#rough mix residency

[sceletaflores]

ghosts, ghouls, goblins, and other things that go bump in the night!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, resident bestie diva wade wilson, matching costumes ofc, established relationship, p in v, semi-public sex (bathroom), rough sex, mirror sex, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, light degradation, light hair pulling, light choking, nasty dirty breeding kink (@guiltyasdave infected me with the breeding kink disease...it's all her fault), 4k words for straight up porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: happy halloween! sort of...i obvi couldn't wait to post this until the actual day cause i have absolutely zero patience so here you go! i thought up this idea in the middle of the night and literally got out of bed to start it. it's a nasty self indulgent mess...hope you love it! kisses <3

cutie divider by icon @saradika-graphics!

you and logan have some fun at wade's halloween party...

Unsurprising to no one, Wade Wilson knows how to throw a party. 

Every year since the two of you became neighbors, you’ve gotten a gaudy invitation decorated with cartoon bats and devils slipped under your door just in time for Halloween.

Of course, it’s always in some cheesy font, red and glittery. A crappy pun about “scaring up some fun with your favorite mercenary” with a return address listed as ‘Hell’s Playground’ inscribed on the front.

It's awful. You haven’t missed one yet.

And not just because you’re a sucker for free booze and cheap decorations. It’s like tradition now, you can't have your perfect attendance streak cut off four years in. That's just bad manners.

Besides, this is the first year you’ve gotten to do a couples costume.

“I look fuckin’ ridiculous,” Logan mutters, deep voice laced with irritation as he messes with the wolf ears perched awkwardly on his head. “Can’t believe I let you drag me to this thing.”

You don’t turn to face him, but you can still see the frown tugging his lips down in your mind. Logan’s never been one for costumes, but his options were either dress up or stay home while you went and had fun without him.

He was dead set on staying at home for most of the day.

One look at the frilly white bloomers that came with your costume and he changed his tune.

“Quit being such a baby,” you toss over your shoulder, pouring your second cup of whatever Wade mixed together in the mini cauldron sitting on his bar. “You look great, babe.”

He really shouldn’t complain, his costume is barely a costume. An old flannel with the sleeves ripped off and some mangy jeans.

The fake ears and tail were a struggle and a half to get him on board with, but Logan’s all bark and no bite. He was more than willing to roll over and show you his belly after enough begging.

Logan scoffs, big hand pawing at your hip to drag you to his side. “You owe me for this,” he rumbles low in your ear, the playful threat sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’ll survive,” you tease, a smug grin spreading across your face as you tug playfully on the tail clipped to his belt loop. “Unless you wanted to switch?”

Logan’s eyes drag over your body shamelessly, all the way from the floppy sheep ears sitting on your head to the lacy white corset and matching bloomers that do little to hide your curves. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes darken, how he runs his tongue along the sharp point of his canines like he wants to sink his teeth into you.

It sends a familiar heat coursing through your veins, warming your insides just as much as the vodka with a hint of mixer you’ve been sipping at.

You start to wish you shelled out for the fake fangs at the party store.

Logan tugs you closer, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smirk. “Not a chance in hell,” he rasps, voice dipping a couple octaves lower. “Looks better on you, baby.”

You hum idly as his arm snakes around your waist, fingers splayed along your lower back, inching dangerously close to the swell of your ass.

“You better behave,” you chastise, though it’s more playful than stern as you look up at him through your lashes. “We’re in public.”

Logan’s grip tightens, a soft grunt leaving him as he leans in, nosing along the side of your face. “Doesn’t seem like much of a party when all I’m thinkin’ about is how fast I can get you outta this damn costume.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, the warm puff of his breath over your skin makes your knees feel weak. You try to keep your cool, but it’s hard when he’s practically radiating heat and that intoxicating scent of leather and pine fills your senses. 

Before you can respond, a loud call of your name grabs your attention. 

"There you are!" Wade shouts from across the room, already making his way towards you.

All six foot two and half inches of him is wrapped in blue and white lace, paired with a matching hoop skirt that bounces with every step he takes. His shepherd's staff thuds against the floor when he comes to a stop in front of you. “Fashionably late, I see.”

“We’ve been here for thirty minutes,” you point out, brow cocked as you take in his costume. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’m the hostess with the mostest, honey bunny,” he says, throwing his arm out to gesture towards all the dressed up guests crammed into his living room. “Can’t spread myself too thin.”

He eyes Logan's wolf ears and fake tail, then turns back to you, wiggling his brows suggestively. 

"Kinky,” he comments, flicking the little gold bell hanging from the choker around your neck. “You two just couldn’t resist a little predator-prey roleplay, huh? Should I be worried about you getting all ‘Animal Planet’ on my couch?”

Logan’s grip on your waist tightens, his mouth brushing your ear as he mutters, “I’m gonna kill him before midnight.”

“Now, now, big bad wolf, no need to huff and puff and blow my skirt up. We’re all here to have a howl of a time!” Wade continues, undeterred. “Plus, if you behave, I might just let you keep your sheep when the night’s over.”

You can practically feel Logan’s eye twitch, but you snicker, leaning into him just a little more. “Play nice, Wade,” you say, trying to smother your laugh. “The wolf might eat you first.”

“Please,’ Wade snorts, twirling his shepherd's staff deftly in his hand. “If that’s on the table, I’ll lay out the fucking fine china.”

Logan lets out a huff of air, dropping his hold on you and brushing past Wade with a grunt. "I'm gettin' another beer."

“Try not to stab anyone!” Wade shouts after him, loud enough to be heard over the Monster Mash blaring from the speakers. “Al might blow the whole complex if any more blood gets on the linoleum!”

Logan throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he disappears into the kitchen. 

You watch him go, a grin plastered to your face at the way the tail swings with every step he takes. Something warm and fuzzy settles in your chest, blooming in the empty space of your ribcage.

You know Logan hates this–the people, the lights, the music, the costumes.

But he’s here anyway, for you.

Here wearing the stupid wolf costume you bought for him, surrounded by drunk people in inflatable dinosaur costumes and witches with dollar-store broomsticks. And despite all the grumbling, he hasn’t bolted for the door once.

All for you. And that makes your heart thump a little harder in your chest, your smirk softening into something sweeter.

"You’ve got him whipped," Wade deadpans, crossing his arms, the lace of his sleeves rustling as he does. “It’s really disgusting.”

You snort, shaking your head softly. "More like he's got a soft spot."

Wade eyes you skeptically. "Same thing, toots."

You hum noncommittally, turning back to him. “Cute outfit,” you comment, eyeing the white bonnet secured by a neat little bow under his chin.

“You like it?” Wade does a quick twirl, the blonde curls of his wig nearly slap you across the face as he does. “The guy at party city kept giving me weird looks, but I think he was just jealous of how well I fill in the blouse.”

You rake your gaze over him slowly, taking another slow sip from your cup. “The stockings are a nice touch, but don’t you think running around as Little Bo Peep will send some confusing messages.”

“Well, duh. That’s only the whole point, Sherlock.” Wade snorts, shaking his head like it’s obvious. “I’m way too emotionally invested in this relationship to not try and wiggle my way into throuple territory.”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “A throuple? Hate to break it to you, Peep, but Logan doesn’t really strike me as the sharing type.”

Wade leans in conspiratorially, cupping a hand around his mouth like he’s letting you in on a secret. “That’s why I’m playing the long game. Gotta wear him down with my irresistible charm, and when he finally snaps, I’ll swoop in with a bottle of Jack and a promise of no strings attached.”

You shake your head, chuckling into your drink. “You’ve got it all figured out, don't you?”

“Oh, honey,” Wade purrs, winking at you with a dramatic flutter of his lashes, “I've got a five-year plan.”

You roll your head to the side lazily, sheep ears swaying as you do. “I’ll give you points for persistence.”

"Damn straight," he says with a grin, straightening his bonnet proudly. “This level of commitment takes stamina. And by the way, I’ve got great stamina. My record is thirteen.”

You raise your brow, intrigued. “Thirteen what? Rounds? Hours?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he scoffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. “I’m more than just a pretty face in a killer dress, thank you very much.”

You groan, giving him a light push. "You’re impossible."

Wade grins, leaning closer to throw an arm around your shoulders. “I’m just pulling your tail, Wooly. You know I’d never come between you and your beefy boy toy. I mean, look at him. He’s practically pacing the kitchen like a caged animal just looking at you in your slutty nursery rhyme getup. How pathetic.”

You turn to steal a glance at Logan, who’s leaned against the counter scanning the room from behind his beer bottle. You feel a thrill at the idea that he’s watching over you like a hawk, making sure no one gets too close, slowly working himself up over the mere sight of you. 

But more than that, it’s the slight reluctant smirk tugging at his lips as he takes in the party. You can tell he’s managing to find some enjoyment in all this, even if he’d never admit it.

“Well,” Wade starts, dragging the word out slowly. “Since you’re all cozy over here with your alpha male, I’m gonna go find someone to share these…”

He holds up two shot glasses filled with some unidentifiable neon liquid, “…artisanal beverages with. Maybe that guy dressed like a merman. I’ve always wanted to see what's going on under those tails.”

You snort, raising your own cup to your lips. "You're awful."

“Only on the outside, sugar,” he says leaning down to kiss your cheek with a wet smack before flouncing away into the crowd, his skirt swishing as he goes. “Don’t fuck in my house without at least inviting me to watch!”

You laugh to yourself, watching as Wade fades into the crowd of gyrating bodies. You take another long sip, relishing in the familiar burn as it slips down your throat.

The laughter, the music, the chaotic energy of the party—it’s all intoxicating in its own right, but it’s nothing compared to the way Logan’s eyes are boring a hole through the back of your head.

You can feel his gaze like a tangible force, wrapping around you and drawing you in. Logan’s not just watching; he’s assessing, hungry for something that goes far beyond the Halloween festivities surrounding you.

The heat radiating from his gaze only intensifies your already buzzing anticipation, mixing dangerously with the two drinks swirling in your stomach, making you bolder.

You throw back the rest of your drink, setting the empty cup on the bar and making your way across the room. You weave through the crowd seamlessly, the music pulses around you, drowning out the laughter and chatter.

You feel a daring grin spread across your face as you saunter closer, reveling in the way Logan tracks your every move like a predator zeroing in on its prey. 

When you’re finally standing in front of him, you lean against the counter, giving him a good view of the way your corset dips lower. The fabric hugs you in all the right places, teasing him with glimpses of your skin beneath the delicate lace. 

"Looks like Little Bo Peep lost his sheep," he mutters, voice like gravel drenched in honey.

You smirk, tilting your head to the side innocently as you step around the counter. “Maybe I was already planning to run away, to go looking for a big bad wolf to play with.”

You slip two fingers through the belt loop at the front of his jeans, tugging him closer with a rough yank.

Logan’s goes willingly, taking a step closer. His breath hitches as he does, the hazel of his eyes darkening as you press your body against his, not letting an inch of space between you.

“You're really pushin it,” he warns lowly, hands finding your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to send a shiver cascading down your spine. "Makin’ me watch you run around in this fuckin’ thing.”

“Am I?” you reply coyly, fingers toying with the button of his jeans. “I’m just—” you start, but the words are swallowed by the thumping bass of the music as Logan’s lips crash against yours, silencing you with a hungry kiss.

His mouth moves against yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but melt into him, feeling the world around you fade away.

The taste of beer mingles with the vodka on your tongue as you sink into the kiss, his hands tightening around you as he pulls you even closer.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how hard it is keepin’ my hands to myself,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. 

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you tease, biting your lip as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. You can see the fire smoldering in his eyes, the predatory glint that makes your stomach flutter with excitement. “But maybe you could show me just how hard it really is.”

Logan lets out a low growl, and before you can blink, he’s snatching your wrist up and dragging you through the kitchen. 

Laughter bubbles out from your chest as you trip over your own feet in an attempt to keep up with him. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, the warmth in your stomach dipping lower to leak sticky and wet between your thighs.

He’s not rushing, but there’s an undeniable urgency in his step, a raw need that makes your pulse race in sync with his heavy stride. Weaving you through the crowd and out into the hallway until the noise of the party gets lower and lower. 

You’re familiar enough with the layout of Wade’s place to know where Logan’s taking you, the bathroom.

The door is hardly shut before Logan’s spinning you around and crowding you against the sink. His lips are on you before you can even catch your breath, rough and possessive, as if he’s been starving for this all night. 

The kiss is rougher than before, dirty and all consuming as he claims your mouth. A mess of teeth and tongue and spit that sends your head spinning, body arching off the counter and into his instinctively. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growls, trailing his lips down your neck, kissing and biting his way to your collarbone. “Drivin’ me so crazy, baby.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his calloused fingers trace over the swell of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with a possessive grip that makes your breath hitch. 

Your arms circle his neck, dragging him down for more filthy kisses. The thick length of his cock pressing against your stomach insistently has you keening, a hard plane of scalding warmth even through the thick material of his jeans.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers brush against your inner thigh, and he grins at your reaction.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Bet you’re already soaked for me, aren’t you?" His voice drops even lower, a filthy rasp that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You don’t answer, can’t answer, because Logan’s already got his hand between your thighs, fingers teasing over the soft fabric of your bloomers.

His touch is feather-light, but it’s enough to have you gasping, head lolling back to expose even more of your neck to his fever hot lips.

He groans when he feels how soaked you are, his breath coming out in a rough exhale.

“Figures,” he grunts, his fingers pressing harder, rubbing slow circles over the slick fabric. “Could smell it on you from across the room. You’re fuckin’ drippin’ for me, baby.”

You whine, high in the back of your throat, chest heaving with every quick breath. Your legs spread, thighs widening like you can’t help it. His words send a wave of heat straight to your core, fanning the fire of need festering inside you. 

“Next year we’ll get you in a skirt,” he says, nipping at your bottom lip teasingly. His fingers slip under your bloomers, running through your slick folds teasingly. “Easy access.”

You let out a breathless moan, your hips bucking against his hand, begging for more.

“Logan,” you whimper, but he just smirks, applying more pressure with his palm as he leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your ear.

“You like that, don’t you?” Logan rasps, his voice thick with desire. Dark tone laced with satisfaction as he dips one finger inside you, making your breath catch in your throat. “Look at you, drippin’ down my hand. You want more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod frantically, your breath coming in shallow pants as he continues working you with skilled, relentless touches.

Two thick fingers plunged in your aching pussy, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit. "Please," you whimper, gripping the edge of the sink so tight your knuckles turn with it, needing more, needing him to ruin you. 

“Please what, honey?” he rasps, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You gotta be more specific.”

You grind against his hand faster, desperate for any kind of relief from the unbearable heat building between your legs. “I need you,” you breathe out, your voice trembling. “Need you to fuck me.”

Logan’s response is immediate. A low growl tearing its way from his throat as he gives your bottoms a rough tug, letting them fall down the length of your legs to pool at your ankles.

He slips his fingers out of you, ignoring your displeased whine and spinning you around to face the mirror, hands gripping your hips as he roughly bends you over the sink.

You find his eyes in the reflection, and the hunger there makes your pulse quicken. His lips are swollen, red and slick just like your own. Hazel eyes blown out and stormy, as he meets your gaze.

The fake whiskers and nose you drew on him before the party using an old eyeliner pen are smudged across the lower half of his face along with the red remnants of your lipstick. You have matching black marks scuffed along your cheeks.

"You’re gonna watch while I fuck you," he growls, popping the button of his jeans and pulling them down just enough to free his cock. He strokes himself once, twice, before lining up behind you, dragging the blunt head along your soaked entrance. "Don’t take your eyes off the mirror, baby. I want you to see what you do to me, what I get to see every fuckin’ time."

You nod breathlessly, eyes locked on his in the mirror as he pushes into you with one hard thrust. You gasp at the stretch, head falling to your chin at the pleasant burn of his cock.

"Fuck," Logan groans, his eyes glued to your reflection as he bottoms out inside you, the sheer size of him making your body tremble.

"Tight little fuckin’ pussy," he mutters, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to move, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. "You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take my cock."

You can’t stop the moans that fall from your slack lips, pathetic little uh uh uh sounds that get punched out of you with every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Take me so fuckin’ well,” he growls, one hand coming up to grip around your throat, tugging meanly at the bell of your choker that rings as he pounds into you, each thrust harder than the last. “Such a good little sheep, lettin’ your mean old wolf fuck you like this.”

 "Fuck," you moan, the sound broken and desperate as he drives deeper, the thick length of him hitting that spot that has your knees buckling beneath you. “God, Logan…”

“Look,” Logan commands softly, reverently. His lips brushing your shoulder with every word as he tilts your head back up to the mirror, making yourself watch as you take his cock. “Look at how fuckin’ pretty you are getting wrecked on my cock.”

Your reflection in the mirror is a mess—flushed cheeks, eyes glassy with lust, your lips parted in a constant stream of breathless moans. You feel embarrassment mixing with the arousal swirling through your stomach, thighs shaking wildly from the onslaught of pleasure.

The loud slap of skin on skin rings through the tiny bathroom, underscored by the wet gush of your pussy around him each time he buries himself in you.

If anyone were to walk by, they’d surely hear it. They’d know someone was getting fucked, really taking it. The thought alone has you tightening around Logan’s cock, velvety walls clenching around him desperately. 

Logan notices, because of course he does, clever eyes picking up on the way your own drift to the door, lingering.

He threads his fingers through your hair, meanly yanking your head back to the mirror, a feral grin stretching across his face as he watches the way you fall apart for him. 

“Want me to howl for you, baby?” he teases, breath hot against the shell of your ear. You can feel the way his lips curve into an evil grin at the pathetic whine that bursts from your lips, at the feel of your pussy drooling around him even more than before.  

“She likes that, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his thumb finds your throbbing clit, rubbing tight circles as his hips speed up impossibly faster. “Dirty fuckin’ girl, you want everyone to know how good I’m givin’ it to you?”

You whimper, overwhelmed by the raw intensity of his words and the rhythm of his thrusts. Your thighs are trembling, barely able to hold you up as Logan takes you apart, piece by piece, with every deep, punishing stroke.

"Answer me," he growls, voice dripping with dominance as his hips snap against you, the head of his cock slamming into that perfect spot inside you again and again. "You want everyone to hear what a dirty little slut you are for me, huh? You want them to know how much you love being fucked like this?"

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice shaky and breathless as pleasure floods your system. "Yes, Logan, fuck—ah! Just—just don’t stop."

Logan growls, low and feral deep in his chest. It shakes through your body, rattling your bones just as much as the heavy smack of his metal laced pelvis against the raw skin of your ass.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy, I can feel the way she’s sucking me in, baby,” he grits out, hips stuttering slightly. “She want my come, darlin’?"

You’re a mess of gasps and whimpers, nodding frantically as his words push you closer to the edge. Throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts as the spring inside you coils tighter and tighter, a hair's breadth away from snapping.

"Yes, please, Logan," you moan, your fingers digging into the counter as you brace yourself for the relentless onslaught of his cock. "I want it, want you to come inside me." 

Logan’s hips stutter as he slams into you, his cock buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s splitting you in half. He’s close, his breath coming out in ragged pants as his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pressing against your pulse just hard enough to make you dizzy.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he growls, heavy balls slapping against your ass lewdly. “Gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? And then I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck my come so deep inside you, you’ll be beggin’ me to give you more.”

That’s all it takes for the coil in your belly to snap, pleasure surging through you in hot, uncontrollable waves. You cry out, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, and Logan lets out a rough growl, driving into you harder, faster. 

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, dragging out every last second of your orgasm until you’re shaking, your voice hoarse from how loud you’re moaning.

“Goddamn, baby,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust as he keeps fucking into your trembling body. “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—gonna come so deep in you.”

Your breath is coming in short, desperate gasps, your entire body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. But Logan isn’t finished. He used the fistful of your hair still trapped in his hand, tugging your head back to meet his wild gaze in the mirror. 

“Eyes on me,” he commands, his pace growing erratic. “You want me to fill you up? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?”

“Yes, Logan,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “Please—I need it.”

With a deep, broken groan of your name, Logan slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick. His fingers tighten on your throat, and you moan at the feeling of his cock pulsing, filling you up to the brim. 

You can’t stop the whine that falls from your lips at the feel of his come spraying your insides, completely drenching you with it. So much that it just has to take.

A shudder runs through you at the idea, pussy clenching around his spent cock weakly.

Logan sighs contently, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he catches his breath, hands falling to your waist like it's the only anchor keeping him from floating away entirely.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breaths and the faint thump of the music outside bleeding through the walls.

Logan tips his head back up, meeting your hazy eyes in the fogged up glass of the mirror with a shit-eating grin. “Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” he says smugly, dropping a kiss to the sweaty skin of your shoulder. 

You huff, rolling your eyes with a reluctant fondness. The thought of walking back out there makes your stomach turn, nerves and arousal churning together at the chance that everyone knows what you two were doing after disappearing for so long.

You only hope the white fabric of your bloomers is good enough at hiding the come already leaking from your pussy.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[highonakuweeds]

POV: Your Alastor's wife and it's October

(A/N: I didn't read anything beforehand, so if you see any weird mix ups of whatever, I'm sure your brain can ignore it thank you <3)

“My dear!” Alastor exclaimed towards you, who was at the bar, conversing with Husk. Your attention changed so that Alastor had it fully, which made Husk roll his eyes and chug a drink down. “Mon amour! How are you this hellish evening? I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Ah, yes well,” Alastor tugged on his coat, his grin somewhat strained. It wasn’t obvious for the majority of the others, but it was to his wife. “Just some irritating demons on the streets, is all; nothing to worry about.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Alastor, I know what that face means.” 

He raised a curious brow. “Do you, now?”

“Mhm.” You sipped the last of your champagne, and thanked Husk for the drink, earning a nod from him. “It means you’re horny.”

…

…

…

“What? Noo!” Alastor attempted to brush off, his eyebrows stitched with disbelief. “You know how I am about anything sexual, dear. I—” “Yes, yes, it’s not really your thing; we all know that. However,” light flickered through your gaze as you bore into Alastor’s eyes. “That doesn’t mean you can’t escape that month you hate so much.”

Alastor remained quiet, his eye twitching. You shrugged. “I mean, hey, if you want to wait it out, suit yourself. People will ask where you’ve gone, and you don’t want them to give in to curiosity, do you?”

He hesitated before grunting, grabbing your wrist, causing you to yelp. “Fine.” 

As your giggles of amusement echoed in the halls, Charlie tilted her head. “What’s he going to do to her? Oh, no, I hope it isn’t anything horrible…”

Angeldust snorted, swirling his pink cocktail before sipping. “Nah, he’s probably gonna fuck’er.”

“What!?”

“Angeldust!” Vaggie exclaimed, causing the spider demon to look at her in surprise. “What? You saw the way he looked at her, plus the way she was teasin’. I thought it was obvious.”

Cherri bomb grinned. “No shit they’re gonna fuck. But it’s kinda weird, don’t cha think? The edgelord finally wants to bang someone.”

Charlie thought about it. “Well, they are married.”

“Wait, they’re fuckin’ what now?”

“Wow, is this month that tough you gotta drag me to your room, Alastor?” You teased, causing him to groan. “You don’t even want to know how much I had to endure for the past couple of days.” He replied. 

Your brows furrowed. “Honey, if it was hurting you, you could’ve asked me way sooner. You know I would’ve been more than happy to help you.”

Alastor laughed, locking his door, and whisking the swamp side of his room away to not let anything disturb them. “Of course, you would’ve been, darling; you’re always so willing to help. Speaking of which, would you be a doll and soundproof the area?”

You cocked an eyebrow, obliging nonetheless. With a flick of your wrist, blue wisps coated his bedroom, leaving some sort of shiny residue scattered in the room. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was going to be a rough night for the both of us…”

“Oh, shut it.” Alastor mumbled before walking towards you. He crashed his lips onto yours, cupping your cheeks with fervor and slight desperation. You let out a noise of surprise before giggling and allowing your husband to do whatever he needed to do. You snaked your arms around Alastor’s neck, scratching the base of his ears, just how he liked it.

He let out a soft sigh of bliss, his steps making the both of them stumble onto the bed, with him on top of your. Before, Alastor normally just locked himself somewhere private, usually his radio tower, until this stupid cycle wore off. But now that his wife, his technical mate, was right where he was currently residing, it was way more difficult than it was before to be cooped up.

He had attempted to take matters into his own hands, both literally and figuratively, and the only thing it gave him was sheer shame and embarrassment, so he had stopped trying. So, to have you below him was such a relief.

And yet, he wanted more. He needed more. 

He needed to taste you, and mark you, and show every single demon that came your way that you were his wife. No one else’s.

Alastor pulled back from the kiss, planting small yet precise marks on your jaw, causing you to softly moan so quietly it riled him up even more. 

He tried his best to keep his composure calm, to hold himself back. But he truly couldn’t with how foggy his mind made everything become. Alastor sunk his teeth into your neck, right below your pulse. You let out an animalistic groan, your back off of the mattress already. “Alastor, love, calm down—”

“Apologies, my dear, but I don’t think I can.” He responded tightly, licking the wound he inflicted fervently, shuddering as the metallic taste hit his tongue. You chuckled, sweeping his hair away from his face. “Alright, then. Do whatever you need to, sweetheart.”

Alastor tried to think clearly, to regain any sort of control he had in his sexual desires, but he so miserably failed. The urge to bite you and mark you and make everyone know that you were his overruled his mind. It was the only thing he could ever think straight at that moment.

“Mine…” He muttered, kissing and sucking on almost every single part of your neck. His hand had other plans, though, as it traced your figure until it reached your hips, and it squeezed hard. 

You let out a yelp and a moan, your breath practically nonexistent as you chuckled. “I’m yours, darling.”

His hand, even if it was just one, grounded you to the bed. You found yourself unable to move, not that you cared, anyway. Alastor rarely needed you in this sort of way, and to have him like this, so desperate, so needy, it made you feel things.

You were not quite sure what was going on hearing-wise, but you felt yourself saying Alastor’s name as a plea. He groaned, pulling himself away from your neck with a strained struggle. He drank you in, his smile still present. You almost laughed as his eyes didn’t match that, though, since they were looking at your outfit in disgust. He adjusted his position to balance himself before snapping it away, leaving you bare.

You gasped at the drop of temperature, causing you to scoff. “Alastor! At least warn a demon.” His deer ears twitched as he descended onto your collarbone, peppering kisses everywhere. “I apologize again, (name). I just…” He took a deep breath in and felt his eyelids fall heavy. “You’re intoxicating…”

At the mention of your name, you stirred slightly, feeling the heat pool down to your core. Alastor must have noticed this, however, since he started trailing kisses around your chest, his favorite part being the underside of it. He nipped at the skin and sucked like a dog in heat.

Well, a deer in rut, but one must digress.

You squirmed in your position as he bit down right before he resumed his trail of kisses down to your stomach. He could feel your arousal like it was his own, and that put him in quite the predicament.

“Aren’t you going to take care of yourself first, Al? You’re practically bursting.” You quietly asked, a hand running through red tufts of hair that was tickling your torso. A low growl escaped Alastor’s throat. “I will; have some patience, love.” Me? You’re literally bulging. “But right now, I need a taste of you…”

Your eyebrows twitched as they creased together. “What are you trying to do—” You cut yourself off with a yelp as Alastor planted a soft kiss on your clit, making your jump. “If I go too far,” Alastor started, gazing up at you through his bangs. “Tell me.”

You nodded, knowing that he never would go too far, and if he did, he would be too busy enjoying his meal to understand that. 

Alastor’s grin just stretched wider before probing his tongue into you, causing you to shudder with a groan at the feeling. You played with his ears, your breath being stolen away. Honestly, if it weren’t for his cannibalistic and homicidal instincts, he would’ve landed a spot in Heaven with how gentlemanly he was, giving you pleasure before indulging in his own.

Alastor was fully aware of the growing tent in his pants, but he paid it no mind, which he was glad he was at least able to do. With that, he knew his mind hadn’t succumbed to the worse thoughts that he dreaded the most.

He lapped and sucked up all of the juices you had to offer, his pace unforgiving and sloppy. You could feel your own claws puncture the mattress with how tight your grip was on it, but you were sure Alastor wouldn’t care later on. He doesn’t really…sleep.

With how quickly Alastor was working against you, you felt that knot in your stomach appear just as fast, making you curse under your breath. For someone who doesn’t really like anything inherently sexual, he sure is a master at it.

Alastor felt it. He felt you getting closer, and he wanted nothing more than to see you writhe in pleasure all because of him, and nothing, or no one, else. The hand that was gripping your thigh to the point of wounds hooked your leg onto his shoulder for the time being, holding it in place as he quickened his pace.

The only thing you could do was whimper and plead and whine. And every single syllable that dropped from your mouth went straight to his arousal, and he cursed internally. A string of violent curses escaped his wife’s lips as you tugged on Alastor’s hair, which led him to hiss in both the pain and pleasure it shamefully gave him. 

“Close—Alastor, wait—!” You managed to cry before snapping, waves of pleasure crashing into you intensely. You let out a demonic groan as Alastor drank you until your high faded.

Your head flopped onto the fluffy pillows of Alastor’s bed, staring at the red head of hair just where your abdomen started. The radio demon rested his head on the inner side of your thigh, catching his breath slightly, which caused a bit of feedback from the voice effect he always had on.

“Are you satisfied?” You asked, tilting your head. Despite the fact that Alastor kept smiling, his brows twitched. He was far from satisfied. 

You laughed, and Alastor could hear a bit of nervousness laced into it. Not that kind that was associated with fear, but the kind that was associated with excitement. 

It’s going to be a long night for the both of them.

You sat up properly before crawling to be in front of Alastor. “It’s quite unfair that I’m the only one bare right now.” You teased, undoing the buttons of his coat. Though, even as you did, he knew how much you enjoyed that power difference.

Alastor didn’t resist as you unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt underneath. You had stopped undressing him when his shirt hit the strain in his pants, and he felt an annoyed grunt scratching his throat at the lack of friction. “(Name), dear.”

“Hm?”

“You have to stop teasing…”

You scoffed out a laugh. “Is the radio demon attempting to beg right now?” Alastor’s face immediately turned bright red, the cold air that was hitting his bare chest not helping him, either. “Chérie, don’t make me do this—” “What, beg?”

You had figured out how to make it more fun for you, and more cruel for him.

It made him so embarrassingly hard.

Your positions were now flipped, since Alastor had tried (and failed) to cage you in, and so when he crawled towards you, you swiftly went behind him. So now, his back was towards the headboard, his ears pinned back slightly. Without his coat, you could really have a nice view of his small deer tail which was currently tucked in between his legs, barely covering the bulge in front of his pants.

His grin twitched. “So, how are you planning on taking advantage of our current situation?”

You laughed, a finger to his lips to shush him, which made an irk mark appear on his forehead. “Oh, dear Alastor, have some patience! You wanted me to have the same thing just minutes before, right?” Your finger swept to his chin to lift it up as you leaned in closer. So close Alastor heard your pulse.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your lips mere centimeters apart. Alastor sighed, ready to feel the sensation of your soft lips against his, but he only felt the cold air hit it instead. He opened his eyes to find you grinning with an eyebrow raised. His brows dropped as his smile strained, just as much as his pants were. Alastor cleared his throat before giving you an amused gaze. “Do you really think that would work on me?”

You shrugged, leaning forward to straddle yourself on him. He cursed under his breath (a rare scene, honestly. You savored every moment) as he felt himself buck against you. “Well, it did; there’s no real debate about it, hun.” You cupped one of his cheeks, in which he melted into, while tracing the outline of his deer ears with your other hand. You laughed breathlessly. “I’m sorry, your ears are just…absolutely divine.”

Alastor fought back every single moan and whine that you were pulling out of him from playing with his ears. “The things you do to me…” He whispered as he grinded against you slightly, that needed friction making him see stars. 

You almost lost self control at that statement. Just the way Alastor was slowly breaking under you purely because you were touching and prodding at his ears gave you such a power surge. Your hands made their way to his pants, where they undid them and freed Alastor, who had just hissed at the cold air hitting his cock.

You stared and ogled at the sight before you, your hand wrapping itself around it. Alastor tensed, his shoulders raised slightly. He let out a shaky breath, watching his own chest rise and fall to calm him down.

He was already leaking, and you used that to your advantage. You stroked painfully slowly, causing him to shiver. You glanced at Alastor’s expression with a sly smirk. “You’re enjoying this a lot, dear.”

Your tone was mocking; Alastor heard it. He tightly chuckled. “How would you know?”

“Alastor. You’re so hard right now.”

“Oh.” 

You snorted before increasing your pace against his cock. Alastor cleared his throat, feeling his mind fog with desire and lust, the two things he really wished hadn’t plagued his mind too much.

You felt a tentacle wrap around your left thigh, and your breath hitched. “Al?-” It started to massage your pussy, making you gasp and grip Alastor’s cock a bit too tightly.

He grunted in both pain and pleasure, that brief moment of extreme bliss washing away again. “(Name), love, I think you should calm down this time.”

“Well, it’s not my fault your stupid tentacles start to just—” You cut yourself by sighing in relief, the same tentacle you were referring to going in circles against your already sensitive clit. “I swear.” You muttered, quickening your pace against Alastor.

Suddenly, you stopped your hand, cursing when the tentacle wouldn’t do the same. At that lack of motion, Alastor swore under his breath, his grin showing annoyance as he grunted. Yet even with shocks of pleasure spreading across you body, you kept a steady face, the smile on your face absolutely shit-eating. “Is someone annoyed already? Doesn’t feel good when pleasure’s just taken from you, does it?” You swiped you thumb against his tip which made Alastor stir. He let out a low, dragged-out moan at the sensation. you repeated the motion, amused at the way Alastor took a sharp inhale and exhale, as if regulating his senses.

Alastor hated the way you pouted at him as if he were some pitiful creature. “Awh, does someone crave what he wants?” You scoffed, swallowing a gulp of saliva as the tentacle on your pussy quickened its pace. you attempted to think of something, anything, that could postpone your orgasm.

Ah, you knew.

Angeldust said something about Valentino having a waterboarding kink. Honestly, the thought of Valentino was enough.

You grinned, tilting your head as you set your pace to be irregular. When you knew Alastor was at the edge, you stopped, then when you knew that it subsided, you would continue. “You thought I wouldn’t make you beg for it?”

Alastor couldn’t help the lewd noises he was making, letting out strangled moans and whines and huffs. Just who do you think you are, making the radio demon beg for you?

Well, you are his wife.

Alastor tried to fight the urge to give in, but the way you were teasing him and playing with his pleasure made him want to snap. He averted your gaze as he muttered something incoherent, but you knew what it was.

You slowed your pace on his cock again, tilting your head in feigned innocence. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t catch that. You better speak up.” Immediately after you spoke, you bit your lip and cursed internally. You were so desperately close because of what Alastor’s tentacles were doing to you. Hell, you weren't even sure if Alastor knew that his tentacles were pleasing you to the brink of insanity.

Alastor’s pride and ego got the better of him, though, as he mumbled it again, just a bit louder.

“Alastor.” You warned. “Speak. Up.” You quickened your strokes before slowing them down again, smiling as you got the reaction you wanted from Alastor.

“Hhngh, please, darling…” He moaned, his eyelids heavy. Alastor’s grin twitched once more in annoyance. “Please, finish what you started…”

You were going to say something before you felt you coming close. you cursed under your breath, something you didn’t know if Alastor heard you or not. And just as you was about to reach the highest peak, 

The tentacle against your pussy stopped its rubbing, and you whined, arching you back. You were grateful for it, though. You could tease Alastor even more.

“Awh, Alastor,” you taunted. “Surely you can do better than that…right?” You placed a kiss beside the tip, and Alastor suppressed (but horribly failed) the need to moan. “Beg like you mean it.” 

Alastor accidentally whined, his eyebrow twitching once he heard himself. “Please, darling… don’t tease me like this…” You gazed into Alastor’s eyes, a look of mischief on your face as you stroked quicker. 

He moaned heavily, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. “Fuck, please let me finish already…!”

Your eyebrows shot up at that crisp swear, you grin stretching from ear to ear. “You’re getting there, love.” The speed of your strokes gradually increased. Suddenly, you felt the tentacles again, but this time, it was just one. It was two.

You discreetly attempted to glance back, getting interrupted by the thicker one prodding your entrance. you gasped, trying to regain your composure and control over him. You tried your best to focus on Alastor instead. “You’re so cute when you beg; you know that, right?” You propped yourself on your elbows instead of having your other hand support you to play with Alastor’s cock more.

More quickly than he would have wanted, Alastor felt himself losing control. He let out an animalistic groan, gritting his teeth. His shoulders tensed once more as he felt himself getting close. He bucked his hips into your hands, the friction making him whimper ever so slightly. “Please…please, please, please please…”

You had never heard Alastor so whiny, so helpless. It was unlike him, just allowing you to assert yourself in this kind of situation. But hey, you didn’t mind. In fact, you loved it.

You should visit more often.

The hand closer to his tip massaged it with the thumb, making Alastor cry out in response. His breath was shallow and ragged, and his voice was breaking. His radio filter was long gone, and just the sound of his real voice made you go crazy.

You felt yourself nearing your climax, too. With how quickly the two tentacles were either massaging or pumping into you, you realized it was inevitable.

You decided it would be ideal if you came together.

You immediately quickened your pace against him, the fact his whole intimidating facade was gone with how he was muttering pleas made your heart pump, if undead hearts could do so.

Alastor felt kisses against his inner thigh, and that was what sent him over the edge. With a cry of your name, strings and strings of white translucent fluid released itself from his cock. His hearing was compromised with a ringing sound, but he heard you moan his name out just a couple of seconds after him, your grip against him tightening as you never stopped stroking.

His breath hitched as he realized that you weren't going to stop. “Wait, (Name)—” He whined, his head hitting the pillow behind him. It was too much; the feeling, the pleasure, just everything. He hadn’t even touched himself in decades, so to just have someone stroking him even after he came felt painfully pleasurable.

Thankfully, you stopped after some time, your grip loosening as you caught your breath. Somewhere during that time frame, your right hand made its way to his thigh, acting as a pillow for your cheek. your eyes trailed down Alastor’s twitching cock, and you grinned, liking a stripe from base to tip.

He shivered, his eyes closed as he held his forehead. He placed his hand down onto the mattress and… Why were there punctures in it?

Just as Alastor was about to ask, he noticed movement behind you, his brows furrowed. Then, he saw it. He saw the shadowy tentacles he knew were his.

His eyes widened slightly as he looked at the now flushed out you who was half-lidded with your ass in the air. “My dear?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Why are my tentacles…out?”

“Huh?” You glanced back and sweatdropped as you finally realized just how thick they were. No wonder You felt full. “Oh, they–” You cleared your throat. “They were…fucking me. I thought you knew that.”

Alastor’s eye twitched before he let out a chuckle. “Well, I apologize for that, dear. Though, I hope you can still take more, since,” he sat up straight, helping you fix your posture before picking you up by your hips and straddling you against him, your pussy just mere centimeters on top of his cock. “I’ll be handling you now.” Alastor glanced up to look you in the eyes. “Do you consent?”

“You know I always do.”

Alastor huffed out a laugh. “Whatever you say, darling.” He strained himself as he held every ounce of the animalistic urge that he had kept constrained as he made you sink down onto him. A guttural moan forced itself out and he started to grip your hips tighter, using that as a way to bounce you on his cock.

You always knew and understood how mating seasons work, from their cycles to the subject’s attitude during. Well, you needed to read about it; one can never have too much knowledge, right?

You weren't sure about one thing, though: if demons experienced the same kind of cycle that their animal counterpart did. Well, this explains it.

It was obvious that Alastor was attempting to help you adjust to his throbbing dick but just the idea of being inside you drove him towards the edge. He bucked his hips at the same rhythm you bounced on him.

