you regularly. The warm wet pressure builds, and on top of where you were already on the edge it’s quickly building to be almost too much. He pulls back just as you think you’re about to go over the edge and you groan, but he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick. 

“Oh god - is that, is that me on you?” He grins, 

“Sure is baby, sweetest honey from my honey bun-bun.” He licks his lips, and you groan again, your tummy flipping from how close you still feel, 

“Elvis - Daddy - need you, need more,” He leans back down, whispering, crooning in babytalk to your pussy; 

“Oh baby, baby, poor little, yittle, baby bunny - daddy’s gonna take real good care of you now, no more games baby, no that’s right, gonna get you right there,” He presses his lips to your clit kissing it, nose buried in you. Your entire focus is on the sensations as he moves down to spear his tongue into you, so different from a finger or cock and you almost choke from the force of the puff of air you exhale, as he curls it just so; you didn’t even know it was possible to do that and you wonder how much practice at this he really has. 

You can’t bear to look down at him anymore, the sight of his long lashes brushing against you, reminding you of who it was between your legs, watching you almost too much and you throw your head back, eyes closing as he thrusts his tongue in and out. He moves to add his thumb in, rubbing over your clit as his tongue continues to do its job, soothingly licking where you’re sore around the entrance to your hole. Your stomach tightens as he maintains a steady pace and you clench around him, thighs coming to rest on either side of his head, as you rock on his tongue and fingers. It’s not long, only moments when the pressure and movement get you there, body jumping as you crest over the wave of your orgasm. He licks you through it, and it means you just keep going. It’s overwhelming, and not something you’ve experienced before, the extended shaking and shuddering as you jolt around, jumping with every fizzle of pleasure. Finally, he pulls back, allowing you to breathe again, panting as you force your body to relax. 

A minute or so later you’re able to sit up a little more, opening your eyes properly again. You look over at Elvis and he’s got his cock in his hand - you’re tired but you feel like you have to show him some kind of appreciation for the best orgasm of your life so you lean up on your elbows, reaching a hand down to join his, you pump it once or twice before whispering to him,

“Let me Daddy,” and you sink your mouth down onto him. He gasps in surprise swearing

“Lord hav- oh god baby, bunny, oh shit.” as you hum around him, swallowing. He was clearly already very close and it only takes a couple of moments in the hot, wet, pressure of your mouth and throat before he’s warning you, 

“Gonna, it’s, I’m gonna go off baby, it’s - I’m close, real fu-cking close.” And with that he thrusts once, twice, while you hollow your cheeks - sucking down hard and that’s all it takes for him to be spurting into your mouth. You flinch, surprised, despite his warning, at the speed the taste unexpected, but still you swallow it down. “Fuck - fuck, thank you bunny, thank you.” He’s sweet, offering more gratitude than you’ve ever received from a man. You kiss his tip as you pull away and once again fall onto your back. You lie back, panting, and he joins you, curling around you - cuddling into you for the first time since you started this whole thing. You roll into him, enjoying being cradled in his thick arms, trying to comprehend the events of the past forty eight hours and how you’re going to be returning back to your normal life in only another few hours, wondering what Maggie chose to do, when he starts to talk, fingers tracing circles on your arms. 

“You know - my daddy’s - I got ‘im buyin’ me my own jet.” Your brow furrows a little, unsure where he’s going with this - “I uh, I - you’ll still have a cute little outfit, I like - like to dress ma girls up but, but I promise it’ll be … stretchy and uh, I won’t - I won’t assume anything but - but I  sure would like it if you, you would come on board with me?” He perhaps should have stopped there but he keeps talking, “It also - it would mean more time together, bunny, fewer girls around. Well…fewer in uniform anyway.” You grimace a little - so what is he suggesting; you be his on call plane whore? You hate that you want it, hate that you’re so desperate for him, in any way you can have him - to whatever capacity he’s available that you’re going to agree. 

“Of course - that would, that would be a dream come true Elvis, I would love to,” You’re not entirely stupid though. You smile at him, agreeing but not believing - this happens all the time in the clubs too; men promising things that never materialise - the drunker they get the more outlandish the claims; cars, houses, vacations, jobs. You know of too many girls who quit because they were promised a job as someone’s secretary only for the role to never materialise to put too much stock into his question. Besides, you still have two more flights with Elvis already in Big Bunny’s calendar - you were sure there’s more than enough time for him to make the offer again if he was really serious. 

“Wha-what’s your schedule like?… You got a boyfriend?” You pause, uncertain where this is going, surely these were questions that should have been asked yesterday? You suddenly realise that you know he’s seeing someone if only from the overheard phone-call but that you also had no idea if you were turning into the other woman or something. Or if you were just a girl to pass the time with. 

“I - uh, no. No, no-one. I’m not, we’re kept quite busy…” He frowns, kissing the top of your shoulder,

“Would you, you could come watch a show if you, I’ll get tickets for you and the girls if you want?” You smile, 

“That would be lovely, thank you -” He continues, 

“You could come a little earlier if you wanted, I’m playing somewhere new tomorrow, well - uh,” he looks over at the clock, grimacing, “Today. So I gotta check the sound and things, you could come to the rehearsal? I want you there baby,” You register some shock at his last words but nod, agreeing, it sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime and you go to say it but you suddenly realise, from the little puffing breaths on your shoulder he’s fallen asleep practically mid-sentence. You look around for the clock, before you, with some wonder, discover there’s still ninety minutes left of the flight and close your own eyes too. The others can do the stewarding, you’re doing the main job - keeping Elvis happy. 

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

Hezirus won the poll! Below is the explanation for all the choices here.

Link to the Dark Fae Introduction Story

So, here is the poll for what type of spice you guys want to see. These are some ideas for how I plan to have Hezirus and you share some lovely spice. By all means, if you have some ideas, put them in the notes cause I'm just tickling my own fantasies at this point.

FYI: These tropes will be consensual by the reader. I will never do non-con topics.

A Bath: Hezirus and you share a bath together and things get a little heated after some time alone naked together. Spice Warning: Oral, fingering, some heavy teasing throughout the story to lead up to the spice, very horny Fae-lord, penetration.

A Ball: Hezirus organizes a ball and gets a little jealous when your attention is taken away from him by a few of the attendees. He drags you away to make sure you know you belong to him and your attention is only on him. Unknowingly making enough noise that people passing the room can hear you screaming Hez's name. Spice Warning: Jealousy spice, some exhibitionism (public sex. Doing it where you could get caught), oral, penetration, story will have the two of you spending time together so the jealousy isn't randomly thrown in there.

The Sunset: After some time getting to know Hezirus, he takes you to a special spot that he goes to and watches the sunset. To get away from everyone and spend some time alone...but this time with you. At the top of the tallest tree, the two of you share a much needed release under the setting sun. Trusting Hezirus not to drop you from the dangerous height. However, much to your embarrassment and Hezirus' delight, all those working in the fields could hear Hezirus claiming you. Spice Warning: some exhibitionism (mostly noises being heard), penetration, a sweet moment before very horny Fae comes out, possibly more "Fae descriptions", more monster-y tropes. Let me know! I'll probably start early depending on poll results.

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

hey y'all, I know tomorrow is supposed to be a tarot card day, but I'm gonna delay that by a day because I need your help with a little something

the question at hand is, do different numbers have different colors to you?? if so, what are they??

I'm asking since I'm working on a little edit for the blog and I would like to know if there is consensus on this matter

instead of doing my normal post tomorrow, I'm going to post a series of polls on the various numbers for which I need colors

if you have an opinion, please vote in those polls, but you are also very welcome to send in an ask, a comment, a dm, etc. 🥰

(just fyi, all these numbers have colors to me, so I can always go with those if need be, but I'd really like to know if there's any kind of agreement on what color each number is ☺️)

the numbers that will have polls tomorrow are the following:

15 – vote here

16 – vote here

17 – vote here

18 – vote here

19 – vote here

20 – vote here

21 – vote here

22 – vote here

23 – vote here

24 – vote here

25 – vote here

26 – vote here

28 – vote here

okay, that's it from me for the moment, thank you all for putting up with my chaotic nonsense!! 🥰💕

[beautifulpersonpeach]

It’s impossible to not love jikook.

Their chemistry is so natural, so effortless, so comfortable. Whatever brain cell Jungkook has you know Jimin shares it. They complement each other in their physical athleticism, in their easygoing / mischievous / crackhead personalities, in their competitiveness, in even how they relate to the other five members.

I’m yet to watch the full RUN episode, I’ve only seen some clips some friends have sent me while I run to a work lunch, but now I’ve got this silly smile on my face because two men I love, Jimin and Jungkook, exist on the same planet I do.

In other news, HYBE is giving a masterclass in class compared to the dumpster fire that is SM right now, though at this point with how deplorable SM’s management have behaved recently, that’s not even saying much. The latest HYBE financials confirm what I’ve said in my last few posts on HYBE’s corporate news i.e. HYBE not neglecting BTS and how BTS continues to be the primary revenue driver even on ‘hiatus’ (I think I recall @guacamoli-avocadorado sending an ask on this. HYBE’s latest filings are available on their website so you can confirm, but I’m sure there are also screengrabs all over Twitter at this point. Just FYI 💜.) It’s also confirmed Jimin will release PJM1 in March.

