#pseudo brothers of all time

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

I was torn on the song for this one but I think I gotta go with this one >:D enjoy!!

(also taggin the wonderful @doylldonmagar) (this is the soda n dallas guitar fic!!)

Who's creepin' out from under a stairway/ callin' a name that's lighter than air

Dallas pulls a face the second he swings the door open. The Association's Windy is scratchin' on the old record player Dallas had stolen from Buck's 'n swore up 'n down to Darry he'd bought. He didn't go for their lastest album but he couldn't get away from the goddamned thing. Especially since Darry had gotten real fond of it.

Dallas leans back 'n glances at the driveway- empty. Darry's work boots aren't at the door either so Dallas figures he must still be out. He kicks off his own shoes hodge podge 'n throws his jacket over one of the kitchen chairs.

Whose bendin' down to give me a rainbow?

The record player's not where it usually is, thrown open on the kitchen counter where Darry can get to it the easiest. But it was always gettin' moved from place to place. Laundry room, bathroom sink, coffee table, back porch step.

Everyone knows its Windy-

A flat A. A sharp G. An E string wound so tight it sounds like it's about to snap. Dallas cringes hard. Jesus what the hell was that.

He sticks his head through the living room 'n Soda's splayed on the couch, record player propped on the couch cushion beside him. He's got a beat-up, busted, but still fuckin' gorgeous Gibson guitar slung over his lap. Dallas watches him for a moment more to see if he'll look up 'n when he doesn't he leans one shoulder against the door frame 'n lets out a low whistle.

"Holy fuck, Soda. Where'd you get that?" Soda jumps out of his skin, nearly jars the guitar straight onto the floor 'n they both dive for it. Soda catches it by the neck 'n hoists it back onto his knees.

"Jesus, Dally. Give a guy a warnin'. I thought you were a hood or somethin'." But he's grinnin' so Dallas just rolls his eyes 'n drops down onto the sofa beside him. Soda elbows him 'n shifts the record player down to the coffee table. "Though, I guess I wasn't wrong about the hood part."

"Yeah yeah. I dunno if you've noticed lately, but you live in a house full of hoods." Soda winks at him, splits off another toothy smile, 'n sticks his bony elbow into Dallas' ribs again.

"Exactly." Dallas bats him away 'n the guitar pitches dangerously on Soda's squirmin' lap.

"So you gonna tell me what this is about?" Dallas kicks his feet up on the table, the record player skips once 'n cues up Six Man Band which he might have been able to dig if he didn't have to hear it twice a day since the record hit the stores. He groans 'n leans over to turn it off 'n Soda kicks him.

"You can't tell anyone." Dallas raises an eyebrow 'n twists to stare at Soda over his shoulder.

"What, did you steal it? I ain't gonna tell anyone. I'm no rat." He leans over to at least change the song 'n Soda kicks his leg over Dallas' wrist.

"No, I didn't steal it. I bought it. Y'know. Not all of us are hoods." Soda howls at his own joke 'n Dallas yanks his wrist out 'n grabs the neck of the Gibson, whiskin' it away so he can properly sock Soda without riskin' the guitar. Soda giggles, cryin' out indignantly at the attack like he didn't ask for it.

"So why can't I tell anyone? Assumin' you got it by the legal means." Soda wriggles back up on the couch from where he's slid down 'n takes the Gibson back from Dallas.

"I dunno. I dunno how to play yet. I'm tryin' to figure it out still." Dallas rolls his eyes, leans back beside Soda.

"Only you would buy a guitar 'n have no goddamn clue how to play it." Soda strums absently along the strings 'n Dallas flinches. B's too sharp. "Glory Soda I don't think you have a single string in tune."

Soda shoots him a dejected look 'n a little connivin' grin. "How would you know?"

Dallas makes a lil' noncommital sound 'n reaches over, tunin' down the E, up the A. He plucks on the G until it reaches some arbitrary sound Soda doesn't hear. "Try it again."

Soda runs a thumb over the strings again 'n this time they actually sound like they're meant to. He nearly drops the guitar in surprise. "How did you do that?"

Dallas shrugs a shoulder, fiddles with one of the scratches on the fretboard, tryin' to buff it out with his fingers. "Dunno. No reason." Soda narrows his eyes, gets that look on his face he gets when he's he's schemin'.

"Tell me how you knew how to do that or I'll tell Dar about that time you got pissed off at Pony 'n stranded him at the drive-in 'n he got lost 'n we had to go find him." Dallas scowls at him, thinks seriously about crackin' that stupid guitar over his head.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would." Dallas glares at him.

"I seem to remember a certain someone ditchin' with me, Sodapop Curtis." There was no way he was goin' down for that alone. Soda wiggles his eyebrows, bites his tongue between his teeth.

"You really wanna bet your word against mine when it comes to Ol' Dar?" Dallas' scowl deepens 'n Soda keeps right on grinnin' with every tooth. He really didn't. Darry liked to think he was equally fair with all of them. 'N he was. Mostly. But goddamn if he had to play chips against any of them he wouldn't pick Soda.

"Fine. God Soda you're the worst of us sometimes." Soda sends him a wink 'n Dallas rolls his eyes but can't help his chuckle.

"Y'know you love me."

"Shut up. If you keep runnin' your mouth I ain't gonna tell you anythin'." Soda pouts cartoonishly 'n Dallas shoves him hard, sighs. "I lived in a goddamn bar, Soda. You gotta be useful somehow 'n I wasn't wipin' down no fuckin' tables."

Soda's jaw falls open into a gleeful whoop. "God Dallas," 'N Dallas knows exactly what he's about to say before he even opens his mouth, "you were the entertainment staff!"

"Oh that's it-" Dallas slides the guitar onto the coffee table 'n tackles Soda to the ground in one swift move. Soda hollers 'n dissolves into laughter, not even puttin' up a fight until he's rollin' around on the ground crackin' himself up. Dallas scowls at him, gives him one good kick in the side Soda hardly notices. "I'm not teachin' you anythin' then. You've pissed me off."

Soda snorts, tries to catch his breath 'n rolls up to his knees. "Wait, wait- I'm sorryyy. C'mon. Show me a lil'." He blinks his stupid big eyes 'n Dallas glares at him. He'd never admit it but he understood why Soda could get away with goddamn murder.

"Fine. Sit your ass down. 'N if I ever- ever- hear a word about this I'll cave your fuckin' skull in." Soda hoots 'n clambers back onto the couch. "First of all, you can't start with playin' bull like that." He points one accusin' finger at the record player, now still 'n silent, havin' reached the end of the record.

He pulls it off the turn table 'n shoves it back into its sleeve like it burned him. He fishes around under the coffee table where the rest of the records are 'n resurfaces with The Animals.

"Aw, Dal. Ain't you played that one enough?" Soda wrinkles up his nose 'n Dallas whacks him on the back of his head.

"Shut up. Look. One: it's a good fuckin' song. 'N two: it's easy. You can't start with shit like harmonies. You gotta start with simple riffs." He lines the record up, drops the needle down 'n the openin' notes of House of the Rising Sun hiss out the speakers. "Listen. A minor, C, D, F. A minor, C, E, E. Then the first one again." Soda stops complain' 'n furrows his brow, listenin' hard.

"How do you know that?" Dallas shrugs a shoulder again.

"Listen long enough." He pulls the guitar off the table 'n deftly plays along. "A minor, C, D, F, A minor, E, A minor, E."

The song spins to a close 'n Dallas hands the Gibson to Soda, showin' him where to place his fingers. "Look. I'll strum. Just play the chords." He leans over 'n restarts the song. Soda clumsily manages the first three before he hisses, pulls his fingers away.

"God this shit hurts." His fingertips are already red 'n he sticks them in his mouth like that'll help.

"Yeah, you'll get used to it." He holds his hand out so Soda can see the odd pattern of callouses along the tops of his fingers. Soda eyes him 'n grabs his wrist so he can see better.

"I always wondered where you got those." Dallas shoots him a look 'n pulls his hand back.

"God, Soda, you freak me out with the noticin' shit." Soda had a habit of always pickin' up on the things you thought he didn't 'n noticin' the traits you didn't even know you had.

Soda grins, readjusts the body 'n puts his fingers back on the board. "Guess you're not ready for me to reveal your poker tells?"

"Nah, man, you can tell me those any day."

"Hm, nah, I think I'll hold onto those. Poker's way more fun when I can tell you don't have shit." Dallas scowls but leans back in, shovin' Soda so he can get his arm around the body.

Soda bites his lip, refinds the chords. Loses them again. He stumbles through another verse 'n then lets out an aggravated huff. "I dunno what it's supposed to sound like."

Dallas stops strummin' but doesn't pull away. Instead, he fixes Soda with a stare that could pin him to the wall. "I'm gonna tell you somethin' 'n if I ever hear anythin' about it I will strangle your bum ass 'n throw you in the fuckin' river. Do you hear me?" Soda raises both eyebrows but nods fervently. "It helps if you sing."

For a moment Soda registers pure shock 'n then bites back his smile 'n nods again. "Ok. I swear to God I won't tell anyone, man. Can you...?"

Dallas sighs, squeezes his eyes shut 'n cannot believe he's about to fuckin' do this. "Alright, get you're goddamn fingers on the board." He snaps 'n Soda grins 'n jumps to move. "Ready?"

"Uh-huh." Dallas takes a deep breath 'n stares down at his hand as he starts strummin' again.

"There is a house in New Orleans/ They call the risin' sun-" Soda's head whips up 'n Dallas can see his jaw fall open from the corner of his eye. Dallas can feel the tips of his ears go all red 'n he nods pointedly back at the fretboard. "And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy."

They both lose track of how many times they play the song. Just over 'n over. Only movin' to lift the needle back to the start of the record 'n play it again. It's dark outside, Soda's fingers are cut up 'n marked 'n Dallas' throat aches. "And God, I know, I'm one."

A long, low whistle comes from the doorway 'n both Soda 'n Dallas whip their heads up, necks crackin', spines protestin'. Darry's leanin' against the door in a way that gives Dallas deja vu. "Holy shit. You boys are good." Dallas shoots up, jarrin' Soda so hard he nearly bounces off the couch. Darry grins, double takes the guitar. "Glory Soda, where did you get that?"

[lizhly-writes]

hey guys do you wanna hear about my bad idea ahahaha i'm just joking i'm going to tell you whether you like it or not.

anyway! au where jiang fengmian brings back a starving orphan from the streets, and his name is yue qi.

(what happened to wei wuxian? don't worry about it it's fine) (idk maybe he doesn't exist? whatever)

yue qi is strong. yue qi is talented. yue qi tries harder than anyone. yue qi is perfect and you can't even really be irritated at him for it, because he's nice and polite and good-tempered and absolutely everything you could ask for in a da-shixiong.

jiang cheng feels so fucking bad about this. second best even in a whole new au, huh, a-cheng? but it's not your fault. even op protagonist bing-ge couldn't beat yue qi in a fair fight!

nobody knows this, though, so you're just going to have to suffer through the comparisons. it's your mom and your dad and all the little disciples thinking that yue qi is better than you. ooooh, that can't be good for that burgeoning inferiority complex your mom's instilled in you, huh?

but, you know. jiang cheng's going to be sect leader. he's going to need a strong sect. even if his mom fuckin bitches at him for not being as good as yue qi -- yue qingyuan -- then at least he's going to have a strong right hand, right?

HAHAHAHA.

so there are two routes we can go here. for the sake of my early morning ramblings, we're going to go for the more unrealistic one that requires me to jump through more hoops, because i think it's hilarious.

yue qingyuan starts getting more distant as he gets older. going on long nighthunts away from the lotus pier, you know. he stops leading the disciples in morning drills -- or, well, it's less that he stops, and more that he's not around to actually do that.

he's not around a lot.

snide, snide commentary about how yue qingyuan is going to run away to become a rogue cultivator, just like -- (but we don't talk about them). how yue qingyuan's not going to be da-shixiong for much longer. every time yue qingyuan returns to lotus pier, he seems to be more tired, more wound up, more stressed out --

and then everything stops. yue qingyuan comes back one day emotionally catatonic. he doesn't respond properly when people talk to him. unrelatedly (of course it's unrelated), there is some wailing and weeping in the night. some little shidi thinks that somehow a resentful ghost has made it into the pier and alerts da-shixiong about it in the morning.

thankfully, da-shixiong is back to normal in the morning. "i'll take a look," da-shixiong says, and then everybody forgets about it because da-shixiong is back and da-shixiong stops going on those long nighthunts away and everything is fiiiinnnne, don't worry. and if da-shixiong is a bit more brittle after that -- well, you're probably just imagining it.

jiang cheng worries about it. but yue qingyuan never says anything, because that's what yue qingyuan does. he never says annnnnnything to anyone.

of course, there's only so long you can argue with da-shixiong when the plot is coming up. gusu happens. the wens happen.

jiang cheng and yue qingyuan get sent to the wen evil summer camp, or whatever it's called. indoctrination, right?

lectures. drills. meaningless busy work for the sake of beating people down. obedience, and more obedience. there's a wen staring down every class, just waiting for them to slip up. there's one in particular that seems to have it out for yue qingyuan, sharp mouthed and pointy and HAHAHA OKAY, you've probably guessed who this is, haven't you? you're a genre-savvy audience, i bet!

ah, but i'll spell it out anyway, don't worry. for a-cheng, maybe, because jiang cheng can't guess, because yue qingyuan doesn't tell him anything. jiang cheng's out of the loop, on the outside, like he always is with yue qingyuan. don't worry, jiang cheng -- you're not special. he treats you like he treats everyone else.

but ah, that's the problem, isn't it?

jiang cheng stumbles over da-shixiong at night, past curfew, arguing with the wen. or, really, it's not arguing -- the wen is verbally eviscerating him, and yue qingyuan is just letting him. attacks on yue qingyuan's character and talent and everything, and about how yue qi's CLEARLY found a replacement (replacement? what does that mean?) and fine, you think you're so respectable now, of course only a high-bred sect heir is good for you (that jiang-gongzi, do you think he's a better version of me) (is this the version of me you've always wanted?) --

all yue qingyuan says is "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry--"

there's got to be one question on your mind, huh, a-cheng? yue qingyuan seems to know this wen. pretty well, it seems -- those insults aren't generic, this seems personal. why? how?

who the hell is wen qingqiu?