Your mind was clouded with lust and pure bliss. Alastor’s cock was kissing your cervix one too many times, and it sent you to absolute ecstasy. your lips formed a lazy grin as you kissed him hungrily, causing his hips to stutter.

With no ounce of shame left in his body, he allowed himself to groan and whine at every thrust he did in you, savoring how warm everything felt. How ironically heavenly you made him feel. 

The only unfortunate thing in Alastor’s mind was the desire to breed. To fill you up until his cum splattered onto his mattress. He wanted to make a mess of you, and possibly himself in the process. Alastor needed to make sure you knew that you were his, and his alone.

Somehow his lips made their way to your neck, savagely nipping and sinking his teeth into your flesh until he tasted metal. That sweet intoxicating flavor that always drove him wild.

you dug your nails into Alastor’s back, feeling your climax rising up again. It wasn’t long until you were spewing curse words that would make a normal man break down and cry as you felt the cord in your stomach violently snap again. 

But Alastor wasn’t stopping. He started to prioritize his release the moment he slipped inside of you. His pace never faltered; in fact, it quickened at an inhuman speed, causing your gasps of air to be just hiccups.

“You’re making me see stars.” He whispered into your ear, desperate and whiny. He could feel that build up happening again, and this time, he was going to get what he wanted as quickly as possible.

Fuck, just the idea of him cumming inside of you almost broke him. He knew that since you were both sinners, you could no longer have children, but it would never hurt to try, right?

His grip against your hips tightened to ground you in place as moaned as loudly as you had ever heard him. He pumped inside of you, thrusting harshly yet slowly until he felt himself fully inside you. you gasped, feeling your pussy stretch until something absolutely huge squeezed itself inside you.

Wait, did Alastor just–

Loads and loads of cum painted your walls, filling you up to the brim. Alastor’s teeth bit your shoulder as he released inside of you. you felt your mouth dry as you finally gasped for air, involuntary moans coming out for you.

You stayed like that for a minute or two, chests heaving as you caught their breath. Alastor’s knot finally deflated, yet it felt like he didn’t want to leave the position. However, you were still at the hotel, and the others might probably be looking for them.

Even worse, they might think they did something steamy.

Well, you did, but Alastor didn’t want that thought in their heads.

He planted a kiss on your forehead, his lips slightly burning from your skin. “We should get going, my dear.” He whispered, his radio filter back on.

“Did you know you could do that?”

“Do what, love?”

you looked at him through lazy eyes. But even if you did, he could practically feel the mischief beaming through them. “Knot.”

Alastor stitched his eyebrows together, confused. “What’s…knotting?”

you tilted your head. “You don’t know how your cycles work?” He averted your gaze, his ears flopping down in embarrassment. “I’ve never really done this before, dear.”

Your grin turned devilish. “Well…”

Oh, deer (hah). It’s going to be a long night for them.

“Where is Alastor?” Charlie asked, looking around. “I’ve been trying to call him for an hour or so but I haven’t seen him.”

Angeldust snorted before it turned into a cackle. “Like I said, toots! He’s probably in his room, fuckin’ the shit outta (Name).”

“I really doubt tha–” “Good evening, everyone!” Alastor exclaimed, his usual outfit now on. His grin remained constant as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “I do apologize for not being present for the past couple of hours. I had some business to do.”

“Yeah, her.” Angeldust mumbled, a smirk on his face. He lifted his face to look at you. “How was it?”

You just smiled, tilting your head. At that, the whole crew saw what you were trying to show.

Marks and marks of bites all over your neck, bruising it a little. They were surprised that it wasn’t bleeding with how wounded it was. 

Angeldust’s mouth went agape with a smile. He wasn’t entirely serious about that statement, but for it to actually be true? This was a day he never saw coming. “Ho-holy shit!” He exclaimed with a laugh. “I didn’t realize it was actually true!” 

[hwan-g]

( 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯 ) ୧ ⠁

ೀㅤ۪ pairing. biker/drug dealer! chris x fem! reader : genre. age gap, dark romance, angst, smut : warnings. read at your own risk — mdni ! use of pet names, smoking, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, obsession, severe anger issues, violence, flawed characters that make mistakes : word count. 10.1k

ೀㅤ۪ synopsis. he was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. it’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. no. peace is a foreign word. reserved only for you.

PROLOGUE.

You cannot begin telling this story if you don’t first punch your own mouth. His gun, safety off, shiny and awful in the dead of night, the barrel of it pointing at your temple, a patient irony. It’s three in the morning and the red bleeding is sweet, oh so sweet.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know? He loves you so much, he’ll kill you. He loves you so much, you’re calling for help. Of course, it cannot be your voice, and if he gives you another chance, you’ll say everything differently this time around like—this bed is where he fucked me slow and rough, I think he was trying to bury some part of himself in me, and here, you see, the sheets smell just like his cigarettes, and this, here, is where he brushed my hair, just like this, so careful, but never mind the cracks in the mirror, the shattering is always the same, it has nothing to do with me, everything to do with him.

You hear his voice in your head all the time, haunting, your dutiful ghost; he’s there when you sleep, he’s there when you wake up, a nightmare concealed as a daydream, and you want him to do his worst, you want it to hurt, to scar, to be a permanent mark, because it’d mean you’d loved him; that love has been here and it was ugly and terrifying, and you survived it, even if you could never survive him.

Upstairs, the bed is unmade, stained with wine and your climax. Chris is gentle in all the ways he is not, which is to say he kisses you with teeth, he holds you with fists. You saw him on a black motorcycle once, an impressionable girl in a dark place, lost, searching for purpose, and he looked like a knight in shining armor, he looked like hell and heaven combined, a savior and captor, and you’d wished to crawl inside, to make a home out of him. You’d smiled and waited, you've always waited, you always will.

When he came, he was so cruel, he burned brighter than fire—you believed in him; after all, how can a man be so consumed by flame and not put his own hands around his neck, not succumb to his charcoal painted flesh? You were a fool, and he saw it, and you paid the price for it. He wants to keep you forever now, he’s never going to let you go, do you understand that? Why, why, why did you go ahead and do that?

For what? A scrap of metal heart and a ribcage, bone and muscle?

What about your own heart?

What about the eternal winter residing when he's not there?

ACT ONE: before.

He smiles and the world expands. His face blooms into a thousand different shades; the pink of his mouth curving, the red of his cheeks rounding, the dark of his brow straightening. A stop motion picture, the beginning of autumn, the turn of the leaves, the crisp air replacing warm winds.

His fingers weave through yours, interlocking, thumb running down index, mouth a breath over yours, so close he could graze your lips if he wanted to. You look between you, noses touching, then back to brown so deep you imagine raw honey gliding, real amber in the face of the sun.

Chris. You whisper his name in your head. It sounds like a secret. Your best kept one. Chris, Chris, Chris . . .

There’s blood on his shirt underneath the leather jacket. There’s a loaded gun on his belt strap, a knife tucked in his boot, a razor engraved on the ring he wears, and he’s not so careful with it, and you don’t think you want him to be. You assume it’s normal to want this—if his blood mixes with yours, well, isn’t that enough to take you with him? Isn’t that almost a wedding ceremony, isn’t that almost a declaration of war?

Do you think I’m crazy, you think to yourself. Do you think I’m crazy, would you want me if I am, would you want me, do you want me? You don’t dare say it out loud, but he’s staring at you as if he could eat your face raw—a demon, a demon—and shove the rest of you in the deep freezer, so you decide to bite him instead. You get on your tippy toes and nuzzle into his neck, biting the soft flesh underneath his earlobe.

He doesn’t exclaim, not a hiss, not a gasp, not even the slightest of inhales. He withstands the pain you inflict him, and you feel his desire digging into the inside of your thigh. His arms reach out around you, pulling you to him in that all-encompassing way, and you’re left to witness what can only be the slow consumption of your beating heart. His bike groans under the sudden weight, but he’s got you. You don’t think, then, of what that entails.

“(Y/N).”

The night sky comes into focus, all dark indigo, starless, and the streetlights flicker bright, sounding the late hour. The light never seems to go anywhere near you two, it refuses, it hesitates, and back then you found it all so mysterious and exciting, ignoring the warning bells, swallowing down the instinct of danger, danger, danger.

“Yes?”

Your eyes fall shut at having his rough palm grabbing hold of your face, thumb tilting your head upwards to meet his sizzling gaze. You hold onto his wrist for support, your body floating, mourning the loss of his body heat against the biting cold. He notices this, and moves to shrug off his huge jacket, wearing it over your shoulders in one swift move.

“What will I do with you?” It’s a plea. A threat. Both.

Chris looks down at you, and the earth shakes to its core. He looks down at you, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. You want this, this, this, every day, all the time, forever. You wish to wake up in bed next to him and know he’s yours, wake up and not wish for some other dream so you can find him again. To be awake and want to be awake.

His big hands caress your face, sink into your hair. He stares at you intently, as if he’s holding back from saying whatever’s turning over and over in his head. It can switch so fast, that look, faster than you can blink, a clipped temper, a quick anger. 

You’ve only seen it once, and you’d been quickly turned away. He’s got people watching everywhere, he’s been haunted by darkness and shadows long before you served him that drink in The Bloody Muse. You almost forget about returning to your shift, time slipping away, responsibilities fading whenever you’re near him.

Seungmin will be missing you, Felix will be looking for his good luck charm before he goes on stage. Midnight means you return from dreamland. Still, you have a couple of minutes left. Enough to hear the gunshot, enough to panic and let out a scream and have Chris slap a hand over your mouth, willing you with his gaze to calm the fuck down.

You breathe hard, stiff with fear. He appears perfectly composed, relaxed even. It’s then you realize who he is and what he does, and how this is probably his or his club’s doing. There’s misdirected anger in you ricocheting on all corners. You want to bite his fingers, you want to demand an explanation. You work here, dammit, and he’s kept his bullets away from this place so far, for what you thought was your sake.

Chris was a handsome hypocrite, a skilled liar.

“It’s not what you think,” he says simply, removing his palm from your mouth, shaking his wrist off. “Don’t overreact.”

All of his previous warmth disappeared, instead, the cold, menacing man you know very little of and have never dealt with taking its place. You understand he has to be this way, but you hate that he has to act like this with you too. Because of your reaction. Because you couldn’t keep your cool.

Silly girl.

“What is it, then?” A naive question, so many untrue answers he could give you.

He passes a finger over the cut on your cheek. The cut he gave you. You lean into his touch, desperate for anything, hungry, starving, even. You don’t want him to leave, but he won’t stay. You hate, hate, fucking hate this part.

“Something that needed to be taken care of,” he chooses the words carefully, you can tell, and you decide that, if he wants you to stay in the dark, you will. You have to.

You love him.

“Someone,” you correct, quietly.

Chris smiles, mouth curving, and his hand moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is tender, affectionate. Something inside you cracks and caves, it melts. You would withstand too, you think then. You would deal with anything, put up with everything, for that single touch. For that one single look.

“Someone,” he echoes, his own voice smooth blue velvet, an overture. “You should get inside.”

A sharp pang of bitterness in your chest. “I should?” Because I questioned you?

He drops his hand, and brings his arms over his broad chest, crossing them there. Closed off and done for the night. You unconsciously take a step back, hurt from the sudden change, whiplashed and upset.

“If you don’t want to be late,” he states matter-of-factly, but he says it in this kind of open tone, a mere suggestion rather than a complete dismissal. Yes. “Don’t look at me with those damned eyes, sweetheart, what can I do against them?”

You wipe at your cheeks, and try to fix the mess, try to smooth over, to make right again. “I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Come here.” A command. 

You go like a kicked puppy, your leash short, your loyalty unshaken, despite the scolding. He reaches out and slams you to his chest, a hand pressing the back of your head there, and you inhale him, all of him, memorizing his scent, trying to hold on to whatever parts of him you can in case he decides to never come back for you again. It’s pathetic and it’s pitiful, but this is what you know. This is all you know.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” He mumbles in your hair, his breath hot on your scalp. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around him, and almost cry yourself dry from the prospect of ever losing him. 

You’d die. You’d die, it’s entirely unthinkable. It’s the worst pain imaginable. 

“You’re my girl, baby. I’d never let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?”

You nod your head yes. He squeezes you against him tighter. You feel so safe, then, the safest you ever have. Of course you believe him. You’d believe his every word, you’d follow him into anything, blindly, willingly. You want to please him. To make him happy.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, suddenly and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are manic, black. “I need your words, (Y/N). Do you believe me?”

“Yes. Yes,” you yelp, your mouth falling open from the sting.

In your stomach, something lights on fire. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve it. He glances down between you, curses. 

You started it. 

The descend. 

It was your fault. 

He’d never touched you so savagely before that night, he’d never shown the same need you had. That he could want you the same way you do. . .You felt so giddy you could squeal, so happy you would gladly reduce yourself to schoolgirl-and-her-stupid-little-fantasies.

“Is this fucking getting you wet?” And he pulls harder, tilting your head all the way. His tongue comes out to lick from the base of your neck all the way up to your lips. You’re on fire, you’re on fire! You moan hoarsely and try to keep your footing. “You like me being rough with you, sweetheart?”

You’re too embarrassed to respond. So, you guide his hand under your skirt. Chris curses again, more lewdly this time, nasty things, words you’ve never heard him say before. Oh, this fucking cunt, fuck me . . . So goddamn wet, baby girl, I bet it tastes so sweet. Will you let me? Will you let me have a taste right here?

“I— I have to go back, I’m—” but his fingers are already dipping into your underwear, his palm cupping your burning sex.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls into your ear. “You hear me?”

You jump, and look around, paranoid. He grabs your face and forces your eyes back on him. He’s got that crazed look again, the one that lets you know he’ll stop at nothing to have this. Out here, in the open. And he’ll fucking make it worth it. You succumb, too flushed, too bothered, unbecoming in his arms, as he backtracks you into the wall next to the exit door, and gets on his knees, tugging your undergarments down with both hands, hooking your leg over his shoulder.

Your fingers dig into his hair, dark eyes staring up at you. In your mercy, kneeling in front of you. Do you love me? Is this you, saying it? Is this your way of showing it? You caress the soft strands, staring back, overwhelmed. The beginning of the end for you. You’ll never escape him after this. He’d never accept it. You’d never survive it.

When his face gets lost in between your legs, you almost collapse, your entire body shaking with the forceful need to come. He licks and laps and sucks your clit into his mouth, and it’s too much, it’s fucking unbearable, it’s incredible, it’s so much, it’s everything, you want more, you want him to stop, more more more, oh my God, please, please—you’re being so loud there’s no way they haven’t heard that, that Seungmin hasn’t, he’s really only around the corner, and what about everyone else, oh God, oh God, you’re close, you’re so fucking close, if he could just—oh, fuck yes, fuck yes . . .

Chris pulls away, his lower face glistening with your juices. You whine at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching. 

“Don’t fucking come,” and he’s getting up, he’s unzipping his pants, and you’re eager to help, you’re eager to reach inside and grab him, free him. “I have to get inside you, baby.” 

His cock is standing rock hard, angry. He wraps one hand around your neck, and the other slides over his length once, twice, you’re so entranced you can’t look away; he’s so big, he’s so erect, and you want him so fucking much, you’d do anything right then, you’d be anything.

He turns you around, and you barely have time to get a good grip on the wall, before he’s entering you with one long, violent thrust. You scream out, pressing your temple on the cool brick, allowing him to take whatever he needs. His fingers squeeze around your neck, tighter and tighter still, until all you see is stars, until all you feel is him slamming into you, his hot body over yours, your mixed moans of pleasure.

I could come to this image forever . . . Look at this fucking ass, you beautiful fucking girl, I never want to stop . . . fucking tear you apart, lay inside you . . . Taking cock so well, made for me, made for me, made for this . . .

His movements turned sloppy and primal, reaching the end, and you, forever following him, forever after him. He was no more than beast, pistoling into you with vigor, all animal, your sides bruised from the way he was holding onto you, but you loved it, you wished he’d never stop, exploding into a million pieces, coming apart under him in vibrant streaks of color and tears. His head dropped on your lower back, whispering there she is, there you go, sweetheart, there you are, my baby, as he gave one, two, three final thrusts, before reaching down and removing himself from your soaking cunt, flipping you around, and forcing you on your knees, his cock in his hand, on the verge of climax.

You open your mouth wide, and he shoves in, fucking into it no more than three seconds before you feel his cum hit the back of your throat, warm and salty. 

“You fucking vex me, woman. Look at the sight of you.”

You breathe through your nose slowly, as he grabs your face and makes sure you swallow, fingers rough, before pulling out at once, tucking his softening length back in his jeans, and lifting you up by the waist.

He fixes your skirt over your ass, and smoothes over the edges, making sure no indecent part of you shows. When you catch his eye, he winks at you. You bubble over like a soda can, spilling everywhere, and he chuckles low and raspy, before reaching for your hand and pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses on your shoulder, your knuckles, your cheeks, your brow.

This is the Chris that looks at you and sees you. The one you love, the one you miss the most when he’s gone. This Chris comes out only when you’re alone, when he’s forgotten what else there is, what he has to do after you go back to the club. For now, he loves you, no violence, no hunger.

You almost weep at the sight of him.

“I’ll talk to your boss,” he murmurs, pecking your lips over and over.

You giggle, and he twirls you once, your arms extending as you try to go towards the door. He pulls you back in at the last minute, handsome, glowing, smiling.

“I haven’t lied to you,” he says, and half of you doesn’t miss the solemn way in which he says it. “I won’t let anyone touch you. Ever.”

You pause for a split second, still remaining in the post bliss of your orgasm, but then you’re moving again, slipping from his grasp, heading back to your drinks and suggestive conversations.

“I wouldn’t want to be touched by anyone else, Chris,” you retort, blowing him a kiss, and disappearing through the big black door, letting it close behind you.

You don’t see the way you leave him standing there, how he closes his eyes and has to breathe through the loss of you; how he drags his feet to go pick up his jacket from the floor. How he inhales your sweet smell, and instantly wants you back, a corpse in his arms that can’t go nowhere.

The corruption began when you told him your name. It invaded his bloodstream and blackened his mind.

He’d rather kill you than have you walk away from him like that.

ACT TWO: in the midst.

Chris fucks you with the purpose of possessing you.

There’s not a minute of peace when you are with him, he envelops all senses, he erases all other thoughts, until all you know is him, his touch, his cock. Months into sharing a bedroom, and coming apart underneath him every night, he’s never once mentioned that incident, the first one.

He’s never apologized for how he treated you, never brought it up. But he’s never once treated you the same since. Now that you live together, he gets to call all the shots, know your exact whereabouts, control what you wear, what you eat, how you come, how many times—he’s fucked you in places you never thought possible. He’s fucked you in front of people, shamelessly; on the banister, in the pool, on the kitchen counter and the office. Against walls and on the hood of his car, parked in the garage, Changbin, the road captain, working on his bike not a few steps away.

No one ever said anything to you, tried anything. They didn’t have a death wish, or they respected Chris too much. His influence was a testimony to his abilities. No one questioned him, but everyone obeyed him. They treated you like one of their own, they protected you when their sergeant would leave the house.

Other things—the shitload of drugs hidden in every trinket, every crevice, places you’d never think to check, and the meticulous way they deliver said product, how the trucks come in the middle of night, motorcycles deconstructed, filled to the brim with cocaine and sent to wherever, distributed to whatever unfortunate person. Chris never touched the trucks, you never saw him near them.

That was Minho’s job.

You spent entire days in bed after the deliveries, fucking, improvising stories of hunters and angels falling in love, how the hunter is always attracted to the angel’s light, how the angel forgives the hunter for his nature, and willingly dies by his axe. Chris bathes you and washes your hair with lavender, then carries you over to the vanity and brushes the strands with such care, you think he’s always loved you, in every life. That, perhaps, he was born loving you, and that this was predetermined; inescapable, inevitable.

He doesn’t sleep. He spends hours making love to you, feeding you; he works for even longer, meetings with the president, meetings with the suppliers, mountains of paperwork that you see him burn afterwards in the fireplace downstairs. If he does close his eyes, it’s flitting, twenty minutes here, an hour there; after he comes down from the high of being buried inside you, after a shower, at night as he watches you sleep, you pretend to close your eyes and feel him get comfortable on your stomach, his lips kissing any spot of naked skin he can find. When he does drift off, you lift your head and observe a man such as Chris Bahng sleep, how he does it, so unaware and off guard, so unlike his usual self.

It’s endearing. You love him the most when you find him in those positions, so peaceful, and a part of you thinks, ashamed—at least no one is dying by his hand tonight. His soul is something you think about a lot, the wretched, poisoned thing, paying for his actions. You asked him once; what keeps him up, why is he so unable to fall asleep?

“Nightmares,” he mumbled against your neck, teasing the sensitive flesh there. “Every time I close my eyes . . . someone is waiting for me. It’s always different, but they always end up dead. Everyone I care about— you. When you’re in my dreams, I can’t stand it. I’m always the one holding the gun. You’re always falling, or— fucking . . . walking away from me. When I wake up, I always check if you’re next to me,” his hand travels to yours, interlocking your fingers. He avoids your gaze. “If you’re not, it’s . . . it gets hard to breathe. I think I’ve killed you, that I’ve finally fucking lost it and, and done it, and the walls close in around me . . . Christ, I sound fucking insane.”

It’s difficult for you to say anything after that, so you slowly make your descend at the foot of the bed, making sure to kiss every inch of him, to let him know you’re right there, that he’ll never lose you, that the day it’ll come to that you’d rather he does kill you, that he does make that decision for you, because you’d have clearly gone mad; you cannot see yourself beyond him, cannot see a future where he’s not there, even as a fixture, even as someone who’s loved you once, a very long time ago. A friend, a lover, it’s all the same, and it’s all him, and you’ll always get whatever version of him you can.

You know you sound crazy, and maybe you are, maybe you deserve each other in that way, but it’s irrelevant to this story. This is not for the faint of heart—loving someone like him does not come easy, it’s not one of those ridiculous words—fate or destiny—or anything simple like that; loving him is hard fucking work, it’s torment and agony, it’s excruciating, and it’s a choice you make every single day, because you need it to live. An addiction, perhaps, though you’ve never been an addict.

You know this is how it feels. The needle in the vein. The snow on your nose. The smoke in your lungs. The burning, the boiling. This is it. When you take his cock in your mouth, when you hear that broken gasp fall from his lips, the familiar groan, the guttural sounds from the back of his throat, and how he grabs the back of your head, forcing you down to the hilt of him; when you’re so full you might as well inhale him entirely, become part of his crotch, his most private part, the one he keeps to himself—you think this is what it’s like to wait on someone’s steps, a beggar, a desperate girl giving her heart on a silver platter for the one in the house, the one holding the reins.

Chris is kind and generous. He opens the door, he allows you to come inside. There’s light and warmth here, but there’s also shadows in the corners, there’s locked doors and no one else around. It’s a lonely house, but he’s right there, all you need, all you’ll ever need. He welcomes you with open arms.

You get lost in the labyrinth of him.

“What the fuck was I doing before you, sweetheart? Who was I, who was I without this fucking mouth, fucking hell, baby . . .”

It’s a savage act, some would call it cannibalism, but it’s only been known as love to you. Your insides are aflame, roasting a pretty crackling orange, when he finally comes on your tongue, his hips lifting, eyes shut tight, your head in his big hands, keeping you there, making sure you’re swallowing every last drop. You do. You do. You‘re licking circles around the shiny, swollen tip one moment, and he’s got you bouncing on it the next, manhandling your ass, facing you away from him, wrapping muscular arms around your waist, ravaging your back with his teeth, biting and soothing, putting out the forest fires himself, braving the danger.

A devouring hunger. Stripped to its most primal state. Everything within you is jumping. No one talks about this—screwing for the sake of the flesh. You need to come, and keep coming, and he does too. There’s no other thought, no other reason. He’d mount you if he could, knot in you for hours, pump you full of his seed. If this is the way it’s meant to be, then let it be. Let him fuck you until he’s satiated. Let him fuck you into your last dying breath.

But his words. You want those for yourself. He whispers them in your ears, his mouth everywhere, the hotness of his breath, the raspiness of his voice—just as lost as you. This is how you need him.

“This cunt is mine, fucking mine, mine . . . Say it,” he drills into you, skin slapping on skin, sweat like water, and your tears, so uncontrollable, so many— “Say it, damn you.”

“Yours,” you comply, your arm reaching out to wrap around his neck. He kisses your shoulder, he bites, he marks. “All of me. Forever.”

“Swear it. Don’t ever leave me.”

“No . . . no . . .” You moan loudly as he reaches deep inside, to spots that make you see stars.

He shoves your face in the mattress, and gets on top of you, pistoling his length into you, hard and fast, chasing after the high he craves. You cry out and take it. The pain is so intense, bleeding into pleasure, overwhelming your body. You can’t feel your own heartbeat anymore, only Chris, only his pounding.

“Such a goddamn slut. Look at you,” he slaps your ass once, “fucking look at you,” twice, three times, four. You sob into the sheets, grab onto them. He’s relentless, he’s so close, you’re so close— “Why are you crying, huh?” He pulls you by the hair hard, lifting your head. You gulp down air, you’re glutinous, deprived. “Did you need my cock that bad? Have I not fucked your needy little hole enough?”

“You have, you have, please . . .”

Let go for me, sweetheart, fuck, you feel so fucking good . . . Never get tired of this pussy, taking me so well, baby, so fucking well, come on, one more, one more, that’s it . . .

Coming felt like the gates of heaven liquifying inside you. Your orgasm tore through you so savagely, you forgot how to breathe for several moments, your limbs unresponsive and extremely sore. Only thing you could do was convulse under Chris’ massive body, and let him ride his own, his nails digging into raw flesh, voice groggy and incredibly deep after three rounds of sex.

“Did I hurt you? Did I hurt you, baby?”

You hadn’t realized you were still crying ugly, terrible sobs. You immediately missed the weight of him as he got off you at once and flipped you on your back, panic-stricken honey eyes searching your face, your chest, any part of you he might’ve harmed.

“Where does it hurt? What have I done?” He kisses your temple, your eyes, he tastes your tears. He’s so worried you almost feel guilty for not responding. “(Y/N), I need you to tell me, sweetheart, I can’t see it, I can’t—is it your—”

“I’m fine,” you pacify him, placing your hands on either side of his face. You’re still breathing abnormally fast, but so is he. The room is spinning. “You didn’t hurt me anywhere, I’m fine, Chris.”

“But if you were, you’d tell me, yeah?”

He was so handsome, so handsome when he loved you.

“I would.”

His gaze was piercing, honeycomb giving way to molasses. His hands were trailing off again, doing their own thing, what they knew best; how to please you. His thumb on your clit, rubbing soft circles, your creamy entrance making lewd sounds that had the man over you growing impossibly hard again.

“And what about this?” A warm, tingly sensation grew low in your belly. “Does this hurt?”

You trap his hand with your thighs, and he smiles. You smile back.

“Maybe a little,” you lie, stretching.

He doesn’t let up. His fingers slip inside again, his other hand moving on himself, veiny and sure. Chris masturbating to the sight of getting you off is perhaps the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your body is a tool he’s acquainted well with, and has made his sole expertise. So many hours on this bed, learning each other naked.

“Your cunt says something else,” he smirks, pumping his fist over his girth slowly, deliberately, growling low in the process, making you wetter, making you want, want, want. A chain of chemical reactions, you’ve become. “I wanna eat you out, (Y/N), you think you’ll be able to handle that?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he mumbles on your stomach, placing a kiss there, and traveling down, nose dangerously close to where you want him most. “Your face when you come apart on my tongue—I wish I could die between your legs, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” you hide your face in embarrassment, as you feel him get in position, opening your legs wide, staring shamelessly at your swollen pussy.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” he licks it once, tongue pressing flat on your clit and flicking, and you’re fucking gone. You’re writhing, trying to get away, moaning so loudly the whole house must’ve heard you. “This is mine, you’re fucking mine, and you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

He doesn’t get to work much on you, you’re coming apart in minutes. You’re so overstimulated, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the muscles twitching. He doesn’t seem to care though, because he’s fingering all of your cream on his cock and finishing himself off, an ungodly sight, something out of a renaissance painting, the most explicit one, all well defined abs and veins popping on his neck, mouth formed into a perfect silent scream, as he pumps, and pumps and shoots on your thighs, white thick streaks, hot and sticky.

There’s a knock on the door, a throat clearing.

“Bahng,” Changbin’s voice. “It’s important.”

The room drops in the negatives. You see the abrupt change on your boyfriend’s face, his expression freezing over, his jaw clenching, moving, as he stares at the door like he wants to break it, and then beat his friend’s face in. You get on your elbows and whisper softly, “It’s okay,” to which he ignores.

“What the fuck do you want?” He calls out, furious, getting off the bed and grabbing a pair of discarded jeans from the floor.

“Meeting in ten,” his captain replies, and then there’s footsteps shuffling away.

“I need to shower, anyway,” you try to lighten the mood, reaching over the bed for your shirt. “We’ve been holed up here for hours. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Why do you need to know?”

You don’t let his tone ruin what you’ve been building for the entire day. He was perfectly fine up until two seconds ago, it has nothing to do with you. You repeat this to yourself as you move around the room, clipping the hair away from your face, wiping the makeup from your cheeks.

“It’s really alright, Chris, you’ll only be gone for a bit.”

He ignores this as well. What he does—he takes two big strides towards you and grabs your face roughly. You meet his eyes, dark and menacing, and keep your cool. You don’t let his anger scare you, you’ve seen it all before. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with you.

“All you need to know, is I’m still in this fucking room and you smell like my cum, and there’s a lot of fucking things I can do in ten minutes,” he snarls, patting your hair down, bringing your hips together. “All you need to know is you have no use for clocks, because you’re not going anywhere. Am I fucking clear?”

You try not to let your body take over your mind, as it’s happened many times before. He knows your weak spot, he knows how good he can make it feel, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets. 

You will not be manipulated. You will stop falling for his words.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” you retorted, suddenly sad. “You’re only being like this because you want to stay.”

To that, he visibly calms, he mellows. “Of course I do. I never wanna be anywhere else. I wanna fuck you until you’re on the verge of passing out, and then I want to take you in the water and make it all better,” he tries to kiss you but you turn your head. There are no words to describe the hurt etched on his face, then. “You’re the only thing that matters, (Y/N). The only true thing.”

“Why do you treat me like this, Chris? Hot, then cold, again and again.”

You might’ve as well slapped him. He untangles himself from you at once, and walks over to the closet for a shirt. Your stomach drops. You definitely said something you shouldn’t have. Who knows how he’ll be now, what he might do. You might not see him for days. He knows how to hurt you and keep hurting you. One coin, two sides.

Nevertheless, you have to know. He never gives you any answers. You’ve given away so much to be here, to be with him. He walks the thin line of having something like that, a line between holding you—broken glass on his shaking palm, recklessly picking up the pieces when they fall, unafraid of the blood, of the cutting and maiming, and the repercussions afterwards.

His self destructiveness has never been more prominent before. Now it’s all you see.

“One true thing, Chris. Please.”

He looked so severe, the set of his jaw, the glint in his eye. When he punches the closet door closed and smashes the mirror with his fist, you don’t think he’s quite there in the room with you anymore. He’s in that faraway place again, in that hole, so hard to find.

Of course, the blood. The blood is always there. It’s been there from the start.

He motions for you not to move, his hair a mess sticking in all directions. Such violence and it’s all within him, there’s nothing you can do to pull it out of him. Only when it lashes out, only when he becomes the weapon.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” he barks, and you stop, you remain perfectly still, your gaze locked to his knuckles, bleeding profusely, staining the carpet. “I will never hurt you,” he rasps, and there’s iron will behind his words. “I will never fucking hurt you, I’d sooner die. I’d sooner fucking die . . .” His eyes fall closed, his breathing deepens, and you’re pretty sure you only have a few seconds before this all goes to shit.

You grab your clothes, and shoes, and where’s your phone, where’s your stupid phone—

“Get out of here. Get out of here now.”

You bite your lip until you taste copper. You won’t cry. You won’t fucking cry. This is not your fight. This is not your problem.

“I love you,” you squeeze out, before you throw the door open and spill down the stairs, the beast bellowing behind you, “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Changbin puts his hands out, grabs your shoulders. 

Felix doesn’t even have to look at you; he curses, and climbs the stairs three at a time, calling for backup. The demolition has already begun.

You won’t cry. You refuse, you refuse, you refuse.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know?

ACT THREE: intermission.

In a fight, he’s devastating.

You’d told him time and time again, none of it meant anything, not a thing, just some mindless flirting to get better tips, it was part of your job, it was silly, little, nothing, nothing at all. You’d warned him against coming inside the Muse. It’d only cause trouble.

He would only cause trouble. It’s why he had Minho permanently positioned in there, it’s how the club was under Strays payroll, it was his excuse for visiting that night.

Making sure the product was being distributed properly. Keeping an eye out. Bullshit. You were so mad at him. He never showed up for these things, they went through other people. Chris was too important for it. And yet, here he was, disrupting your workflow, beating your regulars into a pulp.

You didn’t recognize anything from the man he was the last time you saw him. He had none of the tenderness, none of the ember in his gaze, no softness; only sharp, obliterating cruelty and the gun on his strap. His fists were bloody, his anger palpable.

Your tables had emptied out, unpaid. You were so angry.

“Try it, motherfucker,” your boyfriend smashed the poor guy’s head against the hardwood floor, repeatedly, in succession, until your voice was scratched raw from shouting for someone to stop him. “Try getting near her again, let me see you. Walk a straight fucking line to my girl, see if you get to live another goddamn day.”

“I didn’t know she was your girl, man! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man had been reduced to tears, his face so beat up you could barely make out his features under all the blood.

Minho stood in one corner, observing passively, while Seungmin tried to keep his friend back, ever the security guard. Chris was gone, though. There was no way to bring him back. There’d be a death tonight, and all of you would have to pretend it never happened. You think about that. About the first time you lied for him. For them.

“Bet you wanted to fuck her, hm?” He pulls his head up, only to bring him to his knee, kicking his nose broken, and throwing him back on the floor, chairs wobbling and falling over in the storm of him. “That’s what you’ve been coming for, isn’t it, you sick fuck?”

The whimpering is what did it for you. “I didn’t know. Please! Please!” You couldn’t just stand aside; you couldn’t let this go on.

The stage was empty, the band long finished with their set, now sitting at the counter over at the bar, glancing curiously your way. It was infuriating how none of them wanted to get involved. It was too late for this. Too fucking late, and you were tired.

So, you walked over to where Chris was stomping on the man’s ribs, making sure you were in his line of vision. When you got as close as you could, you called out his name. Nothing. You tried again.

“Chris. Chris.”

“I’ll fucking kill him, baby, he’ll never look at you twice, he won’t be able to, I swear it to you.” In what dark, dark place have you crawled into, my love? How do I get there?

You try to keep your voice steady, reasonable. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin shaking his head at you, motioning you to step back, away, out from the line of fire. 

“I don’t want that, Chris. I want you to let him go.”

“What?”

“And then I want you to go home.”

In retrospect, you should’ve heeded the bouncer’s advice. This version of Chris does not belong to you, it has nothing to do with feeling or logical thought. It festered in some terror-stricken hole he’d found as a child, and grew into a large open wound, the heart tree of all inhumanity in him. You’d have to carve it out if you’re to ever save him. But to carve it . . . No. You couldn’t. Not you.

Two terrible things happened that night, things that you’d quicker forget than let yourself remember fully.

His calloused hand attacked your neck, wrapping around it with such brutal force, it knocked the air out of you. Immediately, four men jumped to your rescue, circling you like hounds, yelling at Chris, trying to snatch him away from you.

“Stand the fuck down,” he snarled at them, never taking his black eyes off you. “You think I’d actually fucking hurt her? She can take this, can’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod, willing yourself to breathe through your panic, to combine this touch with the one he uses when he makes you feel good, the pain only pleasurable, only flitting, almost enjoyable. He watches you do this, and something flashes in his expression, a recognition, a moment of clarity. It’s gone as soon as it arrives.

“Don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do, you understand? I’m doing this for you, so you can be safe,” he’s never raised his voice at you, and he’s not doing it now, either. You’d take the screaming over this eerie calmness, this polite rage.

This is the monster under your bed, the demon in your closet. You can’t do anything about this, you don’t even know what’s hiding there.

“I didn’t ask for that, Chris,” you manage to say, placing a hand over the one on your throat. No one speaks, no one moves.

“You’ve no fucking idea what’s good for you, do you?”

“Clearly,” you reply, calmly, bitterly.

You see him swallow, and fight with the shadows clouding his judgment. You see the split decision—and the way he shoves you away, the way he refuses to look at you any longer. 

“Have it your way,” he snaps. He’s still so beautiful to you, even like this, the way a severe thunderstorm is, the way gray clouds can cover an entire sunny day in minutes. Not despite, but in spite.  “But this fucker dies today.”

In a split second, your life—an infinite whirlwind, a dizzying dance with no end in sight—it changes, it shifts, because—Chris takes his gun out, a single click, and shoots the man on the floor beside you. All it takes. A blink of an eye. No one seems to get what happened, probably accustomed to the death looming over, but you—you’re covered in blood now, blood that’s not yours, and you’ve never seen someone die before. You don’t even think it registers in your mind, really. You just stare, and stare, and hope that he’ll get up and go to a hospital, because he looks terrible.

“Don’t feel too bad, princess,” Felix whispers somewhere from behind you. “He was a registered sex offender. Boss found out today. Chris had to do it.”

“Chris is not a hit man,” you say mechanically, paralyzed, something else looking through your eyes, inhabiting your body. 

Where are you? Where’d you go?

“No, he’s not,” he agrees. You faintly feel a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react. “But he’s the one that’ll always get the job done. No matter what.”

This is the second thing. Learning that your boyfriend might be more of a collection of ghosts than an actual person. That the blood sprayed on your legs could be anyone’s, could be yours. The thing is, you weren’t truly scared before, but you are now.

And the terrifying truth—you still love him. You love him, you love him, it beats as sure as your heart, it fills you with guilt and despair, because . . . you don’t even really care. You should, surely. This is a horrible situation. But Chris is standing a mere few feet away from you, and he wants nothing to do with you, not when he’s like this, and somehow that’s more severe, that’s—that’s the real tragedy.

“Take care of it,” he cracks his neck, addressing no one in particular. Any of these men would do anything for him, for the club. Honor and loyalty, above all. “Bring me the books. There’s still business.”

Minho and Seungmin get to work, while a third person goes in the back. You don’t know who, you don’t see them, your gaze hasn’t moved from Chris. You whisper his name again, like back in the alley, over and over, and hope for him to turn around, to look and see, to dance with you, to shake you and make you spill. But he doesn’t. You don’t think he ever will again.

You’re one of them now. He didn’t keep you away, he failed, and so now you know.

“And for fuck’s sake, someone take her the hell away from here.”

You kickstart. “No, I won’t go.” You’re here, you’re here, where would I go if you’re here?

He won’t even spare you a second, a moment. He’s walking towards the bar, he’s lighting a cigarette, his hands are still raw and bleeding. The club is closed for the night, you’re no longer needed. Just another witness, just another person in the room. He can make you feel so small, so incredibly small, like you never mattered at all.

Felix steps up and offers to drive you.

“To the house,” Chris instructs firmly, skimming through pages of numbers. “Stay with her until I come back.”

There’s tears stinging your eyes. You fight not to let anyone see them. There’s so much movement around you, it’s making your head spin. Red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue—the lights never stop turning, they bleed over everything, a dream, a technicolor dream. You lift your hand to your cheek to confirm you’re still real, that you’re still breathing.

You’re sick to your stomach. Not enough. Not enough.

“Why are you sending me away?” You try again, foolishly hoping he’s going to pay you any mind, give you any explanation.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Felix mumbles close to your ear. “You don’t wanna be here for the clean up, trust me.”

