#so why are you getting bent out of shape about it she was never a threat

[navree]

unfortunately the percy jackson show means percy jackson discourse which means i once more have to see dogshit takes about rachel elizabeth dare, who did literally nothing except have a relationship with a boy she liked for a couple months, but the freaks are at it again because there's no worse crime in the world than being a girl getting in the way of a ship for a nanosecond

[screampied]

RIDIN' DIRTY ?!

⋆˚. sum. you never realized how hot your local mechanic was until he had you arched and bent over your hood. spoiler fucking alert, you end up getting a different kind of pipe that’s of course free of charge just for you.

warnings. fem! reader, mechanic toji, unprotected, degradation, oral (f! receiving), spıt, breēding, shotgunning, fuckıng you on the hood, praise, manhandling, pússywhipped toji, size kink, biting, brief fıngering, petnames.

wc. 5.3k

an. ty kali for beta'ing some x

“she’s all done, ma’am,” your mechanic toji murmurs in a gruff voice, yanking back your stick shift before putting it in park. he drove it near the garage of his auto shop, a rounded plump cigarette sticking from the corner of his mouth. with a yawn departing from his lips, he eyes you up and down for a bit before removing his seatbelt. stepping out, he then towers over you by many, many staggering inches. his silhouette alone was intimidating, and you shift your dilated irises away once he cocks his head to your level. “still in pretty good shape. y’er model ain’t that old ‘n i think you should visit every few weeks.”

compressing your thighs together, you bury your purse underneath the pit of your arm. “oh, okay thank you sir,” and as he’s standing—you then take a good glimpse at the man in front of you. he’s handsome, sweaty, and covered in nothing but a slick sheet of grease. the more you gawk, the more you could see a bit of curly chest hair poke out against his skin. his broad chest, his perky pink nipples that poked-

“heh, darlin’ ya don’t gotta be so formal, y’know,” and your eyes darted toward his work cap that was slightly twisted. god, he was so attractive. he inches toward you closer, watching you struggle to keep composure before you think he’s gonna kiss you. so what do you do, you close your eyes. you close your fucking eyes, thinking he was gonna kiss you but instead, he places a hand on the hood of your car. “oh? silly girl, were you expectin’ something?”

“n- no.”

yeah, you were.

it was late at night, midnight, and everyone had clocked out for the day.

everyone except toji. he was a workaholic. you needed a last minute oil change and he was the only available one near by. he was about to close but made an exception. the auto shop has a cooling air surrounding the inside of the garage before you swallow. you can hear your saliva trail its way down your throat as you finally meet direct eye contact with the older man. “cute,” toji murmurs, and he’s not even touching you. he’s not even touching you but it felt like it. despite his teasing, you get hit face first with a strong waft of his scent. his cologne, you knew the exact type he was wearing. cheap, but long lasting against anyone’s nostrils who takes a first whiff. “it’s been a while since y’er last oil change though, i’d be lyin’ if i said i didn’t miss ya.”

with a quirk of a brow, you murmur up at him, deciding why not to play along. you knew he was most likely teasing but still. “you missed … me?”

“sure,” toji removes his baseball cap, fanning it against the sweat glistening off his bulging muscles that poke through his perfectly sculpted body. he was so fit, you couldn’t help but openly leer at his broad, intense figure. with a sly smile, he leans against your car before humming, taking another hit of his cigar. “not too many pretty faces show up ‘round here. besides, i didn’t forget about our little moment last time.”

your breath gets caught in the back of your throat.

he remembered,

he remembered the little incident the two of you shared. when you came for your last oil change and a battery repair, you also ended up sharing a kiss with toji. it was nothing more, nothing less.

but it was hot, having his tongue shoved down your throat with his big rough hands roaming along the sides of your body. being so pressed up against him, you felt yourself longing for more. in your city, toji was the best mechanic for miles. he we well known, quick, precise, and quite flirty.

you brought out the worst in him that day, and it annoyed you how the steamy, sultry kiss got interrupted by his boss. shiu … something, rich raven hair mirroring the same color as his worker.

“oh y- yeah.” you sheepishly mumble, feeling the tension through the air run thick. you loathed desperately how whenever you were around toji, your stammer would make an appearance. you hated it, it was so embarrassing and he ate it up everytime. toji’s sly gaze lowers and he titters at the cute pullover and skirt you wore before your own eyes trail toward his lips.

his lips,

they were naturally crooked — pink, and that damn slanted scar that remained to slash against the right side of his mouth. you peeped a bit of a growing stubble, but nevertheless he was always well trimmed. toji flashed a grin before he got way close to you. kneeling his head down, he whispers toward you. “oh y- yeah,” he mocks your trembling tone, and he was so close that his musk, his body heat radiates off you completely. “somethin’ tellin’ me you came here for more than just an oil change, that right, baby?”

your heart’s pulsing intensifies at his cunning words. always cutting straight to the chase. he’s so up close, his cologne’s just clogging up your nose by now before your thighs squeeze themselves shut. “yes.”

“yes what, darlin’?” and there’s a hint of jibe in his voice. the moment he grabs your chin gently, you’re ready to lose it right there. toji’s wearing mechanic gloves, the soft padded leather pulling down on your bottom lip playfully. with a coy head tilt, he purses your lips a bit more open. “ah, c’mon. use those pretty words, tell me what ya want.”

your legs, the crevices between them were already starting to slick with moisture.

oh, this couldn’t have been anymore embarrassing. as you meet his jade green eyes, you reply with a tone that comes out far more needy than you originally intended. “i want .. i want you, toji.”

there’s a frisky, playful glint in his eye—as well as the tiny crinkle forming at each twist of his facial expressions. “yeah you do,” and his words were pitched deep, so deep that the timbre lingering underneath his tone sends your spine shivers. “more than a kiss? i’ll hafta charge ya extra, heh.”

still . . it was humor in his voice, you knew he was joking but the heat purring between your thighs only grew. your body was screaming at you, it’s been a while since your last time anyway, the last time you’ve been touched. 

with a nod, murmuring out a faint little, “more than a kiss, ‘toj,” he snickers, closing the awkward distance between you two finally.

the moment his lips crash against yours, everything feels hot. scorching hot — similar to the sahara, his tongue being the water you needed to cool down. the leftover smoke and booze that lingered on his tongue was strong, the second it glided against your buds it tasted stronger. you could feel his smirk creeping against his lips before with two hands, he lifts you up, propping you to sit on the hood of your car. 

it was madly aggressive - teeth clashing, tongues twisting, one taste again and he was addicted.

he made sure to take out his cigarette before hand, squeezing it against his fingers as he’s gradually grinding his hips by you. it’s slow, you could feel his raging boner prod right through his work pants.

it was hard to miss, you couldn’t help but give him a few nosy peeks which he was working on your car to see if he was a packer and he definitely was.

sticky strands of his hair tickle against your forehead as he’s rutting right in you. a free hand makes its way onto your left thigh, slowly dancing his fingers amongst your skin. the moment your legs entrap his slim waist, locking around his torso, he grunts. both lashes were close to touching, breaths were becoming heavy, and you felt his tongue curl around yours. toji was a sloppy yet passionate kisser, and yet— he wanted his tongue to work in other ways. 

and it did, 

your jaw drops open as you’re laid flat on your back, staring at the man with his face shoved deep between your thighs. toji sprawls open your legs, delving his long tongue inside of your slick entrance to get a sweet taste.

gradually, his tongue dips all around your cunt, creating a little swirl before he feels your body twitch in rapture.

“t- tojiiii,” you whine, feeling a bit paranoid at how anyone could just see the two of you.

sure, you were both in a securely locked garage ( at least you hoped ) —but, anyone could just walk in. walk in and see you having your pussy being devoured by one of the most top known mechanics in the city. if you’d have given a rating on his pussy eating skills, it’d be five stars without question. 

he was always so nasty with it— occasionally, with his now bare fingers from removing his gloves, he slides a thumb down your slick.

“look at her, she’s fuckin’ sloppy,” he whispers against your cunt — his warm breath brushes near your folds and you whimper. your voice echoes raw out your throat, ringing through the spacey walls of his garage. this was far better than just an oil change, you were thinking. so so better,

as toji’s still swiping a tongue against your entrance in a circular rotation—nose deep, speaking of nose, it starts to rummage its way against your nub. you gag out a gasp, nearly choking from how out of breath you were with your legs shaking tremendously. with your teeth shattering, he nibbles against your clit, staring you dead in the eyes. “mmf, ‘s fuckin’ good. how generous of you though,” he coos in a gruff tone, easing a single digit inside of your slippery core. “haven’t ate all day ‘n this meal ‘s just what i needed darlin, heh.”

toji’s charisma was simply unmatched.

it was something about him being face first between your legs that made him ten times more attractive.

his hair, it was a bit lengthy but not too much. he grew it out the last time you saw him. a bit of a wolf cut but was neatly trimmed toward his shoulders. it’s rough and unkempt, dark black bangs still running down his eyes. every few seconds, he’s got to whip his head back in vex so his vision isn’t occluded. 

“hnnggh, right there toji. pleaseplease.” you babble out in desperate cries, swallowing your own pathetic pity before savoring the honeyed taste.

a whimper rips out of your throat to where it sounds similar to a gargle. his tongue knows just the right spots to reach. your clitoral hood, he loved to suck on it until that cute scream snatches from your esophagus.

“never tasted a girl so sweet ‘n all my years,” he groans, a single finger still shoved inside. it’s stretching you out more and your back arches against the warm hood of your vehicle.

from side to side,

his head moves and shifts and shakes and you’re about to lose it. in fact, you were already losing it, feeling your legs turn into complete mush. jello even, they felt nonexistent thanks to his sloppy tongue.

whilst he’s buried right between your thighs, the mechanic’s got the smuggest grin that you just wanted to wipe right off his face. 

toji’s so pent up and aroused—he works a regular six to twelve hour shift, it was almost the same situation for you. he can’t remember the last time he’s been … active, albeit he was exhausted. and yet it seemed as if your precious, slick cunt gave him all the needed battery to fuel his energy right back up.

a husky growl vibrates against your pussy and you whine as a hand combs its way into his hair. in the process, your fingers tangle against his strands. your digits - all five of them stroke through his scalp before giving it a brief tug. 

“kinky ‘lil slut, huh,” he grunts, head yanking forward towards your thighs. toji hated the fact that it turned him on. a lot, so much so that his dick twitches in his wrangler rigg jeans. as he’s got you still laid against your parked car, he slurps against your cunt - feeling you pulse right into his mouth. “there’s that cute heartbeat, she wants so much fuckin’ attention today.”

“t- toji, ‘m gonna cum,” you moan, his low words only pushing you further to the edge. barred big hands cling against both sides of your thighs. no longer having a finger inside, he firmly grabs your leg.

you’re quavering,

seeing nothing but splotches of snowy white as he’s slurping up your cunt like a hot dish of pasta. “c- cum, fuck ‘m gonna cum, y- your tongue ‘s goodddd.”

with a low hoarsely chortle, he hums. “careful, doll. cum ‘n i’ll have to add a bit of tax to your bill. plus an extra fee for heh, grease.”

you stare at him with a cute confused expression and he snickers. “aw, ‘m joking, don’t gimme that look,” and with warm lips pressing against your cunt, you mewl out a desperate, shrilling whine.

as the seconds go on, you’re steadily being brung to the teetering orgasmic edge. with your hips bucking against his face, he’s grabbing ahold of waist with his tongue exploring the inner caves of your delicious cunt.

your nub, he continues to flick against it, making your body jerk back against the unmoving vehicle. you whimper and whimper before he shoots you a teasing smile, whistling against your folds. “use those words, darlin’. use ‘em ‘n tell me what you want, yeah.”

“wanna cum- wanna c-cum,” you breathe, feeling the shiver in your jaw. even still, you’re wisping fingers into his strands, gripping it tightly before you’re grinding your cunt against his face.

a snail-like trail of your own clear slick runs down his chin. oh, with the way he slowly pulls his head up to smirk at you, you just wanted to kiss him again. your body’s hanging onto its last and final hinges before you’re spasming, feeling him swat a palm against your pussy thrice. “ngh, toji. wanna cum. please, need it. n- need to cum.”

“i’d beg to differ,” he groans, reaching for the hem of his pants - pulling the heavy piece of clothing down. his dick alone had a bit of weight to it and with murky-like irises, you gawk openly.

with a hand going inside of his pants, he lets off a guttural groan, starting to stroke himself off. a few solid pumps and he’s already sucking his teeth at the almost unbearable friction.

“fuck, y- you don’t ‘need’ shit, little girl,” and he’s multitasking. one hand focusing on your thigh and another on his cock. he’s so hard, he’s so fucking hard and the moving you’re doing against his body - the grinding, it doesn’t make it any better. with a mean slap, he spanks your cunt again before spitting near your folds. “you need it, you need ‘ta cum. right darlin’?”

“y- yes,” you hiccup, white noise deafening your ears continuously. the loooooong, sleazy slurps of his tongue makes you rock more into his mouth, nearly pulling out his strands with your rough, hard grip.

the more you tug and pull against his hair, the more it turns him on. his cock throbs whilst a long vein runs through the very side of his shaft. the center of toji’s thumb brushes against his peeling brief foreskin. “need, i need to cum. please.” you correct yourself, in hopes that he’d let you succumb to your nirvana-filled release.

as your fingers continue to fish through his hair, gathering a nice hold, he starts to make out with your folds. the squelches, they were singing out a cacophony of sloppy sounds. you’re sopping wet so good for him to where your cunt’s just voluntarily cascading on his mouth—cascading down his chin.

with ease, you even drench his stubble with your slick - happily. “go ‘head girl,” he grunts, gazing hungrily at the concoction of strings departing. cobwebs of his saliva mixing along with strings of your slick makes him groan. what a mess. a mess and you were the biggest one possible.

once you come undone, everything’s so hazy. your legs jitter in exhilaration, moaning loudly from the intense palpitation. he licks you clean, lapping up your flavorful juices with his tongue before feeling a few spurts of his own cum paint against his palm. “f- fuck, pretty,” he grunts, each stroke against his hard cock making him grind his teeth together. his jaw tightens, realizing he’d just came with you - all from eating you out. you were shaking still, your climax making your vision turn into a rainbow of color. your eyelids, all you saw was a plethora of colorful tints, slowly jerking your hips forward until you couldn’t anymore. as you move, he guides you to ride out your orgasm, ride it out all on his face. ���thaaaat’s it, gimme all of y’er taste, mhm.”

it lasts for seconds, seconds that felt like long, never ending hours. with a sweet elongated battle cry of your own that’s in reality replaced with an ear shattering orgasm, you slump back against your vehicle. 

“such a good girl,” he murmurs, getting up and it’s a concise soreness in his thighs from bending down for that duration of a time. inhaling a breath of fresh air, he inches toward your face. “heh, you look so dumb,” he teases at your state. indeed you were, his tongue had you feral and craving for more. you were still throbbing, his body heat closing the remaining spacey inches between you both before he grabs your chin. “want a taste, do ya?”

“y- yes,” you nod, your own breathing betraying you with how you struggle to maintain easy, singlular breaths.

toji pops his cigarette back into his mouth before taking a long, deep inhale. the smoke burns, and he aligns his dick up against your drooling slit. he didn’t have to do much moving, the skirt you wore made it easy for him to lift the thin piece of fabric up for access. you glance down, and he was so big.

veiny, a heavy fat cock with an even heavier fat base. as the end of the lit cigarette sticks between his teeth, his brows contorts into a furrow. 

toji coos quietly, the mushroom-tip of his dick sweltering inside against your warm heated core. “open wide, babygirl,” he huffs, a thumb peeling down your lip once more. his eye contact had your pussy twitching profusely. it was so intimate, you felt the arising tension reach its peak. not even hesitating, you part your lips open, leaving your mouth open ajar for him. “good. nice ‘n wide for toji,” he refers to himself and you watch with doe eyes as he blows an airy puff of smoke right into your mouth. tepid lips hover against your own, and he’s so close that he can almost smell your longing arousal. you moan at the feeling of his tip easing its way into your cunt, creating squelchy sloshing sounds of acceptance. “there we go baby, nice ‘n easy.” he whispers, and toji finally kisses you. 

you moan, feeling his dick breeze its way into your sopping cunt, the stretch already presenting itself toward your walls. it’s a tight stretch and you moan, throbbing from the way you’re opening up for him. as the friction sets against your twitching muscle, you whine, running your tongue down his to taste the brewing variations of saliva and smoke into your mouth. it’s so sloppy, his tongue game was just improperly risqué. 

fithly, coarse..

with your ass sitting directly on the cool running hood of your vehicle, he’s continuing to drive his dick straight into you.

you moan as his lips attack against yours, savoring your candied flavor. it was something about you that he couldn’t get enough of. toji’s body - it was broad and big. as he towers over your frame, he starts to thrust a bit forward.

“ughh,” he bites down on your lip, dark mean eyes meeting yours as he then opens them.

the stretch had you gasping for air once his lips shortly break away. already, you missed them. he sees the pout and he chuckles before his head tosses itself back. as his lips pull away, strands of spit abruptly leave, saying its goodbyes to each mouth. “so fuckin’ — shit.” he swears, so lost in your swallowing walls that he forgets his initial sentence. 

already, his eyes were starting to flicker back.

rolling back,

it was sexy to witness, especially up close. toji’s cock dives into your cunt further and further before finally, he bottoms out. once he’s reached the hilt - the very hilt, you whine, throwing your arms over his tense shoulders carelessly.

“fuck me, f- fuck me, toji. please.” you stammer out in pathetic babbles, the repetitive twitch in your pussy making him all the more harder. your pleas almost fall on deaf ears before you feel the veins pulse down his cock. it spasms inside you and if you weren’t as wet before, you were certainly wet now.

he’s just so hard, your walls grip and envelope around his length as you bite on his shoulder. 

“didn’t know we’re on bitin’ terms now, heh,” he attempts to joke, one hand gently squeezing onto your waist. his touch, you never failed to lean into his touch. with a needy gasp, his hefty dick tucks its way into the insides of your cunt. your goopy walls squelch and squelch, shrieking out a lewd harmony of wails. you’re so wet - already, his base starts to get painted from your slick. you moan, licking a stripe near the crook up neck. he snickers, feeling the moisture of your tongue collide against his skin. “jus’ so fuckin’ hot,” he gruffs, staring at your already fucked dumb expression. “mhm, such a nasty girl. havin’ me fuck ya on y’er car.”

he’s stretching you out so good, its as if your cunt was a gymnast — easily bending and breaking, stretching in and out. toji’s dick was fat - the foreskin that’s glued against his tip stimulates the insides of your wet core. you whine once more, clinging onto his beefy body as he’s fucking you on the hood.

pitiful babbles of mercy whisper in his ears, your ankles and heels brushing alongside the red lines of his back. toji was sweating a lot more from the constant moving — you, your body jolting up against your car and his sharp, deadly hits going in and out of you. each piston has you weak, stupid even.

despite his mechanic scented musk with a sprinkle of inexpensive cologne, it was still alluring to you. you throbbed as he continued to jerk his hips against the same spot. your toes, all five of them on both feet curl in awe before you start to spasm.

“y- yes, please. right there, right there tojiiii.” and you probably sounded so pathetic but you could care less. your face was all scrunched up and twisting in blissful pleasure as he’s plunging into you at full force. his rhythm, his pace . . it was ruthless. 

safe to say, you were addicted.

cock drunk, easy - just like that. with a secure grip still on your hip, he’s reeling you back with such ease. strands of saliva starts to pour out from the side corners of your mouth and he slyly smiles. “oh, you just wanna be a messy customer today, huh. such a mess,” and with a flick of his thumb, he swipes your spit clean. he does this only to pop the same finger into his mouth, relishing in your glacé, syrupy taste. “so sweet, ‘m gonna need more though.”

your knees embarrassingly buckle. your weeping cunt sobs for more and more as his mean, degrading thrusts is just leaving you utterly dumbfounded. your mouth was open, tiny little pants of air escaping out into the form of a mere croak. toji’s weighty dick thoroughly plummets into your insides with all of his might to where you’re already visibly stupid.

each mocking thrust makes your stomach churn. he’s so deep, his tip located in every area. you’re stretched, worn thin, and the minute his cockhead greets your cervix with a french kiss, you shriek sweetly.

“oh my g- goddd, there please, toji, tojiiii,” and you were just babbling out anything at this point.

it was adorable, every few seconds, the mechanic had to swipe the back of his hand against his forehead. the remaining few droplets of perspiration that resided underneath his bangs was a lot. as beads of sweat race down his face, sable irises meeting your dumbed down state and you moan, nails now clawing into his shoulders. “f- fuck, ‘s good. ‘s fuckin’ big.”

“big just for you, baby,” he groans against your ear - the fat of his balls mashing against your entrance making you dizzy. you’re about to break again, the smell in the air was almost potent.

with his cologne, the mixture of his sweat, and the burning hot gas fumes of your car, you felt like you were floating. your cunt was being stuffed with delirious inches of cock and you wouldn’t have it any other way. toji grabs your chin, pressing a wet kiss against your mouth before his tempo accelerates. “shittt, grippin’ on me so good, ‘m gonna cum, darlin’.”

at his throaty words, you meet his eyes before burying your face into his neck for about the nth time again. the only words he could hear you whine into his neck was, “inside, inside me, ‘toj.”

“so y’er a creampieee kinda girl,” he sneers in amusement - watching as you’re slowly being taken to your inevitable rapturous rapture.

you’re whimpering, taking in each of his deep, pivotal strokes. toji brings his hands toward your waistline, skimming his fingertips against the curvature before nibbling on your earlobe. “careful, sweets... ‘s gonna be a nice big load. can ya be a good girl ‘n take that much? don’t wanna give ya too much of a full, heh.”

if it wasn’t for his puns — you’d smack him, but you were too cock drunk to think, let alone comprehend. 