[veatomis]

Thinking abt how for elio meeting varric was having pretty much the dream and hope he had since he was a child realized, that one day someone would come into his life and would treat him like he was a part of his family, without strings attached, without the baggage of the crows, that he could look at someone and know they would be kind and would care for him without being buried six feet beneath carefully crafted layers of pretend disinterest. And how for varric elio was essentially a replacement for adam even down to his nickname, how varric's best years of his life was when he was walking around kirkwall with his best friend, getting to drink at the hanged man every single night with him and how much he missed being able to see adam as regularly as he did back then, and here comes this kid who has such a similar personality, with the same big eyes adam had, almost the same age adam was when he and varric met and theyre also both mages and so, if he tries just a bit hard, if he calls this kid rook (like the bird. not the chess piece) he can for a second pretend he's back in some nasty seedy bar having the time of his life with his best friend hawke.

[vampirehizzies]

hayley is a chaotic neutral type who stays out of the mikaelsons' interpersonal fights because she had nothing to do with the 1000 year old family drama before she became the mother of klaus's kid and i respect that, but girl really just completely disregarded the fact that elijah ripped out marcel's heart even though marcel was her friend and she knew klaus raised him. girl be serious

[bumblingbabooshka]

Processing some things

Also the fact that he's crouching with his hands on his knees is so cute to me for some reason?? He does this in another episode too - the one where Chakotay finds a symbol on an unknown planet...it's just so adorable to me. He could just lean down but no. Also of course his fingers are spread again - GOTTA utilize the whole hand whenever you do ANYTHING (if you're Tuvok)

[sanstropfremir]

Have you checked out the xikers debut? I'm curious about them since they seem to be tricksters in their concept I think? What do you think? 👀

LOVED the xikers debut!!!! the styling is a bit on the uninspired side imo, but i don't really have too many gripes with it because they are meant to be mischevious teenage trickster types and it doesn't not fit. the mv is soooooooo good though, it's super well produced and has a really fun concept with a simple and clear narrative + audience stand in. i think kq really honed what makes a good debut with them; they took a lot of the things they've learned with ateez over the years and applied them with a new spin to xikers, which makes me look forward to see where the group goes, bc i think they'll interesting to watch, if anything at least to see how their concept plays out.

[mailperson]

Ironic that the special episodes for Dual Destinies and Spirit of Justice both have the player asking “is Phoenix really going to bank on this deeply ridiculous and childish premise in court” but each game’s answer to that question is the opposite of the pattern their respective main game story establishes

[marathedemonoverlord]

YES. YES 100% YES. About fucking time I find people who agree.

The story would have been 1000% better if the Exchange Program did fail. MC had grudges against the racist sister fuckers who see them as their pseudo sister with benefits. And Diavolo HAS TO reflect and actually work on the program by LISTENING to MC/Solomon and the Angels and not just listening and brushing it off two min later when Barbatos brings his favorite tea.

Like the most infuriating thing about Obey Me is its potential shooting itself in the foot Lesson 16/Post Lesson 16 and following S1/S2.

Give MC a fucking backbone and aggressive responses- Hold the demons and Diavolo accountable- Stop ignoring the incestuous implications of the brothers wanting MC and the timeline shit- And someone mace Barbatos for coddling Diavolo.

Like seriously the Exchange Program was so underutilized and stupid Fanfic writers/Fandom are the only way to make it work.

-wakes up from my 5-day COVID-indused dellirium

I want Diavolo's Exchange Programm (DEP) to fail. At first, maybe

After the first season\year of DEP Celestial Realm, we will see how their exchange students have become more rebellious, more ready to question authority, and more open to other beliefs livestyles.

I want Solomon and humans to see how humans were treated. How human students were brainwashed during their stay in Heaven (headcanon, but hey, they can do it; there was an event; look it up).

How a human was MURDERED just so the youngest royal brat could stop being a genocidal sister fucker for a decade or so.

I want both realms (for different reasons entirely) to refuse to participate in DEP until it can actually benefit all of the realms.

This can be the start of Dia's character arc. The start of season 2 can be MC returning to the Devildom, not as a student but as a human ambassador who will make sure that the Devildom and RAD are ready to welcome humans, no matter how long it takes. And the rest of the story can go on as usual, but it is no longer the DEP.

[artdcnaldson]

changeover || art donaldson x reader ; patrick zweig x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex x2, fingering, f!recieving oral), drinking, pining after people you can’t have, a dash of reader x tashi, sprinkles of patrick x art, porn WITH plot

Summary: your ‘casual’ fling with art isn’t working for you anymore, which sucks because you probably love the guy. enter a freshly heartbroken patrick to take your mind off of things.

FALL 2006

You knew exactly why Art Donaldson refused to acknowledge that you were an item. You could see it clearly across the room— the way you were cast to the shadows while he followed Tashi around like a lost puppy.  

It made sense, even if it made your chest ache. Tashi was gorgeous, and was acing her classes, and was going to go pro soon and become a beautiful, all-American sports icon. And you were just some girl he’d met because he needed help understanding the reading for class. 

You’d known each other for months by then— hooking up, going on dates that ‘weren’t dates,’ spending most of your time together. And you stayed firmly in the no-labels zone. But you weren’t bitter. It was totally fine, being treated like a girlfriend in all but name. 

Art laughed and leaned into Tashi. It was totally fine.

You were nursing a beer in a red solo cup and trying your best to look friendly and approachable. The only reason you were even at the party was because Art had brought you, so you should’ve felt grateful. You should’ve been having fun.

But just as soon as you’d arrived, he’d slipped away with a promise to be right back. It had been over an hour, so it seemed like you had very different definitions of right back.

“Looks like your boyfriend stole my girlfriend.” You turned to see Patrick, tanned from his time on tour. He was only going to be at Stanford for the weekend before taking off for a challenger a state over, which meant he needed to capitalize on any chance to spend time with Art and Tashi. 

Unfortunately, you’d both been ditched.

“Art isn’t my boyfriend,” you said pointedly, maybe a little too quickly. 

Patrick knew better. The last time he came to visit, he’d interrupted a pseudo date night between the two of you (which was a nice way of saying he walked in on the two of you in Art’s dorm while his best friend was was knuckles deep in you). The rest of that night wound up being spent passing around mixed drinks made with cheap vodka and whatever you could get from the nearest vending machine. You overheard the it’s casual, nothing serious conversation they’d had through the ajar door while you bought more Powerade and Red Bull in the hall. 

But you were being so understanding and cool about that. 

Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Really?” The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment before he wrapped his lips around a beer can. He tried to hide it, but you saw. 

You chewed on your lip, stomach twisting with nerves and curiosity. He was probably just messing with you, trying to get your thoughts all muddled up about Art because it was fun. Still, you couldn’t help but ask the burning question echoing through your mind. “Did Art say something to you? About us, I mean.”

The question felt pathetic. A stupid, desperate girl begging to know if the guy she liked felt the same way. 

Patrick shrugged, leaning against the wall bearing the portraits of the ghosts of frat brothers’ past. “Not directly. But you’re here together, right? And he’s still seeing you.”

“I guess,” you replied with a huff, embarrassment burning hot in your chest. 

“If you’re worried about Tashi, don’t be,” Patrick said, sparing a glance in her direction. When you looked towards Art, and the way he was smiling and laughing and looked so natural beside her, a frown turned your lips. Patrick nudged your arm and offered a smile. “Hey, I’m serious. Nothing’s gonna happen there. Trust me.”

It should’ve felt nice. A total reassurance from the person who knew Art best. But it did nothing to quell the turmoil twisting in the pit of your stomach. Because if he really did feel that way, why was he over there with her?

Tashi Duncan. So beautiful, radiant, and perfect that she had total control over two men. Your paths didn’t cross much, outside of Art, and that was rare since he liked to keep you two apart. 

But there was a part of you that knew that Tashi would’ve been able to make you melt with one look, one smile, one word. You wanted to experience what Art did. You wanted to know what Patrick knew, and what Art was jealous of. Or maybe you wanted something of your own too, something to keep Art out of. 

“I need another drink,” you said suddenly, meeting Patrick’s gaze. “Do you wanna come with me?” Patrick’s eyes flitted quickly towards Tashi, where she bantered with Art and the rest of the tennis team. 

There was something in his expression you found incredibly familiar. That pang of jealousy. The ache of not belonging just right. The look was gone quickly, replaced by a toothy smile. “Sure. I could use something stronger.”

——

An hour later, Tashi left with Patrick, and Art quickly decided to take you back to his own dorm. 

His lips were insistent against yours, kissing you hungrily, completely dissonant to the delicate way he tugged down the zipper of your dress. His fingers were warm where they brushed along the line of your spine. His tongue brushed against yours, tasting of beer and mint gum.

“What were you doing with him?” He murmured against your lips just as he peeled off the cheap, bodycon dress you’d gotten from Forever 21. It was tossed across the room, to be lost in the mess of practice duffles and empty water bottles and dirty laundry. The only time he parted his lips from you was to lift you onto his bed and slot himself between your thighs. 

His tongue licked into your mouth possessively, claiming you as his from the inside out. You gasped as one of his hands kneaded your breast, panting open-mouthed against his lips. “Who?” You managed weakly, your mind completely blank except for Art, Art, Art. And maybe a tiny voice in the back of your head that was still thinking about the Tashi of it all.

“Patrick.” His voice was soft against the tender skin of your jaw. “I saw you two talk, then you disappeared for, like, an hour.” His teeth nipped gently at your pulse point as he nuzzled against your throat, awaiting your answer. 

So he had been watching? He was with her, but he was still thinking about you. It made your heart flutter. You moaned softly as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you through your panties. “Getting drinks,” you managed feebly. “Fuck, Art, I can’t concentrate while y—“

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties, teasing you with delicate touches. “Just drinks? For an hour?”

A strangled gasp escaped you as fingers slick with your arousal met your clit. When your eyes opened in surprise, you found Art staring right back. His touch was relentless, flooding your senses with pleasure as he demanded an answer. “We were in the living room,” you managed between soft pants and moans. “He was telling me about the— god— about the tour.”

Art’s expression flickered slightly— a tiny furrow forming between his brows. Was it doubt, or possessiveness, or anger? Before you could figure it out, his lips were against your throat, your panties were pushed to the side, and he was easing two fingers inside of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders. French manicured nails scratched at the pastel-colored polo he wore— why was he still wearing his clothes? Soft, keening moans slipped past your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. Every thought of him preferring Tashi or him leading you on slipped from the front of your mind as his thumb rubbed at your clit.

With a free hand, you palmed him over his pants, relishing in the way he panted against your warm skin. You made quick work of the button of his jeans— you knew your way around him like the back of your hand. He was warm, pulsing in your delicate grip when your hand slipped beneath the band of his briefs. Slick at his tip with need. 

He moaned against your pulse point, nuzzling against you as you began to jerk him off in time with each pump of his fingers. 

“You smell like him,” he groaned, nose pressed to the spot just beneath your ear as his hips bucked into your fist with a new sort of desperation. You didn’t have to ask who he meant. His tongue slipped out, lapping at you briefly before sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there. 

His fingers flexed so they brushed against the sweet spot within you. Your eyes rolled back and a sob of pleasure clawed its way from your throat. “Need you,” you pleaded, equal parts a thoughtless cry and a demand.

And who was he to deny either of you that? A pitiful whine escaped your lips when he slipped his fingers from within you and moved your hand from him. He stood to clumsily pull off the rest of his clothes at the same time that you quickly shimmied off your panties and tossed them to the side.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned as he joined you back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You were so pliant and sweet beneath him, looking up at him with adoring doe-eyes and a pretty smile on your spit-slick lips. He should’ve been perfectly content.