Why are you sending me away, why are you sending me away . . . You don’t remember the ride to the club house. You don’t remember much of anything after the click of that gun. It echoes. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head, a loop of red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue, redfuschiaorangeyellowblueredfuschiaorangeyellowblue

Someone screams.

ACT FOUR: after.

“I’ve never had a moment’s peace.”

Shirtless, with bandages running down his chest and over his shoulder, he looks like a tortured man returned from war. Burned. Turned inside out.

He was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. It’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. No. Peace is a foreign word. Reserved only for you.

You listen, you let yourself become the body he loves. You can’t find it in you to be angry at him, not anymore.

“How can I hold a thing like you in my hands and not break it? When you asked me for the truth . . . I couldn’t think of anything, (Y/N), not a single fucking thing,” he wraps a towel around your head, sure, capable hands pulling you up and helping you out of the bathtub. “What I feel for you is poisonous, it’s disturbing. You don’t want that. You shouldn’t want that. It’s not what you deserve.”

“You’re saying all this like you’re saying goodbye,” you whisper, letting him dry your skin, noticing the way he won’t allow himself to linger too long.

You see his mouth curve, his brow furrow. A strange image. It’s almost as if . . .

“I’ve only ever been a monster. A pathetic fucking excuse of a man, and I cannot keep you caged, I can’t keep being selfish with you,” when he’s once again met with your silence, he circles around you, hides behind your back. “You’re incredible, you know that? Other girls would’ve been running for the hills, but not you,” when he lets your hair fall, there’s a horrifying sound, like the earth ripping apart, the heavens falling—

Chris is crying.

Chris is crying and something is very, very wrong. Nothing feels right. He won’t let you turn around. His hands hold you still, his face is buried between your shoulder blades, and he.won’t.let.you.turn.around.

Your eyes sting with the effort it takes not to break down alongside him.

“You just—won’t—fucking—leave. You won’t give up,” he sobs, and then he’s hugging you, he’s hugging you so tight your ribs burn, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you never in a thousand years ever pictured this man crying, much less in front of you.

“I’m never giving up,” you reassure him, trying to soothe the boy trying to come out, to escape. “Because I love you. Whatever that means for you, Chris. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He feel him shake his head, his hand wraps around your throat, bodies flush against each other. “I want you. I want you without . . .”

He lets go.

You turn to him, tilting your head, looking for his eyes. He exhales shakily, and moves away, grabbing his lighter from his back pocket, the cigarette from behind his ear. He rubs his face raw, then lights it, tip cherry red and burning fast, and he uses a hand to sit on the tiled floor, one arm resting on his knee. You get in front of him, towel forgotten, numb, completely numb.

“The club?” You say, quietly, so as not to anger the spirits, the demons. For no one else to hear but him. “You want to leave the club?”

He chuckles bitterly, and scratches his brow with a thumb, avoiding your gaze completely. Smoke swirls around you like snakes hunting for prey, an ominous presence. “I can’t even fucking say it. It’s been my whole life, my whole life. This fucking place—I know nothing else.”

“We‘ll figure it out. If you want out, we’ll find a way. Chris, these people look up to you, they trust you—”

“No, the fuck they don’t. That trust goes out the fucking window as soon as I walk. If I leave I’m a fucking traitor. If I leave I’ve betrayed all of them.”

You reach for his empty hand. He pulls away. You can’t ignore the Deja vu of this action. “And what about you?” You press, still. “What about what you’ve given for them, for their laws and rules? Your soul, Chris—”

He laughs, then, a proper laugh. When he does, finally, meet your eye, you see it all. The tortured, the choked, the repressed. It will never be easy. Ever. He might not ever make the decision, he might not ever leave. But dreaming about it . . . He has the right. No matter how unattainable, how unrealistic it seems to him. Why has no one ever shown him how?

“That battered, old thing,” he muses at his cigarette. “Lost it a long time ago, baby. Nothing there.”

“I don’t believe that.”

His smile breaks your heart. It looks so defeated, so devoid of any real happiness. “This is why I can’t let you go,” his fingers reach out and touch your bottom lip, the intention pure, nothing more than a reminder you’re still there, still his, but his gaze speaks of something darker, something you’ll never be able to quit.

“I got charges against me,” he says. “If I take the fall, the club remains. If I don’t, it all goes to hell.”

No. No. “Let it,” you choke out. “Let it! Chris, we can leave. We can go. Let’s just go. Please, I don’t—I can’t, I don’t want to lose—”

The biker puts his hands on your shoulders, shushes you, cradles you like a baby. You comply, a million different things bubbling inside you, ways to get him out, words you never said, everything you didn’t get to do yet. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

“Listen to me,” he continues, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. “It’s already done. I’ll be gone for a long time, alright, and I need to make sure you’re fucking taken care of. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Listen to me, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t. You were crying too hard, you missed him already. What you two had was nothing but burrowed time, you knew this, and you still mistook it for forever. This was why he didn’t want to get too close. This is why, every time you tried to hold onto him, he slipped away like quicksand. It was all coming down to this.

“Sweetheart, come on, stop crying. You know who I am, yeah? Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Listen to me—I’ve hidden money away. I want you to have it, okay? Use it to get yourself a place, somewhere safe. And don’t fucking go back to that club, I don’t wanna hear you went back, you hear me? Do something for yourself, go to school, I know how fucking smart you are, you’ll fucking blow them away. Hm?” He lifts your chin with his thumb, kisses your forehead, staying there, lingering for one, two, three seconds, before he pulls back and looks into your eyes, willing you to agree, to accept the money, to go on living without him. “I love you, alright? You got all of me, whatever’s still there, it’s all yours. Don’t wait for me. Live.”

“I don’t want to.”

He deflates, sighing heavily. “Don’t make this harder than it is, (Y/N). Do what I say.”

You shake your head, sniffling, wiping at your cheeks. “Not without you. I’m not doing any of that without you. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

His expression is pleading, his nails digging into your skin like he wants to crawl inside and change your mind. “It’ll be years, baby. Too many. You’ve no fucking idea the shit I’ve done. They got it all, some fucking snitch went and gave it all away. I’m turning myself in tomorrow, I’m not—I’m not fucking asking you to wait. You’re not. Find some lucky boy that’s got nothing to do with this life, and be normal. I never meant to bring you into all of this. You didn’t—didn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Just like that?” you ask, defeated. You could never picture yourself being with anyone else, no one at all.

After Chris, nothing. Alone. Lonely, forever.

He chuckles, crushing you to him, his arms strong, and steady, and home, home, home. “Just like that. I’ll wring his fucking neck out if he’s not good to you, though. I’ll always keep an eye out, always make sure you’re safe.”

“Can I hear it again?” Such a quiet request, barely anything.

He knew exactly what you meant. Your heart broke, fresh tears making their descent on your face. He wiped all of them away. He held you as if, if it was up to him, he’d never, ever let go.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, sweetheart. You’ll be alright. I got you. I got you.”

You reach to where you know he keeps his gun. His hand flies out to stop you, gaze flaming with fear, with anger. Ash burns your arm, but you don’t even feel it. You’ve seen him use it; undo the safety, press down on the trigger. It was so easy for him. It’ll be easy for you too.

“Shoot me, then,” you bellow. “If you’re not gonna let me do it myself, shoot me! I don’t fucking want this, I’m not losing you, I’m not getting with someone else! What about me? You got this great plan—did you ever stop to think about what I’d want? If I’d be able to move on like how you’re expecting me to? I can’t just switch off my feelings for you, Chris, it doesn’t work like that, okay? I’ve gone through too much, I’ve seen too fucking much to just—to just—”

He wrestles you down, pinning your body on the floor, and getting on top of you, his smooth, cold gun resting on top of your heart. His mouth had curled into a tortured snarl, a bitter smile, his eyes shiny, crazy. You were shaking, he was shaking. You started crying, he started crying. With his thigh against your cunt, you felt his erection, hard and twitching.

“You think I didn’t think of this first?” He said roughly. “Christ, (Y/N), I’m trying to do the right thing here. You think I’ll be able to fucking kill you? I fucking adore you. I’d rather shoot myself in the head first, get it over with. Don’t ever fucking ask that of me again. I’ll be a dead man the second I do such a thing. I’ll be a dead fucking man if I’m not able to have you. Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Coward,” you spit in his face, and fight against his death grip. “Sentence us both then. I’ll be dead either way.”

He smashes your lips together. It hurts, it hurts, you wanna say, but you don’t think it’ll ever stop. There’s nothing in his way, everything in yours. In the time it takes to unzip his pants, grab his cock and guide it inside you, you’ve mourned him a thousand times over. To never have this again—him, again. . . You’ll die from missing him. You’ll cry yourself dry. There’s absolutely no way to escape this fate. You’re not ready, you’ll never be. How ridiculous it all seems in the end, faced with losing him.

He makes love to you slow, gentle, like he’s never done before. It’s not so much to get you off, than it is to make you understand. He could kill you both, but he’ll never be able to see you again. His place will be hell, the lowest level, the one he’ll have to keep walking for all eternity, while you’re up with the angels. If he doesn’t, if he hides the gun and never thinks of it again, at least he knows you’re somewhere out there, where there might be a one in a million chance he gets to be with you once more. If you’ll take him. Old and grey. He’ll never see you again as you are underneath him right now.

You stay like that on the floor for a while, with his seed spilling from between your legs, your scent all over him. You kiss him and for the first time, he kisses back. No teeth, no fists.

When he moves you over to the bed, he sleeps for the first time since he was born.

He sleeps and he dreams of you, of little hands reaching out, of being away from all this, far, far away. What he would give.

Everything. Everything.

[nouearth]

“'TILL WE SEE STARS”

zane phillips, nico greetham, drew starkey, taylor zakhar perez, tom holland, and oliver stark x male reader.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓— fic [ 14.7k ] 〳 part one

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒—male reader〳make sure to read part one!〳established relationship 〳 collage!au 〳jealous!zane 〳 sexual content: everyone is a top, bottom!reader, cum dumpster!reader, double penetration, gang bang, rough!sex, kissing, spitting, breeding, cumplay, bukkake, blowjobs, handjobs, praising, body worshipping, lots and lots of filthy sex!

You didn’t notice right away.

In your defense, Zane had always been exceptionally distracting, and that would only become harder to refute since you’d been something to him.

Rephrase that—someone.

Someone special, someone of importance, someone that meant something.

You’ve had doubts. Who wouldn’t when even your own friends looked at you with such bewilderment upon introducing him to the small group. Nerds and Jocks don’t mix; a childish verity you and your friends held with high regard since being hit in the face with a ball happened one too many times to brush those instances off as mere coincidences. That, and your snickering high school classmates would since provide you a whole new perspective on that matter.

But you went on to prove your friends wrong, prove that your doubts were meager tricks that only persisted to keep you from exploring out of your comfort zone—from living life to its fullest possibilities. The house that had once shielded you from all cruelties the world and its inhabitants brought with them began to crumble from its residence on a clifftop. Parts that made up the foundation sacrificed themselves in pursuit to bring you home. Wood, stone, red bricks; they catapulted into the ocean, swam on the surface, floated for air, and dived in the deep sea. Farther and farther, they searched for you, hopeful for any signs of life that signaled for your immediate rescue.

Instead, what they found was baffling.

It was you, but it wasn’t you at the same time. Something changed—this growing assurance in your disposition, holding onto a man, large and more than capable to protect, a threat to the house that had kept you safe since birth.

Betrayal, what happened to my son? My boy? My sweet boy?

You could hear the rage in their authoritative voice, but you’ve grown to realize their awful cadence had only been a tactic for you to come back—come back to them—to scare you into being the perfect boy they’ve raised you to be.

Every kiss from the man ignited a fire within you. He forged you with strength, with fortification, with affection—and you uttered a strong defiance, then watched the foundation disintegrate before your very eyes, piece by piece.

***

There was always so much care in Zane’s palms, yet he’d proven you to be exceptionally attentive when he was upset. Like he was trying to persuade you from deviating too far into his worries.

It was embarrassing to admit how long it took for you to piece it altogether—why he was often in a mood, or why he was adamant in making you stay the night at his apartment. You never pondered about it for too long as it never amounted to much. All it took was a night in his bed, watching his favorite shows, kissing and fondling to take his mind off of what was festering inside, and everything returned back to normal. A stressful day at work or practice, you’d reckon as you watched him sleep on your chest, his gentle snores beckoning you to your slumber.

But you began noticing a pattern. It happened every Thursday and Friday. You’d come to his place after tutoring, and he would greet you by the entrance with the most fulfilling kiss. Grappled by his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest, and your lips raptured by his.

“Well, greetings to you too! I brought dinner.”

“That can wait… I missed you,” he would say before swooping you off your feet and fleeing with you into his bedroom.

At the least provocation, he’d proven all too willing to lick into your mouth and shove his greedy hands beneath your shirt. It was a growing tendency that you weren’t inclined to draw to a close because frankly—there was nothing to complain about, other than the cold takeout.

As observant as you usually were, you blamed yourself for not puzzling Zane’s growing possessiveness to your tutoring sooner.

Or maybe you were turning a blind eye, because you anticipated the magnificent nights he’d bestow on you. On those nights, Zane was especially keen to make you take all of him—every inch, every seed, every feeling.

“Swallow it all. I don’t want to see a drop left, baby.” “M-mmfngh—“

All in all, it was beginning to become clear that those days were bothering him. You could feel the tension in the air, the heaviness in your gut as Zane swelled inside of you for the second time of the night, two days in a row.

It was beyond the fact that you tutored—he was fine with that.

It was who you were tutoring.

On Thursdays, you could feel his delusional need to investigate who’d been in your mouth. Tom? Oliver? Taylor? He would suckle on your tongue until you reeled back for a breath, and even then, he wouldn’t stop licking into your mouth.

On Fridays, his hands wouldn’t leave your body. They covertly searched high and low, back to front, squeezing, pulling, roaming, pushing, for any marks, for any evidence of Nico’s presence, of Drew’s marks—but the only blemishes were Zane’s from the day before. A love bite to your neck, and another one to the left of your hip bone.

No one.

You both knew it was the truth—your loyalty to him, but Zane was a madman who was being fed with delusions beyond your control, and in turn, it gifted you the most passionate lover only you could’ve fantasized in novels.

“Oh, g-god. Right there. Don’t go faster, Zane. Don’t slow down. Just like that—“ “Yeah? You like my cock wrecking your pretty hole? Just. Like. That?”

***

“Would it make you feel better if you were with me?” you mentioned out of the blue, the show you two had been watching finally rolled the credits.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Zane averted his gaze toward you, blindly reaching for the remote and switching the TV off. Then, he pulled you closer into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. His nose buzzed with delight at the scent of your shampoo.

“Well…” he watched you ponder—your gaze avoidant and wandering unlike the abrupt tension he felt in your body. He opened his arm out of concern, allowing you to properly gather yourself with the newfound space. You sat up and resumed explaining carefully, “I know you don’t like it when I’m… with your friends—alone. Embarrassingly enough, it just hit me—and… well, you seem off these days. And I think it’s because of that.”

It was like being caught in a lie. Not one of those major ones that Zane knew he would commit from beginning to end, but a white lie—a vaulted truth to spare your feelings, even if it meant that it was festering and poisoning him on the inside.

It was an unspoken promise. A natural response. A firm conviction that he should bear your troubles and worries in solitude.

After all, he was your boyfriend, your protector.

“What? Babe—no, what? Have I been acting different? I don’t know. I guess work’s gotten busier, so I guess that could explain…” He was teetering on the edge of revelation or secrecy, stammering until he was one step away from falling.

Zane was never a great liar.

“Come on. You can be honest. Is it because you don’t trust me? Because we study at the library and—“

“No, I absolutely trust you. Don’t say that.”

“I mean, it’s probably weird for me to be hanging out with them—in a way. It makes sense that you’d want to be there, so I get it if you feel hurt or disappointed or—“

“Babe, it’s not—“

“They’re your friends, not mine. I mean, I don’t think they see me as a friend anyway? I’m their tutor, and that’s how it should be…”

“(M/N), wait a second—“

Your hands were theatrical. Grandiose. If you had a symphony playing with you, they’d be performing with fervor, sweating until the grasp on their instruments had slipped at the nearing crescendo, and the audience would gasp altogether to fill the void of abrupt silence.

“I promise, Zane. All I do is give them assignments, like I did with you—well, not like I did with you. We were a little different, weren’t we… but with them? I-it’s like how I tutor everyone else and…!“

You suddenly stood up from the couch, clearly exasperated by the lack of words that could properly support your claims.

“Hey, hey…” he quelled you with a gentle tug to your hand, silently urging you back to his side with a consoling grin. You huffed, sucking in what he could presume to be more self-destructing words, and dramatically let the tension on your shoulders push your body onto his lap.

It wasn’t the right moment to notice, but would you kill him if he felt more inclined to annoy you in the future if this was how charming you always looked? The answer would probably be no. You had a tendency to forgive—a little too easily.

“Then what’s wrong? Is it my fault? Over-cooked your chicken? Ate your protein bar without asking? Got a stain on your hoodie, but I think I washed it out…?” Frowning, you stared back up at him through your eyelashes, chin sunken to your chest, and completely hopeless.

For a moment, he was speechless. It always took one glance from you for Zane to lose his train of thought. Even when you felt all kinds of emotions, there was still that glint in your eyes that never failed to make his heart feel like it was about to burst.

“Kinda is your fault. I mean, if you hadn’t been born with that handsome face of yours, or been blessed with brains and kindness, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Be serious!” Zane felt your body tense up again. You were about to pull yourself off his lap before he rested a hand to your chest and gently pushed you back. “So, there is a problem…”

“It’s my problem, (M/N),” he began soothing your chest in small circles. The cotton soft in his palm before it was inevitably delighted with the firmness of your chest when he slipped a hand under your shirt, resuming his caress.

“I might not have a lot of experience in dating, but I’ve watched a lot of films to know that partners help each other when either one of them have a problem.”

Guilt was quickly catching up to him. Zane could feel its presence looming over his head. Like smog, heavy and thick, and even if it had waned into thin air—completely obliterated to the back of his mind—Zane was confident he would be suffering from the ramifications of it in the future.

“God… what am I going to do with you,” he dipped forward and buried his head into your body, using your shirt to muffle his conflicted groans.

It was those eyes of yours again. He couldn’t bear to face you with the secrets he’d been withholding, but he was already in this predicament. Ignoring it, even after being called out on his behavior, would just make things worse than if he would just tell you the truth.

He waited for seconds. Then seconds turned into minutes. Then those remaining minutes were spent sighing at the softest strokes you brushed through his hair, to occupy the silence, or to break the tension between you two. Either way, his heart felt heavier despite your comforting attempts.

With a mutter, Zane turned his head towards you and looked truthfully into your eyes, “Yeah, I’m jealous.”

You immediately perked up to join him at his side again, taking his hand into yours, “Zane, I promise—nothing happens…”

“No, I know, (M/N). I trust you. I mean, what can I say? I miss you. Our schedule isn’t aligning like I thought it would, and it feels like I’m seeing you less since you’ve taken Tom, Drew, Taylor… all of them for tutoring.”

“I can cut back? Maybe arrange the meetings to fit your schedule, and that way we can—“

“No, absolutely not. I’m not going to be that type of boyfriend.”

“Well, I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer.” Zane watched you play with his fingers, clamping your hand to his, then unclasping as his thoughts prolonged another silence.

“You have no idea, (M/N). I… God, it’s all fucked up.” He rubbed his face to comfort himself, groaning into his palms before taking your hands into his again.

Nothing calmed him more than simply holding you.

“What? It’s just about us not spending enough time together, right? Maybe I’m too optimistic, but that seems like something that can be easily resolved…”

“No—I mean, yes. That’s the problem, but it isn’t the main problem…”

“Then… what is?”

From the corner of his eye, he watched you physically brace yourself, straightening your posture like the suspense had been literally killing you and your insides. You took one deep exhale, preparing yourself for the worst while Zane fished for his phone, and scrolled through his messages.

He began explaining.

Taking tutoring lessons was the last thing on the team’s mind. For Zane and Nico, it was a simple affair. Their grades were dropping like flies, and their coach didn’t like the sight of that, or the consequences that would follow. If they didn’t take their grades seriously, how could Coach trust them to lead the team? How can they lead the team with discipline—if they severely lacked it themselves? Zane was warned of this predicament for multiple semesters, and it was only recently when he began taking it seriously.

He’d never received a letter from his coach before, and as laughably traditional as it was, he’ll forever remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he read the last paragraph of his coach’s handwriting:

Fix your grades by the end of the semester, or you’re out. No more second chances. You’re great, but not that great for me to put your future in jeopardy. Sorry, I should’ve been harder on you.

Without much arguing, he did as he was told. Week by week, month by month, Zane and Nico’s grades improved tremendously, and the threat of being kicked off the wrestling team was delayed for another semester. However, as much as the guys were impressed by their success, Zane couldn’t owe the credit to solely himself. You were a major part of his triumphant journey, and the team would since become greatly fond of you and your saving contributions to the group.

Maybe it was inspiring to watch Zane and Nico dig themselves out of a rut, an underdog story that everyone loved rooting for in the movies. Or maybe it was some kind of unspoken brotherhood, where if one was struggling, then the other would join them in their agony to establish some type of rapport. Because soon after, Zane’s teammates found themselves in an awfully similar situation to him and solicited your service.

But Zane knew his teammates.

Zane knew that this decision was completely out of left field. Taylor, Tom, Drew, Oliver; it was strange to see all of them suddenly feel the need to seek out a tutor—specifically you out of all the available people—to help them with their studies.

It was odd to listen to them complain that their grades had been dropping, apparently lower and lower with every passing week.

And again, Zane knew his teammates.

He spent every waking second with them since they’d met each other as freshmen; aligned every course with the guys so he’d come into class knowing at least one person; visited each other’s house on semester breaks because why the hell not—it was on the drive home. For god’s sake, all of their parents knew the team by government name, siblings if they had any, and even their own aspirations in life.

They were teammates, but they were also best friends.

So, Zane had every right to call this entire arrangement as bullshit.

They weren’t struggling with their grades. Tom and Taylor were honor students. Oliver was a teaching assistant. Drew was interning for a marketing firm that made Zane’s eyes hurt when he snooped through Drew’s emails, and looked at the qualifications for the rather imposing position.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

They were fucking with him.

Or to better clarify—trying to fuck with you.

Trying to fuck you.

It was Zane’s fault. He wasn’t clear that he was actually serious about his relationship with you, and that unlike his previous relations, there was no sharing with the team. All hands were off—should be off—and the only ones you’d be holding were Zane’s.

No.

That didn’t sound right.

It was their fault. It had to be their fault. They were the ones talking about you like they had never seen a pretty boy in their life, like they had never seen a man sharing this dreadful place we call Earth. A man with those pretty eyes, smiling with that pretty mouth, frowning with those pretty cheeks, typing with those pretty hands—the team would practically brand you as theirs with every session they’d return from studying with you, and they boasted about it all to Zane’s face.

Maybe it was his fault after all.

Zane loved bragging about you. It wasn’t something he often did with his previous partners, but something about you changed him. Zane loved showing your selfies off to his friends. One day he’d marvel how soft your lips were, the next he’d go on a tangent about what an incredibly kind person you were for finding someone’s lost dog. It was all arbitrary. As long as it was framed around you, the topics bounced from your looks to your body to your personality, and to his surprise, his friends would chime in too.

Increasingly more, as they would get to know you following every meeting.

The worst part was that Zane allowed it to happen and found himself encouraging this behavior he was scrutinizing. The group chat was complete evidence of his participation, and with every message, he could physically feel the jury slipping out of his favor.

Drew: I shouldn’t have doubted you, Zane. There’s something about your boy’s eyes…

Tom: Oh god. Does he always look at you like that, Zane? I don’t know how you can handle it. I have to physically hold my crotch to keep myself from coming in my pants.

Taylor: Can we talk about his lips, though? They’re so plump. I couldn’t help but stare at them. He does that cute thing where he chews on his lip when he’s grading.

Oliver: I wonder what he does when his mouth is filled. Zane? Care to give us a hint, please? Or shall we give him a visit and demo for ourselves…?

Zane: Hm, I’ll just say that… (M/N)’s learning very quickly on how to breathe through his nose and relax his throat. Though, that doesn’t stop the noises from coming out of his mouth.

Nico: Always had a thing for nerds… He suck you off with his glasses on or no?

Zane: On.

Drew: Oh, c’mon…

Taylor: Shit. I’m getting hard.

Tom: Fuck. Me too.

Nico: Lucky bastard… It should’ve been me!

Oliver: Never mind. This is so much better than what I could’ve imagined.

Zane laid it all out onto the table for you. His phone was a bar of gold in your hand as you scrolled and read through the messages pertaining you between him and his friends. The more recent the texts were, the more explicit and brazen.

Taylor talked about a dream that he had of you, where you allowed him to kiss you wherever he pleased if he got a question right. This was as innocent it would get. His hand would be shoved into your pants while he would kiss at your neck, licking into your whimpers.

Tom texted about the random hard-ons he’d sport when he was with you. Something as simple as watching you lick your lips was enough to get him off for the night.

Drew daydreamed about you giving him a hand job in the library. The rush of being nearly caught, and the flood of embarrassment blooming on your neck and face resulted him coming within your fist. You’d hover your free hand beneath his cock, to catch the flood of cum, because you were a kind person who didn’t want to make a public mess. And because you were such a kind person, you’d slurp his cum off your palm, right then and there, before Drew’s very eyes.

Nico was the most yearning. Perhaps it was because he always played second fiddle to Zane’s leadership, and that reflected onto his fantasies, but he missed hearing your praises. Praises that consisted of how good he was at solving this problem; how proud you were when he went out of his way to do more problems than what was assigned to him; how nice he felt when he pushed his warm cock inside of you for the first time. You’d overwhelm him with so many compliments, so many kind words, that it wouldn’t take much for him to come inside of you.

Oliver was a brazen man. He spoke without thought, without a filter, and if it came to Zane’s decision, he would want to publish a book full of Oliver’s lewd fantasies about you. He wanted to fuck you. Point blank period. It wasn’t up for debate. He would make you take him in the car if he could. Bent over the backseat, while he pounded into you out in the parking lot, or maybe in the woods if you preferred seclusion. And when he was done with you, he’d leave you there dripping, inhaling another smoke to work up another appetite, as if the image of his cum leaking out of you and down your legs hadn’t strung up his cock like a puppet with every passing second.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Zane’s voice broke you from the spell that was his friends’ fantasies. You blinked rapidly to ward off the explicit images festering. He was reading them with you, the illusions silently feeding you and him simultaneously. “Listen, if you want to call it quits, I understand. But I just—I love… seeing them talk about you like that. It makes me… so proud. Powerful—knowing that they can’t ever lay their hands on you, as long as I’m in the picture.”

“But… you said you were jealous? I don’t understand—” You fidgeted uncomfortably against him. Zane took no mind to it, especially since you seem to be taking the information better than he’d thought, but your constant squirming was beginning to be a cause of concern. He blindly opened his arm for you, allowing you to snuggle into his side.

“Yeah, well… I guess riling your friends up and feeding into their fantasies has some consequences. I like it when they talk about you to me, but… I don’t know, I guess I imagine what they would do to you if you were alone with them and it makes me worried, yet aroused? It’s… confusing, I know. I don’t get it either—Babe, are you okay? You keep moving.“

“No, continue—it’s just—“ you groaned, pressing closer to his side and crossing your legs. “Is that why you’ve been extra affectionate? I mean, you always have been, but I swear, I think we have sex almost every day—or is that normal? Not that I don’t love it. I don’t want you to get tired of me or something.”

“First off, never going to happen. I could never get tired of you. And… it might be normal depending on who you’re asking… Might be our new normal, if I’m being honest. I can’t help that you’re so irresistible—okay, what’s going on—” For a couple more seconds, Zane endured you fiddling with the blanket on your lap before suddenly tugging it off and freeing you of your agony, or whatever was the reason of your constant writhing.

He glanced down at your lap, and your reflex was quick to hide it—whatever was near your pelvis. It was hard seeing you in the dark with the TV and his phone switched off. The moonlight filtered through the blinds on his windows, but it was only enough to highlight parts of your face, not enough to illuminate the entire living room.

Without a warning, Zane reached in between your thighs and frisked whatever that had come into contact with his palm. He raised an eyebrow at the sudden hitch of your breath, feeling nothing but the leather of the couch in his palm—until he moved it higher, toward your lack of an attempt at shielding, and pushed your hand aside.

“Oh,” it didn’t take long to guess what was in the palm of his hand. He could trace the shape of it in his sleep if he was asked to. Write the exact measurements as he recalled numerous nights with you if he was quizzed on it, even if majority of his calculations relied on his grip.

Zane knew you very well, and he especially knew what he was squeezing—gently kneading until those familiar sounds poured out of you like freshly squeezed orange juice.

Ah, there it was.

It was his boy’s cock.

“Don’t get mad—“ you warned, pausing Zane’s kneads with a gentle grasp, but he persisted, only challenging the tightness in your shorts in the end.

“Why would I be mad? You’re not mad?” his voice traveled ticklishly to your ear. He’d pulled you closer, whispering while his hand was all synonyms of tantalizing.

“Is it wrong to say that I’m not? Is this was what you felt like…? I’m confused and horny, and it’s all a mess, Zane…” you groaned when his hand into the leg opening, eagerly reaching for your stiff arousal.

“God, sorry—let’s just… talk about this later. Fuck, come on.”

“Y-yeah, good idea.”

***

“They never heard yours.”

It was cool and lulling—the baby wipe Zane was cleaning you down with. Just when you thought Zane couldn’t have gotten more attractive, the concentrated look on his face while he wiped the sweat and sticky residue off your torso made your flaccid cock twitch, his biceps bulging like they were still strenuous from holding you against the wall a few minutes prior.

Zane raised a curious brow at your vagueness and your renewed arousal altogether before chucking the wipes in a bin and tucking himself to your side. “What do you mean?”

At the advance of his arms around your waist, you turned in your position to face him, pulling him close by the hips. “Your fantasy. They all told you about theirs, but you never did. Just makes me curious… on what yours is?”

Zane pondered, his thumb pondering with him as it chased after an internal beat, a rhythm over your lower back. In the meantime, you surveyed his face, like you always did post-sex. His moles were attractive, his eyebrows and lips deliciously full, and his eyes—beautiful windows to his beautiful soul.

You were the luckiest man on earth.

“You can’t judge me, all right?”

He jolted you back from your studying, an uncertain air emanating from his disposition.

You took his cheek in your hand and squeezed him with assertion. “I would never!”

Your constant kneading made him loosen up. He exhaled deep, looking dubious, but compiled trust into your eyes in the end—because it was just a fantasy, right?

One.

BIg.

Fucking.

Dream.

Finally, Zane confessed.

“Gangbang…”

“Oh…!”

***

Zane didn’t know what to expect. He had to admit that you looked uneasy when he brought up the topic of having a safe word. As basic as it was, the traffic light system was ideal as vanilla as it was, especially for something as daunting as someone’s first gangbang.

Plus, you were getting a little too creative with the safe words.

“What about… peanut butter cup..?” “Eh… think that’s a little too long, babe.” “Ghost!” “You might freak Tom out. He apparently had an ‘apparition’ back at his grandma’s house.” “Sheep?” “Sounds like ‘shit,’ which can be misconstrued as “shit, keep fucking me!"” “Hm… pickle?” “Gross! You know I hate pickles!” “You don’t eat words, Zane!”

As hopeful and convincing Zane could be, the last thing he would’ve thought was you agreeing to this—without much hesitation too, might he add.

“Can you move okay?” Zane stepped aside for you to walk from one end of his bedroom to the other. It wasn’t much distance, but it wasn’t like you needed an ample amount of space to begin with.

You took the open floor to demonstrate your ability to walk. It seemed simple enough. You did it every day. One foot after the other, step by step, leisurely and calmly and—

“Oh—“ you stiffened after the first step and froze in place. One leg methodically moved back and forth to gauge the restrictive mobility. “It feels a little… tight?”

“We can go a size smaller, but it should be a little uncomfortable. Plus, you’re not going to be walking much? Hopefully…” Zane calmly reasoned, maneuvering you like a mannequin. His hand was searching high and low for any physical indications that a butt plug was lodged inside of you—pressing when the flange toy protruded a centimeter more than he had liked.

Your breath hitched and then you shook your head, deciding the size was adequate adequate enough, and resumed walking normally. One couldn’t have noticed any oddities, as long as they ignored the rigidness of your posture.

The feeling came out of the blue—you wanted to impress them. After all, you were the star of the night. Zane’s confession had been simmering in your thoughts for a few days, especially one comment when he described how powerful he felt knowing his friends wanted you, but couldn’t have you.

You wanted to make Zane proud. If the humblest of all brags turned his friends into complete brutes, you couldn’t imagine how they would act when they all have had a turn to explore your body inside and out, and never again. Dogs. Monsters. Yet they’d worship every sovereign step that Zane would take like they were indebted to his graciousness, like they were his men of labor, all for one more night with you again.

You wanted more than to make Zane proud. You wanted to make him feel like a king.

Three knocks at the door, and the long-awaited fantasy was a door away from becoming a reality. You tailed stiffly after Zane, the kiss he quickly granted you before jogging to the entrance like a spell to your pursuit—like a hex to the tension Zane knew all-so-well.

Zane looked back once more, a nod of assurance padded by a bright smile, and you exhaled out the tightness in your chest.

Let the party begin.

***

“Let’s make it… easier for you, babe. Warm you up instead of abruptly starting?”

“Yeah—that sounds fine to me.”

“You’ll spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on can initiate the first step. No more than a minute. Then, you’ll spin the bottle again—second person goes, so-on and so-on. Sound good? More organized that way, right? And you can get a feel of everyone’s… vibes without it being overwhelming. Fellas? Any objections?”

“Sounds good to me, Zane.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeap.”

“Mm-hm.”

“No complaints here.”

The slower the bottle spun, the faster your heart beat. Your eyes moved from one man to the next, as if you were the empty beer bottle itself. The group formed a circle in the middle of the living room, small but enough to accommodate for seven men: You, Zane, Taylor, Oliver, Nico, Tom, and Drew; in that order of the circumference. Other than the guys catching up with you—small talk about your tutoring, their assignments, dinner, new dogs, and whatnot—conversations were kept to a minimum.

All seven of you knew why you were here altogether, and they weren’t keen on drawing it out for any longer.

“You guys just came back from the gym?” Zane asked after taking a sip of his beer. You reached for his bottle, feeling parched, and he passed it to you with a composing grin, lingering to watch your expression sour as the bubbles tickled your throat.

“Yeah—was going to hit the showers, but then we would’ve been late,” Taylor explained, and the rest of the guys nodded in between sips of their beers, comically attentive to the slowing bottle. You took a silent whiff of the heavy musk radiating off of the five men; your dick twitched.

“Oh shit, who’s it gonna be?! First stud of the night!” Tom bowed his body forward and began drumming the floor in faux suspense. You laughed and joined in on the increasing drum rolls, the others including yourself finding his anticipation infectious as laughter spread amongst the group like a virus—the seven pairs of hands drumming on the floor altogether being part of the symptom.

There was nothing to be worried about, was there?

This was going to be fun.

A blast.

A bang.

The bottle slowed, passing pairs of bare feet in its rotation. Multiple postures straightened as if they could compel gravity to direct the bottle towards them, but then Drew’s slumped when it passed him, then Taylor’s, and a domino effect of lost hope was rippled—all except for one.

A chorus of oohs broke out when it stopped on Nico—Zane’s right-hand man. It must’ve been an inside joke between all six of them because Oliver made a comment about how Nico was finally having his moment, and they all erupted into another fit of laughter, cutting the tension in the air one chuckle at a time.

“You’re up!” Zane beckoned with a nod. You took another glance at him, nothing of concern, but rather to alleviate his own worries by the way he suddenly gathered his hold on your hand, and then pecked him on the lips and cheek. He smiled, returning the peck onto your lips before whispering into your ear, “Show ‘em what a lucky man I am.”

“Whew, all right..!” Nico propped himself up with a hop.

Nico made his way towards you and pulled you to the middle of the circle. Even knowing that you read his messages, he still carried that dashing smile like it was a weapon. One that regularly caused destruction on many hearts, one that charged your own like it was a battery—you just now discovered how disruptive dimples could be.

He was a sly man. Two-faced even, and you anticipated to discover this other side of him that he’d been reluctant to show.

“Hi—again,” Nico whispered through a smile. You found it charming how he couldn’t contain his glee. Dimple to dimple, they were like two separate smiles of their own, bracketing the salient beam from widening any further.

You wanted to peek over at Zane when Nico pressed his nose to yours, taunting himself—taunting you with the suspense of his soft-looking lips. But Nico’s hand on your nape was absolute and refusing, holding you like you were a weakening star—his dying wish, and made you fix his eyes on him, as he had done for you all this time. “Sorry you had to find out this way, but… I have a crush on you.”

“No—it’s fine. It’s why we’re here, right?” You braced one hand over Nico’s lap and the other on his broad chest. Sturdy, well-defined muscles graced your palm with every caress.

“Yeah… what a way to reciprocate my feelings…”

Slowly, you felt Nico’s breath warm your lips before they were taken hostage by his pair of reds, mirroring the close of his eyes upon noticing. The room fell to a silence, watching like hawks, closing in between the two bodies for front seating of the kiss.

He started gentle; soft lips moving against softer lips, careful to avoid hitting your glasses, your gasps and his groans filling your mouth with fulfillment. One hand of Nico’s maintained on your nape while the other rested on the small of your back, to pull you closer, to feel the skin hidden beneath polycotton. His hand was warm as he roamed; big as he held at nothing but something all at once; inquisitive as his fingers would occasionally dip into the waistband of your shorts.

The longer it goes on, the harder the kiss was. Nico’s mouth was illusive, now hard and abrasive to train your mouth open, and then stay open as he licked into your mouth and explored with his curious tongue. Your ears perked at an envious comment from one of the guys, but it was quickly hushed following the sound of your moans. Nico wrapped his mouth around your tongue and sucked with ardency, mining any possible sounds out of you like they were Earth’s greatest treasure. Your tongue reeled back in growing desire to tick a kink off of Nico’s bucket list, smooching a few more times on the lips, holding his cheek, and then whispering into his warm mouth with a bated breath as his hand halted its lone venture up the opening of your shorts.

“You’re a great kisser, Nico…”

“Time!”

A timer sang from your side, and a web of spit tailed your lips as you pulled away, letting your gaze linger to catch Nico’s heightened arousal in his eyes before returning to your seat.

“Fuck..,” chuckles spread from man to man when Nico returned, exhaling and shaking all sorts of trembles out of his body. Oliver and Tom aided with hard smacks to Nico’s back, sharing the thrill of the kiss simultaneously.

“Was that okay?” You whispered to Zane, fixing your glasses while the rest of the guys debriefed on Nico’s fulfillment. A collection of comments such as, “I’m fucking jealous…”, “Did you see the way he looked at you? Fucking sexy…”, “God, I hope it’s me next,” made you squirm in your seat.

Your mission from all of this was to make Zane proud, but it wouldn’t hurt if you gifted yourself a slight ego-boost in the meantime, right?

“You did… fucking perfect. I think you’re riling them up—riling me up too, actually,” he muttered, briefly maneuvering your hand to demo the boner in his shorts before returning back to his duties as the host. “Okay, settle down! Babe? Next spin, please? Think the team’s getting a little antsy.”

You surveyed the room again. Nico was subtly pushing down on his crotch while Drew, Tom, and Oliver were casual about it, openly massaging themselves through their shorts, their eyes wandering towards you with repose. If you hadn’t had the decency to look away, you could’ve indulged in their thick prints for a little longer.

But duty called. You reached for the bottle and spun it, bating the men with the suspense of who was going to be next in line in warming you up.