“i can take it,” you nod desperately, a cute tremor in your voice as you’re making haste with your own hips against his. everything’s so sharp. “fuck, f- fuck me, right there.”

toji found it cute how repetitive your sweet nothings were - the same endless chatter flowing past your lips. “yeahhh.” he jibes, although his words were in the form of a question. you grab against his wrist while your slippery soaked cunt braces for the parching, hot fill.

three thrusts, 

three slow deep thrusts and he was at his peak. leisurely, as toji’s cock deeply into the pits of you, almost reaching your tummy - you feel a few hot spurts shoot into you raw. toji groans, his voice echoing through the garage. he was whipped. your expression was so cute, hooded droopy eyes and an abashed little grin.

his swollen fat tip was downright rude with the way it scrapes against your pussy, thrashing all inside as if it knows the place.

it’s so much, colossal big hands of his grab onto your thigh, and he leans in to gently pierce his teeth into your skin. sucking against your tender flesh, like honey—like nectar, he grunts his own gruff climax into your shoulder. 

his voice was low - his adam’s apple bobs at his actions, feeling an unforeseeable wave crash over him at once. it’s intense and he’s just eating up your delicious fervor that was right in front of him.

“t- toji,” you breathe, your arms still slung over his shoulders. easily, he’s jerking away from attentions.

toji wasn’t fully thrusting anymore, but he still had a decent pace of pumps. his fresh, warm cum emits into your cunt like how a volcano erupts. gushing into you, it’s hot and thick like lava, warm and sticky like magma.

you were chasing your breaths but failed to surpass them in the fictitious lewd race. it’s so hot inside, you were almost positive a few slimy spurts of toji’s cum exudes up on the hood of your car. you’ve never felt so full, his chest heaves and yours deflates in harmony. 

with both bodies were in sync and casual harmony, he grunts before leaning in to kiss you. his now flaccid dick was just idly inside of your swollen, greedy cunt. throbbing even still, you rub the backs of your ankles behind his slim waist before tilting your head back. the kiss was far more passionate this time.

if you knew mechanics fucked this good, maybe, just maybe you’d come for an oil change more often.

except, toji didn’t just add the new oil into the engine of your car, he added his own new oil into your sopping, drenched cunt. 

“fuck, baby,” he groans, feverish breaths titillating against the inner areas of your neck.

you pulse from any movement he makes, clinging onto him tightly like a koala. he has a flashy half girn, slowly pulling out his dick to see the mess. your cunt was overflowed to the max - so much cum, so so much. 

toji licks his lips, the tip of it grazing against his fleshed scar as he peers at your pussy’s opening. the way your entrance slowly spitting out his thick, velvety ropes of cum due to its fullness makes him grunt.

inside, it was lukewarm—oozing out of your entrance before you lean back against your hood. “mhm, ‘s still pourin’ out. guess i was so pent up from today, barely had any time to jerk off.”

“i didn’t have to know that.” you huff at his teasing, trying to catch your breaths. your full lungs felt like they were about to collapse. 

toji helps you off your car - although, he wanted more and so did you. surprisingly, he even cleans the hood off for you. as you’re back on your feet, sore and all, he asks for your number. “you’re gonna ask me out or something?”

“maybe, hold still darlin,” and your interest peaked, wondering why he wanted you to be still.

you turn, heaving a bit of shifting before toji bends down. you shudder a bit, feeling what feels like a cold marker starting to drag and scrape down against the right cheek of your ass. you could hear low, raspy laughter as he’s writing on your rear. with a pout, you wait as he’s continuing to write what you assume to be his number onto your skin with a sharpie.

the smell smolders against your nose quickly before he finishes, popping the black cap into his mouth. “there, call me after the hours of,” and he pauses, glancing at his watch. “hm, eleven pm.”

“thank you….” you murmur, that simple action making you throb again before your eye twitches. you make your way towards your car and then you feel a breeze through your legs. eyes widening, you turn towards the mechanic. “um- my panties? i kind of need them.”

with a sly grin, he pulls his work jeans back up before humming. “um, you kind of don’t,” he mocks your sentence, and you almost moan at the feeling of his hand squeezing your ass. toji then spanks it, the sharpie marker of his number imprinted on your skin slightly smearing against his palm.

“darlin, consider y’er panties as payment. ‘s on the house,” and you gulp, meeting his viridescent, green eyes. he looked hungry for more - that natural smirk compressing against his lips never once fading. toji brushes a thumb against your cheek before leaning against your car. “come back anytime for a fill.”

he hums cheekily at you through the mirror, closing your car door once you get in, starting the ignition. with your panties in hand, he shoots you a nod. “i’ll make it extra creamy next time. no charge, baby.”

[peachessndreamss]

Weirwood Tree

Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)

Word count : 3k

A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.

“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water. 

“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes. 

The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.  

The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws. 

“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”. 

“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position. 

“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead. 

“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”. 

The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman. 

“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent. 

“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled. 

“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly. 

“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”. 

The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water. 

“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked. 

She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying. 

“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”. 

The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him. 

“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued. 

The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about. 

“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said. 

Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet. 

“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”. 

He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room. 

“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. 

As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders. 

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She turned her flushed face to him and smiled. 

“Yes, we're going for a walk,”. 

Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions.  He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance. 

Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his. 

“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face. 

“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester. 

From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention. 

As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence. 

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots. 

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”. 

Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”. 

“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”. 

“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug. 

They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.

“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw. 

“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears. 

“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”. 

“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter. 

“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship. 

As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake. 

“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”. 

“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born. 

“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly. 

“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”. 

Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.

“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed. 

They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart. 

The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary. 

They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots. 

Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach. 

After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line. 

“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood. 

“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel. 

She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin. 

“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.

Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying. 

“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.   

“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes. 

During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them. 

“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased. 

“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”. 

Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own. 

“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together. 

“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.

Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal. 

The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring. 

The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed. 

“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly. 

“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied. 

“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”

Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.

“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed. 

He smiled but shook his head. 

“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions. 

“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.

Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured. 

As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst. 

The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion. 

 “A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her. 

“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“Come meet him,”. 

Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow. 

“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face. 

He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before. 

Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back. 

“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe. 

“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.

[ellecdc]

The High Price of Family

chef!Sirius who has some explaining to do x mixologist!reader [1k words]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

CW: fluff, one reference to having 'been inside' reader

“Red, can you tell your husband to stop being a prat?” Sirius muttered as he stalked back into the kitchen where Lily was sitting at the kitchen island “helping” Sirius cook (which translated roughly to flipping through a magazine as Sirius did all of the work but being credited for having kept him company). 

“James! Stop being a prat!” She called out easily, not bothering to look up from the celebrity gossip she was reading.

“I’m not being a prat!” James called back.

“Then stop pretending to be mad at your best mate!” She conceded, and both she and Sirius shook their heads in fond exasperation as they heard James storming towards the kitchen.

He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with his hair a mess (not unusual), his arms crossed (somewhat unusual - he did have very nice biceps that he liked to flaunt every now-and-again), and a dark scowl on his face (very unusual). 

“I am not pretending.” He hissed, his stormy gaze flitting between Lily and Sirius before Regulus and Remus entered the kitchen and each took a seat at the table. 

“Do you know what he has me saved as in his phone? Hm? His honorary brother and best friend with whom he has lived for much of his life? James. Fleamont. Potter.” James announced severely, emphasising each part of his name by hitting the side of his open right hand against the flattened palm of his left. “He government named me, Lils! Even Remus is at least only Remus J Lupin, but nooo, I get the full legal name.” 

“I think that’s perfectly acceptable.” Regulus offered primly. “It is your name, isn’t it?” 

Remus snorted a laugh before pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s head. “You two are so weird.”

“It is weird!” James shrilled. 

“What do you have me saved as, Sirius?” Lily asked then; Sirius smirked.

“Lily Evans.”

A horrified sound came from the general direction of James as he stared at his best mate with a look of horror and betrayal, his arms falling uselessly to his sides. 

“But we’ve been married for fifteen years!” 

“And I’ve had Lily saved in my phone for seventeen.” Sirius responded simply. 

“This is absurd!”

“Why are you so bent out of shape about Sirius’ contact list?” Remus asked finally as Harry walked into the kitchen; hovering over Sirius as he dodged Sirius’ half-assed attempts at keeping him from stealing “tests” of his dinner. 

“Oh, dad’s miffed because he saw what Sirius has his new girlfriend saved as in his phone.” 

Remus let out a hum of understanding as Regulus let out a rather inelegant snort. “What’s the future Mrs. Black saved as?” He taunted, earning him a glare from his older brother.

“Y/N martini glass emoji.” James announced dramatically. 

Sirius continued cooking as Remus, Regulus, and Lily all stared at him in silence before Lily finally broke it with an “awe”.

“No! Not ‘awe’!” James shrilled.

“Oh come on, James. You’re only mad because Harry got to meet her first.” Remus placated, causing James to harrumph as he sat dejectedly beside his wife. 

“S’not fair.” He grumbled at the same time Regulus asked Harry what you were like. 

“Oh, she’s hot.” Harry offered quickly around a mouthful of stolen food, earning him an ‘oi!’ from his godfather. 

“Don’t objectify her like that!” He defended quickly, earning him a bemused look from his godson. 

“But…she is?” He asked.

Sirius blinked owlishly at Harry before turning back to his food. “Well, yes, but-”

“When do the rest of us get to meet her, then?” Regulus interrupted.

“Never.” Sirius muttered.

“And why not!?” James beseeched. 

“Because you’re horribly embarrassing and dramatic!” Sirius volleyed, turning towards his best friend and gesturing at him vaguely as if to say ‘see? Case in point’.

“Well that’s not fair.” Regulus pouted at the same time Remus let out a conceding ‘yeah, that’s fair’. 

“So what? You’re just going to meet the love of your life and never introduce her to your family?” Lily teased, causing Sirius to groan and let his shoulders fall. 

“That had sort of been the plan, yeah.” 

“Tough.” Regulus spat.

“You should host a party, Sirius; have us all over to meet her.” Remus offered.

“Fat chance.” 

“What about my birthday, then?” Regulus chimed in.

Sirius turned to look at his brother sceptically. “What about your birthday?” 

“Perhaps I host a party at our place.” 

“Perhaps you do…” Sirius continued.

“Perhaps you bring a plus one.” 

“Perhaps I don’t.”

“Perhaps,” Regulus continued, “that’s what I want for my birthday.” 

Remus nodded gravely at that. “That’s actually exactly what Regulus wants for his birthday, Sirius. He’d asked me for it first but it's not exactly something I can get for him.”

“Yeah, that’s what I want for Regulus’ birthday too.” James added quickly. 

“You don’t get anything for Regulus’ birthday.” Sirius sneered at him. 

“Yes, well,” Regulus started - clearly quite chuffed with what he considered a victory - as he stood to join Harry in stealing food directly from Sirius’ pan, “I do hope neither of you have plans next weekend, because I’m expecting both of you there.”

Sirius sighed and stepped away from the stove as he told the gremlins to ‘have at ‘er’ before grabbing his phone from the kitchen island and opening up your messages.

[daycourtofficial]

Cassian is a Nosy Busybody Who Can’t Keep to Himself

Summary: Cassian knows Azriel is seeing someone, but he keeps denying it and Cassian is determined to find out who he’s seeing

Author’s note: my personal headcanon is that Cassian is EXTREMELY nosy and loves knowing everyone’s personal business 💕 He’s just like me 💕

Azriel was seeing someone, Cassian was sure of it. The others think he’s being a bit too obsessed with the shadowsinger, but Cassian has a gut feeling that Az is seeing someone and purposefully hiding them.

Over the years, they’ve all had lovers and flings that they kept to themselves, mostly because they didn’t matter much and were casual, short-term things. This time feels different. Cassian thinks Az has been seeing someone secretly for months.

Az seems happier, he seems more reluctant to stay out drinking, he even delegated assignments that were “too long” to others.

Cassian needs to know who this fae is and whether or not they’re good enough for his beloved brother.

Unfortunately for Cassian, Azriel is the night court’s spymaster. He can’t exactly follow him around. He’s tried it. Azriel just maneuvered in and out of random shops, making Cassian go insane trying to find him.

He has concocted what he thinks is the perfect plan.

-

Cassian slept on the floor below Azriel’s. No one wanted to share a floor with Cassian because he “snores too loudly” or whatever they tell him. Fine by him, he gets an entire floor to himself.

The past few nights Cassian has been staying in one of the other rooms on his floor - the room directly underneath Azriel’s. He’s been staying up to see if he can hear any noises coming from above.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he hardly heard anything last night, except what he had convinced himself was two pairs of footsteps at one point. He decides it’s now or never when he wakes up, racing up the stairs to Azriel’s floor. He knows he has to be quick - his stupid brother’s stupid shadows alert him to any disturbance, so the time is now.

Cassian runs to Az’s room, takes a split second to catch his breath, then shoves the door open, finding Azriel waking up in bed. And a mysterious shape next to him under the covers.

“Cassian,” Azriel states, “what in the Cauldron are you doing here?”

Cassian can’t take his eyes off the shape under the covers, but he realizes if he wants to find out more, he has to keep his true intentions of coming a secret.

“Well I could ask you the same.”

Mother boil him, that was definitely not the right response.

“This is, in fact, my room. If you come by after lunch I’ll provide you with a tour.”

At that, Cassian begins to look around the room more, noticing mugs on the twin nightstands that surround Azriel’s bed. On the nightstand closer to the amorphous blob under the covers, was a stack of four books, one of which looks very familiar.

“Azriel, I didn’t know you could read.” Cassian states, trying to rile something of the shadowsinger.

“Piss off, Cassian. Of course I can read - it’s you who everyone thinks is illiterate.” Azriel was getting more and more annoyed by this intrusion, worried about if you were still asleep by his side or awake for this. He had just enough time before Cassian plowed down the door to cover you with his duvet.

“This book looks familiar. Isn’t it (y/n)’s? She’s going to kill you if you get ring marks on her book. She almost filleted me alive when I bent one of the pages of a book before.”

At hearing your name, you stirred just a tiny bit, both Illyrians going still at your movement.

Cassian looks down the bed, seeing your foot jutting out from under the covers.

“Az, I never knew you had such small, pale feet.”

“I hide them in my shoes, stop looking at my feet you weirdo. Why exactly are you here again?”

Cassian cannot come up with a good enough lie for why he was there. The room is silent, until he decides on, “You’ve been sleeping in too much recently - wanted to make sure you were coming to training today.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes, seeing right through the lie. “Cassian, training is in 2 hours.”

“Well, I know you like having time to eat breakfast and wake up before training, so I’ll just help you pull the covers off-“

Cassian reached for the duvet, and Azriel grabbed Cassian’s hand, squeezing it so tightly, the general was afraid he’d lose circulation.

“Don’t you dare do that.”

And Cassian has the upper hand.

“And, pray tell Az, why not?”

The blanket begins to shift, and a hand comes out from under the blanket, pulling the blanket down just enough for your messy hair and your eyes to be seen by Cassian.

“Because it’s really cold outside of the blanket.”

Cassian was gobsmacked. His jaw literally dropped, and he kept pointing between the two of you, going “you.. and you!”

He heard you giggle underneath the blanket. “Yes, Cassian.”

Cassian, still shocked at this revelation, could only think to ask “Was last night the first time?”

“Not that my sexual endeavors require your knowledge, Cas, but we’ve been seeing each other for about 8 months now.” Azriel remarks, a smirk growing on his face.

“EIGHT MONTHS?!” Cassian bellows, “you’ve been sleeping around for 8 months and DIDN’T TELL ME UNTIL TODAY?”

You had never seen Cassian so upset before.

“Well,” you say, “at first we wanted it to be a secret from everyone, because you all are so nosy,” at which Azriel makes a pointed face at Cassian, “and then a few months ago we thought it would be funny to see how long before everyone found out so we started being a bit less secretive.”

Cassian begins thinking back to the past few months. He recalls going to Rita’s with everyone one night, and in his drunken haze he swore he saw you nestled into Azriel’s side while everyone else was dancing, but he chalked it up to drunken lenses. There was another day where you were just coated in Azriel’s scent, but he chalked it up to the flight the two of you embarked on earlier that day.

“That’s why for a few months neither of you would come out drinking with us!”

You both nodded.

“Oh gods, I can’t wait to tell everyone - RHYS!” He starts screeching for Rhys, who winnows in very quickly, looking very pleased with himself.

“Yes, Cas?” Rhys smirked, knowing where this was headed, and very excited to watch the outcome.

“Look! Him! And-and her! For MONTHS!” Cassian says, pointing at the two of you still in bed.

“Yes Cassian, I know.”

Cassian turns to his brother, “they’ve been hiding it for months, the b- what do you mean you know?”

“I know.” Rhys says, his smirk taking up most of his face.

“How’d you find out?”

“I woke up in the middle of the night wanting cookies and I found them making out in the kitchen.” You slowly sink back under the covers a little in embarrassment, remembering Rhys making his presence known with a quiet cough as you were kissing Azriel in the kitchen. The shit-eating grin on his face as he asked “midnight snack?” is one you won’t forget.

“Wait, does anyone else know?” Cas asks, putting his hands on his hips in indignation.

Rhys puts his hand on Cassian’s shoulders. “Everyone else knows, you were the last to find out.”

The look Cassian gave was pure offense. He had never felt so offended in his life! Being the last to know about you and Azriel. He loved both of you dearly, and he felt a little offended you didn’t want to tell him.

“Cassian,” you say, as if you also possessed the gifts to read minds that Rhysand does, “we love you, we just know how much you love finding things out, so we thought you’d love to snoop around and find out. If I weren’t naked under this blanket, I’d come hug you.”

Cassian gives you a suggestive look and winks, causing Azriel’s wings to wrap around you in a cocoon.

“Now that everyone knows, can you both please leave us alone?” He huffs, wrapping his arms around you as well.

“Does Rita know?” Cassian asks, acting oblivious to you two clearly wanting this public spectacle done with.

“No, she doesn’t” you say, peaking your eyes out over one of Az’s wings.

With that, Cassian bustles out the door, excitement coursing through his veins.

“He’s like a dog with a bone,” you laugh, “he’s precious.”

“You two do know he’s going to tell all of Velaris right?” Rhys says, reaching to close the door.

“Aww let him have it, he’s just excited.” You say, nuzzling into Azriel’s chest as Rhys shuts the door.

Walking through the streets of Velaris later, Cassian truly made the rounds telling everyone, with people offering you congratulations and happy tidings on your relationship. Azriel wasn’t very fond of everyone knowing, but he found it incredibly sweet how happy they all were for the two of you.

[decodedlvr]

~ never did this before | virgin!Eddie Munson x virgin! Thick!Fem Reader \\ modern au

This story is based off the song Wet Dreamz by Jcole **recommend listening to it first to understand the story// can be perceived/read regardless if you are a poc; as I am mixed ♡ [descriptions of reader having tan skin and brown eyes; so it meets in the middle if you are a poc or not]

• Summary: after weeks of flirting and crushing on each other, you finally pop a serious question into your bestfriend Eddie’s head, and he has a hard time providing you with an honest answer // this is more like a rom com

• Warnings: MDNI; smut (not too explicitly) fluff, both kinda experienced? soft Eddie, cocky Eddie, sassy reader, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, he’s a little bit of a perv, masturbation, 69, protected piv, premature ejaculation, heavy petting, grinding, confessions, slight insecure thoughts? (both are 18+) word count :3.4k //sry 4 errors

Eddie’s Pov

Calculus. The last class of the day. My favorite class overall.

There she sat, giggling on her phone, showing me silly photos she took of her dog Skittle, the sun shining just right on her honey toned tanned skin, hair laying just as perfect as ever in that simple, claw clip. Curls and wavy bangs sectioned to shape her face, brown eyes that matched mine and oh those glossy lips..

I wanna kiss you so fucking bad baby.

Her outfit of the day, that new pink and black checkered shirt she got at the mall that I drove her to.

It’s so tight on you sweetheart, your tits look beautiful today.

White Reeboks as I have, but very much cleaner…

Those 100% perfectly stretchy, acid wash jeans you wear every week that fit your ass so fucking bad.. fuck don’t bend over.. don’t—

“Eddie? what’s wrong with you?”

Fuck— didn’t realize the moan that I slipped out when she dropped her phone, she cracked it..but all I could focus on were the back of her thighs when she bent over

“Sorry uh- I think I’m just sore from carrying those amps last night”, he says now rubbing his not sore bicep with a pout

Lie.

“Oh babe I’m sorry, come by later and I can rub it out for you” she replies

Why the fuck would you say that to me right now—

“Oh yeah? You’d just love to get your hands on me always huh sweetheart? ” leaning back in my seat, with a cocky smile

You blush and shove my arm playfully “you’re so stupid, you know what I meant”

——

She’s been like this for the past month, after Harringtons party. Smoking and drinking under that patio umbrella, away from everyone else. Laughing, holding on to each other for dear life. I tell her jokes, she ugly laughs. I love her laugh, it’s not fake it’s genuine like her.

We met at the drink table, both preferring whiskey over the red shit they put out.

We talked about our intrests, I was very suprised and impressed with how she carried herself. How she talked about herself. How she sat comfortably on my lap; as if we knew each other for forever.

Obviously her thick hips in that royal blue, tacky dress she wore caught my attention first

It takes a certain kinda person to make me laugh but she.. she was probably the most funniest and beautiful fucking girl I’ve never seen. A few beauty marks as she would call it, scattered down her neck and arms. Eyelashes so dark she could always pass on the mascara, the sweet charm and sass she had to her.. she was something different.

She was fresh to town and it was relief to meet someone new. Similar childhood experiences, divorced parents but her dad stopped reaching out to them. Her mom was just a bitch to her. Very narcissistic person but, she had her kind moments. She definitely wasn’t the worse mother I’ve ever heard of.

All of that lead to a heavy make out session in the bathroom.

Sitting at the edge of the toilet, her scratching the back of my head with those sharp coffin shaped nails, me squeezing the fat of her ass on my lap. Hell, I was surprised how into this she was.. considering I’ve only kissed two girls in my life.

Sure I’ve watched my fair share of porn, visited sex stores, took a few notes; even got a handy under the bleachers last year from Carol. She forgot to pay for the weed I gave her, she offered, why not.

“Oh yeah, what’s your name again?” I ask kissing down her neck

“Y/N, but you can call me anything you want right now” she whimpers at the feeling of me nipping her throat

-“fuck you’re a r-really good kisser”

“-could say the same about you sweetheart” feeling the roll of her heat over my already strained dick.

I wonder how many guys she’s done this with

“Sorry, I don’t usually do this but, there’s just something so sexy about you”—

Biggest fucking ego boot ever.