As he parted your thighs, stroking his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance, he wondered if Tashi and Patrick were doing the same exact thing at that same exact moment. He could imagine it clearly— Tashi, splayed out on her bed, and Patrick right at home between her thighs; sinking in, faces contorting with pleasure. Before he could stop himself, a soft moan slipped past his lips at the mental image. 

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself within you, and he buried his face into your neck. Fuck. You really did smell like Patrick. The shitty Axe body spray that was supposed to smell like chocolate, and the lingering scent of cigarettes. 

You moaned prettily, pussy squeezing him like a vise. Manicured nails scratched against his back, delicate enough that the marks would probably disappear by that time the next day. He was so used to Patrick lounging shirtless around their hotel rooms after tournaments— severe-looking scratch marks looking like angel wings against his pale skin. He always wore them like a badge of honor the night after he snuck off with some pretty girl he’d set his sights on. That’s how you know you’re doing it right. 

Why was he thinking about Patrick?

He tried to lose himself in you— in how pretty you were beneath him, the sweet words falling from your lips with each thrust. Feels so good, Art. ‘M so close already. Gonna make me cum. 

When he looked down at you, your mouth hung open, lips shiny with spit, begging to be kissed. His mouth met yours messily and you both moaned into the kiss. He moved a hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit as he bullied his cock into your inviting cunt. 

You came with a string of moans and expletives that made the person next door bang on the wall out of annoyance. Art had to pull out as soon as he felt you start to squeeze around him. All it took was a few clumsy strokes and he was spilling onto your stomach with an almost embarrassing whine. 

You both lay there catching your breath and cursing the shitty air conditioning in the dorm. He wiped the mess of cum off of your stomach with an old tee shirt that was hanging off the side of his desk and tossed it to the side to be dealt with later.

“You’re so gross,” you mumbled with a tiny laugh, reaching down to grab your underwear from your floor. After you pulled them back on, you watched him dig through a pile of clothes in a papasan chair for a passable pair of pajama pants. An amused smile played on your lips at the sight. “Do I need to buy you a hamper?”

He held up a pair of pajama pants to examine them, shrugged, and pulled them on. “I have one, it’s just full.” A boyish grin spread across his lips as he crossed the room towards his dresser. He tossed a random tee shirt from the drawer in your direction and climbed on the bed, grinning down at you. “See? I have clean clothes.”

You laughed as you pulled the shirt over your head, then turned on your side to face him. His eyes flickered from your face, down to the shirt, then back. You wrinkled your face in confusion and peered down at the shirt. 

“What? What does it say?” You asked with a laugh.  You held it out, squinting to make sense of the graphic— faded and upside down. Finally, your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! I thought you were more of a Maroon 5 and Justin Timberlake guy. I’ve never even seen a Blink-182 CD in your stuff before.”

Art cleared his throat and shrugged, thumbing the bottom of the tee shirt absentmindedly. “I went with Patrick a few years back.”

A smile turned your lips. “It’s sweet that you two are such good friends.” You reached over, brushing his curls from his forehead. He turned, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Did you and Tashi have fun tonight?” The insecurity in your words was palpable.

Art shrugged. “A party’s a party, y’know?” He leaned into your touch, letting you play with his hair. “Just lost track of time. I won’t run off on you next time.”

You chewed your lip shyly. “I think it’d be nice for the three of us to hang out sometime,” you said, watching his expression to gauge his reaction. 

“C’mere,” he said with a tired smile, effectively avoiding your suggestion. When he pulled you against his side, he nuzzled his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickled with each exhale, which made you squirm, but every so often he’d place a chaste kiss on the skin there and you’d forget why you wanted to ask him to move.

In the morning, when you woke up to his alarm clock blaring a local radio station, you realized it was the first time he’d let you stay the night. 

SPRING 2007

After your second drink, you decided that Art Donaldson had hung you out to dry for the last time. Well, probably the last time. 

Most likely not the last time. 

Knowing yourself, you’d be clinging to his side like a lost puppy in a few weeks’ time, if you even had the dignity to give it that long. The second his attention turned to you again, you knew you’d be absolutely relishing in the special affection he always gave you when he was experiencing Tashi-related withdrawal.

You were so stupidly in love (or in lust, or in whatever) with him that you’d accept just about anything he could throw at you. 

No labels, just casual? Fine. Ignoring you all night then conveniently remembering you exist when he’s horny and ready to go back to his dorm? Whatever. You’re game. 

You’d gone to every match, watched a few practices. Helped him study for exams, let him borrow the notecards you’d painstakingly written over the course of the semester. Jesus, you even wrote a few essays for him when his schedule got crowded and he just couldn’t manage.

All you asked in return was a date to a stupid formal, and he ditched you last minute for Tashi. Again. And you couldn’t even get pissed about it without feeling guilty, because she’d fucking gotten injured and it wasn’t her fault that the guy you were into was carrying a torch for her instead.

“You’ve been staring down the Reese’s Pieces for the last five minutes.” The familiar voice startled you from your sulking. The world filtered back in suddenly— the blaring music, the smell of cigarettes and pot, the chatter of people wandering in and out of neighboring dorms. When you turned, Patrick Zweig was leaning against the vending machine beside you, carrying a large Tennis bag and backpack on both of his shoulders. “Do you need five bucks?”

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” You asked, brows furrowed with confusion. “I heard about her match. I just figured that you’d…“ You trailed off as you noticed the thinly veiled kicked-puppy expression he wore. “Oh.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’s… it’s over. Did you want the Reese’s, or not?” 

“No,” you shook your head and laughed. “I just needed…” you trailed off. What was it you needed, again?

You needed Art. A date to the formal. You needed to feel desirable and cared for. You needed him to get his head out of his ass and just fucking commit. You needed to tell Art to fuck off and find another groupie. You needed…

“Another drink?” Patrick suggested.

You nodded eagerly like that’s what you’d been thinking all along. “Yes. Another drink.” You paused, glancing at his bags. “Do you want to drop your things in my room first? My roommate is in Iowa, or something. She won’t mind.”

Your dorm was decorated in shades of pink and green, with a ruffled bedspread and faux fur pillows and blankets. You bent down to retrieve two bottles of Smirnoff Ice from a mini fridge. Patrick did his best to look away like a gentleman would. 

Well, he did his best. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his options were to look at your tight jeans or the bulletin board above your desk that was essentially an Art Donaldson shrine. 

Pretty pink push pins held up a photo of the two of you after one of his matches, both beaming at the camera. Then there were little notes he’d written you in his boyish scrawl. Tickets to movies you’d gone to see and tickets to his matches. 

“Here,” you said, drawing his attention back to you, thankfully in an upright position. You’d already popped the bottle caps off the radioactive blue drink you handed him. You were chewing your lip shyly, sweetly. “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”

“What?” He took a drink and nearly grimaced at the sweetness. After he finished it, he’d need to go find something stronger.

You sighed and took a long drink yourself. “I dunno, the whole… thing. Art.” You absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shirt. “I mean, what girl with any self-respect lets a guy just screw her for months with no commitment?”

“Maybe self-respect is overrated.” He laughed and stepped closer. “Full disclosure? I only came here hoping that I could fuck someone and spend the night in their dorm. Free booze was a plus.”

“We’re in the same boat then,” You said, gazing up at him through your lashes. “We’re both jilted lovers who need a distraction.”

You tilted the bottom of the bottle up, chugging down the contents. When you were done, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rolled your neck out. “Bottoms up,” you said with a coy smile. “Let’s find something stronger.”

——

An hour later, something by the Pussycat Dolls was blaring through a set of speakers in a darkened common area. You were the fun kind of tipsy, where you started to care less about everyone else and just found yourself buzzed in that light, easy kind of way. You danced to the beat without a care in the world while Patrick sat on the arm of a couch and nursed his beer. 

His eyes were glued to your body as you moved, almost hypnotic beneath the red Christmas lights that had been stapled around the ceiling. Your shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach that you either didn’t notice or didn’t care to cover up. 

The only thought running through his head? Art was a fucking idiot. 

You glanced over at him and nodded for him to join you. He didn’t move, so, not one to give up, you joined him over on the couch. When he went for a drink, you tipped up the bottom of the beer can and forced him to finish it, even as it spilled past his lips and down his chin. 

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

With a pleased smile, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the middle of the room to dance.

He shook his head as you tried to make him dance— your hands on his hips, pushing and pulling and trying and failing to make him move. “No, no. I don’t dance,” he explained, as firmly as he could stand to be.

“Because you can’t? Or because you think you’re too cool?” You asked, raising a brow. He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “C’mon, if you dance, I’ll tell you a secret.”

That did make him laugh. “What are you, five?”

With a shrug, you took his hands into yours and moved them to your hips. There was a hesitance in his touch, at first. But then his fingers splayed against exposed skin, and you were so warm. Your hips began moving to the beat beneath his hands. “See? We’re dancing,” you said, peering up at him through long lashes.

You looked genuinely victorious when he finally started dancing… kind of. It was less of an action and more of an acceptance. It had been abundantly obvious since the moment he walked into your dorm room that you wanted to end the night with him. Maybe it was because you thought it would hurt Art, or maybe it was because he was there and he was feeling the exact same things you were.

He’d done his best to resist out of some lingering sense that he could repair things with Tashi, and the hope that maybe Art’s spite would fade and they’d be friends again.

Despite skipping the whole college thing, Patrick wasn’t an idiot. He knew better. The second Tashi fell on that court, both of those doors slammed in his face.

And you were so close to him that he could smell the liquor on your breath. And Victoria’s Secret body spray. Mostly the liquor, though. He was barely moving, but you— you were something else. Hips moving against the thigh he’d slotted between your legs, arms trailing up his chest so you could sling them around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Even though you were grinding against each other like two horny middle-schoolers at their first dance, he’d had enough to drink that he didn’t really give a fuck. When he moved his hands from your hips to grab your ass, you gasped and laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Your body moved so effortlessly that anything he could have possibly done would’ve looked clunky and clumsy. He groaned when you brushed against him just right, and he could tell by your smug expression that you knew exactly how you were affecting him. 

You leaned in, chest to chest. “Can I tell you the secret now?” You whispered, lips brushing against the line of his jaw. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I think it’d be a bad idea for us to fuck. We’re both in a bad place.”

“Mhmm. Bad idea,” he echoed. He wanted to reach out and grab your jaw, to tilt your face up and kiss you. One of your hands had slipped beneath the hem of his (Tashi’s) shirt, just barely teasing the skin there. It made him shiver and lean into the heat of your touch.

“But I still want to.” You sounded so earnest, so needy. Like you’d take anything he’d give you and thank him for it. “We can use each other to feel better, right? Just a nice, warm body and a rush of dopamine.”

It was exactly what Patrick had come to the fucking dorm rager for. To feel wanted and desired. For someone to look at him like he wasn’t actively failing at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. 

But he was good at other things.

You guided him through the crowded hallway, way more packed than they had been before you’d started dancing. It was getting later, more people were falling for the siren song of R&B and beer. You were a siren of a different making— with much more dangerous consequences than a hangover.

It almost felt wrong to be back in your innocent, frilly little dorm with the intention of fucking your brains out. But the looks you were giving him were enough proof that he wasn’t the only pervert. Before you could get too far, he pinned you up against the door, displacing a dry-erase calendar in the process. 

You glanced down, eyes flitting towards the hearts around tomorrow’s date, anticipating the formal that Art had flaked on. Without looking back, you kicked the dry-erase board out of the way, a problem for later. 

His lips met yours in a messy clash— teeth knocking slightly until you found a rhythm with each other. Patrick Zweig kissed like he’d been at war for fucking years and had just returned home. He kissed like he had crawled out of the desert and the only promise of water could be found on your tongue. 

You’d never been kissed with that level of need and desperation— that desire— and you fucking loved it. The taste of his tongue licking into your mouth, the rumble of a moan against your own lips.

His hands were moving beneath your shirt, pushing it up as he went. A pretty whine slipped past your spit-slick lips as he squeezed your tits over your bra. Your hands stayed busy undoing his jeans. He moaned into your mouth when your fingers barely brushed against the bulge through the denim. 

“That feel good?” You teased, practically breathing the words into his lungs as you slipped your hand into his boxers. He groaned in response as your hand wrapped around him and pumped slowly.  There was something addicting about his need— you relished in the pulse of him, warm and bucking into your grip. And you wanted more. You wanted to be the one to make him come undone. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

His head fell back slightly as you brushed your thumb along his tip, the movement accompanied by another soft groan. The way you peered up at him with an earnest need to please made hot desire thrum within him.

“You could start by taking these clothes off,” he said, fingers roaming to tug at the strap of your bra. You started to move, slipping your hand from his boxers. Then you stopped.

“You’re not gonna help?” You asked coyly, goosebumps forming where his fingers trailed along your side, teasing at the band of the bra. 

That made a tiny smirk turn at his lips. “Does Art help?” It shouldn’t have turned him on— that little flash of longing for Art in your eyes. But it did. You nodded, shifting slightly to encourage more of Patrick’s touch. “Lift your arms.”