For the other anon who just sent in an ask on the downside of this SM deal for HYBE - HYBE has already gotten their pound of flesh in terms of LSM’s stake (consensus view is the injunction is in his favour), a validation of the business mode HYBE developed years ago that SM now wants to replicate in their SM 3.0 plan, and SM’s management has single-handedly done most of the damage to their brand already. But then again, they’d damaged their brand years ago when several of their own artists filed lawsuits detailing extreme physical abuse, when the company was fined for fraud several times, when the ceo wound up on Interpol’s most wanted list, when SM bought Woolim Entertainment to shelf Infinite and every other talent under that agency, etc. It didn’t stop the wider k-pop fandom/industry from developing selective blindness and amnesia to all this though, neither did it stop SM from continuing verifiably corrupt dealings. So despite this latest embarrassment only being more so because of international eyes on this mess, expect the status quo from the wider k-pop space to remain by year-end. HYBE will maintain a notable equity interest they can monetize later, and likely some influence on management decisions.

Back to jikook, I’m so excited for what they both will get up to this year. Jungkook said he isn’t working on anything right now, but that guy has been writing finished songs since 2016 at least, already has a vision for his solo debut (multiple MVs, possibly for each song on the album, choreography, possibly including drumming performances in videos or live, likely a new slew of collaborators, etc), plus it’s only February. As 2023 has shown us so far, a lot can change in very little time, so I’m not worried about JK at all. He’s taking a breather, something very necessary for creatives (much less introverted creatives), and he’s been working full time for 10 years.

Jimin will bring sauce and heat and tears in his new album. I have zero doubts. Prepare your bank accounts and stay hydrated. 💜

[jojosgaylittleadventure]

Josuyasu Fic Master Post

Unfortunately I didn't really have the time/energy this month to participate in the 2024 Josuyasu week, but a few of my fics that I already have published fit some of the prompts

So if anyone is interested here is a master post of my Josuyasu fic collections that I have on Ao3 (canon_compliant)

*note: all of my fics are relatively sfw, most that are rated "T" are due to possible triggers (and some good old make-out scenes lol)

The boys are a mess

This is a series of my short Josuyasu fics while they're still teenagers. All the fics go together and if you read them in order, they are chronological.

The Kids Aren't Alright (Rating: T)

Summary: After witnessing Keicho’s death, Josuke can’t quite bring himself to leave Okuyasu alone. In what others might see as the smallest gestures, Josuke offers Okuyasu his friendship. Taking place during cannon, this is just a short fic about the beginnings of Josuke and Okuyasu’s friendship. Tags: Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Nijimura Okuyasu, Higashikata Tomoko, During Canon, Pre-Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Depression, just a touch of bi-panic, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tomoko loves her new son

WINDY SUMMER (Rating: G)

Summary: After the fight with Kira, Josuke has to spend his summer break recovering, but Okuyasu makes sure to keep him company. Tags: Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, bi-panic, in fact Okuyasu is the definition of bi-panic, Fellas is it gay to want to kiss your homie?, also, Technically spoilers for the Japanese 1998 Ring film

spilling out (Rating: T)

Summary: Josuke and Okuyasu are both recovering in the hospital after the events of 4th Another Day. Tags: The Book: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure 4th Another Day, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Fluff, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sickfic, kinda lol, bi-panic, cuz y'all know i can’t write josuyasu without some bi-panic, Friendship, Josuke and Okuyasu are a pair, they are co-dependent, pls do not separate them

soft and slow, like summer rain (Rating: T)

Summary: After a study session gone wrong, Josuke finds himself needing somewhere he can feel safe and at home and that some where turns out to be Okuyasu. Tags: Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, the following tags are not from/between the ship (just an fyi), Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Side Character/Main Character Attempted Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Victim Blaming

The boys are still a mess, but now they're adults

This is a series of my short Josuyasu fics while they're adults. All the fics go together and if you read them in order, they are chronological.

Sleep (Rating: T)

Summary: Josuke and Okuyasu have just moved into there own place and Okuyasu is struggling with his guilt over leaving his father behind. Tags: Adult Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Adult Nijimura Okuyasu, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, PTSD, Childhood Trauma, Physical Abuse, Physical Abuse against a minor to be more specific, Okuyasu just really needs a hug, Nijimura Okuyasu-centric

Misguided Ghosts (Rating: G)

Summary: Josuke loves his job as a nurse, but sometimes it can get to be too much. Tags: Adult Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Adult Nijimura Okuyasu, Nurse Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Chef Nijimura Okuyasu, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hospital, death mention, Josuke is secretly a very anxious stressed boy, Also all the people that think Josuke would be a cop can fight me

Sickday (Rating: G)

Summary: Josuke comes down with a fever while at work at the hospital. Tags: Adult Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Adult Nijimura Okuyasu, Nurse Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Sickfic, Caretaking, Gentle Okuyasu, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, sick Josuke, I stand by what I said last time, Everyone who thinks Josuke would be a cop can fight me, Nurse Josuke superiority

Collar Full (Raiting: G)

Summary: It’s Josuke’s 24th birthday. Okuyasu throws him a party and considers taking the risk and telling him how he feels after all these years. Tags: Adult Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Adult Nijimura Okuyasu, Post-Canon, Fluff, Love Confessions, bi-panic, tbh Okuyasu is the definition of bi-panic lol, Tomoko is Josuke and Okuyasu’s biggest fans

Talk Too Much (Rating: T)

Summary: Josuke and Okuyasu invite Tomoko over for dinner to tell her about them. Tags: Adult Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Adult Okuyasu, Post-Canon, Developing Relationship, Coming Out, Good Parent Higashikata Tomoko, Josuke is truly just an anxious bean, And Okuyasu needs to be nicer to himself, TAGS FROM THIS POINT ON CONTAIN SPOILERS, First Kiss, The tanuki will return as he is Okuyasu’s son now

Just Like a Movie (Rating: T)

Summary: For the first time since they’ve started dating, Josuke and Okuyasu go out with Yukako and Koichi to the Obon festival in S-City. It’s a double date, but Yukako and Koichi don’t know. Tags: Adult Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable), Adult Nijimura Okuyasu, Post-CanonDeveloping Relationship, But also, Established Relationship, Adult Yamagashi Yukako/Hirose Koichi, Fluff, First Dates, Kinda, Also I’m not sure how to/if I need to tag this but just in case:, I’m not sure how to explain it but I don’t want to catch anyone by surprise, Mention of Non-con kissing, It’s not super serious but it could also boarder on a mention of Sexual Assault, Everyone loved a good festival episode, Return of the tanuki…, The boys are nervous about being gay™ in public, also Koichi is a clueless little dummy and I love him

You can find individual posts for each of these fics on my blog in my fic tag

@josuyasuweek-2024 you can ignore this if you want but i am sad my brain did not allow me to truly participate I know i didn't write these for the week but i still wanted to share if that's okay ;-;

[cherries-in-wine]

My thoughts on 'the cursed heart' book 1

hii I just remembered this book exists and I'd like to share some opinions. Just a warning this post contains spoilers and my writing is messy af as this is more of a rant so i apologise in advance lol. I haven't read the second book yet just fyi.

Seeing the shit everyone said about this book I was honestly expecting another smutty trash like the nanny affair but they don't even kiss until chapter 9. I think the slowburn and the sexual tension was done decently well. I thought this was a sex slave kind of situation the way everyone was talking about it but its more of a "I saved your life so you'll work for me to repay your debts" situation. doesn't really make it any better but I guess its not as bad as sex slave. The whole BDSM shit was...questionable. I don't know what's so hard to understand about the fact that BDSM IS CONSENSUAL. IF YOU GUYS DON'T TALK ABOUT IT AND ESTABLISH BOUNDARIES BEFOREHAND ITS NOT BDSM ITS ABUSE. Just fyi these options are avoidable but I just think its inappropriate to call this BDSM.

The art is GORGEOUS and I love the little story book sequences you have for the character's background information. I ADORE the side characters like longclaw and sir monty have my heart. The idea for the book was definitely interesting. I liked the sun and moon court concept and the fae. It had potential but just like all the books choices has been putting out it just sort of fell flat. I really like the names too. I know they might be little too JK-Rowling-Cho-chang-ass-names but idk I find it cute how the sun court members are radiance, lustre,blaze,gleam etc. the book has a really nice aesthetic and fae are beautiful. The outfits are stunning as well. LEAF IS THE BEST PART OF THIS BOOK.

Kieran is honestly pretty mid. I don't find them that interesting I think they're just bland. I guess that could've been on purpose because they don't have a heart and stuff but I believe they could've done so much better.

I don't like how the fae are mostly left unnamed. That just made the sun court's betrayal fall flat because I don't even know these bitches so why would it hurt that they betrayed me? like first of all that shit was so predictable and second of all when you write a betrayal you'd want it to come from a character the reader really likes and is attached to so when they betray us it will hurt and just make you feel things but because we knew very little about about them I was just like "woahhhh womp womp I'm so hurt totallyyyyy didn't see this coming you got me dude" *pretends to be shocked*.