“Fuck baby, if you keep talkin to me like that I’m gonna bust”

“Awe, am I making you feel some typa way Eddie?” She smirks looking down at me

“You know you are”

—

Unfortunately that ended quicker than it started, Robin got too hungover and needed our space.

She told me her classes and we exchanged numbers.

After that we talked everyday on FaceTime after getting home from school. I show her a new guitar riff and she shows me the new necklaces or shirts she ordered.

Sometimes she’d forget she was on camera and changed out of her bra a few times.

Hey, couldn’t help but to look come on, I am just a man

I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve fucked myself to that imagine every morning.. and evening and night..

Slept on the phone together, hung out at lunch together.

I only ever seen her at lunch other than at the end of the day in Mrs. Wilson’s calculus class. Bringing us back to now

——

“Mr. Munson are you done chatting now?” Wilson knocks me out of my trance

“Sorry bout that, yes ma’am” giving her a thumbs up sitting back up straight as she rolls her eyes subtly.

You slide me note. Folded up, in blue highlighted letters

You ever have sex before? Circle Yes or No ♡

fuck—we never even discuss stuff like that! how haven’t we? Don’t embarrass yourself man

Course I have, why? what’s got you so curious? ;)

I watch her look away quickly, gulping when she covers the paper to respond back

Well.. you’re cute and shit & was wondering if you wanna come over friday..? My parents have been gone all week and..we can hang or do whatever.. ♡

Did she wanna fuck? I hope so —wait you’re a virgin idiot, wait is she? probably not

I’m already there babe ;)

I reply with an easy smile, hiding the fact I’m in a state of panic

Good.. and uh bring those handcuffs on your wall too.. ♡

No way she’s a virgin talking like that

She rushes outta the classroom at the bell, turning back with a wink

Holy shit I gotta talk to Harrington.

“-and that’s what I’m saying dude, just sweet talk her, treat her like a princess, rub her in all the right places”—

“Okay but what ARE those places? I know her like tits and shit.. and well under her panties but what does it feel like? Ya know putting in it? What if I cum too fast and she laughs or runs away and never talks to me again..”—

I’ve been pacing back in forth in Family Video, loud where all the customers could hear. Definitely loud enough for Robin to upchuck her lunch

“No Eddie- just, come back here— Rob? watch the front please?” Steve grabs me by the shoulder making a bee line to the stock room

Sitting on the empty table still trying to gather my thoughts of Steve’s advice. “Well?” I rush out

“Damn man let me sit down first” he scoffs pulling a chair over to me

“Alright, you wanna know what inside a vagina feels like right?”

“Jesus, can you just say pussy or some shit”

“Same thing” he glared

“Okay well it’s not really sexy to just say vagina-

-“god Eddie, do you wanna know or not?” I can tell I’m testing his patience, I shut my lips, nodding eagerly

“Okay, so It’s like this- well like wet and really, really warm, almost like hot bath around your dick or a tight hug”—

“Wow, a hot bath thanks for the analogy Steve, I’ll make sure to take one when I get home”

He deadpans at me. “You asked me and I’m telling you, it’s hard to really explain other than a tight, wet warm hug. Oh!” he snaps his finger”-and sometimes it’ll tighten around your cock when she’s about to cum and holy shit dude— you better hold your load because the first time I had sex, it lasted about 10 seconds” My eyes widen

“WHAT!?” I shout before him shushing me “King Steve was a minute man?”— I joke

“Hey I said at first, when you get used to having sex your stamina gets better and for me personally”— he leans in “I can last approximately 45 minutes and 27 seconds” he sits back proudly

Cocky bastard.

Shit.

How long will I last? Will jerking off more boost my stamina?

——

Since that afternoon I did as much research as a I could, making a DIY sponge fleshlight.

That was a fail, got carpet burn.

Even bought condoms from the corner store, didnt know what size i was so, i grabbed all 4 boxes

Practicing my stroke game, using my pillow as a hole.

Down. Glide. Up. Down. Guide up.

Ow, fuck, cramp, cramp

This shits hard. My back hurts.

Throwing away the 8th used condom of the day, tossing myself in my desk chair, forehead sweaty, wrists throbbing; hearing my phone go off

FaceTime from Crush🖤

“Ah, fuck”— grabbing a shirt, wiping off the excess sweat off my skin, putting my pants back on, setting the phone up on my night stand, grabbing the guitar quickly setting it on my lap— “Hey! Sweetheart, what’s up, what are you up to?”

“I could ask you the same thing why is your face so red?” She asks giggling, laying on her tummy, tits spilling out , kicking her socked feet from behind

“Just took a hot shower is all”

“But your hairs not wet?” you give me a suspicious look, “Oh yeah, I just tied it up..sooo still want me over tomorrow?”

“Hell yeah! I picked up cookie dough the edible kind because I know you like that anddddd”- she reaches over her phone to grab something—“I rented whole stab franchise for a throwback”- showing me her laptop screen

“Well, that sounds like a party to me”

“You got that right..” She replies, biting her lip as if I didn’t notice,- “Anywaysss, just calling to remind you, see you tomorrow im tired, goodnight dummy *mwah*

She always ends our calls with a kiss on screen

Fuck I’m hard again

“Can’t wait sweetheart, sweet dreams” ending the call, looking down at my bulge

Welp, gotta jerk off again

Friday. THE day I might lose my virginity to the sexiest girl in school. My best friend.

I wake up earlier than usual, do my morning ritual, a joint. My nerves making me shower twice.

Should I shave?

Would she care?

A little trim wouldn’t hurt

May or may have not nicked my balls. Not too bad, maybe she won’t notice. Finding my nicest pair of jet black jeans I own, I only wear ‘em for special occasions and a wife beater? Nah that’s too much right? A flannel would help. Yeah. Definitely.

Hey I look kinda good, checking myself out in the mirror

Alright, wallet, keys, condoms, I glance over at the cuffs on the wall. Can’t forget those, stuffing them in my back pocket

—

My palms are sweaty, fuck even my ass is sweating.. 3 cigarettes already in, on my way to her house; of course I have a bad fucking hair day today, so I just opted for a low bun.

Before I could even knock, you open the door my jaw already on the floor

“Hi dummy!” You jump giving me a hug, pulling me inside.

What the hell is she wearing

A transparent green knitted, cropped sweater

is that her nipple I see? Those goddamn Nike shorts are doing her a favor—“Someone’s excited to see me?” Kicking off my shoes

“I’m always excited to see you.. also nice hair”

and neck goddamn, what is hell is he wearing you think, already feeling horny from the sight of my neck being so exposed

those jeans are doing his fine ass a favor

fuck I’m wet already

“Come on, already got it all set up for us”

“Lead the way princess” following behind you

I need to bite those fuckin legs.

——

We always sit like this on movie nights. Me against your headboard, back against my chest. I don’t remember how it started but I love it.

“Didn’t David Arquette also play in Spree?”

I squint back at the tv, “Uh yeah yeah he did, he was Kurt’s dad I think”

She replies with a mouthful “omyeah”

My hands have been holding both sides of her hips the whole time, occasionally rubbing them with my thumbs; every time I do it your breath picks up

Something else is about to be up—

“Huh?”

“Did you even hear me? You’ve been zoning out a lot recently”, you say sitting crisscross

“Something on your mind Ed’s?”

Gulp

“No no just— “ sigh

“Yeah, you. You’ve been on my mind.”

She smiles looking down, cocking her head to the side

“Oh yeah? Been thinking about me have you?” She grins

“You have no idea. ”

My breath hitches when you straddle me

Fuck me

“Wanna tell me these thoughts you’ve been having?” she asks twirling a piece of my bang

Remember what Steve said, sweet talk her

“Why don’t I just show you pretty girl”

Her smirk instantly falls, cheeks crimson “shit.. okay”

Running my hand up your thighs firmly, wrapping my arm around your lower back, my free hand pulling your face closer into my lips. “Like that baby?”

Who the fuck are you she thinks

“Fuck, yeah kiss me again”, I stare blankly until my eyes turn to pure lust, pushing her down to her back climbing on top to ease my tongue back into her mouth, my hips grinding into yours, hearing you whimper…

You’d think that’d make me harder but it’s when you grind back into me that did it

“You’re so beautiful you know that baby?.. fuck been missing these lips for weeks..”

“Shit, me too, been needing you so close to my body recently it’s been killin me,” she whines, rubbing her hands down my chest

—“that’s why I asked you to come over, could tell you were feeling me too”

You’re right about that, I mumble sucking your neck,

I’ve practiced giving myself hickies on my arms freshmen year.

Eddie, score

“That tank top Eddie.. t-take off the flannel let me see you? Please?” You ask giving me doe eyes. I sit up eagerly throwing it about, she sits up on her elbows, throwing off her sweater

The goddamn groan I let out

Jesus Christ

You lie back down bashfully covering yourself

A whore being shy huh?

“Whattt? She asks feeling self conscious,

“You’re..fuck.. just let me get a closer look please?” I plead, you nod shyly

Squeezing your breasts hard in my palm, licking my lips, nipping them, kissing them, hearing you gasp “holy shit -

“What??”

I do it again, in combination with my tongue, She doesn’t stop me she moans, making me feel bolder, “ Lemme take these off?” My thumbs already ready to yank your shorts down

You don’t answer

“Hey, it’s just me you know you’re beautiful to me, right?”

“Yes..you can take em off” she whispers

Thinking it’d be hot to yank them down quick like those sex movies

I try it..

“Ow! Fuck what the hell?” She jerks

I didn’t know she had the goddamn drawstring tied. , “Ow..you pout rubbing your hip, “Shit I’m sorry! I’m sorry”

I’m already fucking up, “It’s okay.. it’s just tied” she says undoing them pulling them off herself, holding her hands in her lap

I lean down to kiss both hips as an apology, looking up at you slowly undoing your hands

Cute little hair she has

“Can I um..”

She looks down at me gaining back her confidence, “You wanna eat me don’t you?” My eyes widen, gripping her side, “Yesss.. really bad” but I don’t know how to —

“Can I see you too?” again with that lip bite

“Of course” okay.. here goes nothing whispering to myself , yanking my jeans and all down in one swift motion, staring at the spot on the ceiling

You scoff with the sour look, “Oh my god”

WHAT WHAT WHAT

“You’re packing Eddie”

“Oh..thank fuck, really? I wouldn’t say that but..” I sit back in front of her

“Can I touch it?” You ask still staring at my cock

-..But I wanna taste you.. what if we..you lay on me but backwards..? Like 69?” I recommend

She nods eagerly, nervously but very excited, “Okay.. just don’t look at my asshole.. there’s a spot on it that looks like I didn’t wipe but it’s not what you think! It’s a freckle..”, I chuckle, rubbing your cheek nodding

Laying down flat, you swing your legs over my face

Oh god fuck, “Such a pretty pussy” i mumble

Suck a pretty cock you think

You’re both horny as fuck, both licking on each other immediately —“Jesus fuck!” I shout, hearing and feeling you choke on my dick

“Y/n, y-you done this before?”

“Yeah—“

Damnit.

-“But it was with a guy at my old school, said I was the best head he ever had” , you say rubbing my balls

Hot.

Okay Eddie do what feels right

so that’s the clit? how cute

Bringing my lips around your nub, licking you, tasting you, “Oh god why do you taste so good, you smell so..sweet?”

“Was that a question?” You ask popping my dick outta your mouth

“No, no just the sweetest pussy I’ve never tasted”-

the only pussy I’ve ever tasted

I’ve never smelt anything like this, I think I’m addicted

Flicking my tongue a few time feeling you react in a high pitched moan, sucking and massaging it lightly, my eyes flutter spotting your ass hole winking at me

“Holy shit” she’s pretty everywhere

“What?”

“You have such a pretty ass” blurting out

“Eddie! I told you not to look!” She whines trying to climb off, “Shut up I do what I want”saying firmly, pulling you back down by your thighs; sticking my pointer finger in your cunt,

so that’s the squeeze Steve was talking about

“Ohmyg— fuckk yes please” she vibrates around me, a guttural moan purging from my throat, curling my finger like they said —

“Oh! Fuck yes keep doing that Eddie baby please”—

“I am, I am baby you just suck my dick”—

Holy shit who am I—

“-Eddie I think I’m gonna cum yep, I’m gonna cum..”—

“Wait really?”

“Yes!”

“Really?” Asking again “YES EDDIE SHUT UP AND KEEP GOING, FUCK”—

Thrusting faster, licking faster I feel your wetness roll down and down into my mouth instantly making me cum in yours

“Fuck baby like that, fuck did you..just swallow?—“ I ask but you proceed to keep sucking-“OKAY OKAY, stop, s-shit!”

Pleading trying to stop you from overstimulating me further, “Shit.. sweetheart, that dude was right, that was the best head I’ve ever got”

The only head I’ve ever got

She lays back down beside me with a large grin,” Was that your first time getting head? You came so fast for me”

Lie.

Not replying I get up, finding the condom in my Jean pocket, “What’re ya doing?” You ask with a questioned expression, “Condom?” I hold up “Oh, oh yeah yeah right duh”—

Fuck I forgot with which way it goes on— got it

Turning back to you, cock still hard, nudging your core

You give me a small smile, watching me hesitantly about to slip my tip in

“Wait! Wait!”-

“What? Sorry, I didn’t ask”—

“Eddie I need to tell you something..”

“Yeah?”

“I can tell you definitely know what you’re doing but I just.. be gentle because I’ve never done this before..”

never done this before, never done this before

I stare like a deer in headlights, the weight off my shoulders lifted. I laugh sarcastically to myself , “That’s, well.. I should probably tell you I’ve never done it either.. like ima”—

“Virgin too?”

“Yeah, surprise?” feeling embarrassed, “How did I not know that? We tell each other everything” shrugging, “Not sure, but I’m glad you told me before I stuck ya”

“Ew don’t say stuck me weirdo”

“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing at all, I had to ask Steve for advice.. I figured you would know more I mean since you wanted my handcuffs”-, you bite your lip, head shaking

“I said that because, I figured you’d know how to use em”

“There actually just for decoration sweetheart, looked kinda metal”, we laugh in awe with each other , “But here we are..” I say biting the skin on my lip—

“Yeah here we are” you look back up at me, hopeful, “Do you wanna stop?”

“No..do you wanna stop?”

“Nah, been hoping you’d be my first actually”, you blush at my statement pulling me down for a deep kiss , “Let’s do it..”

“..but what if I cum too fast? that would be humiliating”—

- “I understand how it works.. don’t feel bad if you do, I promise I won’t laugh Ed’s” she squeezes my hand lovingly

My heart is erect

I nod, looking over all of you again, spreading your thighs a little wider, “I’ll go slow”

Furrowing my brows in consentration, slipping my tip in, surprisingly not easy mother fuck—

“Holy fuck you’re so-

“Tight? I know I have a hard time fingering my self as is”

“Why would you tell me that at this very second,” I try not to laugh, holding my shit together, “that’s so hot by the way,” bottoming you out, we gasp in sync

“Oh god”-

“What?”

“Holy god”—

“What!?? You alright?” She asks , “I’m about to cum already”—

“I told you, it’s okay”

“I know but that’s so embarrassing”

You clench around me on purpose, suddenly your eyes widen, feeling a warmth from inside, while also hearing me grunt almost in pain above you

Silence.

“Im so sorry fuck,” pulling out, shocked at how full my condom is, “Did you cum?”, she scrunches her nose, “No silly”

“But you squeezed me?”

“Yeah but, I didn’t have an orgasm”

Fucking Steve

-“But Steve said when a girl cums she clenchs around us” explaining further—

“First off, I’m gonna need you to not take advice from Steve and second, I mean according to my girlfriends we do.. it’s like a few squeezes but apparently we really squeeze for a long time when we do cum? Maybe even shake? I’m not sure but I think I’d know when I felt it”

Well shit

He looks like a sad puppy this won’t do you think

“But hey, we can try again right? Don’t be embarrassed if anything it’s kinda hot”

“Really?”

“I mean yeah, I made you cum in under like 1 second, biggest ego boot ever” you lighten the mood, nudging my shoulder smiling at me, pulling me for another kiss, “Don’t ever tell anyone that” holding my forehead to yours

You smirk, holding your pinky up “I promise”, Interlocking mine, noticing your body shifted closer, staring at your lips, “Let me try again Sweetheart” your eyes also on mine, nodding, crawling back to you, chasing your touch, taking each others breath—

Was that a car door??

“Is someone here?”

“Honey we’re home!”

FUCK, not now!!

(again recommend you listen to Wet dreamz by Jcole; it’s a bop)

reblogs appreciated // this was fun. let me know your thoughts? I do realize the smut was kinda rushed? Should there be a part 2? Suggestions? Comments? Feel like I should have kept going for them to restart again but I dunno🤷🏽‍♀️

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

Alastor + apprentice!child!reader

A/n: this is some practice to get a footing in his character. (Also slight practice on husk as well.)

Reader is kinda scary but means well overall

Not proofread

Y/n ever elusive. Alastor would randomly mention your name in conversations. References your rampages and your sweetness in the same breath. But when anyone would try to quiz him on you further he would act like he didn't know what they were talking about. He might try to claim it's for privacy but it's pretty obvious he just likes messing with hotel members.

Charlie was especially sad that she might never get to meet you. If Alastor was to be believed you seemed really sweet! (And easy to rehabilitate *cough* *cough*) Also cool! You seemed to be an absolute powerhouse. After Al mentioned you Charlie got somewhat mopey. Until he mentioned you visiting the hotel, which piqued everyone's interest.

When you finally showed up, people's interest was at an all-time high. But now it was because the fabled y/n was a child. "It's a pleasure to be meeting everyone!" You were looking at Alastor but were speaking to the whole room. "I've heard so much about all of you!"

"They've also heard much about you too, dearie." Alastor bent at the waist down to your level. "You've become quite the hot topic here!"

As if to prove his point Charlie picked you up and spun you around almost hitting Alastor in the face. He glared at her but remained calm. "Welcome, welcome! Do you want to choose a room to stay in?"

"Sorry, but I'm not planning to stay."

"I know but just for the time being." Charlie clarified. To that, you nodded. Husk snapped his head toward The Radio Demon once both you and Charlie had left.

"Did you really stoop low enough to make a deal with a child?" He was just barely containing his anger. While he didn't particularly care for those he didn't know at least somewhat personally, taking a child's soul was a place he drew a thick line.

"Why of course not!" He said sounding offended but clearly, it was to mock Husk. "They are under my guidance purely by choice!" Vaggie and Husk both said some version of 'you're a liar' in unison. Alastor simply tsked as he walked away.

Niffty seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Was thas thay y/n?"

After the crew (excluding Husk) let out a yelp, Vaggie spoke, "Yep."

Niffty let out a villain-esque laugh, though that was just her usual laugh, "I've been meaning to talk to them since they scared off a group of bad boys~" She flashed her sharp teeth and held a knife. Angel grabbed the knife and her before she could get very far.

Back with you and Charlie Alastor materialized next to you and you waved at him.

"Hello, sir!" You saluted him as a joke.

"Hello to you too! Have you found a room?" You nodded and entered said room. Charlie looked at him, her face painted with a confused yet kind look.

"They're the one who hurt so many people? Are you kidding? They are so nice."

"You've never seen them in danger." Suddenly as if on queue an explosion was heard. You shot up from your surprisingly comfortable bed and ran downstairs. Pushing both Charlie and Alastor out of the way while also throwing a quick ‘sorry’ their way.

Once you got downstairs the bad boys that Niffty mentioned earlier were spouting something about you. Once they looked at you they pulled weapons out. You grew and your arms turned pitch black with a slight claw shape. With your new size, you were just big enough to grab them to the point of almost cracking bones. Almost.

"Leave." You said with a deep booming voice that came with the size. You threw them and they scrambled. Once they were gone you shrunk back down to your normal size. Niffty pouted and stamped her foot.

Once you turned everyone had varying looks of shock on their face except Niffty and of course, Alastor who was instead proud. "Congrats dear! Would you like some jambalaya?" You nodded.

As you were walking with him Husk grabbed your shoulder, "Um good job kid... If he ever offers you a deal, don't take it." He felt obliged to warn you. If Alastor's moral code was against recruiting kids, he probably would have pounced on the opportunity to take your soul once you were an adult.

You smiled, "I know I know. But what could I even gain out of any deal with him?" You laughed and walked back to Alastor. Huh. Well, you certainly were being tutored by Alastor.

A/n: Y/n got kinda of edgy at the end-

[jinuaei]

Would it be fucked up to write about Chronic Wasting Disease(on deers) but make it Yandere! Alastor. Highkey inspired by Lovesick! Wally Darling.

TW: It's YANDERE and maybe horror like?

The more the disease develops the more boney and ill-looking Alastor gets. Wasting away in his room as he tries to find a cure for this disease, unwilling to show his face to the hotel members with how messed up he looks right now, drooling and skinnier than he has ever been, ears drooping low on his head, he doesn't have enough energy to perk them back up.

Even all through what has been happening to him, the smile on his face never falters, granted, he could never stop even if he wants to. The disease will never let him drop the grin on his face.

Enter you, a trusted member of the Hazbin Hotel, and a good friend to the Radio Demon before his isolation. The princess of hell has been concerned after a month of no contact from Alastor, she has been trying to get him out of his room but all she gets in return are incoherent mumbles and even growling. So, she assigned you to take care of Alastor during that whole month, her being too busy to focus on him.

You've been leaving him food outside his room, he never ate them so you resorted to asking Rosie to bring you demon meat or venison, he ate them but not alot. However when you left the food in it's raw state, as suggested by miss Rosie, he didn't leave any leftovers after that.

For the past month that's the routine that you fell into, wake up, eat breakfast, bring Alastor his food, try to talk to him while he's eating-- you never get any responses, then leave. One time though, you were a bit late in bringing him his food, and as you bent down to leave the meat, the door burst open and you screamed in surprise, dropping the food and crawling backwards against the wall. The hand that snatched the meat was too fast, too boney, and too sharp.

The door didn't close though and through the gap you can see a single red eye peering through it. It looked frantic, pupils dilated, shaky. Why are the pupils shaped like a heart...?

"I...scared you...? I'm sorry, I'm sorry...Imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry--," Alastor's demonic voice mumbles as the door creeps open. You ran away before he could fully open it.