As easy as anything, you obeyed. No banter, no push and pull for control. It was so different than what he had with Tashi (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about), and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how it always was for you and Art (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about either). 

He tossed your shirt to the side and moved a single hand to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a quick movement that he’d perfected at sixteen. Painstakingly slow, he pushed each strap down your arms, until it fell at your feet and exposed your tits to the overzealous AC of the Stanford dorms. 

Your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and his mouth watered in a near-Pavlovian response to the sight. His hands moved back to your chest, so he could thumb over the sensitive buds and relish in the way you shivered.

The wood of the door was cold against your shoulders as you arched into his touch. Manicured nails fumbled with the button to your jeans— you twisted and shimmied them off before kicking them to the side.

Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed. A grin played at your lips as he practically dropped you onto it, making a decorative pillow fall to the floor. 

“It was only, like, five steps,” you said with a laugh. Patrick shrugged and made quick work of his clothes. You sat up on your elbows to watch him shuck off his pants, then awkwardly hop on one foot at a time to remove his shoes and socks.

When he finally joined you on the bed, he was clad only in his boxers, which were sporting an almost comically large tent. He positioned himself over you, that shit-eating grin ever present on his face. “Can I go down on you?”

You laughed lightly in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He nodded. “As a heart attack.” He nuzzled against your jaw teasingly. “C’mon, lemme make you feel good, okay? I live for this shit.”

You giggled, pushing his face away. “Yeah. Fuck. You can.”

He trailed his lips down your jaw, then your sternum. He stopped only briefly to suck each nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch into him. Your hand moved into his hair, and he moaned against your tit as you tugged slightly. 

You watched him kiss down your stomach and peel your panties down your legs with his teeth through half-lidded eyes. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slowly kissed up one leg.

The sight made your stomach flip— the sheer desire of it all. Your mind flickered to Tashi, as it seemed to do more and more. Tashi got this same sight, felt the same lips on her skin, and heard the same groans and pants. You could’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. At that moment, with Patrick on top of you, you were closer to Tashi than Art could even dream of.

A tap on the inside of your thigh was his wordless way of telling you to open up for him, to get out of your head and come back to earth. Your tummy fluttered as you spread your legs more and he slotted himself there with an arm slung across your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he said lowly, peering up at you. “You get this wet from just kissing?”

Heat burned in your cheeks at his obvious amusement, but you could tell he loved how responsive you were. His tongue traced you from your hole to your clit, making you cry out and twist your fingers into his curls. Quick, teasing flicks against your clit made your thighs tremble and squeeze around his shoulders. You were so fucking sensitive that it made him want to tear you apart.

It was messy— a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal as he made out with your pussy. His nose brushed against your clit as he nuzzled deeper into you, moaning as his fervor was rewarded with more of your juices spilling onto his tongue. 

There was no method or precision to it, even though you were quite sure he could’ve had you coming undone beneath his fingers in no time at all. Patrick relished in every tiny reaction— in feeling your thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair. Relished in the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your slick smeared across his face. 

Your back was arching off the bed, nails digging just shy of painfully into his scalp. 

He opened you up with one finger, then a second. Your cunt accepted the intrusion with ease, like you were made for it. For him. He crooked his fingers just so and you cried out pathetically. He pressed there, constant and firmly and your fingers tugged harder on his hair, moans increasing in pitch as your breaths came in pants. 

“I’m— I— fuck—“ words failed you as his lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked, making spots dance across your vision. In the absence of words, all you could manage were fucked out sobs and pitiful little whines.

Slick walls fluttered around his fingers, and your clit pulsed against his tongue. You were so easy to get worked up— a toy for him to wind up and set into motion. You came with a moan that would’ve made a weaker man cum inside of his boxers, your cunt spasming around the intrusion of his fingers. 

When he sat back and cleaned his fingers in his mouth, you were watching through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Tiny pieces of hair were plastered to your face and forehead, and you gave a breathless giggle as you looked up at him. 

“Holy shit,” you said with a grin as he shucked off his boxers and kicked them off somewhere across the room. 

“Feel good?” He asked, and pressed a kiss to your hip bone. You nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy with need. “Gonna give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, peering up at him with wide eyes. The tip of his nose was shiny with your arousal, which made warmth spread across your cheeks. With a sheepish laugh, you reached up and wiped it away with your thumb. There wasn’t much you could do about the mess on his mouth and chin. “You’re all messy.”

He kissed you slow— leaving his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself mixed with his spit. It was less of a kiss than a series of slow laves of his tongue against yours. It felt dirty, and a little gross, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. You’d never kissed Art like that, would’ve never even dreamed of it. Patrick was an entirely different animal. 

You stayed like that for a while— just completely lost in the feel of him warm on top of you, grinding his cock against your cunt as he planted messy kisses to your lips. 

“Condom?” He mumbled the words against your lips when he finally grew impatient.

“Mhmm. Bedside table.”

He fumbled inside the drawer, grabbing glasses cleaning wipes two seperate times before he finally found a foil packet in the bottom of the drawer.  

He held it between two fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You sure this’ll fit me? I’m bigger than Art.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not by that much.”

“Where it counts, though.” His smirk was smarmy as he tore open the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length. He spat in his hand and stroked himself as he peered down at you, like he hadn’t quite decided how he wanted you yet. 

“Turn over,” he finally said with a pat to the meat of your thigh. You did as he said, almost hesitant as you turned over and settled onto your forearms, arching your back slightly. “Does Art ever fuck you like this?”

He held the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you with the tiniest amount of pressure. You took in a shaky breath and shifted, eager for more that he wasn’t going to give you yet. “Do you have to bring him up right now?”

No. He knew he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help himself at the same time. The thought of his Art in this same bed with you made it all so much hotter for him. He wanted to know how Art had fucked you, he wanted every detail burned in his brain. He wanted to be better, or maybe just be there with the two of you. 

It had gotten close. Once. Art was definitely fingering you under a blanket while the three of you watched a movie on his laptop across the room. Patrick’s thigh was touching yours— he could feel the way your muscles tensed and shook as Art played with you. He was close enough to hear the hitch of your breath. 

And if that hadn’t been enough to give it away, Art’s stupid fucking smirk and the obvious way his arm was moving would have.

He didn’t do anything then, but maybe he should’ve. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” He was slow as he sank into you, inch by inch. It could’ve been the position, or maybe his cocky bravado was completely founded, but he did feel bigger than you were used to. A soft moan was punched from your lips when he was finally buried to the hilt— your breath came in soft pants as you adjusted to the feeling of him. 

With your face pressed into your pillows, each breath you took flooded your senses with the smell of Art’s cologne. You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as your thoughts were overwhelmed with him.

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. His fingers dimpled your skin where he held onto you. He moved one hand to rub the base of your spine in a way that could probably have been tender, on another day. You moaned pathetically into the pillows. “What? You need something?” 

One shallow, teasing thrust made your toes curl. “More,” was all you could manage.

“Can you take it?” Patrick cooed, smugness was practically dripping from his tongue. “Because I can go slow if you need—“

“You’re such an asshole. Just fuck m—”

A rough snap of Patrick’s hips cut you off suddenly. You cried out, grasping onto the bedspread feebly as he began to fuck you in earnest. 

Each thrust made the cheap, university-provided bed frame slam against the wall. The decorations you had hung up rattled, threatening to tumble right onto the floor and shatter, but neither of you even noticed. The moans slipping past your lips were pornographic.

But the sounds escaping you were nothing compared to the noises Patrick was making. Art had made an off-handed comment, once, about how much of a slut Patrick could be. You hadn’t really seen why until you got to hear the desperate, debauched noises he could make.

You slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit and the feeling stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes rolled back, ass jiggling in time with each thrust.

Through it all, the memory of Art in this bed clung to you. Art, burying himself in the soft, wet heat between your thighs, flushed down to his chest and panting softly. His hungry kisses, melting sweet on your tongue like cotton candy. The whines that slipped past his lips, better than the prettiest music you could imagine. 

With each brutal thrust of Patrick’s cock into you, he punched out soft ah, ah, ahs from your lips. In your head, you just heard Art, Art, Art. Maybe that’s what you meant to say. 

You were probably in love with him. You were fucking his best friend. And it wasn’t even that simple. Patrick and Art and Tashi and somewhere between it all, you lingered. It was a giant clusterfuck of feelings and lust that you’d somehow tangled yourself inside of. Wanting someone so much, you want whoever has them just as badly. 

Maybe everything would’ve been a lot cleaner if you’d just locked the four of you into a room and stayed until every bit of tension had been fucked out. The idea of it all made you moan softly into the pillows. 

Patrick pulled you up suddenly, back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck into you. One hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you so he could press his lips to yours again, and the other squeezed at your tits. His mouth did a perfect job of muffling your moans— Patrick relished in feeling your pretty whines vibrate against his lips. 

“You feel so fucking perfect.” His words made heat flutter through you. “Need t’ feel you cum again. You have it in you, yeah? I can feel it.”

You nodded, eager to please. Pleasure was lapping at every nerve, lightning-hot. Your fingers rubbed faster at your clit as he pounded up into you. The whines escaping you were pathetic as your body crawled closer and closer to the edge. 

“Close,” you gasped out. Patrick licked into your open mouth, kissing you sloppily as you set a punishing pace on your poor, oversensitive clit. “So close— f-fuck—“

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. You clawed at his arm with your free hand, desperately seeking purchase as euphoria pulsed through your veins. 

“That’s it,” he groaned, his breath hot against your jaw. “Fuck— squeezin’ me so tight I can barely move— god—“

Your eyes were half-lidded as he worked you through it, rhythm only just beginning to falter as his finish approached. He pushed you back onto your stomach, manhandling your hips so your back was arched just like he wanted. 

You were reduced to whimpers and whines by the time he finally came�� buried as deep as he could get, grip bruising on your hips. A few shallow thrusts were all he could manage before he pulled out, collapsing on beside you. 

You were catching your breath while he disposed of the condom in the cute trash can beside your bed, filled with gummy snack wrappers and broken pencils and old class notes. It felt like sacrilege. He laid back down, and you pulled a throw blanket over the two of you. 

With his head against the pillows, you wondered if he could also sense the phantom of Art’s presence there in the bed. Somewhere between you, forcing distance.

“So, when do you leave for your next tournament?” You asked. Unconsciously, you reached out to play with his hair, the same way you did to Art in times like these. “Soon, I bet. You usually don’t stay long.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” He asked, a tiny smile playing at his lips. His chest was still heaving with exertion. 

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get rid of you, Patrick.” He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. 

In the morning, you’d wake up squished against Patrick’s side with the taste of sugary alcohol on your tongue. When you picked up your phone to see three missed calls from Art, it was easier to pretend that you hadn’t seen them at all.

thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed, please lmk by sending an ask, or whatever you wanna do <3

[dem0batz]

Rotten Right to the Core

Caleb x MC // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: No thoughts, only Caleb's toxic ass behavior. This was shorter than I planned but sometimes the words lead you and not the other way around. Hope y'all still enjoy 😘 Summary: Caleb wants to feel you without any barriers. 🔞Content Warnings: Dead Dove, afab!MC, she/her MC, taboo (pseudo-cest), PIV, rough sex, edging, biting, protected sex until it’s not, dubcon (sexual coercion), possessive Caleb, spanking, Girlboss/Gaslight/Breeding Kink, hair pulling, putting it back in Word Count: ~1500 | Read on AO3 | Chapter List

Incoherent words fall from your mouth, muffled by the scratchy material of your grandmother’s couch while Caleb ruts into you from behind. Ever the one to take advantage of your time home alone together, your brother had you pinned to the cushion the moment you got home from a full day of classes at the Hunter’s Academy. You barely had time to for your bag to drop to the floor before his tongue was down your throat and he had you folded in half over the armrest. He’s been different since leaving for the Skyhaven base to train as a pilot. Caleb has always been the overprotective, obsessive type but now that you were no longer living under the same roof it was like he was trying to tattoo himself inside you whenever he was granted leave to visit home.

“This is just the welcome home I needed,” he groans.

His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, pulling you back on his length with obscene wet slaps echoing off of the walls. Your body was already sore from the way he tossed you around like a rag doll, placing you in various positions and seeming unable to get enough. Heavy, firm balls slap against your puffy abused clit, teasing at an orgasm he had denied you over and over again until you felt on the verge of madness.

“Caleb, please!” you whine, voice pitched high and eyes full of tears.

A deep chuckle vibrates against your back as he pins you further with his chest.

It was borderline cruel the way he made you beg for release. You never understood why he insisted on drawing it out and tormenting the both of you, especially considering that more times than not you were on a time crunch to finish before Gran could catch the two of you. It was like he wanted to get caught, always pushing the limit further and further, seeing how close you could get to the sun without incinerating.

“You know just what I like to hear.” His warm breath is like silk against your eardrum. “I want something else from you, though.”

You don’t hesitate to answer, unable to bear the thought of waiting any longer.

“Anything.”

Caleb’s hand grips your jaw, pulling your gaze back to meet his until your neck aches from the strain. Danger flashes in his amethyst eyes.