I think the it would've been much better if they pulled a prince Aerin from BOLAS kinda route with Radiance like maybe he and the other fae sneak in at night to visit mc, they grow close and he's treated as a love interest THEN he betrays mc. That would've made much more of an impact and then it would've made sense as to why mc was so trusting when they handed him their protection charm thingy to him. Honestly I find radiance much more interesting than Kieran.

Mc is.....a dumbass to put it lightly. I'm sorry but they're so stupid and they don't even have any growth by the end. I hate the "this character's only trait is being kind so they're dumb" trope. like first of all being kind isn't a fucking personality and idk crazy thought but maybe just maybe you can be kind and rational?? like why is every kind mc so dumb and lacks critical thinking skills. yea so didn't love mc either they were just bland.

My thoughts are kind of all over the place right now (they always are) so maybe ill add more stuff later but that's all for now. Thank you so much for reading my rant <33

[arcanavoid]

About Dorian

I've been seeing a lot of people talking about Dorian recently, from drama to just being disappointed in them, so I wanted to give my two cents on them

But I also don't want to be a ranty blog so I'm gonna keep this below a cut. I'm also tired and about to go to bed so probably shouldn't be making this lol.

Dorian is Wonderful, its a great concept but sadly not too well executed.

The last I checked (since I had to delete Dorian for space) they haven't made new content for the Arcana, the most they did were side stories that were poorly received but then they started uploading the routes kind of directly from the Arcana app.

A lot of criticism I've seen and also a lot of Arcana content coming from Dorian I've seen has all been about stories made by the fans and not the actual Dorian team. So a lot of what people are saying about the characters being off is true just not what they're saying about the Dorian team themselves.

Yes, surprisingly, fans constantly misrepresent characters. I was just talking about this with my friend but people always seem to dumb Julian down to a "horny hack doctor who doesn't know what a medical school is" and Asra always seems to be reduced to a "lazy calm guy bro dude" or "horny enby who cant show a spec of gender" whereas other characters are also miss-characterized Asra and Julian being the most popular means its more noticeable with them.

I haven't consumed any Dorian fan stories but I have consumed content in other ways and this is my general consensus of the Arcana fandom.

So seeing people harshly criticizing Dorian and people making fan content on the app for being out of character seems very hypocritical.

I'm not saying don't point it out and be like “Man! That seems a bit out of character maybe try this response instead!”. I am saying not to harass people over a mistake that accidentally slipped through a totally fanmade project.

When in doubt just... Click off the story, maybe send a quick dm being like "Yo! Fyi I think there's a mistake here!" but just stop hating on Dorian and the fans making stories for what I assume is free. Treat this like ao3

Now if it does come out that the Dorian team is making more stories off-character or they are blatantly erasing character aspects then yeah we have reason to complain. But for now, they're a relatively new app and are simply trying to get their bearings, the Arcana App didn't use to be as pretty and polished as it is now so we just need to give the team time.

It does suck that they are shoving Dorian down the Arcana Apps throat...

[justlikejohn]

hello i really really really really like the song bedroom community and i need to be autistic about it! what better place is there to do it than tumblr, eh? :3 fyi. i am not a very good musician and i know very little about actual music THEORY (didnt even do it for gcse lol) so forgive my poor vocabulary and my general ignorance, lol.

its this terribly emo style with this unabashed angst and cliché in its melody! it's clear glass beach is inspired by mcr because of this cover they did of welcome to the black parade - it influences their music in the BEST ways. like the scream at the end of the second chorus seems obvious but it makes me feel !!! so!!!! and using multiple voices in the end of the bridge with the "la"s is so classic but it fills me with so much Emotion. it feels like comradery. this bit of tune at the end of the chorus is like a punch to the gut to me!

its so well paced as well. a bit faster, at it would be folk-y, a bit slower and it loses that frantic driving force of the rhythm guitar and the drums - its just the right speed to take you through the story and aghjasjhgds

i do love the instrumentation, too. its got those gooood smooth synths with fun basslines and crunchy rhythm guitars! AND the drumming is good (and sounds like it was recording irl rather than done electronically! :D check 1:42 - the ride cymbal has some good organic variation that indicates this) which i care about a lot :))

most of all, i like the lyrics. my interpretation of the song is a story of a trans girl who kills herself. of course, i am not trans, so i am not good at inferring which lines were written about her transness, lol. its the consensus of a lot of glass beach fans, though! anyway, here:

it's almost mocking her in a way, here! the tone of the delivery is that shes "SO" depressed, and it states that she is naive: but that this is so genuine for her. it doesnt matter that its trivial, that a fly on the wall would judge the simplicity of her sadness, it is so real for her! she STILL sings, it's the only way she can cope. i just. you know when youre depressed and you cringe at yourself for your own incapability?? a different form of self-loathing, a loop of hating yourself because you hate yourself so much.

and then, everything cuts out but the synths and the vocals - which just conveys SO much to me, because its like. stop the emo crap. stop the drums and guitar and fun riffs because this is sincere. this is her life. this is her trying to get her shit together and being too mentally ill to.

AND LOOK! she's loved so SO much by the speaker. she ISNT useless like she believes herself to be. she laughs and is loved.

but. but, but, but, but! it doesnt even matter how much she is loved or that her life is worth so much. shell never break out of her box, her bedroom, in this bedroom community. gahhh!

like, here again: calling her a "stupid girl" to totally diminish her experience. "you probably caught this 'mental illness' from her. i bet youre faking, shes not a good influence." its so fucking mean and judgemental and it IS how she is treated!

and this is my favourite section of the whole fucking song. as if, when she kills herself, it was inevitable. as if it was destiny that she should be so fucking miserable she had to. as if people had tried to help her. as if its her fault. because it WAS murder! to let this happen to someone without caring or catching them. and importantly - its as "they" stop to look: its a third party judging this event! its not her, or her dad, or the speaker who loves her so much, its "them".

AND THESE LINES MAKE ME FERAL!!!!! to rifle through her journals and notebooks and diaries for her thoughts AFTER the fact. the care about her struggle AFTER shes dead. to violate her privacy to find words for a "liturgy" - its not what she wanted. does it even matter? it would fucking matter to her. and it transitions into a swung rhythm here rather than being straight - it's mirroring the relaxed tone of the lines! it's saying that this is so normal that it's casual and boppy. so, so, so, so, even after all this, shell never leave her bedroom in this bedroom community. shell always be trapped, because she was never able to leave. OUGH GOD.

AND THEN IT FUCKING TRANSITIONS INTO A KICKASS INSTRUMENTAL SECTION ??? LIKE. YES GIVE ME THAT SYNTHY BIT THEN THE ACAPELLA VOICES AND THE FUCKING PIANO-ASS-PIANO-SOLO.

and then it goes into those punchy "no"s and it feels like the singer is fighting something! like, they agree with themself by the end - "no, shell never leave her bedroom..." but its almost as if theyre trying to deny the tragedy! to resist the story! its so . anguished. god. and it does the tune again, and ends on something like wailing - the way the singer does "hates her life" makes me BELIEVE in it, yaknow ??

god. i listened to this song on my way to my first university open day and i was so, so scared. i heard the line "a girl who hates her life" and i thought, "hey, a song about me." i heard that she would never leave her bedroom floor. that she wastes all her fucking time. that she kills herself and people rifle through her diaries and notebooks for an explanation that isn't there because they don't want to see it. i listened to it on that school coach by myself on my tinny clip-on headphones (the ones that make me feel like an anime character) and i gripped that university prospectus and i tried not to cry! and i listened to it studying in the dark sixth form library and i listened to it on my good days out in the city on my own and i listened to it on nights i listed reasons not to kill myself over and over and over. and i showed it to all my friends and now i am showing to you! :))

[takaraphoenix]

I know the last thing you should do with bigots is to engage with them. I know that, nothing comes from it.

But I have to admit morbid curiosity at just how far this individual would bend over backward to deny the truth. I’ve come to the conclusion that they must live in a whole different parallel world.

Highlights of this conversation:

claims of not easily being grossed out after the act of consensual sex between two off-age partners in a committed relationship grossed them out (this kickstarted this conversation, fyi)

somehow mixing up and combining atheism, paganism, patriotism and capitalism into one concept of “atheistic paganism”

calling pagan gods “not remotely good” and condemning paganism (which just seems... baffling, considering we’re having a conversation about THEIR god condemning people who have sex before marriage or who simply exist as homosexuals to eternal damnation. Sure, sure, the pagan gods are the evil ones here)

“homophobes do not exist”, based on their narrow definition of the semantics of the word, completely denying the actual concept it refers to

based on the semantics: homophobes have “a solid PTSD-level terror”, so naturally they would never seek out that which they fear

“someone with a phobia about running across homosexuals; why then would such a person even willingly encounter people dealing with same-sex attraction, pray tell?”

saying acts of violence against gays are “forbidden, rightfully so” while in the same sentence saying that voting “against same-sex lifestyles is a Totally different matter altogether“ and lacking the braincells to connect these two dots

still lacking the braincells after I connected the dots of voting against same-sex will restrict and take away rights, inevitably leading to acts of violence against this group of people no longer being forbidden and, ultimately, being incited by the law. I explained this. With the very universally known example of WWII and concentration camps

“they have PTSD about you, but they then seek you out? Come on! None of that makes any sense, really at all!“ they really got hung up on this lil definition of homophobes that they made up in their lil brain

"First of all, homosexuality was openly *supported* by the Nazis“, this is where I reached my limit, btw

“In fact, Trump's supporters are the Good guys at that, as history has proven abundantly.”, a paragraph down from limit reached

"your whole stance is utter nonsense; as the strong need not fear the weak, nor do they“, yeah no this isn’t even a fun thought experiment on how your weird brain works anymore since you just flat out refuse to understand what oppression is and how it works

“the Nazis were really extreme left-wing“ final but FAVORITE line of this whole conversation. The embodiment of the radical right is actually extreme left. For sure, since this whole conversation was very upside down

This was easily the most repulsive conversation I’ve ever had. And, again, I know arguing with bigots is pointless, I never expected to come out of this having converted them or anything, but to actually read the levels of denial of the real world, of real oppression, hate-crimes and the existence of... of just other view points, quite honestly - since they kept claiming “objective reality” over the “fact” that homosexuality is wrong - was... mindblowing.