That was a week ago, ever since then you tried to be on time. Today though, things went differently, not only did he grabbed the meat, he also grabbed you. Now you're laying on the ground shivering in fear as the deer demon lays on top of you, nuzzling onto your neck, the drool soaking your shirt.

"You're here...Yes... It doesn't hurt anymore, oh my darling... I was so sick for so long... I was trying to find the cure to heal me... but oh...," he sighs, gripping you tighter, "You were the cure all along! It was so close to me and I didn't even know it! It has always been you...!"

"Every time I thought about you, it hurt less, and every time you were outside my door bringing me food like a good mate. The pain was gone...! But why would you leave every time? Don't you know you have to stay with your mate? Your husband?"

"Hmmm... Maybe if you keep taking care of me, I'll be healthy enough to go outside our room! And we can go on dates! Yes... That would be lovely..." He croons, pulling away from your neck and looking down at you, his heart shaped eyes glowing in the dark.

What the hell happened to Alastor?

[tcfactory]

Thinking about an AU where the manual did cause Binghe to qi-deviate and ruin his cultivation potential exactly one year after he's taken in as disciple. Seeing that anyone would have suffered the same fate, it wasn't some kind of karmic punishment directed at Shen Qingqiu for being an unpleasant, hateful little thing (the self-hatred and projection is Real in this one) settles something in him, like a broken peace of him is suddenly jolted back into its proper place. It makes him lose interest in torturing Binghe any further.

That does leave him with a disciple that's not suited to his peak in any way shape or form, so clearly the next step is to have one of the other peaks take him off his hands. He subtly puts out word while Binghe is on Qian Cao recovering, so that anyone who might want the brat can take him after the next peak lord meeting, but there really is only one choice.

Out of the peaks with a physical cultivation style, Bai Zhan is out of the question on account of Binghe's ruined potential, Ku Xing doesn't take children this young and, in his opinion, Binghe is just too stupid and trusting to make it on Qiong Ding or An Ding, so clearly that only leaves Zui Xian. If the little beast is fortunate, eating all the spiritual food might even help him recover a little.

Perfect plan!

All he needs is to make up a good enough excuse as to why he allowed the little beast to cultivate from a faulty manual or let him be bullied. And he knows already how he's going to do it: he will let Qi Qingqi make the excuse for him.

"Qi-shimei," he says, the very picture of nonchalance, as if Liu Qingge didn't have a sword at his neck. "I know you assume that any disciple of yours returning to secular life will do so at the side of a powerful husband, but if that was not the case: how would you test if someone of lowly birth and no connections could survive the court environment?" Qi Qingqi thinks about it for just a moment before her mouth twists into an unhappy pout, eyes lighting up with understanding. "Let him go, Liu-shidi. It was not an attempt at murder, merely Shen-shixiong being a crafty old dog who made a test too harsh for Luo-shizhi." "But-" "Scholars, like my girls, are intrinsically linked to the mortal courts, as much sages and exemplars in the four arts as advisors in politics. If one has no allies, then connections must be made. Bullies that can't be fought head on must be outwitted or circumvented." She gives the fake manual a disgusted glance. "Ill intent and sabotage must be recognized, regardless of its source. Without these qualities, someone without proper backing will be dead the week they set foot in court." "Quite. Disciple Luo has failed each and every one of those criteria: he bent obediently to the whims of his bullies, made no friends or sought no help from anyone on or off peak, and kept cultivating from the faulty manual with a bullheaded stubbornness that surprised even me. I fully expected him to realize at least as much, but he proved too simple even for that." He resists the urge to smile when Liu Qingge reluctantly withdraws his sword. It's a sweet, if easy victory.

So Luo Binghe goes to the food and wine peak, where he can make friends, his heart (and to a degree his cultivation) can be mended and his trust in his higher ups isn't scorned or abused, but he never forgets that Shen Qingqiu sent him away because he found him too stupid for his peak. Shen Qingqiu picked him, only him, from dozens of potential disciples and was disappointed. He keeps striving, even years later, to somehow get Shen Qingqiu's approval, taking every opportunity to loiter on Qing Jing with food offerings and all sorts of excuses. He's almost as bad as the sect leader! They do, indeed, bond with Yue Qingyuan over being the frequent targets of Shen Qingqiu's ire.

Then one day when Binghe is around 17 a qi deviation splits Shen Qingqiu into two: the scarred, sharp-tongued and vicious Shen Jiu and the sickly, soft hearted and kind Shen Yuan, and Luo Binghe suddenly feels vindicated in his dogged insistence because the soft Shen Qingqiu likes him! It's literally the best thing in the world!! And maybe sect leader Yue helps him a few times to steal Shen Yuan away on some absolutely-not-a-date picnics, so it's really only fair that he helps him reconcile with the sharper Shen Jiu (Binghe can't see the appeal, personally, but as long as Yue-shibo doesn't want to take his Shen Qingqiu too then he's fine with those two doing whatever).

Everything seems to be going perfectly (QiJiu have reconciled, BingQiu are almost inseparable), but then Binghe leaves the mountain to gather ingredients for the very special meal he wants to propose with, trips and stumbles straight into the Abyss and the rest is SVSSS-typical miscommunication and demon shenanigans.

[capslocked]

MANAGE (THIS) TROIS

male reader x wonyoung && yujin

12k words

It’s how your Sundays spend you, if you’re to be honest. It’s a day for rest, for sobriety, for virtue and measure, the Lord’s day if you’re at all particularly reverent (citation probably needed), and why Wonyoung is that much more annoyed when Yujin shows up dressed the way she is.

"Uh." Wonyoung laughs and it’s recognizably derisive. "Are you kidding?"

As some may or may not know, the three of you have been friends for ages; the spontaneous combustion into laughter, the ribbing, the teasing, the playful banter, it’s how you’ve always got on—the fact now that the sex is toe-curling and irresistible and downright sinful? An entirely separate issue.

Surely it won’t complicate things.

-

Technically, you’re all equally at fault the moment Wonyoung spies you making eyes at Yujin as she struts through the living room. She’s wearing only a tank top and a pair of fluorescent pink sports shorts that barely manage to wrap around her thighs, the seam of which gape perfectly to show you just how long her legs are, to the point your bones nearly start to ache.

The truth that Yujin will later vehemently deny is that things spiral out of control on account of the fact that she simply cannot keep her mouth shut, as is usually the case. You’ve come to assume that rather than possessing a shameless love for her own voice, she does it deliberately—to egg Wonyoung on, because the only thing she enjoys more than getting the younger girl flustered, red in the face, and reduced to an incoherent mess is arriving there before she even lays a finger on her.

However, if Yujin’s plan is to get Wonyoung all bent out of shape and worked up and beside herself to the point that she has no other choice than to take it all out on you, it backfires spectacularly.

Wonyoung’s nose scrunches and all her angelic features sharpen to a point as she watches Yujin crash onto the sofa next to you; sends her hands to her hips when she sees that warm arm wrap around your waist—palm flattening against your stomach a moment before sliding into the waistband of your joggers.

"What in the living fuck do you think you’re doing?"

"The way I see it," Yujin starts up again, and even though her words are clearly addressed, enveloped and stamped for Wonyoung, you’ve got the sultry color of her voice flirting in your ear, mouth skirting across your neck to find the gentle marks and bruises she’d made a silent promise to return to. "Miss I-give-the-best-head really shouldn’t have a single thing to get jealous over now should she? I mean, you sounded so sure about it."

"All I said was I have a proven method."

Yujin scoffs. "It’s not a precise science, sweetheart. Different strokes for different—"

"All sciences are precise," Wonyoung snaps back, one elegant brow arching skyward and arms crossing, "that’s what science means."

"Well, I think that’s open to interpretation."

"How… extraordinary."

To Wonyoung’s continued annoyance, the genuine throaty sound of your laughter doesn’t inspire confidence. Neither do the fingers you’ve got sinking into the round of Yujin’s perfect ass as she shimmies onto your lap, but it’s kinda the point. Because you know that the way you have Yujin sinking into a kiss, her hips rutting against you, lips sliding wet and easy and smacking across yours like you don’t care who’s listening—

"Oh, okay sure, let’s see…" Wonyoung pulls a fist out and begins to count on her fingers: "it’s my apartment. That’s my couch. And he’s my boyfriend."

When Yujin pulls herself off from your lips, her fingers continue on raking through your hair, and she just smirks—nearly grinning stupid because she knows how this always ends. Urges you gently as she pulls you by the wrist to grab a second handful of her chest. She’s delightful. And if there’s anything in particular that she flat out refuses to learn from this peculiar arrangement, it’s that you never ever ever try to goad Jang Wonyoung into anything.

"A little possessive, isn’t she?" Yujin asks as her hands, in a near-rehearsed motion, run down across your chest to where she can hook a few fingers into your pants. Gets them just down about the middle of your thighs to pull your cock out far enough to start stroking it.

And when Yujin also says right after—voice lilting into this familiar tone, something Wonyoung should absolutely know better than to walk straight into—that maybe if your girlfriend could take better care of you, that the truth might be: "I dunno, have you considered it could just be, like, personal preference? That he’s dying to bend me over instead? Would rather get my legs folded up into my chest and pump me full of hot cum just like that? I’m sure it’s nothing personal, little dove. I mean look at me: I’m built for it."

Wonyoung floats her fingers to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose.

(Here’s the thing about Wonyoung: she’s quiet, incredibly pretty, reserved and sugar-sweet, and plays her cards close to her chest. With all that dark wavy hair spilling over her shoulders without fuss or pother, deep brown eyes easy to get lost in, she’s the quintessential angel the devil might spend countless nights in fantasy about plucking right out of the heavens and dragging straight to hell. In fact, so angelic is she that Yujin had begun to grow increasingly concerned that all your hard work had possibly been for naught—that for a long time, all those flashes of wicked lust in her eyes may have perhaps not been what you thought they were, those naughty quips and innuendos that never just landed as something you could quite laugh off were possibly a misread; Yujin had an incredible talent for determining which potential conquests were open to a little conquering—but with this girl, she was at wit’s end, had nearly given up. Wonyoung would blush and simper one moment, pale and avoid her the next. Oh, there’s wicked fun to be had in turning a wholesome and prudish princess to her more kinky side, though only if the princess is willing.

Wonyoung, so it seemed, was an incredibly difficult princess to read.)

"Brat," Wonyoung spits, shadowing in behind the girl on your lap and lets her voice lower into a dangerous growl, gets close enough so that Yujin practically winces when she feels the moisture in her breath against her temple. You watch as she gathers Yujin’s hair into her fist. It’s enough to tilt her head back until Yujin opens her mouth in surprise—something Wonyoung knows instinctively to kiss and suck and lick at until her lips grow swollen and tender. Whether or not it had always been the case, the truth could never have delighted you both more: the girl’s no angel.

"Mmmnph." Yujin melts further into your lap at the feeling of the tongue sliding languidly past hers, and you can hear all these little satisfied hums leak out of her chest in droves. When you ball the slippery polyester front of Yujin’s tank top between your fingers, her breasts spill out on either side of the fabric close enough to your face that it takes nary an effort to give one of her small dark nipples a wet kiss—an intense lips-puckering suck to the other.

The moment your mouth gets involved, lapping and licking and caressing her hardening nipples, Yujin starts to squirm. Each flick against her pushes a soft moan straight into Wonyoung’s lips; in many ways, that’s a familiarity the three of you all always manage to return to. Especially now that she’s got her hands wrapped and twisting around your cock, jerking you slowly like she has all the time in the world, like you and your girlfriend aren’t going to fuck her six ways to Sunday and still find her begging for more.

"Aight, listen here," you say finally with calm command, and both girls nearly startle. "It’s my cock you’re stroking. So I’m either fucking somebody or I’m gonna have to go take care of this myself."

The two of them get their eyes on you, both pairs of perfectly sculpted eyebrows ever-so-slightly furrowed. And when you unclench your grip on Yujin’s pliable ass, stretching your fingers wide to run it up her back, their gazes are rapt. Interesting. You file that away.

"Nope. You’re not going anywhere," Wonyoung says, having pulled away from the kiss and let a smug quirk settle into the corners of her mouth—apparently come to grips with the fact that, yes, you are going to fuck Yujin’s body until she’s incomprehensibly stuttering and blabbering, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

In tacit agreement, you slap Yujin’s ass through her shorts hard enough that she yelps. She’s not wrong—not that you’ll let her hear you say it—but she is built for it. You nearly snort, saying, "well hurry up and figure it out, who am I fucking first?"

Wonyoung leans in further to get her point across, to get her hands all over the girl in your lap. "What do you think about that, hmm? How does getting that cock inside you sound?"

"Oh, love." Yujin steadily starts stroking you faster, fingers tightening and loosening in a steady rhythm. Because if there’s anything in the world that turns her on more than Wonyoung abandoning all that about perfection and innocence, it’s feeling your cock grow harder in her hands. "Please please please tell me that it’s me."

She slumps forward at the touch of your fingers searching about the heat between her legs, arches her chest toward you to feed her breast back into your mouth—oh, of all the ways to die, surely. There’s a wistful sigh she lets on, a similar thought brewing and simmer as each touch from your deft fingers arrives closer to where she wants you, voice shuddering along a pleasant note.

"C’mon," she whines, "you get to fuck him all the time. No harm, no foul, right?"

From the way her pussy feels beneath the thin material of her shorts, you realize she’s made the decision to not wear any underwear, made the decision long ago that she’d be fucking herself with your cock and nothing else. A quickly drawn breath of air past her teeth clues Wonyoung in that you’ve got your fingers against her clit and she’s that much closer to begging to let her share you, closer to pleading Wonyoung to let her take your cock and ride it until every muscle in her legs are sore and aching.

You spit Yujin’s nipple from between your lips and laugh out loud.

"Yujin, you slut," you start, "you’re not even wearing anything under here."

There’s another rise out of the girl when you press your hand up against her pussy, close enough to slide a thumb between her lips, close enough that you can feel her heat, her gentle tremor, the way she begs for the friction of your fingertips, your tongue, your cock—anything thing firm and unyielding and attached to you.

"Didn’t stop you from you looking," Yujin insists, arching further back to the grip Wonyoung keeps tight in her hair, whimpering again as she gets her lips hovering beside hers. "Bet he’s been thinking all kinds of things, Wonyoung."

"And I suppose you figure you deserve that much, don’t you," says Wonyoung callously as she starts kneading her fingers into Yujin’s perky breast, the one you’ve left neglected. "Deserve to have this cock pounding you deep and hard and you probably want him to fuck a load of hot cum into you too."

Yujin just nods.

"Figure I’ll get my tongue on your clit for you and make you cum that way, huh?"

"Need to get fucked so bad," Yujin whines at Wonyoung, in the increasingly brief spaces between their loud, lip-pulling kisses—pauses that fill quickly with heated breath and the lust in her unsteadied voice.

Your girlfriend is hardly impressed. She says as much, and then laughs into her ear, pressing a quick kiss to her temple, and chides, "greedy."

Yujin immediately goes pliant, a little whine escaping her that neither of you bother to soothe. She repeats herself several times, "I’ll be good. Promise."

"Oh, I know you will." Wonyoung skates her thumb along her jaw until she finds her fingers threaded beneath her chin, gets her face pointed up so that she can see just how clear and articulate her eyes are, cast down the regal length of her nose and smoldering dangerously into hers. "But I think you’re still entirely way too coherent right now."

Yujin presses her lips against Wonyoung’s again, gets her fingers up over the head of your cock to lather precum into her thumb and drag it all down your length before pumping you in earnest. Wonyoung’s the one who knows you like the back of her hand, how to get you groaning and gritting your teeth with her fingers, her lips, her cunt, however she chooses, but Yujin’s never been far behind. She just smiles when she brings a touch down to your balls, and purrs: "Then that just means you aren’t distracting me enough."

Wonyoung flashes you a grin, and, oh, do you know the look, always mirthless and every bit as cunning—the same whenever she feels the urge to taunt you into sparring with her. She gets it exactly right, the perfect severity to an austere tone that makes Yujin’s hair stand on end at the next thing out of her mouth:

"Bedroom. Now."

It’s almost predictable. Yujin just looks at you with these wide eyes, soft and unassuming like she’s some lost puppy, knowing she’ll want for nothing once she’s in your hands—the way you and Wonyoung always take care of her, how you get her cumming over and over until she’s near hysterical and so overstimulated she has to beg you to stop.

"Best not keep her waiting," you tell the girl in your lap as you press your thumbs down into the curve of her soft, milky skin and massage a few circles into her thighs, "we both know she can quite be the handful."

And but so it’s the three of you—that common plurality coming to a head, you peeling your pants from your waist as you go, staggering not even a few feet down the hallway before Yujin says something that tests the limits of Wonyoung’s patience. You don’t quite hear what it is that sneaks out of her mouth, but whatever it is, you know it’s petulant.

Wonyoung pins the older girl to the wall, hands splayed around the bones of her hips, and there’s nothing forceful about it—the kind of authority she exerts a subtle thing. The two of them exchange more kisses, two curtains of dark silky hair cascading into another and only coming apart as Wonyoung lands fingerprints down the rise of Yujin’s shorts. When Wonyoung raises her face again, letting her breath kiss the tender swell of Yujin’s lips, she’s watching the way she throws her head back to the wall, throat exposed and begging to be marked, marred and bruised.

Wonyoung pushes her tongue between her lips, run semi-circles across them to remind Yujin of the big picture. "You’re fucking wet, Yujin."

"Better do something about it," Yujin chokes out, gentle features wincing again as Wonyoung’s hand slides lower, dipping and diving between her thighs.

"Strip," Wonyoung commands abruptly, liking the way it makes her shudder.

Say what you want about Ahn Yujin, no one thinks she’s stupid—Wonyoung might be the one to take the reins, call the shots, press the two of you under her thumb, but at the end of the day, Yujin always, always, gets what she wants. She starts at the top, raising one arm and reaching it behind her back so that her rack is fucking presenting, all while she shimmies her way out of her shorts, the flash of neon puddling into the floorboards at her feet. Yujin’s body is incredible, all angles and curves in the right places, pointed and soft in this juxtaposition that gets your head spinning—it’s a work of art regardless if it’s underneath you, on top of you, squirming into the cushions of the sofa, the springs of the mattress; it’s the angle, the framing, the change in perspective that always manages to guide you to new conclusions and interpretations.

"Good girl," Wonyoung mutters, and bites off a pitching moan as she seals Yujin’s lips with her own.

The two of them, like this (and in so many other ways), are so aesthetically pleasing. Beyond the way the pair gets their hands on each other’s skin, holds each other, ruts against each other, kisses each other like it’s some overflow of passion ten years in the making, they’re simply breathtaking and stupefying to the point that if you weren’t sinking your teeth into your lower lip while you stroke your own cock at the sight, your jaw would drop. As if the Creator, in their making, that meticulous work, had endeavored to pour as much unbridled, raw appeal to their figures, their forms, and pack an even more ungodly amount of lust into the two of them so that they might wreak havoc on anything they touch.

(And so often is it you, the recipient of all that lust and desire, you poor, poor thing).

But the thing that ultimately gets you behind Wonyoung, hiking her pleated skirt up around her hips and sunk to your knees isn’t so much that you feel left out as much as it is that you can’t let her be the first one to take Yujin apart—before you get your cock in her, get her clinging to your name like a lifeline, muttering it like a prayer, cursing at the top of lungs until she cums all over you and shakes and convulses in your arms. You simply can’t allow it, can’t do anything other than get Wonyoung’s stockings frayed, furled and fucked between her thighs and stick your face straight into her cunt.

"Oh, what’s the matter, little dove?" Yujin asks, eyes smug and content at how you have Wonyoung’s lithe frame curling into her, the choked back whimper you force out of her throat as you tear through the sheer fabric of her leggings. "Maybe… perhaps… you’re dying to get fucked too?"

"Watch it," Wonyoung growls.

"Or what?" Yujin just laughs, even though Wonyoung’s fingers continue to twist and dive inside her, start to make her cheeks flushed and stained, she’s purring: "Oh I know, you’re going to have to punish us both… like what a total drag."

She’s not going to be in a state to do much of anything, is how you see it, pressing your lips harsh to Wonyoung’s pussy, drawing out circles with your tongue on the hot, sensitive skin—drawing out a broken gasp that has her shooting up a hand to cover her mouth. But it’s too late. Yujin sees the opportunity for what it is.

Though you suppose there’s only patience enough for the first few buttons from the top of Wonyoung’s collar before Yujin decides to tear the garment from her shoulders, sending buttons flying and rolling across the floor. Wonyoung flinches while trying to retreat from the touches Yujin reaches up her skirt, and she simply backs up further into your face. You’ve got your tongue splitting her lips, tasting her entrance and making her pretty mouth—usually so poised and elegant and polished—start to cuss and swear.

"Baby, baby, baby," Yujin says, voice trailing, and she starts to preen Wonyoung’s hair out of her face so she can look her straight in the eyes, "You ride this cock every day, and here you are: even more desperate than me."

"Hey now, that’s not fair," you say as you surface from between the backs of Wonyoung’s thighs with a scowl, and seemingly without even thinking, pull your grip off her tight cheek to slide two fingers into her. You listen to her keen as you get two, three knuckles deep inside her hot cunt. "She doesn’t always ride."

"Hmmm." Yujin wraps her arms around Wonyoung and grabs your hips. "What do you think? The bed? Or fuck her right here?"

You still have your digits curling inside her, so she hardly minds at all when Yujin grabs her firm by the chin and slips her tongue in her mouth—for someone with such a strong resolve, she’s awfully sensitive, shockingly easy to unravel—minds even less when you lean over her shoulder and get your voice in her ear, teasing, "would you like that, princess?"

"Yujin," and she has it choked up so bad you can’t help but laugh as it nearly gets caught in her throat on the way out. She swallows, gathers her fleeting composure and wrestles herself from the girl’s grip before reaching her hand behind her and onto your waist, putting a stop to you fucking her right then and there. Makes you settle for sliding your cock between her cheeks.

"Yujin, darling," she starts again, voice again composed and unsheathed and apparently risen from the ashes—fashioned into a sharpened edge and held firm at the girl’s throat—only instead of terrifying her, it merely has Yujin licking her lips, struggling in anticipation. The three of you are only ever right where you’re meant to be. "I thought I told you. Get on the bed."