“You have no sense of self-preservation, dear sister. You don’t even know what you’re asking for. But it’s too late to take it back.”

He bites your ear painfully as he continues to pump into you, teeth clamping hard while his tongue flicks at jewelry in your lobe. You cry out in a heady combination of pain and please, tightening around his erection.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he moans your name. His heavy cock falls out, leaving you dripping and clenching around nothing as a pitiful plea escapes your lips. “Stop being a whiny brat. You’ll get what you want. Take the condom off.”

That snaps you out of your tormented, blissed out haze, shocking you to your core.

“What do you mean, take it off—”

As you push up on one arm to turn around and face him, you collapse onto your chest once more as Caleb pushes you down and pins your arm behind your back. His hand encircles yours in deceptive softness as he guides your fingers to the tip of his hard cock to pinch the latex.

“What I mean… is take it off, pip,” he repeats.

“B-but we don’t… not without…” you grapple for understanding as responsibility pushes through your lust-filled brain.

“Yeah, well I wanna feel you. All of you. Without anything between us.”

You hesitate, knowing it would be an incredibly irresponsible thing to do. You just got into the academy and were top of your class. Before long you would be assigned to a squad at the Association, something you’ve dreamed of doing since you saw Hunters fighting off Wanderers on the broadcast as a little girl.

Caleb must sense your hesitation. Soft lips press to your cheek, a trail of soothing kisses pecking lovingly against the skin. The hand not currently wrapped around your own dips between your thighs as he starts to swirl your swollen clit. Still sensitive from the constant edging, your mind swims as your forehead falls to the cushion to stop the room from spinning. His touch is light, gentle even as your brother’s calming voice soothes you like a balm.

“I know this is new for us and you’re nervous, but it hurts that you don’t trust me to take care of you.”

“It’s not—”

“You have the implant—”

“How do you know tha—” you ask, but he cuts you off again.

“And I’ll pull out. I promise.” A soft sigh falls from his lips as he starts to pump against your hand that was still gripping him. “Just need to feel you.”

You never knew how to tell him no when he gets like this, all soft and sweet even if it never lasted.

“I-I—you promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“…okay,” you give in, body going pliant in his hold.

Pinching the latex, you start to tug. Caleb pulls back to give you space to work the condom down his length with a snap!

“There’s my sweet girl,” he praises.

Releasing your arm, he grabs himself to swipe the sticky bare head through your soaked folds with a hiss. Up and down over and over again as it keeps bumping your clit in a maddening tease. Just when you think he’s never going to put you out of your misery, he slides in with a single deep, hard thrust that takes the air from your lungs.

“Caleb!” you cry out just as he lets out a loud quivering groan.

Hand pressing against his abdomen you attempt to make him ease up. But just like before when you tried to stop him, he traps your arm against your lower back while his long cock bruises your cervix. His hips regain the brutal pace it had before the condom came off, the skin-to-skin contact making his glide through your walls much easier. Despite your pleas for him to slow down, you gush around the intrusion.

“I know you like it soft and sweet, pip-squeak, but you also like when I just take what’s mine. Don’t you?”

His hand cracks across your ass, leaving behind a sting that has you grinding your teeth. Head shaking in denial, Caleb lands another smack across the sensitive flesh followed by another and another.

“Don’t lie to me. I can feel your cunt squeezing the life out of me every time I do.”

“No—”

Crack!

“Want to try that again?”

“Caleb!”

Crack!

“Just tell me the truth and I’ll let you come.”

Like a carrot dangling in front of a horse, you give, desperate for the release. Your muffled response gets lost in the cushion. Fingers thread through the base of your neck, pulling at your roots until your face is unobstructed.

“Say it again,” he demands, panting harshly into your ear.

He was just about as far gone as you at this point.

“I like it,” you mewl, not having the strength to deny it any longer.

Your body was starting to grow heavy and you didn’t have much left to give.

“Like what? Use your big girl words.”

You loved hated when he did this. He was a total sadist sometimes. Face heating to an unbearable degree, you rush out a response.

“I like it when you take what’s yours.”

“You love it when I take what’s mine,” he corrects.

“I love it when you take what’s yours,” you repeat between high pitched moans.

You would give him anything he wanted right now if he would just give you what you needed. Your dignity was long gone, that ship having sailed years ago when it came to him.

“Now tell me you want my cum.”

“Caleb,” you hyperventilate, on the verge of tears again at his constant teasing.

“Shhh, it’s okay sweet girl. Almost there, I promise. Tell me what you want.”

“I want your cum.”

“Whose cum?”

“My brother’s…” you murmur, knowing exactly what the pervert wants to hear.

Caleb always did want what he wasn’t supposed to have, you above all.

“Yeah? You want your big brother’s cum? Well, who am I to deny a pretty girl her request.”

Fingers pinch your clit, the mere touch enough at this point to make you go blind with pleasure. Your abdomen tightens and your ears ring almost painfully as you’re overcome with your release. You barely even notice when Caleb pulls out with a growl and wetness coats both holes between your legs. The moment seems to go on forever until he finally releases you, allowing you to collapse face-first into the couch with your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Grabbing his still stiff cock, Caleb swipes it through the mess he made of your ass and pussy, gathering the sticky release together on the tip.

So out of it, you don’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s too late.

Caleb slides back into your abused, tender hole with slow intentional deep strokes.

“Caleb!” you scold, so depleted of energy that your protest comes out as a pathetic mumble.

“I kept my promise, babygirl. I pulled out. Do you think Gran would be mad if we made her a grandma again?”

“You’re a jerk,” your swat lands against his naked hip with a smack as he laughs at your expense.

[timmydraker]

Tim Drake who hates his dad for various reasons, very few to do with his parenting and more for his actual personality, but his mother?

There isn’t a person alive he adores more than her.

Like, he genuinely worships the ground she stands on and will spend hundreds of hours thinking about what present to give her with a dozens ideas and he always, always, just decides to do them all.

His way of greeting his mother is to kiss her hands, the hands that raised him and defend him from people like Vale with unrelenting force.

Janet isn’t a submissive woman, she is a mother.

Like a predator in the wild, she will do whatever it takes to take care of her son. Janet is a quick witted woman raised in the high class, meaning she can verbally destroy anyone no matter how much their net worth is.

One of the most well known photos from all of Gotham is when Lex Luther came to visit and made a subtle remark about Tim being apart of the ‘woke kids’ after it spoke out about climate change. The photo is of Janet Drake, a remarkably tall woman in stiletto’s, pointing a finger at Lex Luther as if a witch making a curse, the hairless man standing there with a look of genuine regret, and nine year old Tim Drake standing behind his mother with a shit eating grin.

It naturally gets memed.

Tim has called restaurants ahead of time to make sure they will have his mother’s favourite wine when she goes to dinner events, dates with Jack, or a family dinner since he learnt what it was. (And if not then anything Bordeaux will do.)

Tim would come home and cry whenever he wasn’t able to tell his mum about the secret parts of his day, such as him taking photos of Batman and when he became Robin.

But his mother has so much to deal with, so many rude people and conniving businessmen, sexist journalist and people attacking her for her overtly pro-choice commentary.

She doesn’t need to worry about her baby boy and he calls her every night anyway, so she’ll know he is okay.

After all, she went through a horrible pregnancy and never once took it out on or blamed her son.

She went through body dysphoria from how it changed her, struggling with how her hips felt bigger and her whole self felt different, but learnt to love it because it was just proof she did the best she could for her baby.

Even though she went on trips with her husband, she never once forgot to call her son or bring him back little souvenirs. She fully supported him taking photos, buying him a camera even though she didn’t get the appeal, and would laugh so brightly when little Tim begged to take photos of her even though she had just woken up without a hint of make up on and curlers still in her hair.

Naturally, when she passes away he is a wreck.

Even Vickie Vale keeps quiet about it, knowing that the love the boy has for his mother isn’t something to mess with.

Photos of him sobbing at her grave are shamed by the masses, the journalist and paparazzi who toon the photos getting all kinds of backlash.

Bruce, who had once been watched by Tim like a hawk to make sure he wouldn’t do the same thing, subtly puts Tim on watch just in case. He’s not sure if Tim is at that breaking point, but the teenager spends hours walking around the empty house he and his mother used to live in while waiting for his dad to wake up. He’s like a ghost some days, wearing the same clothes and barely talking, while other days it’s like he’s running on pure determination to be the best Robin and heir for his mother’s company.

After a few months, Dick asks Tim what keeps him going even though he’s clearly hurting.

Tim, who has worn black most of that time like Queen Victoria, smiled at his pseudo-brother and answers like it’s obvious,

“Because I’d never hurt my mamas little boy.”

[seduzist]

marriage lesson

alicent hightower x rhaenyra’s daughter! reader

cw. totally based on this drabble, but can be read individually. pseudo-incest smut but mentions of real incest (uncle-niece by arranged marriage), age gap (alicent is old enough to be reader’s mother), can be interpreted as being taken advantage of but it’s consensual so i will add dubcon just to be safe.

as not only a princess, but a targaryen, you knew you had your duties with the throne, doesn’t matter how much you tried to run and hide from it, it was useless, and the time finally came, viserys, the king himself, decided that a marriage between you, the loved daughter of rhaenyra targaryen, and aemond, his middle child, would seal the peace between his children and wife when he’s gone. you had no choice but do it, aemond wasn’t that bad, he always treated you with respect, respect he didn’t have for your bastard brothers and you resented him for it, but decided to ignore since you would have to marry him. you didn’t think many things would change between you after your marriage except for the fact that you would have to have his heir, to lay with him. and that’s exactly what made you nervous.

the anxiety running through your veins on the night before the marriage made you unable to sleep, so you thought that walk around the garden would help to calm your nerves, maybe even fully accept your undeniable future. you ordered your sworn sword to ignore your midnight walk, with the promise that you wouldn’t leave the castle. your steps silently echoed through the dark halls of the red fortress, trying to find anything that could take your mind off the day followed, until you saw the queen at the garden, sitting on a bench next to the middle tree.

“princess.” her soft voice reached your ears before you could think about going back to your bedroom, scared that she might be mad about your late night walks, but she seemed nothing more than pleased at the sight of you, she looked beautiful with her long hair down in curls falling over her back with her white nightgown exposing her arms and shoulders.

“your grace… i couldn’t sleep.” you said, taking a step closer to her, explaining yourself without any hesitation.

“it’s fine, it’s normal to be nervous before your marriage.” she scoffed, suggesting you to sit by her side with a hand gesture. you obeyed, feeling much more comfortable to be on her side, maybe comfortable enough to voice some of your thoughts.

“it’s not the marriage that bothers me… it’s the consumption of it.” you refused to look at her face, preferring to face the garden instead, but you were sure that she was smiling.

“what are you scared of?”

“my mother said it hurts the first time.” the queen let out a little chuckle at your response and you felt like an idiot for a second, before she speaks again, in a much lower tone, something different in her voice.

“indeed, it’s much easier for the man gain the pleasure in the first time than for the woman, perhaps… there’s something you can do that may ease the pain, and give you just as much satisfaction.” that’s when you face her, curiosity in your eyes while doing so.

“what that would be, my queen?”

she seemed very pleased by your question “we should not talk about such things here.” that’s what you remembered before end up in her chambers, almost begging her to teach you how to not feel pain during the act, her answer would be the relief of all the agony you felt the last days, you said, and the merciful queen couldn’t help but give in to your pleads.

“lay down on the bed, i’m gonna show you.” you obeyed immediately, waiting for her next instruction, but that didn’t come, instead, she sits by your side, looking at you for a minute or two, almost like she was in a intern battle, about to do something she could regret later, but soon enough her hand rest upon your leg, going up and hiking up your silk nightgown till your thighs, your entire body shivered at her touch, and she seemed just as much as affected as you. when her hand reached under your core, she stopped, breathing heavily, almost telling herself that was her last chance to stop, she didn’t.

“he’s gonna be on top of you, like this.” she opened your legs slowly and gently, positioning herself between them, but not laying down on top of you, unable to do such a thing, one of her hand held her body up and the other hand was touching you, watching carefully your expressions, mixed in shyness and nervousness, but she could tell you were aroused as her fingers pulled your underwear to the side, finally contacting your warm core. “oh gods…” she paused, whispering those words to herself, still unbelieving she was really doing it, but the whine you let out at the contact made her smile. “when he enters you… that’s when it hurts.” her voice was just above a whisper, if you were just a few more inches away, you couldn’t hear her, the whole atmosphere felt like a secret. “but then, if you touch yourself right here…” her middle finger made contact with your clit and your body had a entire reaction, you put your hand on her shoulder, by reflection, your mouth opened in a loud, surprised sigh, the queen’s smiled grew as she saw your reaction, she could feel her own excitement start to create a discomfort between her legs, but she ignored it.

her fingers started to rub your, once untouched, pussy, playing with your clit, rolling under her fingers in circle motions, you lets out moans under her, as a thin layer of sweat started to form on your skin, your reactions seemed to please the queen.