The crown of the bottle stopped parallel to Taylor, who was slouched on his elbows like he’d been expecting it—rigged it with his mind if telekinesis was more than hypothetical. He greeted you with provocation, flashing his brows and a smug smile all at once, then a wink, before joining you in the middle. You always found him intimidating. It was probably those eyelashes of his. They were always fluttering, even when you would go over his notes—he would blink and stare once knowing it was effective enough to render you speechless. As naive as it sounded—it felt like Taylor was adept to anything and everything, including whatever he was about to do to you.

And you were absolutely correct in that hypothesis—because Taylor immediately began stripping you down. It was inevitable, but you didn’t expect all of you to be bared within the second spin.

“Seems like Taylor’s on a mission.” Oliver laughed, catching your briefs and taking a whiff at it before passing it to the group. One by one, you watched each person press their nose to the center of your briefs, and inhale. Comments on the smell of your arousal made your dick twitch again. Harder, when Drew and Oliver engrossed themselves in the fine stain of pre-cum and took multiple lingering whiffs in hounding the sweet musk again. You’d think you laced them with some kind of potion—an elixir that amplified their excitement through every vein in their body, from hands to cock.

From head to toe, your clothes came off and were tossed aside, and you let Taylor’s spirit of inquiry explored as he pleased. Sprawling your arms and legs out like he was frisking you, smacking the back of your thighs like he was a butcher examining the quality of fresh meat. You groaned when he loitered at your naked body, noticing the constellation of goosebumps on your chest to the dimples on your backside—all with a glaze of his hand. Taylor’s fingers followed every contour of your body—from spine to muscle—studying you and the smallest reactions you’d spare him with pleased eyes as he smacked, kissed, smoothed, and licked the canvas that was made of skin and bone. You were a sculpture carved by the Renaissance, and Taylor was a curator, assessing your value through the warmth of his mouth, the slick of his tongue, and the kneads of his hands.

“Oh, what do we have here?” His mouth was on your stomach, closely tending to the warm skin with kisses, while his hand was on your rump, prodding at the plug that had been confined in you for the entirety of the day. “Guys, jackpot. (M/N) came with a surprise.”

“I-it wasn’t my idea—“ Heat rose high to your neck when Taylor turned you around and showed your ass off to the ogling group of men. While he was at it, he mind as well brand you with a price tag—right on your ass cheeks, where Taylor smacked each side once, massaging them with a firm knead, and spread you open.

“Holy shit…” Tom muttered while he stood on his knees, taking in the sight of your plugged hole. You impulsively squeezed your thighs together, covering your growing erection at the marveling shared between the six men. There was a wonder in Zane’s expression, resembling the first time he undressed you before his very eyes.

“You like teasing us, don’t you?” Drew said when your glutes tensed, and the room hummed with the soft susurrus of agreement. “Pretty thick ass too, jesus—“

“Time,” Zane stopped the alarm after a ring, sighing in between kneads to his bulge.

Five of the guys collectively groaned from the cliff-hanger while Taylor gave your hard ass a smack in midst of returning to his seat. “See how considerate I can be? You’re welcome, fellas!”

You jolted, gulping at the budding sting. It was becoming a habit to seek for Zane’s approval after every turn, and fortunately you did—because unbeknownst to Taylor, Zane was staring him down, a furious and annoyed look on his face that quickly simmered when he caught your gaze.

“Spin, please.”

The next stop was Tom—Eager Tom. He’d been making comments on your body since he stepped foot inside the apartment, so it was expected that his turn would be based on personal whims. Although, you reckoned that the plug inside of you turned the tides.

Making you kneel on all fours, Tom slowly twisted the plug in and out of you while the group gathered from behind and intimately watched. You clenched at the base, stifling your groans into the back of your hand upon the group’s growing fascination with the sight of your swelling pucker.

“Fuck, look at that pretty rim…” Oliver mumbled, and Tom took it as a hint to trace the border of your hole with his finger, lone yet devious.

“If it looks that appetizing, imagine how it tastes,” Drew covertly suggested.

Tom hummed in thought while toying thoughtlessly with your hole—into your hole. “Not much of an ass-eater, maybe I should hand that task off to someone more capable… What do you think, (M/N)?”

“P-please… anyone is fine—”

As the tip neared its exit, you desperately held onto the last bit of latex that kept you from baring it all—thighs vibrating from the difficulty, toes curling as Tom screwed—but your muscles were as weak as Tom’s patience, and you naturally gave into his tortuous wrenching, clamming up him when he suddenly plunged the plug back into you, then completely bloomed—when Tom finished you off with a tyrannical yank.

“O-oh, god!” You yelped loud as you bared yourself for the group. Deep waves of heat trampled over your body and swam into every course of vein as one person after the other, from Tom to Drew to Nico to Oliver to Taylor to Zane, moaned in chorus at the sight of your budding insides.

Your chest laid flat on the floor, your glasses tossed and forgotten, your hips and ass raised high, your cock throbbed towards the floor—you suddenly buckled your hips when you felt a wad of spit launched directly at your blinking hole.

Then another, and another, and then three consecutive more, until your hole felt completely, and utterly drenched—one from every man you presumed as you laid there, writhing and dripping.

“Fuck, so pretty when it’s glistening like that,” Tom groaned. You could hear fabrics moving, see clothes coming off when you peeked from your position, and your cock throbbed at the smallest glimpse of Tom’s naked body, followed by Oliver’s, and then so on.

“Time,” Zane said again, then a second later rescinded his announcement, rubbing an affectionate hand over your back for you to look up. “Actually, fuck this—baby, you’re okay with us starting now? I don’t think we can handle it anymore… yeah?”

“Y-yeah, no—I can’t wait any longer—oh!” Suddenly, you felt something wet breach your hole. Unrelenting in its expedition as it flicked and wiggled the group’s load of spit inside of you, sliming you up from inside and out.

“Sorry, (M/N). Drew hasn’t had dinner yet—come on, up and at ‘em,” Oliver steered you back on all fours with a rough pull to your shoulders, and knelt himself before you. He pushed your hair back once, admiring the sweat beading over your hairline, the increasingly dismayed look on your face when someone—Taylor—spread and smacked your ass apart for Drew to lick and devour inside you completely. “And neither have you. Open.” You couldn’t even hesitate as Oliver worked at lighting pace. He hooked his thumb into your mouth, pulled it open, spat a thick load of spit where your tongue deftly caught it, and pushed his thick cock into your mouth—all in one neck-braking motion.

“Fuck…” Oliver moaned at the warmth of your mouth. His eyes rolled, but the sight of your lips wrapped around his veiny dick was holier than the overhead lights spotlighting you from above, so he did his best to maintain his composure, working your mouth open with the girth of his cock—slow and steady.

At least Oliver was generous enough to not shove himself down the back of your throat, but still—your throat spasmed nonetheless when he shoved himself deeper with a tug to your nape. Upon the hit to your throat, you abruptly pushed him out with your tongue and a gag, launching into a coughing fit.

“Loosen up on him, will you? He bruises easily,” Zane muttered, noticing Oliver’s fingers turning eggshell-white upon taking your name in his hand. Although, that didn’t stop Zane’s hand from fisting his cock. If anything, it pulsed merrily at the sound of your throat resisting.

“He’ll use his safe words, right? You’re fine? Tell me if you need a break,” As much as Oliver was large and imposing, his body a thick and study mass akin to Zane’s, his eyes were made of sugar. An uncanny color for those soluble carbohydrates, but it was fitting, considering your body melted from the way he looked fondly at you and petted at your cheek. “Pretty.”

“I-I’m fine…” You said with a bated breath and nodded to Oliver with assurance. Then again, when Zane’s hand pushed your hair back and remained on the crown of your head. “I’m fine. Promise.”

“I know. I trust you.” He bent down to soothe the swell of your lips with a lingering kiss before delivering a smack to your ass and pulling away with a renewed disposition. “Suck his cock like how you suck mine. Properly, this time.”

“Fuck—“ Your body propelled forward from the never-ending feast on your puckering hole. Out of curiosity, you peered over your shoulder and instantly found yourself regretting it. It was unavoidable. Your cock leaking in agony, watching Nico, Taylor, and Drew take turns at licking stripes over your hole. Hungry animals.

On Drew’s turn, he caught your gaze in midst of his licks and came to a sudden halt. He then widened his tongue over your crack and with a leaden pace, laved his tongue over your crease like he was cleaning the last bit of crumbs off his plate, smug and teasing in his scheme to make you break.

“No more distractions, yeah? That’s not the way you treat your boyfriend’s friends.” A grappling hook to your nape tore your eyes back to your front, and your mouth was instantly filled again with the heavy weight of Oliver’s musky cock. Your hands were braced on the floor, clutching at nothing but the installed security of wood panels, as Oliver rocked into your mouth. Your cheeks hallowed progressively, adapting to the stretch of your mouth when he tested the depth of your throat numerous times before finally committing and sinking his cock into the back of your mouth, into your throat, with one gratified push.

“Good boy. Hold it, hold it, don’t move. Just relax…” Zane heartened by your right side, reaching in between your legs and fondling with your cock as he’d been doing with his own. Upon the welling of tears, you clamped your eyes shut for comfort, and nearly choked back on your own spit, impulsively squeezing around Oliver’s cock.

“Oh, shit… holy fuck, guys.” Tom was marveling at your left. You peeked your eyes open and caught a glimpse of his hand spit-shining his long, veiny cock, twisting deliciously eager over his plump glans near your temple, the sticky sound of his spit loud and clear in your ear. “Jesus, Zane wasn’t lying when he said you could take dick like no other.”

Oliver’s balls were pressed flush to your chin, your mouth was stuffed into the unshaven hairs of his pubic area, your nostrils was flared from arousal at the salty scent of the dried sweat within vicinity, and your throat was plugged with a glorious amount of thick and heavy cock.

“There we go, that’s it. Good,” Oliver moaned, tenderly massaging your nape while cutting off the supply of oxygen at the same time. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Doing everything we want, huh?”

“Mmfgh!” Your moans muffled in the cramming of his swollen cock as Oliver began patting and squeezing your cheeks, tightening the suction of your mouth by curling his body overhead, and simply pushing deeper.

Swelling harder, throbbing, the longer you endured. You’d learned how to breathe through your nose when it came down to this, but you still had difficulties relaxing your tongue. It wasn’t surprising when ample amounts of saliva began leaking out of your mouth. More spilled out when Oliver pulled you back a centimeter, only for the course of action to halt with another plunge of his cock, somehow sinking deeper down your throat.

“Think he can fit another one?” Nico halfheartedly joked, the last one to crawl over and join the group in their sight-seeing. His cock was hard, veins bulging in a way that made you delirious because Oliver alone was enough to make you overwhelmed in the best way possible.

You couldn’t possibly imagine another cock lodged in.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, right, babe?” Zane tugged on your cock harder. He pulled at your balls, thumbed the piss-slit, and stroked your shaft with the pre-cum that had been dripping in solitude. “So wet, you’re so fucking wet from being used like this.”

Finally, you were graced with the precious taste of air. Oliver slowly pulled his dick from the depth of your throat, and the group moaned at the sight of your throat simultaneously deflating from its bulge.

Your throat was sore, but it was worth it. Moving your eyes from one man to another, it was finally registering what a dream this was. All of them were exceptionally fit with sweat proudly highlighting their training. All of them sported deliciously thick erections with multiple sights of pre-cum dripping like molasses to taunt you. What was more important was that all of their eyes were on you—something as minuscular as a blink would set them off, and they’d restart the non-existent staring battle between you and the group again.

They were as breathless as you were, and your heart was pumping with the sickening volume of their cocks being cordially stroked, their pecs and biceps brawny and bouncing from the exhilaration you’d been supplying them.

It was fucking worth it.

Under Zane’s conducting, the team flipped you onto your back, cushioning your body with multiple throw pillows, and surrounded themselves around you again, where you could properly watch them pleasure their cocks with the lube Zane had distributed as they kneeled over you. Then, Taylor made the decision for himself to slot his body beneath you, embracing you from behind and using his arms around you to hold your legs and hips back, positioning his freshly lubed cock near your hole.

“You smell good,” Taylor commented at the scent of your cologne, kissing madly into your neck as he found the source. You gulped, feeling him staring again through those eyelashes of his. With one hand, he turned your cheek to face him, his lips nearing and over yours, but never meeting. Lingering, breathing, gazing, indulging—you both surveyed each other’s features. Watching your soft but swollen lips, watching his sharp but pleading eyes. He pushed himself in without as much of a warning—and then watched the enlightened expression on his face, the immense rapturing of yours. For a moment, you swore you could’ve seen something other than lust in Taylor’s eyes, but he punctuated the delusions straight out of you with an unbearable thrust, and you never looked back. You gasped at the girth of his cock stretching you out, and his breath hitched at the spontaneous clenching your tight hole was bestowing him. “Fuck…”

You breathed out a whimper, and your parted mouth was immediately seized with the taste of Tom’s thick cock as he kneeled over your body and thrusted himself selfishly down your throat. Deeper, when Tom found your gags to be indecently enticing and feeding into his cock veins.

To make everything all the more dizzying, your hands were taken and wrapped around a pair of throbbing cocks; Zane and Nico’s in your left, Drew and Oliver in your right. Every contact point on your body, from Taylor’s dick pressing deep inside of you, to Tom’s succulent cock bulging your cheek, to Zane, Nico, Oliver, and Drew rubbing against their respective partner and fucking into your closed fist, burned.

“You love being full of cock, don’t you? Look at you… pleasuring the six of us at once. Come on, use your mouth. Suck Tom off, you can do it,” Taylor mouthed at your shoulder, the warmth of his breath tickling you, and then a complimentary bite to your shoulder—making your pulse run high. His grasp on the back of your raised thighs was warring as he used his core to beat his thick cock inside of you and pummel you open.

You cried around Tom’s cock, Taylor’s balls slapping your taint with every exhilarating thrust and feeding into your indulgence. Tom was noble. You already had enough on your plate; stroking two thick cocks per hand and enduring Taylor’s aggressive fucks. The intricate position you were in made it more difficult for you to suck him off, so Tom took matters into his own hands, and used your mouth as he pleased. His hands were behind his head as if they could stabilize the swimming lewd thoughts. You peeked at the utter state of bliss he was in, and your cock throbbed at the sight of his body. His chest full, his pits trimmed, his built expertly trimmed with fine and intricate muscles, especially so whenever he sunk in his stomach and flexed from the heat of your throat. You were salivating not only because the taste of Tom’s cock was so delightfully salty, but also because you were surrounded by such gorgeous men—a heaven of greek gods.

You felt reborn.

The kiss is all-consuming when Tom pulled himself out to press his lips against yours, making you sit up on Taylor’s lap. When his tongue pried your mouth open effortlessly, electricity shot down your spine, only for it to sear back up with the vicious pounding Taylor was giving you. “You taste like my dick, you like that?” Tom inhaled every ounce of breath you dispelled into his mouth. Broken sounds of whimpers and moans, a confusing yet compatible elixir that Tom drank up, and poured it back down your throat when he licked deeper into your mouth. He licked and nipped at your lips, tangled your tongue with his, and stole your breath with the eagerness of his mouth on yours that hadn’t seem to be faltering.

Heat flushed through your veins when each person took a turn to your mouth. The straddling position allowed the group to enclose themselves around you, the air thickening and weighing heavier than the swing of their cocks. Five heavy dicks surrounded your face while Taylor’s continued to swell beneath you, turning you inside and out as his hands on your hips hardened. It was an insoluble dilemma of your sexual appetite. You were starving for something to fill your mouth, but who—was the dilemma you were faced with.

“So big, fuck—“ You caught yourself drooling at the sight of their cocks dripping for you.

You behaved like a wanton, catching Oliver’s pre-cum with your tongue before sucking hard on Zane’s cock, then simultaneously stroking Drew and Nico over your shoulders ardently. The smell of Tom’s and Oliver’s salty cocks rubbing over your face made you vigilant and heightened your arousal to a crescendo. Eagerly, you replaced Zane’s cock with the two men, and moaned when the uncomfortable stretch they had provided made you stiffen around Taylor’s shaft.

“Shit, I’m going to—“ Taylor warned, his large hand splayed on your sweaty lower back while he wallowed in the confines of your walls, squeezing and clamping around his bristling cock.

Your mouth was stretched, saliva dripping from either corners of your lips, the crown of their dicks thick enough to shut your trap without so much as touching your throat. The wonderful sounds of their moans made the strain on your jaw well-worth the ache you were surely going to feel the effects from tomorrow onwards.

“Taking two cocks at once—never seen that before, Christ…” There was a vacant space in the middle of your mouth. Tilting your chin up, Oliver pushed a wad of spit into the opening—smug as he watched it fall into the void, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“He’s a horny little thing, isn’t he?” Tom followed in Oliver’s steps, spitting inside of your mouth. Two people were enough to set off a chain reaction as the rest of the group quickly joined. Nico, Drew, and Zane added their own shipment to the pooling spit haul, and they all watched in awe when you relaxed your tongue and let it drain into the back of your throat as one load.

The dehumanizing exploitation of your body turned sweat into goosebumps, and you were eager to be covered in welts by the time you were done.

Your entire body lit up at the attention the men were giving you. Taylor fucked you harder, his hands bruising on your body. Nico and Drew occupied the sloppy void that was your mouth when Tom pulled out to join Zane in kissing your flushed neck, and Oliver tended to your abandoned cock with his hand, stroking and twisting your knob. You choked on the two cocks as they attempted to fuck your mouth. It was a constant collision on your tongue and cheeks, where loads of spit pooled and dripped for a messy bustle, and you wouldn’t let them out of your mouth until Taylor delivered one strong thrust, and emptied himself inside of you. The sudden launch of his cum erupting inside made you pull away with a bated breath and moan, your body writhing as he flooded your insides.

“Fuck!” He shouted from behind you, clawing into your inner thighs while your ass was pumped with the warmth of his thick cum. Warm spurts continued to paint you from the inside as Taylor resumed his hips for a few more seconds, dumping every seed that he could push out deep inside of your violated hole, until his sack was emptied.

“Don’t let it leak out,” Drew hoisted you off of Taylor’s limp and recovering body, and pushed you back onto all fours, your head in between Taylor’s legs. “—and clean him up. Not a drop wasted, got it?”

“M-mm, yeah—fuck!” When you began licking at the underside of Taylor’s softening cock, your hole was back to being occupied again with the hung curve that was Drew’s dick. He didn’t waste a single second in making you squirm. With both hands tucked into your pelvis, Drew used your body as leverage while fucking madly into you.

“Fuck—look at you, you’re creaming all over my dick,” the sounds were delectable. Soft and creamy with every thrust Drew delivered to your ass—you felt some cum splatter onto your back from how hard he was fucking into you. As much as your asscheeks stung from the way his thighs clapped against your flesh, you were relishing every second of it with Taylor’s cock in your mouth, languidly swiveling your tongue and lapping up remnants of his seed until he was pristine.

The rough spanking marked you as Drew’s in the moment. You felt guilty for thinking it, but it was placed in good faith. HIs palm seared your stinging ass, reminding you to tend to the others. You do, your vision blurry and hazy, but you took whatever cock wanted to enter your mouth. Tom’s, Oliver’s, Nico’s, then Zane’s—they all tasted incredible and if you were allowed to, you could see yourself coming right then and there—simply from sucking cock—cocks.

You thrived in rough hands. Drew’s, Zane’s—anyone’s. Your skin throbbed when Zane and Nico slapped your cheeks with their cocks, and your asshole spasmed when Drew sealed himself within you, pushing every drop of seed until he slumped over the curve of your back, toppling you onto the ground with his weight. Even then, he pushed into your squirms, his cock buried deep into your ass, refusing to pull himself away from the sickening pleasure.

“Up and at ‘em, (M/N). Not done yet,” Oliver smiled and pulled you onto your feet, positioning himself behind you.

“Fuck—Zane…” You called out to him, bracing yourself on the arm of his couch as your muscles were still stirring awake from their sleep.

He approached you, quick in his steps, immediately tending to your non-existent wounds. His fingers through your hair, his hand over your cheeks. “What—you’re okay? What do you need? Too much? Fuck—Drew, I told you to go easy on—”

“N-no, no! I’m okay—fuck, I—I love this… so much… So much cum inside of me, god—” You were in a dreamlike state, drunk on the lights overhead you were mistaking for stars. Reality blurred even more when you felt Oliver take your wrists with one strong hold, holding them over your back, and pushed himself inside of you with one strong thrust. “Fuck!”

“Loosen up, dude. Your boy’s enjoying it—see? Taking our cocks like it’s a fucking olympic sport,” Oliver cruelly laughed, ignoring the twisting of Zane’s face as he focused on the absolute bliss on your face, holding you parallel to his body, to the sharp thrusts he catapulted upwards into your sloppy hole. “All the cocks that’s been inside of you, but you’re still so fucking tight. You going to loosen anytime soon? Hm? Too much of a slut to let that happen, right? I know you feel me in your guts, (M/N). You look fucking beautiful taking my dick so effortlessly.”

Drips of cum were leaking out of you. You could feel it trailing from your creamy hole, then down to the back of your slick tensed thighs as Oliver fucked you while standing.

Unlike Drew, Oliver didn’t need to brand you with hard spanks to your body. His hammering cock was enough, hollowing you with ease, the crown assaulting your sweet spot with ease—everything Oliver did was with ease, and it was further aided as you let yourself go limp. He fucked you bent over the arm of the couch, then when he had enough, you were back to being fucked standing. His arms looped around your pits, then interlocked behind your neck in support of his thrusts. His cock was ruthless in your ass, spearing and ruining your hole for anyone else to come after him. Your tender hole was brutally stretched around his swelling cock, your body burning up from the hold he was restraining your body with. Oliver whispered praises for your endurance, kisses you on the neck, then the shell of your ear for providing him a pleasure that would be the blueprint for the rest of his hook-ups. He straightened his knees, pushing himself balls deep into you, and in one long groan from his gut, spilled deep inside of you.

“Bet you feel so full, don’t you? Fuck…” Oliver grabbed his dick at the base and squeezed the remaining spurts inside of you before pulling out, flicking any remnants of cum over your bruised ass cheeks.

You moaned for him. The third load in your ass, and your heart was aching because you were another man closer to concluding the night.

It was open, dripping in cum, and then immediately seized when Nico pulled you onto his lap to join him on the couch. You felt like a rag doll—pulled, tossed, and thrown however one was pleased to treat you. As long as your hole was still functioning and remained at their disposal, neither of the men had any complaints about marking your body with a few scuffs.

Nico faced you to the group, your back planted against him. You whimpered when your tired limbs were hoisted once again as he hooked his arms under your knees, and then raised your legs up to position your dripping hole over his cock. Your hole had become a luscious swell of gape. The group marveled at the sight of your puffy rim, beautifully creamed by the pleasure of Taylor, Drew, and Oliver respectively.

“Holy shit, he’s fucking hollowed out…” Tom muttered, stroking himself to the sight of your insides blooming for everyone to see.

“Shit’s getting me horny again,” Taylor laughed, tugging on his flaccid cock, his body still recovering from the high he had inflicted upon himself moments prior.

Supporting your body with his arms, Nico raised your legs higher, bending them back until your knees hovered near your temples, and then locked his hand around your neck to hold you in place. Your mouth fell agape at the stretch of your muscles, and heat spread throughout your body as the group watched Nico’s cock breach your opening with a slow shove, pushing the leak of cum back inside of your guts.

Your hands trembled as you guarded your position on the couch upon Nico folding you back and feasting on your insides with his length. You felt Nico’s thighs tense, pushing up into you with all his might while your gaze locked with Zane’s. He gulped at the unholy sight of your hole being raptured—hungrily being excavated with Nico’s throbbing tool. Nico’s cock was covered in the recent load stuffed inside of you, an increasing sheen the more he fell into a rhythm, and rutted into you aimlessly, chasing after his fill. He slid in and out of you easily, the ample amount of cum replacing any need for to renew his dick with lube.

You and Nico panted in union. His heavy cock stretched you open, and Nico apologized with a blistering kiss to your shoulder, as if fucking you couldn’t be the apology itself. When you alternated your gaze to Tom, he looked almost predatory. Eager like he had always been, but something internal was running thin—Tom’s patience. He scooted closer, watching you take Nico’s fat cock with scalding envy. While your hole took the screwing, Tom caressed the rim of your asshole. You were loose enough for what he wanted to do to you. Carefully, Tom pressed one finger against the underside of Nico’’s cock, and you choked back on your moans, throwing your head back at the sudden tightness as Tom slipped a finger inside of you. Nico continued rocking, occasionally slowing to accommodate Tom as he worked three fingers inside of you.

“T-Tom, that’s too much—“

“But it feels good though, right? You seem to like it when it’s too much.”

Spitting on his own cock, Tom massaged the layer of lube in before lining himself with your occupied opening. Your eyes widened in stupefied anticipation—in arousing fear—yet you brought your hands over to spread your ass cheeks for him, for Tom to force his cock into your body alongside Nico’s length, and you cried with the double breach.

“M-mmfgh! Fuck…!” You cried out, your eyes rolled in the sockets, leaving only the whites of your eyeballs visible as Nico and Peter began moving in opposite rhythms.

“Fuck, Tom—your dick feels so good against mine, holy crap—“

With an animalistic groan, you pushed your ass out, greedily taking the two cocks into your gut despite the uncomfortable stretch signaling for you to stop and rethink about this decision unfolding before your very eyes.

Not long after, Nico and Tom pumped their hips in harmony, filling you over and over. Cum would trickle out from Tom joining, but he was quick to pull himself back out and scoop it back inside of you with a deep plunge that made the three of you reduce yourselves to nothing but guttural moans. You felt Nico’s body tense beneath you, coercing your own to tighten at the core.

Holding your thighs, Tom pushed into you to the hilt while Nico followed suit. They shuddered with ecstasy, growling like wild beasts from the natural impulse to clamp your sloppy hole around them. Their cocks were rubbing against one another, harder, faster, as they fucked themselves inside of you, opening you more than you had thought was imaginable at a relentless pace. You mewled, collapsing back onto Nico’s hold as your body rocked from the powerful thrusts as if you were caught in a tide.

You felt your own cock throb at this, balls tightening and stroking your cock to the sound of Nico in your ear and Tom at your lips, panting into your mouth in between messy kisses. You were wrecked, completely and utterly ruined as they rocked their shafts into you in opposite strides now. One would hit your sweet spot while the other pulled himself out to renew that fresh stretch of your rim again as they pushed with conviction. Between labored breaths, you searched for Zane over Tom’s shoulder, your heart beating faster and faster as he seemed to be mesmerized by the display of your sheer dedication in following in on your promise to make him feel like the luckiest man on Earth.

Faster. Harder. Deeper. In a matter of seconds, you all came together. Your body spasmed and writhed between their own twitching, your hole clenched around the erupting cocks, your own dick throbbed and spurted out creamy ropes onto your body. Their hips were unrelenting, frothing the thick cum sent deep into your crevices with writhing and swollen flesh, and you slumped, Nico’s released hold relieving your muscles as your body shifted back and forth from the two cocks milking themselves until their shafts softened.

At the thought of Zane—the last man that you would be taking—your position came to you unbidden. Scrolled over the arm of the couch again, you felt comforted by the ample leg room, stretching your muscles for the final act while Zane prepared himself behind you, laving his cock over your crevice, submerging himself in the wetness that your raw hole was dripping out. You were depraved of touch—Zane’s touch—you barely spent a minute with him in between stationing yourself with every men. All except him.

“They did a real number on you…” Zane muttered in your ear. His left hand caressed the tense muscles in your back before joining his right in steering you by the shoulders, his grip clutching a bruising shade into your skin. “Suddenly I don’t matter anymore, hm? You only call me over to show yourself off—showing off that dripping hole of yours.” Unsolicited moans drew out of you with the push of Zane’s hips, fitting his cum-covered cock over your crevice, as a way to soothe the swelling of your puffy rim, but also to ridicule your newfound addiction. “Showing off what was mine—that has now been ruined by five other fucking men. Fuck, I saw the way you were looking at them. All of them. You reek of them too, fucking slut.” He deliberately pressed his swollen cockhead to your ring of muscle, swirling and tracing the circumference, only to move back a centimeter and slide himself right by, pressing his shaft against you instead.

You whimpered, circling your hips back for more of Zane, to apologize to him with the warmth of your hole, to make up for your lack of attention towards him by letting him milk himself inside of you—like you’d done for the others. “I-I’m sorry—Zane, please—“ Your breath hitched when Zane wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you against his imposing chest, arching you forward.

“So, you want my cock now? Five dicks weren’t enough? You need mine to feel satisfied? Face the group. Tell them how much you love my cock,” squeezing your cheek, he forced your head to turn to his friends. They stirred in their seats, their hands back to fisting their erections again.

“I-I love Zane’s cock… I love the way he fucks me—no—the way he makes love to my hole, the way he fills me up to the brim with his thick cum, the way he milks himself and breeds me. I love that he takes his time with me, s-shows me that I’m more than just a doll for fucking,” With the way you were looking; panting from the amount of dick you had taken for the past hour, sweating from the thickened sex in the air, dripping from the loads that marked their battle claim on you; you evoked a fever that spread from one end of the circle to the other. One by one, they gathered closer, inhaling the scent of your arousal—their sex, their seed deeply embedded into your body like you had no other choice but to use them as cologne.

“I-I love that he fucks me—like he loves me,” you peeked over your shoulder to look back at him with groveling gratitude. Was it a mistake to admit this for the first time? In this moment? Where it was confessed to the public, rather than solely to Zane? Your heart raced, and Zane was well-aware as he pacified you with doting affection on your chest, roaming his free hand over the plane, tweezing your perky nipples while his other hand at your throat maintained. You brought a hand up to hold his nape, to hold you close to you because—you’d been separated from your boyfriend for far too long. You were malfunctioning, throwing yourself to every man who wanted to please you and that swollen hole of yours, and you needed Zane to ground you back to him.

And ground you he did—Zane humbled you in the process, evidently satisfied with your short monologue as the kiss he honored you with was deep and enthralling. He poured all sorts of emotion in your mouth, explored it with his tongue in midst of tucking his feelings inside of you, muttered incoherent words of affection while he was drunk on your breath feeding his lungs with life.

“I love you,” he tucked the confession into the shell of your ear and punctuated his returning feelings with one sharp charge of his thrust. The previous loads within you permeated—saturated deep into your flesh—as Zane congested your guts with his large cock, making you wail on his slow, but bellicose hips. “I. Love. You.” Zane repeated in your ear, following up with every one of his thrusts. His cock was methodical inside of you. Screwing what was loose, tightening your walls like his cock was a hammer to secure you around his girth. You felt yourself tip-toeing the floor, the thrusts catapulting your body from Zane’s strength, but there was not a second where you didn’t feel safe. His hold on you—driving into you with his cock, restricting your limbs while he showered you with the most heart-fluttering compliments—he was your sanctuary, the holiest of all places, and you felt revived.

He had his hand over your throat, vaulting your moans with a clamp, pushing you back onto your heel, but as soon as he came up again and delivered those rapturing thrusts, you returned to your natural stance on your tip-toes. You struggled to make sounds—loud mewls and whimpers that proved how absolutely fulfilling you felt in the moment. Your throat was sore and dry, and your body was exhausted and could only endure Zane for so long. You fell limp in Zane’s arms, tensing at the right moments where he penetrated your prostate. It was the unsolicited answer to your body malfunctioning.

The roll of your eyes, the spasming of your asshole, the gape of your mouth as silent moans thickened the air—you and Zane bonded as one. Your ass pushed back to meet his thrusts, creating an electrifying wave of thunderous sounds of sweaty and sticky skin clapping against each other. You felt your body ripple from Zane’s power, from his devotion to forge your hole to the shape of his cock, from his desperate need to tell you that he loved you with more than just his words. You felt every inch of him through your gut. Bent over the arm of the couch, your sweat dripped onto the leather while he fucked you against it, your skin chafing abrasively. Your knees constantly collided with the furniture, but you were too far gone, completely lost in a cycle of Zane’s affection that you didn’t realize your chin was being held up by Drew, jerking his cock over your face.

You blinked rapidly to ward off exhaustion and before you could comprehend the line forming behind him, your face was propelled with thick flying ropes of cum. Drew spilled all over you with a moan, aiming wherever, but mostly at the center. He shot at you hard, feeling himself splatter from your lips, then to your hair.

It happened rapidly, Zane’s hips seemingly quickening to sync with the group’s thunder-paced wrists. Taylor was the next person in line, pumping his hairy cock to the sight of Drew’s cum dripping off of your nose from the vigor force Zane was pummeling you from behind. With a deep grunt and a push of his hips, Taylor emptied his heavy sack, adding onto the layers of cum on your face.

You’ve seen it in the videos you’d watched. It was no good letting their hard-work go to waste. You tipped your head back and Tom helped, resting his hand at your hairline while he stroked his cock over the stains on your face. Again, he was another man to blow another thick load onto your face. Before he left, he made sure to wipe himself clean on your neck, embellishing you with his gratitude.

Then came Nico; the massive amount of loads on your face pooled as you patiently waited for his second high. Your vision was screwed, trying to peer through the cum dripping down your eyelids, but eventually you had to settle on shutting your eyes and anticipate blindly. Within seconds, you heard Nico grunt and moan, followed by another spillage onto your face. He aimed directly at your mouth, where you missed the first unforeseen shot, but quickly adapted and opened your mouth to hold his seed. The salty taste on your tongue bloomed, and whoever’s cum was trailing from the bridge of your nose, past your philtrum and into your open mouth was even saltier, making you writhe as the shudders were uncontrollable when you swallowed.

Finally, Oliver stepped up and amused himself to the heavy decoration weighing down on your face. Stroking his cock, he also played with the cum, dipping the crown of his cock into someone else’s load, scooping a white thread was dangling off your jaw and into your mouth, wiping your eyelids clean with his glans—because he wanted you to see this. He wanted you to watch him come on you with immense pride, to watch him pump the study veins in his thick cock as he indulged at the sight of your pretty eyes surrounded by the four prior men’s fulfillment. With gritted teeth, Oliver groaned from the depth of his gut and released his seed all over you. The group saved the largest load for last. Your eyes immediately clenched following one thick splatter to your lid, then the other, blurring your vision and stinging your eyes once again as Oliver targeted painting you from all corners of the face, including the ones he had helped wipe clean. He squeeze the last remaining seed, and flicked it onto your lips, groaning from the sudden sensitivity in his cock.

“Shit… you look so—” Zane groaned from behind you. He couldn’t stop marveling at it; the unholy sight of your face snowed under an ample amount of cum. The scent of the group’s sex drifted in the almost still air, and Zane ached inside of you.

You can feel the warmth emanating from his study body when he pushed his weight onto you, fucking into you harder and igniting the burn in your thighs. Peeking from one eye, your head was turned to where Zane claimed his rightful place on your lips again. His eyes flashed with hunger at the taste of someone’s cum dripping into your mouth, so he kissed harder, molding your hole to his cock and hammering into you at a breath-taking pace. There were multiple passageways the various pool of mixed semen were taking on your face. A web dangled off your cheek, a trail dripped in pursuit of the kiss, a wet clump was smushed between Zane’s nose and yours; you and Zane were a sloppy mess, and you both were baptized by the scent, the taste, and the feeling of it all.

You were gorgeous, your delicate state only adding to your appeal. One more look at you, and Zane grunted low. He reached between your thighs with his hands, so hard it hurt, and he was wild and strong, fucking into you madly while knocking your breath into a state of stasis. His hips smacked against your ass, faster and faster, and your body was up in flames. Every thrust felt punishing, like he wanted to condemn you for seducing him—for loving him—but if this was punishment, you needed to find more ways to anger him, to love him.

You whimpered into his growls, his firm hands pulled you impossibly closer by the thighs, clutching and fucking you back onto his cock, as he raptured himself into you. He stroked the inside of your mouth, his tongue feeling fat and warm, savoring the taste of salty seed on your tongue, and he groaned into you once more. He grunted and growled like an animal, powered by the group watching in awe, the ravenous noise reverberating through your guts, and you feel the eruption of cum dousing your flesh, deep in your guts, his large cock pulsating in you.

The pleasure hit you like a lightning bolt. Your thighs shook, your hole spasmed, and you rut against his swelling cock, pleasured and soothed by the warmth and thickness of his steaming cum. His release had him quivering against your back, his face tucked inside the crook of your neck while he rocked slowly, breeding you.

“So good, you’re so fucking good…” Zane muttered weakly, panting and mouthing against the back of your ear.

“So full—“ you groaned at the heavy weight of dick in you, then hissed when Zane bucked his hips once more, kissing the crown of his cock to the mouth of your prostate, as if it was a reminder for you that he owned you.

Obscene noises came from his cock plunging your ass with cum—more cum, as you struggled to contain another load, and felt it drip down to your ankles. You sighed, taking it all in—taking Zane in—and slumped over the arm of the couch, heaving a euphoric sigh of relief, relishing in the high-yielding pleasure that was Zane’s cock, dazzling by the lights above you—the stars.

“You guys okay?” laughing at the group’s sudden exhaustion, Zane refused to pull away from you. His hands curled around your hips, then carefully maneuvered himself to lie on the couch with him, still buried to the root of your hole.

“Better than a smoke,” Drew yawned, rubbing his large hand over your ankle by virtue of exceeding his expectations. Nico petted at your head, the spent look on your face charming when you turned towards him and weakly smiled. Tom and Oliver were quiet, still recovering from their orgasm. When you caught their gaze, they held up their thumb once before plummeting back onto the floor.

“Fuck, man—you were great,” Taylor slumped against the foot of the couch, limbs sprawled from the exhaust of muscles, but he joined in on the caressing of your leg, squeezing at your calf, nearly rendering you to sleep.

One by one, the group fell to a silence, a gentle slumber despite the hardwood floors forewarning a few of them of a back ache the next morning. You watched peacefully, the caressing of your body slowly coming to a halt, and then looked back at Zane, collapsed onto your back, drifting into sleep with the gentle snores near your ear.

Hopefully by morning—Zane would tell you that you fulfilled on your promise.

He was the luckiest man alive.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[tired-biscuit]

is it weird I wanna rub my face against Logan chest hair?

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // established relationship, domestic bliss

wc: 1.2k+

———

definitely not. hairy men are hot!

like, now i’m thinking about finally getting a day to yourselves and spending the majority of it in bed. cuddling, resting, catching up after an excruciatingly busy week, with your limbs tightly intertwined and your voices soft and hushed because despite being a mutant that’s been blessed with inhuman strength, logan’s body and mind both feel so overworked and exhausted that he’s practically sinking into the mattress with a prolonged and incredibly grateful groan.

continuously fighting for the sake of being the ‘good guy’ is no small task, after all… it can take quite a toll on him sometimes — powers or no powers.

still, that specific role has been graciously placed to the back of his mind for now because he’s fresh out of the shower and he’s scrubbed all of the grime and sweat off of his skin, keeping it clean until it’s time for him to head out the door again — straight into a world where wolverine stands front and center.

but for now, he gets to be just logan. nothing more, nothing less.

and speaking of logan; his hair is still slightly damp from the previously mentioned shower. the wolfy ear-like shapes that he prefers to style atop his head have drooped slightly with the weight of the water, and the apples of his cheeks have become flushed from the steam.

the smell of the shower gel that you had picked for him a little while ago at the store mixes with his signaturely masculine, heavy scent. it only intensifies, steadily filling your nostrils when you swing your leg over his middle to pull yourself on top of him and lay your head on his bare chest.

he didn’t bother putting a shirt on. i mean, why would he, when he’s in the privacy of his own home and at long fucking last doesn’t have to look presentable — he calls it fancy, the idiot — for anyone?

but anyways, his rough hands wrap around your hips when you straddle him. he exhales deeply, the breath long and content, but it breaks into a confused chuckle when you begin to rub your cheek against the hair on his chest all of a sudden.