Nothing makes me feel more like taking a shower, not just or my body but for my soul, than talking to someone who’ll try and act like oppression doesn’t exist.

[tutuandscoot]

FYI: This is well over due to be posted but I’m finally doing it.

As I said a while ago I found a working link to this podcast interview (it had always been there it’s just some tumblr links stopped working). Anyway, I listened to it a few days after I posted that initial exclamation and said I would have notes to write.

Below is not an exhaustive list- I started pausing to take notes about 2/3 through, I’m sure there’s more but I think this is plenty for now.

(This has not been polished- thoughts are in random order.. hopefully it’s comprehensible. Apologies in advance for typos).

~

HE IS JUST SUCH AN AMAZING PERSON. And it’s not as though listening to this gave me that epiphany- I always believed that.

That he acknowledges his strengths and his flaws and is able to say, yes this is a weakness of mine but I know how to mould that into an advantage and make the most of it.

His beautiful, beautiful discussion of moving through and coming to terms with this feeling and joy he gets when he’d dance or be creating but didn’t think that’s what he was meant to feel and there was something wrong with him. And eventually learning to accept that it doesn’t matter that he’s a guy, he loves it and he has someone he gets to share that love with - so he never had to be alone in discovering and accepting that feeling. As a girl in a similar world to them I don’t have the same standing in feeling those societal pressures but I’ve been around other guys and just now hearing from Scott that every guy’s journey is different and it’s so important to have the supportive environment around you and so few guys have that and I’m so so happy for him that he did, because of his emotion and passion if he had been subject to bullying he may not have pursued it- coz that passion and emotion can be a double edged sword.

I relate to him, both of them so much, because I chose professional ballet I gave a up a lot early on. I moved away at 16- a similar distance to they did as well and I missed out on graduation and parties and all that normal stuff- I didn’t have a strong group of friends or, really any want to have a normal life tho so I didn’t feel like I was missing much- but you do end up just having a very different life to people your age which can make it very hard to acclimate, but like he said he always imagined he would leave home young and go after something bigger and better and I feel the same way as them. My grievances will come later in this post but I guess my issue with a lot of the discussion around them- specifically their working relationship and the kind of stuff they do that doesn’t seem normal to a lot of other people, I don’t mean this to sound braggy, but I just have a much closer connection and understanding to it that people that don’t do this sort of physically creative, athletic work-especially with others so it’s very unique and stuff that seems like it can’t be done unless there’s a particular type of ‘normal’ ‘consensual’ relationship just can’t be understood but for us who do it’s as normal as waking up pin the morning. It is just very hard to understand unless you do it. As I say that tho I hav never experienced anything like their dynamic, I’m confident in saying very few in the world have. They are just so unique and have something so special, combined with their longevity, I can put together what I know of this world and how dancers who have to work in intimate settings work together, and put that with them and the facts that’s it’s only them and only ever had been them which takes it to this level of completely consensual trust in each other for what ever they want to explore. I think for people to understand it if not from this world it requires a very open mind and view of the world and how humans interact in a bit of a different way. I don’t know, I’m not judging, anyone can and should be part of this discussion- not just around VM but what is really possible if we stop putting boundaries on love and what it means.

How he talks about his creative process, how he draws on real life emotions to transfer into his characters, whether is jealousy or sadness or anything. It’s not in a method way but it is letting himself access that honest emotion. That’s just so beautiful. I love talking about them from the pov of artistic process and sometimes I write about what I feel and know part of what their process is and merge it with my own coz it’s how I know to speak of it- so I do imagine and picture processes they may or may not do as part of their artistic exploration, but either way it really is just the most beautiful part of it that they got to share that journey together coz it’s just such a magical place to exist and that they had to that together and could communicate together in that world is just so magical, no matter the specific process.

A random quote that stuck out:

“We just wanted to share what we love to do with the world”.

The future plan:

How much they valued and had planned for those two years post PYC to improving themselves and easing themselves into the next phase of life. That opportunity for a redo coz he didn’t like the way he transitioned out of 2014.

How much they both love to work- whatever it is they have to be all in- whether that’s together or apart but cheering each other on from the sidelines.

Thoughts about the impact things people say about them has on them:

One of my fave things T has ever said, when asked what she wish she knew when she was younger was ‘it’s more important to be respected than liked’. And I would just like to add to that- it’s important who respects you.

People online really give themselves too much credit, and I give them to much credit for what affect they and their opinions have on TS life. I’ve whinged before about people having the audacity to say the things they do but even more now im realising, to think they had any major part in the direction, to think they caused or had influence to the eb and flow of their lives. I can’t, none of us can know for certain- and you really just have to be satisfied with what it is coz it’s other people lives you have absolute no control over.

But everything that happened between January 2018 and the end of 2019- as pertains to them and their partnership and their working relationship, it was all essentially planned. What tours they did was planned, TTYCT was planned- they were saying so even before the olys. 2 years of show skating was planned- “we’ve committed these two years to each other (work wise)”- (from a different interview), slowly easing out of other peoples shows (SOI, etc) was in all likelihood planned and while it wouldn’t have been a for sure until after the success of TTYCT, RTR was I’m sure for them what they hoped they would get to do and is how they wanted to finish.

Because of the way they are goal orientated and set goals and want to achieve them. And also for all they missed out on while they were athletes- their families being so important to them and missing so much, all their other interests and passions which they maintain was what they needed to remain whole people- things they couldn’t fully commit to while training but holding onto for the future to have new ways to challenge themselves.

The strength of their bond:

Something I don’t even want to discuss further after this because there are people out there who don’t get it and I know TS didn’t and don’t have time for those people- specifically if all they are gonna do is talk shit about TS, but even those who are 100% here for THEM and who they are- including myself, completely underestimate and just do not understand EVERYTHING these two went through and how all of that is going to bond them forever. It’s just the most insane, bullshit argument in the world to think that any of this can be undone and the fact that through all of that their very souls have been woven together for eternity. I talk about it both ways- factually and with the ethereal magic because it is both those things and they believe it is both those things. Being in a relationship anything near mirroring the one they have had would give a tiny glimpse into their dynamic but not having been and just accepting them and listening to them and hearing their empathy and passion is or at least should be enough to understand just how special these two are to each other and nothing will ever ever ever change that. Anyone who doesn’t believe that or can’t accept it are not worth the time of day in being part of this discussion. I convince myself of that constantly and yet somehow find myself bothered by it- but accepting it and ignoring it the way TS do is really the best way to proceed because like I said, it doesn’t matter to them. They know what they have, they have people in their lives they trust, and none of them is some rando online talking shit ( at least I would hope not). They are strong willed beyond belief. They had so many intelligent people in their lives to teach them that- they already had it themselves to even enter a world as toxic, cruel and corrupt as FS.

In talking about the people in his life most important to keeping his head straight and in a happy frame of mind: “I’m lucky I have Tessa” 😭😭😭😭 that goes along with what they did their whole careers that they just feel so lucky to have each other and they always remained a safe refuge for each other no matter what they were struggling with and outside influences.

Just how important she is to him. I know this is from 4 years ago but shit like that doesn’t change- not when it’s been for that long and as close as they have it. How much of a stabilising presence she is in his life. They often called each other their rocks and this thing about rocks is they are often heavy and don’t go anywhere easily, they stay where you left them even if it’s been a while.

The importance for them of managing their relationship. Not much else to say. It was important to them both in their sporting partnership and the longevity of their friendship- that in some ways it did resemble a marriage in the commitment they had made to each other and how much time they spent together. (Again, not new info) but they knew how to communicate and take care of each other.