“see? how good it is? you can ease the pain, you can pleasure yourself.” her words were sincere but you wasn’t the one pleasuring yourself, no, it was her, your queen, right on top of you, her experienced fingers playing with your most sensitive part in the best way on the night before your marriage with her son. you could be naive, but not dumb, in someway, this was wrong, a sin, could be the reason why you were even more eager for it.

“feels really good, your grace.” the title slipped of your lips as a reminder of her place, of your place, but she couldn’t help herself at this point, she was dripping wet and your needy voice whispering those words felt intoxicating, a encouragement for her to continue, she approached her face of yours, and your immediate reaction was leaning in to kiss her, but you couldn’t reach, so you tried again, free from any shame, looking like a adorable desperate mess for her eyes, that’s when she gives in, not just kissing you, but claiming your lips, you were inexperienced, but learned quickly her pace as her tongue entered your mouth, exploring eagerly, you tasted like candy for her, the sweetest of the candies with a pinch of forbidden.

“gods, you’re gonna be the ruin of me.” she finally lets herself fall on top of you, whispering those words before kissing you again, your skins in much more contact, warm and sweaty, eager and hot, she was all over you, her fingers worked so well, her presence intoxicating all your senses, all you could feel was her, the pleasure she was giving you, the pleasure she felt just by touching you, you called the gods name, lost in your pleasure, but that was in vain, not even the gods could help you now, she would be the ruin of you.

[ramshacklefey]

It's amazing to me just how good the Mormon church has been at hiding just how bad they really are from public view. Even the shit that gets spread around is the relatively harmless bullshit. They had a crazy prophet with magic glasses. They believe in god-mandated polygyny. They think everyone who is good enough will get their very own planet after the world ends. They wear magic underpants. Mormon men are all paladins.

Here's one of the ones you hear less often:

See, like many other Christian sects, the Mormons really do believe that the existence of Christ obviates the existence of Judaism. Judaism was just a placeholder until the "real" church could be established by Jesus.

And the Mormons in particular believe, dead ass, that the entire inheritance of Israel has been given to them, because the Jews failed to recognize the Messiah when he was on Earth. They really do. They have this whole system where people are given a "divine revelation" about which of the Tribes of Israel they're a member of (don't worry, they decided that most people belong to the two tribes that are willing to "adopt" people. Only the most specialest boys and girls are members of the original ten).

Let's sum up so far. The Mormons believe that they are the people of Israel, chosen and protected by God. If Jews want to get back in on that party, they can always repent and convert to Mormonism, the one true church to which God gave all the rights and blessings that were originally bestowed on Abraham's house.

But it doesn't stop there!

The Mormons also believe, in all seriousness, that all Indigenous peoples of the Americas are descended from a small group of Jewish people who left just before the fall of Jerusalem (~600 bc iirc). Their entire weird-ass extra bible is a chronicle of those people's history in [unspecific part of America]. At the very beginning of the book, two brothers in the original family turn away from god, so they and all their descendants are cursed with dark skin, so that the good Nephites (who remain "white and delightsome") will always be able to tell themselves apart from the wicked Lamanites.

So, you've got supposedly Jewish people running around the Americas. And the "good" ones are white, and the "bad" ones are brown. Then, ofc, Jesus comes to visit them (I guess supposedly that's part of what he was doing during his dirt nap? Or possibly after he left again, it's not clear), and they all convert to Christianity, which they think is clearly the natural evolution of Judaism. Well, at the end of the book, all of them become wicked, in a kind of weird pseudo-apocalyptic series of events. They are all cursed with dark skin, until such time as they repent for their ancestors sins and return to the gospel.

But of course, Mormons being the good and kind people they are, they want everyone to receive the blessings of God and be brought into the houses of Israel etc etc. And it isn't the fault of those poor little Indigenous children that their distant ancestors turned away from God and became wicked.

So what's the natural answer? Well, Mormons are real big on missionary work, as we all know. But apparently that wasn't enough in this case.

Because the Mormon church has been one of the big players in abducting as many Indigenous children as possible, in order to indoctrinate them into being good Mormons, so that they can turn white again and be blessed. My mother remembers hearing talks about this in the 70s and 80s. The church literally had a "Lamanite Adoption Program," where families in the church were encouraged to get as many Indigenous children as possible away from their families and not let them be reunited until they were fully assimilated and ready to go back and proselytize about how wonderful the church is.

The church leadership literally talked about how wonderful it was to see these children becoming whiter. Actually whiter. Like, saying that when they finally saw them with their families again, it was beautiful how much paler they were.

I'm pretty sure this program has been officially ended, but it doesn't take a genius to speculate about who might be behind the curtains on the movement in the western US to gut the ICWA....

So yeah. Next time someone tries to tell you that the Mormons are just harmless weirdos, please remember that they're an antisemitic cult that advocates for the forced assimilation of Indigenous children to help them escape the cursed brown skin of their ancestors.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 31. gangbangs

summary: a very self-indulgent chapter/pseudo-oneshot. **naoya’s ex-wife becomes toji’s girl. everybody wants a taste, and why not have the younger cousin watch the show?** alternatively, a gangbang with tattooed dilfs and dilf-adjacents.

chapter tags/warnings: five-some, gangbang, sex on tape, gun play (becoming a gun slut), cum play, breeding, creampies, exhibitionism, edging, degradation, praising, mentions of violence (murder, knives, guns), multiple orgasms.

word count: 5.5k

notes: happy kinktober and thank you for waiting! this started off as a concept (in my mind for a year-plus) and evolved into…a monster. too many men, too many hands, too many cocks. got lost in the sauce. despite being a smut chapter in a long fic, this update is borderline porn-without-plot. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“I love getting gangbanged."

Naoya woke up in a dark room and to a throbbing headache.

Where…?

He looked around the unfamiliar surroundings slowly, blinking past his grogginess to register what almost looked like a crime movie’s interrogation room and groaning when the wrong angle to his head caused a sharp pain in his shoulder.

All around was an ominous and gloomy shade of gray—the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and heck even the door. How long had he been out for? Without windows, he could not take a wild guess at the time. Not to mention that the room also had no lighting, no pictures, and no décor.

Only him and this...random dinky chair he found himself tied up to.

Wait.

Tied up to?

Right. From what Naoya could last recall, he had been stopped by two men who took him out with a single strike.

In a vain attempt to set himself free, Naoya tugged at his limbs which were fastened behind him with sturdy cords. He twisted and turned, then twisted harder and turned even harder, until an unexpected voice startled him.

“You’re awake.”

Naoya went still.

Having zero visual stimuli sharpened Naoya’s other senses a little. He could feel the labored huffs in his breathing, hear the heavy footsteps that began in the chamber, and even taste the smoke that lingered in the hazy air.

Leering towards the door, Naoya quickly recognized his captors as they approached.

"Don’t give us that foul look, sleepyhead," the taller one whom he remembered as Eso announced as he slowly stopped in front of the scowling blonde. He had on him a wide and nefarious grin. "You had passed out for the last few hours. During that time, you could've been beaten. Or better yet, dead." He glanced up. "Right, Kechizu?"

His accomplice, who stopped on the opposite side, replied with a firm nod. From seemingly nowhere, he had pulled out a pocket knife and grazed the icy blade against Naoya's neck. "Ya feel that? I've been wanting to slit your throat, but I haven't. Lucky, lucky duck. Not everyone is this fortunate. All because our big bro Choso is being super nice to you."

Aware that a wrong move would cost him a jugular vein, Naoya listened intently. Since he worked with the other sex therapists before, he indeed recalled how his former colleague led a tightly-knit assassin ring, in which the members deemed each other 'brothers.'

Kechizu prodded Naoya again with his blade. "Big bro's the only reason you're still alive. Although, I don't know why you'd want to still be breathing now that the whole world knows you've been bumping uglies with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Eso hummed in agreement. "Well, at least for now," he began and he gestured around in vague motions, “you're already in paradise!” Then, he paused. “Well, correction. Here is where we send people to paradise. Or, more likely, hell.”

Noticing how Naoya uncharacteristically froze, the two snickered. In fact, they likely would've continued snickering if not for a shrill tone that pierced the air. The laughter stopped.

Eso's charcoal eyes flicked downwards.

"Left pocket, Kechizu."

The other man obeyed, lowering his knife (and thus giving Naoya an actual chance to breathe) before grabbing the phone from Naoya's blazer. A notification lit up the screen—a message, from you.

“She sent a video.”

Eso and Kechizu intentionally held the screen away, and their face quickly lit up with a sinister smile when they previewed the file. “Oh, yeah. Let's watch.”

“Come join us, sweetheart.”

You thought you were discreet.

Lingering at the doorway, you had been peering into the Zenin Corporation’s CEO Suite like a lost duck. This past afternoon, news about the leadership changes within Japan’s largest conglomerate had spread like wildfire across business and politics networks across the globe, announcing that Naoya Zenin had been forced to resign with Toji Fushiguro reclaiming his position as head of the company.

For the latter, you had questions—many questions. However, an inundated Toji was difficult to approach as he spent his entire afternoon in the office with his also-reinstated directors Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. From your observations, the men had been milling around the table, speaking to each other in hushed but decisive voices in conversations that must remind them of their days managing the Zenin Corporation before Naoya’s takeover.

They all appeared ridiculously handsome with their expensive custom-tailored suits that emphasized their muscular physiques and complemented their towering heights. Surrounded by legal documents and business reports, they carried themselves differently, too. More mature, organized, and serious, especially after hectic meetings with the Chairman Naobito Zenin, your COO father, and internal and external stakeholders had left etches on their calculating faces.

Now, however, Toji Fushiguro had caught sight of your quivering form at the entrance, and soon enough, all eyes turned to you. When you didn’t respond to his first invitation, the executive approached you in confident strides.

“Why do you look so shy?”

At the unanticipated attention, you averted your gaze onto the floor and tried to slink away into the hall slowly. “You all seemed occupied, and I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You're not interrupting anything," he clarified. "We have some time now.”

He tugged your wrist softly, which was all that you needed to follow him like a fawn into the room and crumble onto his lap once he sat down. Despite his dress pants, the warmth from his thighs heated your skin, and Toji nuzzled his face into your neck. His gravelly huffs sounded like all the other times you had heard him rasp, moments followed by endless endearment.

"About Naoya," the older man brought up from seemingly nowhere. You tensed at the name while Toji's cordial lips assuaged you. "Choso’s brothers are making sure he’s not going to do anything funny. We can't have him around as we are transitioning the company. As for you...knowing my cousin, he's going to keep claiming you as his property unless you get through his dense head," and his viridescent pupils flicked upward, "and the only way to do that is to show him.”

Although you didn’t know exactly what he meant, Toji hoisted you in one fluid motion onto his desk and sprawled you across the surface. He pushed your thighs apart, prompting sharp breaths that echoed in the room as onlookers raked their eyes down your figure. Some (namely, Sukuna and Geto) peered down shamelessly, while others (just Choso, really) tried to come off as cool and observed quietly. Nonetheless, the message in their perverted gazes was clear: what they wouldn't give to kiss you, bite you, and mark you right then and there.

Just as you shrank a little from the overwhelming attention, Toji reached for your phone and pressed the device firmly into your palm.

“Let’s send him a message.” Toji’s eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and sharp.

You blinked, raising an incredulous brow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Leaning forward, Toji offered a clear view of the ink scrolling down his neck, his exhales warm against the beading cold sweat on your forehead. “Open up the camera. Let's send Naoya Zenin a surprise.” He gently pinched you. "Like I said, that idiot wouldn't understand shit unless you slam the idea into his dumb skull.”

You hesitated, glancing down at the phone in your hand.

“A photo won't be enough, by the way. We need a video. He won't get the fucking idea unless he sees and hears the proof.” When you complied, Toji turned to the colleague closest to him. "Wanna do the honors, Suguru?"

The said man came forward eagerly, the obsidian in his eyes sparkling. "'No' is never my answer to you, sir." Given your compromising position, he had the easy option to tear your lacy panties and stuff himself into your core except he wanted to take his time.

"I heard a lot about you." His compliments were all purrs that sent hot shivers shooting through your veins. "Mind if I take a go at you, too?"

After being passed between his three other colleagues, you must admit that you had at least thought about what sex with Geto was like, too. "Please."

At the permission, the man smiled and bunched your underwear to one side. The cold air hitting your drenched cunt made you shiver, but the collective groan in the room rumbled even louder, a reminder of the many men around you. Men who were being patient for you. Men who could not stop thinking about you. Men who, because of your ex-husband, had been holding grudges against you.

Geto pulled down his boxers just until the waistband fitted snugly under his balls. His cock stood proud with precum dribbling down his length as he positioned himself in the comfy spot between your thighs. He pressed against the table until his knuckles turned white, aligning himself with your entrance.

Without extra stimulation, your saturated folds welcomed him easily and you gasped loudly at the intrusion.

"Shit, you’re soaking," Geto sighed softly as you clenched around him, swarming his veins with gratification. He tipped his head forward, his loose strands framing his face. “Tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable, okay?” He was so sweet, so kind. You nodded and hazily recognized that this was what making love was supposed to feel like: tender, gentle, and loving. This was Suguru Geto's charm.