“uh,” he starts, arching a dark eyebrow even though you can’t see it from how busy you are with smushing your face into his tits as far as it’ll go. “should i even ask, or…?”

“just petting myself against your love rug, my dearest,” you mumble, unfazed by the curiosity that’s lacing his voice. “unlike the rest of you, it’s surprisingly soft. feels kind of nice.”

the corner of logan’s mouth twitches upwards at that. it’s barely there, less of a smile and more of a smirk, but it’s there.

“unlike the rest of me?” he repeats, clearly amused in some shape or form now.

you stop the movement to roll your eyes at him. “i meant your crazy man muscles and the whole skeleton enveloped in metal thing that you’ve got going on for yourself, not your dick, you pervert.”

there’s a second chuckle slippist past his lips, and you can hear this one rumble in the depths of his chest before he asks, “who said anything about my dick?”

you look up into his hazel eyes as you rest your chin on your knuckles, grinning at the glint of playfulness that’s residing there. his forehead is smooth, no deep wrinkle of agitation in sight. gosh, you love it when he’s relaxed and happy. it makes him appear kinder, even if you do have a weak spot for his more broody side.

“well… what else have you got that’s hard, then?” you ask, choosing to play along now.

“easy,” he replies. “my heart.”

you stare at him. he stares at you.

a steady beat of silence stretches out between you.

“pfsh,” you huff finally, immediately snickering like a girl in love. “your heart? seriously?”

“what?” he asks, stroking his fingers up and down your sides. his touch is so warm, it stirrs you into motion, lures you into grinding your hips against his own. slow and lazy and thorough — just like the way your entire day off has been spent so far.

blood rushes below logan’s waistline as a result. he readjusts, gripping you tighter by the hips, pressing you down on instinct. you can feel him poking you between your legs already. eager.

“oh, nothing,” you purr, reaching out to comb your fingers through his hair, picking up the moisture there. “i’m just a bit taken aback by this piece of information, that’s all… i mean, for a man who loves to cuddle every chance he gets and who secretly enjoys having his fruit cut up by me into tiny little slices despite possessing claws, you sure as hell don’t strike me as someone with a hard heart, you know.”

foreheads pressing against one another, you keep your voice as quiet as it can be when you add, “the truth is that you’re a softy, logan... like a teddy bear or a really good pillow, it’s always nice to have you at home. and i love you for it.”

you say it like it’s a secret.

before he can respond, you lean in to place a gentle kiss on his lips, then, just for the sake of provoking him further. his stubble scrapes your skin, prickling slightly when he pushes forward to deepen the kiss, and you can feel his strong heartbeat speed up underneath your palms.

it keeps doing that as of late. racing on and on and on… hmm.

logan looks up at you, his pupils visibly dilating as he takes you in. the shape of your face, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the love that he still can’t believe you harbour for him of all people, and that’s currently swirling inside your eyes. you even smell like love, goddammit.

he doesn’t say the words back — he can’t yet, he’s not ready but he will be, you just have to give him time, just wait for him, please — but what he does is flip you around in one smooth movement and pins you down with the help of his hand holding onto both of your wrists.

there’s no pressure behind the grip, but you know he doesn’t feel the need to apply it because he’s positive that you won’t go anywhere. and he’s so big above you now; the curve of his shoulders is broad, the muscles in his back are strong and flexing with anticipation. even his eyes have turned dark. like an animal’s that’s gone into hunt.

he hunches his shoulders slightly as he drops lower to cup your cheek and kiss you again, this time being the one to initiate it first. with the distance now nearly gone, you open your legs further for him, locking your ankles on the small of his back. he uses the chance to press the hard-on that’s painfully straining his boxers against you.

breaths intermingle as you both begin to pant. his cock is big just like the rest of him is, heavy. you squirm, lifting yourself just enough for him to help you take your shirt off. his chest presses against yours after that, sharing the warmth, sticking with upcoming sweat, making you feel the silky smooth hair that’s residing there and driving you even more wild.

“oh, by the way,” he murmurs between hot kisses, fingers already tugging on the waistband of your panties, “never say love rug again. when you need me to pet you, just tell me.”

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: Lost and Found on The Isle

Prompt: Y/N escapes her cruel life in Auradon and finds herself on the Isle of the Lost, where she unexpectedly finds love and acceptance among villains, especially in the arms of a certain pirate.

Reader: Female

Word count: 1250

Average reading time: 4 min 35 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warning: This story contains themes of isolation, harassment, emotional distress, and the challenges of feeling like an outsider. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

----------------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

----------------------------------------------------------

In a world filled with royals, in a place called Auradon, where everything seemed perfect on the surface, lived a girl named Y/N. Her life, however, was far from ideal. Treated as an outcast and burdened by the cruelty of her peers, Y/N felt like a shadow amongst the vibrant crowd. The isolation weighed heavily on her, and she longed for escape a place where she might find acceptance and a sense of belonging.

One stormy night, Y/N made her decision. She packed a few belongings and slipped away, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope. Her destination? Well... The Isle of the Lost, the dark and dangerous place where Auradon’s discarded villains and their children resided. It was a risky move, but it was her last chance in the hope of finding something different.

As she arrived, the Isle lived up to its reputation. The streets were grimy, the buildings crooked, and the people suspicious. Y/N’s fear only grew with each step. She was an outsider in a world that didn’t welcome her. Wandering through the streets, she found herself cornered by a group of rough-looking guys. Their intentions were clear, and Y/N's heart raced with panic.

Just as the situation grew tense, a loud sound cut through the tension. Uma, the fierce sea witch and leader of the Isle’s pirate crew, emerged from the shadows, followed closely by her loyal crew members Harry Hook and Gil. Uma’s commanding presence and Harry’s rough charm quickly got rid of the threat, and the attackers scattered like roaches under a spotlight.

Y/N’s knees buckled, and she fell to the ground. Harry, with his signature smirk, approached her, his eyes softening ever so slightly when he saw her terrified state. Uma looked on with a mix of curiosity and amusement, while Gil hovered nearby, ever-ready to support his friends.

“Didn’t expect to find a damsel in distress tonight,” he said, his voice a smooth, low rumble. He extended a hand to her, which Y/N hesitantly took. “Name’s Harry Hook. And these fine pirates are Uma and Gil. You’re safe now.”

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling.

Uma’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she gestured to the group. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

In the safety of Uma’s hideout, Y/N felt a strange sense of relief mingled with anxiety. The Isle was rough, but it was also intriguing. Harry, in particular, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He noticed the way she flinched at sudden movements and how her gaze darted around nervously.

Over the next few weeks, Harry and Y/N grew closer. They spent time together exploring the Isle, and Harry, with his charismatic pirate charm, showed Y/N the hidden wonders of their world, the secret hideaways and the beauty behind the grim facade. One evening, as they strolled along the mist covered docks, Harry casually slipped his arm around Y/N’s waist. She stiffened at first but then relaxed into his touch, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

Harry’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “You know, darling, this place looks a bit more enchanting with you by my side.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning into him. “You always know how to make everything sound so content, so perfect.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled with affection as he leaned in closer. “That’s because with you, everything is perfect.”

One day, while Y/N was wandering alone, a gang of troublemakers started to harass her. They advanced with menacing grins, no trace of remorse for what they are about to do, and Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. Just as she was about to give in to the panic filling her chest. Harry appeared, his expression fierce. He pushed through the crowd, his protective stance clear as he positioned himself between Y/N and the intruders.

“Back off,” Harry growled, his voice carrying an authoritative edge that left no room for argument. “She’s with me.”

The intruders, clearly intimidated by Harry’s status, fierce glare and confident demeanor, backed away, muttering under their breath as they disappeared into the shadows. Harry turned to Y/N, his eyes softening as he gently reached out to caress her cheek. “Are you alright, darling?”

Y/N nodded, tears of relief welling up in her eyes. “I… I didn’t think anyone would come.”

Harry pulled her into a tight embrace, his strong arms enveloping her. “I’ll always come for you. You don’t have to be afraid here.”

As their relationship blossomed, so did their affection. Harry would surprise Y/N with stolen kisses during shared meals, as they walked through the market, or even as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. One night, under the starlit sky, they lay together on a blanket by the sea. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop as Harry pulled Y/N close.

“Look at those stars,” Harry murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “They’re nothing compared to how you light up my life.”

Y/N turned to face him, her heart aching with love and uncertainty. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe you’re here with me. That someone like you would choose someone like me.”

Harry cupped her face gently in his hands, his gaze unwavering. "You're not just anyone, darling. You're my everything. I chose you because you make me feel things villains aren't supposed to feel. You make me see the world in a way I never knew I could."

Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, filled with the promise of a future they could build together. Harry’s hands roamed lovingly over her back, pulling her closer as their kiss deepened.

As their relationship progressed, Uma began to see Y/N’s value beyond just Harry’s affection. She had witnessed Y/N’s bravery and kindness and saw how Y/N fit seamlessly into her crew. One day, Uma called Y/N to her quarters, her expression serious but not unkind.

“Y/N,” Uma began, her tone steady, “you’ve proven yourself to be more than just a lost soul here. You’ve got spirit and heart, and you’ve earned your place.”

Y/N looked at Uma with a mixture of apprehension and hope. “What do you mean?”

Uma smiled slightly, a rare show of warmth. “I’m offering you a spot on my crew. You belong here, and you’ve shown that you’re capable of more than you know. You’ve got the grit and the grace we need.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and gratitude. “Thank you, Uma. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Uma said with a nod. “Just keep being yourself. That’s all we need.”

With Uma’s approval, Y/N felt a renewed sense of belonging. She continued to grow closer to Harry, their love flourishing amidst the challenges. Whenever danger threatened, Harry was always there, his protective nature evident in every gesture. He would wrap his arms around her, pulling her close during moments of fear, his kisses always a reminder of his devotion.

As the days turned into months, Y/N and Harry’s love blossomed. They faced challenges together, each obstacle only strengthening their bond. In the heart of the Isle of the Lost, amidst the chaos and shadows, Y/N and Harry discovered a love that was pure and unshakeable, a love that healed old wounds and built new dreams. And in that love, Y/N finally found the acceptance and happiness she had always longed for, wrapped in the arms of a pirate who had stolen her heart and made her feel truly cherished.

----------------------------------------------------------

Copyright: All stories contained herein are the intellectual property of the author. Unauthorized copying, reproduction, or distribution of these stories, in whole or in part, without explicit written permission from the author, is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action. Respect the creator's rights and creativity. For permissions or inquiries, please contact: herstoryheaven@gmail.com.

Request Guidelines: When submitting a request, please ensure that your request does not contain any explicit sexual content or graphic depictions, and avoid any form of extreme violence or graphic descriptions of violent acts. I appreciate your understanding and cooperation in maintaining a respectful and inclusive environment for all readers. If you're unsure about your request or want to request about someone I haven't written about yet, feel free to ask me anytime.

[chaotic-birds]

Hi :) I just wanted to say that I love your work and it's nice to see another Jason todd fan. Anyway, I wanted to ask if I can request a Jason todd x reader smut where the reader and Jason are in the middle of doing it and may be nightwing/roy accidentally walks in and they join ?

i’m happy to know you like my stories! ty! i love jason so much 😭 and thanks for your request! i’ve never written a threesome and it’s been a HOT minute since i’ve written smut, so i hope it turned out alright! also, i wrote A LOT more than i anticipated 😭 i’m sorry if it’s too much sldkjhvfs i couldn’t stop myself PAIRING jason x reader (f) x dick | WC 6.1k | G smut, fluff | TW reader has she/her pronouns, threesome, pwp, sub!reader, soft to rough (to soft) sex, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, breast play, unprotected sex (be safe!), gagging, handjobs, dirty talk, praising, cream/throatpie, multiple orgasms, spitroasting, pet names (princess, baby), aftercare talk, lazy sex, cum as lube

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty!

masterlist

Jason came home from patrol a few hours ago. With the renovations at your shared home, you both decided to reside at the manor for a few days.

Jason lays behind you, arms around you securely. His breath tickles the back of your head. You would think he’d be asleep, but the occasional glide of his fingers against your skin tells you he isn’t.

You turn in his embrace to face him.

His eyes peel open, blue irises boring into yours. A little moonlight seeps through the curtains, but it’s hard to see many details.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply. You usually can fall asleep quickly in his arms, but tonight’s an exception. Maybe it’s because you’re in a new environment. Sure, you’ve slept over at the manor before, but you’ve never stayed for so long in a row.

He hums in understanding and caresses your cheek.

“Neither can I,” he says.

You stare at each other for a few seconds before he leans forward. You meet him halfway, lips pushing against each other in a sweet kiss. Jason pulls back for one second, then kisses you again. This time, he moves his mouth. It’s slow and sensual as he takes his time. He moves his hand to your side.

One of your hands presses against his bare chest while the other moves to the back of his neck. You pull him closer, and he smiles into the kiss, swiping his tongue along your lip that’s between his. You open your mouth and greet his tongue with yours.

Jason squeezes your body at the new contact. His tongue glides against yours for a few, and then his lips capture your tongue. He sucks on the muscle as he pulls away. You giggle, unable to contain your happiness.

“Cute,” he comments and dives in again, pushing you back on the bed and letting the covers fall lower. The cool air touches your skin, causing you to shiver. Jason rubs one hand up and down your arm while the other props himself up.

Jason lays half on and half off your body. Your hands tangle in his hair, making a mess of it—how you like it.

His hand travels down to your waist, massaging it as he continues to kiss you. The noise of your kisses fills the quiet room and fires your body gradually.

“I want to see you,” you say breathlessly once you pull away.

Jason nods and leans to one of the bedside tables. He turns the lamp on, adjusting the setting to a low lighting, then moves back. The light doesn’t reach every corner of the room, but it’s enough to see him better and not hurt your eyes.

Your gaze dances over his face, taking in the few scars that reside on his skin. His sharp features are a contrast to the softness in his eyes. A mix of black and white hair hangs over his forehead as he hovers over you.

You raise a hand to cup his face, thumb gently rubbing along his lower lip. Jason parts his mouth ever so slightly at your touch.

“Good?” he whispers.

“Perfect,” you reply and lean up to kiss him.

Jason grins against your lips, a small chuckle getting lost in your mouth. As the kiss continues, Jason’s hands explore your body. His hand rubs up and down your side, thumb brushing against the underside of your breast over your tank top. He does this a few times and then slips his palm under your top and squeezes your breast.

You hum contently in his mouth, hands tightening in his hair. Jason rubs his leg against the outer side of your thigh, kissing you, and massaging your chest. As the seconds tick by, you get more needy.

Jason, sensing this, moves his kisses down while shifting on top of you fully. You grab the bottom of your top and slide it off. Jason’s hand remains on your chest, watching how your body moves. Then, his other hand rests on your other breast.

Jason pushes your breasts up, marveling at how pretty they look. He leans down and kisses along the swells. Your eyes follow his movements. One hand moves back to his hair while the other covers one of his hands on your chest.

You suck in a breath when Jason nips at your skin. He chuckles against your body, biting one of your breasts and lingering a little longer.

You giggle as you arch your back and push your chest into his face more. He hums, releasing your skin and massaging the area—ridding the teeth marks he had left. Once gone, he gives your nipples a teasing twist, and then he drags his hands down your body. He leans down and captures your lips once more; one of his hands slips between your legs to feel you over your panties. He moans into the kiss when he feels the dampened material.

Jason slips a finger beneath the fabric to run up and down your slit, feeling just how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he breaths against your mouth.

His finger circles your entrance then moves up to circle your clit. Your hips jerk slightly at the sensation.

The kiss becomes sloppy as both your focuses move south.

Jason rubs your clit a few more times before moving down. He gradually slides a finger in your hole with ease from how wet you are.

You moan quietly at the feeling, legs spreading a little wider. Jason pulls away from the kiss and tucks his face in the crook of your neck. His finger still pumps into you. He moves slowly, which makes you buck your hips for more. Jason obliges, sliding in another finger and quickening his pace.

“Jay,” you mewl and tug his hair to lift his face. As soon as he does, he places his mouth on yours. The kiss is hot and fast, matching the pace of his hand.

“Need your mouth, Jay,” you whisper.

He nods, slides his fingers from you, then crawls down. You remove your underwear and inch up the bed so he has more space to lie. Once you’re both situated, he hooks his hands around your thighs and pulls you closer. He kisses your inner thighs, hair tickling your skin. You watch with rapt attention as he moves inward. Then, his hot tongue licks up your folds slowly.

Your head falls back as a pleased moan slips from your mouth.

Jason does the action again and when he reaches the top, he flicks his tongue repeatedly against your clit.

Gasping, you reach down to his hair.

Jason moves a hand to grope one of your breasts as his tongue glides up your slit again. He gathers your arousal and his spit in his mouth then lets it fall onto your pussy. The sight has you clenching.

Jason dives in again, zigzagging his tongue against your clit briefly before circling the muscle at your hole.

You moan when he pushes his tongue in. Jason moans with you against your skin, the hand on your breast squeezing.

His eyes close momentarily before he stares at you again. His tongue pushes in and out quickly for a few before lapping up your wetness. He alternates between licking and sucking. He feels and sounds like he’s a dehydrated man in the desert as he devours your sweet pussy.

Your legs try to squeeze around his head, but he uses his free hand to push down one of your thighs. Your whimpers get louder as you near your orgasm. Jason’s relentless as he continues to eat you out, occasionally pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

The knot in your tummy almost releases when a knock sounds at the door. However, before either of you can react, the door opens.

Jason snaps his gaze up, nose and chin glistening with your arousal. If it weren’t for being interrupted, you would’ve cummed at the sight.

You push your legs together and wrap an arm over your chest.

“Hey, you awak—”

Dick’s steps falter when he sees the two of you. Out of politeness, he looks away. Though that politeness dissipates quickly as a minute later, he’s looking again.

“What the fuck, Dick? Knock next time,” Jason hisses.

“I did knock,” Dick says weakly.

Your heart is beating quickly at having been caught. Not to mention, you’re naked in front of your boyfriend’s brother. The damp sheet caused by your dripping arousal and Jason’s spit beneath you is a constant reminder of what transpired seconds ago.

“Once!” Jason growls. “And what happened to waiting for a reply before walking in?”

Dick’s eyes glance at you, sweeping your form in under a second before averting to Jason. Unlike you, Jason still has his underwear on.

Jason, catching Dick’s gaze, grabs the sheet that had fallen and covers you haphazardly. You adjust it better.

“I didn’t think you’d actually be awake,” Dick says.

Jason narrows his eyes. “Well, I am, so go away and shut the damn door!”

Dick follows half of his order and shuts the door, staying inside.

“What?” Jason prompts.

Dick licks his lips. “I wanted to ask if you…”

“If I what?” Jason huffs, impatient.

It’s a little uncanny to see Dick so unsure. If anyone should be embarrassed, it should be you and Jason.

“I don’t remember,” Dick replies.

“Then leave.”

Dick remains standing in place, eyes on both of you. After an awkward standstill, he shuffles closer to the door, however, he still doesn’t leave.

Jason eyes him keenly.

Your gaze drifts from Dick to Jason. You can see the gears in his head turning, probably trying to uncover the reason for Dick’s hesitance. Then, Jason’s irritation morphs into a look of cocky delight.

Jason finally looks at you since Dick’s arrival.

You give him a confused expression.

He smirks and turns to Dick again.

“Or, if Yn agrees, you can stay and enjoy the show.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The show?

Dick has a mix of surprise and hope in his eyes.

“A-Are you serious?” you ask Jason.

Jason averts his gaze to you and nods, hand slipping under the sheet to rub your ankle soothingly.

“If you want, baby.”

The idea of having an audience brings forth excitement and shame. Excitement because it’s thrilling to have someone get turned on by you—it’s nice to feel wanted; shame because you shouldn’t like that thrill. It was wrong to expose yourself in that way to someone who wasn’t your partner. But Jason has agreed to it, which creates another question.

Jason is the jealous type. He doesn’t like when someone looks at you for too long, so why is he okay with Dick watching? Then you recall the look of mischief in his eyes earlier. He wants to show you off, and he has something Dick doesn’t. You wonder how long it’s been since Dick has slept with someone to want this so badly.

Plus, Jason trusts Dick and trusts you. This isn’t some stranger.

“Do you want to?” you still ask.

Jason gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m fine either way. This decision is yours.”

“But I want you to be comfortable too,” you pout.

“I’ll be comfortable,” he insists. “What do you say? Will you let Dickie stay?”

Your lips rub together, eyes flickering to Dick who still stands motionless. He watches you eagerly.

“Okay,” you say and look at Jason. “He can stay.”

Jason grins, glances back at Dick, and says, “What a lucky duck.”

Then he slides the sheet from your body and lays back down, pulling you close by the hips.

“But I’m luckier,” he mutters before circling his tongue on your clit again.

Your breath hitches, eyes moving from Jason to Dick.

Dick has moved closer, but still stays at a respectful distance, and watches Jason’s tongue play with your nub.

Jason glides his muscle along your folds again, moving a hand to rub your clit. You know he’s trying to get you aroused again, and it’s working. Your gaze falls back onto Jason.

He continues to use his tongue and hand, and eventually, you forget Dick’s in the room. Your focus is on Jason between your legs. But then Jason lifts his head and looks at Dick, then you.

“Can he put himself to use and touch you?” Jason asks you.

Your eyes widen slightly. You open to ask if he’s sure, but Jason speaks again.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t okay with it. Would you be?”

You trust both of these men. They won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. With that in mind, you nod.

Jason nods for Dick to come closer.

“Rub her clit,” Jason instructs.

Dick looks at you for permission, and after a nod and a smile from you, he brings two fingers against your clit and starts rubbing. Your hips jerk at the action.

Jason watches for a few seconds before moving his face between your legs again.

Although Jason was circling your nub a minute ago, knowing it’s someone else doing that brings a new sensation flowing through you.

Dick eyes Jason before looking at you. He catches your gaze.

“Can I touch you more?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker to Jason, who is already looking at you.

You look at Dick and say yes.

Dick switches hands and uses his other to massage one of your breasts. You gasp when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger experimentally.

You can feel Jason smile against your pussy as he watches from below. 

Dick repeats his action after seeing how you liked it. He tugs on the nipple, pulling it upward before letting it go and watching your breast jiggle. He bites the inside of his cheek, grabbing your breast again to squeeze it. You can feel his growing bulge against your side.

Jason slides two fingers in your entrance without warning and nudges Dick’s hand from your clit. He replaces it with his tongue, wiggling it against you. Moaning, your head falls on the pillow behind you. Your climax approaches quickly, having been interrupted earlier.

Dick lowers his face until his lips graze your nipple. You let out a shuddered breath, which has Dick wrapping his lips around it. His other hand moves to massage your other breast.

He sucks and tugs your nipple up with his mouth. When it slips from his lips, he immediately starts flicking his tongue against it. You whine and tangle a hand in his hair.

“Can I kiss you?” Dick whispers, eyes moving from your breasts to your lips.

“No,” Jason answers for you, fingers still pumping inside your hole. “No kissing.”

Dick nods, not offended by his rule. He gives you a comforting smile to show he’s not bothered. You’re grateful for his understanding. While you aren’t against the rule, you like knowing Jason has his limits. You’re still his completely.

Jason moves back down. It’s not long before your legs are shaking around his head and one hand is gripping his hair while the other is gripping Dick’s hand on your breast.

Both men moan lowly at you cumming, watching your body squirm.

When Jason pulls away, he’s covered in your juices.

“Can I taste you?” Dick wonders.

Jason looks at you to say it’s your choice. You nod.

Jason moves to your slide while Dick lays between your legs. Jason leans down and kisses you. He tastes and smells like you.

Dick’s tongue grazes your folds tentatively. When you don’t tell him to stop, he flattens his tongue and licks up the remnants of your juices and wetness.

You mewl into Jason’s mouth at Dick’s actions.

Jason pulls away to glance at his brother and then at you again.

“Such a good princess, letting him taste you like the starved man he is,” Jason compliments and moves a few strands of hair from your face. “Bet it’s been a while, hm?”

As if confirming, Dick hums and pushes his face deeper. You inhale sharply, hand flying down to grab his locks. You writhe from overstimulation.

“God, you taste amazing,” Dick nearly growls into your pussy.

Jason smirks and angles your face toward him. He pulls you in for another kiss, tongue moving against yours.

Dick swiftly glides his tongue all around your pussy, sucking and licking every inch of it. He prods the tip of his tongue at your hole, testing you. Again, when he gets no complaints, he shoves his tongue deeper and circles your clit with a free hand.

You pull away from Jason with a loud moan.

“Fuck,” you pant, feeling another orgasm in the pit of your stomach.

“You gonna’ cum again, baby?” Jason asks, already knowing the answer. You nod, unable to speak as Dick increases his speed.

Jason rubs your head soothingly while he watches Dick eats your pussy with fervor. He then lays next to you sideways and kisses your neck. Your head tilts to give him better access.

Dick pulls another orgasm from you minutes later, making your body shake.

“Shit,” Dick curses after you start coming down from your high. He crawls from you, chin shining under the low lighting. He swipes a tongue along his lower lip as if addicted to your taste.

Jason pushes himself off the bed and begins to strip off his underwear. Your mouth waters when you see his hard cock.

“I know you still have another one in you,” he grins and climbs back on the bed. “Rotate, princess.”

He uses his hand to motion so you understand.

You flip your body so your head is now where your feet were.

“Move up,” Jason adds. He slowly follows you as your head inches closer to the edge. You stop when you’re at the end of the mattress.

You lean up on your elbows to look at him.

Jason shifts his eyes to Dick and raises his brows.

“You wanna join or watch?” Jason inquires.

Dick doesn’t need to be asked twice and undresses himself. He moves to stand behind your head, and it’s then you realize what’s about to happen. Your heart rate picks up in anxiousness, your walls clenching in anticipation.

“Just bite his dick if you want him to stop,” Jason jests and rubs your calves.

“Hey!” Dick huffs.

You smile, glad for the joke. You’re feeling more comfortable, but you still sense Dick’s hesitance. You’re unsure if it’s because he’s second-guessing this or if he’s nervous he might hurt you.

“Kidding,” Jason says. “If it gets too much, tap the bed twice.”

You nod.

Jason grins, bends over, and kisses you sweetly. He pulls away after a few seconds and leans back on his haunches.

“Lay back down and relax,” Jason says.

You do as he says. Your gaze meets Dick’s hardened cock hovering above your face.

“Touch him,” you hear Jason instruct.

You carefully reach up and take hold of Dick’s cock. He sucks in a breath.

You start rubbing your hand, but you need… Dick suddenly spits down, coating your fingers with his saliva. You spread it along his cock, then rub him again. Your hand glides smoother.

Jason’s hands travel up your legs to massage your sides, looking at your hands move. After a moment, he glides the tip of his dick along your wet folds a few times before rubbing his tip back and forth rapidly against your clit. Your legs try to close, but Jason halts them. You moan and whimper at the sensation.

Meanwhile, Dick starts thrusting shallowly in your hands. Precum seeps from his tip. With your thumb, you swipe it and use it to aid in your stroking.

Dick’s hips stutter at your action, a curse falling out of his mouth.

“Give him what he wants, baby,” Jason says, pausing his movements.

You lean up and kiss the underside of Dick’s tip. You trail the kisses downward until you reach the base, and then your tongue darts out to lick his balls lightly.

Dick’s breath quivers above you. He reaches down to your sides and gently tugs you closer to him so your head hangs off the edge of the mattress. You feel Jason shift closer; his hands start to rub your inner thighs.

With your head at a better angle, Dick adjusts his cock and nudges his tip against your mouth. Your lips part at his silent request, taking his head in your mouth.

You suck and swirl your tongue around his tip. One of your hands moves to his thigh. You pull him closer and he follows, dick pushing deeper in your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Dick gasps.

As if unable to stop himself, he starts moving his hips. Your other hand wraps around the part that’s not in your mouth, pumping slowly as you hollow your cheeks around his cock.

Jason squeezes your thighs and spits, smearing it over your entrance. Your mind is going crazy trying to split your focus.

Dick continues to move his hips carefully while Jason coats his tip with your arousal and his spit. Then, he gradually sinks inside. You moan around Dick’s cock, causing him to groan at the vibration.

Jason mutters a curse as your warm walls engulf his thick cock. He pulls out then pushes in again.

Both men move slowly as if not to hurt you. Your body shifts gently between them as they alternate thrusts. Dick pulls out a few times so you can breathe, but he never stays away for long. Jason progressively pumps his cock in your pussy until he bottoms out.

Your legs squeeze around Jason at the feeling.

“Doing so good, baby,” Jason coos. He stills for a moment before sliding almost all the way out, then sliding back in fully.

When Dick pushes farther and hits the back of your throat, you gag. Your hands grab his thighs, but you don’t push him away. Taking that as a green light, Dick continues his movements. The lewd squelching from Jason fucking your pussy combined with your small gags from Dick’s cock in your mouth has you needing more.

Your hips buck against Jason quickly, trying to get him to increase his speed. Jason takes the hint and gradually thrusts faster.

Jason’s quick pace pushes you against Dick harder, making you take Dick’s cock deeper. You sputter, but the feeling has a grip on Dick and instead of pulling away, he shifts forward until your lips are at his base.

You push against Dick’s thighs as a reflex, but your arms get pulled away. Jason pauses his movements.

“Breathe, princess. Show Dick how well you can take his cock,” Jason says gently.

You force yourself to calm down, relax, and breathe through your nose.

“That’s it,” Jason says and starts rolling his hips again.

“Such a good girl you got,” Dick murmurs. His hand comes down to graze your throat.

“Hm, isn’t she?” Jason hums with pride.

Dick slides out a bit then back in. There’s no doubt he’s watching the way his cock is moving in your throat.

He does this a few more times and then pulls out. He cradles your head as you cough and sit up slightly.

Jason smiles at you, slowing down, as Dick moves a piece of hair from your face.

“You okay?” Dick asks.

You glance up. He’s breathing a little heavier.

You nod and lie down again. You reach out for his thighs, pulling him toward you and taking his cock in your mouth again.

“Look at you,” Dick marvels, sliding his cock deep. “So eager for more.”

You hum around Dick and bob your head as best as you can, gagging every now and then.

Seeing you want more has Jason accelerating his speed once more. His skin slaps against yours, the sound filling the room.

You moan and let Jason’s thrusts push you against Dick.

Jason lifts your hips, making you arch your back and leaning your head back more.

“Shit, you look so pretty like this,” Jason grunts.

Your breasts bounce as both men push and pull from opposite ends. You feel so satisfied with both holes filled. It’s a new sensation you welcome with open arms.

Dick reaches down and squeezes your breasts a little roughly.

“Such a pretty little thing for us,” Dick says and pinches your nipples. He twists and lifts them slightly, letting the back-and-forth movement of your body aid in the sensation of your nipples being tugged in different directions.

You whine loudly at the feeling while your back arches more. There’s a mix of pain and pleasure from the action.

Dick chuckles above you; he releases your semi-sore nipples and soothes them with a rub.

“Feel good?” Dick asks with a faint smirk on his lips, pulling out of your mouth so you can respond.

“Y-Yes,” you reply, voice already a little hoarse.

Jason pulls out and suddenly flips you over. He moves back to give Dick space on the bed.

As Dick gets resituated, Jason pulls you against him. He turns your face and kisses you roughly. You gasp in his mouth, his action unexpected. You can tell he’s getting worked up with how fast he’s moving now.

“Want him to watch for a bit, yeah?” he says, but it’s not really a question.

Jason nudges your knees wider, positions his dick at your drenched hole, then thrusts up.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, hands coming up to grip his forearm that’s across your chest.

Jason fucks up into you hard. He’s no longer being careful since he doesn’t have to worry about you choking on Dick’s cock too much. In the back of your mind, you sense he’s doing this so Dick knows he’s not the only one who can make you feel good.

“S-Shit, Jay!” you cry, pushing your ass against him and taking what he’s giving you. His thick cock feels so good stretching your pussy.

“Look at him,” Jason says in your ear.

Although your eyes have been open, you weren’t registering what you were seeing. Your sight refocuses.

Dick’s on his haunches with a hand wrapped around his long cock. His eyes shift from your bouncing breasts to your face with your open mouth, to where Jason is pounding into you. It seems he doesn’t know where he wants to look.

“She feels so good around me,” Jason moans. “So fucking tight.”

Dick’s grip tightens around his cock, eyes shifting lower to watch Jason fuck you. It’s almost as if he’s imagining your walls squeezing around him, thinking just how tight you really are. You have a quick thought of what it might feel like to have both of them in between your legs.

“Jay,” your voice trembles, feeling your approaching orgasm.

Jason slows and pushes you down. Your face lands inches away from Dick’s cock. The aforementioned man wastes no time to move forward and guide his dick in your mouth again. His hands tangle in your hair, moving your head up and down at his will.

“Fuck, use your tongue just like that, Yn,” Dick pants when you wiggle the muscle against his shaft.

Jason picks up his pace, hands gripping your ass. Skin slapping, moans, and small gags fill your ears. The combination is filthy, but only arouses you more.

Dick stills your head but starts thrusting upwards instead. He moves with speed, and you have to force yourself to relax as he pushes down your throat repeatedly. His breathing gets heavier.

“Can I cum in your mouth?” Dick speaks fast through pants.

You hum a yes around his cock and keep your head down so he can use your throat.

Dick groans at your acceptance and increases his tempo. Your hand's fist into the sheets below, eyes filling with tears at Dick’s brutal pace.

Jason slows his movements as Dick fucks you roughly. His hands move to your hips and rub encouraging circles.

“Keep taking his cock, princess. You’re doing so well,” Jason says.

With Jason’s words, you push your face down lower until you’re taking Dick’s cock whole.

“Fuck yes, Yn. Feels so damn good. Just like that. Stay just like that,” Dick rambles as he nears his climax. He thrusts a few more times and then shoves his cock down your throat. You feel him twitch as he empties his load in your mouth, head thrown back.

Dick stays deep in your throat for a few long seconds before he carefully glides out. He sits back on the bed, chest still heaving from his high. You gasp for breath while looking up at him. His eyes drop to you, a smile forming on his lips. He reaches down to wipe the few tears off your cheeks.

“T-Thank you,” he murmurs.

You giggle and nod, then you feel Jason slam into you from behind. You jerk forward, eyes widening as you stare at Dick.

“My turn, baby. You gonna’ let me fill this pussy?” Jason asks and gives you another single thrust.

You look back and nod again, a needy whine emitting from your throat. “Need all of you.”

Jason smiles and starts gliding in and out.

You rest your cheek against the bed as he picks up his pace. Meanwhile, Dick’s hand runs through your hair smoothly.

Jason snaps his hips into yours. He’s quick to slide in but takes his time sliding out. The mix of speed and force has your mind clouding.

Your walls clench around Jason’s cock, loving the way he feels so big in your tight cunt. You can never get enough of this feeling. Each glide has your release building.

Jason’s hips rock into yours faster, and you have to force your legs to stay up so you don’t fall. However, Jason’s firm grip on your hips won’t let you fall anyways. You can tell he’s close by his rapid breaths and powerful thrusts.

“Fucking hell, baby, you,” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence.

You squeeze around him again, hands clutching the bed sheets harder at his rough pace. Your body jolts up and down the mattress because of him. Though thanks to Dick’s hand against your head, you don’t slide too far.

“Need to see you,” Jason huffs and pulls out. He swiftly flips you, pushes your legs near your chest, then shoves his cock back in your pussy.

You cry at the deep angle, head pushing back as Jason keeps the speed he was at.

Jason stares down as he breathes through his mouth. His hair sticks to his forehead, brows burrowed.

“So good,” you mumble in a daze, thoughts hazy. “’eep going… please.”

Jason nods. He pushes into you roughly a couple more times before he bottoms out, leaning over you more and forcing your hips to raise. A sound between a gasp and a yelp escapes your mouth. He’s so deep as he shoots his cum in your pussy, filling you.

Jason pants laboriously as he rides out his climax. He leans down and kisses you lazily. You smile into the kiss, hands coming up to the sides of his head. The kiss lasts a few more seconds, and then Jason slides out.

Before your hips fall, Jason shifts you so your back is against his chest. He hooks your legs over his, pulling them open and exposing your used cunt to Dick.

He moves one hand to one of your breasts and the other down to rub your clit. You gasp at the feeling and squeeze your legs against Jason’s.

Dick watches as Jason’s cum seeps from your spent hole. It begins to pool under you.

“Doesn’t she look so pretty filled with my cum?” Jason questions with a smirk.

Dick flickers his gaze to Jason, then down again. He seems to want to say something but bites it back. Instead, he reaches out to swirl his fingers in the mess between your legs. He parts your folds with his fingers, getting a better look at you pushing Jason’s cum out.

Dick scoops some of it on two fingers before plunging his digits into your entrance. You gasp, hips bucking. His lips twitch in a smile at your reaction, pumping his fingers faster. He soon adds a third.

Jason’s hands continue to massage your breast and circle your clit. With both men’s hands on you, your body begins to squirm.

Dick’s hand move fast, alternating between thrusting and jerking up and down.

Jason’s hand gets a little rougher as he pinches, rolls, and tugs on your nipple. His other hand between your legs moves faster to match Dick’s pace.

You whine and try to close your legs, but Jason keeps them firmly apart.

“I’m about—” you try to warn, but the knot snaps, cumming over both men’s hands. Your hips stutter and your muscles contract against Jason. Your eyes roll back as your chest heaves.

Dick and Jason continue their movements, steadily coming to a stop.

You lay still against Jason while you catch your breath. He kisses your head and carefully lays you back onto the pillows. You already feel sore in your throat and between your legs, but you wouldn’t trade this feeling. You feel exhausted, but so happy.

You watch with tired eyes as Dick climbs off the mattress. He gets dressed and then comes to the side of the bed. He tilts your face toward his.

“Thank you. I had a fun time,” he says sweetly.

You smile. “Thank you, and me too.”

Dick grins, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, then makes his way to the door. You watch as Jason and Dick exchange a respectful nod before Dick leaves.

Jason waits a minute before asking softly, “You okay?”

“More than okay,” you mumble.

“You’re not getting too attached to Dick now, are you?” he teases, but you know there’s a sliver of worry in his chest.

You shake your head, leaning up. “Never, Jay. I only ever want you.”

“You’re so good to me,” he sighs and kisses you fiercely. You can tell he’s putting all the thoughts he can’t form with words in the kiss. It makes your heart melt. If anything, you feel closer to Jason. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask after the kiss.

Jason grazes his fingertips along your skin. “I’m good.”

“Just good?” you pry. 

“As long as you’re not falling for Dick, I’m good.”

You raise a hand to his face. “You’ll forever be the only one who has my heart, Jason Todd. And I’m grateful you trust me, and Dick, to have experienced tonight. Did you not have fun?”

“I did,” he pauses as if debating his next thought. “Thought it was kinda hot seeing you take two cocks at once.”

Your body heats at remembering the feeling. You trail your hand from his face to his chest.

“Kinda?” you wonder.

Jason smiles and grabs your hand. He kisses your knuckles.

“Okay, it was really fucking hot,” he admits.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest. He laughs, wrapping his strong arms around your body.

“You getting shy on me now, princess?” he asks.

You don’t reply and nuzzle your head deeper. One of your legs drapes over his body, pressing yourself against him as if trying to disappear. The simple motion brushes your pussy against his dick and sends a shiver down your spine.

Jason must feel the same thing because he releases a shaky sigh. 

You’re both quiet as you think of what to do. Your body is spent, and your energy is low. However, the thought of Jason filling you up has another wave of lust circulating through you. 

“I want to feel you again,” you murmur. 

Jason lifts your face and connects your lips. It’s a languid kiss that still makes your heart race even after all these years.

He reaches down, covers his shaft with his cum from earlier, then aligns his cock with your hole and eases inside again.