(I’m gonna piss y’all if with the ‘clap emoji between every word thing but idc) “WE 👏DON’T 👏HAVE 👏 AN 👏 OFF 👏 ICE 👏 ROMANTIC 👏 RELATIONSHIP”. “IT 👏CANT 👏BE👏COMPARED 👏 TO 👏ANY 👏OTHER 👏 RELATIONSHIP”. SO STOP TRYING (im sorry I know this is from 4 years ago and most of the stuff about that doesn’t happen anymore- it’s new BS now but it still needs to be said and just fucking accepted and whoever is harassing them and talking shit about them just Fucking stop!!! If you don’t then ur an insane person). A reminder that they have said nearly these exact same things FOR YEARS. An interview in 2009 said the exact same thing- that it can’t be compared. Just coz it doesn’t make sense to you; you can’t understand it, doesn’t mean you have to make something up that makes it so you do understand. Just accept it and move on with empathy. I’m not great at math, I just don’t understand it, but I don’t go and make up a version of math that makes sense to me even tho it’s incorrect, no. I don’t need complicated math in my life so I just accept it and move on with what I do understand. There’s no way I could know what TS relationship truly is, but I at least try to listen to them and accept and understand what I can and love and appreciate them for that because they obviously put in so much care and appreciation themselves- that’s all I, anyone can do if you care about them.

I love to hear them talk about each other but I really loved how the interviewer made a point of wanting to talk to him separately, not not mention T but just have a discussion about him - inevitably T would come up because they are so intertwined to each other and he is an athlete who was in such a unique sport- one that he shared completely- exclusively with one person. I love it because it is both of them, not just one- them together that I love and admire but I also adore them separately and in this discussion it’s this one human who is in himself a whole, unique, beautiful person who shares his heart and passion and talent with another wonderful person and together they are able to make magic.

He is just a very special and inspiring human. That’s the main take away.

[library-of-babylon]

House of Night: Marked - Review

★★★☆☆ lackluster start to utter nonsense

Craft ★★☆☆☆

Characters ★☆☆☆☆

Plot ★★☆☆☆

World-building ★★★☆☆

Were I to have come to this book with any standards above and beyond "don't be so bad I have to turn it off" I'd probably rate it a 2/5. The entire book just kinda meanders about and feels like set up for the rest of the series instead of a story in its own right. I do intend to buy a physical second-hand copy of every book in the series for my bad book collection.

Also just FYI I've been listening to the series through Hoopla while going about my day so there won't be any exact quotes.

Triggers?

Racism

Sexism

Homophobia

Ableism

Implied sexual assault

Religious abuse

Domestic abuse

Zoey is a really toxic person so I probably missed some

✨Spoilers✨

The entire book takes place over the span of about a month, it doesn't really have a plot until halfway through, and what plot it does have is well… lackluster. Zoey doesn't really have a reason to overthrow Aphrodite as leader of the dark daughters and sons until she has a moment of bizarre incompetence putting lives on the line. Those whose blood is mixed into the win are willing participants as shown by how Stevie Rae was allowed to refuse and leave, the group is not shown to consist solely of her friends, and vampire supremacy is hardly something only she shares. The only real reason she has for wanting to replace her is that they don't like each other.

Zoey Redbird

Zoey is marked to become a vampire and is chosen by the Greek goddess Nyx (also the goddess of vampires) to be her "eyes and ears" because she's Cherokee and not much else. She's not exactly an embodiment of all Nyx stands for, she's not exceptional in any way, and if there's a prophesy or reincarnation thing going on it's not really hinted at. It comes off to me as main character syndrome but if you're like me and came to it looking for a hot mess then that's not really a problem. What's worse is that the fan Wiki agrees with me having her page's personality section being a large paragraph of character flaws.

The books have a good amount of covert racism and homophobia beyond how they refer to characters like Zoey, Shawnee, and Jack. With Zoey, you have not only cringe complexion-food comparisons but also the very common Magical Native American/Indian trope. What little of Cherokee beliefs and practices there are is often muddled with general mysticism opting for herbs and vague gestures to Zoey's heritage.

Aphrodite LaFont

Aphrodite is a strange character. Yes, she's a bitch but she's also strangely incompetent and the books don't really seem to know what to do with her. Putting aside that cannabis has been used in mysticism for centuries and the books' aversion to weed in general, Aphrodite doesn't seem to have been trained at all for her position as head of the dark daughters and sons. She doesn't know how to cleanse a space before summoning spirits, how to control them, or how to rein them in despite her apparently doing the Halloween ritual before.

She's not really an antagonist more a speed bump on Zoey's super special journey. Despite personifying the Alpha Bitch trope and being a constant outlet for the books' slut-shaming she doesn't really do anything more than some light bullying and possible sexual assault. The aforementioned bullying is mostly relegated to name calling, making fun of Stevie Rae's being from a small Oklahoma city, and vampire supremacy (which is later backpedaled).

Her assault of Erik Night is very up in the air. We only ever hear about it from Zoey and Persephone but never from Erik. Zoey sees the interaction as assault, saying as such to Persephone who counters that it was in fact not only consensual but playful, and had she stayed she would have seen as much. Erik only ever says that she is his ex, does not back out of social engagements with her, and is shown to be a more willing participant in her illicit actions seeming to have no problem with the dark daughters on her order drugging people so they can have access to a random gazebo of all things

Erik Night

Erik is a cardboard cutout of a person like most characters in the book. Other than literature, being hot, popular, and apparently liking Star Wars he has no real personality. Past being attracted to each other getting along they don't really have a relationship and yet are somehow dating by the beginning of the next book.

He is so inconsequential that he could be cut from the book and little would change. His inclusion and relationship with Zoey almost seems to be obligatory because what would a young adult series from the 00s and 10s be without a love triangle and basic white boys.

Heath Luck

I don't like Heath, especially after reading book two. He's such a bad love interest for a number of reasons and just writing them down seems to manifest red flags.

🚩 Zoey and him are not dating as of the very beginning of the book and he blatantly disregards this repeatedly

🚩 He repeatedly calls and texts Zoey despite her saying she doesn't want to have anything to do with him

🚩 At the end of the book he goes looking for Zoey on Halloween, interrupting a ritual she's part of, and refuses to leave

🚩 He has a substance abuse problem and is first seen drunk at school. He never actually seeks treatment for this because of his love for Zoey he just stops on day.

World

The world of the House of Night series is an interesting but mismanaged one. Nyx is said to be several goddesses and mythological figures across the world but not much is given to the implications of this. Despite Nyx being everywhere for centuries the world doesn't really seem to have changed at all in response to this and her very real tangible presence. Yes, people like evangelicals or "the people of faith" would look at this and deem it all to be demons or evil but Kuan Yin also known as Guanyin is not just a goddess from Chinese folk religion she's also a figure in some sects of Buddhism.

Society at large also doesn't seem to have changed. Magic is real and no one seems to know or care. Aphrodite can see the future and even summon spirits. Prophets and mediums are real but we never really spend any time with this revelation. We're told that most of Hollywood, famous writers and poets are/were vampires. Beyond this being extremely demoralizing for anyone else the implication that most attractive or creative people are vampires you'd think would cause tension. However, the only people we see or hear having a problem with vampires are evangelicals or those with a bone to pick with an individual (often founded).

Craft

There are objectively worse books out there with some people out here not even bothering to edit out obvious mistakes like misspelling a main character's name (give me a year and I'll review that series I need time to want not hunt down the author and demand my $3 back jfc).

Would I recommend this book?

Yes but with a giant caveat, I'm not enjoying this series because it's good I'm enjoying it because it's hot garbage and I want to actively see it get worse. My favorite book is My Immortal and my favorite movie is The Happening, when I say I love bad media I mean it. Now that being said if you also love hot garbage and the triggers I listed don't bother you then by all means skip on down to your local library and see if they have any or scope out Amazon and eBay to see if they have any cheap used copies.

I've seen some people say that you can't call this a product of its time but I disagree, it is a product of its time, the worst of who we as a polite society were. A collection of the insidious undertones that have plagued us laid starkly bare now in the present day where we're actively trying to purge these tendencies from ourselves and our spaces. It is a product of its time and it is not a comfortable one.

[joe-moi]

https://www.tumblr.com/joe-moi/738240849732845568/httpswwwtumblrcomjoe-moi738239927184130049w

I think the literally point here today is that cucking and cheating should not be used interchangeably (ie the anon about Karl getting cucked/cheated on). That takes it too far and IS negative. That anon felt outright negative. Like "that's mean don't forget K got cucked too make a joke about that" . Unlike.... The lol "there he goes getting cucked again" joooookes. We are not making fun of KG getting cheated on because.... It's not what it's about??? And that IS wrong. Cuckolding is a consensual choice, cheating has a victim.

I think full on cheating could be a risk of cucking and arguably where the lines get blurred especially for people unaware or not connected to the kink.

We did not through a joke or comment make this connection we are just trying to say *cheating is not cuckolding fyi* so yes maybe it's the first thing that comes up in Google but.... We're clarifying for you (collective you).

thank you for the explanation!

I think we can drop the whole cucking and cheating thing now. Because I have a feeling this topic might go in circles. But I can’t promise that we won’t make cuck jokes again. Honestly, so many times it is the funniest thing that we talk about in here . But I do want people to understand that it is just a joke. We don’t know what happened with that whole triad of people. And we’re not trying to degrade anyone.

And I am very sorry if people are offended by it, but I do want to stress that cucking isn’t a bad thing at all. And none of us mean it that way. We also make sex jokes and this is along those lines.