Before you could say more, an opportunistic Sukuna took his place above you. He moved quickly, undoing his belt and tugging hastily at his trousers, humming loudly with relief when he pulled his pants down and his massive cock sprang free. Despite being jostled by another man, you swabbed at the bubbling precum before pushing your thumb into your mouth, relishing his clean and salty tinge on your tongue.

Amused, Sukuna chuckled darkly. "What a fucking tease," he crowed, then patting your cheek. "C'mon. Open up, baby. Let me get to the back of your throat."

With little resistance, he popped your jaw open and sank his massive girth into your mouth. Gradually, you bobbed your head back and forth, letting your tongue lick every millimeter to him. He, likewise, pushed his hips forward, bringing your nose flushed against his well-trimmed patch of pink hair. He plucked the recording phone from your hands, and you sensed him tapping on the screen to focus on the erotic display where your bodies connected, your sinful lips accepting his fat cock with ease.

"You are such a good girl." Sukuna Ryomen confirmed, his movements mind-numbing as though he wanted to breed your esophagus. He wrapped a hand around your windpipe, constricting your airflow and causing you to gag. "Brat looks like a goddamn goddess sucking dick. Isn't that right, Choso?"

No response.

Curious, your pupils rolled to the side.

The assassin's the man you feared the most.

He was quiet, always guarded, his mysterious eyes pulling you in like two black holes. You could never know what he’s thinking about, although you lucidly remember his crooked obsession with 'disciplining' you.

"Hey, honey.” Geto's deft fingers suddenly gripped your chin, forcing your gaze to return to him. “Pay attention to us, m'kay?"

You hummed in response, Sukuna’s dick still bulging visibly in your throat.

"I don’t want you to lose focus," an overly aroused Suguru went on to explain. He breathed heavily. Shaking. Or maybe that was you? He clutched your love handles harshly before he pulled out and stepped to the side, making you stroke himself with your delicate hands instead. Briefly, you assumed that Geto preferred handjobs and wanted to ejaculate onto your breasts, only to get your answer when your puffy clit came into contact with the sharp coolness from…metal?

"Choso," Toji's harsh voice warned.

Brought back to your senses, you looked down to see Choso using the fluids to lubricate...his gun. You recognized the weapon, the same one you had seen in his car. The same one he would use to kill. All air in your lungs left swiftly. What the actual fuck. Sheer mortification was the only reason you didn't have the guts to do anything (because, if Choso became irritated enough, he could pull the trigger and then you would have no guts at all), and your silence only gave him a reason to continue defiling you into his personal gun slut.

He stared at his boss with an unperturbed frown. "You know I like her too much to hurt her."

A squeal tumbled past your lips when the pistol's freezing barrel pressed past your tight hole. Although you partially expected Toji to warn the weapon-wielding man again, Toji instead leaned forward in his chair, jaw resting on his fist. He could seem more concerned, but the mirthful glimmer in his emerald eyes said otherwise.

Meanwhile, Choso's piercing gaze alone made you sweaty, your forehead turned glossy with a sheen. He lazily massaged your inner walls, your warm arousal coating his cool metal before leaking onto the table, the only struggle now was how your body involuntarily twitched. To your fascination (and horror), pleasure began to build with each too-hard pass of his barrel. There were just too many sensations going on. Messy mouth deepthroating one cock, slicked hands stroking another, and sloppy cunt taking in a gun. You did your best to give everybody equal attention because you were a desperate crowd-pleaser, not wanting anyone to feel left out.

With your back arched from the table, you became increasingly frantic, demonstrating through feverish movements that all you were was their obedient little bitch. All these hands on your body, skin on your skin. You felt them all, the senses exhilarating and fascinating.

Toji sternly interrupted from seemingly nowhere. “I can tell from your movements that you want to cum, don’t you?” Maybe, but you were too overwhelmed to focus solely on your pleasure. Nothing that your therapists couldn't help with. Leaning over, Toji snaked an arm around your body to press tight circles at your engorged clit. "Be selfish for a little bit," he coaxed. "Cum for us."

His permission sent you immediately vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as an orgasm tore through you. Your lips parted, but you didn't scream. Your eyes shut slowly and rolled to the back of your head as every millimeter in your fragile body unraveled completely—fluttering, cramping, and shuddering.

Your ears became blessed with chorused laughter and praise.

Choso inspected your copious juices that suddenly coated his gun, a translucent thread trailing from the barrel to your now-exposed cunt. Reaching over, Sukuna wrapped his hand around Choso's forearm. He leaned into the pistol and parted his lips, swirling his tongue slowly around the barrel. His maroon eyes were half-lidded, giving him an almost lazy yet focused look as he dragged his tongue along the metal, lapping up your precious essences—the syrups rich and just a bit tangy. Drooling and sucking like a little kid with a lollipop, Sukuna didn't care that his spit trailed from the metal down to the other man's wrist and flipped the camera to selfie mode to capture the action.

Towards the end, his tongue swiped over his lips, leaving a luster from your elixir that coated his mouth. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

After another generous lick, he swished the concoction in his mouth before pinching your chin, and your mouth propped open. Pleased, he hummed when you stuck your tongue out, showcasing just how naughty you were. He drooled the spittle into your mouth, the saline taste blossoming on your taste buds, a thread of spit connecting your chin and his.

"Sharing," Sukuna chuckled darkly into your phone's microphone, "is absolutely fucking caring."

Nearby, Suguru groaned. He hurriedly clambered to the comfy space between your plush thighs, shoving a grumbling Choso aside. "I'm so fucking close."

He buried his dick into your tunnel, the veins on his cock pulsating. Call him selfish or masochistic, but as much as he wanted to reach his high, Geto denied his orgasm to stay longer inside and prevented himself from fucking bursting.

“Don't hold back, Suguru,” you urged.

Geto furrowed his brows, sweat gathering on his forehead as he tried his best to hold out. He admitted earnestly, "I don't want to give you up, baby.”

“I want you to cum,” you said, all whiny with puppy eyes. Free hand slithering down, you cupped his aching balls and gently squeezed his heavy testes. "Besides,” you glanced over at the camera, “show Naoya how you can breed me…daddy."

Sugaru’s eyes widened at the unexpected nickname that he loved so much. That’s it. He’s done for. His handsome features crumpled from an over-the-top pleasure as he gave his snapping hips one final push and pumped you full, coating your cervix white with his thick essence as he rested his head against your forehed, panting into your ear and moaning into your skin.

Pressing one last kiss on your cheekbone, he pulled himself out of your hot cunt, allowing others to have their way with you.

Sukuna got behind you eagerly. He repositioned your shaking body, his calloused hands tossing you over and leaving you panting on your hands and knees. His harsh squeeze at your sides made you squeal just as he pulled your legs apart for easier access, exposing your cute hole.

"Shit, she's making a mess, dripping onto the desk." The same desk that belonged to Naoya merely several hours ago. Adjusting your phone camera, Sukuna thumbed through your folds like they were pages in a book, scoffing at the viscous dallops that slid out. The tattoos on his wrists gleamed pitch black under the glossy mixed juices.

"Suguru's cock did you well, but this pretty lady isn't finished yet, eh? She can take more. I know she can." His hands weaved into your hair and tugged harshly. "Tell us, missy. You can handle more, correct?"

The threat in his menacing tone only suggested there was one answer. You whimpered pathetically, "Yes."

With a crooked smile, Sukuna pressed his muscular form against your back. That man was starving. After all, he had been waiting to have your pussy properly wrapped around his painful erection when he could've greedily taken you for himself first.

"Stop moving so I can angle myself correctly," Sukuna reprimanded when you wobbled on all fours.

Hardly any time was given to let you register the warning before the man plunged into your sensitive socket. He ignored your desperate wail, amazed at how he plugged you all the way. His pace started off sensual and languid. Each snug press against your battered cervix at first made you squeak, but you became too far caught up in the moment that the discomfort disappeared as promptly as the sensation came.

"Mhm," Sukuna hummed, a squelch ringing through the room each time he would bottom out. He didn't need to say anything for him to feel how wet you were, fluids trickling out from your puffy hole and creating what looked like the Nile River running down your thighs.

"Holy fuck," Choso swore to the side, his emotions a rare display.

Blissful waves rushed to your head, one after another. Arousal flooded into your tummy, your cunt twitching uncontrollably as a second climax started to sneak up on you.

Sukuna groaned—or at least attempted to groan—through the exertion of his forceful movements. How he had missed playing with you. A few trickles of sweat on his forehead glided over the ink on his forehead before dripping onto your back. He pumped himself faster, his balls smacking against your clit harder—savoring how you squirmed underneath his direct influence.

He could not resist peering down at the sacred space where your bodies connected and ensured that the camera, too, had an unobscured view. The problem was he had become so agonizingly turned on that his hold on your phone began shaking. He rasped, back straightening. “Goddamn, your cunny does me good.”

Not long after, he reached his release snarling and grunting like a dog as white ropes shot from his cock and into your uterus, with him nearly dropping your device onto your ass from his sheer ecstasy.

"No!" you protested loudly when Sukuna pulled out abruptly, hissing as your empty hole clenched around nothing. "I..." You balled your fists, thumping the desk in frustration. "I was so fucking close."

"Don't worry." The strawberry-haired man tenderly brushed away the tears by your jaw. Like he hoped to comfort you somehow. "Nothing Choso can't help with. He'll take great care of you." He looked over at the said colleague. “Isn’t that right?”

Gulping, you followed his gaze to the other man who had stopped behind you.

"You look nervous," Choso commented matter-of-factly. "Why?"

As if he didn’t already know the answer. You rolled your eyes and snorted like a true brat, indeed. "None of your business."

Besides, you had enough encounters with Choso Kamo, each incident more indecent than the last. This time, he naturally noticed your eyes drift to the gun tucked into his back pocket, the saps from earlier creating an ample moist patch on his pants.

“So, tell me, bimbo," Choso spoke again. He didn't care to announce himself as he unbuckled and pressed in, stretching you with his thickness, aided by your copious reserve containing both arousal and cum, hitting that sweet spot that he had no problem finding over and over. "Did you think I had been done with you already?"

Holding in whimpers from his repeated thrusts, you let out a soft groan.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes."

“But, do you want me?”

Silence.

“I am not going to repeat my—”

"I want you s’ badly..."

A demon must have possessed you. There was no other way to explain yourself. But those remarks were all Choso needed before he began to move impossibly fast within you. He didn’t care that he pounded into you like a beast, creating a commotion that perhaps the floor below could hear your wetness reverberate around the room.

"This is for being a fucking tease." Choso raised his hand high and then delivered an unforgiving blow against your ass. Unprepared, you yelped from the sheer force, which had been enough to leave a handprint on your unblemished cheeks.

"I didn't—!" Your attempt to defend proved futile as Choso spanked you again with little regard for your feelings.

"This is for giving me an attitude," he continued, gruff. And again. "For forgetting how to behave, shit." And again, and again, and again. For this, for that, his listed grievances going on and on and on, his punishments making you cry and squirm and wail.

Choso knew he was selfish. If his boss Toji wasn't involved, he would want nothing more than to keep you forever, making you his little gun slut and teaching you to cum all over him. He couldn’t help it. As if the roles were reversed. Like he was the inexperienced one, unaware of his partner's feelings and only caring for his pleasure. He remained relentless as he continued his abuse, the tendons along his hands and arms flexing with his efforts, like the crazed killer he was being out for blood.

The distressed expression written all over your face only made him want to go harder. He loved making it hurt, his sadistic personality entirely to blame. With every pump, his testes smacked onto your clit repeatedly, feeling him sink deeper and deeper inside.

“F-Fuck—S’ too much, Choso!” A sob wracked your trembling figure amidst his assault. In distress, you tugged at his wrists to get him to ease up on you. That didn't matter. He was too strong, especially when compared to you.

"I thought you wanted to cum."

"I do!" But you didn't think you would be able to cum like this. "This...This is too painful!"

As if he cared.

"Oh, please," Choso scoffed, even rolling his inky eyes in dismissal. "This isn't painful. You're just being dramatic. If you think this is painful...how do you think I felt, hm? Watching Geto and Sukuna take turns defiling you. Hearing you blubber their names without shame. Did you think that I—with my cock stiff in my pants—that I didn't feel pain? Listen to yourself. God, turns out you're just another selfish slut."

Scorching tears streamed down your face, and you searched around desperately.

"No one here's going to save you," Choso announced, reading right through you. He pressed his face against your earlobe, a hot puff of air fanning out across your delicate skin. "Because it's too obvious. You fucking like this, pup."

Did you?

Even if that wasn't the case, you guess you did now, the unwavering conviction in Choso's tone spurring a change of heart. It’s sick, you realized, he’s manipulating me.

Yet, sure enough, you soon started to feel lighter, giddier. Your pupils dilated from stimulation and your muscles tingled with excitement. Choso felt so good. You felt so good, and the coil from deep within your cervix compressed tighter and tighter as a pressure built from within.

"I'm close...again." This time, it's a little embarrassing to admit, especially when you were complaining like a puppy just minutes ago.