Jason swallows the noise you make, continuing the kiss. He rocks his hips in a leisurely rhythm. 

You hold onto him tightly. You savor the taste of his tongue and the feeling of him inside you. Jason’s love for you is oozing from his pores, and you bask in it as he holds you equally as tight. 

You hope in your next life that you and Jason will find your way to each other again for you can’t ever imagine being with anyone else.

©️CHAOTIC-BIRDS // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[xerotiny]

Game Night Gone Wrong // Our Precious #2

Game Night Gone Wrong (Our precious series #2)

M.list ┃ Previous ┃Next

Warnings: smut, dom!yunho, soft dom!seonghwa, sub!reader, threesome, striptease, big dick yunho, masturbating, throat-fucking/blowjob, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation (Yunho's got a dirty mouth), praising/praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, pussy slapping (yikes), hair pulling and a lot of teasing.

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable with any of the mentioned tags. :) PS: this got too long, and I got too lazy to divide this into parts. PPS: the initial part of the smut might seem like it's nonconsensual, but it is completely consensual. Again, apologies for keeping this too long, don't let the word count intimidate you from the smutty goodness. ;)

Gist: you decide to make an appearance at this supposed game night Jongho was talking about. Unfortunately, you did not know how badly riled up you'd become after meeting his seven other flatmates which also includes Yunho; the man who sees it as a perfect opportunity to stay true to his word but there's someone else who also craves to touch you. Wait...is it only one person who's interested in you?

Word Count: 16,452

  Standing in front of the wooden door, the one moored with the numbers "405" in silver chrome, you're hesitant to raise your hand ring the doorbell. There you were, in front of Jongho's apartment, the one he shares with seven other men. The apparent loft was located a little farther from the university, situated on the east side of the city where the streets are abuzz. You've been to this part of the town, the quiet by day and busy by night kinda place—this area has a lot of interesting spots, one of them being Jongho's loft where eight people are residing.

Tiny tremors have already taken up the space under your skin, demurring your sense of self to the awaiting incredulity on the other side of the door. You take a deep breath in, letting out with a feigned smile as you bring out your phone to text the only man you knew inside. Technically, two of them. Your phone buzzes in your hand, even before you could send a text to your friend; having received a text, which reads 'are you coming over?' from Yunho, you brace yourself and heave out another sigh.

"Here goes nothing," you mumble to yourself, dipping your finger against the elevated button as a mellow ding rings inside, loud and clear, however.

You could hear muffled whispers coming from the other side. Anticipation had numbed a part of you, shattering the reality when the locks click, and the door flings open inside. The man who stood there was staring at you with a small smile, comforting. Though, you could only focus on how well-mannered he seemed, even from his body language—he was gorgeous.

He ushers you in, "oh, you must be Angel. I didn't expect you to be this early, actually."

"Jongho gave me the time..." you trail.

"Ah, then I believe he must've mixed up some of his timings. I apologise on his behalf."

"It's fine, to be honest."

You shrug and step inside; the vestibule has a shoe rack to the side, housing house slippers and other accessories. There's a coat rack right beside it where the ebony haired man hangs your coat after asking you to hand it to him. He picks out a pair of house slippers for you to wear, laying them on the floor as you take your time slipping out of your boots and into them. As he leads you further inside the loft, you notice everything about the place—even the man in front of you. His back faced you as you strode in, but you could gauge him to be as tall as Yunho, maybe a few inches shorter but that didn't matter much. He was clad in a beige dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top to expose bit of his tanned skin and pairing the shirt with dark brown pants. The ruly strands of his hair were permed, and framed his face neatly, even though a few of it laid flat on his forehead.

The narrow hallway leads you to the living room from the vestibule, where you find three men lounging leisurely on the couch and the floor. The living room was minimally decorated with the centre space being occupied by the couch and two chairs seemingly from the same set, a wooden coffee table was situated in front of the couch and a long cabinet was placed behind the couch. On top of the cabinet were few glass showpieces and magazines strewn on about, not making it seem crowded; your eyes stray past it and to the long sliding doors at the back, aligned in the same lines of the cabinet. The doors opened to a small balcony apparently, but the curtains were draped over to give you any sight of the evening outside. There was no television in the living room but oddly enough there were set of three hallways which ran along three different directions. You wondered where those took you to, even more so, you wondered how huge this loft actually was if it was housing eight people.

You focus back on the men, two of them were seated on the couch, close together and the other one sat down, between the couch and the coffee table, leaning against the couch as he scrolled through his phone. One of the two sitting on the couch has a broad yet teasing smile on his face, as he mumbles softly at the person to his right and the person to his right...he was actually breathtaking—he didn't try to hide the annoyance on his face as the other teased him on. However, the one sitting down on the floor was a little too lost in his world to even acknowledge your presence. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you played along anyway.

"Guys, Angel's here." The man leading you announces, capturing the attention of the others. "Be nice to her."

His warning tone makes the other three scoff, but unbothered by their response, he turns to you and offers you an even wider smile. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get you something to drink..."

He's two steps ahead of you but then swivels on his heels and murmurs awkwardly, "I'm Seonghwa. If you need anything else, just let me know."

With that he's off, sauntering down another hallway to the right, merging with the open spaced kitchen. You take another deep breath, rummaging your eyes through the scene in front of you. The teasing guy has his hair pulled back in a half ponytail, a few streaks of blond stitched in between his black hair; he seems smug, and defiant, probably a delinquent.

"Hi," he initiates, a lazy smile on his face. "Come on, take a seat."

He shifts on the couch, purposely sliding closer to the man onto his right, as to make space for you on his left. "Only the best seat in Wooyoung's house for a pretty woman like you."

Listening to him, the other one scoffs, "tone down on your confidence, Woo."

"Flirting is all about confidence, Sangie," he keeps his teasing tone low and pinches the man's cheeks. "Right, Angel?"

"Uhhh..."

"Please ignore him, he's a little straightforward and hasn't learnt how to speak to women properly," the said man rolls his eyes, "on a serious note, please sit anywhere but next to him."

"Ugh, you always treat me like a sick joke..." Wooyoung sighs, dramatically throwing himself off to the other side of the couch. "I'm nothing but a man with a good heart."

"Your exes say otherwise, but okay."

As the two continue back and forth with their unsolicited burns and remarks, you decide to make yourself comfortable on the chair adjacent to the couch, seemingly belonging to the set of the seating arrangement. Two pair of eyes follow you as you sit down and pull the hem of your skirt down in an attempt to cover whatever it could. You were slightly regretting your dressing choices; you wore a black skirt which rode upto your mid thighs and paired it with a red crop top which was tucked in your skirt. Going a little overboard, you even wore thigh high socks, ending an inch below the skirt. You didn't bother with makeup and kept it light, having only applied light blush and peachy eyeshadow, and gloss on your lips.

The third man was least interested in meeting you or even getting the introductions started. You noticed how buff he was, not much compared to the man sitting on the couch right above him; but he was toned in places a man should be, and regrettably, his body was mostly hidden behind an oversized cloak of red sweatshirt and baggy sweats. Wooyoung had a casual approach to his outfit, wearing a black jacket with its zipper pulled all the way down till the middle of his chest, revealing a simple white graphic tee under it complementing the outfit with baggy sweatpants; on the other hand, the man next to him, having awe-inspiring features and a body worth drooling on, has black hair growing out till his shoulders, wore a black woven cardigan and a black tank top underneath, with black jogger shorts. Black was his shade, since his skin was stark and as fair as the snow, like Yunho.

"Jongho talks a lot about you," Wooyoung begins, grinning. "It's nice to meet you in person, finally. Name's Wooyoung and this is Yeosang, don't pay him any mind, he's a little vapid. And umm, that's Mingi. Hey, Mingi, why don't you introduce yourself."

He nods to the man sitting on the floor, who then actually takes a little effort to glance your way. Mingi grunts in return for your dazed smile, which already tells you that it's going to be hard to get along with him.

"Mingi, that's rude," Seonghwa chimes, keeping a smile on his face as he emerges out of the hallway with a tray of drinks in his hand, "introduce yourself properly."

The latter takes it as a warning and clears his throat, "Mingi, Song Mingi." he eyes you for a second before turning to Seonghwa, "that's the best you'd get from of me."

Seonghwa sighs, placing the tray of drinks on the coffee table and urging you to pick a glass, "I really apologise for his behaviour, but have a drink and try not to pay him any heed."

You reflect back with a smile and pick a glass filled with cola, "thank you."

"So, you're in Jongho's department, right?" Seonghwa asks, sitting next to Wooyoung. "We've heard a lot about you from him, actually. He's always gushing about you and how much he likes to hang out with you."

Okay, you didn't know the latter of that.

"I really didn't know that..." you mumble, taking a sip of cola. "We're friends. Right. We share same subject groups so, he's my only friend, to be honest. And he's enough so I didn't bother making any more friends."

"Hey, now you have us!" Wooyoung cheers, "any friend of Jongho's is our friend."

"Calm down, Wooyoung," Yeosang rolls his eyes, "for the better part of it, I'll have to agree with him. From now on, we're your friends too. So, don't hesitate."

Seonghwa chirps, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he talks, "you're in your sophomore year, right?

"Final semester," you mutter, "in few months I'll be in my junior year. Just as Jongho."

Seonghwa nods, "I hope you're not feeling uncomfortable with us; all these unfamiliar faces..."

"I'm good, actually." You reassure and Wooyoung adds, "I think I have seen you around the campus, so not an unfamiliar face to take a sight of—maybe you've seen me around too, I am a culinary major."

Even though you wouldn't admit it to yourself, or them, you had long forgotten about the awkwardness without Jongho being here. And, deeming Wooyoung as a culinary major was something you probably never even considered in your wildest dreams. One by one, after Wooyoung's little introduction, the others take his lead and talk about themselves.

"I'm a college dropout," Yeosang begins, "and now I'm a freelancer. I mostly do graphic design and illustration."

You nod, intently listening to them.

"I graduated last year." Seonghwa says, "now, I work full time as a software designer for a small startup company."

Intriguing.

There was something about Seonghwa you found alluringly interesting, like maybe it was the way he spoke to you, or the way he engaged with the other guys. Expectantly, you glance over at Mingi, hoping, he too, would have something to say or add to the discussion. Everyone's eyes are on him, expecting.

Mingi croons his neck up to meet your eyes, and he sighs, "I'm a dance major and I graduate soon."

So... similar to Yunho?

You see him lock his phone and stuff it into the pocket of his sweatpants, not uttering a word further; Seonghwa clears his throat and casts a longing gaze at the front door.

"Others will be here soon," he says, grabbing a glass of sprite from the tray. "I actually sent Jongho and San out to get us some beers, there's only one six pack left in the fridge. And I also did not expect you to come early." he was informing you of Jongho's whereabouts, "Hongjoong and Yunho are usually the late ones because of their work."

At the mention of Yunho, your stomach lurches and your mind recalls to the night you two had lost yourself in the heat of the moment—you were hiding it pretty well, at least, you thought you were. There's nothing trapped between your teeth, there's no evident clues to that night for anyone to know; let alone anyone would doubt you two had interacted before. Though, your heart claims to have an intense anticipation for this night to unfold, considering Yunho had warned you that he would fuck you senseless if you showed up tonight. And here you were...

"Beer gets us going," Wooyoung comments, eyeing Yeosang. "But this one needs wine."

"How is that relevant in this context?" the latter deadpans, causing Mingi to chuckle softly, "he's intending to say you've got an expensive taste, Sangie."

Yeosang pouts, "wine tastes better than beer."

"I'd drink to that," Seonghwa laughs along, raising his glass and looking at you, "I hope you're not a lightweight. Unless you don't drink at all."

"I do. Occasionally." you grimace at the memory sitting far back in your head, the first time you drank alcohol (beer) wasn't really worth it. "I am not so fond of alcohol, though. Who says you need to have alcohol to have fun?"

"I do," Wooyoung deadpans.

"No one asked you—"

Yeosang grows silent in his words upon hearing the lock to the front door rattle; soon, it's being pushed inside with a heavy voice—which you could never forget—grumbling to someone. The first person to walk in the living room is a blue haired man, a lot shorter than Yunho, carrying a leather laptop bag and a roll of red fabric in his hand. He somehow manages to stumble across the floor to the long dining table in front of the kitchen—dumping the stuff on top of the table, he slumps himself on the chair and sighs. Yunho is the second person to walk inside, followed by Jongho and other man with sharp eyes and features.

"I told you that man was weird!" the one with sharp eyes groans, and Yunho sighs, "but you didn't have to say that right to his face, did you now, Sannie?"

"If we hadn't made a sound, it would've gotten weirder," Jongho adds, walking in with a couple of polythene bags crinkling in his hands.

"He almost licked my neck!" the other—apparently named Sannie or to your understanding, San as Seonghwa mentioned it before, groans, "that's why I never take the elevator."

"I only suggested 'cause we had stuff to carry." Jongho raises his hands to show him the bags he carried in them. "I didn't think Mr. Yoshida would follow us in."

"Guys, drop it," the blue haired man tuts from the table, raising his head to meet your eyes, "we've got a guest, might as well show her a little respect."

He smiles at you before getting up from his chair; and that's when the others' heads turn toward you. Jongho grins wide, Yunho smirks, and San appears to have wide eyes and rounded lips, confused as if.

"Angel!" Jongho squeals, taking tiny hop-like steps toward you; his arms open wide as to hug you.

Placing your glass back on the tray, you find yourself rushing to him to get his hug. You round the coffee table from the other side as Mingi sat still on the couch's side and scoffed at your excitement to hug your friend. You and him are going to have problems getting along if you ever decide to hang out with the guys in the future. Seamlessly, you wrap your arms around Jongho's chest as he somehow manages to return the embrace with the bags in his hands.

"You made it!" he mumbles, pulling back.

"She was early," Seonghwa quips, getting up from the couch and heading to the kitchen. "You gave her the wrong time, baby bear."

"Hmm, I really apologise," he pouts, backing away from you and eventually tiptoeing to the kitchen, you follow him, a smile on your face.

"It's okay, baby bear," you tease him only to get a reaction out of him. And he groans, "that name isn't sticking. Please."

You shake your head, as you lean over the kitchen island and watch him place the bags on top of it. The polythene bags crinkle as he keeps them down and proceeds to take out their contents; there's chinese takeout in two of the bags, and the other one had a six pack. You're about to initiate a conversation with Jongho until you're interrupted by a sleek yet hoarse voice.

"So, you're Angel..." a soft voice resounds from behind you and when you turn, you find the blue haired man smiling at you, "I'm Hongjoong and I believe you've heard this from everyone here, but Jongho can't shut up about you."

You glance at Jongho. "Awww..."

"Ahhh, please. Stop it!" he whines louder, blushing.

"What? It's the truth." Hongjoong grins, "I'll freshen up while the others set up everything. Usually our game nights happen much later in the night. We made an exception for you 'cause this one's been nagging us for days now about inviting you."

He offers you a gentle smile before disappearing down the hallway leading to the left of the kitchen; his stringent yet relaxed posture had an imposed meaning behind his personality. From the way body language seemed more pronounced in the royal blue suit he adorned himself in and the way he hushed others, you could tell he was a domineering man. Someone whose authoritativeness would bring any woman down to her knees—you were thinking too much. Or were you really?

The desolate kitchen is rejoiced with Seonghwa's harmless little scolds directed at Jongho, but before you could comprehend any of their tiff, an arm snakes around your waist, with a presence warming up your side.

"Hey, Angel," his deep voice was like nectar, dripping in your ears and snaring your mind to his will. "Glad you could make it. Good choice. Good decision. And good thinking..." his words trail off to a whisper as he leans near your ear, "...but keeping my word—oh wait—keeping my promise, I'm going to keep you to myself for this night. I hope you're prepared for that."

His arm skims down your waist, fingers fluttering below and under your skirt as his tickling touches caress your inner thighs. That's it. He doesn't inch his hand closer to your aroused cunt; you were wet, you knew—his words were riling you up with every ounce of strength in them. In retrospect, you were playing out the night in your head where he'd be fucking you the way he wants to, the way he promises to.

Clasping your bottom lip with your teeth, you try to squeeze your thighs, to get that extra little friction to feel something (at least). Though, it had slipped your mind that his hand was still holding onto one of your thighs; catching up on your intentions, he lightly smacks your inner thigh and draws out a yelp from your lips. Your cunt clenches around nothing, feeling the heated rumble in your chest and the exasperated urge to have him stuffed in you.

The sound you let out attracted the squabbling pair; they cast their eyes on you, weary and dubious, silently judging the interaction between you two. You could call it your luck, but the two weren't able to get a view of what was happening behind the kitchen island.

"Are you alright, Angel?" Yunho feigns his concern, taking a small step away from you.

"Feeling under the weather?" Jongho urges, lips pouting slightly. "Do you want to leave...?"

"I'm okay," you voice out, taking a deep breath. "Yunho was talking about how peaches bruise easily and I just happened to gasp, dramatically."

"No double entendres, right Yun?" Seonghwa jokes and Yunho nods his head, "really, nothing of the sort. Just a casual conversation."

He clears his throat, "By any means, I'll take your leave. I need to freshen up and change my clothes. Jongho, go help the others set the living room."

With a ribbing curve stretching on his lips, Yunho excuses himself and saunters away from you down the hallway on the right. The moment he's out of your eyesight, Jongho slides next to you, purposely bumping into your hips as he does. Meanwhile, Seonghwa picks out the takeout containers and other necessities before leaving the two of you in the kitchen.

"Angel," Jongho murmurs, "are you trying to impress someone."

He's smug.

You shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes as he leans over to taunt you. "Shut up! Why would I need to impress any of your flatmates?"

"The way you're dressed, I guess," he shrugs, staring at you from top to bottom, "thigh high socks, that skirt, that top. Modest make-up. You wouldn't take this much effort if you weren't trying to impress someone."

"Hmm...so, who is it?" he nudges your arm, his lips pressed together—a line struck with jealousy, probably.

"Jongho, you're getting the wrong idea, why would I really want to impress any of the guys I barely know?" You pout, glancing at him for a hot second before reverting back to staring down at your fingers as you tapped them away on the island counter.

"I don't know, for starters they're all good looking." he turns on his feet and leans against the countertop, "maybe you're seeking out a relationship with someone. Either it's been too long since you've gotten laid or someone here has intrigued you enough to date them."

"Jongho..."

He interrupts, "is it Yunho?"

"What?"

"Do you like Yu—"

"—living room has been...am I interrupting something?" Seonghwa questions, stopping a few steps short from the two of you.

"Oh, it's nothing," Jongho murmurs, sounding a little bitter. "We were discussing a few things related to our classes."

Seonghwa nods and you stifle a silly whine, the stupefying urge to confront Jongho about his nonchalant sneer at your outfit. The older picks up a few more things from the kitchen before heading out; two of you follow him to the living room, with Jongho not uttering a single word. Sighing to yourself, you find the coffee table in the living room was pushed to a side, leaving the centre carpeted space to be occupied. Others were already sitting in a circle, eating out of the Chinese takeout containers —you lurk behind a little as the sitting arrangements played out. Jongho clears his throat and sits next to Mingi, leaning back against the couch where Seonghwa makes himself comfortable. Wooyoung, Yeosang and San, they sat opposite to the couch, slumping themselves against the coffee table as support.

You take a deep breath, put on a frail smile as you sit down next to San on the lush and soft carpet; the man offers you a dimpled smile and hands you a takeout container along with chopsticks and a bottle of beer. Helplessly, you eye Jongho from the corner of your vision, as he too starts guzzling down food from his own container. Sitting next to Jongho would have made either of you uncomfortable since the harmless squabble between you two had been left unresolved. You were doing it out of spite, however.

"So, what are we playing tonight?" Yeosang pipes in, gazing around and pointing his stained chopsticks at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa shrugs, "we'll keep it light. Nothing which strains Angel's ease or brings her discomfort."

"Damn," Wooyoung winces, "I was about suggest strip-uno."

San rolls his eyes, glaring at the said man—slowly chewing the bite of chicken in his mouth, "I sometimes wonder how your brain functions."

"It probably doesn't," Jongho adds, earning a whine from the latter. "Suggest something else."

"How about strip-monopoly?" Wooyoung suggests, eyebrow twitching in a goading manner.

"Anything which has strip in it will be rebuked; so, something else has to work," Seonghwa utters with annoyance, fixing himself a container of noodles.

"To be fair, I don't have any problem playing 'strip' games," you shyly enunciate, not meeting anyone's gazes on you. "In all honesty, it sounds fun. And what's the worst that could happen?"

You were joking. In your mind you were considering all worst possible scenarios where things could wrong; you could be taken advantage of and made to strip all the way, you could lose the remaining of your dignity to Yunho in case you go all bare, or—there's no or here, it's too risky to play these games with them.

"We understand your perspective, darling. But we're men and for a woman to engage herself in those kind of games with us is both unethical and unfair," Hongjoong's voice gushes through, offering your spine a dainty tingle. "We will keep it light, and hearty, as Seonghwa said."

He has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black sweatpants; on top he wears a tank top, exposing his defined arms, not too buff or too lean. The deep cut on his neckline gives you a small glimpse of his chest, eventually delighting you with an accidental nip-slip. It happens again as he carefully sits next to Seonghwa, making sure he doesn't hurt Jongho or Mingi who were leaning against the front of the couch. He runs his hand through his freshly washed hair, sighing out a string of incoherent words as he glances at the man next to him. Seonghwa is quick enough to hand him his share food and as he eats, his eyes occasionally fleet over to you.

"If you bend the rules of your game night for me, then how is that fair and ethical?" you tilt your head to a side, pouting at him. "I'm comfortable with whatever, so I think we should not waste any more time."

Seonghwa chuckles and Hongjoong breaks out into a mischievous smile, keeping his stare on you. "Alright then, we'll play strip-uno as Wooyoung initially suggested."

Darkness swirled in Hongjoong's eyes, the kind of ambiguity which dominates—something like the predator forcing its prey into submission. You were weak already, staring and catching up on the minute details sketched in his eyes, and his lips. Hongjoong had an authority, a commanding aura which could force any one into submission. You were no stranger to these kind of men, and for some reason, you were hella attracted to them.

"Sure," Wooyoung sleazes, smirking. He keeps the takeout to a side, and leans back onto the coffee table to grab what seems to be a deck of cards. "I had already picked these out. And to explain the rules," he trails off, eyeing everyone and shuffling the cards. "Don't worry, Angel. They're quite easy to understand."

Hongjoong begins, "there are less severe penalties for when you fail to match the colour of the cards in the discard pile, or when you draw a card from the draw pile."

"There's a strip penalty when the person before you throws a draw two or draw four in," San says from next to you, "you have to take a shot when you get a wild card from the person before you. And as Hongjoong said, the less severe penalties are truth or dare, and kiss a player, with tongue."

You reel back, repeating his words in your mind, "kiss a player, you guys are okay kissing each other?"

"I've frenched all of them if you're wondering, except for Yunho because I'm not his 'type'." Wooyoung says, passing two bottles of beer to Seonghwa and Hongjoong, "besides, we all have different sexual preferences. It doesn't matter to us."

You nod along, noticing how quiet Mingi had been from the start. He has a problem with you, doesn't he? You heave out a sigh and grin, "alrighty. I understood the rules, so can we start?"

"Aww, are you forgetting about me, Angel?" Yunho's voice ridicules you, followed by his footsteps as he sits next to you. "I'm hurt," he pouts, taking his food container from San as Wooyoung passes it to him. "I'm devastated, really. I hold no significance to you, do I?"

You look at him, cheeks heating up instantly when you catch him staring back at you smugly; the outfit he changed into was far more fitting to his personality than the one he had before. He was wearing a matching red hoodie with Mingi, and black jogger shorts. You notice how well his blue hair contrasted with the hoodie, finding it cute the way some of his strands kissed the collars and hid beneath the hood. His skin was flushed, yet as fair as snow—and his scent was driving you wild. A miasma of musk, cinnamon and vanilla. You were losing your mind sitting next to him.

Though, when you come back to your senses, you realise he's being dramatic. Overly dramatic. You roll your eyes and continue eating, shaking your head as a sly smile stretches your lips. Jongho catches up on your interaction with him, side eyeing you while acknowledging nothing.

"There's too many of you, it's hard to keep up with everyone," you snide at Yunho, your smirk widening. "So, excuse me if I tend to forget 'bout some of you."

"Oh Angel, I'm quite unforgettable, you know," Yunho jeers, sneakily pinching your waist. He leans closer to your ear, whispering under his breath, "but sadly you'll have to wait the night until I show how you much of an exceptional man I am."

"Keep dreaming..." you lean toward him and murmur, "you're really confident in your skills, aren't you? Can't wait to prove you wrong."

"I think I've already proven myself to you the night you—"

"—ahem. I think we should start with the game." Mingi clears his throat, purposely keeping it loud enough for the two of you to pull apart. "I don't know about Yunho, but I've got an early class tomorrow."

"Oh come on, Mingi," Yunho whines, "I'm making a benign effort to be friends with Angel. She seems cool."

Jongho begins, rolling his eyes, "oh, she is. I've already narrated of her tales to you."

Was he sarcastic? You couldn't tell.

Hongjoong sighs, his voice booming, "enough, I can't go on a day without either of you jabbering at each other." Staring at Wooyoung, he calls out, "just deal the cards, Woo."

Soon the cards are dealt and each of you receive seven cards; the games go on, filled with whines, groans, cheers and derisive comments. In the first few rounds, you lose your socks, lucky. Jongho loses his sweatshirt, but he wore a full sleeved shirt under it; Wooyoung was only in his boxers, and you knew Yeosang and Mingi had it planned all along. San, Seonghwa and Hongjoong were borderline drunk to the number of shots they were forced to take. Mingi and Yunho were fully dressed, and neither too drunk because of the shots—although Yunho kept leaning over to your side to whisper filthy things in your ear. You were mostly on guard against him, praying to your own soul to keep San from listening to any of his coquettish remarks.

The current round you were stuck in was supposedly the last round of the night according to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Surprisingly, everyone agreed to their judgement and no one riposted against them. It shows how influential those two were, and you found that extremely hot. You had two cards in your hand, all of them predicting your victory—that is only if San doesn't snitch on you and makes it hard for you to win. In all likelihood, everyone around you wants you to lose, that's how the game works.

You hold your breath, watching San take his turn after Wooyoung, and all hell comes crashing down onto you when he flicks a draw two on the discarded pile.

Oh no.

You have to strip.

He was saving his best card for the last, which makes his attempt at drawing more cards have a lot more sense. You sigh, dropping your cards down and slouching your shoulders.

"Strip, Angel," Yunho rejoices, nudging your shoulder with his.

"Yes, strip, strip, strip, strip..." Wooyoung chants and the others follow him, except for Mingi, Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

Seonghwa clears his throat, silencing everyone. "You don't have to if you're uncomfortable, Angel."

You shake your head, all the alcohol (especially, the vodka and beer) buzzing in your mind and coerced you to do the unthinkable. You find the hem of your crop top, fingers pinching at the very edge; with a ribald smile on your face, you pull your top over your head and fling it across towards Jongho. He catches it in one of his hands, as his other hand held onto a bottle of beer. These were the consequences of you not keeping a count of how many beers you had guzzled while playing and interacting with San. If your hazy memory serves you right, then San is a bartender and thanks to him showing you how to drink beer and vodka, you were woozy.

Some of the guys whistle at your exposed chest, while some avert their eyes and cover them with the palm of their hand. Yunho wasn't one of the guys to turn a blind eye on you; he stared. Being taller than you gave him an advantage at peeking over your shoulder and since you were slouched, the cups of your bra dangled slightly off—exposing a lot of your deal than you thought. He gulped lightly upon drinking in your curves, and the way your lacy bra hugged your tits—he was drooling at the sight, imagining what it would be like to grope and hold them. They actually seemed perfect for his hands—perfect to knead and suck.

"Angel is a wild one," Wooyoung mumbles lowly, looking away in haste as he realises he had been staring. "Wilder than me, to be honest."

"What?" you shrug, "a draw two means strip. I stripped."

"Yes, but we didn't think you'd actually do it," Jongho hisses through his gritted teeth, crawling the space across to drape his sweatshirt over you.

To your undivided attention, and bewilderment, Jongho belonged to the ones who were caught staring at you; which also included San, and Mingi.

Yunho clicks his tongue, "I certainly did not expect that, certainly did not."

Jongho scoffs at Yunho's reaction and returns back to his place, "no one expected that."

You pout, tugging the ends of Jongho's sweatshirt over your head to cover yourself. "It was fun, though."

You were starting to think it was alcohol talking in your stead.

"Alright, alright," Hongjoong draws everyone's attention, even yours, "like I said, this was supposedly the last round, so let's call it a night. And, Angel," he pauses, perusing your tipsy face, "I think you should stay the night, you're inebriate, regardless not a lot to misguide yourself to your dorm room alone at night. But it's not safe for you to leave in your current state of mind. So, please spend the night here."

You wanted to protest, but then you realised you stayed outside way past the timings of your dormitories, meaning, you'll have to spend the night here and somehow manage to sneak in tomorrow morning.

"Okay..." you nod.

Seonghwa adds, "you can sleep in my bedroom, it has a joint bathroom. Plus it is spacious and has a comfortable bed." he gets up from the couch, keeping his empty bottle of beer down on the carpet, "come on, I'll show you to my room."

You nod again, stumbling up on your feet as you take small strides toward him.

"Okay, whose duty is it to clean tonight?" you hear Hongjoong ask, followed by Mingi's and San's groans. He continues, "clean up before you go to bed, lads. Good night."

A couple of whines resound from behind you as Seonghwa leads you down the hallway to his bedroom. The wooden door has a board hung on it, which reads 'do not disturb' with a much tinier font written below it, 'knock twice in case of emergency'. It makes you wonder of the shenanigans which have occurred in this house. The wooden door opens smoothly inside and you're ushered inside a very neat and clean room.

"I did not get much time to clean around after coming back from work," he apologises, leading you further in.

You did not understand why he was apologising, his room was spotless with no unnecessary mess around. Rummaging your curious eyes through his room, you notice a lot of things; there's a window on the wall opposite to the entrance overlooking the Main Street, a queen size bed was pushed to the side of the room, and right below the window was a small desk with his MacBook on top alongside few other things arranged in a precise order. As said, there was a door to the left, where the bathroom was situated. Overall, the room was elegant with debonair decorations and furniture—nothing about it foretold you it was a man's room.

"To be fair, I'd be put to shame if you saw my dorm room." Muttering under your breath, you slump on the bed and watch Seonghwa's lips twitch into a smile.

"It's okay," he whispers, heading to his closet, which was adjacently placed to the bed. "I understand, you're a full time college student—trust me, my room used to be a mess too. It can't be that bad. Right?"

You grumble and throw yourself back on the mattress, it sinks to your weight and relaxes every muscle of your body. "I think I should call you over sometime. You could see it for yourself. Maybe, help me clean."

"Wouldn't mind that," he chuckles, his footsteps receding to you. "Here, change into something comfortable."

Sitting up straighter, you watch him hand you an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. "There was no need for this."

"And there is no need for your formalities," he offers you a toothy grin. "Sleep wearing something light. I don't think your current outfit is all that comfortable."

"Alright." you mumble, waiting for him to take your leave before you could change.

"Sleep well," he sings, his smile crinkling the corner of his eyes as he does.

Turning on his heel he's almost out through the door when you ask, "where will you be sleeping? The couch? I'm sorry for that..."

"Couch? No. That place is a little ill-at-ease," he laughs, "but, I'll be sleeping with Hongjoong, he's got a bigger bed. And, you don't have to be sorry. What kind of men we'd be if we let you go to your dorms at the dead of night. Right? It's better if you stay and leave in the morning, I'll have Jongho or someone drop you off."

You nod along, butterflies in your stomach coming alive to his words. Chivalry wasn't dead, after all. But the thought of you spending the night here, with Yunho fixated on fucking you, might be the most exhilarating thing ever. Although, you were starting to catch those same fuzzy feelings for Seonghwa—thinking about the kind of man he'd be in bed. The sweet one, showering you with praises, being a soft dom, and all other things which you shouldn't be thinking about him.

"Good night, Angel."

He snaps you out of your dreams, bringing you to the reality.

"Good night, Seonghwa."

A smile fleets behind on your face when he leaves. The door closes with a soft thud, and you sigh, preparing yourself to change into the clothes he gave you. Quickly, you slip out of clothes and into the oversized shirt; for some reason you didn't feel the need to wear the shorts. Actually, the reasons were pretty obvious. Folding your clothes, you keep them on the desk and lay back in the bed. You heave out another breath and decide to surf through the internet, checking your socials, and other things. You're too dazed reading your department's group chat to even hear the sound of a knock on your door for the first time. When the knocks sound for the second time, even louder than before, you flinch and your phone slips off your grip; rolling your eyes as your heart tries to compose itself from the little jumpscare, you hop off the bed and saunter to the door to answer it.

You open the door a slit, only for it to be pushed aside by a burly man to make his way in. It was Yunho, you knew it from the all-too-familiar sounding grunt as you're pushed against the door in a blink of an eye. Trapped, he places one hand on your waist and the other next to your face, pressing his body with yours and forcing you back into the door.

"I told you, didn't I?" he murmurs leaning in, his breath tickles your face as he continues, "I said I'd be true to my words and here I am."

You close your eyes for a hot second, wanting to compose the fire flamed in your heart by his words; most precisely, by his darkened eyes staring right into your soul.

"Never doubted you," you grin, sliding your hands along his back and to his neck. Wrapping them around, you pull yourself close, your lips hovering a few whispers from his. "But the thing is, are you going to do what you intended on doing from the moment we started this, with all your flatmates around? Aren't you worried they might hear us?"

"I couldn't care any less about them," he smirks, brushing his lips against yours, "are you trying to get out of this? You were the one to start it, princess."

His voice is low, as he continues, "the shameless teasing with this raunchy outfit and the stripping, plus the unwanted provocation...do I need to say anything more?"

Shaking your head, you nudge your lips to touch his; he was taken off guard at first, but the moment he realised what you were doing, he grew wild. An untamed kiss broke out between you two, lips lapping and sucking in an unquenched desire. Both of his hands tug at your waist, causing your shirt to lift up slightly.

He mumbles against your lips but doesn't break the kiss. "Only a tee? God, you are such a tease."

And he's diving back into the kiss. It started off so innocent with only a mere touch, delicate yet hungry in way; but you didn't think it'd escalate so quickly into a pining war between your tongues. His warm tongue rubbed with yours, tackling it down to reach down your throat. You moan, not only because of the fact that his tongue was indisputably plunging down your throat, but also because he had traced one of his hands down your waist to the dainty band of your panties. Feeling him smirk against your lips, your stomach ties itself in a knot, realising he was about to something very odious to arouse you. Though, the kiss had already made you wet, your slick soaking into your panties.

One finger slips past the waistband, softly snapping it as he drags to your wet slit; you were melting in the heat his mouth offered, his tongue showing no signs of stopping at what it was doing. You were breathless, you wanted air, you wanted to breathe and peruse his flushed face. Seemingly suffocating, you tilt your head slightly behind to take a deep breath, your lungs filling in with much needed air—while he shows you his conceited smile, his eyes half-lidded from the pleasure he got after abusing your mouth.

"Tired already?" he bites his lower lip, rubbing his long finger along your slit and you moan, not registering what he says next. "This is just the beginning, princess."

He buries his head in your neck, lips scattering kitten like kisses on your skin and trailing further down your collarbones. The yearning was taking you to a different level of desperate, his ravenous touches were working so well to rile you up and you were so sure you could come undone with only his middle finger thrusting into your cunt. In your hazy mind you were lost, closing your eyes, you throw your head back against the door and try to breathe normally—because his sleek finger was stroking your slit vigorously.

This was maddening. And you weren't holding back. "Fuck, Yunho...just fuck me already. Please."

You whimper as the walls of your cunt clench around nothing in utter torment while his middle finger only caressed your slit and nothing else.

"No, princess. Nuh-uh," he hisses, now pressing his thumb on your clit and moving it in a circular motion. "Not so fast. You won't be getting anything more than this—fuck—fuck—" he grunts in his own anguish, "—a dirty slut like you should be punished for wanting everyone's attention on you. Isn't that—fuck, isn't that why you took your top off, hmm? For everyone to fucking take a look, for them to drool on your perky little tits."

You whine, stuttering, "no—no—I only—I only did it because—because those were the rules—fuck, Yunho...just, please—please..."

Mind fogging with unlikely possibilities of him actually giving it to you, made your tongue heavy. You couldn't form sentences in your head, let alone voice them for yourself.

"So, so, so hopeless."

Yunho clicks his tongue, using his other hand to lift the loosely hanging tee up to your chest; his hand quickly cups one of your tits and eventually, he's groping it with his fingers digging in your flesh. His mouth sucks beautiful bruises along your neck, while his finger and thumb keep working on your wet cunt.

"God, I caught Jongho and Mingi staring at these taut little things," he murmurs, licking your skin as he keeps sucking purple bruises, "and I gotta say, I wasn't too fond of it—fond of their eyes lurking anywhere near you. Just thinking about it—ugh—can't even get myself to think about it."

"I didn't—" you groan, "—I didn't think you'd be the jealous type—fuck!"

All air is knocked out of your lungs as soon as he lets his middle finger slip into your cunt; your walls squelch, causing more of your juices to drip down your thighs.

"Oh, you really don't know me yet," he slyly whispers, keeping the pace of his finger teasingly slow inside you.

Detaching his lips from your neck, he stares down at you with a lilting smirk, one ever so gravely etched in a nettlesome curve. His hazel eyes show a spark of ardour, seemingly growing into a soft murmur of feral desires. You crack your eyes open, fluttering your lids heavily as the pleasure of his finger drives you to your edge; you were getting weak in your knees—your body could go limp any moment if he continues to tease your cunt this slow. Sliding your hands down his neck, you hold onto his shoulders and heave out a breath, chaotic and painful.

"Would you like to know me better, princess?" he breathes his words out, sneering as he glances down at his finger thrusting in and out of you. "...I'm sure we'd get along just fine."

"I don't doubt that either," you smirk at him, impatiently waiting for him to add another finger in you.

When you knew, he wasn't going to do anything more than finger your cunt teasingly, you start bucking your hips into his hands, hoping it'd make his finger plunge deep into you. The squelch of your walls is loud this time, resonating in the empty room as it soon merges with his chuckle. Yunho draws in an amusing breath, tittering at your messed up persona, and desperation.

He clicks his tongue, bringing his finger out of you altogether; the emptiness was lot worse than having only one of his sleek finger in. Maybe, you shouldn't have been so desperate for him. You couldn't blame yourself; it was evident from that night itself that you yearned for him, all of him. Keeping his stare on you, he brings his finger, the one which was plunging deep into your cunt, close to his mouth and darts his tongue out. His middle finger glistens with your juices around it, so unbelievably fucking attractive but nothing prepared you for what he did next; he licked and lapped his tongue all over his finger, humming in satisfaction as he tastes you.

"Sweet and salty, just like my little slut," he smirks, teeth trapping his bottom lip in, "can't wait to fuck that cunt with my tongue—it'd be fucking perfect."

You don't make a sound, simply because his words were giving you a sensory whiplash and depriving you from any fraction of sanity at all. He lets his other hand slip from your chest, tracing it to your neck to grab your throat. His fingers dug in the sides, leaving faint bruises as he brought you close to him; in a blink of an eye, his lips were back on yours, tasting your desperation and teasing your lower lip with a sharp tug of his teeth.

"Yun..." you murmur against his lips, absorbing the vibrations of his chuckle as he pulls back to address, "princess, you are not getting me so easily. I can play hard to get, and I always have."

You are a little annoyed by his attitude, his conceited slapdash personality was an antithetical factor to his charisma and chivalry. He shakes his head, in disbelief, as if he had read your mind when you were thinking about his pomposity.