[lobster-tales]

Gym Buds

Rating: Explicit Length: 5.7k words Summary: While checking the watch point's security cameras, Baptiste finds out what really happens during Zarya's 'private training sessions'. Excited by the truth, he decides to enroll in Zarya's program, but it doesn't exactly go the way he hoped. This work is available here on AO3. A/N: Requested by anon. There is a slightly non-consensual moment that quickly becomes consensual, FYI.

Baptiste had never seen the Watchpoint's security system up close before.

In truth, he was a bit surprised that Winston chose to call him of all people to scout out the intruder alert from Athena. He was under the impression that he had not earned their leader's trust yet, considering history, but then again, he was likely the only one available. Hana was here, but if she was gaming, then there would be no reaching her. Zarya and Brigitte had commandeered the gym for one of Zarya's private training sessions. Everyone else on call was with Winston in Antarctica. But, Baptiste decided, even if he was Winston's last choice, he would not let him down.

After checking the cameras for anomalies, Baptiste checked the hallways, twice, armed with a simple energy pistol and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants. As far as he could tell, though, the area was clear.

Which made sense: the base was well protected against outside forces, not to mention the extensive alarm and camera systems. Maybe it was a glitch on Athena's part. Besides, no one would be stupid enough to break into the headquarters of Earth's greatest heroes.

He surveyed the cameras one last time. The only one he hadn't checked was the gym: Zarya demanded complete privacy during her training sessions. Baptiste had always been curious about her exercise program. When it came to weightlifting, he prioritized the appearance of his muscles over their actual strength, though that wasn't to say he couldn't hold his own. Still, he did like the idea of being able to match, or even overcome Zarya's power. She often picked on him for his preferred weightlifting methods. He wondered what she could offer that could be so much more effective. So, partially out of security but much more so out of curiosity, Baptiste disobeyed Zarya's wishes and switched on the gym camera.

He heard the sounds first: the grunt of effort from Brigitte, though it sounded... strange. Baptiste had worked out with her many times and never had she sounded so breathless. She also didn't work out naked, from what he remembered. Zarya was clothed, though, in the black tank top and shorts she always wore during workouts.

Baptiste was still fighting his shock, unable to comprehend why Brigitte would want to work out in such a vulnerable state, when she lowered into a squat and moaned, rolling her head back over the bar propped on her shoulders. And that's when Baptiste saw the flash of pink rubber disappear inside of her. And when Zarya's voice purred, "Good girl."

He should have turned off the video immediately. It would have been the right thing to do. But he was in shock, he told himself later. Anyone would be curious about their teammates. In this position.

Brigitte rose again, panting, moving as if to stop, but Zarya brought her hand against Brigitte's ass with a loud Smack! and said coolly, "Five more, milaya."

"I can't," Brigitte gasped. "Just give me... a second..."

Zarya's hand snaked up her back and fisted in Brigitte's long hair, and she murmured, "Five more and I'll let you cum again."

Brigitte was reluctant, but forged through. On the fifth rep, Zarya helped her lower the bar. "Good girl," she purred again, guiding Brigitte to a bench and allowing her to lay down. Her hand disappeared between Brigitte's legs, eliciting a pleasured gasp. "Very good."

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! The phone's vibration nearly scared Baptiste out of his skin, and he smashed the button that cut the gym feed. "H-hello?"

"Baptiste!" Winston's voice was muffled: Antarctica always had terrible service. "Did you find anything? Or anyone?"

"No, no!" He tried to conceal the panic in his voice. "All clear!"

"Good," Winston sighed, relieved. "I thought so. Athena's been a little... glitchy lately. I'll have Hana take a look when we get back tomorrow morning."

"Great!" He was being suspicious. Too suspicious.

"Thank you, Baptiste. I appreciate it."

"No problem!" After the call ended, and he was sure that Winston hadn't noticed anything, Baptiste stood. He should never have come to the security room: he was going to get himself into too much trouble.

 +    +    +

It took a few days for Baptiste to unravel his tangled feelings. On the one hand, he felt guilty that he had spied on his teammates. On the other hand, he wondered why he hadn't received an invite. His decision was made before the next mission, and he pulled Zarya aside and asked to enroll in her training program.

"Really?" she said, crossing her arms as she looked him up and down. "Sure you can handle it, pretty boy?"

Normally her moniker for him drew out a smirk, but now a shiver went up his spine. "Of course," he said, forcing the words through a dry mouth. "The real question is if you will be able to handle me!" and he struck a playful pose.

She laughed, her great rumbling laugh. "Then we start tomorrow! Meet me outside the front door at dawn."

After the first few miserable days, he began to suspect that the... interactive part of the training would not come right away. No, first he had to suffer a few weeks of rigor: five kilometer jogs every morning, ice baths, countless hours in the gym lifting weights. He grew accustomed to the constant soreness in his muscles, and when he went on missions expecting relief from the usual routine, Zarya always punched his shoulder afterwards and said she would see him at the gym later that night.

But knowing what it would all amount to made it worth the wait. If anything, the lack of physical touch aroused him even more. He hungered for any moment, any touch, any hint that it would begin soon. Her fingers might linger on his shoulder, pressing him into a better posture. Every time she called him 'pretty boy', his playful facade slipped more and more.

Week four passed, then week five. He realized that the best part of the program would be the result, his reward. And in week six, when Zarya confirmed that he was nearing the end of his training, Baptiste became more eager than ever.

Their last session drew to a close. Zarya tossed him a towel, grinning. "Good work, pretty boy. I didn't expect you to be so dedicated."

"Let's just say" he said with a breathless chuckle. "I had the right motivation." And he winked.

Zarya, confused, nodded slowly and made to leave. "Well, that's all I have for you."

"... What?" Baptiste gawked at her. "But-but what about the other part of the training?"

She froze, cocking an eyebrow at him. "What 'other' part?"

His face felt warm. He had no choice, so he confessed, though he omitted the details of just how long he watched her 'private training session' with Brigitte. Zarya listened, impassive, not giving anything away. When he was done, her lips curled into a smile, and she let out a rumbling chuckle. "So this whole time you thought this would end with..." She shook her head.

Her hand reached out and took his jaw in her fingers, and he cried out as she pulled his face close to hers. "All you had to do was ask, pretty boy." He thought she might kiss him, but her smirking lips went to his sweaty neck instead, teeth sinking in. Baptiste shuddered with anticipation.

She let him go, though. "Go rest. Get your energy back. Meet me here tomorrow, after the mission." And she muttered something in Russian that must have been hilarious, as she left the room laughing.

 +    +    +

Baptiste had fantasized about this many times. But only now that he was here, did he realize that he never accounted for how it would begin.

Should he wait for her before undressing? Or would she expect him to be naked already? And if he was naked, should he be aroused? He considered his crotch. He certainly was not wanting in size, but would she be more impressed if she saw the growth herself or if he was already hard? Or if he was already hard, would she get upset thinking that he started without her? Then again, it was impossible not to be even a little aroused, especially after all this time.

When she entered, she looked and acted the same as always. She instructed him on stretches as usual, and for a moment, Baptiste was afraid that she had forgotten. But when he touched his toes, she told him to hold the pose as she stood upright. Even though he was still dressed, he felt vulnerable as she walked around him. She spanked him once, twice, then her fingers seized his ass and dug in possessively. "So," she mused, "what are your limits? Anything you are not willing to do?"

He gulped, which was hard since his head was still down. "Um... what are some common examples of... 'not willing to do's?"

She listed off a few, and he crossed a few off the list. If anything, he was impressed with how much she was willing to do. The entire time, her fingers massaged his cheeks, then drifted between them, testing. "And how do you feel about this?" she asked, pressing her thumb into the fabric to tease his entrance.

"Definitely on the table," he hummed.  

"Good," she said and backed away. "Stand. We begin with cardio."

He gave her a sly grin. "Isn't the whole thing going to be 'cardio'?"

But Zarya didn't respond with her usual eye roll. Instead, she got close to him, maintaining eye contact as her hand went to his crotch. Baptiste whimpered as she palmed him through his shorts. "Let me make this clear. There will be no backtalk. You will do exactly as I say, and you will do it without any cute comments or complaints. Do you understand?"

Maybe it was her commanding tone, maybe it was the vice-like grip on his balls, but Baptiste managed a, "Y-yes-"

"Yes, sir. Say it."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." She lifted the thumb of her other hand to her lips, pulling it across her tongue before placing her thumb on Baptiste's lower lip, offering him a taste. "Now shut that pretty, whore mouth of yours, and get on the treadmill."

His brain was too muddled to predict what sort of torture the running would incur, but he didn't have to wait long as Zarya stood in front of the machine, arms crossed as she murmured, "All that training and you're still weak. You're nothing but a pathetic slut, aren't you? I felt you through your pants, I knew you were hard before I even touched you. You're desperate. You've been expecting this for weeks, haven't you?  All this time, all those training sessions. How many times did you get hard while we trained? Every time? Ha! And you thought I would just give it to you like that. No, pretty boy, you'll have to earn it."

Baptiste never thought he would be turned on by degradation, but then again, none of his past lovers had ever tried. How could they, when he had a face as handsome as his? Maybe her words should have cut him down, but instead, they just turned him on even more.