"What did I tell you, pet," Choso growled, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards in a rare grin. He made you feel glorious. Consequently, you writhed underneath his body, fully submissive under his control. You wanted nothing more than to be a pliant baby girl for him, let him use you in any way he wants. "Cum and squeeze my cock."

“Make me.”

“Oh?”

One final blow to your ass was what hurled your body over the edge.

“I—” you choked on your spit. "I'm coming!"

You shrieked the moment you felt your body disintegrate, your shoulder blades caving in as sweat fell like raindrops from your skin. Elbows giving up, your head hit the table, leaving your temples pulsing with dizziness, bliss, and pain; your eyes staring at the wood finishing; your chest rising up and down, exasperated from the intensity of your release.

And oh, your pussy squeezed Choso good. Before he could hold himself back, Choso dug his nails into your ass. "Fuck, you are incredible," was the last thing he muttered before he came as well in one long grunt, splattering your womb with his creamy semen. He made you tremble when he pulled out, releasing the mess inside and leaving you feeling oddly empty and cold. Glob after glob of cum oozed out, semen from multiple perpetrators painting over your labia, which made the surrounding men grin at the sight, knowing that you held all their seed inside.

Nothing except their breeding hole, that was what you had become. There was something they adored about labeling you as their personal whore.

Not long afterward, a warm hand took yours into his own. Toji caressed the skin of your palm before pulling you right onto his lap again. In the end, he was whom you belonged to. If anybody wanted to do anything to you, they had to talk to him first.

Toji helped you straddle him, tucking one leg onto his either side, except you were so fucked out that you didn’t know who you were or where you were from.

"C'mon, honey. Don't lose yourself just yet," he murmured gently, brushing a few free strands from your forehead. Otherwise, you would've gone limp and lost all senses completely.

Toji had been waiting for you. He considered this a sign of his maturity, allowing the younger and more impatient men to make a mess with you first. Now, though, was his turn, fair and square.

His exposed length pressed up against his abdomen with fantastic girth and length such that—despite your current state—your pupils went heart-eyed and your mouth drooled from sight alone. He loved when you made that expression, one he had seen countless times in his dreams; a guilty pleasure in reality. He chortled at your sharp gasps, finding you adorable even after being stuffed by several men.

However, just when you didn't think you could handle more, his red-flushed head brushed over your clit and jolted your veins with the familiar wave of arousal. You shifted, the sticky mess between your legs uncomfortable. In a brief moment of lucidity, you had an epiphany. With one hand resting on Toji's shoulder, you reached down with the other to spread your folds, biting your lip as you clamped down on your sensitive walls hard.

Sure enough, a generous amount of cum trickled out of your used cunt, oozing onto Toji’s cockhead and sliding down gradually to his balls.

"Holy shit."

Eyes grew wide with surprise, jaws dropped in reaction to your nasty actions. Since when did you learn to become so dirty? Flushed cheeks betrayed their interest as they continued their lustful staring. Generous was what you were, letting them ogle like schoolchildren for a few moments longer before you scooped up the slick and began to suck on your fingers. Softly, you hummed at the succulent flavors concocted by you, Suguru, Sukuna, and Choso combined.

"Next up is you."

“So fuckin’ filthy," Toji praised with utter adoration.

As you continued, you made sure not to break eye contact as you subtly rutted your sopping cunt against his tip. You coyly batted your long lashes in his direction, making sure he could feel the liquids running down his cock and the throbbing pussy that awaited him.

You smiled. "All yours, Dr. Fushiguro."

He suddenly grew smitten at how polite you could be, and using his hands as a guide, he helped you sink into him slowly. “Goddamn.” The sound that emerged from him was wholly obscene, a carnal desperation only matched by your movements, your thighs constricting his hips and your eyes rolling backward. How cozy, you discovered yourself to be, snug at his hilt. Toji had filled you all the way but a few centimeters of his cock remain, his tip already kissing against your spent uterus.

Something about knowing that his little cousin would watch this made Toji want to do everything to push deeper into you. He started by rocking your waist against a rhythm, and a near-pornographic mewl escaped your lips when his shaft ran over an especially sensitive spot, the ridges rubbing against your cavern and sending pleasure through your every limb. He hummed at the way you squealed and loved how expressive you were with your body and feelings.

His tongue laved across your shoulder before stopping over your collarbone. "You'll still go back to Naoya after this?"

"Absolutely not," you mumbled with sincerity. "I would hate myself if I did."

“Excellent,” he slurred, his spit drooling down your back from where his mouth had latched onto your neck. “That’s…exactly what I wanted to hear, baby.”

Baby. Your eyes squeezed shut, responding with a whine. Although the overstimulation was originally uncomfortable, you began to feel satisfaction cut through the soreness once again as your body prepared for one more climax. You rocked your hips in need, like an animal in heat, a sight that would certainly drive your ex-husband crazy. “F-Feels,” you paused to pant, “Feels good.”

“Fuck.” Toji gritted out, breaking through his cacophony of crude moaning and effectively searing your skin. He continued steering your body in the rhythm he learned you liked, his nails nearly piercing your skin despite their bluntness. He cupped your jaw harshly. “What are you to us, sweetheart?”

“Oh.” You laughed a little, clearly delirious, and then replied. “'M your cumdump.”

“Say that again.”

“I—”

“Louder.” The emeralds in his heavy-lidded eyes skated briefly to the phone. “I want everyone to hear.”

So, you mustered all your energy to give your final answer—and the correct answer. "I am your cum dumpster!"

Toji started saying something, chuckling maybe, but his words weren’t clear even as he tossed his head back. His breathing was deep, wet, and sexy, and he was no doubt blistering hot in his business blazer, his slicked-back hair soaked with sweat and hanging limply in front of his flushed face. His expression, on the other hand, was what got you the most; his eyes drawn shut, his brows slightly pinched, his mouth just barely parted.

He panted, raising his head to lock lips with yours, moaning into your mouth lewdly before pulling back, and admiring your fucked out expression, face heated and sweating.

“Shit, you’re too good to me,” was the last thing Toji sighed before he added to your womb with his hot cum, his grip on your body tightening as his balls twitched and lodged his precious seed into the sacred cavern. Pussy clamping down, you milked him, not willing to let a single drop go to waste, gasping when the explosive warmth made you shatter with him, leaving you hiccuping and spasming until you were just jolting and crying out from the stretched muscles in your body.

Overheated, you slumped forward. Sweat rolled uncomfortably down your back, spit smeared across your neck and shoulders and chin.

But you looked up and giggled at your latest discovery.

“I love getting gangbanged."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: I spent way more time preparing this chapter than I expected, writing, rewriting, and editing. Adding, shortening, then adding again. (At some point, this was nearly 7K words.) This is far from perfect, but I must relinquish myself. Thank you again for reading!

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[hotheadedhero]

*peeks in here*

*walks away to check if you do bayverse*

*return*

The bay bois getting an s/o who will occasionally will randomly be cuddling and then... *Affectionate bite* then letting go and telling them they love them.

AN: As an affectionate biter myself, I gotcha babes ;)

Affectionate Biting

Bay Turtles x Reader

Warnings: very mildly suggestive, an insomniac trying to grammar <3

Leonardo

The first time you oh-so casually bit him and smiled afterwards as if it was nothing had him going for a spin. Confused is the prominent word to describe how he was feeling at the time. The action was just so unprompted. He couldn't figure out why you felt the need to do something like that, nor how it could be seen as an act of love.

He's learnt over time that it's an unavoidable urge for you. There's nothing you can do about it. You just have to bite him for whatever reason you deem necessary. Leo is all too aware of this by now and may or may not use it to his advantage.

"For every hour we're out tonight, I'll give you a free bite. No questions asked, okay?"

These are terms you can comply with. He knows how much you miss him when he's gone, so setting up this ultimatum is an effective way of letting him go on patrol more easily.

Raphael

Being with you has involved its fair share of revelations and discoveries. There's at least a handful of things he's become savvy to whilst being with you but the random biting is one of the more bizarre ones.

Actions speak louder than words and they always mean the most to him but biting? What's up with that? Humans are weird. That's the conclusion he's come to. Even now in this very moment, you've taken a hold of his wrist whilst curled up in bed together.

"What are you, a cat or something? Quit it."

Of course, he's only joking. It's just so he can see your tongue poke out and your nose scrunch up in the cute way he likes. Even if he did seriously mean for you to stop, he doubts you would. You live by your own rules when it comes to these things. And, sure, you can bite him if you like. Just as long as you expect to get bitten back.

Donatello

It may catch him by surprise from time to time but only because you do it in the most random of situations. Whilst he's working away and you're sitting in his lap, you'll just latch onto the closest part of him you can access. He might jump if he's in the zone but it's never an issue.

Regardless of it being a problem or not, you've had your own curiosities about why you have such a primal impulse to chomp down on your boyfriend. Luckily, Donnie being as knowledgeable as ever has the answers.

"... the desire to pseudo-bite or squeeze anything we find extremely cute is actually a neurochemical reaction. 'Cute aggression' isn't motivated by vicious intent. Instead, scientists think-"

He halts on his words, blinks out of his matter-of-fact mode, and gazes down at you. All the while, you have his forearm locked between your teeth. Your attempt to smile coyly against his skin is adorable, and he smiles back before continuing his explanation.

Michelangelo

He won't ask any questions. In all honesty, he loves it. Although, there might have been a bit of a misunderstanding the first couple of times you went to take a nip at him. Let's just say he thought you were trying to get him in the mood. Can't blame a guy for assuming his lover is a little freaky in the sheets.

Having such a strong force overcome you is something he understands, though. It's like him when it comes to pulling a fast one over his brothers. You can bite him whenever you want to if that's what you feel you need to do. Even if you turned into a zombie, he'd still let you.

"And then we could be like, zombie lovers roaming the streets together."

Mikey holds his arms out, hands dangling as he playfully groans like the undead. You aren't entirely sure how the conversation developed like that but it's cute nonetheless. Hey, he's just being honest. He loves you that much.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and Being a Pseudo-Father

So, I know some of you probably saw the father thing and were like- Woah, another Billy and Connor thingy? Nah. Two words: Wonder Girl.

Anyways, the specific Wonder Girl I’m talking about is Cassandra Sandsmark. If you’ve watched Young Justice, you’d know she’s there. Also, in this alternate universe, the JL doesn’t know Billy is like 12 years old.

It starts off Marvel, I don’t know, eating or something. Then, Cassandra walks in the room, and all of a sudden in the divine twitch chat, he just hears Zeus talk about “oh my daughter!” So Billy pauses mid bite of cereal and just stares at her for a bit. He’s sort of confused because he thought Diana was the only daughter of Zeus as far as he knew. Let alone the only daughter of Zeus associated with the Justice League.

Meanwhile, Cassandra is like, “is that the dude is supposed to be watching over us?” She walks over to him and introduces herself:

Cassie: “Hey, I’m Wonder Girl. You’re the dude who fills in for Black Canary when she’s not here, right?”

Marvel: *Finally finishes his bite of cereal.* “Huh, oh, yeah. I’m Captain Marvel. You can just call me Cap, or Marvel, or any other variation you can think of.”

Cassie: “Wait really? Wonder Woman told me about you. She said you were her sort-of older brother.”

Marvel: *Almost regurgitates his cereal* “She said that?” *Pauses to actually think about it* “I mean I guess we are, huh? He’s one of the gods that sponsors me. He also kinda had a hand in making me.”

Cassie: “He had a hand in making me too!”

They hang out a whole lot more times after that and soon they develop a big brother/little sister relationship. And then one day, while they’re, let’s say training or something.

Marvel: “Hey, I was wondering if you want to help me kill a bunch demons.”

Cassie: “That sounds… amazing. Let’s do it.”

Cue the two going to some place in the Himalayas where demons keep crossing over. They then brutally massacre them all. Marvel even offers Cassie his cape to wipe the blood off her face, much to the outrage of a few of the gods in his head. They then go get ice cream from a random little stall in China, where Billy spends around 15 minutes trying to see if he could use magic to convert his few measly dollars into yuan. They eventually do and they end up sitting on a bench, ignoring the many people taking pictures.

Cassie: *Eating her ice cream* “Hey… uh- I wanted to thank you for doing this.”

Marvel: *Pauses eating his own ice cream* “Huh? What do you mean? Getting you ice cream?”

Cassie: “Nah. For- uh, I don’t know? Doing stuff with me?” *exudes awkwardness* “God, this is- So like, I never really get to spend a whole lot of time with my mom cause she used to like, leave me on my own a lot because of business trips. She was an archeologist. So she used to fly around the world and stuff. So you doing stuff like this, taking me to fight demons, taking me to fight monsters, taking me to fight ghosts, it really means a lot to me? I think?”

Marvel: *Looks super surprised by her words* (not even by the whole thing. Just one sentence) “Your mom was an archeologist? Dude, my parents were too.”

Cassie: “Wait really?”

The two then go on the completely forget everything Cassie just said as the topic about archeologist parents soon spiraled into multiple different conversations.