-

Wonyoung takes a beat to finagle with the rest of her clothes, removing the stockings you’d ruined and tossing them into the bin before sliding her skirt down around her ankles. Just like anyone else, she steps one foot out of them, and then the other, but the whole motion looks elegant and poised without even trying. She really is incredible like that. You’re always sure to remind her of it. And you can tell she’s rolling her eyes when Yujin makes a comment about not having it all down to a science in what is possibly the least sincere apology to date before dragging her tongue up the length of your cock, a loud kiss punctuating the end of the gesture as she reaches the tip.

Yujin’s on Wonyoung’s bed, again the familiarity something to marvel at, belly down and knees bent with her feet kicking over her frankly immaculate ass as she props herself up onto her elbows to properly lick you. She teases again, fitting her lips around your head and letting spit run down your cock. I hope you don’t mind, she efforts to say with her mouth stuffed, garbled and muffled and almost unintelligible.

Almost.

"At this rate," Wonyoung pipes up before settling in behind you, arms running around your waist and holding you by the base of your shaft, "both of you’ll be lucky to have much left to mind when I’m through with you."

Yujin pulls her mouth off you, lips smacking. Laughs out loud at the thought, and you watch her pull a bundle of hair back past her ear, angle her mouth better to meet your cock, and start to tease, "there’s our princess."

"Want your mouth too, Wonyoung," you say over your shoulder, and even if you’re pushing your luck, you know that deep down, Wonyoung can’t refuse a chance to show off, another opportunity to put Yujin in her place. "Maybe show her how it’s done."

She nearly snorts. "You’re spoiled."

She’s a slut for your cock anyway, you figure is what Yujin tries to say, but it gets lost in translation as you push your way between her soft lips, choking her for a brief moment with your cockhead in her throat. It’s all slippery and shiny with her spit after you pull your hips back, and it’s an invitation Wonyoung shakes her head at, until finally capitulating, "fine."

This silent competition that they settle into sees you as its sole beneficiary—your cock hardly left untouched, unlicked, uncared for by either of their mouths. They each have that burning desire to be the one that makes you melt, gets you to curse and moan and point your cock at their pretty face while you cum. Given that their goals are hardly aligned, it’s astonishing that they work in such beautiful harmony: Wonyoung licks your shaft, Yujin at your balls; kisses reach where another cannot, and you’re at the complete mercy of all the sinful motions of their tongues and lips—they’ve made you cum like this plenty of times before and they know they can do it again.

"Fuck," you curse, letting it slip, letting them each know you’re that much closer to being the first one to go. "Feels so fucking good."

The moment you start to bundle and brush all that dark silky hair from their faces, weave your hands into it at the napes of their necks, the movement and response is so elegant that it appears choreographed, rehearsed, and to some extent, that’s not far off. In tandem, Yujin and Wonyoung’s tongues slide across your shaft; their lips meet, pull apart, drag wet against your cock and kiss once more—these soft, ephemeral touches that leave all three of you yearning. Every now and again, one of them will take you further into the heat of their mouth, but it’s nothing selfish or ambitious, as they’re soon back to giggling and making out like the head of your cock isn’t resting every so reliably between them.

"Should make him paint our faces," Yujin says, smiling and rolling her fingers through your balls.

Wonyoung scoffs, "don’t get ahead of yourself."

This how your Sundays spend you, if you’re to be honest. The three of you never do make it to church (Saturday evenings so quickly turn to night to morning in the flash of an eye, and you’re all too sore and aching to get out of bed), but there’s no lack of worship to be had at the edge of Wonyoung’s bed—heads bowed in reverence as these two sets of heavenly lips cushion the length of your cock, tongues lathering and slipping about its sensitive skin. No, it’s not any substitute for a pew: they’re not kneeling or genuflecting or gazing up at you with their big wide eyes, watching for a sign from above—that you might wince and furl your brow; pull your cock back and jerk off until you paint over their angelic faces.

But as you run your fingers through their hair, gently fuck the unholy union where their soft, wet lips meet, the only thing curling off your tongue is an irreverent hiss, "fuck, girls, Jesus, I probably could cum like this." You reach forward, and plant a hand on Yujin’s ass, watching her soft skin ripple at the impact—she just squeals when you do it again, harder. "Fuck."

"Don’t," Wonyoung snaps. "That’d be, like, a total waste." She gets her fingers on your balls, and tells Yujin, breath hot and kissing the skin of your cock, "now watch me sweetheart. You start first, here, slow at the tip—"

The little kiss that Wonyoung plants at the end of your cock quietly makes it way down and around your shaft, and then it’s her tongue reaching beyond her lips to swirl and twist about your sensitive shaft. Yujin takes a mental note, grinning and teasing her fingernails across your stomach like she’s was watching it all for the first time, whenever Wonyoung makes you groan.

"Well, aren’t you lucky," Yujin tells you, as she studies the masterclass that is Wonyoung sucking cock. She strokes you every now and again, bringing her own hands into a cadence that matches how Wonyoung fucks you with her lips, even if it’s almost an afterthought.

"Her pussy’s better," you admit, even if she can easily get you shaking and cumming with only her tongue. Railing your girlfriend’s cunt is a completely different kind of pleasure, but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth or the lips or wherever it is your cock is being serviced—it’s ecstatic perhaps, diffuse, expressive, the way Wonyoung takes you in her mouth. She twists. She laps. Her cheeks hollow and she sucks. In the right hands—and Wonyoung is absolutely on that list—you feel intensely wanted, intensely taken care of and it makes your balls ache, your cock twitch.

"I can feel you throbbing," Yujin says, eyes beaming up at you and swiveling her hips about, ass waving ever-so-raised in the air above Wonyoung’s bed sheets—that’s an image you’ll tuck away, be sure to return to.

"Yeah," you manage, and you’re reeling when both girls get their fingers locked around your shaft, pumping you in a perfectly fucked harmony. "It feels, ugh, incredible."

"If she isn’t every bit as dangerous when she goes down on me." Yujin laughs, knowing that Wonyoung’s mouth is warm and wet and perfect. Knowing that she’s begging for stern recourse when she fists a handful of her luscious dark hair and pushes your girlfriend’s bobbing head down nearly to the base of your cock, continues to egg her on while making her choke and spit, "oh, good girl, suck that cock, you lovely, pristine, whore—"

The ire in Wonyoung’s face—brow twisting and eyes narrowed—says it all when she pulls herself off you. There’s a visible tear or two forming on the end of her long lashes and a hand pumping your shaft to make sure you’re hard and every bit as unyielding for Yujin’s throat. "Fuck. I suppose you don’t have to learn anything, you brat."

You catch the devilish glimmer in Wonyoung’s eyes as your eyes meet, and the corners of her mouth twist into this smug smile as she tumbles backward and lands at Yujin’s hips—gets them propped up and her face between her legs.

"Oh fuck," Yujin says as the realization comes to her, in the breath before you get your hands in her hair and slip her mouth around your shaft. Her tongue flutters beneath the sensitive belly of your cock, nothing controlled or meticulous, but to her credit, you’re also punching straight to the back of her throat, these choked sounds spilling up from her chest each time your cockhead brushes with the hot, wet space you can only reach from her perfectly slacked jaw.

Now you have to pay close attention to something that’s going to seem obvious at first: the two girls are nothing alike. Wonyoung has you mapped out and understood to a dangerous degree, can make you cum and wail and gnash your teeth (the kind of skillful tonguework that now has Yujin humming and moaning onto your cock as it currently arrives between her thighs), but the thing about Yujin—her mouth is simply made for fucking—as if each time you socket your cock away in her throat, she’s gained something for it, simply delighted, finds her calling, her purpose, and it gets her reaching her fingers around you, splayed out into the back of your thighs to reel you into her lips again.

Forced to answer—and goodness, you hope the day never comes—it’s impossible to pass up.

She shuts her eyes tight when you draw your hips back, swirls her tongue over where you ache and throb, and relaxes to let you deep into her again. You grunt, she chokes, you might both be tearing up—the wet sounds from both your crotches totaling to a sum greater than its parts—this is pleasure exquisite, and if you’re considering your vices, your virtues, neither of you can quite figure out what happened to temperance.

"Fuck me, Yujin, your mouth," you say, sinking your teeth into your lip until it stings, and your moans start to come out in involuntary dribbles. It’s hard not to note how the corners of Yujin’s mouth smirk as it opens wider to take you in between her lips, granting you more warmth and wetness to fuck your length into. There’s a clear irony in the way you brush those stray hairs out of her face, keeping her image elegant and faultless; you’re aware of it, all at odds at the way you grip her hair into a rough pony tail and fuck your length into her—pull your hips back and guide her down onto your shaft again.

"Feels so fucking good," you repeat, breath heavy at the beck and call of your cock lodged deep in Yujin’s mouth. She coughs again, and you can feel the wet slick of her spit lather you, find you that much easier to take. When you pause, because god knows if you keep at it, you’ll be flooding her throat with a hot load—one that’s been building and aching since the girl pounced on you in the living room and decided to stroke you through your shorts and get you all hard and needy—she simply picks up the slack, gets her hand on your shaft and pumps and twists you until you’re making a promise, "gonna cum, god, keep doing that, wanna cum in your little mouth."

Only thing is, Wonyoung finds a loose thread and pulls Yujin apart first. It’s clear as anything: that fucking tongue is made for eating cunt. Each lick against Yujin’s aching entrance returns her further and further to the basics—breaks her apart slowly so that Wonyoung might know just exactly how to put her back together and do it again.

And you’re left so very needing when she lifts her face off you, letting these loud, harsh gasps replace the sound of her lips around your cock, the sound of you fucking her face and getting spit and pre-cum all over your waist, her chin—it’s a mess. It’s hot and sinful and you’re biting hard into your lip that you might find some way to resolve the issue of needing a hole to fuck your cum into. A total mess.

You watch her spine arch magnificently, thighs shaking and quivering, head thrown back into the fireworks of it all—Wonyoung doesn’t even surface, she’s not there to bring the girl to her orgasm and then cuddle her after, drift away in the pillow talk and the gentle petting and kissing; she continues licking hard and fast still at the girl’s pussy, fingers gliding through the aftermath of it all while she’s sensitive and aching. Her eyelids are softly shut, peering out just over the beautiful mound that is Yujin’s ass while the girl writhing about has hers clenched tight, the over stimulation become too much to bear.

"Oh god, fuck, fuck, oh fuck," she whines, collapsing into the sheets, muscles tensing and freezing until her mouth hangs open—the dam within her at a point that cannot do anything other than simply break.

Wonyoung doesn’t even flinch. You can hear her fingers get messy and sloppy as they continue to fuck Yujin’s tight hole while she steadies the girl with another hand on her waist. It’s always been the truth: Yujin loves to be manhandled, yearns for it, even if it’s Wonyoung’s dainty wrists holding her in place—so it’s to her added pleasure when you swing yourself over the bed and tell your girlfriend you’re going to get your cock in Yujin’s cunt too.

"Gonna fuck her," you spit, pulling Wonyoung up off the quivering, aching mess that is Yujin on the bed. Her body is practically limp, all those muscles she’d spend hours in the gym working to maintain do nothing beyond lie still for you and only jump back to life at the feeling of your cock slapping her ass, labor to voice out a silent cry when you point it towards her sopping, needy cunt.

"Remember," Wonyoung says with an obvious lethality in her voice—oh, she can kill, do it all with a smile—still wiping Yujin’s slick from her mouth with the back of her wrist, "she asked for this."

You curl over her rear and the soft skin of her ass presses into your hips, spreads out across your stomach—it’ll be red and aching and she’ll love you for it. A kiss at her temple, and the promises you’re whispering in her ear make her fucking whimper, "Gonna cum in you, babe. Gonna get you all worked up and cumming again and clenching down on me and I’m gonna fuck this load deep into you."

Yujin worries her lip between her teeth as she nods and mewls like the fucked mess she is. Thoughts sent spiraling at the idea of your hard shaft railing between her legs, the promise of being packed full with your cum—and the kiss your cock makes against her as you align yourself between her wet lips sees her nearly collapse. She just rasps, breath broken and uneasy and you’re not even inside her yet, "Yes, please—need it."

"Oh my god—" Yujin gasps out loud as you slip inside her. She’s not incoherent yet, but all that’s got to be close; you can feel it.

"Hey, don’t cum right away," Wonyoung tells you, "I want to see her cream all over that cock of yours, show me how you fucking ruin her."

It’s a tall order, sinking into the overwhelming tight heat that is Yujin’s soaked cunt. She takes you easily, all worked up and fucked from Wonyoung’s mouth, the expertise of her tongue against her clit—almost too easily. "Fuck, wanna cum," you breathe, curses and expletives flowing like water.

"Oh, I’m sure you will," Wonyoung says from behind you, lips pursed at the sharp blade of your shoulder as she massages circles into your hips. "But you know how it is: only good girls get cum in their pussy. Don’t make love to her. Fuck her. Use her."

It’s almost insane that you listen, that you let this girl who weighs half of what you do sit in the saddle—oh, because how easily you can get Wonyoung underneath you and fucked and falling apart just as fast, get your fingerprints up around her the hollow of her throat until she begs you to make her cum—insane that you’re not starting from where you left off in Yujin’s mouth, pounding and fucking with that selfish, industrious alacrity. That in spite of it all, your hips draw back, and when they dive back in, it’s no more than a slow, methodical, purposeful thrust. Yujin simply fucking keens as you stretch out her cunt, and the sensation overwhelms her, filled so perfectly that all she can do is sink her face into the pillows.

"That’s it, face down, ass up, like a good slut," Wonyoung croons from over your shoulder, voice growling into something dangerous. "Nice and slow, really make her feel it."

You’re still cooling down from the moments that had you almost unspooling and unloading ropes of cum into Yujin’s mouth, but the girl you’re fucking is on the other side of all that, turned the page and blissfully quivering and still in the high that had spilled her slick all over your girlfriend’s chin. You adjust her between your hands, gripped firmly onto her waist—noticeably narrow and tiny to the point that says, oh, you can break her, but then there’s the round ass that cushions your thrusts into her cunt, and it reminds you, oh,she can take more. A lovely paradox to ram your cock into.

"It’s so good, so good, just like that," Yujin keeps repeating, throwing herself back into you and chasing her own high. There’s all this desire, all that neediness, she’s simply incorrigible—and her anticipation begins to consume her. "Yes, yes, yes—oh my god."

"You’re fucking creaming," you tell her, like she doesn’t know it, and you slap her perfect ass so hard she yelps. Massage circles into it before getting your hand sunk into the other cheek. All three of you know it: her ass is fucking delightful. You could get lost in those dimples that sit just below where her waist flares into those wide hips (and you most certainly have). All the curves about this canvas of beautiful satin-smooth skin. As you get your voice out to remind her how stunningly beautiful she is, start telling her to cum on your cock, Yujin practically screams.

Sure, sometimes it may appear like you’re being too rough, too risky, that you’re causing harm, doing damage, and you get how it can come to seem that way, given how you’ve got her body writhing beneath you, fucked and mewling, but here’s the thing you have to remember, and Yujin said it herself: she’s built for it.

"You gonna fill me?" Yujin asks, gasping for air like she’s just washed up on shore, "Gonna make me your cumdump, daddy? Go ahead, do it—fucking use me."

Your thumb is searing its print harsh into her jaw, and you pull her up into your mouth so that your words are clear and painfully articulate, "needy brat."

Her words come out shaky, punctuated by the way you pound her into the mattress, into nothing less than submission. "You—love—this—needy—brat."

She knows it, you know it, because it’s all too true. Because you are ramming, bulldozing, ruining her aching hole; every stab into her tight cunt has her curves rippling and her voice shattering into a million pieces. She moans hard when you bottom out inside her.

"Please." Starts sputtering when you do it again. "I can feel you so fucking deep."

"There you go," Wonyoung says, the sultry sound in her voice tickling the shell of your ear, "fuck her like she deserves, look… she needs it so so bad."

"Hey, I know how to fuck," you curse, eyes rolling back over your shoulder, and it’s a mistake. Before you can continue the thought, Wonyoung kisses you hard—hungrily licking and pulling at your lips like she needs you more than girl at the end of your cock. She’s got her hands all over your chest, your sides, fingernails scraping light across your skin and relishing the motion of you pounding her mess of a friend, the way you’re slicing her voice to ribbons and flooding her throat with wanton moans and squeals and whimpers. And when you’ve got your shaft so deep in Yujin’s perfect cunt that your lips part briefly to make some foreign noise of your own, Wonyoung seizes the chance for what it is, slides her tongue right between them. Nothing shy or reserved about it.

"Mmnnph." She can probably feel your heart racing, feel you coming higher and higher, feel the way you shudder when you get Yujin’s hips further elevated in your grip, settling fast into this angle that lets you stab deeper, fuck harder. But with the two of you briefly silenced, it becomes just the soundtrack of your cock boring hard into Yujin—the harsh thrust of your hips against that fucking perfect ass, the way she’s whimpering in delight—that you have to hold onto, keep yourself distracted from the wet and blistering heat you bury into each time you rail into her needy cunt.

"Oh, of course you do," Wonyoung finally breathes against your lips, a dangerous smile forming on her own, "Why don’t you remind the girl moaning and creaming all over your cock. She’s practically sobbing. Go on, I think she’s earned it."

The way you have Yujin remember it, the pleasure she can only find at the end of your open palm, arrives quickly and without warning—when you bring a hand down onto her ass cheek, print outlined in white and quickly fading, Yujin’s voice leaks out, shattered: "Oh fuck, please." She slides her hands forward, back arching into a curve that makes you dizzy, ass still presenting and proffering toward you like it’s her duty. And whether it’s purposeful or not, she clings to the word like it’s her lifeline, no more suitable to moor herself to than the sheets she bundles and pinches between her fingers, "please, please, I just need… please…"

"Look at that, you’re fucking owning her pussy," Wonyoung purrs, noticing it well before either of you, too distracted in the throes of your own sex to see the signal flares, the warning signs laid out in front of you, Yujin’s knees fucking wobbling and her hips chasing back as you draw your cock out of her cunt. "She’s going to cum again."

"N-Need more… please… more… harder…"

And at the end of a long, deep thrust into her wet, well-fucked cunt, she absolutely does.

"Cumming," she pants, twice.

It’s every bit as incredible as ever, her mouth hung open and barely able to form the words she needs. Your hand is flush against her ass again, meeting the rosy pink glow of that growing stain, and this time Yujin doesn’t simply bounce back, elastic, resilient. She starts to babble, curses and names and thoughts all trading meaning and purpose as she crashes her whole body to the bed—clenches tight around your cock to the point that it’s a challenge to keep yourself between her slick thighs and buried deep between her ass cheeks as you fuck relentlessly into her prone form—however the extent to which it slows your effort, if any, is unclear.

"God fuck, I can’t get enough of you, Yujin, your little cunt is just incredible," you rasp, teeth gritting as your limbs spill over the top of her exhausted body—before a groan, loud and obscene, has the broken edges in your graveling voice striking at a vein laid deep within her, something foundational and base and instinctual:

"Cum, want you to cum, want to feel you—"

"On your back, dear," Wonyoung says flatly, taking enjoyment in the way she writhes beneath you. "Let him fuck you nice and deep, Yujin."

Yujin is nothing if not compliant, putting up no fuss as you turn her hips in your hands, get on her back and those long legs onto your shoulders. You fill her to the hilt. Make her blather and gasp, mewling, moaning, collapsing. You’ve got fingers leaving bruises in her thighs like she’s yours and always will be and she fucking loves it.

"Fuck her hard, love," Wonyoung urges, eager to see her fall further from grace. "Show her how she needs your hard cock. Show her what a slut she really is."

You can’t help but study the way Yujin holds her mouth agape, frozen in delight, tiny breaths punched out at increasingly short interval on the end of your sharp thrusts—incapable of retaliation, some cute quip or needling retort uncharacteristically absent—Wonyoung makes the same observation, swings her thighs over the girl’s face, gets her pussy resting on her lips and lifts a sweetly challenging eyebrow at your perplexed expression.

"Oh? What is it? No good?" she asks, rubbing her fingers into Yujin’s tits, holding them in place while you pound at her hot cunt. "You going to tell me you want to kiss her while you get off and fill her up?"

"If you don’t mind," you choke, uncrossing Yujin’s legs from in front of your chest— because yeah, too tight.

"Ugh, how cute and wholesome is that." Wonyoung slides backward, reaches down to get a kiss in of her own before whispering, "He treats you so good—so open your legs wide for him darling, show him what a good little fuckhole you can be."

You watch as she closes her eyes, pulls at the sheets. She’s unbelievably pretty, and even hotter when she’s all fucked and bothered—blush burning in her cheeks and sweat building at her brow, lips parting and muttering: "Love that… love it… please, you own me. I belong to you, please just fuck me."

Yujin’s such a ruined mess and Wonyoung is enamored with the fact that you make her way, legs opening and wide and letting you sink in. The way you’re moaning together—it’s filthy, it’s indulgent, it’s so unbelievably hot.

Invested now in seeing how it all comes apart, Wonyoung’s holding Yujin still as you bring her knees to her shoulders, nearly fold the girl in half and get her bent at an obscene angle—bottoming out into her pussy, fucking her hard into the springs of Wonyoung’s mattress and crossing those familiar boundaries, the precipice of your own undoing. There’s no backing out. You’re going to cum, going to fucking use Yujin like the perfect little cumdump Wonyoung reminds you she is, and there’s no other way you’d have it.

Your girlfriend’s just dragging her fingers through Yujin’s hair, thumb rubbing gently at her cheek, caring and intimate even though her words cut deep, slice straight to the bone, "Hey, do you know why they call it a mating press?"—there’s no time wasted getting her fingers between your balls, knows with a touch here, a touch there, she can get you to fucking explode—"He’s gonna cum so deep in you baby, gonna fill you up, gonna breed you."

Fuck, you are shaking. Her pussy clenches, grips, and it’s just that good.

"Please, please, I want to feel it. Need to feel you fucking burst." Yujin’s got her palms flat on your stomach, bracing herself, just whimpers in a half response—too raw to be a grunt, too shaky to be a cry of triumph—sounds effortlessly elated all the same as she makes a series of tiny nods, pleading, do it.

"That’s right, take what’s yours," Wonyoung says into your ear, clearly holding back a laugh at the sight of your depravity—still too poised and composed for your taste, but it’s a bridge too far to care. "Do it. Cum. Just fucking use her."