Zarya continued, "I bet you think of me when you touch yourself. I bet you stroke yourself and pretend it was my hand, my fingers touching you. You want me to fuck you, don't you? You picture me plowing your tight hole and making you cum again and again until you have nothing left. You disgusting whore."

She kept going, adjusting the treadmill pace every now and then to make him run faster. Baptiste felt like his lungs would explode, his rushing blood making his cock pulse along with his rapid heartbeat. Just when he thought he might pass out, Zarya turned the machine off, satisfied as she watched him catch his breath. "Mmm," she hummed. "I knew that endurance training would come in handy. Here, time for a water break."

Relieved, he reached for his bottle, but Zarya had taken it. "Ah, ah, ah," she chastised. "On your knees. Look up, and open your mouth."

"Y... yes, sir," he panted as he obeyed.

Zarya lifted the bottle above her head, filling her mouth with water, then she leaned her head over Baptiste, the water trickling from her lips into his open mouth. He whined: not a sound he usually made in the bedroom, but the only one that felt appropriate right now. When the water had run out, he reached up, trying to catch her lips for a kiss, but Zarya pulled back with a chuckle. "Not yet, pretty boy."

He was still catching his breath, so she had him do yoga next, beginning by extending his arms to the ceiling. From behind, her hands roamed along his body, her fingers massaging the muscles of his shoulders, then his back, before tugging the fabric of his sweaty shirt up and over his head. As he lowered into downward-facing dog, she stood between his legs, gripping his hips and thrusting against him a few times, as if to test him out. She hooked her fingers into the elastic of his waistband, pulling his shorts down and off his body. She instructed him not to move as she retrieved an object from her duffle bag, and he shivered at the sound of liquid squirting onto her hand.

Zarya returned to her post behind him. This time, instead of smacking his cheeks, she brought her hand between them. He jolted at the cold lube, and melted into a moan as she pressed a finger inside of him, stretching him out. "I can't wait to fuck you," she purred. "Drive my cock into this tight little hole of yours. The real question is how I want to take you, pretty boy. Like this, from behind? Or do I want you on top, sinking down onto my cock?"

"Perhaps both?" he said, glancing back to shoot her a grin. At her glare, he corrected himself, "Perhaps both, sir."

"Good boy." She added another finger, pressing deep inside him and drawing a gasp. "You like that, my little whore?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"You want me to bend you over and fuck you?"

"Yes," he moaned. "Fuck, yes."

She withdrew her fingers and growled, "Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Stand up, slut."

Next, she sat him on the bench that faced the lat pulldown machine. Baptiste had used the machine many times before, adjusting to his usual weight and reaching up for the bar above. He froze up as Zarya sat behind him, so close he could feel her chest press into his back and her hot breath on his ear. "So you do know how to use these machines," she teased, scraping her teeth against his earlobe. "Could have fooled me."

"I learn from the best," he chuckled, his breath stopping short when her fingers wrapped around his cock.

"Here's what will happen," she said, working his length leisurely. "You will do three sets of fifteen reps. If you keep going, I keep going. If you stop, I stop. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," he said, taking a deep breath as he tried to focus. The first set he did well, but halfway through the second, his fortitude wavered. She stroked him so expertly, her grip firm but gentle, her pace quickening. The kisses and bites she littered across his neck and shoulders also didn't help. When her thumb dragged against the tip of his cock, wet with pre-cum, he gasped and the bar slipped from his fingers, the weights slamming down with a Clang!

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Zarya muttered, removing her hand. "Too much for you to handle, pretty boy?"

"No," he insisted, retaking the bar. "See, I've got it. Twelve, thirteen..."

She didn't touch him again until he started on the third set. "Keep your back straight," Zarya said into his ear. "No more accidents."

A slick sheen of sweat covered his forehead by the time he had finished the last set.

"There, you see?" She handed him the water bottle this time. "Was that so hard?"

Baptiste raised a playful eyebrow at her. "You tell me." And he thrust once against the bench, bouncing his stiff cock.

"Ha, ha," she said humorlessly. Zarya jerked her head towards the wall. "Time for some pull ups."

He noticed that the regular pull-up bar had been adjusted, and was higher on the wall than usual. "Mezanmi... I should have brought my exo boots," he joked.

"Here," she said, seizing his waist from behind. "I'll give you a boost."

Baptiste dangled from the bar as Zarya moved around to face him. He asked, "How many reps this time, sir?"

"No reps," she said, her hands resting on his hips, admiring her work on his abs. "This time, you pull yourself up, and hold yourself as long as you can."

Easy enough: he speculated what the catch would be, but only until she said, "Go." Baptiste hoisted himself, expecting her hands to steady him. Instead, she pulled him towards her, sinking her lips down onto his cock.

Surprised by the sensation, Baptiste lost his hold, falling with a gasp. Zarya smirked at him and asked, "Is that really all you've got?"

Seconds later, he was back in the air, keeping himself suspended as Zarya took him in her mouth again. She pushed him so that his hips began to swing back and forth, into her mouth over and over. Her tongue swirled around his length, and with each motion, she hummed deep in her throat. Baptiste watched her from above, gasping in pleasure. Part of him wanted to keep going, but another fantasized about finishing here and now, covering her smirking face in his cum.

But he couldn't hold the pull up forever, and when he did lower himself, Zarya helped ease him to the floor. He liked being held by her, he realized, even for only a moment.

She checked her watch. "Only two minutes? Come now, pretty boy."

"That's what I'm trying to do, sir," he quipped.

Zarya shook her head, pretending to be annoyed. "You have too much energy, I think. Time to show you some respect."

He always suspected she was strong enough to lift him, but it wasn't until he was slung effortlessly over her shoulders that he really appreciated her power. She carried him to the foam mats, tossing him down but not in a way that would hurt him. "Lay on your back," she instructed, "hands flat on the floor." Baptiste obeyed, thrumming with excitement as Zarya lowered herself onto him, planting herself on his face. He could taste her through the fabric of her shorts, which only aroused him more: she had seemed so aloof when really, this whole time, she was also getting turned on.

Of course, he would have preferred no barrier, but he was too grateful to let the cloth get in the way of his tongue. Now was his chance to undo her, prove what a great lover he really was.

She stayed in control at first, grinding her hips against his eager mouth. "Right where you belong, eh, pretty boy? I knew I could put that quick tongue of yours to better use. Not so talkative now, are y- ah!" Her demeanor slipped. He must have struck a nerve. Spurred on by satisfaction, Baptiste pressed his tongue deeper into the fabric.

She was surprised by her own reaction, and doubled down, squeezing his head between her massive thighs and suffocating him in the best way. "Don't get too excited, my little slut. You just got lucky. I'm the one in charge here, understand? I'm in contro-ohhh."

He felt her shudder on top of him, and without thinking, lifted his hands to wrap around her thighs, securing her in place.

"I told you..." Her voice was ragged as she tried and failed to pry off his grip. "To keep your hands... on the ground..."

He traced his tongue up the soaked fabric, guessing at where her clit would be and sealed his lips there, sucking. Based on her startled cry, he must have guessed right.

She hissed through her teeth, trying to distract him by thrusting against his face. Her pace was uneven, though, distracted, and Baptiste knew he had gained the upper hand. Her words formed but quickly fell apart, until she became a mess of half phrases. "You're... pathetic... Trying to make me... But you... You're not... fuck!" Her tone raised in pitch with each new expression, until all she was able to make out was a string of Russian curse words. When Zarya realized how close she was to finishing, she made a noncommittal attempt to pull away, but Baptiste held her in place, incessantly grateful for his new and improved strength. She cried out in pleasure, trembling as she fell forward. This time when she pulled back, Baptiste let her, though he snuck in one final, languid lick.

Zarya stood over him, panting. Her gym shorts were drenched.

Baptiste licked his lips, folding his hands behind his head as he smirked at her. "And you didn't even have to take your clothes off. I truly am the best. Perhaps I'm the one who should be training you, eh, sir?"

Her smile was more like a sneer. "We'll see about that." Zarya reached into her duffle bag and removed two dildos, weighing between them. One was the pink one he had seen Brigitte use, while the other was blue, and much larger. Zarya noticed the apprehension on his face and dropped the pink in favor of the blue. "What's wrong?" she teased. "You're not scared, are you, pretty boy? I thought you were the best."

"I am," he said, rising from the floor. "Of course I am... sir."

She unlocked one of the cabinets, removing what appeared to be a substitute cushion for the barbell bench. This one was not smooth like the everyday use cushion: this one had an adjustable grip. Perfect for securing a dildo.

He could hardly contain his excitement as Zarya set it up for him. This was it, the exercise Brigitte had done that night. Another moment that had lived in his fantasies all these long weeks.

"Come here, pretty boy." She straddled the bench behind him, the dildo erect beneath where he stood. Before she set the barbell on his shoulders, Zarya slipped her lubed fingers inside him once more, taking the time to stretch him out as she started up her instructions, composure regained. "Let's get you nice and ready, shall we? I want you to take every inch of this cock, every single rep, you understand?"

"Yes, s-sir."

She pushed two fingers deep inside, brushing that sensitive spot. "That's right, slut, you want to fill that tight little hole of yours, don't you? You're going to take it over and over again, deep inside you. Isn't that what you want, what you need, my little whore?"