Clicking his tongue, he pecks your lips, "no, princess, I'm not conceited. I'm just...returning the favour."

You're muddled, not comprehending what he was hinting at. And considering that, he slightly rolls his eyes, while his other hand ghosts over your lower abdomen and grabs the waistband of your panties. Not giving you any sign of his intentions, he uses his mere strength to pull the panties up your waist. The material of your lacy panty chafes with your wet folds as he pulls and continues to do so until you're writhing with tickles on your spine.

"Fuck—that feels good, but—I want you." you mewl in such ache, craving everything of him, "I need you."

"Like, I said, I'm returning the favour, princess," he softly lets out a laugh, stroking his thumb along your windpipe, "consider this a bestowal of all the pleasure you can get from me. Because..."

His teasing tone is back, infuriating you—tears well in the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill as you whimper, "because...?"

"Because I can't let a slut like you get what she wants by deftly ribbing me in front of my flatmates," he states, his hold on your throat tightening, while he pulls your panties further up.

The overbearing sensation of your panties rolling up and slotting into your wet slit makes your skin crawl in pleasure. It was unbearable at this point, the rigorous friction of the material and your soaked cunt.

"I need to teach my whore a lesson, don't I? And that's what she's going to get tonight. A punishment for provoking me in front of my flatmates and being an attention whore," he smiles haughtily, pulling himself back completely before stepping away from you.

His warmth was gone, so was his touch which drove you away into your insanity, and all you were left with was an abysmal hollowness full of chagrin and hankering. Taking another step back, he shrugs while you lean back against the door to recollect your shattered pieces—you were trying to relax yourself after all that he had done to make your pussy drip uncontrollably.

"My precious little princess should try to get some sleep for the night," he smiles, coming close to you again but only to caress your cheek with his thumb. "Trust me, princess, my package will be worth the wait."

"Good night, Angel."

He presses his lips lightly to your cheek and pushes you carefully to the side to leave the room. The moment he dashes out the room, you wait for his footsteps to quiet down the hallway before you're sliding down against the door and groaning out in frustration as you lay on the floor like a crumpled paper. This was too much! Too much! You do remember him mentioning he was a tease from your night of sexting, but you didn't believe him—not until he was teasing you to hell and back. You could consider this as borderline torture which in turn was making you wonder if his dick was really worth all this torment.

Although, as he left the room, you caught a glimpse of his cock straining against his jogger shorts—the outline was clear, and that clarity was enough to push you back in your delusions and fantasises. Regardless, it also meant how badly you had him riled too, you got him hard, got him to masturbate before he goes to bed—it was obvious he would jerk off to your thoughts, and that passing notion was undoubtedly making you even wetter. You heave out a sigh as you pick yourself up and carry your trembling body to the edge of the bed. Settling down comfortably with your legs open wide, you pull the hem of your shirt and trap it between your teeth. Exposed, and free from the shirt, you drag one of your hands down your chest, purposely pushing the cups of your bra aside to let your tits hang outside. Your mind rutted with lascivious thoughts of Yunho playing with your tits, cupping them, groping them, kneading them, all the things you wanted him to do, maybe a little more which would cause your dignity to falter in front of him.

You moan out loud, but it's muffled by the shirt in your mouth; you were senselessly pinching your nipple, all while tracing your other hand to your cunt. Pushing the panties (now ruined by your arousal) to a side, you ghost your fingers over your clit, gradually touching your swollen bud to feel the ecstasy take over you. Throwing your head back to the sensation, you let out a whimper; soon, the image of Yunho licking his middle finger flashes in your mind, making you moan again. You do what he was doing a minute prior, stroke the length of your own middle finger along your slit. Your mouth stays open this time instead, but your shirt doesn't roll all the way down because your hand, playing with your tits, obstructed it from doing so.

Somehow, in the darker light of your mind, you're fixated on that burning scenario of Yunho rubbing his tongue along his finger to rid it of your juices. At first, you wonder, and then glimmer in joy, nevertheless that fleeting moment is cut short when you realise an odd detail about him. If his middle finger was that long, then how huge would his cock be? That cascading thought itself makes you shiver, and you start rubbing yourself faster; not caring if the sounds you made were discernible and audible to the others in the apartment. Seemingly, your noises were growing louder, and you were getting closer to your edge. Dropping your hand from your chest to your side, you fist your hand into the sheets, and ease your finger into your cunt. Again, the wetness makes your walls squelch and your action makes a popping sound.

Keeping a steady pace at first, you thrust the upper part of your middle finger in, then gradually moving the entire finger inside. Once you were comfortable, you increase the pace of your thrusts and mutter out a sweet string of moans, incoherent and dumb. You close your eyes, screw them tight for tears to stream down the side of your face; you're driven to a point of lunacy where all you could think about was Yunho fucking you with his finger. However, one finger wasn't enough for that, so you add in another, your ring finger this time. Both of your fingers rhythmically slide in and out of your cunt, letting your flesh slop and your juices make a mess of them.

Your grip on the sheets tightens, enough for your knuckles to turn white. Your eyes are shut, reveling the pleasure your fingers gave you, while your chest heaved up and down uncomfortably, trying to fathom the suffocation brought by your eerily palpitating heart. Lost in your jolly world of fantasies, where all you could think of was Yunho, you don't hear a soft knock sounding on the door of your room. Although, the person standing on the other side of the door had heard your moans and groans clearly. Yep, this man had heard you, and knows you're masturbating, yet he gulps to himself and scours a little bit of courage to enter the room.

He twists the doorknob and pushes the door inside; second after second, the door cracks open and reveals bits of you, the bed, your legs wide open and your hand between them, to him. Drooling at the sight for what his momentary mind could capture, he clears his throat to snap you out of your daze. Your heart beats slow, adrenaline rushing through and through when you open your eyes to meet with the familiar man standing a step closer to the door.

"Seonghwa..." you gasp, quickly pulling your shirt down to cover to exposed legs, and everything in between them—you hold your hand out to a side, wet and glistening with your juices all over them.

He clears his throat yet again, "Angel, what—well, don't stop."

You're taken off guard by his silly eyes lurking on yours, his lips curling deliriously into a smirk; leaving you to fend for his words, he trudges to his desk and carries the chair to set it in front of you. In utter disbelief, you watch him sit on the chair, spreading his legs wider in front of you, giving you the glimpse of the gradually forming tent in his pants. He unbuttons a few buttons on the top of his shirt, pulling the collars apart to expose a little of his tanned and toned chest.

"Don't stop?" you gawk, slightly breathless.

"I'm sorry if my sudden intrusion made you halt your..." he pauses, eyes trailing down your face to your chest, and legs. "...I wouldn't mind if you were to put on a show for me. Maybe, we could help each other out later on."

You were stumbling in your own mind to regard his words, even if you were past the point of acting on your rationality, this proposition of his was beyond tempting. Unlikely, you'd then have to be embarrassed to have masturbated in front of him too—especially since you and Yunho had shared that sensual call the other night. Everything is a standpoint of your dilemma, whether you should give in to your impulses, and act on your desires or not. After all, contemplating and accepting the reality of your sybaritic situation would precisely put you in a rough place with Yunho if he were to ever find out about your and Seonghwa's deal.

"But..."

"But?" Seonghwa repeats, "there are no buts, sweetheart. Though, to sate my curiosity, I'd like to ask you something."

You nod your head, your cheeks warm and red, hazy from all that's happened in the span of mere minutes.

"What got you all worked up, or rather, who?" you purse your lips together, unable to answer him. And he continues taking your silence as the testimony. "Was it anyone amongst us, or all of us? I saw Yunho leave this room a while before I made my way here. Was it him?"

You nod again, and he chuckles, "guess, Hongjoong owes me fifty bucks now."

Taking offence, you narrow your eyes at him; he shakes his head and enunciates more clearly, "no one's betting on you, sweetheart. It's just...during the game, I saw a few sparks fly between you two. As it made Jongho a little envious, it gave me an insight to your dynamic with Yunho. Surprisingly, he was as cheerful as he was that night—I suppose it was the night he was talking to you, wasn't it? Anyway, me and Hongjoong, a few minutes prior now when Yunho disappeared from the living room, construed a harmless wager."

"Are you all alike?"

"Alike as in, similar to Yunho?" he shakes his head in amusement, "oh, darling. We're anything but alike to that brat."

You don't know what it was about him, maybe that simple of nudge of his head as he satirically insulted Yunho, or the lax foreboding smile which offered you a sight of his sharp canines. There was something about Seonghwa which was making you want him more now—more than Yunho, to be precise. Although, when the remnant of your rationality sticks to your mind, you knew the attraction was simply because you had been played with and left high and dry by Yunho. You were too desperate to feel something in between your legs, literally anything at all—and as demeaning and belittling that is, even to yourself, you couldn't help but weigh your judgment down to Seonghwa's side.

You put on a show for him, he enjoys it while jerking himself off, and later on you get what you wanted all along. Sounds simple. Right? Maybe.

As you're lost in your thoughts, the never-ending brooding of the current situation, Seonghwa turns weary and tilts his head to a side. He licks his lips and asks, presumably snapping you out of your reverie. "Angel, I don't want you doing anything that you're uncomfortable with."

At the shift of his personality, you pout, shaking your head to convey your words. "I'm not uncomfortable with...this. Only, I wonder what it would be like with us if we were to, you know."

Your shoulders flinch, and he sighs, crossing his legs and leaning back into the chair. He smiles softly, "the solution is as straightforward as it can be, Angel."

"I'm not looking for a relationship, however," you whisper, undermining your own words as you come to that conclusion. "If that is what you were about to suggest."

"Relationships aren't really my thing either," he replies, a sly smile on his face, "we keep this exclusive to sex. I'm assuming Yunho put forth a much similar bargain."

You nod, "he did. And I was anticipating he'd..." Seonghwa's brow cocks up in astonishment, "...I anticipated he'd let things get steamy between us tonight. It's the reason why he had been texting me, convincing me to come."

"So, you came here for his dick?" Seonghwa laughs, not in a debasing manner, it was more of an amused laugh. "I understand, but I've been thinking you only decided to come because you didn't want to hurt Jongho's feelings."

"You're not in the wrong," you sigh, "I wanted to be a better friend to him too, but all the while Yunho had been pestering me, teasing me with his semi-nudes...okay, why are we talking about this? Shouldn't we just get done with it as quickly as possible?" you realise you had spoken too much.

Seonghwa shrugs it off, "Angel, I said I wouldn't want you doing anything which would cause you discomfort."

"And I said I'm okay with it."

Smirking, you lift your shirt back up, showing off your completely drenched panties and your sheeny cunt. Tired of pushing your panties to the side, you decide to take them off and once you've rid yourself of them, you spread your legs for his perusal before dipping your hand in between them. You resume your actions, plunging your middle and ring finger into your cunt—to your unbridled desire, your fingers slip in too easily because of the number of times of you were aroused.

"Oh dear, Angel," Seonghwa grunts, palming his crotch through his pants.

You smirk at his utterance and glance up, glazing your eyes over him as his legs are back to being spread wide in front of you, while his hand is busy stroking his cock through his pants. He bites his lower lip, giving you an encouraging nod to increase your pace; throwing your head back, your jaw slacks open when you start thrusting your fingers deep in you. The walls of your cunt quell around your fingers—the feeling reels you back to your sense of salaciousness, forcing you to increase your pace. Seonghwa's groans soon fill in the room, blending in too perfectly with your moans as you continue to finger yourself.

Seonghwa, seemingly too tired of rubbing himself through his pants, unbuttons, unzips, and tugs them down to pull his fully hard cock out. You watch him wrap his hand along the tip at first, stroking it softly with his fingers as he gradually drags his hand down along the shaft. Precum glisters on the tip of his cock, and along the length of it; and the more he pumps his cock, the more of his arousal leaks from his tip. Trapping his bottom lip in the grasp of his teeth, he prevents any vile sounds to slip from his mouth. And wanting to do the same, you clasp your free hand over your mouth but fail to do so when your mind loses every inch of control. It doesn't work as it should, because your hand is sliding down to your chest, to play around with your taut nipples.

"You're so pretty, Hwa," the comment slides out of your mouth with such ease that you don't even realise you had said it. "You look so pretty like this, stroking your cock to me fingering myself."

Again, you didn't know where you got the confidence to speak.

He chuckles softly, which mixes with his grunt as he increases the pace of his hand around his cock. "My Angel dearest, I think the sight—the—the sight of my cock—my cock thrusting into that tight little cunt of your—yours, might be the prettiest—prettiest sight of all."

His stutter was absolutely driving you insane; not just the way he stumbled his with his words, but also the way he was pumping his cock vigorously to the thought of that. Holding his shirt up by his other hand, preventing it from getting ruined, he tightens his hand around his cock, keeping a steady pace.

"Then why don't we see it—"

Thud!

The door closes shut, startling both of you as you freeze in your places. You focus your attention to the door, but Seonghwa doesn't really bother to look behind; and from the way he smirked, it was evident to you that he knew who had just arrived. It wasn't a surprise to you either, because somewhere in your heart, you were waiting for him to come.

"Tch, what an alluring sight my eyes behold," Yunho clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest and steps ahead to stand behind Seonghwa. "Let's say, I'm not all too confounded with your behaviour, 'Hwa. But I certainly did not expect my princess to acquit herself from her punishment."

His condescending tone was back, and very much alluring; his way of degrading you never gets boring, it's always tipping you off to your extremity. Yunho steps past Seonghwa and stands right in front of you. His gaze penetrates through your ruse, causing you to shiver as you sit straighter and composed, a little stoic to his advances maybe. You're not so much tolerant when you drag your eyes down to his body, his buff chest at first, then his bulging arms folded on his chest, and lastly, you're spanning your eyes across his abdomen and crotch. His shorts are confining his boner, sadly so, the outline of his cock makes you drool and imagine of the sensation you'd get from him filling you up.

"Eyes up here, princess."

You whimper, "Yunho, I can explain."

"Shush," he presses his index finger on your lips and glances back at Seonghwa over his shoulder, "it turns out my precious princess can't control herself. Why don't we teach her a little discipline?"

Seonghwa smirks, as if he had caught up on Yunho's intentions already. "Only if she's okay with us ruining her."

"Oh, a whore like her would certainly enjoy herself being fucked by both of us, would she not?" he brings his hand down to your throat and squeezes it, grunting as he brings you close to his face, "right, princess? Want to be filled with both of our cocks, right? Be nothing but a cum-slut for both of us...hmm?"

You nod your head, murmuring, "yes, yes...I want to be filled—be filled with both of you...use me as your..."

"So, so, so hopeless," Yunho tuts in pity. "I think you should take the fron—"

"—I'm in no mood today, Yun," Seonghwa interrupts him, getting up from the chair with his pants pulled over, as he strides across to stand next to Yunho. His eyes darken, a wretched curl taking its shape on his lips. "But, I would like to see what this pretty mouth can do."

You groan in such desperation, feeling his thumb caress your lower lip till he's tugging it down for you to open your mouth a little wider.

"Don't expect much, Hwa," Yunho grumbles, pulling his red hoodie over his head and discarding it down on the floor. He wears nothing under it, though, and you start checking out his toned upper body with your blurry eyes. "This mouth knows nothing but to complain and whine. Maybe yap around a bit and haul foul words at others."

Seonghwa chuckles and holds your jaw instead, thumb pressing down on your chin to do what he had been trying to do; getting your mouth to open wide. And maybe he was trying to get your attention off of Yunho.

"I better not believe him, Angel. Show me what you can do."

"Hmm," your eyes are back on Seonghwa, "I can—"

He doesn't let you finish your words leans down to kiss you. A mere contact of your lips inflames your heart into a fiery pit of despair, and you're kissing him back with much intensity. Your lips lap, collide, and suck, while he's too busy trying to drag his tongue into your mouth. He does it soon, however. His tongue caresses your lips at first, then as your widely opened mouth lets him in, he's scraping his tongue across your teeth and tackling yours into a soft brawl. Your eyes flutter close to the sensation of his warm and rough tongue rubbing with yours, delving down deep in your throat as his hands are now cupping your face.

Meanwhile, Yunho is certainly bewildered to watch his friend suck your mouth off, at the same time, an uncurbed tremor of jealousy aches his heart. Yet, he watches the two of you, observes how Seonghwa's hands were caressing your cheeks, how his tongue was shoving itself down your throat. To a certain degree of envy, he gives in and clears his throat, eventually pulling at Seonghwa's collar to break you apart.

"Jealous much?" Seonghwa comments, which goes unacknowledged by Yunho who grunts at you, "I want you on all your fours. Now."

You gulp, struck with intimidation by his voice, and the ambiguous shade of grey in his eyes. Obliging to him, you slide back on the bed and get on your fours, facing the edge of the bed as you anticipated their next move. Yunho doesn't say anything and moves on about to situate himself behind you, meanwhile Seonghwa settles himself in front of you. You're in eye level with Seonghwa's cock, hard and leaking precum, it's tip laying flat against his stomach as he takes a minute to shrug his shirt off. His pants were already off when you were trying to get comfortable on your knees and hands on the bed.

The mattress dips to Yunho's weight behind you, giving you the obvious sign that he was upto something. To your apparent satisfaction, he pushed the hem of your shirt along your back to give him better access to your rear. The warmth of his hands caresses your buttcheeks, eventually dwindling down to your inner thighs as he pushes your legs further apart. He's mentally slobbering at the sight of your folds, all wet and glistening in their glory; his cock twitches at the thought of rubbing himself all over you before sliding into your warmth.

"So fucking wet already," Yunho grumbles, "probably doesn't even need me to prep this cunt before fucking it with my cock."

"Yun—fuck..."

You clench around nothing as you listen to him growl all those words under his breath. Seonghwa chortles, grabbing your jaw and guiding the tip of his cock to your mouth; he rubs it along your lips before he eases himself inside. Engulfed by your warmth, he groans softly and closes his eyes to relish the atypical sensation for first few seconds. He knows he'll get used to you in a little bit and so will you. You wrap your lips around him, as he continues to slide his cock in your mouth. Once he grows aware of how much him you can take in, he stops and entangles both of his hands in your hair instead, helping him to hold your head down.

"Hmmm," you moan around his cock, feeling the tip brush past your tongue and the walls of your throat. The saltiness from his precum is too evident on your tongue, but you swallow it down and focus on him.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good around me," Seonghwa's chest sounds a low gruff, glancing down at you through his half-lidded eyes. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Hmm, I'll try to be gentle, okay?"

You nod, trying to pacify the sting at the corner of your lips from the way they were stretched around his cock. He doesn't push himself further than he already is and starts thrusting his cock into your throat. You merely gagged around the tip but held your breath. Seonghwa's lips remain parted, and his eyes remain shut, he was a moaning mess, subsiding to the warmth of your mouth rocking him in and out.

Yunho's jealousy knows no bounds, he's fuming inside as he watches Seonghwa fuck your mouth. Swiping the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, he smirks smugly and traces his fingers from your inner thighs to your folds, eventually to your slit. His fingers collect bits of your wetness before tucking them in your cunt; first it's the fingertips, gradually the entire length of his fingers are thrusting in and out of your cunt.

You're so out of it, buzzing with pleasure received on both sides. One, you weren't able to moan because of how deep Seonghwa was plunging his cock into your throat. Two, Yunho's fingers were curling in the deepest parts of your cunt, squelching around the flesh and making you squirm from time to time. Three, you knew Seonghwa's pace was picking itself up, but however you weren't sure if you'd be able to keep up with him.

Relentlessly, you fist your hands in the sheets underneath, holding onto them for your dear life because Seonghwa's hips were rutting into your face. Your mind was fogged by the way he rammed his cock in your throat, making you gag and choke while he guided you down by holding your head. His fingers were tangled in your hair, which eventually turns into a makeshift ponytail. You flatten your tongue toward the roof of your mouth, licking the underside of his shaft as he rapidly thrusted in and out.

"Dear sweet lord—fuck, Angel, don't stop—don't—don't stop doing that." He grumbles out, voiceless as he tries to catch a breath.

Tears are streaming down your face, as your nose scrunches up against his pubic bone and littlest of pubic hair, you're suffocating too, having lost the ability to breathe through your nose. Seonghwa's hips come to a halt, but doesn't really let you go—he likes the way your mouth is wrapped around him, likes the way your cheeks are hollowed and confined to his cock.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Hwa." Yunho pouts, "makes me regret to not have used her mouth before you..." his fingers are spreading you apart, stretching your walls to their limits. "Hmm, but doesn't matter anymore, I'll be the first to ruin this tight little thing."

With that being said, he flicks the direction of his wrist, bringing his fingers out only for a meagre second before he's thrusting them back in. He only did that to get his thumb in front, to toy with your clit as he presses down on it, eliciting a whine from you. Though, the vibrations of your whine are absorbed by Seonghwa's cock stuffed in your mouth, driving him wild. His thrusts resume, however, his pace picks up slowly but doesn't show any signs of faltering. Your jaw is slack and limp, already lethargic from taking him in.

"You're missing—you're missing out, Yun," Seonghwa's mumbles before bestowing his praises upon you, "you're doing so—doing so well, my dear. Such a good girl—good girl to take my cock—cock in without complaining. A little bit—little bit more..."

You have your eyes closed and mind shut down, the pleasure was unbearably long and everlasting till your body gave you enough strength to withstand their ministrations. At the way Yunho's fingers were moving in you, and brushing your sweet spot, you knew you wouldn't last long. The hot and vehement knot tightens itself in your stomach and wrenches your gut, preparing you for your climax. Your walls clench around Yunho's fingers, making him click his tongue as he pulls them out.

"Not so soon, princess." he sighs, quickly ridding himself of his shorts and briefs. "Not till you make a mess on my cock—fuck, this might—this might sting a bit."

He aligns the tip of his cock with you and rubs it along your slit before easing himself into your cunt bit by bit; your walls stretch to his girth, a tiny fire burning your skin as you whimper and wince. Although, Seonghwa's faltering thrusts try to distract you from the initial pain of Yunho's cock submerging into you—he is twitching in your mouth like crazy, knowing well he was close to his edge. You weren't so sure about your own orgasm, since you were already senseless to Yunho's cock plunging into you; and to your greater surprise, it was only the tip of his cock pounding into you. Yet he was driving you wild, his cock screwing itself so deep into you, and stretching you raw. Every time Yunho bucked his hips into yours, your body rolled into Seonghwa's, making your mouth slip further down on his cock and gag around your throat.

"Fuck, baby, gimme a min," Seonghwa mumbles and you nod slightly, causing him to pull out before you passed out of suffocation.

Taking a deep breath in through your mouth, you glance up at Seonghwa with teary eyes, finding sweat make his hair stick to his forehead and a few drops dribble down the sides of his head. You couldn't be too mesmerised by his beauty, because Yunho takes that time to ease himself fully into your cunt; his cock throbbing inside you, as his thrusts are fast paced and concise.

Seonghwa shares a look with Yunho before turning down to you, "take a deep breath, sweetheart..." he was breathless, yet he was able to pronounce each word with care and concern.

"Fuck, Yunho..." you mumbled under your breath, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Yunho's hips ram into yours. "You're—you're too fast—fuck—feels good, feels really—really good."

"Such a good slut, taking me in raw and making herself feel good with my cock," Yunho grunts.

"Yun—"

You couldn't thread your words together let alone voice them, and even if you could, Seonghwa wouldn't let you because he's already nudging the tip of his cock against your lips. Opening your mouth, as you're now used to his size, you wrap your lips around him; he keeps his pace slow this time, letting the tip of his cock poke your cheek as his thrust aren't well timed or rhythmical. Although, he's close, so close. He tightens his fingers in your hair, tugging at your strands as he pushes your head down on his cock—the warmth of your throat tips him off, and he twitches insanely before coming undone in your throat. His load trickles down, making you forcefully swallow it, tasting mild undertones of sweetness followed by the saltiness of his cum; he rides his high out with a few placid thrusts, filling your mouth with his cum. He only pulls out when he's sure he's emptied himself entirely into your mouth and when he does, he sighs and smiles down at you with a dazed look in his eyes.

"You did a great job, sweetheart. Made me cum with only your mouth, such a good and obedient slut," he pats your head, stroking your hair with his one hand as other one wipes the trickling drops of his cum from your lips. "Hmm, good girl."

He leans in to kiss you, humming in satisfaction as he tastes himself on your lips—though, out of nowhere he darts his tongue inside your mouth swallows a bit of his own cum, alleviating your struggle to swallow it whole. Pulling back, he groans softly and pushes himself off the bed completely. He gets dressed in no time, sparing no particular attention to you or Yunho, who's too busy hurling his cock into you.

"Clean up after you're done, Yun." He says one last time before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud.

You're brought to your senses then; the tight grip of Yunho's hands on your thighs which certainly has left dark bruises on your skin, the way his thrusts were proper yet short to prolong your orgasm, and the way weakness had taken over your body. Without warning, your hands give in, and you land face first into the mattress; however, Yunho clicks his tongue and groans softly before establishing a good grip on the back of your neck, pressing a little harder he lets his hand trace to the back of your head instead and his fingers entwine with your hair. He pulls your body up by tugging harshly on your hair, making you yelp and let out a small whine in protest. Your back is flushed against his chest, his thighs are hitching into yours, and his hands are all over you. One of his hands grabs your throat, choking you, while the other slithers under your shirt to grope your tits. Cupping them under your shirt, as they're already hanging out from your bra, he pulls on the tauten nipples, pinches them and rolls them between his forefinger and thumb; you moan, your mouth agape at the wild sensation It brought to you.

"How does it feel now, princess?" he grumbles, and you throw your head back resting it on his shoulder, "too much—too much—wanna cum."

Yunho hums, "as expected from my slut."

You nod to him, unable to force out words from your mouth, or even form them in your head. His thrusts pick up again, his hand drops from your chest and traces down to your clit; fingers rub down motions on your swollen bud, and you realise how sensitive you had gotten. Needless to say, every time he rolls his hips into yours, his cock plunges deep, so deep it tickles your gut—the tip of his cock was simultaneously abusing your sweet spot, nudging hard against the pit of your stomach. Bringing his hand to your lower stomach, he presses down, and your walls convulse immensely around his cock; you could really feel him in abdomen, sending all sorts of shivers down your spine.

"Fuck, being so deep in you, it's driving me crazy," he grumbles, "you feel me, princess? Feel my cock pound you good, huh?"

Again, you nod, profusely melting under the heat and sweat of your bodies—you were long gone to comprehend sanity at this point. He buries his head in your neck and sucks purple bruises all over your skin; they're going to be super evident in the morning, and you're going to get questionable looks from the others in the loft. Not that you thought you could get away with this, you were so sure the others were able to hear you, and that thought itself drove you into your diverting state of mind. It made you even wetter to know that others could hear you get fucked by Seonghwa and Yunho.

"Fuck—princess, use your words." Yunho flattens his palm on your pussy and gives it a slap, jerking you out of your daze and making you mumble, dumbfounded. The crass impact of his hand makes you cry and put your mind on ease knowing how full you were from his cock. You sob softly, feeling the pleasure take over you, "yes—yes, please, wanna cum so badly—wanna make a mess on—mess on your cock."

Yunho, satisfied with your response, supports your body against his with his hands on either side of your waist now; he pulls out and rams his cock back into you, keeping a steady pace before picking it up. You're definitely going to be left sore tomorrow, maybe deprived of your ability to walk even. His cock was reaching deep into you, knowing this angle was better to fuck and abuse your sweet spot. It doesn't take him long to bring that familiar tightness back in the pit your stomach—it twists your guts thinking how close you really were to your climax. In the room, along with your moans, and his grunts, the sound of your skin slapping against his also reverberated; every time he thrusted in, his hips would be in touch with yours for a mere second before he'd go back to dive deeper into you.

"Right, this tight—tight cunt only needs my cock to make a mess, doesn't it?" Yunho grunts close to your ear, steadying himself with his thrusts.

His words tip you off and you squeal, "yes, fuck—Yunho—Yunho—I'm going to..."

"Go on, princess."

Offering you few more long and sharp thrusts, which causes your wall to squelch and clench; without your notice, that tightness is coming undone. You let go of all the confines and your orgasm washes over you. Ironically, you really do make a mess on his cock, as it still keeps plunging into you. The warmth of your cum drips down your inner thighs, coating Yunho's thighs as well when he bucks his hips into yours. A sly smirk curves on his face, as he smacks his lips to the warmth of your juices dripping over his cock, squirting a bit around because of his thrusts.

"Oh, my princess, such a good slut. A bit more...a bit more, I'm close too," Yunho grunts close to your war, sloppily sliding in and out of you.

He was close, remotely, he usually lasts longer than this, but considering how tight your walls were around him, he had no choice but to push himself to his edge. You feel him twitch inside you, and your walls clench tightly around him; his hold on your waist goes tight as he pushes you down on the mattress—the lowered angle gave him a leverage and he continued slamming his cock into you at an animalistic pace for as long as he could. It takes him a while to get to his point, and before you know, the warmth of his cum is filling you up to your brim and dribbling past your hole. He rides out his high with a few more short and brief thrusts, digging his nails into your flesh to leave back minuscule crescents and breathes heavily, before sliding out and falling limp against your body.

You heave out a sigh, relaxing your body back into his, as your chest rises and falls; it takes the two of you a moment before Yunho lays you down on the bed and then rests himself next to you. Tiredness evident in the ragged breathing of his, he doesn't try to speak anything unless he's composed himself, and so do you—you press your lips together and lay in silence till your mind clears out and the post-orgasm clarity sinks in. You stare at the spotless ceiling above, listening to Yunho's hushed attempts at abating his breathing.

After a few minutes of silence, Yunho is the first to disrupt the tranquility between you two. "That was intense, quite something I did not anticipate."

"As much as I hate to agree, but I hadn't sucked a cock in a while. I feel my jaw slack and loose." you murmur, reminiscing your past sexual encounters with others; knowing no blowjobs had ever been so hard as this one. "Feels like I've lost the capability to talk, my throat feels sore too."

Yunho chuckles, turning to his side and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling himself close to your body, "Seonghwa usually prefers throat-fucking more to penetrating. You should be glad he wasn't as rough as he used to be with his past lovers." he shrugs, resting his head on your shoulder and inhales your scent, which apparently was a concoction of sex, sweat, a bit of Seonghwa's scent on you, and his too. "Don't worry, I'll make you a cup of hot tea, you'll feel better."

"Well, I'm taking you up on that, mister," you titter, leaning to the side to put your head on his. Seemingly pondering, you wrung your thoughts and initiate, "hey, umm, do you think—I'm not sure, but would you be comfortable if I..."

Your words dither to a whisper and Yunho's sighs, second guessing your notions and interrupting you, "you want to be with both of us, right?"

"After this, I don't think I can regard him as a friend," you grumble, whining softly, "I mean, I sucked his dick. That's something friends don't do."

Yunho heaves out a small breath, peeking up at you through his lashes as his hair sticks to his forehead from all the sweat. "Angel, I think we should discuss this tomorrow. With a fresh mind and refueled bodies. My thinking adeptness has left my mind. To be fair, all I can think about is actually pretty pathetic and many more sordid things which include you. So, it's better if we call it a night and talk it out tomorrow, hmm?"

Sighing, you nod to his suggestion and reassure him with a blink of your eyes. "Fine, I'll leave it for tomorrow."

"Good girl," Yunho chirps, "now, let's get you cleaned. Inside out. I don't want you knocking at my door after nine months showing up with a cute little spawn of my devilry."

"Shut up, you."

The rest of the night was pretty tame; Yunho helped you clean, inside out as he promised. Seonghwa's bathroom was far too spacious than he had sold to you, there was a bathtub, a shower and a completely secluded section where the toilet was. While you were relaxing in the hot bath in the tub, prepared for you by Yunho, he took a quick shower and proceeded to change the sheets of the bed. Once you were well scrubbed and washed, he wiped you dry and slipped his hoodie over your body. He got dressed only in his shorts and the two of you then cuddled each other to sleep.

As the night dawned to a new morning, you kept thinking about the events of the night—the sinister impulses you had given into and the reverting cataclysmic effects to your dynamic with Yunho and Seonghwa. Though, Yunho did say they'd talk it out in the morning, but maybe you were worried for that morning to come. Regardless of your overthinking, the night passes you quick, your mind waking up from its slumber at the exact moment when the bright rays of sun cascaded in the room.

You open your eyes to a bright white light, squinting them to the golden glow of the sunshine; you murmur in a daze, a sleepy daze of yours as you urged yourself to go back to sleep. Groaning softly, you stretch your arms out and feel an empty void next to you. Yunho was no longer sleeping by your side. You pout and try to disregard the bitter feeling in your mouth. Gently and eagerly biting back sobs whenever your sore hips, thighs and back, inflicted pain upon your body, you get yourself off the bed and slip into the shorts which Seonghwa had offered you last night. The same ones you refused to wear since you were on tenterhooks for Yunho's cock. Stifling a yawn, you wash your face in the bathroom, pat it dry and make sure all your sleep is gone before heading out to the kitchen.

"There she is," you hear a muffled chirping from a familiar voice, "good morning, Angel."

"G'morning."

You rub the remaining sleep from your eyes and focus your blurry gaze onto the said man; you find Yunho sitting on the chair of the dining table, alongside Hongjoong, with Yeosang and Jongho sitting opposite to them, their back facing you. Meanwhile, you also heard faint sizzling of pan coming from the kitchen and only assumed someone was cooking breakfast for the others. Not having a clue about the time, you murmur incoherently under your breath and paddle your way across to the table.

Hongjoong offers you a small smile, as you settle down next to Jongho, "good morning, Angel. I hope you slept well, more than well perhaps."

You choke on your saliva, gazing up at him and then at Yunho. "Uh, yeah. I slept good."

"Only good?" Yunho pouts.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him; and look around instead, noticing Seonghwa was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes. The others were freshly showered, neatly dressed and sitting around the table with a plateful of breakfast in front of them. Jongho had a frown on his face every time he glanced at you, Hongjoong's eyes were rather beguiling and beaming at you with a few ulterior motives hidden in clear sight, and Yeosang barely acknowledged your presence as he was busy working on his laptop which he had propped in front of him instead of a plate.

Jongho, who's fidgeting with the sleeves of his university sweatshirt, flashes you a disdainful glance and looks back down at his plate of half-eaten pancakes. "Are you going to make it to any of your classes today?"

Ouch.

"What do you mean?" you act coy, squeezing your thighs together as you reel off into the memories of last night.

"Don't pretend to be a doll, Ange." he groans softly, training his eyes on you, "I know what happened last night, well everyone does."

Yunho adds, "she was loud enough for our neighbours to hear, I wouldn't be surprised if y'all heard her too."

"Not the time to boast, Yun," Hongjoong warns, shaking his head; you watch him smiling at you, smugly, sitting poised dressed in a grunge green suit and a black shirt under it. He fiddles with an emerald ring sitting on his thumb, raising his brow at you in sheer wonder. "It's better if we address this situation first, and later on, you can go back to your teasings and haughty nothings."

"What is there to address?" you gawk, blinking twice as your eyes remain wide and fixated on Hongjoong.

Seonghwa walks in with a plate of hot pancakes and places it in front of you before sitting next to Hongjoong. "Us." he mutters, motioning his index finger between you, him, and Yunho. "We need to confront what we feel and superimpose our feelings onto what we did last night."

"I mean..." you trail off, glancing at Yunho, "I was already considering Yunho's proposition to be exclusively friends with benefits. I'm not sure about..." you peek at Seonghwa.

"It's not just about them, for now," Jongho mutters, his cheeks turning a flimsy shade of red as he continues, "I like you, I've always had. Though, it's not a reason enough for me to be with you. I enjoy your company too and I wouldn't mind being a part of your..."

"Where are you going with this?" you mumble, bemused and lost in a whirlwind of confusion.

"What we're trying to put forth is a—umm, sort of a similar premise to Yunho's," Hongjoong initiates and Seonghwa adds to it, "we want you to be our precious little thing."

"We, as in all of us maybe," Yunho knocks his knuckles on the table to get Yeosang's attention, "Sangie, are you in or not?"

Yeosang looks up at him, nibbling on his lower lip as he nods, eyes quickly rummaging to check you out. "Sure."

"Basically, the ones who are sitting around here." Yunho continues, "we need someone who could help us out with our frustrations and oddly enough sexual desires. Only, that is, if you're comfortable being a part of it."

"I would need some time to think." You're beyond tempted to accept it, be their scarlet woman but you didn't want to come off as too eager to accept it.

"Take all the time you need, doll," Hongjoong assures you with a warming smile.

"After all, you're going to be our precious one."

Previous ┃ Next ┃ M.list

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry. 

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

[cherryrainn]

HEART'S HAND . (2)

; pairing ; husk x wife! reader

; note ; part 2 because many of you wanted one! (looking at people over on wattpad)

; warnings ; none

; part 1; here

the hotel hummed with its usual energy, but today there was an added sense of anticipation lingering in the air. husk had finally relented and agreed to introduce his wife to the rest of the hotel's eccentric residents.

as the door swung open, revealing you standing in the doorway, the room fell silent.

charlie was the first to break the silence, her warm smile welcoming the newcomer. "oh, welcome! you must be husk's wife. we've been dying to meet you!" and everyone else did the same

but it was alastor's presence that seemed to unsettle husk the most. as the radio demon approached with his trademark grin, husk's growl rumbled low in his throat, a clear warning to keep his distance.

alastor merely chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "ah, husker. always so protective of what's his." he turns to you "fear not, my dear, i mean you no harm. husk here has been quite the mystery, keeping you all to himself."

you chuckled nervously, sensing the tension. "well, he's a man of few words, but he's my man." you shot husk a reassuring glance before turning back to the others. "thank you for the warm welcome, everyone. i'm looking forward to getting to know each of you better!"

as the day at the hotel unfolded, you spent time getting to know each resident. from helping niffty in the kitchen to engaging in playful banter with angel dust, it was a whirlwind of introductions and laughter. however, as the day progressed, you couldn't help but notice that husk seemed a bit more on edge than usual.

in the afternoon, you found yourself gravitating towards the bar, where husk was drinking away.

you slid onto one of the barstools, watching as husk expertly mixed a cocktail without even looking up. his furrowed brow and tense shoulders didn't go unnoticed.

"rough day at the tables?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

husk sighed, setting the cocktail in front of you. "you could say that. some days, it feels like i'm the only one who knows how to play a decent hand."

you took a sip of the drink, feeling the warmth of the liquid as it coursed through you. "is something bothering you, husk?"

he glanced at you, his usual gruff expression softening just a fraction. "nah, just the usual nonsense."

you raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to it. "come on. i might be new around here, but i'm not blind. something's on your mind."

husk hesitated, his gaze flickering between your earnest expression and the polished wood of the bar. finally, he sighed, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "it's alastor. i've seen him do things, things that make me worry about you being around him."

your heart skipped a beat at his confession. taking his hand in yours, you squeezed it gently, offering silent reassurance. "i get it. but i'm not scared of alastor. besides, i've got you looking out for me, right?"

husk's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes softening with a mixture of gratitude and concern. "i'll always have your back, no matter what. just promise me you'll be careful, doll."

you nodded, returning his gaze with equal sincerity. "i promise. and thank you... for everything."

just as the atmosphere between you two became more relaxed, the door behind you swung open with a creak. startled, you both turned your heads to see angel dust sauntering in, a mischievous grin on his face.