It’s only a handful of pernicious strokes that make it happen. Really, you can count them—one, two… five… six… seven… eleven—Yujin’s breathing in fits and starts at the end of each one. At Wonyoung’s command, that light squeeze from her slender fingers, you’re there: crashing your mouth onto the girl beneath you, kissing Yujin hard and moaning brazen into her lips. They’re soft and cool to the touch even though her breath is heated and hazarded by the way you’re pumping cum into her cunt, fucking it deeper inside her as you continue to thrust and pound and use her like a toy—Yujin barely manages to moan back; she’s yours; you’re hers; the two of you both so absolutely spent, dismantled, fucked.

(Honestly, you spill like it’s the first time in weeks, like Wonyoung hadn’t milked a load out of you and onto her flat tummy with her hands just earlier this morning, and you’ve got hot cum pooling deep in Yujin’s pussy, leaking down her thighs, and making you nearly slip out from between her legs.

Yujin’s hands are soft on your hips, those small movements pulling you somehow closer into her fucked, exhausted, collapsed body; Wonyoung’s fixing your hair, thumb along your spine, to the nape of your neck and rubbing as if to say, you fucked her so good sweetheart.

It’s absolute and total bliss.

The important thing here is not how long you lay there before Wonyoung gets her dangerous fingers back inside Yujin—scoops your cum out from her cunt and slips it between her lips—only that it’s warm and hot and perfect and you wouldn’t mind if you never left.)

-

"Because it’s fucking sensitive," you tell Wonyoung, and your eyes flick up to the whine in the shower’s pipes coming to a sudden stop, the glass door sliding in its track.

"I don’t care."

Wonyoung clambers across your legs, reclaiming your attention as she settles her weight onto your thighs with little to no fanfare. You barely have the time to register her touch across your abs before it’s gone again, and there’s no hiding the lethal quirk shadowing in at the corner of her lip when she ruts herself against your hips, glides herself over your shaft and tells you, "You’re going to fuck me."

Even if it’s the usual fair—you laying there, just under Wonyoung’s weight, all her milky soft skin spilling on top of you—she’s perfect in so many ways. In your arms, in your lap, on your cock, it’s hard to pick a favorite.

"What’s the matter?" she asks, smirking and holding back a laugh (that’s her brand, you’ve come to realize, manifested into something of a trademark; it’s killer), and she slaps your shaft twice against the concave flatness of her stomach. The visual of your stiff cock beneath her navel is absolutely everything: look at how far you’ll fill her, how much you’ll stretch her.

"Oh surely you didn’t think I was going to let you call it quits?" Wonyoung pumps her fingers up and down your length once. Adds a little twist to the end of it when she starts to repeat the motion. "C’mon, now," she murmurs, half smiling against your temple because what a way to set the scene, "talk to me, wanna hear that pretty voice of yours baby."

"Haven’t been doing a whole lot of thinking if I’m being honest."

She laughs out loud. Postures herself, gets her hands raking through her hair, letting it cascade perfectly off her shoulders, her collarbones—makes sure that if you’re going to be fucked, it’ll be underneath the sheer image of perfection. "I’d suggest you keep at it then."

Both of you watched the girl you’d fucked into a hot mess stammer on about the shower as she made her way off the bed—got your heads pointed on an identical tilt when she strutted into the bathroom, cum still leaking down her thighs and her hips positively swaying. If Yujin had become liquid, malleable, in your hands, you’re about to fucking puddle in Wonyoung’s.

"You should hear how she talks about you," Wonyoung says, right before taking a beat to adjust, the serene and elegant lines in her face faltering for only a moment when she sits herself on your cock. "The girl just goes on and on about how amazing your cock is, how you make her cum, that heaven-sent look on your face when you’re ravaging her pussy—"

"Fuck," you hiss out, barely making it through the word’s elegant simplicity. Entering Wonyoung for the first time is always an experience. Wetter, hotter, impossibly tighter, with every inch, and it practically makes you shiver. Though, she hardly makes any notice of it beyond the self-satisfactory hum in her throat, that you’re frozen, dazed, coping with the fact that your world had straightened on its axis.

She lifts her hips up. Drops them back down on you. She’s hot and wet and so fucking incredible, you’re aching. The growl you finally let slip is something feral. Of course, Wonyoung just smiles, a million dollar look, and draws a circle across your chest with a fingertip.

"You know…" Her voice trails. "Sometimes I almost catch myself feeling jealous."

You swallow back on a drying moan. "Yeah?"

"But then I realize something every time."

Like there’s nothing to it, her hips sink onto you once more; it’s pain, it’s pleasure, it’s the wind right out of your fucking sails, and you’re so overcome with all of it when that saccharine sweetness in Wonyoung’s voice starts to dance through your thoughts. The very same instant she surrounds you again in her heat. It’s so surreal it’s fucking intoxicating.

"Oh, do tell," you barely manage to gasp out, reeling at the point of impact: her thighs flush against yours, clenching hard onto your cock. There’s never been a question; Yujin can drain you, but Wonyoung’s pussy is so hot, so silky-smooth-perfect, so criminally tight it finds you speechless. You, with all your charm and wit, silenced like it’s nothing.

"I get to fuck this cock."

You don’t even manage a strangled moan. Completely mute when she crashes onto you again. Envelops you in that tight, blistering heat.

"Whenever."

—and again.

"I."

—and again.

"Want."

Now it’s not like you should be surprised by any of it. On a scale of one to ten, Wonyoung is an eleven, though you imagine if you asked her, she’d give herself a twelve. The entitlement isn’t anything new, nor is it all too undeserved.

So, let me take care of you, is how she says it, which is a sort of comedy gold given the context. It makes her out to be some sort of saint, chasing some lofty and altruistic goal that has no care or regard for the knot twisting in her stomach, the fucking absolute neediness of her pussy leaking and creaming all over your waist.

"God—gah—you are so tight, Wonyoung, fuck."

You shoot your hands forward to get them on her tiny waist, brace yourself against the next bounce from her thighs, the insane grip she has on you. It’s a misstep; and it triggers a riposte. She executes flawlessly—gets your wrists pinned to the bed above your head—reminds you that she’s always in control, and starts to ride you in earnest.

"Let me," she repeats, twice, and you’re at her mercy, entirely doubtful you’ll receive any. She looks at the way you wince, the way you grovel; she softly sh-sh-sh’s you to silence, rolls her hips on you fast and hard and starts to fuck at a tempo that is for her. Her hand is on your jaw and her thumb drags along your lip when she asks you, quietly, "It’s better, right? You love fucking this pussy… need me so bad, don’t you? Tell me."

"The best," you say, voice drier than either of you expect. "So fucking good."

Even if you are hanging on by a thread, you figure she believes you. Because the smirk on her lips grows in intensity, its smolder just as damaging as the way she finds herself fucking you at that angle, that depth—gets her hands planted firm on your chest and sends your teeth into the raw swell of your lip. She holds you there, captive, and makes only the slightest motions; it’s no different than the way she’d take you in her fingers in the mornings—get you cumming and moaning beneath the sheets with these minute, focused touches.

"Ah, I can feel you. Feel you throbbing, aching. Need you to ride that edge, baby," Wonyoung rasps, letting nothing slip or falter in the way she moves—this entire litany of precise, meticulous movements her hips drag out along your shaft—and fuck. Okay. Okay.

Her hand cups the back of your neck. Urges you to sit up, and when you do, you’re at her chest, the soft skin mapping out along her collarbones. She leads you to her subtle cleavage, has you splitting with your nose, your lips, taste of salty sweat on your tongue. There’s the familiar lines of her body—the way the curves and edges of her lithe frame weave perfection, how they all come crashing down at once on your cock. That voice in your head telling you bite your cheek, clench your knuckles, because she’s far too much, she’s far too perfect, she’s everything—

"Oh, because of course." Yujin appears from around the bathroom door post wearing nothing but a towel tucked neatly beneath her arms, the effort at something like modesty a day late and a dollar short. Her hair is still damp, tied up above her shoulders, and she’d wiped all that ruined makeup from her eyes—she’s gorgeous as ever, and clearly a little annoyed that you two started again without her. Smirking, fingernail between her teeth she asks, "did watching your boyfriend fuck me get you all hot and bothered? Oh, I get it. You must be jealous."

—well, almost everything. It’s the fact that binds you all. Yujin simply cannot keep her mouth shut.

"Sit," Wonyoung says pointedly, and gestures at the chair beside the bed. "You are going sit and watch."

"And now you." Wonyoung holds your chin between her thumb and fingers—her eyes ablaze with an emblematic glimmer, that ever present noblesse oblige, and she’s got her words curling her off tongue, arriving like a dagger to your throat, "show her how you really fuck."

If you’re not looking closely, it’d be reasonable to assume there’s something present that catalyzes the following series of events: the ease with which you wrestle the reins away from the girl in your lap, some shift or another in the balance of power. It’s nothing like that. Even in those occasions where you’ve got Wonyoung folded beneath your weight, her face smashed into the pillows, or your hand up around her throat, it’s only ever because she invites it. So when you’ve reached around her tiny waist, gotten your fingerprints all over her hips and found the gentle curves of her slender body easy to move, to lift, to fuck, to dominate, to conquer—yes, you’re chipping away at that facade every time you glide upward, deep into Wonyoung’s cunt, forcing her shallow and ragged sighs to grow more frantic, more agitated, more needy. No, it doesn’t take her long to reach the point where her cheeks are flushed and she’s chasing her breath. None of it changes a thing. The way Wonyoung sees it, you belong to her.

"You—are dangerous," she murmurs against your mouth, lips slanting into a half-smile, and her ankles lock behind your waist.

When you get your hand in her hair, raking your fingers through those dark, smooth locks—gently pull back on it—you are presented with her neck, the gulp that travels through the hollow of her throat when you push your cock deep into her cunt. She’s giving it up to you: all this beautiful porcelain skin simply begging for your lips. Oh, you’ll leave bruises, you’ll make marks, those sinful reminders you’ll later come back to.

"Yeah, yes, fuck," she gasps, several times. Her eyelashes flutter each time your cock fills her completely—when you pull out and pull her hips down hard on you again.

Something must hit the right spot, because her legs tense up around your waist. The first time she cums, she’s all huffs and sharp draws of air. Unlike Yujin, there’s no herald or warning, but it’s still obvious as day. And it comes in waves: first a little shudder, then another. Her back arches into you, face falling into the nook between your neck and shoulder, and she begins coming perfectly undone. She’s sweating, her cheeks are so red, and she can’t stop digging her nails into your back. Princess, you tease dangerously into her throat, and she’s gone, a total wreck.

You expect something, anything, from Yujin—there’s never been a better chance to goad and spur the girl practically melting to a puddle in your lap. But as you fuck through the torrid collapse of Wonyoung’s orgasm, the only thing you hear is that slight whimper from beside the bed. Even though her knees are closed, towel stuck between them, you see the hand she has playing between her thighs.

"Look at that," you start, still moving and gliding into the fucked mess of a lapful that is your girlfriend. "Yujin’s touching herself. You look so good getting fucked—look so fucking pretty on my cock, sweetheart, it’s driving her crazy. She can’t help herself."

Wonyoung just sighs, gets arms over your shoulders and her body even tighter against you.

"Do you think she’d like watching me fuck you from behind? Get your perfect mouth on that needy cunt of hers—what do you think of that princess? I bet she’d fucking lose it."

"And have her… watch you… fuck my ass," Wonyoung pants, and the sharp gasp that suddenly fills the room is priceless. The three of you might be inseparable, but there’s no lack of secrets to hide, stories to tell.

Though it’s a thread to follow for another time, because when you swing your legs off the bed, lift Wonyoung’s slender frame into your arms, get your hands under her thighs and her ass spilling through your fingers, and start fucking her—truly fucking her—she nearly cums again. There’s less distance to fall, certainly less composure to break, and as she starts to clench and tremor around your cock, she finds her voice rasping, begging, "please, I want it—make me cum again, please make me cum again."

It’s Wonyoung’s long legs wrapped perfectly around you. It’s the way she loses control of her breath, gasping as you fuck your length into the mind-numbing intensity of her little, sopping cunt. You wouldn’t trade it for anything, the fact that she’s practically royalty and she’s a fucking mess and she’s cumming all over your cock.

"Jesus," Yujin mutters, "You’re making her cream so fucking bad. She’s so close, fuck her harder, fuck our little princess like she deserves—pound her like she needs."

Wonyoung raises her face, eyes cast in yours, these beautiful pools of earthy gray, to a long silence; a real silence, without even the hint of a muttered curse or blather about your name—she seems completely overcome, overwhelmed, overindulged. There’s a tiny tug at a smile in her lips, and a volcanic rush of heat to her face. You recognize that look: the first you’d ever seen it was when she’d had first had your cock and simply could not believe it could ever feel that good, the way it could get her stomach smoldering and thoughts spinning. It’s half surprise. It’s half unadulterated lust. It’s all this want and need and it says without saying, fill me.

"That’s right," Yujin teases, "make her cum on your cock—"

"Yujin, why don’t you get on your knees for me, and have a taste," you offer, but you’re not really asking, hoisting Wonyoung’s exhausted, still-aching cunt off you enough for Yujin to obediently kneel in front of your cock and get her mouth all over you, licking and kissing Wonyoung’s slick right off your shaft.

As you draw yourself out of Wonyoung’s cunt—slip in seamlessly between Yujin’s lips—the girl suspended in your arms whines: that prospect of you not filling her so perfectly a reality too difficult to bear. She gasps. She shudders. And a sudden relief pours deluge-like through her ethereal visage when you knead fingers harshly into her ass, spread her legs wider over your elbows and place her back on your cock again. She’s so fucked and wet and needy that filling completely in one harsh motion barely even elicits more than wanton groan from her chest.

"Where are you—fuck, I," Wonyoung curses, drawing harsh breath and clenching down on you, onto the absence of your shape when you get your cock again into Yujin’s mouth. Her voice is still ragged and wrecked, but she holds tighter to you, asking, "Want you to—where are you going to—?"

In the back of Yujin’s throat if she’s not careful, is your first thought given the way her tongue flicks and flutters and teases the sensitive underbelly of your aching shaft. Deep in this cunt, follows logically right after that, gliding yourself back inside Wonyoung. If there was ever a lesson to be had in gluttony, in indulgence, this is probably it—and considering the third thought that grows quietly in the corner of your thoughts, you’re probably missing the mark.

"On your knees," you whisper against Wonyoung’s cheek, and she laughs silently to herself. Laughs because she knows exactly what you want. Because it’s hardly anything new, novel, or unique.

(For a brief moment, you consider the current circumstances; should probably consider donating to charity. Who could be so lucky? How often have you fucked both these girls, been the only man with the full pair? That you’re gripping a fist around your cock, stroking and pointing it at two open mouths, those wanting tongues—all doe-eyed and docile and they’re so fucking pretty and they’ll look pristine painted with your cum.)

Good lord, it’s a heavy handful: cum splattering all over Wonyoung’s face.

Never have you been one to play favorites; god only knows it’s a dangerous game, but that’s just how the ropes fly—into the valley of Wonyoung’s tongue, across a cheek, the bridge of her nose, she flinches as you get cum on her brow. Oh, she’s perfect, always has been, and you’ve got her marked and marred, debauched and debased with hot, creamy white like she’s never known another purpose.

"Fuck," you sputter, because you need to catch your breath.

There’s this heavy silence; you’re positively mesmerized. Yujin doesn’t even complain, just captures Wonyoung’s cum-covered face in her hands and brings her mouth to hers. Pulls at her lips with this hungry, consuming kiss until finally, lips smacking, she drags herself away—skates a finger across her cheek and slips more cum past Wonyoung’s lips.

"Did you say in your ass?" Yujin asks, brow twisting inquisitively over a glance that flicks up to you, and Wonyoung lets out this genuine laughter as she allows that kernel of shame to grow ever-so-slightly inside her.

"Yep."

Yujin laughs out loud, toothy grin come to bear. "You slut."

-

You are dozing, curled on your side, and your mind is supplying to you the loveliest dream—or perhaps a memory? It’s hard to tell, but it’s awfully vivid. Someone’s mouth on your own, warm… urgent; the feeling of arms wrapping around your neck, legs brushing about your waist, a familiar hand on your face. Some of it is fuzzy, unclear, as though the experience is coming to you through the fog of a rain-stained window, but then some of the details of the dream solidify, take shape, and you’re—

Is that lavender?

You blink, inhale sleepily, go to stretch, and that’s when everything starts to elucidate.

All around you is the pleasant smell of Wonyoung and Yujin; the feel of an arm around your waist; Yujin’s wavy curls tickling your nose; she’s got one leg hooked around yours and a thigh in your crotch in a way that feels awesome, feels too real to not be a dream, and—oh, wait a minute, that’s because it’s actually happening. Like, right now.

You’re snuggled up with the blankets on Wonyoung’s bed. With the two perfect forms on either side of you.

"Hey," says Yujin, half-sleepy, at half-volume to not wake up the sleeping beauty nuzzled up to your back. She grins because, lord, you are rock hard between your legs—something like an occupational hazard you promise—and she blinks her eyes slowly a few times as she gets her hand wrapped around you. It’s just one pump, it’s experimental, and she has a finger on her lips, whispering, "Shh, gotta be quiet."

The sun’s not quite trickling in through the blinds; you’ve probably all napped past dinner. As always, there’s a week ahead of you, and now you’re aching, sore, exhausted and you can’t refuse her even a bit. It’s a tale as old as well, not that old, but you figure that’s how your Sundays spend you.

[thetriumphantpanda]

i work from nine to five; hey hell, i pay the price | Marcus Pike

Summary | You use the office halloween party as a way to prove you can push yourself out of your comfort zone. You didn't expect that to mean that the apple of your eye, Marcus Pike, would take an interest in you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Plus Size F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

Warnings | Explicit smut, workplace 'romance', negative talk about bodies, body issues, plus size reader, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, dirty talk, mention of food and alcohol, halloween vibes, costumes, pet names, but nothing else.

Authors Note | I told myself I wasn't going to do halloween writing, and then I had a very vivid image of Marcus Pike bending me over his desk at a work party.... So I did some halloween writing. As a woman who lives life in a bigger body, this one goes out to everyone else who has felt the way reader has felt. These are MY OWN experiences, attitudes I've had given to me, and given to myself, they aren't universal, we all feel differently about ourselves, but if you've ever been made to feel less than because of the way you look, just know I see you and that Marcus Pike would absolutely take you apart regardless of how thick your thighs are. If you liked this, please consider supporting me through my Ko-Fi.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You tug at your skirt a little, trying to pull it down over your thighs. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to choose something skimpy for the office Halloween party. A way to challenge yourself, finally start to work through the years of bullying at school, and the off-hand comments from your almond-mom who had always told you things like, ‘you could stand to lose a few pounds’, or ‘surely a salad would be a better idea?’. 

It had been such a relief when you’d gotten this job two years ago, finally earning enough on an FBI salary to move out of your family home and into your own space. A space where you weren’t judged for how many fries you had on your plate, or how the pair of trousers you’d chosen to wear made your belly look. It had been good for you, and ever since, you’d been trying your best to challenge yourself to do things you never thought you’d ever have the confidence to do. 

Things like standing in the office, in a pair of fishnet tights, with a skirt so short that if you bent over, Dave from Finance would get a complete eyeful. Looking around though, you couldn’t help feel like it had been a terrible idea. Amy from HR looked absolutely phenomenal in her devil outfit – a red bodycon dress that looked like it had been painted on, showing not a single imperfection on her body – and Jessica, who worked reception, in a Catwoman jumpsuit that hugged her figure perfectly. You don’t think it would ever go away, the comparing yourself to everyone else, even though you knew that Amy and Jessica would totally have their own insecurities about things. 

You were trying to make yourself at small as possible, crowding yourself into the corner of the room, hand clutched around a plastic cup full of ‘spooky punch’, that Hannah, the office manager had put together, which comprised of mostly vodka, some orange juice and what looked like a whole bottle of green food coloring, with some eyeball candy floating around in it. She’d put together a Halloween playlist, which was currently blasting The Monster Mash at a decibel you think should be illegal, and everyone had contributed to her spooky buffet, which was just normal food cut into shapes – like your addition of frozen pizza that you’d cut out with a ghost-shaped cookie cutter. You know you should go and mingle. Adam, on your team has already tried twice to get you to join their little group, so you relent, and walk over, giving everyone a warm smile. It’s all going well, until Alison, nods her head in your direction and stats speaking. 

“Did you work late?” She asks, to which you shake your head. 

“No, why?” 

“Oh,” She grimaces, “I just didn’t think you’d dressed up, is all.” 

And you know it’s mainly because she’s oblivious to mostly everything, but it smarts. Sure, the orange turtleneck is something you’d worn to work before, as are the black platform heels, but the skirt that ghosts the bottom of your ass and the fishnet tights that are still probably one size too small are not something you usually wear, nor are the fake glasses, with thick black frames, or the fucking magnifying glass you’re clutching. You sigh, make your excuses and walk over to the buffet table, picking up one of the slices of pizza you’d brought. Once you’ve eaten that, you reach for one of the cupcakes at the back of the table. It’s iced like a pumpkin and the cake looks to be chocolate, which is your favourite. You’re peeling off the wrapper and about to take a bite when someone interrupts you. 

“They’re delicious.” 

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Marcus Pike. Head of Department. Not your boss, but your boss’ boss, and the most beautiful man you think you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d sat in on meetings that he chaired, supposed to be taking notes but instead focused entirely on him and how he commanded the room. The way he talked with his hands, and how much you wish you could have him run those over your thighs. Or the way he would chew on his bottom lip when he was concentrating, wondering whether he’d like it if you did that if he were to ever kiss you. 

“Oh.” You exhale softly, suddenly uber aware of the fact he’s probably just watched you eat the ghost-shaped pizza, and now, not a minute later, getting ready to bite into the cupcake, you go to set it down on the table, but he stops you, hand gently holding onto your wrist. 

“Please,” He says softly, “I made them, so I need the ego boost.” 

You smile a little, finally meeting his eyes, “You just said they were delicious, what do you need my opinion for?” 

“I remember the raspberry muffins you made last week,” He smirks a little, “And the apple turnovers the week before those, and everything else you bring in, I need to know what the office star baker thinks about my effort.” 