"Yes, sir," he moaned.

"Once without the barbell," she said, guiding his hips down.

As large as the blue dildo looked, it felt so much bigger. Baptiste gasped at the shock of it, even just the tip. Zarya murmured encouragement though, letting him settle and adjust to the size as he sank down further. By the time it was completely inside of him, he had lost his breath. "Fuck me," he muttered.

"That will come later, pretty boy, you can be sure of that," she chuckled, and helped him take the barbell onto his shoulders.

He started with light weights that in any other context, he would have been offended by, but now he was grateful for. He started with a set of 12 at an excruciatingly slow pace, taking his time to get used to the dildo's size. By the second set, though, he asked for more weights, and attempted to quicken the pace a bit. After all, no pain, no gain.

Baptiste was nearly finished with the second set when he heard a giggle from the corner of the room. He whipped his head around to see Brigitte's sly grin from beside the dumbbell rack. "B-Brigitte!" He rose too quickly, unable to contain the moan that escaped his lips from the dildo slipping out. "What-what are you doing?"

"Milaya," Zarya chastised. "You were supposed to keep quiet."

"I couldn't resist." Brigitte sauntered forward.

Baptiste looked from Zarya to her. "What is this?"

Brigitte was close now, so close that she could trace a finger down his sweaty, heaving chest. "Payback."

"Payback for... what?" Better to play dumb, he guessed.

"Zarya told me everything," said Brigitte. The rest of her fingers joined the first as she assessed the muscles of his arm. "And naturally, I was curious to see just how long you watched us, so I had Hana do some snooping and my, my... Did it only take you thirty seconds to rub one out?"

Okay, maybe playing dumb was not better. "I didn't!" Baptiste insisted. "I was... in shock!"

"Mmm, it's been a long time since then." Her hand drifted down and rested on his hip. "You expect me to believe you never thought about it again, especially when you were alone? That you never touched yourself and pretended it was your cock I was riding?" And she kissed him.

The pieces clicked. So he was not in trouble. Well, at least, not the bad kind of trouble.

Zarya cleared her throat. "He still has one more set, milaya. Wait your turn."

She backed away, too soon for Baptiste's liking. "By all means, don't stop on my account." Brigitte settled on the next bench over, her legs spread. Through the opening of her gym shorts, Baptiste saw that she wasn't wearing undergarments.

Feeling the weight of both their gazes, Baptiste put on more of a performance for this final set, his moans sharper, more controlled, lip curved up in a pleasured smile. Brigitte's hand drifted slowly up to her crotch, where she rubbed herself over the fabric of her shorts.

When he finished the last rep, Zarya helped him put the barbell back into place, massaging his shoulders. "Well done, my pretty boy. Are you ready to get fucked now?"

"Yes," he hummed, jolting when Zarya's fingers lightly wrapped around his throat. "Yes, sir."

"Brigitte, here," Zarya commanded. She had Brigitte lay down on the bench, bending Baptiste over to face her.

Brigitte winked at him as she continued to touch herself, her fingers now dipping beneath the waistband of the shorts. He could smell her arousal even from several centimeters away. Baptiste wanted nothing more than to rip those shorts off and taste her too, but Zarya commanded him to stay still.

Zarya removed the dildo from it's place on the bench, fixing it to the harness she strapped around her hips. She pressed her fingers inside him again, applying more lube, before taking him by the hips and slowly, deliciously driving inside. Baptiste groaned, trying to use the motion as an excuse to lean his face forward and into Brigitte's center, but Zarya pulled him back onto the dildo. "Not yet, pretty boy," she purred. "Not until I say you can."

She thrust her hips against him, slow at first. When she was sure he could handle it, she quickened the pace, greeting his moans with, "That's right, take my cock, you filthy whore. You like that, don't you? You just love being bent over and fucked like this, pretty boy. Aw, you want her so badly. You can smell her?"

"Yes... sir..."

"Do you want to taste her?"

"Y-yes," he whined. "Yes, sir, please!"

Brigitte, who had been enjoying the show, now glared hungrily at him. Her eyes flickered up to Zarya, who must have given her some indication. Brigitte removed her gym shorts, settling herself back onto the bench, her wet cunt so close to Baptiste's mouth that all he had to do was flick a tongue out to catch it.

But he waited.

"What's the matter?" Zarya asked, driving deep inside him and staying there for a moment. "Don't you want her?"

"Yes, sir. I'm... waiting for... your permission."

Zarya hummed in delight. "Good. Permission granted."

He lunged at Brigitte, dipping his tongue into her folds and licking her. Her gasp of surprise morphed into one of pleasure, head rolling back.

Zarya kept pounding him from behind, each thrust pushing his face into Brigitte. He tried to keep the pace of his tongue measured, but the force of Zarya's thrusts was too strong, so he gave up and latched onto Brigitte's clit, sucking at it and drawing an obscene moan from her throat.

He felt himself getting close: to be honest, he was surprised that he hadn't already. But it was still too soon for his liking, so as soon as he felt Brigitte cum, her legs like a vice around his head, heels digging into his back, he released her and pulled back. "Wait," he said. "Wait, can I-"

Zarya stopped, pulling out of him instantly. Her fingers, now gentle, guided his face to her concerned expression. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Wh- no," he chuckled, charmed that she was so worried. "It's just that I have these two beautiful women here and I don't want to be done with either of you just yet."

Brigitte, still reeling from her orgasm, propped herself on her elbows. "Oh?" she panted. "What did you have in mind?"

Only then did he realize that he didn't have anything particular in mind, but he did know one thing: he was tired of being the only one completely naked. He tugged the fabric of Zarya's tank top over her shoulders, the sports bra following next. Baptiste admired her bare chest. "Zarya, Zarya," he murmured. "You have gorgeous tits." He winked at her. "Mind if I cum on them sometime?"

"You wish," she said, rolling her eyes, then let out a contented sigh as he took one of her nipples in his mouth, hand fondling her breast.

Brigitte joined at the other, following suit as she flicked her tongue against Zarya's other nipple.

Zarya seemed flustered by the attention. "H-hold on," she said. "I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you two."

Baptiste asked, "But if you're taking care of us-"

"Who is taking care of you?" Brigitte finished for him.

Her apprehension gave way to desire, and finally Zarya laid down on the bench, allowing herself to be seduced. Baptiste removed Zarya's strap and shorts while Brigitte kissed her lips and neck. Glad to taste her with no barrier in the way, Baptiste savored her, licking her cunt while Brigitte massaged her chest.

When she was close to finishing, he had Brigitte take over, digging around in Zarya's duffle bag for the box of condoms that he correctly assumed was there. He admired Brigitte's hunger for a moment, enjoyed the faces Zarya made as her pleasure grew and grew. He placed a hand on Brigitte's shoulders and she moved aside, allowing Baptiste to slip himself inside Zarya. His groan escaped in a hiss from his mouth, and he gripped her powerful thighs for stability as he began to thrust, Brigitte's fingers working Zarya's clit. Together, they drew her into a trembling, ecstatic climax, her voice rising into a thunderous moan.

Zarya's usual training limit was an hour, but the three went way over time. They tested out various positions: Brigitte straddled Zarya's face and ate her out while Baptiste switched between fucking Zarya's cunt and Brigitte's mouth, Zarya harnessed her strap again so that she and Baptiste could spit roast Brigitte. Baptiste's favorite was Zarya taking him from behind while he took Brigitte, keeping himself still so that Zarya's thrusts forced him deeper inside Brigitte.

But just like with any exercise, exhaustion began to take it's toll. Baptiste asked nicely if he could cum on their faces or tits, but Zarya took the reins once more and had him lie on his back. "Perhaps next time, pretty boy," she chuckled as she pushed inside him again. Brigitte stroked him while Zarya fucked, and within seconds he came onto his own chest, voice raw with pleasure.

He lay there dazed for a few moments, fatigue weighing down his limbs. Brigitte used one of the gym towels to wipe him down as Zarya collected their scattered clothing. In his euphoric haze, he wondered if they would both leave him there, but when he had enough strength to stand, Zarya invited them to her bedroom. Their path through the base led them past the kitchen, where Hana and Cole were chatting over a cup of coffee. They both stopped to watch the trio, Hana wearing a snide smile, and Cole winked and shot Baptiste a knowing thumbs up. He might have been embarrassed if he had the energy.

Baptiste wondered what kind of strings Zarya had to pull to get a king-sized bed, compared to the wimpy twin in his quarters. He would have been jealous under any other circumstance, but for now, he just enjoyed crawling under the soft pink comforter and snuggling in to Zarya's side.

"Well, I don't know about you ladies," Baptiste crooned. "But that was the best workout I've ever had."

Brigitte chuckled from Zarya's other side. "And that was just the first session."

Baptiste paused, raising his head to look at her. "The first?"

"She's right," Zarya said with a grin, back to her rumbling self. "I mean you did say you want the private training program, right? You have six more weeks to go of this, though I applaud you for doing so well the first day."

He blinked at them both, but found no ruse on their faces, just sleepy satisfaction. Baptiste settled back, crushed by the burden of understanding. His last thought before slumber was that he had definitely gotten himself into too much trouble.