"what's going on here?" angel dust teased, winking at both of you.

husk growled lowly, shooting a glare at the flamboyant spider demon. "what do you want?"

angel dust feigned innocence, batting his long eyelashes. "oh, nothing much. just wanted to check on my favorite feline and his playmate. looks like you two are getting cozy."

you blushed, feeling the need to defend the situation. "we're just talking, angel."

angel dust scoffed, clearly not believing you. "sure, sure. and i'm just a porn star." he gave husk a pointed look. "you're a lucky bastard, having a girl like her to keep you warm at night."

you felt your cheeks flush an even darker shade of crimson. husk seemed equally flustered, his ears twitching as he mumbled a half-hearted retort.

you cleared your throat, eager to change the subject. "uh, anyway. what brings you down here, angel?"

angel dust smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "i was wondering if the cat's got any milk. i could use a good drink after today."

you laughed, the tension easing between the three of you. "oh, trust me. he's got more than enough to go around."

husk shot you a look, his lips quirking into a small smile. "don't encourage him."

you grinned, playfully nudging husk. "oh, come on. let him have a little fun. besides, you can't deny it's nice having him around."

husk rolled his eyes, pouring a generous helping of liquor into a glass and sliding it across the counter to angel dust.

"whatever. just don't spill anything." husk grumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching.

you smiled, grateful for husk's willingness to put up with angel dust's antics. the truth was, it was nice to have some company. 

as the night wore on, you found yourself growing tired. despite your efforts to stay awake, the alcohol had taken its toll, and your eyelids were beginning to droop.

"think i'll head off to bed. night, angel. night, husk." you stifled a yawn, giving them a sleepy smile before leaving the room.

the rest of the hotel was quiet as you padded down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath your feet. charlie's letting you stay here for as long as you want. what a nice girl, you made a mental note to thank her in the morning.

but as you turned a corner, you bumped into a figure in the shadows.

"i'm sorry, i-"

your eyes widened as the figure stepped into the light, revealing none other than the radio demon.

"ah, my dear! pardon me, i didn't expect to see anyone out and about at this hour." alastor smiled politely, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

you returned the smile, your heart racing in your chest. "no, no, it's fine. i'm sorry, i wasn't paying attention."

alastor waved a dismissive hand, his gaze drifting over your form. "say no more, darling. now, what are you doing up at such a late hour?"

you hesitated, unsure how to respond. "uh, just headed to bed. long day, ya know."

alastor hummed thoughtfully, his eyes glinting with something akin to amusement. "yes, i imagine it was. i do hope you've enjoyed your stay so far."

you nodded, hoping the movement didn't seem too stiff. "i have, thank you. the hotel is lovely."

there was a moment of silence, neither of you knowing what to say next. then, alastor's smile widened, his voice dropping an octave. "i'm glad to hear it, my dear. now, if you'll excuse me, i have matters to attend to. good night."

with that, he stepped around you and disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

the interaction with alastor left you feeling unsettled, though you couldn't pinpoint why. with a sigh, you continued on your way, eager to put some distance between yourself and the radio demon. shaking off the odd feeling, you entered your room and closed the door behind you.

the soft glow of the dimly lit room welcomed you, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the refuge the hotel provided. you slipped out of your shoes and climbed into the inviting warmth of the bed.

just as you were starting to drift off, the door creaked open, and in walked husk. his disheveled appearance and half-lidded eyes suggested he had been enjoying a drink or two himself.

"couldn't sleep either, huh?" husk mumbled, his voice rough from the weariness of the day.

you nodded, patting the space next to you on the bed. "come on. it's more comfortable than the bar, i promise."

husk hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room before shuffling over and taking a seat. he didn't say anything, but you could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

as you both lay there in the quiet darkness, the tension from the encounter with alastor slowly faded away. husk let out a contented sigh, his eyes closing as he nestled closer to you.

"fuckin' hate that guy," husk grumbled, his words barely audible.

you chuckled softly, running your fingers through his fur. "really? i couldn't tell."

husk purred at the gentle touch, his gruff exterior melting away. 

with that, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence, the rhythmic purring of husk acting as a lullaby. as sleep began to claim you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of safety in the arms of the grumpy, yet surprisingly caring, avian cat demon.

[carnivorousyandeere]

Chimera; Love at First Sight

mixed, misunderstood, insanity

Wanted to take part in @yandere-sins’s Monstober and @ozzgin’s Yantober 🥰. I also really liked the detail of the Chimera licking Princess Darling’s wounds in yandere-sin’s fic for today~!

CW: violence, death, reader injury, kidnapping; probably more, ask to tag!

The chimera’s voice rumbles and pierces, different frequencies mixing and sliding as if multiple voices reside within.

“Intrepid adventurer, intrepid adventurer. Finally bitten off more than you can chew, haven’t you?” The monster picks you up by a crushed ankle. Blood rushes in your ears, spots dance in your vision.

You barely make out one of your companions struggling to their feet, and hope lurches in your chest—!

With a flick of the tail, the chimera sends viper’s teeth through their neck, and they crumple like the rest. You go slack, resigning yourself to joining them. The monster repositions you in their arms and noses at your side. She seems satisfied by the sound of your shallow, rattling breath.

“Let’s go home now, my love.”

The monster carries you deeper into the bowels of the dungeon, finally arriving at his home.

“Here you go, little love.” The monster gently settles you in its nest— bones and wood, covered with furs and clothing. It stinks of blood. The adrenaline has long worn off, and all you can do is cry at the sight of a humanoid skull staring at you from the edge of the nest.

“Now, now,” the chimera laughs, gently as it can, voices rumbling like faraway thunder, “is that any way to comport yourself, brave adventurer?”

The monster leans in, sharp teeth parting to let her rotten breath waft over you. The monster licks your tears with a rough, broad tongue, humming and purring at the salty taste. His stomach grumbles, and you hiccup in fear.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you… though you would make such a tasty little morsel.” The monster stands and fluffs its wings. “I’ve been watching you from the start, you know. Waiting for the right time to introduce myself, to court you properly.”

It purrs and stretches back leisurely, claws peeking from flexing lion’s paws. “But I get so impatient, so lonely… I hope you won’t resent me for my forwardness.”

The monster nuzzles against you, marking you with its scent. Its stomach rumbles again. “Hmmm, seems I worked up quite an appetite playing with your friends. Stay here, little mate. I’d hate to waste any food. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure and bring you some too.”

The monster strides away, graceful and so much quieter than something that size ought to be. You lay in the nest, staring into the sockets of that skull, and feel your sanity slowly slipping away in the pain.

[yuujispinkhair]

Angel Baby

Who would have thought that resident bad boy Sukuna would become your personal angel? -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @reneeprika requested the song "Angel Baby" by Troye Sivan.

Pairing: Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff, College AU Word Count: 1k Warnings: None. Lots of fluff. I cried my eyes out writing this because it made me so emotional. Please listen to the song while reading it!! All characters are of age. My blog is 18+. Minors don't interact.

The sound of heavy rain hitting your window wakes you up in the middle of the night. You sigh and snuggle closer to the warm, muscular body next to you. Your boyfriend Sukuna, who has one strong, tattoed arm wrapped tightly around you, not letting go of you even in his sleep.

A sleepy smile wanders over your face. Sukuna and rain are a combination that will always fill your mind with fond memories.

It was a rainy night like this that brought him to you. When you ran from a party after a song started playing, that reminded you of your ex, who had just broken up with you a few days before. Your tears mixed with the rain, making you stumble half-blind into a solid chest, and two strong arms caught you before you could fall.

"Hey, easy there, princess."

His voice had sounded amused until his maroon eyes landed on your face, and he took in your tear-swollen eyes. You expected to be made fun of when you realized who you had run into. Of course, you knew Sukuna. The whole campus knew him. The bad boy with the tattoos and the smug smirk. A guy like Sukuna surely wouldn't be considerate of your feelings.

But he proved you wrong. His low voice was soft when he asked you what was wrong. His eyes were filled with worry when you muttered something about being sad because your boyfriend broke up with you. 

You thought he would leave after that. But he didn't. He took off his leather jacket and put it over your shaking shoulders. He led you to a nearby portico and sat there with you on the stairs, refusing to leave you alone, telling you that your ex was an asshole, and making you laugh softly when Sukuna offered to punch him for you.

He waited with you until your friend with the car was ready to go home, and even then, Sukuna told you to keep his jacket so you wouldn't get cold.

"Just give it back to me next time, princess."

The next time was three days later when you invited him to coffee and cupcakes at your favorite coffee shop to thank him for the jacket and the company. And that next time turned into many more times.

That was two years ago, and now you can't even remember anymore how being heartbroken feels.

Everyone warned you not to get involved with Sukuna and told you he wasn't good for a girl like you. He was the resident bad boy. Arrogant and rough, with too many tattoos and a tendency to get into trouble. Someone who was infamous for being only good for the bedroom.

But instead of scaring you away, that was actually what made you drift to him. Sukuna seemed like a good distraction. Someone who couldn't break your heart because you knew from the start he would only be a little fling. Someone you could just have sex with when you felt like it. The perfect guy for someone like you, who had given up on love.

You weren't looking for a boyfriend anymore. Love was just a lie, lots of words that didn't mean a thing, because you knew everyone would just leave again after a while. You had given up on romance, on "forever" and "happily ever after."

But things turned out very differently. And you are so incredibly grateful for it.

Falling in love with Sukuna caught you off guard. You didn't expect him to treat you so well. Although that first night in the rain should have told you, he wasn't the way people made him out to be.

Sukuna was sweet to you. He was the type to glare intimidatingly at everyone around him and flip them off, just to turn around and smile a genuine, dazzling smile at you and call you his princess and hug you so tightly to his tall, strong body that you felt safe like never before in your life.

He was reliable. Something you would have never thought when looking at him. But he always remembered everything you told him. He remembered your birthday. He remembered when and where to pick you up. He remembered all your appointments and helped you with them. He was there for you when you were anxious, when you were sad when you were overwhelmed with life.

He looked scared when he told you he loved you, just as terrified of those feelings as you were. Two people scared of love. You because you had already gotten burned by it too many times. Sukuna because he had never felt like that before, and the sheer intensity of his feelings for you terrified him.

You both spent the following months learning that love didn't have to hurt or be scary. You both fell in love with so many little things about each other. The way he smiled, the way you laughed. His secret passion for cooking, your passion for books. You spent hours counting the tattoos on his skin and tracing them with your lips. He told you his secrets, trusting you with everything he was underneath his tough shell. Trusting you with a heart that was surprisingly soft, if only for a few select people.

You feel him stir, and his strong arm automatically tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer. The warm feeling in your chest grows even more. You can't stop yourself from pressing a tender kiss to Sukuna's tattoed chest.

A soft laugh, raspy with sleep, fills the bedroom,

"Hmm, princess. Can't sleep?"

You smile as you nuzzle your face against his warm, muscular chest.

"The rain woke me up. But it's ok... I'm happy about it, actually. Do you know that rain always reminds me of you?"

He laughs softly and wraps both of his strong arms around you now, hugging you tightly to his firm, tall body.

"Yeah? Rain always reminds me of you, too. I'm glad you ran into me that night."

"Sukuna?"

You lift your head off his chest to look up at his beautiful tattoed face, smiling when his maroon eyes meet yours in the dim light of the streetlamp and the moon shining through the window. There's a lazy, sleepy smirk on his lips, his gaze unguarded, a look he only has when he's with you.

"Yes, baby?"

"You're my angel."

The smirk grows wider and turns into a laugh, even as his eyes sparkle happily,

"Didn't you mix something up, princess? Don't you mean I'm your devil?"

You shake your head, feeling a broad, happy smile spreading over your face,

"No, you are my angel. My angel baby. When I ran into you, I was at a point in life where I had given up on love. I thought true love just existed in books and movies but not in real life. But then you came into my life and showed me a kind of love I never knew before."

You feel happy tears well up in your eyes and run down your cheeks. Tears that immediately get gently wiped away by a warm, tattoed hand. And Sukuna's glittering maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours with a tender look in them that makes your chest feel incredibly full,

"And I never knew love before I met you, princess. You taught me how to fall in love and how to want to stay there. I think you are the angel out of us two."

You laugh happily as more tears spill from your eyes. You reach out to cup Sukuna's cheek, too, caressing the black lines under his eyes and on his jaw, looking at him with love written all over your face.

"I mean it, Kuna. Just because you look like a devil doesn't mean you are one."

He smiles at you, that beautiful smile that is only reserved for you, making him almost look angelic too,

"Then I'll be an angel just for you, princess."

I cried my eyes out while writing this!! Soft boyfie Sukuna hits so different for me, and this here really did things to me 😭💗 I hope it made you feel something too!!

Thank you so much for the super cute prompt!! The song is so perfect for Sukuna. I added it to my boyfie Kuna playlist too 💗💗

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[nottsbitch]

Right Here, Right Now - T.N.

Based on that one high school musical 3 scene

✩✩✩✩

As Theo Nott touched down on the pitch, the roar of the Slytherin crowd was deafening. The victory was complete: Slytherin had won the House Cup. Theo’s teammates surged towards him, lifting him high into the air in celebration. The thrill of triumph and the smell of victory filled the crisp evening air.

Hours later, the excitement had shifted from the Quidditch pitch to the Nott residence, where the grand celebration was in full swing. Music and laughter echoed through the opulent halls as students, family, and friends gathered to honor the win. The house was alive with the energy of the Slytherin spirit, with food, drinks, and a great deal of revelry.

Meanwhile, Theo and Matteo were nowhere to be seen. The two friends had found themselves in a less glamorous situation: Theo’s truck had broken down on their way to the party. The situation had quickly escalated from a minor inconvenience to a near disaster, as the truck stubbornly refused to start.

“Keep pushing. You better be pushing!” Theo yelled, his breath visible in the chilly night air as he strained against the vehicle.

“I’m pushing!” Matteo shouted back, his frustration evident. Theo’s truck was heavy and unwieldy, and the prospect of missing out on the party was adding to his exasperation.

“Push harder!” Theo urged, his voice a mix of determination and amusement. They were almost there, just a few more steps from the Nott residence.

Finally, with one last effort, they managed to roll the truck to the edge of the driveway. Theo leaned against the truck, panting and smiling with relief. “Home sweet home,” he said, grinning as he glanced at Matteo.

Matteo gave him a flat look, clearly annoyed. “I’m saving for a new one,” Theo said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

“Uh-huh, save faster,” Matteo muttered before turning on his heel and heading towards the house, eager to join the festivities.

Theo watched as Matteo disappeared into the party, and with a resigned sigh, he trudged towards the entrance. The contrast between the chaotic scene outside and the lively celebration inside couldn’t have been starker. As he walked in, he was greeted by cheers and claps on the back from his friends and family.

Despite the rough start, the party was as vibrant as expected. Theo joined the crowd, accepting congratulations and high-fives. His friends, including Enzo and others, were animatedly discussing the match and their victory.

As Theo navigated through the party, searching for you amidst the sea of well-wishers, he was momentarily lost in the whirlwind of congratulations. He stopped briefly to exchange pleasantries and thank the well-meaning crowd, but his focus remained on finding you.

When he finally spotted you on the dance floor with Pansy Parkinson, he felt a surge of relief. He made his way over, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you in a warm embrace.

"Hey," Theo greeted, his voice filled with a mix of joy and exhaustion. "Congratulations, Mr. MVP."

You grinned up at him. "Thanks! Can I fix you a plate?" Even in the midst of the celebration, Theo's thoughtfulness shone through.

"I'll take one of everything" You smiled

"What are we celebrating something?" Theo chuckled, the warmth of your smile making the stress of the day seem almost worth it. Before he could say more, Adrian Pucey swooped in, grabbing Theo's arm.

"What's up, dude? Back-to-back champions, baby!" Pucey exclaimed, his excitement mirroring Theo's earlier exuberance.

Theo was about to respond when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. His father had arrived, ushering him towards a distinguished-looking man who introduced himself as a scout for a professional Quidditch team.

"Let me tell you, that teamwork I saw tonight and the dedication from you, Nott—that's the kind of player I’m looking for," the scout said, his tone sincere.

Theo thanked the man, his mind racing with the possibilities as he tried to process the unexpected opportunity. He turned to find you again, but the crowd had shifted, and he was momentarily disoriented.

Just as he was about to resume his search for you, Pucey stopped him once more, this time with a curious look. “Hey man, great house,” he said, then paused. “Your room? Wicked cool.”

Theo blinked, slightly taken aback. “Oh, thanks, man. Wait, you were in my room?”

"Well yeah I just took a picture... I'm doing mine the same way" He smiled like it was completely normal before pulling out his camera and taking a picture with Theo. The flash confusing him even more then he already was.

Before he could respond Pucey was talking again "Dude we should hang out tonight, Get to know each other"

"yeah sure, I just have to grab the house cup I left it in my truck." Theo thought quickly of a way that he could get away from Pucey.

"Oh dude don't worry I'm on it" And with that he ran off, leaving Theo alone once again and brininging him back to his search.

✩✩✩✩

Theo’s treehouse, tucked away in the branches of an old oak tree, was a nostalgic retreat from the bustling party below. The evening sky was awash with twilight hues, casting a gentle glow over the scene. Theo led you up the wooden ladder with a mix of excitement and nervousness, keen to share this personal space with someone special.

As you reached the top and stepped into the cozy, somewhat cluttered room, you were greeted by the familiar smell of pine and the faint scent of old books. The space was adorned with old Quidditch memorabilia, photographs, and sketches—evidence of the countless hours Theo had spent up here as a child.

“So, another top-secret hiding place,” you said, slipping your hand into his and looking around with interest.

Theo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and nostalgia. “You’re the second girl I’ve ever brought up here,” he said, his voice softening as he met your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “The first?”

“The first was my mom,” he said, pausing to see your reaction. When you elbowed him gently, he continued, “And she only climbed up here to get me down when I got stuck.”

Both of you burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly in the quiet, serene space.

“Well, I’m honored,” you said, taking in the view of the Nott estate. “This place is so cool.”

“Yeah, my dad and I built it together,” Theo said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “It’s been a special place for me.”

You nodded, glancing over at him. “Is that the coach from the pro team who he hasn't stopped talking about in weeks?”

“The very same,” Theo said, a note of amazement in his voice. “He’s here at my house tonight. It’s surreal.”

“I bet he’s already got your name on a jersey,” you teased.

“That’s always been my dad’s dream,” Theo said, his tone filled with warmth. “He’s been so supportive and I know he's proud .”

“I’m proud of you too,” you added softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Theo’s expression grew contemplative. “The thing about going pro is…”

He was cut off by you both speaking at once. “I’ll be 1,000 miles away.”

Theo stopped, his gaze fixed on you. “It feels like this year is flying by.”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh, “I wish it would slow down, at least for a little while.”

Theo took a deep breath, looking around the treehouse as if trying to hold on to the moment. “Well, at least we have right now.”

“That’s true,” you agreed, leaning closer.

“And right here, right now,” Theo said, his voice soft and earnest, “I’m looking at you, and my heart loves the view.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. “That was pretty cheesy.”

“I know,” Theo said, grinning sheepishly. “But I meant every word.”

You smiled back at him, feeling a sense of contentment and connection in the quiet intimacy of the treehouse. The party below seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the shared moment between the two of you.

Theo leaned in, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lantern hanging above. “I’m glad we could share this moment together.”

“Me too,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you leaned in closer. “It’s been a night to remember.”

As you two leaned in and shared a slow kiss the winning fireworks were set off in the back. Perfect timing.

As the party below carried on, the sounds of celebration drifting up to the treehouse, Theo and you were content in the knowledge that, despite the uncertainties of the future, you had each other and a memory that would last long after the night was over.

✩✩✩✩

This was kind of hard to write at the end because I didn't want them breaking out into song.

[andy-wm]

On a personal note...

This is a personal story, so feel free to scroll on past (if you're only here for the Jikookery I can respect that).

I'm posting this because it's connected to what Jimin and Jungkook (specifically Jimin) may or may not be doing with this album and their travel series "Are you sure", and by that I mean coming out publicly as queer and as lovers. If it sounds vague, it is, because I don't know what they're doing yet. I don't know how far Jimin is taking this or what direction he'll go. But if he is going to make his private life public, then my post is relevant even though my experience is a microscopic spec 0f what he will encounter.

I live in a conservative little town on the edge of a big city, we're almost the last stop on the metro train line. This place has 10 000 residents and a reputation for being a little on the rough side. It's not a bad place and the people are not bad people but they won't step aside if you pick a fight, lets put it that way.

There's one high school in our little town, and I am the school librarian. I also run the school's pride club and when I started it 5 years ago (that's when I joined this school) it kicked up a bit of a stink. The community had mixed feelings. I wasn't out as trans at that point, only as queer. The school principal supported the club but wanted me to keep it quiet (I didn't). She wanted me to be appeasing (I wasn't). And when we had challenges from homophobic students, she wanted me to 'let her handle it' ( I didn't).

I responded to bigotry with patience and kindness, modelling the behaviour I expected and having many many conversations about prejudice, the patriarchy, learned behaviour, fear of the unknown, and minding your own damn business....

When I came out as trans to the school community - changing my name and pronouns - I faced some real push back from both staff and students. Students were less openly hostile but sometimes the subtle attempts at bullying are worse. My line manager was really difficult about it. I was a hot topic of conversation. It wasn't a good time. But I stuck with it, partly because I couldn't go back and partly because the Pride Club students were so empowered by what I was doing. They thought I was really brave. I couldn't let them down.

It was a tough time for me personally. Every day was a struggle as I navigated my wavering sense of identity and tried to be true to myself. Most of my family and friends were okay with it but some were not. Some flipped back and forth, some thought I had lost my mind. I had to let a few people go from my life, including one of my closest friends. I've lost a few more since then. I've cried more in the past few years than I have in my whole life and I am pretty tough, so you gotta know - it was a lot.

Fast forward to now. The pride club is well established, homophobia still exists but it's less overt and it's no longer ignored, and we have staff who are active allies. It's definitely a success. Our students to have a safe place where they can be themselves, and slow change is coming to the culture of the school.

It has come at a personal cost though. Not a HUGE personal cost but enough for it to matter. I am recognised and known around town because, well, most people in small communities know each other. But more so because of my role in the school, and because I am the only out and vocal queer person on school staff (yes, there are other LGBTQIA+ staff but they keep it quiet, and I don't really blame them).

At school i still have to correct people on my pronouns on a daily basis, and occasionally a student will throw a comment my way but it's not often these days. I have to come out to all the new staff pretty much as soon as I first meet them otherwise it's awkward. It's just an everyday thing. It's not a big deal but it's tiring, and it's something cis/straight people don't ever have to think about.

What is tough, though, is sniping from the community at large every now and again. I have been targeted on community socials and I've had had some pretty brusque service from local shop owners and service personnel in local businesses. Sometimes I see kids from school at the shops and they point me out to their parents. I pretend it's because they're happy to see me (what the fuck else am I going to do - hide in the apple crate?) They may say a friendly hello... or they may following me through the aisles of the supermarket trying to menace me - yes, that has happened - I just have to wait and see.

I do have allies in the community too - like the gorgeous pharmacist who always gets my name and pronouns right and compliments me (on whatever he can think of) every time I collect my meds. There's a stern woman in the hardware store who makes a point of loudly correcting herself when she uses the wrong pronouns (often). I appreciate this, I really do, but honestly it would be great if she could be a little quieter.

I am not a celebrity by any means, just a small town school librarian. But wherever I go in my small town - to the doctor, the supermarket, the park, or the gym - there's a chance I'll encounter someone who knows my face. Sometimes that makes me nervous.

The point of this long and boring post is to give people who may not know what it's like, a bit of insight into the experience of a regular, everyday person who lives in a conservative place and who is both recognisable and queer. It can be exhausting, and from time to time I struggle with mental health issues. So I have no doubt that for people who are really well known, it would be much, much worse. They would be the subject of public debate on news sites and TV. They'd be tossed into arguments by politicians on both sides of the divide. They'd encounter hostility in person too, and that's really frightening.

So please remember that if the celebs you admire choose NOT to come out, it's because they've weighed up their choices and that's the safest option for them. Support them where they're at, so they can live their best life under the circumstances.

If they do come out, they'll probably need even more support. Please love them, defend them, celebrate them, and validate them. They need you more than you know.

And above all else, be a good human.

PS, no need to comment here, this is purely a PSA <3

[loko4koko]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ Geto Suguru x f!reader ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

>fanart_credit: xxgojoxx (via_twitter)

MDNI 18+

>word_count: 1152

>contents: fingering (f!receiving), somnophilia (explicit and implied), explicit p in v, suguru calls you “good girl” and “baby” a few times, suguru calls you a “fucktoy” once, suguru has a big fat dick (but we all knew that)

“what are you doing?”

the hand slipping into the front of your baby blue cotton panties freezes, like a dog who’d been caught eating something they weren’t supposed to. did he think you wouldn’t notice? it’d be impossible not to; with a hand as big as his, it was like he was trying to sneak a fucking baseball mitt into your underwear.

“nothing. go to sleep.” suguru says, with the conviction of pinocchio telling someone the sky was purple. in other words, he is a goddamned dirty liar. his face is smushed into your neck, long hairs tickling the curve of your shoulder. he’s got you pressed against him like you’re planning to run away, back so flush against his chest that his heartbeat reverberates through to you.

you huff, trying to settle back into the sheets, into his hold on you. thankfully it isn’t hard, couldn’t be when he’s so broad, makes you feel so protected and cozy. you’re just getting back comfortable when that hand starts misbehaving again, creeping further into your panties. he doesn’t do anything, just lets his palm sit unmoving atop your pubic bone. it makes you squirm, his fingers are so close to where you’d normally be begging him to put them that you’re not sure how to take it.

“suguru.”

“what? i’m tryin’ to sleep here.”

“uh, no? no, you’re not.”

“am too. hands are cold. stop moving and go to sleep.”

he can’t see it, but he knows you’re scowling. you go to turn around in his arms but he uses that strong hand in your panties to grip your mound, long fingers splayed over your (slowly dampening) cunt. any words you want to say, any whines and complaints are stolen right from your throat by the man behind you. he uses that grip to yank your hips back from where you’d started to roll over, face leaving its spot on your neck to nudge his nose up against your ear.

“baby. i love you. go to fucking sleep.” his voice is riddled with a damningly arousing mix of exhaustion and authority; something that is entirely not helping when he’s already gotten so close to touching your clit that you could taste it. you don’t give him a response other than your silence, squeezing your eyes shut while you try to think about anything other than how deep his slender fingers reach inside of your- okaaay, that’s enough.

“s’my good girl. g’night,” he sighs, leaving a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear before his face is back to its residence on your nape. oh, what a cruel, cruel son of a bitch he is.

you couldn’t sleep for an hour and a half after that, wide awake and thinking about all of the other things you’d do to make suguru call you his good girl while he snores softly against you. occasionally, he’d shuffle a bit to adjust himself, and the hand in your panties follows suit, fingers brushing against your clit right as you’re about to fall asleep. safe to say, it was a rough night for your sleep schedule.

suguru is many things, and a tease is one of them. it’s 8:36am when you’re woken up, rousing from the dream state that only 5 hours of sleep had given you. it isn’t your own doing that wakes you, though. it’s the repetitive tap..tap..tap that you feel on your already sensitive clit. but then, it’s not just touching; it’s suguru’s husky voice in your ear, still colored with sleep and something dangerously lusty.

“-bet you’d like that, though. so fucking wet even in your sleep. i could just slip right inside you, baby..” the fingers touching your most sensitive parts slip lower, succeeding in their goal of spreading your pussy lips apart- not that it’d be hard to with how much slick is leaking out of you. his calloused middle finger finds its way inside of you, unhurriedly feeling around the hot, wet walls it burrowed in to. you have no response, eyes falling shut as your mouth does the opposite.

“you won’t be mad at me, right? if i put it in? give you my cock first thing in the morning? fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’…you awake?” his finger inside of you finds your g-spot in no time, massaging the spongy little spot with a very practiced ease. you can’t speak, only able to give the man behind you a nod. suguru tuts, smearing sloppy wet kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“good morning, my filthy girl. you like it when i touch your pussy while you sleep, huh? like the idea of me usin’ you as a fucktoy while you dream about me doing the same?” he pushes himself further against you at the same time that he adds another finger inside of you, grinding his cock against the swell of your ass. he’s at full staff, probably had been for a while—so fucking hard and so fucking hot that you can feel it through his boxers and shorts.

“cum for me and i’ll give it you, yeah? be a good girl ‘n cum all over my fingers, you can do it, baby, jus’ like that.” he’s thrusting those long fingers in and out of you now, much faster than your sleep-addled brain can even comprehend. your own hand wraps around his wrist, hips moving in time with him.

“‘m gonna cum, sugu, please don’t stop,” you whine, voice hoarse from being unused for so long. that knot in your stomach winds itself even tighter, whiny little gasps leaving you as he fucks his fingers deeper into you. it isn’t long before that knot is pulled too taut, before the dam breaks, and your nails are digging deep into his arm. the intensity of your orgasm has you fully awake now, no chance in hell that you’d go back to sleep after this. you were promised something, and you were gonna get it.

your breath is still coming out in sharp pants when he removes his fingers from your tight little hole, only moving them to find the waistband of your panties. he shoves them down unceremoniously, too worked up to keep wasting valuable time that he could spend making you cum all over his heavy cock. he gets his own boxer briefs down around his thighs and grips at the base of his dick, pre-cum staining the backs of your thighs as he finds his way to your cunt. you both gasp when he slips inside of you but he’s quick, leaning over to steal your lips in a kiss full of desire. when his mouth parts from yours, he moves it back to your ear, not even bothering to give you a moment to adjust to his much more than average size stretching you out.

“next time, i’m not waking you up first.”

>author’s_note: idk i’m just saying if i woke up to this every morning i’d get a lot more done in life 🧎suguru bae plsssss

>thank you for reading ♡︎

>masterlist.exe

>send a request here!

© loko4koko 2024

[theapangea]

One Night Stand

Pairing/Characters: Nick Miller x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: A very fun one night stand with Nick Miller.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI!!! unprotected p in v, bj, fingering, eating out v, Nick kind of a dom ;)

A/N: My first official Nick Miller post yay! Let me know what you think! thank u for supporting my work! If you see any mistakes...no you didn't!

*Also posted on AO3: theapangea*

Masterlist <3

Kissing Nick Miller is a little sloppy to say the least.

The wet kisses mixed with the buzz of the lasting alcohol that still coats each of your tongues as you stumble your way to his place, excited for the night ahead. His lips barely leave yours as he reaches into his pocket for the keys. His other hand pulling you closer by the small of your back, needing you close enough to feel your heartbeat. And at this moment, it was beating rapidly against his chest.

The door opens to the dimly lit loft, the presence of people long forgotten, as the two of you stumble in. The playful laughs dance around the room, swirling around the both of you. More giggles escape your lips as Nick tries to shush you, prompting you to shush him in return. And the more you each try to keep the other quiet, the more laughs fill the quiet room. It was a lose-lose situation during this late hour.

His fingers intertwine with yours, leading you towards his room near the front of the loft. A smile residing on your face, the giggles still on the tip of your tongue as you watch his silhouette in the moonlight. He is a little rough around the edges but that’s what you like. 

Letting you into the room first, the door shutting quickly after that. And then his body is suddenly so close. Moving the hair away from your neck, his lips kiss the soft skin so delicately. His hands rub along your shoulders down your arms, a trail of goosebumps follows shortly after as you begin to melt under his touch.

His rough hands now run gently across your soft skin, the complete opposite from the moments the two of you shared a few moments earlier. Leaning your back against his chest as his hands wrap underneath your arms, his fingers making quick work of your button up shirt. Tearing the garment off of your shoulder, dropping it to the floor. The cool air mixes with the heat of your radiating skin.

Nick kisses a trail along the back of your neck as he fumbles to get your bra off. The multiple profanities coming from his mouth as he struggles makes you giggle. Finally unhooking the latch before his hands come around your chest, cupping both breasts as you arch back into his embrace. Nick delicately plays with your nipples between his fingers, squeezing, tugging, twisting. All of which cause sweet whines to escape your perfect lips.

Snaking his right hands around your throat, squeezing both sides with his thick fingers around. Pressing his fingertips harder into your skin as his left hand is still tugging at your sensitive nipple. His tongue dragging up your neck, his hot breath in your ear, “Be a good girl and get on your knees for me.”

And the dam near collapsed at his raspy words filling your empty head. A heavy breath releasing from your body as his hands let you go. Suddenly so cold and fragile without his body close to you. 

You do as you are told, turning around to face him. Nick’s eyes bouncing from your gaze to each perky breast in front of him. Licking his lips as you lower yourself on to the floor. Big doe, innocent eyes ready to be defiled starring back up to him and his large stature.

Nick slowly starts to unbuckle his belt, making the movements more emphasized as he practically sees you salivating for his cock. You are driving him crazy. Nick drops his jeans and boxers to the floor, the fabrics pooling around his ankles as he begins to stroke his throbbing member. He reaches out a hand, wrapping his fingers in your hair as he pulls you closer. 

Now only inches away from his leaking tip, “Stick your tongue out for me baby,” and like a good little girl your tongue extends from your mouth directly underneath his cock but not touching it. Nick shakes his head in disbelief, “God, you are so pretty.” His hand release the bunch of hair as it moves around your face, his thumb rubbing against your bottom lip. 

Squeezing your thighs together from his sweet words. Your body is vibrating as you physically cannot wait any longer until you are able to taste the delicious liquid that leaks from his tip. Finally closing the small gap between your lips and his hard cock, tongue reaching out, swirling around the head as an intense inhale from Nick jolts through the room. 

The fierce sensation running through Nick’s body as he lets out a deep groan, his hand on his shaft moving back and forth as you continue to lick the oozing juices. You don’t dare to break eye contact with him, the hint of a smile running across your face, pleased with being able to make him feel so good.

Your hands graze up his bare thighs, fingers digging deeply into his skin as you begin to take his length into your open hole. Tongue swirling the sensitive bottom before flattening your tongue to accommodate his size as you inch further and further down his shaft. Nick’s hand nestles in the back of your head, wrapping his fingers tightly around your locks as he guides you down. 

Saliva leaking from your mouth, tears accumulating in your eyes as the girth opens you wide. Only stopping when you can’t go down anymore, the tip pressing firmly in your throat. Whining as you try to push his cock deeper and deeper. 

“Stay still for me,” Nick whispers, his breath catching in his throat as both of his large hands hold your face still as he begins to buckle his hips into your mouth. The pace was slow at first, taking his time to explore your mouth with his aching cock. Until he finds his sweet spot, that’s when his pumping increases and pools of water form in your eyes, sending tears down your cheeks. The sound of choking fills the room, fills his ears, instinctively making him pump faster.

Pushing deeper and deeper into your mouth. “Eyes on me baby,” his voice is shaking as you lock eyes with him, his member pushing deeper down your throat. “You can do it baby.” 

His words make you squeeze your thighs together, the wetness starting to leak. The pure act of being face fucked by Nick sending you to the moon. 

Nick thrusts hard one last time but quickly pulls himself out of your mouth. Suddenly feeling so empty without him invading you. Finally filling your lungs again with fresh air as your chest heaves up and down. Nick bends down, kissing you on the forehead as both hands latch underneath your armpits and he’s pulling you up onto both feet.

But what he doesn’t know is that you may not be able to stand. 

Nick’s eyes are soft as he scans your delicate features, pausing for a beat to look at your weakened state. Your hands firmly hang onto his biceps, squeezing as you feel his muscles move underneath his cotton shirt. 

His hand only comes up as his thumb traces your bottom lip, pulling in for a kissing. He is intense. The confidence that radiates off of him, the way he talked, the way he moved, makes your body weak. The overwhelming passion pulsing around the room, wanting to show you that he wants you, that he needs you.

Your lips attempts to match his rhythm but are still feeling loss after what just happened. His tongue pressing against your bottom lip, asking for entry. Letting him in for the first time, his tongue searches for yours, swirling around inside of your mouth as he starts to move you backwards.

Your arms snaking around his neck as to steady yourself, letting him guide you. Your fingers glide upwards, fingers grasping his short brown hair, pulling the strand of hair ever so slightly. You can feel his smile through the kiss. 

The back of your knees hit the bed in no time as Nick gently lowers you into the soft mattress. Breaking your kiss to place light pecks down your jaw, throat, collarbone, breast, nipple, stomach, until he gets to the top of your jeans. 

His fingers make quick work to unbuckle your pants and slide them down your legs. Leaving you in your lace panties with a little bow on the front. His lips pull into a smile when he catches the bow, fingers grazing along the fabric before both hands glide down your thighs. Pushing apart your legs once his hands get to your knees. 

Your core is so sore already, leaking through your undies this entire time. Body shaking as his fingers stroke back up your thighs, tracing small circles on your inner thighs. 

“Nick,” His name sounds so sweet coming from your mouth, pleading as the breath falls,  “please.” 

Exactly what he was waiting for, you begging for his touch. His fingers to fuck you, his tongue to suck over your swollen clit. Just like you, he can’t wait to taste the sweet elixir that leaks from your body. 

His pointer finger reaches to graze over the fabric, the light sensation sending your hips jolting to the roof. The waves of euphoria are already circling through your body and he has barely touched you.

Hooking his finger underneath the material as he moves it to the side, exposing your pretty little core to the angel sitting between your legs. His thumb instantly stoking your inflamed nub, applying light pressure to the sensitive area. Your whines muffle through the room as your fingers soak into the rough fabric of the blanket. His name falling delicately from your lips between moans. 

Spreading your split apart with his middle and index fingers, prompting sliding them inside as you. The long digit curling perfectly inside your core. Pumping in rhythm to his circling thumb. 

Digging his thick finger further inside of you, dipping his head as he replaces his thumb with his warm tongue. The soft tissue swirling around your tender clit. Licking and sucking as he fingers continue to pump faster, finally finding a good pace as his mouth puts in the work. 

The repetitive movement sending you over the edge as you moan wildly. Hands tousled in his locks as you buckle underneath his mouth. Grinding rapidly against his tongue as intense sensation pushes you into euphoria. 

Your chest falls up and down as you are spread across the bed, vision still blurry from the amazing overdrive of intensity that just radiated through your body. Lifting your head to meet the cocky smile that is plastered on Nick’s face. The smile of a man who knows you have never felt this way with anyone else. You can’t help but smile back as you let your head fall back into the bed.

You feel the mattress shift underneath you as a hot body begins to hover over your fragile frame. His present totally engulfs yours, absolutely ready to be fucked by this attractive man. 

Your legs spread apart as he positions himself between them. Hand on his leaking cock, pumping several times to lube up his length. Pressing the shaft down as the tip runs against your nub, moving down to your wet entrance. 

A shared moan fills the room as he begins to push into your sweet pussy. Back arching as his size stretches your walls. 

“Fuck…”

“You can take it darling.” He encourages you as he continues to push into your sweet folds.

Your face contorting into pleasure as his entire length is now finally inside of you. Nick lowers himself down, catching one nipple in his mouth. The tiny whimper escapes your lips as Nick starts to pull his hips back, guiding his shaft in and out of your delicious pussy.

His head settles into the crook of your neck as he finds his speed. Arms wrapping underneath you as he thrust deeper and deeper into your folds. Rolling your hips against him, your clit rubbing against his skin sending waves up your body.

Moving in perfect unison with each other as the sweet release is near for the both of you. Nick’s thrust starts to become messier, each hard pound inside of you hitting the right spot. Toes curling as you muffle your screams in his neck.  

Fucking you faster and faster, your whining mixing deliciously with his groans. Shaking breathes all mix together with his lips crashing into yours. 

His pumps becoming sloppy and uneven, “I'm gonna cum,” you hum into his mouth. Making him pump faster than ever before to send you spirling over the edge, a out of body experience as he fucks you into oblivion. 

Nick’s thrust slows as his hot liquid fills inside of you. Kissing the softness of your cheek before peeling away from you. 

Nick collapses onto the bed, a lazy smile firmly plastered on his face. Arms reaching over to wrap around your lifeless frame. Wet kisses lingering down your neck before nuzzling into the soft skin. 

“Maybe we can make this more than just a one time thing?” Nick’s sleepy voice vibrates against you.

“Definitely.”

~~~

So??? What did you think?? Definitely let me know!!