You’re going to refuse, say you’re already full, despite the pizza being the first thing you’d eaten that evening, that you’ll take it home with you and report back on Monday, but his beautiful brown eyes are soft, almost pleading, so you sigh, peel the rest of the wrapper off and take a bite. It’s actually delicious. He’s put some kind of orange flavouring in the icing, and the cake itself is really good. 

“You were right,” You smile, “It is delicious.”

He smiles, like he’s won a prize and it makes you feel a bit fuzzy inside, that this man next to you has been affected by your praise. 

“Great costume, by the way.” He compliments, and you don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body. 

“You mean you don’t think I ran out of time and came in my office clothes?” You tease. 

“You’d wear that skirt to the office?” He’s smirking at you, and also offers you a wink, which has your hand dropping to the table, holding yourself up, why on earth was Marcus Pike flirting with you? “It’s good, Velma, right?” He motions to the magnifying glass abandoned on the table. 

You chuckle a little, “First prize, got it first time,” You then take a moment to take in his costume, he’s wearing a brown jacket over one of his usual shirts, a brown satchel is draped across his body and he’s got a hat on, but it’s the whip that really gives him away, “Indiana Jones?” You say quietly. 

“The one and only.” He smiles, opening his arms a little. 

You think it must be the amount of vodka that Hannah put in the punch, but even so, your next question shocks you, “Do I ask where you got the whip from?” 

He looks around dramatically, “Just checking Amy from HR is out of earshot,” Then he leans in a little closer, “It’s from my own personal collection.” 

You reach your hand out, letting your fingers run over the material where the handle is holstered in his pocket. It feels expensive, although it’s not like you have much experience with them to pass judgement on what’s expensive and what isn’t.

“Feels expensive,” You hum, “Guess that head of department salary has to get spent on something.” 

He reaches down and takes your hand in his gently, running soft circles over the skin on the back of your hand, “You really do look lovely tonight,” He speaks softly, “Enjoy the rest of the evening.” 

And then as quickly as he was stood in front of you, he’s gone. You let out a breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding in, focusing on the way your chest is heaving and you can feel your pulse in your head. You pick up your plastic cup and down the liquid that’s left in the bottom, wincing at the strength of the vodka, then deciding you need a top up. 

You mill about for a little bit longer, but still feel like a bit of a spare part. You’ve shown your face, spoken to everyone you should have, and now there’s a glass of wine and a bubble bath with your name on it back home. You pick up your coat from the back of a random office chair, grab your bag from your own desk, and sneak out as quietly as you can. You’re halfway down the hall, almost to the elevator, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

“Running away?” 

You turn around, Marcus Pike is leaning against the doorframe to his office. He’s taken the satchel off, and the whip is no longer in his pocket. He’s crossed one ankle over the other, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Feeling a little like a spare part,” You shrug, “And there’s a glass of wine calling my name at home.” 

He nods in understanding, “You drink whiskey?” He asks. 

“If I have to.” You answer back. 

“Well, how about you stay and have one with me,” He offers, “Leave that wine for another day.” 

You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, because why on earth would Marcus Pike want to have a drink with you? It feels like someone somewhere is having a good old laugh at your expense, but you feel your feet leading you towards him, brushing past him and into his office. 

You’ve been in here a handful of times before, mainly to drop of reports and papers, and only once whilst he’s been there. It’s been a very professional relationship up until now, no flirting, nothing inappropriate. You drape your coat over the arm of the small couch he’s got there – you imagine he sleeps on it when he hasn’t got time to go home during crunch time of investigations.  Your bag sits on the floor next to it. 

He leaves the door open, giving you an out if you want it. He points to the couch, tells you to sit down, which you do, pulling once again at the tiny skirt, trying to cover the way the skin of your thighs bulge through the holes of the fishnet tights, ultimately failing, as Marcus reaches into one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out two crystal tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them both equally, handing one to you, but he doesn’t sit next to you, he just leans against the edge of his desk. 

“I always thought it was a myth,” You muse, “Agents with whiskey in their desks.” 

He smiles at you, “It’s in there for big wins,” He explains, “Cracking cases and that kind of stuff.” 

You nod your head, taking a small sip of your drink, wincing as it drags down your throat, “What’s tonight’s big win?” You ask, fluttering your eyelashes and then cringing a little at yourself. 

“You looking that sinful.” 

You’re taking a sip when he says it, so you end up spluttering quite unattractively at his words. Is he serious? You dab at the corners on your mouth, setting your glass down on the floor, “Sorry,” You mutter, “But are you for real?” 

He smirks, “As real as you and I.” 

He pushes himself off the desk, puts his drink down on it as he moves. He takes three wide strides until he’s stood in front of you. You look up from where you’re sat, hands folded in your lap. He reaches out, drags the fake glasses from your face, throws them absentmindedly onto the couch next to you. You’re breathing heavily as reaches out with one of his hands. The flat of his palm cupping your jaw, whilst his thumb traces along your bottom lip. 

“Do you want me to close the door?” He asks, voice lower than you’ve ever known it. 

You have no words, your tongue refusing to work, so you nod instead, because as much as you’re still thinking someone is going to come in and tell you you’re being pranked, you also want to know what he’s going to do next. He’s back to you in moments once he’s closed the door and turned the lock. The light above is harsh, but it’s needed, because the blinds are closed. 

He's standing in front of you again, this time both his palms are cupping your cheeks, and he’s leaning down, ever so slowly, until his lips are a hairs breath from yours. God, you want him to push the last few millimeters and kiss you, but he’s stopped. Waiting. And you don’t want to break first. You’ve done it before, gone to kiss someone, and then felt them laugh just before you can, because why would they want to? 

“You gonna kiss me, pretty lady?” 

“I want you to kiss me first.” You admit on a shaky breath. 

You’ve got your eyes closed, so you can’t read his eyes, look for the sense of regret in them, so it’s a shock when you feel his lips on yours. It’s so soft, barely there, before he’s pulling away, still close enough to feel his hot breath over your skin though. 

“There,” His thumbs are moving across the skin of your cheeks, “Now you.” 

So, you do. You reach your hand around to the back of his neck, pull him into you and really press your lips to his. His bottom lip slots between yours and you suck it gently into your mouth. You smile a little at the sound that comes from his throat, then he’s opening his mouth against yours and you’re following, doing exactly the same, letting his tongue behind your teeth as it melds with your own. His hands are dropping from your face, trailing down your shoulders. He leans forward into you a little, his hands under your arms to tug you up. 

You drag your mouth from him to stand up, his hands dropping to your hips to guide you behind his desk. There are nerves bubbling under your skin because you know what he wants as he pressed your ass into the wood. He wants you to sit on it. To be fair to the department, it’s a sturdy looking desk, but the thought of the way it’s going to creak under your weight makes you want to crawl into a hole. Marcus doesn’t push though, just brings his mouth back to yours, letting his hands wander a little, dragging them back up your body to palm your tits through the layers you’re wearing. 

“I think you did this on purpose,” He speaks against your mouth, “Like you knew this woman had always driven me wild.” 

You don’t mean to, but it makes you laugh, “Don’t tell me Velma from Scooby-Doo was your sexual awakening?” 

He laughs back, doesn’t confirm it, but doesn’t deny it either. He’s looking down your body, having pulled back a bit, “Fuck,” He mutters, “Every time I look at you, it gets better.” 

“The magic of a slutty Halloween costume.” You shrug. 

He nods his head, but speaks again, “It’s not just that though,” He’s speaking softly now, “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, wandering around the office all the time, driving me mad.” 

This would normally be the time that you’d try and fight against the compliments being thrown your way. Tell them they must be lying, or joke that they need to get their eyes tested. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like you should do that here. There’s something about Marcus that makes you think he wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t string you along this far just to have a laugh at your expense, so you don’t do it, for the first time in your life. 

You reach up to his shirt, undo two of the buttons, “You know,” You hum, “I think exactly the same as you, with your whip or not.” 

He breathes out, taking hold of your wrists to stop your movements, “Let me make you feel good?” He asks. 

You meet his eyes, feeling heat rise across your face, but you nod anyway, because you’ve come this far, and you can already feel wetness pooling in your panties. He drags his hands down your body, grips your hips and forces you to sit on the edge of the desk, dropping to his knees in front of you. He’s looking you straight in the eyes, as he pushes the material of your skirt to gather at your waist. Your legs open further, and Marcus groans when your movement reveals the see-through black lace of your panties. It hadn’t felt right to dress as a sexy Velma and wear your normal underwear, is how you justify it. 

You’re expecting him to tell you to lift up so he can drag your tights off you, but instead, he hooks a finger through the material at your groin and fucking rips them apart. It makes you gasp. You’d chide him for ruining them, but at this point you don’t care. They were cheap, and if it means you’re going to have his mouth on you quicker, then you’re not going to complain. 

Marcus leans forwards, you can feel the heat of his breath splaying across the lace material, and then he drags his tongue across the length of your folds over the lace of your panties. Even with the material barrier between your skin and his mouth, you’re tipping your head back in pleasure, letting out a breath as he repeats his movements, dragging his fingers just behind his tongue on his last pass of movements. It’s not enough. 

“Please, Marcus.” You beg quietly. 

“What do you want, pretty lady?” He asks, looking up at you with angelic eyes, as if he couldn’t possibly think what it is you want from him. 

“Your mouth.” 

“You already have it.” He points out, proving his point by licking another stripe up your panties. 

“Marcus,” You sigh, “Move the… fuck… move the damn material out of the way.” 

He lets out a huff of amusement, “See,” He says, doing exactly as you ask, hooking his fingers under the material and moving it to the side, “All you had to do was ask.” 

He doesn’t waste any more time now. Letting his tongue dip between your slick folds, dragging the wetness that’s pooled at your entrance up to your clit, where he flicks softly with the tip of his tongue. You feel his thumbs spreading the lips of your cunt, baring you to him so he can really start to work you up. He presses the flat of his tongue to your clit, working it gently as your hand settles into the curls on his head, anchoring him there. He’s doing all the things you love, moving between wide stripes of the flat of his tongue, and quick flicks with the tip, until your hips are grinding against his face and you’re biting down onto your bottom lip to keep quiet. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, pretty lady,” He speaks against your skin, surprising you a little as he pushes not one, but two of his fingers into your soaked cunt, “Feel good?” 

“Oh God,” You breathe out as he hooks his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot you had no idea even existed inside of you, “Don’t stop… don’t fucking stop.” 

He doesn’t, the obedient man that he is. He starts dragging his fingers in and out of you, whilst his lips wrap around your clit, pulling it into his mouth, laving it with attention from his tongue, which sends you over the edge. 

Your thighs are clenching around his head as your body convulses. All you want is to cry out, call his name into the room, but even though you can hear the music from the party down here, anyone could be walking past, and it would be just your luck that it would be Amy from HR. His mouth is working you through those aftershocks as your thighs ease the pressure around his head. 

He's breathing as heavy as you are when he stands, slotting himself between your open legs. You can feel the hard length of him pressing against your silken center, as he dips his head to kiss you again, your taste intoxicating on his tongue. 

“Can I fuck you?” He asks, almost desperately, “You gonna let me?” 

“Please.” Is all you can get out, as he drags you off the desk, flipping you around so your front is pressed against the wood of the desk. 

He’s got his hand on the nape of your neck, pressing you down. You can hear him undoing his belt, dragging the zipper of his jeans down. You shuffle a little, widening your stance as he takes his place behind you. You can feel him dragging his cock through your folds, gathering the slick he’s pulled from you, before he’s plunging into you in one go. It takes everything you have not to scream. He’s big. Stretching you like no-one has before and it feels so fucking good. 

Marcus is still gripping the back of your neck as he starts moving, his other hand gripping the plush cheek of your ass, spreading you open even more as he slowly drags himself in and out of you. He’s going slowly, and you think that the way his breath is hitching in his throat means he’s struggling to keep his composure, so you decide to have a little fun. 

When he’s pulled almost all the way out of you, you turn your head as much as you can with his hand resting there, looking over your shoulder at him as you wiggle your ass, slowly backing into him, letting your cunt suck him right back into you again. 

“Baby, you can’t do that,” He pleads, his fingers digging into the skin of your ass, “Carry on like that and this will be over before it’s begun.” 

“Don’t care,” You mutter, “Harder, please.” 

He starts pounding into you now, the sound of his skin slapping against yours is obscene. You’re both trying as hard as possible to keep the moans and groans as quiet as possible, and you can’t help but wish he wants more, that he’ll take you home sometime, unwrap you and let you scream for him, but you decide to focus on the here and now. 

“Touch yourself.” You hear demanded from behind you, “I want to feel you come on my cock.” 

You snake your hand underneath you, pushing the discomfort of how your arm is trapped between your body and the desk, and start tracing quick circles over your clit. You’re already sensitive, hanging on the edge from his mouth, so you press harder, move your wrist faster. 

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” Marcus groans behind you, “Close, ain’tcha?” He asks, “Go on baby, let go for me, let me feel you.” 

And it’s his voice that does it, that finally tips you over the edge, has your cunt clenching around him, walls fluttering and teeth biting into your bottom lip as your knees give way. Thankfully, Marcus is gripping at your hips, which helps to keep you upright. 

“Where, baby?” He asks, voice strained, and you don’t catch what he means, “Quick baby, where do you want me?” 

“Anywhere.” You groan out, “I don’t care Marcus, just come for me.” 

You think for a moment he might stay inside you, which would be fine, you thank the implant under the skin of your arm, but at the last minute he’s pulling out of you, feeling the hot slick of his cum on the skin of your ass as he lets out a low groan out of his mouth. He’s breathing heavily behind you, pulling his jeans back up. You try and move, to push yourself up, but you’re worried if you move further you might collapse. 

“Stay there.” He says gently, leaning over you to pluck a few tissues from the box on his desk, gently wiping away the mess he’s caused, pulling your panties back into place and letting your skirt cover as much of your ass as it can in your position. 

“You okay?” He asks softly, helping you to stand, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear. 

You nod, because you are, you’ve never been fucked so thoroughly, never been made to come so hard in your life, but there’s an anxiety settling in your stomach. What always happens now is they’ll tell you they had a great time, but don’t think they want to see you again, which is going to be even more embarrassing because you have to work with this man. 

It's almost as if he can sense your anxiety, because he’s cupping your cheek again, leaning to give you a soft kiss on the lips, “Would you maybe want to go out sometime?” He asks, “I know we’ve done things out of order, but I’ve wanted to ask for a while.” 

You smile, because it does make you happy, that the man you’ve fancied for the best part of a year actually wants to take you out, “As long as you promise to take me back to yours after and let me see you naked?” 

He blows out air from his mouth, but his eyes are twinkling, “You drive a hard bargain,” He muses, “But you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

He’s moving from you now, over to the couch, picking up your coat and your back, motioning you over so he can help you into your jacket, hooking your bag onto your elbow, then moving to gather his own things, “Wait, right now?” You ask, sounding surprised, as he shrugs his jacket on. 

“I know a great diner just down the road.” He shrugs, picking up his satchel. 

He’s walking back to you, but you put a hand on his chest, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” You ask, watching a confused look fall over his face, you dart your eyes to his desk, where the whip from earlier is lying abandoned, “I’m only coming back to yours if you bring that.” 

You watch as a smirk splays across his lips. He snatches the whip from his desk, shoving it into the satchel, “Well, pretty lady, lead the way.” 

[terry-perry]

Hi there! I saw you were looking to do Alastor requests, and I have a…spicier one in mind.

So the scenario I was hoping for, if you are comfortable with it is consensual cannibalism. The Reader (female) has an advanced regenerative and healing ability and is also a masochist.

So after the Extermination, Reader helps Alastor heal and also offers her flesh to him. Things go from there. Maybe some aftercare at the end, too?

It's not exactly smut, but some crazy, kinky, bloody stuff is involved!

TRIGGER WARNING!

Y/N was the one who found him in his radio tower, muttering and wincing to himself. She'd been the only one who searched for him after the battle. His disappearance from it was so sudden that she had her suspicions. Finding her friend in such a state was heartwrenching, especially since he always seemed so composed. Now he appeared so broken, fragile, wounded.

She approached him with caution. He was her friend, but an infamous demon, forced into a corner by the First Man too. Like dealing with many beasts, it was best to proceed with caution.

"Alastor?" She called out to him slowly.

His head snapped up upon hearing her. His dark eyes narrowed to get a better look at her. After doing so, his strained smile came with a snarl. "I do not want you to see me in such a state..."

"We've all taken a beating today Alastor," she said, walking over to him in a still careful manner. Slowly she knelt before his curled up figure on the floor. "You were smart to leave when you did. Gave you time to heal."

"Well, as you can see..." he took his hand away from his chest, which spewed out some blood that darkened his already red attire. "I may need a little more time."

She saw the way the blood covered his chest like splattered paint. He certainly took a beating after fighting hard. She was at least happy the wound was wide yet shallow. What she hated was noticing the way he attempted to reach out to her but grimaced in pain while doing so. She found it so awful to see him like this that it made her act on impulse.

Alastor didn't have time to protest as she already had her hand over his injury. He watched how she concentrated on it, how her hand suddenly had a golden light under it as his chest felt very warm then cool. Once she let go, he saw he was as good as new! No blood or anything!

"You're welcome!" She chirped, making an effort to break the tense silence.

It didn't help since before she knew it, he was throwing himself on top of her. He looked down at her, pinning her to the floor. He looked wild and savage as his eyes changed into those notorious radio dials and his sardonic grin had blood leaking out from its corners.

"I don't recall asking for your help, my dear," he growled. "You know better than to make the Radio Demon owe you his life!"

She never thought she'd be on the receiving end of Alastor's threats. They'd always been rather close and respected one another. Yet she forgot two important things about him:

He despised being on someone's hook.

And he always needed to be in control.

He already lost his sense of control in the battle when fighting Adam. His microphone was split in two, and he'd been no better. Now that she saw him in bad shape and offered him assistance in healing, he needed to find a way to regain power - to show he still could intimidate.

She was terrified...but also excited.

She doesn't know why it excited her. It might've had something to do with the fact she was hell-born and had no real experience with pain or death. It didn't help that she was born with regenerative healing abilities that helped her survive every scuffle she'd find herself in. Whatever the reason, the way Alastor bent over her gave her pleasant tingles.

She knew he didn't desire sexual depravity the way others down there did, but he did have other carnal urges that could benefit them both.

"Hurt me then Alastor," she said, growing bold with a coy smirk. "Give me all the anger you have. Take it out on my flesh."

There are some things people just don't expect. Even in Hell, surprises can come. For a demon like Alastor, he took pride in how little can shock him, humble him. Yet he's recently realized he's not in as much control as he claimed to be. He's been beaten, insulted, taken hold of. A new sense of purpose was required. A way to show power again.

But this?

"I know you want to," she hissed up at him. "You want to devour me. Go ahead! At least you'll be good at that!"

She knew that did the trick since he returned to his malicious state. His large, sharp-tooth grin opened into a gaping maw that attacked her. She let out a cry as he bit down hard on her shoulder. She wrapped her legs around his waist while his teeth pierced her so fiercely that she could practically feel his gums on her skin. She pushed him further by grabbing a hold of his hair as she moaned so desperately. He held her so tightly that her cries grew strenuous.

She loved every second of it, especially when he managed to tear off some of her flesh.

----

With a snap of his finger, Alastor conjured up a small flame that helped her with her cigarette. She inhaled, released a puff of smoke, and relaxed after their little escapade. They remained on the floor of his radio tower, now snuggled up together. He looked over her body, his claws tracing the marks he left behind before they disappeared.

It was just what he needed for the time being to satiate his hunger. Full freedom was still far from his grasp, but he at least found a way to play with his needs. Thanks to her, his burning yearnings were temporarily fulfilled.

[hollyhomburg]

You know what I think might be like- super cute? Alpha yoongi who makes a living making custom nests for omegas, they come in a variety of different shapes and sizes for different sized packs, some with awnings or removable tops.

And yoongis mated to omega jimin who makes custom blankets specific for omegas to nest in- they’re like hyper specific super personalized to weight and texture, and cost a pretty penny. Who meet the m/c who is 1) single and 2) pupped by some asshole alpha that abandoned her and before they know it yoongi is elbow deep in sawdust makeing a custom nest bed that logically you know…would logically fit a few packmates, not just her and her pup but, maybe two others 👀

and jimin who starts making blanket after blanket, stays up late, only to fall asleep on top of them and fall into sleep nesting! And when he wakes up he finds he’s scented them which is a big no/no. Basically ruins them for the m/c and he finds himself in tears when she comes to pick them up but she confesses that she actually finds jimin’s scent very soothing and sweet and she doesn’t mind having it in her nest.

And of course yoongi goes to her house to set up the bed and /maybe/ helps her out on the sheets because she shouldn’t be moving around so much, and then he’s got to fix the leaky faucet because what if it leaks all over the floor and she trips 🥺 meanwhile jimin is still making her every sort of custom pillow, baby blanket, propping pillow, he can imagine, bent over his sowing machine aware that he’s getting over protective over another omega! And he has a mate!

He doesn’t understand why he’s getting to attached until he meets the m/c’s ex…namjoon, also jimin’s ex. And it turns out when she tried to tell namjoon there had been a simple misunderstanding and he actually never knew he was gonna be a father? But he’s here now and ready to support the m/c

he was actually very in love with her but thought that when she said “you pupped me” she said “you fucked me” and took that to mean “you fucked me over.” Because she was crying so hard and it’s basically one big misunderstanding and namjoon is so excited to be an appa.

but yoonmin are so protective of her they have a hard time letting him in. They don’t quiet down without a fight- especially once the m/c starts to fall into omegaspace (typical in the later stages of pregnancy when omegas should really nest and stay put) and asks for only minnîe in her nest 🥺 something about the older omega makes her feel so at ease, so comforted. And she smells so milky and safesweet that jimîn never wants to leave her nest, keeps her swathed and warm.

and of course yoongi won’t leave them unattended and has to come over- only to show her that he made her pup a cradle and her a rocking chair as a declaration to be her pack alpha. Yoongi think namjoon will put up a fight but he’s actually very glad that their little one will have multiple sets of parents and someone else to help because he doesn’t have a good track record of taking care of the m/c and he needs another alpha to keep him in line.

Yeah just, sweet messiness with an unconventional pack 🥰

[pigeonstab]

So, I actually managed 1005 words! which is like 250 more than i had before, yippee!!

I think some CWs are needed for this one, basically this is a bit of insight into Cross's childhood, he's probably around 13 here?

//CW vomiting & child abuse??// (lmk if there are any more needed)

Raindrops hit the car window, blurring the sight of the city lights behind the panes with a soft pattering sound. Cross was cold. The air was humid and he wanted to go home. Wherever that was.

The car ride had been spent in silence, as had all the other ones these past months. Cross kept himself entertained, watching flashes of light pass through the darkness of the car, observing as they shifted and bent with the shape of the seats or as they passed over his legs. He didn’t know if he could do this again, if he’d find the courage to. He wanted to say something though he knew he shouldn’t, protesting never got him anything but remarks and lectures.

He’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“I don’t wanna go.” His throat felt tight and there was a growing pressure behind his eyes. he had to tell someone.

A heavy sigh came from the driver’s seat and Cross winced “And I don’t wanna hear it Cross. This is your third placement in three months. You know how these things go.” her tone stayed stern and cold. He didn’t know why he ever tried. A beat passed “You know if you would just behave–”

“I know” he snapped at her, holding his brow, a low growl building in his throat.

“See? This is exactly what I mean!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words left him.

The car came to an abrupt stop at the red light and Cross flinched when she twisted around to face him, her face contorted with rage, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

“I’m doing this for you, you know that right?” She started “I’m driving you there but if you wanna be like that, you can get out of the car and walk your stuff to the new house. And then you could do the introductions and explain all that’s wrong with you. Since you like talking so much. Is that what you want? Huh?”

Cross stayed quiet, curling up on himself. He knew this was a shit idea anyway. She never listened. Tears ran down his cheeks as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. “’m sorry..”

She merely scoffed, turning back to the road as the light turned green. “And stop crying.”

–––––––––––––––––––

Now, Cross stood quietly, his backpack in hand, and in it all his meager belongings. He cringed as his social worker rung the doorbell of the new house.

The door opened, blinding Cross with the warm light coming from inside. He felt like he could cry again. Wanting nothing more than to go back to the car.

His social worker greeted the man at the door, a smile plastered on her face that she only used when talking to the foster parents. Cross was disgusted at her hypocrisy. This house would be just like the other ones, they’d act nice for a bit while he was quiet and docile and then at the first sign of resistance they’d realize he’s nothing but a wild animal, ‘a problem child’. Once he snaps at them, once he’s not just a way to give them good conscience. He hated them already, he hated this.

He wanted out. He liked it better with Epic. He should’ve stayed with him.

“Cross, are you coming?” He was pulled from of his thoughts as she called him inside. She’d already told his new foster parents about the protocol for his shifts, he knew because the man he’d seen earlier was holding a vial of wolfsbane in his hand. He shuddered, it was rare when foster parents let him spend full moons without sedation. He didn’t like the way they looked at him.

Like they were nice, like they weren’t going to hurt him. Cross hoped they’d let him keep his books. Maybe they wouldn’t be as bad as the last ones.

–––––––––––––––––––

Cross knew this placement had been a bad idea. He panted and whined as he struggled against the silver shackles attaching him to the basement radiator, his arms were pulled back uncomfortably and the silver was burning him, he could hear his own flesh start to sizzle.

He’d been annoying, he knew he’d been bad, but he didn’t think they’d even keep him around long enough to deal with a full moon. They’d laced his water with wolfsbane at dinner. Of course that wouldn’t be a problem if only they hadn’t put this much. It wasn’t his usual dose and he could feel his body rejecting it, his stomach clenched and he tried his best to fight it as he gagged, his diaphragm working to expel the poison from his metabolism, his chest heaved and Cross retched, only slightly purple tinted bile left him as he sobbed.

Everything was aching, his limbs weren’t responding and he felt sluggish, his senses held in a panicked torpor. He didn’t know how long he’d been crying, his wrists feel raw and chaffed. He felt his body forcing itself into a different shape as the full moon rose and illuminated the basement through a small window, his mind stuck in an exhausting loop of unfinished thoughts and panic, and he howled in pain as the first cracks rang out and echoed in the basement.

The smell of blood permeated the air. he couldn’t think. The poison left him immobile, save for the slight shivering that wracked his small furry form. Cross wanted out.

Closing his eyes and letting his tired mind drift off, he thought of green grass and cool air, the sound of the leaves rustling with the wind, feeling his paws hit the earth with each bound, wind rushing past him, ruffling his fur, it was enough to satiate the instincts clawing at the back of his head. And in the morning he’d wake up wishing he hadn’t. But for now, hurting and laying on cold damp concrete floor, hidden back into the retreat of his mind, he felt calmer.

[euno11a]

Tattooed Hearts II

Genre: No one to someone Tattoo artist! Jungkook X Reader

Summary: What happened to us? Why did we end up like this? It was only a one time thing. Now it’s ruined us both.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, mentions of hookups, insults, arguing, blood, mentions of period, insecurities

Pt I • Pt III • Pt IV • Pt V• Pt VI • Pt VII • Pt VIII

***

What a jackass! Months of not seeing you, and all he had to say was ‘glad you’re back?!’ Seriously? Watching him walk away so nonchalant made your blood boil, he was a player. What did you expect? He wasn’t gonna drop to his knees and start sobbing! It was dumb if you to even have hopes of him doing that. You glared at the closed office door, hoping he would trip over a stone and scrape his knees. Yes, it was childish, but scraping your knees hurts! You opened your juice, sipping it while cursing Jungkook out in your mind.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun again, “Is the juice good?” V asked with a small smile.

You nodded happily, drinking even more. The question stood in your mind, how did they know it was your favourite drink? You hadn’t told any of them apart from Jungkook…oh my god. OH MY GOD! Was he still thinking about you?! No, there’s no way, all he thinks about is getting his dick wet, he was not thinking about you. It was probably just a mix up with a flavour. V continued with the tattoo, mentioning that you’d have to come back for a second round to do the colouring and final touches. You agreed, wanting to finally have the tattoo finished. Time went by and a woman walked into the parlour, she was wearing a black latex looking skirt with a matching top, fishnets and some funky looking heels. She was his next client? Good god. Listen, you weren’t one for being insecure. You loved your body! It was amazing! But looking at the woman that just walked in, you couldn’t help but compare yourself just a little bit. She had the ‘perfect body,’ almost no body hair, an hour glass shape, perfect face (probably because of Botox), she was the ideal woman. So watching Jungkook step out of his office and lean on the doorway, smirking at her, made me know that it wasn’t just a touch up that was about to happen. I groaned and looked at V, “Am I almost done…?” “Yep! Just gonna wipe it down with an alcohol wipe and tape you up, then you’re free to go.” He smiled politely at you, which you returned. You luckily finished just before the moans echoed through the parlour, the woman from before, moaning and screaming for Jungkook. You made a small face of disgust, walking to the front desk to pay. RM gave you a sympathetic look, setting up the machine so you could pay. The worst part, was that you could hear his grunts. The grunts he used to make when he fucked you, when he touched you, when he ate you out, even when you bent over to pick something up. Now you’re realizing that you weren’t that special to him. You were a quick fuck and drop. After paying, you walked out of the parlour, a sense of rage present in your gut. Who the hell did he think he was? Honestly, he will never find someone to love forever. He'll always be a player. *** “Is that even sanitary?” Lindsay asked as you guys walked to the bar. You’d came home and told her about your adventures at the tattoo parlour. You weren’t sure if she was treating you to drinks because she felt bad for you, or if it was because she needed to wipe away the vivid picture you painted for her of Jungkoon fucking a woman in his office. You shrugged, stopping in front of the bar, pulling the door open. “I don’t think he’d care even if it wasn’t. Such an asshole…” You mumbled, getting seats at the bar top. You ordered your drinks, a gin and tonic and a dirty Shirley, waiting for the bartender to make them, Lindsay nudged you.

“Look at Mr Hottie over there! God, I’d let him bend me over the bar and fuck me.” She said proudly, biting her bottom lip.

You almost choked on your spit, “I’m sorry, wHaT? Lindsay, you can’t just go around saying that!”

She leaned back and smiled at you, “Come on! I haven’t been fucked in a good while, my vibrators not cutting it anymore! I need a real dick.” Turning her head, she smiled at the guy, winking.

“I thought you were here to drink with me, not get fucked by some random guy.” The drinks came and you instantly drank some, you had a feeling this was gonna be a long night. Grabbing her drink, Lindsay smiled at you once again, walking in the direction of the guy. You groaned and leaned your head on your hand, mixing your drink. Maybe it was from the day, but the gin didn’t feel strong enough. After about 30 minutes, you turned to look at your friend, but not to your surprise, she was gone and so was the guy. “Hope you have a nice fuck.” You mumble to yourself. “Thank you, I will.” The voice caught you off guard, making you jump and turn your head. Jesus Howard Christ. Jungkook smirked down at you, leaning on the bar top. “It was nice seeing you again today. Still looking good.” You didn’t reply, don’t speak to the devil, he’ll hurt you. You sipped your drink in silence, trying not to pay attention to the muscular man beside you. “Come on, you could at least say hi.” “You can at least tell me when you decide to cheat.” You shot back, angrily. Damn it, where’s Lindsay when you need her? “Woah, woah, woah, I never cheated.” Jungkook replied, grabbing his scotch on the rocks. “We were never together, so technically I didn’t actually cheat on you.” Was he serious right now? “Oh, sorry, my bad. I was a fuck toy.” Your jaw clenched, hand gripping the glass of gin and tonic tightly. You could see him smirk from the corner of your eye, “You were a good fuck toy. Always let me use your pretty pussy…fuck you so good. Bet you haven’t had good dick since.” “I’ve had plenty of dick, many that've topped yours.” You snarked back, god, where was your buffer? What happened to ignoring him? And what was with all the lies? “Sure you have. Speaking of, where’s that friend of yours? Did she dump you for dick?” He was trying to get a ride out of you….it was working. “No, she escaped before you came. God blessed her today, but I unfortunately haven’t had his graces placed upon me yet.” You could hear him chuckle lowly, his laugh was deep and husky…fuck, it was hot. “Come on, Y/N, we both know you don’t worship god. You like to worship me when you’re on your hands and knees, waiting to be fucked like a good girl.” He whispered in your ear, using that soft but husky voice you liked. Why’d he have to say your name? Why couldn’t he have kept his stupid mouth shut? “That’s in the past. I’m never going to stoop to a level so low ever again.” Grabbing your bag, you placed a $20 bill on the bar top, paying for you and your friend’s drink. You pushed by Jungkook and made your way to the exit. The air outside was refreshing, something you craved after being stuck in there with Jungkook and his sweet smelling cologne. When you were walking away, your name was called, but you knew it was him. You weren’t gonna answer this time. Not now, not ever again.

Taglist: @talyaaas-blog

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 33

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Okay I had no plans to get this done but since US thanksgiving is near.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You cling to that moment of peace. Without Andy touching you, smothering you, invading you. You hide your head under your bent arm, curled up on your side as you try to close the world out. Reality slices through you like a razor.

You cannot outrun what is. Not anymore. You’ve lost that ability. Your mind can’t summon the fantasies that once kept you safe. There is only the tenderness inside and the bruises on your thighs. 

He’s there, somewhere, lurking. You thought he would go to work but that hope was quickly crushed, along with all your others. He stayed and touched you until that got the better of him. Then he would put you on your back, or your stomach, sometimes your side, however he wanted you…

And you let him. You don’t fight. Your weightless body follows his whim and opens to him. You squeeze your eyes shut and whimper as your walls clench at the thought of him near you. 

There’s something wrong with you. You’re supposed to love him, so it shouldn’t feel so bad, right? After all he’s done for you, shouldn’t you want him to do that? Shouldn’t you be just as eager for him?

You don’t understand it. It’s not supposed to hurt so surely, you’re doing something wrong. You’ll get it right. You can be what Andy wants, what he needs. You will not be another burden. Never again.

You hear him coming. You quiver and shrink down further. You can’t find the strength to sit up and try. 

He greets you with a sigh. Oh no, he’s mad. You whimper and curl your arm snugger around your head. What did you do now? What is he going to do?

He nears the bed, his shadow standing over you as his presence brings a dark cloud. He shifts and sniffs, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He puts his large hand on your shoulder and you wince. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“We need to talk, Dove,” he says.

Talk? You can’t handle it. You’d rather he just hurt you than repeat the facts. You don’t need him to tell you how bad you are, you already know.

“Sit up,” he shakes you, gently but enough to jar you.

You relent and fall onto your back. You stare at the ceiling and press your hands to the mattress. You sit up, little but little, your muscles knotted and stiff.

You hug the blanket to your chest, hiding behind it as you hunch your shoulders forward. You can’t look at Andy so you focus on the lump of your feet under the covers.

“Why do you keep lying?” He rasps.

You blink as your lip trembles, tears threatening to spring free. He’s mad again. Your entire body tenses as you brace for what comes next.

“You could’ve told me about Steve,” he lifts the shape in his lap and you glance over. It’s your tablet. “He’s your doctor, I wouldn’t have been mad.”

You sniffle and cup your chin in your hands, fingers over your mouth. You watch him turn the tablet over and slide back the cover. You don’t try to stop him or defend yourself. He’s right. About everything.

“If you needed help… with the toy or figuring things out, I was here. I am here. You could’ve asked me,” an edge creeps into his voice, “why didn’t you ask me?”

You don’t say a word. You’re trapped in your own guilt. He has the proof in his hands. You did it, you lied and betrayed him.

“The only thing I ask of you, is that you tell the truth. You haven’t, so I can’t trust you. Not until you show me I can,” Andy closes the tablet, pressing his thumb to the cover. “And maybe then you can have this back.”

You nod and hang your head. It’s easier if you just do what he wants. You’ll get used to it eventually, maybe even one day, you’ll be normal and want it too.

🕊️

“This is nice,” Andy struts into the room with a hanger in hand.

You sit on the edge of the bed where he left you. His frustration drew you out of your cocoon to shiver in the morning air. You can smell the crisp autumn seeping in around the window. There’s no point trying to figure out how long you’ve been like this, counting the days will only make it torturous.

You glance over as Andy waggles the dress at you, one of those he bought you. The bishop sleeves are almost longer than the skirt, the shade of faded plum overlaid with a translucent layer. You look at it and nod. Whatever he wants.

“You’ll have to clean up first,” he lays the dress on the bed, “it’ll help you feel better too.”

You blink and pinpoint on his chest. You can’t look him in the face. He nears you and runs his hands down your arms, sending a chill through you. He bends and twists you around to scoop you up. He hums as he lifts you against his chest.

“Aren’t you excited, honey?” He chimes.

You frown, excited? You let your head fall against his shoulder. There isn’t an ounce of strength left in you.

“Thanksgiving,” he prompts as if it’s obvious, “I got everything we need! So you can get started once you're ready. Don’t worry, I woke up early to deal with the turkey.”

He enters the bathroom and puts you down on the closed toilet. You look down at yourself. You wear his t-shirt and nothing else. He moves away to crank on the tub and quickly comes back to you. You wrinkle your nose, confused.

“Thanksgiving?” You croak.

“Uh, yeah, duh!” His tone is laced with forced enthusiasm. “Our first together.��

He tugs the hem of the shirt from under your ass and you murmur. You try to catch the cotton. He tuts and you let go. He rolls the fabric up your body and you lift your arms, surrendering.

“An…” you start to say his name but can’t get the bitter noise out. You clear your throat, “what if… I don’t feel good, I don’t know if I have the energy–”

“You’ve been in bed forever. You can get up for one day,” his timbre turns rigid, “you promised me. You promised Doctor Kemp. Do you want to let us both down?”

You close your eyes and slump. He huffs and tosses the shirt on the tile. You reach to touch your lashes and sniff back a wave of tears. It’s not just the time, the way it moves without you knowing, no, it’s him that makes you feel so helpless.

“Don’t do this,” he whispers, half a growl.

“I…” you inhale, struck by his fury, “I won’t. I’ll be good.”

You try to force a smile as you pull your hands away. Your cheeks twitch and your eyes sting, your lips just won’t curve the way you want them too. Another sigh as he stands straight. He rolls up his sleeves before he lifts you again.

He lowers you into the tube as you squeeze your legs together. You fold your arms around yourself, trying to hide, as he reaches for a scrubby and the bottle of vanilla soap. He pops the cap violently as the water bulges up towards your knees.

“Dove,” he reproaches as he grabs your arm, straightening it as he holds your wrist firmly.

You squeak as he scrubs you harshly. You hide behind your eyelids as the flash of another memory strikes you. The cold downpour of water from a screaming shower head, chattering teeth, and quaking sobs.

When he makes you stand, you curl your fingers to tight fists. As he washes you, you feel even more exposed than before. He takes his time on your chest and stomach, surprising you as he leans forward to his just beside your navel. You flinch and glance down.

“You’re beautiful, honey, you shouldn’t be so shy,” he says, “all done, sit.”

You obey and he finishes up the bath, helping you stand before wrapping you up in a soft towel. He pats you dry and moisturises your skin with the fragrant strawberry lotion. This time, he makes you walk back to the room with him.

As you consider the dress, he goes to his dresser and slides out a drawer. He comes to the bed and drops something else. You stare at the white panties and bra, see-through and speckled with little hearts.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he says as he touches the front of his shirt, damp from the tub, “I’ll change too.”

You bite your lip and keep your chin down. You touch the dress, staring at the underwear, mortified at the thought of wearing those. Why can’t you wear something comfortable? Why can’t you be you? Why can’t he love you as you?

🕊️

Andy said Steve is coming. You don’t dare ask when as the conversation about your tablet looms over you. You don’t want him to think anything bad of the doctor. It’s not his fault, you’re just stupid.

You put your energy into following the precise instructions printed out before you. All the ingredients are set out neatly for you. It’s all manageable, even for you.

In the next room, the TV blares with the commentators on the NFL pre-game. Andy paces in and out, as if checking on you, or maybe he’s restless. You start peeling the sweet potatoes as he comes in again, looking at his watch.

“Dr. Kemp said he’d bring dessert,” Andy says, “I bought a pie just in case. If he isn’t here in the next hour, we’ll take it out of the freezer.”

“Okay,” you agree as you drag the peeler over the bumpy potato.

“You must be excited, huh, dove?”

“Um, sure, I… I like Thanksgiving. Lots of food,” you smile, you’re getting better at that. “Um, yeah.”

“What?” He tilts his head, his hands going to his hips. Oh no, he’s mad. Again.

“N-nothing, I didn’t…” you look away, “nothing.”

“It’s just Steve,” he shrugs, “I don’t have family. You know, if you bothered to ask, you might realise we’re a lot more alike than you think.”

You chew your cheek and focus on stripping the orange potato. You never did ask. You didn’t think you should. It feels nosy so it’s not that you never wondered or cared, you just don’t know what’s right.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“For?”

“For not asking. Sorry that you’re alone too,” you grab the next potato.

“Not anymore, dove, we got each other, right?” He chirps, “anyway, before you get too deep into that, you should really do the snacks first. Can’t watch football without munchies.”

“Oh, I… I didn’t think…” you put the potato down and wipe your hands on the dish towel on the counter.

“Wait, wait,” he goes by the fridge and unhooks an apron hanging on the other side. “You don’t want to dirty up that pretty dress.”

“Uh, good idea.”

He puts the top strap over your head, tugging it down snug to your neck. He signals you to turn and you do. He steps close, reaching around you as he smooth the front and drags his hands to the thinner straps behind you. He ties them slowly, tickling your lower back through the dress.

“Let me see,” he steps back.

You face him and he admires you. You look down at the floral fabric with a large bow at the waist. It looks almost like a vintage dress on its own. You straighten your arms and sway as he purrs.

“That looks so good on you,” he steps closer and you plant your feet, resisting the urge to retreat. “Makes me wanna eat you up.”

Your chest racks with panic as he advances on you. He corners you against the counter as he flutters his fingers along the ruffled edge of the apron. You watch his hands creep up the fabric and gulp. Oh, again? Here? You thought you were safe.

“We got time,” his hands close on your hips, “just a little taste.”

You yelp as he takes you off your feet, perching you on the counter. Your ass knocks a bowl across the island and you brace the granite for balance. He pushes your knees apart and steps between them. You're paralysed as he cups your chin, tilting your head back as he kisses you. Suddenly.

He clamps his hand around the back of your neck, locking you against him. His other hand trails down your leg, stopping at your knee and crawling back up. He slips beneath the apron and your skirt, tendrils radiating from his touch. Your muscles spasm as you gasp.

He parts from your lips, kissing your jaw and neck, nibbling and moaning as his fingertips inch towards the trim of your panties. The cool air slips beneath your dress and through the thin fabric. You shudder as you close your eyes, trying to bury yourself inside.

“Mmmm, dove,” he shifts and nuzzles your chest.

He slowly gets to his knees, holding your legs apart as he pecks along your skin. You whimper as he edges towards your skirt, his breath dampening your thigh. He hums and pinches you with his teeth.

“Delicious,” he pokes his head under your skirt, a sudden ding breaking your trance.

He retracts, sitting back on his heels as the doorbell echoes through the house. You look down at him as he closes his eyes and grimaces. He shakes his head and pushes himself up to his feet, grunting as he stands.

“Great timing, as always,” he scoffs.

He struts out, his chagrin obvious in his posture. You push off the counter, landing awkwardly on your feet, tweaking your ankle slightly. You go to the doorway, peeking around into the hall but not daring to venture out.

Andy rolls his shoulders as he stops by the door. He heaves a breath as the doorbell chimes again. He turns back the latch and twists the handle, pulling it back.

“Andrew,” Kemp’s voice booms into the entryway, “Happy Thanksgiving!” You can’t help the way your heart topturns at his familiar timbre, “brought dessert.”

“What is she doing here?” Andy growls.

“Thanksgiving is for family, Andrew, and her family is here,” Kemp insists.

“No, I didn’t invite her–”

“Where is she?” The unseen ‘her’ asks. Your mouth falls open. Amber? “Let me see her.”

You rush forward without thinking. No fear, no doubt, you just want to see your sister. You scurry down the hall and brush by Andy, elbowing him as he reaches to stop you. You burst out through the doorway and crash into Amber, wrapping your arms around her.

“Hey,” her voice piques as she hugs you back, “hey, I’m here.”